#if it's not up she's always found it unmanageable and that's just Not Done

[yaburnaee]

obsessed with the idea that all 3 a.rcheron sisters had ringlet style curly blonde hair as infants and children, eventually growing out of the curls but not quite out of the unruliness

[peachysunrize]

Lemon Tart ⥃ Prince! Aemond (p.1)

Summary: after six years of searching for his lover, Aemond comes across her bakery in Flea Bottom with his betrothed.

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, royalty x commoner, infidelity, Alicent’s a bit more uptight here, angst angst angst, oral (M! Receiving), mentions of war, they lost their virginity at 16, English isn’t my first language<3

Word count: 5.2k

a/n: hi!! I had to re-edit this and post it, I just had to lol. But given the circumstances, I hope you’ll ignore this if it isn’t your cup of tea. Do not make fun of my english please I’m not a native speaker🩷 reblog and comments are most appreciated<3

Shoutout to my girl, @namelesslosers , for beta reading my work🥹🫂

It disgusted Aemond to no end that King’s Landing’s streets smelt this horrible, and having his betrothed by his side, walking among the commoners only added to his unmanageable frustration.

Cassandra Baratheon was as tolerating as a Baratheon could be; exceptionally loud and obnoxious, clingy and always cheerful, and totally the opposite of Aemond. And when she set her mind on something, there was no way she would accept anything but whatever she desired.

That’s why Aemond found himself glaring at anyone who dared cross their path. He had to put up with his betrothed obsession as she stopped at every shop she could find, buying unnecessary things to waste his money on and be happy so he could do his duty without her nose sticking into his business.

He was cautious as they neared a bakery in the dark corner of the alley. Guardsmen were ready to slaughter whoever they thought was a threat to Prince and his beloved wife-to-be.

Cassandra approached the shop, looking at different pastries, cakes, loaves of bread, and little desserts that were freshly baked. 

“Aemond we have to buy some!” She whined like she always did when she wanted something. And he was sick of hearing that damned nose again for the millionth time that day.

“Of course,” he replied coldly. He gave her another bag of gold and ushered her closer to the bakery. He watched as people left the bakery as soon as they got closer, afraid of the One-eyed prince.

Cassandra stood behind the stool, watching as the baker – you –  ran around the little shop with haste to get every order done. She cleared her throat, head held high as she glared at your back for not answering her.

“When a Princess is standing in your presence, you will bow and do as she says,” she whines again, trying to push past the wooden stool to get into your shop.

“You are yet to be a princess,” Aemond caught her arm, pulling her back harshly as he kept his face emotionless.

You froze, turning towards the royal couple standing in front of your bakery. The white hair, violet eye, and leather eyepatch; you remembered him so well. Every second you had spent together was playing in front of you, and all of a sudden you felt as if the walls of the bakery were falling on you, but you had to appear strong, after all, you left everything behind and moved on.

“My prince,” you said with a shaky voice, “My lady, how may I help you on this fine morning?” You smiled at them, swallowing harshly as you tried to avoid Aemond’s gaze as he stared at you.

Maybe he didn’t remember you, but how much a person could change in six years? You looked the same, a bit more mature. You could see how he was fighting the urge to keep staring at you and figuring you out. You prayed to the old gods that he didn’t recognize you, you were nowhere ready to experience his famous wrath and cruelty.

“Finally,” The lady huffed, “a loaf of your freshest bread and three strawberry cakes. They look delicious, don’t they, Aem?”

Your heart dropped when you heard her calling him by the nickname he only allowed you to call him. Maybe they were closer than you thought, but at that moment Aemond proved you wrong.

“Don’t ever call me that again, do you understand?” He warned her, his eye boring into hers as he frowned down at her. She nodded immediately, looking at her joined hands in front of her.

“Anything for you, my prince?” Finally, you regarded him. You couldn’t breathe when his eye locked with yours. You didn’t know how to feel, fear? Yearning? Pain? Love? You just stood there, staring into each other’s eyes. His gaze was intense like it had always been – since his childhood to now, he liked to look through everything and everyone, and then, he wanted to figure you out.

You wished for nothing but to melt away from his heated gaze as you waited for him to reply. He still had that effect on you which you became easily flustered around him, and it gave him a sense of power he had always craved.

“Lemon tart,”

You nodded and turned around quickly, not wishing to look upon his face anymore. He remembered everything, and he showed it with two simple words. You wanted to sob right there, but you had a job, and angering the prince of the realm and his future lady wife would be the last thing you needed.

You massaged your neck slowly as you walked to where you kept the sweets and cakes. The lady’s order was ready and you went to grab the latest lemon tart you had baked; lemon tart with sugar powder on top and slices of lemon and different berries – just how he liked. You could remember exactly from the day you opened your bakery this particular dessert was everyone’s favorite, and whenever you baked, it reminded you of how he would assist you.

Shaking your head to get rid of the beautiful memories, you put the cake inside the box and handed them all to the guards that were standing there.

“Is there anything else that you wish for?” you asked politely, looking at Cassandra, not Aemond.

“No,” He said curtly, grabbing the bag of gold from his betrothed and dropping it on the stool in front of you before he turned his back and left without another word being said. You thanked him quietly, watching him distance himself.

Why did it hurt to watch him leave? It shouldn't have hurt you at least, because you did the same thing, but never allowed him to watch you leave. You were just…gone from his life one day and he couldn’t do anything. Perhaps the gods deemed fit to punish you for your past actions, and years ago you had made your peace with it. But why did it feel like an arrow to your chest as you stared at his white hair that fell around his shoulders like moonlight waterfalls?

  —-------

  A few weeks passed and every day a royal guard would come to your bakery to order a lemon tart for his highness. You felt dreadful when you had to pack yet another box for The prince and all whilst you had to wipe the tears from your eyes. 

You didn’t get a blink of sleep because your mind was too occupied with Aemond Targaryen. You spent days crying and begging for the gods to take your life over the past six years but they didn’t. You were sure they wanted to see how you’d crumble to your feet and about the one that got away. The taste of happiness had been long gone from your life ever since you were forced to leave the castle; you had left your two loved ones behind.

One evening, you closed the bakery sooner, even though the guard didn’t come that day. The orange lights of the fireplace gave some sort of life to the dull room with all the scented candles you had lightened a few minutes ago.

A knock on your door brought you out of your train of thought. You were basically lonely in this neighborhood, just a few older shopkeepers who worked nearby, even your regular customers didn’t know you lived upstairs.

Aemond Targaryen was standing outside your door, with a brown bag in his hand. 

“My Prince, I-” You didn’t know how to react. You were confused, shocked, and a little flustered. 

“Can I come in?” He asked for permission, looking over your shoulder to see your home.

“Yes, oh, sure,” You stood aside, opening the door for him to walk in.

He was silent as he observed his surroundings. Your home was welcoming even though it was much smaller than his chambers, it still felt livelier than anywhere he had set foot in.

“I beg your pardon, this is not a place befitting you, my prince-”

“Nonsense, this is quite alright,” he replied hurriedly. 

He was anxious; the feared one-eyed prince was anxious about meeting his past friend – lover – and he couldn’t hide it. When he was near her, his emotions were all over the place. It felt right to tell her everything, he felt safe with her even after being apart for years.

“How can I help you then, my prince?” you asked, biting your lip in anticipation.

You couldn’t see his face, but you were aware of how tense his shoulders would get whenever you called him by his title. He had never been the prince for you, even when you were kids.

“Stop,” he inhaled, “stop calling me that.”

“I can’t, my price-”

“Yes, you can!” suddenly he raised his voice, making you flinch away from him, “Aemond is fine.” he continued with a hushed voice after how you retreated from him.

“I brought a few things,” He handed you the bag, finally having time to look at you thoroughly; your hair was down, you were wearing a simple loose dress that fell on your knees, and you were bare feet. You looked just as he remembered, so simple and gentle as if the gods had made you for him. Back then he thought you were sent from heaven, and now you looked even more beautiful with how mature you had grown.

“Eggs and milk?” you smiled at him, hesitant to know the reason.

“I thought perhaps we could bake a lemon tart together.” His words were rushed. He was scared of your rejection and you caught on to it quickly.

“Sure,” you replied, walking towards the little kitchen you had, “I know there isn’t much space…”

“It is enough for both of us,” 

“Alright, then let’s start, Aemond.”

You missed the weight of his name on your tongue, how you used to say it with joy and laughter, how you used to moan in it when your bodies molded together perfectly. And he missed hearing it from you. His name never felt the same after you left, not even when his sister said it.

You both started working in sync like old times when you’d sneak him into the castle’s kitchen and teach him how to bake different breads and pastries but Lemon tart was always his favorite — you had brought a piece of it for him after he lost his eye.

He remembered how you both would mess up the large kitchen at midnight with flour and fruit juices as you started baking together ever since the incident. Every night he’d meet you in the hallway near the maids’ rooms and you tiptoe towards the kitchen while giggling all the way.

You made him smile even at his lowest.

You started with pouring the milk and him taking care of the eggs, your bodies close to each other after years of running towards each other without ever reaching the destination.

You watched as he took off his leather coat and rolled up his sleeves, grabbing the flour he had found in one of your cabinets. You mixed as you observed his hands; rough cuts of sword swinging and dragon riding on them, and you saw the little mark of the place he had burnt himself while you were in the kitchen together.

You felt the heat of his body on your back while you were mixing the ingredients. He was close, so close that his hot breath was on your neck, his hands caging your body as soon as you tried to move away from him. He came there with purpose, and he wouldn’t back down until he got what he needed.

“Aemond,”

He quickly retreated from you, snatching the bowl out of your hands. You walked to the fireplace immediately, not daring to look at him. Both of you were on edge, you desired the closeness but the fear pushed everything down the cliff. You knew he wasn’t there just for a lemon tart, he was there for answers that you had buried deep down.

You had no idea how long it passed while you stared at the flames, but it had to be a solid two hours of silence when he came back with two plates and a lemon tart with sugar powder and chopped fruits on top – just how he liked it.

You put a piece on his plate and sat down as you stared at the tart in yours. It had been so long since you had been with him in a room, or baked with him. It felt strange yet so nostalgic. He sat next to you as he ate in silence, not once meeting your eyes but you knew his eyes were scanning you from head to toe. 

The first bite melted on your tongue, the sweet and sour flavors were always your favorite combinations. You smiled, remembering how much Aemond loved to add more lemon to the mix just to see how your face scrunched as you ate it. 

“It tastes delicious. Thank you,” you said, finally looking up from your plate to see him already looking at you with wide eyes.

He was always hard to read with all the walls he had built around himself. There were rare occasions that he’d smile or even laugh when you were around after the loss of his eyes. Eventually, he grew more comfortable around you, sometimes the little Aemond joked and tried to make you laugh.

He was a prince, and you were a maid’s daughter; you couldn’t be seen with each other, hence the reputation he had to uphold because of his title. At that time when you were both eleven, you found it funny how he couldn’t join you for meals, or how he talked when he was with his grandsire.

But as you grew up, the feelings that had been planted since your childhood bloomed and they became complicated and hard to ignore. You watched him in balls and gatherings on the king’s behalf, he dressed so well and you found your eyes following his every move. He danced with highborn ladies, who he told you were forced to do so, and you just stood in the corner of the hall. 

Your worlds were so different, he had a bright future ahead of him with his future lady wife and you? You had no idea what you wanted to do.

“Do you still bake in the castle?” You asked with a hushed voice.

“No,” it was curt, and you nodded your head in acknowledgment. After all, it wasn’t easy to talk about this particular issue.

“I am not keen on wasting my time, but I have a question that has been left unanswered for six fucking years.”

Aemond Targaryen was a man of honor and dignity. He held his chin high and burnt everyone by looking at them like the dragon he truly was — and he never cussed. Your eyes widened at how miserable he looked.

“Why did you leave?” His eye bore into yours as he glared at you. 

You were scared, you wanted to run away again, and you did — you stood up and tried to walk to the kitchen, but Aemond was fast on his feet and grabbed your elbow before you could make it past him.

“Don’t,” he warned you, and you had no choice but to oblige as he pointed at your bed in the corner of the room.

“Sit and give me an explanation for keeping me in the dark for six years.” He stood in front of you, holding his hands behind his back.

“Why did you leave?”

Your eyes watered, you couldn’t even form a word as you remembered how you left him. But he was in your house again, perhaps it could be your last chance to show him how much you loved him by explaining everything about your departure.

  ~ It happened so fast, Queen Alicent had come to the maids’ area with Ser Cole on the toe as they searched for her son who had missed breakfast. If it wasn’t for the girls who had talked about the noises they heard last night, she wouldn’t be able to find him.

She didn’t need to ask anyone to know which maid she should search for. She knew you and his son were friends, and as much as she disapproved you made Aemond happy, by just being his friend and nothing more. 

You were awake, doing your morning duties in the kitchen. You hummed and baked the sweets Princess Heleana asked you to while you thought about your night with the prince. You smiled to yourself sheepishly remembering he was still sleeping naked in your not-so-comfortable bed. The night was full of intimate moments, and he took his time with you; memorizing every curve of your body, every scratch. He kissed your scars and caressed the soft skin of your hips as he desired.

Sixteen and in love, what a blissful life.

Queen Alicent interrupted your daydreaming when she appeared in the kitchen, demanding the other maids to leave you alone. All the girls rushed out without glancing your way, too scared to even breathe as they filled out the kitchen.

You bowed, keeping your gaze on your feet as she glanced around herself. Never did you think you would see the queen in the kitchen, but there you were, and it could only mean one thing.

“Losing your virtue to the prince of the realm must be your highest achievement, Y/N.” Your heart dropped, sweat beading on your palms as you kept your head bowed down. You were caught, and all the punishment and consequences of your teenage sins would fall upon you — after all, no one dared to say an ill word towards Aemond Targaryen under his mother’s watch.

“At least now you can keep your mouth shut,” she sighed, pacing with her hands behind her back, “your lewd sounds were heard by the other girls. I know my son, he wouldn’t stoop this low to warm a maid’s bed. How did you trick him into this?”

You didn’t — couldn’t — say a word. Your mind was blank, the queen’s harsh words cut deep and you took the blow every time she spoke. She shouldn’t know it was Aemond’s idea, even if you told her, she wouldn’t believe you. 

“Look at me,” she grabbed your chin, yanking your face upwards with her fingers digging into your cheeks. Tears streamed down your face as you looked into Alicent’s eyes. 

“I love him,”

A simple confession that led you and Aemond to the current situation. He was the one to barge into your room and said those three words, and you followed him. He was your childhood friend, your baking partner, and he became your lover last night.

“Oh, so you love him. Well, if you truly love my son, you will leave the castle and stay as far away as you can from him. He has a future ahead of him, a duty to fulfill and you only drag him down to the mud with your filthy hands.”

She looked into your teary eyes, no sympathy in her voice as she gestured to Cole to escort you to your room. You couldn’t defend yourself, you were no one in her eyes, or anyone for that matter. Your only solace was Aemond, not the passionate lover nor the prince, just your friend, and then you were leaving him.

Cole waited outside as you gathered your clothes and found a little bag you found under the same bed Aemond was sleeping on. Quietly, you walked towards him, pushing a few of the strands of his hair out of his face. He stirred slightly but didn’t wake up. You pressed one last peck on his forehead and scar before you left him for good.~

Aemond stood in front of your bed, watching you sob as you told him what had truly happened that day. His face was emotionless, but you were good at reading him ever since you had spent nearly every day together. He clenched his fist, taking a shaky breath in while he listened to you.

Everything started to make sense when he was reminded of his mother’s words after he left your room to find you but he saw The Queen in the kitchen. She told him you left him with no remorse, you just took what you wanted from your Targaryen prince and left the castle wishing for his child to take — and he believed it.

But there you were; sitting on your bed, body shaking with sobs and tears, and no sign of a child around you. He had been fooled for years. He had been searching the entire city and couldn’t find you because of his mother and the City Watch.

He knelt on the floor, his eye telling you every word he couldn’t utter. You knew him like the back of your hand; he wasn’t good with words, and he was in disbelief at what you had told him.

You did what you had wanted to do for so long; you fell limp into his arms, hugging him close as your sobbing grew louder. The smell of sandalwood and leather was calming, the scent was a nice reminder of what it felt like to be close to him.

He wrapped his arms around you instantly, pulling your body impossibly close to his. He had to remind himself it was real that you were with him again and the agony of not seeing you was over.

He kissed your exposed shoulder like he always did when he tried to calm you down, and you melted within his arms. None of you dared to say a word, too afraid of breaking this blissful spell you had created. 

You pulled back a little to take a good look at his handsome face. His jaw had become a bit sharper, he looked more mature and gorgeous than you remembered. He looked like those princes from fantasy books who’d save you from a curse just by kissing you.

At that moment, all you wanted was to taste him. And taste him you did.

He met you halfway, his lips touching yours slowly. You moved together, chasing each other’s taste as you poured all the unsaid words into the kiss. The sugary taste of the desert you had was a cherry on top when his tongue met yours.

There was no rush, but the amount of lost time made you both hungry for each other.

You pulled his clothes off, latching your lips to his exposed neck. Aemond couldn’t care less about his betrothed, he had you in his arms, and being in an arranged engagement with the woman he had no feelings for was the last of his worries.

He stripped you out of your dress, his fingers brushing over your hardened nipples. He missed the way you sighed when you were content, and he wanted to make sure that he would create a wonderful night for you.

He sat on the bed with you straddling him, whimpering when you grind yourself down on his bulge. You kissed down his neck while he was kneading your breasts, pinching and squeezing the soft flesh here and there.

“Lay down, Aem.” You commanded gently, pushing him on his back while you sat on your knees between his legs, “I have a lot to make up for.”

His breathing became irregular as you kissed down his chest, hands roaming his toned body as you made your way down to his pants. You undid the laces and pulled the fabric down. He helped you take them off completely, leaving him fully naked to your lustful gaze.

His cock was already aching hard and you didn’t waste any more time before you grabbed him in your hands, stroking him gently. He looked at you through his hooded eye, watching you closely when you wrapped your lips around the tip. His head fell back on your pillow when you sucked on it a little. 

It had been so long for both of you to be intimate with someone else that it left you both impatient and needy for more.

You twirled your tongue around him, taking him deeper into your hot mouth. He was breathless already, and he was having a very hard time not unleashing the beast and taking you as he desired. So before his self-control vanished, he pulled you up and smashed his lips to yours. He couldn’t take it anymore, he would go insane if he wasn’t inside you for a second longer. 

You took your underwear off, feeling the wetness of your cunt dripping down your inner thighs a bit. Aemond helped you straddle him again with his hands guiding your hips back and forth on his cock as you rubbed your needy pussy on him.

You moaned — that sweet sound that he would burn the world for just to hear again. You kept yourself up by your hands on his chest as he helped you sit down on his cock, pushing him inside your welcoming hole with a whine.

You leaned down, pushing his eyepatch out of his face slowly, giving him enough time to stop you — but he never did. You looked at the scar that brought you to him, the sapphire that filled the socket glinted and you couldn’t help but press your lips to his eyelids as carefully as you could. He looked fragile beneath you, and you wanted to reassure him, to make him feel safe and wanted and loved again.

