#i could talk about how all you can do is sit and watch it happen

[gpcwsl]

Could you do a Leah Williamson one where reader is a chef and has restaurant establishments worldwide and just located one in England a couple months ago and the England girls are a having a camp in London and since everyone is all together for camp they want to celebrate with a fancy dinner and they start discussing restaurants and readers restaurant is put out there, but some of the girls disagree because they tried to eat there but it was always booked up, so when Leah gets home she talks to reader and gets them a table, so Leah texts the team gc and say dress fancy tomorrow night and the location of the restaurant and the gc starts blowing, but she ignores it, and when they all go to the restaurant and ask questions and Leah’s like she has connections, but come to find out that Leah is dating reader then reader sits down beside Leah and the team gets to know her a little and when they go to pay reader says it’s already taken care of.

Warnings: a kiss?

Leah Williamson x Chef!Reader

- Dress fancy -

MasterList

Leah Williamson kicked her boots off at the door, the satisfying thud against the floor signaling the end of another long day. Training had been intense, but it wasn’t the drills or tactics replaying in her mind—it was the chaotic group chat blowing up her phone during the drive home.

She pulled her phone from her pocket and glanced at the screen, scrolling through dozens of messages.

Tooney: “We should go to that new restaurant tomorrow.”

Brightness: “What’s it called? The fancy one that’s always booked?”

Backheel: “You mean Palace Place? Impossible. I’ve been trying to get a table since it opened.”

Brightness: “Same. That place is like gold dust.”

Tooney: “We need something special, though. We’re all together. Ideas?”

Leah smirked, leaning against the kitchen counter as she typed her response:

Captain: “Sorted. 7 PM tomorrow. Dress fancy.”

The chat exploded.

Tooney: “LEAH.”

Backheel: “How?!”

Brightness: “You didn’t even say where!”

Walshy: “She probably means Nando’s.”

Tooney: “I swear, if this is a joke…”

Leah tossed her phone on the counter, ignoring the continued barrage of messages, and walked into the living room. The soft hum of classical music filtered through the space, and the faint aroma of roasted garlic and herbs greeted her.

“Smells amazing,” she called, rounding the corner into the kitchen.

You stood by the stove, dressed casually in an apron, hair tied back, moving with the kind of effortless grace Leah never tired of watching. You glanced over your shoulder, a smile already forming.

“Hey, you. Dinner’s almost ready.”

Leah walked up behind you, wrapping her arms around your waist and resting her chin on your shoulder. “I don’t know how you do it. Training kills me, and you’re here cooking like it’s nothing.”

“Years of practice,” you teased, leaning back into her embrace. “How was camp?”

Leah hesitated, her lips brushing lightly against your temple. “Good. The girls want to go out tomorrow night. Celebrate being all together.”

You turned in her arms, raising an eyebrow. “And let me guess, they want to go somewhere fancy?”

She grinned. “They were debating places, and your restaurant came up.”

“Did it now?” you asked, amusement coloring your tone. “And what did you say?”

“I didn’t.” Leah shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Didn’t want to out myself as having an in with the chef-owner who happens to be my girlfriend.”

You laughed softly, running a hand down her arm. “So you’re here to use your connections?”

“Obviously,” Leah said, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. “Any chance you can fit us in tomorrow?”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “For you? Always. How many?”

“About 20.”

You blinked. “20?”

Leah winced. “Yeah… full squad.”

“Good thing I like you,” you teased, reaching for your phone to call the restaurant.

Leah sent the address to the group chat in the morning, and as expected, chaos ensued.

Tooney: “No way. THE Palace place?!”

Backheel: “Leah, I’m actually screaming.”

Daily mail: “I tried booking for my mum’s birthday and couldn’t. HOW?”

Brightness: “She must know someone.”

Tooney: “Leah Williamson: captain, legend, and apparently a magician.”

Leah ignored it all, casually walking into the training facility as if her phone wasn’t buzzing nonstop in her pocket.

The team arrived promptly at 7 PM, dressed to impress. The restaurant was stunning, its interior sleek yet inviting, with warm lighting that made everything glow. They were escorted to a private dining room where a long table awaited, set with pristine white linens, sparkling glassware, and fresh flowers.

“This is insane,” Ella muttered, taking in the surroundings.

“How did you pull this off?” Millie asked Leah, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

Leah smirked, leaning back in her chair. “I told you. Connections.”

The team was halfway through the meal—an exquisite multi-course experience—when the door to the dining room opened. You walked in, your chef’s jacket pristine, a warm smile on your face.

“Good evening, ladies,” you greeted.

The table fell silent, all eyes turning to you. Leah tried to suppress a grin as you approached.

“Everything to your liking so far?” you asked, your gaze briefly meeting Leah’s.

“The food’s incredible,” Keira said. “Are you the chef?”

You nodded. “And the owner.”

Murmurs of amazement rippled through the group.

Leah cleared her throat, sitting up straighter. “Everyone, this is Y/n.”

“Wait…” Rachel’s eyes darted between you and Leah. “This is your connection?”

Leah shrugged, feigning innocence. “What can I say? I know people.”

“Hold on.” Ella leaned forward, pointing at Leah. “You’re dating the chef?!”

Leah’s smirk widened. “Didn’t think it was relevant.”

The table erupted in laughter, teasing, and a flurry of questions directed at you.

When the bill arrived, one of the players reached for it, but the waiter quickly informed them it had already been settled.

“It’s on me,” you said with a smile, standing beside Leah. “You’re all family to Leah, which makes you family to me.”

The team groaned, joking about being spoiled, but their gratitude was evident.

As everyone filtered out of the restaurant, Leah lingered by the door with you, her hand slipping into yours.

“Thanks for tonight,” she said softly, her voice full of warmth.

You leaned up, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. “Anything for you.”

The team’s laughter echoed down the street, and Leah pulled you closer, her heart full as she watched her two worlds collide perfectly.

[itsnesss]

hii maybe a yandere!junho ?? I cant stop thinking about him 😩 i love your writing btw💕

𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 | hwang jun-ho × fem!reader

summary | you wake up restrained in a small room, facing jun-ho, who reveals his obsessive love for you. his yandere tendencies surface as he believes he's protecting you from the world. you must navigate his dangerous devotion and find a way to escape

warnings | junho!yandere, kidnapping/restraint, psychological manipulation

word count | 2.1 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

You wake up with a start, the cold floor chilling your bones. It’s hard to remember how you got here. The faint flicker of a hanging light bulb illuminates the room. It’s a small, almost claustrophobic space, with gray concrete walls. In front of you, sitting on an old metal chair, is him: Jun-ho. His dark eyes watch you with an intensity that makes you shiver.

"Finally awake," he says in a serene voice, but it’s loaded with something else, something unsettling. "Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this moment?"

You try to speak, but your throat is dry. Your voice barely comes out as a whisper.

"What… what’s going on?"

He smiles, and the gesture should comfort you, but there’s something strange in his eyes, something you’ve never seen before.

"I saved you," he replies, leaning forward. "They were going to hurt you. I couldn’t let that happen."

"They? What are you talking about?" you ask, your heart pounding rapidly.

You try to move, but your wrists are tied with a thick scarf. You look at Jun-ho in disbelief.

"This… this isn’t real."

He slowly gets to his feet, brushing his hands off like he’s just finished an important task.

"Don’t worry. You’re safe with me. No one will ever hurt you again. No one will ever look at you that way again."

His voice, though soft, has a sharp edge. Memories begin to return in fragmented flashes. The last time you saw him was at the café near your workplace. He was always there, sitting at the same table with his black coffee, watching you. There was something about him that unsettled you but also intrigued you, like a mystery impossible to ignore.

"Jun-ho… why am I here?" you manage to ask, though the answer seems clear in your mind.

He leans closer, dangerously close. His warm breath brushes against your face, and you can smell the faint aroma of coffee he always carried.

"Because I love you."

The confession hits you like a punch. You instinctively recoil, but you can’t go far because of the restraints.

"Love me? This isn’t love…" you say, trying to stay calm.

His expression hardens.

"Not love?" he repeats, as if tasting the words for the first time. He paces around you, each step echoing in the small room. "Didn’t you see me? I was always there, watching over you, protecting you from all those men who didn’t deserve you."

"Jun-ho… this isn’t right. Let me go, please."

He stops behind you and places his hands on your shoulders. His touch is firm but not rough.

"Not right?" he murmurs near your ear. "Isn’t it right to want the best for the person you love?"

Your body tenses. The danger in his voice is palpable.

"If you really love me, you wouldn’t do this," you try to reason with him.

He chuckles softly, a sound that makes you tremble.

"You don’t understand. This is for you. For us. You can’t keep living in that world full of people who don’t value you. I’m the only one who can."

"It’s not your decision…" you protest, but he moves quickly in front of you, leaning down until his eyes are level with yours.

"Of course, it’s my decision. Because no one else cares as much as I do."

His gaze is so intense it feels like it could pierce your soul. His obsession is undeniable, but behind it, you see something else: pain, loneliness, desperation.

"Jun-ho, listen… you don’t have to do this. We can talk, find a solution," you say, trying to keep your voice gentle, though inside, you’re terrified.

He smiles again, but this time there’s sadness in his eyes.

"You’ve always been so kind… so understanding. But you don’t get it. If I let you go, they’ll hurt you. I can’t let that happen."

"Who are they?" you ask, hoping to buy time to think of a way out.

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he steps back a few paces, as if lost in thought. Finally, he speaks, his voice barely a whisper.

"Everyone. Everyone who tried to get close to you. Everyone who didn’t deserve you."

The air feels heavier. The idea of what he might have done to "protect" you starts to sink in.

"What did you do, Jun-ho?"

He looks at you, and for the first time, he seems vulnerable.

"What I had to."

His words are simple, but the weight behind them leaves you breathless. Your mind fills with horrible images, but you force yourself to stay composed.

"Jun-ho… let me help you. This doesn’t have to go on like this."

He shakes his head.

"I don’t need help. I’ve already done everything necessary."

You start to notice a slight tremor in his hands, as if guilt is beginning to catch up with him.

"If you really love me… trust me. Let me go, and we can figure this out together."

For a moment, it seems like your words are reaching him. He lowers his gaze, and you can see the internal struggle on his face. But then, he straightens up, and his expression hardens again.

"I can’t risk it. If I let you go, you’ll go back to that world… and I can’t allow that."

Desperation grips you. You need to find a way to make him see reason before it’s too late.

"What do you want, Jun-ho? What do you really want?" you ask, trying to keep his attention.

He steps closer again, his eyes burning with intensity.

"I just want you to be mine."

His answer feels like a sentence, and you know words won’t be enough to change his mind. But you can’t give up. Not now.

"Jun-ho, if you keep going down this path, we’ll never truly be together. This isn’t love. It’s fear."

The word seems to affect him. He takes a step back, his gaze faltering.

"Fear?" he repeats, as if trying to process it.

You nod, even though the fear in your own heart threatens to overwhelm you.

"You’re afraid of losing me. But keeping me here isn’t the solution. If you love me, trust me."

The silence that follows is unbearable. Finally, Jun-ho sighs and lowers his head.

"I don’t want to lose you…" he admits, almost in a whisper.

"You won’t," you reply, summoning all the conviction you can. "But you have to trust me."

For a moment, you think you’ve reached him. But then he lifts his gaze, and his expression is a storm of emotions.

"Fine," he finally says, with an eerie calm. "But if I let you go, promise me you’ll never abandon me."

Your heart stops. You know any wrong response could trigger something worse.

"I promise we’ll talk about this. But first, I need you to give me a chance."

Jun-ho stares at you, assessing you. Finally, he pulls a knife from his pocket and cuts the ties around your wrists.

"Don’t make me regret this," he warns.

You rub your aching wrists and look at him carefully. Every move has to be calculated.

"I won’t," you respond, though your mind is already planning how to escape this place.

[nakylvr]

— CAUGHT!

daniela avanzini x tmasc!reader

summary: in which your girlfriend finds out you, are the vigilante that's been running the streets, when you show up beaten and bruised.

warnings/tags: fluff, established relationship, spiderman!reader, mild language

rewatched tasm and had to make something...i love superhero!aus

pain. all you felt at the current moment was pain. stumbling down the alleyways of new york, you were breathing shallowly while trying to see through your mask that was essentially torn in half. one of the eyes ripped off showing your bright pupils, and there was a large tear along the side accompanying the bleeding mark on your face. one of your ribs might've been cracked judging by the sharp pain and slight difficulty to breathe. you were limping due to landing on your ankle during the fight, probably fractured or at least sprained. you should've known better than to get into a fight you weren't determined you could win, and yet you did anyway.

glancing around, you find yourself in front of your girlfriend's apartment. you don't entirely remember how you got here, but you continue to walk around the building. staring up at the building, you take a deep breath before planting your hands and feet on the wall, slowly starting to climb up the wall. you can hear your heart beating in your ears, your head pounding as you move and eventually reach the window of her bedroom. removing one of your hands from the wall, you take the remainder of your mask off and look through the window, seeing daniela sitting on her bed reading a book. you knock on the glass a little harder than you anticipated, watching the latina jump and look over.

you can see her say "what the fuck" before she quickly gets up and goes to the window, opening it and seeing you clearly. but, you're in too much pain to notice or even remember that you were still in your outfit. letting her be the first person (excluding your aunt) to know who spiderman was.

"yn? what the fuck?" daniela says, her tone sounding angry but you know she's far from it with the expression on her face. she grabs your arm and pulls you inside, and you land on your back with a dull thud as you hit the ground.

"dani," you choke out, coughing up a bit of blood. the light in the room feels brighter than it is, and you have to close your eyes to keep your head from spinning.

