#just saying that they could have been worse

[luveline]

shy!reader and spencer who are in the early days of their relationship and are getting more comfortable with initiating physical affection with each other (especially reader lol) and spencer gets her to open up by playing with her hair / hands, tickling her, cuddling, the like <3

The first time Spencer let his head rest against yours, you were sure you’d die right there and then, half-asleep on the subway, then suddenly away as he’d started talking under his breath, his conversation for you and you alone. You'd flushed full body and forced yourself to stay still, until Spencer had confused your shyness for not wanting his weight against you and pulled away. 

This time you’re ready. This time, he’s working his arm over the top of your shoulders. Not a timid first move on the first date, he’d suffered through that already. Spencer lets his arm slip between your back and the couch as he tugs you toward him, resting his cheek against your temple, two points of skin turning hot as a burner. 

“Okay?” he asks quietly. 

You let yourself relax into it. “I’m fine.” 

“Did you want me to run that bath for you?” 

It’s imperative he doesn’t move. “No, I can do it. I’ll do it later, if that’s okay.” 

It’s Spencer’s bath, but he let you take one the last time you stayed the night, so you’ll work it out. You knew he wasn’t gonna peep on you, knew you were totally safe in his bathroom, but your heart hammered fast as a hummingbird’s whenever the floors creaked —just the idea of being near him when you were unclothed set you aflame. Your skin warms with the memory, a nervousness in your chest and hands that grows uncomfortably warm. 

You don’t move, though. You’re sending him all the wrong messages when you reject him out of timidity, you’re more than aware of it, but the longer he sits there gently holding you, the more the temptation to squirm builds. 

Spencer makes a soft, soft sound as his hand trails up your back, curling around your arm, and meandering a path to your elbow. 

“I got…” —Spencer begins, without any inclination to rush— “…more of that bath soak you liked, the camomile… and honey…”

You love the smell. Sometimes you swear you can smell it in his hair when he presses near you. 

“And a loufa, ‘cos you didn’t have one last time,” he adds. 

“Thank you.” 

“…You’re welcome.” He kisses the side of your head. Then, in a betrayal of his character, he laughs breathlessly, saying, “Sorry, I forgot what I was saying. The loufa– It’s purple. I put it on the towel rack, and I got you a new face towel, too, mine’s too rough for you.” 

“Did you get yourself a new one too?” 

“Yeah.” He taps your cheek, the hand you’d forgotten about drawing a short line to your jaw. “You’re pretty.” 

You drop your chin. 

“You are,” he says. 

“Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” Spencer’s hand slides down your neck, a caress that turns to a kind hold. “Can I…” He snorts softly. “You’re solid,” he says, squeezing your neck with enough pressure to wind you, which isn’t much. “You don’t have to get all tense.” 

“I’m trying really hard not to get tense,” you admit. 

“I know. I’m trying to help, but I’m just making it worse.” 

Spencer isn’t making it worse. Or, he wasn’t. “I thought you were gonna kiss me, is the thing.” 

“I was. Then you tensed up and I didn’t think I should.” His easy smile goes funny. “Could I have?” 

“Of course you could’ve,” you mumble, pressing your face into his shoulder before he can decimate the last of your self respect. He laughs —giggles, really, in a burst of sound— and tugs you in. “Not funny.”

He can hear the lie. “No, it’s not funny,” he agrees anyways, laying back and then moving forward, swaying you enough to turn the giggle into a full blown laugh. 

He murmurs something. You mumble back. His fingertips slip over the dip in your back and he’s saying something nice, if a little shy. It’s been nice getting closer to him, seeing the real Spencer, someone who’s hesitant but gentle beyond words. There’s no reason for him to be touching you like this, to talk sweet nothings behind your ear as he lugs you onto his chest, and maybe there’s no reason for you to melt. Butter in the sun, drifting bonelessly into his lap. 

“You smell like tea,” you say quietly. “I love it.” 

“You love it?” he asks, something oddly awed about him as he shifts your head back to look you in the eyes. 

“Mm. It’s nice. And your eyes are so brown… they’re my favourite thing about you.” 

Spencer teases the stripe of skin exposed by your rising t-shirt until you’re shivering again. “Thank you,” he says, letting one close in a wink as he taps your nose with his. “Am I allowed to say what I like about you, or–” You shake your head so violently he immediately stops. “Fine. But only because I want to sit like this for the rest of the night with you.” 

“I still need a shower.” 

“Later,” he says, his lips resting on your chin. “Way, way later, please.” 

[syoddeye]

simon doesn't pursue people, he operates more like a one-man strike team. his approach to human connection is transactional, pragmatic, a matter of logistics.

on the rare occasion he's looking for company, he wants someone easy, who won't fuss when he introduces them to a thin motel mattress. won't ask what he does for work or try to make plans for the morning. won't bother him about 'next time'. nothing long-term. no strings.

he doesn't have a 'type' so much as a protocol: pick someone malleable, pliant, and preferably on the pill.

then you start working at his local.

the first time he sees you, he doesn't notice much beyond the basics: efficiency, attentiveness, pouring pints and bantering with the regulars with aplomb. by the second or third time, he's paying closer attention. you're not just good at your job—you're quick, always three steps ahead of the chaos. you give out smiles left and right, but it's more muscle memory than genuine warmth. and you're clever, too. funny, even, when someone manages to earn your attention for longer than a transaction.

you could probably keep up with his humor. go toe-to-toe.

you're off-limits, though. that's the rule. bartenders are switzerland—neutral territory. don't shit where you eat. it's a system that works, so long as he doesn't let himself think too much about the view when you lean over the counter or the lilt of your voice when you ask what he's having tonight.

