#i've wanted to write something like this for months

[parfaitblogs]

fresh out the slammer ❀ s. reid x reader

in which spencer reid comes home from prison, and needs to fulfil everything he has missed about you. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: smut & comfort (18+ mdni) tags: post prison!reid. soft dom!spencer. teeth might rot i was cringing during some of this. established relationship. the briefest of breast play because what do i hate? the word nipple! fingering. p in v. no protection is mentioned but imagine what you will. casual nudity afterwards. spencer's got bruises from prison. i lowkey forgot about his thigh wound until the very end.  word count: 5.7k a/n: there's a completely different version of me in a world where i didn't write this. i hope she's doing well. i feel like i've been reborn. this is stupidly long LOL my apologies. pleaseee tell me if you liked this! or if you didn't! i love feedback! here's my monthly smut fic see you all in october!

Three months wasn't a long time, in the grand scheme of things. A quarter of a year usually went by too quickly for anybody's liking, the year sprinting through seasons until all twelve months were complete, and you were repeating it all over again. Usually. Three months without Spencer Reid, however, went by achingly slowly. And you hadn't originally considered just how agonising they could be. 

Each day was another painful mirror of the last, waking up and going to bed with the same sense of dread in your stomach, oftentimes swallowing you whole and leaving you unable to do just about anything at all. 

Living life without Spencer Reid was hard.

You saw him — of course you did. Despite his original efforts to keep you off the approved visitors list, Penelope Garcia had seen one glimpse of your heart shattered expression upon being told, and marched her way to the prison to slap sense into him. You weren't sure if that was metaphoric or not. 

However, seeing him once every other week and living with him were two very different situations. You hadn't realised just how much you had depended on him always being there when you woke up in the morning until you were waking up to cold bed sheets and a pillow clutched petulantly to your chest in hopes of recreating the warmth only Spencer could provide. 

And then he was free. 

From prison, that is. You hadn't heard it all — information about his time in prison had been kept from you in an attempt to protect your own peace of mind. But you knew from at least the bruises he was always sporting no matter when you went to visit him, that something awful had happened to him in there, and his own brain would keep him imprisoned for as long as it wished. 

But he was free.

And he was here, and you were staring up at his face littered with unkempt facial hair and a head of untreated curls, and regardless of everything horrific he had endured brewing behind his eyes, he was staring at you with the same softness he had before any of this happened. 

Despite the beginning of a protest when you wrapped your arms around his torso, you hugged him, and he hugged you, and even the faintest smell of grime and blood couldn't stop you from gripping onto him with so much force you thought your knuckles would break. 

"You're real," you whispered into his chest, muffled by it, and it shook beneath your face as he laughed, quietly. Beautifully.

"I am," he answered, and you could feel him crushing his own facial features into the top of your head, no doubt inhaling your shampoo. "You're real."

"Yes," you confirmed with a nod.

Maybe hours passed, perhaps only minutes. Whichever it was, you were still reluctant to pull away from him until he did, your face stained with tear streaks you don't remember shedding, his own eyes glassy as your gazes met. 

"You don't want to talk about it, do you?" you asked him, walking backwards as you led him out of the doorway you two had been finding solace in, and further into the apartment space you were ecstatic to share together again. 

"Not particularly," he answered, strides catching up to you and encasing your waist between his hands, tugging your body closer to his own. "Is that okay?"

"As long as you promise not to keep it in," you replied, teeth chewing into your lower lip in a contemplative habit. 

"I have counselling at work," he said, and you nodded, your facial features softening only a little — you knew him well enough to know he wouldn't enjoy said counselling sessions. Breath tickled your lips as he leaned in a little closer, inciting heat onto your cheeks. "Any other questions?"

"No," you replied, your own lips twitching in amusement. "That's it. Why?"

"Because I haven't kissed you in three months," he murmured, "and I want to."

"Maybe," you said with a hum, and he said your name chidingly, eliciting a laugh from you. "Yeah. Okay."

To be honest, you had spent a few too many nights allowing your thoughts to wander and end up dreaming about what it would be like to kiss him again. Whether or not either of you would have the patience to be gentle and kind to one another. In those nights, you had decided you would be. Your heart cracking every time you thought of Spencer alone in a concrete cell that it left you with a gaping hole in your chest. All you really wanted was to hold him and remind him how adored he was. 

Right now, you learned you wouldn't be. 

There was a tenderness in the way his hands found your cheeks to cup, and there was a softness in his fingertips against your skin. Yet, everything he kissed with was anything but. Feverish and quick, swallowing you whole and inspiring a spark in your chest that resulted in you kissing back just as hungry. 

Just when you thought there was nothing left to trigger within him, a squeak left your lips as the result of him tugging you impossibly closer, and he was beginning to walk you backwards, even further into the apartment, his kiss growing all consuming. 

"Spencer," you said, breathlessly, jerking your head back, staring at him, waiting for him to realise you weren't returning your lips to his, and his eyes opened. 

"What?" he asked, almost irritatedly. When he watched the slight flicker of hurt flash on your face at the tone, his own expression became gentler. "I'm sorry. Is something wrong?"

Immediately, you shook your head. "No. I just wanted to check how far you wanted to go," your hands travelled up to his hair, fingers scratching gently against his scalp. "I know there's a lot going on up here."

"Actually, right now it's just you," he said, tilting a head to the side to lean into one of your palms. "It's mostly you all the time. But right now you're consuming it."

"I make such an impact on your life," you quipped. 

"I know you're teasing, but you do," he replied, fingers tracing up and down either side of your jawline, eyes searching each small detail on your face he had no doubt already memorised. "I survived in there for you."

"Oh."

Probably not the most eloquent response for the things he had just confessed, but truly your brain had scrambled within an instant, and you weren't sure what to say.

"Sorry," he said, hands stilling on your face. "To answer your question, I don't know. I really missed you."

"I know," you said when a gaping silence followed his words. "We don't have to."

"I think I want to."

Your eyebrows furrowed. "You can't think, Spence. You've gotta know."

"I've definitely said that to you before," he chided, thinking for a moment, before, "yes. I did. First time we had sex."

"Sue me for repeating important sexual advice to you, Spencer Reid," you huffed. He laughed. 

"No, I mean, I do. Want to," he finally replied. "I'm really scared of hurting you."

"Do you want to hurt me?"

"No."

"Then you won't," you reassured him, despite knowing whatever doubt he had in himself would not be resolved just like that, and it'll probably eat at his mind for a long while. "And even if you do, I won't be upset with you." When his face scrunched and his expression mirrored judgement, you stammered to clarify. "Not in a kinky way. Don't look at me like that, Spencer. Stop it. I just meant I'll understand. And I won't be mad."

"Didn't take you to be into masochism," he mumbled, and you groaned at his selective hearing, dropping your forehead to his shoulder, that shook with his laughter. "Kidding, honey. I know what you mean."

"Not funny."

"It was a little," he countered, a hand reaching up to entangle within your hair to pull your head back, gently, so he could look at you again. 

"Hi," you said when your eyes locked once more. 

"Hello," he answered, his lips pulling into a smile. "I'd like to kiss you again."

"You've used up your kiss for the day, actually," you replied, sweetly beaming up at him. 

"Quiet," he shot back, leaning forwards and allowing his lips to brush hesitantly against yours, eyes searching your own with an added hint of desperation. "Please?"

You pretended to think for a moment too long, because he was already mumbling something that sounded a little like 'brat', and pressed his mouth to yours once more. 

You couldn't complain. 

It was the same intensity as earlier, and yet there was something in it that differentiated the homesickness of the kiss from then, and the desperation now. Large hands — that you would probably allow to encase you whole — pathetically held your face lightly, hips knocking with yours as he walked you backwards and up against the back of the couch. 

"Spence," you whimpered embarrassingly, hands clawing at the sleeves of his suit jacket, trialling and failing at tugging it off his body. 

"I got you, sweet girl," he mumbled against your lips, not breaking the kiss for even a second as he helped you, shrugging the jacket off and allowing it to fall to the floor — something he will certainly chastise himself for later. 

"Bedroom," you said, in between heavy breaths and feverish kisses. A request he was more than happy to comply to, for he had nodded, and you were instantaneously tugging on one of his hands in the direction of the room, his eyes fixated on your body as he trailed behind. 

"Missed you so much," he murmured as he tugged you back towards him the second he had kicked the door shut, lips finding the corner of your mouth, then your jawline, then your neck, as he kissed down you. 

"So you've said," you breathed out, tilting your head to the side as he gently nipped at the skin. 

"Do you get off on being mean to me?" he chided, lifting his head to look at you again, and your heart stuttered. 

"No. Just that dominance act that it brings out," you murmured, attempting to keep the mood light. Successfully so, for air huffed out of his nose as his lips twitched, fingers that had dropped to your waist squeezing it gently. In unresolved doubt, you added, "I missed you too. Don't worry."

"I'm not," he replied, and the weight lifted off your shoulders. "Lie down."

"So demanding," you teased, though his tone was anything but firm.

You were met with an unimpressed look, and you merely grinned back as you climbed onto the bed, sitting cross legged atop it, staring up at him expectingly.

Instead of moving over you like you had expected, he crouched at the foot of the bed, holding his hands out on the mattress in front of you. Needing no more than the simple gesture, you untangled your legs and stretched them out in front of you, and he tugged you down towards the end of the bed, breath hitting the skin of your thighs deliciously. 

"I'm supposed to be making you feel good," you argued when his fingers trailed up the sides of your legs, finding the waistband of your pyjama shorts.

"Why?" he questioned, halting his movements as he searched your face. 

"Because you're the one who just got out of prison," his face scrunched at the verbal reminder. "Sorry. But... yeah. I have thought about making you come the day you got home like daily."

"Oh have you?" his eyebrows shot up, and it was then that your brain caught up to your running mouth, and your cheeks heated up. 

"Nope. Forget I said anything."

"No," he pushed himself up from the floor, moving his body over yours on the bed, successfully forcing you to lie back. "Tell me those thoughts."

"Spencer," you moaned, shaking your head as you buried your face into your hands, that he was a little too quick to catch and pry away. 

"I'm not going to judge you," he said, amused. "In fact, I aspire to know every single thought there is up in that pretty head of yours. Especially the ones about me. Please tell me."

"I just thought about making you come. There's nothing more exciting to it."

"Yes, but how?" 

"My mouth, I guess," you mumbled, voice going impossibly quiet. "I don't know."

"You're acting like you have never given me oral," he said, catching your gaze within milliseconds of you averting it, thumb and forefinger straightening your head again. 

"Nobody says oral, Spencer. Say head," your own face now scrunched up. 

"Lots of people say oral," he defended. 

"Yeah, old people. We are not old people."

"Fine, you're acting like you have never given me head." 

Despite it being a jab at him to take the heat off of you, the phrase coming out from his lips sounded exceptionally vulgar for what it was, and it only resulted in your stomach flipping. 

Finally, you regained some control over your own thoughts, and you found it in you to reply. "That's what I want to do. Because I want to make you feel good."

"You underestimate how much I gain from making you feel good," he countered, fingers lazily caressing the skin of your jaw as his eyes studied your face with an intensity that had your stomach flipping. 

"It cannot be as good as an orgasm," you huffed, stubbornly so. 

He nipped at your nose. "It is."

"Can we compromise?" 

"So you don't want me to give you oral?" his eyebrows rose. 

In every other situation, you would not be fighting him on this. In fact, he would probably have already gotten his foreplay of teasing and teetering you on the edge out of the way by now, and you'd be well and truly content. However, the forefront of your mind was still plagued by how little time Spencer had to take care of himself, and the last thing you needed him to be was at your service. Despite his protests. 

"Head," you corrected. "And no."

He searched for remnants of a lie for a few beats longer, before he nodded his head, giving in. "What's your compromise, honey?"

"I don't think there's a sexy way to say to just put it in me," you said, and his lips curled up into an amused smile, followed by a huff of laughter. 

"No, I don't think there is," he agreed. "I do think anything you say can be sexy, though."

You pulled a face, and you shook your head. "No. Don't say that ever again either."

"I can't compliment you, I can't give you ora—head," he rattled off. "Is there anything good I get out of this?"

"You get to fuck me?" you batted your eyelashes up at him. 

"Such vulgar language," he chastised, ducking his head when a hand of yours rose to swat him. 

Despite himself, his head had dropped to the crook of your neck, and he had begun placing feather like kisses along the skin that distracted you just enough to drop your hand back to the mattress beneath you.

Any other day, and you'd probably still be bickering with him until the minute he made you come. However, three months without even the faintest of touches from him left you overwhelmed with everything he did to you, and so the gentle kisses trailing down to the collar of your shirt were enough to destroy any coherent thoughts you could have. 

Cautiously, and with a touch so delicate, Spencer lifted your — his — shirt up your abdomen, fingertips leaving behind the warmest of trails as they skimmed along your skin. One quiet whine from you was all it took for him to hurry his teasing along, and soon enough your shirt was discarded. 

A quiet, sharp inhale of air was the other sound aside from your quickened breathing, and you felt tears sting your vision as another kiss was placed just below your now exposed collarbone. 

The time without you seemed to weigh nothing in his mind as he took every inch of you in separately, lips mapping out your body like it was the first time all over again, though still knowing exactly when to pause and pay attention to for the sweetest of sounds to be ripped from your throat. 

He liked to hear you. 

Fingers found your waist as his lips kissed down your sternum, then back up and over until they reached your nipple. He spent time on each breast, ignoring your impatient whining as he neglected the rest of you for a few minutes too long (in your opinion).

"Spencer," you scolded, and it was all it took for him to accept you were not in the mood to wait, and for him to decide he wasn't either. 

"Sorry, honey," he replied, voice impossibly soft as he returned his lips to your face, a kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth as his fingers found your shorts again. "Can I take these off?"

"I think we're incredibly out of balance," you replied. And though there wasn't really anything wrong with the sentence — you had certainly said it before — he still pulled back, an unrecognisable grey clouding his eyes. "What?"

"I want to keep my shirt on," was his response, the words inciting confusion to your face. 

"What? Why?"

"Do I need a reason?"

You wanted to scream that yes, he did. But did he? Wordlessly, you shook your head, but it didn't help the pang of worry in your chest. 

"Unless there's something like an embarrassing tattoo, I'm not going to judge you," you decided to say instead. "Did you get an embarrassing tattoo in prison?"

"No," he shook his head, and you were comforted by the amusement in his tone. "I didn't have the best time in prison."

"I know," you replied.

"And I wasn't very liked. By the men in there."

You knew that too, to an extent. You knew the bruises on his face weren't self inflicted. "You're liked by me."

"I know, sweet girl," a heart shatteringly sad smile stretched across his face as a hand lifted to your cheek. "It just isn't very pretty. And I don't want you to worry."

Well, now you were. Regardless, you nodded your head, turning your head to the side so you could kiss the palm of the hand on your face. "I won't worry, then."

"I want to keep my shirt on. Can that please be okay with you?" 

Silently, and after a debate inside your brain, you nodded your head. Gratefully, he pecked your lips once more, before his focus shifted back to you and your body. 

"Shorts. Can I take them off?" he asked, again.

"Yes."

"Thank you."

His fingers collected the fabric of your shorts' waistband, and gently pulled them down your legs, cool air washing over you despite the final leftover article of clothing on your body. You shivered, and you could hear him mumbling nearly incoherent apologies as he kissed your stomach.

"These too?" he then asked, eyes flickering between your face for confirmation, and the pair of underwear you still had residing on your body. You nodded your head, and he pulled them down too.

You do not remember a time ever fearing being naked beneath Spencer Reid's gaze, and that did not change even now, as an arguably different man drank in your entire body, the love he had for you not having wavered despite the passing of time. 

And you certainly did not fear the way one of his hands slid up your leg, seemingly soothingly, until it teetered on the edge of too far up the limb to be innocent, and he was intensely watching your face for every reaction you could possibly make. 

Achingly gently, his middle finger ran up the centre, collecting arousal you hadn't realised was there and knuckle gently bumping your clit, eliciting a quiet mewl from you. You watched him smile at the sound, dragging his finger back down, gathering more of your arousal until he was pushing the finger in.

Your eyes fluttered shut, the feeling oh so familiar, and yet seemingly foreign all at once. Too long, you decided then. Three months is too long.

Leaning back down, his lips brushed your jawline, the otherwise odd sensation of there being something — someone — inside of you balancing out with the pleasure that came from the comfort of it being him. And of course the delicate circles his thumb had begun to draw on your clit. 

"Did you do this while I was in prison?" he asked you, lips moving against your skin. 

"Touch myself?" 

"Mhm."

"Yeah," you said, voice breathless. "Was never good, though."

"No?" he asked, curling his finger inside of you and tugging a louder moan from your throat. "Why not?"

"Just never felt as nice. Not like you."

"Oh. I'm sorry, angel," he murmured, pulling his lips away so he could look at you again. Though, your eyes were still planted shut. "I'll make up for it then, yeah?"

You feverishly nodded your head, and he laughed. Fulfilling his promise, he sped up the motions of his finger and thumb, your hands grabbing ahold of fistfuls of the sheets, in hopes that it will provide some comfort from the overwhelming feeling of Spencer touching you again. 

"Can I add another finger?" he asked, and though slightly hesitant, you nodded your head. 

He waited a beat longer before fulfilling your request, and there was something obscene about how easily another finger entered you. Though, Spencer thought it was pretty, and your back arching was pretty, and yes, he had missed this and he had missed you and he was biting his tongue from telling you that all over again. 

"Spencer," a delicately breathy whine left your lips when the heel of his palm collided with your clit — thumb long forgotten once he had gotten distracted with thrusting fingers in and out of you. 

"Hm?"

Your eyes fluttered open to meet his, the kindest smile on his face reminding you just how much he adored you, and your heart sporadically beat in your chest. When you didn't say anything else, he quickened his ministrations, eliciting more whines and moans.

"Is two orgasms too much for tonight?" he asked you, the question seemingly innocent regardless of both it's undertones, and what he was currently doing to you. 

In hindsight you should've probably said yes. It most certainly would've hurried things along to something he would enjoy as much as you. However, if Spencer Reid fingering you was a religion, you were an eternally loyal follower, and you would do anything to keep him there for as long as you could. 

So you shook your head, murmuring a quiet, "No. I can do two," and allowing him to fasten his fingers once more. 

Fingers found and massaged that spot inside of you he had probably engrained into his brain, and he was leaning down to swallow the loud moan that followed from the feeling. Practiced motions tore the same sounds from your throat as he repeatedly brushed up against it, until your eyes were forced to squeeze shut once more, and hands that were once seeking solace in the sheets, found his wrist and wrapped around it. 

"I can't move if you're going to keep my arm locked up, angel," he said when your nails dug into his wrist, lips smiling against your skin. 

A few short jerks of his hand convinced you to let go of the death grip you had on him, instead returning them to the mattress.