"jesus fuck. what the hell yn?" daniela kneels down next to you, her hands cradling your face to make you look at her, your eyes tiredly opening at the feeling. "what happened? what did you do? why the hell are you wearing a fucking spiderman outfit?"

she's asking the questions so fast you can barely keep up, only really hearing the last one which is the one you most expected. "it's me," you murmur in response.

her eyes widen, looking over your face and then trailing down to see the parts of your suit ripped open with open wounds bleeding. she tries not to think on the fact you're a vigilante for too long, shaking her head and grabbing your arms. "get up," she tells you, pulling your arms.

it takes all your energy to pull yourself up off the ground, and immediately your legs are wobbling and you slouch against daniela, hearing the curse she mutters while wrapping her arm around you to keep you standing. she then guides you to her bathroom, sitting you down on the edge of the bathtub. "stay here," she says before leaving the bathroom.

you close your eyes, focusing on breathing that hurt every time you inhaled causing you to cough and feel an extreme sharp pain in your side. "fuck," you curse quietly. you're not sure how much time passes until you hear footsteps approaching and you slowly open your eyes, your vision slightly blurry but managing to make out daniela with a first aid kit in her hands. "dani..."

"don't talk," she tells you, stopping in front of you and setting the first aid kit down on the sink counter. "how the hell do you get this thing off?" she asks, clearly talking about the suit.

tapping the spider logo on your chest, your suit shrinks into a small trinket off your body, leaving you in just your boxers, causing daniela's eyes to widen and mumble a curse under her breath.

"okay...not going to ask," she murmurs. looking over your body and seeing the different cuts and bruises. "god, yn..." she sighs quietly. "you look like shit." she opens the first aid kit, pulling out a few different things from it.

"feel like it," you mumble, your eyes drooping closed.

"don't close your eyes," daniela tells you, pouring some rubbing alcohol on a pad before pressing it on your cheek.

"fuck!" you gasp at the stinging pain you immediately feel, your eyes shooting open.

there was a silence that filled the room after that as daniela put bandages around your waist and other spots that were bleeding. but it was far from a comfortable silence. you knew she was upset at multiple things, but you didn't know how to talk about it. your aunt was the only one who knew you were spiderman, and she found that out on accident, so you hadn't really prepared for when others would find out.

"i'm sorry," you mumble.

"don't start doing that." daniela shakes her head. she finishes with the last bandage and takes a step back to look at you better, letting out a short sigh. "were you ever going to tell me?"

you look down at the ground at her question. it takes you a moment to respond, both from the throbbing in your head and trying to figure out how to put it. "eventually," you answer.

"eventually?" daniela repeats. "what the hell does that mean?" she crosses her arms over her chest.

"it means i..." you take a shaky breath. "i didn't want you to know and possibly get hurt. i-i didn't want to risk losing you," you answer quietly.

daniela's face softens at your response. she sees you look down at the ground again and she grabs your hand causing you to look at her. "you aren't going to lose me, yn," she says in the same voice. "and while this is definitely not how i would've liked to have found out considering you're completely beaten and bruised, i'm glad you came to me."

"i didn't know where else to go," your voice cracks slightly, your breathing coming out in light wheezes from the pain you were feeling. "all-all i could think about was if i-i didn't get away i would die a-and i w-wouldn't see y-you and-"

"hey, hey," daniela interjects, her hands moving up to cup your face and seeing the tears starting to form in your eyes. "breathe, yn. you're okay. everything is okay. i swear." her thumbs wipe away the few tears that fell from your eyes. "i love you, okay? nothing will change that." she presses a soft kiss to your lips.

you can feel your heartbeat finally slowing down to an even pace when she kisses you, sighing softly against her lips as your arms snake around her waist. when she pulls away, she looks down at you with such love in her eyes that it makes your breath hitch in your throat.

"i love you too," you say quietly.

"c'mon, let's get you into some clothes. i think there's still some of yours from when you were last here," daniela says. grabbing your hand and gently pulling you up onto your feet.

you follow her back to her bedroom, standing there silently as she finds the clothes of yours and helps you get them on. once you've changed she grabs your hand again, going over to her bed and lying down on it while pulling you along with her.

you lay down on top of her, hearing the quiet gasp that escapes her lips at the sudden weight on her, but she doesn't mind it. you were honestly like a weighted blanket when you did this, and she knew how much pain you were currently in, so she didn't say anything. your head rests on her chest as you close your eyes to try and ignore the throbbing in your head, hearing her heartbeat calm you down so you were breathing correctly again. one of her hands drags its fingers through your hair, playing with the strands causing you to immediately feel the exhaustion seeping through your body.

"thank you," you mumble.

"don't thank me," she whispers. "i'm just glad you're okay."

you nod a little bit, feeling yourself about to fall asleep just by the way she was playing with your hair and her familiar perfume as you put your face in her neck. "i love you."

"i love you too." she presses a small kiss on your head. "get some sleep. i'll be here when you wake up."

a short hum escapes your throat at her words and within the minute you were passed out asleep on top of her. she glances down at you, her eyes wandering across the bruises that were already beginning to form on your skin and the bandages she used to cover the open cuts you had on you. she lets out a quiet sigh before closing her eyes, knowing she'll have to have a long talk with you tomorrow about all of this. but not for now. for now, you were okay, you were safe, and you were in the arms of the girl you cared about the most. and for now, that was enough.

[dollzites]

⏦ﾟ♡︎ “CAN YOU WATCH A SHOW WITH ME?”

୨ৎ pairing: boyfriend!gdragon x fem reader ft top 🤭

୨ৎ genre: fluff!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

୨ৎ summary: for some reason he never wanted to seem like the type to enjoy dramas or any sort of reality show but when it came to you? he would do anything to spend time with you and that’s what you enjoyed doing the most! watching a good ole kdrama. what he didn’t expect is getting into it so much he kept watching.. even when you weren’t home.

୨ৎ from myeong: hello! hello!! so happy to receive this request especially for my sweet jiyong ): absolutely loving all of the new content with him recently!! how are you guys feeling about it? anyway! please enjoy this and thank you for being here x

“princess? I’m home!” a gasp left your lips once hearing the familiar voice of your beloved boyfriend jiyong, you quickly ditched the bag of chocolates that were just about gone and ran into his warm arms. his long hours at the studio killed the both of you in several ways even when he would call to invite you over because it would just be him for a little while, you never could. the part time job you took on to stay busy when he was had ruined perfect moments of spending quality time together. jiyong would urge you to quit and be by his side but the cafè was a place that you loved the most and it was harder than ever to give it up. when you were a child your dream was to become a baker or a small cafè owner and getting to work in one was the most precious thing that you since it had been the closest to owning one—being delusional is the key to everything.

“oh, my pretty girl I missed you so much. what have you been doing without me, hm?” jiyong left a trail of gentle kisses down your neck lightly biting on the skin like he always did, his hands on your waist keeping you close to his body. shrugging your shoulders and giving him a small pout he reached up and poked at your lips before kissing them and grabbing ahold of your hand to pull you towards the living room. “jiyong? please can you watch a show with me? please! you’ll like it I promise you will.” so that’s what you wanted from him. a chuckle left his lips and he slowly nodded his head while falling against the soft cushion and bringing you down with him, another gasp leaving your lips while your hands were placed against his shoulders. “seriously?! you will!? this is great! it’s called bloodhounds and you’ll like it! I promise. I can’t wait to watch it with you.” a childish squeal of joy left you as you pushed yourself off of him and jumped around the living room a few times before disappearing into the kitchen, grabbing a few of his favorite snacks just so he would remain happy while you both watched the show.

it was harder than ever for jiyong to just sit and watch something with you because he was always distracted by every little thing you would do, leaning his body forward to press a quick kiss to your lips or cheek. his arms would be wrapped around you tightly and he would sometimes stop watching just to stare at you wanting to see all your reactions to certain scenes in the show finding it adorable when you looked shocked or confused. jiyong finally started paying attention after the first fight scene that took place and he had to admit that it caught his attention because if that was you in this situation he would do anything to save you. “you know, if that was you I would do my best to fight and save you even if I died trying.” feeling his lips against your ear made you giggle and you turned to look at him shaking your head, “no! I would never let you do such a thing and hurt yourself. don’t talk like that.” even if that would never happen thinking about it broke you in several ways and your body leaned slightly to give him a peck before turning to watch the show again. jiyong just smiled and let his head rest against your shoulder while you both continued the show.

finding yourself staring at the clock on the wall counting down the minutes until you’re off and running all the way back to your shared apartment with jiyong to finish the show you started a few days ago, your coworker noticed and only laughed at you looking so determined to get out of here even if you loved the job. “I see you’re excited to get out of here.” she spoke up and broke you from the weird trance you had been in while staring at the clock, “I am. jiyong and I started a show together and I’m so excited to finish it with him. we’ve never watched a show like this together!” your coworker could only give you a sweet smile. she always thought the both of you were perfect together. she was an older woman who’d give you advice when you needed it the most and how to go about things and if it wasn’t for her then jiyong wouldn’t be in your life right now. “go ahead. we’re just about to close anyway I think keeping him waiting any longer won’t be a good idea.” another giggle left her lips and your eyes widened nodding your head frantically and quickly ditching the apron you wore while baking and making drinks. quickly giving you a hug before running out the door and waving to her while you could still see her little frame in the shop, you ran all the way to the apartment.

luckily for you the cafè was only down the road so it wasn’t anything major to get there and back to the apartment. not paying attention to your surroundings because of the excitement rushing through your veins you felt your body crash into another, much broader and larger than your own. gasping and looking up to immediately apologize to the stranger—your eyes widened seeing it was seunghyun. “hey!! what are you doing here?! it’s so nice to see you again but I’m super busy and have to go. give me and jiyong a call and we can all hang out!” you nodded at him while giving him a very quick but tight hug before taking off down the hallway probably looking like a crackhead at this point but you could careless. finally entering the apartment and rushing to the living room your eyebrows furrowed at the sight in front of you and jiyong quickly grabbed the remote to get rid of the evidence you had already saw. “jiyong… what’s this?” you asked stepping a bit closer finally seeing the end credits and you lunged forward to grab the remote from him seeing he was indeed on the last episode. “jiyong!!” yelling at him and pouting your lips as you turned to look at him in disbelief that he would finish without you. by the look on his face you could tell he felt bad but he was so curious to see what happened and couldn’t wait any longer. his arms slowly wrapped around your waist and pulled you against him even though you tried to fight back he was still much stronger than you. “you knew I was so excited to watch this with you. why would you finish it without me?” trying your best to sound mean or intimidating in a way but it didn’t exactly work when he found you so cute even during a time like this.

“I’m sorry baby, I was so curious to see what was going to happen but let’s continue, hm? I’ll act as if I never watched it before just for you and then we can be shocked together!” you smacked his chest since he had already given a little bit away with the word that he decided to use. “fine..” you started but didn’t finish when he pressed his lips against your own in a sweet kiss and he knew that would make things better since you loved his soft lips so much. smiling into the kiss you grabbed his face with your smaller hands and kept him close to you, the kiss lasting a few more moments before you wrapped your arms around his neck and crawled into his lap. “missed you so much today. let’s make something to eat and watch the show please.” jiyong nodded his head and pressed a few kisses to the side of your face before picking you up and bringing the both of you to the kitchen, deciding to order take out and not worry about cooking anything else.

[spoilerssweetie13]

Hi, I've been meaning to reply to this. I just haven’t found the time to sit down and write a whole essay, hehehe. I'll start off by saying I definitely get where you're coming from, but here's just my two cents on everything:

The Doctor has, at one point, been President of Gallifrey, and given how Time Lords are, I don't they would allow someone "less clever" than them to lead them. The Timeless Child isn't supposed to make the Doctor special. If anything, it makes them a victim of abuse dissected like lab rat by their own adoptive mother over who knows how lifetimes. The Timeless Child does not negate their choices. Instead, I feel adds to them. They are alien even to this universe but chose to save it time and time again. In a sense, if they hadn't been kidnapped the DW universe would have died a billion times over, isn't that beautifully fucked up in its own way?

Davros once asked Twelfth why he ran from Gallifrey, and under this new context of the Timeless Child, you realize, "Oh shit that's what he was running from." That's what they are all always running from. I also saw another post on here that said that the Time Lords "granted" Eleventh more regenerations to cover their own tracks, and that makes so much sense. The Time Lords don't do anything unless it benefits them. When you see the whole show under the lens of Timeless Child, all the pieces start to fall into place. It's definitely a different viewing experience. It becomes so much darker, and I think that's part of the appeal of the Timeless Child for me.

The Doctor did always feel like the adopted child of the family; Timeless Child just confirms it. But they will always be the Doctor, because the Doctor is the name that they chose for themselves, their empathy and and love for humanity has nothing to do with where they come from, and that was true even when we thought they were from Gallifrey. It's all about their choices, and they will always choose to be the Doctor sorting out fair play throughout the universe, no matter their origins.

Ever since I watched the Fugitive Doctor episode, every time someone new would pop up on screen, I would go is he the Doctor, is she the Doctor, [ominously whispers] are we all the Doctor? (Joking, but seriously, the paranoia did set in!) To me, Timeless Child isn't taking the Everyman-ness or Everywoman-ness away but adds to it by saying literally anyone and everyone can be the Doctor. You don't have to be born on Gallifrey to be the Doctor; hell, you don't even have to be from the DW universe, so we could all very well be the Doctor, lol.

Extended lore says Time Lords used Looms to procreate so I don't know why the Doctor wouldn't know who the Susan's parents are, unless it hasn't happened yet because of timey-wimey stuff [shrugs] probably will never happen now because of the retcon. :( Marrying a werewolf is crazy but it's the Doctor, so I'm not even surprised.

It's funny that I don't like the Bi-genration for the same reason that you do like it. That it's a one-off and will never happen again. To me, it feels too convenient compared to the Timeless Child. Love it, hate it, want to purge it from your memory, the Timeless Child will always be a part of the show's history, it's essentially a infinite money glitch, a way for the show to go on forever. See, what really gets me is that Fourteenth will just drop dead at one point, and Fifteenth will just get all his memories and be like, "I'm healed now." That feels too convenient. To me, that's messing with the established rules just as much as Timeless Child. If we're talking about closure Fourteenth and Donna should've gone back to The Library and Fourteenth should've used his "resemblance" to Tenth to his advantage to confuse the Vashta Nerada and somehow save River without time collapsing in on itself (but that's just the Doctor/River shipper in me speaking). To me, Donna just getting her memories was closure enough.

