#ghost game divorced couple

[nsdrawsstuff]

Have a shitty phone doodle I put way too much effort into coloring

[graymatterggfancomic]

A silly bounce mini-comics I drew a while ago for chapter 3~ also since it's fun to do more with these characters than just the comic. I like to draw Hiro's daydreams of his point of view of what's going on in the story. It's a fun way to play around with these guys more.

[simplyreiartblog]

This ship grew on me, and was inspirited by the Mario movie~

[oceantornadoo]

IDK! HEAR ME OUT THO!!!

Simon, staging the break in and what not so he could push you back into his arms??? INSANE!

Delicious story. Thank you for the food! <3

so originally when i made that last fic (which unexpectedly blew up tysm everyone) i added in the creepy elements almost on accident?? but this and another reply has me thinking...

tw: slight humiliation (but you'll like it)=

simon riley wasn't a bad man. he also wasn't a bad husband. at least that's what he told himself.

when you had presented him with those divorce papers a bit ago (13 months and 4 days, but who was counting), he thought it was a bluff. a joke. he had gone too far in your last argument, and that was your reaction. when he told you he'd go to therapy, you stared at him with a look he'd only see on men in the battlefield. dead all the way through, a walking husk. so he signed them and went to therapy anyways.

the whole time, this whole 13-month break, where you had been 'building a new life' or whatever, he had been planning. internalizing the commentary his therapist would make, and then spitting it back out to you while you moved out of his place. every time you seemed to forget one extra box, and who's to say if he hid a couple in his room? he had a plan.

over time, simon really seemed to have learned so much from therapy. so much about communication. he had become open and welcoming, far from that man who would respond to your complaints with hard stares and a lack of words. so maybe you met for coffee a couple of times and that's how he knew about the cafe by your new place. maybe that's how he tailed you one night after a date, just to make sure this new guy didn't try anything (and not to figure out your unit number). whatever he did, he played a dangerous game by letting you have this illusion of freedom while balancing his presence in your life, just enough to make you want more. after weeks and week of stagnant progress, he needed one extra push. something small, not even a shove.

and if he happened to mention your unit number to a bunch of shady guys that hung out in the alley by your building? happened to brag about your pretty pussy and sweet-smelling panties? maybe mention your habit of not locking the window when you left for work? who's to say. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

and now here you were, back in his arms where you belonged. a little frightened but comforted in the knowledge that he could protect you. the ghost wasn't shed when he took his mask off, but you didn't need to know that.

--

your body was so used to being in simon's arms you didn't even realize you had been grinding on him for the past ten minutes. his boxers you wore were sticky with arousal as you grinded against his clothed cock in the dark. even in your dream, it was simon underneath you, no one else. "si." you panted, a near-whisper that only a military man could have heard. "dove?" he adjusted your sleeping positions, tossing the covers to give you more room to maneuver against him.

"i know i said that thing about the line not being crossed." he gave you a low chuckle. silly little girl. you had finally realized how much you needed him and he was going to milk you for all you were worth. "and?" you stopped. shit. he needed to seem more responsive. he moved you from his thigh to his boner using one arm, the other one snaking its way under your shirt to stroke your back. you moaned as he massaged the tension from the day's earlier events away, giving you sweet relief. the sweetness of the massage made a hard contrast to the friction in your core as he rubbed you against his hardened cock.

"spit it out, baby." he growled. "can you-fuck." his hand had moved to the back of your neck now, holding it in a tight grip. his hand was so large he could feel the pulse points on either side of your jaw, heart racing. finally. "can you get me off? just this once?" he snorted, moving you up and down against him faster, dragging your sensitive clit over and over. "what's the magic word?" he flipped you both around, pressing his body weight on top of you.

simon turned the light on, wanting to see how needy you were. you were panting, shirt sticky with sweat as your chest moved up and down with exertion. he hiked up your shirt and took off your boxers, exposing your sticky cunt to the cool air. he took a sniff of the fabric, noting your small gasp as if you didn't know how obsessed he was with you already. "magic word." your mouth dropped. guess you weren't getting off that easily. "please, simon." he clucked his tongue at that. "ghost?" he left out a short laugh, arms reaching out to tug his shirt off of you. your nipples were so hard, aching to be pinched and sucked just how you liked them. "not ghost." he reached over to his nightstand, pulling something out of the drawer. he fumbled with his hand for a second, then held yours up to the light as he slipped something on it.

"husband." the words left your mouth in a whoosh, eyes transfixed on your wedding ring that was on your hand. the one you had flung at him after he complained about the divorce papers, the one you said you'd rather die than wear again. and here it was, right back on your finger, sparkling in the lamplight.

simon captured your mouth in a rough kiss, entering you with his ring and middle finger at the same time. "so willing for your husband, hm? all puffy and wet. look at your cunt, darling." you both looked down at your pussy at the same time. it was squelching, your vibrator sessions not holding a candle to what your ex husband could do to you. you were almost embarrassed by how desperate your pussy looked, clit enlarged from its earlier friction. his fingers worked in and out of you, wedding ring covered in slick. you watched as he pressed his thumb to your clit in small circles, a tightening sensation in your lower belly rising to the surface. "simon, si-fuck" he gave your pussy a small slap, pulling his fingers out as you addressed him incorrectly. "husband, please." he entered you again roughly, drawing a low moan from you. he captured your nipple in his mouth, teething it just enough to make you hurt. punishment.

"please please please i'm right ther-" he pressed hard against your clit and sent you careening off the edge into your orgasm, back bowing off the bed. simon gave you small love bites as you recovered, hand still working your cunt to draw out your orgasm.

finally, he removed his fingers and drew back from you, forcing eye contact. he put both in his mouth, moaning at the taste of your arousal mixed with the metal from the wedding band. your jaw was still open, looking at him like you had never seen him before. like the sheep's skin had finally been removed, and now only the wolf remained.

"let's get you to bed, wife."

[creativeashproductions]

Constellations // Wally Clark

IN WHICH: reader is a secret ghost at Split River High School attached to the roof where Wally stumbles onto for solitude. With the new arrival of Maddie Nears a year later a secret comes out.

Warnings: Swearing, talk of a undisclosed medical condition, divorce, angst, and fluff

Words: 2.4k

A/N: Of course it’s a ghost show that revives this blog of writing. Am I surprised? No. Is Julie? Definitely not.

Masterlist

You’d have never anticipated the sound of Luke Bryan’s Country Girl being an okay soundtrack to watching the stars. But you’d also never expected discovering the afterlife so soon. Occasionally, you would hear a mixture of the living and the dead on the ground or through an open window, but you typically stayed on the roof.

It had been the hangout spot for the volleyball team when you were alive. The championship game had been the last time a living foot, other than maintenance, had stepped on this roof.

Most of the team had graduated, and the broken doors that couldn’t hold up against the wind were changed. So now it was only you. Reliving the excitement and stupid teenage decisions. And avoiding Mr. Martin and his afterlife support group because he was unsettling, to say the least.

 “This spot taken?” Your head lolled to the side, finding a fellow dead jock standing above you.

Wally Clark had discovered you on the fifteenth anniversary of his father’s not coming to the Homecoming game. He’d wanted a quiet place and one where Janet wouldn’t follow.

2022 Day After Homecoming Game

The door slammed from the stairwell slammed open, and the muffled sound of sniffling could be heard. Then, the shuffling of sneakers came to an abrupt stop.

“Oh. Sorry.”

Your eyes left the book in your hands to the tall teen towering over you. One of the longer-term ghosts residing at Split River High School.

 “I-I didn’t know anyone used the roof. Are you new?” 

“Nope. Been residing in the afterlife awhile now.” You responded, leaning against the roof’s edge, “Proceed for whatever you were here for.”

Whatever emotional breakdown he was about to have ceased in favour of plopping right down beside you. His head shifting more in your peripheral. He froze when your fingers stopped moving in page-turning.

“Oh, sorry.” He leaned away sheepishly, “Am I annoying you?”

Your brows furrowed, “I’ve read the book a few times. So what brings you to my humble death place.”

“You died up here? Wouldn’t we have heard about-?”

“I didn’t die up here.” You interrupted him to shift to face him fully, “You’re the guy the stadium is named after, right?”

“Wally Clark.” The ghost said, holding his hand out. You exchanged your name in response. Wally slowly repeated your name as if savouring it.

“So seriously, are you okay? You were crying-“

“I died on the football field in 1984. Last night was the first time my dad wasn’t there.” Wally breathed, tilting his head to stare at the sky, “It really hits home that time is going by, and I’m standing still.”

You nudged his knee with your own, “I’m sorry about that. You’re welcome to hang out here to get away.”

“That’d be nice. I feel like all the ghosts expect me to be the outgoing, always happy guy.”

“How was the dance?” You asked as Wally settled on the ground beside you. The ends of his white bowtie hung loosely, and his suit jacket draped across his lap.

“It’s alright. Could have been better.” He spoke, dropping his arm around your shoulders to tug you into his side, “Simon persuaded the DJ to play a couple real hits. One day I’m gonna convince you to go with me.”

Your lips twitched. It was a pastime of Wally’s trying to get you to join in with everyone, especially with the whole drama with the new girl. Thankfully he understood and respected your decision to keep away.

You hadn’t spent years in secret from the support group for no reason. Instead, you existed peacefully in their obliviousness on the roof.

“Nah, I much prefer spending time up here.” You grinned, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “Maddie settling in?”

“She’s adjusting as well as she can. Rhonda’s warming up to her. The whole thing she had with Simon is nuts still.”

Maddie Nears, aka the newbie, had shown up suddenly in the afterlife with no memory of her death. Or the events leading up. The pool of suspects is deep, and the desperation to be found alive is strong. 

As he relayed the new development, you tried to think of anything but what you had done today. How do you tell your dead boyfriend something that makes Maddie and Simon’s communication seems like child’s play?

“-What about your day?” Wally questioned, moving so you’re leaning your back against his chest. 

You sighed happily when his arms came to wrap around your shoulders and press his lips to your head. 

“I snuck down to the lost and found for a new book. Mina left a couple things for me too.” 

The friendship you had with the ghost of the stagehand mind boggled Wally. Mina hadn’t left the theatre since the stage light fell on her in the late ’80s. She was eccentric, to say the least, but the only ghost other than Wally that knew about you.

“How? She always screams at us.” Wally chuckled, “Maddie’s the first that cracked through.”

“I got her a script for a production she loves and let her direct me on her birthday.” You hummed, crossing your ankles. Your eyes flinched open in perfect sync with Wally’s tensing up.

“How did you get a script-“Wally trailed off, staring at the stars twinkling under the night sky, “Whoa, wait.”

Wally’s mind flickered to the conversation with Maddie after talking with Mina.

“There’s another ghost. Mina mentioned something about me not being the first ghost outlier. That me talking to Simon isn’t earth shattering.”

Wally’s eyes swept from Ursa Major to your e/c eyes, refusing to lock with his dark brown.

“Can you talk to the living?” Wally demanded, shifting away. The space he created cracks your heart more.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Maddie’s the only one. I can just…sorta leave the school grounds?” You trailed off with a wince. The betrayal is a wicked shattering force to your bubble with the former football player.

“…you can leave the school? And not be slammed back to where you died?!” Wally’s fists went straight into his dark strands. The hair being tugged under his stress.

“Because I didn’t technically die here. I had a health condition and was declared clinically dead a few times. So, wherever my heart stopped, and I escaped, that death destination is a place where I could go. It hurts.”