then one evening, you take another man's number. some leering idiot, too comfortable with inserting himself into your space, grinning like he's cracked your code because you haven't humbled him. simon doesn't react, not outwardly. he nurses his drink and watches as you smile, slip the napkin into your pocket, and turn back to the bar.

but that's when you become a problem.

he tells himself it doesn't matter, that it's nothing. he doesn't want a number or a date. but the thought of someone else having you—someone who doesn't know what to do with a woman like you—it's a splinter buried just deep enough to keep him thinking about it. irritating, prone to fester.

how to approach you, though? he can't be as direct as he'd like, can't pin you down with a look or crass words. no way to corner you when you're safe behind the counter, or disappearing through a staff door. hanging around until you're off would be pathetic. dog behavior, he thinks, with a twinge of contempt for the mental image. he's got too much self-respect for that, at least.

no, he's got to actually make an effort. use his words.

the next time he comes in, he waits. no more corner tables or watching from afar. he sits close, pretends not to notice how your hands look slicing a lime. he orders his usual and tries not to overthink your tone when you set it down in front of him.

"you alright?"

you reach for his card, fingers pinching the plastic, but he holds on, smirking when you tug and then huff.

this is the moment. his moment. the one he's been building toward in his head for days. but there's a hitch, a blip in his usual confidence, and he fumbles. he blames your perfume.

"so…you come here often?"

not what he meant to say, but not the worst.

the shockwave of his nuclear-level failure doesn't register until your lips twitch, and it finally sinks in. his eyes widen a fraction as the realization lands. oh, he's fucked it. all his rehearsing, for nothing.

"…yeah," you say, voice flat, a single brow raised as you gesture vaguely toward the bar around you. "i work here?"

his mouth dries, but his face doesn't change. he doesn't fight it when you pull the card out of his grasp. there's the barest glint of something in your eyes—amusement, maybe, or pity. he's not sure which is worse.

you turn away to ring him up, but when you glance back, he's gone.

next

[heestoleurgirl]

sim jaeyun 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ in which riki broke up with you, leaving you devastated and depressed. that is, until you get drunk on a night out, and somehow find yourself in his best friend's bed.

genre: angst, smut (pwp) pairing: ex's best friend!jake x fem!reader warnings: smut, MDNI!! wc: 5k

A/N: why am i writing jake smut, im not even jake biased

masterlist 𖤐.ᐟ

21 days. 21 days since your boyfriend, riki, broke up with you. everyone said it would get easier to deal with over time, and you knew they were right, but you still felt like shit every hour of every single day.

anywhere you looked, you'd just get reminded of him and have flashes of unwanted memories in your mind. it felt like absolute torture. yes, this had been your first serious relationship and you loved him so much, of course you were upset (to say the least).

the worst part was that you still saw him every now and then on campus, which only made your heart ache more. especially when he happened to be around his girl friends. you knew it was just irrational jealousy but that didn't stop you from getting nauseous at the sight.

જ⁀➴ more under the cut!

one thing was for certain: you couldn't keep going like this, you were extremely exhausted from feeling so miserable 24/7. crying all the time was getting old, and rotting in bed forever didn't seem like a good long term solution. so, you had a totally mature and genius idea that would definitely not make things worse in any way. there was a house party being hosted by someone you knew, it would be the perfect place to get drunk and forget about your ex. even if it's just for one night.

your friends had already been nagging you to go, knowing your current state and how you barely left your house unless it was absolutely necessary. they were worried for you and missed your radiant aura. minhee was convinced she'd find you a hot guy that would help you move on. yeah, you knew that wouldn't work as simple as that, it wasn't easy to simply forget someone you loved with your whole heart and dated for quite a while. but at least you could give it a try, right?

♡

fast forward to friday, you sat on the carpet in front of the body length mirror in your room, attempting to do your makeup. truth be told, it's been a while since you made yourself look so glamorous, which made it all the more difficult to get ready. every fibre of your being was screaming at you to just stay home and cry yourself to sleep while watching rom coms. but you pushed through, forcing yourself to stay on track with your plans and also not let down your friends who were there for you.

the faint sound of a honk broke you out of your thoughts, causing you to grab your belongings and waddle down the stairs in a dress that was shorter than you were comfortable with. your friend karina had gotten it for you a while ago, and you felt bad for never wearing it since then.

"looking good y/nnie!" minhee smirked and jokingly whistled as you managed to navigate yourself in to the passenger seat of her car.

all you could do was roll your eyes and playfully nudge her shoulder. "shut up"

she wiggled her brows in response before shifting gears and taking off to pick the other girls up too. you'd be lying if you said you weren't nervous about tonight, and feeling some form of regret. you could only pray and hope that riki wouldn't be there, or you'd definitely drown yourself in the pool without a second thought.

following your excited and chatty friends up the stairs felt strangely like walking towards your impending doom. you stuck close to minhee, who unsurprisingly immediately made her way to the drinks. not like you minded, because there was no way you were surviving this night without any alcohol.

the unknown mix of drinks burned your throat as you swallowed it, not really bothering to be sensible. before you knew it, you were on the dance floor with your friends, laughing and singing along to the songs blasting from the speakers. even if it was due to the alcohol, finally having a smile on your face was really refreshing. karina seemed to notice, who flashed you a grin and tugged you closer as the two of you were dancing like there was no tomorrow.

as the night went on, you gradually lost yourself to the alcohol that was now buzzing in your veins. you didn't feel like yourself at all, but in the best way possible. anyone would be able to tell that you were completely out of it by now.

you had no idea where your friends had disappeared off to, and somehow you found yourself not caring. while you were busy pushing past people with no particular destination in mind, you accidentally bumped into someone.

"woopsies, silly me!" you giggled drunkenly, looking up to see who it was. your heart did a backflip when you managed to recognize the face staring back at you.

"no worries darling." you knew that aussie accent way too well. standing right in front of you was jake, riki's best friend. honestly you were just relieved that it wasn't riki himself.

