#it's somehow even worse when it's not just random people with their phones or the tabloid rags

[jakeperalta]

extremely icky seeing them repeatedly showing everyone at liam's funeral on the news :/

[wheres-mylove]

ice-cold revelations - modern!cregan stark x fem!velaryon!reader

Summary: You are in a risky secret relationship with your brother's best friend. What happens when Cregan's unexpected injury exposes your feelings? Well, isn't there somebody you forgot to ask?

Disclaimer: English isn't my first language!

Word count: 2.8k

The wind tore through the streets with a biting ferocity, tugging at (Y/N)’s skirt and making her instantly regret both her outfit choice and this entire trip to the bus stop.

“Stupid winter has to be coming,” she muttered, yanking a colorful scarf up to cover her nose. Her phone chimed in her pocket, vibrating with the familiar sound of a new message. She fumbled with one hand to pull it out, her fingers stiff from the cold.

🐺: jace wouldn’t stop bugging me about that earring under my bed

🐺: i convinced him sara must’ve left it when she crashed at our place lmao

(Y/N) raised her eyebrows, her breath fogging the air as she sighed. The last thing she needed was her brother playing the part of a suspicious rom-com wife, finding random jewelry in odd places and jumping to conclusions. At least he hadn’t figured out where he’d seen that earring before.

Jacaerys Velaryon, as much as she adored him, had a habit of being a little too protective. He was always there when she needed him. But he was also the kind of brother who, despite being only a few minutes older, seemed to think that fact gave him full control over her dating life. Any guy who so much as glanced her way was either a potential threat or one of his friends. And friends were off-limits. Too much drama, he’d say. Too awkward if things went south. Even more awkward if things somehow worked out. Conflict of interest. Absolutely not.

Which was precisely why, in the grand scheme of things, the most logical solution was for her to start dating his best friend and his hockey team captain, Cregan Stark.

Cregan was wonderful. The kind of guy who would do anything for her, no questions asked. That's what had brought them to where they were now. Hiding their relationship from her dramatic brother and quite literally gaslighting him.

Did she feel guilty? Absolutely. Did she know it would be a hundred times worse if Jace found out? Also yes.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a bus speeding past the stop, tires screeching as it flew by. Her bus. Of course.

With impressive force, she pressed the green phone icon.

“Hey, sweetheart. What’s up?” Cregan answered in three seconds. Her irritation melted a little at the sound of his deep voice. Down bad.

“Hey, did you guys finish practice?”

“Yeah, just now, I couldn’t cut the boys any slack before tomorrow.”

“Any chance the strict captain could give me a ride home? I missed the bus. Or more like the bus missed me.”

“You’re kidding,” Cregan said, sympathy already thick in his voice. “Of course I’ll come get you.” He paused for a beat, then cleared his throat. “Only thing is… Jace wanted a ride too.”

“The gods are punishing me today,” she groaned.

“Call him. It'll be the same ride. Just, you know, he'll think it was his idea,” Cregan suggested.

“Are we bad people, Cregan?” she asked, half-serious now.

“Nah. He’ll find out eventually, just better if I’m in full hockey gear when it happens.”

“Fair enough,” she said, the corner of her mouth lifting in a smile. “Thanks. Love you. Bye.”

She hung up and immediately dialed her brother, requesting the same exact thing.

“Sure, you owe me one though,” he said cheerfully. “I don’t have my car today, so we’ll have to go with Stark. Is that a problem?”

“Nope.” No, her boyfriend wouldn’t be a problem.

(Y/N) Velaryon paced back and forth under the shelter of the bus stop, her boots crunching against the thin layer of frost that had already formed on the pavement. She rubbed her arms, trying to keep the cold at bay, when the familiar growl of a black Jeep Wrangler cut through the quiet. It rolled to a stop near the curb.

She jogged toward the car, her breath puffing out in small clouds, as the driver’s window slid down.

“Your chariot awaits, princess,” Cregan announced with a mock flourish.

“More like a toad,” Jace quipped from the passenger seat, his grin unmistakable.

“One more word and you’ll get my bag to the head. I’ve got half my textbooks in there,” she threatened playfully as she slid into the backseat.

The backseat of this car had witnessed many events, and that was the first thought that crossed her mind. One look at Cregan in the side mirror, and she knew he was thinking the same.

She pretended to be very engrossed in buckling her seatbelt.

“How was practice?” she asked out of politeness.

“Not bad. Stark was all business today, but it was necessary. Big day tomorrow,” Jace replied, fiddling with the radio. Cregan slapped his hand away as he slowed down for a red light.

“Great,” the girl muttered, not trusting her tongue around the two of them together.

An awkward silence fell, broken only by some random song. How long can a red light last?

“So, (Y/N),” Cregan began, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. His voice wavered, but Jace was in his own world, watching pedestrians crossing the street. “How’s it going? How was your day?”

“Pretty good,” she replied, playing with the hem of her skirt. “Though the classes dragged on.”

The devil on her shoulder won an uneven fight with the weak angel. She smirked.

“‘M absolutely knackered.”

Cregan inhaled slowly through his nose.

“Dude, it’s green,” Jace informed him, just before the car behind them honked.

“I can see,” Cregan reassured him, finally moving forward. “I’ll need your sister’s address since I’ve never been there before.”

If Jace had one more brain cell, he wouldn’t be so easily fooled.

“Sure thing,” her brother agreed, typing the info into the GPS on his phone. “Hey, kid, are you coming to the game tomorrow?”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” (Y/N) asked angrily, kicking his seat. “Baela’s taking me.”

“You know what I think?” Jace started, spreading his arms dramatically. “A girlfriend in the stands is such a power boost. Such a boost… I never play as well as when Baela supports me from the bleachers.”

“You never play well,” His sister muttered under her breath, but Jacaerys was currently listening only to himself.

“Cregan wouldn’t get it,” He patted Cregan on the shoulder in the meantime. “If you combined your skills with that support, if you brought a girl, trust me, your performance would be a hundred times better.”

“Talented people don’t need superstitions to play well, Jace,” (Y/N) chimed in, leaning forward. “Besides, Cregan is single.”

“Because he’s too serious and broody, girls don’t like that,” her brother declared in a know-it-all voice. She gave him a side-eye. “He is afraid of women.”

“Are you afraid of women, Stark?” she asked seriously, barely holding back laughter.

Cregan shot her a look in the mirror, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Terrified,” he deadpanned. “That’s why I’m thinking maybe your sister should be my good luck charm tomorrow. Just as a friend, of course.”

“Eh, it’s not the same,” Jace protested, scrunching his face.

“Don’t you believe in the power of friendship?” the driver asked with full seriousness.

“Can I get a jersey with your number?” (Y/N) batted her lashes playfully at her boyfriend.

A jersey with his number was already hanging in her closet.

“Alright, you’ll see, you need deeper feelings for it to work, otherwise it just won’t…”

Jacaerys continued his monologue all the way to her apartment. The girl sighed with relief once she was back in her room, the familiarity of it a welcome escape from the tension.

Two new messages.

🐺: you looked so pretty today

🐺: but next time wear a damn coat, or you’ll catch a cold!!!

The fluorescent light above (Y/N)’s head flickered ominously, casting creepy shadows across the cramped janitor’s closet. She swore that if the bulb died completely, she'd either pee her pants or spiral into a full-blown claustrophobic meltdown. Leaning back against the wall, she tried to focus on the neatly arranged rows of brooms and mops. Soon, the door creaked open, revealing Cregan in all his glory.

Full hockey gear? Check. Helmet? Tucked under his arm. That goofy, ridiculous smile? Definitely check.

“You look so good,” she admitted, grabby hands already in the air. “Come here.”

Cregan shut the door behind him with a soft click, casting a glance at the flickering light overhead. He sighed, took one of her hands, and kissed her wrist softly. 

“We have to tell your brother,” Stark said, his voice serious as he placed his helmet on the wooden shelf beside them. “It’s not right that my girl has to sneak me a good-luck kiss in a smelly closet. You should be able to strut right into the locker room.”

His girl grinned. “You’ve got your gear on,” she pointed out. “We can tell him after the game. Besides, Baela’s softening him up for us. I asked her to.”

Baela Targaryen was known for sniffing out secrets, and the second she spotted (Y/N) wearing Cregan’s jersey before the game, she didn’t even need to ask. Her knowing look said it all, and within minutes, Velaryon girl spilled the truth, enduring Baela’s delighted squeal that had probably echoed for miles.

“I knew you had high standards, girl. Going straight for the captain!” Baela teased, laughing. “Jace obviously doesn’t know? He hasn’t said anything... and Stark’s still breathing.”

Thankfully, Baela had been more than willing to help, distracting Jace so Cregan could sneak away after the pre-game pep talk. Now, Cregan was looking at (Y/N) with pride, his eyes lingering on the jersey she wore. 

“She’s a real one for that,” he mused. “But seriously, we have to tell him. I want a picture of us on my lock screen, and that asshole keeps looking over my shoulder.”

She laughed, pulling him closer and kissing him hard, savoring the way his rough stubble tickled her skin.

“For now,” she murmured against his lips, “just focus on the game. You’re incredible. An amazing captain. And it’s going to go great. I believe in you.”

Cregan grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Maybe one more kiss. Just to make sure we win.”

“The power of having a girl in the stands,” she teased, poking his chest playfully.

“Jace definitely exaggerated that theory,” Cregan confessed with a chuckle. “But honestly... I’m just glad you’re here.”

With butterflies in her stomach and a grin she couldn’t wipe off her face, (Y/N) found herself in the stands minutes later, sitting next to Baela. Her friend was watching the silent exchange of glances between her and Cregan with thinly veiled amusement.

“I always knew Jace was blind, but this is just tragic,” Baela remarked, elbowing her in the ribs. Jace, oblivious as ever, waved enthusiastically from the rink. Both girls waved back, cheering with the crowd.

“You’ll boo with me when the Dornish Spears come out, right?” (Y/N) asked.

Baela gave her a mock-serious look. “Technically, we shouldn’t. Obviously, I will,” she promised. 

The game was fast, brutal, and nearly deadlocked until the very end. (Y/N) had never yelled so much in her life, though her shouts were lost in the deafening roar of the crowd. Cregan played like a man possessed, commanding the ice with his usual grace. At least twenty times during the match, she found herself holding her breath, her heart leaping into her throat with every risky play. But she knew he had it under control. He always did.

Of course they won.

The victory rippled through the stands like a wave, and (Y/N) screamed herself hoarse as the crowd erupted around her. Cregan pulled off his helmet, his eyes scanning the stands until he found her. His smile—tired and breathtaking—was for her, and her alone. She didn’t regret the ringing in her ears or the scratch in her throat for a second. Moments later, he was swept up in a sea of celebrating teammates.

“Girl, are you crying?” Baela asked, pulling her into a hug.

“I don’t know,” She sniffled. “I’m just emotional. I just like that boy so fucking much, Bae.”

“I know, honey. Come on, they’re heading off the ice. Let’s congratulate them, and then have a crazy party or something. No time for tears.”

Cregan was one of the last players to leave the ice, trailing just behind Jace. But before he could step off, the captain of the opposing team, his face twisted with anger, skated up to him. For a moment, it looked like they might talk it out. But then, it all happened too fast.

The player from Dorne shoved Cregan hard against the wall. Stark, ever the calm one, simply raised his hands in a peaceful gesture.

And then he took a fist to the face. The sickening sound of bone cracking echoed across the rink.

“What the hell is going on? Jace!” Baela shouted, holding her friend back as she tried to rush forward.

Jace jumped back onto the ice, but by the time he got there, the other team had pulled their enraged captain away. Cregan stumbled off the ice just as (Y/N) reached him.

“Are you okay? Oh gods, let me see,” she fretted, her hands hovering near his face.

“What a fucking jerk!” Jace nearly screamed, skidding to a stop by the exit. “I called for help, they’ll be here in a second.”

(Y/N) carefully moved Cregan’s hand away, revealing the damage. His face was a swollen mess, his nose clearly broken.

“Do you think they’ll make me lie face-down on the ice?” Cregan joked weakly, leaning on her for support.

“Does it hurt a lot? Maybe you should sit down. Oh shit, I can’t believe—”

“Hey, sweetheart. Calm down,” Cregan murmured, his voice soothing despite the pain. “It hurts like hell, but I’ll live.”

Just then, the medic arrived, momentarily distracting Jace. But despite the chaos, he had clearly heard what Cregan just said. For a moment, Jace stood there, his face pale as the words and the image before him sank in.

“Sweetheart?” he echoed softly, but no one paid him any attention.

“Jace, maybe now’s not the time,” Baela said gently, stepping up beside him.

“I feel physically sick,” Jace muttered, staggering to the railing for support.

The medic handed Cregan an ice pack. “Hold this to your face for a bit. I’ll get you something for the pain right away, but a doctor’s gonna have to set that nose.”

Cregan winced but smiled through it. “You might wanna check on my friend first,” he said, gesturing toward Jace. “I can wait. He looks like he’s about to pass out.”

Jace did, in fact, end up passing out.

Cregan had to take a break from sports after that little adventure. He’d recovered, but now sported a slightly crooked nose—something his girlfriend found oddly hot.

(Y/N) saw his temporary recovery as the perfect chance to manipulate him into watching Teen Wolf with her every evening. After all, the title worked in her favor.

They were nestled on the couch, wrapped together in a soft gray blanket. It was their first time lounging in the living room of the apartment Cregan shared with her brother, rather than hiding behind the securely locked door of his bedroom. 

It would be perfect, really. If it weren’t for Jace’s constant, deliberate trips to the kitchen and bathroom, each one an obvious reminder that he was keeping an eye on them.

“Dear Jacaerys,” (Y/N) said, her patience wearing thin, “you do know we don’t need a chaperone, right?”

Jace barely paused, shooting her a sidelong glance before muttering, “You need someone to knock the stupid ideas out of your heads,” as he slammed the bathroom door.

Cregan chuckled softly, pulling her closer. “Give him some time,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple. “To be honest, I thought it would be worse. He’ll come around eventually.”

They’d already gone through several long, tension-filled conversations, with Baela stepping in as the voice of reason when things got too heated. They were careful now, avoiding anything that might provoke Jace further.

But Cregan was right—Jace was slowly coming around, even if he was still stubborn. The days of silent treatment had finally passed.

“This is on us for hiding things from him,” (Y/N) sighed, watching her brother embark on yet another purposeful long journey to the kitchen. “No more secrets now.”

“Your brother’s just looking out for you,” Cregan called out, raising his voice slightly so Jace could hear. “He doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you, and I respect that. I don’t know anyone else who cares like he does.”

Jace stopped, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, eyes narrowed. His lips curved into a sweet, mischievous grin.

“Yeah,” he began, drawing out the word. “So tell me sister, when are you introducing him to Mom?”

[m1dn1ght-r0t]

Plausible Deniability

Yandere!creepy coworker x gn!reader

TW: creepy/perverted behavior, implied stolen belongings & stalking, mentions of sexual harassment, murder (of a side char), delusional & unstable behavior, some NSFW towards the end

There’s this coworker of yours that, for some reason, unnerves you.

You don’t know why. He mostly keeps to himself, save for the occasional nod of acknowledgement when you cross paths in the break room or the elevator. Other than that, he’s harmless.

In fact, you think he's a complete pushover. A doormat people dump their responsibilities on, only for them to take all the (undeserved) credit when a project succeeds.

You honestly can’t count the number of times you've had to stand up for him, drawing boundaries he refuses to set for himself. (Not that you're doing this out of kindness, it's just a matter of fairness.) You've learnt that his default is to sit still and take every punch thrown his way.

Sure, now you find coffee and a granola bar on your desk every morning, which you suspect is from him. Not a hard mystery to crack when he's always the first in the office and constantly sneaks glances at you the second you sit down.

But that still doesn't explain this strange, visceral reaction you have to him. None of this should be setting off alarm bells. Why should it, when he hasn't done anything but… exist?

Yet, there’s a pit nestled deep in your stomach that won't go away.

Maybe it’s because you’ve been on edge lately, catching him staring at you in a dazed, trance-like state.

Maybe it’s the way he knows things about you he shouldn’t. Like the time you offhandedly mentioned not getting enough sleep, and he told you that looking at your phone before bed was poor sleep hygiene, that you shouldn’t scroll so late into the night. You had laughed awkwardly and agreed, chalking it up to coincidence. But he had only smiled, pleased.

Or maybe it's because items have gone missing from your workspace. Your favorite pens, your used tissues from the bin, a coffee mug you once left unwashed. Again, you had brushed it off as your mind playing tricks on you.

Until you saw him using a pen identical to your missing ones, right down to the blue cap. They even had the indents where your teeth had pressed into the plastic.

At that point, you were convinced he was the culprit. But you can’t prove it. What if he just… also chews his pens? You’d look like an idiot, accusing him of theft over something so mundane.

Then there’s the matter of the random men’s handkerchiefs left on your desk. At first, they seemed innocuous. Until you discovered, to your abject horror, that they had an off-white crusting on the fabric, characteristically reminiscent of dried cum.

Are you crazy for thinking it's somehow connected to your coworker? Because you know it is. But again, no real proof. You're stuck in this infuriating limbo, unable to do anything.

To make matters worse, you’re losing sleep over your direct manager’s hands-on approach. The unwanted groping, the sexually inappropriate comments disguised as jokes, the veiled threats passed off as favors. None of which you can escalate to HR, given your manager’s influence.

As a result, the quality of your work is tanking, but you couldn’t quit this shitty job even if you wanted to. You need that promotion and the raise that’s promised with it. So you have no choice but to endure.

So yeah, maybe all of this is warping your otherwise sharp instincts, making you paranoid and causing you to believe things that aren't true.

Still, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re at your wit's end. Like a dam slowly filling, waiting to burst.

And then, one mundane night, it finally spills over.

~

You’re heading to your car in the basement parking lot after a late overtime shift when someone calls your name. You whip around.

It’s your coworker, emerging from behind his car’s trunk. “Hey, finally done with work? Stayed back pretty late tonight, huh?” he says casually.

The coincidence barely registers. You're too exhausted, too focused on getting home and crashing. “Oh, hey. Yeah,” you sigh. “I’ve just been put on this project, and—”

Something red catches your eye. Your gaze flicks downward, and nothing could have prepared you for what you see.

“What…” You breathe out, face paling.

He’s walking toward you - is that a pep in his step? - clutching a fistful of your very dead manager’s hair, hoisting his limp body like a ragdoll.

And just like that, every alarm bell in your head finally makes sense.

Your coworker is truly, utterly fucking insane.

Eyes wide and stricken with panic, you stumble backward. “What did you do? Oh god, what did you do?”

He cocks his head, as if you're the one acting strange. “What do you mean? I got rid of him because he was bothering you.”

The body's shoes scuff against the concrete as he drags it closer. Up close, you see just how grotesquely its bent - joints twisted at impossible angles, akin to a contortionist. Bile rises up your throat.

“You won’t have to put up with that disgusting pervert anymore.” Please stop talking.

“Work won’t be as stressful now that he's gone.” Shut up. I don’t want to hear this.

“Aren’t you happy? I did this for you.” He smiles, watching you expectantly, as if waiting for you to rejoice and praise him for his hard work.

Exasperated, you snap. “Where the hell did you get that idea? Why would you even think to do something like this?”

His brows scrunch in confusion, hesitation blooming on his face at this unexpected development. “But the signs… y-you looked miserable. I hated seeing you lose your spark, your confidence. Every day, because of that asshole.” He grits out the insult, voice thick with bitter resentment.

Then, softer, like he‘s trying to reason with you, “You were hoping I’d notice, weren’t you?”

You let out an incredulous laugh. “Signs? What fucking signs screamed ‘I want him dead’ to you?”

He blinks, unfazed. “Well, you did say you wanted him dead.”

“I never said that! When did I—” And then it hits you.

You did say that. Half-drunk at a work gathering, tipsy off cheap cocktails, and ranting to your colleagues: God, I wish that man would just drop dead.

Your stomach lurches. "You can't actually be…oh my god," you whisper, panic surging. He murdered someone because of you. Does that make you complicit? Could you be charged for this?

“I wasn’t actually being serious," you say, desperate now. "You know that, right?”

“But you—”

“That doesn’t mean you can just murder him! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

This… he seems to take offense to. His face crumbles. Like you've just rammed a stake through his heart.

Without warning, except for the slight quiver of his bottom lip, he bursts into tears.

"O-oh… I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. God, I'm sorry." He hiccups between sobs, devolving into a full on breakdown. The corpse, long forgotten, lies rotting on the concrete.

“I-I didn’t mean to upset you… I’m sorry. I thought,”—sniff—“I thought you’d be glad he was gone! I didn’t think you’d be…”—sniff sniff—“mad. I’m so so sorry. This is my fault. My fault my fault my fault.”

You stare. Because what the actual fuck is happening?

But disturbingly, you feel bad for him.

Suddenly, you’re all too aware of where you are. It's late. You’re in an open parking lot. If someone walks in and finds you here - with him, and that - you’re fucked.

And given his fragile state, he might do something rash, like confess. You can’t have that happening. So you sober up and keep your voice steady, trying your best to calm his nerves, even if it means lying.

“Look, I’m not upset. Just… shocked.” You hesitate before reaching out, hovering a hand above his trembling shoulder.

“Don’t cry, okay? It’s—uh—it’s all good.”

Jesus, you’re terrible at this. How do you even comfort someone for killing a person?

But you must be doing something right, because at that, he perks up a little and stops crying. He peeks up at you from behind his hands, sniffling.

“Did I do… good?”