Wally scoffed, blinking, “We spent the last year, and you kept that a secret. You never told me anything about how you died or this huge thing for over a year. I’ve told you everything.”

Your lips parted to respond, but the door was already slamming behind Wally on his descent back into the building. His long legs eating up half the stairwell by the time you’d opened the door.

“Wally! Wally, wait!” You shouted, sprinting down the stairs, “I swear I was going to tell you!”

The expression on his face was enough to freeze you on the last step, “Don’t you have another place to haunt.”

Your mouth dropped open, watching him disappear in the sea of living students still on school grounds. Your eyes find the blue irises of Maddie Nears. Surprise lighting up in her gaze. Your expression twisted before turning on your heel to flee the area.

The last thing you wanted was to talk with the girl you were assigned to show around on her first day. Stupid school tradition pairing a senior with a freshman.

“Hey!”

Maddie popped around the corner to a dead end where you were nowhere to be found. Instead, you’d slipped into a space where you popped up in a different area of Split River with a sheer scream at the pain.

The fight with Wally kept you from returning to the school grounds. You didn’t know a particular ghost was spending hours on the roof anxiously waiting for you. Instead, you were watching your half-sister playing with her Barbie doll in the backyard of your childhood home.

Your arms tugged your legs to your chest. You rarely visited your family home since you watched the paramedics had arrived at 3am four years ago to remove your corpse from the house. 

“Ava!” 

Your head watched the little girl with piggy tails perk up, hearing your shared father’s voice. Your eyes take in the person you miss most in the world. It always hurt seeing the dimness your death had caused in his eyes.

The streaks of grey in his hair and beard showed the grief of losing you had caused. The guilt he barely masked from your sister. 

“Daddy!” Ava beamed, diving into his arms, “Are we taking Sissy flowers?”

Your lip quivered, hearing the adoration coating each word Ava spoke with that lisp. Speech therapy and growing up making the lisp less pronounced. Ava had barely been two when you died. 

The product of your father finding love again with a wonderful person who loved you and happily stepped into a parent role. You’d lucked out with getting a really great step-parent and a half-sister but a shitty hand for health.

“Absolutely. Do you think Sissy would like daisies this time?” Your grin grew, listening to Ava burst into excitement. 

You watched as the car disappeared around the corner before entering the house. Your room barely had any dust from Riley’s insistence on keeping it clean. Sometimes Ava would toddle in with a toy and curl in your bed to sleep.

Your clothing is still hung in the closet, your computer on your desk and all your pictures on the corkboard. Your phone was already safely tucked in your pocket with the charging cord in your backpack from the first visit back to the house.

The last time you visited your home was Ava’s birthday a few months ago. Long enough, the air freshener in your room had changed to the scent you loved during springtime. So it was time to rotate out a few items of clothing you wore. 

Your eyes lingered on the picture of your volleyball team wearing matching homemade t-shirts. A year after you died, they got together for a volleyball charity event in your name. Last you heard, two of them had become nurses, and one was on the career path to research your condition.

The following photo was of your mom holding you in her arms with a beaming grin matching yours. You hoped the move to Hawaii brought that smile back. You hoped Matthew was everything she deserved. You hoped she learnt how to live life again. 

“I miss you.” You murmured, pressing your fingers against her smiling face. 

The tears obscured your vision and the pacing form of your boyfriend when you opened the rooftop door. Your breathing gasping when his arms wrapped tight around your body.

“I am so sorry.” Wally mumbled in the crook of your neck, “Where were you? I’ve been up here for the last three days.”

“I went home.” You whispered, pressing your forehead to his chest, “I-I don’t leave often. It hurts when I leave a place I died, like the universe or some bullshit forgets this isn’t the only place I died. So it’s like I’m gonna be spit out back in my death place here before I’m in my destination.”

You barely noticed when Wally tugged you to sit in the same spot he first met and talked to you. The roof’s gravel gives the feeling of digging in your jeans; you gave up trying to explain the metaphysical world a year after your death. Instead, Wally listened as you opened up the pieces of yourself you had kept to yourself.

“I was born healthy and lived healthily for a few years before I started getting sick. It broke my parents’ hearts. By the time I was sixteen, I had spent half my life in hospitals and doctors’ offices. Promises of working treatments and possibly experimental trials.” Your gaze stared off into the distance, “It was just noise by the time I graduated. I knew my body had a couple more miles before it would give out.”

“How are you….”

“I collapsed in the gym. I was clinically dead for a minute, but it was enough for this school to be a death destination. The mall once, the hospital twice, and the talk of transplants came around. Finally, I died in my backyard. It was late, and I was alone outside.”

You vividly remembered screaming beside your corpse. Sobbing when you heard your dad break down, cradling you in his arms. Him calling you your childhood nickname and the one you heard in home videos of ‘baby girl’.

“That’s why you love the roof so much. You died watching the stars.” Wally whispered, tilting his head to kiss your temple. His fingers toying with the sweater with the volleyball team logo.

“I did.” You chuckled, “I have a little sister named Ava. She’s five now. She has minimal memories of me, but her favourite thing is bringing flowers to my grave. This past visit was daisies. My dad remarried when I was in middle school, and my mom a couple years before I died.”

“Your parents still live in Split River?”

“My dad and Riley live in my childhood home with Ava. I think they’re talking about maybe having another baby. My mom took my death the worst. Her older brother died in 1995 with his band members. My mom moved to Hawaii with her husband. Split River had too many memories for her. So when Matt was offered a job there, they left.”

“Ava.” Wally hummed, “I like that name.”

“Maddie knew me.” You offered after laying with Wally for a while in comfortable silence. His fingers draw shapes on your bare back under the sweater. His fingers briefly halted before moving again, “When you were alive, did Split River do this thing where a senior was paired with a freshman?”

“Oh yeah. I got paired up with this insanely smart guy. He went on to found this hugely popular website like that Facebook you showed me.”

“Myspace? You got paired with one of the founders?” You spoke, blinking at his grin, “Well, when I was a senior, I got paired with Maddie. Before her dad died, he worked with mine. So, I knew her at work BBQs.”

“Speaking about Maddie…do you want to re-meet her and meet my friends?”

Your eyes narrowed, “This is dues for keeping the secret.”

“Oh, 100%. Secret stays between us, but yeah, you’re definitely meeting my friends. You should check out the support group, Mr. M isn't too bad.”

Tag List:

@websterssrss

[starry-bi-sky]

What would a mother not do for her child What lengths would a mother not go There's a bond that exists between mother and child With no end to how strong it can grow It's a promise for life between mother and child It begins from the moment of birth.

================

She is six years old, and standing on the porch at her Auntie Alicia’s cabin. She is six years old, and holding an old rifle in her hands, standing at the railing and pointing the nozzle at a large target a couple feet away. There’s a pair of old ear muffs covering her ears. Behind her is her daddy and her sister, and Auntie Alicia. She can’t see them. 

Danielle Martha Fenton is six years old, and her momma has her arms wrapped warmly around her, keeping the gun steady for her. It’s heavy and the butt digs into her shoulder uncomfortably, and she feels nothing but determined. And nervous. 

Her momma was teaching her and Jazzy how to shoot, and they’re down in Arkansas to visit Auntie Alicia for her second “Divorce-iversary” as Auntie calls it. She keeps a hunting rifle in her gun safe for the rabbits that like to nibble on her garden. She mostly grows rhubarb, which goes untouched. But her carrots and greens and other veggies like to be tempting snacks for the game. 

Regardless, she is six years old and learning how to shoot. Her momma and her daddy (mostly her daddy) have been banned from every shooting range outside of Amity Park in a hundred mile radius. So Auntie is the best place to learn, or so momma says. 

Danny thinks it's just an excuse to see her sister, not that she's complaining. She loves visiting Auntie.  

She’s already seen Jazzy do this, her momma told her before the muffs went on to shoot when ready. No use trying to fire when you’re not; you can’t afford to miss when shooting ghosts. 

Danny breathes out steady, just like momma taught her, and quells her trembling little fingers. She focuses down the barrel, and pulls the trigger. 

Immediately, the recoil throws her off, the side of the gun that her cheek was resting on knocks against her skin, harsh enough to bruise if it weren’t for her momma’s steady hands holding onto her. The bang of the gun startles her more than she thought it would, and her heart leaps up and runs a jackrabbit through her chest. 

The gun is carefully slipped out of her hands, and Danny lets it go easily, her cheek smarting in pain and her eyes wide and following up to momma. Momma turns the safety on, and with a gentle hand, pushes against her chest. Danny takes a few steps back, and slips the ear muffs off her head. 

Mommy is smiling big at her, something that Danny can’t help but replicate on her own face as her heart swells. “Did I get it, momma?” She asks, watching as she passes the gun off to Auntie Alicia, who steps over to take it.

“I’m going to go see, sweetie, but I think you did.” Momma coos, before planting both her hands on the porch railing and, in a single leap, vaults over the side and onto the grass. She’s dressed all comfortable for the summer heat, with her hair all tied back and in shorts and a tank top and nice boots. Danny’s ribs swell hopefully, and she stands on her tiptoes to watch her walk over.

“I’ll be hard-pressed to believe if you didn’t, Martha Mae,” Auntie tells her, grinning like a cat, “that was a damn good shot.” 

‘Martha Mae Knight’ was Danny’s granny’s name. Auntie Alicia calls her that because of her middle name — and because, by her words, she has her momma’s weird-shaped eyebrows and piercing blue eyes. The kind that could scare a hawk into singing like a robin. It was Danny’s favorite nickname ever.

Daddy laughs brightly, the sound painful on her ears but twice as nice, and despite the distance, Momma whirls her head around to shoot Auntie a glare; “Language, Alicia. Not around my girls.” She warns. Her accent always comes through when they’re around Auntie. It’s Danny’s favorite thing to listen to. 

“Do you think so, auntie?” Danny says, bright-eyed and ever-optimistic. Auntie Alicia nods fiercely as Momma finally reaches the target and searches for the bullet hole. Daddy then comes up behind her, still laughing, and claps a hand onto her shoulder so hard that it makes her knees hurt.

“Of course she did!” Dad boasts, as bright as the sun and twice as warm. He shakes Danny affectionately, wobbling her on her feet and pulling her straight into his side. She goes so willingly with a burble of giggles. “She’s got the eyes of a Fenton! And our family are darn good shots.”

Auntie eyes him up and down, her smile immediately fading off into a pressed line. “I’m sure you mean she’s got the eyes of a Knight. You couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn at twenty paces, Jack Fenton.” 

Jazzy holds back giggles from where she’s standing by the door, her ear muffs in hand, and Danny watches her Daddy’s dark eyes immediately narrow. Just like Auntie’s, his smile tapers off into a frown. 

Before he can say anything, there’s a cheer from the yard, and they all turn to Momma clapping her hands in delight. 

Danny immediately pricks her ears up, and would’ve darn near rushed over to the railing if it weren’t for her Daddy’s hand on her shoulder. She yells instead, excitement thrumming like a hummingbird against her ribs, “Did I hit it, momma?!” 

Momma beams at her with all the pride in the world, “You sure did, Danny!” And she turns to press her finger against the target, right on the inside red ring of the battered old bag. “Right here, sweet girl!” 