Then he was doing that motion again, and again, and you were silently praying he would never stop. Although, if your moans were any indication to where you were at — and they were — Spencer wouldn't. 

Your hips bucking told him more than he needed to know, and the absence of his body above you when he lay down on the bed next to you was long forgotten when a splayed hand on your abdomen pushed you back down into the mattress, your heart stuttering at the feeling. 

Gentle whines of his name, and a repeated mantra of 'please, please, please' was the only thing your otherwise dismantled brain could come up with, and Spencer was relishing in the knowledge that he was doing this to you. And though it is something he knows he's done before, it had been far too long since and the reminder was always welcome. 

"I know, sweet girl," he said against you when your eyes came open and searched his desperately, walls fluttering around his fingers indicating just how close you were. 

"Please don't stop."

"I won't," he confirmed, punctuating the promise with his thumb returning to your clit. He had your best interest in mind — you knew that. He now wouldn't stop even if you begged him to. 

Overwhelming seemed too insignificant of a word to describe what you felt like when you came, nerve endings all over your body sparking, instead of just the ones he was stimulating. 

His thumb rubbing circles and his fingers thrusting in and out of you didn't falter until your shaking body had stilled and your strings of moans had diminished, slowly coming to a stop and leaving your body — seemingly — as fast as they had entered. 

The content smile on your face was interrupted with Spencer's hand lifting to your lips, and instinctively you parted them, already knowing exactly what he was after. 

His middle and ring fingers entered your mouth, and your face scrunched up despite yourself as you tasted yourself on them. He laughed at that — of course he did — and pulled them out soon after. 

"You do that every time," he murmured, hair tickling your skin as he placed open mouthed kisses over your shoulder, up towards your neck. 

"It tastes weird," you argued, and his teeth nipping your skin told you he disagreed. Though, he wasn't in the mood to argue, for he didn't say anything else on the matter. 

"Still got it in you for one more?" he asked you, pulling his head back so he could see you once again. 

"Yes."

"Good."

Your eyes watched him even as he rolled back to take his pants off, and the awkward smile he gave you provided the inkling of comfort that there was still the man from three months prior in there. 

"I really missed you, you know?" This time it was you saying it, piercing the air as his hand came down between your thighs to part them. The head of his cock nudged against you, brushing delicately through your folds and eliciting a quiet whimper from your lips. 

"I know," he answered, pressing kisses on your shoulder once more. "Are you okay?"

"Me? Yeah. I'm fine," you confirmed with a nod, confusion crossing your features all up until you learned why he was asking. 

A broken moan, choked and caught in your throat, left you when he painstakingly slowly pushed inside of you. There's not a lot going on inside your mind when he stops, your entire body aflame and equally desperate for more, as you were for him to take a moment here. 

"I love you," he breathed out, the words hurried and encouraging your heart to speed up, and your mind to melt even more. 

"I love you too," you said back, voice just as quiet, gently nudging hips ushering for him to move. 

"Impatient girl," he muttered, but you smiled nonetheless because he did (move). 

His thrusts were slow, and gentle, but you never truly minded how much time he took with you once you two were here. Even more so now, for you were on the same page as him, and you wanted to savour every single moment of this down to the second. 

A whimper left your lips, followed closely by the desperate whisper of his name, and lips that were still resting against your shoulder smiled. 

"I thought about this a lot," he said to you, his hand that was holding your thighs slightly open sliding up to find your clit. "I definitely shouldn't have."

"Why?" You knew why, but the thought of hearing him answer it aloud excited you a little. 

Unfortunately, he knew you better than that. "Don't play coy. You know why, honey."

"You're cruel," you huffed, and he laughed, rolling his hips to meet yours, earning another moan. "Maybe I don't."

"Use that wonderful imagination of yours, then," he answered, rubbing your clit at the same time as he moved his hips once more, effortlessly rendering you unable to respond to him again. 

A teenage boy probably could've lasted longer than the both of you, but you decided to blame it all on your already sensitive nerves from a prior orgasm, and the fact that Spencer Reid had not had you like this for over 2190 hours (not that he was counting).

Whimpers escaped your throat as he kept his hips thrusting into you at an achingly slow pace, while his fingers working on your clit did anything but. It was an aching juxtaposition that left you reeling for more, and Spencer was now the one shutting his eyes so he could hold onto some semblance of composure. 

"Spencer," you pleaded, and it was a quiet moan from behind you that told you he was exactly where you were. 

"I know, honey," he replied, the desperation in his voice jumpstarting your heart. "Need to come, yeah?"

"Mmhm," you nodded your head quickly, breathlessly moaning. "Please."

"You're going to. Don't worry. Don't need to beg, sweet girl."

Commingled moans and obscenely wet noises filled the air, and your hips stuttered as your stomach twisted into knots. 

Chanting his name like a prayer, you meet him wherever your two souls go in that moment, and it's a shuddering feeling as you come at the same time as him. For the first time in forever. 

His hand drops back to your thigh and he massages the muscles there gently, willing himself to stop before he crossed the line of overstimulation — not that you think you'd complain about that. 

There was an emptiness when he pulled out, but then he was kissing you again to make up for it, and you were smiling against his lips as you kissed him back. This time, without the fever. 

"How're you feeling?" he asked you, quietly. 

"Happy," you answered, forcing your heavy eyelids open when he pulled back. "How are you feeling?"

"Also happy," he agreed, and your heart soared. 

"Good."

"You need to go pee," he said, placing another kiss on your cheek, before he leaned his body away entirely. 

"Help?"

Arguably, you could do it yourself. Your limbs were tired, yes, and your mind was melting, but you were coherent enough to brave it alone. 

Thankfully, you didn't have to. 

He carried you to the bathroom, running the bath water after you had silently begged him for it with your eyes (looking between him and the empty bath with wide eyes and a jutted lip worked wonders), and leaving you to pee. 

"Are you getting in with me?" you asked him as wobbly legs akin to a fawn carried you over to the now full and steaming bathtub. 

"Do you want me to?"

Hesitantly, you nodded your head, fidgeting with your fingers in front of you. "But you'd have to take your shirt off. So you don't have to."

He studied your face for a moment longer, before he nodded, and fingers expertly worked at unbuttoning down the shirt. 

"I'm okay now. That's the important thing you have to remember, okay?" his words provided little comfort, but you nodded your head regardless. 

You had a suspicion already of what sight you were going to be met with, but it didn't stop the guilt settling into your chest when the shirt fell to the floor anyways. 

"Spence," you murmured, taking a hesitant step forwards, heart falling to your stomach. 

Bruises littered the skin, some fresh and still purple, others nearly healed and yellowing. But there were so many, and it was then that you were swallowing the rest of him in with your eyes, catching the bandage on his thigh. 

"What is that?" you nodded towards the covered wound, and when your eyes returned to his face again, he was staring at you with an unreadable expression. 

"A lot happened," he answered, quietly, before repeating, "I'm okay now."

You nodded your head, tears stinging your vision for nothing more than your ridiculous amount of empathy. "Can you tell me about it?"

"I will," he promised. "Eventually. Just not now, okay? I haven't processed it all yet."

"Okay," you replied, and his heart shattered at the sight of a tear slipping down your face. 

"Hey," he took ahold of your hand and tugged you closer to him, fingers running through your hair and resting at the base of your scalp. "I promise, honey. I'm not going to disintegrate from a few bruises."

"It isn't just a few," you answered, voice wavering. "There's so many."

"You have a heart too big for your chest," he decided to say instead, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours. "Most of them don't even hurt now. Please believe me when I say I'm okay."

"I'm trying," your voice is thick with a sob caught in your throat. "I think I'm just really tired."

"Yeah," he crooned, agreeing. "Your body's released a lot of prolactin, which encourages sleep. Alongside the endorphins and dopamine that you're crashing from upon seeing this."

Wordlessly, you nodded your head, and he kissed the tip of your nose in an attempt to comfort. 

"Bath, then we can sleep, and we can talk more in the morning," he listed off, and you merely nodded your head once more, sniffling and wiping your eyes. 

"Okay."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[mbsneur]

Heated Night

Leah Williamson x Reader

Hey, my loves! I'm so sorry I haven't posted all week. I've been really sick and I'm still not 100% but I really hope you like the fic! I'm open to feedback and your opinion. I'd also love to hear your ideas about which players I should write about (and the topics) my requests are always open. Thanks so much! 🩵

Warnings: Smut18+ minors DNI, Virgin Lesbian sex

My Masterlist

The night is hot and hazy. Arsenal won the WSL Cup with a goal from Stina in the 116th minute. You went to a nearby club to celebrate. You and your win are the talk of the town. You're the chick from Arsenal. Everyone looks out for you more than themselves. That's how it is when you're 19 and moving from a small country to a big one.

There are a few of you out there who can't hold it in and are already visibly drunk, including Leah.

Leah was the first person to take you in a few months ago, she showed you the city, the best cafes, the best restaurants, she has become something of a confidante to you, she was very self-absorbed that night, she drank a lot, and every time you wanted a little more, Katie took the glass from your hand and gave you something with less alcohol in it.

Kyra has pulled you away from Katie and towards the bar, "I'm sure you need more alcohol," she says, grinning and ordering two Daiquiris without hesitating.

You had a few more cocktails, she literally wanted to get you drunk, when you had more alcohol in your system, Kyra pulled you onto the dance floor and occasionally uttered chopped up words.

She stumbled over her own feet a few times, which made you laugh. Every now and then, Alessia came to you to bring you more and more alcohol. You got warm, your blood got thicker in your veins, your body got heavier and more excited. You haven't been this drunk for a long time.

Kyra was right there with you the whole time, and you saw Leah swaying in Laia's arms. She lifted her head from Laia's shoulder and met your gaze. Before you could react, Alessia nudged you and gave you another drink.

The time flew by until Kim pulled you into the group by your arm and Beth held Leah "You're both drunk, go to bed and sleep it off, mh" Kim said caringly and Leah's eyes rolled in annoyance "Leah, you're going to take Y/N to her room safe and sound, can you do that? Can you take care of her?" Beth frowned and looked at Leah, Leah's eyes widened, "Yes, I'll take her to her room safe and sound," Leah said with a smile, "Come on, sweetheart," she added, taking you by the hand.

"Take care of her," Beth calls after you, she pulled you out of the party crowd and was visibly unsteady on her feet, your hotel had no lift as you reached the stairs, Leah looked over at you, "can you manage on your own," she says, mumbling and stuttering, your vision spins and you shrug your shoulders. "Get on my back," she says with a grin, and you start to laugh out loud.

"Ey, why are you laughing, I'm strong," she says, frowning, "you're drunk," you stammer, and Leah starts to laugh at you.

You grip the railing and Leah leans forward. "Come jump and hold on tight." You move over to her and put your hands on her shoulders. You jump up slightly and her hands wrap tightly around your thighs. Leah starts to wiggle on her legs and you hold on to the railing with a jerk. You laugh and say, "Are you sure you can do this?"

Leah leans up and puts one foot on the step. "I'm drunk, but I can carry 60kg up the stairs."

You laugh at her words.

The walk up took half an eternity and when you got to the top, Leah let you down gently, "What room are you in?" she asks, looking straight into your eyes, "3048," you say shakily, your eyes flickering, "I'm taking you, I told Kim and Beth you'd be fine in your room," she says, holding your arm lightly, you nod and head for your room.

You hold your card against the sensor, and Leah helps you into the room. She wraps her arms around your waist and kicks the door shut with her foot. She takes you to your bed and sits you down. You look at her with puppy dog eyes and she say "I'll help you undress." She laughs and says, "Okay i start with your shoes." She bends down and helps you remove your shoes.

Leah bends up again and asks, "Do you want to sleep without a shirt?" You nod, and she grabs the hem of your shirt and pulls it up. You lift your arms up, and she comes closer to you. She removes the shirt from your head and almost falls on top of you. She starts laughing and looks deep into your eyes. Her gaze is bold, fixed on your full breasts in a red lacy bra. Her eyes darken, and her lower lip slips between her teeth. Your jaw drops, and Leah looks back into your eyes.

"You'd better not look at me like that," she says hoarsely, your eyes rolling from the alcohol at the back of your head, and you reply hazily, "What happens if I do?

Leah's teeth clench tightly before she presses her lips firmly against yours. Your kiss is firm and lasts for a few seconds until Leah pulls away first and rests her forehead against yours. You grab her neck and pull her lips back onto yours.

Your kiss is more intense this time and your tongue presses against her lips, as if asking for entrance. Leah, let your tongues play with each other. You let out a little moan until Leah lets go of you. "Are you sure? I don't want you to feel like a woman for a one night stand," she says, mumbling and looking at you confused.

"I've never had sex with a woman before," you say, blushing. Leah smirks slightly at you. "Do you want me to be the first woman to fuck you?" she says, her voice harsh. Her index finger plays with your bra strap.

"Please leah, fuck me," you demand, and Leah moves away from you. "You'll be good for me. You understand. You'll undress and wait for me. I'll be right back." She turns her back to you, takes your and her room card, and stumbles out of your room.

You did as you were told and stripped naked. Your vision is blurred and your head is spinning.

After a few minutes the door to your room opens and Leah returns with her strap-on in her hand, "Listen carefully, I am going to tell you some of my rules since you are a virgin," she says with a slight smile, sitting down next to you on the bed.

You nod and lean against the headboard. Leah now hovers over you and slowly begins to kiss your shoulder blade. "Tell me if you want me to be gentle with you or if you want me to be rough," she says between kisses. Your breathing is heavy and you try to find the right words. "I want you to be rough. Don't hold back," you say, moaning slightly and feeling Leah's teeth on your bone.

"You'll tell me if it's too much for you and if you want me to stop, I don't want to push you into anything, OK?" she says looking up at you briefly you nod eagerly and Leah's brow furrows "That's another rule, when I ask you something I expect an answer, use your words," she says now taking your breast in her hand, your back arching slightly from the bed "Oh, is someone sensitive? she asks with a grin

She takes your other nipple between her teeth and nibbles lightly on it. You spread your legs without hesitation and Leah's head now wanders over your belly. Your fingers claw into the sheets and your muscles twitch with every kiss.

She grabs your thighs and spreads them wide open, giving her better access to you. She looks at you one last time and asks, "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Now, please, just fuck me," you say, your voice desperate. Leah smirks at that, her tongue shooting out right against your core.

You haven't had sex for a long time, Leah explores every inch of your pussy and eats you out. Your hips bounce against her mouth and your legs start to wriggle. Leah's muscles push your legs apart again and she hits every spot that is celebrating inside you.

She's teasing you with her tongue, making your head roll back and turning your whimper into a moan. You're experiencing sensations you've never felt before, and you're a moaning mess.

Leah knows exactly how to drive you to the edge. With every suck, snap, and lick, her movements bring you closer and, You're already dangerously close. You try to find words, but they fail you. Instead, you moan and press your hips closer to her face. And try to tell her somehow that you are coming, Leah will look at you and hum to you, take it as confirmation and let your body respond to your orgasm.

You moan her name as she takes you through your long orgasm, your legs trying to close but held in place by Leah. You're consumed by her, and you don't know when the new orgasm started and the old one stopped. Your moans turn into whimpers, Leah. Let's go from you. You cry out from the sudden separation. She looks at you. Her lips are swollen and wet. Her eyes are darkened and her breathing is heavy.

She slowly comes up to you and you feel her breath on your lips. "Can I kiss you?" she asks in a low voice. You answer with a simple yes and,Leah's lips immediately land on yours

You let out a low growl at the taste on Leah's lips. After a few minutes, she looks at you again. "Are you riding me? Do you think you can do that for me?" she demands, her grin smug and confident.

I don't know if I can do this," you say, blushing, and Leah smiles at you, "You will, you will be a good girl, I will help you," she says, brushing a strand of hair from your face. You nod and wait for the next move. Leah gets up to put on the strap. You watch her every move. Her body is sweaty and her nipples are visible through her sports bra. Her veins are popping out. Her stomach muscles twitch with every movement. Her ponytail is all messed up, and individual hairs stick to her temples.Your eyes light up when you look at her. That was always the case, there was something about Leah that fascinated you.

When she's finished, you slide to the side to make more room for Leah. She sits down right next to you, leans against the headboard and hits her thighs as a sign for you to sit on her lap. You do as you're told and swing one leg over her muscular belly. She moans slightly as she feels your still-wet pussy on her stomach. She puts her hands on your hips and looks at you. "Are you ready?" she says, her voice firm. She lifts you slightly, her eyes sharp. "Your words, darling," she says, her tone assertive. Your eyelids twitch. "Yes, Leah, I'm ready," you reply, your voice steady. She smiles, her gaze warm. "Good girl," she whispers.

She guides you to sit on the tip of her strap and you moan in pleasure. Your hands find their way to her belly to support yourself. Leah's gaze is fixed on your pussy until she lets you close her strap completely. You whimper against her, and she starts to move your hips forwards and backwards. Her mouth is open, but you just sit up and want to ride her yourself. You don't need Leah's help. You want to prove something to her.

she keep her hands on your hips as you place yours on hers, moving a little faster than Leah has instructed. You rock back and forth quickly, which makes Leah let out a little whimper. Her hands loosen and reach for your arse, and your hands move up to her breasts, gently squeezing them. You lean forward ever so gently.

Leah's moans get louder and so do yours, your hips moving in time, your stomach muscles beginning to tense and your legs trembling "You look so hot right now," Leah says moaning, grabbing your neck to make you look at her. "Oh my, Leah, it feels so good," you say, your cheeks flushed and a little whimper escaping your lips. Your eyes roll back in your head, and Leah's grip on your neck tightens. You dig your nails into her sports bra, and Leah slowly starts to move her hips.

You feel Leah's legs cramping underneath you, your pussy tightening around her strap and you let out the loudest moan of the night "I'm so close" you manage to say "come on my cock make a mess" Leah says moaning as she pulls you closer to her by the neck. After a few seconds, you come loudly on her cock. You feel your juices running down your thighs. Your legs shake and wobble uncontrollably. You can't hold yourself properly anymore. Leah's hand leaves your neck and goes to your hips again. She holds you tight and sits up, pressing her upper body against yours so you can hold on to her neck.

"I need a little more. Don't stop moving," she demands, moaning. Your noises become oversensitive. Your legs are still shaking, and Leah's lips are on your shoulder to hold back her moans. She pushes you against her again and again. After a few pushes, Leah comes too. She comes silently, her teeth biting into your shoulder. Her legs are weak, and she lets herself fall on her back.

Her strap is still inside you and she is out of breath. You move off her slowly and deliberately, taking care not to overstimulate yourself. You sit down next to her, and when she wants to take off her strap, you grab her hand.

"Leah, wait, I want to clean you up," you say through clenched teeth, and Leah laughs devilishly at you, "You want to do that, yes, then I hope you will make an effort," she says again bossily. There is no time to waste and you immediately kneel down between her legs as Leah's hands grab hold of your hair and guide you closer to her strap.