And you realize then, in that moment, he’s still searching for your approval. Still waiting, like some kicked puppy, for your validation. For some reason, witnessing him in this state invigorates a sort of power trip in you.

Something else clicks. You can use this. Your manager is dead. That promotion is yours. No more bullshit. No more suffering.

A win-win, in your eyes. So you reach out carefully and pat his head. “Yeah," you murmur. "You did good. But we need to deal with the body. You know how to dispose of one?”

His eyes shine with glee. And to your relief, he nods. “Y-yeah. I’ll clean up real good for you.”

You don’t ask how he knows. Some things are better left unknown. ~

The moment you leave, he practically stumbles to his car, ripping the door open in his haste. His hands tremble as they grip the steering wheel, knuckles going white.

He's been hard ever since you offered that quiet crumb of praise - so hard it hurts.

Thank god you didn't linger. Any longer, and he would’ve cum in his pants right then and there.

Desperate to rub one out, he fumbles with his belt, shoving his slacks down mid-thigh. His cock is already leaking, twitching against his palm as he wraps a fist around it.

He replays the moment over and over - your voice, your touch, the way your fingers had absently twined in his hair. So soft. So gentle. His hips jerk at the thought, a strangled whimper escaping.

"F-fuck," he gasps, stroking himself in frantic, uncoordinated motions. He pictures you above him, pressing your palm to his head again, whispering sweet approval in his ear. The phantom weight of your body, the warmth of your breath - shit, he’s close.

His free hand fumbles through the glove compartment, grasping for a handkerchief. He barely manages to brace himself before he’s falling apart, shuddering as he blows his load into the fabric, your name spilling past his lips like a reverent prayer.

For a moment, he just sits there, chest heaving and fingers flexing weakly around his softening cock. Then, almost instinctively, he folds the damp handkerchief neatly, setting it aside.

It's not enough. It never is. But tomorrow, he'll see you again. And for now, that’s enough.

~

The next morning, you find coffee, a granola bar, and a neatly folded men’s handkerchief placed on your desk.

[doodledrawsthings]

you. Oh my god, you. (Positive)

listen. Before I had internet access, all I had was 1 hour of allotted browser time, bing image search, and a single dantdm play through of a hat in time that never got finished. I googled fanart and got pretty much nothing, I googled fancomics and got pretty much nothing, but you know what I did end up finding?

your art.

from ages 11-14, my goal in life, in art, was your art. I can’t tell you how much I loved finding random screenshots of your posts, because I was always just so impressed by how clean and consistent your sketches are, how the characters always stay on model, the shape language, how you could somehow sketch a character in like 20 lines when it took me 50 to draw sans in my little spiral notebook— like! Holy shit! For years I have looked up to your art! There’s still a photos folder on my dads old huge-ass 12 inch work iPad labeled “holy crap” and filled with your art. Because it inspired me so much. It’s become an undeniable part of my artstyle, now — I still have fanart I drew way back in the day of Hattie and the rest, I didn’t even know anyone’s names because I couldn’t play the game, but you’re the reason I eventually did play the game. Your coffee shop au and different versions of the prince— one of those ieterations inspired the main character of my novel! Well, novel that I tried to write, I was 13 so it was eh, but I tried!!

I’m submitting this on-anon because I don’t want to out my age on the wide internet (I like my privacy) but. Your art has really meant a lot to me. It’s the reason I played hollow knight, and it’s the reason I kept trying to develop an art style I was happy with. You’re the reason I started scribbling comics in my notebooks. Being 13-14 was pretty much the worst two years of my life, but I had Bing image search and the occasional glimpse of your signature, and I’d be so happy every time I found a new (if crusty) three-times screenshotted jpg. You literally introduced me to the concept of polyamory and nonbinary-ness with the coffee shop au. I had no other access to that in my household, and. Yeah. It meant a lot to me.

Anyway. I’m so glad I’ve finally tracked you down (in the most non-ominous way possible) and I’m so glad you’re still active— Please never stop making art. Your art is incredible, and amazing, and also you never know who’s out there on Bing image search. Thank you for creating for as long as you have. You’re pretty much the reason I’m shooting for an art degree (Wish me luck!) so just…Thank you.

(Also I had no idea you were a professional storyboarder, which is insane because that’s what I want to be when I’m through college. Hey, maybe I’ll end up storyboarding a remake of something you’ve storyboarded! hehehe)

Hi anon!

So right off the bat, I gotta tell you that this message made me start bawling when I woke up and saw it. Like I had a full-on cry session while reading your message and lying in bed for almost an hour. I am crying as I am typing this response, on my phone, still in bed. It’s 11am and i woke up at 9. So I hope it turns out coherent.

The last two years have been. weird. I say that a lot because I wanna say “rough” but that still doesn’t feel quite right. I’m almost hyper-aware that there are so many people that have it worse than me rn, so it feels hard to even acknowledge when I’m going through anything, myself, sometimes- REGARDLESS, it’s been kind of an all-time low for my mental health. There was a point within in the last year where I just HATED drawing. I struggled to bring myself to work, I struggled to bring myself to even draw for fun. It felt like I was posting just to post, trying to keep people aware of my existence and it almost felt physically painful to force myself to sit down and do it, sometimes.

I’m getting better now, I think, but. Yknow.

It’s so easy to get caught up in the “oh I can make money off this,” “oh I can get attention off this,” “oh I can prove myself a functional person in society with this,” of it all. I forget why I actually do this, sometimes, or if I even enjoy it. And then I get messages like yours, about the kid with limited internet access looking for A Hat in Time fan art on Bing image search, and I get taken back to when I was a kid scrolling Google images and deviantart for the same thing.

I don’t mean to like. Foster some kind of parasocial thing with you or any one of my followers. There’s a reason I’m saying all this, I hope it ties up in the end.

We don’t know each other. I’m not some mysterious legendary artist, or whatever. I’m a person who gets burnt out, and jealous, and insecure. I need inspiration to function, just like you, and when I don’t have it, I get art block. But I also really like to draw fictional characters kissing and hanging out. I like coming up with comics and stories and playing out dramatic and funny scenarios in my head like I’m mashing Barbies together. And when other people tell me they enjoy the stuff I put out when I do this, it makes me really, really, really happy.

I think I needed to read your message, probably. With the state of… Everything… Right now, especially recently, I feel like a lot of artists are also struggling with a sense of purpose, pride, and reason as the world makes it harder and harder to even BE an artist, these days. And when I read this message it was like Anton Ego at the end of Ratatouille, I got taken back to when I was a kid looking at my favorite artists and studying their style and striving to be better and better at it over years of my life. Not just because I wanted a job for it or cuz I wanted to be a famous Disney animator or whatever, but because it was fun and I just liked doing it.

Thank you, SO much. I say this in the most genuine and earnest way I possibly can possibly express. I wish you luck on your own path in art and art school. And if you decide that animation industry is your thing, then I wish you the best in that endeavor, as well. I think I will keep making art for a long time.

Peace and love on the planet earth ✌️✌️✌️

[jo-speaks]

Love the prompt ideas for your birthday (happy birthday!!!) 🍩 not being able to talk it out, but still showing physical affection - taking your hand in theirs, massaging you in silence, hugging, cuddling. With quinnifer

warnings: mentions of cyberbullying

celly masterlist

Your bed felt cold, the space Quinn usually occupied was left vacant as he finished up a call with his brother. Small tears rolled down your face as you tugged your blanket up to your chin, sniffling in an attempt to calm yourself. You knew he’d be leaving first thing in the morning, and even though you knew he’d come back, you didn’t want to say goodbye when this was going on. 

You had gone against his advice to not scroll through the comments on his latest post. He had wanted to post you for a while, wanting to show you off to everyone regardless of being a private person when it came to his personal life. You ended up agreeing, the gesture seeming sweet and harmless. But you underestimated his fanbase. 

The comments were filled with attacks against you, some passive and some not. Sure there were a handful of nice comments, but it was hard to ignore the negative ones. You had expected it , but seeing it somehow made it worse.

What you hadn’t expected was for him to be standing outside your bedroom door, his hand still on the doorknob as he hesitated to step in. When he heard a sob escape your lips, the paralysis wore off and he sprung into action.

He stepped into your room, your eyes immediately meeting his. Neither of you said one word as he slipped under the blankets with you, his cold arms wrapping around your waist, pulling your body close to his.

As you rested your head on his chest, your tears slowed, his touch immediately calming you down. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” He asked softly.

You shook your head, not wanting to talk about it because you knew he’d just tell you to ignore it or offer to take it down. It felt childish to let the words of random people online take such a toll on your emotions, so you were also partially embarrassed. 

Quinn ran his hand up and down your back, his eyes trailing their gaze to your figure. He noticed the faint gleam of your phone screen resting behind you, moving his hand slowly to pick it up. Once he saw what you had been looking at, he reached over to grab his phone, doing his best not to move in a way that would alert you that he was doing anything else but comforting you. 

He opened up Instagram and opened up the settings for the post. He shut off the comments, not wanting to take the post down because it was his profile and if he wanted to show you off he could. 

After that was done, he gave you his full attention. His grip tightened around you, and his lips found the top of your head. “I love you, Y/N.”

[coconut-dreamz]

delicate

"is it chill that you're in my head?" || tom blyth x famous! reader

a/n: it's my first time writing for tom blyth and i've been obsessed with him and taylor swift songs lately so i wrote this! i hope you enjoy ! slightly angsty, ambiguous relationship between reader and tom

my reputation's never been worse

so you must like me for me

ever since the news came out that you and your a-list celeb ex broke up, negative comments filled your comment sections. all you wanted to do was turn them off, but your pr team was vehemently against it. they wanted it to seem like you didn't care about the criticisms, you didn't, but it was getting out of hand now. 

there were rumors on those stupid gossip sites that you had cheated on him and that it was what caused the downfall of you two. that couldn't be further from the truth, but he and his pr team decided to not comment on it and therefore your management team decided that it would look like you were just trying to cover your ass by denying the accusations. 

but, just when you were in the deep of it, you met tom. he didn't care about what people were saying about you. you had met at a mutual friend's new years party. he hadn't even heard about the rumors about you until you mentioned it. he was a breath of fresh air. 

dive bar on the east side, where you at?

phone lights up my nightstand in the black

you had moved to new york recently to escape the toxicity that plagued your every move in la. you didn't have many friends there, all of them left behind in la. tom had taken it upon himself to show you the best spots in town. 

you were wallowing in self pity, watching dumb rom-coms on a random tuesday evening when your phone lights up on your nightstand. you pause your film and move to pick up the phone. it was tom, asking if you were busy. you quickly reply with a no. he invites you out to a nearby dive bar with him and some of his friends. 

you were hesitant at first, feeling comfortable in your bed. but, tom managed to convince you to  come out. you quickly throw on a pair of jeans and a nice shirt, hailing a cab and heading to the bar in question.

the moment you walk into the bar, tom shouts your name, waving you over to him and his group of friends. "i'm so glad you could make it! this is rachel and josh, they're my costars for my most recent project." 

is it cool that i said all that?

is it chill that you're in my head?

you laugh at tom's ridiculous dancing, you were on facetime as he was on set for tbosas and you were still back in new york. you keep laughing at his antics, shouting out "oh my god, i love you!" you immediately throw your hands over your mouth, eyes widened. did you seriously just say that? "oh my god! you didn't just hear that!" you shout at tom, your face flushed a bright red. you immediately hung up, too embarrassed to face his reaction yet. 

you couldn't lie, tom was always on your mind. you didn't want to admit it, but you were falling for the brit. your thoughts constantly led to him. you could be thinking about tuna and you would somehow end up on tom. 

your phone starting ringing, shortly after you hung up. it was tom. you realized you had to face him either way and answered the call. "i love you too," he admits once the call connects. any shred of embarrassment left your body hearing that. a smile graced your face and a newfound warmth filled your body.

third floor on the west side , me and you

handsome you're a mansion with a view

do the girls back home touch you like i do?

you had originally gotten a rinky dinky apartment when you first moved out here, not expecting to stay long. but the new friends you made helped you fall in love with new york. so, you decided to get a new apartment. this time, on the upper west side. tom was kind enough to help you move from your first apartment to the new one.

after a long day of rearranging the new furniture you had gotten, you and tom were laying on the floor of your living room. he sat up and stared out the window of your new apartment, the view was a lot better compared to your previous one, which was just a brick wall. as he admired the city lights, you admired him. 

you move to hug his back as the two of you enjoy the view of the city below you. the two of you didn't have a label. sure, you told each other that you loved each other, went on dates and even double dates, but you had never called him your boyfriend and you, his girlfriend. you wondered what was stopping either of you from taking the next step and making it official.

was he this way with the girls back home? were you different from the british girls from his past? thoughts of self doubt plagued your mind. "what's on your mind, beautiful?" tom's voice breaks you out of your reverie. "huh? oh, nothing." you try to avoid the reality. "don't lie, i can tell something's bothering you." 

you sigh, taking a breath, "do the girls back home touch you like i do?" you ask him. he's confused at first, "my home's here, with you." and those five little words were able to dispel all your thoughts of self doubt and insecurities. you simply kiss him in content at his words of reassurance. 

it didn't matter if you two didn't have a label yet, you were his home, and he was yours.

long night with your hands up in my hair

echoes of your footsteps on the stairs

stay here, honey, i don't wanna share

after a long night of bar hopping, you two stumble into your apartment. too tired to even take off your street clothes, you both collapse on the bed, quickly falling asleep. it's around 6 am you stir awake. you can hear tom walking up the stairs to your room. "are you leaving?" you ask as he enters the bedroom. "yeah, i have a shoot in a couple hours." he searches around for his missing sock. 

you frown, hearing this. "come back, just for a few minutes." you plead. you weren't ready to let him go yet. to share him with the rest of the world. right now he was just yours, and you wanted it to stay that way. "fine, but only for a little," he agrees, abandoning his search for his missing sock. and instead climbs back in bed into your open arms.

sometimes i wonder, when you sleep

are you ever dreaming of me?

it was another night where tom slept over in your apartment after a night out on the town. you couldn't fall asleep, instead staring at tom's peaceful face as he slept. he had a small smile on his face as he slept. you wonder what he's dreaming about. you hope that it's you and if it wasn't, you didn't want to know. you snuggle in closer to his warm body and decide to try to fall alseep.

sometimes when i look into your eyes

i pretend you're mine all the damn time

you were at your friend's new years party, it had been a whole year since you had met tom. the two of you were dancing wildly to the music playing, tipsy off the champagne. as you stared up into his eyes, you envisioned a future together where you didn't have to question your relationship status with him. 

[trippinsorrows]

with me + part one

authors note: well, i got some type of writers block working on two other RR wip's so opened a new google doc and ended up with this. prob gonna be 3 parts, maybe 4. there's an almost five year time jump after this one, can you guess why? also, joe's wife is an oc, not galina.

first time posting my roman writings on here and trying not to freak out tbh

warnings: angst, infidelity, language, suggestive content

song inspo: with me by destiny's child

word count: 4,000

You know that assignment everyone at some point in their education where they research what they want to be when they grow up and share it with the whole class for a grade? Yeah, that big mammoth of a question that somehow you’re supposed to have confidently answered before even reaching double digits.

That was always super easy for you.

From as far back as you can remember, you wanted to be a teacher. It took until you were in middle school, almost high school for you to settle on an elementary school teacher, college for a specific grade. But, the teaching profession always called to you.

You chalk it up to your grandmother, undoubtedly one of your favorite people in this entire world. She was also an elementary school teacher who taught until she was expectedly called home when you were 14. Some part of you wonders if you’ve never even allowed yourself to entertain any other professions because of her loss. She was your best friend, and following in her footsteps was wanted but also felt somewhat necessary. Like you had to in order to honor her and her legacy.

A couple years into your career, you still think about that, how you’ve known from such a young age what you wanted to do with your life. Well, one part. 

In other areas, maybe the most important areas, you were lost as all of the outdoors. Mostly in one area, if you’re being honest, and truthfully, it’s not even what you want in as much as it is how you get there. The path is relatively simple: find a man, fall in love, get married, have babies, live happily ever after.

It’s such a stereotypical trajectory, but one you’ve also envisioned for yourself since your late teens. You’d gotten partying all out of your system during the early college years, somewhat in high school as well. Now in your mid 20s, soon to be late 20s, all you want to do is prepare to eventually settle down. Sooner rather than later.

And the issue isn’t even having no prospects. You have a prospect, he’s just unavailable. 

Because he’s already fucking married.

But can you even call him a prospect when that implies there’s some chance? Because there’s zero chance. You know this. You know this very well, too well. So why you still allow him into your bed and inside of you is beyond you. Yes, the sex is out of this world, but you desire more than that. Maybe not at first, but almost three years deep into this arrangement, most definitely.

You still think back to your first meeting.

Your best friend won a contest that not only granted her two front row tickets to a Smackdown show but backstage passes as well. You met so many wrestlers that night, some you grew up watching on TV as the little tomboy that you were as a kid. But, it was one wrestler in particular: tall, muscular, hair more beautiful and silky than any silk press your beautician mother could ever style, that changed your life. Whether for better or worse remains to be seen. 

He was attractive, extremely, possibly one of the most beautiful men you’d ever met. But, the attraction was short-lived when you spotted the wedding band on his left hand. You’d be lying if you tried to say that was when the attraction sizzled out. It diminished, but it was still there. Still, you didn’t think much of it, that was until you received a call from a number on your phone that you didn't recognize. 

Why you even accepted the call is still a mystery. You never answered random calls, yet that one was an exception, an exception that resulted in you having an unexpected phone conversation with Roman fucking Reigns. He explained that he got your number from your friend who’d exchanged contact information with a wrestler she met that night as well. They were messing around too, that much you knew. And good for her. He, unlike Roman, was not married and therefore free to fuck around.

The conversation lasted much longer than it needed to, especially given the flirtatious nature it quickly took on. It was wrong, you knew this well, very well. He took vows, but you were also aware of those vows. And heat no point pressured you into anything, you could have cut it off. Flirtatious he was, but forceful he was not.

The conversations increased in frequency and length over a matter of weeks that turned into months, and before you knew it, your day started and ended with either a text or phone call from the wrestler. 

A small part of you knew that it would eventually escalate into more, a man like him seemed like he needed more. But, you stupidly tried to tell yourself that when that time came, you would remain strong and draw the line in the sand with just communication. Even if it was just as wrong as anything else.

It was a silly thought. 

Your resolve was weak.

You absolutely did not need to accept his invitation to fly you out to one of his shows, and you damn sure didn’t need to allow him to take you back to his hotel where your legs ended up wrapped around his waist as he pounded into you—among other things—until the early hours of the morning.

The days after that were rough. You felt absolutely disgusted with yourself. It was one thing to flirt with a married man, but it was an entirely different thing to fuck a married man. He wasn’t yours. He belonged to someone else. He had a life with some other woman. You had no right to insert yourself into that union, so you decided to sever contact with him, deleting his number from your phone and shoving the experience in the ‘biggest regret of your life’ box with no intention of reopening it.

Unfortunately for you, Roman, Joe, as he asked you to call him, was a persistent bastard.

You ignored his texts, so he called. You ignored his calls, so he texted. You ignored both, and this motherfucker showed up at your goddamn door. There were multiple times you could have and should have ended things, that being another perfect opportunity. If you told him to leave that night, not allowed him into your apartment, he would have listened. He was stubborn and resolute but also respectful. If you told him to leave, really told him, he would have done so.

But, you didn’t. You allowed him into your place and similar to the last time you were in his presence, ended up spread out on your bed with him balls deep inside you until you couldn’t feel your lower half. 

Now, fast forward three years later, not much has changed. You two don’t communicate quite as much in the day, and his visits are more spread out given the company’s current efforts at pushing him as the new face of the company. But, that doesn’t stop his visits to come see you and flights he puts you on to come see him, both of which always end with him leaving your legs jelly and throat raw.

All the while his wife sits at home unaware of her husband’s consistent residence between your legs.

The thought alone makes you sick, revolted at yourself, at how you’ve allowed yourself to reach this point in life. Closer to 30 than 20 and going on 3 years of being a mistress to a married man, a man who can never give you the future you want yet refuse to let go. 

Not that you’d ever allow yourself to really acknowledge why. 

That’s….that’s just too much.

________

Pillow talk was just something that naturally happened between the two of you. It made sense given that your relationship started out with just talking. He seemed interested in knowing more about you, about your likes and dislikes. He shared his as well. You weren’t beyond admitting that Joe was insanely easy to talk to, the flow of conversation always natural, never forced. There never seemed to be a dry spot between you two. 

And whether it was an innate ability to pick up on the emotions of others or just his, you could always tell when something was bothering him, could see when he came to you with a burden he didn’t want to discuss.

Not that that stopped you from asking. If he declined to talk about it, you respected it, didn’t push. But, more often than not, he would end up sharing things with you, mostly concerns regarding his career.

It seemed he visioned one thing for himself, while Vince McMahon saw another. He felt frustrated at times, especially when the fanbase started pushing back more. He never admitted as such, but you could see it hurt his feelings. How could it not? Kayfabe or not, Joe was still a real person with real feelings, regardless of the role he played.

And at some point, his visits to see you stopped always involving sex. That happened majority of the time, but there were occasions when he just seemed like he needed someone to be around, a distraction, someone to talk to. 

Someone like you.

“Come on.” You jumped up off the couch and offered your hand that he looked at with disinterest. “Don’t make me drag your big ass. It’ll probably break my back.” He lifts his brow, and you roll your eyes. “Joe, come onnnn.”