There are cheers from all around, and Danny’s heart bursts inside her lungs with shiny, sunshine glee. She puffs her chest out big, and smiles so wide it hurts the cheek where the gun smacked her. Her Daddy shakes again, squeezing her tight against his side in a hug that Danny happily reciprocates. 

“What’d I tell you, Martha Mae?” Auntie tells with a big wink and a wide grin, the gun still gripped tight in her hands as Momma makes her way back over. “You got a Knight’s eye.” 

When Momma makes it back over the railing, she hugs Danny tight and praises her shot. Danny looks her in the eyes and chases the feeling, and asks to shoot again.

[stellewriites]

Part Two

Summary: When John gets an unexpected invite to his ex-wife’s wedding, he scrambles to find a suitable date to take with him to ward off old ghosts from his past.

Notes: trans John, fat reader, subtle transphobia from minor characters

John was sat in his flat watching a Match of the Day rerun for a football game he’d missed while away when his phone buzzed on the kitchen counter.

His head swivelled over to it to see if it buzzed again, determining it unimportant enough to ignore for the time being when it stayed silent. Kate always called, so it wasn’t work and anyone else that was texting him after 9pm could wait.

It buzzed a second time, then a third and a fourth in quick succession and he felt curiosity twinge at the base of his skull. He pushed himself up, ignoring when one of his knees popped, and grabbed his phone.

Your name flashed up on the screen and he opened the chat without hesitation.

>> the photos from today, don’t forget to swap them out :)

He flicked through the photos you’d sent before picking one at random to save.

John sat back on his couch and agonised over swapping his lock screen.

It was currently an old photo of Charlotte from their honeymoon, and it had stayed that way this entire time in spite of the divorce. He had kept her there even when he’d removed her photos from his desk and was unable to put any up in his new flat. His little secret. Though he knew Kate had seen it despite his best efforts to leave his civilian phone at his flat or turned off during his office hours.

But now…

He felt almost queasy as he selected the new photo. It felt like the first of many final nails in the relationship’s coffin that John would have to deal with over the next month in the lead up to Charlotte’s big day.

It felt like he was mourning a relationship already six years dead.

---

John adapted quickly to seeing your face on his phone screen at the end of the day over the next two weeks, even if he did miss seeing Charlotte’s cheery smile, and found it just as easy to accept seeing your name pop up more and more frequently when you messaged with a new question you’d thought of regarding the wedding or your fake relationship.

It was easy to talk to you, he found. Easy to let his guard down just a tinge and to try and bury the hurt he felt.

>> what’s a childhood story you’d have told me about a couple months in?

<< I fell out of a tree when I was 12, was meant to be grounded at the time so I had to walk home with broken ribs and a scraped up arm and leg. Tried to pretend nothing had happened when my mum got back from work, but it didn’t fool her.

>> i broke my arm climbing a tree too, maybe one of our dates should’ve been at a forest climbing adventure place lol

<< You wouldn’t have wanted to be wined and dined?

>> sure but it can get a little boring

>> you wouldn’t have wanted to hypothetically stare at my arse cinched in climbing gear?

>> were there food options for the wedding? like on planes? i’m not a veggie so you dodged a bullet if you chose a main with meat but i do love pasta if we’re able to swap last minute

<< Everyone loves pasta.

<< And no, think it’s an open buffet.

>> i’ll bring a doggy bag for snacks on the way home then

>> waste not, want not

<< Say that in front of my dad and he might just add you to his will.

>> this is the dress I have in mind, what do you think?

<< Good choice.

>> glowing praise, john, i’ll take that as it won’t cause a scandal among the locals

<< Don’t think you’ll be the one causing a scandal, Sunshine.

It was in a rare occasion he’d texted you first that you arranged to meet up a second time. He’d asked about the plans you’d mentioned a few days back and was currently waiting for a reply while he tried to slog through his own work.

>> was super excited for the play today but I think I might have to cancel my tickets, my friend was driving us there but her kid has gotten sick so she can’t go now :/

<< Where were you going?

>> it’s at a park on the other side of the city with the outdoor stage, i could grab a couple of buses but i don’t know if i’d make it in time

John put down the dry sandwich he was eating and looked at the meeting reports he’d been ignoring for the last ten minutes while texting you.

<< I’ll come pick you up.

>> really??

<< Sure. Send me your address and I’ll be there soon, Sunshine.

John had barely parked up outside your house before you were opening the door and giving him an excited smile and wave.

“I love stuff like this anyway, but this community group have put on some amazing portrayals of Shakespeare’s plays over the years despite their low budget and they make it so accessible with cheap tickets and the outdoor venue. It’s cut down so the teens performing have a better chance at remembering their lines, but it’s always one hell of a forty-five minute show. I think it’s Othello this time, but honestly I’d watch anything,” you rambled as you buckled your seatbelt. “It’s always good to support local art.”

“So we’re seeing Shakespeare?” John confirmed.

“It’s at the open air theatre inside the park.”

“Been a while since I went to the theatre, longer than that since I’ve been in a park.”

“What do you do in your off time?” You asked with a snort.

“Don’t get much off time,” John said easily, unbothered. It was him after all that had decided work would become his priority.

“Well then I’m glad we’re getting to see this together,” you said. “I’ve had a pretty long week too.”

“Hm?”

At his inquisitive hum you fell into complaining about your managers and the long, tiring shifts you pulled.

It didn’t take you long in the car to get to the park however and you were soon jumping out. You gaped a little when John got out and joined you at the front of the car.

“Holy hell you’re tall, shit a brick,” you said, staring. You’d noticed he was broad at the café and he seemed to fill the cab of his pick-up, but he’d been slumped and seated both times so you’d assumed he was maybe creeping just below 6’ and the rest was his attitude that made him seem all encompassing. Looking at him stood up to his full height now was something else, even as he tucked his chin down and slumped his shoulders to speak with you. “I think we’ll have to sit at the back for this or someone might complain.”

John rolled his eyes but you saw the hint of a smile play at his lips as he agreed.

You led him eagerly to the crowd you could see gathering at the entrance of the outdoor stage; the front four rows of the small open air auditorium had been unfolded for the event, suggesting the size of the crowd expected. You both elected to take a seat on the back row as others started to head to the front, but he nudged you fondly when he saw you shift excitedly waiting for it to start.

John pulled out his phone when he felt it buzz in his pocket, but put it back when he saw it was just a reminder to sort out his tux for the wedding.

“Cute pic,” you said with a sly smile when you caught his lock screen. “We should take another, might be more convincing if we have more than one photo of us doing stuff together, right?”

John leant into your side and hesitantly wrapped his arm around you, stiff where it draped over the back of your seat, for the photo.

You were no better, your smile suddenly tight at the corners as you took a quick snap. You held your breath until he moved back, his aftershave surprisingly enticing and the warmth and weight of his arm too inviting.

It wouldn’t do for you to become attracted to John, not that it was something you could control, you knew. But maybe if you just wished it hard enough it wouldn’t make the weekend away with him more difficult than it had to be; falling for a man still blatantly in love with his ex never ended well for anyone.

You smiled a little weakly at him when nudged you again, nodding at the community group making their way onto the stage in front of the clapping crowd.

Maybe attraction would be fine you decided, already knowing how impulsively forgetful and weak-willed you got when your vibrator was between your legs - you could already imagine his name slipping through loose lips, and you couldn’t blame yourself for it as you sneakily took in his side profile - just as long as there were no real feelings from your side.

---

You’d graduated from texting to calling when John mentioned one night that he found it hard to multitask while at work. You’d offered to leave him alone and talk to him once he was done later but he’d been quick to interrupt, said instead that although he couldn’t text and write at the same time, he’d be fine talking and writing.

It’s how he found himself sat at his desk with his phone propped next to him on speaker, listening to you complain about the shitty restaurants near your work.

“I need to get back into meal prepping, or at least start buying something nicer pre-made to bring for lunch. If I have to eat another Greggs meal deal I think I’ll throw up, John,” you bemoaned.

“There’s a new place just opened up ‘round the corner to you, you know?” He said, checking over his team’s reports before signing them off. At your interested hum he continued. “Greek place I think. The sergeants went the other day, said it was a good menu and they’re usually quite picky about where they spend their free time together.”

“That sounds perfect, I’ll meet you there in twenty?” You asked rhetorically, already gathering your stuff to take your lunch break. “I can order for us both in case it takes you longer so it’ll be served by time you arrive. See you in a bit, bye!” You didn’t wait for him to confirm or reply in any capacity, too excited for a delicious lunch.

John stared down at his phone where the screen fell black through lack of use at the ended call. He took a moment to recount the conversation and where he’d gotten mixed up before reluctantly dropping his pen and grabbing his coat and keys.

He stopped by Simon’s office on his way out.

“I’m heading out for a quick lunch, won’t be back in time for that meeting with Laswell after all so you’ll need to take notes.” He waited for Simon’s nod before knocking once on the doorframe in thanks and leaving.

Sure he could’ve just sent you a quick text to correct you, or rang you back to explain it was just a recommendation and he didn’t have the time to join you.

But he didn’t want to. He wanted to go eat Greek food with you until you were humming happily and rubbing your soft stomach, comfortably full on more than a lukewarm pasty and sad looking iced donut. He wanted to hear about your day at work so far and what you’d been up to with your friends on Saturday evening when your replies had slowed down.

He wanted.

It had been a long time since John had felt that way. Given most of the people he’d consider friends were people he worked with and kept their personal lives close to their chests, it wasn’t often he wanted to do much more than spend a couple hours in a pub after a rough mission with them.

You were quickly solidifying yourself a space in John’s life as a friend, whether you knew it or not. Whether you liked it or not. And as a result, he didn’t want to leave you to eat on your own knowing you to be a social butterfly, even after such a short time. John was known to be protective - some had said possessive - of those he considered his. And being his friend meant that you would given the same effort of care and consideration that he gave his team, it just needed to be applied differently.

It wouldn’t be through proud shoulder pats after a mission well-done or through unshakeable confidence and trust when he put his life on the line stood side-by-side with the 141.

No, it would be pulling up to hole in the wall restaurants last minute so that you could spend your lunch a little happier than you were when you were sat at your desk.

He found you sat at the back table, the seat facing the front windows and door left free for him to take with silent appreciation.

The food was as good as Gaz and Soap had promised it would be and the sight of you scarfing down baklava before you had to head back to work had him grinning into his glass.

“Christ, I might have to get a to-go box of this for tonight,” you groaned lowly.

“Big plans?” John asked, clearing his throat.

“Just some DIY I’ve been putting off around the house, figure if I entice myself with a treat for after it’s done I’ll be more likely to actually do it.” You go to take your last bite before pausing and pointing at John. “And before you say it, I realise it sounds like how you train a puppy.”

John snorted, but a frown pulled low on his brow. “What needs fixing?”

“My front door is scraping low when I open it, hinges are loose I think. Nothing major but I’d rather not fuck it up, you know? But if I leave it any longer then I’ll need to pay someone to deal with some real damage,” you sighed. “So I’ve borrowed my neighbour’s drill.”

“I’ll do it for ya,” John offered out of nowhere.

“What? No, you don’t have to, you’re busy,” you declined.

“It’s fine, I’ll pop by later tonight. Just let me know when you’re home and I’ll swing by and sort it.”

“I, uh, ok. Sure, thanks, John. I appreciate it,” you said with a grateful, if not bemused, smile.

---

As soon as you opened the door that evening, John noticed how the bottom caught.