"oh, hi jake." you stumbled a bit and grabbed onto his arm for support. he merely looked down at you in amusement, finding the blush on your cheek quite cute. his eyebrow shot up subtly, eyeing the revealing dress that was definitely out of chatacter for you. despite that, you looked undeniably gorgeous like always.

jake's hand moved to your waist casually, acting as a stabilizer so you wouldn't fall over. normally, you would've felt awkward in a situation like this, but now you weren't even phased.

"you look like you've had one too many drinks, hm?" he leaned closer to speak, so you'd hear him over the loud music. your hands instinctively tightened around his arm.

"i-i'm fine..." you mumbled stubbornly, even though it was obvious you were close to collapsing right there on the spot.

"are you here alone? where are your friends?" if you were sober, you definitely wouldn't have missed the slight concern laced with his voice.

"uhmm... i dunno!" you grinned sheepishly at him, still pressed against his arm. "i think they ditched me"

you had no idea when or how you lost them, so his guess was as good as yours. "i was just about to leave anyway. can't leave a pretty thing like you drunk and alone"

before you knew it, jake was dragging you out of the party along with him. you weren't exactly sure what was going on, but even in your state you knew that you trusted him. after all, he was your ex's best friend, you'd known him for a while.

♡

jake guided you into his bedroom, sitting you down on his bed and looking down at you, as if contemplating something. now that you were actually here, in his apartment, he wasn't sure if this was the right decision. but what else could he do, leave you at the party when you were completely shitfaced? absolutely not.

he kneeled down in front of you and carefully took one of your legs in his hand, removing your heel with the upmost precision. the other one was discarded too, letting your feet feel relieved from being squished together all night.

you were quiet now, past your drunken giggling and just zoning out, having no clue where you were. he almost laughed at the sight. he'd never seen you so vulnerable and adorable.

"stay here, i'll bring you some water" he stood up and disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes. true to his words, he returned with the water in one hand, and a pill in the other.

you watched with glossy eyes as he sat down next to you and gently guided the glass to your lips. you obeyed, feeling refreshed by the cold liquid. he gave you the pill next, urging you to swallow it. "this will make your headache more bearable tomorrow"

a quiet hum left your lips as you followed his instructions, then set the glass aside on his nightstand. your movements were still uncoordinated and messy, making him chuckle.

"you tired, pretty?" jake examined your droopy eyes, you looked so cute he had to hold himself back from smothering you in affection.

the first time jake saw you, he had felt starstruck. if he could go back in time, he definitely wouldn't have fumbled you so bad. he was a coward, he waited too long and suddenly you were dating his best friend. despite all his attempts to get rid of his attraction towards you, nothing seemed to work in his favour. you were quite literally the only girl he couldn't have, and ironically enough also the only one he wanted. but of course, he was respectful of your relationship with riki and was good at hiding his feelings towards you, he'd never let his jealousy be the reason he fell out with his best friend.

so here you were, sitting in his bed, drunk off your ass and it wouldn't take a genius to figure out why you'd drink so much. he wasn't sure how riki would react if he knew the situation he was in right now. he chose to push that thought aside and focus on you.

when you didn't answer his question, he spoke again, "you can sleep in my clothes, yeah?"

you nodded and stood up, letting him help you make your way to the bathroom. As he was closing the door, he added one more thing. "if you need any help, just shout for me."

it was quite difficult to get your dress off, but you managed somehow. all your limbs felt weak and heavy, and you were still disoriented, though you were able to change without falling over or breaking anything. jake's shirt swallowed your small frame comfortably, and you smiled faintly at the smell of his cologne lingering on the fabric. your mind was a jumbled mess of feelings as you returned, seeing him scrolling his phone, also in a more comfortable set of clothes.

he looked up and smirked at you, his eyes shamelessly travelling down your body as he took in the sight of you. to him, you'd never looked hotter. the combination of your messy hair and his shirt stopping by your mid-thighs was enough to make his head spin. he had to remind himself that you were drunk, and no matter how badly he wanted you he couldn't take advantage of you in this state.

seeing him pat a spot on the bed, you didn't need much convincing to climb under the covers and rest your head on a pillow. once again, you were welcomed with his scent, causing you to feel strangely comforted.

jake stood up and gave you one last look, making sure you were laid on your side so you wouldn't accidentally hurt yourself by choking on your tongue.

"where are you going?" you asked tiredly, opening your eyes to see him by the door of his bedroom.

"i'm sleeping on the couch." he raised a brow, surprised to see you sit up in the bed after just getting comfortable. your next words made him wonder if he was hallucinating.

"come back, i don't want to be alone"

your quiet, pleading voice was simply impossible to resist. how could he say no, when you were looking at him with literal puppy eyes? he sighed, and following a moment of hesitation he climbed into bed next to you. it's not like he didn't want to sleep next to you, god he would give anything to experience this. but he wasn't sure how long he could control himself when you were in his bed, looking like an angel.

for a few minutes, the room was filled with heavy silence as the two of you simply stared at each other. you admired his face, the dim lighting only adding to the tension slowly filling the air. you'd never really noticed just how pretty he was before. his round, brown eyes seemed so welcoming.

"jake..." you almost whispered his name, with nothing specific in mind. you just wanted to end the silence between you, it felt too tense.

"hm?" his eyes never left yours, studying your face as if you were the most interesting thing in the world. the longer you looked at him, the more your heart seemed to race.

"i... i don't know"

"what's wrong?" jake studied your glossy eyes, wondering why you were suddenly acting so emotional. his heart clenched at the sight of you nearly crying. he longed to pull you close and kiss you until you were smiling again.