“Where are we going?” He finally asks, all the while sighing heavily and standing up. Though unnecessary at this point, he still takes your hand. You try not to think too much of the gentle squeeze he gives.

“To my kitchen.” 

Glancing over, he gestures with his thumb. “The place that’s like 3 feet away.”

You suck your teeth and shove against him. “Don’t be an ass. We’re gonna bake cookies.”

“Bake?”

“That’s what I said.” Though clearly skeptical, he follows you into the kitchen and watches as you start gathering supplies. “I spent a lot of summers with my grandma, and whenever either of us were having a bad day, she’d take us into the kitchen and we’d bake chocolate chip cookies. She’d always say there’s nothing a good chocolate morsel can’t cure.” 

Reflecting on those memories, so fond and cherished, brings a despondent smile to your face.

His eyes fall on you, sensing the sudden sadness. “You miss her.”

“Every day….” Shaking your head, you make a conscious effort to not make this about you and your grief. “Now, we need music.” You settle on some random “cookout” playlist that aids in setting the playful mood. To your surprise, yet not surprise, Joe keeps up without struggle. He's a fast learner, easily following along to your detailed instructions and explanations. Things get messy at times, as one does when baking, but it only causes the two of you to share laughter. Especially when you ‘accidentally’ get flour on each other. For you, it was an accident. His was definitely intentional. 

Still, between the laughter, light conversation, and New Edition serving as backdrop, it’s a sweet moment. 

“And now we wait,” you announce, plopping down on the sofa. “Wrestler by day, baker by night. Who’d a thunk it?”

He chuckles. “I never knew you could cook.”

At that, you nearly choke on the water bottle you’d grabbed off the coffee table. “Me? Cook? No. Not at all. There’s a reason every thanksgiving, my family only asks me to bring the drinks. My mom is the cook. Grandma was the baker. I can make cookies and a few select items. That’s it.”

You can still hear your grandma’s voice in the back of your head, chiding you for never allowing your mom to teach you how to cook. It just never garnered your interest, even when they swore up and down you’d never find a husband without knowing how.

Maybe they were right.

He joins you in the living room, settling on the other end of the sofa. “Maybe I could teach you then.”

His words—and offer—suprise you. “You can cook?”

“Don’t look so surprised.” He rolls his blue eyes. Some days you love the contacts, others you hate them. Today is a love day. They make his beauty even more exquisite. “Because of the big age difference between me and my siblings, it was just me and my mom a lot of times. They were either out and about or had either moved out. She’d ask me to help her out in the kitchen, and I picked up on a couple things.”

“You’re a fast learner.” That much is very obvious, in several areas of his life. “Was it ever hard? Like, not really having them around?”

He seems to think about her question before answering. “Yes and no. The twins moved to Florida when I was like three, and we became close instantly. It was like suddenly having two new brothers. Obviously, they didn’t live with us, so they weren’t always around, and those times were hard, I guess. But the older we got, the more we did together.”

The Usos. Also wrestlers trying to make names for themselves. He really does hail from a legendary dynasty. “I get that. It was just me and my mom, and she worked a lot to support us, so that’s why I spent so much time with my grandma. And I loved it, but sometimes it got lonely not really having siblings.” You look over at him, studying this massive specimen of a man who seems so unsure of himself right now, unsure of his future. He’d hinted at such during their prep, but you bookmarked the comment to revisit. “It’s all gonna work out, you know.”

His gaze is on you, partially disinterested, mostly in disagreement. Joe knows what you're referring to. He chuckles, darkly, “you sound sure.”

“I am,” you counter calmly. Moving to sit on your knees, you continue, “no matter what it takes, you make them respect you. You can do it, and when you finally find your footing, you’ll be one of the best to ever do it. Mark my words.” 

You’ve never been one to build up false hopes in anyone, far too familiar with the sting of disappointment. So every word leaving your mouth drips with sincerity. Joe is so much more than a “pretty face” or someone who got lucky by being born into a wrestling dynasty with a golden spoon in his mouth. He’s worked his ass off, you see how he works his ass off, so the last thing you’d want to witness is him become his own worst enemy by getting too into his head.

“You’ll see. They boo now, but pretty soon they’ll be cheering.” Moving to your knees, you lift your arms in a theatrical display. “Roman, Roman, Roman.” You yelp when his strong arms pull you into his lap, legs spread on either side of his thick thighs. “Would you let me hype you up? Like, damn.”

His smile, so beautiful and genuine, warms your soul. His spirits are lifted, and that’s all that matters. Joe’s hands are on your hips, palms massaging you through your shorts. You move your arms around his neck, resting on his strong shoulders “Thank you.”

It’s at this moment, you foolishly allow yourself to wonder. Wonder what it would be like for this to be the norm, for him to always return to your place when he has time off or in between shows. Wonder what it would be like to consistently be this safe space for him, to be in his corner and not just in the shadows, but in the light. To be supporting him ringside. To be his.

And for a second, you pretend. You pretend that you are his, and he’s yours. That this is your man, and you’re his girl. Just the two of you. Nobody else.

But the comedown from that is devastating, like a boulder sitting on your chest, a butcher knife to your heart. Because he isn’t yours. He never was, and he never will be. 

Mood sullen, you lower your arms to separate yourself. “I should…” You clear your throat, climbing off of him. The air is suddenly too stuffy, the room too small. You need space. “I should go check on the cookies.” 

Joe’s not stupid, far from it. You know that he has to pick up on your 180 in mood, yet he doesn’t pursue you, doesn’t ask questions, and you’re thankful for that. You need to not be around him right now, not so close, not so connected, not so in love.

You need to let him go. ________

“I can’t do this anymore.” 

Joe’s in the midst of sliding his shirt over his head, sitting on the edge of the bed when your voice, low and quiet, stops him mid movement. “What?”

“I said.” You blow out a big breath, unsure why your chest suddenly feels so heavy. “I can’t do this anymore.”

At that, he angles his body so that he can look at you, assess your face. He’s a big eye contact person. “What are you talking about?”

Irritation piques. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Joe.” Gesturing between the two of you, you kick the blankets off and quickly reach for your t-shirt that got discarded last night. Being naked in front of him suddenly feels uncomfortable. “This. It’s done.”

He pauses for a second and then shakes his head, resuming his dressing. “Okay.”

His tone is dismissive, like he doesn’t believe you. Like he thinks you’re playing around. Of course he would be in one of those moods, where he’s more irritable, less receptive and fucking stubborn. “I’m serious.”

“I’m not doing this shit with you right now.” Joe gets up and continues dressing himself, prompting you to climb out of bed and move in front of him. 

He can’t avoid his way out of this. You won’t allow it. It’s time to finally rip the bandaid off. 

You’ve sat on this for the last two weeks, since he last left your apartment and you realized you’d stupidly allowed yourself to fall for this man. Fall for a man who walks around with a wedding ring on his left hand, who’s always had that wedding ring from the moment you met him. You’re not upset with him, not as much as you’re upset with yourself.

You grew up the product of an affair, felt the stinging pain of being rejected by a parent whose selfishness resulted in the creation of life, a life he wanted no part of. Seen how your mom literally begged your piece of shit father to be in your life, to play some role. Heard how he cruelly rejected her, rejected you, calling you your mother’s bastard. A mistake.

It devastated you so deeply that you still can’t really talk about it without getting emotional. 

And yet, you idiotically found yourself playing the same role you used to judge your mother for: the other woman. 

It’s a role you stepped in, and one you must now step out of.

“There’s nothing to do.” You run your hands over your face and shake your head. Choosing to have this conversation at almost 4 o’clock in the morning probably wasn’t the best move, but you also know that if you give yourself more time, you’ll find a reason not to do it. And you need to do this. “You have a wife, Joe. A whole ass woman who loves you and would probably let you fuck her just as much as you like to fuck me. Go be with her, and if not her, find someone else, cause I won’t be that for you. Not anymore.” 

You’re not exactly sure what part of what you just said registered with him, but it’s obvious something did by the change of tone he takes. “Where is this coming from?”

“It’s coming from where it should have come a long time ago,” you answer, crossing your arms over your body. “This was never right, and I refuse to partake in it anymore. I won’t be your whore anymore.”

You didn’t expect hurt to flash in his beautiful eyes nor for him to move closer to you, that hurt intensifying when you back away. He can’t touch you. You can’t allow that, because all it takes is only touch, one longing gaze, and you’ll be putty in his hands. This has to end. “Is that really what you think you are to me?”

“I don’t know what I am to you, Joe,” you answer, honestly. It’s something you’ve battled back and forth with for nearly three years. Just what is it about you that keeps him coming back, keeps him in your bedroom, inside of you. At face value, it’s the sexual compatibility between you. Below the surface level though, there’s maybe more. You’ve never allowed yourself to venture there, and you’re certainly not about to right now. You know how you feel about him, but you refuse to really ask yourself how he feels about you. “And truthfully, it doesn’t matter, cause it doesn’t change anything.”

“So, that’s just it?” His voice is wounded, handsome face painted into a mixture of scowl and a frown. “Almost three years, and you want to throw it all away, for what?”

“For what…..Joe, you are married. You have a whole wife at home. Whatever issues you have that cause you to step out, work that shit out. Learn how to be with her. Cause I’m not doing it any more. I—I can’t.” Emotion imbues your voice toward the end, and you hate that shit. You don’t want him to see, to know, how much this has been eating you up as of lately. “I’m gonna be 30 in a few years. I want to be married. I want to have a family. I deserve that, and I’ll never have it as long as I’m messing with you, so I’ve gotta let you go.” You swallow the deep lump in the back of your throat. “And you’ve gotta let me go.” 

This time, this time you can see the part that wounds him, that digs into his chest. You’ve gotta let me go. 

Joe is fast, fast enough to move directly in front of you, large hands holding your face. He says your name, desperate almost. “Tell me what to do, tell me what you want, and I’ll do it. Just….” He stops, and you close your eyes, refusing to see if it’s his own emotions coming up. You can barely handle your own cascade of feelings right now and refuse to take on his. “I can’t lose you.”

What you want…..

What you want is for him to never leave. What you want is for him to stay with you, to be with you. What you want is for him to have never met Jadah, never married her, never committed his life to her. 

What you want is for him to be yours and only yours, but what you want….is also what you can never have. 

“I—I want you to leave, Joe.” The words burn your lips, scorch your throat, ache your soul. “And this time….don’t come back.”

You can’t bring yourself to open your eyes, to see the result of your heartbreaking, even if honest request. It’s because you know seeing him hurt will only cause your resolve to crumble, and you can’t have that. You have to be strong, have to be the woman your mother couldn't.

So, you remain there, remain silent as he steps away from you, his touch vanishing. There’s such an emptiness in his wake.

It’s only when you hear the front door of your apartment shut that you finally feel it, the caving of your stomach, the heavy lump move from the back of your throat, the release of the loud sob you didn’t realize you’d been keeping at bay. 

It’s when you finally allow yourself to feel all of the emotions of a woman who just told the only man she’s ever loved to leave. 

If only you knew his departure was just the beginning of the rest of your life.

[miraclewoozi]

DRIVE. - l.c

DRIVE -- or, the night you realise it's actually very hard to stay mad at the guy who shows up at your house, throwing stones at your window on a Thursday night, to try and fix something that was your mistake in the first place.

pairing : chan x fem reader. content : fwb > lovers. angst, smut (MINORS DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT), fluff. more or less in that order. they’re both dumb as hell. not explicitly put in any detail but this was written with a more 70s vibe in mind so feel free to bear that in mind when thinking of the car/tech/styles etc if u like. w/c : 7.8k warnings : lots of swearing. it’s all a big fuckin misunderstanding because i am a whore for that. weed & alcohol mentioned (neither party is drunk or high at the time of this taking place). mentions of past cheating (neither mc or chan are the cheater). some pov switching because i said so. let me know if i've forgotten anything. proofread exactly once so if there's a typo, no there isn't. SMUT TAGS UTC.  notes : dino. get the fuck off my ass. i’m so serious i am not strong enough to handle the very real feelings i have for you. go away.  notes 2.0 : i listened to halsey’s drive for some inspo for this & took that as the title, so feel free to give it a listen if you want!

SMUT TAGS : dom!chan. car fuckin', making out, hair pulling, grinding/dry humping, fingering, finger sucking, dick riding, marking/scratching, unprotected sex (make good choices), overstimulation, multiple orgasms. praise. chan calls reader ‘baby’ & ‘sweetheart’. he’s a BIG talker during sex (sorry).

You’re not stupid. You heard his car pull up outside your house almost an hour ago. 

Since then, at random intervals ranging anywhere between thirty seconds and five minutes, there have been clinks of a thrown stone at your bedroom window, a piece of the gravel that lines your driveway. Each time, it makes your jaw tense, makes your fingers tighten in the bedsheets you pulled all the way up to your chin in a foul mood at 8pm. It’s been the same now for almost two weeks — you’ve been getting home from work, showering the day away, eating your dinner and retiring to your room as early as you possibly can. Your roommate tried to find out what was wrong around day three but you very promptly shut her down — she’s since learned that the best she’s getting out of you currently is a dismissive wave of your hand or some kind of a grunt. She joked one evening that it was like she’d adopted a teenager; you scowled so violently that she went to her room. 

Hardly any of your other friends have seen anything of you, either, despite the fact that several have come knocking to check if you’re all right. 

You’re very much not all right, as it happens. This is perhaps the most upset you’ve ever felt, and that’s going quite some way. The angriest, too. It’s worse than when that middle aged woman threw her entire bucket of popcorn at your head when you gave her salty instead of sweet, and you were picking kernels out of your hair for the rest of your six hour shift. It’s worse than when your nasty supervisor ‘forgot’ you were in the bathroom and ended up locking you inside the cinema overnight, because you didn’t have your own set of keys to get out and the people whose numbers you remembered weren’t answering their phones. 

It’s somehow even worse than when a summer crush from a few years ago broke things off by telling you that he already had a girlfriend back home and that you were basically just a means to pass the time and get his dick wet. God, and you thought that was the lowest you could possibly be.

Here you are, though, so far beyond all those things it would be comical, if it didn’t hurt. Chan has really done a number on you, and you’re not sure how you ended up getting so emotionally involved in your situationship with him that this is what you’ve been reduced to. For days now, you’ve been swallowing back tears of frustration (both with yourself and with Chan), rolling around in your bed night on night, unable to get to sleep because all you can think about is him.

Him, and the way he sounded genuinely horrified when his friends asked about the ‘movie girl’, and he laughed, ‘God, no – we’re just friends. That’s never gonna happen’. It was impressive, how quickly your face fell, in no way aided by the squealing giggles that rang through the house as a very, very drunk girl came running out of the living room and shut herself in the toilet, drowning out a chunk of the conversation you were listening in on. Somehow, it hurt even more when he went on to say ‘besides, there’s… someone else’. 

And when you have managed to drift off after hours of staring at the walls and the ceiling, hearing those words on a loop on your fed up brain? Of course he’s been in your fucking dreams, too.

In your defence, all you were trying to do was use the mirror in the hallway outside the kitchen he and his friends were standing in, readjusting your top to cover the hickey that he had so kindly left on your collarbone just the night before. It wasn’t as though you sought him out to listen in; it was a coincidence. And okay, fine, maybe you should have walked away when the conversation turned to the topic of Chan’s love life. Maybe you should have not crept closer and held your breath to be able to hear them all better. Maybe, even, you should have stayed around long enough to ask what he meant by it then and there instead of hopping in a taxi and going home without saying goodbye to anyone. 

Hindsight really is a beautiful thing.

Never gonna happen. Well, Chan seemed quite happy to ignore the fact that it already had happened. Several times. At least four of those being in the very car currently on the street outside your home. The car he’s used on countless occasions to drive you up to lovers’ lookouts in the dead of night, letting one of his many mixtapes play through the tinny speakers, where he’d kiss you breathless and cradle your face between his palms, as his fingers would delicately explore beneath your clothes, as his broad shoulders would slot between your thighs, as his hips rol–

And maybe you aren’t stupid, but Chan seems determined to prove that he sure as hell is. He came to pick you up from work the day after the party like nothing had happened, and couldn’t figure out why you said you would rather walk home in the rain than get in with him and stormed away without any further explanation. Then, he showed up on your doorstep on the morning of your day off with your favourite coffee and a breakfast bagel, asking if you could talk. He still didn’t realise what he’d done to upset you, so you slammed the door in his face. Finally, just earlier today, he ran after you in the mall, persistent as you’ve ever known him to be, and laid a hand on your shoulder when you didn’t turn around to just the sound of his voice calling your name. 

You pushed him off so hard he almost fell over. 

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?!” You had barked, shrugging your shoulders to try and realign your jacket. “I don’t want to talk to you. What’s not clicking?”

His face resembled that of a scolded pet when he took a step back and frowned at you. “I just wanted to–”

“I don’t care what you want, Chan,” you spat. “Give it up. I’m done.”

You could see the desperation swimming in his eyes as he scrambled for what to say and your heart felt like it was being weighed down all the way into your stomach. You supposed that was the part of you that was causing all this ache in the first place, and further that it was to blame for your current state of misery. But you steeled yourself and stood your ground nonetheless. He wasn’t going to win you over with puppy eyes and a pout. Not this time.

In his silence, you only then noticed how hard your breaths were coming, each slow and long but still dangerously unsteady. You lowered your voice, top lip curling at him as you muttered, “You’re embarrassed of me enough to lie to your friends? Fine. I don’t give a–… but shit, next time, tell a girl that to her face instead of behind her fucking back.”

It’s been seven hours, and you keep replaying the last thing he said to you as you stormed away (how his voice got quieter when he realised you weren’t turning back; how he sounded so hoarse, so sorry). 

‘I’m sorry if I hurt you - I— I never meant to.’

If. If. If. Were you not making it completely fucking obvious that he had, most definitely, hurt you? Part of your brain is even now starting to go down the route that he’s doing this on purpose, that it’s some twisted sort of damage control, that he hopes maybe if he plays dumb for long enough, you’ll forget what you were mad about or maybe start to second guess what you heard. But if that’s what he thinks, he obviously doesn’t know you very well at all. That’s never going to happen. 

Hell, for someone you were being so careful to keep in the appropriate lane in your head, Chan really has you thinking yourself in circles. You’re sick to your back teeth of him, and his stupid voice and his stupid smile and his stupid –

Clink.

Stupid. Fucking. Stones.

A groan loud enough to definitely catch the attention of your roommate sounds from deep within your chest at this interruption to your spiral and you finally, finally concede. Whatever argument he’s so clearly longing to have at 11 o’clock on a Thursday night? Fine. He can have it. If it means he backs off for good, you’ll give him his one last ruck.

You pull the window open none too gently and lean enough through it that Chan comes into view. He isn’t even looking up, you realise, too busy sifting through the driveway trying to find his next little projectile, and you hiss his name to get his attention. It startles him so much that he drops the indiscernible bundle in his right hand. He blindly scrambles to pick it up, those big, earnest eyes gazing at you as if you’re floating in midair before him.

“What the hell are you doing?!” You ask him, trying not to raise your voice too loud but at the same time, needing to generate enough volume for him to hear. He holds the bundle in both hands, now, and they catch the light of the lamp by your front door. Flowers, you register, squinting to try and make them out, your brows furrowing so much that your forehead hurts. 

Black dahlias.

You choke back a laugh. Ah, the joys of fooling around with the son of a florist. Are they all so damn dramatic? (Or does he just know that they’re your favourites?)

Whichever it is, you tell yourself that’s not going to work. You won’t let it. Through gritted teeth, you say, “go away. I’m serious. I’ll call the cops on you.”

He shakes his head, begging as he steps just a little closer so his face is more visible in the amber light too. “Please–” he hurries, biting his bottom lip. “Please, don’t– just… tell me what I did. I want to make it right. Please.”

He never begs like this. In all the time you’ve known him, you swear Chan has said ‘please’ to you fewer times than you could count on your fingers. Which is by no means a bad thing — that’s just always been the very comfortable nature of your friendship, and later, the -with-benefits tag that you ended up sticking on the end. 

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, pinching the bridge of your nose and fighting not to shiver in the cold nighttime air. Note to self: don’t do a Romeo and Juliet in the middle of the fucking winter without layering up, first. “What does it even matter?”

“What do you mean, what does it matter?” He asks, looking down at the bunch of flowers in his hands, then back at you. “I-... you know I’d never hurt you. Not on purpose. Please, just… if I did something–”

“There’s someone else,” you echo, fed up with his pretending. He’s a fair actor, you’ll give him that – he might even have been able to convince you, if you hadn’t already heard the other half of this tale he’s doing his best to spin in his favour. 

His face screws up, thinking he’s misheard. It’s his turn not to understand now. If you’re telling him you’ve met someone else, he’s got questions, because you’d promised to be open and honest with each other if that ever happened, so that you could call things off and go back to being just friends without it becoming a big deal. That was always supposed to be a calm conversation, not… whatever this is. You talked about it, right at the start. But… those are the words you’re saying, aren’t they? And why would you be mad at him if you were the one whose circumstances had changed? 

“What?” he asks, finally. “What do you mean?”

“God, no – we’re just friends. That’s never gonna happen. Besides, there’s… someone else!” You raise your voice without really meaning to, before swallowing hard and glancing back inside your room. “You said that, Chan. Don’t piss me off by coming here and pretending like you didn’t.”

Chan starts to look like he’s trying to figure out an algebraic equation in his head while only having half the required information; his eyes fall down to the gravel, his lips move without any sound coming out of them, his features tighten until there are definite lines between his eyebrows. Then, it clicks. The lightbulb moment. He slaps one hand to his face and shakes his head furiously, and you just know he’s going to wake up with an ache in his neck tomorrow because of it.