He stretched you out and filled you up perfectly. There was no pain, just a slight discomfort at first as you grew used to his size. Meanwhile, he thought he had died and he was in heaven. He had you on top of him — naked in all your glory — with his cock buried deep inside you. 

“I missed you, Aem.” It came out as another moan when you rolled your hips.

You rode him for long minutes, kissed, and spent time in each other’s arms as he gave you the pleasure you craved for so long. 

Aemond took you in different positions, he made love to you, fucked you at some point, and let you take control when he wanted to just worship your body. He would kiss wherever his lips could reach, and with each press on your skin, you felt fireworks throughout your body.

Your bodies molded together as you both came together; a long, heartwarming, and overwhelming release that you had been pathetically desiring for years.

You were so lost in pleasure that you didn’t notice when he cleaned both of you and laid next to you on your bed. There wasn’t much space for both of you, so Aemond laid you on his chest as he snuggled closer to you. He breathed you in, wishing for this moment to last until his last day alive.

You fell asleep immediately, and you hadn’t been able to do so because it was always him who pulled you into a deep slumber. 

He felt safe enough to whisper his devotion into your ear while you slept in his arms. He hoped he could run away from the war and take you away on the dragon's back. He wanted to spend his days with you by his side, but he thanked the gods for this night even though he had not thought about what would be happening at dawn.

  —————

  The sun rose, and the first rays of sunshine hit Aemond’s face. He stirred a little, nuzzling his nose into your hair as he tried to fall asleep again. He didn’t want his time to end with you this soon before he was forced back to put on the mask again. 

The sound of horses and a carriage approaching the bakery was enough to put him on edge. He gently let go of you, pulling the covers over your body before he put on his eyepatch, white undershirt, and pants. He didn’t care if any of the commoners saw him there, after all, he would visit the neighborhood more often from now on.

He came downstairs, his eyes meeting his mother’s eyes as soon as she stood in front of the bakery. How did she know you were there, moreover, how did she know he was there?

“Your future wife has a large mouth, son,” Alicent said, watching his every move.

“What do you want?”

He tried to control his temper when his mother chuckled at his little burst of anger.

“Why her?” She asked.

“Because she makes me feel loved.” 

His answer was simple, and it made sense to the queen why he would choose you out of everyone. She remembered how you were always around Aemond when he was alone, you helped him with almost everything and never humiliated him, unlike his cousins and brother.

“She has to leave, Aemond—“

“You are not taking her away from me again!” He raised his voice, “Not when I have found the only source of the light in my miserable life. You will not sink your claws in her again, I will never allow you to ruin our chances of happiness.”

“We are at war, and you are promised to Lady Baratheon—“

“I do not care less about the names and titles,” he sighed, “not when she is who I have loved unconditionally for my whole life.”

Alicent walked closer to him until she could cuo his face.

“In the depth of war, love does not win, son. It is logic and pain and suffering that will bring us victory. We cannot fight against the wrath of Lord Baratheon when he hears of your affair.”

He was about to answer when you interrupted them.

“Her majesty is right, Aem.” You sounded so defeated and defenseless.

They both looked at you and for the second time in the time you had known Aemond, you saw him shed a tear. 

Queen Alicent stood back, giving you enough space to talk to him.

You wrapped your arms around his torso, resting your head on his chest as you listened to his heartbeat.

“I have to leave, for the safety of our love.” You said, pecking his lips gently. He kissed back immediately, giving you a final kiss before you vanished from his life again.

“Avy jorrāelan,” I love you.

“I love you, too, Aem. I love you so much.” You kissed him again hurriedly, and he kept you close, not wanting to let you go.

“I hope your seed takes this time so I can have you with myself wherever I go,” you whispered in his ear, “come find us after the war, so we can bake lemon tarts for our silver-haired kids.”

You broke apart and followed Ser Cole to the carriage they had prepared for you after you bowed to the queen.

You left him again with an oath he had to fulfill; he would come to find you when the time was right.

[planchettewrites]

Remy LeBeau (Gambit)/AFAB!Reader

DESCRIPTION: You find out about Bella Donna Boudreaux, and you are not happy about it.

CONTENT: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Threats of Breakup, Mentions Remy's Past (*Using the Original X-Men Animation Series as Ref.)

A/N: This is not my favorite Remy work I've done, but I think it's still pretty good. This is pretty heavy hurt/comfort, and the ending is a little rushed. TBH I wanted to just write this and get it over with. WIPs can only have such a long shelf life! I may eventually update this later.

848 words | Safe!

"Remy…" You walked cautiously into your and Remy's shared bedroom in his apartment near the school, anger bubbling inside you. In your hand, you held a letter from some woman named Bella Donna Boudreaux. The letter was old, at least five years old. You found it while cleaning out one of Remy's closets, finding it in a box on the top shelf when it came tumbling out of the closet. "What is this?"

Remy, who was reading, immediately shot up. His black and red eyes looked at you with so much shock. He looked like a man who got caught. “Ma chérie,” he started.

"What is this, Remy?" you shot, effectively cutting him off. "Who the fuck is Bella Donna Boudreaux?"

"Chérie, it's not what you think." Remy stood up from the bed and began slowly approaching you. 

You weren't stupid; you could read what the letter said, and that letter painted a rather different story than your current reality. "I think it's exactly what I think, Remy. What the hell does 'I'll forever be your wife' mean, then? Remy, we've been dating for three years, and this letter is five years old. Are you married?" you roared, your anger almost unmanageable. 

Your mind was racing with every possible answer that Remy could've given you, and none of them were positive explanations. Your relationship with Remy was the best you ever had; he was kind, generous, and giving, and overall, he was a spectacular partner who always put your needs first. You loved Remy more than you could fathom; this letter was heartbreaking.

Before he could answer, you began to read some of the letter to him. "Remy, mon amour, I miss you every day. Every day you are gone is like a stab in the heart. I still remember the day I last saw you; you looked handsome as ever, mon cœur." you stopped reading the letter and threw it on the bed. "What the fuck is this?"

"Darlin', that's all old history, Bella Donna is…"

"Your wife, apparently, Remy." you began to tear up. Nothing shattered your heart like reading that letter did. You had read through the entire thing before you confronted your boyfriend, and you knew a love letter when you read one. You started shaking your head, putting your palm up to your forehead. "I can't fucking believe this."

Without even noticing, he got closer, Remy turned you around and gently pulled your hand from your head. His face portrayed an emotion of hurt. As much as you wanted to scream at him, tear him apart, something in you knew that he had some proper explaining to do. "Darlin', listen to me. Please."

You sighed roughly, continuing to shake your head. "Fine. You better have a great explanation for this, Remy. Or I'm done."

He sighs. Remy knew this day would come eventually—whether it be when filing for marriage paperwork or when his past eventually bubbled up to the surface. If he was honest with himself, he completely forgot about that letter; it was shoved in that box with the rest of his past in the Thieves's Guild. Looking at you, his heart was breaking. The last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt you. 

"Well, darlin', it starts back in New Orleans. The long and the short of it is that Bella Donna Boudreaux was a member of the Assassin's Guild, and I was a member of the Thieves's Guild. We were arranged to be married in an attempt to unite the guilds. Gambit didn't love her, so he walked away from the altar. Bella Donna wrote me that letter as a last-ditch effort to get me back. I don't know how she even found my address, but she sent it. I forgot that I even kept it. I promise I didn't marry her, mon amour. I don't love her. My heart does not belong to another; it only belongs to you." He held you steady in front of him, and he watched how the tears forming in your eyes began to roll down your cheeks. 

Remy pulled you into a tight hug as you cried. "Shh, don't cry, chérie, Gambit's right here."

"Don't ever fucking scare me like that." you cried. Right now, you hated yourself. There was no way you could deny what you read, but you trusted your boyfriend with every word he said. Remy wasn't one to tell you a lie. Ever since you began dating, he has been nothing but honest and upfront with all that he said. "M’sorry, Remy. I'm really sorry."

Gently letting go of you, Remy cupped your cheeks and placed a kiss on your forehead. "No reason to apologize, mon amour. You were scared, and that situation seemed nasty. I understand."

"I was just so worried that you were keeping something from me, especially something that would change our relationship."

"I know, chérie, I know." He cooed, pulling you back into the hug. 

You sighed, letting the anxiety go. “Please forgive me.”

He smiled. “Gambit forgives ya’, chérie. Of course I do.”

[starry-eyes-love]

Part 2 of Too Young to Die Mini Series

Main Masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist

Too Young to Die- Mini Series Part 2 out of 3.

Pairing |  Massage Therapist Joel Miller x F!Reader with Autoimmune disease, no outbreak, AU.

Summary | Joel takes you on your first date, where you eat pizza and joke together. Quickly, Joel finds out what it looks like to deal with an unmanaged autoimmune disorder. Joel, never faltering, stays by your side the whole way. Fast-forward to three years later, and Joel still helps you deal with the complexities of your body as life changes forever.

Banner image by CAImages on Instagram, banners by @saradika-graphics

Word Count: 6.7K

Warnings | Series is: 18+, Smut, Minors DNI (but no smut in this part)

Language, joking, pizza eating with odd topping choices, hints of smut without any smut, kissing, illness, fainting, pregnancy, boyfriend! Joel, husband! Joel, age gap, no major descriptions of the reader except she is younger and has autoimmune disease.

A/N:  This took me way too long to finish writing this part.  I found that I kept adding more to the story.  I love these two goofballs, so strap in for some fun and relaxing banter, with a few surprises along the way :) 

“Darlin’, don’t you ever question if I fucking want you, ya hear me. Baby, I always want you, day or night; it doesn't matter. And for the record, it isn’t me who needs any prep time to get in the mood; it's you.”

Your first date with Joel went exceptionally well. Conversation flowed easily amongst you where there weren't any awkward moments. Joel teased you for liking pineapple on your pizza, and you teased him for liking anchovies.

“Darlin’, you just ruin perfectly good pizza if y’do all that.”

“Well, at least I don’t put dead fish on my pizza, Joel.”

“Look here. I don’t want to hear any more sass from you, considering you put pineapple on your pizza and add marinara sauce.” 

Joel shook his head, clearly not thrilled with your pizza flavor choice. He also saw you dip your pizza into the ranch and then take a huge bite, humming to yourself at the flavor choice. Joel looked over at you, shocked like you were someone who had sprouted three heads.

“Darlin’, now you've gone and done it. Completely ruined the American way of eating pizza.” Joel was staring at you wide-eyed as you placed buffalo ranch sauce on top of your pizza. He was trying to figure out how a beautiful woman like yourself would have the oddest taste in food.

“Mr. Miller, I don't recall you being an expert at pizza toppings. If you were, the fact that you place anchovies on your pizza makes your entire argument invalid.” 

Joel laughed out loud at your attitude and shook his head. He loved the easy banter between you two. 

“You know, it's a good thing I find you cute, darlin', or I'd have to remind you just how much my argument has merit.”

“And what type of merit would that be, Mr. Miller, because there is none in this instance.”

“Well, baby, if you insist.” Joel sat up straight, placing his pizza slice down to continue. “Fish is healthy and nutritious; it gives you plenty of stamina for any extracurricular activities you want or need to do. Plus, it also makes certain things taste sweeter, too.” 

“It doesn't make things taste sweeter, Joel; that's a lie. Pineapple is the one that makes things taste sweeter.” 

“So, is that why you ordered pineapple on your pizza, darlin’? You wanted to make sure things tasted sweeter for me later?” Joel smirked at you, raising an eyebrow, knowing the offhanded sexual comment he had just made.

You sat in silence, feeling your cheeks flush a nice soft red. You had no idea that Joel was going to take it there, to a sexual place. You weren't mad at his flirtatious comment; you were just sexually flustered. It has been a long time since any man has given you any amount of attention. You found yourself shifting in your seat, trying to alleviate the slow throbbing that had started between your legs at the casual flirting and banter with Joel. When Joel saw this reaction, he knew that he had gotten under your skin, which was the purpose of his comment in the first place. 

“Why ya squirming, baby?”

You just looked at Joel with a soft blush on your cheeks.  You didn’t want to tell him that your stomach was in knots and that you were getting more and more turned on by him sitting in front of you. 

“Sorry, I’m just trying to get comfortable.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, wondering if your discomfort was caused by his teasing or if you truly were in pain. The longer he looked at you, the more concerned he became. He could see that you were worrying your lip, eyes cast downward like you were focusing on something.

“Darlin', are you still with me?” Joel asked, seeing that you didn't answer his question, the one he just asked if your discomfort was due to feeling ill. You never heard him because you weren't listening. You were too focused on your hands, twirling your napkin between your fingers and fidgeting, overthinking things again. Will Joel even want me that way, or will he leave just like all the others? 

“Hey, honey, I was just teasing about your pizza topping choice. Just joking, you can eat it any way you like, darlin’.” Joel touched your hand affectionately, trying to bring you back to the present.

“I know, it's just- what happens when all of this gets too hard?” You said, looking up at him with wide eyes. 

“What? What do you mean, too hard?” Joel was now sitting back and looking at you with a puzzled expression. He was trying to figure out why you suddenly changed your mood. Two seconds ago, Joel was teasing you about your pizza topping choice. You both were relaxed, enjoying each other's company, teasing each other back and forth. But now, the confident woman that Joel had seen just a few seconds ago was gone. He frowned at your sudden change, finding it difficult to remain optimistic about the night's events.

Joel didn't tell or show you he was nervous about tonight's date. He thought that you were beautiful, even though you were much younger. You were on a different path in life. You were 29, looking at living life and planning for your future, while Joel was 47, divorced, and looking towards retirement and potentially becoming a grandfather in the next ten years with two kids that were almost entirely grown up.

Joel has never attempted to date a woman 18 years younger than him; you were the first. Joel didn't know if you could relate to him or if he could relate to you. But the longer you interacted with him, the more he felt at ease. That was until he heard your comment about something being too complicated. It was unsettling to him, especially when his love life and family life were the true definition of what complicated meant.

“Joel, I mean, you, me, and all of this. What happens when all of this gets too complicated?” You were waving your arms around, motioning at the two of you and your surroundings.

“Oh, yeah, I see. Uh, I can understand how this can all be difficult for you or complicated.” Joel felt his heart sink in his chest; he needed to end this before it got any further and before you got any more embedded into his life to hurt him. If you weren't looking for a relationship, he should cut his losses and end it with you. If you didn't like complicated, then you wouldn't like him. His entire life was complicated. Joel had baggage and a lot of it. He didn't want to lead you on if you weren't looking for some type of commitment because he wasn’t looking for anything casual. 

“Look, darlin’, if you're not sure, then maybe we should just-” 

“I like you a lot, ok? I haven't dated in a while, but you make me feel safe. And no one has done that in a long time. No one ever wants the complications of me being sick, so I get it if you don't, but I want this to work. I don't want you to hurt me, though, when you find out I'm not enough.” You raced the words out, feeling embarrassed for getting this out in the open, but from your past experiences, you knew that, eventually, this conversation would come up. You figured now was the best time to discuss this topic, especially before Joel embedded himself into your life. You didn't think Joel would want a serious relationship with you, being an older man. He probably wasn't looking for commitment, marriage, or kids. Those were things that you knew you wanted. What you didn't want was a one-night stand or a casual hookup. You can't separate sex from love, and you weren't about to start now, no matter how sexy the man was in front of you. You have always liked older men but never had anyone even care to look at you until now.

Joel was amazed at your admission and the guts it took to tell someone that, especially on the first date. But he was also frustrated at you cutting yourself down, saying that you weren't enough when you were. While Joel didn't diminish your feelings, being sick didn't count as a difficulty to him. Could it be a slight hindrance at times? It could, but it wasn't a deal breaker for him. Joel was more of a homebody now anyway, not really into the whole party scene and going out all the time. He didn't care if plans changed. He wasn’t a 20-year-old boy. 

Joel reached across the table with a small smile and took your hand. He whispered, “Baby, that's never gonna happen,” as he gently kissed the top of your hand.

“No? How- how come?” You whispered. Your heart was beating fast in your chest as Joel slowly moved his fingertips lightly up and down the inside of your palm. The feather-light touches sent tingles down your spine, especially when he kissed and lightly nipped your wrist. 

Joel needed to calm your and his nerves. While he didn't want to have this conversation now, he knew it was better to get these feelings out in the open so both parties could decide how to move forward. That was one thing he learned from his previous marriage: to speak your mind when something bothers you. 

Joel stopped moving his hand and looked into your eyes. He could see a mixture of shyness, arousal, and what he thought was also fear; not fear of being with him, but fear of him leaving you. You both were broken inside from past relationships, wanting someone to see you for who you were. Joel didn't know how the future would evolve for the two of you; he just knew that his heart was beating fast in his chest, and butterflies were in his stomach because of the beautiful woman in front of him—someone he desperately wanted to get to know.

“You wanna know why I know that, honey?”

You gently nodded your head.

“It's because I like you a lot, too,” Joel confessed, intertwining his fingers with yours and gently stroking his thumb on your hand. “Honey, I know you're sick, but that won't stop me. We'll figure it out. I haven't felt like this in a long time with a woman, and I’d be a damn fool if I didn't continue seeing you because of it. I don't want casual honey; I want an honest-to-God, committed relationship.”

Joel slowly reached forward and tucked a strand of your hair that fell out of your ponytail behind your ear. He gently cupped your cheek, stroking it with his thumb. “So stop fussin', ok? We'll figure it out; it's just you and me, alright?”

You nodded your head, exhaling the breath that you were holding. Joel squeezed your hand once more as he got up to go and throw away both of your trash. As you watched Joel walk away, you knew that you made an excellent decision by agreeing to go on this date with him. You just hoped he was telling you the truth.

After talking for the next hour, you decided to walk to a nearby park. As you slowly walked, Joel reached out and grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers together. It felt so good to have him hold your hand. You could see that he was trying and wanted this to work as much as you did. It made your heart race and your head feel dizzy at the thought that someone actually and truly cared about you and wanted to be with you. 

The two of you talked about Joel's life before he became a massage therapist. He told you that he was a construction worker who owned his own business before he hurt his back. After a year of treatment, including painful back surgery to remove a few bulged disks, Joel had to leave that line of work and sell his business to Tommy, his younger brother, who still manages it today in Texas.

“How did you end up in Minnesota, then?” You had asked as you both sat on a bench, eating ice cream from the small ice cream truck nearby.

“Well, that’s kinda a funny story, really,” Joel commented as he stole a bite of your chocolate ice cream, and then you stole a bite from his plain vanilla one.  “My daughters, Sarah and Ellie, live in lower Michigan with their mother, my ex-wife.” He paused, seeing if this admission of being divorced and having kids would be an issue for you.  When you looked at him curiously, seeing that you wanted him to continue, he told you the rest of the story.  

“Well, Tess, my ex-wife, took a job in Michigan when I was 28 when we got divorced. At the time, she had completely signed custody of the girls over to me.  When I hurt my back when I was 32, she took me back to court and requested custody changes.”

“What kind of custody changes?” You slowly placed your spoon down from your ice cream. The cold was starting to give you a headache, and you began to feel sick again with your autoimmune.

“Well, she felt I couldn't care for the girls properly because I was injured and healing from back surgery. According to her, I wasn’t working, yet I still owned my business and received paychecks from it. But still, to her, I wasn’t a father who could provide well enough for our girls, which was untrue.”