RTD said he didn't want to make a mockery of drag by putting David Tennant in Jodie's Whittaker outfit. Mind you, her outfit was specially designed so anyone can wear it. What's so feminine about trousers, a shirt and a coat? It seems to me that it was just done in bad faith.

Bigeneration is just as lore-changing as the Timeless Child. And yet no one shits on it because their precious RTD wrote it. If Chibnall did something like this, y'all would have your pitchforks at the ready. The double standards in this fandom, I swear. RTD is allowed to retcon Doctor Who, but heavens forbid Chibnall even try.

The Doctor is no longer even a parent because of him. David Tennant is a good actor, but I'm tired of people pretending like he's the face of Doctor Who. The whole point of the show is that the Doctor has different faces, and we should love them all—not regress backwards.

We deserved to see the Fourteenth Doctor in Thirteenth's clothes, and not for everything she is to burn up and die. The Fifteenth Doctor deserved his own regeneration scene like every other Doctor, without Fourteenth randomly sticking around because of RTD's inability to let go of the characters he wrote.

At least the Timeless Child added something more to the Doctor's story. Bigeneration took something away: the emotional impact of the Doctor's regeneration - having to say goodbye.

[bring-forth-his-sac]

Not sure if this is too far but maybe some dads best friend mixed in with close calls and very rough stuff if ya know what I mean 😏

Stained

Word Count: 7.4k

Warnings/Tags:  rough sex, degrading name calling (slut), mentions of a facial, cheating (soz Lucille), alcohol consumption, hair pulling, semi-public sex

It happened again.

By now, Negan knows the routine. Argue. Say shit neither one of them can take back. Lucille kicks him out or else Negan reaches his limit and storms out. Make up later. It’s their pattern.

But tonight is different. 

They were supposed to go to a friend’s house for dinner, which threw a wrench in their usual routine. A part of Negan still wanted to go. Sure, he dreaded the tension-filled conversation, Lucille throwing in her usual passive-aggressive digs, but there was a silver lining: he could vent afterward. He needed to. To someone who’d actually get it, without the sugar-coating.

Negan has been friends with your dad for years, long enough to know they could trade a few sharp words and move on without it turning into some dramatic scene. Sometimes, Negan could really use that kind of blunt, no-nonsense talk with another guy. 

But hell, he wouldn’t mind shooting the shit with you either. You always got his humor and honestly, you were the only one who could make him laugh without trying so damn hard.

Instead of your home, he finds himself at a bar. Lucille was quick to call dibs on going solo to your parents house, not wanting to deal with Negan in front of friends. 

He left without another word, driving to the local watering hole like a man on a mission.

The bar is the usual kind of dimly lit place that doesn't ask questions. Negan doesn’t need questions tonight. What he needs is a drink and a distraction.

He settles onto a chair by the bartop and orders a whiskey, the burn of it going down smoother than he expected.

Lucille’s parting words echo in his head, the sharpness of her dismissal stinging all over again. The way she had shut him down so easily, almost like telling off a child. Negan can feel the frustration creeping back in. He could’ve used a laugh tonight but instead, he’s stuck here. 

Alone, as usual.

On a typical night, Negan hates how quiet the bar is. He can’t stand silences, everything about it gets on his nerves. The patrons are too tight to even cough up a quarter to play a song on the jukebox. It always feels like the kind of place where the air is thick with nothingness and every minute stretches on longer than the last.

Negan doesn’t have the luxury to brood over that on this particular night. Instead, the loud chattering of a group of girls fills the bar, cutting through the silence like a chainsaw.

Just a handful of them crowd around a table, all bright-eyed and wide smiles, laughing as though the weight of the world hasn’t yet found them.

His brow furrows as he watches them out of the corner of his eye. They’re not doing anything wrong but the racket they’re making feels invasive in the normally subdued space. 

Every time they laugh, the sound hits him like a hammer to his skull, ringing in his ears. It’s like a constant, steady hum of disruption. Negan can appreciate a little noise and some new life in the place, but tonight?

Tonight, it’s too much. It’s frustrating him. He takes another swig of his whiskey but it doesn’t quite block out their high-pitched, frantic laughter. 

One of the girls spills a drink, and the others burst into a fresh round of giggles, the kind that seems to echo through the entire room. 

He’s about to look away when another girl quickly picks up the drink and continues to say something. She's sitting across from the others, leaning forward and talking animatedly, her hands flying through the air with each word. 

One of her hands subtly goes to her thigh and she tries to discreetly yank down her dress. 

Negan wonders if women know they don’t need to wear tight mini dresses or the crop tops to get laid. But he supposes that’s the joy of being a  youngster. They do stupid shit, wear stupid shit, drink stupid shit. Some grow out of it while others still say stupid shit and end up drinking alone at a bar.

His eyes flicker over her figure. Negan can’t see her face, the angle of her head and the way her body is half-turned away from him hides it. 

Negan doesn’t mind. He can still appreciate her thighs and the curve of her ass from his seat at the bar. Her hair and back covers most of her upper body too so Negan can’t appreciate any titty action just yet.

His fingers drum against the bar and he catches himself, realizing that he’s staring. He quickly looks away, taking another drink of his whiskey as if the liquid will wash away whatever was just stirred up inside him.

In a way, Negan’s glad you’re not like that. You’re pretty without all the extra shit. Since elementary school, you've never been the type to crave attention or stand out in a crowd. Yet you're not the kind of introvert who keeps completely to yourself either.

You fall somewhere in the middle, comfortable with who you are without needing to put on a show for anyone.

There’s been plenty of times you’ve been the most entertaining thing to Negan at your parent’s dinner parties. He loves the witty remarks you toss his way and how you both quietly poke fun at the evening while the others remain oblivious. Those little moments are the highlight of his night.

But, of course, there are also those other times. When a careless comment from your father or mother hits a nerve and you retreat into yourself, disappearing into the background. Negan can always tell when that happens; the sharpness in your eyes dulls and the sarcastic remarks you usually offer him vanish. 

He wonders if you’ll be disappointed tonight, when it’s only Lucille who arrives for dinner. You make the dinners bearable for him but surely you reciprocate that feeling. Both of you are as thick as thieves in your own subtle way.

The woman he’s been checking out stands, saying one more quick thing to her friends before she turns and heads for the bar.

Maybe it’s because you’re already clouding his thoughts that seeing you in person hits him even harder. He’s imagined you a thousand times, with your quiet demeanor and the casual clothes you wear that make you almost invisible.

The mental image of you is so vivid, it’s like you’ve been etched into his mind… yet here you are, so different than that.

You do the same action that you did earlier, yanking down the end of your dress as it threatens to ride up your thigh. Negan lets out a gulp, not sure how he feels at the fact that he’s been checking out his friend’s daughter.

Turning back to say something to your friends, you let out a laugh as you clog along in your high heels to the bar. 

This is exactly what you needed. A night away from all your worries and stresses… and your parents. 

Besides, you're an adult now. You’re allowed to have fun! Whether that be crazy golf, drinking until you need your stomach pumped or smoking whatever. No matter how much guilt or pressure your parents try to put on you, tonight is yours. You’re no longer bound by their expectations. You can take a break from being the person they want you to be and just be.

Maybe that’s why the words “Lydia found out her boyfriend cheated so everyone was going to go over to hers and cheer her up!” came out of your mouth when you told your parents you couldn’t stay for dinner instead of “We all want to go out and down tequila shots!”.

Whether your actual reasoning would’ve worked or not, it doesn’t matter because they let you out with no more than a remorseful look as you left to help your heartbroken friend.

“Get more salt sachets!” a giddy Lydia calls out as you clip-clop up to the bar. 

You’re so caught up in your own little bubble of excitement that you barely notice the guy at the bar. You wait beside him, leaning on the counter and waiting until the bartender comes over. When you feel his eyes linger, you glance his way, wondering if you’ve found some fun for the night. 

You look over, pre-emptively batting your eyes lashes everything seems to slow down. There, standing just a few inches away, is Negan. Your dad’s friend. 

You freeze for a moment, excuses caught in your throat, as you realize that it’s not just the familiarity of his face that’s throwing you off. It’s the way he's looking at you. Negan’s expression is unreadable but the way his gaze lingers has a weight that catches you off guard.

You try to swallow the sudden lump in your throat. What is he thinking? How long has he been standing there? And why, of all people, did it have to be him?

You hate it. On one hand, you want to ignore him. Maybe give him a nod of acknowledgment before pretending like you’re not in front of someone you’ve known since you were a kid. 

But on the other hand, you know what Negan’s like and the last thing you want is for him to loudly draw attention to your… friendship? 

Ushering yourself closer, you hurriedly whisper “What are you doing here?!”.

Negan struggles to maintain his composure, forcing himself to keep his eyes on your face instead of letting them wander. 

“What am I doing here?” His jaw clenches as if readying himself to barrage you with questions “What are you doing here, dressed like that? Are you drunk? Do your parents know you’re here? I swear….”.

You scoff defensively, glancing down at the glass of whiskey in front of him. “Oh so I can’t go out with friends but you’re allowed to drown your sorrows?”.

Negan doesn’t even entertain your question, immediately waving it off. “That’s not the damn point,” he hisses “I’m not the one with my tits out and stumbling around a bar!”. 

He shoots some other patrons a glare as they try to eavesdrop, making sure they keep their eyes to themselves. You gasp, putting a hand on your chest. Maybe your dress is a lower cut than what you’d usually wear but your boobs aren’t about to pop out of the thing!

“You— you can’t talk to me like that!” despite how your face flushes, you stand your ground. You’ve always known Negan to be raunchy but not once has he ever spoken to you like this before.

"Can't talk to you like what?” Negan doesn’t give you the time to ponder that rhetorical question, crossing his arms as he continues to lecture you.

“You think you look appropriate right now? You think your parents would approve of this outfit?" his eyes narrowing dangerously.

“I’m out with friends, not at dinner with my parents!” You defend, deciding to add in your own jab “Besides, I thought you were at theirs tonight, having dinner with Lucille… not drinking alone”.

Negan can’t keep still. He’s too antsy, wanting to shake some sense into you but trying to stay cool in public.

With an elbow propped up on the bar, Negan points a finger at you “Watch it, before I haul your ass outta here”.

This is the closest you’ve ever seen Negan to real anger. Whenever he’s been at your house, it’s always been the aftermath of it you’ve witnessed. His sullen mood and Lucille’s small comments at him whenever the conversation allowed; both of them handling their simmering frustration in their own way. 

To not only witness his anger first hand, but to have it directed at you… you’re not sure if you want to pout or get on your knees right then and there.

You scoff, trying to seem unbothered. “Enjoy your drink, I’m going back to my friends,” you say it with just enough sass, turning to retreat back to your table.

You know it’s a pointless endeavour. 

Negan won’t allow it. And you know it.

His hand snakes around your upper arm, his grip firm but not painful. "Oh no you don't,” he tugs you back, urging you to face him again “we’re leaving. Now”.

You were hoping for a little more time here, a bit more back-and-forth, rile him up before hopefully breaking down those stubborn walls. 

“You can leave, but I’m not!” you snap, digging your heels in.

He leans in close, his anger flaring back to life as his voice drops into a dangerously low growl. “I’m not asking you, sweetheart, I’m telling you” the pet name slips out like a command, making something tighten in your chest. 

“You’re drunk, you’re dressed like a goddamn slut and you’re not staying in this bar another second”.

Is it bad you can feel the heat between your legs as he degrades you? How is it your dad’s friend, someone you kinda considered your own friend too, is calling you a slut so easily? And why does he keep trying to steal quick glances at your chest?

Heh, well, you know the answer to that last question.

Still, you play your part and you slap his arm. “Don’t call me that! Jackass” you say with a defiant huff.

His eyes widen but Negan doesn’t acknowledge the slap in the way you wanted him to. Instead of continuing to bicker, he grabs his leather jacket from the back of his chair and throws it on, his movements sharp. 

“Jackass?” he repeats, clearly not amused.

“Yes! You’re acting like a major jackass!” you fire back, though there’s a glimmer of amusement in your voice. 

Negan grins, that mocking, almost wicked smile spreading across his face as steers you away from the bar.

“Yeah, and you know what else I am?” he asks “The one dragging your drunk, barely dressed ass out of this bar before you make a complete fool of yourself”.

He starts tugging you toward the exit. “I had like… two drinks!” you protest, stumbling slightly to keep up.

But just as he’s about to drag you out the door, you use all the momentum you have to shove him into the door right next to the exit. 

The ladies toilets. 

Your friends giggle as you both disappear from sight, assuming you’re hooking up with the stranger. They’ve always known you have a thing for older men but little do they know who he really is…

Negan stumbles into the bathroom, his mind still trying to process how he went from the exit to somehow ending up in here instead. His brow furrows as he takes in the situation.

Before he can say a word, you speak, your voice steady but firm “Negan, I’m not leaving”.

He steps closer “Yes. You. Are. We’re leaving. Right. Now”. His hand shoots out to grab your arm, but you’re already one step ahead. You sidestep him, narrowly avoiding his grip.

“No!” you exclaim, more forcefully than you intended. Hoping to get through to him, you soften your tone, offering a sliver of vulnerability. “My parents don’t know I’m here… they think I’m just at a friend’s place” you admit.

Your words hang in the air, a soft confession of rebellion. But Negan’s response is as expected—he rolls his eyes, the action exaggerated as if he’s heard this excuse a thousand times before. 

“I don’t give a fuck if your parents ground you for a year!” He snaps, his voice low but intense “You’re not staying here dressed like that and acting like this”.

“Acting like what? Having fun?”.

His jaw clenches. “By acting like you’re only worth a quick fuck in the backseat of someone’s car,” Negan replies, the words carrying a weight that makes your stomach sink.

The insult stings, but you refuse to back down. With a small scoff, you shake your head and tilt your chin up slightly. “You’re telling me you didn’t do that when you were young?” you challenge.

Negan’s expression falters for a split second, his lips twitching as if he’s about to crack a grin but he maintains his steely expression. 

He exhales sharply through his nose, his stance stiffening. “I did it because I’m a guy,” he mutters, his tone clipped “so it’s different”.