“Oh fuck,” he curses. “No, no, no, no, no – that’s not–”

“What did I just say?” You spit down at him. “Don’t piss me off–”

“Listen!” He shouts, and you gesture with your hand for him to lower his voice, interrupting his flow of thought and rendering him silent for a moment. “Fuck, please. Come down here and talk to me. That’s not what you think it is.”

You’re in every mind to slam your window shut and leave him out there in the cold. It would work if you got out your headphones to drown out the sounds of him trying to get your attention, which you have absolutely no doubt in your mind that he would do. And maybe then he’d get the hint; maybe then he would understand that you’re not just some pushover who he can just pick up and play with when it suits him. 

But he’s still holding those fucking flowers like they’re a lifeline, still looking up at you without a single lick of anger on his face. Not stress at having been discovered, which you would have expected him to be swimming in right about now. He looks… kind of beside himself, as if nothing could possibly be worse than what you’re threatening to do.

All this, for you? It just doesn’t make sense. 

“Please,” he says again, quieter, weaker. For the first time, you pick up on the hint of a shiver in his voice, and you swallow. Whether you’re gulping back your pride, or your resolve, or the last remnants of your sensibility, you don’t know. 

Does he deserve for you to hear him out? You’re not sure.

But does he deserve to be stuck out in the cold in just his stupid leather jacket and a pair of jeans? 

With regret, you think, no. He doesn’t.

All you give him is a scowl before you disappear from view entirely, pulling the window closed and drawing your curtains again. Faster than you think you ever have before, you throw on a sweatshirt over your pyjamas, grab your keys, and hurry down the stairs as silently as you possibly can. 

He’s stood in exactly the same place when you edge outside and pull the door closed behind you. Up-close, you can see the tiredness on his face: this is a man who has exhausted himself in worry, you think, and yet he still smiles a little when he sees you in full. He still holds the flowers out for you to take. He still purses his lips and blows out a stuttered cloud of air. Nervous, and not in the way you think he ought to be. So when you walk straight past him and don’t take the dahlias out of his hands, instead standing by his car and waiting for him to unlock it for you, you start to feel overwhelmingly guilty. 

Chan is many, many… many things. But he really isn’t this good of a performer, no matter what you’ve been telling yourself all week. For God’s sake, why is it so much easier to be angry at him when he’s not standing right in front you?

You slip into his passenger side as he fumbles to set the flowers down on his backseat again, and he joins you up front just a few moments later. His hands are shaking when he sets the keys into the ignition. His whole body is. When you cast a real look over at him, the tips of his fingers are pale and his lips are lacking their usual rosy, pink hue. Your own teeth are chattering despite only having been truly exposed to the cold air for a matter of seconds; you dread to think how frozen he must be.

“Are we driving?” You ask to break the silence. Since he got into the car and fiddled with the heating settings to try and warm things up a little, he hasn’t said a word. It’s awkward. It’s horrible. You already miss the comfortable way you’ve been able to sit for hours together, barely talking, just watching the lights of the city and the cars travelling through it. 

You already miss him. Which is a strange thought, seeing as he’s only about ten inches away. 

“If– if you want,” he says, stuttering through the frost in his lungs. “We can go—...”

“Drive, Chan,” you say. It’s not just because you want him to stop falling over his words – which, to be fair, you do. Chan has always been very confident, carrying himself with the air of someone who knows exactly their worth. It’s one of the things you treasure about him. So this? Is fucking weird. But a big part of it is that you know his car will heat up faster if it’s in motion, and right now, you think maybe he’s at risk of losing a finger or two if he doesn’t get some circulation back.

He steps on the gas and the car pulls away from your home. It’s the first time you’ve ever been in his car without there being some sort of music playing, whether that’s historically just been the radio or a tape he put together with the help of one of his older friends. (The tapes that always had your first initial on them. The tapes that he never failed to ask your opinions on when he dropped you home – as if he’d compiled them with only you in mind.) The silence feels jarring and you can hear every rumble of the engine, every squeal of the brakes he definitely needs to get serviced. 

But the car does warm through, and you sigh out relief as the bones in your hands move a little easier, as your fingers curl and uncurl to less resistance from your taut muscles. Chan feels it, too; his body relaxes, his breaths stop coming out in fractions, his face gets some colour back. The timing feels a little less awful when you finally say, “go on, then.”

Chan glances over at you as he drives down an unlit street. Only for a second, like he’s checking you’re still there, before his eyes train back on the road. He’s going to one of your favourite spots. It isn’t a lookout – it’s somewhere completely shut off from the rest of town, hidden by the trees near the railway tracks, somewhere you’ve never had to worry about being seen or heard. Maybe he’s anticipating a screaming match. Maybe he’s expecting something else. Maybe, even, he just cares about how much you love it there. 

“I didn’t know you heard that conversation,” he starts, sheepishly. You want to roll your eyes, reach over and thump him, ask if that makes what he said okay, but you don’t. You stay looking out the front windscreen too. Waiting. “I… all right. I was out of my ass drunk.”

You click your tongue, pressing it afterwards against the inside of your cheek, but again, you stay quiet.

“I don’t think you heard what you thought you heard, though,” he goes on to say. “‘Cause– ‘cause it wasn’t…”

But you can only be quiet for so long in the face of this mess. Especially when he’s apparently working towards a doctorate in beating around the fucking bush. “I heard you tell your friends that it was never gonna happen with ‘movie girl’.”

Chan’s face brightens, and you can’t help but wonder what on Earth is wrong with this man. Why does he find that funny? Why is his chest moving like he’s trying not to laugh?

“And you… thought you were movie girl,” he says, nodding. “Okay. Okay – shit. I’m sorry.”

You look at him properly, now, as he indicates to the right and takes the turn that leads him down the lane to your spot. “What are you talking about?”

“I get it,” he says. “You work at the–... but you’re not movie girl. Not that movie girl.”

“Stop talking in riddles before I get out of this car, Chan. It’s too late for this shit.”

He holds a hand up as if to apologise and settles back against the head cushion, suddenly looking far more comfortable than he did thirty seconds ago. He clears his throat, running his tongue over his lips, before sucking in a breath and letting himself go on.

“You’re not movie girl,” he says again, successfully clarifying nothing. “There’s this chick I used to dance with — years back, before… God, when we were in school, like, forever ago. She moved away when we were sixteen.” As he talks, he reaches your destination and sets the car into park, before he unfastens his seatbelt and turns to face you. You do the same, shifting your weight to tuck one leg up beneath you, and with your undivided attention, he goes on. “I ran into her recently. She’s back in town now, I guess. It was like, two weeks—?”

“I’m gonna be all-over grey by the time you finish telling this story,” you interrupt, raising an eyebrow. “Can you please give me the short version?”

“Not if you want it to make sense,” Chan shrugs. Begrudgingly, you let him keep talking. “She said it would be cool to hang out, maybe catch a movie or do lunch or something — and look, I didn’t know she was asking me on a date, I thought she was just being nice, y’know? Trying to be friends, but… you weren’t working that day, it was when you had that… that stomach thing going on? And I brought you the soup my mom made, remember?”

You nod; of course you remember. At the time, you wondered why on Earth this grown man’s mother was making you food — you asked yourself whether he’d told her about you, or if she thought it was for someone else. In the end you decided he must have just been bringing you leftovers. But you’d been too worn out to start asking questions; instead, after you’d eaten, you let yourself fall asleep with your head in his lap as he patted your hair and hummed his favourite songs. You hadn’t let yourself think too deeply about it since. 

“Anyway. We were sat watching the movie and she, uh,” he glances down at his lap, tips of his ears burning pink. “She put her hand, sorta, on my thigh? And then I was like, shit, I didn’t read this right, like… at all. So I moved it off and she took the hint — and after it ended I said to her, you know, I was flattered, right? But I wasn’t interested. And then I went home and got that soup and—… yeah.”

He came straight to see you. To look after you. Hell, you didn’t even fool around that night; in retrospect, it was all uncharacteristically domestic. And slowly, the pieces you’ve spent days struggling to fit together start to fall into place. It makes sense. The only question that remains is do you believe him?

Well, tell a lie. 

There is one more. 

“You said there was someone else,” you add quietly. 

You’ll die before you admit it, but this is secretly the part that was hurting you the most. 

You can’t even look him in the eye, right now; your cheeks are burning with the embarrassment of even caring. As much as you want to tell yourself that the only reason you’re pissed is just because of the dishonesty, you can only stare at yourself in the mirror and point-blank lie so many times. Someone else. You hate it. 

Just the thought of him seeing somebody else, taking them out on dates, smiling at them, laughing with them, kissing them the way he kisses you, touching —

A shiver runs the length of you and you cross your arms, thrusting your sleeve-covered hands under your armpits. 

Chan takes a deep breath in and exhales it slowly, like he’s blowing smoke out of his lungs. “There is,” he admits, nodding slowly, avoiding your eyes, too. “There is someone else.”

“When were you going to tell me?” You ask. 

Chan doesn’t respond straight away. You don’t notice, but eventually his eyes do land back at you; it’s only when he clears his throat to get your attention that you look at him long enough to realise he’s quite deliberately staring. His lips are lifted on the right in a lopsided smile, his eyes soft as he reaches across the seats towards you. You stare blankly down at his hand until he wiggles his fingers, and you think briefly that this is the most fucked up ending to a situationship you’ve ever been through. 

You drop one of your hands down and let him hold it, though, staring at his face as his thumb brushes over your knuckles and you wait for him to finally say it out loud. For him to announce that he’s fallen for somebody and that he can’t see you anymore. To put the nail in the coffin. Don’t tell me their name, you think. I don’t want to know anything about them. Please, just don’t.

“For someone so frustratingly smart, you’re really fucking dumb,” Chan says, finally, swallowing around his words and squeezing your fingers. Whatever stoic expression you had forced onto your face at the start of this conversation dissolves into irritation and you snatch your hand away from him again, letting his own fall and collide with a thunk against the handbrake. 

“Oh, sorry that I didn’t realise you were sneaking around behind my back when that’s the one thing we promised we wouldn’t do,” you snap. “God. The only stupid thing I’ve done here is get involved with you in the f—”

“You’re the someone else.”

Oh. 

Oh.

“I’m—?”

“You.”

The admission hangs heavily between you, as does your nonsense, unfinished insult. Neither of you really know what to do with yourselves except sit perfectly still and try to somehow deal with your increasingly dry throats. When Chan moves, it’s only to turn down the heating dial when his cheeks burn a bit too hot; you appreciate it, in part due to the bead of sweat currently running down your back, but you don’t say so. 

“You could have started with that,” you say weakly, wrestling with all your strength to keep even some of your cards close to your chest. It’s not working though. Your attempt to conceal your elation is a bit like throwing a single leaf on top of a bison and calling it camouflage. 

Chan commits to laughing, finally, your sentiment breaking him too. Now, you do crack that smile, albeit mostly just at the sound that comes from him. It’s bright and airy, lighting his whole face up as he drops all the way back and leans against his car door, pushing his fingers through his hair. “I was trying to build to a moment! It’s not my fault you hit every branch of the anti-romantic tree on your way down.”

“I am not anti-romantic,” you scoff in protest. 

“Yes — you are.”

“Am not!”

“Are too.”

“No, you’re just an idiot.”

“Says she who didn’t realise her fuck-buddy had feelings for about six months, Jesus.”

“Chan—” You start, your voice laced with a playful warning. 

“Here I was thinking I was making it completely obvious,” he rambles on. 

“— oh my God, just shut up and kiss me.”

“Dropping hints left and r—” … “Huh?”

He stops short a fraction of a second after you finish, stumped and silent, frozen with everything but a little buffering symbol above his forehead. Kiss me, you said. Chan, […] just shut up and kiss me. All right, you’ve asked him to do that before, but not like this. Not as if you’ll wither away should you not get a taste of his lips this instant. It takes him some time to process it, but he does move in first, eventually. The way he always does, closing the distance between you like he’s been shot out of a cannon, one hand either side of your face, crashing feverishly against your mouth. 

Every now and again, he’ll be happy to let you take charge and set the pace: mostly just if he’s feeling lazy or especially generous. Tonight isn’t one of those times, however. He holds you and kisses you possessively, like you’re his, like this is how he finally gets to lay claim on you, licking between your gasp-parted lips after he moans straight into your mouth. He’s spearmint sweet, edged with that one cherry flavoured chapstick he stockpiles as he grins up against you, rolling his body fluidly with every separation for air, every changing angle. 

He pulls your sweatshirt up over your head and throws it down into the footwell on the passenger side, straight away hurrying to kiss you hungrily again, hands cupping your neck. His tongue is in your mouth once more, there’s no way you could possibly differentiate your breaths from his: you’re one, in every way you can be with your clothes still on, but it’s not enough. 

“Want you,” you whimper as he nips at your bottom lip and pleasure rushes through you from head to toe. 

“You’ve got me,” he groans with his eyes still closed. “I’m all yours.” 

“No,” you insist, whimpering when his cute little nose drags across your cheek until he’s pressing hot kisses to your jawline. “I— fuck—”  He suckles on the sweet spot below your ear and your spine tingles, head tilting to give him better access. “Chan, I want you.”

Chan settles back from you, his usually bright, sparkling eyes now darkened with desire. All he gives you is a singular glance sideways, but you know exactly what he’s suggesting. You nod, breathing deep, biting the inside of your cheek; he turns off the headlights and it’s all systems go. 

There’s a rush to scramble into the back of the car. Chan takes the keys out the ignition and climbs through the gap in the seats; you opt for the less hazardous approach of getting out of the vehicle entirely and re-entering it instead. Not that it bothers him — no sooner is the door closed behind you, Chan’s hands are on your hips and he pulls you on top of him, your leg knocking the dahlias off the leather and onto the floor in the process. You gasp and glance down but he averts your attention with two fingers under your chin, guiding you to look back at him. 

“What? You think this is the last time I’ll bring you flowers?” He asks, capturing your lips as he leans up to you; at the same time, his hands drop low and he starts to slide open the buttons down the front of your pyjama shirt. “Baby, m’gonna get you so many more.” 

You sigh at the affectionate name, at the change in its use; until now, Chan has only called you baby while he’s buried inside you, bruising you inside and out with sharp thrusts and rough-gripping fingers. But as much as you can feel him growing hard against the inside of your thigh while you try to get comfortable, one knee planted either side of his hips, you can’t help but feel as if this time, it means something different. 

(He’s had feelings for six months: it always meant what it does, now. You know that, deep down.)

Somewhere in amongst the never-ending sloppy kisses and constantly travelling hands, you manage to strip both his jacket and T-shirt off him and you’re pressed bare-chest-to-bare-chest with Chan, feeling every little hitch of his breath in his lungs, every thump of his heartbeat, every tiny increase in the temperature of his skin. Your desperate search for friction between your legs has you rolling your hips down against his hard-on, drawing grunts and making him squeeze at your tits when you rock against him the right way. His head eventually drops to your chest and he replaces one hand with his mouth, freeing his fingers to slide down the front of your pyjama bottoms. 

It’s honestly rarer for Chan to get straight to the point than it is for him to tease you a little first, so when he flattens his palm against you and brushes his fingertips over your already aching clit, you let out a squeak of surprise. He shivers, releasing your nipple from between his teeth for a moment; once he’s collected a little more arousal to ease the friction, he continues to rub at the bud, slowly building the pressure inside you.

“No panties?” He asks, struggle clear in the roughness of his voice. 

“I was in bed,” you gasp, eyes rolling back. It’s for the best that it happens out of pleasure, really, because you’re not sure you’d be able to stop yourself rolling them in exasperation at his remark otherwise. You shuffle a little, lifting yourself up on your knees more, breath hitching when he uses the newly granted space to dip his hand lower and press a finger against your hole. “Please, Chan — this can’t be comfy— just…”

“S’fine” he argues, shaking his head, despite the fact that the angle of his wrist is actually kind of painful, right now. The truth is that he can’t bring himself to care: not when he can smell your fabric softener on the shirt still hanging off your shoulders, the shampoo in your freshly washed hair, all so pretty mixed with the damp scent of your desire. Not when you clench around him as he slides his finger in and out of your cunt. Not when he could get you to soak all the way through these pretty satin pants. 

Your arms snake around his neck as he dips a second finger inside you to join the first. The way your thighs tighten around his hips could — should — be embarrassing, the fact his sturdy lap holds you open enough for your pussy to be toyed with even more so. You almost always do this too music, too — for what might be the first time ever, you can hear every single wet sound your body makes, every hitch of your own breath, every grunt he gives even though he’s not the one being pleasured. 

You don’t even realise how you’re rocking up and down against his hand until Chan licks from the base of your neck to your jaw, smirking over your pulse point and says, “gonna ride my cock this good too, baby?”

And if it was anyone else talking to you like this, you would be embarrassed. Mortified, at being so needy you’re here doing all the work for him. At the cry you give as he splits and scissors his fingers to stretch you out. But instead? You feel another rush of arousal drool out of you as you press your nails into his shoulders and nod, bouncing harder and watching how his bicep tenses up solid with the effort of keeping his arm steady for you to use. 

“Wanna,” you gasp. “Want it so bad, Chan—”

Despite your pleas for this to move further, when his hand pulls back out of the elastic of your waistband, you feel like you could throttle him. The urge ebbs away when his soaked fingers press to your lips and he quirks an eyebrow at you, though — you end up suckling them clean, licking up every trace of your own slick. You lock eyes with him as you do, slumping on your thighs so your drenched core sits right over his tweaking length, the seam of your pants giving just enough friction to your clit for it to feel good as you grind down on him again. 

“Get those off,” he instructs, trying to sound hard and dominant. Which would work, perhaps, if his voice didn’t crack in the middle of the sentence. “Now.”

Even though you’re overcome with a need to tease him, the desire you have to be split open on his length outweighs it, so you do as you’re told and hold it in for later. It’s not easy, but you manage to manipulate yourself in his lap to work the satin down your thighs and past your knees. He helps you tug them the rest of the way past your ankles and feet, shoves them onto the floor — Chan’s hands settle back on your hips and yours skim down his stomach at the same time, fingers grazing over the little hairs that trail from his bellybutton down into his jeans. 

“Can I?” You ask, playing already with his belt buckle. 

He hums assent and you slip it all the way open, tugging as he moves his hips underneath you so you can pull it free from the loops. Between you, you manage to get his jeans unfastened, to pull both them and his boxer shorts down over his ass and to his knees; finally, fucking finally, his cock sits pretty and leaking and free between your stomach and his. It’s getting cold in the car now the heating isn’t on, but you’re already burning up in anticipation for him to ruin you; the way his abs ripple as he takes his shaft into his hand and strokes himself a couple of times to prepare tells you he’s in the same boat. 

It’s like clockwork, from here. You shift into position as easily as you settle into bed after a long day. Chan rubs his tip through your folds, feels the warmth of you and hisses through his teeth with fluttering eyes. Just like always. This never changes. He can’t ever get enough of that first feeling of his cock against your pussy: it’s like the first hit of a blunt, like the first sip of a cold beer, the first full-body stretch early in the morning. He’s sure it’s what arriving at the gates of heaven must feel like. 

You sink down onto him slowly, fluttering around his tip and stilling to give you both a moment to get used to the feeling. He’s thick inside you. Thicker than his pretty, dainty fingers have ever been able to stretch you enough for. Even as wet as you are, you still need to suck a deep breath into your lungs before you can relax your hips further and let your heat swallow him all the way to his base. 

Chan’s head is tipped back in pleasure, he’s biting his lip at the sting of your nails pressing hard into the back of his neck. He loves it, though — loves how the pain shoots in waves down his spine, how it tingles in his brain, how he knows you need to anchor yourself this way or you’ll lose control. He kneads at your ass as you sit against his thighs, listening to you whimpering at how deep he is inside you.

“So fucking tight around me still,” Chan groans, focusing all his willpower into keeping his hips down on the leather beneath him. “Shit, baby — you feel so good…” His neck softens and his head drops forward again as you start to move, rising and falling over and over. He kisses your throat and down to your collarbones while you work up to a rhythm, sliding his palms up your back, hugging you close to him. 

He isn’t even the one putting in the hard work, but within minutes of this, his soft, fluffy hair clings to his forehead. A light sheen of sweat makes him radiant under the moonlight breaking through the trees. He’s breathing heavily, the top of his toned chest painted a soft pink — you don’t think he could possibly look prettier. Not until he cups your jaw with his hands and you look upwards: you land on his smiling face, those plush, swollen lips, his devilish but sweetly glittering eyes. The sight of him, looking at you like you’re some kind of Goddess, makes your pussy tighten and your tiring hips stutter. You slip your pyjama top all the way off your arms and curl your fingers into his hair, meeting him in an open-mouthed kiss, through which you’re both just beaming. 

You’ve never kissed him this much. When it all started out, you sort of had a rule against it, but now? Neither of you can stop. As he starts to fuck up into you, taking the reins and letting your burning thighs rest, he keeps your face steady with his hands and freely allows his lips to slide against yours. It’s not refined. It can’t be. Not with how hard and fast his movements quickly become, not with the onslaught of curses and moans and babbled praise coming from the both of you. One particularly sharp thrust makes you yelp out a squeak of his name and he just swallows it down, making a point to keep aiming for— and hitting— that same spot inside you. You’re a mess. 