When Joel looked up at you, he was immediately concerned. You were starting to look pale on your face, and you were beginning to sweat. “She felt she was a better-fit parent to raise our girls, and the court sided with her.”

“What? How?” You couldn't understand how a judge would find him unfit as a parent just because he had back surgery and was injured.

“Well, that’s where it gets interesting.  The man she was dating at the time, secretly dating, was the judge who ruled in her favor.” 

“Oh my God, Joel. That is- that’s fucking horrible.” You reached out and gently squeezed his hand. You were trying to stay focused, but you kept having moments of dizziness mixed with horrible pain in your back and joints. Your body was suddenly starting to give you a flare-up of your autoimmune symptoms. You always hated it when your body did this, but right now, you were embarrassed because this was not what you wanted on your first date with Joel.

Joel noticed that you were getting worse and more pale in the face. You had officially removed your sweater, and he could see that you were sweating profusely.

“Honey, are you ok? You're not looking good.”

“No, I'm fine. I just need some water, and then I'll be okay.”

Joel got up and bought two bottles of water from the ice cream stand where you two were sitting. When he returned, he handed you one of the bottles and told you to drink. You murmured, “Thanks,” and then asked him to continue his story.

He smiled slightly at you as you murmured you were feeling a little better to him. 

“Well, one thing led to another, and I sold my business and returned to school to get my massage therapist license. I wanted to help people with injuries or chronic diseases that make it difficult for them.  I had a few back surgeries again along the way, three to be exact, all here in Minnesota with a specialist.  I had to live here for an entire year after my last surgery.  Tess said that if I were willing to live here full time, she would be okay with letting the girls come every other weekend, during holiday breaks, and then stay with me every summer.  So that’s what I did; I moved here to see my girls.”

“Is Tess still seeing that judge, then?” You took your sweater and wiped your forehead. You were now getting horrible hot flashes. You knew that if your body didn't quit, you'd have to end your date sooner with Joel than you wanted.

“No, Tess found out that the judge was married, and he said that he wasn’t leaving his wife for her. Kind of a perfect ending to a shitty situation, if you ask me.” 

Joel knew something was wrong when he saw your face lose color and sweat dripping from your forehead. 

“Darlin', you don't look well.” Joel knew your autoimmune was unmanaged and that you’d report getting these horrible symptoms when it flared up. But he didn’t expect this to come on so suddenly like this, and it worried him.

This was life with your autoimmune disease. You lived with this disease every day, and sometimes days were good. Other days, like today, made living life very difficult. You had been hoping this flare-up of symptoms would pass, but something was wrong; you could feel it.

“Joel, I'm sorry, I-I don't feel very well. I think I need to go home. I'm so sorry I-”

“No, darlin', don't apologize, it's okay. Come on, I'll take ya home.”

“No, I drove. I can-”

“Darlin', I'm not letting you drive home looking as sick as you are. Now come on honey, I'll drive ya, and we can pick up your car later, okay?”

Joel stood up and walked around the other side of the picnic table, where you were seated. You were mad, hating that your body did this to you. You mumbled, “Great, you blew it again, woman. Finally, get a nice guy, and this crap happens; good luck getting him to go out again with you.”

Joel heard what you said, and it upset him to think that your getting sick would bother him. Yes, it did bother him that you were ill. But not because it messed up the date you two were having, but because of how you looked; he wasn't comfortable just leaving you alone. You were so pale in the face, and you were struggling to stand that Joel was more concerned that you may need to go to the emergency room before the night was over.

As soon as Joel was by your side, he helped you stand. He took in your features and saw how suddenly weak you had become. Your hands had visible tremors, and you kept wincing and grabbing your back.

“Hey, honey, can you look at me briefly.” Joel gently took your hand and was looking at you in the eyes. “First, I don’t care what other people have done before me, darlin’. I’m telling you that I want another date with you, alright?”

When you nodded your head, he continued. “But, more importantly, I'm uncomfortable just dropping you off at home. Is there someone I can call that can stay with you?”

Shaking your head, you mumbled, “No, Joel, I don't have any family around.” 

“What about friends? I'm sure you have some friends that care about you enough that they would come and sit with you tonight.”

When he watched you look down, lip trembling at his question, Joel knew that he had majorly fucked up. You, indeed, were alone. This illness took special people away from you at your age. You reminded Joel of a cancer patient going through treatment, especially with how fast the illness symptoms came on. He remembered his mom being like that before she died of cancer. It broke his heart to think that you were struggling through life with this illness and that no one in these moments cared enough about you. He knew you had friends, as you talked about them earlier. But apparently, those friends were only surface-level friends, and when difficult moments like this happened, they were nowhere around.

“Oh baby, c’mere.” 

Joel pulled you into his chest and held you for a moment. “How about this, darlin’, I’ll take you home and stay the night with you. Don't worry. I'll sleep on the couch or the floor if you don't have a couch.”

You just nodded, but as you turned to leave, something in the world must have happened because it felt like the Earth tilted on its axis. As soon as you took a step, your vision went blurry, your face hit the ground hard, and you didn’t remember anything after that. You had fainted.

As you turned to leave, Joel grabbed your water bottles and sweater. As soon as he turned back around, it was like slow motion happened for him. Joel watched you take two steps towards the exit, and then all color left your face as your eyes rolled back into your head. You fell to the ground like a ton of bricks.  As soon as he saw that you were collapsing, he mumbled “shit” under his breath and then was moving fast to get to your side.

“Baby, come on. Open your eyes for me. Come on, baby, can you open your eyes? Darlin', look at me.” Joel was kneeling on the ground, lightly tapping your cheek. He was trying to get you to wake up after your fainting episode.  As soon as you started to come back around, you began coughing horribly. Joel quickly turned you on your side, rubbing your back as you kept coughing.

“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay.  I’m right here, slow breaths, come on now.”  He was gently holding your head as you lay on your side, coughing and struggling to breathe after your fainting episode.

“Hey man- is she ok?” another man yelled, approaching the two of you.

“Yeah, maybe we need to call an ambulance,” a woman shouted as she quickly approached.

When he heard a third person add their two cents about the situation, Joel's patience had officially expired. 

“Yeah, I saw the whole thing happen. She just collapsed, and her father rushed to her side,” another man yelled approaching.

“STOP,” Joel yelled. Glancing down, he saw you wince at everyone’s statements and try to hide your face. This was the last thing you needed: a crowd of people telling you what to do.  

“I’m a medical professional, and I have it under control. I’m also her boyfriend, NOT her father, ok? She’s awake now, and she’s done coughing. She stated she didn’t feel well before she turned around. I was going to take her home, and then this happened.”

“Well, I still think she needs an ambulance called. I’m going to-”

“For the love of God, please leave me alone; I'm fine now,” you snapped, turning more on your side to cover your face. You were so embarrassed for fainting in front of Joel and for the crowd that was now gathering around you.

“We were just trying to help; no need to be rude,” one woman said, snapping at your comment. 

“Thank you for your concern and help,” Joel said, looking at the woman who snapped at you. “I honestly thought for a moment that I may have needed to call an ambulance for her.  But as you can see, she’s ok.  I’ll look after her and take her in tonight if she needs to be seen. Is that alright, honey?”

You gently nodded your head, looking up at him. Joel was holding you close to him, helping you feel safe. 

“Y’all go home now. We got it under control. Thanks for offerin’ to help.”

People were mumbling as they started to disperse. Joel and you never paid attention to what they were saying. 

“Do you think that we can get you to sit up without you passing out on me again?” 

Joel gently cupped your cheek, looking straight into your eyes with concern. He didn’t like seeing you sick like this. You gently nodded your head at him as you went to sit up.

“Easy. Nice and slow, sweetheart, don’t rush it.” When Joel saw your eyes start to cross again, he thought he should have let that lady call you an ambulance. 

“Woah there honey, come on now, look at me. Do I gotta call an ambulance for you after all, 'cause I will darlin’?” Joel placed his hand on your cheek, looking at you in the eyes.  He was shifting his eyes back and forth, looking to see how you were responding.

“I’m fine, Joel. Just give me a minute, ok. If I need an ambulance, I’ll call one myself.”

Joel shook his head, disagreeing with you. “Darlin’, I don’t think you’re qualified to make that determination and decision right now.”

You let out a long and exhausted sigh. To Joel's defense, he didn't know where you worked full-time when you were feeling ok.

“Joel, this is said with as much love and appreciation as I can right now, but fuck off, please. Believe it or not, I’m a Paramedic, and I know-”

“Paramedic or not, passing out and being dizzy doesn’t qualify you to treat yourself. You know this.” Joel hated reminding you of one of the biggest lessons in medicine: you don't treat yourself. He could see you were slightly annoyed and irritated with him and the other bystanders here. He decided that maybe a little humor might help lighten the tense mood.

“For the record, darlin’. I believe the proper term is ‘fuck me, please.’ And you say it when I’m doing just that.”

That made you smile and laugh at the ridiculous statement of telling off the one man still beside you. With a little bit of sass, you also added, “Yeah, and then when we’re finished, you'll moan; ah, fuck, my back.”

“Ah, there she is. There’s my sassy girl.” Joel was now laughing at your sassy attitude and statement that you just made. 

Joel looked down at you tenderly. Even though you were ill, you were still so beautiful. Joel cupped your cheek, slowly running his thumb up and down your skin. He watched you bite your lip, looking from his eyes to his lips. Tension started to fill between you both. The air was thick with it. Joel moved his hand to the back of your head, gently cradling it. He placed his forehead against yours, exhaling slowly, trying to control himself. He envisioned you underneath him but knew he couldn't tonight, not with you feeling under the weather. But soon, he'd take you in his bed and show you how a real man cared about a woman. But right now, he could give you something else. Joel slowly leaned in and gently pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was slow, soft, and passionate. 

When your lips parted slightly, he deepened the kiss, licking into your mouth and massaging his tongue against yours. When the kiss picked up in intensity, soon, you both were wrestling your tongues together, fighting to hold yourselves back. You let out a little whimper, moaning slightly into his mouth as your tongues continued to dance together. Eventually, when he pulled back, you found that you both were gasping for air.

“Baby, I'll take pain in my back any day if it means that I get to kiss you and hear you moan like that when I fuck you.”

“Joel, please-”

“Later baby, later. I promise when you're feeling better. Now, come on, let's get you home.”

You didn’t know how you lucked out and won the lottery with the man standing before you.  But goddamn, you were the richest girl in the world, especially when he kissed you like that. Joel wrapped his arm around your waist and helped you return to his truck to take you home. You didn't know then, but that would be the last first date you'd ever be on. 

3 Years Later

Joel was sitting in his office, finishing up some much-overdue paperwork. He glanced up when he heard you enter, giving you a warm smile at seeing you. But when you didn't return it, he knew something was wrong. You looked exhausted, like you hadn't slept much, yet today was your day off.

“Are you ready to go, babe?” You were not trying to sound irritated, but you failed miserably. 

You were uncomfortable, 32 weeks pregnant with Joel's child, a daughter, and she had spent all day kicking you hard in your internal organs. You were tired and frustrated, really not in the mood for grocery shopping with your husband. So when you got up to Joel's desk, you leaned back against it, placing your hand on your swelling stomach. You were trying to ease some of your discomfort. But as you did, you felt your daughter pick up with the constant kicks again. Usually, her kicks would give you comfort and joy, but not today. Today, your feet were aching, your back was hurting, and you were exhausted. You just wanted to lay down and rest today, but every time you attempted to, your daughter would give you hard, steady kicks against your internal organs.

“I’m almost done, sweetheart, then we'll go.” Joel smiled, quickly finishing up with his final notes from today.  

Next week was Joel's 50th birthday, so this weekend, you wanted to throw him an outdoor barbeque with his closest friends and family to celebrate his birthday. You wanted to go shopping tonight for all the supplies for this weekend, and Joel agreed to go with you to help you pick out the items he wanted. He was looking forward to the barbeque, and you were too about three months ago when you first planned it. Now, you weren't too keen on the idea of hosting 30 people in your backyard when you were 32 weeks pregnant.

You let out another long sigh, feeling the weight of life once again kick the hell out of you. You reminded yourself that this is what you wanted, a baby to grow inside you. But right at this moment, you wanted to go back to the night Joel fucked you to conceive this little fire pistol and hit your husband right in the nuts. 

“You know there, little one, you can stop kicking Mama so damn hard for once, and just quiet down, please.” You slowly rubbed your belly where you were feeling a fluttering of kicks. When Joel heard your discomfort, he immediately put his pen down and sat back in his chair.

“Baby, come here.” 

You slowly shuffled over to your husband, standing between his widened legs, then gently leaned yourself back against his desk.  As soon as you took up your proper standing position, Joel immediately took his hands and gently held each side of your belly, feeling his daughter kick both of you.

“Shh there, baby girl, don’t be so hard on your mama.  Daddy missed you today.” Joel slowly leaned forward and kissed your belly several times while his daughter kicked.

You had a huge baby belly at 32 weeks pregnant and in your last trimester. If people looked at you from behind, they'd never know you were pregnant. But from the front, it looked like you swallowed a giant basketball. So, to put it mildly, you were exhausted.  

Joel and you had been married for almost two years when you popped positive on a pregnancy test.  You both weren’t trying for a baby. She came to you as a surprise, and you were so happy to have her.  You had stopped your birth control the night of your wedding, hoping to get pregnant.  But after two years and a lot of tests, you had given up on the ability to have kids.  The doctors said that your body wasn’t accepting pregnancy because of your autoimmune disease.  So you went on with life thinking that you couldn’t get pregnant at all.  Then, by some miracle, the first night that you and Joel spent in the new house that you had built, he fucked you on every available surface, knocking you up somewhere between the kitchen counter and the coffee table. But now, as you rapidly approached your due date, you found yourself struggling with horrible exhaustion with the simple things in life like walking.  You were lucky that your autoimmune disease had calmed down so much during pregnancy, a hidden fail-safe that most people didn’t know about.  The problem was delivery day was rapidly approaching, and you were scared about what would happen with your autoimmune after your daughter came out.  But today, you didn't concern yourself with those fears, as you were exhausted at the fact that she wouldn’t let you hardly sleep last night nor relax anytime today.

“Babe, what’s the matter?” Joel had stopped kissing your stomach and was now cautiously looking at his wife. You were breathing fast with your eyes closed. 

“Honey, are you ok?” Again, you did not respond. Joel called your name, but you never opened your eyes. Your eyes were closed as your breathing became erratic.

“Hey, come on, look at me. Baby, open your eyes and look at me.”

“Jesus Joel, what?”

Joel's heart was in his throat at your lack of responding to him for a moment. He still didn't like how you were breathing, but at least now you were looking at him. He could see that you were frustrated, so he ignored that you snapped at him.

“Honey, talk to me, what's the matter?” Joel slowly rubbed your belly as he felt your daughter kick again. Tears welled up in your eyes, frustration and exhaustion being evident.

“I’m fine, it's just, it’s hard today, alright?” You placed your head in your hands as you felt your pregnancy hormones take over, and a light sob escaped your mouth.

Pregnancy hormones were complex every day, but today, they were awful. You hated the constant need of wanting your husband to be inside of you. You were horny for him, sex being something you haven't done in a few weeks again because of scheduling conflicts. But your daughter was constantly beating every organ inside of you, turning your need for your husband into something you couldn't do yet again. You were so exhausted today and just feeling so overwhelmed with life.

“Woah there, Angel, come on, talk to me. Baby, why are you crying? Are you getting contractions, honey?” Joel lowered his hand, trying to feel if contractions were starting anywhere on your belly.

“No, it's just she’s been kicking like this all day.” 

When Joel realized your tears were out of the pain of kicks, and not contractions, and mostly frustration, he felt himself calm down. Joel gently rubbed your belly, trying to calm your daughter down.

“She's been kicking you all day like this, hasn't she?”

“Yes,” you winced as your daughter sucker punched the heck out of your ribs once again, causing you to wince and call out in pain.

“Woah, there, little lady, that was a powerful kick. How about we save those punches for when boys wanna come around later in life, huh? Give your mama a break and let her rest.” 

Joel crouched down and kissed your belly again, talking to his daughter and trying to get her to quiet down for you. When he felt a strong kick against his mouth, he sat back and then scolded her. 

“Excuse me there, Baby Miller, but kicking your daddy hard in the mouth isn't very nice. We'll have none of that behavior, young lady, ya hear me?”

“God, Joel, I love our daughter, but today, these kicks fucking hurt. I thought maybe you’d want me after shopping, but how do people do this?” You exhaled again as your daughter kicked your ribs on your other side, not as hard, but still a firm kick.

Joel slowly stood up and gently lifted your chin. When he spoke his next sentence, he wanted you to look at him straight in the eyes. 

“Darlin’, don’t you ever question if I fucking want you, ya hear me. Baby, I always want you, day or night; it doesn't matter. And for the record, it isn’t me who needs any prep time to get in the mood; it's you. But with kicks like this, I’m assuming it’s a no again for any intimate time, which is okay.” 

Joel raised his hands defensively, ensuring you understood that he didn’t expect anything from you. But when he turned to walk across the room to grab his raincoat, you mumbled sarcastically under your breath. “No, the real reason is I look like a stupid whale; that’s why you don’t want me.”

Hearing what you said, Joel immediately spun around and glared at you. He was upset you were talking down to yourself and how you looked. You were his wife, who was carrying his child, and god dammit, you weren't a whale, and he did want you. You were a sexy, beautiful, attractive woman, even while pregnant. Joel loved you, but your constant put-downs of yourself were starting to tick him off.

“What was that? What did y’say?” 

“Nothin’,” you mumbled, knowing that Joel heard you criticize yourself. You knew you should have just kept your mouth shut.

Joel slowly approached you and placed his coat on the chair. You looked down, slowly biting your lip. 

“No, little girl, eyes up here.” Joel gently grabbed your chin and tilted your head up. When your eyes met his, you saw that they were impossibly dark, pupils were blown wide with lust.

“First, darlin', you ain't a whale, so none of that. And second, you're my wife who's pregnant with my daughter; that's sexy by itself, baby. And for the record, I fucking want you.” Joel grabbed your ass and gave it a firm squeeze while slowly thrusting his hips against your closed heat. You could feel that he was already hard, but he didn’t rip off your clothes. That’s not what you needed right now, and you both knew that. 

Joel slowly reached out and started stroking your belly lightly while gently tilting your head to give you a slow, tender kiss. However, very quickly you were the one to deepen the kiss, nipping his lower lip and shoving your tongue in his mouth. Joel growled at your heated kiss, struggling to keep his composure with you.

“Darlin', if we don't slow down, I won't be held responsible for what I will do. Do not tease me, baby,” he said through gritted teeth.

But you didn't want to listen, nipping Joel again on the lip, trying to provoke a heated reaction from him. As he went to give you a gentle tap on your ass and to rip your pants off, you let out a sudden cry in pain. 

“Fuck, shit, ow.”

“Ok, darlin', enough horsing around, what's happening?” Joel snapped at you, no longer wanting to play this game of you not communicating with him when he could see your discomfort.

“It's your damn child kicking my freaking cervix Joel. God, why is she doing this today?”