You take her cock a bit into your mouth and Leah pushes your head further down. Your hands rest on her thighs. Your mouth starts to get faster. With every thrust, the strap hits Leah's clitoris. You look up at her. You have never seen her as vulnerable as she is at this moment. Her mouth opens and out of it comes a lot of little whimpers.

Leah pushes your head down deeper and faster. You gag and spit flows out of your mouth and lands on Leah's stomach. Tears come to your eyes and Leah starts to moan properly this time. "You're doing so well. You're gonna make me cum," she says. You take it as an incentive and let the strap slide deeper into your throat with a deep moan. Leah cums.

„Are you sure this is the first time you've had sex with a woman?" she says laughing and looks at you, "Are you calling me a liar?" you say snappishly, "Bathtub?" Leah asks and you agree.

[verstxppen33]

this wasn't meant to happen

summary: oops, you left your diary at his house... | autumn special!

genre: a sprinkle of fluff

warnings: use of y/n

pairing: lando norris x reader // friends to lovers

a/n: super cliché, i know, i know

The raindrops dropped gently against your window, creating a soothing sound. As soothing as it was, it didn't really comfort your anxiousness of your diary being gone. You rummaged through everything and everywhere, even in the bathroom. But it was nowhere to be found.

Unless you've taken it to Lando's house...you took it to Lando's house?!

Meanwhile, Lando found a scarlet-coloured notebook on his bedside table. Out of curiosity, he picked it up and opened it.

"Dear Diary,

Today, I had to take care of a drunk Lando. He kept mumbling about me being so precious and pretty? I didn't quite take it seriously, but the way he spoke was just too affectionate. Not to mention, he was very clingy too."

Lando's eyes shot wide open, as he remembered the morning after "the incident". It was your diary. He quickly shut the diary, a slight blush on his cheeks. He didn't want to invade your privacy, even if all of your thoughts and feelings could just be opened right here and now. It'd be a bad thing to do, right?

He resisted the urge only for a few minutes, letting out a slight giggle and opening up the book and sliding to the next page. He looked around his bedroom like if someone was watching him, then sitting against his headboard and reading curiously.

"Hey there,

Something's going on with my mind, and I don't even have the energy to write anything. Quick and short, I might be in love? With Lando, perhaps? I have no idea. He's just too cute! It's wrong to fall in love with my bestfriend, isn't it? Nevertheless, I have some things to do:"

What? In love? Lando stopped immediately stopped reading. He didn't really care about the other pages now, definitely not your To-do list.

He silently cursed himself for invading your privacy like that and letting his curiosity win over. He closed the book and thought about giving it back to you.

Still in slight panic, you were drinking a cup of tea, leaning against the countertop, wondering where your damn diary was. You almost never wrote into it, but it still felt so damn important. The rain already stopped pouring, leaving an earthy smell in the crisp of the autumn air.

A ring on your doorbell could be heard and you put your cup of tea down, wondering who would it be. As you opened the door, you smiled at Lando's sight, but as your gaze darted over to the scarlet notebook he was holding—your diary, your smile faltered.

"I think it was yours." Lando spoke up sheepishly, holding the diary out for you to take. You rapidly take it from his hands.

"Did...Did you read it?" you ask nervously, even though you had no idea what was in it anymore, since the last time you wrote in it was months ago.

"Maybe, y/n, Maybe." he responded with a faint smile. "I got too curious. And I've think I've read enough." You raised an eyebrow. Was that a good or a bad thing? What the hell did you write into that notebook?

"What did you see, exactly?" you asked curiously, leaning into him unconsciously.

"You're in love with me." Lando responded bluntly with a slight chuckle, noticing your cheeks heating up immediately. "No, it's fine. It's fine. I maybe I am too, and I'm maybe just figuring it out."

Without hesitation, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a hug. He responded to it quickly and wrapping his arms around you as well, grinning widely. He gently lifted his hand to run through the strands of your hair, his hand slightly cold from the autumn breeze.

You two have a lot to figure out.

[seat-safety-switch]

Lots of people are getting ready to write their first novel. It's a cool thing that the internet wants you to do. I'd never write a novel, me, because everything I write about is old as hell. Wait, it doesn't mean that? And you get super rich from writing them? I've changed my mind.

Here's the thing: if you're going to write a novel in November, maybe start by writing a couple sentences now. This is the closest thing I will ever provide to writing advice, because me giving it is roughly equivalent to taking tips from your dad's alcoholic college roommate about how to operate a pneumatic nailgun. If your ass is going from zero to 50,000 words in a month, y'all are going to end up like those guys who take up long distance running a week before a marathon and whose corpse gets eaten by a dog on a rural running path.

Now, I know what you're going to say: I run in the city, where people restrain their dogs. And great for you, if you can afford that "city running tax" of having to wear underwear and avoid the police, who assume that you must have recently stolen something if you're running anywhere. When you get home, you should write yourself a little diary entry. Maybe ramble about engine swaps for a bit, a topic that anyone can bang out a tight three thousand words on without putting too much effort into it.

If you still need advice on how to make writing work for you, ask someone else. Hemingway used to drink a whole shitload and had a ton of cats. That's not a bad way to start. I don't really know what happened to him, because the library kicked me out before I got to the end of his wikipedia page. I'm assuming everything went great with his writing career after that, and he got the car of his dreams. And so can you!

[runariya]

I am in love with that Jk merman story of yourssss , you are such a talented author !!!! Keep it up with the good work .

Even i want to request a prompt after that story because i believe only you have the capability to bring that prompt to life (only if you want to write ofcourse, no pressure )

I have never read an ABO fic with enemies to lovers troupe in modern era , I mean just imagine them being the high-school academic rival wolves who can't bear standing eachother

but the moment they turn 18 and their wolves will develop some special senses and powers, they both will realise that they both are actually mates . damnnn now image the strong pull their wolves will feel towards eachother making them go crazy ( their wolves will fall in love with eachother the moment they will recognize eachother as mate and start rebelling their human counterparts and start convincing them to love eachother too .)

and how bad they will try to hide it , deny their wolves forbid their animal counterparts from eachother only to fail miserably in the end because yeah that mate bond will win 🥹

You can choose any BTS member you want because I love and enjoy reading all seven of them so go for any member you want .

Borahae 💜 , no pressure if you are not interested in writing this prompt , I will still adore you and your work 💜 😘 so feel free to reject this request if you want .

part of the prompt game pairing: alpha!Jungkook x omega!female reader genre: fantasy!AU, "E"2L, ABO, high school romance warnings: Jungkook's the most pitiful teenager in all of existence, bad handling of emotions/feelings, a lot of cliques, denial, a little bit of physical fighting, mentions of blood, lmk if I forgot smth word count: 2.754

a/n: tysm for all your compliments, I'm so flattered 🫂 I've tweaked your request a tiny bit to fit the character of OC better and left out marking etc. bc they're still so young 🥹 hope that's okay 💕

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

He hates you.

No, he loathes your entire existence.

That Miss Perfect attitude, excelling in everything you do as if it’s the easiest task in the world. You’ve been enemies since high school started—not because either of you declared it so, but because Jungkook simply can’t stand you.

You, on the other hand, are oblivious to this feud, always kind and friendly towards everyone, especially Jungkook. He doesn’t understand how you do it, staying so humble and kind towards him when he takes every opportunity to throw jabs your way, or cause you minor inconveniences, like not holding the door open or letting you trip more times than he can count.

It’s infuriating to watch you be so lovely, especially when you’re not only the smartest but also the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen—something he will never admit. Ever.

“Jungkook?” Your soft, sweet voice startles him. He’s been too busy glaring at the papers scattered before him, his thoughts circling back to you. There's no one else in the lecture hall, and he didn’t even realise you’d entered. You seem to appear out of nowhere, catching him off guard. “I think you dropped this.”

You’re smiling again, that blinding smile of yours, starry eyes sparkling with joy, courteous as ever. He wants to scream. He doesn’t want this treatment from you, not when you’re a little older than him—well, only two months, but still. You’re 18 now, with your wolf, while he’s not, which only deepens his resentment. Once again, you’re ahead, better at something.

The whole school talked about your wolf. Despite your gentle nature, everyone was shocked to learn after your first turn that you’re an omega—one of the very few in the city, the only one known in school. It’s yet another thing Jungkook can’t stand, especially now that everyone, wolf or not, showers you with attention.

“Not mine,” Jungkook lies through his teeth, eyeing the pencil still held out towards him in your small, delicate hand, your nails perfectly manicured.

“Oh…” you murmur, glancing down at the pencil, your brows drawing together in disbelief. Of course, you don’t believe him. “But it’s got your initials, and it’s the one you’re always using.”

Damn you! Of course, you know it’s his favourite. He should’ve seen this coming.

“You think I’d use it after your germs have contaminated it?” Jungkook scoffs.

“That’s not very kind.” You purse your lips, those beautiful lips.

“It’s the truth, ___.”

“Is it okay if I keep it?”

What?! “What?” Jungkook can’t believe his ears. Why would you want to keep it?

“Can I keep your pen? It would be a waste to throw it away, especially when it looks so cool.” You repeat, smiling again.

The pencil is cool, and Jungkook has half a mind to just snatch it back, but he won’t give in. He won’t concede even the smallest defeat.

“I don’t care,” he grumbles. It’s enough to make you burst with joy, your face lighting up as you clutch the pencil to your chest.

“Thanks, Jungkook! You’re so kind!”

“Whatever.”

And ‘whatever’ indeed, because seeing you every day with his pencil, as if it’s the most precious thing in the world, drives him mad. He regrets his decision. He wants it back. It’s his, and what’s his should stay his, but it isn’t—and it makes him livid.

Livid in a way that fuels his pettiness, pushing him to new lengths to make your life difficult. He puts fake spiders in your bag, bumps into you when you’re struggling with your food tray in the canteen. But all of it is in vain, because you’re an omega—everyone’s darling. Every time something inconvenient happens to you, a horde of people rushes to your aid.

This alone is enough to make Jungkook reconsider his actions—or rather, the attention he’s giving you. It’s not like you care. It’s not like you treat him any differently when he’s mean. So what’s the point? At some stage, he’s not even sure why he started all this, why he loathes you so much. If he’s honest, you’ve never actually wronged him. Not once. And now, he’s running out of ways to break you, to show everyone your true colours, because no one can be this perfect, right?

It’s the Friday before his birthday weekend when you approach him again, this time holding a small present. You look up at him as he stands by his locker.

“Hey, Jungkook,” you say softly.

“What do you want?”

“Uhm, I know Sunday’s your 18th birthday and… well, I know you didn’t invite me to your party, which is totally fine! Don’t get me wrong! But I just wanted to give you this because it’s a big birthday, right? So, yeah…”

The tiny gift is wrapped in floral paper with a neatly tied bow, and it looks exactly how he imagined your presents would. It screams 'you', and he’s unsure what to say. He reckons he should just take it and thank you, but the way you’re looking up at him, so small and kind despite knowing you weren’t invited, bothers him like a sock slipping off mid-walk.

Jungkook reluctantly takes the present, ignoring the slight relieved droop of your shoulders and how your warm, soft fingers brushed softly against his.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, his eyes transfixed on the gift.

“Happy birthday, Jungkook. I hope it’ll be everything you wanted and beyond.”

And with that, you turn away, a light spring in your step, your hair moving behind you like a fairy’s wings.

Jungkook doesn’t waste any time after you leave, ripping the gift open in a rush of curiosity, only to freeze, stunned, when a tiny jewellery box is revealed to him. He’s never received any jewellery before, and the fact that it’s a gift from you—a female ‘stranger’, no less—makes his nerve endings prickle with discomfort. The idea of receiving something so personal feels wrong somehow, and yet, despite this strange feeling creeping over him, he still finds himself opening the small red box.

Inside, nestled on an equally red velvet cushion, is a delicate necklace with a pendant that bears his initials. It’s the prettiest necklace he’s ever seen, and the worst part is that he can already picture himself wearing it, the style so perfectly matching his aesthetic that it’s rather unsettling.

He carefully takes the necklace from the box, letting it twist and turn in the sunlight, the metal gleaming ever so mesmerising. But that’s when he notices an engraving on the back of the pendant, and as he peers closer, he fights the urge to rub his eyes.

You’ve had ‘alpha’ engraved onto it. There’s no way anyone could be so bold as to assume another person’s future rank, and yet here you are, making such an assumption about him. Jungkook can’t help but think maybe he was right all along—there’s something strange about you. You’re just a little too perfect, a little too confident in your kindness, a little too bold in your presumptions.

Shaking his head, he lets the necklace fall back into the box, snapping it shut and tossing it carelessly into his locker, fully intending to forget about it sooner or later. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

Saturday night and Sunday come and go in a blur of noise, people, and anticipation. Jungkook has invited practically everyone he knows to his birthday party, hoping that with the arrival of his wolf, his mate might finally be revealed as well. But no one who attends is his mate, and this realisation drags his mood dangerously low. He feels a nagging stab in his chest that he can’t shake, made even heavier by the recurring thought that you, little Miss Perfect, were right all along—Jungkook has become an alpha, just as you predicted. Typical.

What infuriates him even more is that on Monday morning, as you—like always—walk past his locker on your way to the lecture hall, the world seems to slow around him. He watches in disbelief as you suddenly stop, staring at him with wide eyes that shimmer with unshed tears. You look stunned, but more than that, you look happy, as though you’ve just discovered something wonderful. And then, in the midst of his confusion, his inner wolf starts to go wild, barking ‘mate’ over and over again, leaping with excitement inside him.

It should be a moment of joy, a moment where he feels relief and happiness in finally knowing who his mate is. But instead, all Jungkook feels is denial, a desperate refusal to accept the truth, even though, deep down, he knows that you’re everything he ever wanted in a mate.

Still, he turns away from you, ignoring the way your face crumples, the way your bright, hopeful tears turn into ones of sadness, the way you rush past him with your head down, leaving his wolf whimpering in confusion and hurt. Jungkook tries to convince himself that this can’t be real, that it can’t be right, even though every part of him knows it’s exactly what he wanted, what he’s been waiting for.

In the days that follow, he struggles to keep up his usual routine of tormenting you, making snide remarks whenever he gets the chance, but there’s no joy in it anymore. You’re not kind to him the way you used to be, not anymore. You don’t smile at him, don’t even really smile at anyone; instead, you accept his cruelty with a resigned, sad look in your eyes and a forced, brittle smile that never quite reaches your eyes.

Each day, it becomes harder and harder for Jungkook to suppress his wolf, who clearly isn’t on the same page with his cold treatment of you. His wolf growls at him, restless and unhappy, frustrated with the way things are. And Jungkook knows—he understands why—but he feels trapped.

How could he possibly make things right after all he’s done to you? How could he ever redeem himself after letting his bitterness and resentment carry him so far? It doesn’t help that the necklace you gave him is now tucked securely under his shirt, the cool metal pendant resting against his chest, near his heart, multiplying the ache that’s slowly but surely forming there as well. He fiddles with it absentmindedly, the action soothing in a way he can’t explain, though it only makes the guilt grow.

“Jungkook?”

He no longer startles when you appear, his wolf always sensing your presence before you even speak, and your voice has become so quiet, so broken, that it doesn’t have the same effect it once did.

Looking at you now, standing there with your eyes downcast and your voice soft, makes him wish he could take it all back—every harsh word, every petty action. He wishes he could go back and rewrite everything, build something good between you instead of tearing it down. But it’s too late for that, far too late, and he knows it.

When he doesn’t respond, you gather the courage to continue, your voice wavering slightly. “I know it’s random, but I noticed your grades haven’t been as good as they used to be. I know you’re not the kind of person who needs help, but… if there’s anything I can do, just let me know, yeah?”

He wants to snap at you, wants to push you away, but he’s so exhausted—exhausted from pretending he doesn’t care, exhausted from pretending he hates you, and most of all, exhausted from fighting this undeniable bond between you.

Tears prick at his eyes, overwhelming him with guilt, frustration, and something else he can’t quite name. He’s so fed up with himself, so trapped in the mess he’s made that he doesn’t know how to fix it, doesn’t even know where to start.

“Hey… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” you say, your voice tinged with panic now as you shift nervously on the spot, your hands reaching out towards him only to pull back, unsure of what to do. “I’m sorry…”

“Stop!” Jungkook yells, and the sound of his own voice surprises him. You flinch, your entire body recoiling as if he’s physically struck you, your trembling hands clasping tightly in front of you.

“I… I’m sorry.” Your bottom lip quivers, and before Jungkook can say anything else, you turn and run, disappearing down the hall, leaving him standing there with the misery of his guilt pressing down harder than ever.

To think it couldn’t get worse was the stupidest thought Jungkook ever had, because it got worse. Not only did his little outburst suffocate him in guilt, but it also made you avoid him every chance you got. It also didn’t help that most people noticed your changed persona, adding one plus one and recognising Jungkook as the culprit.

He doesn’t fault them, doesn’t really mind the insults coming his way, of being heartless for not wanting a mate like you, when he knows they speak the truth. He doesn’t deserve you, doesn’t deserve someone who he clearly hurts without a true reason.

And the way his inner wolf retreats now from him too, is something he understands as well, because there’s literally nothing he could do to mend what he’s broken.

It’s one afternoon after classes have just finished, and he’s walking out of the school when he notices you cornered against the wall by some other alphas, three in total. Jungkook’s immediately enraged, and it’s then that his wolf rises to full strength, baring his teeth and growling violently.

You’re clearly uncomfortable, clearly scared of what might happen, especially when one of these alphas gets in your face, giving you no way to escape. The last straw for Jungkook is when one runs his filthy finger along your beautiful face.

“Hey!” Jungkook roars, storming towards the alphas who have now turned to laugh in his face. “Back off.”

“What?! She’s fair game.” One mocks, while you’re still pressed against the wall, but your eyes are hopefully locked onto Jungkook.

“I said back off my mate.”

They do, but only to now lunge at Jungkook, thinking that outnumbering him will shoo him away. But it doesn’t—Jungkook won’t let anyone else touch you, his wolf and himself ready to do anything to protect you. And so, Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to take each one of them down.

Driven by adrenaline, he doesn’t notice the sting of the hits he couldn’t block, but it’s nothing compared to the urge to protect you with all he has, all he is.

One after the other falls to the floor, while blood trickles from his split lip, knuckles burning and swollen, his chest still heaving, his wolf still angrily jabbing at the air.

“Jungkook?” His eyes snap up to you when you call for him, and he’s relieved to find no repulsion or fear in them when they lock onto him.

“Are you okay?”

“Thank you,” you nod, and his wolf wags his tail, barking mate, deafening all his other senses.

“Good."

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologising?”

You hesitate, and it makes him feel powerless all over again, but eventually you whisper, “Because I’m not who you wanted.”

It’s broken, it’s defeated, and it’s everything he never wanted his mate to say, because it’s not the truth. Never was. Never will be.