“Hi, do you want a drink? A tea?” You offered as you let him in.

“I’d love one, thanks, Sunshine.” He stepped inside and placed his drill case by the doorframe.

“Oh, you brought your own drill? You didn’t have to go home for it, did you?” You fretted as you headed towards the kitchen. “Did I not mention I’d borrowed my neighbour’s?”

“You did. But this was in the back of the truck from Simon borrowing it, it’s not a big deal,” John lied. He’d stopped off to grab it after your lunch together. “Wasn’t sure what your neighbour’s drill was going to be like, but I know this’ll get the job done proper.”

You bit back an amused smile and hummed your assent down the hall as you waited for the electric kettle to boil.

“Thanks again for helping out, John. I can get by doing my own DIY usually; not to brag but I’m kind of a pro at assembling IKEA furniture. Sometimes though it helps having a second person look it over too.” You walked back to the front door as you spoke and held his tea for him as he set up the drill to match the screws in the door.

“It’s no hassle,” he said before setting to work.

A quick three minutes later your door was once again in full working order, no longer sticking when it swung open and closed.

“Good as new,” he said. You passed him his drink, still hot, and grinned, leading him to sit on the couch for a moment. “If y’need anything else fixing up or looking at, just let me know. I’d be happy to help.”

“Opened the floodgates with that offer. You’ll be regretting it soon enough,” you said with a laugh. “This place is a bit of a fixer-upper, ‘s why I could afford it in the first place.”

“You’ve done a good job with it,” he said earnestly, looking around the cosy living room. Would be better if you weren’t alone, he thought suddenly, unbidden. He took a deep sip of his drink and avoided eye contact. “I like being useful, you might as well take advantage of it since no one else is at the moment.”

You smiled softly. “That’s all the permission I need.”

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he slipped it out to see a text from his mum.

>> Make sure your date isn’t wearing white, luv. I’m sure she’s a lovely girl, but we wouldn’t want to spoil Charlotte’s day would we? xxx

<< Her dress is green, nothing to worry about mum. xx

>> Green is a bold choice, must be quite the lady to pull that off! Give her my love. xxx

John sighed as he put his phone down and caught your eye in his peripheral.

He smiled tiredly to ease your worried frown.

“Just my mum checking in, she gives you her love,” he said.

“Mm. She gives you a headache,” you pointed out. “Wedding shit still?”

“It’s her prime focus right now. It’ll be done soon.”

“You want a paracetamol? I’ll top up your tea.” You reached forward for his empty cup.

“Got something stronger?” John asked hopefully.

You winced. “I’ve got a gin ‘n’ tonic in a can that my friend left the other day? Can’t even offer you a strong coffee because it’s decaf.”

“Jesus,” he groaned through a laugh. “Another tea it is.”

---

The morning of the wedding came sooner than you’d expected. The dress that you’d carefully hung on your wardrobe door to avoid creases all those weeks ago would finally be put to use.

You got up early enough to get yourself ready, nervousness unsettling your stomach enough that you stuck to only a slice of toast for breakfast with a strong coffee.

>> Setting off now, I’ll be at yours in 20.

<< you mean you’ll be here by 0900 🫡

>> Funny.

>> See you soon.

You chuckled to yourself as you grabbed your things so you were ready to go when John arrived and double checked everything was locked up for the weekend.

The knock on your door had your heart jump and pound double-time in your chest before you shook your hands out and told yourself to fucking chill. It was just John.

“Hi, you ready to— oh, you look, uhm…” John trailed off as he took in the flowing silk dress you’d bought. He’d seen it before, of course, but now seeing you in it and the way it clung to your curves and highlighted your plush tummy and wide hips had his tongue heavy and lost in his mouth. He swallowed thickly as he looked back up to your face, trying not to linger on the plunged neckline and what it did for your tits, and felt his cheeks redden when he noticed your own flustered, wide-eyed look as you stood and watched him. “You look very nice,” he finished lamely.

“Right, good, thanks.” You tried to force a laugh but your throat felt too dry, even as you grinned at his red cheeks. “You clean up pretty well too,” you said instead and reached your hand out to brush against the neatened trim of his beard, his muttonchops less pronounced.

He stiffened at the unexpected touch, not disliking it, but a memory of Charlotte doing something similar had him flinching back. Charlotte, he remembered, would usually only rub at his beard with a frown and ask when he was going to go clean shaven again.

You didn’t know that however and you snatched your hand back to your side as you felt a chill drop from your chest down to your toes like a bucket of cold water. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” you apologised.

“No, it’s fine. Just caught me off guard,” he said, trying to ease your suddenly tense shoulders and cursing himself for getting lost in old memories.

He led you to the car and held open the door for you, smiling when you thanked him and tucked in your dress to avoid its long length getting trapped in the door.

Once he was sat in the drivers seat he hesitated for a moment before turning to face you.

“‘M glad you like it,” he said with a quick gesture to his beard. “I was thinking about shaving it off for the occasion.”

You winced reflexively at the thought, teeth gritted and bared as you tried to picture him without facial hair. He let out a deep rumble of a laugh, throaty and unfiltered, as you tried to square your face back to a neutral expression, though your eyebrows wouldn’t pull back from their frown.

“I’m sure that would’ve looked… sweet,” you hedged carefully.

John only snorted.

You huffed and rolled your eyes. “Ok I’m a terrible liar,” you started, glaring when John muttered an amused, you don’t say. “If you want to shave and like how it looks, then we can detour back to yours and I’m sure you’ll look just as handsome in whatever photos you’re forced to pose for. But if you’re asking for my opinion? Then I think this suits you better, it’s more distinguished. You’d have looked too much like a banker if you’d shaved and wore a suit,” you said with an exaggerated shiver.

John hummed a chuckle, his shoulders shaking with it. “I’m sure the word you’re thinking of rhymes with banker, Sunshine.”

It was your turn to snort a laugh at that.

“Your words, not mine, John.”

“Cheeky. Put your bloody seatbelt on,” he huffed, a smile pulling at his lips as he started the car. “Suddenly thinking this drive might feel ten times longer than usual for some reason.”

You rolled your eyes and didn’t dignify his jab with a response. Tried not to focus on your pulse racing in excitement.

masterlist

[writtenbylupin]

I have been meticulously reading an immense amount of wolfstar fics since 2021, so I'll give y'all my humble opinion on the best fics I've read, from the popular to the non popular ones:

WOLFSTAR FICS RECOMMENDATIONS ON AO3

POPULAR ONES THAT YOU MIGHT HAVE ALREADY HEAR OF:

"Best Friend's Brother" by bizarrestars (there's jegulus in this one as well. Remus is Regulus' best friend, and James is Sirius'. Regulus and Sirius don't talk anymore)

"Crimson Rivers" by bizarrestars (Hunger Games au. heart breaking. you will cry for months. there's also jegulus, dorlene, and marylily).

"The Cadence of Part-time Poets" by motswolo (High-school plus band au. my pearsonal favorite. I love it)

"Kill Your Darlings" by MesserMoon (Deaf Remus. College. other couples povs like jegulus and marylily. I cried so much. haven't recovered)

"Dear Your Holiness" by MollyMaryMarie (priest Remus. I know, it's weird, give it a chance anyway)

"all my cards are here" by haey1 (band au)

"Not Another Band AU" by TheLovelyZee (band au. I really love band au's)

"Sweater Weather" by lumosinlove (hockey au. Sirius is the captain, Remus is the physical trainer)

NON POPULAR ONE'S (some of it might be popular and I'm just not aware):

"Staying Strangers" by 3amAndCounting (texting. IT'S SO AMAZING. they actually talk about stuff before running away when they're sad, I'm obsessed)

"oh thou, my lovely boy" by bigthief (Dead Poets Society au)

"Blends" by rvltn909 (coffee shop au)

"A Wolf's Heart" by mizdiz (ill Remus. I cried. a lot.)

"cruel summer" by moonystarx (girl__almighty) (teenargers spending the summer toguether)

"Of Memories and Milk Thievery" by moonymoment (divorced wolfstar raising Teddy)

"Show Me Love" by EtoilesLaNuit (a one-shot of a universe where wolfstar didn't work out and everything falls apart. I sobbed reading this. If you feel like crying, this is your fic. If you're looking for a happy ending, run away from here)

"labyrinth" by moonymoment (they have a past, but now Remus is back, and Sirius doesn't know what to do)

"sirius black and the "mystery girl"" by tjmcharg (lily tries to figure out who is this person sirius is dating. Hogwarts au)

"every christmas from now on" by mandarino_o (fake dating. they're so obvious. im in love)

"Godlight" by Badhairred (F1 DRIVERS!!!! wolfstar and jegulus. they hate each other at first)

"Best Friend's Wedding" by amberlink (fake dating. famous sirius. remus works for him. past romantic prongsfoot)

"saccharine" by moonymoment (GHOST SIRIUS!!!)

This is it everybody, these are the main ones for me. enjoy and thank me later (:

[lawrence-eagleburger]

Has there ever been a more vilified star in the Toronto market than Mitch Marner?

He carries on his back the weight of an entire city; the weight of an entire country; but heavier yet, he carries the weight of his childhood hopes and dreams.

God, imagine it. You lay in bed at night as a small boy in a full Leafs bedspread and allow yourself to dream about putting that sweater over your head, seeing your last name on the back, and the crest on the front. It’s all you can think about. Surely it gnawed at him; surely it still does.

Winning the Memorial Cup on one of the greatest lines in the history of junior hockey. Lottery draft pick, right to your childhood team. You’re an electric prospect, with a savant’s vision of the ice and an ability to create plays for your teammates out of nowhere — an ability to create magic.

(Colin Cowherd recently talked about a couple of NBA players he thought had more of an artist’s mind than an athlete’s mind — Kyrie Irving and Kevin Durant — and it crystallized something for me. Artists are never quite on the best of terms with the media, are they? Why are you asking me why I’m not performing? Why are you demanding so much of me? Do you not see this beautiful picture I’m painting on the ice? Do you not see the artistic vision? How can you not appreciate the beauty in this? Is that not Marner to a tee?)

God above, it’s almost comically unfair. Getting psychologically tormented by Mike Babcock as a rookie to the point where he’s breaking down in front of Tyler Bozak and Nazem Kadri, getting put on the fourth line for reasons divorced from common sense; no wonder him and his agent asked for the sun and the moon. If I had to deal with that, I wouldn’t take a penny less either.

He blossoms into this 200-foot monster with Mark Stone-esque defensive impact, all the while spinning around the offensive zone like a hurricane and making passes that I couldn’t even think to make in NHL 24 on Rookie difficulty. He directly creates John Tavares’ best season of his career — he becomes Auston Matthews’ right hand man, in the most literal sense of the term.

But the playoffs. God, the playoffs. Sod off with all of this nonsense about how he can’t handle the playoff style of hockey — he’s an elite fucking athlete. I think it’s so much deeper than that. I think he remembers how much he’s playing for — WHO he’s playing for. He’s playing for an entire nation, and he is playing for his own past. It’s a lot to carry on one pair of shoulders, no matter who you are. Maybe it might just be best for him to go somewhere with less ghosts. Maybe he’ll enjoy this beautiful game a bit more.

The local media turning you into a kebab at every single possible opportunity. A city that wants to attach you onto a rocketship and send you straight to Mars. A fanbase exhausted.

Do you think, when Mitch Marner daydreamed about being a Leaf as a kid, he had any idea the end would be this…lonely?