“I don't know, baby, but how about we head home? I'll give you a massage and try to get her to calm down. You're stressed mama, and that's unhealthy for you and our daughter. Now come on, up we go.”

Joel made good on his promise to take you home and help you relax. About five minutes after he began massaging your belly, your daughter finally calmed down. Apparently, she just wanted a little attention from her daddy. About fifteen minutes after she settled in, you finally fell asleep, exhaustion winning. As Joel looked down at your resting form, all swollen and pregnant with his child, he smiled. Life was extraordinary, giving him the chance to have a family again, but this time when he was older and almost 50. 

Joel made dinner and let you sleep the rest of the night. Later, as he lay next to your sleeping form, he felt his heart swell with affection and love for you.  He reached out and gently touched your belly, feeling his daughter was finally calm and asleep. He stared at you in the dark, until his eyes felt heavy with sleep and he found himself drifting off to thoughts of you. Joel didn't care what people thought about whether he should be with you at such an older age. Joel was damn happy that you were in his life, and to believe that this all started because of a simple debate about pineapple on your pizza. And that was the best 50th birthday present ever: the chance to have happiness once again.

End Part 2

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

I need some clarification here, because I'm getting conflicting information with what I've been taught is "fandom protocol" (I'm an elder, so maybe I'm out of the loop a bit.) I was under the impression that if you disagree with someone, block and move on with life. Don't engage, don't mob, just block and move on with life. I see you reblogging posts from folks who have admitted that that's what they did - followed basic fandom protocol.

Are you now saying that those that reblogged that screenshot post are responsible for sending the message that "it's okay to mob the OP with death threats" by doing so? Aren't most of these blogs 18+ that are admittedly only responsible for their own actions? Are we now to wait 24 hours to ensure there's not a dialogue that needs to happen? Obviously fact-checking should be done, but things slip through, especially when it's from a source we perceive as a vetted source.

You're starting to hold folks accountable for crimes which they confess they did not commit. One offered a sincere, public apology taking responsibility for their actions, an acknowledgement of the harm they caused, and a commitment to doing better in the future along with removing the offending post after your call out. Isn't that what a good apology is?

I think you've moved the goalposts on this, and it's no longer about spreading awareness of Gaz-erasure (whether intentional or not) and the inappropriate screen-grab rage-bait of a post. I am very concerned for Myka - they never should have been put in this place. But I think your emotions are swelling out past those that deserve it.

(BTW, I did send the same ask to CrashTestBunny, but I'd like your thoughts too - especially on block-and-move-on and being responsible for follower's actions as an 18+ blog.)

I did see this in bunny's blog and did ponder on what you asked and here's my two cents on it:

(this is so long)

When you're on the internet and posting things publicly, you're not isolated, you're not alone.

Your blog, even if you make sure to never reblog/interact with it or use tags and therefore think you're keeping it anonymous, you're really not.

You're never immune from being found, from being criticised for the things you say, and you are certainly not anonymous.

I start by saying that to say that there will ALWAYS be people ready to criticise others for the things they say/post or the way they act.

So even if the "fandom etiquette" dictates that you should block and move on with your life, that's not to say everyone will.

And in this case, what happened with @/codslut had nothing to do with being unable to block and move on. That only works for posts you see in your dash and don't like, because we all are responsible for curating our algorithm and choosing what we interact with.

With @/codslut, she became a victim of public scorn over a misunderstanding and misinterpretation like a game of broken telephone.

And the person that screenshotted her post and shared it with their followers knew exactly what they were doing by doing so which was publicly posting about it and creating discourse among their followers.

I want to believe they thought they were an island/isolated, but I know (and we all know) they knew they weren't. Turns out they have a history of influencing their followers (by accident or on purpose, doesn't matter) into ganging up on other creators.

And with blogs as big as the screenshotter's, with as big of a following and that much of an activity, and, of course, the reblogging that came from other big blogs with massive followings as well...

It's no wonder it all spun out of control and became unmanageable.

And, as usual, the internet will do what the internet will do, and bad apples will find their way into controversial posts (like the Gaz erasure) and then go bully people because they think they can.

And in this situation... blocking and moving on doesn't work. It simply doesn't.

@/codslut didn't have the choice to block and move on with her day. Not after what was basically a scorn campaign that sent dozens of people her way.

These blogs, big ones, have a responsibility, not to police their follower's actions (as if a parent) but to hold themselves accountable because they did throw wood into the fire by reblogging it and putting it in more people's dashboards.

They can't just wash their hands of all responsibility, because they did have a hand in it. Even if they didn't mean to.

TL;DR: 1- "Block and Move On" only works on the dash, not when people are harrassing you in your blog/inbox; 2- You're not responsible for your followers' actions, but you are responsible for the fact you instigated their actions by poking the beast.

[tim-lucy]

What do you despise about it?

Well, when it comes to The Rookie and how much I love both Tim and Lucy as characters, I really like to approach the situation from both of their points of view. It's fun for me to see if I can figure out the intent behind their actions as opposed to just feeling things and jumping to conclusions based on those feelings. I do that with many of my other shows hehehe because it's fun to just watch and scream and, at the end of the day, so much is just interpretation.

Buuuut as someone who likes to see both sides of things, I just, personally, find it hard when it comes to Lucy’s point of view here. To me, the angst only works when I can see good intentions on both sides. I don't think Lucy has bad intentions ever, but it’s hard to find the silver lining. She’s just so confident she can make this work because she’s such a bright and positive human being, and it seems as if it’s giving her a bit of tunnel vision.

I think she gets a buzz from undercover work, which I would imagine that many uc officers do. She's great at it, people tell her she's great at it, and she's felt the rush of a job well done. The excitement in her voice (kudos to Melissa's acting!!) when Tim asked if she needed to pull out and she was saying she was going to take the whole thing down from within...it just clearly gives her a thrill. When she said she would stop before it ever got to an unmanageable point I found that to be a bit questionable.

I was once doing something that was bound to get out of hand quickly, but I kept telling myself I'd stop before I ever let it get bad. I never recognized when I reached that point and then a very scary thing happened while I still thought I had everything under control. PLOT TWIST I did not LOL. Obviously, this is me self-inserting, but that's part of the reason why I'm personally so wary. If she's not willing to listen to Tim when he points out red flags, she's already in the thick of it.

On the other hand, I feel like it's unfair to Tim. If Lucy wants to do undercover then that's up to her. But I think she shouldn't be with Tim if that's the case. It's an extremely hard thing to put your partner through, not just in terms of worrying about you, but in terms of their own life. They always talk about their future kids, and by becoming a uc officer, she's essentially leaving him to be a single dad for six months to a year on and off. On top of that, what would that mean for his career? And the safety of their family, as they would all be obvious targets? It's literally the reason Harper had to leave her husband and daughter.

I also wasn't a huge fan of the way she seemed put off about his concerns at the end of the episode and acted like he simply couldn't separate her from Isabel. The lifestyle of a uc officer is the problem here, and she's a little bit too confident about her ability to avoid literally every negative thing that comes with being a uc.

I really don’t want to be unfair to Lucy because it’s clearly due to her limited experience. She needs to witness it for herself. That’s human nature.

But she waaaas worried about Tim's feelings up until he actually admitted, "Yes, I am scared of losing you." Then there seemed to be a bit of a shift of attitude. I expected her to react with compassion, but that's not at all the feelings I was getting. Perhaps that's just my interpretation 🤷‍♀️

Again, I really don't think she has bad intentions! However, I do think, on some level, Lucy is (unintentionally) taking advantage of the fact that Tim would never ask her to sacrifice something she loves. But healthy relationships are about sacrifice and finding a middle ground. Tim gave up positions he loved for Lucy twice without blinking. He even took a desk job just to be with her. Given the level of valid distress he's in (I really don't believe his past with Isabel is the problem, as more as it's made him aware that there will be a problem) it is painful that she’s not willing to do the same. At least, not yet. I’m sure she will once she has the experience everyone keeps warning her about.

If she does love this career so much that would choose it over being with Tim, then she needs to make that clear. My issue is with her trying to have both. Lucy is just such a compassionate person especially when it comes to Tim and his feelings, so it's difficult to watch 😞

ANYWAY!! There's my essay on why I personally don't love this plot line and the way the writers have chosen to go about it. Just my thoughts!! I will step off my soap box now and continue to make moving pictures in this era of canon chenford!! 🏃‍♀️

[dustedmagazine]

Ladytron — Time’s Arrow (Cooking Vinyl)

Photo by Wendy Redfern

Ladytron already had their big comeback. The formed-in-Liverpool, now-international quartet took a few years to assemble their starkly dystopian 2019 self-titled record, shortly before the rest of the world became dystopic in new and interesting ways. Ladytron was practically the model of (one version of) a triumphant return: bigger and bolder and weightier than ever, a real Statement (but with tunes). Everyone’s senses of time seem increasingly fuzzy, but the gap between its release and that first period of chaos and uncertainty seems vanishingly small in retrospect. In 2023, though, no matter how cautious or reckless any of us are being, the simple fact is that living in a still unmanaged pandemic (not to mention… everything else) has become in some way routine. None of the systems of power, control and repression that Ladytron evoked have gone away, but the horrible truth is that humans will adjust to just about anything, even constantly shrieking alarms. Fittingly enough, the first record Ladytron have made in this new normal is less about noticing those structures and more about limning the small moments of beauty, joy and freedom that can still be found within them.

This thematic and tonal shift doesn’t require much of a change in sonics. Mira Arroyo and Helen Marnie’s vocals still feel like each syllable is carefully placed, calibrated to summon up emotions without necessarily directly expressing catharsis. The music sticks to the same general lane Ladytron have trafficked in since they (plus Daniel Hunt and Reuben Wu) moved away from the straightforward throwback synthpop of the first two LPs with 2005’s dreampop-adjacent Witching Hour. That record really unlocked Ladytron’s sound and they haven’t exhausted its possibilities yet; the pulse and stomp of opener “City of Angels” or the sparkling twilight balladry of “Misery Remember Me” are classic examples of what Ladytron has always done well and why it’s good to have them back. 

Especially on the back half of Time’s Arrow, though, there are some new wrinkles. Has Ladytron ever had a song as plainly joyous as “The Night,” with the synths surging warmly around Marnie almost cooing “so let’s go crazy”? It’s followed directly by “The Dreamers,” a little more downcast but still sounding like the soundtrack to running away with someone. Elsewhere “California” almost pleads for the titular state to “make us happy” (albeit on a track that sounds like slowly sliding down the side of a glacier). As you dig into the lyrics none of the songs here are facilely happy, or in denial about the same emotional and structure issues Ladytron brought to the surface. But if that last record was about coming to terms with living in an ongoing disaster (ecological and otherwise), Time’s Arrow is more about navigating life after that kind of realization. The day in/day out still happens, time’s arrow (as Arroyo sings on the closing title track) still glides through your heart. 

As is common on Ladytron records, Marnie sings most of the songs but Arroyo’s couple of leads are crucial. In addition to time another big throughline here is the always-shifting power memory, and on the first side’s “Flight From Angkor” she faces it directly: “memory's a hall of mirrors / echoing for years.” Things keep happening, and the longer they do the more hazy our grasp on that moment of realization we had gets. What is there to do but draw together, find safety and community where we can, try to change things, and dance? 

Ian Mathers

[jolieflows]

—Ostern'; Hasentag—

“Large conflicts make the world feel unmanageable and intangible to us. Nonetheless, there is a brilliant or dim light at the end of the tunnel. The mental tenacity that defines luminosity. If burned too brightly, it will burn out.”

Stepping onto her balcony was Angelina. Unaware that it had been some time since she last visited this specific plain. Also unfamiliar to her but ingrained in her consciousness. She let her delicate hands smooth away any potential rust by rubbing them against the shiny metal of the balcony railing. Standing, existing, and breathing in the air that around her felt almost strange. How brief life is, how it might be, yet how hospitable all the changes have been and will be.

Her blue eyes soaked up the sun's radiance, allowing the light to wash her. The brunette took off her silk top and leaned over the railing to get closer to the sun. Today was Easter, or rather, what Angelina jokingly mistook for "Bunny Day." As the gentle wind chilled her bones, the sun's heat seemed like dancing love coals on her face. What is there to do on a "Easter Sunday" that hasn't previously been done? It's safe to say that the stunning actress had penned a large number of poems, saved her work for her travels, and...had grown more aware of what she had missed. Missed in the absence sense. Her lips twisted into a half-smile as she thought back on the previous days.

“Ich bin verliebt in diese Saison … in das, was ich bin.” The German words, flowed freely from her mouth as she spoke to no one; just herself.

It was true. Angelina had developed a sense of who she was. Including all the complexities of existing, breathing, and loving. She was no longer just an actress. Much more, and it frequently made her afraid. She was now a writer for publications like TIMES, the Wall Street Journal, Global Traveler Inc., etc. But, she was now even closer to the love of her life, which made her giddy with happiness. Yet, Angelina had a strong urge to change with the season today.

Angelina found herself in the flower-filled garden before she knew what had happened. She had taken off her floral skirt and was now barefoot, only wearing her matching silk bra and underwear. Her skin blended with that earthy sensation and the alluring aroma of flowers, soil, and honeysuckle. The actress danced on the uncut, untrimmed grass and weeds, letting her hair blow in the wind. The exquisite flowers, with their open petals appearing to welcome her, gave her skin a slight tingle. The woman tipped her head back and giggled lowly, possibly in delirium, but with genuine ecstasy. It meant so much to her to stop, drop, and roll in this magnificent garden.

Throughout the house, Angelina had left her countless cameras, both used and unused. She looked up at the tempting sun with her legs crossed and her back close to the grass. Its rays are making her more endearing, complimenting her, and in Angelina's thinking, warming and praising her. Because there was no longer the mental pain of a conflict. Naturally, the pouty lip actress was aware that there would still be times when she would barely hang on and the need to lie in the garden would seem like an insurmountable obstacle. Not right now, though. Just her—no camera, no writing instruments. She, the flowers, the Planet, her thoughts, and this Easter Sunday's springtime.

Angelina would remain there, safe in the company of dandelion, rose, tulip, and other wild flowers—a garden of euphoric delight. Her hair was strewn across the grass, her eyes were innocently staring into the sun, and she was thinking only beautiful things. She would lie there on Easter Sunday and perhaps the following "Bunny Day" as well.

“...And if it burns out, it can always be re-lit. Be reignited, reconstructed by all and anything. No stipulation on time, no chain on creativity—and no stain on progress. Life is, in all ways, conflict and strife...but just enough love to make it a life.”

[tarnishedxknight]

@pretty-isnt-pretty-enough

Catalina frowned at how instantaneous Ashelia’s shift was. She understood the need to constantly perform, perhaps better than any Avenger, but Catalina hoped the habit could be broken. Ashelia, after all, didn’t have to lie to every single one of her teammates about her intentions on a daily basis. She still didn’t know why Umbrella was so obsessed with the concept of nethicite, but she held the information close to her chest in the meantime. If something like that fell into the wrong hands… Catalina didn’t want to know what might happen.

“You’re not together yet. I see the way you look at each other.” She folded her arms and smirked. “Besides, you never know what might happen. I swore I’d never commit to a relationship, but I met Carlos, and… things changed for me.” That was the understatement of the century. She’d thought spying was the only thing that mattered to anyone, but her identity outside of it had been fully realized once she’d started to go out with him. If Catalina quit at any point, he probably wouldn’t fault her or hold it against her, which was a tremendous relief. She’d found someone who loved her, Catalina Cisneros, for who she was and not an idealized version of her. “My inten— we’re not getting married. But he’s sweet and kind and funny, and he always puts others over himself. He wouldn’t take issue with it, trust me.”

Catalina knew what it was like to feel disconnected from the person you once were and the person you were becoming, and fashion was a large part of discovering herself once more. Reclaiming her culture was another integral part of that journey; she got to speak Spanish with Ashelia and Carlos instead of creepy old men who objectified her on missions, and she went by Catalina (or Cata, with those she was truly close with) instead of Catherine. She laughed as Ashelia teased her about her red dress, and she extended her left leg, where the dress had a very high slit.

“I have a question for you, and I need you to be honest with me.” Ashelia’s tells were obvious to her, but then, she’d always been great at deciphering people’s deceptions. She had to be. “Do you ever not… feel like a person? Or like your life is unmanageably sized? And you don’t know who you are anymore? I’ve been there before, and that’s why I want to take you out tonight.

When they arrived at the mall, Catalina smiled and spread her arms, gesturing towards the various shops. People were everywhere, and though Catalina had first started coming to observe for missions, she’d eventually ended up enjoying shopping. Her money could be spent however she wished, and the clothing she wore, the way she styled her hair, and the makeup she donned contributed to her identity in an important way. The same thing must be true for Ashelia, she reasoned.

“This is going to be fun! I haven’t seen Carlos in a month, and I like adding pieces to my closet here and there.” She smiled and took Ashelia by the hand. “But this isn’t about me, it’s about you! It’s important to look like you, and whatever Natasha is trying to dress you in isn’t working, chica. That’s okay, but you want to develop a style that’s all yours. We could go to the hair salon first or one of the dress shops…”

___________

Not together... yet? Was there a chance they could be? Of course not! The idea of it brought color to Ashelia’s cheeks nevertheless. “N-no, you don’t understand,” she said, knowing that Catalina knew nothing of her time period. “I don’t look at him in any particular way, nor does he look at me,” she said, but it was clear that she was frantically trying to convince Catalina, perhaps out of fear, that nothing was there. The reflexive response to avoid scandal and dire repercussions that they both would have faced in their own time was still very real for Ashe. “Basch was my father’s Knight Captain. A lesser noble, a foreigner... and many years my senior. There can never be anything between us, it just... isn’t done. I was never free to choose who I spend my life with. It was decided for me when I was a child. It had to be, for it was of the utmost importance that I marry well and strategically for the sake of Dalmasca. Royalty... do not have the luxury of love or attraction. Marriages were political alliances and nothing more.”

“I-...” Should she venture to say this? Rasler was dead, and yet, Ashe still felt trapped by the ring she still wore on her ring finger. His own wedding ring, retrieved at his burial, was on her right hand. It felt wrong to take them off, as if she still owed him some sort of devotion as an apology for not preventing his untimely death. “I was married to someone else, before coming here. He perished in the war. Basch tried to protect him, but...” She shook her head. “He was royalty, like me. Don’t you see, I would only ever be permitted to be with someone of equal stature.” But was that still true? “At least... it was that way in my own time...” she quickly added. “But my father would never have approved of anything between Basch and I.”

She turned even redder as Catalina said she didn’t have any intentions of marrying Carlos. “You-... Oh. Oh, I’m terribly sorry for assuming,” Ashelia said. “I only thought-... Well, the two of you seem so... intimately involved.” She stopped talking, lest she manage to dig herself deeper. Was it not appropriate in these times to marry someone you were bedding? Carlos was bedding Catalina, wasn’t he? They seemed to have that level of closeness between them, but then again, maybe Ashelia had completely misunderstood. “Please forgive my rudeness,” she said, hoping that would be enough to smooth things over.