“But you are.” Jungkook tries to smile, despite knowing it’s not hopeful or kind, but sad in all the ways his decisions led it to be.

“I am?”

Seeing your eyes gradually returning to their lively, sparkly self is more than he ever wished to witness, more than he ever should receive, but everything he ever wanted.

“You are. Always were.”

And with that, he opens his arms, stepping over the still-groaning alphas to get closer to you.

With a push off the wall, you sprint into Jungkook’s arms, tears of relief running down your cheeks as he embraces you like you wished he would from the start. But it doesn’t matter, because no time apart could ruin the feeling of him embracing you and your bond.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook mumbles into your hair, inhaling the magnificent scent of you.

“It’s fine, everything’s fine.”

And as you cling to him, your wolves finally as content as you are, you know that you’d never change a thing, because it’s better to be loved willingly than with no other choice.

[matryosika]

Three Times Again

Pairing — Hyunjin & Reader Wordcount — 6,171 words Includes — Fem!reader, mentions of alcohol consumption, smut (warnings under the cut). Author's Note — Finished college, graduated with a psychology degree and a 98.8/100 general score, I now have a serious, serious job and I haven't written anything in eight or nine months so this is the best I can do at this point. This might be a bit rusty but honestly I'm happy I was able to write something for the first time in so long. Don't think I forgot about you folks, I never will! Hope you didn't forget about me either.

Smut Warnings — Virgin AND inexperienced reader paired with somewhat experienced male character, best friends trope. Use of petnames, praise and worship if you squint, very very delicate smut if i'm being honest. Fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), nipple play, lots of making out and kisses, protected sex, mentions and use of condom, piv.

It was bound to happen.

Hyunjin knew it. You knew it. All of your friends knew it. 

Rather sooner than later, it was just bound to happen. 

The four walls on his bedroom and the remnants of the incense smoke are lively witnesses of the tension unraveling —a tension that lasted enough for the two of you, and that is now slowly causing havoc with each of your heartbeats.

It all started with a simple, pointless "truth or dare" kind of game, you and your friend's very own rendition: truth or shot. You asked each other's questions, and you could choose between replying or chugging down a shot of liquid courage. No room for those "lick the floor" or "text your ex" shenanigans. 

Of course the catch was that after 3 or 4 rounds, your headspace wasn't as sober as initially. And after a series of shots, one would eventually start spitting out just truths that cannot be spoken after the sun rises.

“Don’t think about it,” Hyunjin begs in between kisses, dragging his swollen lips  along your shoulders and neck. His hands are roaming underneath your clothes, getting familiar with your body while feeling your warmth. “Please, don’t think about it”. 

You can't. And you try not to. 

At least not when the sensations of his wet lips teasing your skin becomes too much to handle in a span of minutes, or when the ghost trailing of his fingertips against your flesh is making you turn desperate for him.

But it is difficult.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you whisper, the logical, still functioning part of your brain tries to protest. Despite how aroused you are, and despite how receptive your body is to that of Hyunjin's. “We’re- you’re my best friend Hyunjin”. 

“And you’re mine,” he hums against your skin, only lifting his gaze when you bury your fingers a bit too harshly onto his dark hair locks, “is that so wrong?”

His words get underneath your skin in ways that they shouldn't, and you start kissing your rationality goodbye as Hyunjin nibbles softly at the flesh where your shoulders and neck connect.

“You’re- we are going to regret this,” you exhale, ironically locking your arms around his neck. Your words are only saying much, but your body is risking it all to let him know that you want this just as much as he does. “What if- you wake up tomorrow and think this was a mistake?”

The dark-haired lets out a quiet groan, filled with both amusement and despair. “How can this be a mistake?” he asks, moving one of his hands from your hips to your thighs, sneaking it between your shorts and your underwear, “how can it be a mistake when I've waited years to have you like this, all for me?”. 

You arch your back against the palm of his hand. 

“Hyunjin,” you exhale his name once again, but you're not quite sure what for. It could be a plea, or the beginning of a sentence you can't begin to articulate in a situation like this. It could also be the familiarity of the word falling from your lips in between moans —you would be such a filthy liar if you were to deny having touched yourself while thinking about your friend before. 

Either way, Hyunjin never really thought of his name that much until now, that he's hearing you moaning it. 

“Yeah?” he asks with a weak hum, getting lost in the way you smell, “talk to me”. 

“F-fuck,” you murmur weakly, the stinging feeling of tears pricking on the corners of your eyes.  You’re about to cry, but you don't know why. Blame it on the alcohol, the sudden release of that secret you've kept years locked inside of you, or the overwhelming sensation Hyunjin’s skin is, “promise me something-”. 

Your friend is all too busy engraving every single inch of your skin into his brain. Every freckle, mole and stretch mark, he needs to memorize your flesh like it's a map. He wants to remember how it looks underneath the dim light of his room, proof that this all happened and it's not just another wet dream of his.

“Anything,” he says, with such a raspy voice it's vibrations travel from the skin spilling out from your bra up until your throbbing center, “ask me anything”. 

You gather all your courage within you to lift your upper body from the mattress, resting your weight on your forearms and causing Hyunjin to take a slight step back from you.

“Promise me this isn't going to change a thing in our friendship,” you murmur, your chest moving up and down almost frantically. Hyunjin's dark eyes are all over yours, with a subtle furrow in his brows that just tells you he's still trying to get a hold on everything that's happening. “Promise me, Hyunjin”. 

You're honestly asking for a lot. How can he promise such a thing, when he is already missing the warmth of your skin? How can he pretend nothing is going to change, when tomorrow he will wake up with the ghostly feeling of your pussy around his dick?

Hyunjin will say yes. Hyunjin will say that he promises you something he knows he is not going to fulfill. And honestly, he can play pretend. You're not going to be able to tell, and he is not going to say it. 

But Hyunjin knows everything is going to change the minute he gets to feel your lips on his again. He knows nothing will ever be the same once he bottoms out inside you, hearing you moaning and gasping while he fucks you however you ask him to.

“I promise,” he swallows the lie thickly, staring at you between furrowed eyebrows. “I fucking promise just- please let me have you, please”. 

You're staring at each other with hitched breath, rapid heartbeats and an insane amount of uncertainty neither of you can sort out. 

“Please let me taste you,” Hyunjin plants a chaste kiss right above your hip bone.

And then another. 

And another.

And another.

“Please,” he begs again, humming your name. “Let me make you feel real good”. 

You close your eyes in defeat, getting immersed in the way his hot lips feel against your tummy. He is kissing, and licking, and nibbling at your flesh, it's practically impossible not to give in when all that's left is your word consenting to it.

“Please,” Hyunjin insists, the tip of his fingers grazing against the hems of your skirt and underwear. “Say you want this just as much as I do”. 

You whine, kicking your head back.

“Say it,” he repeats, whispering your name. “I need to hear it from you. I need to know that you want me like I want you”. 

“I want this,” you finally confess. “I want this- fuck, I want you, Hyunjin”. 

The words leave your lips with a shakily breath, and you think it might be the release of it all.

His lips crash into yours once again, and you realize how much you missed his taste despite having kissed him just minutes ago. Hyunjin's saliva tastes like plum soju, mint and your strawberry gloss, and your heart skips a beat at the realization that this is real, that this is happening —your taste and essence lingers in Hyunjin's mouth, and there's no turning back now. 

The closer your bodies are, the more your fragrances mix. You can't tell his smell apart from yours, and he can't tell either —your hands smell like his lotion, and his shirt smells like your perfume.

Your mind spirals into all the sensations he is providing you with, that is until his hands sneak underneath your blouse and you get to feel his hot flesh against the sides of your body.

Then, your mind goes blank.

Your blood boils, you feel the heat rising to your chest, cheeks and ears. You feel exposed, in a way, but you're sure things aren't going to end there.

Hyunjin has seen nothing of you just yet.

"Can I take this off?" His hands are still attached to your waist underneath your clothes, and as far as you're concerned he could be talking about your shirt or your bra. You want those two off anyways, so you nod and agree to whatever he is thinking.

Things unfold in slow motion to your eyes, but everything is happening pretty fast, actually. In the blink of an eye your blouse is scattered around his bedroom floor, and it doesn't take too long before his t-shirt is joining yours there, too. 

Between all the kisses and pettings, you feel the loss of his warmth when he takes a step back. Then, you feel really exposed.

Apart from your heavy breaths and fast heartbeats, the room is completely quiet. So quiet it scares you, so you break the silence with a muffled "what?".

Hyunjin's straight eyebrows furrow just slightly, and he parts his lips to say something yet nothing comes out of them. Nothing but a deep, trembling exhale; it sounds like the equivalent to being able to finally breath after being underwater for so long.

“What, Hyunjin?” You repeat with a stern voice, fearing he might've started to regret the whole thing. He is unreadable —as far as you're concerned, he could be having second thoughts about this stupid idea. You wouldn't blame it for it.

But when he drops to his knees in front of you, and his hands find the waistband of your skirt, you get the sense that he might not be regretting any of this at all.

“So pretty,” he mutters, with rounded eyebrows like crescent moons and big, open eyes as he stares up at you, “you’re so, so pretty”. 

The compliment takes your breath away, and the skin on your nape and back short-circuits as if an explosion of electricity it’s taking place underneath your flesh.

"You really think so?" You're not quite sure what prompts you to ask such a question, but you figure you should let yourself get loose. The last thing you want for tonight is to hold back, because that isn't the idea.

You're doing this with Hyunjin for a reason, and said reason is because you trust him.

Without holding back, without overthinking, without hesitating. There will be plenty of time to reflect on whatever happens tonight, but right now isn't the time.

At least not when Hyunjin is kneeling in front of you, holding so much adoration in his eyes you swear you finally feel those butterflies people keep talking about.

“I know so,” he reiterates, “just look at you”. 

Your eyes fall to where his hands meet with your skirt, and this time he asks for consent with just his gaze. You nod and swallow thickly, watching as his fingers expertly dance along the hems of your skirt.

You want to shy away, to cover yourself and evaporate into thin air —at the same time, Hyunjin wants to look at you. You want him to be the first one to see you naked, to touch parts of your body nobody has before. You want to see his expression, to wonder what he will do when the realization of having you in his bed finally sinks in.

Because up until now, everything feels like a fever dream to him.

You stand in front of the edge of his bed, and watch as he undresses you. His hands trace the path of the skirt, from your thighs to your calves, and only looks up when it reaches your ankles, signaling for you to step out of it.

The color and fabric of your panties match those of the bra, and for a split second Hyunjin feels played. 

Did you plan it? Have you been thinking about this as much as he has?

It could be a coincidence, but it isn't —at some point throughout the night, you and Hyunjin were bound to happen. And you both knew it.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, standing up from the floor right in front of you. His eyes are all over your face, his hands are shy and you get the feeling that he might kiss you, but all he does is press his lips against yours and murmurs, “you make me feel so- fuck, I don’t even know”. 

You appreciate Hyunjin's sincerity, because honestly you don't know either. All you know is the adrenaline running through your veins, and the palpitations you feel underneath your left rib cage and between your thighs.

All you know is that you want Hyunjin to fuck you. Whether it's painful, or not. Whether you get to feel some pleasure, or not. All you want is for him to be your first, to be the one you experience sex for the first time like everyone around you already has.

It's actually more complicated than that, than just experiencing, but you don't dwell on it for long.

“Don’t think about it too much,” you suggest, just as fazed as he is. “Don’t think about anything just- do whatever you want”.

Hyunjin is unsure of what he is doing, judged by the hesitation behind his movements. He holds you by the small of your back and presses you tightly against his body, so close the tip of your noses are grazing against each other.

“Stop me if I hurt you,” he whispers with shortness of breath, “alright?”

You nod and swallow thickly, “okay”. 

Inevitably, Hyunjin feels a pressure over his shoulders. He knows it is your first time. 

You deserve something memorable, something that it's all about you. 

Sure, his dick is hard and throbbing, and he swears he is one second away from exploding inside his pants, but he is willing to leave his pleasure aside for yours.

He'd have other opportunities to get his dick wet and other chances to experiment. Right now it should be all about you, about making you feel good.

And under that thought, he kisses you again. 

Soft and slowly, dragging the tip of his fingers along the middle of your back. His tongue brushes against yours and you completely forget about the concept of oxygen.

It doesn't matter now that Hyunjin's breath is everything you need to respire.

His fingers keep lingering in the hooks of your bra, and it surprises you how he is able to get it off of you on his own.

"No man ever gets it right the first time," your best friend had told you amidst laughter. But Hyunjin just did in his first try. He is just naturally good at everything he does; excelling at random tasks, always getting things perfectly from the very start.

You hardly think about how naked you're in comparison to him, because he presses his chest to yours and your breasts become squeezed by his golden skin. You feel your nipples hardening against him, and you’re fully aware he can feel them too.

Fuck, he can feel them. And his cock gets even harder by that alone. 

“Let me see you,” Hyunjin whispers under his breath, but you wrap your arms around his neck, preventing him from taking a step back from you. You shake your head, feeling abruptly overwhelmed by his embrace, as well as the cold air hitting your skin.

“No one has ever seen me naked,” you say.

He knows.

“I want to see you, if you let me,” he swallows thickly, brushing his nose against yours. “Please, let me see you”.

Hyunjin feels your arms releasing some strength, falling limp over his shoulders, and he takes that as an opportunity to walk back just enough to see you.

All of you.

Everything he shouldn't fantasize about, but he does. 

“God,” he exhales with a strangled breath, doing everything he possibly can to remain collected.

But it's irrational, and impossible. How can he remain calm when you're standing naked in front of him? Your skin is covered in goosebumps, your nipples are hard and the dark, wet patch on your cotton underwear just tells him that your body needs something only he can give you. How can he be calm throughout any of this?

He can’t, and he is finally coming to terms with it.

“It’s not fair,” you murmur, slyly crossing your arms over your chest, “I’m practically naked, and you still have your pants on”. 

Hyunjin listens, but decides to ignore you. Instead, his hands find your crossed arms and he motions for you to drop them, pressing his lips against yours to kiss you one more time.

He swears he might never get tired of kissing you, ever.

“Lay down,” he presses desperate, short kisses against your lips, and you follow his guidance until your back meets the softness of the comforter.

His hands hold the sides of your body, only to drag the last piece of clothing off from your body. And it happens all too fast, that you don't even have time to shy away. Hyunjin lays down between your spread legs, with his hands and arms hooked underneath your thighs, half-lidded eyes looking right at yours.

“Remember,” Hyunjin warns, and the feeling of his warm breath against your core feels too weird and unfamiliar, you mean to close your legs around him but he doesn't allow you to, “tell me if I hurt you”. 

Your heart would have exploded inside your chest at the sight, but it doesn't until Hyunjin's tongue meets your pussy for the first time. Then, you feel your heartbeats ringing loudly in your ears.

“Shit,” you curse under your breath, holding up your weight with your forearms.

“You’re dripping wet,” he murmurs, nose brushing against your clit while his tongue collects all your arousal, “you must have been wanting this for so long”.

You writhe under his hold, feeling weakened by his words. Your chest feels heavy, and there's a tension on your lower back that prompts you to grind your hips against his face, practically begging for him to do something.

And he does —the tip of his digits slide against your folds, exploring you. He focuses his tongue on your clit, and by that alone you swear you're seeing stars. You thought the stimulation would pretty much feel like your fingers or toys, but it's nothing close to that. It feels foreign, out of your control, and you like that.

“How do you touch yourself?” Hyunjin asks with a deep voice you swear you can't recognize. 

Instead of replying, you guide one of your hands to his, that is already wet and sticky, and take two of his fingers, “put them inside”. 

He follows your orders, sinking his index and middle finger with such an ease it surprises both of you. Normally, it would take you a while to get wet on your own —right now, it seems that your body is reacting to Hyunjin much faster than you expected.

“So fucking warm,” the mutter is more to himself than to you, but you still catch it. And for some reason, the sound of his voice makes you clench harder around his fingers, “and so tight”. 

“Don’t say that,” you kick your head back, closing your eyes shut.

“I know you like it,” he says, a small smile creeping through the corners of his lips, “I can feel it”. 

There it is, again. Your walls flutter around his fingers, squeezing them softly at every word he says.

“You like it when I tell you how wet you are?” Hyunjin’s voice is gradually lower now, and his choice of words has the desired effect on you, “don’t lie, I can feel you getting tighter”. 

This may be better than any lie detector the world has come to know. Discovered by none other than Hyunjin, right before any other guy all over you could.

“Shit,” you curse under your breath, your fingers instinctively latching to his black hair. You don't mean to pull it, but you find yourself using it as leverage, and Hyunjin finds himself groaning at it, “seems like I've discovered something about you too”.

He smiles and presses his lips and nose further against you, pretending to know every single inch of your core with his tongue. It's the first time he has you like this, and he isn't quite sure if he is doing alright —a couple of soft whimpers and quiet, strangled moans are falling from your lips, but that isn’t enough for Hyunjin.

"What else do you do?" He asks, and the question comes out more as a whimper than a casual, nonchalant voice. He is clearly affected by all of this, and you can tell by his hips rut against his bed as he touches you. “When you touch yourself, what else do you do?” 

One of your hands leaves his dark hair, and guide to your breasts. It always goes a little bit like that —your dominant hand maneuvers the toy against your clit, and your other hand focuses on your breasts and nipples, pinching and twisting them as you like.

Fuck, well, that's going to be a sight imprinted in Hyunjin's mind forever. The way your back arches as soon as your fingers tease your nipples, the way your chest elevates with a deep inhale. The way your hips buck against Hyunjin's touch, and how your toes curl just slightly at the stimulation.

He soon focuses again on his task, pumping two of his fingers inside you while his tongue takes care of your clit that has become more swollen than initially. 

He is doing anything he can to get to know you, to see how his touch is affecting you. And when his middle finger touches a spot inside your walls that he hadn't before, and you let out a guttural moan of his name, Hyunjin stops short.

“Did I-” 

He must think he hurt you. But it's all quite the opposite. 

“Right there,” you shake your head frantically, acquiring strength from, practically, nowhere to push your body up in your forearms again, “shit, again, do it again”.

And he complies. His middle finger curls, and the reaction he gets is the same, if not more pronounced, from you.

“You’re fucking dripping,” repeatedly, he manages to find a pace of his own. His fingers move slowly and deliciously inside of you, almost always touching that spot that has you moaning louder than before. That, added with the suck of his mouth around your clit, sends you to cloud 9.

You've never felt this before, on your own, and it scares you.

It feels more intense, and slightly painful. Your lower back hurts, you're sweating and you fear you might pee. 

It definitely feels as if you're going to pee.

“Hyunjin!” You gasp, your hands pushing him away, “I feel- ��m gonna make a mess”. 

His heart is beating loud in his ears, and he feels the pressure of your thighs squeezing his face. The quick thought that he might be hurting you flies across Hyunjin's mind, but is quickly discarded when your hips move in sensual circles against him.

You must be close.