"i don't know, i just..." you struggled to find words to express how you felt, especially with the alcohol still lingering in your system. there was so much you wanted to say, but you knew better than to break down in his bed when he'd been kind enough to bring you home with him safely. "...i don't wanna be alone. i hate the silence, i hate feeling everything and nothing at the same time i-"

suddenly you felt his finger wiping a stray tear from your cheek, one you haven't even noticed falling. there it was, that familiar heavy feeling in your heart. the one you were so sick of feeling, all you wanted was for it to go away.

you didn't really think before scooting over and hugging jake's larger frame. your face was buried in his neck, a good way to hide your tears as well as your embarrassment. his warmth felt intoxicating and you clutched his shirt like you were afraid he'd disappear.

jake didn't hesitate to welcome your hug and return it, he was more than happy to be your shoulder to cry on. seeing you in such a state made him realize just how emotionally drained you'd been since the breakup happened, he silently cursed riki for not taking care of you properly.

you felt like this was the first time someone had properly hugged you in weeks, which didn't help the overflowing emotions you were already experiencing. you clinged to him as if he was your lifeline, your only hope. there was no way you could explain the way his entire presence and embrace was more comforting than anything you'd felt in a while.

maybe you were delusional, but being in his arms like this made you feel all the more attracted to him. letting your guard down was something you rarely ever did, even with your most trusted friends. yet here you were, silently crying in jake's bed and confessing how lonely you felt as of late. it felt so intimate to be vulnerable around him.

"it's okay, you're not alone. i'm here, yeah?" he murmured against your hair, rubbing your back gently in an attempt to calm you down. if he wasn't paying attention, he would've missed the subtle nod of your head.

"i'm sorry. please don't leave." you whispered, sliding your hands under his shirt to feel the bare skin of his back that was practically radiating heat.

your touch caught him off guard and he almost hissed at the contact, his arms tightened around your waist. "i'm not going anywhere darling, and you have nothing to be sorry for. you've been through a lot and you just need some love"

yeah, you did need love. you felt guilty, a part of you still yearned for it to be riki who gave you the love you wanted so badly. but he was gone now, no matter how much you cried over it the past won't change. the more rational part of your brain was constantly urging you to move on and accept the fact that riki doesn't love you anymore. you swore the mixed emotions were going to drive you insane, if they haven't already.

but right now, even if it wasn't what you wanted, jake was what you needed. if only you knew the true extent of how much he cared for you.

jake's hands paused against your back when he felt the soft press of your lips against his neck. it surprised him so much that he couldn't help but wonder if he was imagining things. but no, he felt it yet again. "fuck, angel... don't do that" he struggled to speak properly.

"why not?" you pulled away a bit to examine his face, searching for signs of any discomfort, or maybe disgust. you just wanted to shower him in affection to show him how grateful you felt to be here with him right now. to be able to sleep in his bed and cry in his arms to your heart's extent.

he wasn't sure how to explain the reason he didn't want you to kiss him right now, and you were completely oblivious to his internal struggle.

"you're still tipsy, and emotional..." jake brushed a strand of hair away from your cheek, "i'm not going to take advantage of your state." he was being so sweet to you, it was almost annoying. yes, you were still not entirely sober but you couldn't deny the overwhelming urge to be... close to him.

so instead of replying, you leaned closer and pecked his cheek, causing jake to groan aloud. how could he possibly restrain himself when the girl he was whipped for was acting like this? he cupped your jaw with one hand and pulled your face closer, placing his lips onto yours with one swift motion.

your eyes fluttered shut and you kissed back as if you had done this a million times before. it felt so natural, and you were becoming lightheaded from how perfectly your lips felt against each other. previously you'd been worried that kissing someone would feel wrong, and you thought you'd imagine you were kissing riki instead, but right now there wasn't a single thought about him in your mind. all you could focus on was how good it was.

jake felt like he was losing his mind more every second he continued to kiss you. he didn't care how needy he might be coming off, cause fuck he'd wanted to this for months. never in a million years did he anticipate it would actually happen, in this context no less.

the kiss grew more heated as you moved your hands from his back to feel up his defined abs, relishing how supple and warm his skin was. at the same time, jake had a hand cupping your cheek, while the other one slid down to your waist, dipping under the shirt you were wearing. the feeling of your bare skin under his fingertips was absolutely euphoric. safe to say, neither of you were thinking about how right or wrong this might be at the moment. all your thoughts were out the window and you were entirely immersed in his company.

he didn't hesitate for a second when he realized you were tugging at the hem of his shirt, silently demanding its removal. the t-shirt was tossed aside, landing somewhere on the floor of his bedroom. your eyes widened as you were met with the sight of his bare upper body, you had to hold yourself back from practically drooling at the view. jake noticed your lustful gaze and couldn't help but smirk to himself. he pulled you closer and kissed you briefly before whispering in your ear lowly, "your turn."

he didn't leave you time to respond, tugging your shirt over your head. the action made you blush a bit, but you lifted your arms to help him remove the item of clothing. faint goosebumps littered your skin due to the sudden loss of heat, mixed with the tension in the air.

your hands landed on his chest, you took a moment to look into his eyes before inching closer and placing your lips on his for the nth time. the passion was halted for a moment, leaving room for the kiss to be more timid and soft. it didn't last for long though, soon enough it turned needy once again.

jake sat up without warning and pulled you into his lap snugly by your waist. your legs landed on either side of his thighs as you made yourself comfortable and wrapped your arms around his neck. his half lidded eyes and lazy grin made your heart skip a beat. for a second you felt stunned, an overwhelming sense of need filled you. he didn't miss the way your gaze travelled down his bare body once again, it sent a strange kind of satisfaction through him.

his lips found their way down from your jaw to your neck, peppering it with soft kisses. a quiet groan left his throat as you thread your fingers through his dark brown hair. the playful kisses turned into gentle nips and bites, jake couldn't resist leaving a few pretty marks along your porcelain skin.

your hushed gasp was a contrast to the mostly quiet atmosphere as his hands had somehow ended up squeezing your backside. the action caused you to arch your back instinctively, making you grind against him.