[nsdrawsstuff]

*A Guy That I'd Kinda Be Into starts playing*

My favorite flavor of this ship, aka Kiyoshiro "my crush is actually a mess of a human being and I'm fine with that" Higashimitarai and Hiro "oh no he's cool" Amanokawa

[graymatterggfancomic]

Hey, it’s a little comic for some clarification and context with how Hiro was in Chapter 1

Before the events of Chapter 1, Hiro was in a depressed rut with his father having gone missing for half a year by this point, and him barely even talking to anyone. And if it wasn’t for the Clockmon incident, he probably wouldn’t have talked to Kiyoshiro outside of a dorm mate/ dorm leader type of conversation. And now that he has purpose (both with looking for his father and having a person like Kiyoshiro to talk to) he now is going to act more on his emotion. Maybe a bit much with how he’s been so far in Ch2, but you know!

[simplyreiartblog]

Its been a while since I drew something silly~

[kteezy997]

The Other Man- Part Four// t.c.

Warnings: arguing (not with Timmy), cursing, kissing, Timmy calling reader "dummy"

"Can you believe that fucking guy?" Billy said aloud. "Crossing me like that, in my house. Fuck 'im."

"Well, he was right." you said under your breath, going upstairs.

"What was that?" he snapped at you.

"You're drunk, Billy. Just shut up."

"No, no, you agree with that little punk?"

You turned around to face your husband. "Of course I do! You have no respect for me anymore Billy."

"Are you fucking Timmy or something, y/n?!"

You were shocked that he even thought that, that he even questioned it. Even though it was true. "What?! How is that even relevant to what we're talking about? This isn't about Timmy."

"But are you fucking him?!" Billy was shouting now.

You were getting to the point where you totally disliked this man you were married to, and you could barely stand the sight of him. You wanted to be with Timmy, it was true, but you wanted to be away from Billy just as much.

"I want a divorce! I want you out of my fucking house, Billy! I don't love you anymore."

........

When Billy moved out, you were glad to be rid of him, and to be a separated woman. But you missed Timmy terribly. It had been two days without any contact from him. You wanted him to have space. But you didn't want your relationship to end, especially when you didn't do anything wrong, not to Timmy anyway.

You grew more miserable by each hour that went by without a word from him. You knew he had Amelia, but you truly thought he cared for you too. You hoped he wasn't ghosting you. At the very least, you wanted closure. But if you were being totally honest, you just wanted Timmy. All for yourself.

…….

Amelia loved Timothée Chalamet. Sure, the relationship between them was under contract, but by faking kisses, going on getaways, and attending fashion shows together, she fell in love over time. Timmy had a sense of humor and charm that could make anyone fall in love with him. They'd known each other for a while now and though they weren't romantic for real, they understood and respected each other.

Secretly, Amelia wanted to be with him, and not in a fake way. But she knew her feelings were unrequited. She could sense that Timmy cared for her and enjoyed her company at times, but she knew that she wasn't a priority in his life. She was more of an obligation that anything, that she knew.

It made her sad, but he had unknowingly cushioned the blow by giving her some of the most sensual and sexy nights of her life. They had a sort of friends with benefits situation going on. It didn't happen often. It was basically when Timmy wasn't in a real relationship, and he was lonely, or bored. But she didn't care if they were just booty calls, because it felt good to just be wanted by him. Even if it wasn't really real. Timmy was the only man she loved.

Lately though, Timmy had been even more distant than usual. They had become confidants in one another, and friends even. Now, he didn't ever talk to her. She invited him to dinner at her place, but he acted like he'd much rather be somewhere else. He'd said something about 'game night' at Billy and y/n's house, but he hadn't ever been so antsy to go to a game night before. It made her wonder what else was on his mind.

........

You couldn't believe it when you saw Timmy's name flashing on your phone screen. "I'm sorry," you told your coworkers, "it's important, I have to take this." To you, it was important enough to skip out on work to talk to him.

"Timmy?" you answered, your heart racing.

"Hey Peaches." he responded, cheerily.

You felt a sense of relief hearing him still using the nickname he'd given you.

“Hey, I’m sorry about what happened.”

“Baby, you have nothing to be sorry about. I’m sorry I haven’t called for a couple of days. I should have checked on you sooner. I didn’t mean anything by it, just got a lot of shit on my mind, ya know?”

“Yeah, it’s okay. I miss you, Timmy. Can I see you?” you asked.

“Yes. I miss you so much, I need to see you as soon as possible. The minute you get off work, I’ll pick you up. We’ll go somewhere.” his voice was so soft and endearing, like you were being cuddled and warmed up by each syllable.

"Okay. You promise? There's so much I want to say to you." You needed further assurance, probably because he'd been gone from you for what felt like such a long time. You didn't want to be without him again.

"Yes, of course I promise. You have my word, y/n. And my heart. You should know that."

You melted from the inside, "Oh, Timmy." you cooed, "I'll see you soon."

...........

You practically ran out of the office at quitting time. And there he was, sitting in his car waiting for you. "Timmy!" you called to him.

He snapped his gaze over to you upon hearing your voice, and he got out of the car. He immediately took you into his arms, squeezing you tightly. "God, feels like forever." he groaned, resting his head on yours.

"I know. I'm so happy to see you." You said, loosening your hold on him to look in his eyes. "It's over with Billy. I kicked him out of the house and we're getting a divorce."

He nodded, "That's good! He's turned into such an asshole. He doesn't deserve you." He touched his nose to yours so sweetly, pulling you more snuggly against him.

"I know, it's been a long time coming. Even before...us. I should have kicked him out ages ago."

"Can I kiss you?" he asked, eyes lingering down to your lips just for a second before they returned to your eyes.

"Yes." you replied, closing your eyes as he leaned down, touching his lips to yours softly.

He pressed his lips against yours but kept the kiss chaste as you were standing on a public street, while it was still daylight. "I love your lips. They're my favorite thing. I could do this all day long." he smirked, kissing you again.

"Timmy." you gasped softly as he moved down, his lips traveling from your cheek to your neck. "Let's get out of here, okay?"

Timmy stopped kissing, "Yeah." He took you by the hand, leading you around the car and opening the door for you. "Do you want to get some dinner?" he asked you as he got into the driver seat.

"Yeah, that sounds great."

It was so lovely. He took you to a ritzy place that you couldn't afford. He spoiled you rotten. The meal had several courses and he insisted that you try a desert.

You talked about everything and nothing, and it felt so comfortable, so natural. This was the type of thing you were missing. You and Billy didn't spend quality time together. Billy didn't care to do that. But Timmy did. Timmy was enjoying your time together, indulging you in gourmet food and sweet conversation. Timmy held your hand across the table, and you played footsy underneath it.

It felt like you two were just a normal couple. As if one of you wasn't on the brink of divorce and the other didn't have a girlfriend.

It was dark when you left the restaurant. Timmy put his arm around you as you walked to his car. The streetlamps produced a yellow-orange hue that made his curls look fuzzy when it shined on them. The lighting also defined his high cheekbones in shadows, basically putting a spotlight on his perfect porcelain skin that was sprinkled with freckles.

You were in awe of this man that was so beautiful, inside and out. It saddened you to share him. You knew Amelia, not well, but she seemed like a nice person. As much as you hated yourself for it, you wished there was a way to make her disappear from his life completely.

Timmy kept one hand on the steering wheel, and the other on your thigh. "I love this, y/n."

"The feeling of my trousers?" you joked, giggling.

He smiled and chuckled, "No, dummy, just...being with you."

"Me too. I wish it could always be like this."

"Maybe one day, we can have it." he said, taking your hand.

"Is this about Amelia? You never say anything about her."

"y/n, it's just...it's more complicated than you know." he said, sighing.

"Then tell me. You said you had stuff on your mind. You can trust me Timmy." you leaned over tucking your arm underneath his affectionately, and kissing him on the cheek.

"I know, and I do trust you. I'll just tell you: Amelia and I- our relationship isn't real. It's under contract for public promotion."

@gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @musicandbooksaremyhappyplace @softhecreator

[porkcutletbowl44]

Hello again!!! Makes almost one month since the last time I read anything related to Far From Perfect (college is draining all my sanity and time) but I finally read the latest chapters and I've to say they're delightful.

The start of chapter 19 surprised me a lot since I didn't expect Kyle to be the one to help Simon while he's drowing himself in alcohol. I expected to see Johnny in this situation, but it's a pleasing surprise to see Kyle instead since I think he's a really nice character. It was also so cute and heartbreaking to see mama taking care of Simon in the hospital. It's obvious that she cares deeply about his happiness and well-being and yet he's insufferable most of the time (actually impressed that he wasn't in this chapter). Being honest I actually laughed so much while mama was helping him to undress😭 I couldn't believe it and honestly I'd laugh too if i was in her shoes because the situation is awkward to even think of.

Reading the wedding scene in chapter 20 made my eyes a bit teary (was waiting for it since you mentioned once), I really love the way you make me feel nostalgic and melancholic about mama and Simon's old dinamic before he fucked up with it. They were such a lovely couple that it makes me furious, sad and so many other things I don't know how to name that it was all throw away because he was insecure and refused to communicate before taking drastic decisions about their relationship. Now talking about my lovely man Keegan, he's the most perfect man I've ever seen😞❤. I find myself smilling at my cellphone while reading about him and Fawn interacting because they have a wonderful relation. She's a bubbly and sweet kid and he's just so carrying towards her, when he takes her to a bike ride the whole situation about Simon falls on the background and the whole thing gains a calm and light-hearted, it's just so perfect💞. I think i talk too much about my love to this man, but he's one of my favorites and it's way too hard to find good content of him in the fandom.

About the notes on chapter 21's start, I just want to say that your work makes me really happy. I'm sorry that you received hate your content and I hope you've gained motivation again to continue this wonderful series❤❤❤. Now about the chapter itself, seeing Fawn worrying about her father is one of the cutest thing in it (also them watching Fosters Home for Imaginary Friends bring me some good memories, that show was amazing). This whole chapter was sweet and sad at the same time, but mostly sweet. Fawn's game was a wonderful scene too, definely one of my favorites. It's just so good to see Keegan growing even more fond towards mama and her daughter even when he isn't even part of the family (hopefully this will change soon🙏) . Although sometimes I fell bad for him, I mean imagine falling in love with someone who still loves and misses their ex and that has recently passed through a divorce? That's tough, and I'm impressed on how well he hides his jealousy and how patient he's with mama. And when Fawn calls him "daddy" my jaw fell to the floor. Wasn't expecting that, either wass him, mama or anybody I'm really sure of that. Honestly I think that it was really just a slip up this time, but considering that Simon almost doesn't spend time witb Fawn as he used to and that Keegan is way more present now, I wouldn't be surprised if it turns into a common thing for her.

Now Ghost went back into being a completely idiot on chapter 22 damn. It was taking too long but he started saying things without thinking again, and reading this was a real rollercoaster of emotions. First of all, how dare him to suddenly show up on mama' workplace with their daughter and refer to her as his wife like he didn't absolutely destroyed her mental health with the divorce? Sorry but i'd be livid if I was in this situation (not related but her boss is actually so chill, like wdym she can take an early day off just because her family is there? I loved it). The car ride was just so overwhelming😭 first they're calmly chatting and suddenly the air is tense because of him, he definitely doesn't know how to properly formulate phrases without sounding like an ass. He's so misarable and it's delicious to see him dealing with the consequences (even tho he doesn't know how). Now Colleen, Jesus Christ she also makes me livid💔. Honestly it impresses me that even after she made his daughter scared about her mother's safety and happiness he still allowed her to be near Fawn, it's almost like he forgot with who he's living with. The most responsible adult there was mama, especially when she punched Colleen (like shshshould've done earlier). I just can't with her and Simon, they're both inresponsible and selfish in their own ways and its insufferable.