He could do this all night. When your orgasm bubbles inside you and he starts pinching at one of your nipples, sending you over the edge, he’s nowhere near finished. Even though your cunt massages at his length, throbbing and pulsing through your climax; even though your voice is so high by now that only dogs can hear you; even though you nearly collapse on top of him with almost all your weight in his lap, and he has to work twice as hard to keep this going, he barely slows. He definitely doesn’t stop. 

“You can gimme one more, right sweetheart?” He asks, grunting into your neck. “Always feels so fucking good when you come.” You choke up an ‘mhm’, to which he responds by slipping a hand between your bodies and down to where you’re connected. His thumb presses against your clit again — not moving, just applying enough pressure to make you stutter when you say his name. 

Your thighs are still twitching when you try to lift yourself a little, try to meet his movements as he chases his orgasm too. The “problem” with Chan is that his stamina is otherworldly. You couldn’t keep up if you wanted to. 

“Relax,” he says, tensing his jaw, doing the opposite himself. “Fuck — lie down.”

It’s pretty cramped and hard to move, but you lift yourself off him and only slightly lament at the sudden emptiness between your legs. There isn’t time to get too upset, however: moments after you get comfortable on your back, Chan shoves his jeans the rest of the way down and stands with one knee planted on the seats, lifting one of your ankles up to rest it on his shoulder. He slips back inside you easily then, gripping around your calf to keep you both steady. From the word go, his pace is relentless. You scrabble around for something to hold onto but the entire car seems to melt away; you ball your hands into fists at your sides instead, your eyes squeezed tightly shut. 

“Mm-mm. Look at me,” Chan hums, tightening his grip on your leg. “Wanna see those pretty eyes.” 

You obey, opening your lids to look up at him while he pounds into you hard enough to make the car shake. Over, and over, and over, and over. Rougher. Faster. For how long? Who even knows. All you’re truly aware of is how good it feels. How the windows grow foggy with the  steam of your laboured breaths. How his sweat mingles with your own. 

When his fingers on the other hand get reacquainted with your clit, when he bites down on his bottom lip, when his thrusts start to get messier and more erratic and the veins in his arms start to bulge out, you know he’s getting close. He doesn’t need to tell you out loud. The smirk he wears speaks for itself. 

“Where d’you want it, baby?” He asks you, pressing a kiss to the inside of your ankle. 

“In— mmh, in-…side me—” you stammer, hips jolting as you near your second orgasm to match his first. “Please, Chan — want it all…”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah—”

Well, he must’ve been holding himself back something spectacular, because a few thrusts later you watch all of his muscles contract as he tips over the edge, and you go hurtling with him. It’s all so much. All your nerve endings feel like they’re on fire and your vision starts to blur at the edges; it’s not long before you have to close your eyes to shut one of your overworked senses out, completely. Your muscles are sore. Your throat hurts. Even your lungs ache. 

God, he hasn’t gone that hard in so long, you don’t know what to do with yourself. You can barely speak — it’s going to take you a week to recover from this, minimum. 

He stills deep inside you, feeling his cock throb with the last pumps of his release. Your leg slips off his shoulder and your foot lands down with a thud onto the car’s (thankfully clean) floor; he bends forward to kiss you, still breathing heavily against your lips. You’ve come over completely boneless and reaching up to thread your fingers into his hair again feels like running a marathon at sprint pace. You’d fall asleep right here, right now, if you could, but with sweat cooling rapidly against your skin, you know that’s probably not up there as one of your finest ideas. 

“You really think getting involved with me was stupid?” Chan asks, nudging your nose with the tip of his own. He’s never been less serious than this in his entire life, which stops you feeling too bad when you lightly slap at his rock solid chest and try to push him off you.

“Yes,” you lie, attempting to reach to the ground for your pyjama shirt while he grips your chin and attacks you with tiny little pecks all over your face. “Stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

(Chan chuckles to himself and thinks that he’s quite happy to be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done, really. He can stay that way, as long as you promise never to stop.)

thank you so much for reading. i hope you enjoyed it - likes, feedback, comments, reblogs are all so appreciated.<3

[sorchathered]

His favorite girl

Pairing- Rhett Abbott x female reader

Summary- Rhett has always had you by his side and never thought of you as anything other than platonic, that is until someone else takes notice and he spirals as he realizes maybe it’s not as platonic as he thought.

Warnings- language, drinking, Rhett being stupid

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Rhett wasn’t jealous.

He wasn’t.

But when you’d gotten asked out by one of the bull riders traveling for the circuit it had definitely made him feel a certain way. You’d been his best friend since junior high, the two of you started out on the rodeo circuit barrel racing and he’d always seen you as one of the boys. You’d dated over the years of course, but he’d never found any of them threatening, they never seemed to last long anyways. They weren’t worth your time and you weren’t the type to suffer fools so off they went before they Rhett even had a chance to really memorize their names. That worked just fine for him, he preferred his best girl over most people and hated to share. But he totally wasn’t into you, absolutely not, it was strictly platonic. Until it wasn’t.

He had done shitty on his last ride, and to add insult to injury instead of finding you waiting by the trailers you were leaned over the bars of the fence, hair falling out of your tight ponytail and body arched out with your ass on display in your tight Levi’s. Eyes sparkling as you laughed at what the generic looking bull rider was bullshitting your way, normally that shit didn’t work on you at all but this guy had you totally wrapped. You were flirting, pretty shamelessly and for some reason it brought a sour feeling up in Rhett’s throat and a sharp tug in his chest. He had this overwhelming need to knock this guy on his ass, fists clenched as he watched you hand over your phone to get his number.

You finally sauntered your way back over to where Rhett was leaned up against the medic trailer, eyebrow raised as you took in his surly expression. “Who pissed in your cornflakes Abbott? That last run wasn’t as bad as you think it was, let’s go get your grouchy ass a beer mkay?” You said with a grin as you pulled on his elbow and he was damn near powerless to keep up the act, you always seemed to pull him right out of his bad mood and pretty soon he’d forgotten what he was so pissed about in the first place.

Later that night at the pit bar he had once again gotten in over his head, flirting with his high school crush right in front of you after Perry suggested he get off his ass and shoot his shot. In his defense the guy from earlier had showed up at the bar and was turning you across the floor, that uncomfortable feeling settling in his bones as he tried to drown it out with tequila. Then to make matters worse he got into it with Trevor, and somehow lost Perry in the process. When he stalked back through the bar he was already a live wire, and seeing you pressed up against whatever in the hell his name was didn’t help either.

“If yer done eye fucking walk away Joe over here it’s time to go y/n, I ain’t got time to piss around tonight.” He said with his arms across his chest as he leaned into the booth you were sat in, and he knew the second it left his mouth he’d fucked up, the heat in your cheeks and fire in your eyes when you snapped your head towards him was enough to burn the whole bar down. “I’m sorry- what did you just say to me?” You snapped and he knew better than to say anything else, just threw his hands up and spun on his heel for the door. You’d either come home with him or find your own way, he just hoped it wouldn’t end with anyone in your bed. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d never given a shit about who you were seeing before, and he’d almost had a shot with Maria tonight, that was something he should’ve been putting effort into, not worrying about you fucking some random on a Sunday night. But it wouldn’t leave his head, and that ugly feeling kept tugging on his chest as he made his way to the truck, making it to the door before he heard the bar door fly open again, you in hot pursuit.

“What is your goddamn problem?!” You said as you pushed him up against the truck door, and he put his hands up ready for you to swing on him, it wouldn’t hurt but it certainly wouldn’t be his idea of a good time. “Are you so miserable that you can’t let anyone else be happy? I know you were pissed about the scores tonight but you have no right to talk to me that way and you fuckin’ know it.” You were vibrating with anger, rage bubbling up in you and all he could think of was his hands on your body.

It was like his dick was driving the car and his brain was asleep, he couldn’t seem to stop himself as he reached forward to yank you into his arms, spinning you to press against the truck door as he captured your lips with his. He knew it was wrong, he should’ve asked if he could kiss you first but you didn’t stop him, soft hands winding into the long hair at the nape of his neck and when you gasped he couldn’t stop himself from sliding his tongue into your mouth and licking into you. It was so good, molten heat pouring from you both as he pressed his thigh between your legs and watched as you pulled back with a moan, eyes glazed over as you blinked up at him, both of you shocked at what your bodies were doing.

“Shit, y/n do ya want me to stop? I can’t think like this- fuck you feel too good” he breathed out into the cold night and watched as you seemed to mull it over in your pretty head. Your head thunked back against the truck window as you continued to try and catch your breath, chest pressed so close to his he could feel your heart beating.

“Took you long enough”, you said with a grin as you pulled his mouth back down to yours, and suddenly it was all clicking into place for him. He’d felt this way for so much longer than he’d let himself admit, using buckle bunnies and his doomed crush on Maria as an excuse to keep him from admitting the truth. “Couldn’t stand it, that guy hand his hands all over ya and all I wanted to do was knock him out” he said with a hiss as you kissed down his jaw and nipped at the sensitive skin of his neck.

“Jealous is a good look on you, if I had known that’s all it took I would’ve tried it sooner” you peered up at him with mirth and giggled, he couldn’t quite see how you knew all along but if it got him here with you it didn’t much matter, you’d been so patient with him and he knew he didn’t deserve it.

“Gonna let me take you home sweet thing? I think we have some lost time to make up for.” He was desperate to have you in all the ways he’d only dreamed of, and he could tell you felt the same, neither of you could keep your hands off of each other any more and it was getting a little too heated for the dingy honky tonk parking lot.

“I’m all yours Rhett, always have been.”

He was quick to toss you over his shoulder and plop you into the passenger seat of the truck, looking over his shoulder as he caught the out of towner that had been hoping to take you home lighting up a cigarette outside. He grinned wide and with a wink nodded in the man’s direction, watching his irritation bubble up and huffed out a laugh. No one was taking you home but him ever again if he had anything to say about it, he’d tell your kids someday about how he nearly fumbled the most amazing woman because of his hubris and thank God every day for your patience with his stubborn ass. You’d been his from the very beginning, his favorite girl and love of his life.

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[becauseicantthinkwritings]

Forsaking All Others 1

Part 11 of my Accidentally on Purpose Series!

Warnings: Anxiety, angst, mild smut, robbery, TW: violence, kidnapping, TW: possible claustrophobia trigger at the very end, guns and gun violence, cliffhanger.

A/N: Splitting this into multiple parts cause I write too damn much. Also, my house is making a lot of random ass sounds right now as if someone's in the house with me but I know I'm alone.

The city whirls around you, spinning in and out of your vision as you rush through the streets, trying to make your way to Anvil.

You can barely focus on the blur of people and cars moving past, mind still caught up in the conversation you just had with your mother.

It had been painfully heated, your throat squeezing at the reminder of what was said, at the truth in her words and the storm they’d started in your head.

She was right. That was the worst part.

You stop suddenly as a car zooms past, almost clipping you. The streets of New York had to be one of the worst places in the world to be distracted.

Still, you can’t get your head out of that phone call, you’d rang her the minute you’d wrapped your head around the papers in your hands.

She’d made accurate assumptions based on the things Dominic had said to her previously. The rings specifically, had helped her put all of it together. 

She’d even called the seller, investigative as ever and inquired as to when they were commissioned. 

She’d figured out that you’d been forced into the marriage, with no way out.

Like an idiot, you’d denied everything, but the facts were too significant to be outweighed by your little excuses.

You loved him. You said as much to her.

Her rebuttal had speared into your heart.

“Do you really? Or is that a comfort you’ve found in the cage he’s built?”

It had made your voice shake.

You didn’t know the answer.

Only a fool would deny that this marriage was a trap, only someone ridiculously stupid, would look at your relationship and call it real love. It could barely be called true, love was not something that could be made under these conditions, it was something free, right? Freely given, free to walk away, light as a feather, this couldn't be love.

Your heart grows heavy with your thoughts.

Did that make you a victim? Billy, your captor, and you, his captive? There was not supposed to be words like ‘love’ in between that.

You barely register making it to Anvil, chest aching with your thoughts, that what you were doing was wrong, that loving him was wrong. The elevator doors close, and you feel the air around you thicken until breathing is difficult.

Where are you even going? You wonder as the elevator doors open, were you going right back into the arms of the man that had trapped you?

He's not in his office, and it somehow makes everything worse, you lean over his desk, one hand pressed to your chest because you don't understand what you're feeling, the world swarms around you like static in your head and you can't focus on anything except the frantic beating of your heart and the thickness of the air in the room-

You jump when the doors swing open.

“Hey sweetheart.” He says softly, eating up the space between you till you're pulled into his arms.

You stiffen for a moment, taking a small breath, breathing in his cologne, feeling something unknot in your chest.

Your shoulders drop, hands coming around to return his hug, his arms squeezing the dear life out of you in response and you accept it eagerly.

“Hi Billy.” You whisper, feeling your body turn to mush in his arms.

“Missed you so much little wife.” He kisses your ear.

“It's only been a couple of hours.” You laugh.

He chuckles with you, fingers under your chin to tilt your head up, waiting a second for your smile of consent before he dips his head to kiss you.

You moan into his mouth, not expecting his kiss to feel so good, he draws back too soon for your liking and you whine, bringing your hands to his cheek to pull him back down again.

Where your heart was once so heavy, it flutters, fills with neverending emotion for him, and you find difficulty in questioning how wrong it is.

He's just as taken as you are, pressing his mouth harshly to yours, bringing a hand up to grip your jaw, encouraging your lips to part so that he can press his tongue into your mouth.

“I fucking love you.” He voices between kisses, hands in your hair, roaming over your body as if he's never had you before.

You giggle into the kiss, voicing your love for him too, hearing him groan in delight as you say it.

A few moments later, the phone rings, and he groans in displeasure, which makes you laugh as he reaches for the device.

“Yes?” He answers, listening to someone on the other end, his hand reaching to interlock with yours.

You hear him let out a frustrated breath, and even that is hot, his eyes fixed on you as he speaks into the phone.

You’ve been kissed absolutely stupid, leaning against his office desk trying to remember anything about yourself while he's busy.

“I'm coming down, then, prep some gear for me.” He says before hanging up.

“Another training sim?” You ask, a little sad he'll have to leave.

“Yeah, I'm sorry baby.” He says softly, making you smile, you reach out, fingers dancing over his tie.

He catches your fingers, bringing them up to his mouth to kiss, rubbing his beard lovingly over your skin.

“Wanna come with me? You can watch?”

“Yeah.” You say eagerly, nodding, following along when he tugs at you, fingers intertwined.

You feel like a silly girl as you follow him, hanging onto his every word, begging for him to look back and smile at you. 

When he does, you feel like there's a hook in your heart and his hand on the line, tugging you closer and closer.

And in those moments, you're not thinking about anything other than him.

.

There was not a damn thought going through your head right now, your eyes glued to the screens in front of you, eyes scanning for him, drinking in each glimpse you can get.

The way he looks in full tactical gear makes you wet beyond belief.

Worse than that, it reminds you of your recent castle date, and the sound of his knife dragging against the wooden panels on the wall makes your stomach tighten eagerly.

You clear your throat, trying to appear calm as you sit in the back corner of the room, monitors cover the wall in front of you, capturing various angles of the training room below. There are other people here, some representatives from one of the intelligence bodies, tactical specialists from Anvil, and a few other people that you hadn't been introduced to because they'd come in late.

One of the agents you'd met earlier finds her way to the seat next to you, and you can feel the air thicken with unsaid words. You glance over at her, smiling politely in hopes that she speaks, so that she can leave you to fantasize about your husband in peace.

“What do you think about the simulation so far?” Agent Madani asks.

Great, now you had to formulate thoughts? You almost want to tell her that you're wondering how scratchy all that gear Billy's wearing would be on your thighs.

“It's… really intense, hard to wrap my head around the idea that this is normal for some people.” And now that you thought about it, you realise that this is what Billy probably looked like in action, in those tours he'd done… this was the soldier you didn't see often.

She gives you an understanding smile.

“It can be hard for civilians, but it's the shared experiences that helps us cope.”

And exactly what the fuck did that mean?

You glance at her from the corner of your eye, finally looking at her, curly hair and sultry eyes, an intelligent smile that could make you feel like you were dumber than her.

“I suppose, it's good to have friends that get what you've been through.”

She nods, eyes still on the monitors ahead, but you can read the subtext of what she really wants to say based on how easily she agrees with you, that it was even better to have a partner that could share your burdens.

That, tells you everything you need to know about her. When Billy had introduced you two earlier, it had been very casual, nothing that raised any alarms. But now you were beginning to realise that Agent Madani had an expert poker face.

“How long have you known Billy?” You ask softly, eyes travelling back to the screen, where you watch him give silent orders with gunfire going off around him. You knew it was him, even though the footage was smokey and he was wearing a helmet, you knew his frame and mannerisms, even if you've never seen him in battle like this.

“A few years, we met at a training just like this one, when his company was still very new. His strategy knowledge really helped us work better.”

“Bet you're really glad you met him.”

You catch her turning her head to look at you in your peripherals.

“I suppose so.” She murmurs with a contemplative nod, “What about you? How long have you known him?”

“Maybe two years? We met a while ago at a company party.” You explain, trying to keep things as vague as possible.

“And, if you don’t mind me asking, how long have you two been married?”

You knew where this was going to go, no doubt the comment that Billy wasn’t the type to get married. You’d heard it so many times. It really made you wonder what type of person he seemed to be outside of your relationship.

“Not long at all, maybe a couple of months.”

She seems to nod, either deep in contemplation of your words, or focused on the simulation, you couldn’t really tell.

“Not sure if he ever mentioned it, but a long time ago we used to date.”

Oh?

“Sorry, no he didn’t.”

She shakes her head with a small smile.

“Not surprised, it was a long time ago and it didn’t last long. Neither of us were interested in commitment, so it kind of surprised me today when he introduced you.”

Bingo. You can’t believe she was distracting you with something as useless as this when your husband was literally being the hottest person on the planet right now. Case in point, when you focus on the screens, you see him, on one knee, peeking out from behind a wall, firing shots lower than the other team expects.

You want him to eat you out in that exact position.

“I just mean that he never seemed willing to do the whole marriage thing.” Agent Madani says, interrupting your thoughts.

“I know what you meant. I just can’t add any real input. I don’t know him that way.” You say, very tired of this conversation.

“You must have really made an impression.” She mutters, and for the first time, you hear a touch of jealousy in her voice.

Agent Madani was effortlessly beautiful, seemed strong willed and had the confidence to suit. If you’d met her at any other point in your life you might have shirked under her eyes. It was kind of amazing though, that he’d been with her, and could clearly get her easily if he wanted, and yet somehow, he’d gone through the trouble of catching you.

You resist a smile. You should not be feeling this pleased that he’d gone through such lengths to trap you. 

But he did. He manipulated his way into knowing you, learned everything about you against your will, used it to get closer to you, took advantage of a weak moment to permanently seal himself into your life, and then he’d unlocked something in you, a darkness that you worried could match his own. 

The reminder of it made you burn that much hotter for him.

You turn your head slowly to Agent Madani, smiling as she meets your eyes. She could like him how much she wanted, he’d never spare her a glance. You were sure of that.

“Maybe I did. Excuse me, Agent, I’ll be right back.”

The basement is large, maybe the size of a warehouse, in the middle is the training floor, easily changeable for various maze formations, that can also be converted into two levels when necessary. There’s an observation deck wrapped around the entire basement, so that you can look down through one way glass and have a better idea of the formations and clusters that each group takes on during the simulation. The Watch Center that you just walked out of, rests in one of the corners of the deck, farthest away from all the fighting.

It’s easy to spot him from where you are, moving through the maze, pausing to peek around corners, his team following dutifully behind him. 

You’re not really sure why he’s there, if it’s because he’s the best at what he does, or maybe he just felt like joining them today. You don’t really follow his day to day business, and you make a mental note to pay more attention.

Phones weren’t allowed on the training floor, but you’d noticed earlier that Billy had his smartwatch on, and you were about to use that to your advantage. 

You keep it short and sweet, and not as lewd as you want to be, just in case anyone reads it.

.

His watch buzzes at some point between scoping out his surroundings, and directing his team. His phone is set to do not disturb, with a few contacts allowed to actually interrupt him: you, your security, Frank and his family.

Hurry up. I miss you.

The little brat.

His stomach flutters, And he smiles, turning his body to face the general area of the Watch Center for a moment so that you know he's read your message.

He definitely should not try to speed up the sim, because running into a fight with no backup helps no one in a simulation like this. But God does he want to. His girl wants him, and he wants his perfect girl.

He clears his throat, gives a shake of his head. If he plays this well, he'll be out of here soon.

His watch buzzes a second time when he has his LVOA-C raised, Using the scope to scan for passing shadows before giving the all clear to move.

He directs his team forward, letting them take the lead so that he has a chance to glance at his watch again.

Should I start without you?

You were playing a dangerous game.

He thinks about you touching your pretty body without him there, feels his blood boil. There are better places to get hard, and during tactical training, surrounded by veterans is not one of them. He can’t even adjust himself, because he knows there are too many eyes on him, not just here, but in the Watch Center as well. 

He’d have to manage his discomfort here, but after, he feels amusement grow within him, after this, you were in so much-

Someone on his team gets hit in the chest and goes down. Of course, the bullets are non-lethal, but that doesn’t mean it’s painless. 

The ambush comes next, pinning them in position, and he has no doubt in his mind that if he hadn’t been distracted, he would have seen it coming.

This team is good, but his is better. And he even decides to pull some of his tricks to give the other group an advantage. 

After a few minutes, the simulation is over, and a buzzer sounds to signal the same.

His team helps the others, checking on any unfortunate wounds that might have happened, directing them to the exits, gathering gear and guns that have been discarded in the melee. 