“That’s misogynist,” you point out as you cross your arms, unintentionally making your cleavage more noticeable.

For a moment, you catch Negan’s gaze flickering downward before snapping back up to your eyes, his face strained. 

His lips press together in a tight line, his eyes briefly closing in frustration as he fights to maintain his composure. “Fuck, can you just…” Negan gestures vaguely at you “Cover up or something?”.

Without waiting for an answer, Negan turns away, running a hand through his dark locks. 

You let out a quiet sigh. “I didn’t bring a jacket,” you say flatly, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered.

He mutters something under his breath, too quiet for you to catch. With a dramatic huff, he whips off his leather jacket. “Of course you didn’t. On top of everything else, you want to get hypothermia too” His voice drips with exasperation.

Negan turns back to you, holding out the jacket, his eyes briefly look to your chest again before quickly darting back to your face, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

You catch the slight pause, the way his gaze betrays him, but you choose not to acknowledge it— at least, not directly. You stare him down, not hiding the smirk plastered on your face. Then, in one swift movement, he practically hurls the jacket at you. 

“Here,” he says, the word a little too resigned.

Instinctively, you catch the jacket, but you don’t put it on. Instead, you hold it in your arms, letting it drape over them as you roll your eyes at his comments. 

“I’m not some delicate little flower,” you tease, your smirk becoming playful “maybe I like it rough”.

The words slip out without thinking, a little too flippantly, and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks.

Maybe those two drinks were enough to get you tipsy after all.

Negan’s eyes narrow at you and you can see the gears turning in his head. There’s a flicker of something in his expression. Maybe amusement, maybe disbelief, but before he can say anything, you catch the faintest hint of a smirk forming on his lips.

He steps closer, his imposing frame shadowing you as he leans in. “Damn, you’re something else,” he says, his voice thick with something you can’t quite place.

You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or the overwhelming presence he has, but for the first time tonight, you feel a small shiver run up your spine. 

“Rough, huh?” His words are like a threat, his tone smooth and dangerous.

Before you can respond, his hand shoots out, and suddenly, he has a firm grip on your hair, tugging it just enough to pull your head back. 

“Ow! Negan!!” You whine, your voice a mix of surprise and irritation. Good job at proving you like it rough.

He loosens his grip, but his fingers stay tangled in your hair, holding you captive in his gaze. He stares down at you, his dark eyes boring into yours. 

“You think I don’t notice how gorgeous you are?” he murmurs, his voice low, almost possessive “But this? Telling me you like it rough? Tsk, tsk, tsk”. 

Your heart skips a beat at the admission, and your eyes widen ever so slightly. The words settle in your chest, warm and electric, and for a split second, everything else fades away. 

Negan thinks you’re gorgeous. 

You can barely process it but you don’t get a chance to let the moment settle. His fingers tighten in your hair again, this time with purpose. 

“There’s a difference,” he growls, his voice rougher now, “between making eyes at some random guy at a bar and teasing a man who actually knows what to do with you”.

You swallow hard. His grip on you, the way he towers over you, his scent— all of it feels like a pressure you can’t escape. You can barely breathe.

“And you…” You pause, testing the waters “You know what to do with me?”.

And then, possibly the most un-hot thing happens. A toilet flushes. The sound is loud and sudden, causing you both to freeze. It comes from one of the stalls at the end of the room and it’s quickly followed by the drunken shuffling of feet and a zipping noise. 

Without a word, you and Negan lock eyes, an unspoken agreement passing between you in that single, charged moment. 

“Shit,” Negan mutters under his breath, his hand still tangled in your hair, but now pulling you toward the nearest empty cubicle with urgency. 

“Ouch!” you whisper, batting at his hand and making him untangle his hand from your hair. You barely have time to shoot him a glare before he’s guiding you into the small space, his body close behind you.

Just as the cubicle at the end of the room unlocks, the lock to your cramped cubicle slots into place with a soft click.

For a moment, you both hold your breath. You’re pressed together in the cramped space, his chest against your back, your bodies flush together.

You hear the drunken patron stumble, mumbling something unintelligible as they turn on one of the taps and start washing their hands. You both hold still, waiting for the heavy footsteps to move away. Negan holds you against him, one hand on your waist to keep you close. 

Although that’s not the only thing that’s touching you. 

It’s hard not to notice the unmistakable press of his semi-erect cock nestling against the curve of your ass. It feels firm yet pliant, a promise of things to come. 

Turning your head just enough to look up at him through your eyelashes. He doesn’t meet your gaze, too busy zoning into some spot in the stall door as he listens intently to the patron outside.

His brow furrows just slightly, the lines on his forehead deepening as he focuses. You can tell he's strategizing, weighing up different excuses in case he’s caught in the ladies room. Negan’s lips are pressed together, a slight tension around them, but it's not a scowl. 

Deciding you want some attention, you press your ass back slightly. You hear a grunt.

“You’re not making this easy on me,” he huffs. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your neck as he looks down.

Through the thin walls, you can hear the drunk go on their way, their footsteps slowly fading as they stagger out of the bathroom. The door swings shut with a final, echoing creak. 

As if to prove his point, Negan moves his hips forward, forcing his erection against your ass. He’s harder than you thought and you shudder at the mere size of the thing in his pants. 

He makes a quiet, pleased sound against your ear as his hand trails up your waist, teasing passing the side of your breast before settling on the back of your neck. 

“Fuck, you're responsive…” He pulls back slightly, making sure you can still feel him.

“Is that a good thing?” you ask softly.

He chuckles, his voice low and husky. “It's a dangerous thing, darlin,” he squeezes your neck teasingly “Nothing good ever comes from being too responsive... unless you're trying to drive a man wild”.

“Maybe that’s exactly why I’m trying to do” you push back against him again, this time bending your body slightly to really accentuate your ass.

Except all that does is encourage your dress to ride up your thighs again, stopping just before your ass. Grabbing his leather jacket from your arms, Negan tosses it up on the stall door before moving to your thighs.

Negan isn’t a one to waste time, especially when it comes to taking advantage of certain situations. Bringing both hands down to your thighs, he helps you dress by tugging it up in one swift movement. You let out a gasp as the cool, thankfully air conditioned bathroom making the skin on your ass get goosebumps.

“Negan! I-“ you move to turn away so he can’t see your ass but Negan’s one step ahead this time.

 Looping an arm around your torso, he makes sure you keep the squirming to a minimum. With his other hand, he brings it down between your legs and presses a finger against your panties.

He holds you in place, bent at the hips and ass against his crotch. You can feel the dampness of your panties against your heat. The wetness seeps into the fabric, making it stick to the lips of your pussy. 

“Fuck me, you are soaked!” with no qualms about modesty, Negan swipes the tacky panties to the side and gets a feel of your folds himself. 

You stop a moan from escaping, not wanting to be too eager. "Goddamn, you're a sticky little mess, ain't ya? All wet and sloppy, just fucking dripping” he teases your hole, momentarily pressing a finger to it but never dipping inside.

Hoping to gain some control, you go to stand up straight. The thoughts of looking into his eyes as he fingers you is more appealing than your view being the wall of a bathroom stall.

But Negan isn’t as fond of the idea. The arm looped around you quickly makes its way to your back, forcing you to stay bent. You let out a scoff as the side of your face smushes against the wall. 

“Negan, what the fuck?” You whine, blindly throwing one of your arms back at him “If you’re gonna finger me, at least let me enjoy it!”.

“Nuh-uh,” he grabs your arm and presses it against your back, restraining you before he continues his exploration of your pussy “I get to decide how the fuck we do this”.

You quieten down when you feel a finger trace your folds, spreading your wetness around. “You this much of a slut for every guy or am I just lucky?” He asks, chuckling at his own thoughts “Your friends were cheering like this is a usual thing for you”.

Before you can reply, Negan plunges two fingers deep inside your dripping cunt, his thumb grinding against your clit. “I— ah!” You mewl, trying to give a coherent response “N-no, never!”.

Negan picks up his pace, loving how you give in, basically slumping against the wall. “See, doll, I want to believe you. I mean, I don’t know that many sluts that get this fucking wet from just a little grinding… it’s shameful, really” he curls his fingers to hit the perfect spot, making your squirm.

“But in saying that,” Negan continues, his breath hitting against your neck as he leans closer “I don’t know that many modest gals that wear something like this”. 

Deciding you know better than to repeat your mistake and move again, Negan takes his hand off your back and paws at your chest instead. But in true Negan fashion, he needs to up his antics.

Tugging down the low cut neckline of your dress, you hear a ripping noise as he pulls at the fabric and forces it down past your bra.

“Huh… surprised your modest enough to wear a bra” he comments, quickly rectifying the situation. Without warning, Negan roughly shoves the bra cups up, freeing your tits completely. "Fuck, look at these," he growls, appreciating the sight of your breasts spilling out. 

The fingers he has working your hole pause and retreat, much to your disappointment. You take the opportunity to turn around to face him, starting to feeling a crick in your neck from being smushed up by the wall.

“Asshole, you tore my dress“ your voice is laced with frustration, although that may be from how much you want him to stop teasing and fuck you already. 

With an amused scoff, Negan goes to hold up his hands in surrender. His fingers glisten with your juices. “I’m trying to be a gentlemen here, doll” he chuckles as he defends himself.

You fight the urge to cover yourself, knowing that’s what he’s waiting for. He wants to see that shy side, to see you blush and get flustered. 

You glare at him instead “How is this being a gentleman?”.

“Well, I coulda just ripped it clean off, but I left ya some dignity,” Negan smirks, crowding you again. You’re left no choice but to back into the wall, holding your glare as you look up at him.

“And I've fingered ya before fucking ya which is pretty damn noble” he adds, seeing you battle between staying annoyed and wanting to blush. You open your mouth to complain but a loud moan comes out instead as Negan pinches one of your nipples.

He thumbs your hard nipples, chuckling as they perk up even more under his touch. “Damn, always knew you’d have a good pair on ya," he muses “fuckin’ perfect”.

Negan doesn't hesitate, leaning down to engulf one nipple in his mouth. He sucks hard, letting his teeth graze the sensitive bud as he kneads the other breast roughly. Groaning around your nipple, he switches to the other, assaulting it with the same fervent enthusiasm. 

With a grunt, Negan grabs your thighs and hoists you up, pinning you against the wall with his muscular body. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, arms going around his shoulders.

Negan grinds his still clothed cock against your bare pussy, applying just enough pressure to make you whimper. 

The rough denim of his pants provides no comfort, each thrust of his hips pressing his erection directly against your sensitive clit. "You feel that?" He asks against your tit “Want you to beg for it, gotta hear ya saying it”.

You have no hesitation. There is no reluctance to beg for him, not when you’re this close to getting what you thought would always be a wet dream. 

"Please, Negan, I need it!" you beg, your hips bucking against his pants in desperate attempts to get friction. “I’ve wanted you for so long, to fuck me in my bedroom o-or on the dinner table! Fuck, anywhere! I don’t care!”.

That seems to convince him. Reaching down and fumbling with his jeans, Negan has his cock out in record time. He grips the base, stroking it a few times as he lines it up with your soaked pussy. 

The head of his cock presses against your entrance, the tip barely peeking out from between your folds. Negan slowly eases in, allowing you to adjust to his massive size. 

You writhe and moan against him, trying to keep your body relaxed as he enters you. Trying your best to keep eye contact, you let out a string of whimpers as he fills you completely. 

"Damn, I actually fit," he says, stretching you out in a way you’ve never felt before. Negan pulls out carefully, as if testing the waters before plunging back into your needy pussy with vigor.

"Holy fuck, even tighter than I imagined. Built for my dick, aren't you?" he grunts, starting to fuck you hard.

Each brutal thrust of his hips drives his thick cock deeper into your pussy, stretching you wide open. "Fuck, you're so tight it feels like my dick is splitting you in half. Love it. Fucking love it" Negan rambles on and grabs your thighs, spreading them as wide as he can.

"Fuck, Negan... you're so..." you try to speak "ah!”. It’s all too much in the best way possible. That delicious ache of being so thoroughly penetrated, the feeling of absolute fullness with each deep thrust.

"More... fuck me more..." your hips arch up to meet his thrusts, trying to keep up.

Negan angles his hips upwards, hitting that spot inside you over and over as he pounds into you. "Look at me," He growls, "Look at me while I break you in half with my dick. You like that? You like feeling so stuffed?"

“I-I've never been this full before…” you say with teary eyes.

Negan notices your body tensing and shuddering beneath him, your pussy walls starting to flutter wildly around his thick cock. "Holy shit, there it is... Your cunt's squeezin' me like a fuckin' vice. You gonna cum on my dick?".

The pressure is building to an unbearable point, your entire body trembling as your orgasm approaches. Your mind goes blank, unable to answer his question as he hits that perfect spot.

Just as your orgasm hits, Negan feels your pussy clamp down around him like a silken fist. "Holy fuck..." you gasp, back arching as pure pleasure courses through your veins. 

Your entire body quakes, inner muscles milking his cock as you ride out your intense orgasm. You dig your nails into his shoulders, legs trembling uncontrollably.

Negan grunts, fucking you through your intense orgasm with deep, deliberate strokes. He can feel your pussy spasming wildly around his shaft, coating him in your slick arousal. As the last waves shudder through you, he finally pulls out, his cock glistening with in the light.

He lets you stand for a moment but you legs are so wobbly, it’s difficult to support your weight after that intense orgasm.

Before you can even catch your breath, Negan grabs your shoulder roughly and forces you onto your knees. Your body complies in an instant, unable to fight against such force.

Your knees ache as they hit the bathroom floor but that’s the least of your concerns. You look up at him in wide-eyed shock, lips parted as you anticipate him coming all over your face.

"Fuckin' hell, such a pretty face..." He strokes his throbbing cock with his fist, ready to explode.

But instead of aiming for your face, Negan aims his cock at your chest, unleashing a thick, hot load of cum all over your tits. He groans loudly as he paints your breasts with his seed, the warm liquid dripping down between your cleavage and seeping into the fabric of your dress.  