Ashelia tried her best to avert her eyes as Catalina lifted her leg and her dress parted at the slit. Considering women to be attractive was most definitely not something that had been accepted in Ashe’s time, and so her bisexuality was a very closely kept secret. Only her brother Caelen knew, and she’d sworn him to secrecy. She knew he wouldn’t say anything, though, because he was bisexual too and struggling to come to terms with it. Even so, she knew she ought not to stare at beautiful women, much as she might want to.

Catalina’s question, though... It struck Ashelia in a very deep and unexpected place. Tears came to her eyes quicker than she could hold them back. “I constantly felt that way, before my father was killed. I seemed to exist only as a bargaining piece, not as the true heir I should have been, all because I was born female. My destiny should have been to rule, and instead I could only hope to be married off...” And that was not even the worst of it. “But the sad thing is that I would gladly suffer that fate now, if I could only return to my own time! Here, I feel like a useless, discarded anachronism! With no purpose, no future, and no... place...” She covered her mouth with her hand and closed her eyes. “I’m sorry...” she whispered a moment later. “I did not mean to yell.” She shrugged hopelessly. “I have no idea who I am anymore, and I am not certain clothes will change that.”

That was not to say that she wasn’t up for shopping with her, though. “I appreciate the offer, and I would like to go, even if it doesn’t solve all my problems suddenly in one fell swoop,” she said with a smile, despite her tears. As Catalina flew into a pleasant frenzy about all they were going to do that day, Ashelia blinked in confusion. “Look... like me? I look how I ought to look. How else am I to appear?” she asked, not quite understanding. “I never thought much about how I wanted to look. It was always decided for me.” SHe looked down at herself when her friend said that Natasha’s ideas of jeans and a t-shirt weren’t working for her. “They aren’t?” she asked. “I was told these were customary for this time period.” Her brow furrowed. “A style that’s... all mine? I’m not sure I understand. If I could, I would return to Dalmascan styles, but... no one seems to know what those are in this time period...”

[invincible-selfxmade-punk]

Oh my gosh thank you so much!!!

I had to do a bit of laundry today because it had just gotten unmanageable and if I waited until the afternoon it was no way to even begin to do it. So I got up super early and of course rewarded myself with some iced coffee from my favorite place so yes I definitely got my coffee today.😁😁😁

The only reason I'm not in therapy right now is because the therapist that I had for 4 years stop doing therapy when she gave birth and I guess just didn't want to miss any time with your child. Which I cannot blame her for it all. But she did not turn her clients over to anybody else she just kind of left us. Now at the time this happened I had not been in therapy in quite a while mainly because of covid but in looking to get back into therapy that's when I found out she was no longer practicing. Since then I have not had the money nor have I been able to travel the way I used to because of my eyesight. After hearing all awful stuff about Better Health I'm really hesitant to do anything online but at some point I know I need to again. But anyway what you said about me being resilient, she would tell me that all the time and it always kind of dumbfounded me because I don't see myself as being that way at all but is so cool that others see me like that.

My dad was not close to his parents as far as I know. And he was not close to his family in general because they were catholic and he was not and they did not have the same values he had.

He wanted to stay in his own Hometown and take care of business there and all they wanted to do was go out and make money which they did. So he was kind of old-fashioned in some of his values but he definitely taught me my work ethic.

If he hadn't been such a hardcore Republican I would have said he would have made a damn good socialist because he worked 80 hours a week, never took a vacation, and he would always tell me if anybody asks, you how you feel don't you dare tell them. Just look in their eyes and smile and say you're fine because if you show the least little bit of weakness they're going to take advantage of that and they are going to eat you alive!

. His other favorite piece of advice was if you don't work, you don't eat.

So I guess for me the only thing I have ever known is just to keep going.

Which has its drawbacks because I work myself to the point of exhaustion and when I'm not working I kind of feel guilty. Of course this summer is completely different. After the hellacious year I had with those crazy covid generation kids I have not done a single thing this summer. I have laid on my bed listen to books on tape and played games on my phone and I have had zero regret about it.

Driving it until the wheels fall off is the only life I've ever known. I guess because I lack family and have very few friends and if I don't do it for myself no one else is going to do it for me. But that being said thank you so much for coming along for the ride and for your unflagging kindness.

Happy Birthday!

@invincible-selfxmade-punk​ you are so resilient and I want to wish you the happiest of days, as well as a positive year ahead. 

I know you go through a lot as a teacher, and even more as a teacher in Texas. But you have found a way to stay true to who you are, rediscover parts of yourself and things you love, and to continue to show up for yourself and the people in your life. 

I hope you have all the coffee and whatever else you want today! And that you don’t melt in Texas lol 

Thanks for being a friend. 

[chubbology]

The Munchies

prompt: a stoner feedee's girlfriend uses him to test out new edibles and deals with his munchies

Remmy returned home from visiting relatives on the last day of December, and he was very glad to be back. They’d fed him well and his pants were tight, but all the small talk and bad vibes had been as much of a drag as usual.

He opened the door to his apartment and breathed in a familiar, potent scent.

“Baby!” Brianna ran from the kitchen and tackled him.

“Happy almost New Year! Wanna hear my resolution? Baking and getting baked. Check it out.”

She brought him over to the counter, where she was almost done filling up three containers of what Remmy had no doubt were various edibles. He ignored the kitchen mess.

“I’m liking what I see,” Remmy laughed.

She preened and then pinched his love handle. “I bet you do."

"These aren’t your typical brownies, though," she said. "This is gourmet.” She kissed her fingertips in a muah.

The first container was full of moist shortbread, the second with a kind of apple crumble dish that looked divine. Last but not least, the third had a jumble of what like peanut butter cups.

“Try something!” Brianna gushed. She seemed to be a little floaty already. “You’re gonna be my new taste tester. I think I could really be good at this. Make some cash, too.”

So Remmy tried one of the peanut butter cups. His eyes widened, and he smiled. “Bri, these are incredible.” He ate another.

“Take it easy. Two should get you stoned. So says the recipe anyway.” Brianna rubbed his pudgy forearm as he eyed the rest in the container, biting the inside of his lip. “Hey. If you’re just hungry, I can fix that. You wanna eat?”

“I’m starving,” Remmy said. A lie, since he’d had a big lunch before driving back. But he could eat.

“Okay, I’ll get you something! Pay day was Monday. Let’s splurge. What do you want?”

McDonalds, Remmy’s mind supplied easily, in an almost salacious tone. His relatives thought they were too good for McDonalds, and now his body thrummed with the desire to just get a truckload of those greasy combos and revel in the guilt and satisfaction of eating every last unhealthy bite.

Then again. Brianna probably wasn’t okay to drive right now, he didn’t feel like getting back in the car, and the scale told him he’d hit 240 recently, “Let’s just order in.”

“Sounds good to me.”

That night, as they ignored the idiots on television bringing in the New Year, the two of them picked at the apple crumble - which tasted as brilliant as Remmy had suspected - and lounged around, enjoying their high. Brianna barely touched her Chinese takeout, and Remmy ate all of his. Then hers. Then he started grazing the kitchen for more food.

Over the course of the next week, the two of them finished off the rest of what she made, plus some more recipes that turned out delicious. Brianna got a pleasant high every time, and Remmy enjoyed the edibles, too, although his experience was slightly different. It was just—

He just—

He got hungry. Munchies but on unholy overdrive. Cranked to eleven and a half. With every high, Remmy became a little more overwhelmed by the sheer amount of food he felt compelled to pack away, savory and sweet. Takeout and fast food and quarts of ice cream. Nuts and fruits, too. Jar of peanut butter here. Tub of icing there. He’d never been very active, so it came as no surprise when his clothes began stretching over his chest and belly and thighs and ass. He popped a button getting dressed one morning and couldn’t stop thinking about it the rest of the day. He hadn’t realized it would happen so quickly, his body converting all the calories into flab. Flab that padded him out chubbier than he already was, and then more on top of that. In the mirror, he started to look big.

Brianna seemed unfazed by her boyfriend’s growing girth. She took to her baking resolution with as much gusto as she did anything that interested her, and even into March, April, and May, she was selling the edibles well and raked in money that almost made her day job obsolete. Remmy was constantly praised for being “the bestest taste tester ever” and enjoyed a steady stream of free highs to balance out the lows of spending most of his time working his IT job from home.

Working, gaming, watching old movies. Remmy already stayed sitting most of the day, but as he gained weight, gained a lot, filling out his desk chair to its limits, crumbs becoming his constant companion, he felt even less like standing up. His weight climbed to 280, 290, 300.

June, July, and August passed uneventfully, and pretty happily, too. Brianna stopped asking him what food he wanted from the grocery store and just bought him things. Bought him things she knew he’d eat when he got high, things that made his ass spread wider on the couch, his arms round out like sausages, his pudgy chest start to really droop. The scale said 320, 330, 340.

Remmy gave up trying to gain control of the new appetite Brianna’s heavenly edibles seemed to install in him irrevocably. When he craved, he ate, and he ate. And like a dam breaking, his body surged with so much excess fat he began spilling out of even his newest clothes.

He was a little ashamed, sure. But quite a few of his relatives were fat, so they couldn't talk, and it felt like sweet revenge to embarrass his irritating parents by becoming so overweight. As for everyday life, well, he just moved around from room to room slower, wore the same stretchy clothes a lot, and that was it. Remmy did mention his weight in passing sometimes to gauge Brianna’s feelings about it, but Brianna only ever giggled, called him cute, and passed him her venti sugary monstrosity of a coffee concoction, which he thoughtlessly sucked down to the dregs, ingesting a thousand-plus calories just like that. This made her eyes sparkle, huge and utterly endeared.

“Like a piggy,” she said, thumbing his fat cheek. “Always willing to eat.”

In bed, she made it clear she liked him the way he was, and was becoming. And it wasn’t long before Remmy realized he was into how big he was becoming, too.

They continued like this. Getting high together and watching movies and making out and snacking. Well, Brianna snacked. Remmy feasted. Gorged himself, to put it precisely, with Brianna’s enthusiastic help. “You look good soft,” she’d tell him, playing with belly fat that his stretchiest t-shirts couldn’t cover anymore.

Remmy would swallow another bite of a snickers and spread his huge thighs a little, with effort. “You call it soft, but I’m the one who gets tired moving from the office to the kitchen.” I’m so heavy, he wanted to say. God, I’m so heavy.

“Just move your computer to the kitchen then,” she said. “Duh.”

It was a seed planted that came to fruition a month later - when Remmy’s food cravings became unmanageable and his weight climbed past 360 - that he felt he would simply be more productive during his day job if his breaks to get food from the kitchen were shorter.

By November, whether he was high or not, Remmy was grazing all day, everyday. What Brianna got from the store became insufficient, and he started a habit of ordering take out most days. In big portions. His scale creaked at 375. When Brianna wasn’t home, he sometimes ate takeout on the scale to see if the number would rise.

On Remmy’s birthday in early December, Brianna made a fresh batch of his favorites again: the peanut butter cup edibles. After ordering pizza for delivery, she got in the shower, and Remmy scarfed down three of the big cups as soon as they cooled. Then he waited, leaning against the counter, scrolling on his phone, belly hanging, feet hurting. He didn’t want to go to the effort of sitting on the couch and getting back up again when he could just stay in the kitchen, where he knew he’d end up anyway.

He scratched his supple underbelly. Found a pack of Twizzlers and started eating those.

Soon enough, his breathing slowed as he felt the high slowly come over him. And, as expected, his whole body immediately began to tingle for satiation. Fattening food sung to him from the pantry and fridge and freezer all at once, and it was all going to make him so huge and heavy he wouldn’t be able to stand on his own wide feet, but he wanted it anyway.

He didn’t care if he was pushing 390 now. He’d blown up, yeah. Inflated from a thick guy to obese and waddling. At this point, he was so pumped so big with blubber that he couldn’t twitch without jiggling, but so what? He was hungry. Being high made him want to consume, and so he did. He couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to.

Remmy opened the fridge and took out his birthday cake, which Brianna must have stuck in there after getting home from work. He couldn’t wait to eat it properly. There was no way he could wait until after the pizza came. Besides, it was his birthday. Remmy took off the plastic lid of the round, triple chocolate cake and felt his nerves light up with anticipation. He was going to eat it all, and there was no stopping him.

He found a knife and cut himself a slice three times the size any reasonable person would take. Desperate to get the goodness into his mouth without delay, he skipped a fork and bit right into the gooey, dense cake and mouse and fudge. God, Brianna was so perfect for getting him the unhealthiest cake imaginable. She knew he didn’t care if he was ten pounds heavier tomorrow, if his fat ass ripped his sweatpants open, if he ate so much he couldn’t haul himself to bed—she knew he needed this.

He ate slice after slice, and it was mostly gone when Brianna got out of the shower, looking sexier than usual in her matching purple lingerie. She’d gotten chubbier with so much junk food in the apartment, and fat clung to her in all the right places. But her pudge was a far cry from his angry-red stretch marks and neck rolls. Hell, his moobs had grown bigger than her tits.

She found him in the kitchen, eating and holding his drooping belly, and she rubbed his back, cooing at him when he apologized.

“It’s okay. I figured you wouldn’t be able to wait all night. How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Remmy said, but all he could think about was getting his next bite. As she watched him, he tried to hold out. Tried to prove he could stop eating for two seconds. Three seconds, four - his resolve broke and he crammed the rest of a slice into his mouth and chewed, choking back a moan.

“You get the munchies so bad, don’t you?” Brianna grinned and leaned against his belly, patting and cupping his weighty breasts in the way she knew pleased him. “Let’s get you sat down. I’ll bring you what you need. Just sit and relax and watch whatever you want.” They moved to the couch and Remmy sat, the cushions wheezing, his thighs and belly quivering. Brianna tucked the remainder of the cake into his pudgy hands. “Don’t worry about a mess. It’s your birthday. And there’s more where that came from.” She winked. “I just needed to keep this cake refrigerated because it’s fancy. There’s a whole sheet cake on top of the fridge that’s cheap and huge. Covered in icing. Perfect for munchies.”

Remmy could only feel a wave of relief at this news. There would be more cake. And after that, there’d still be more junk in the cabinets. There was pizza coming. His high was just right. Brianna turned on the television to his favorite show and he settled further back into the cushions, feeling his second chin swell out and engulf his first. Everything was just right. He was lucky to have Brianna and food. So much food.

A year later, around the same time, Remmy skipped his usual trip to see his relatives for the holidays. At 520 pounds, it was simply too much effort to move.

*

Thank you to the reader who commissioned this work!

I'd love to write more. Check me out <3 etsy.com/shop/Chubbology

[boop-le-snoot]

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hot wheels | natasha romanoff x reader

explicit, 5,2k words, f/f. meet-ugly but still very much wholesome. we love a girlboss. natasha catches some random woman keying her brand new car but decides to be the better person for once and hear the woman out. turns out, being the better person can even get one laid! warnings: singular use of the d-slur, references to an abusive ex, lesbian sex.

[no y/n, no "you", nickname only, no reader description - race/age/body type neutral, she/her pronouns]

Natasha gave the tall, lanky boy an unimpressed look as she side-stepped the arguing couple to avoid colliding with the annoyed, teary-eyed woman the boy was groveling to. It was nearing rush hour and there was shopping to be done before the heavy NYC traffic could steer her already busy schedule down into an unmanageable chaos.

"But, Foxy, you know I didn't mean it! I love you, more than anything!"

The items on the spy's list were checked off methodically, item after item landing in the cart with a quiet thud as the redhead maneuvered through the isles with tactical precision. The usual afternoon crowd began to fill the store, taking up the so-needed breathing space; Natasha's shopping trip wasn't a moment of leisure and with her neverending to-do list full, she hurried to the self-check-out register, flying through the motions mindlessly.

Scan, place, beep, boop, pay, load up the bags, make way to the car, load up and pedal to the metal.

Scratch that. No, scratch - Natasha's eyes bulged as she neared her shiny, brand new Charger, seeing the obvious defects even from a mile away: the paint, previously cherry red and gleaming in the sun, ruined by a series of thin, gray lines, standing out unpleasantly on the otherwise pristine vehicle.

And the culprit, who's tuft of hair peeked over the hood of the car on the other side of the Charger, almost fully hidden between her car and the large Chevrolet in the next parking spot over.

Natasha's fingers clenched around the handle of the cart as she fought the urge to reach for her knife safely holstered under her leather jacket. "Excuse me?" Tone quiet and deadly, the spy prepared herself to fight or at least slightly shake up the hooligan.

The figure froze, vaguely familiar clothing and a puffy, tear-stained face slowly rising from behind Natasha's car. "In my defense, he deserves it," the girl - Foxy - the one that was arguing in front of the store earlier, declared through a stream of angry tears. "Call the cops if you want, I don't care." It was unclear if the girl recognised her, the Black Widow, as she made no move to run for the hills, just pathetically sniffled, pocketing the keys she used to scratch Natasha's car.

"That's my car," The spy responded flatly, a great deal of amusement crawling into her face as Foxy's eyes bulged, jaw fell slack, horror plain and evident overshadowing the waterworks. Natasha quickly pieced two and two together but patiently waited for the initial shock to subside before popping a question. "A word of advice, if I may?"

Foxy nodded, dumbfounded, frantically scrambling for the contents of her pockets, searching for something with the agility of a panicking cat, more than half of the contents spilling out onto the ground.

Natasha unlocked the car, popping the trunk and loading in her bags as she raised her voice to be heard over the noise of a busy parking lot. "Don't mess with the paint, the insurance will cover it. Slash three tires - not four - or take a swing at the front bumper and the headlights," the trunk slid shut with a quiet click as the spy inspected the damages close-up. Her Charger looked like it was attacked by a pack of aggressive, feral cats with nails of steel. "And always check the number plates before committing acts of vandalism to make sure you're enacting revenge on the right person." The last part was said with a smirk.

As the spy stepped closer to Foxy, she noted the excessive puffiness of her cheeks and the shaking fingers that held a checkbook and a pen. The woman looked torn between terrified and apologetic, worrying her lip between her teeth. "I'm so, so sorry. Todd just got his new car, it's identical to yours and I didn't get the chance to memorize the number plate yet," the offending man's name was said with a pitiful growl. "How much?" She weakly motioned to the ruined bodywork.

"What'd he do?" Natasha didn't resist her curiousity, leaning against the driver's side door and sizing up the other woman. She was pretty, well-dressed and reasonably wealthy on the first sight. "Yeah, he looked like a Todd," The quip slipped from the redhead's lips as she remembered the man from earlier. Foxy looked way too good to be wasting her time on someone who looked like an adolescent that hadn't outgrown his skater boy phase.

Foxy chuckled shyly at Natasha's remark, smoothing a hand over her face. "Lord, where do I even begin..." The sigh was loud and long. "He lived in my apartment rent-free, made me give up my cat by lying about his allergies, went through nine low-wage jobs in two years, did nothing but play video games in his free time and developed a pot addiction, thus spending all his money on it," she began steadily but her tone grew in pitch with every added offence as Natasha's eyebrows climbed higher and higher. "My last straw was when he took out a loan he couldn't pay off to buy his brand new cool car," the words were spat out with venom. "I threw him out last Saturday. He's been following me around all the time," Foxy continued, growing dark in the face. "And then I found out he had been cheating on me for I don't know how long. I just... I just lost it," she finished pathetically, all but crumbling into a pile of human misery.