“Wait!” You gasp, and Hyunjin withdraws from between your legs, but his fingers continue fucking your pussy with an increased pace, “G-god, fuck, I’m-”.

You’re babbling, not making any sense. And Hyunjin feels his dick leaking precum, sticking to his underwear. Never in all his years of life had he been this hard, and it's hurting him to no end. At the same time, it feels deliciously torturing. 

He just fears he might come untouched.

“Close?” Hyunjin asks, and you just nod frantically. 

As if an expert, his palm hits your clit every time he bottoms his fingers out inside of you. A part of him tells him he should position himself back between your legs and make you come with his mouth and fingers; the other, however, urges him to crawl up, between kneeling and lying next to you, as his available hand guides your chin to him.

The sight is even better like this, Hyunjin thinks —your teary eyes and the hair sticking to your forehead and cheeks with sweat is something he might never be able to forget.

The way you're staring at him like you're scared, and confused, and oh so aroused. He is the reason behind your body shaking and your hands gripping the bed sheets underneath you; the reason behind your cries and whimpers, and the wetness between your legs.

All because of him.

"I think I'm coming," you manage to spit out in a strangled breath, and soon after lose complete control over your body.

Your back arches against his bed, your legs close around his wrist, and your body threatens to push him away. But Hyunjin doesn't let you —he embraces you, holding you in place as you ride your high. 

“There you go,” he murmurs, with a soft smile creeping through the corners of his lips.

Your trembling hand wraps around his bicep, and you can barely open your eyes without tearing up. Whatever just happened, you haven't experienced it before.

“Hyunjin,” you whimper yet again, feeling how your walls clench over and over around his fingers. It tired you, both mentally and physically —your toes feel funny from clenching them much, your legs are sore from being spread open for a while now, and your hips feel tired from all the tension that suddenly snapped minutes ago, “holy fuck, Hyunjin”. 

“I’m right here,” he tells you while leaving a quick kiss on your lips.

And then another.

And another.

And another, until it turns into a proper kiss, one that isn’t nearly as sloppy or fast as the ones he offered you before. This time, Hyunjin kisses you slowly, carefully, almost as if he is trying to soothe all that tension with his lips.

You place your hands on either side of his face, and he does the same —with ease, he manages to position himself on top of you, with so much care not to put all his weight on top. Hyunjin only breaks the kiss to look at you, and the way your lips form a subtle "o" when you feel his erection pressed against your lower abdomen is enough for him to run out of breath.

“We don’t have to- I mean, we don’t have to do it tonight,” Hyunjin murmurs, his lips barely touching yours. “We can stop right here, I’m okay with-” 

“Let’s do it,” you notice how he swallowed thickly and how his bright eyes resembling a deer caught in the headlights stare at you with just the same amount of fear and lust. 

To be your first; to mess around together, to experience what sex is all about.

You want this, and he wants this just as much. There's trust, and there is a promise —nothing can go wrong because that's exactly why you're doing it with each other.

Because there's no one else in this world you trust more than Hyunjin.

“Okay,” he exhales, backing away from your body to fully undress himself. And although it's not prohibited to look, you feel insanely awkward when your eyes meet his figure.

Hyunjin doesn't show much skin, not even during the summer days when you visited the beach or his parent's lake house. Seeing him shirtless was already much of a shock, but seeing him fully naked? That is a whole other story.

You feel your cheeks blushing and you need to look away before Hyunjin catches you staring, but it is already too late. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, forcing yourself to keep contact with his eyes rather somewhere else.

Hyunjin licks his lips, and he does so in such a swift movement that it barely registers in your mind. But it does, and you can't stop thinking how attractive he is, and how awfully aroused he is making you feel. It's like your body has a mind of its own, one that's completely enticed by him.

“C’me here,” he kneels in the bed again, hovering your body. His erection pressed against your lower abdomen once again, and you let out an unexpected, almost embarrassing moan just by that alone.

He is hard, and his dick feels warm. You can't help but sneak a hand between your bodies and wrap it around him, making him curse under his breath.

It's the first time you see (in real life, anyway) and touch a dick; you're not sure what you were expecting, but the feeling of it isn't bad. However, it isn’t as nice as the sight of Hyunjin's eyes closed shut, and his bottom lip caught between his lips.

“If you touch me again, I'm going to come,” he warns you.

“And isn’t that what you want?” You ask, stroking him softly. You’re barely discovering how to touch him, but there’s something pleasant about the way you’re exploring him.

“Not before fucking you,” Hyunjin tells you, “I have to make you feel good again”.

He straightens his body slightly and puts a condom on. It is tight around the base, and too slippery for his own liking, but he can't complain about it when you're patiently waiting for him. 

Your eyes never abandon his figure, and just the sight of him unwrapping a fucking condom and putting it on is more than enough to make you clench around thin air. And you're too lost in that thought, of how strikingly beautiful Hyunjin looks tonight, that you don't feel any sort of panic until the tip of his dick slides against your slit.

This is really happening, you think to yourself, and suddenly all the oxygen from the room has vanished, leaving you with a heavy chest and an awful sensation that you're choking.

“You okay?” He asks when he catches a glimpse of your furrowed eyebrows.

“Just nervous,” your eyes dart between his face and the parts of your bodies where you almost meet. You've heard awful stories about first times, involving a lot of pain and discomfort; why would yours be any different than those?

You feel your heart beating in anticipation, and your throat gets dry.

“I'm not going to hurt you,” Hyunjin says, leaning down to kiss you, “I’ll be careful”. 

You nod, because you know he is telling the truth. So you brace yourself by holding his biceps, watching as he guides his dick inside of you.

“Inhale,” he tells you, and you follow. Your lungs get filled with fresh air until they hurt, until you no longer can harbor any more oxygen.

And only then, the tip of it slides right in easily, with just the tiniest bit of discomfort —your fingers and toys are not close to the size he is.

“Fuck”. 

“Let it all out,” and you exhale deeply, relaxing underneath him as he finally bottoms out. He stays there, without moving, feeling how your walls adapt to his girth. Hyunjin kisses your cheek, and snuggles his face in the crook of your neck to leave a couple of them there, too, “good job”. 

You whimper, wrapping your arms around his neck just as your legs wrap around his hips.

His weight on top of you feels nice, just as it does having him inside of you. But you're desperate to know how he really feels, so you prompt him to move.

“I’ll go slow,” and he sticks to his word. His thrusts are slow, but deep —every time he bottoms out, you moan.

You're just getting used to him, so the way he is fucking you is more than enough for now. And it is enough for him, too —if he goes any faster, he is sure he will come.

But he maintains a certain pace, and your bodies get to meet each other in a way they hadn't before. 

“Does it feel good?” You ask him in a murmur, and he hums in response.

“So good,” his eyes never leave yours. “You feel so good, your pussy feels so good”.

You bite your lips, wanting to hold back whatever reaction his words elicit from you. 

There's something lewd about his voice, and the way he says things tonight. There's something lewd in the way you like it, too.

“You feel good too,” you compliment him, caressing the sides of his face. “Want to come again, with you”. 

Hyunjin nods, as if you’re giving him an order for him to follow. But you might as well have, because he takes it upon himself to give you what you want. One of his hands sneak between your sweaty bodies, and albeit difficult, he manages to position the tip of his fingers over your clit, rubbing it at the same pace as his thrusts.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, closing your eyes shut when you feel a pinch of pain from the overstimulation. 

It's crazy how many things Hyunjin has learned about you in the past hour.

“Does it feel good when I touch you like this?” He manages to ask, and you nod frantically.

His hand then withdraws from your clit, and when you're about to protest, you notice his mouth is leaning closer to your chest, “what-”. 

He then latches his tongue around one of your hardened nipples, and you become a mess of whimpers underneath him.

“And this?” Hyunjin asks with his lips attached to the flesh of your breast, “does it feel good when I do this?”

You might as well have figured something about you.

“It feels so good, Hyunjin,” you chant, with teary eyes that threaten to start bawling in ecstasy, “so good, fuck, so good”.

He continues, sucking on your nipple while his fingers tease the other. And you really seem to like it because you can't stop moaning, because all your hands do is to force him even more against your chest. 

“Squeezing me so good,” Hyunjin mutters under his breath, losing control of himself as he feels you clenching around him. He's drooling over your breasts, swollen and pink lips dragging across your flesh while his hips start spasming, “God, you’re so fucking tight”.

You sneak a hand between your bodies, and when your digits brush against your clit, you feel your body jolting, and the tension threatening to unravel. 

You're so close, again.

And you hope he is close too.

“I’m-” You don't manage to finish the sentence when Hyunjin's fingers replace yours, “Hyunjin!”

You mean to keep your eyes open, to look at him in between, but you finally give up to the overwhelming pleasure. You close them shut, and all you're left with is the feeling of Hyunjin's body against yours, and the sounds you and him are eliciting from each other. 

“Close?” And you nod frantically, tightening your limbs around him —your arms around his neck, your legs around his lower back. 

You’ve hugged Hyunjin before, but nothing will ever compare to this; to your naked bodies pressing together, to his lips murmuring sweet nothings against yours. 

To share something as intimate as an orgasm can be.

“Coming,” you whisper weakly, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. And at the same time, Hyunjin lets out a painful, choked groan.

His throat hurt at it, but not nearly as much as the tension finally unraveling did. 

Not as much as the sight of your hazy eyes looking up at him as you both come down from your highs.

Not as much as the realization that it was all over.

“Hyunjin,” you whimper again, and your loud heartbeats, and the way you're still clenching around him is preventing him from listening to your voice. He sees your lips moving, but he is too far gone in the bliss of his orgasm to care.

“God,” you close your eyes shut and hide your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent. 

You don’t want him to let go of you, to pull out. You want to stay like this for as long as you’re able to.

And Hyunjin wants it too, plopping all of his weight carefully on top of you. He presses a kiss to your temple, and then your forehead. Nothing in his life has ever felt this good before, and he fears he might not be able to live a moment like this again.

"Did I hurt you?" He just has to ask again, now that you're settled between his arms.

You shake your head subtly, and look up at him with so much gloss and sentiment he feels a pinch of hope you feel the same way he feels about you. 

"Not once," you exhale, offering the most beautiful smile Hyunjin has seen on you.

And when you press a quick peck to his lips and snuggle right next to him, with your head on his chest and your hand over his abdomen, 

he just knows it will happen again. 

And again.

And again.

And again.

Bonus note: If you liked this, PLEASE let me know. I'm kind of nervous putting this out there because I've been away for so long, I'm not even sure if this is any good. Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. It is nice to connect with past hobbies to be honest.

Love you all! And take care!

[jamessluttythighs]

TALLER REGULUS AGENDA 😍

can you please write jegulus with taller regulus?🙏

@moutainrusing - taller regulus agenda - word count: 456 - (yessssss I love writing for prompts in my inbox, hope you like it - I may or may not have written something else prompted by this ;) )

It was the first of September of James’ seventh year. This year was going to be better. This year was the year it would change. He had been nursing a crush on Sirius’ younger brother for a few months now. It just wouldn’t go away. No matter what he had tried. 

Hoping against hope that Regulus had become horribly disfigured and that his curls no longer fell perfectly and that his lips no longer looked so enticing, James lugged his trunk through the crowds of platform nine and three quarters. Eyes scanning for wild curls and Remus’ tall silhouette, James found them quickly. His best friends seemed to be standing with a stranger,their back toward him. A tall stranger, almost Remus’ height. James ran through a list of all the people it could’ve been but couldn’t quite place who the person was.

As he drew closer to the group, James’ breath hitched. The tell-tale, aristocratic nose gave him away first. The stranger, who was not so much a stranger, was none other than Regulus Black. Regulus Black a full head taller than Sirius. Regulus Black a few good centimetres taller than James. Regulus Black who James Potter wanted to climb like a tree.

“Alright, mate?” Sirius asked “Good hols?” 

It took all of James' strength to tear his eyes away from the younger boy and not drool. “Was alright thanks. The usual.”

“Can you believe Reggie had the audacity to have a growth spurt? Where was mine? I've been the same height since fifth year!” Sirius exclaimed.

Regulus teased, “Thank god I don’t have to get on my tiptoes to put my trunk up. That must be embarrassing, Sirius.”

“I have my Moons for that, don't you worry,” Sirius pouted, hanging onto Remus’ arm.

“Who do you have, James?” Regulus quipped.

James’ mouth felt as though it was filled with cotton wool. Steel grey eyes bearing down into his. The sight of Regulus, head slightly downturned to meet James eyes. His stomach fluttered. He tried to reign his mind in from trailing to thoughts of placing a hand around the green tie in front of him. Pulling Regulus down slightly while lifting off his heels to meet the Slytherin boy’s soft pink lips. 

“James?” Remus’ voice broke through his fantasy. His best friend was chuckling, “Did you just say ‘You’ to Regulus?” 

Regulus’ cheeks had a faint blush spreading over them.

Pulling himself together, mortified at letting his desires escape through his mouth, James went into damage control mode. 

“I meant I have you, Moony,” James batted his eyelashes at Remus. He dared a glance back at Regulus. 

Was that a hint of disappointment in the taller boy’s eyes? James was determined to find out.

[aerodaltonimperial]

okay, i am GENUINELY not trying to be patronizing or condescending right now, but the amount of pearl-clutching and freaking out that's happened in the past six months or so about the wrestlers you write about finding your fic has been quite high, and VERY GENUINELY, if you are one of the people panicking: how did you not factor this in as a possibility in the first place? i'm being serious. how did you, when you sat down to write about real people, not think that those very real people with internet connections and a metric fuckton of boring travel time were not going to find fanfics about themselves if they wanted to?

we are in an age where fanfiction is mainstream. back in 2000, when i was in high school, you didn't talk about that shit, but now? people are reccing fanfics on tiktok videos. publishing has figured out that writers here put out good stuff and are repackaging it for profit. ao3 is a hugo award winning fanfiction archive. y'all. it's out there. it's all out there. this is a fan space. it's still our space. you can't stop them from ending up here, but that's on them, not us. if you're freaking out, then maybe this isn't something you want to be doing. i'm being very serious. if this is causing you panic, you probably should not be part of this in the year 2024. but, like, i would bet a fairly substantial amount of money that at least 50% of them are well aware of what their number one pairing on ao3 is.

they're already here. they already know. they have always known lol. i'm, like, 75% sure i've had lines lifted from fics before, and honestly, that's not a panic moment, that's a fuck yeah i really nailed that moment. you're not doing anything wrong. this is a fan space. as long as you aren't putting it in front of them and they came here on their own? besties, you're good. you're great. it's fine. i'm being serious, please stop panicking. you gotta roll with it if you're gonna be here. you gotta assume that, at any point, someone involved could find what you're writing. genuinely, if you are not comfortable with that, then you're gonna have to just keep your fics to some google docs you share with a few friends. i know that not everyone has had a red alert level 5 the call is coming from inside the house moment, but it's one of those things. it comes with the territory.

we gotta stop freaking out every month lol. take the acknowledgements and laugh about them. it's fun when they give shout-outs! they know what's cookin'. it's cute that they keep an eye on fandom and what's hitting with us. don't put it in their faces, don't tag them on social media with it, just keep doin' what you're doin' here in the fan space and having a nice time. i promise you'll be okay.

[cotl-flower-crown]

Going on hiatus*

*Well, kinda.

Hey, I'm gonna start this post with "omg, this blog has more than 2 followers, what the fuck?? That's crazy!". I don't usually look at numbers, because I don't want it to be a focus on my platforms, but just know that I appreciate every single one of you and I hope that you all enjoy what I'm doing here. Like at the moment of writing this there is 2277 people that decided they want to look at my art more and it makes me very happy, thank you! ^^

So uhh yeah, hiatus.

Not gonna lie, the past few months has been stressful for me and I have reached the point where my chest and stomach are in pain and I can't get enough sleep because of it, among other things (damn you mosquitoes!!!). It's something that happened before and it might take me months to recover from it. So I suppose you could say that this hiatus is mainly for the health reasons.

Though it's also because my gut is telling me that it's time to move on from this fandom to do other things.

Hear me out. It's not that I hate COTL now, far from it, I still love this silly cult game and I will follow what MM has to offer for this game in the future. I am just kinda not keeping up with myself when it comes to posting. I've been trying to post about my favs at least once a week, but honestly it's been a struggle to pump out anything at all lately. It's not that I don't have anything to post, I'm just tired and burned out.

So yeah, I think it's time to put this blog on hiatus for the time being. What I mean by that is I don't want this blog to be the top of my priorities and I want to take it easy.

I don't want it to go completely silent though. I'm planning to open my ask box again, because I miss interacting with everyone. However I will not do any art requests or draw anything for the asks in general. If I do, it will most likely be poorly drawn or it will be something related to character design, since that's what I'm most comfortable with, but I would prefer not have to draw at all. Though I am open for writing. I also wish to draw sometimes, so maybe I will post some artwork when I feel like it. I'm just not gonna post as often as I used to. It might take like a month (maybe two, maybe three, etc) before I decide to make anything.

What's the future of this blog? I am not sure yet. There is a chance that eventually I will abandon this blog entirely OR I could repurpose it for fanart in general. To be honest I'm leaning towards the second option at the moment, but that is a future me's problem.

I think that's all I've got to say right now. Again Thank You everyone who decided to follow, reblog and like my art and leave comments, I appreciate it all, and thank you to my moots and friends that I made along the way, I love you all (plat/non parasocial) and I hope this will work out.

TLDR: I'm going on hiatus, but not completely silent, also ask box open, but no requests

[lifeofpriya]

So Long, London - Jack Draper

[gif credit goes to @pyotrkochetkov]

a/n: this fic was heavily inspired by @pyotrkochetkov's post a few days ago about a jack angst fic idea she wanted someone to write 🤭 this is probably the longest fic i've ever written, so sit down, grab a drink and some snacks, and buckle down for the ride, y'all!

summary: what once was a vibrant relationship begins to fade, leaving both of you to drift apart and question your future together...

You woke up to the soft patter of rain outside the window, the sound barely audible over the steady hum of the city below. Stretching, you felt the stiffness in your body from the long hours spent at the office, the tension that had become a second skin to you. Your apartment in the heart of London was a sanctuary from the outside world, a place where you could shed the mask of the day and just be.

Jack's side of the bed was empty, the sheets cold to the touch. You knew his schedule by heart now: early morning training sessions, a quick breakfast, and then off to the courts. You had met him at a charity event a few months ago, and it had been love at first serve. His hazel eyes had pierced through the bustle of the crowd, his smile a warm embrace even in the chilly London air. He was everything you had ever wanted: successful, charming, and attentive.

But lately, something had changed. The texts grew shorter, and the phone calls less frequent. His dedication to tennis seemed to have swallowed him whole, leaving you with the crumbs of his attention. You tried not to let it show and pretended everything was fine, but the cracks in your relationship had started to widen like a fissure in a frozen lake. The apartment that once echoed with laughter and shared dreams now felt more like a museum of memories, each room a silent exhibit of what used to be.