Billy groans, tugging his helmet off, unstrapping his vest that had been constricting his breathing for the last two hours.

He can feel sweat running down the back of his neck, handing his gear off to one of his guys so that he can run a final sweep of the terrain. Sometimes, the map can have people so disoriented by the activity that they don’t hear the buzzer go off, thinking that the sim is still going. 

He takes his time, starting from the back and making his way forward, hearing the extractors start up, pulling the smoke up and into the air filtration system. He rounds a corner and stops short, when he finds you standing in front of him.

He takes a second or two to read the look in your eyes, the way your lashes flutter so seductively when you blink. He can feel that primal urge roaring in his head, the need to take you in this very second, right here, where everyone can see or listen in.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” He warns calmly, approaching, observing, “I haven’t cleared the space yet. You could get hurt.”

You shrug, a toss of your hair and he’s all but ready to grip the back of your neck harshly.

“I’m not worried, I know you’ll keep me safe.”

Of course he would, but the thought of someone hurting you, even a little, could probably make him blind with rage.

“I would, sweetheart, but why take the unnecessary risk?”

You pout, and Billy swears internally, he was going to buy you the best flowers money could get later. Maybe he should take you out on a date somewhere nice.

“I missed you.” You answer, repeating the words he’d said to you earlier, and if he wasn’t in the line of sight of the camera to his left, he would have pressed you against the wall behind you and kissed you stupid.

Instead, he smiles in amusement, extending a hand for you to take.

“Come on, stay behind me while I finish my sweep.”

.

You comply with his request, keeping a step behind him as he goes through the rest of the maze, eyebrows raising when he finds a discarded handgun, probably misplaced during the fight.

“Isn’t it really bad if someone loses their gun in a fight?” You ask softly, wondering what the consequences would be.

“Yeah, but it’s a learning experience, sometimes a rookie leaves it behind if they’re switching guns in the heat of battle. It’s why the sims are important, so they learn to think under pressure.”

You make a hum of agreement, deep in thought, not really paying attention to where you’re going, listening to him and watching scorch marks from bullets and the occasional smoke grenade type thing.

It really looks like a battle zone, you’re not sure why it surprises you so much, maybe because you’ve never seen one up close, amazed at the way things go down in real life, the way it looks absolutely nothing like the movies.

When he tugs on your arm suddenly, you gasp in surprise, stumbling forward, feeling his body crush against your back, pressing you into one of the walls of the maze. When you make a squeak of surprise, you feel his hand reach to cover your mouth.

His slow exhale says everything.

“You liked watching me work?” He teases, his voice a low vibration in your ear. You struggle for the fun of it, just to feel him press you against the wall harder.

“Answer me, wife. Did you have fun distracting me with your messages?”

You whine behind his palm, and you almost yelp in surprise when he tugs your skirt up roughly so that he can slap your thigh. Tilting your head back, you catch the smell of gunpowder residue on his hands, making you ache for him.

You wiggle your hips, hoping to urge him into a reaction that would be more pleasurable for you. You hear him grunt, before his hand reaches under your skirt to grip your hips.

Another sound of bliss leaves your throat, and you realise that the way he grips your hip is arousing all on its own.

“You have no idea what you do to me, wife. The ways I want to fucking ruin you, and you tease me? Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep myself together around you?”

God, you arch your back, silently begging him to undo his pants and take you right here.

“I bet you're already so wet for me. If my hands weren't covered in gunpowder residue, I would make you come on my fingers right here.” 

Please, you want to say.

You hear him laugh.

“Look at you squirm, baby, you want your husband bad, hmm?”

You nod, glancing back at him, trying to see him in your peripherals.

“Why don't you show me how wet you are.” He hums, pulling you away from the wall to give you some space.

“Go on, baby, reach down, under that skirt, and touch yourself for me.”

You do as he says, not really knowing if you were being seen by cameras or not, but knowing Billy, he'd probably picked an area with a blind spot.

You reach under your skirt, fingers sliding shakily under your panties, and you make a sharp breath when you realise exactly how aroused you really are.

“That much?” He asks, reading into your reaction, a smug smile in his voice.

“You get so wet for me, don't you? Always so ready for your husband, isn't that right?”

“Mhmm.” You agree behind his palm.

“You have no fucking idea what that does to me. It's hardly fair.” He breathes, “Go on, rub that little clit for me.”

You do as he says, sighing into his palm as you gently slide your middle finger teasingly over your bud.

“Is this what you meant when you wanted to start without me? Did you really think you could?”

You were honestly beginning to think that you'd been all bark and no bite this entire time.

He tugs your skirt up higher, the coarse feel of his pants against your bare ass makes you press your fingers harder on your clit.

“That's it, baby, work yourself for me.” He guides, right in your ear and you moan into his palm, breathing in more of the sharp gunpowder smell.

You whimper too, shuddering as you press down firmly on your clit for a few seconds, blinking, dazed at the way you feel.

“Good,” he breathes out, his face pressing in firmer, voice full of unsaid passion, “So good for me.”

Your eyes roll back in your head, eagerly playing with yourself, desperate to come, but standing on your feet pulls too much focus to let yourself go. 

He pulls his hand away from your mouth, spinning your body till you're facing him, your fingers still pressed to your clit as you gaze into his dark eyes.

“Let me taste you.” He says, and you shudder, tugging your hand out of your clothes, raising it to his lips, watching as he seals his mouth around your fingers.

He moans, eyes rolling shut for a few moments as you feel him pull your taste from your fingers.

When he's done, you withdraw your hand, waiting for his next words eagerly.

His breathing is laboured, eyes clinging to your face, you can almost see the way he tries to pull his thoughts together.

“When I'm done here, I'm going to take you up to our office, lift that skirt up and make sure you come hard on my tongue.”

He rubs the backs of his fingers over your cheek, watching you smile happily at his words.

“After, would you wanna get some dinner with me?”

“Like a date?” You ask, trying to hide your excitement.

He nods in affirmation.

“I'd love that.” You murmur, leaning in to kiss him, breathing in the wisps of gunsmoke and husband that reminds you he's distinctly yours.

.

He walks you to the elevator before going back to the Watch Center for a quick debriefing.

It's not easy to focus when he knows you're upstairs eager for him, he can almost feel the press of your thighs around his face and he has to struggle to keep himself together.

After, when everyone's mostly gone, he knows there's nothing good coming when Dinah finally approaches him.

“She's too good for you.” Dinah says while he's gathering his stuff. He pauses, feels the anxiety spear into his chest, keeping a poker face as he turns to look at her.

“Maybe, but does it really matter?”

Billy watches Dinah lean against the table, a relaxed appearance to make it seem like she was just trying to be honest, and not what she was actually doing- attempting to manipulate him by needling at his insecurities.

“When she finally sees who you really are, she's not going to stay. Who knows, she probably already has an exit plan prepared.” Dinah shrugs as if this is the most obvious thing.

“Jealousy doesn't look good on you, Agent Madani.” He responds, continuing to gather his things.

She shakes her head, letting out a small laugh, reminding him why he'd never really liked her. When she was upset, she lashed out, uncaring of what she said so long as she got the last word in.

“I'm just trying to be honest, I know you, I know the dark shit going on in your head, a girl like her will never understand.”

Dinah was so wrong and she didn't even know it. Billy didn't have to worry about that, you'd seen him, the real him from the very start, and the more of himself he showed to you, the less inclined you seemed to turn away.

“Thanks for the advice, Dinah, If you don't mind, I'm gonna go spoil my wife rotten now. Enjoy your evening.” Billy finally says, turning away and leaving Dinah behind.

Now, more than ever, he feels that darkness overwhelm him. Of course you were too good for him, and maybe there was a high chance you'd have an exit strategy already prepared. 

But Billy had worked hard to have you, and he would not let you leave so easily. 

.

You glance up when you hear the door open, sitting on your desk reading through one of your reports, you drop it when his freshly showered and dressed form steps into his office.

He's got one hand tucked behind his back, and you hear rustling as he approaches swiftly, his free hand slipping behind your neck to pull you into his mouth.

You moan against his lips as fireworks go off behind your eyes. He kisses you harsher than normal, tormenting your lips with his, making your head spin, dizzy delight dancing on your tongues.

You chase his mouth when he pulls away, your eyebrows lifted, peeking a look at him through half-lidded eyes.

You give him a dopey grin, that he mirrors, before pulling his other hand from behind his back to present you with a bouquet of red roses.

You let out a surprised giggle. Reaching out to take them, admiring The black wrapping paper and red ribbon.

“What's the occasion?” You inquire, bringing the roses up to your nose to breathe in their flowery scent.

“I need one? I'm so fucking obsessed with you that I can't think straight. Is that a good enough reason?”

You smile bashfully, pressing your face into the flowers to hide, grinning widely into them in hopes that he doesn’t see.

You peek at him, to find him looking at you with warm eyes.

He sucks in a deep breath, glancing off for a moment before speaking.

“I wanna take you out, show you off, I want people to look at you and be jealous that I'm the only one that can touch you. What do you think?”

The idea honestly terrified you. In what world could you ever be considered a prize?

Yet, your found yourself willing to try, for him.

“There’s a charity gala I was thinking we should attend,” You offer up shyly, face still buried in the roses, “It’s on Saturday.” You extend the folder you were just reading out to him, with all the details that you had about the charity.

He takes the folder from you, flipping it open and you watch his eyes scan the page.

“Are we doing security for this?” He asks, deep in thought.

“No, Phoenix is,” You answer, almost laughing as Billy turns his face up at the mention of a business competitor, “That’s on the other page.”

You watch him flip the page, waiting patiently for him to come to a decision. You hoped he would appreciate the cause, a scholarship fund for kids. You also hoped it didn’t strike too much of a chord.

“It’s good publicity too.” You offer up softly, and he nods in understanding.

“I like it,” He finally says, snapping the folder shut and looking up at you.

“I’m in.”

You smile, lifting your head, Billy drops the folder in lieu of bringing his hands up to either side of your head to kiss you more.

You hum into his mouth, moving the flowers from between you, placing it gently on the desk without looking. He takes the opportunity, sliding his hands under your ass, encouraging your legs to wrap around his hips before he lifts you.

He walks you over to his desk, which has less of a clutter on it, placing you down gently before swiping a rough hand over everything, sending his items scattering to the floor.

It makes you laugh, watching the disaster he creates in an attempt to have you. He catches your laugh, laughs too, shrugs his jacket off and drops it to the floor.

“What's funny?” He asks lowly, stepping back between your legs, uncuffing and rolling up his sleeves right in front of you.

“Is needing you funny?” He taunts, pushing your skirt up until he can see the cut of your panties between your thighs.

You watch his eyes drop down, he groans as his eyes lock to the apex of your thighs, pushing his clothed erection against your cunt. You gasp at how remarkably hard he is.

He grips the back of your head, tugging you close until your lips just barely brush.

“Are you laughing now?” He taunts.

.

You'd decided on a sage green dress from an amateur designer. Meeting with Sam again had been a welcome surprise, and she'd compiled an even more extensive list of dresses based on what she'd seen you admire last time. 

The dress in question was covered in embroidered flowers, with an elbow length puff sleeve, and a low neckline that just looked very fun to wear. You hoped it was okay that you were picking the fun option, and not the classy, or even sexier pieces.

You ponder if you should get Billy's opinion, worrying that it might not work into his idea of showing you off.

You snap a photo of the dress, sending it to him with a little message.

Thoughts?

You see the typing bubbles show up after a few seconds, and then the little symbol goes away before popping up again. You frown, watching him struggle with finding something to say and you feel a little sadness that he might not like it and you'll have to pick another.

You'd look stunning in it.

The words aren't enough, and you find yourself craving the reassurance.

Sure? I can pick something else if it's too… flowery.

No way, I think you'd kill me in this dress.

You let out a surprised laugh.

Are you sure? There are other options.

You take a photo of another dress, a red one to send him as an example.

Save it for another time, the first dress is beautiful and looks like it could be fun to wear, and more suitable for a children's charity.

You make a good point.

Of course I do, I'm a genius.

Name one smart thing you've ever done.

Don't make me put you over my knee, brat. 

Touchy.

I'll show you just how touchy when I see you 😌

Keep it in your pants, Russo.

Trying my best, you're just so pretty.

You giggle, rolling your eyes.

.

He catches you unaware in the walk-in closet while you’re picking out the shoes you’d decided on for the dress.

“Oh my god.” He growls into your ear, arms wrapping around your midsection. Your hands rise to cover his, as you smile and turn your head to look back at him, mostly dressed save for your shoes.

“You look so fucking gorgeous, little wife. I can’t wait to show you off.”

You let out a small breath of air, smiling up at him happily. 

“You’re not so bad yourself, husband.” You say jokingly, finally glancing back and almost moaning when you catch his attire.

All black, no tie, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, contrasting beautifully against his pale skin.

Jesus H Christ.

“What?” He asks, looking down, and you blink, realising you’d spoken that thought aloud.

You make a pained sound.

“You’re… uh… hot.” You stutter out, tilting your head downwards in shame at your loss of control.

His chuckle of amusement warms your stomach.

“Am I?” He asks, a lone finger presses to your chin, encouraging you to tilt your head upwards.

You meet his eyes, deciding to be honest instead of deflecting.

“Yes. Any woman-” You gulp, “-would be-”

“-I don't want any woman. I just want you.”

You let out a shaky breath of air, eyebrows pinching for a moment in disbelief before a weak smile pulls onto your face.

This is his attempt at manipulating you, comes the intrusive thought, a voice that sounds very much like your mother.

Your smile drops, and you turn away before he can read the expression on your face. You reach for the shoes you'd been initially reaching for.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

You close your eyes, finding the willpower to keep your voice even.

“Mhmm,” you say eagerly, “We should leave soon or we're gonna be late.”

You glance back at him with a smile, and the lines on his forehead disappear.

He extends a hand.

“I'll put them on for you.” 

You smile, passing the simple velvet green heels over.

.

“Relax,” he murmurs, spreading a hand over your back when he feels your shaky breath, “Everything is going to be okay.”

You nod at him as the car comes to a stop.

The door opens, and the flashes of cameras temporarily stun you as he steps out, extending a hand to you, which you take, focusing on him in order to cope with the constant flashing.

The bubble in your ears pop, and suddenly you can hear everyone shouting around you.

He'd warned you it would be this way, and his descriptions didn't do the din justice.

You glance over at the crowd, unable to focus on any one thing with the lights and the sound being so intense.

You paint a soft smile onto your face, waving as his hand interlocks with the other, guiding you along.

The press is good, you remind yourself, not just for Anvil, but for the charity as well, and you feel your insecure self be buried under a more confident you.

Your smile widens, your shoulders relax, you try to imagine the crowd as one being for now, as they try to get you to look in specific directions.

You pause at one point, allowing photos to be taken of you. It's then that you and Billy finally meet each other's eyes.

He leans in, lips to your ear, the flashes coming faster.

“You're doing amazing.” He says reassuringly, drawing a genuine smile from you.

You look up at him, heart pounding at the way he looks at you, before turning back to smile at the crowd.

It's over after that, you make your way inside where your ears ring for a few minutes, unable to hear much as you're seated.

His hand remains locked with yours, never leaving your side as the events begin.

You’d never been to one of these events before, and it amazes you how much actual thought goes into the entire charity. Though, it’s quite clear that this specific occasion is designed to stroke rich people’s egos. 

You’re interested to see how the charity has benefitted children, though you know that the photos you see are definitely staged to paint the charity in the best light possible. You’d done a bit of digging into the organisation, and though there were some hiccups along the way, you hadn’t found any serious red flags of note.

You wished you could focus on the speech, hear anything going on and internalise the words, but your brain kind of stalls, anytime you look over and catch sight of Billy.

The black shirt and pants combo is very similar to what you saw him wearing that night- the night you got married. 

He’s so at ease beside you, his hair styled to perfection, your ring on his finger, a delicate silver chain hanging around his neck.

He looks like sin, like your dirty fantasies come to life. If he asked you to kneel, you suspect you very well might.

When people applaud, you refocus on your surroundings, softly clapping too, though you have no idea what’s going on.

There's an exhibit set up for your perusal, art pieces donated by organizations, even a smaller exhibit to view some of the art made by the students of the program. 

Mostly, it's a reason to mingle, for rich people to join with other rich people and pat each other on the back for the tax cut this is going to give them.

It kind of makes you hate them a little.

Still, you smile and shake hands with all the wealthy people, watch them give you some kind of knowing look that you’re supposed to interpret.

Why anyone thinks you’re a gold digger is beyond you. Weren’t people like that supposed to be the epitome of attractive? It made you roll your eyes internally.

What if he’d chosen you because no one would ever believe he’d done what he’d done to you? Why would he have his pick of the most beautiful women on the planet and still fight for you?

It’s your mother’s voice again, and you swallow, dropping your head meekly as a conversation with an older couple ends, and they move away from you.

You feel his hand on the small of your back, drawing you to look into his eyes.

“Are you okay? Want to take a break?” He asks softly.

You gaze at him for a long moment. What if he’d been manipulating you into liking him this entire time?

No, not liking… loving.

“Can I have some water?” You whisper softly.

He knows something is up, you can tell, but you watch him nod, excusing himself to head to the bar.

You let out a long sigh, turning away and walking deeper into the exhibit, in hopes that he takes a few moments longer to find you.

You needed to think, but this was the worst place for it. Did you really love him? Or were you just getting comfortable in his cage?

You were beginning to unravel.

You're at the very edge of the room, at the corner of the exhibit when the first few bangs go off.

You flinch at each sound, the noise cracking in your head, further amplified by the acoustics in the room.

Your ears ring, and it takes you a moment to register that there’s screaming.

The shrieks get cut off by a loud shout, an instruction for everyone to get down on the floor.

You gulp, eyes widening as you feel your heart begin pounding, you couldn't see what was going on, and maybe you didn't want to. The choice was taken from you by your own body that refused to move at all.

You couldn't hear anything after that initial shout, too far away and it would be dumb of you to get closer to see what was going on.

Where was Billy? Probably knelt on the ground somewhere waiting for the right opportunity to strike.

It's what kicks you into gear. He'd need backup, which means you'd need to go get help.

There's a door at the end of the exhibit, and you turn, walking that way quietly, trying your best to stop the soft clicking of your heel as you move.

You have the door in sight when someone calls out loudly behind you.

“Don't move.” They say.

You turn, stiffening once more when you find a man dressed head to toe in black pointing a gun at you.

Your heart squeezes in your chest.

He eats up the space between you until he grabs your arm forcefully, the gun presses into the middle of your back as he guides you back toward the middle of the room.

Your thinking unfortunately stalls, the rush of adrenaline makes you dumb, your brain in panic mode because this was a real life scenario with real people that would kill you, and not your husband, playing his games.

You can feel your shoulders trembling as the man pushes you into the room.

“I found a stray.” He announces to the other men standing about the room in full black gear with various types of guns in their hands.

You scan the room, searching for your husband, but unable to spot him.

One of the men approaches you, You can see nothing but his eyes, an average brown, through his mask.

He presses his handgun to your cheek, turning your head forcefully with it. You squeeze your eyes shut.

“What's your name?”

You stutter out your first name.

He presses the gun deeper into your cheek until you whisper your last name.

“What was that last part?” The man in front of you presses.

“Russo.” You say louder.

The man behind you, gripping your arm, releases it the moment he hears your last name, and you open your eyes just in time to see him reach forward and push the other man's gun of your cheek.

“Stop. We don't want to cause any trouble with her. Let her sit with everyone else.”

The man draws back angrily, twisting his gun from the first man's grip.

“The fuck are you on about?”

They both move a step away from you, and even though the first man drops his voice to a whisper, you still hear it.

“Don't you know who her husband is? She's more trouble than she's worth.”

“Isn't that the point of this? To cause trouble?”

“Trust me, man, that's more trouble than you want.”

You almost sigh with relief, the knowledge that Billy's name could keep you safe definitely eases some of your anxiety.

Except that the second man doesn't listen to reason, and he's right back in your face, his gun pressed to the center of your chest. The barrel isn't as cold as you'd expect, and you wonder if this was the gun that was fired earlier. 

How many shots did you hear? Five, you think. How many shots did he have left? You had no fucking idea.

“Give me all your stuff. Now.”

You blink, glancing at the first man, seeing him raise his hands in surrender. Realising he won't intervene further, you raise your shaky hands to tug your earrings off, and then your simple necklace, placing them into the man's open and waiting palm.

“And the ring.”

You stiffen.

“No.” You answer, as if you had any means of stopping him.

“Give it to me,” he says calmly, “or I hit you until you do.”

You were practically shaking.

“It's not valuable, it's worth nothing. Please.”

He pulls the gun from your chest, and you sigh in relief as he turns away.

You don't see his fist coming.

He hits you with the hand holding the gun, and you stumble, falling almost comically on your ass as your jaw aches. You feel tears spring to your eyes. 

In your disoriented state, he reaches down and rips the ring from your finger, despite your sluggish efforts to hold on.

Your face stings, but you don't think he hit you hard enough to cause any real damage, your tailbone also hurting from where you hit the ground.

You want to cry so badly, beg for your ring back, but the fear is overwhelming, almost nauseating. 

You sniffle, shuffling back, away from the men quietly arguing with each other, while there are two other men gathering valuables from the crowd.

It makes no sense to steal from these people, these aren’t items that can be pawned off without raising red flags, these items would probably have to leave the country to be sold, and even then, they’d still be traceable.

They finish grabbing what they came for very shortly, and when they group together, the man that hit you earlier turns to look at you. 