"fuck." he whispered, gently guiding your hips in his lap. the slight friction was intoxicating.

"jake..." his name left your mouth in a quiet whisper as you leaned your forehead on his shoulder, letting your urges get the best of you.

"i know, baby" his hands slid lower to caress your inner thighs tenderly. he tried not to moan as his hips pushed upward involuntary, amplifying the friction between you, while his boxers were becoming increasingly tight as his arousal strained against the fabric.

your lips found his once more, you were getting more desperate by the second and your mind was consumed purely with need for him. the material of his sweatpants felt soft under your fingers as you tugged subtly.

jake's breath hitched and his resolve crumbled almost immediately. he was a gone man, there was no going back now. breaking the kiss and muttering a quiet curse, he shoved his sweats and boxers down his hips in one swift motion. the rest was kicked off carelessly, leaving him completely bare under you. his hard length stood heavy against his stomach, flushed and leaking.

the sight made you want to faint on the spot, you had been so caught up chasing your lust and now it all felt real. you were still hovering on your knees, having lifted your hips to let him remove his remaining clothes.

but jake didn't plan on waiting around while you admired his erection, in a quick motion he flipped you over, pushing you against the pillows as he hovered above you. the view he had right now was almost enough to make him cum on the spot: you laid beneath him, sprawled out with messy hair and slightly swollen lips. not to mention some red marks he's left on your neck earlier (they definitely weren't the last either).

"you're so gorgeous, it's unfair."

before you knew it, he was kissing your shoulder, distracting you from the way his hand slid under your lacy panties. the gasp that left your lips was enough to let him know that you were surprised to feel his finger trail along your folds. god you were so wet he groaned out loud, opting to suck on your neck to keep himself quiet.

your arms darted to wrap around his neck once more as you felt him slide a finger into you. a broken moan left your lips, you bucked your hips into his hand, wanting to feel more of him.

"fuck, pretty, you're soaked" he murmured, his voice somewhat strained as he held himself back from shoving himself in fully and fucking you until you passed out.

"jake-" you couldn't speak properly even if you tried, especially not when another finger was pushed into you with ease. it was completely out of your control how your walls clenched around his diligently working fingers. "please..."

he could tell you were growing impatient and he knew exactly what you were asking for. as much as he longed to tease you and make you squirm under him as much as possible, his own arousal was consuming him whole.

after a few more pumps of his fingers, he pulled them out, earning a quiet whimper from you. he couldn't hold back a smirk, there was nothing that turned him on more than seeing you all desperate and needy for him, like you'd die if he didn't fill you up immediately. jake was pretty sure he'd never been as hard as he was right now in his entire life.

your panties were practically ripped off, not that you minded because that was the least of your concerns at the moment. you were completely focused on how jake grabbed your thighs and nudged them apart to position himself at your entrance.

he rubbed his tip against your aching clit, coating himself in your wetness and teasing you at the same time. "is this what you need doll? want me to fill you up?" he asked, his voice was low and laced with desire even with the obvious rhetorical question. he nudged inside, not giving you the full length yet as he moved his hands all over your body.

"yes! please jake, i need you" you whined shamelessly in response, tugging him closer with your hands on his back. there was no room for embarrassment, especially when you knew how much he was getting off from your begging.

he grunted in satisfaction at your response, pushing inside slowly until his hips pressed against yours. your gummy walls were tight and inviting, sucking him in with no effort. if jake thought he was close to losing it completely earlier, he was not ready for this moment. his entire body was tingling, senses heightened yet his brain completely gone, unable to form coherent thoughts.

"so good for me, i knew you could take it" he soothed your faint whimpers with a kiss on your forehead.

your eyes were glossy from the immense pleasure you felt with him just being buried to the hilt. the stretch was perfect, he filled you up perfectly without causing any pain.

after a moment of panting and moans, jake started to rock his hips, thrusting into you slowly. he wasn't sure how long he'd last with you being so perfect for him in every way.

"holy fuck..." he closed his eyes for a moment, desperate to keep himself together in favour of your pleasure and comfort. your soft moans and gasps didn't help his case one bit.

you couldn't stay quiet even if you tried, he was bringing you so much euphoria you swore you would explode. your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist as he sped up his movements, pushing as deep as possible. "fuck, jake..."

"so vocal for me" he hummed against your ear, his breath tickling your skin and giving you goosebumps yet again, only heightening the growing pleasure. as he continued to thrust into you, his hand left your waist to grap one or your hands and hold it down against the mattress, fingers intertwining naturally.

a sudden pain shot through his body in result of your nails digging into the skin of his back, altering between scratching and holding on. but the feeling only turned him on more, urging him to pound into you even faster.

"you're doing so well angel, shit" jake knew he wouldn't last much longer, so he was very relieved to feel you squirm and clench around his dick.

"it's so much..." you muttered between moans, your senses were flooded and overwhelmed by now. you swore you could see stars every time you felt his tip push against your cervix, his movements were painfully precise. "i'm close, jake"

you calling his name out so sweetly was music to his ears. he kissed your cheek and spoke in a strained voice yet again, "me too, you gonna come for me princess? hm?"

it was a miracle that you even lasted this long, your adamant nods were only seconds prior to you clamping down on him hard. a mix of a moan and grunt was heard from jake as he let go of your hand to wrap his arms around your waist instead.

with a few more sloppy thrusts, his climax was just behind yours. his hair was tugged and you squeezed your legs tightly as his hips jerked. you were filled up by ropes of his thick seed, making your eyes roll back from the pleasure completely and moan his name like a prayer.

both your bodies were moulded against each other, only disrupted occasionally with your light squirms. jake stroked your hair gently, holding onto you like he was afraid you would disappear. after a few peaceful moments, he carefully pulled out and grabbed a clean tissue to help you clean up.

once you were both under the cover again, he didn't waste any time to pull you against his chest. "i'm here, i won't leave." he whispered sweet reassurances to you, caressing any part of you he could reach. you practically melted into his arms completely, his presence was beyond comforting for your exhausted self.

you muttered against his warm skin quietly, "thank you"

"for what?" he smiled sweetly, even though you couldn't see his face. here you were, thanking him when you had been the one to give him the best experience he could ever ask for.