Natasha's face had frozen into mute disbelief somewhere around the first half of the story, repulsion and astonishment mixing into a flurry of quiet rage on the random woman's behalf. Menfolk were bizarre animals, and as much as the spy felt herself annoyed by her roommates at the tower, she couldn't help but feel relieved that the men surrounding her were far from douchebags of the casual variety. This Todd, however, was no amateur, and had done Foxy really, really dirty.

The redhead made up her mind rather quickly. "That's a lot to unpack," she carefully studied the micro-expressions on the other woman's face. "I have a couple of nice bottles of wine at my place and nobody to share them with. Care for a glass?"

Foxy's eyes widened once more. "I don't- I don't want to take up your time, I mean, I'm sure you've got more important shit to do, like save the world and y'know..." The stammering was followed by a shy look to the side.

So, Foxy had recognised her. And she didn't go running the other way like most people that encountered her in disadvantageous situations did. "I actually don't, I was just getting my shopping done for a lack of better things to do," Natasha lied seamlessly, motioning to the other side of the car. "Hop in." Mission reports and Barton's pizza date could wait.

The woman made quick way around, buckling into the seat in seconds, right before Natasha peeled off from the parking lot towards the Avengers tower at breathtaking speeds. The car was a gift from Tony - one of the rare things he managed to get right - and an absolute pleasure to drive.

"What's your name?" The redhead asked, juggling the steering and her smartphone effortlessly.

The woman rattled of her first and last name on between attempts to fix her runny make-up and wipe the dried snot and tears off her face. "Foxy is a nickname my gramps gave me, said I used to excessively play with fox pelts in the attic when I was a kid," the woman added with a snort, totally oblivious to Natasha's eyebrow raise as the spy read the information on her in-between overtaking slower cars.

Good student, good family life, stable income and good career growth in a prospective sector. What did Foxy even find in a guy like Todd? The most important information, however, was also most pleasing. No ties to any kind of intelligence gathering organizations.

As Natasha parked and popped the trunk once more, the other woman offered a hand with her shopping bags. Friday acknowledged the newcomer, startling her, causing Natasha to roll her eyes and mention, loudly, that if Tony decided to pay them a surprise visit, he may end up castrated or shot on sight, much to Foxy's bashful snickering.

Once the shopping was put away and the wine opened, the spy let herself curl up on the couch opposite the woman who studied her Spartan style apartment with curios eyes. The lack of knick knacks must've been a surprise for her: Natasha's apartment looked bare compared to what she'd seen in other's people's homes but the desire to make the environment more cozy had never been strong enough to actually act upon it. She wasn't used to staying in a place for very long.

"Do you still want to get back at the bastard?" The redhead asked once the first bottle was coming to an end. The alcohol was sitting low, pleasantly warm in their bellies and the food that they'd ordered in the middle of a casual chit-chat lulled them into a state of comfortable stupor.

"I want to gouge his eyes out and wear them as a battle trophy," Foxy was slightly slurring her words, much more affected by the wine than the stoic, experienced agent. "But I guess I can settle for petty crime or arson."

"I'm sensing you didn't tell me the whole list of grievances," true to her words, the spy felt as it there was a possibility quite a few things were being left unsaid.

Foxy sighed once again, placing the empty glass on the table and using her palm to prop her flushed face against it, blankly staring off into the far end of the room. "I came out as bisexual last year and he was giving me so much shit for it. Todd kept pushing for a threesome and when I refused, started accusing me of cheating during our fights, called me a whore a couple of times," the more she spoke, the higher Natasha's anger levels rose.

Not only was a Todd a dick, he was an abusive one. Truly, the grand prize of Asshat Lottery. "I have an idea or three," the spy twirled the remaining red liquid in her glass before downing it. "But it'll have to stay between us two."

"I'm listening," Foxy turned to meet Natasha's face, eyes considerably more alert than seconds before.

A few days past their amicable wine-and-revenge get-together, Natasha's doorbell rang as if she wasn't already had been made aware by Friday that a visitor was coming up to see her. Boxes of hair bleach and dye laid stacked on the living room table, surrounded by jewelry and assorted accessories. A pitcher of fresh sangria topped the ensemble, two clean glasses placed neatly on the tray next to it.

"Hi, Nat," Foxy's smile was a mile wide - a far cry from the sniffling sad sack of a woman the spy had first met. The nickname flowed freely from the woman's lips, as calm as Natasha's own answering grin and greeting. "I gots the stuff," waving her purse about, the woman kicked off her shoes by the door, approaching Natasha with the same smile that seemed to be more effective at lightening up the room than Tony's expensive designer lamps.

As Natasha's plan achieved a solid state, the two women had quickly come to a realization that Natasha was far too recognizable with her signature red hair and over a flurry of text messages, the decision to switch to a warm caramel blonde was made unanimously. Foxy had rebuked any and all Natasha's attempts to affirm she'd be able to do it herself and the spy gave into the other's chiding, relenting to have her hair dyed by a person who at least had a possibility of seeing the back of her head without having to perform acrobatic tricks.

Foxy was an easygoing, non-problematic person. She was fun to have around, quiet but witty, with intelligent eyes and a realistic view on the world. It was something Natasha valued, alongside the lack of probing questions regarding her past or her job - her insides clenched uncomfortably at the thought of having to lie about those things, or even worse, having to admit to the wrongdoings in her past, however Foxy carefully steered away from topics that were sensitive and never gave Natasha as much as a side-eye if the spy appeared to lack some minor detail that normal women her age all seemed to be aware of.

The curiosity had her ready to burst. Nat's natural defense mechanisms were quite confused, not sure what to make of the woman who almost too friendly to be true, but the kindness in her eyes and the sometimes shy, awestruck looks she gave Natasha when she thought the redhead wasn't looking made up for it in spades.

"What do you think?" The noise of the hair dryer finally ceased, Foxy's voice echoing in Natasha's luxuriously large bathroom.

The newly-blonde spy studied her reflection with a tilt to her head. The ombre was a nice touch - her own hair was naturally darker than the caramel and honey blonde she had chosen, so the almost-brown shading at her roots took much away from the contrast between her lighter hair and darker brows. It was just another disguise for the spy, but somehow, this one felt more like home than any of the previous faces she had worn.

"I like it, you were right about the ombre," Natasha voiced her thoughts, eyes sliding over to the smiling woman behind her, feeling the corners of her mouth begin to creep upwards in involuntary response.

"You looked good with red hair, don't misunderstand me," Foxy briefly raised her hands. "But you have a light complexion and lighter colors do wonders for bringing out the youthfulness. Even if we don't have much joy these days, a good hair color is an opportunity to showcase the bit," she briefly touched her own hair in an exaggerated attempt at driving her point home.

The fun part was done, the time came to execute the revenge. It wasn't exactly anything special; rather, the plan was quite simple - let Todd make a fool out of himself in front of his friends and perhaps (a slightly, teensy possibility) get himself arrested. The two women took their time to get dolled up, not too much - but rather, adding just that little bit to themselves to easily attract moderate amounts of attention from men.

The bar was busy, noisy and full of people when the two women stepped through the door. Natasha's eyes scanned the room out of habit, easily spotting the tall, lanky Todd in the far end of the bar, laughing and boozing with equally pathetic-looking man-children. The urge to gag was almost irresistible.

The spy let herself to be led to the bar by Foxy who looked mildly uncomfortable. Natasha was sure that if she was to touch the other woman's face, it would be flaming under the circumstances. "Try to relax a little, I won't bite," with a quip to her companion, Nat ordered them a vodka cranberry each, sitting down with her back to the men. "Tell me when he notices us and starts moving this way."

Foxy nodded minutely, clutching her drink for dear life and taking generous sips to calm herself down and relax like the spy had requested. They talked about everything and nothing in between, Natasha's hand on Foxy's knee crawling closer to her hip as minutes passed by without interruption. Loud noises of men playing darts and drunkenly cheering reached the womens earshot every now and then, causing Foxy to throw increasingly infuriated glances towards her ex-boyfriend and the Black Widow's current victim of choice.

Sitting opposite the perfectly composed, smiling woman, it was clear as day she was, indeed, best of the best. Despite knowing Foxy for only a few days, Natasha managed to pull off a very convincing girlfriend: her body language was nothing short of absolutely besotted and the googly eyes the spy was making had Foxy constantly remind herself that it was only for show. There was no way this gorgeous, incredible human would be interested in someone as plain and ordinary as herself.

"Heads up," Foxy's smile suddenly grew a mile wide as she stared directly at Natasha, eyes alight with fury at the scene about to unfold. Natasha's reply was to briefly tighten the grasp on the other's leg in silent support.

"Hey, baby," Todd was drunk enough for the stench of his breath to reach both women. "Oh, I see you're with a friend," his attempt at flirting only made Natasha scrunch up her face like a cat that accidentally smelled a lemon.

"Leave me alone," Foxy stated firmly, knowing the phrase wouldn't do anything to deter her overzealous ex, but this time - she counted on it.

"It's okay, I can share," the slurred words had a couple of people nearby raise their eyebrows at the audacity.

"I'm not interested," Foxy snapped. "In fact, there is absolutely nothing your freeloading, cheating ass can bring to my table."

The woman radiated satisfaction as gasps sounded out around them; Todd was a regular at this bar and most people there knew him in one way or another. The moment of joy, however, was brief.

"Listen, bitch, you have no business talking to me like that," full of drunken bravado, the man spat angrily, taking unsteady steps closer to Foxy. "What you need is a decent man that can handle your outbursts, not some dyke..." before he could even utter another offensive syllable, Natasha had his wildly gesturing arm twisted painfully behind his back, easily forcing the inebriated man to his knees.

"Wanna try that again, champ?" Sarcasm flowed freely from the spy's lips as the patrons in the bar gasped. The civilian clothing and the new hair color might have been an effective short-term disguise but once the crowd had seen her neat little party trick and had taken a good look at her face, nobody was doubting her identity. "Call the cops, will you?" She addressed the shocked bartender who immediately scrambled to obey.

"I didn't do anything!" Todd cried out, eyes drunkenly darting between the Black Widow's quiet rage and Foxy's grim stone face.

"Huh, that's weird. Because I clearly heard and saw an attempted hate crime," Natasha's voice attained a sardonic tint. "And I have a bar full of witnesses," the spy shrugged, letting go of his arm but keeping a boot firmly planted on his back to prevent him from escaping. "I hope you have a lawyer."

Foxy snorted, reaching for her unfinished second drink. "Tough luck."

Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Todd's friends inching closer to the exit door second by second, as if they could stand a chance against a professionally trained secret agent. Luckily for them, Natasha wasn't interested in the remainder of Todd's gang of losers and merely raised an eyebrow when the other men reached the door, a tiny smirk appearing when his pleading eyes didn't cause any reaction in his friends, the spineless worms, hopping out of the door without as much as a goodbye to the man laying face-down on the dirty floor.

As soon as the police arrived, awestruck by one of the NYC's most famous superheroes just casually standing in a bar, they eagerly collected the inebriated offender, briskly escorting Todd to the squad car. The bartender and several other patrons confirmed Natasha's words that an attempted hate crime had taken place. Cops were in and out in less than fifteen minutes and the otherwise-pleasant hole-in-the-wall bar returned to its usual evening bustle.

"Celebratory shots?" Natasha laughed as Foxy exhaled, deep and slow, once her racing heart calmed down.

"My treat," the other woman motioned for the bartender and soon, a line of colorful glasses appeared in front of the women. Each downed a glass easily, slamming it back on the table. "Man, this is everything I never knew I needed," Foxy confessed with a shy smile. "Thanks, Nat. You're the best."

The spy responded with a satisfied smile, picking up another glass and holding it out for a toast. "To revenge well-deserved," the glass clicked, alcohol slid easily down their throats. "So, what now?"

Foxy's eyes shone in the bright lights of the bar, relieved and tipsy. The small empty glass twirled easily between her fingers. "Dunno," the shrug came and went. "Maybe go on vacation. To Florida."

Natasha let out a belly laugh, downing her last shot without as much as a stutter in her movements, Foxy's eyes lingering on the stray drops of alcohol running from the spy's plump lips. "A vacation with the crackheads? Romantic," the quip was received with an eyeroll from the other woman.

"Spoilsport," Foxy, too, finished her booze and placed the money and a hefty tip on the bar, tapping twice to get the bartender's attention. "I meant more like - lay on the beach, sip mimosas, look at sexy people in swimsuits..."

"Florida is for old people," Natasha objected, pulling her leather jacket back on and leading them both outside. The evening air was crisp, bringing a clearer head and re-arranging the thoughts back into a more sensible state.

Foxy easily picked up her pace to match Natasha's precise strides leading them in the direction of the former's building. The warm buzz of vodka coupled with the fresh air and her desire for retribution well-fed, Foxy settled into a comfortable silence next to the spy. They reached the building quickly, their pace brisk and distractions lacking.

"Care for a nightcap?" She didn't know what prompted her to blurt out the words; as soon as the words registered in her brain, they were already out and Foxy's face heated, fingers fumbling for the keys in her pocket, Natasha's touch still warm and lingering on the side of her leg.

The spy seemed amused, studying Foxy's nervous habits with a crooked smirk. "Sure," she agreed amicably, following the woman into the apartment building, not missing both the rigidity of her back and the added spring to her step.

A moderately sized, well-decorated apartment revealed itself behind the open door, scarcely illuminated by the NYC lights coming in from a glass wall in the living room, reflecting the vast living space furnished with a large couch.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Natasha turned around, stepping into the other woman's personal space with the grace of a predator. Two shining eyes stared back at her in the darkness, framed by fluttering lashes. Foxy's bottom lip disappeared behind her teeth, skin gleaming with perspiration.

The recently-turned blonde spy wasted no time caging the other woman between her body and the door, chests almost touching. The air around them was charged, Foxy's heart thudding loudly in her chest as she gulped. Natasha studied her expression, "You want this?" she whispered against her lips, sharing the oxygen between them.

"Ye-yeah," a short nod and a gasp later, the women were devouring each other, grasping at their hands and shoulders like they were drowning. Hot and wet and sharp from the booze, the kisses were as graceless as their fingers haste in removing each other's top layers of clothing.

The sharp corner of the living room archway dug painfully into Foxy's back, bringing an additional sense of awareness: this was real. This was happening. Natasha's blonde locks flowed through Foxy's fingers, soft and silky, a contrast to the teeth pulling on her lip in impatient hunger. Foxy grunted in response, parting from the other woman to send her t-shirt flying somewhere in the direction of the kitchen.

"Bedroom," mere minutes in and she already sounded utterly and throughly ruined.

"Couch," Natasha was equally feverish to get to the good parts. Her belt was unbuckled and the nice button-up she'd worn hung open, a plain white bra iriscendent on her alabaster skin.

Letting herself be led to the couch, Foxy could barely take her eyes off the woman in front of her, making sure she wasn't ogling Natasha outright yet secretly hoping to be caught anyway. The blonde was like a porcelain doll, unreal, firm and soft at the same time.

The moment Foxy gracelessly landed on the couch, Natasha was all up in her space, straddling the other woman with the grace of a savage cat; lips once more attached to her flesh, Natasha left a trail of hot, wet marks starting at the jawline and ending at the cups of Foxy's bra.

Not knowing what to do with her hands, Foxy grasped Natasha's hips, unable to hold back a moan heavy with lust as the spy ground down with her hips. It was exhilarating to see the other woman affected by their heavy make-out session; nothing short of absolutely smitten to see Natasha pull back, panting and disheveled, to shed her shirt and her bra.

Unable to resist the urge, Foxy's hands reached out to cup the spy's round breasts, tugging her closer to pop a rosy nipple into her mouth. Natasha shivered, arching into the caress, holding onto the other woman's hair and tugging it in the direction only she knew.

Natasha wasn't loud, she wasn't wild; her moans were more like muted gasps but her body spoke for her louder than any words: the grinding was getting more impatient, Natasha's hold grew stronger. As Foxy fumbled for the button of Nat's pants, she felt the soft, delicate lace underneath. Natasha had come prepared.

"Hold on," the spy mumbled, hopping off Foxy's lap to quickly push her pants and panties down her legs with practiced ease. The other woman followed suit, leaving herself to be bare besides her underwear, the attempt to remove them intercepted by Natasha. "Let me," quiet words tickled the skin of her throat where Nat had immediately attached her mouth.

Foxy scrambled to intake the oxygen she needed, letting herself feel the hot glide fully, having lost herself in pleasure, missing the exact moment Nat's fingertips breached the waistband of her panties. Soft and nimble, so different to a man's roughened skin, the sensation was as strange as it was sweet. The urge to arch and rock her hips against the nearest surface intensified and Foxy could only keen, quiet and high, causing Natasha to chuckle to herself.

"Enjoying yourself, sweet girl?" The miniscule trace of coyness seeped into the blonde's voice. The engorged, puffy, moist flesh of Foxy's lower lips parted eagerly to Natasha's experimental dip.

"Yeah, yes," the woman slid down, spreading her legs in invitation. "Please, touch me," begging to be filled in all the empty spaces, Foxy threw her head to rest against the back of the couch, watching Nat through unfocused eyes.

"Oh, I will," the spy purred, sliding lower to put her face next to Foxy's dripping cunt. The spy's fingers glistened with arousal and she popped them into her mouth, licking them clean before doing the same to her lover's swollen folds. The response was instantaneous and loud, Foxy shook under Natasha's expert teasing. "Stay still," she ordered quietly, patting Foxy's belly.

Molten, honeyed waves of bliss overtook common sense and awareness, tiny sparks shooting up Foxy's cunt every time Natasha suckled at her clit. The spy read her body like an open book, following the movements of her hips with her mouth, always a step ahead and slightly south. Foxy's peak was imminent, approaching rapidly, as Natasha's sweet merciless assault wrung every single drop of the thick, precious liquid out of her cunt.

It only seemed to gush more, the woman pushing her cunt into Natasha's face as the latter doubled down on her efforts to bring her to ecstasy.

The waves began deep in the pit of Foxy's stomach, making her legs tremble, her toes curl and the flutters of her cunt increase in speed and intensity. Silky soft and typhoon wet, her orgasm crashed her mind into million pieces and Nat dutifully extracted everything until the last drop with the skillful touch of her tongue and fingers.

"Tash," Foxy moaned. Her legs quivered at the slightest touch to her oversensitive cunt.

"Mhm," was the blonde's reply, contented humming getting closer and closer until the womens lips met once more in a fierce, passionate kiss.

Foxy's hands immediately sought purchase on Natasha's hips, searching for the spots that would make the spy's body song in the same way she'd done to Foxy; seemingly much more reserved, quiet but happy sighs broke past Nat's lips in response to gentle hands stroking where she was most sensitive.

"I've got a vibe in my bedroom," clarity finally broke through the orgasm haze, Foxy's brain slowly coming back to reality.

"No, I want your fingers," Natasha's reply was assertive as she moved her hips in tandem with Foxy's hand, dripping the sweetness of her around all over.

The urge to pop the fingers into her mouth was strong, so Foxy did just that, moaning at the tangy taste, Natasha's breath quietly stuttering at the sight in front of her.