It’s easy to tell them apart, he was the second tallest in the four man group, and the man that had defended you, was a little shorter, almost your height.

You scuffle away faster as he moves to approach you, and you know exactly what’s coming.

He grabs you by the arm and pulls you up, your ankle twisting in your heel before you can get your feet under you.

It hurts, but you can’t worry about it because you’re being pulled along with the group of men.

“She’s gonna slow us down, I thought we agreed to pick someone with flat shoes?” One of the unknown men says.

His hand tightens on your arm.

“If another one of you questions me, I’m putting a bullet in your head.” He hisses out, pulling you along.

You try to stand your ground, to pull away, but someone else grabs your other arm and you’re suddenly being more pulled along than anything else.

“Stop.” You grit out, wriggling in their grips, “Let me go.”

They don’t answer you, moving fast through the side exit, and towards a sleek vehicle.

It blends in with the rest, and when they try to force you into the back seat, you lean away, bringing your hands up to brace them against the car to stop yourself from going any further.

It’s then that you lash out, knowing the scary statistic of being taken to a secondary location, you swing a kick at one man, elbowing the other as hard as you can.

It barely does anything, your manoeuvrability is difficult in your pretty dress, someone uses your disadvantage to grip your wrists behind your back.

“Fuck this- open the trunk.”

You struggle more, someone grabs your feet and then you’re picked up, tossed into the trunk, your body aching at the impact.

The trunk slams shut, and all you can hear is your own disoriented breathing and the muted thudding of the other doors in the car closing. Your body jerks as the car takes off rapidly.

.

.

.

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

Random thought I just had in my hospital bed, but what if Alice had immediately called Rosalie/the Cullens after seeing Bella is alive? And then continued to talk to Bella?

Which scenario are we in?

We're in the "Edward gets really really really pissed because no one does what he wanted and EVERYONE IS RUINING EVERYTHING!!!"

But Let's Back it Up

Before Rosalie has a chance to call Edward?

Rosalie goes "ugh" and is very pissed off that Bella is still somehow causing their family a bunch of drama over nothing, that Alice apparently has false positives now about people fucking dying, and is so done with this bullshit.

But Edward is not told that "Bella is dead, come home and stop this".

However, the Cullens don't get to sit on their hands too long as, "news, everybody!" it turns out Victoria has been picking off people in the Forks area, held out by teenage shapeshifters, to get to Bella so that she can kill Edward's mate as a part of her revenge for the death of James.

Remember Laurent? The guy Irina's stupid in love with? He was one of them!

And wow, it sure seems like this is kind of the Cullen's fault for refusing to keep even small tabs on the town/Bella because Edward was so determined to be a dramatic diva and tear himself out of her life.

I imagine the Cullens (sans Edward, he's still moping in Rio) have a meeting and while it's going to be a tough call (Rosalie wants nothing to do with this, Jasper is torn as he wants Victoria dealt with but also doesn't want to put Alice back on her radar) ultimately I think they'd vote to go back to Forks for as long as it takes to deal with this problem.

And erm, we'll see about Bella (there's no Volturi 'thou shalt' yet nor Edward's attempted suicide, so it's not as dire as it was canonically).

The question is...

Do they tell Edward? On the one hand, he'll be pissed if he finds out they went behind his back because his lady love/Forks was in danger. He'd be beyond pissed, he'd feel betrayed on an unheard of level.

On the other hand, Edward will throw a massive fit (much like the one he threw to get them out of Forks in the first place), and when he realizes his "leave Bella" plan has had unintended side effects, that placed Bella in even more danger... a) he'll despise himself which is the last thing Edward needs b) who knows what the fuck he'll do in response to this.

There's a very tempting option here where, maybe, they can take care of things quickly enough in Forks that Edward never even realizes they went back.

This is an even more heated debate, and I imagine it's very 50/50 and "... Alice, er, how does he take it?"

Ultimately, they probably decide to tell him. He has to know what's happened, they can't keep this secret forever, and he deserved to know exactly what has happened, both the good and the bad.

Rosalie does not get to tell Edward, as that's a very bad idea, and I imagine Carlisle gets to tell him.

And so, Edward gets a phone call in Rio telling him "you done fucked up, son", not only that, but remember how he was chasing Victoria and he pathetically lost her in Mexico and kept going south for some reason until he landed in Rio? Yeah, she went all the way back to Forks where she's been trying to eat Bella this entire time.

Laurent nearly did.

And the only people protecting her are those temperamental shapeshifters who it turns out are back in full force.

And so, Edward loses his goddamn mind.

Edward: The Eclipsining

Edward comes racing back and acts similar to how he did in Eclipse. The carpet was pulled out from under him, this Jacob Black character has moved in on his territory in a way Edward did not expect for all he thought he wanted Bella to move on. Worse, Bella's in even more danger than before, has picked up very dangerous habits, and now he has to crawl back into her good graces.

Trouble is, Edward also hasn't quite been convinced that he can't live without her yet/he would have broken eventually. He knows he was having a shit time in Rio, but he didn't have that moment of her death where he concluded there was no purpose to his life anymore. Oh, he still plans to nobly kill himself when she dies, but he sincerely thinks he can leave her alone, she can live her human life, and he'll kill himself off screen.

It's just... when he leaves her alone she doesn't live that idyllic human life he wants her to.

If Bella puts it to a vote, I imagine she'll still win as Carlisle will probably side with the majority, even though there's no threat of execution/Edward's imminent suicide on the table. In which case Edward smashes the Korean TV, but I'm not sure would ask for marriage.

He wants to marry Bella, but he also doesn't want her to commit her precious human life to him/he still wants to extract himself. I imagine Edward would plan to be with her in the short term, so that the family doesn't go and turn her, but is always looking for Bella to a) change her mind about turning into a vampire b) extract himself from the situation.

And Jacob Black would be great for that. In fact, while Edward fucking hates him at first, he proves himself a worthy advisory, he's brave and noble, and Bella clearly cares deeply for him.

... Edward is suddenly Team Jacob.

Edward deep down is Team Edward, but he can't be Team Edward, because he has to leave Bella as soon as possible without turning into a vampire. But Team Jacob means Team Human means that Bella won't asked to be turned and will live a normal human life... with a shapeshifter but at least he'll be able to protect her.

I imagine Jacob has very little idea what to make of Edward. He hated this guy, still hates him but why is Edward saying, "Yes, Jacob, we must make you as appealing to Bella as possible". And leaving them alone together, on purpose, so that Jacob will have opportunities.

Jacob... doesn't want to think about weird vampires being weird.

But it all ends up being moot point.

The Volturi

Due to the lack of Volturi meeting, I imagine the Volturi do come to Seattle much faster to wipe out the vampires. If they do, and they do stop in on the Cullens just to see what's happening, then depending who visits they will find out about Bella.

And, "hm, are you turning her anytime soon?" It's clear she's very gifted, so most likely death is off the table (Jane wasn't there by herself canonically, she doesn't get to call all the shots). So, probably they're looking to take Bella back to the mothership.

Depending who's there, Bella is turned immediately. If it's Aro... he may be persuaded by Alice as he was in canon, to let it happen on its own time, or he may turn her ther himself because these people clearly aren't going to and "she should join the guard".

But most likely, Bella gets turned and kidnapped to Italy for at least a year while she's in her newborn phase. After which she's 'free to go', if she still wants to after Chelsea of course.

After that...

Well.

A lot of bloody nonsense.

[insolemi]

....hi

this is so lazy and very quick, im sorry yall, but heres the concepts of a headcanon list for classmate to bff to gf cate

classmate!cate who was so nervous about going to godolkin and starting her classes bc its all so overwhelming, the campus, the people, the course 

classmate!cate who saw you in one of her classes and then another one and another and wow, you’re in almost all of them and somehow that makes her days much easier for her 

classmate!cate who used to watch you from afar in all the classes you shared together because she had a massive crush on you but could never make herself talk to you until you did it for her and now y'all are besties and do everything together

bff!cate who is so very outspoken now a few months in, constantly giving you compliments that are borderline (sometimes just blatant) flirting but if someone calls her on it, she swears up and down she’s just being friendly

bff!cate who loves hugging you and showing displays of affection that seems questionable for couples

bff!cate who never quite lost the urge to stare, but she’s just much better at hiding it now, as long as she can get away with it by staring at you when you’re talking

bff!cate who knows everything about you and vice versa

bff!cate who gets starry eyed looking at you because you're so gentle with her and never forget anything about her and what's happened to her and how it basically shaped her as a person

bff!cate who shows up at your dorm room one night during break (no roommate there, score!) and you two end up laid out in your bed, talking about anything and everything, her head on your shoulder, hand wrapped around your arm as she shifts the conversation to talking about some guy in one of the few classes you don’t share and how he’s been really friendly with her lately and now you’re so caught up in trying to figure out why that makes you feel sick that you don’t even see the way she’s watching you to see your reaction

so when you give her a shaky smile and an even worse “that’s great, cate!” she rolls her eyes and pushes off your bed because she was obviously lying and you didn’t catch it and now she's mad at you bc she knows YOU'RE lying, so what gives

and now you're both mad bc you’re both in love with each other and she’s trying to get you to admit it but you think she doesn’t like you back and now she’s yelling in your face that she does so please stop being stubborn and just fuckin’ kiss her already so you do so now it’s 

gf!cate who’s always staring at you, that specific look in her eyes and then she doesn't stop when you catch her and don't even bother saying anything about it to her because she’ll just smirk at you, won’t even pretend to deny it even a little bit for her pride or yours

the best you’ll get is “cate, please” “what? i’m just looking” but usually it’s more along the lines of “cate, do you mind?” “no. hi, gorgeous” and a pretty smile (while she continues to stare)

gf!cate who always wants to be with you, everything you do from studying to classes to hang outs, she’s always attached to your hip (not that you mind, really) but this comes with her hands always being on you somewhere, also

gf!cate who keeps a hand free solely for holding yours or resting somewhere on you or around your waist, fixing any jewelry you might wear or your hair or clothes and who also loves to just cuddle up to you, no matter what you’re doing

gf!cate who loves tracing words and shapes over your skin, especially at night right before you two fall asleep for the night

gf!cate who spends more time in your dorm than she does in her own, sometimes she’s just chilling or doing homework but usually she’s laid out in your bed, on her phone, bc she insists your room is so much better than hers (it’s not, it’s just yours)

gf!cate who loves sending you random pictures of things that remind her of you especially if they're completely nonsensical

gf!cate who pouts when you don’t pay attention to her or when you pay more attention to someone other than her

gf!cate who loves you so much that sometimes she cant believe that you're actually a real person who loves her back just as much

[devildomwriter]

Horror Movie Marathon: They React to The Strangers

Lucifer

• He praises the tension set up wordlessly at the beginning of the movie. You can tell something happened before it’s more strongly implied she denied a proposal.

• He grins at the first knock assuming things will become more intense and he is 100% right. The tension increases and he enjoys watching the spiral of the two characters and the paranoia build.

• He likes how the camera angles change to feel like you’re the stranger in the home.

• He doesn’t jump scared but laughs imagining how scared Mammon would’ve been. He’s hoping you’ll get jump scared and cling to him more.

• As soon as they try running to the car he knows it’s about to get intense and sets the popcorn down to pay closer attention.

• He applauds the writing and the choice not to show the strangers’ faces even when they remove the masks.

• He believes the ending could’ve done without the jump scare as he thinks both characters should be explicitly dead after all the tension built up to the killing.

Mammon

• He hates feeling the awkwardness in the beginning. Feels bad for the guy. Imagine learning the person you want to spend your life with, isn’t ready to spend it with you. That scares him for other reasons.

• The first knock on the door and he’s already scared but he thinks it’s just a random person at the wrong home and he’s dead wrong about it.

• When the person comes back and he sees the scary mask he freaks out. He freaks out even more when he sees the man is now somehow in the home and then the woman’s phone disappears.

• He’s just as paranoid as the characters in the movie.

• He assumes things will be fine when the man grabs a gun but he was wrong and it somehow continues to get worse and he’s holding you tighter every time and lying about not being scared.

• He’s fucking screaming when they get into the home and he has his eyes covered as they’re stabbed to death.

• The Strangers explanation for killing them is even worse and he keeps texting Lucifer to make sure the door is locked for weeks to come.

Leviathan

• He’s thankful for the first knock because it interrupts a sex scene and he was not prepared to watch that with you right next to him.

• He enjoys the intense build-up and paranoia and compliments the camera work and the angle choices for building tension.

• He feels really bad for the people not just because someone is trying to kill them but because people suck and their safe space has been invaded.

• He’s actually shaken when his best friend is mistakenly shot. He feels bad for the guy and the friend. He can’t imagine what he’d do if he accidentally hurt you.

• He’s trying to calm his nerves by eating lots of popcorn but it’s not working because it goes flying when the break-in occurs

• He critiques all their choices and tells you the best way to defend your fort. He was an admiral in the Celestial Realm and is now one in hell so he knows what he’s talking about.

• He approves of how brutal they are with the death, they didn’t cut corners. He did not appreciate the jump scare at the end.

Satan

• He’s intrigued as soon as it begins, he appreciates showing not telling in movies

• He’s theorizing all the different ways things might happen and begins wondering if the camera angle really does mean someone is watching from behind.

• When things start to go missing, his detective skills kick in and he tells you how they could’ve snuck around

• Things quickly escalate after the next few knocks and he tells you all the ways you could prevent this in the future and then realizes the House of Lamentation doesn’t have those methods and is lost in thought

• He thinks the acting is really well done and sees the movie more as a critic than as an audience member.

• Hearing the girl say “Next time it’ll be easier” has him pretty excited for potential sequels and hooks him even more at how little the strangers care about what they’ve done

Asmodeus

• He’s disappointed the sex scene got interrupted because he knows it’s just downhill after that first knock on the door.

• The masks freak him out. How ugly does someone have to be to wear a weird mask?

• He’s mad the guy doesn’t believe his girlfriend at first because the knocks were so loud and why would she make that up?

• Finally the masks come off but their “ugly faces” aren’t even shown and he feels like that’s even worse because it could be anyone but he’s distracted from this thought when they are stabbed and he lets out a high-pitched shriek.

• Thinks that was an awful ordeal but the strangers saying there will be a next time makes it worse. The little boys they passed by didn’t even realize these were the culprits so they’ll just get away. He’s super mad about it.

• He’s super popular and doesn’t mind attention but the movie made him secure his bedroom a bit more—from everyone but you

Beelzebub

• Like whenever he sits down for a movie he’s just eating the popcorn and other food assortments. He’s loud enough that subtitles are needed until the louder parts.

• He doesn’t really get the first part of the movie until it’s spelled out for him and then he feels bad for the guy.

• Now he’s just kinda sad until the knock happens and he drops some popcorn. He’s not scared it just surprised him.

• He is visibly anxious on behalf of the couple as the film progresses. He shakes his head whenever they leave the house and he’s pretty upset when the people successfully break in.

• He’s as close to you as he can be because he can’t imagine if you were in a home invasion like that.

• He can’t believe how callously the strangers behave and that they might do it again and no one even knows who they are.

• At first he’s worried the little boys would be killed too but is relieved they are okay.

• He enjoys the movie but doesn’t get the cinematic talent

Belphegor

• He’s all on board for this movie because it means he can snuggle you.

• Snuggling is a tad awkward in the first scene so no one says a word which is why he nearly falls asleep but the knock wakes him with a startle as much as the main characters

• He calls them stupid for almost every decision they make, even the smart ones.

• “Dumbass…” he says when the man accidentally kills his best friend. “Look before you shoot.” Which is valid but the guy was paranoid so it’s understandable.

• He can’t believe after the disaster of trying to get to the car that they’d run outside toward a barn and forest, they’re just asking to be killed.

• He doesn’t react to their deaths, he saw it coming a mile away.

• He enjoys the tension of the movie and the interesting narrative but it’s not one he’s dying to rewatch.

Solomon

• He loves horror movies so he’s excited to watch. Normally he’s down for more gore but he’s okay with the slower opening as long as it adds to the story and it does.

• He laughs at the masks and now he sort of wants one but only because he knows Mammon watched the movie too and he’d love to scare him a bit.

• He’s always asking for your opinion on what they do next and why you think that is as if he’s giving you a psychology quiz.

• He also asks you what spells you’d use to defend against an unknown intruder but eventually all the questions stop when it gets to the climax and he pays much closer attention.

• He enjoys the gore but he especially enjoys the most unforgettable line “Because you were home”

• He tells you not to worry as he’s far stronger than any intruder might be and you’re safe with him.

Simeon

• Not a fan of horror he’s trusting your judgment on the movie and so far it’s okay. He’s a little uncomfortable with the almost-sex scene but thankfully it’s interrupted.

• He thinks it’s just a lost stranger but nope, it’s one of THE strangers and she keeps coming back. He finally realizes she’s a bad guy, and so is the other one with the mask.

• He thinks it’s a great idea to get to the car and leave but things don’t work out that way.

• “Oh dear…” he says several times as things keep getting worse.

• He gasps when the friend is accidentally killed and wonders why you wanted to watch such a tragic movie.

• He’s still under the assumption there will be justice so when the couple is stabbed to death he’s in shock. He’s in more shock when the strangers leave like nothing happened and plan to do so again.

• They then have the nerve to say they only sin sometimes. That gets to Simeon and he wants them to pay but the movie ends and he’s surprised you’d watch something this bleak.

• He kind of wants to watch the sequel, maybe this time things will go better.

Raphael

• Not a movie he’d watch unless it was suggested but he’ll watch it. He always pays very close attention to detail.

• He immediately deduces the awkward situation with the couple and why it’ll play a party in the movie.

• When the camera angle changes he tries to figure out where the strangers could be hiding in the house and how they got in without anyone noticing

• He knows why the girl knocks too, he’s seen all kinds of weird things while working down in the human world.

• When they use a shotgun he kindly informs you a spear would be more efficient and why…in detail.

• He’s worried for the two boys handing out fliers and mad when the woman says she only sins sometimes right after mentioning they’d do it again

• He’s a little surprised by the jump scare at the end but just shakes his head in response.

• He enjoyed the movie but you have to endure a safety seminar afterwards.

Thirteen

• She’s just hoping for some prank ideas when she sat down to watch a home invasion movie, she didn’t think it was gonna be super serious but the first few minutes dampened the mood.

• She laughs when the tension builds and points out things you wouldn’t have noticed. She makes the connections very quickly about everything that’s been changed and misplaced

• Keeps telling them to grab the gun and when they actually do she knows it’s not gonna work or it wouldn’t be in the movie.

• She likes the idea of the anonymity of the Strangers and keeps telling them they had a good idea when they find another way to scare the couple

• She was hoping they wouldn’t be killed like that but figured it was coming. She thought it was very creative to just be stabbed but “Oh well”

• Thinks the strangers’ response to breaking in was spooky

Mephistopheles

• He thinks the directing was good and likes how solemn the atmosphere feels before the horror has even begun

• He thought the first knock would begin things and shook his head when they answered the door. It threw him off a little but then he saw the man inside and was startled though he denies it.

• Recommends they not leave in the car and laughs triumphantly that he was correct in assuming it’d go horribly

• He’s shocked at the brutality of the strangers and is slightly disappointed he didn’t get to see their faces but appreciates the “directing of it all”

• He believes their response “because you were home” hits the point of the movie Home even more about senseless violence and acting on opportunity

• Laughs that the little religious boy got scared by a dread woman

Barbatos

• He correctly guesses things that are going to happen long before they do starting with the phone call to the best friend and it’s amazing how detailed about it he can go without using his powers.

• He feels awkward just watching the couple in the home prepared for a more festive occasion when it is not

• He likes that the angle of the cameras changed to make it look like you are the one inside the house and he tries to stop himself from guessing more things and spoiling it for you by eating more popcorn.

• nothing startled or scared him but he says “oh my” a lot.

• He thinks the shotgun is a great solution but already guessed how that would go wrong so he does not react other than shaking his head when the friend is mistakenly killed

• He thinks the deaths could’ve been more brutal considering it’s a horror movie but the responses given by the stranger make up for it as they’re rather chilling

Diavolo

• He immediately feels bad for the relationship turmoil the couple is going through before anything bad even begins to happen

• He knew the first girl at the door was going to be trouble.

• When the camera angels change and appear behind the characters as if following him he’s already on the edge of his seat

• The loud knocks surprise him each time and he squeezes your hand a little harder

• He knew they wouldn’t escape and when the gun went off he just knew it was going to be the friend instead. He shakes his head, he couldn’t imagine what he’d do in that position

• He expected their deaths but he’s nonetheless taken aback at the brutality of the strangers especially when their explanation is “because you were home” chills.

• He got jump scared at the end.

• Suddenly he’s replacing and reinforcing the locks in the castle as if someone like him could be hurt by a group of masked strangers

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s6 episode 7 thoughts

life can be so beautiful… but will it be today? that is the essential question.

yesterday’s episode was a contender for greatest of all time. and i enjoyed holding space for that. in fact, i could stand to hold even MORE space than i already have. 

but from reading the episode description here, this one sounds… darker! so, we shall see. i will not go into this one expecting to feel holly and jolly. although “terms of endearment” sounds like a sweet title. AGAIN, though. i am not foolish enough to think that it will actually be a sweet episode.

ahh, time to get cozy and see what the evening brings us!

post-episode thoughts: (shrugs) this one didn't do anything for me, really. except get that song stuck in my head. and make me kinda uncomfy. those are pretty much my only thoughts.

wait: mulder befriending those random kids was funny, too. thus concludes my opinion.

the evening brings us a sonogram, it seems. a mystery sonogram? there’s some sort of development on da baby. plates on the skull. 