"taking care of me."

"i would never neglect my baby."

his words were enough to paint a soft smile onto your tired face. it didn't take long for you to drift into a peaceful sleep, especially when you were cuddled up to him so snugly. jake's heart swelled at how cute you looked in his arms. he couldn't ask for more, all he'd wanted was to take care of you and he finally got the chance, he wasn't going to hesitate or be a coward with you ever again.

a/n: so. i just wanted to try out writing smut but this is gonna be my first and last time because WTFF IS THIS LMAO

i'm sticking to smaus i can't write for the life of me

songs for this fic:

tags:@vivimura@s1rawb3rry@who-tf-soddhi@laurradoesloveu@p1hbrook@hoonielvv@nodoubtily@enhamonsterghoul@heebambilee@en-chantedtomeetyou@hsbae@jellyluv4eva@vivissection@beigerin@jwywife@elairah@heekilrvs@jayjw16enxp@lakoya@ijustreallylike2read@annovaz@strawberrynull@abbyeey@celestiai0@enhalxvr@llearlert@raizennloll@rizzmura@sabriochee@sol3chu@fluveriiez@kitty-won07@sucrosxi@kukkurookkoo@mimisxs@darquette@hhyvsstuff@lovelydeliciousfestival@luciathcv@bigwforjay@pshfan0812@lov4hoon@jaerisdiction@kireiinahana@abzyissupersleepy@madslove-enhypen@b3tt7boop@dodot04lover@ki2rins@sugarikiz ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ

[smolbeanie1221]

I’m lucky enough to live in one of the light blue states, and I have family and a friend in one of the dark blue states. But I have no idea where things are going, how long my state will be relatively safe and I’ll be able to access things for transitioning when I start. I’ve already decided that if things go bad in my state, I’m moving to the dark blue state where I have family and a friend. My friend and I had jokingly over the summer talked about if I moved back there, we could get an apartment together. So I have a rough back up plan in place if needed.

But this map makes me so sad and angry to look at. I have family in Florida that I want to go see this spring, and I know I still look like my agab, so I know I wouldn’t have to worry about people freaking out that I’m trans or something. But I still don’t want to go to Florida simply because I know how bad it is there for queer people and I’m worried that there’s a small chance, I’ll just give off too much of a queer vibe to someone, or something like that happening. I don’t think it would happen, for once the fact I haven’t started transitioning yet is good. But still… it’s just so exhausting to think about.

I still remember about a year ago when I worked retail, at least every other week a customer would say “you’d be great working as x job,” and the one time a customer said “you’d be great working at Disney!” And I just paused and tried to give them a funny smile but I probably looked like I was kinda grimacing and I said “probably… but I wouldn’t be safe in Florida…” I can’t remember if I said that exactly, but that was the gist of it. I can’t remember how the customer replied, but after that conversation, I remember being stunned. I, a young American citizen, had a fear based response to the idea of working somewhere in the state of Florida, I knew it was a simple fact that I would not be safe living in that state. And I was thinking about how fucked up it was that my immediate reaction to the customer’s comment couldn’t have been, oh that sounds like fun! or anything along those lines, but instead my reaction was, fuck no I couldn’t live there because I wouldn’t be safe.

I know obviously no country is perfect, plenty of people across the world live in dangerous places, and I know that’s true in America too. But that was the first time I experienced that feeling, and it almost felt magnified because America is so often praised by its citizens as being the best place in the world to live, all men are equal, protections for minorities, etc. And yet here I was, in America, the country I was born in and raised with those same thoughts, vividly experiencing the complete opposite thing from what I should’ve been able to.

Anyways just where my thoughts took me when I saw the map this time, especially now that person is in office (I don’t even want to say his name) and I’m scared things will get so much worse all over the country.

Adult Transgender Legislative Risk Map, November 2024

[gffa]