Now finally talking about everything, I really hope mama doesn't allow her daughter near that woman ever again. It's surprising that even when Simon claims to care about her and Fawn more than anything in the world he' still able to do idiot things related to them. Deeply wondering when he's going to dump that bitch because she literaly slapped his daughter, what kind of sane person does that??? Read a comment on Ao3 about everyone in this fanfiction needing therapy and they're so real about it. If i remember good mama already goes to therapy, but I highly doubt Simon does because he doesn't know how to deal with his emotions and with the variety of scenarios he can pass through, and if he really wants to get things back to what they were before the divorce, he needs to get his feelings on check. Also noticed that Fawn is more talktive in this last chapters (?) but idk, I think I might be imagining things here, althought if I'm not, I need to say that I found it wonderful. And I'm deeply hoping that mama doesn't accept any advances of Simon's part because he doesn't deserve a second chance. He's horrible for her mental health and I'm praying that she'll choose Keegan instead and finally get over her ex because she deserves better that how he treated/is treating her.

Anyways, I'm really sorry for the gigant ask but I needed to talk about this fanfiction so bad💔. Missed a lot reading your wonderful righting and seeing the lead this whole thing is getting. I wish you a wonderful week and that you keep continuing with this lovely work💞💞💞.

Oh the smile on my face reading this while eating sushi 🤭🥰🥰🥰

I'm so glad to see you in my ask box!!! And I'm so sorry to hear that college life is draining :( I'm cheering for you until it gets better!!! 🫶🏻

Everything certainly is messy! I will say right off the bat Simon is 100% done with Colleen's bullshit, he obviously cares way more for his kiddo than her so she will be letting the door hit her on the way out (for a reason I will not disclose just yet 🫥)

Simon has been doing so much reflecting and trying to navigate what the hell is going on, feeling new things for the first time is a broken rollercoaster sheesh 😬

I'm honestly debating on enabling comment moderation because there's simply too much judging based on the first few chapters when things are meant to go slow, and it's a little bit irritating because I can tell when someone reads and gets a full understanding rather than skimming and forming an incorrect assumption without going through the whole series. (Also debating on posting a very indepth Simon analysis on how his character is in the fic)

And yes! Mama does self therapy with her little journal and whatnot, and that seems to be helping (I think I'm gonna leave the poor lady alone now, depression is NOT fun :(

But now that I have everyone (at least mostly everyone) hating Simon, time to pull a little switcheroo 🤭😈

As always, I love rants, and my ask box is always open to those who want to talk about Far From Perfect 🫶🏻

[fkinavocado]

okay...my unfortunate dating app stories...

after my divorce i joined an app, i don't remember which one. i met a few of the guys who just wanted hookups, which i expected. then i started talking to this other guy who seemed sweet but he was already like ready to make us a couple before we even met. it kinda freaked me out so i ghosted him and deleted the app. i felt bad because i hate having it done to me, but i think i just wasn't ready yet. a few months later i joined another, i think it was okcupid. i started talking to three guys, all younger. one of them lived nearby, the other two on the other side of the city. i met the first one, he was cute and we hit it off, then he ghosted me the next day when we were supposed to get together again. he'd blocked my number and everything. second guy i think was just a fake who was having fun flirting and pretending. i never met him. third guy i hooked up with several times. but i should have noticed the red flags from the beginning. he claimed he had a female roommate who had horrible anxiety around new people, so i had to come over when she was at work. his bathroom was full of female stuff like makeup, etc. he claimed she didn't have a phone. the first night we went to a motel and he said he had to get home because his roommate was home and freaking out about something. i asked how she could text him without a phone and he laughed and said she used facebook on her computer. over time, i told him i was fine with meeting her, i wasn't gonna bite or anything. then it finally dawned on me that she was not just his roommate lol. i felt so dumb. but it wasn't until he broke it off with me. like i knew, but i didn't wanna admit it, you know?

months later i heard from the first guy again. he told me he had this crazy ex gf who saw our interaction and was threatening him and to kill herself or some shit. but that he finally got rid of her and wanted to see me again. i gave him another chance like a dummy and he ghosted me again. i think he was just having fun playing games.

so a year or so later, i finally got up the nerve to try a third app, hinge. i started talking to this guy who messaged me first. we talked for a while and he said he was from london but had been living in my city since before the pandemic and was currently in la on business. we made plans to meet up when he got back. but he kept pushing back the date of his return. this went on for a couple months until he sent me a "new" pic that had the name of his business in the background. i googled it and it was a company that he supposedly owned, or at least the man he claimed to be owned. but it didn't add up because the guy he claimed to be still lived in the UK. i found his instagram, his website, and even some youtube videos. this guy had never lived in the US. in fact, he had gone to a wedding which he had a video of on his instagram. i called him out on it, saying he couldn't be at two places at once. long ass story short, this guy owned up to it, but would never tell me who he really was. no surprise. he even had the nerve to keep trying to contact me after all of this shit, so i finally changed my number, my email, and all other personal info. i nearly had a nervous breakdown over it, and lost $400 which i won't get into. let's just say it was the most humiliating experience of my life. i will never do dating apps ever again.

oh lordy lord. girl all of that was such a rollercoaster!!! i absolutely don't blame you, i mean i talked to some weirdos (thankfully found out they were weird before we actually made it to a first date) and then had this one date that was fine, i just wasn't into him in person- and i feel like never giving anyone a chance on these apps again!!! but what you guys are telling me really puts things into perspective! damn. i can't pick which one is the the most traumatizing for me... (just conceptually ofc since i don't know the full story) but i feel like the what must've been married guy would've been the worst one for me :( i'm sorry hun. clearly the one thing all these man had in common was they were pathological liars. you didn't deserve any of that:(

[kallie-den]

Marital Aid Ch. 4

Clea gives Isabella the missing ingredient she needs to embrace her new lesbian identity and life: a healthy dose of pride

This story was a commission from one of my patrons! Thank you very much to Myles_EXVS for their kind support

If you enjoy my work and are looking for more, or you want to support me, I strongly encourage you to check out my Patreon! I write erotica full-time, which means I need your patronage to keep creating, and my Patrons also get benefits like early access to my stories, extra stories, and the ability to vote on what I write next! So, if that sounds good to you, head over and join the couple hundred patrons I already have :)

—

Clea had just about everything she’d ever wanted.

For years now, she’d harbored a crush on her boss, Isabella. Knowing full well that Isabella was both straight and married had done nothing to stop the pining, and Clea had spent more hours than she could count daydreaming about what it might have looked like if they’d somehow had a life together. And now, thanks to Clea’s hypnosis files, they did. Isabella had accepted that she was a lesbian and that she was in love with Clea. They were in a relationship. Isabella was leaving her asshole husband for Clea. They even had a fulfilling - and ridiculously hot - kink dynamic.

Clea couldn’t have asked for more. She had everything.

But it wasn’t enough. Clea still wasn’t happy.

She wasn’t happy because Isabella wasn’t happy. Even though Clea had made absolutely certain that Isabella wanted and had chosen everything that had happened, a low, heavy mood had descended on her new girlfriend. It had started right after Isabella had broken things off with her husband. She’d told him that she was a lesbian, that he’d been an awful partner to her, and that she was leaving him for good. It wasn’t surprising to Clea that an impending divorce had taken its toll on Isabella, of course. She’d been ready to support her girlfriend through that. She’d even made sure that Isabella could move into her apartment immediately so that Clea could be there for her at all hours of the day.

It hadn’t been the idyllic domestic life Clea had been picturing - and not for a lack of love or affection. Being with Isabella was wonderful, and Clea could tell her girlfriend felt the same. They loved spending time together; kissing, holding each other, making love. The sex was incredible, and Clea knew there was absolutely no doubt in Isabella’s mind that Clea and lesbianism were what was best for her.

And yet, still, Isabella was depressed. She cried a lot. She spent long hours curled up in bed, doing little more than staring at the ceiling. It was taking its toll on her work, too, which was the worst part. Isabella had always been on top of her game at the office, and Clea loved her for it. Now, the older woman was always tired. She made mistakes. Her heart wasn’t in it anymore. And Clea’s was breaking.

She was doing everything she could for Isabella, of course. Clea was as diligent a girlfriend as she was a secretary. Both at work and at home, she happily attended to Isabella’s every need. Isabella always greeted her attention with a smile, but it was like the smile of a ghost. It flickered and faded as easily as the light changed. Kink didn’t help either. When Clea dominated Isabella, both of them could lose themselves in fantasy, but only for as long as the scene lasted. Isabella clung to Clea’s dominance like it was a life ring. She wore the collar Clea had given her like one every moment that they were alone together. But in the end, as the tide waned, she was still left stranded out at sea.

“What can I do?” Clea asked quietly, as she perched next to Isabella on their bed and rested a hand on Isabella’s shoulder. She’d run out of ideas.

“I don’t know,” Isabella replied. She turned to smile at Clea, but she sounded defeated. Her eyes were red from crying.

Clea squeezed her shoulder tightly. The air between them was thick. Words came slowly.

“I heard your phone,” Clea ventured. “Was it him again?”

They both knew who she meant. Robert, Isabella’s husband. He’d taken to calling her every now and then - always angry, usually drunk - so that he could demand she ‘come home’ and rant about all her perceived deficiencies when she refused. Clea was pleased he was showing his true colors and proud of Isabella for always standing up to him, but she could see the calls were taking their toll.

Isabella just shook her head.

“If it was, you should tell your lawyer,” Clea encouraged. “He can use it in court. Get a restraining order, maybe. Or at least speed things along. Your ex won’t be able to keep dragging his feet about signing those papers if we can show a pattern of sustained harassment and-“

“It wasn’t him,” Isabella said, firmly enough that Clea believed her.

“OK,” Clea said slowly. “Sorry.”

The silence dragged on for a long moment. This was one of Isabella’s bad days. Yet again, Clea contemplated what she might be able to do to address whatever Isabella was feeling. It shouldn’t have been difficult. With her hypnotic videos, she had a direct line to Isabella’s subconscious. Even now, the older woman listened to them diligently. Introducing her to another would be easy. And Clea could tell her…

What? What, exactly? That was the problem.

Clea simply didn’t understand what, precisely, was burdening Isabella so terribly. It didn’t make any sense to her. After all, thanks to her, Isabella was a lesbian. She was desperately attracted to Clea, both romantically and sexually, and those feelings were entirely reciprocated. She craved submission to Clea, and Clea was satisfying that need too. It was a better relationship than she’d ever had with her husband. Clea just couldn’t figure out the root of the problem.

It was tempting to try anyway. That seemed preferable to doing nothing. Except, what if whatever she did made Isabella’s depression even worse? That was Clea’s worst fear. The fear that truly haunted her.

What if all this was her fault? What if, all along, she’d had no idea what she was doing? What if she’d ruined the woman she was in love with?

That fear, that uncertainty, was paralyzing. Clea just didn’t know what to do. And so, day after day, they sat like this, in heavy silence. Isabella was right there, in Clea’s arms, but somehow she just couldn’t seem to reach out and touch her.