“Next time you’re either swallowing it or you’re getting a facial courtesy of yours truly” he informs you, although the only piece of information you truly savor from that is ‘next time’.

Doing the gentlemanly thing, he grabs some tissue from the toilet paper dispenser and hands it to you. You dab at your chest, knowing the dress is a lost cause and will probably have to be thrown out later. 

“Help me up?” You ask, somewhat shyly once you’re done.

Taking your arm in a much more gentle grip than before, Negan helps you up, subtly looking over your chest to make sure you’ve wiped off all of him. “You feeling alright?” he asks lowly, as if remembering the public place you’re both in. 

You blink, giving yourself a moment to calm, your body still humming with the aftermath. “That was…” you pause, collecting your thoughts, “...wow.”

A soft chuckle rumbles from his chest, and he slips his leather jacket off the stall door. “Well, that’s a better response than I expected,” he says with a smirk, draping the jacket around your shoulders and gently guiding your arms into the sleeves. Without a word about how the jacket nearly swallows you whole, he zips it up, pulling it snug to cover your chest. 

This is a completely different side to the Negan you’ve seen tonight. This is the Negan that gives you a small, reassuring smile after your parents throw some off handed insult your way. 

The two of you stand close, your breaths mingling. Slowly, the space between your faces narrows, as if drawn by some unspoken pull. You gently tilt your head, just enough to bring your lips into alignment with his. 

The kiss is a tender brush. Featherlight and hesitant. It’s the kind of kiss you’d expect before going at it like a bunch of animals… not afterwards.

The kiss lingers, still tasting of warmth and something unspoken. Pulling back just enough to rest your forehead against his, you can feel the soft touch of his lips still tingling on yours. You mutter against his lips, almost sheepishly “Can you drop me home?”.

His lips curl into a quiet smile, a slight glint in his eyes as he nods. “Considering I didn’t get to finish my first glass of whiskey, yeah I should be good,” Negan gives you a playful look.

Unable to help yourself, you give him a small smile. It’s not as seductive or teasing as the ones you have given him previously. In all honestly, it feels like Negan has fucked the seductiveness out of you– if that’s even possible.  

“... So this wasn’t some drunken mistake?” you ask coyly. 

Negan wraps an arm around your shoulders as he unlocks the stall door and carefully guides you out. ”Wear a dress like that the next time I’m at your parents for dinner and you’ll find out” he replies with a smirk. 

Besides his tousled hair, Negan still looks fine. He’s not dishevelled or out of breath or having trouble walking… all things you attribute to yourself.

Negan notices your state too, keeping his arm around you as you subtly leave the bathrooms and head for the exit. If it’s even possible, Negan pulls you closer, guiding you out like a drunk that’s had one too many. His presence is possessive in the gentlest of ways.

You give your friends a knowing look as you both leave, one that says you’ll explain everything later.

The sound of drunken chattering and laughter fades as you step out into the night, the streetlights casting a soft glow on the parking lot. 

When you reach the car, he opens the door for you with a small smirk, his eyes never leaving yours as you slide into the seat.  A few moments later, Negan slides into the driver's seat and the engine rumbles to life. 

The car doesn’t even get out of the parking lot before Negan’s hand finds yours. The ride home is quiet. He doesn’t say much, and neither do you, but the silence between you feels relaxed.

Every now and then, his thumb gently brushes across the back of your hand like a quiet reassurance. He doesn’t mention the contact, simply letting it linger. 

 The soft, rhythmic motion of the car becomes like a lullaby and with every mile, the weight of the night lifts just a little more. Every so often, you glance over at him, his face relaxed. When your eyes meet, he offers a smile and you sleepily return it.

Negan doesn’t pull up directly outside your house. Strategically stopping his car a little down the street, he sighs.

“Hate to say it but I’ll need that jacket back,” he gives you a once over, as if to memorize what his leather jacket looks like on you.

Fiddling with the zipper, you mumble “So I’m supposed to walk in there with a ripped up dress?”.

He laughs at that, shaking his head before reaching into the backseat. “Here, I know it’s dirty but it’s the best I can offer,” Negan hands you a sweatshirt. 

The sweatshirt is faded, its fabric softened from years of use. The sleeves are slightly frayed at the cuffs and a few small holes hint at its age. On the front, several dark oil stains mark where hands have wiped off grease, probably from Negan when working on his motorbike. 

But most importantly, it smells like him.

As you take off his jacket and put on the sweatshirt instead, Negan gives you some privacy and looks away. “Are you coming in too?” You ask, gently placing his jacket on his lap once you’ve changed.

Taking that as his signal to look, Negan gives you a sympathetic smile. “Not tonight, darlin,” he replies “think Lucille would chop my nuts off with your mom’s fancy silver if I showed my face”.

“You two are fighting that bad?”.

Negan shrugs “Same old, same old”.

You try not to fidget with the frayed sleeves of his sweatshirt, not wanting to pick at it right in front of him. 

“And… this?” You focus your attention at simply inspecting the sleeves instead of picking at them “I mean, I know you said it wasn’t a drunken mistake but still… I get it if you wanna pretend like it never happened”.

As much as you wanted quick reassurance, you’re met with silence. 

Negan leans back in his seat, taking his eyes away from yours and looking at the street. Up ahead, he can see the porch light on to your parents house. Although, he doubts Lucille will be leaving anytime soon. She’ll probably stay late, try to wait it out until Negan has drank himself silly and fallen asleep.

“Tonight shouldn’t have happened,” he says with little emotion “It ain’t right. I know it. You know it. Hell, anyone in a ten mile radius would call me all sorts of names if they knew about it…  fucking your friend’s daughter is a whole mess”.

You stay quiet, unsure whether you should just get out now.

“But shit, if you wanted to suck my dick right now, I wouldn’t say no,” he chuckles “it’s a fucked up thing to say but I wouldn’t mind something like this happening again”.

That puts a smile back on your face. Getting ready to leave, you say “Maybe if you come to dinner next time, I will suck your dick”.

Negan watches you with narrowed eyes. Of course you’d be able to make his dick twitch again, making him feel like a teenager that could get it up over and over again. 

“I’ll hold you to that,” he warns as you get out.

“Good,” you hop out of the car, giving him one last flirtatious smirk before going “I hope you do”.

Closing the door, you strut along the pavement, your heels clicking as you go to your house. Walking has never seemed so hard, not only because of your shoe choice but from the aching in your gut and your legs wobbling more than you’d like to admit. 

Still, you try to do your best to walk straight, knowing Negan is watching. 

When you get to the front door, you give Negan one last glance before disappearing inside. He wait a few moments before starting up his car and leaving. 

The first thing you hear is a chorus of polite laughter from the dining room. Great, looks like they’re still in the midst of dinner. Before you have a chance to debate if you could get upstairs without them hearing, you hear your father call out your name.

“Is that you?” He calls out.

Reluctantly, you walk in, lingering by the doorway. Your parents to turn in their dining chairs to face you. Whereas Lucille has you right in her line of view. She offers you a gracious smile as you enter.

“I thought you were staying at Lydia’s tonight,” you mom says, eyeing your sweatshirt and what appears to be a skirt. Thankfully she doesn’t comment on how short it is.

“Eh, Lydia talked things out with her boyfriend so they’re back together again,” you lie casually “you know how they are; fight, break up and make up”.

Lucille casts her gaze down slightly, as if your words hit a little too close to home for her. You shift uncomfortably. 

“There’s some leftovers in the kitchen if you’re hungry” your mom says, blissfully unaware.

“I’m ok,” you give her a smile “I think I might just shower and head to bed early”.

“Alright,” she already waves you off, turning back in her seat “if you’re sure”.

You don’t linger, giving them a polite nod before leaving. It’s only when you turn to leave does Lucille look at you again. 

She’s never believed in coincidences. And she’s never believed you to be into repairing cars. She knows the faint stains on your sweatshirt, mainly because she’s the one who spent hours trying to scrub them out… only for Negan to reward her with new stains on the damn thing. 

Nodding along with whatever it is your father is saying, Lucille’s mind strays further and further from the dinner and to Negan instead. 

Something’s happened. What exactly, she’s not sure. But you’re involved and so is her damned husband.

—————

A/N: thought I’d put in a quick note just to say thanks for reading and apologies for disappearing all month! My family almost got scammed out of 11k (it was insane) but!! More importantly!! I got seriously bad writers block so apologies if this fic is a little choppy, I’m still getting back into my stride!!

[slippinmickeys]

Thank you for expanding Funfetti! I am so thirsty for M&S keep William fics, I can't even tell you. More please? I'll take anything. But can you continue with the Thanksgiving Pageant stuff? What happens next?? please and thank you

“Tell me you didn’t tell him to say that, Mulder.” 

Scully had pulled him into a stairwell the very second they could escape the auditorium without notice. 

“I didn’t tell him to say that,” Mulder answered honestly. 

“Tell me you didn’t tell him to say that and fucking mean it,” she hissed. 

Mulder reached out and grabbed her by the hand, looking her in the eye. 

“I didn’t tell him to say that. I swear. He…” 

“Did he hear us? Did he hear us talking?” 

The boy had been shut up in his room. The idea that he had overheard them was unlikely. 

The third grade class was singing something that sounded an awful lot like ‘Fah Who Doraze’ from The Grinch. In the echo chamber of the stairwell it sounded eerie and hollow.

“Mulder!” Scully hissed. 

Mulder turned his attention fully back to Scully. “I don’t see how,” he finally said. 

“He must have though,” she replied, stepping back, fidgety and distressed. “He must have.”

And then Mulder remembered something. 

“Scully,” he said, his voice low and serious. “The last bit. The smallpox bit. I never said that out loud.”

“What do you mean you never-” 

Mulder watched as the color drained from Scully’s face. 

“I thought it,” he said. “I never…I thought it.”

The implications washed over both of them. 

“Oh my God,” Scully said for the millionth time that night, swallowing thickly and lowering herself to sit on the staircase. 

Mulder, knees popping, sat down next to her. The song ended and there was an underwater sound of polite applause echoing against the painted brick walls of the stairwell.

“You’d hoped it was telekinesis,” he said. “Just telekinesis.”

The baby’s mobile spinning on its own. Stuffies dropping from the air when they walked in the nursery. Umpteen other things they wrote off because it couldn’t have been what they thought it was, because there was a plausible explanation, because it was just a figment of their imagination. 

…Maybe not ‘they.’

“I hate that word.”

“How do you feel about ‘telepathy?’”

Scully turned to glare at him. 

“I’m not trying to raise your ire. But we’ve had fights about this, Scully, and every time you find some kind of plausible deniability.”

“Isn’t that why Blevins hired me?” She was deflecting, now. 

Mulder waited a moment, then reached out and grasped her hand. She didn’t pull back. 

”We both know he’s different. I’ve known for a while. I think you have too. But I also think there’s maybe no more denying it. Don’t you?” 

At some point, even skeptic extraordinaire Dana Scully had to accept what she was finally seeing with her own eyes. 

She sighed heavily. “Do you remember when you told me that maybe he wasn’t what those supersoliders thought he was?”

Mulder nodded, wondering where he was going with this. She turned to him with a look of misery.

“What do I do when it’s me thinking the same thing?”

Mulder turned more fully toward her. “What do you mean?”

Scully paused, sniffed, wouldn’t look him in the eye. “I mean…what if our son isn’t what we thought he was?”

“You mean the fact that he’s different? Special?” he asked. 

Her shoulders wilted. 

“Yes.” Quiet acknowledgement. And then she went on. “It’s not the…supernatural things…not completely, anyway. It’s not those things that are so hard for me to accept.”

“Then what is it?”

“Acknowledging his…gifts…means mourning the loss of the child I thought I had.”

“And embracing the one you do,” Mulder said. He kept all judgement out of his voice. 

Scully finally looked at him, her eyes full of tears. 

“It doesn’t make you love him any less,” Mulder said, knowing what he said was the complete truth. 

Scully looked at the floor and a tear streaked down her nose and swayed for a moment at the end of it before dripping to the floor at their feet. 

“It makes me feel like I have to protect him more,” she sniffed. “It’s going to make his life so much harder. It’s going to make our life so much harder.”

Mulder let go of her hand and put his arm around his shoulders, pulling her in tight. They sat for a moment, the sound of the fourth graders' song pinging through the air in round, hollow drops of sound. He squeezed her into himself once. 

“Scully,” he finally said. “I can’t think of two more qualified people to handle this. Can you?”

The moment was a quantum shift in their lives. Nothing would ever be the same again. But life went on. And you had to go with it. 

She inhaled expansively, sat up straight even under the weight of his arm. “No,” she said after a moment. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.” She gave him a watery chuckle.

“I suppose not,” he said, standing up and reaching out a hand to her. “Come on,” he went on, hauling her up. “We’ll sneak back in, watch the fifth graders chew some scenery, and be first in line for lemonade and cookies.”      

“We’re going to be fielding some questions,” she said with obvious distaste. 

Mulder swung the stairwell door wide, holding it open for her to walk through. 

“Let ‘em,” he said, following her through. “I’ve got a tight five on Thanksgiving as a tool of assimilation.”