As his career was reaching new heights, your world was slowly shrinking. The thrill of watching him play had become a distant memory, replaced by the cold reality of his absence. His victories no longer filled you with joy, but instead, a sinking feeling of loneliness. You had become an afterthought in his life, a box to check off his to-do list. You missed the way his eyes used to light up when you talked about your day, the gentle way his hand would brush against yours, the way his laughter could fill a room.

The effort you put into maintaining the façade of happiness grew tiresome, like a dance you had learned by heart but no longer enjoyed performing. You'd stay up late into the night, scrolling through social media, watching as his life played out in highlight reels and sponsored posts. The more successful he became, the more invisible you felt. You tried talking to him, but he'd always dismiss it as work stress, promising things would get better once the season was over. Yet, the seasons changed, and so did nothing else.

One evening, you decided to surprise him at his match. The stadium was packed, the air thick with anticipation as he took to the court. You watched him from the stands, his muscles flexing with each powerful serve, his eyes focused solely on the prize. He didn't see you there, not even when you cheered louder than anyone else. After his victory, you waited for him by the exit, clutching the bouquet of flowers you had bought. He walked by, surrounded by an entourage of fans and colleagues, and for a moment, his eyes met yours. But they didn't linger. They slid away as if you were just another face in the crowd.

The ache in your chest grew sharper with each passing day. You found yourself questioning every little thing: every unanswered text, every late-night training session, every time he chose the courts over you. The silence between you had become deafening, a void that swallowed up the love that once thrived. You knew you couldn't go on like this, living in the shadow of his career, but you were afraid to let go. The thought of ending it all was like contemplating the destruction of your own heart.

The rain had stopped, but the gray sky remained a gloomy backdrop to your mood. You decided to take a walk, hoping the fresh air would clear your thoughts. The cobblestone streets were slick under your shoes, and the scent of wet earth and the distant waft of a bakery mingled in the damp air. Each step took you further from the apartment, away from the reminders of the life you had built together, and closer to the realization that it was all falling apart.

As you strolled through the quiet, tree-lined streets, you passed by a small café. Through the steamy window, you saw a couple holding hands over a cup of coffee, their smiles a stark contrast to the sadness you felt. You thought about the times you and Jack had sat in places like this, sipping hot drinks and sharing your hopes and fears. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Your eyes stung with unshed tears, and you quickened your pace, not wanting to be caught in a moment of weakness.

You found yourself in the park, the same one where you had shared your first kiss. The leaves were turning gold, a poignant reminder of the autumn of your relationship. You sat on a bench, watching as children played nearby, their laughter a bittersweet symphony that taunted the silence in your soul.

You had enough. You knew you deserved better, more than the fleeting moments of affection and the empty promises of quality time. So, you gathered your courage and decided to confront Jack. You waited for him to come home, your heart racing with every tick of the clock. When he finally walked through the door, sweat-soaked and exhausted, you couldn't hide the sadness in your eyes anymore.

"Jack, we need to talk," you said, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

He looked up from his gym bag, surprise etched on his weary face. "What's up?"

You took a deep breath, the words you had rehearsed so many times now poised on the edge of your tongue. "This isn't working anymore, is it?"

Jack paused, his hand hovering over the doorknob as he processed your words. The weight of the unspoken hung heavily in the air, a silent testament to the distance that had grown between you. He sighed, a heavy sound that seemed to carry the weight of the world, and dropped his bag to the floor. "What do you mean?"

You could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the lines around his mouth that had deepened since you last had a real conversation. But there was something else, too. A flicker of guilt that confirmed what you already knew. "I mean," you began, your voice wavering slightly, "that we're drifting apart. That your tennis is consuming everything, and I'm just… I'm just here, waiting for you to come up for air."

Jack leaned against the door, his posture deflating as he took in your words. He rubbed the back of his neck, a habit he had when he was stressed or confused. "I know I've been busy," he started, his voice low and sincere, "but I thought we were okay."

You felt a knot in your throat, the years of pent-up frustration and love tangled together in a mess that was difficult to unravel. "Okay isn't enough," you said firmly. "I need more than okay."

Jack's eyes searched yours, looking for a hint of the spark that had brought you two together. He took a step closer, his hands reaching out tentatively, as if to bridge the gap that had grown between you. "What do you want from me?"

You hesitated, the question echoing in your mind. What did you want? You wanted the love you had felt in those early days, the excitement of discovery, and the comfort of shared experiences. But that seemed like a distant dream now. "I want you," you said finally, the words coming out more as a plea than a demand. "I want the person I fell in love with."

Jack's expression softened, and for a moment, you thought he might understand. But then his eyes clouded over again, and he took a step back. "You know I can't just quit tennis," he said, his voice a mix of frustration and resentment. "This is my life. This is what I've worked for."

You felt the sting of his words, but you didn't flinch. "I'm not asking you to quit," you replied calmly. I'm just asking for balance—for us to be a priority again."

Jack looked at you, his eyes searching yours for understanding. He ran a hand through his damp hair, leaving it in disarray. "You know how much this means to me," he said, his voice strained. "But I'll try."

You nodded, hope flickering in your chest. Maybe there was a chance, a glimmer of the love you had lost. But the doubt remained, a persistent whisper in the back of your mind. The next few days were filled with tentative gestures and half-hearted attempts at connection. He'd stay up later to watch a movie with you, or surprise you with breakfast in bed, but the underlying tension remained. You could feel it, a tightrope you both danced upon, afraid to misstep and send everything plummeting into the abyss.

One evening, Jack came home earlier than expected. He had lost a match, his first in months. The defeat etched on his face was raw, unfiltered. You wanted to comfort him, to tell him it was okay, that you were there for him no matter what. But when he saw you, his eyes darkened, the weight of his failure crushing the fragile peace you had constructed.

"What are you doing here?" he snapped, his voice laced with frustration. "I need to be alone."

You felt the rejection like a punch to the gut, but you remained steadfast. "Jack, it's okay to lose," you said softly, reaching out to touch his arm. "It doesn't change who you are."

He shrugged you off, his eyes burning with anger and disappointment. "You don't get it," he said, his voice tight. "This isn't just a game to me. It's everything."

You took a step back, the coldness of his words sending a shiver down your spine. You had never seen this side of him before, the side that was consumed by the sport, the side that didn't have room for you. "I do get it," you said, trying to keep the hurt from your voice. "But you can't let it be everything. You can't let it eat away at us."

Jack didn't respond, instead, he turned away and headed to the shower, the door slamming shut behind him. You stood there, unsure of what to do next. The apartment felt smaller, the air thick with the unspoken. You knew you had to give him space, but the walls seemed to be closing in on you, suffocating you with the weight of his pain and your own fear.

You wandered into the living room, the silence deafening. You picked up a book from the coffee table, trying to find solace in the pages, but the words blurred together, indistinct and unimportant. Your thoughts kept drifting back to the conversation, to the coldness in his eyes when he pushed you away.

The sound of the shower finally stopped, and you could hear Jack moving around in the bedroom. You set the book down and took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come.

When he emerged, his face was scrubbed clean, but the sadness in his eyes remained. He saw you sitting there, and for a moment, the anger was gone, replaced by a look of regret. He sat down next to you, his elbows on his knees, and leaned his head in his hands. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice cracking. "I didn't mean to push you away."

You put the book aside and turned to face him. "Jack, we can't go on like this," you said gently, taking his hand in yours. "I can't keep pretending everything's fine when it's not."

He looked up at you, the regret in his eyes deepening. "I know," he murmured. "I've been so focused on tennis that I've neglected us. I've taken you for granted."

You shook your head, "I can't live my life fueled with empty promises anymore." The words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the chasm that had formed between you.

Jack's gaze dropped to the floor, his grip on your hand tightening. "I know I haven't been the best partner," he admitted, his voice a hoarse whisper. "But I want to change. I want to make it work."

You studied his face, searching for the truth in his words. You knew he meant it, but the doubt remained, a stubborn shadow that had taken root in your heart. "I've given you so many chances," you whispered, your voice trembling. "I'm done fighting for a relationship that feels one-sided."

Jack took a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours with a newfound vulnerability. "I know," he said, his voice thick with regret. "And I've let you down. But if you give me one more chance, I'll prove to you that I can change. That we can find that balance."

You felt your heart ache, torn between the love you still had for him and the pain of his neglect. "Jack," you began, your voice barely above a whisper, "I don't know if I can do this anymore."

He looked at you, the reality of your words sinking in. He leaned over and took your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had started to fall. "Please," he begged, "just one more chance. I'll do whatever it takes to make it right."

You stared into his eyes, the green of the leaves outside the window casting a mottled light over his features. The love you had for him was still there, a dull throb that wouldn't go away, no matter how much you wished it would. You wanted to believe him, you really did. But the doubt was a heavy burden that you had been carrying for too long.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, pulling away from his grasp. "But I can't keep doing this." Your voice was shaky, but your resolve was unwavering.

Jack's eyes searched yours, desperation pooling in their depths. "What do you mean?"

You took a deep breath, the words sticking in your throat like a mouthful of dry toast. "I mean, I can't keep holding onto something that isn't working," you said, your voice firm despite the tears threatening to spill over. "I've given you all of me, and I need more than just the leftovers of your time and attention."

Jack's expression fell, the realization of his actions settling on him like a heavy fog. He opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out. Instead, he dropped his hands to his sides, his shoulders slumping in defeat. The silence that followed was a physical presence in the room, a thick and heavy blanket that suffocated any semblance of comfort.

You stood up, the tremble in your legs betraying your inner turmoil. "I need some time to think," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. You turned and walked to the bedroom, each step feeling like you were walking away from a piece of yourself. You shut the door gently, leaving him sitting on the couch, alone with his thoughts.

In the bedroom, you leaned against the closed door, your chest heaving with the effort to hold back sobs. You took a moment to compose yourself, to breathe in the air that was now thick with the scent of their cologne, a smell that was once comforting but now a stark reminder of the empty promises and unfulfilled dreams. You looked around the room, at the photos of happy moments together, the trophies that gleamed in the soft light, and the empty space on the nightstand where your picture used to be.

You grabbed your phone and dialed your best friend's number, the one person who knew every detail of your relationship, every high and low. You needed her calm voice, her unwavering support. She picked up on the first ring, and without saying a word, you could feel the empathy radiating through the line. She knew something was wrong.

"He's not changing, is he?" she asked gently.

You took a deep breath, the truth of her words a heavy stone in your chest. "I don't know," you managed to choke out. "I want to believe he will, but I can't ignore the feeling that it's just going to be more of the same."

Your friend's voice was a soothing balm, offering comfort without judgment. "You've done everything you can," she said. "It's time to think about what you need."

You nodded, even though she couldn't see you. You knew she was right. You needed more than just a promise of change. You needed action, a commitment to the relationship that matched the one you had been giving all along. You sat down on the bed, the mattress squeaking under your weight, and took a deep breath. The rain had started again, the droplets tapping a solemn rhythm on the window.

Jack's side of the closet was a testament to his life on the road, a chaotic mess of suitcases and rumpled clothes. You stared at his tennis shoes, the ones he had worn when you had watched him win his first major tournament. They were pristine white, now scuffed and worn from his relentless pursuit of greatness. You felt a pang of sadness, wondering if his dedication to the sport had cost him more than just your happiness.

With a heavy heart, you began to pack a bag of your own. You didn't know where you'd go, but you knew you couldn't stay here anymore. Each item you placed in the bag was a symbol of your own strength, a declaration of independence from the shadow of his success. The sound of your zipper closing was the final act in a play that had gone on for too long.

You walked out to the living room, your bag slung over your shoulder, and found Jack still sitting on the couch. He looked up at you, his eyes red and puffy, the weight of his own regret etched into his features. "I'm sorry," he murmured again, but the words felt hollow in the face of your resolve. "I guess this is it," he said, standing up.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. The words you wanted to say, the anger and hurt you had bottled up for so long, threatened to spill out in a flood of accusations and recriminations. But you knew that wouldn't change anything. You had made your decision, and it was time to move on. "I need to go," you said, your voice calm despite the storm raging within.

Jack stepped aside, allowing you to pass. As you moved through the apartment, each room whispered memories that now felt like ghosts. You paused in the kitchen, the sight of the mug tree bringing a lump to your throat. So many mornings you had made him tea, hoping the simple act would be enough to keep him grounded, to remind him of what he had waiting for him at home. It was a futile hope, one that had been shattered by the relentless pull of the courts.

You took one last look around, the walls now echoing with the silence of your unanswered calls and the emptiness of his promises. The door clicked shut behind you, a finality that resonated through your bones. The cool air outside was a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere you had left behind.

You wandered the streets, the rain now a gentle patter that matched the rhythm of your thoughts. Each step took you further from the apartment, from the life you had built with him, and closer to the unknown. The city lights reflected off the wet pavement, casting a shimmering glow that seemed to mock the darkness of your heart.

You called a taxi, the neon lights of the car blinking through the mist like a beacon of escape. The driver looked at you in the rearview mirror, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. You gave him the address of a hotel you had found online, one that offered a quiet refuge from the tumultuous storm of your emotions.

As the city passed by in a blur of lights and rain-slicked streets, you stared out the window, the cold glass pressing against your forehead. Your thoughts swirled like the wind outside, a chaotic mix of doubt, anger, and sorrow. You wondered if you were making a mistake, if you were giving up too quickly. But the weight of the decision settled in your stomach like a lead ball, a sure sign that you were doing what needed to be done.

When the taxi pulled up to the hotel, the doorman rushed to open the door, offering you a sympathetic smile as you stepped out into the damp night. The lobby was a welcome respite from the storm, warm and quiet, with a faint scent of vanilla and fresh flowers. The receptionist offered her condolences for the weather as she checked you in, her eyes flicking to the bag slung over your shoulder, but she said nothing about the tears that had streaked your cheeks.

You took the elevator to the top floor, the ride up feeling like an ascension to a new chapter of your life. The room was small but cozy, with a plush bed that beckoned you to rest and a view of the city that reminded you of the vast expanse of possibilities ahead. You set your bag down, and for a moment, you just stood there, listening to the rain tap against the window, feeling the weight of the silence that was now yours alone.

You called your friend back, her voice a lifeline in the sea of your doubt. She talked you through the pain, her words of encouragement and understanding a salve to your bruised heart. She reminded you of who you were before Jack, of the dreams you had put on hold, of the life that was still waiting for you outside the shadow of his ambition.

You took a long, hot shower, letting the water wash away the tension and the tears. You felt the warmth seep into your skin, rekindling a spark of life that had been all but snuffed out. When you emerged, you wrapped yourself in a soft towel and looked in the mirror. The person staring back at you was tired but determined.

You pulled on a pair of comfortable pajamas and climbed into the bed, feeling the cool sheets against your flushed skin. You lay there for a while, listening to the rain outside, feeling the sadness wash over you in waves. But as the night grew darker, something shifted. The weight of your decision began to feel lighter, replaced by a quiet sense of relief. You had stood up for yourself, and that was something to be proud of.

As you drifted off to sleep, your mind played back moments of your relationship—the laughter, the tears, the passion. You felt the ache of loss, but also the flicker of hope. Maybe this was the end, or perhaps it was just the end of a chapter. Either way, you knew you had made the right choice.

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of the city waking up. The rain had stopped, and the sun peeked through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. You felt a strange mix of emotions—sadness, relief, fear, and a hint of excitement for the unknown. You knew you couldn't stay in this hotel forever, but for now, it was your sanctuary, a place to heal and decide your next steps.

You ordered room service, and the comforting taste of tea and toast was a gentle reminder of the life you once knew. You spent the day in a daze, watching movies and scrolling through social media, trying to distract yourself from the reality of your situation. But every notification, every article about Jack's latest match, brought the pain back in full force.

In the quiet solitude of the hotel room, you allowed yourself to grieve the relationship you had lost. The highs and the lows, the love and the neglect, all culminating in this moment of solitude. You cried until there were no more tears left, until your eyes were puffy and your throat raw.

As the days passed, you began to feel the tentative beginnings of strength. Each time you checked your phone and saw a message from Jack, you resisted the urge to respond immediately. Instead, you took a deep breath and waited, letting the words sit unanswered, giving yourself the space to think and feel.

You started to explore the city again, the same streets that had once been the backdrop to your shared life now a canvas for new adventures. You visited museums and parks, wandered through markets and cafes, rediscovering the joy of doing things on your own terms. The world didn't revolve around his schedule anymore, and the freedom was both exhilarating and terrifying.

Meanwhile, Jack's life continued on the tennis tour, but the sting of your departure remained. He found it difficult to focus, his mind often drifting to the emptiness of the apartment and the echo of your voice. His performances on the court suffered, and the whispers of doubt grew louder in his ears. He knew he had lost more than just a partner in you; he had lost a piece of himself.

"Game, set, match, Alcaraz," the announcer's voice boomed through the stadium, and Jack's shoulders dropped in defeat. His eyes searched the stands, but there was no sign of you. It had been weeks since you had last spoken, and the void in his life was a constant reminder of his failure.

The applause from the crowd seemed muted as he made his way to the locker room, the weight of his loss heavy on his shoulders. His coach tried to offer words of encouragement, but Jack knew that nothing could fill the emptiness that your absence had left. He had pushed you away with his obsession, and now he faced the stark reality of a life without your warmth and support.

In the quiet of his hotel room, Jack stared at his phone, the screen lighting up with messages from his agent, his coach, and his friends. But the one message he craved was from you. He knew he had to make a change, to prove to you and himself that he could balance his career with the love you both deserved.

The weeks passed in a blur of matches and press conferences, but Jack couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that had settled in his chest. His game suffered, his focus scattered. His entourage noticed the shift, their worried glances and hushed conversations a constant reminder of his personal turmoil.

One evening, after a particularly crushing loss, Jack found himself unable to face the empty hotel suite. Instead, he wandered the streets, seeking solace in the anonymity of the city.

He ended up at a small, dimly lit pub, the kind of place where the locals gathered to drown their sorrows and share their stories. The warm, woody scent of beer and the comforting murmur of conversation wrapped around him like a blanket. He took a seat at the bar, the polished wood cool against his palms.

The bartender, a middle-aged woman with a kind face and a knowing smile, approached him. "Rough day?" she asked, her voice a gentle rumble.

Jack nodded, his eyes downcast. "Rough few weeks, actually," he murmured, the weight of his words heavier than the silence that followed.

The bartender leaned closer, a hint of concern in her gaze. "Love troubles?" she ventured.

Jack sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Something like that," he replied, staring into the amber depths of his whiskey.

The woman nodded, her eyes filled with understanding. "It's tough when you lose someone important, especially when you know you're the one who messed up." She wiped the counter with a cloth that had seen better days. "But you're young, and you're talented. You've got time to make it right."