When it comes to Jedi discourse I think a lot depends on the amount of sympathy behind a statement there is. For example, "The Jedi have been corrupted by this war." is something Lucas has said, but it's in the context of how they were drawn into a trap, they were forced into roles that they were never meant to be, there's sympathy there for how the only choices here are shitty ones. "Do they compromise their morals (to fight in this war) or does everyone die and it's pointless anyway?" is basically what he said. I agree with that! But I have seen many people say, "The Jedi became corrupted by the war." and they mean it as the Jedi no longer cared about people, only themselves, they were only looking out for themselves, they were making selfish choices. There's no sympathy for the rock-and-a-hard-place situation the Jedi were in, and I disagree with that and I think that's what a lot of people are arguing back against. "They allied themselves with a corrupt government!" is another one--like, yeah, the Republic government wasn't great! But, when I say that the Separatists were worse, it's not because I'm refusing to admit the Republic had any fault, I'm saying it because that's basically the choice laid out in front of them--either you help the Republic or you let the Separatists take over, who were committing war crimes on screen. I do think the Jedi were hamstrung by their connection to the Republic! I just also think the alternative was worse, that the whole structure of Star Wars as a story was designed to hem them into this impossible choice (in as much as Star Wars is about the Jedi, when they're very much not the core of the story), that they couldn't find better options because the story wasn't set up to allow that. Could the Jedi have handled Anakin better? Ehhh, I think that's hard to say because the story itself doesn't present that, so making hard proclamations about what they did/didn't do wrong is reading into something the story didn't address. The story is about Anakin refusing to emotionally accept Jedi teachings--can we read beyond that and say there were ways the Jedi failed him? I think you can and some of them are fair (and some of them aren't), that it's a fun conversation to have, but that it's not what the narrative intention is, if we're talking about actual narrative intention. The narrative intention is that Anakin, though very human in his failings and Lucas clearly has so much affection for his Blorbo, failed to learn what he needed to learn. But there, too, I think a lot depends so much on how much sympathy comes across for the choices being made. I don't think we're meant to see Anakin as someone we can't relate to, Lucas even says that Anakin is a victim in TPM (of the Hutts and Watto, to be clear), I don't think criticism of Anakin can come without that he was trying, that he did genuinely love people. The ending of ROTJ doesn't work without us wanting for Anakin to find the good in himself! That we knew had to be there all along. So much comes down to how much sympathy there is in the criticism, how much sympathy there is for the reasons why any given character chooses the paths they do, and that's where a lot of disconnect comes from. So much Jedi criticism is done in the vein of saying, "They failed." and meaning it as an accusation of how a better choice was super obvious. But if you say, "They failed." in the sense that there was no way out of the trap that they could have possibly forseen, given the circumstances, that they did their best and they shouldn't have to be perfect to be good, then I'm all the way onboard! It's about how much sympathy there is for the context around a given character's choices and what the story allowed for them. I have no issue with saying the Jedi failed in the war, that they became corrupted by it, that their connection to the Republic led to their genocide, because I don't think the Jedi were bad for it, I think they made the best choices they could in the worst situation.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Every Day That You Want

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, tooth-rotting fluff, pregnancy, pre-established relationship, marriage proposal

Summary/Warnings: You have big news for Dean. News you have to tell him, wether he likes it or not. You really hope he likes it, though.

Author's Note: Kind of a prequel to another fic of mine (Still You Want Me), but can be read alone. I just love putting big scary men in normal situations.

Word Count: 2.9k

You can do this. You’ve been to hell and back, you’ve killed angels, you’ve survived at least three apocalypses, and you’ve helped raise the Anti-Christ. This should, comparatively, be easy. 

It’s not. It’s the most daunting and terrifying thing you’ve ever done. It’s just words, but you’re going to choke on them because they could ruin your life. You’ve rehearsed in front of the mirror until your voice didn’t sound like yours anymore and nothing you said seemed real. It had been like repeating the same one word over and over again, until it’s nothing but an odd sound. Until it meant nothing.

But this has to mean something. You have to be able to say this to Dean, and you have to try and not get lost in the possibilities of how he’ll respond. He won’t leave you—Dean would never leave you—but he might tell you he doesn’t want this, and then you’ll have to make a choice. You don’t want to make a choice. You don’t want to hear Dean tell you that, with the lives you lead, this wouldn’t be a good idea. That it doesn’t matter what either of you want, because this isn’t something you get to have.

You want to have this, though. You want to have Dean and the baby. You want to have him as you’ve always had him before—strong and tired, always fighting because it’s all he knows how to do, but resting his head on your chest in the dark and humming against your lips when he kisses you—but you also want to have him in this new way. Where he’d smile for more reasons than just you and Sam and Cas. Where he’d get to direct some of that undying loyalty to someone who’d never be ungrateful, who’d would see him as a hero in a way he might finally believe. 

He’d be so good at it. Dean would spoil the kid, and teach them everything he knew, and care for them more than he’d ever care for himself. It breaks your heart sometimes, how he doesn��t kill himself for Sam, and he doesn’t drink himself to death for Cas, and he tries to get better for you, but he still doesn’t really know how to look in the mirror and not see a shadow.

And this would be the piece of him that’s never been tainted. The piece of him that crawls over you in bed just to hold you, that still watches cartoons and gets excited when he sees a cool car or hears an awesome drumline. The part of him that still cares, against all odds, and cares so much you’ve been worried it would kill him. The part of him that’s so simply made of light and love, crushed under years of his soul being bruised and beaten.

A part of him that won’t break. A part of him you love just as much as the rest of his wreckage, but that you still try to tend to, because you’ll love him the same if it vanishes, but you don’t think he deserves that. Dean deserves to only have that piece of him expand, to have it absorb all the love you throw at him, to grow until he can see it too. Until he can believe it’s there.

You know that it’s all so fucking hard. That Dean will never be all light, but you wouldn’t ever expect him to be. You know that a baby won’t fix him, not by far, but you also know it will show him he can create something. That he doesn’t poison everything he touches. 

That he made something entirely good, with you.

And if he tells you he doesn’t want this, you’ll live with that. You’ve lived with worse.

But you don’t even want to try to live with it. You’ll probably have to, but you’d like to pretend you won’t. 

The most you’re daring to pray for is that he doesn’t freak out. But angels don’t really take your calls anymore. 

So you’ll just have to hope.

You’ve set this up perfectly. There’s a pie in the oven that you will not let burn. There’s bacon and pancakes on a plate waiting for him when he finally gets his ass up. You have the whole bunker to yourself, because Sam’s off to see Eileen.

You’re not allowed to tell Dean that—Sam says he gets annoying—but you will in order to get him in a better mood. Sam’s fatal mistake was believing that you wouldn’t do anything to make Dean happy. So this is really on Sam. He’s the one that introduced you to Dean in the first place. Just because you were his friend first doesn’t mean he didn’t lose your automatic allegiance the moment he said this is my brother and his brother was the hottest man you’d ever seen. 