"I want to eat you out," the words barely had left Foxy's mouth as Natasha flipped them so she was the one laying on the couch, spread-eagled and open for the other woman's eager mouth to explore. Wet, sloppy and so, so tender, Foxy let herself taste the arousal of her lover.

"Yeah," so soft, one could easily miss it, the approval didn't get lost in the headrush nonetheless. With grace, Foxy sought the spots that would force Natasha to break her silence with slow, broad motions until the blonde had no choice but to arch her hips into the sensations, chasing her pleasure, losing the aura of restraint she'd so carefully cultivated.

No time for self-control. The temperatures were climbing steadily with every single movement, both lost in their imperfect shared rhythm, the soft of Foxy's tongue and fingers like finest silks on Natasha's eager cunt. Two fingers slipped in without resistance, immediately seeking out the soft, spongy spot that made the blonde's toes curl and mouth open in a silent scream.

Foxy's free hand groped around for Natasha's ass hastily, bringing her hips closer to her mouth, tongue never ceasing its assault on the blonde's clit as her body grew more rigid, fingertips going white with the force she was gripping the comforter.

"Gospodi bozhe," came the mumble, the only warning before Natasha's powerful thighs locked Foxy in place as the blonde rode out her orgasm, violently shivering, dousing the other woman's face in her sweet release. Dutifully, Foxy stroked the silk of Natasha's skin everywhere she could reach, her hot breath on the blonde's pussy easing her back to Earth through the aftershocks.

Natasha's eyes opened, feeling her lover's look of adoration, and she cracked a reluctant but genuine smile. There was something about Foxy that was just so-

Natasha taglist (open, see fic hat for info; crossed out nicknames are the ones I couldn't tag, please update your info):

@mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @persephonehemingway @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @xoxabs88xox @marvelsbanner @sapphicnoodle69

[mxllitiam]

Effie had been... settling. This was what the officials from Thirteen would say, with that funny restraint in their voice, like they were too busy gritting their teeth to get any other words out. They didn't like her -- that was an understatement. At least that's how Effie felt, stripped of all of her belongings and thrown into a disgusting grey attire that could be upstaged by an old sack of potatoes. What an awful, sad little life the people in this district have lived, without color, without wigs, without a single pair of high heels. Heaven forbid anyone expressed anything in this rat hole of a state!

So maybe she was harboring some unmanaged anger issues, sure. Could she be blamed? At least the worst of it had trickled down, washed off of her after a handful of days underground. She'd grown used to the feeling of being stuffed beneath the earth, with the thick air and the (horrid) fluorescent lights. The worst of it had been the first few days, when her team was all fuck knows where, left behind or unconscious, and she didn't know which was worse. She'd done a lot of screaming around the halls, then.

They'd let her bite her own tail and run circles around herself until the energy ran out. Now she could focus her thoughts elsewhere, and she tried to be useful as she could. This grey chasm of a district needed some form of beauty, of art brought into it, and if she had to be the one to do it, she would. The knock on her door was unusual -- Haymitch wouldn't knock before he entered, and she wasn't expecting anyone. Luckily, she'd become an expert in quickly stuffing all of her hair back up into her head wrap, an extra piece of uniform she'd cut up to hide all of her real hair underneath. It was a pain to keep wearing it. It'd be more of a pain to walk around wigless and let everyone see her real hair, though. 

She swung the door open, and it only took her a second or two to place the familiarity she was feeling. "Juniper. From District Seven!" There was surprise in her tone. Effie Trinket was good with names, if nothing else; she always remembered the names of the tributes from that year, and she vividly remembered watching Juniper on her screen earlier -- just a week ago, even. That seemed like a lie. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" A hand rested on her hip inquisitively, and her smile was sweet. This was something well-known to her, being polite, putting on smiles, talking to the public, whoever it meant. It was a mask she always found easy to slip on. "You'll have to pardon my appearance, of course. I'm still convincing Plutarch to give me any sort of makeup or at least some wigs. So embarrassing."

STARTER for @mxllitiam ( effie trinket ) where: district 13

Juniper definitely didn't like the color grey. It sat dull on her pale skin, it sucked the vibrance out of everyone, and it made their existence as people seem robotic and controlled, instead of natural and in abundance. She was bothered, even more than the uniforms, that she couldn't see the sun. She yearned for the rays that would peak between tree leaves, or flood the meadows. There was a sense of humanity back in 7, even with its starvation and double shifts, even with its sunburns and sweat-soaked clothes. At least June could breathe there. Here, in 13, she felt guilty for breathing in deep, for trying to expand the lower reaches of her lungs. It would be — wasteful. Yes, that was the term. Wasteful.

Fighting off suffocation was hard and Juniper was desperate to find something that would make her feel a little more like HER again. She had fussed with the length of her uniform sleeves, with the buttons around her neck, and with the laces of her shoes for so long that her hair had started to grow out. Well, not the parts she kept long purposely but the undercut, the part that felt rebellious when she'd done it years before the reaping and years before she would ever join the resistance. Perhaps, as she reminded herself, she was always built for this life.

Rumors of Effie Trinket's ' beautification ' had trickled into her ears like gnats to June, because why, in the world of everything going on, would June need to be beautified ?

Turns out that she really did, and it's why she found herself in front of Effie's room, hoping it weren't intrusive. She lifted back her shoulders to stand tall, keeping hands from fussing with the elastic around her blonde hair. It was fine, she'd be fine. She could — interact.

Forcing herself was the only way through. KNOCK KNOCK.

[turning-dreams-into-chaos]

Me and You

(Luke Patterson x Reader) (Julie and the Phantoms)

Word Count: 1.6K

~Master~

A/N: Alrighty! So this is my first time writing for JATP! I tried y’all, I did, let me know what you think and if I should write more at some point cause I’m curious now lmao. 

This was mainly written for me, I’ll be honest. 

@hyperion-moonbabe-art3mis YOUR MOVE...

***

The constant strumming of Luke’s guitar as he practiced kept pulling your attention away from the book in front of you, one you snagged from Julie’s bookshelf. You were almost done with it, but you preferred to read in silence, something you couldn’t do with Mr. Rockstar over there.

“Must you practice when I’m trying to read?” You groaned, tossing your head back on the couch you were laying across as you stared up at the ceiling.

Luke just laughed, strumming a chord on his guitar that he’d been trying out for ages now. “Must you read when I’m trying to practice?” You shot him a look but Luke only smirked at you, making you only slightly annoyed.

“You always do this.” You said, rolling off the couch and coming to lean over the piano. “Ever since we were young, it was always you playing when I read.” Luke could tell you weren’t mad at him or upset from the small smile on your face as you picked up the paper in front of him. “New song?”

Luke nodded, leaning on his elbow on the piano as he looked at you. Your eyes were reading the paper, slowly mouthing the words as your lips slowly curled up in a smile. Luke licked his lips, never looking away from you as he cleared his throat. “Wanna give it a go?”

You had to keep from laughing at Luke’s offer. “Thanks, but I’m good. I think I’ll leave the singing to Julie and you.” you started to walk away but Luke grabbed your hand before you could, giving you a dimply smile that you knew you couldn’t say no to.

“Come on, Y/N. I haven’t heard you play and sing in a while.” He pushed the sheet music towards you. “Just give it a go.” You took a deep breath, staring at him as he squeezed your hand. You hated playing in front of people, and Luke knew that, but he also knew you were comfortable with him. If you were going to sing in front of anyone, it would be him.

You sighed, nodding your head and smiling. Luke playfully cheered as you laughed. You grabbed the paper, sitting down in front of the piano as Luke sat next to you, holding his guitar so it wouldn’t hit you.  “You sure about this?” you asked, seeing Luke roll his eyes. He took your hands and put them on the piano.

“Play.” He said, nudging you gently. Before you could doubt yourself, you started playing the first few notes of Stand Tall. Luke watched you play, a smile budding at his face as he listened. It had been so long since he heard you play, even longer since he heard you sing. He missed it.

Luke waited, hearing you play the intro again and again, but you never sang. Instead, you stopped playing, letting out a small sigh as your hands fell to your side. “I can’t.”

“It’s just us.” He whispered, grabbing your hand again. He brought your hands to the piano, placing his on top. Goosebumps tickled your skin as you turned your head, finding Luke closer than he was before. His eyes met yours as he pressed your fingers down, hearing the notes play as you both stayed looking at each other. When you didn’t start singing, Luke played the intro again, and again as he smiled at you. “It’s just me and you, you can do it.”

You nodded, finally looking away as you felt Luke’s hand remove themselves, but he didn’t scoot back. You took a deep breath. “Don’t blink, No I don’t want to miss it” you sang out beautifully as Luke’s heart soared, hearing your slight wobble before you found your confidence and your smile slowly grew on your face. “One thing and it’s back to the beginning, ‘cause everything is rushing in fast, keep going on, never look back,” Luke joined you in the next verse, helping you with the song as he played his guitar. Neither one of your smiles faded until the last notes rang out in the air, ending the song and leaving you both in a perfect silence.

Luke pushed himself off the piano bench you were sharing, spinning around before reaching forwards and grabbing your hands, pulling you up as well. “That was amazing. Y/N!” He cried out, wrapping his arms around your waist and spinning you in the air. You laughed at his actions and threw your arms around his neck, one of your hands finding his hair when you buried your head into his shoulder. When Luke finally put you down, your bodies were pressed together and Luke’s hold on you didn’t loosen.

You were well aware of Luke’s hands holding you close and your own that threaded so neatly in his hair. His eyes met yours and your breath hitched. “Thank you.” you whispered, seeing Luke’s eyes flicker down briefly before locking on yours again.

“I knew you could do it.” He brought a hand up to cup your cheek. You knew that look in his eye. He leaned in, pulling your face closer as you let your eyes close and your lips hit. It took years and even dying for you to manage to kiss Luke, but it was worth it. He kissed you deeply, pouring every feeling he had into it as you did the same. When you pulled away, Luke’s hand stayed on your cheek, both of you never leaving each other’s embrace.

You furrowed your brows, biting your lip as Luke asked what was wrong. “You like me?” you asked.

Luke was confused. “Why is that a question?” He laughed and his smile never left his face.

You, however, had no clue what to say. “I just- I can’t believe-“ You stuttered, pulling your gaze away from him. “I never wanted to admit my feelings for you and you not return them.” You admitted. Luke moved your head so you were looking at him again. “I couldn’t handle that.”

“You didn’t think I like you?”

“Do you?” you laughed out, trying to hold in your insecurities.

Luke quickly caught on to how you were thinking, believing there was no way that he truly liked you. “Y/N, I’ve been in love you since we were 14 and you spilled your lunch all over me at my house.”

Your eyes went wide, heat moving up your cheeks as you closed your eyes tight, taking a moment before opening them again. “That’s when you realized you were in love with me?!” you cried out as Luke and you burst into laughs, yours out of embarrassment and his out of amusement.

You tried to hide your face, but Luke wouldn’t let you, moving your hands away from your face so he could see you again. “No, I wasn’t smart enough for that.” He said and you snorted, fully believing him. “I figured that out later, but it was when I started thinking of you as maybe more than a friend.”

You nodded your head, tangling your hands with his. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve been in love with you about that time too.” You admitted as Luke let out a sigh of relief, leaning forward to meet your lips again, but before he could, you were interrupted.

“Woah.” Reggie said Alex and him popped into the room, standing on the other side of the piano as Luke and you subconsciously took a step apart.

“Oh, don’t stop on our account.” Alex said jokingly as he leaned forwards on the piano, making you both share embarrassed looks.

“We weren’t-“

“Yeah, we were just-“

Luke and you said at the same time, but neither of you had a real excuse. Instead, you just looked at him and shrugged.

“We’re dating.”

Alex and Reggie laughed at Luke and your perfectly timed proclamation. “Yeah, it’s about time.” Alex joked again as you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, it only took what, 4, 5 years?” Reggie asked rhetorically as Luke forced a smile, tossing the pillows that were on the couch at them both as you laughed. They both caught the pillows, but only after it smacked them in the faces.

“Alright, alright!” Alex said loudly over everyone’s laughter. You quieted down, cheeks hurting from smiling so much. “Seriously guys, we’re happy for you both.”

“Yeah,” Reggie continued, nodding. “You guys are good for each other.” He admitted and you felt Luke’s arm swing over your shoulder and bring you into his side and kissing your temple. You giggled, wrapping your arms around Luke just in time for Julie to walk in and see.

“No way!” She shouted, glancing between you and Luke. You smiled at her, knowing she knew all about your crush on Luke for a while now. “You’re dating!” Her reaction made you laugh and you wish you were able to hug her, but since you were a ghost, it wasn’t possible. Instead, you settled for watching her being excited and feeling Luke’s chest rumble as you hugged him.

“I think Julie wins best reaction.” You whispered to Luke as he nodded, leaning down to peck your lips as Julie squealed louder.

“Okay!” You called over her, a small chuckle in your words as she quieted down but still remained giddy. “You guys have to practice!” you reminded them, seeing nods around the room as you moved away from Luke, holding his hand until you couldn’t reach him anymore and fell onto the couch.

Everyone moved to their instruments, but Luke, who still had his guitar on him from playing earlier, just watched you, seeing you and Julie exchange silent cheers before the singer was finally ready to practice. You picked up your book, beginning to read again as the band practiced. You kept sneaking glances up at Luke, who was definitely still looking at you. The music did make it difficult to focus on reading, but with your boyfriend preforming right in front of you, who would want to concentrate on reading anyway?

ALL TAGLISTS CLOSED!

Permanent: @literal-fand0m-trash @nathaliabakes @colored-confetti @btsiguess-kpop @galacticstxrdust @independentgirl @hollymac79 @emcchi @rauwz @chewymoustachio @smilexcaptainx @faith-quake @johnmurphyisqueer @kettnerjanea @teenagereadersciencenerd @ladykxxx08 @annasofiaearlobe @mytreec @ananad1 @agentnataliahofferson @the-unmanaged-mischief @wonderful-writer @theonly1outof-a-billion

[oneshotnewbie]

Survive or die (Navy CIS - Reader x Gibbs Team)

A/N: This idea came from a dream I had. I tried to write it down because I liked it. In this fanfic there will be the new team (Ellie, Jack and Kasie) except for Nick. Tony is a part of this story because I miss him. Also a small info... From now on I will write for NCIS! I will write for any woman x Reader and man x reader (platonic fluff, no romance or relationship). Angst, fluff, whatever you want.. Send it in, there are not a lot of NCIS oneshots on here!! :)  ---- The next day was over for you at the NCIS office and you smiled slightly as you leaned back in your chair, put your arms behind your neck and watched Tony scribble lost and annoyed in the reports. The last days have been more than exhausting and you all felt the tiredness. But none of you even thought of sleep, the case you had at the moment was just too important and serious.

A serial killer was up to mischief in D.C, usually not a NCIS case. However, the victims were only women who were either a member of the NCIS itself or served in the Navy. He already kidnapped six woman, took them to different parts in different forests. He tortured them and beat them to death with stones or drowned them in the freezing rivers and ponds.

You did not have a reasonable lead yet, except for a fingerprint on a smooth stone, which was useless because no DNA was stored in the system and some fibers that turned out to be a jacket that had been sold over a hundred thousand times.

And so you tried to use the evidence and information, a phantom picture from a man that was not quiet sure what he saw and a few other things to find and arrest the murderer so that he could no longer hurt anyone. "So, I am done for today." Tony looked up perplexed from his files in front of him, his left eyebrow raised and mouth slightly open. "How? You had more reports on the table than I did!" "Yeah, but the difference between Y/N and you is, that she actually works, Tony." McGee intervened and caught a laugh from Ellie.

You got up and started packing up your things and tidying up your desk. Fully written papers that had not managed to get into the files and your empty tea cups found their way to the garbage while you laid the finished documents on Gibbs table. "Wait, why are you packing up? We have three more hours until the end of the day!" Tony whined as he looked on his watch, the fourth time in this hour already. "I asked Gibbs if I can go earlier today." you simply stated and put the jacket over your shoulders.

Now he was the one leaning in his chair. His eyes were formed into small slits and he looked deeply into your eyes. He smirked as he stood up, ready to pick up a little game with you. "Someone has a date, huh?" You rolled your eyes and walked over to your blonde partner to give her a goodbye hug as always. She was super nice to you from the start and you had a connection from the beginning, you became an inseparable team. She was your best friend at work and after. She did not even hesitate to decline that you were hers too. You both shared some kind of bond, that everyone could see and no one could destroy. "Who is the lucky guy?" Ellie smiled at you since she knew where you were going before looking to Tony, giving him a glare he was afraid of. She was protective when it came to you, like a big sister you never had. She waited, she knew that Tony and you loved acting up all the time. You quickly turned around and walked with slow steps to him. You faced each other, there was no longer any personal space between you. "You know, because you are so curious, it is actually a woman."

His eyes opened suddenly, they were now the size of two tennis balls when he looked at you in surprise and disbelief. His mouth was wide open and he could not utter a single sound.

You leaned slowly against his ear as you whispered something to him. "She is tall, brown-haired, beautiful green eyes." you started to grin against his ear when you felt Tony's lips move, almost trembling as he got inpatient for more informations. "She is smart and she is.."

You licked your lips as you turned away from his ear and looked at him intently. From the corner of your eyes you saw how McGee and Ellie started smiling almost unmanageable while they waited for Tonys smile to fade fast. Both knew where you had to go because they, on the contrary of Tony, really listened to you when you talked.

You could no longer torture them.

"Also my doctor!" you said loudly and he jumped up from his thoughts while you walked away saying Tim goodbye, laughing while you left him there in shock.

It was a routine check-up that you had at your neuro-doctors office every six months. Since your adolescence you have complained almost every day about headaches and blurred vision. Your parents never took this seriously, saw it as an excuse to skip school or paid courses in taekwon-do and piano. So you had to live with this stabbing pain until you were old enough to take care of your health on your own. After the CT scan, at that time without any findings, your doctor put you on medication that helped you cope with the pain and go on about your work. However, he needed a new CT every six months so that nothing would be overlooked if something had happened in your brain and side effects would arise. And now it was that time again, the computed tomography had to be done. But you never got to the doctors office.

[hellimagines]

It’s Not Your Fault -- JJ Maybank

Masterlist

Summary: For the past three weeks you’ve noticed your boyfriend beginning to pull away from you without any explanation or clear reason. After voicing your concerns to him, JJ breaks down and confesses to you about his delivery trips to the Cameron House. 

Warnings: angst, hurt with lots of comfort, male sexual assault, victim denial of sexual assault, grooming

Pairing: JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.5K

A/N: It took me a while to post this, but after all the thought, emotion, and personal experience I poured into this, I’m finally satisfied enough to publish it. Please heed the warnings since I know this sort of content can be triggering for some. *Edit* The formatting and tagging got messed up, so I’m sorry if this doesn’t show in certain tags or if it shows up multipule times.