“Actually, it was my parents,” Isabella offered, eventually.

Clea blinked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

That was unexpected. It was even more unexpected that a call with her parents would have left Isabella like this. Clea felt she needed to get to the bottom of this.

“They aren’t… supportive?” she asked. “I thought you said they were pretty progressive?”

“It’s not…” Isabella sighed. “They are - at least, about some things. They aren’t bigots. I’m pretty sure they have absolutely no problem with me being a lesbian.”

“Then, what?” Clea couldn’t keep herself from sounding a touch impatient.

“They’re Catholic, Clea!” Isabella told her. “They don’t like that I’m getting divorced. That’s what they have a problem with.”

“Oh.”

Clea slumped. Inwardly, she was cursing herself. She should have thought of that. She should have considered that Isabella’s older, Hispanic parents would be Catholic and take issue with divorce. After hearing from Isabella that they were accepting of gay people, she’d simply put them out of her mind. How could she have been so thoughtless?

“It doesn’t help that I’m further than ever from having kids,” Isabella added miserably. “At least, that’s how they see it. I’ve tried telling them about Robert, but… I guess they never really took it to heart. Or maybe they just thought he’d come around. They’ve always wanted grandchildren.”

Hearing that stung a little. “We can give them to them!” Clea insisted quickly. “When we’re ready, I mean. I’ve been looking into it. Artificial insemination. Fertility treatments. It’s all extremely, extremely possible. We can do it, Isabella. We can have a family.”

Isabella looked at Clea and smiled. The happiness on her face was real and it warmed Clea’s heart - but, as usual, it didn’t seem to last. After merely a moment, Isabella sunk back into her sullen, heavy mood.

“Thank you, Clea. I want that with you. I really do. Nothing could make me happier. It’s just…” Isabella looked down and sighed again. “I don’t know. The way they talk about divorce. It’s like they see me as a failure now. And… I know I couldn’t stay with Robert. That’s just not who I am. I’m a lesbian. I’m attracted to women. I’m in love with you. But… still.” She reached up and buried her face in her hands. “I can’t stop feeling like they’re right. Like I really am a failure.”

At that moment, Clea could feel her heart being ripped in two. She threw her arms around Isabella and felt the older woman’s body being wracked with heavy sighs and half-sobs. The depth of the pain in Isabella’s voice was moving her to tears. She wished, more than she’d ever wished for anything else, that she could figure out what she needed to do to make Isabella right.

And then, suddenly, it dawned on her. Inspiration.

Clea had made sure Isabella was a lesbian. She’d given her all kinds of desires, and had tipped the scales to make sure the older woman gave in to them. But through all that, she’d been missing something. Isabella had spent her whole life thinking that divorce was wrong. That leaving her husband for Clea was wrong. Accepting that she needed to do it didn’t mean all of that internalized shame and torment was erased. There was something critical Isabella needed to bring her psyche back into balance.

Pride.

It seemed so simple now. It was all Clea could do to keep herself from smiling inappropriately.

“Hey,” Clea said, voice tender. “Look at me.”

It took Isabella a moment, but she obediently turned her face up towards her girlfriend. She seemed surprised when Clea kissed her, deeply and gladly, but soon melted into the embrace. Through all her depression, Isabella was more in love with Clea than she’d ever been with her husband. Clea always enjoyed the way she could taste that love on her lips.

“Don’t worry,” Clea told her, as she pulled back. “It’s all going to be OK.” Now, she could say it with such absolute confidence that she could see Isabella surprised to find herself believing it. “I know exactly what to do.”

***

You are a lesbian, Isabella.

The suggestion washed over Isabella with perfect ease. Even her subconsciousness barely registered the words as they worked their way through her mind, pressing on her with a gentle, irresistible pressure, like the way the tides steadily shaped the shore.

Why bother taking notice? The music video was just telling her what she already knew.

And besides, Isabella didn’t notice anything else, either. She didn’t notice the soft, familiar, reassuring texture of the bed sheets beneath her skin. She didn’t notice the faint ache in her back from the way she was propped up against the headboard. She didn’t notice the gleeful, triumphant grin on Clea’s face as her girlfriend held her phone up in front of Isabella to show her the new music video she’d just made for her.

Isabella was far, far too deeply hypnotized for that.

It had struck her as a little strange when, right after comforting her, Clea had run out of the room and declared that she needed to work on one of her videos. It was hardly out of character, though. Isabella had come to accept that part of Clea - the part that was seized by inspiration at wildly unexpected moments. She loved it, just as she loved everything else about Clea.

Besides, she wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. She loved the files Clea made for her. They always left her unbelievably, blissfully relaxed - and that feeling was more precious to her now than ever.

So, even though she hadn’t really been in the mood, Isabella hadn’t argued when Clea had insisted that she lie down and watch her latest creation.

Now, her mood was completely immaterial. It was a thing of the past. It had dissolved like mist. Isabella felt nothing at all, and she was thinking of nothing but the screen in front of her face. Strange, lurid, spiral patterns dominated her vision, and deep, pulsing, binaural beats dictated the rhythm of her mind. It had taken effect instantly. Isabella had been conditioning herself to be unbelievably susceptible. Resistance was a thing of the past. And beneath it all, Clea’s voice whispered suggestions that carved themselves indelibly on Isabella’s heart.

You are a lesbian.

That one passed by without notice. Isabella accepted it completely and totally. She was a lesbian. She always had been. But hearing that yet again, helped to lull Isabella into a state of calm, placid acceptance.

Yes. That was right. Clea’s voice was always right. Clea knew best for her. All Isabella needed to do was listen.

You are comfortable with people knowing you’re a lesbian.

That didn’t go down quite so easily. Isabella had to turn inward and ask herself if that was how she truly felt. Was she truly comfortable with people knowing she was a lesbian? Maybe. There was no reason not to be. Not that Isabella could think of. It wasn’t like it was anything to be ashamed of. And yet, there was something…

No. No, she was comfortable with people knowing she was a lesbian. The more she dwelt on it, the more Isabella found herself sure. All her doubts were simply vanishing.

You are confident in coming out as a lesbian.

Under Clea’s watchful gaze, Isabella twitched, just a little. She was confident in coming out? Isabella wasn’t so sure of that. She was comfortable with people knowing, of course. But coming out - that was a different matter. Coming out was such an event. A declaration. She’d had to, with her ex and her parents, but it hadn’t felt particularly good.

And yet, she was confident in coming out as a lesbian.

She just was. It was beyond doubt. Even if it didn’t feel good, Isabella was confident. She took the bad with the good - hadn’t she always? To her, something standing in her way was always a challenge to overcome. That was how she’d come so far in her work life. Why would her sexuality be any different? Besides, if she was happy with people knowing, surely it stood to reason that she was happy coming out to them.

A slight smile dawned on Isabella’s face as she accepted it. She was confident in coming out as a lesbian. The only mystery was how it had taken her this long. She needed to start telling people.

You want to make new friends who accept you as a lesbian.

She did? Isabella wasn’t so sure about that. Make new friends? That goal hadn’t been on her radar at all. After all, she was perfectly content in her current circle of friends. Except…

They weren’t lesbians. They were all straight.

That wasn’t a problem, of course. They were straight, but they weren’t prejudiced. Isabella was sure they’d be comfortable with the fact that she was a lesbian. But then, why had she held off on coming out to them? Not for lack of confidence, obviously. She was perfectly comfortable with people knowing, and perfectly confident in coming out to them. It didn’t make much sense.

Except it did. It was because Isabella knew it would change things between them.

Once that realization appeared in her head, the rest of it fell like dominoes. Yes, that was it. She hadn’t come out to them because, after that, their friendship just wouldn’t be the same. After all, so much of the time her friend group spent together was spent talking about men - venting about their husbands, complaining about their exes, sharing their dating woes. Suddenly, Isabella would be set apart from all that. It wasn’t her world anymore. She was a lesbian. She could try talking to them about what she was going through in turn, but even if they’d be sympathetic, they couldn’t possibly understand.

And that was why Isabella needed new friends. Friends who really, truly accepted her.

Now that she’d thought about it like that, she wanted it so badly.

You are proud of being a lesbian.

At that, Isabella almost woke up. Her brow furrowed and her eyes trembled, as they registered the intense, inward conflict raging inside of her. A little color and life returned to her face and she began to twitch and stir - all of that, because Isabella was troubled by the fact that she couldn’t seem to answer one simple question.

Was she proud of being a lesbian?

There was a correct answer: ‘yes’. Isabella knew that. She was supposed to feel proud. But it just wasn’t that simple. Isabella was proud of some things, of course. She was proud of being Clea’s girlfriend. But overall, being a lesbian had been as much anguish as joy. She’d spent years lying to herself in a pointless, awful marriage, and now she had to navigate a messy divorce, the judgment of her peers, and the disappointment of her parents. And their disappointment was as much a part of her as anything else was. They were her parents. They’d raised her. She’d lived with their opinions their entire life.

Though she never would have said so out loud, deep down, Isabella knew that she didn’t feel proud of being a lesbian. If anything, it was the opposite.

That settled the question. Did it?

Somehow, though, that didn’t sit right with Isabella. It just itched at her.

Wasn’t she proud, in her own way?

She couldn’t seem to shake that conviction. In fact, it was growing and growing. As the soporific tones of Clea’s music video kept playing in her ears, Isabella found herself rationalizing, not questioning.

She was proud. Wasn’t she?

If Isabella wasn’t proud of being a lesbian, why was she so comfortable with people knowing she was one? If Isabella wasn’t proud of being a lesbian, why was she so confident coming out? If Isabella wasn’t proud of being a lesbian, why was she so eager to make new friends who accepted her?

When she thought about it like that, it all seemed incredibly simple.

“I’m… proud…” Isabella sighed in a faint, dreamy voice, as acceptance came to her, “proud… of being… a lesbian.”

Her reward was a sudden rush of serotonin. It was like she had been completely unburdened. For the first time in weeks, her heart felt light and free. Isabella felt like she could do anything.

“Good girl,” Clea murmured, although Isabella barely heard her.

Finally, Isabella, you need to marry Clea and have her children.

Isabella felt no resistance to that. There was no reason for her to doubt or question it. Especially not now that she’d realized how proud she was. Isabella felt like she could finally embrace Clea with her whole heart, and that meant making a place for her in all her deepest, most important dreams - her dreams of family. Who better than Clea? The woman she loved, and the woman who was best for her.

It was easy to accept. But that didn’t mean it didn’t have an impact.

Wanting or hoping for those dreams was one thing. Needing them was another. Finding pride had made Isabella feel complete, but already, she was discovering an emptiness within herself. A deep, gnawing, yawning emptiness. It needed to be filled. She needed to be filled.

She needed to marry Clea. She needed to have her children. It was in her body.

“There we go,” Clea murmured. “I think that should do, for now.”

Isabella blinked, suddenly disoriented, as the screen that had become her entire world disappeared. It took her a very long time to realize that Clea had simply put her phone down. Noticing how confused she was prompted questions: what had she been doing? Why was her head so foggy? Why did she feel so different? What had been happening for the past few minutes?

Then Clea squeezed her hand, and it didn’t matter. Isabella found herself smiling at her girlfriend in utter contentment.

Clea was here. Clea knew what was best for her. That meant she was safe and that everything was perfectly OK.