WHY did this wayne guy get up and leave when the doctor said there may be some strange developments?! go be with the woman who also had to hear this news!!!! and the bony plated thing is growing in HER, so like!! don’t make this about you!!!

wayne is getting a sip of water. the woman says that it might be nothing; they need to wait and see. and wayne says he just “wants it to be normal”. "IT"??? "NORMAL"?? bro. i don’t know anything about these matters, but it doesn’t seem like he is very sympathetic to his wife. "normal" is a CRAZY word choice. may i suggest "healthy"? because "normal" sounds like you'll bully the poor little dude if he gets into stuff you consider too nerdy.

they go home to virginia, where he brings his wife a glass of water. her name is laura. good to know.

“i love you, laura. no matter what” <- why does it sound like he is implying that this is somehow her fault with that statement?? or she is lesser for it?? or that he's brave for sticking by her despite it all? that is your job, you utter beast.

what is going on? this man is pissing me off. and he called her “poopydoo”, which pissed me off even worse. 

i hate wayne. team laura. look at her freckles as she falls asleep.

EGADS!!! THE DEVIL IS AT THE FOOT OF HER BED???? WITH FLAMES AND SCARY EYES!! see, if i had seen this at age 7, i wouldn’t have slept for weeks. in some ways, it’s so great i’m not 7 anymore. 

she’s yelling for wayne,,, and the devil is grabbing her????? THE BABY COMES OUT??? with little horns???

okay, that seemed to have just been a nightmare. WAIT, why is he covered in blood.

OH MY GOD??? OH MY GOD. hold on. hold on. she is very bloody. oh my god.

hey guys. what’s going on?

is wayne the devil?? or a devil??

(pause for momentary cheering as the intro shows us our lead actor’s faces. and the intro is full length… nature is healing)

a cop is presenting the tale of laura’s baby being abducted to… SPENDER?? NO ONE WANTS TO SEE THIS!! literally booing and throwing tomatoes at my screen 🍅🍅🍅

laura is the sister of this cop!! so this is personal.

spender says he will put this in their priority caseload, and i do not believe him. maybe he’ll outsource it. 

NO!!! he shredded it right away!!!! SPENDER!!! you dastardly man!!!

so what is he even DOING down in that office if it isn't solving crimes?!?!

MULDER FOUND THE SHREDDED PIECES AND TAPED THEM TOGETHER!! OHHH!!! he is a hero in this way. and he tells the cop not to tell people his name!! LMAO, he is definitely NOT supposed to be there.

he is going to wayne and laura’s beautiful house to ask some questions. she’s talking about the nightmare. the baby was a monster with horns and a tail. she gets up to go cry. leaving him with wayne. 

oh, mulder def thinks this guy is the devil. 

WHAT IS SCULLY DOING?? interviewing some guy??? asking if he smokes weed? has he consorted with people who have? LMAO, she looks so relieved when the phone rings and she can ask this dude to leave. 

“mulder, where are you? i waited 45 minutes for you this morning” “i, uh… before i tell you, i-i’m going to ask you to keep an open mind” <-LMAOOO, he is self-conscious 

BAHAHA, she looks somehow even more done with his news of a demon baby than she was asking this random guy if he knows people who smoke marijuana

she is doing background checks!!! this is so wrong!!! her talents are being WASTED!!!! she is literally a DOCTOR!!! SHE SAVES LIVES!! AND YOU PUT HER IN AN OFFICE?!?!

she calls him out for rooting through spender’s trash but, like. well! i can’t say i blame him. not saying i would do it, of course. but! you know how he is!

“oh, like that’s any different from the assignment we’re stuck with” “‘we’, mulder? i’m stuck with. you’re not here” <- GET HIM!!

his constant conflation of the words "i" and "we" continues to piss me off. he is NOT beating the selfish allegations.

“scully, this is a classic case of demon fetal harvest-“ ohhhhh right. right. that clears it up. (heavy on the /s)

oh shoot, while she rolls her eyes, it seems something or someone is recording his phone call!!

it’s being picked up over the baby monitor!! wayne hears him saying all of this!! he looks distressed. but: is he guilty of the crime???

laura comes back in the room and wayne is nowhere to be seen. something is on fire….. what is he doing?? laura just wants her nightgown!!

he’s holding something bloody in the leaves. and there’s a flame altar sort of thing??? 

he’s covered in sweat and claims to be burning leaves in the middle of the night. he claims he wanted everything to look perfect for when she woke up. 

see, he seems so obviously evil that maybe i’m supposed to guess that he really is innocent. 

it seems like he’s crying as some bones burn in there or something. which is not reassuring.

mulder!! sleeping in his car!!! waking with a pain in his neck from such an awful position!!! what a silly guy!

scully she found something on the charts he sent her… he doodles horns onto wayne as she describes the conditions

but she says the father is not some sort of evil force… and he has to put laura under arrest?? labor was induced? with mandrakes. which can also be a hallucinogen. she says the doctor told her that wayne was very upset, and she seemed not to be. 

hmm… she suggests that he proceed very carefully, as it is incredibly emotional territory. he proceeds to very carefully doodle more horns on wayne’s head. while wayne pulls out in his car, watching him.

i feel like any plot point i jump to guess here will be subverted. so perhaps i should just stay silent and sit back and watch. 

why does he have to get involved? is it actually his case now? can’t he just be like “damn, maybe this one doesn't look so spooky; i actually have something else to do, bye!” 

now where is he going…. and why did he leave his car window open… i am scared it will rain and land in his car...

wayne goes to the house of ANOTHER WOMAN??? who asks where he has been??? he says he has been “on the road” and calls her “poopydoo”! 

yeah, this man HAS to be the devil.

this woman has the bluest eyes i have ever seen. and she’s pregnant, too!!!! 

A DEVIL AND A TWO-TIMER!!! free my girl laura!!

the cop from before is here with mulder and laura, and he is defending his sister against mandrake accusations. but she does say she took an herbal sleep aid. and wayne was seen bringing her a pill, so i don’t think this is her fault.

oh no… wayne is here now. mulder says he doesn’t want to arrest laura and throws a devil reference in there. HE IS ON TO YOU, WAYNE!! COUNT YOUR DAYS!!

wait, if mulder doesn’t believe in god, how does he think you get rid of devils?? does he keep some emergency holy water in his suit jacket?? just in case??

i need to ponder this.

the cops are searching the premises. they find a lot of jars labeled “fiber”. unless it isn’t fiber. and is instead mandrake. hmm...

oh no, wayne is confessing a secret to laura…. he wasn’t in bed that night… and he says she had the baby in her hands??? she was in some sort of trance?? mumbling stuff?? so he took the baby and wrapped it up and burned the body??

he says he was doing it to protect her. sure enough, they find some bones out there. 

oh wayne, this is evil. laura is crying. mulder is watching. and he does look terribly handsome which is interrupting the vibe, as laura tells her cop brother that she thinks she did something wrong, and perhaps this was her punishment. and btw, cop brother is named arky. which is not a name i have heard before. 

arky tells her not to say anything more and reads her her rights. wayne says she’ll be okay as she walks out. he's still pissing me off.

mulder declares he knows what wayne is as he walks out. bro, be careful getting in a tussle with the devil. or a devil. still not clear on the hierarchy of devils in this show.

wayne is speeding off, blasting his tunes and calling the other woman- betsy! GAG!!!!

he wants to be there for the sonogram, AND they’re married????? “it’s a picture of the expression of our beautiful love” <- oh, i would need holy water for that statement even if the guy wasn’t a demon 

MULDER PULLS UP NEXT TO HIM LMAOOOOO AND NOW THEY’RE RACING!!!!! 

so wayne goes to a client’s house and takes a woman’s blood instead of going to the sonogram appointment. which is not what i wanted to see. this lady has like 4 kids running out the door.

buhhhhhh, i don’t want to see the blooooooood, not looking at the screen, lalalalalala. wayne says she has fine looking boys and she doesn’t know how lucky she is. but when he bends down he has these weird bumps on his spine. OHHHH LORD!! deliver me!!

and mulder is outside honking and waving LMAOOOOOO

THE KIDS CRAWLED IN WAYNE’S CAR, BAHAHA. but why is mulder’s tactic here to simply annoy a devil until he stops what he’s doing? and the bigger question: will it work??

and he is befriending random children. typical mulder activities.

but scully calls!!! and mulder is busted!!! wayne called kersh and reported mulder for harassment. she warns him to leave him alone.

he says to tell kersh he’s doing a background check on somebody and hangs up. 

poor laura is in the jail cell. and wayne comes to see her. she’s afraid!

she’s been thinking about his story, and it doesn’t make any sense.

AUGH, she finds a gash mark on his neck where she scratched the devil… so must be him….

HE BREATHES IN HER SOUL?????? 

man. what?

they’re trying to do CPR, while wayne is literally RIGHT there, claiming she collapsed. 

he’s shocked when there’s a heartbeat on her. and mulder sees this.

wayne races back to betsy. she has had enough of his excuses!!!

and this baby too has bony growths!!! and again he claims to love her no matter what. 

NO, DON’T GET HER A GLASS OF ANYTHING!

betsy, you need to kill this guy. 

scully is here to take a look at laura!!! she says there is no evidence of the husband being why she is in a coma.

mulder presents her with some new facts. and yes, i did hit rewind to hear scully say “czechoslovakia” once again. what about it?

ohhhh, he tracked down wayne’s aliases!!! he's been a bunch of different people over the years

“mulder, i will accept that a man can be demonic, that he may have demon-like attributes, but why would a demon- if there were such a thing- bother with a 9-5 make room for daddy routine just so he can off his wife and unborn child?” <- AHA! she believes man can be demonic! this isn’t entirely surprising given the catholicism, but still interesting and worth noting.

he says he’s not a psychologist and I THOUGHT HE WAS, THOUGH?? wait. maybe he doesn’t have like a license to practice. maybe he just has that sweet, sweet oxford BA.

let me google some things. 

well. i’m actually gonna throw the flag in here and admit defeat. because i feel like i’ve read about this line before back when i was first googling this show to see if i wanted to watch it, and how he says this- or something like it, possibly about not being able to prescribe meds- and it blatantly ignores canon. which probably should have been a warning for what i was getting into and the struggles i would face as someone who NEEDS continuity to stay sane. but here we are. 

maybe i can choose to interpret that he’s being a sarcastic little man. or, he just isn’t considered a professional psychologist without the masters or license to practice. 

and i will certainly do my best to not lose sleep over such a line. 

like i still do over the colorblind thing...

wayne is warming up milk and probably adding some sort of herb. why is the milk glowing? yeah sure, whatever. it glows.

betsy, don’t drink it, NOOO!!! she gulps it all. i was hoping she’d claim to be lactose intolerant and tell him that he needs to go get soy milk now, but no. 

scully and mulder arrive to where the cops are searching for the body. and sure enough. baby. in the yard.

mulder demands that the cops put out an APB, saying wayne’s done it to other women. 

mulder theory time: OHHHH, wayne actually DOES want a normal child… but he has only made demons so far. well. i think that is how genetics work???

betsy is sleeping. and she also has a demon arrive at the bottom of her bed and spread her legs open. 

OH!!! SHE GRABS HIM AND ASKS WHAT THE HELL HE’S DOING!! BAHAHA!!! GET HIS ASS!!!

mulder and scully are off on a mission. and he pulls over and drives somewhere else to find wayne's second wife at his second residence.

betsy stops the agents!!! she’s covered in blood!!! and says he took her baby!!!

scully is trying to comfort her and say it’s okay, but it’s very much not. i still appreciate that she tried. 

they’re trying to find wayne with their dramatic guns and flashlights. a creepy film is playing in the living room as wayne digs a hole. 

wayne says that all he’s wanted is a wife and a normal family. he’s claiming she took the baby. betsy is…. (gunshots cut him off as arky shoots him)

wayne says “i just wanted what everyone wants”, and when he does this, mulder looks to scully. which surely has no implications!!! /s

arky is freaking out because they’re placing wayne next to laura in the hospital. i respect that. even if you shouldn’t shoot people.

somehow, wayne is recovering. probably from his demon blood. and then HE gets his soul sucked out???? by laura????

did he give himself up to her? or was she actually a demon, too??

shrugs. i truly can't be bothered to work it out.

scully is digging up baby skeletons, seeming pained at this fact. i cannot blame her. there are 4 so far. and all the ones they’ve found are normal. 

so betsy was an eviler demon? and she is driving away to the same song he was speeding to with her little demon baby in tow!!!

okay, she has creepy red eyes now. 

well!

allow me to file this one under the category “episodes that make you close your laptop and stare at the wall for a bit”

um. diversity win?? this baby killing demon is a woman??

well, from an incredibly practical standpoint, this episode didn’t have enough scully. which is a valid enough reason for me to not like it. 

but other than THAT, i was actually pretty interested at first. idk, it kinda lost me though. this show uses women so weirdly. there’s this obsession with breeding. in a decidedly unappealing way.  

once again, mulder was the guy who could put together the dastardly plot when no one else could. which is annoying. 

man, idk, i don’t consider myself like, sensitive to the topic really, but i find babies being murdered unenjoyable as a plot point. maybe it’s overdone. maybe there’s just no room for humor in it. maybe it’s the theme of reproductive coercion again pissing me off, because how many times are we going to have this beast rear it’s ugly head? even if it’s is now in the opposite direction, when everything in the past on this show has been about women being assaulted into pregnancy, the removal of consent- wayne tricking laura into inducing labor and losing her baby- is STILL reproductive coercion.

tbh, i don’t really have more thoughts on the subject. like, i’m not even going to write a think piece on how i didn’t like it, because it was just eh. which happens. some of the episodes are unremarkable. if there is something to be noted, it’s this weird handling of women characters as a recurring theme. but i’m not fired up enough to write a dissertation because... at this point, i guess i’m kind of used to it in this show??

damn! that wasn’t a raving review. well, i hope you’ll forgive my lack of enthusiasm. maybe you’ll tell me that everyone else hates this episode too, and i’ll be like, okay, cool. but maybe you’ll tell me everyone actually loved it, and then i’ll feel cool and edgy. but i

[bell4lan]

Haunt Me

Genre: Angst + some comfort

DNI: NON-MLM/NBLM, fujoshis, mlm/nblm fetishizers

CW: Depression, anxiety, mentions of a past traumatic event but it is never explained what happened, suicidal thoughts, this is a vent post

Character(s)/Reader: Dazai and Male Reader

Dark. All of it was dark, the only source of light was coming from your phone screen. You scrolled endlessly, trying to distract yourself from the memory of what happened to you so long ago, yet it doesn't work. All you can do is dwell on the past, the past you cannot escape no matter what. The past you couldn't control because you had no clue what was even happening. You wish you could somehow go back in time to stop it from happening, or perhaps stop you from even existing. What if no matter what you did, you couldn't stop it? What if the only solution was to stop you from being born all together? You wouldn't have experienced it if you hadn't been born. You'll no longer have to be haunted by what happened to you if you give up now. The pain seems to never end, the harsh memory always seems to haunt you no matter what you do. You cannot escape it, and it gets worse each day.

You spiraled. Spiraled in an endless loop of repeating the event over and over again in your head because your mind won't let you forget. You felt like you were going to lose it. Your mind won't let you heal, only relive, and yet you still try to distract yourself with your phone. Your phone just gives you video upon video of random things, things that you either love or hate. Things that can't seem to distract you anymore even though they did before. Why this day is it so bad? Why this day do you feel your heart get heavier and heavier, your mind grow darker and darker. You don't understand, so you can't do anything about it.

The door cracked open as your best friend Dazai walked in. You jumped. You knew the only other person besides you that had a key was him, but you had been anxious for days, so it scared you.

"Hey (Name). Are you alright? You haven't been to work in days." He spoke unusually gently as he kneeled in front of you. You laid your phone down and stared, not knowing what to say. How do you explain why you feel so down? Your mouth couldn't form the words even if you wanted it to. You'd probably just puke from having to describe the situation that haunts you. You didn't know how to respond, so you stayed quiet.

Dazai seemed to understand that you weren't in the mood to talk about it, and stood up. He looked around at your messy room before looking back at you. You looked awful. Your hair was greasy, your eyes had bags under them because of your nightmares, and you looked so lifeless.

"Are you hungry?" He asked. You gave him a small nod and sat up. He walked out of the room, but you remained sitting, trying to get the motivation to get up and eat. You knew you needed to, and Dazai would make you for that same reason.

Finally, you got up and walked down the hallway and into the kitchen. Dazai was preparing you your favorite dish, the only dish he knew. Dazai sucked at cooking, but he learned this dish for you. He wanted to know your favorite meal so he could make it for you when you needed it most, like right now.

Even though you smelled the delicious food in the air and you were in the company of one of your favorite people, you still weren't distracted from it. The memory still played, whatever triggered it just repeated so you could keep thinking of it. You stare at the counter for the first half of his cooking time, and then switch over to the stove during the second half.

Dazai plated up the food and placed it in front of you, telling you to dig in, and you did. You were surprised you still had an appetite, but you were also glad. That meant it isn't getting too bad.

The brunette gave himself some food and ate across from you, still standing. He watched as you ate, making sure you were eating all of it. Once you were finished, he asked if you wanted seconds. You nodded, and he gave you another serving. The delicious food made you feel a little happier than you had been the past week, but you still weren't distracted.

You both finished your meals and Dazai grabbed your dishes and started cleaning up. You watched as he did and silently thanked him.

Once finished, he suggested moving to the living room so you could both sit comfortably, so you did. Dazai sat down next to you and didn't say a word. He waited for you to speak, but it was obvious you weren't going to if he didn't start the conversation.

"What's wrong (Name)?" He asked, grasping your hand tightly. Again, you didn't know how you would explain it, so you didn't. Instead, you started crying. Dazai immediately pulled you into a hug, rubbing your back to sooth you as you sobbed. You held onto him tightly, not letting him pull away if he wanted to. He didn't.

You cried in his arms for 40 minutes before you loosened your hold on him. He kissed your head gently before pulling away, his arms still around you. You had always had a weird relationship with Dazai. The line between friends and boyfriends was often blurred, but you were too scared to ask what exactly he wanted. So you left it as is, even if you wanted more sometimes.

Dazai's hands moved to wipe your tears, cupping your face gently. "Do you feel any better now? It's alright if you don't want to talk about it." He asked. You nodded and looked deeply into his eyes before pulling him in for another hug.

You guys spent the rest of the night holding each other before eventually falling asleep. Dazai stayed over because he knew you enjoyed having him there and because he was worried about you. You were glad you had someone that knew how to handle you, even if he didn't know what happened to you. He didn't know of the event that to this day gives you nightmares, and he was okay with it. All that mattered was that you were okay.

Hopefully he can distract you. Hopefully the memory doesn't pop up again. It will, but you'll still hope it doesn't, because hope might be the only thing that can save you.

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

I know I posted 2 Dazai posts in a row, but he's my comfort character.

Note: This story was written in a short amount of time and wasn't edited. I apologize for any errors.

[2productive]

what made you realise you were acting vain and how did you change it?

It wasn’t just me enjoying the fun or relaxation of it anymore, it was a serious pursuit. So take my enjoyment of luxury goods for example. I like buying bags and shoes and stuff bc I think they are pretty and I just like them for what they are. I don’t make an idol of it, I don’t think it makes me better than anyone, and if God showed up and told me to leave it behind I would do it before he even finished the sentence bc I don’t actually place too much importance on it. I can wear a chanel or a random unbranded bag from amazon and it wouldn’t make a difference. But when it came to former beauty practices, I did care. A lot. The thought of not being done up a certain way was no longer simply about self care but caring far too much about how others were perceiving me and how I was looking in relation to others. Always wanting to be the shining star in the room. I was also doing it for personal enjoyment and for beauty’s sake but there were other dubious thoughts bubbling under the surface and they weren’t healthy. It was giving me a false sense of superiority and for what?

It was weird bc I would see other vain girls and feel a distaste for them even though we were exhibiting the same traits. So I was really seeing myself and not liking the reflection, if that makes sense. There’s a difference between confidence and arrogance. There’s a difference between doing something because you like it and feel like doing it vs feeling like you have to even when you don’t authentically feel like it. My views on beauty are very relaxed now and although I very much enjoy my routines and the end result, it is not an idol in my life and I am fully shining in simply doing what I want/like and feeling no pressure of any sort to be as pleasing to the biggest pool of people as I was before.

Being pretty, dressing cute, it doesn’t make me better than anyone else. It doesn’t make me worth more. It doesn’t mean I deserve more or am entitled to demand better. Yes I knew that before but I wasn’t behaving that way 100% of the time. All it means is that I like having curled hair and eyeliner. That’s it.

Whenever I take breaks from the extra outward adornments (just wearing my hair curly, no makeup, etc), I don’t feel any better or worse about myself bc it’s been taken off of a pedestal in my life. 2021 was definitely the height of my vanity and I’m glad I don’t have that same mindset anymore. You can enjoy looking good and taking really good care of yourself without being snooty or insufferable about it and somehow I was really annoying that year lmao! But it’s funny bc I got a lot of followers that year so people loved it but after a while I realized that I wasn’t as proud of my behavior and I didn’t think it was showing upstanding character. At the end of the day, getting 50k notes on a post and gaining a bunch of followers doesn’t mean anything if I’m not proud of who I’m becoming when I put the phone down.

I am a very visual person and I love beauty and will always enjoy partaking in beauty routines, but it doesn’t mean I have to be vain.