[rexuality]

one time I was with my siblings at a flea market and someone offered me a free hhc sample edible in which I 1) instantly and stupidly said yes because free 2) immediately forgot that I had done this because my attention was solely on obtaining items and objects

an hour later I was sitting there with my siblings at Outback Steakhouse. My sister Michelle answers the phone for a business call. We are mostly in bloomin onion bliss but the table across from us is loud and their child won’t stop chanting “who’s that Pokémon? IT’S PIKACHU” like they are trying to summon him to the restaurant. We get our food, Michelle is still talking to a client, and all of a sudden my chest feels SO tight. My limbs feel heavy and numb. I feel like I am moving through water. I turn to my sister and I say, “Alexis…… look up symptoms of a heart attack…. In women” her eyes widen in terror, she glances at Michelle for help. Michelle, a veteran of festivals, raves, and blackout partying, instantly eyes me with suspicion but continues her call. I scan the list on Lexi’s phone. I do not see “heavy feet” as a symptom but I’m certain I will be dead soon. My brother Julian is silent and frozen in which he later described as “autistic shock”

I get up, clutching my chest, hobbling to the door. The loud family immediately quiets, the child stops screaming about pikachu. I know I’m making a scene but it doesn’t matter, I don’t want to die inside the Outback Steakhouse, I want to die in its parking lot instead. I leave, Michelle pays, Alexis calls 911. They all meet me outside, their meals unfinished. Michelle is finally off her call, not knowing what is happening, but so used to bullshit that she cannot be bothered to take me seriously. As Lexi is on the phone I am sitting on a bench reflecting on my life, wishing it had ended on a more poetic note. Then I hear the operator ask Alexis, “what did your sister eat?” And she says, while crying, “a bloomin onion! and also a very small edible from the flea market”

in that instant I erupted from the depths of my mortal spiraling and weed addled pleadings with death and I say,

“THE EDIBLE. ALEXIS HANG UP THE PHONE I AM JUST REALLY HIGH”

She hangs up and instantly everyone is simultaneously relieved and annoyed with me, and we all run to Michelle’s car. Minutes later, we watch a cop car pull up to the restaurant. I watch in complete shame and start sobbing, “I’m the oldest, I’m supposed to be a role model for you all.” They say, “literally who cares, no one asked you to be” and we drive to Michelle’s apartment where I guess I was in a stage of being obliterated high that all I could do was weep and apologize for my atrocious, poor eldest sibling behavior that no one gave a fuck about.

Then my husband and my girlfriend picked me up and it felt like the angels had come. And I slept the rest of the day.

My siblings never forgave me. Not because I got high from an unknown substance from a fucking flea market booth, but because I had them alarmed enough to not finish their food and they “LEFT IT THERE, NOT EVEN A TO-GO BOX”

and that’s the story of how I can never go back to Outback Steakhouse

[bellysoupset]

Gossip, rumors even.

No emeto or sickness in this one, just Bella and Jonah doing some good old fashioned gossiping.

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

It was a rare, sunny day out and Leo was bouncing on his feet like a puppy. Jonah rolled his eyes at his fiancée, watching Leo like a hawk as Luke talked with him.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," Bella teased him lightly, sitting down next to Jon on the bleachers and unceremoniously pushing a paper bag of peanuts in his hands. She was wearing a long, flowy black skirt and it covered half of Jonah's leg as she sat down, "did Wen text you?"

"Nope," Jonah fished out a peanut, before pushing the greasy bag back in her hands and turning his attention to where Leo had just joined the field with Luke. Community baseball game.

Leo had bitched and moaned about Jonah joining the team, but it was a commitment he couldn't make. Most of the games were on Wednesday night, this was a rare and sparse one happening on a Saturday.

Besides, why would he want to play when he could just watch Leo prance around in tight white pants?

"She's been super secretive lately," Bella continued to talk, not needing him to participate in the conversation at all, "well, not really, just... Something is different, I can tell."

"It's called paranoia, darling," Jonah rolled his eyes, fishing another peanut from her bag, "Luke's control freak tendencies are rubbing off on you, Wen's fine."

"I know she's fine," Bella wrinkled her nose, offended at the idea she was becoming as overbearing as Lucas was, "but there's something. Ever since she spent that week in Doveport, remember?"

Jonah let out a frustrated sigh as the more serious conversation topic forced him to stop gawking and drooling about Leo, "no, I have no idea-"

"When the hospital suspended her," Bella cleared up, turning on the bleachers to look at him in the eyes. Jonah raised his eyebrows and let out a soft scoff as he noticed how heavy-handed she had gone with her makeup today, sporting black lipstick and a red graphic eyeliner, "ever since she came back, I think something's a little weird."

Jonah fought the urge to dismiss the worries, thinking back on his best friend's behavior lately. Sure, Wendy had been displaying burn out tendencies for a while now, which he had pointed out to her face many times, but yeah, now that Bell mentioned... Something was different.

Not worse, different. He assumed she was taking less classes, because she seemed less exhausted, but at the same time... Now that he thought about it, Jonah was seeing her less than before. Not that Wendy was avoiding him, but she certainly wasn't going out of her way to suggest activities...

And it all circled back to Vince. As it seemed like it always did, it circled back to Vin.

"If that asshole broke her heart again, I'll break his nose-" Jonah decided, causing Bella to let out a surprised snort and raise her eyebrows.

"Geez, and they say I'm the one with a short fuse," she poked at his chest, rolling her eyes, "no, I think Vin and her are fine... More than fine, actually, she's giving honeymoon vibes lately."

Oh?

Jonah frowned, turning back around so he was facing the game and watching just in time to see Leo hit the ball with his bat and start running.

"Honeymoon vibes?" he asked, lowering his voice to the appropriate gossip tone now that they ruled off this being an issue.

"Yeah," Bella leaned against his arm, stuffing her mouth with peanuts, "like, you know when your friends start dating and they kinda drop off the face of the earth? Wendy's sorta like that."

He took a handful of peanuts, munching on them as he watched Leo keep running and then slide down just in time to touch base. Next to him, Bella let out a loud "WOOOOO!" causing Leo's cheeks to turn cherry red and Jonah to snort at his embarrassment.

Sure, him and Leo had been like that. Although in Jon's perspective that had less to do with the fact they had been dating, but with the fact he didn't feel as comfortable with his friends as he did now... But then again, Leo did feel comfortable with Vince and Luke, but he too had been spending all his time with Jonah-

"Well, but it can't be that," Jonah concluded, "because she's not dating anyone new, it's same old Vin, who's a million miles away because he's a prick with a family who loves him."

Bella choked with her coke at his line, wiping the soda off her chin, "you're such a jerk," she giggled, "but yeah, she's not seeing anyone new. Do you think she made a new friend?"

For the first time in a long time, Jonah felt a vicious flash of jealousy. He whipped his head to look at Bella, mouth half open and his cheeks burning, "like a new best friend?"

Bell obviously was able to read it in his face, she was the crazy jealous sort herself after all, and she raised her eyebrows and pressed her lips tightly together, as if trying to not laugh, "no, darling, just some friend."

Ugh.

Jonah scoffed and turned away, mouth suddenly sour. He dropped his peanuts back in the bag, deciding he didn't want to eat after all, "Wendy would tell me. So no, I don't think she found a replacement, she's not Vince."

"Sometimes I do wonder if you and Luke aren't truly brothers, you know?" Bella teased him, "spoken like a true Atwood."

"Shut uuup," Jonah shoved her arm, causing Bella to nearly fall from the bleachers and she snorted, chuckling at his gesture, "can we focus at the issue at hand?"

"Sure, sure, sure," Bella's face was all red with glee or maybe it was just the heat. It was a really sunny day... "are you absolutely certain we can rule out a new friend? She's very friendly, I once watched her befriend a whole group of nuns in New York."

Jonah grinned at the mental image, but shook his head, "she'd have brought it up if she was hanging out with someone so frequently that we noticed."

"And she's definitely not dating anyone new," Bella shrugged, "so what is it?"

Ahead of them, the team switched up, Luke taking the bat now and Leo bouncing on his feet as he put on the gloves to catch the ball. His hair was long enough that Leo had been able to tie it back, in a tiny spiky ponytail. A bunch of strands had escaped and they were framing his face, making Leo look like a prince. A very pissed off prince who probably was dying to shave his head, yeah.

"If it's important she'll tell us," Jonah lied smoothly, making a mental note to grill the living shit out of Wendy. Jealousy or not, he suddenly felt protective of his spot as her confident and didn't think Bell deserved to know before he did.

"Uh-hu," Bella rolled her eyes, "well text me when you force her to tell you. I'm dying to know. My theory is that she's moving to Doveport."

Jon's heart all but stopped in his chest.

"What?" he turned to look at Bella, confused, and the ginger shrugged.

"She's spending all her free time there, she's sorta avoiding us, when we went to the cabin last time she was sooo all over Vince to the point I noticed and I don't notice that shit. And then there's Max."

"Max? Who the hell is- Vince's new friend? What the fuck does that have to do with-"

"Vince and Luke had a whole ass fight about Max last weekend," Bella whispered, lowering her voice and suddenly looking serious, "and you know they don't fight over anything."

"Okay... I don't follow," Jonah felt a prickle of a headache forming. He wanted to text Wendy ASAP, he wanted to shake her. She couldn't fucking dare moving to bumfuck nowhere, no way. What about her career? Her three hundred different cliques? Her apartment, her life-

"I don't either, but Vince told Luke that Max was like. Non-negotiable?"

"Why was Luke negotiating Vince having a friend? That's toxic-"

"Besides the point," Bella waved him off, "all I'm saying is maybe now that Vince has more friends there than just his family and she's there all the time... And she obviously misses Vin a whole lot-"

"Nope," Jonah shook his head, deciding there was absolutely no way, "that's not Wen, she's not gonna move to a tiny town. Welton is already too small for her and we're an hour away from Portland... Nope. There's no fucking way."

"You know her better than I do," Bell nodded, crossing a leg on the bench, boot nearly touching the inside of her thigh, "that's just my theory."

"Well, it's a shit theory," Jonah scoffed and Bella smiled at him, reaching in to push his cheek in a fondly, amused way. Like JD swatting at him.

"Because you don't want her to go-"

"Because it sucks," Jon pushed her hand down, crossing his arms, "and you're wrong."

"I hope so," Bella mumbled, shoving yet another handful of peanuts in her mouth and looking away, suddenly seeming just as upset as Jonah felt.

[crowsofdarkness]

Moment Of Weakness: Chapter Twenty Nine

-gif not mine. credit to owner-

Pairings: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Content Warnings: language, 18 + smut, angst, fluff, affair, cheating, violence, kidnapping, faking a pregnancy.

Summary: Reader is the assistant to New York's most feared mob boss, James Buchanan Barnes. He had the picture-perfect life: status in the mob, friends, and beautiful wife. So why can't he keep his mind and eyes off of reader?

Authors Note: I just wanted to remind everyone who reads this, there are heavy moments of cheating/having an affair in this story. You might not agree with the actions of "reader" or Bucky but it does pertain to the storyline.

Tags: @cjand10 @generalmoonpolice @sapphirebarnes @baw1066 @nameless-ken @minami97 @bookofriverr

Darkness encased around me like a cloud, the only noise that I could hear was dripping water from somewhere in the darkness. I blinked my eyes hoping it would help adjust but it did nothing, not being able to see anything in front of me. My heart began to pound hard against my chest when I realized that I couldn’t move, my body being tied to a chair. I thrashed against it but my screams were silenced by the tape that was covering my lips. 

How did I get here? 

My brain throbbed as I tried to remember what happened. Bucky and I shared a night entwined together and while I was in the kitchen someone attacked me from behind. 

“Clint!”  his name was mumbled against the tape

Muffled screams bounced around the room as the chair moved beneath me, my body violently moving against my binds. The legs of the chair scraped against the cement floor, the noise drowning out my yells. 

“You can try all you want, no one is going to find you here.” 

A light clicked on above me and my eyes blinked to adjust to the sudden brightness. The familiar soft voice halted my movements as I watched the red head emerge from the darkness. 

“Long time no see, Y/N,” she tilted her head with a smirk. 

Curses went unheard as they spewed from my lips but my scream was heard as the tape was ripped off. 

“Fucking bitch,” I spat at her feet. “I should have figured that you would also be behind this, Natasha.” 

She bent at her knees, becoming eye level with me. “Do you know how hard it was to sit in that house, MY house, and listen to Bucky fuck you?” 

“You were there?” I asked, baffled. 

There was a glimmer as Natasha removed something from her back pocket, the metal shining under the light. My heart jumped into my throat when she gripped the knife handle tighter in her hand. 

“I can’t believe he went back to you,” Natasha kept her eyes on the knife. “After everything we went through.” 

I snorted. “Lying about being pregnant? That’s fucked up.” 

A sharp hiss of pain fell from my lips when Natasha pressed the blade deep into the side of my neck, blood pooling down over my chest. 

“I had to do something! He was going to leave me for you!” 

The disgust dripped from her voice as she pressed the knife even harder into my neck. I kept my mouth shut, not wanting to egg her on even more. 

“What makes you so special?” She scoffed while looking over at me. 

“I’m not perfect,” I shook my head. “Even though you kidnapped me, you didn’t deserve to be cheated on.”

“Do you know what he told me the night he kicked me out?” Natasha asked. 

I did my best to ignore the crazed look in her eyes. 

“Bucky never loved me. Our whole marriage was a lie, just a facade so he could keep his rank in the mob.” 

I nodded, remembering what he told me so long ago. 

It was an arranged marriage. 

“You didn’t have to agree to the arrangement. The both of you could have been with someone you loved.” 

Natasha laughed. “Like you?” 

“No,” I shook my head. “Like Clint.” 

She reeled back, standing straight and put the knife back into her pocket. 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Baron Zemo told Bucky and I a lot about the two of you,” I informed her. 

Just then, the door opened and in walked Clint who had a darkness in his eyes. 

“I only told you to come check on her, nothing else,” He snapped at Natasha. 

I watched as the two of them bicker back and forth, muttering things under their breath, and took this time to try and undo the binds that my hands were in. They were tied in my lap so I had to be careful to make sure that Clint or Natadha couldn’t see what I was doing. 

There was a quick flash of Bucky in my mind, his smile and the way his eyes crinkled while he looked at me. 

Surely he must have noticed that I was missing, right?

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Clint’s hand was wrapped around my throat, immediately cutting off my oxygen. I did my best to fight against him while Natasha cut the binds around my hand so he could lift me to my feet, eyes meters from mine. 

“Try all you want, you’re never getting out of here.” 

A mute sob fell from my lips as Clint tightened his grip before throwing me to the ground. 

“You’re so pathetic,” Natasha spat while kicking my side. 

I coughed in pain, grabbing my now throbbing stomach. 

“Bucky was right about you,” she continued while kneeling in front of me. 

“Fuck you,” I spat at her feet again. 

The sound of skin on skin echoed when Natasha’s fist collided with my lips, the copper taste filling my mouth. 

I cursed when her fingers wretched my neck back by pulling at my hair, now looking up at her. 