Jack took a sip of his drink, the burn in his throat mirroring the ache in his heart. "I just don't know if I can," he said, his voice thick with regret. "I've lost so much already."

The bartender's expression softened. "You can't change the past, love," she said, her voice a soothing balm. "But you can learn from it. Sometimes, you have to hit rock bottom before you realize what you truly want."

Jack nodded, the whiskey warming him from the inside out. He knew she was right. The pain of losing you had brought a clarity to his life that he hadn't felt in a long time. Tennis was his love, his passion, but it couldn't be his everything.

The next day, Jack took a deep breath as he walked into the gym, his eyes scanning the familiar space for any signs of change. His coach noticed the determination in his stride and nodded approvingly. They began to work on a new strategy, one that didn't just focus on his serve and volley but also on his mental fortitude. Between sets, Jack's thoughts drifted to you, to the way your eyes would light up when he talked about his matches, the way you'd listen intently and offer insights that often proved invaluable. He missed that connection, the way you understood him in a way no one else did.

As he swiped the sweat from his brow, Jack made a silent vow to become the person you deserved, to find the balance between his love for tennis and his love for you. It wasn't going to be easy, and he knew that he couldn't expect you to come running back with open arms. But he had to try, for both of your sakes.

One day, while he was in line at the coffee shop, Jack heard a familiar laugh. His heart skipped a beat, and he spun around, only to see you with an unfamiliar man, smiling and chatting away. The sight of you with someone else was like a knife to the chest. He quickly averted his gaze, pretending not to notice, but the pain was acute. He realized he hadn't seen you in person since that rainy night you left.

Jack's hand trembled as he took the coffee the barista handed him. He stepped aside, watching you from a distance, feeling like an outsider in a scene that used to be so intimately his. The stranger put his arm around your shoulders, and Jack felt a surge of jealousy that surprised him. He had known you needed more, but seeing it with his own eyes was a different story.

But you didn't miss the way Jack's eyes lingered on you, the desperation in his gaze. You felt a pang of guilt, but you steeled yourself. You had moved on, hadn't you?

You couldn't deny it, your heart skipped a beat when you saw him. You wanted to run into his arms and tell him you'd made a mistake, that you could work it out.

"You still have feelings for him, don't you?" You heard Alex whisper, a sad smile playing on his lips. You nodded, sipping your hot beverage.

"It's hard not to, but…I've moved on," you replied, trying to convince yourself more than anyone else.

"Have you though? Really moved on?" Alex's question lingered in the air, his gaze holding yours as you took another sip of your beverage. You swallowed hard, the warm liquid doing little to soothe the sudden tightness in your throat. "It's okay if you do," he added gently, "but maybe it's time to talk to him."

Jack watched you from across the street, his heart hammering in his chest. He had hoped that with time and distance, the pain would lessen, but seeing you with someone else brought it all rushing back. The months of training, the endless matches, none of it had filled the void you left behind. He knew he needed to make a change, to find a way to balance his love for the game with the love he had for you.

With a newfound resolve, Jack approached you, his sneakers squeaking on the damp pavement. You turned, surprise flickering in your eyes before they clouded over with caution. Alex stepped aside, giving you space. "Can we talk?" Jack asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, leading the way to a nearby park bench. The rain had stopped, leaving the air fresh and clean, the scent of wet earth and leaves filling the space between you. You sat down, leaving a respectful distance, your eyes avoiding his. "What is there to say?" you began, your voice tight with unshed tears.

Jack took a deep breath, his eyes searching yours. "I've been thinking about us," he said, his voice raw with emotion. "I know I've hurt you, and I'm sorry. I never meant to make you feel like you weren't a priority."

You remained silent, watching the children playing in the distance, the sound of their laughter a stark contrast to the heaviness of the conversation. "It's more than that, Jack," you said finally, your voice steady. "It's about feeling seen, heard, and valued. It's about being a team, not just having someone to come home to when you're done with your day."

Jack nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. "I get it," he said, his voice low and earnest. "I've been so focused on my career, I lost sight of what's truly important. I want to change that. I want to be better for you."

You studied him, looking for the truth in his words. The old Jack, the one who used to make you feel like the center of his world, seemed to be peeking out from behind the tired, burdened exterior. "What does that mean, exactly?" you asked, your voice laced with skepticism.

Jack took a deep breath, bracing himself for the hardest conversation of his life. "It means that I'll make time for us, really make time," he began. "I'll schedule breaks in my training, show up for dinner without my phone, and actually listen when you talk about your day." His voice grew stronger as he spoke, the conviction in his eyes growing brighter. "I'll do whatever it takes to fix this."

You felt a flicker of hope, but it was quickly doused by the memory of his past promises. "Words are easy, Jack," you said, your tone measured. "It's the actions that count."

Jack's expression grew serious, the lines around his eyes deepening as he nodded. "You're right. I know I've said a lot of things I didn't follow through on, but I'm different now." He paused, searching for the right words. "I've missed you. I've missed us. I can't stand the thought of losing you for good."

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. "Jack, I want to believe you," you said, your voice wavering. "But I've been here before. How do I know this isn't just another fleeting moment of clarity before you're off to the next match?"

Jack reached out and took your hand, his grip firm but gentle. "Because I'm going to prove it to you," he said, his eyes never leaving yours. "I'm going to show you that you're not just a part of my life, you're the most important part. And if that means taking a step back from tennis, then that's what I'll do."

You searched his eyes, looking for any sign of deceit or doubt. But all you saw was sincerity and pain. "I don't want you to give up your dreams," you whispered. "But I need to know you're willing to make me a part of them."

Jack nodded solemnly. "I understand," he said. "And I'm not asking you to come back right now. I just… I want you to know that I'm willing to make changes. To make us work."

You felt the warmth of his hand, the familiarity of his touch sending a shiver down your spine. You had missed this connection, but the fear of history repeating itself was stronger.

"Jack," you began, your voice shaky, "I want to believe you. I really do. But I've been hurt too many times. I can't just jump back in without knowing it's for real."

Jack's grip on your hand tightened slightly, his thumb stroking the back of your hand in a comforting gesture. "I know," he said, his eyes never leaving yours. "And I don't expect you to. I just need you to know that I'm ready to fight for us. To make this right."

You sighed, the weight of your decision pressing down on your chest like a boulder. "Okay," you finally said, your voice barely audible. "Let's take it slow. No promises, just…see where it goes."

Jack's face lit up with hope, a small smile playing on his lips. "I can do that," he said, squeezing your hand. "We'll take it one day at a time."

The days turned into weeks, and Jack kept his promise. He made an effort to be present, to listen, to be there for you without the distraction of his phone or his thoughts of the next match. He started to include you in his training sessions, even asking for your advice on his game. It was a tentative dance, both of you testing the waters, feeling for the old rhythm that had been lost.

You found yourself slowly letting your guard down, the warmth of his attention thawing the icy walls around your heart. But the fear remained, a persistent shadow that followed you, whispering doubt into your ear every time he had to leave for a tournament.

One evening, as you watched him pack his bag, the memories of the past filled the room—his hasty goodbyes, the forgotten anniversaries, the missed phone calls. You took a deep breath, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach. "Jack," you said, your voice wavering, "are you sure this is what you want? That you can handle it?"

Jack looked up from his suitcase, his eyes meeting yours with a fierce determination. "I've never been more sure of anything," he replied, crossing the room to stand in front of you. "I love you, and I'm going to prove it every single day." He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to believe him.

The next few weeks were a whirlwind of improvement. Jack's dedication to the relationship was evident, and his performance on the court reflected the newfound balance in his life. The press took notice, praising his renewed focus and maturity. His wins started piling up, and the whispers of a potential comeback grew louder.

But it wasn't just his game that had changed; it was Jack himself. He had become more thoughtful, more attentive. He'd surprise you with flowers, leave sweet notes around the apartment, and ask about your day with genuine interest. He was the partner you had always wanted him to be, and you felt yourself falling back in love with him.

Yet, the doubt remained, a quiet thief in the night that stole moments of happiness. You would catch yourself waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the day when he'd slip back into his old ways. Each time he picked up his phone to check his schedule, you'd hold your breath, waiting for the apology that usually followed.

But the apologies didn't come. Instead, Jack made plans with you, around you. He talked about the future with a warmth that had been absent for so long, his eyes lighting up when he spoke of trips you could take together, the life you could build outside of tennis. It was as if he had finally realized that there was more to life than the scoreboard.

One rainy afternoon, you found yourself nestled in his arms, watching a movie you'd both seen a hundred times before. His fingers traced idle patterns on your skin, and you felt a sense of peace that had been elusive for months. As the credits rolled, Jack leaned in and kissed you softly, his eyes searching yours for reassurance.

"I'm going to miss you," you whispered, as the reality of his upcoming tournament loomed.

Jack pulled you closer, his arms a warm cocoon. "I'll miss you too," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "But I promise, I'll make it up to you when I get back."

The days leading up to the tournament were filled with sweet gestures and stolen moments of intimacy. Jack took you on surprise dates, showered you with affection, and even cooked for you, a rarity in your usually hectic lives. His dedication to making amends was palpable, and you found yourself feeling hopeful for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

[sequinsmile-x]

I’d be so so keen to read something about Em coming out as bisexual to Aaron (aware you’ve had an ask for this I just want to stress the interest 🫶🏼)

It’s something I struggle with myself and the validation of being bisexual is something that’s very real. It would be lovely to read something like this as something that seems realistic for Em. The way you write is so beautiful and intricate and I know you’d do a wonderful job.

For anyone else reading this - you are valid whoever you are and whoever you choose to love <3

Happy Fridayyyyy!!!

Hi bestie <3

I've been asked to do this a few times, and as a bi girl myself it is very close to my heart. I wanted to make sure I did it justice so waited until it felt right and now really does feel like the time. It is also coming to the end of Bi Visibility week, so here we are!

This feels oddly personal, almost like I'm putting out some pages of a diary out there for people to read, so I hope this is as cathartic to read for those who wanted it as it was to write.

As always, let me know what you think, I'm nervous about this one because it feels important!

-x-

The Past is Never Far

She’d told herself for years that she’d never mention it. It was, after all, not the biggest secret she had kept.

Emily and Aaron walk into an ex of hers when they are out on a date, and it prompts her to tell him something she's not told him before.

Warnings: Coming out (mentions of past bad experiences doing so)

Words: 3.2k

Read over on Ao3, or the below the cut

Emily hums contentedly as she squeezes Aaron’s hand, her eyes catching his as she looks up at him and smiles, “This is nice.” 

He smiles back, relaxed and content and handsome in the fading light as he lifts her hand to kiss her knuckles, “It is,” he replies, kissing her knuckles again before he tucks their joint hands into his coat pocket to protect them from the chill in the air, “We’re near that ice cream place you like, we could get some on the way back to the car?” 

Date night was something they’d established early on in their relationship. They had so little time just the two of them so it was important to them both to have this one night every month where they could have just that. Jack would spend the night at Jessica’s, often pouting that he wanted to come with them too, something Emily and Aaron would salve with love and assurances they’d all have breakfast together the next day, and the two of them would go to one of their favourite restaurants. The nice weather was fading, summer disappearing into Autumn. It was Emily’s favourite time of year. Not because her birthday was coming up, or because Jack and Aaron’s were too, but because of the cool air and the sun on her face. The ever-present reminder in the wind about the beauty of change as the colour of the leaves started to fade to orange and gold. 

Aaron knew she loved this time of year, so he’d been easily convinced to go on a walk with her around the block before they returned to his car and back to their apartment. She’d moved in with him and Jack recently, the apartment that was once just theirs hers now too, and they were looking for a house. A place they could buy and call home, something they both wanted so desperately and had been denied for so long. 

She smiles, leaning in so her shoulder bumps against his, “It’s too cold for ice cream.” 

Aaron chuckles and kisses her temple. He stops them on the street, the hand not linked through hers on her hip as he guides her backwards so they don’t block the sidewalk. He leans in to kiss her, “You’re the one who told me it’s never too cold for ice cream,” he replies, leaning in to kiss her, stamping his lips against hers once more before he removes his hand from her hip and digs through his other pocket, smiling in victory as he pulls out a pair of her gloves, “Plus, I came prepared. Your hands won’t get cold and you can still have Rocky Road - the best of both worlds.” 

She beams at him and cups his cheek, pulling him in for a kiss before she rests her forehead against his, “I love you.” 

“Love you too, sweetheart,” he says, kissing the corner of her mouth before he pulls back and they continue walking down the street, content and happy in each other's company. 

He buys them ice cream once they make it to the store, a double scoop of Rocky Road for her in a cone and one scoop of coffee in a tub for him. He chuckles at her as a drip of ice cream falls onto her gloves and she narrows her eyes at him, making a point of maintaining eye contact as she licks the remnants of it from the ridge of the cone, her smile wide as she watches him swallow thickly. She’s about to say something, to add to the teasing, when she hears a familiar voice behind her, one she hadn’t heard in years. 

“Emily Prentiss?” 

Her eyes go wide as she turns around, uncharacteristically caught out as she clears her throat, scrambling for something to say as she comes face to face with a piece of her past she hadn’t expected to see again, “Cat.” 

Cat chuckles as she steps forward, pulling a still shell-shocked Emily into a hug, “I thought it was you, Em,” she says, squeezing her before she steps back, “It’s been a long time. 15 years maybe?” 

“Closer to 20,” Emily laughs, the shake to it grabbing Aaron’s attention as he watches the interaction between the two women. Emily looks at him and curses herself internally for getting so flustered, “Aaron, this is Catherine Thomas, Cat, we…” she swallows thickly, her lips pressed together to keep the whole truth back, “We go way back,” she smiles as she turns to Cat, sees a spark in her eyes she hadn’t thought about in years, “Cat, this is Aaron. My boyfriend.” 

Cat smiles and holds her hand out for Aaron and he shakes it, “Lovely to meet you, Aaron.” 

“You too,” he replies, looking back and forth between the two women, curious at his girlfriend’s reaction, at the way her shoulders are slightly tight as she watches them interact. 

“Anyway,” Cat says, looking back at Emily, “My wife is just getting some ice cream. I can’t believe you still come here after all these years.” 

Emily nods, “Best ice cream in the city.” 

Cat looks up at Aaron, “Emily introduced me to this place when we first met,” she says, smiling fondly at a memory that was just theirs, “And I bring my wife and kids here now too.” 

Aaron smiles, “My son loves it here too.” 

“Cat?” 

They all turn at the sound of another woman’s voice to see her standing there with two pre-teens, both of them looking relatively irritated at being forced to spend the evening out with their parents, her expression curious as she looks at her wife. Cat nods and indicates she’ll be over in a minute before she turns back to Emily and Aaron.

“Well,” she says, “I’ve been summoned. It was good to see you, Emily. You seem well,” she hugs her again, something Emily returns, careful not to drip ice cream on her back.

“Nice to see you too, Cat,” she says, smiling as she pulls back, her gaze falling on her family behind them, “Your family is beautiful.” 

“Thank you,” Cat beams before she looks at Aaron, “Nice to meet you, Aaron.”

“Nice to meet you too,” he replies. They watch as Cat walks back to her family, gratefully taking her ice cream from her wife as she makes it to her side, saying something they can’t hear, “She seems nice.” 

“Yeah,” Emily says, feeling out of sorts from the flashback to a past life, something from so long ago it felt like it had happened to someone else. A part of her she kept secret, even from Aaron, “She is.” 

“Shall we go home?” He offers, his gaze on her as she smiles at him, a tenseness to it that she doesn’t hide well as her eyes meet his. She nods, shaking her head to rid herself of the feeling that had settled over her the last few minutes. The strange mix of nostalgia for her past when she was young and unburdened by responsibility and everything to come, and happiness for someone she’d once loved, all whilst she stood next to the person she knew was the love of her life, the man she’d spend the rest of her life with. 

“Yeah,” she says, smiling as she presses her lips together, her focus back on her ice cream as she eats some more, “Let’s go home.” 

___

She thinks about it for a couple of days.

She’d told herself for years that she’d never mention it, her relationship with Cat and the other women she’d dated over the years, because it wasn’t relevant. Since she’d come back to DC, still on uneven ground after being Lauren Reynolds and being with Ian, she’d only dated men. It wasn’t a purposeful act, not something she’d particularly tried to do, but it had happened. So it meant telling her friends, her new family, seem unimportant. 

It was, after all, not the biggest secret she was keeping from them.

She’d never even told her mother. Sure that, at best, her reaction would be to tell her it was ‘just a phase.’ At worst, she was sure her mother’s rather selective catholicism would make itself known, and she didn’t want to put herself through it. Instead, she kept the few relationships she’d had with women from her, and the one time she’d met Cat she’d introduced her as a friend, something that she hadn’t known at the time would start to unravel their relationship. The first pull at the thread that held them together, Cat’s confidence in her sexuality so much stronger than Emily’s had been at the time. Cat had been out and proud the entire time she’d known her, and, in the long run, their difference in how they approached it would never have worked. 

There were times when Emily had considered telling the team. When she’d make eyes at a woman across a bar when they were all out together, but she’d always chicken out, even with her tongue loosened and her cheeks warmed by tequila. People, mostly ex-boyfriends, had reacted poorly before. Either telling her that bi-sexual wasn’t a real thing, dismissing something she’d always known to be true about herself, or over-sexualising it, a familiar look in their eyes as they saw how her sexuality could benefit them. 

After Paris, she decided she’d simply keep it to herself. Her friend's view of her had been changed anyway, the person they thought she was dead and gone, buried in the grave that had always been empty. She couldn’t bear to do it again, to once again change what they thought they knew about her, even for something like this, so she didn’t. Even when she started dating Aaron, sweet, kind loving, Aaron who had never been anything but supportive and unflinching whenever she told him anything she hesitated.

Ever since they’d walked into Cat, she felt the need to tell him. To uncover this last final part of herself that she’d kept hidden away. He knew everything about Ian. He knew about Rome. It was time he knew about this too. 

Even though she wants to tell him, she feels nervous. A familiar kind of anxiety settles in her chest as she snuggles up on the couch with him one night, determined to not put it off any longer. Jack was in bed, safe and asleep in his room down the hall, and the TV was on, a movie they’d watched countless times before fading into the background as she sinks into her boyfriend’s side. She presses her face against his shoulder, breathing him in, breathing in the last few moments of how things were before she changed them forever. 

“I need to tell you something,” she says, her words partially muffled by his shirt before she pulls back, her brows furrowed as she corrects herself, “Actually, I don’t need to tell you. But I want to.” 

He watches her carefully for a moment before he nods, reaching for the remote to turn off the TV, ensuring she has all of his attention. He turns so he’s facing her, his knee skimming her thigh as she turns too, her focus on the top of the couch. She tugs nervously at a loose thread, a nervous habit he’s grateful distracts her from her cuticles. He thinks of the ring he has tucked away in his sock drawer, of how he pictures her twisting it around her finger when she is nervous or worried. He reaches out for her, frowning when she jumps ever so slightly when his hand lands on her knee. He squeezes gently, smiling even though she doesn’t look up at him.