Except one thing. Isabella needed.

In her body, she needed. It was hard to put her finger on why, exactly, but just as Isabella’s mind was ready to succumb to a warm, sleepy, loving daze, her body was rousing itself with an awareness of just how desperate she was. And somehow, Clea seemed to know.

“Hey,” Clea said, her tone suggestive. She reached down and rested her palm possessively on Isabella’s abdomen. “I really, really need to put a baby in you.”

Isabella gasped. Suddenly her need had a form. A shape. The growing arousal in her body started flowing to her chest and her lower half. She needed that so badly.

“Y-yeah,” Isabella panted. “But… how…?”

“I told you, there are ways.” Clea smirked. “But for now, we’ll just have to make do with this.”

Clea reached down over the edge of the bed and then under it, groping around for something. Once she found it, she showed it to Isabella: a long gift box, nicely made, clearly left there just for the occasion like a present under a Christmas tree. In a slow, teasing way, Clea lifted the lid to show her girlfriend what was inside.

A brand new, huge, realistic, lovingly-sculpted strap-on.

Isabella let out another gasp, this one thick with anticipation. There was no mistaking what this was for, or why Clea was showing it to her now.

Or how much Isabella wanted it.

“I need to make you mine,” Clea said, once she saw the eagerness in Isabella’s gaze. Kneeling on the bed, she raised herself up on her knees and started fastening the harness around her hips. “I need to make you feel it. Inside and out.”

Isabella just nodded, and let out a slight, reverent moan. As Clea busied herself securing the strap into the harness, she was all but hypnotized by the sight of that huge, silicone shaft bobbing up and down in the air, jutting out proudly from Clea’s athletic, feminine figure. It was making her drool, and filling her belly with heat.

She and Clea hadn’t explored this facet of lesbian sex yet. It was all new to Isabella. She’d heard of strap-ons, of course, but she didn’t know how they might feel. Penetration with her husband had always been so disappointing, but Isabella suspected that, as in all other areas, Clea would prove far more skilled.

Certainly, her tool was much, much bigger.

“You need this,” Clea told her, stroking one hand experimentally along the shaft of her new, silicone cock.

Isabella nodded her head in mute reverence. It wasn’t a question. They both knew it was true. Isabella needed to have Clea’s children. Those words kept echoing in her head, even though she wasn’t sure where they came from. Having Clea’s children would mean more than just sex, of course - but her body didn’t know that. Something within her - a deep, primal, biological urge - had been activated, and it craved exactly what Clea was offering.

“You need this,” Clea repeated as she advanced on Isabella, crawling towards her, looming over her. “Don’t you?”

“Yes,” Isabella breathed. She reclined as Clea advanced on her, resting on her back, raising her legs and parting them, inviting Clea to reach out and lift the skirt of her dress. “I need it.”

“Good girl,” Clea grunted. Hearing those words made Isabella’s soul shiver. “Wider.”

Isabella obeyed, letting her knees fall down and to the side, whimpering as she exposed herself to her girlfriend.

“Good.” Clea reached out and hooked two fingers into her panties, slipping them down and out of the way. She smirked when she felt how wet Isabella was. “Wow. You really do need this.”

Isabella moaned again. Whenever Clea was like this with her, dominant and teasing, it just made her head go blank. It was desperately embarrassing to be so weak to being treated this way by a younger woman. “Y-yes! Please…”

“Don’t worry.” Clea was grinning wildly as she lined the head of her strap-on up against Isabella. “I wasn’t going to make you beg.”

She pushed forward with her hips and thrust the huge dildo all the way inside Isabella.

Isabella saw white.

She was already so wet that it didn’t hurt, but the sheer intensity of being filled by Clea’s strap set every nerve in her body on fire, and drew from her a ragged, shocked scream that transcended both pain and pleasure. Isabella’s whole upper body heaved as she fought for each breath, and when Clea pulled back and thrust into her a second time, it again forced all the air out of her lungs.

Then, as Clea found her rhythm, Isabella realized it felt better than anything she’d ever experienced before.

It went beyond simple pleasure. It was the kind of deep, raw satisfaction that came from having her deepest wishes finally fulfilled. This was what Isabella had been craving. This was what she needed to fill the emptiness inside her. Clea. Clea’s cock. Isabella wrapped her legs around her girlfriend’s body, wielding all of her strength to draw her in and encourage her.

More. Deeper. Harder.

“You like that?” Clea grunted. Her voice was thick and gruff with exertion as she plowed into Isabella.

“Yeah,” Isabella moaned. That one word was all she could manage.

Clea grinned. “Better than your husband?”

That got a derisive snort out of Isabella. “F… fuck yeah,” she laughed.

Not even close. It was night and day.

Clea laughed too. She bent over Isabella and redoubled her pace. “Tell me what you want me to do to you,” she growled into Isabella’s ear.

There was only one answer. Isabella felt it deep in her body. In her womb, in defiance of reason.

“B-breed me,” she begged.

Hearing that seemed to fill Clea with a surge of energy, but she pulled back, eliciting a whimper of disappointment from Isabella.

“I want you on your hands and knees,” Clea purred. “I want to see your ass bouncing up and down while I knock you up.”

Isabella’s disappointment vanished instantly. Clea saying that was so hot it had her seeing stars. She had fully embraced the role-play. She wanted to be fucked however Clea wanted to fuck her. Clea knew best. Her legs were weak from pleasure, but even so, Isabella managed to roll over and scramble up onto her hands and knees, ready for Clea to take her from behind.

“You know,” Clea said. She sounded distinctly smug. “This strap-on isn’t the only new toy I had lying around.”

Isabella was confused about her meaning, until she felt Clea reach around her and clip something into the D-ring of her collar.

A leash.

She had just enough time to realize how hot that was before Clea pushed her silicone cock back inside Isabella’s cunt and, at the same moment, jerked back on the leash. The sudden, sharp yank made Isabella yelp and clench down, and she was rewarded with a shock of pleasure that eclipsed even what she’d been feeling before.

Then Clea really started fucking her.

With Isabella collared and leashed like that, Clea could completely control the pace. She mastered Isabella utterly, coaxing her into tightening up, or bucking her hips, or arching her back - all with the slightest touch on the leash. It was incredible. For Isabella, being so thoroughly controlled like that was the ultimate fantasy.

She was Clea’s. Her body was Clea’s. Her pussy was Clea. Her womb was Clea’s.

The older woman matched Clea thrust for thrust, her moans battling with the obscene slap of Clea’s hips against her ass, turning their bedroom into a temple to lesbian pleasure. Part of the thrill was that Isabella couldn’t see what Clea was doing, couldn’t tell what might come next, but just from her girlfriend’s moans, she knew that Clea was enjoying this every bit as much as she was. That, as much as anything else, filled her with a strange, gratifying pride and brought a delirious, horny submissive smile to her face.

This was perfect. Being fucked like this was beyond Isabella’s wildest dreams. It was an experience she never even could have imagined mere months before. But one burning, boiling impulse soared above everything else, until it was only thought left in Isabella’s head.

“Please!” she begged through her moans. “Breed me, Clea. Please, please, I n-need it! Breed me!”

Clea smacked her ass. The unexpected pain mixed with the heady pleasure Isabella was already feeling, and she howled in both ecstasy and delirious confusion.

“Mistress,” Clea said firmly, tightening her grip on the leash. “I think it’s time you started calling me ‘mistress’.”

“F-fuck!” Isabella quivered at the sheer power of the word. It would mean so much. Another threshold crossed. Their relationship cemented as dominant and submissive. It was perfect. Perfect for a submissive lesbian like Isabella. “Y-yes, mistress!”

“Good girl!” Clea sounded just as high on the moment as Isabella. There was a kind of wild joy in her voice, like she was all but overwhelmed by the dominant power she held over Isabella.

It was really, really hot.

“Breed me, mistress!” Isabella cried, eager to drive Clea even further into that savage, dominant headspace. “Please - please, I need it! Breed me! Breed me, mistress!”

In response, Clea just snarled. She quickened her pace yet again, pounding her strap-on in and out of Isabella’s body with all of her strength. Isabella’s arms gave way and she collapsed face-first into their bed, only just barely able to keep her ass propped up in the air as Clea wished.

“I’ll breed you,” Clea growled. “I’ll knock you up. I’ll make you mine. Inside and out. Mind and body. All mine. I can’t wait to see you with a big, round, pregnant belly, all because of me. My wife. My submissive. Mine. Mine, mine, mine!”

An image flashed through Isabella’s head, as clear and vibrant as daylight - herself, naked, kneeling beside Clea, with a collar and leash around her neck, a ring on her finger, and a huge, full, swelling belly rounding out her figure.

That pushed her over the edge. She came.

Isabella screamed as the orgasm hit her. Clea screamed too, caught up in the shared energy. She didn’t stop thrusting, though; she pounded Isabella until their screams died, then drove the strap-on into Isabella all the way to the hilt. They were both imagining the same thing: Clea filling her, painting her insides, turning her into the mother she’d always craved being.

Eventually, Isabella’s legs gave way too. She slumped flat against the bed, limp and twitching, her collar still tight around her neck, lost in dreamy fantasy. Clea collapsed next to her and managed to get Isabella’s head nestled into her arms even as her strap-on was still inside the older woman. For a long time, neither one of them said anything. They were just basking in the afterglow.

This was usually the moment Isabella dreaded. The moment the endorphins that sex provided started to fade, and the bleak thoughts started to return.

This time, though, it wasn’t happening. The glow just went on and on, and she was blanketed by thoughts of the warm, happy future she and Clea were going to have together. Jubilant, Isabella turned to look at her girlfriend.

“We should do this again,” she said, a touch shyly. “M-mistress.”

Clea giggled like she couldn’t believe her luck. Then, she stretched forward to kiss Isabella’s forehead.

“Every single day. You bet your ass. And let’s look into setting up those fertility treatments.”

---

I would like to express my gratitude for the generosity of all those who support me on Patreon, and to give a special thanks to the following patrons in particular for their exceptional support:

Artemis, Chloe, Grillfan65, The Secret Subject, Morriel, Dex, orangesya, Red, dmtph, Queenfisher, MegatronTarantulas, Vanessa, Madeline, BTYOR, Sarah, Mattilda, Emily Queen of sloths, ntad, Shadows exile, Abigail, Hypnogirl_Stephanie_, Jade, mintyasleep, ZephanyZephZeph, Michael, Be_Be, Tasteful Ardour, Chris, Dennis, paxDulcetGirl, Full Blown Marxism, Morder, S, Brendon, Drone 8315, Jack the Monkey, Jim, Erin, HannahSolaria, Christopher, hellenberg, Kay, Miss_Praxis, Violet, Noct, Charlotte, Faun, BrinnShea, B, Foridin, Jennifer, EepyTimeTea, Slifer274, Roxxie, Phoenix, Ivy, Jim, Sebastian, Joseph, Yaoups, Thomas, Liz, naivetynkohan, Basic dev, SuperJellyFrogEx, night, Katie, Lily, spyrocyndersam13, zzzz, Mal, Jose, Bouncyrou, Anonymous, ravenfan, Bacon Man, Nimapode, Melody, Selina, NuclearBoarhead, Kunoichiru, FemKUltra, Z!, Flluffie, Ash, Artemis, Geckonator, TheRealG, Anonymous, Bob, J, nathan, GladiusLumin, Ada, Kyle, Marina