“He told me that you were obsessed with him, you wouldn’t leave him alone. Practically threw yourself at him,” Natasha said. 

I shook my head the best I could in her grasp. “You’re lying.” 

She ignored me. “He was only with you because he felt sorry for you. You were an easy fuck.” 

My head reeled back and collided with her nose, sending Natasha onto her ass. She stared at me shocked and I scrambled to my feet to run past her but strong arms wrapped around me. 

“LET ME GO!” I screamed while fighting against Clint. 

“Stop fighting!” 

He threw me to the ground yet again, only this time my head smacked against the concrete floor, instantly knocking me out. 

Six days. 

I had been held captive in this small room for the last six days. Clint and Natasha would switch off on torturing me, the healed cuts were outshadowed by the fresh ones, the dried blood sticking to my skin. They covered my arms, legs, and stomach. My hair was matted with blood from the small gash on the back of my head from when Clint threw me to the hard ground the first night. The bruise around my eye, however, was the worst of my injuries. It was dark, covering the right side of my face, and it was a bullseye for Clint or Natasha when they needed to take their anger out on me. 

The only way I was able to see it was because of the small mirror that hung up on the wall of the room. 

I graduated from being tied to the chair to now being handcuffed to a random pipe in what I realized was the basement of wherever I was being held. It allowed me a few inches of space but not much. 

Clint would only unhandcuff me when I needed to use the bathroom but he would make sure he stayed close, in case I was going to run. The thought definitely crossed my mind once or twice but I was afraid of what they would do to me if I tried. 

The bathroom had a small window where I was able to look out and see that the house I was in was located in the middle of the woods, far away from any kind of civilization. 

For the first few days I had high hopes that someone would come for me, save me, and I fought to get out of here. Fight to survive. But now, almost a week later, my fight was gone. Natasha’s words weighed heavy in my mind. 

You meant nothing to Bucky, all he wanted from you was to get fucked. 

In the beginning, I didn’t believe her. It was all a lie to get under my skin. But now, I questioned everything. If he truly cared for me, if I meant a lot to him, he would have found me by now; saved me. 

Right?

I brought my knees to my chest and rested my cheek against them, a broken sigh falling from my lips. My tired eyes rested on the growing plates of untouched food from today. The only nice thing that they did for me was bringing me something to eat but with everything I had gone through, I didn’t have an appetite. 

The door to the basement opened and Natasha walked in with a smug smile on her face. 

“Geez, who pissed in your cheerios this morning?”

“Fuck you, Natasha,” I cursed not bothering to look at him. 

She sighed while pulling the chair in front of me and took a seat, her elbows resting on her knees. 

“It’s pathetic how much you’ve given up,” she said. “Bucky would be embarrassed for you if he saw you like this. Too bad he won’t be coming.” 

I turned to look at her. “What makes you so sure?” 

“I wrote him a note pretending it was from you, saying that you decided to leave him. You need some time to think about things and make sure he doesn’t call you.”

I clicked my tongue. “That’s that then.” 

Natasha lifted my chin so I could look up at her. “There’s no fight in you, huh?” 

The light was gone for my eyes as I shrugged. “Might as well kill me.” 

“Now where’s the fun in that,” she smirked while uncuffing me from the pipe. 

Natasha saw the confusion on my face. “Bathroom break.” 

No words were said as I let her guide me towards the bathroom that I figured was down the hall on the left side, right across the door that led straight outside to the back yard. She was a few steps in front of me, back facing me, so she didn’t see my eyes dart from her form to the door a few times. 

Bucky’s voice was loud in my mind at that moment, a final ditch effort to fight. 

Run, doll. Fast. Don’t look back. 

My feet took off before I could even think of the ramifications on what would happen if I got caught. It was the middle of the night, the sun setting a few hours ago, so the cold air wrapped around my bare legs, me still wearing the same clothes I was the night I was taken. 

Bucky’s shirt and a pair of his boxers. 

My feet were bare and were getting scraped up by the branches and leaves that crunched beneath them, the house getting farther behind me. 

Keep going, doll. I’ll find you, I promise.

Bucky’s voice filled me as I ran harder, faster, doing my best to find the safety I desperately needed. Until a gunshot echoed throughout the trees, my body falling into a heap on the ground. 

[calamitoustide]

thinking about the tragedy that is canon jegulus

[selfinflictedgunshotwound]

sorry for only saying this type of shit lately but i kinda wanna drive a car straight into a brick wall at the highest speed possible

[shadesofmauve]

I want to step away from the art-vs-artist side of the Gaiman issue for a bit, and talk about, well, the rest of it. Because those emotions you're feeling would be the same without the art; the art just adds another layer.

Source: I worked with a guy who turned out to be heavily involved in an international, multi-state sex-slavery/trafficking ring.

He was really nice.

Yeah.

It hits like a dumptruck of shit. You don't feel stable in your world anymore. How could someone you interacted with, liked, also be a truly horrible person? How could your judgement be that bad? How can real people, not stylized cartoon bogeymen, be actually doing this shit?

You have to sit with the fact that you couldn't, or probably couldn't, have known. You should have no guilt as part of this horror — but guilt is almost certainly part of that mess you're feeling, because our brains do this associative thing, and somehow "I liked [the version of] the guy [that I knew]", or his creations, becomes "I made a horrible mistake and should feel guilty."

You didn't, loves, you didn't.

We're human, and we can only go by the information we have. And the information we have is only the smallest glimpse into someone else's life.

I didn't work closely with the guy I knew at work, but we chatted. He wasn't just nice; he was one of the only people outside my tiny department who seemed genuinely nice in a workplace that was rapidly becoming incredibly toxic. He loaned me a bike trainer. Occasionally he'd see me at the bus stop and give me a lift home.

Yup. I was a young woman in my twenties and rode in this guy's car. More than once.

When I tell this story that part usually makes people gasp. "You must feel so scared about what could have happened to you!" "You're so lucky nothing happened!"

No, that's not how it worked. I was never in danger. This guy targeted Korean women with little-to-no English who were coerced and powerless. A white, fluent, US citizen coworker wasn't a potential victim. I got to be a person, not prey.

Y'know that little warning bell that goes off, when you're around someone who might be a danger to you? That animal sense that says "Something is off here, watch out"?

Yeah, that doesn't ping if the preferred prey isn't around.

That's what rattled me the most about this. I liked to think of myself as willing to stand up for people with less power than me. I worked with Japanese exchange students in college and put myself bodily between them and creeps, and I sure as hell got that little alarm when some asian-schoolgirl fetishist schmoozed on them. But we were all there.

I had to learn that the alarm won't go off when the hunter isn't hunting. That it's not the solid indicator I might've thought it was. That sometimes this is what the privilege of not being prey does; it completely masks your ability to detect the horrors that are going on.

A lot of people point out that 'people like that' have amazing charisma and ability to lie and manipulate, and that's true. Anyone who's gotten away with this shit for decades is going to be way smoother than the pathetic little hangers-on I dealt with in university. But it's not just that. I seriously, deeply believe that he saw me as a person, and he did not extend personhood to his victims. We didn't have a fake coworker relationship. We had a real one. And just like I don't know the ins-and-outs of most of my coworkers lives, I had no idea that what he did on his down time was perpetrate horrors.

I know this is getting off the topic, but it's so very important. Especially as a message to cis guys: please understand that you won't recognize a creep the way you might think you will. If you're not the preferred prey, the hind-brain alarm won't go off. You have to listen to victims, not your gut feeling that the person seems perfectly nice and normal. It doesn't mean there's never a false accusation, but face the fact that it's usually real, and you don't have enough information to say otherwise.

So, yeah. It fucking sucks. Writing about this twists my insides into tense knots, and it was almost a decade ago. I was never in danger. No one I knew was hurt!

Just countless, powerless women, horrifically abused by someone who was nice to me.

You don't trust your own judgement quite the same way, after. And as utterly shitty as it is, as twisted up and unstead-in-the-world as I felt the day I found out — I don't actually think that's a bad thing.

I think we all need to question our own judgement. It makes us better people.

I don't see villains around every corner just because I knew one, once. But I do own the fact that I can't know, really know, about anyone except those closest to me. They have their own full lives. They'll go from the pinnacles of kindness to the depths of depravity — and I won't know.

It's not a failing. It's just being human. Something to remember before you slap labels on people, before you condemn them or idolize them. Think about how much you can't know, and how flawed our judgement always is.

Grieve for victims, and the feeling of betrayal. But maybe let yourself off the hook, and be a bit slower to skewer others on it.

[puppmeo]

Have you ever been assumed to be romantically attracted to someone and even just the thought of that makes you want to throw up . Anybody

[heartkaji]

currently thinking about bakugo “it’s not that deep” katsuki.

katsuki’s got a temper that makes him more chalant than not, but when it comes to everything else the blonde is relatively…unreactive. it’s not like he tries to be that way, he just has to be. when you’re surrounded by idiots like denki & sero on a daily basis, you eventually learn to choose your fucks & allocate them wisely.

“bakugo, class 1-B’s been hogging the hero equipment—how do we train now ?”

“it’s never that deep, tape face. just go later y’dumbass”

“bakubro, i think my situationship just blocked me—“

“literally just move on. really not that serious.”

the phrase has practically become katsuki’s signature one liner. so it’s a shock when his friends make you realize you’ve never actually heard the words from his lips.

“katsuki ? and nonchalant ? in the same sentence ? you must be joking.”

mina & sero are watching outer banks with your laptop while denki & kiri glance at each other in confusion. “you’re serious? he’s never said stuff like that to you ?”

“like ever?”

“never.” you run a brush through your hair. “though i guess i could imagine him talking to you guys that way.”

“double standards go crazy” mina mumbles. “real.”

“no, guys—all hope is not lost. it could be that y/n is really rational so he never has to say it, you feel me ?”

you scoff, but denki keeps talking, “we can test this out. just get y/n to act really dramatic and see how bakugo reacts.”

sero pauses the episode, ignoring the scowl that graces mina’s lips. “fifty bucks there really is a double standard and bakugo won’t act all nonchalant.”

“fifty bucks ? that’s half my salary!”

“not my fault you work at mcdonald’s dawg. you guys in or what ?”

kiri’s quick to strike the deal on kaminari’s behalf. denki’s about to protest when the fiery blond walks in.

“disgusting. why are you all sitting around like degenerates? not you baby.”

“what happened to ‘hello, how are you?’”

“hi ‘suki.” you purr, ignoring sero. katsuki dips his head to peck your lips, a quiet ‘hey pretty’ mumbled into your cheek.

sero snaps his fingers at the display of affection. “excuse me? in front of my obx?”

“the one you’re watching with my netflix subscription?” bakugo snaps the laptop shut and mina protests with a mouth full of popcorn. you’re about to playfully defend the duo when kirishima nudges your elbow. he cocks his head towards bakugo and you understand immediately.

“katsuki,” you tug at the hem of your boyfriend’s sleeve & look into his eyes with the most tender expression you can muster. “i’m out of lipliner.”

“okay ?”

you hear a snort and you know it’s from sero.

“there’s nothing ‘okay’ about it ‘suki. i need a new one or else i’ll literally die.”

bakugo’s brows knit in confusion. “is this your way of begging me for money?” he begins to dig at his wallet and you swat his arm away.

“beg is insane.”

“i don’t need your money.” you snap. “i need my lipliner. now”

“just order—“ “now.”

“what do you mean now? it’s almost nine pm, where the fuck are you going ?”

“nowhere. i just need it.”

“do you have a fever ?” “katsuki!”

“i need it now ‘suki,” you hug your arms around his body and place your chin on his chest. “if i don’t get it right now i’m literally gonna cry.”

your lips jut into a pout. you can tell he’s about to protest so you take his palm into your own. “it’s not that—fuck. whatever. where the hell are my keys ?”

he gently nudges you off him before grabbing the car keys off the front table, a string of grumbles leaving his lips as he sets out on the side quest regardless. he shuts the door behind him & suddenly the room buzzes back to life.

“y/n your pussy cannot be that good.”

“literally what i’m saying bro.”

“ho did you use rose quartz on him ??”

“i always knew you were a witch for real.”

“this whole interaction just piss me off.”

“i’m going home. denki and kiri, you owe me fifty bucks each.”

“EACH ?”

( bonus )

it’s nearly half an hour later & katsuki isn’t back so you’re starting to get worried. sero and the gang have already left, leaving you to deal with the growing anxiety by yourself. you finally decided to text your boyfriend only to find he’s sent you several messages already:

© ─ heartkaji ; do not steal, copy, edit, translate or reupload

[caelum-in-the-avatarverse]

Fandom can do a little gatekeeping. As a treat.

So I finally decided to archive-lock my fics on AO3 last night. I’ve been considering it since the AI scrape last year, but the tipping point was this whole lore.fm debacle, coupled with some thoughts I’ve been thinking regarding Fandom These Days in general and Fandom As A Community in particular. So I wanna explain why I waited so long, why I locked my stuff up now, and why I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m a-okay with making it harder for people to see my stories.

Lurkers really are great, tho

I’m a chronic lurker, and have been since I started hanging out on the internet as a teen in the 00s. These days it’s just cuz I don’t feel a need to socialize very often, but back then it was because I was shy and knew I was socially awkward. Even if I made an account, I’d spend months lurking on message boards or forums or Livejournals, watching other people interact and getting a feel for that particular community’s culture and etiquette before I finally started interacting myself. And y’know, that approach saved me a lot of embarrassment. Over the course of my lurking on any site, there was always some other person who’d clearly joined up five minutes after learning the place existed, barged in without a care for their behavior, and committed so many social faux pas that all the other users were immediately annoyed with them at best. I learned a lot observing those incidents. Lurk More is Rule 33 of the internet for very good reason.

Lurking isn’t bad or weird or creepy. It’s perfectly normal. I love lurking. It’s hard for me to not lurk - socializing takes a lot of energy out of me, even via text. (Heck it took 12 hours for me to write this post, I wish I was kidding--) Occasionally I’ll manage longer bouts of interaction - a few weeks posting here, almost a year chatting in a discord there - but I’m always gonna end up going radio silent for months at some point. I used to feel bad about it, but I’ve long since made peace with the fact that it’s just the way my brain works. I’m a chronic lurker, and in the long term nothing is going to change that.