“You can tell me anything, you know that,” he assures her, and she nods, her lips pressed together as she continues to pull at the thread on the couch. 

“You…” she swallows thickly, her eyes closed as she trips over the words she’d practised in her head for days, “You remember that woman we bumped into the other day, Cat?” She asks, her eyes darting up to his face as he nods, “She…she wasn’t just a friend. She was my girlfriend. We dated for almost a year when we were both in college,” she blows out a breath, her chest shuddering with it, feeling somehow lighter and heavier at the same time with the admission, “I’m Bisexual.” 

Her words hang in the air around them and she holds her breath, waiting for his reaction, unable to bring herself to look at him, worried about what she’d find. 

“Thank you for telling me,” he says, his words even and calm, his softness so jarring she looks up at him fast enough it cricks her neck, a pain she barely feels as he carries on, “And thank you for trusting me - I know that can’t have been easy.” 

She chokes on a humourless laugh, “Thats…that’s it?” 

He smiles at her, his dimples carved out in his cheeks in a way she loves, and he squeezes her knee, “Did you…want a different reaction?” 

“No,” she replies, shaking her head, choking on something she can’t name - a sound between a sob and a laugh caught in her chest, “No, not at all. I’ve just never had someone react so…well before.” 

He furrows his brow, “What do you mean, sweetheart?” 

She laughs bitterly and shakes her head, wiping away a tear she hadn’t expected until she felt it on her cheek, “I once had an ex-boyfriend ask me if it meant we could have a threesome,” she says, scrunching her nose up at the memory. She looks at Aaron and smiles at the pure horror on his face, his brow furrowing in indignation for a past version of her, “I broke up with him when it became very clear he already had a list of women who’d be ‘up for it’ at the ready.” 

He clenches his jaw, “I’m sorry he reacted like that,” he replies, “You deserved better than that. You deserve better.” 

She presses her lips together and shakes her head lovingly as more tears slip past her lash line, “Well, I have better now,” she says, playing her hand over his on her knee, linking their fingers together, “Do you have any questions?” 

“Have you dated any other women?” He asks softly, curious more than anything, and she nods, running her thumb back and forth over his hand. 

“Yeah, a couple of others but none as serious as my relationship with Cat. And I’ve had a few dates and drunken hook-ups,” she replies, her cheeks burning with embarrassment she knows she shouldn't feel. 

“Have you always known?”

She nods, “Since I was pretty young,” she smiles her lips pressed together at the memory, “Let’s just say, The Dukes of Hazzard was a bit of an awakening. Luke Duke was hot…and so was Daisy Duke.” 

He smiles and squeezes her hand, lifting it to kiss her knuckles, “What made you tell me now?” 

She blows out a slow breath, “After we walked into Cat, I realised I didn’t want to hide it from you anymore. All the reasons I had for doing so suddenly didn’t make any sense.” 

He pulls her into a hug, his arm tight around her as he kisses her cheek, “I’m glad you told me,” he says, smiling as she turns her head to kiss him.

“I’m glad I did too,” she replies, nudging her nose against his, “I…I was so worried it would change how you looked at me.” 

He frowns and pulls back to look at her, shaking his head as he tucks some of her hair behind her ear, “Never,” he assures her, “Nothing ever could. Especially this.” 

She furrows her brow and tilts her head at him, “What do you mean?” 

He sighs as he chooses his words carefully, “You’ve always been bi, sweetheart, right? It’s been part of who you are as long as I’ve known you, and it’s been part of you as long as I’ve loved you,” he smiles as he reaches out to wipe away a tear from her cheek, “So it doesn’t change anything because it’s always been who you are, even if you hadn’t told me.” 

She leans forward, her forehead against his neck as she breathes him in again, the world the same as it had been before she’d told him, but somehow different too. His understanding of her deeper but everything else unchanged. She takes a moment to hold him close, and she plays everything he’d said back in her head. A conversation she’d remember again and again as a reminder of how much he loved her, how well he loved her. Something she thinks that, after everything, she might just deserve. She furrows her brow as she thinks about it, the way he’d said part of all those wonderful things catching in her chest. Aaron was purposeful in everything. Not calculated, but purposeful. He never said anything he didn’t mean, and she narrows her eyes at him as she pulls back. 

“Wait…you said ‘even if I hadn’t told you…” she tilts her head as he clears his throat, avoiding her eye contact, “Oh my god - you knew?” 

He sighs, scratching the back of his head with the hand not tangled up in hers, “Sweetheart-”

She scoffs and lightly hits his chest, her cheeks burning at the thought that she’d got herself so worked up over something he apparently already knew, “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

He smiles at her indignation, catching her hand before she slaps his chest again for laughing at her. He kisses her knuckles and smiles fondly at her, disarming her ability to be annoyed at him so easily she’s annoyed at herself. 

“It wasn’t my place to, Em,” he says, “It’s your story to tell.” 

She knows he’s right and she huffs out a breath, her cheek against his shoulder as she pouts in a way she’d deny if he brought it up, “How the hell did you know?” 

“As someone who has been in love with you for much longer than I care to admit, I paid close attention to your interactions with anyone I thought might be flirting with you,” he smiles as she tilts her head to look at him, “It didn’t take long to realise you have chemistry with literally every person you ever meet.” 

She suppresses a laugh, her lips pressed together as one more wave of anxiety rolls through her, “And you don’t mind?” 

He shakes his head, leaning in to kiss her, his hand on her cheek to hold her in place, “If anything, it just makes me feel even more lucky that out of everyone you could be with you chose to be with me.” 

She sighs but it catches in her chest, love for him filling her lungs so fast she can’t catch her breath, “Oh, no honey,” she says, placing her hand over his on her cheek, shaking her head as he catches a tear the moment it slips free from her lashes, “I’m the lucky one.” 

[swordoffrivolousthings]

Rick Riordan has no scale for what it means to give characters positions of power or influence

I have seen a trend recently while thinking about the positions of power in PJO and HOO and who occupy them. A post that I can't find again also has breached this topic on a much smaller scale, so credit to them. (I'll try to find them and tag them.)

What I mean by positions of power and/or influence is this: positions from where a demigod has the ability to control organisations (i.e. the Hunters of Artemis and Camp Jupiter) or influence how and why things are done in a certain way (i.e. Annabeth's redesigning of Olympus and Jason's designing some of the other gods' cabins).

The first example is THALIA and how, upon becoming a hunter for Artemis, she is instantly catapulted to the top of the chain. Artemis bestows upon her the role of Lieutenant of Artemis. She is Artemis's second in command if the goddess herself isn't present.

But what does Thalia know of the inner workings of the Hunt? Next to nothing, because until a few days before, she hated them and what they stood for. She gets over her hate, which is part of her development, but it doesn't make her any less informed. One can't speculate that at some point she and Zoë have talked about the Hunt, because we have no hint of that happening in the books. One can headcanon that they'd had such a conversation, but we are speaking about canon. So she is blind. That would be fine, because she is a newbie, and has time to learn.

But no. Riordan gives her the most important place a hunter can occupy in the hierarchy. Why? The way I see it is Riordan decided that now that Thalia's completed her arc, she needs a physical reward. But going by book logic, I would also assume that Artemis was displaying some major nepotism. Because look, that is her sister, and she is in a meeting with daddy and she'd already crossed a line when interacting with her father. (I mean that she wants to reward the heroes while Zeus, most probably, just sees what they did as their duty and not something to be rewarded.) So Artemis boosts her sister up in the hierarchy so she wouldn't slight Zeus again.

Also, we've been ignoring the fact that there are far more experienced and reliable huntresses in the Hunt. Some of them have been with Artemis for many, many years bordering on millennia.

Next up is ANNABETH, about who I've already vented my frustrations, but let me say it again: Annabeth, while inspired by architecture and wanting to be an architect, is not trained and has no experience with it besides a few books and what I can assume is trying her hand at drawing potential projects. She isn't fit to redesign Olympus and certainly not able to think about all the facets of what it would entail, because she doesn't have the practical knowledge and the studies.

Yet Riordan writes it so that the gods offer her the opportunity to redesign their city state (is Olympus considered a city state??? Because it's what I've been thinking of it as). Why so? Because she has survived the war? (not like he was going to kill her, and I didn't think he would do it at any point in TLO.) And therefore she should get what she wanted besides all the PTSD and other disorders that most survivors get?

Because this is what I see.

We already know that the structure within Camp Jupiter is hinging on the child soldiers they train. The Senate is made out of centurions and ghosts and older citizens of New Rome, and we weren't shown that there had ever been adult Praetors. This is what Riordan intended, because this is what he wrote.

But it begs the question, why have REYNA and JASON specifically done to be awarded the position of Praetor that early in their lives? We are told that they went on at least a quest together, so they must have been pretty close before being made partners, and they seem to have worked well together.

We know that Reyna is a highly capable leader and managed to lead Camp Jupiter on her own for roughly 6 months. Jason was raised as a leader, so it is natural to assume that he knew how things worked. But that doesn't show why they were specifically chosen, especially after such a big conflict.

Just because Jason defeated a Titan single-handedly, it doesn't mean that there weren't any more capable hands for the duty to fall on. Also, has Reyna's POV ever revealed why she was chosen? Because I can't remember.

What I mean to say is that there were other, adult, people for the reasonability to fall back on. Because there had been said to be adults in the Senate. But Riordan, like before, has decided that the duty should fall on hormonal teenagers that have dumb ideas (not referring to Jason and Reyna, but more like stereotyping) instead of the adults. The excuse that demigods older than late teens and early twenties doesn't exist in New Rome. And don't tell me that not one of those people would take the duty, because there is shown to be influence and political power associated with being Praetor.

Alongside this, lets go to PERCY. Riordan decided that the Romans would raise Percy as Praetor because they'd seen him fight and the fact that he kind of saved their asses. Cool, I could understand this reasoning if the Romans had more time to get to know him. Because Percy's great! but he still is a child of Neptune, who they don't trust, and they don't trust him, because he was there for only a few hours a few days ago.

There is no basis on which to raise him straight from probation to praetorian-ship.

But Percy saved them! So Riordan decided, against all common sense, that he should get a position of power somewhere he knows next to nothing about, because of plot reasons and drama. Why couldn't Percy have just been seen as a great help and on that the Romans would build their trust upon him? To start to value his opinion?

But the plot of HOO moves so fast is was no room to take a breath and let things unfold naturally. So Riordan gives political and military powers to characters willy-nilly because it will help the story along.

Again to JASON, the cabin design things is the same as Annabeth's, so there is nothing to really say again. Other then the fact that they parallel each other in this way, and not in the good way when talking about writing.

Riordan has no scale of what it means when he gives his characters power and authority where they hadn't achieved it. He gives them upgrades in authority as a way to pay them for their good behaviour and character development, or simply because he hadn't thought all the way through what their positions would entail, and their ramifications.

I hope that I made a great job at explaining what I wanted. If you didn't understand what I said at some point, please do reach out. I can talk about this for a while.

[ladyniniane]

Happy birthday to me!

I'm turning 28 today🍁🎉🎂! It's time to celebrate what I have accomplished so far.

Last year, I was in an uncertain situation because I had just decided to leave my job. For those who don't know, the whole ambiance had become pretty toxic (especially with my manager), the organization was a mess and there was no hope of getting a raise after three years there. It was taking a real toll on my well-being.

In retrospect, I'm glad I did it because I chose the best for myself. I saw that I deserved better.

Many things happened this year, some good, some bad, some chaotic. But I've accomplished quite a lot! I've decided to go freelance instead of waiting for someone to hire me. I want to decide how I work, with who and especially where (I'm thinking about living in Corsica in the future).

For that, I completed a whole training course and did things I have never done before...It made me confident in my abilities. I'm going to be completely honest: launching my own business is a little scary, especially as the D day comes closer and my anxiety is like "but what if? What if? What iiiiif?", but working on my project was nonetheless pretty satisfying.

I'm not worried about getting closer to 30. I'm still feeling pretty young (and I mean, I am). And I think like I'm finally figuring things out (because yeah, you generally don't have your life in order by 25). I wouldn't trade the life experience and the lessons I've learned for nothing else in the world. In fact, I'm quite curious about the person I will be when I will turn 30. I know social pressure is real for some people, but the sooner you get rid of those standards, the happier you will be.

Things I've learned this year:

-Enjoy the little nothings and find beauty in the mundane. This will make your life more magical.

-Try new things even if afraid. Time will pass anyway.

-It's okay to quit! In fact, it's even better with toxic situations. Distancing yourself from something that harms you is good actually.

-It's important to focus on your emotions. Bad emotions are here for a reason. It's important to focus on them and don't let anyone gaslight you into thinking you're the problem.

-You are enough. You don't have to feel ashamed of everything. You aren't too much, you aren't embarrassing.

-Touch grass as much as possible.

My cat turned 10 (she has seen so many important steps of my life) last month and she's happy and healthy.

Writing-wise, things are going fine. I finished my big fanfic and I've started a novel! And I now need the escapism it provides more than ever.

A big thank you to all of you, people of Tumblr! I'm glad I met you and you make things better☀️!

So, 28, let's see what you have in store for me !

[buddiekinard]

several sentences sunday

so no one tagged me (this week) but this is the first time in a while i actually have something i'm actively working on. i posted something maybe last week or two weeks ago but that version of the story has actually been scrapped because i regathered my thoughts. anyway i wrote a couple thousand words today and i just wanted to post a little bit of it. i don't think i've been this invested in/stressed about writing something for a very long time. i've been plotting out this fic for months and i've been living and breathing it, so here's a little bit of it for you.

'tis the damn season au, buddie, aka the fic where buck and his parents moved to el paso and buck went to high school with eddie and shannon, and now he's coming back for a visit (set in 911-time during s3 when buck isn't allowed back to work - instead of suing everyone, buck goes home)

His phone starts ringing.  Of course Eddie hadn’t just texted back. 

Of course Eddie is calling him.

“Hey.” “Hey, Evan.  I wasn’t sure you’d ever want to speak again.”

“Please, call me Buck.  Everyone calls me Buck.”

“Right,” Eddie says.  “Right, you said that.”

“I’m in El Paso.” Buck fumbles with the hem of his t-shirt, nervously.  It’s so annoying that he hasn’t just let himself turn up to Eddie’s parents, asking where he can find Eddie.  Helena had always loved him.  She wouldn’t question his presence even a little bit.  She would probably give him a big hug and invite him in for coffee.  He’s just not sure he has that right or place in Eddie’s life anymore.

After all, he was the one who’d taken off.

“You’re - “ There’s a long pause on the other end of the line and then Buck hears the click of a door.  “You’re here?”

“Yeah, I had to get out of LA.  I was feeling a little suffocated and a lot lost.  I’m at my parents’ house.”

“Did you talk to Shannon?”

“Yeah.” Buck closes his eyes.  “You didn’t tell me you were divorced.” “You didn’t exactly give me the chance.” There’s nothing tense in Eddie’s voice, not like Buck would expect.  He sounds light, sarcastic, like the Eddie Buck remembers from all the way back in high school when everything between them was just so easy.

“No, I guess I didn’t.” “Hey, so, I don’t work tomorrow.  Do you want - we can just, you know.  Hang out, like old times or whatever.”

Buck wants to ask what kind of old times he means.  The ones where he, Eddie, and Shannon would waste the day sitting in the Whataburger parking lot listening to shitty music and sharing a cigarette or the kind in that short window of time where the two of them would go find somewhere to park and make out sloppy in Eddie’s truck.  Or maybe the time they tried to get the fuck away from this town together, before they knew Shannon was pregnant, when Buck really thought he and Eddie could be EvanAndEddie for real.  He doesn’t ask.

“Yeah, yeah, that sounds good.  It’ll be nice to catch up.”

[who-is-page]

After encouragement from my friends and polycule, I've finally made a Patreon! It has a free membership option, as well as multiple paid membership options with perks.

Hi, I'm Page (he/him)! I'm primarily an artist and writer; you can find most of my written work on my system's website, Three Dragons and a Dog, though in the past I've also run the comic Shenani-kins and I occasionally publish TTRPGs on my itch.io. I'm the founder of the Alterhuman Archive, creator and co-owner of the Nonhuman National Park forum, and convention chair of the Centaurus Festival convention. I'm also the organizer behind the annual Inky Paws collaborative fiction anthology, which is free to download from my itch.io!

I've started a Patreon which you can join ✨ for free ✨ or, if you like what I do and want to financially support me, there's also three tiers of paid memberships: $1/month, $5/month, and $10/month. Folks in the $5/month tier and above will get free download keys for new releases on my itch.io, and folks in the $10/month tier will also get shout-outs at my lectures at OtherCon, Centaurus Festival, HowlCon, and etc. as a perk!

I'll be posting art, lectures, stories, and non-fiction writings on alterhumanity, plurality, religion, and queerness onto my Patreon. Most of what I make will also be cross-posted onto Tumblr, Dreamwidth, and/or my website. In the future I might have some member-only posts, but I want to make the bulk of what I do accessible to everyone.

A lot of what I do, I do for free-- and I'm glad to be able to share so many of my projects with the community! With enough support financially, I'd be able to dedicate a lot more time and energy to making really cool things, and maintaining the cool things I've already got rolling. If you've ever gotten enjoyment out of something I've made, consider joining and throwing a dollar my way. Or, if you want to support me without any commitment, consider tipping me on Ko-Fi. Thank you so much!

[sirianasims]

10 facts about me

Thanks for the tags, @theosconfessions @elderwisp and @jayveesim! ❤️ Sorry this took like 2-3 business months or something.

I always eat small pieces of candy, like gummy bears or Skittles/m&ms, in pairs and chew one in each side of my mouth for balance - they should preferably be the same colour too!

I can flip my upper eyelids inside out - it's a great way to get rid of annoying people.

I am AuDHD but wasn't diagnosed until I was 25.

I have a phobia of ballons (they're rubbery jump scares waiting to happen, I don't trust them!)

I once almost died because I didn't go to the hospital for 2 months - healthcare is free in Denmark, I just didn't want to be a bother.

When I first learned to speak English as a kid, I had a super dodgy accent for a while because the only two albums I owned were Michael Jackson and The Proclaimers.

I read roughly 800 words/minute and people always asked me why I didn't become an author, but I refused to write anything until two years ago when I started my story.

I used to play D&D but after a few years I had broken up with 3 of the 5 other members of my group and it got too awkward.

I've been on several road trips all around Europe in my friend's vintage car (Citroën DS Pallas from 1973 if you care).

I can never remember which side is left and which is right, so my brain just stalls for 2 seconds whenever I have to give or receive directions. Thankfully I don't have a driver's license.

I am going to also tag my lovelies @feroshgirlsims, @lynzishell, @zosa95, @igglemouse, and @beachyserasims who sent me asks for 3 random facts, because there's no way I can come up with 22 things 💀