When JJ and Pope bounded down the bank to meet up with you, John B., and Kie at the HMS Pogue, you noticed JJ’s hair was messier than usual and his blue bandana was tied snuggly around his neck. His grin was dirty, cocky, and full of more tongue than teeth as he made his way onto the boat alongside Pope. The blond fell into the seat beside you, carelessly throwing his arm over your shoulders, yet keeping it rested on the edge of the boat so only his fingertips were brushing your exposed collarbone. Instantly, an unfamiliar smell hit you, causing you to crinkle your nose in confusion and disgust; instead of the familiar smell of weed, dirt, ocean spray, and JJ’s cheap cologne, you were met with an overwhelming citrus and floral scent. As you tilted your head up to get a better look at JJ, you realized that the corner of his lip was turned up just the slightest, an indicator that JJ’s grin was really just a mask. You nudged your shoulder against him, breaking him out of whatever manic-trance he was starting to slip into. The dirty grin dropped as he looked down at you and was replaced with a soft smile once he saw your scrunched up face. The hand dangling over your shoulder moved up to run calloused knuckles over your cheekbone, while something sad crept into JJ’s blue eyes.

“Kooks give you boys any trouble?” you questioned, speaking to both JJ and Pope yet keeping your eyes locked with the boy beside you. 

Pope shook his head, “Nah, not this time. It’s too early for their rich-asses to be awake, let alone stirring for trouble.” You looked over at Pope as he spoke, cataloging how he looked just as he did when the two boys left this morning. He also wasn’t paying any special attention to JJ as he typically did whenever he was trying to keep one of JJ’s secrets from the others.

“Yeah, they don’t know what it’s like to try and get all your work done before noon during the summers,” JJ scoffed before giving a piece of your hair a playful tug. You scowled and swatted at his hand, which only made JJ laugh.

“Well,” John B. began as he steered the boat away from the bank, “now that we’re all free for the rest of the day, let’s get this boat on the road.”

--

As soon as John B. had found a deep, calm patch of water to settle the HMS, he was kicking off his shoes and diving in head-first. Typically, JJ would’ve already been on the back of the boat ready to flip into the water, but today he had remained in his spot beside you as Kie and Pope followed JB. The Pogues didn’t pay you two any mind as they splashed around with one another, swimming a few feet away from the boat to give you and JJ some space. JJ’s finger twirled around a stray strand of your hair absentmindedly, while his gaze rested unfocused on a spot in front of him.

“Hey,” you hummed, giving him another nudge. His blue eyes blinked hastily at the movement, jerking to look down at you. “What happened this morning?”

“What makes you think something happened?” he asked defensively as his body stiffened and his finger ceased its movement. Your eyebrows furrowed but you didn’t comment on the sudden hostility, realizing that you had accidentally backed him into a corner. 

“You just don’t seem like you’re completely here, that’s all. You were okay when you left this morning, even though it was the crackass of dawn, and I just want to make sure that Topper didn’t fuck around with you or anything,” you said gently, shifting in your spot so you could place your head on top of the arm that JJ still had resting on the edge of the boat. Your (e/c) eyes looked into JJ’s blue ones, watching as a multitude of different emotions flashed in his eyes and a small frown slipped onto his face. 

He ran his thumb across the bottom of your jaw, offering you a pensive look as he did so. “Yeah, I’m okay, I just…” he sighed deeply, “just had a difficult delivery today, that’s all. I promise I wasn’t jumped by a Kook or anything like that. You don’t have to worry ‘bout me, baby.” He gave you a pained smile and cupped your jaw. “You know I love you, right? And that I would never do anything to hurt you?”

You were taken back by his question, pulling away slightly so you could stare at him in confusion. “Of course, and I love you, too. What brought that up?”

“Nothing,” JJ shrugged, trying to act nonchalant despite the flash of guilt he was unable to hide. “I just wanted to make sure you knew how much I love you.” He paused for a while, staring down at you while cupping your face in both of his hands. His thumbs rested over your cheekbones and his pinkies laid just below your ears while he looked down at you. His eyes were searching for something, you could tell by the way they flicked across your features, but you couldn’t tell what he was hoping to find. “I’m sore from this morning, think I’m gonna stay on the boat for a while. Stay with me?” he asked with a pout before pushing your cheeks together to force your lips into an amusing pucker. 

You couldn’t help but giggle at his antics while nodding your head, unable to say anything as he squished your cheeks some more. JJ’s smile brightened at your muffled giggles as you looked up at him adoringly. He continued to pull your cheeks in different directions, and you eventually had to reach out and tickle beneath his arms to get him to let you go. Both of you were laughing loudly at this point as JJ retaliated by pinching your sides and pulling you closer to him, but an unexpected ripple against the boat caused you to lose your balance. JJ used his body to soften your fall as the two of you toppled to the deck floor, proceeding to laugh even as JJ let out an exaggerated oomph at the impact. The melancholy from earlier was all but forgotten as you were cradled against his chest, continuing to tickle and wrestle one another on top of the boat.

--

Over the next three weeks JJ had grown jumpier, but he seemed more skittish around you than anyone else. He had taken on more deliveries with Pope than expected, now doing 4-5 deliveries a week rather than the typical 2 or 3. His cash flow had increased by nearly $300 a week and you couldn’t deny that the flowers and pastries JJ had started to bring you were nice. However, the materialistic increase couldn’t hide the emotional and intimate decrease you had felt from your boyfriend recently. In the year that you and JJ had been dating, and even in the years of friendship beforehand, he had always valued actions over gifts. He would even sometimes prefer talking about what he was feeling rather than handing you something that had cost money. So, as JJ’s touches against your skin and words whispered into your ear became non-existent and his gift-giving became unmanageable, you knew something was going on: something he clearly didn’t want to talk to you about.

After not hearing from JJ in two days and knowing he wouldn’t be opening up to you anytime soon, you made your way over to Pope’s place in order to hopefully get some answers. Mr. Hayward was the one to open the door when you knocked, offering you a smile as you gave him one of your own. “Hey there, Mr. Hayward, I really like your shirt.”

He looked down at his shirt in confusion before huffing a laugh. “Thank you, (Y/N), it’s date night,” he grinned, tugging at the cotton fabric of his blue button-up. You heard the distinct sound of heels clicking against the floor before Mrs. Hayward rounded the corner. She jumped slightly when she saw you, not expecting to see anyone at the door, and then she smiled with a soft laugh. 

“Hi, (Y/N)! How are you, sweetheart?” she asked, coming to stand beside the door as Mr. Hayward went to grab the car keys.

“I’m doing okay, just came by to see if Pope needed any help with his summer homework. I know his AP classes were stressing him out a bit, so I offered to go over one of his essays with him. How about you? Your dress is really pretty, by the way.” 

Mrs. Hayward smiled at your compliment, giving her dark-red dress a bashful glance. “It’s date night, and I’ve been waiting to pop this baby out of the closet for months,” she chuckled, her bashful smile now becoming one of pride. “Pope is right upstairs in his room and I’m sure he’ll be really happy with the help.” You nodded with a smile and headed up to Pope’s room after waving goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Hayward. 

“Pope! Your mom let me in!” you shouted up the stairs as a warning before walking into your best friend’s room. Pope lifted his head from his desk at your entrance and gave you a gleeful grin. “I promise I’ll help you with your essay, but first I need your help with something,” you stated when you saw him beginning to reach for his essay. 

“Yeah, ‘course. What’s going on?” 

You took a deep breath and sat down on the edge of his bed. “It’s about JJ, but you can’t tell him I said anything.” Pope nodded and gave you his apt attention. “Ever since his delivery with you a few weeks ago, he’s been acting a little weird. I don’t know if anyone else has noticed it, but I have and I’m worried. He’s been wearing his bandana more, he almost never takes his shirt off for swimming or anything else, he doesn’t talk to me anymore, doesn’t touch me, but he’s been spending money on me. I know it sounds like unimportant tiny things, but to JJ they’re not. I’m really worried, Pope, and I was wondering if you knew if something was going on?”

“Nu-uh, he hasn’t said anything to me,” Pope frowned. “But I know he’s been taking longer with his deliveries than he used to, yet he’s making more cash. Do you think he’s worn out?” You couldn’t help but scoff at Pope’s words and shake your head. “What do you think it is?”

“I have no idea and that’s the problem. It’s not his dad and I can’t imagine him being overworked with the amount of energy he has. I don’t know what to do or how to help him and it scares me.”

Pope fell silent for a while, staring down at the ground with a pensive expression. “Listen,” he began with a sigh, “I know this isn’t something you want to hear or think of, and I don’t even believe it myself. But… but maybe he’s been seeing-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Pope Hayward. Don’t you dare,” you seethed, eyeing him with a dangerous look. “He wouldn’t do that, he’s not-”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Pope chanted and held up his hands. “Why don’t you go talk to him? You’ve always been the best out of anyone when it comes to getting JJ to open up.” 

You mulled over Pope’s words for a few moments, before giving a reluctant nod. “Sounds like my only option at this point; I just need to get him alone with me for more than five minutes,” you grumbled bitterly. “Anyway, now that we’ve covered the I-miss-my-boyfriend unit, let’s go over your essay, yeah?”

--

The next day was JJ’s day off and more than likely one of the only times you’d be able to sit down and talk with him. It was almost 6:30 in the morning when you arrived at John B’s place and you smiled softly when you saw him and JJ in the ocean. You left your shoes by The Chateau before heading down to the shoreline, waving to the two of them once they spotted you. JB waved his hand wildly in an attempt to get you in the water, but you simply shook your head and plopped down on the sand, waiting patiently for the two boys to finish their morning surf. While you waited, you laid down in the sand as the rising sun moved over you, enjoying the calm atmosphere and playful shouts of your boyfriend and best friend in the ocean. Water lapped at your feet and brought the occasional seashell to knock against your ankle, and your toes dug into the wet sand each time the water pulled away. When you felt the wind gently hit your bare legs and the waves began to slow down, you knew the boys would be making their way back to shore in the next few minutes. 

Eventually, the sound of feet splashing in the water drew closer and the anxiety in your gut began to grow as JJ and John B made their way back onto dry land. A shadow loomed over you, blocking the sun from hitting your face and causing you to squint open an eye to see who it was. JJ looked down at you with a smile, water dripping from his hair onto your exposed stomach. He carefully set his board to the side, giving John B a mindless wave as the other boy made his way back to The Chateau, before lowering himself down to you. His head rested on your chest, his arms wrapped around your waist, and his legs shifted in the sand to wrap around your own. He was wet and smelt like saltwater and you could feel a piece of slimy seaweed tangled around his calf, but you buried your fingers in his messy hair and ran your hand over his shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer to you. This was the closest you’d been to him in weeks and you had been terrified about forgetting the way his skin felt against yours; but as his hands gripped your waist and his lips rested against your collarbone and your nails scratched at his scalp and your fingers massaged his sore shoulders, everything felt okay. But, regardless of how right things felt again or how comfortable you were, you couldn’t just forget about the past three weeks knowing that it would all start again tomorrow. 

“Hey,” you whispered, tapping JJ’s shoulder blade. He hummed in acknowledgment but didn’t move a muscle. “I want to talk to you-” JJ stiffened against you, his grip tightening subconsciously, “-about the past few weeks. I know something’s been bothering you and I thought giving you space would help you work through it, but it hasn’t. You’ve only pulled away even more.” 

JJ remained stiff but his grip relaxed and he released a shaky breath. “I know.”

“Can you tell me what’s going on? Please? I love all the little treats, flowers, and gifts, but I miss you, JJ-- I miss this.” You tenderly ran your nails down his side and over his hip for emphasis. “I miss holding you and being held by you. I miss playing with your hair and rubbing your shoulders. I miss talking with you in the morning while floating on our boards or laying on the HMS Pogue. I miss finding seashells and comparing them to one another. I miss my boyfriend.” 

JJ inhaled sharply before curling against you and holding you tight, his face now buried in your chest in a desperate attempt to conceal his tears. His body shook and his muscles tensed as he fought to hold back a sob, and his hold on you was nearing painful. Your heart rate sped up as worry and anxiety took over, and you had to fight against JJ’s grip in order to sit up and pull him with you. Instantly he was digging the palm of his hands into his eyes and biting down on his bottom lip, with harsh and jagged breaths escaping from his nose too quickly. 

“Baby, stop it, you gotta let go,” you urged, tugging his lip from between his teeth to avoid it splitting (as it often had before whenever JJ tried not to cry). You forced yourself to regulate your racing heart before grabbing one of JJ’s hands and placing it over your chest. “I’m right here, you’re okay, you can cry, babe. I know it’s hard but it’s just me, I’m not going anywhere.”

JJ’s fingers curled against your skin, feeling your heart beat steadily against his palm. He dropped his other hand from his eye and blinked away the stars and black spots, but he kept his gaze on the spot where your knees touched. Tears fell freely from his eyes now, curving over his nose and getting caught between his lips. He let out a few choked sobs and harsh sniffles for a few minutes before slowly pulling his hand away from your chest once he calmed down. Instead of pulling completely away as you expected him to do, JJ placed his hand on your thigh and rubbed his thumb in mindless circles.

“I miss you too, princess, I miss you so fucking much. I’m sorry for pulling away and for not talking to you, but I didn’t… I don’t know how to talk about what’s going on. I want to tell you, I’ve wanted to since it started but…” JJ trailed off with an uneven sigh and shook his head. “I just need to get over it. It’s not that big of a deal, it happens to all sorts of people, I need to stop being a little bitch about it,” he seethed before slamming his fist into the sand beside him. 

You placed your hand on top of the one he had on your thigh and squeezed his wrist. “No, you don’t. You’re not a little bitch for caring about something and for being hurt. You can tell me, you know that I’m not going to judge you. Whatever is going on is hurting you and you don’t deserve to be hurt more than you already have been.”

“I don’t want you to break up with me. I don’t want to lose you,” JJ confessed in a broken voice. He looked up at you and you could finally see the anguish and guilt clouding his eyes as he continued to cry. “But I need to tell you, I can’t keep it inside anymore. So… so if you do want to break up, I understand,” he choked before furiously wiping at his eyes.

Your heart stuttered at the implication causing you to take a deep breath. “Just be honest, that’s all I ask. You don’t have to hide anything or alter the truth, okay?” JJ gave a small nod and squeezed your thigh.

“It first happened three weeks ago, when I was helping Pope with an early morning delivery. I was doing my last run to the Cameron’s, and usually I drop them off with Wheezie since she’s the only one ever awake. But that morning she was at a friend’s house or something, I guess, and instead, it was Rose who was there to grab the groceries. She uh, she had me follow her inside to the kitchen and started showing me where to put stuff away. And in my head, ya know, I’m thinkin’, ‘lady, this isn’t part of my job description’, but I don’t say anything because I need the cash. So I’m putting away her groceries and she’s lingering and saying these things about how strong I am and how she’s so glad I chose to help her, but I don’t think anything of it. But when I reach up to put away the cereal, my tank top rides up and she comes up behind me and puts her hands on my waist. I jump and almost knock down the entire cupboard, and I try to push her away but she just spins me around like it’s nothing. Like I’m nothing. I’m telling her to stop, that I’ve got a girl, that I’m not interested, all this shit, but she doesn’t listen. She just keeps touching me, mainly my stomach and arms, and saying how she’s just appreciating ‘a hard-working young man’. I wanted to push her away and get the hell out of there, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t fucking move. If I did push her away then that shit would’ve been turned on me so fast and I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t breathe and all I kept thinking about was you and how I wanted her to stop. After she had her fill of feeling me up, she kissed my neck and handed me a hundred-dollar tip. Like… like I was her own personal whore or somethin’. I ran out of there so damn fast, and I tried rubbing off the lipstick but it was bright fucking red, so I had to wear my bandana around my neck all day. That morning wasn’t the only time, either, she’s been requesting me for every delivery. I wanted to say something, I wanted to tell you but I… I was scared. I’m a guy, this shit doesn’t happen to guys. I should’ve pushed her away, I should’ve fought back, I should’ve done more but instead, I just fucking stood there. I’ve been cheating on you because I was too much of a pussy to push her away.”

“You haven’t been cheating on me,” you said instantly, letting the impact of JJ’s story wash over you. His head snapped up and his brows furrowed as he looked at you. He opened his mouth to argue, but you shook your head. “You told her to stop. She’s in her thirties and you’re sixteen. She holds power and authority over you, and if you physically pushed her away things would have gotten much worse. You didn’t ask for her to touch you or kiss you or give you more money than you were owed. Rose sexually assaulted you, and that isn’t your fault, JJ. None of what happened is your fault.” Your voice was gentle but your words were firm and you held onto JJ’s hand as you spoke. 

“I did cheat on you, I let another woman-”

You interrupted him, “You didn’t let her do anything. She forced herself onto you and put you in a position where she knew you wouldn’t be able to fight back or deny her. You were forced into being complacent, and that’s not your fault. You’re right, this does happen all the time, but just because you’re a guy that doesn’t make it unimportant or invalid. You didn’t cheat on me, and I’m not breaking up with you. I’m going to help you work through this.”

JJ shook his head violently and tore his hand from your grasp. He stood up on weak legs and paced beside you, tugging harshly at his hair. “No, no, I wasn’t sexually assaulted. I’m strong, I’m a guy, I could’ve pushed her away easily, but I didn’t. I didn’t fight back and I didn’t tell you for three weeks! You shouldn’t be holding my hand, you should be screaming at me and hitting me and breaking up with me!” he ranted in hysterics, continuing to pace and tug at his hair.

Your heart ached at your boyfriend’s words and you had to blink away your own tears. You moved yourself to your knees before reaching out and grabbing ahold of JJ’s ankle, forcing him to stop moving and look down at you. “What if it was me?”

“What? What if what was you?” 

“What if I had helped Pope with the deliveries and Ward Cameron touched me while I was putting away his groceries? What if he had me backed against a counter and was touching my waist and kissing my neck? What if I begged him to stop, told him I wasn’t interested, told him I had a boyfriend, and told him no multiple times? What if he didn’t listen to me and kept touching me, even though I told him no? Everyone on this island knows I can fight just as hard, if not harder, than any man. But what if I couldn’t fight back? What if I punched him and lost everything? Mr. Hayward could lose his business, Pope could lose his scholarship, and I could get thrown in jail; because the Cameron’s have money and they have power and I don’t. So, what if I was touched by an older man repeatedly, against my will, even after I begged him to stop? Would it have been my fault? Would I be weak because it happened? Would you break up with me?” 

You looked up at JJ and his breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening in understanding. His knees buckled and you were quick to grab ahold of his waist and carefully help him back to the ground. Once he was safely seated, he reached out and grabbed your hands, pulling you closer to him until you were straddling his lap. His arms wrapped around your waist and he tucked his head into your neck, holding you close to him. You could feel his body shaking despite the warm weather and his silent tears falling against your throat, but you remained silent as he worked through what you had said. You dutifully ran your hands through his hair, combing out the tangles with your fingers and giving soothing scratches against his scalp. JJ clung to you in silence for the next hour, and you had almost fallen asleep when you felt his arms loosen and his hands move to your waist. You pulled back to look down at him and saw him already looking up at you with red eyes and puffy cheeks. The anguish and guilt that had been swimming in his blue eyes the past few weeks no longer seemed to overtake the love and adoration they usually held when JJ looked at you. You cupped his cheeks between your hands and kissed him softly, smiling when you felt his thumbs rub your sides in appreciation.

“I love you,” JJ murmured against your lips before pulling back.

You kissed his forehead lovingly, “I love you too, babe. We’ll work through this, you’re not on your own anymore. I’ve got you, and I’ll make sure Rose Cameron doesn’t lay a hand on you again.”