The thing with being a chronic lurker is that you have to accept that you are not actually seen as part of the community you are lurking in. That’s not to say that lurkers are unimportant - lurkers actually are important, and they make up a large proportion of any online community - but it’s simple cause and effect. You may think of it as “your community”, but if you’ve never said a word, how is the community supposed to know you exist? If I lurked on someone’s LJ, and then that person suddenly friendslocked their blog, I knew that I had two choices: Either accept that I would never be able to read their posts again, or reach out to them and ask if I could be added to their friends list with the full understanding that I was a rando they might not decide to trust. I usually went with the first option, because my invisibility as a lurker was more important to me than talking to strangers on the internet.

Lurking is like sitting on a park bench, quietly people-watching and eavesdropping on the conversations other people are having around you. You’re in the park, but you’re not actively participating in anything happening there. You can see and hear things that you become very interested in! But if you don’t introduce yourself and become part of the conversation, you won’t be able to keep listening to it when those people walk away. When fandom migrated away from Livejournal, people moved to new platforms alongside their friends, but lurkers were often left behind. No one knew they existed, so they weren’t told where everyone else was going. To be seen as part of a fandom community, you need to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known, etc. etc.

There’s nothing wrong with lurking. There can actually be benefits to lurking, both for the lurkers and the communities they lurk in. It’s just another way to be in a fandom. But if that is how you exist in fandom--and remember, I say this as someone who often does exist that way in fandom--you need to remember that you’re on the outside looking in, and the curtains can always close.

I’ve always been super sympathetic to lurkers, because I am one. I know there’s a lot of people like me who just don’t socialize often. I know there’s plenty of reasons why someone might not make an account on the internet - maybe they’re nervous, maybe they’re young and their parents don’t allow them to, maybe they’re in a bad situation where someone is monitoring their activity, maybe they can only access the internet from public computer terminals. Heck, I’ve never even logged into AO3 on my phone--if I’m away from my computer I just read what’s publicly available. 

I know I have people lurking on my fics. I know my fics probably mean a lot to someone I don’t even know exists. I know this because there are plenty of fics I love whose writers don’t know I exist.

I love my commenters personally; I love my lurkers as an abstract concept. I know they’re there and I wish them well, and if they ever de-lurk I love them all the more.

So up until last year I never considered archive-locking my fic, because I get it. The AI scraping was upsetting, but I still hesitated because I was thinking of lurkers and guests and remembering what it felt like to be 15 and wondering if it’d be worth letting a stranger on the internet know I existed and asking to be added to their friends list just so I could reread a funny post they made once.

But the internet has changed a lot since the 00s, and fandom has changed with it. I’ve read some things and been doing some thinking about fandom-as-community over the last few years, and reading through the lore.fm drama made me decide that it’s time for me to set some boundaries.

I still love my lurkers, and I feel bad about leaving any guest commenters behind, especially if they’re in a situation where they can’t make an account for some reason. But from here on out, even my lurkers are going to have to do the bare minimum to read my fics--make an AO3 account.

Should we gatekeep fandom?

I’ve seen a few people ask this question, usually rhetorically, sometimes as a joke, always with a bit of seriousness. And I think…yeah, maybe we should. Except wait, no, not like that--

A decade ago, when people talked about fandom gatekeeping and why it was bad to do, it intersected with a lot of other things, mainly feminism and classism. The prevalent image of fandom gatekeeping was, like, a man learning that a woman likes Star Wars and haughtily demanding, “Oh, yeah? Well if you’re REALLY a fan, name ten EU novels” to belittle and dismiss her, expecting that a “real fan” would have the money and time to be familiar with the EU, and ignoring the fact that male movie-only fans were still considered fans. The thing being gatekept was the very definition of “being a fan” and people’s right to describe themselves as one.

That’s not what I mean when I say maybe fandom should gatekeep more. Anyone can call themselves a fan if they like something, that’s fine. But when it comes to the ability to enjoy the fanworks produced by the fandom community…that might be something worth gatekeeping.

See, back in the 00s, it was perfectly common for people to just…not go on the internet. Surfing the web was a thing, but it was just, like, a fun pastime. Not everyone did it. It wasn’t until the rise of social media that going online became a thing everyone and their grandmother did every day. Back then, going on the internet was just…a hobby.

So one of the first gates online fandom ever had was the simple fact that the entire world wasn’t here yet.

The entire world is here now. That gate has been demolished.

And it’s a lot easier to find us now. Even scattered across platforms, fandom is so centralized these days. It isn’t a network of dedicated webshrines and forums that you can only find via webrings anymore, it’s right there on all the big social media sites. AO3 didn’t set out to be the main fanfic website, but that’s definitely what it’s become. It’s easy for people to find us--and that includes people who don’t care about the community, and just want “content.”

Transformative fandom doesn’t like it when people see our fanworks as “content”. “Content” is a pretty broad term, but when fandom uses it we’re usually referring to creative works that are churned out by content creators to be consumed by an audience as quickly as possible as often as possible so that the content creator can generate revenue. This not-so-new normal has caused a massive shift in how people who are new to fandom view fanworks--instead of seeing fic or art as something a fellow fan made and shared with you, they see fanworks as products to be consumed.

Transformative fandom has, in general, always been a gift economy. We put time and effort into creating fanworks that we share with our fellow fans for free. We do this so we don’t get sued, but fandom as a whole actually gets a lot out of the gift economy. Offer your community a story, and in return you can get comments, build friendships, or inspire other people to write things that you might want to read. Readers are given the gift of free stories to read and enjoy, and while lurking is fine, they have the choice to engage with the writer and other readers by leaving comments or making reclists to help build the community.

And look, don’t get me wrong. People have never engaged with fanfic as much as fan writers wish they would. There has always been “no one comments anymore” wank. There have always been people who only comment to say “MORE!” or otherwise demand or guilt trip writers into posting the next chapter. But fandom has always agreed that those commenters are rude and annoying, and as those commenters navigate fandom they have the chance to learn proper community etiquette.

However, now it seems that a lot of the people who are consuming fanworks aren’t actually in the community. 

I won’t say “they aren’t real fans” because that’s silly; there’s lots of ways to be a fan. But there seem to be a lot of fans now who have no interest in fandom as a community, or in adhering to community etiquette, or in respecting the gift economy. They consume our fics, but they don’t appreciate fan labor. They want our “content”, but they don’t respect our control over our creations.

And even worse--they see us as a resource. We share our work for free, as a gift, but all they see is an open-source content farm waiting to be tapped into. We shared it for free, so clearly they can do whatever they want with it. Why should we care if they feed our work into AI training datasets, or copy/paste our unfinished stories into ChatGPT to get an ending, or charge people for an unnecessary third-party AO3 app, or sell fanbindings on etsy for a profit without the author’s permission, or turn our stories into poor imitations of podfics to be posted on other platforms without giving us credit or asking our consent, while also using it to lure in people they can datascrape for their Forbes 30 Under 30 company? 

And sure, people have been doing shady things with other people’s fanworks since forever. Art theft and reposting has always been a big problem. Fanfic is harder to flat-out repost, but I’ve heard of unauthorized fic translations getting posted without crediting the original author. Once in…I think the 2010s? I read a post by a woman who had gone to some sort of local bookselling event, only to find that the man selling “his” novel had actually self-published her fanfic. (Wish I could find that one again, I don’t even remember where I read it.)

But aside from that third example, the thing is…as awful as fanart/writing theft is, back in the day, the main thing a thief would gain from it was clout. Clout that should rightfully go to the creators who gifted their work in the first place, yeah, but still. Just clout. People will do a lot of hurtful things for clout, but fandom clout means nothing outside of fandom. Fandom clout is not enough to incentivize the sort of wide-scale pillaging we’re seeing from community outsiders today.

Money, on the other hand… Well, fandom’s just a giant, untapped content farm, isn’t it? Think of how much revenue all that content could generate.

Lurkers are a normal and even beneficial part of any online community. Maybe one day they’ll de-lurk and easily slide into place beside their fellow fans because they already know the etiquette. Maybe they’re active in another community, and they can spread information from the community they lurk in to the community they’re active in. At the very least, they silently observe, and even if they’re not active community members, they understand the community.

Fans who see fanworks as “content” don’t belong in the same category as lurkers. They’re tourists. 

While reading through the initial Reddit thread on the lore.fm situation, I found this comment:

[ID: Reddit User Cabbitowo says: ... So in anime fandoms we have a word called tourist and essentially it means a fan of a few anime and doesn't care about anime tropes and actively criticizes them. This is kind of how fandoms on tiktok feel. They're touring fanfics and fanart and actively criticizes tropes that have been in the fandom since the 60s. They want to be in a fandom but they don't want to engage in fandom 

OP totallymandy responds: Just entered back into Reddit after a long day to see this most recent reply. And as a fellow anime fan this making me laugh so much since it’s true! But it sorta hurts too when the reality sets in. Modern fandom is so entitled and bratty and you’d think it’s the minors only but that’s not even true, my age-mates and older seem to be like that. They want to eat their cake and complain all whilst bringing nothing to the potluck… :/ END ID]

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“Tourist” is an apt name for this sort of fan. They don’t want to be part of our community, and they don’t have to be in order to come into our spaces and consume our work. Even if they don’t steal our work themselves, they feel so entitled to it that they’re fine with ignoring our wishes and letting other people take it to make AI “podfics” for them to listen to (there are a lot of comments on lore.fm’s shutdown announcement video from people telling them to just ignore the writers and do it anyway). They’ll use AI to generate an ending to an unfinished fic because they don’t care about seeing “the ending this writer would have given to the story they were telling”, they just want “an ending”. For these tourist fans, the ends justify the means, and their end goal is content for them to consume, with no care for the community that created it for them in the first place.

I don’t think this is confined to a specific age group. This isn’t “13-year-olds on Wattpad” or “Zoomers on TikTok” or whatever pointless generation war we’re in now. This is coming from people who are new to fandom, whose main experience with creative works on the internet is this new content culture and who don’t understand fandom as a community. That description can be true of someone from any age group.

It’s so easy to find fandom these days. It is, in fact, too easy. Newcomers face no hurdles or challenges that would encourage them to lurk and observe a bit before engaging, and it’s easy for people who would otherwise move on and leave us alone to start making trouble. From tourist fans to content entrepreneurs to random people who just want to gawk, it’s so easy for people who don’t care about the fandom community to reap all of its fruits. 

So when I say maybe fandom should start gatekeeping a bit, I’m referring to the fact that we barely even have a gate anymore. Everyone is on the internet now; the entire world can find us, and they don’t need to bother learning community etiquette when they do. Before, we were protected by the fact that fandom was considered weird and most people didn’t look at it twice. Now, fandom is pretty mainstream. People who never would’ve bothered with it before are now comfortable strolling in like they own the place. They have no regard for the fandom community, they don’t understand it, and they don’t want to. They want to treat it just like the rest of the content they consume online.

And then they’re surprised when those of us who understand fandom culture get upset. Fanworks have existed far longer than the algorithmic internet’s content. Fanworks existed long before the internet. We’ve lived like this for ages and we like it.

So if someone can’t be bothered to respect fandom as a community, I don’t see why I should give them easy access to my fics.

Think of it like a garden gate

When I interact with commenters on my fic, I have this sense of hospitality.

The comment section is my front porch. The fic is my garden. I created my garden because I really wanted to, and I’m proud of it, and I’m happy to share it with other people. 

Lots of people enjoy looking at my garden. Many walk through without saying anything. Some stop to leave kudos. Some recommend my garden to their friends. And some people take the time to stop by my front porch and let me know what a beautiful garden it is and how much they’ve enjoyed it. 

Any fic writer can tell you that getting comments is an incredible feeling. I always try to answer all my comments. I don’t always manage it, but my fics’ comment sections are the one place that I manage to consistently socialize in fandom. When I respond to a comment, it feels like I’m pouring out a glass of lemonade to share with this lovely commenter on my front porch, a thank you for their thank you. We take a moment to admire my garden together, and then I see them out. The next time they drop by, I recognize them and am happy to pour another glass of lemonade.

My garden has always been open and easy to access. No fences, no walls. You just have to know where to find it. Fandom in general was once protected by its own obscurity, an out-of-the-way town that showed up on maps but was usually ignored.

But now there’s a highway that makes it easy to get to, and we have all these out-of-towner tourists coming in to gawk and steal our lawn ornaments and wonder if they can use the place to make themselves some money.

I don’t care to have those types trampling over my garden and eating all my vegetables and digging up my flowers to repot and sell, so I’ve put up a wall. It has a gate that visitors can get through if they just take the time to open it.

Admittedly, it’s a small obstacle. But when I share my fics, I share them as a gift with my fellow fans, the ones who understand that fandom is a community, even if they’re lurkers. As for tourist fans and entrepreneurs who see fic as content, who have no qualms ignoring the writer’s wishes, who refuse to respect or understand the fandom community…well, they’re not the people I mean to share my fic with, so I have no issues locking them out. If they want access to my stories, they’ll have to do the bare minimum to become a community member and join the AO3 invite queue.

And y’know, I’ve said a lot about fandom and community here, and I just want to say, I hope it’s not intimidating. When I was younger, talk about The Fandom Community made me feel insecure, and I didn’t think I’d ever manage to be active enough in fandom spaces to be counted as A Member Of The Community. But you don’t have to be a social butterfly to participate in fandom. I’ll always and forever be a chronic lurker, I reblog more than I post, I rarely manage to comment on fic, and I go radio silent for months at a time--but I write and post fanfiction. That’s my contribution.

Do you write, draw, vid, gif, or otherwise create? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you leave comments? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you curate reclists? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you maintain a fandom blog or fuckyeah blog? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you provide a space for other fans to convene in? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you regularly send asks (off anon so people know who you are)? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you have fandom friends who you interact with? Congrats, you're a community member.

There’s lots of ways to be a fan. Just make sure to respect and appreciate your fellow fans and the work they put in for you to enjoy and the gift economy fandom culture that keeps this community going.