Sam should’ve known better. His big head should’ve understood that letting you anywhere near Dean—let enough so close that you’d be allowed to fall in love with him—would have always resulted in you using his secrets against him to make Dean happy, so you could slip in the fact that you were pregnant with Dean’s baby as easily as possible. 

Like any sane person would.

Although you have been up for hours, after only sleeping two. And you might be losing your mind. But anyone would lose their mind in a situation like this. Waiting for their dumb boyfriend to wake up so they can change his life forever. 

But Dean’s still asleep. You’re starting to get worried. He usually sleeps in late, especially after hunts, but not this late. Not past noon, long enough for you to stress eat half of his pie, then make a whole second one. Not long enough for the coffee to go cold three times.

You’re about to go check on him when he appears in the kitchen door. Bleary eyes and mussed hair, his glazed eyes focusing slightly when they land on you.

He starts to shuffle towards you, and you forget everything you’d rehearsed. He looks sleepy and adorable, and you’ve seen him like this before but you’d like to see it a million times more. You’d like Dean to always drop his head on your shoulder and wrap his arms around your torso, to always slump over you with a low hum. To always kiss the crook of your neck and let out a long breath when your hands snake around his neck and your fingers tangle in his soft hair.

You could have him like this forever. 

You just have to tell him. 

“Dean-“

“Why’re you up.” He speaks against your skin, his voice slurring slightly, tugging you a little closer. “’S early.”

“It’s 3pm, baby.” You draw back to smile at him, and he just blinks at you. “You’ve been knocked out for fourteen hours.”

He shakes his head, pouting slightly as he takes your hand in his. “Nah. Doesn’t feel it. C’mon.”

Dean starts to walk away, taking you with him, and you’re snapped out of the daze.

“Wait,” You pull on his grip, and he turns with a frown. “Where are you going?”

“We’re goin’ back to bed.”

You give him an amused look, your affection briefly overpowering your panic. “We?”

He nods, tugging your hand in his until you’re pressed right against his chest. “Only up ‘cause you weren’t there. Need to get my girl back to bed, you need sleep too-“

You do need sleep, but until you tell Dean, you might as well be injecting caffeine right into your bloodstream.

“But I made you bacon-“

“Course you did.” He grins, pressing a light kiss to your nose. “You’re awesome, baby.” 

You feel your stomach flutter, and at this stage it has to only be nerves, but that doesn’t make anything easier. “Can we please eat?”

Dean hums, scanning carefully over your face. “You eat already?”

“I had some applesauce-“

“Then we’re good.” He starts to move again, and now you’re attached to him like a magnet. You couldn’t move away if you tried. “Bed.”

You’re frayed and wired and on edge, trying so hard to find the will to insist he stay and eat, but Dean’s so warm and suddenly you’re drunk on him. He’s sturdy and soft in all the right places, herding you back to bed with hands on your shoulders and mumbled praise about being his dream girl, making him bacon for breakfast and lovin’ him more than he deserves, and you wish you had enough backbone to just shout at him that he does deserve your love. He deserves whatever you can give him, including a baby that he needs to know about now before you explode.

But he gets you back into bed, splaying his body over yours and pinning you down.

“Didn’t see Sammy,” his head is buried in your chest, his voice muffled against your skin. “Where’dhe go?”

“Eileen’s.” You sigh, running your fingers through his hair. “I’m not supposed to tell you that, though.”

Dean chuckles, his hands drawing slow circles on your hips. “You’re a little backstabber, sweetheart. I’m never tellin’ you anything again.”

“I’m backstabbing Sam for you.” You shrug, smiling at the air. “I’d never backstab you.”

“’S exactly what a backstabber would say.”

You giggle. “You’re tired, Dean. Your brain’s not working right. Maybe if we get up-“

“Not getting up.” He grunts, squeezing your body. “Not until you get your own fourteen hours.”

“I’m okay, Dean-“

“No. Sleep.”

You sigh, squirming slightly under him. “You know, it’s bad for you to sleep in. It’ll mess up your circadian rhythm-“ 

Dean tilts his head up, frowning at you. “What’s going on with you?”

“I, um-“ You swallow, your whole body suddenly far too warm. “Huh?”

“You always make me sleep extra after hunts.” His voice is a little stronger, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Why’re you suddenly trying to get me up?”

“Nothing’s going on-“

“No.” Dean’s sitting up now, rolling onto his back and pulling you over his lap, his gaze stern. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong either-“

He says your name, squeezing your waist as he rubs his jaw. “Please just tell me. If it’s a body we can hide it, but I need to know if it’s a monster body or person body-“

“Why the hell would it be a person body-“

“I dunno, but if it is you gotta tell me, so I can grab the salt.” He cups your cheek, offering you on his charming, downright boyish grins. “I’m not letting any ghosts haunt your hot ass, babygirl.”

“Thank you.” You mumble, dropping your brow to his. “But it’s not a body.”

“So there is something.”

“Yeah.” You whisper. “But I… I’m not-“

“Hey,” Dean leans back, holding your gaze as he tucks some hair behind your ear. “Whatever it is, I don’t care. I’m helping you.”

You swallow, squeezing your eyes shut. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs, like it’s simple. Like this will really be that easy. “For you? Always.”

It takes deep breathes, and hands curled in Dean’s t-shirt—gripping him hard, making sure he won’t fly away or vanish into the air when you speak—but you do it. You run over your entire rehearsal one last time and let it all go, because Dean’s right here, in front of you, and you just need to-

“I’m pregnant.”

You say it, and he doesn’t vanish into nothing. Dean just stares at you, eyes wider than you’ve ever seen them, and whispers, “With a baby?”

“Yeah, Dean.” You offer him a small smile. “A baby.”

“My- my baby?” 

You open your mouth with a slight frown, and Dean’s hand flies to cover your mouth before you can speak.

“Wait, shit, I didn’t mean it like that, I’m just-“ He groans, his eyes seeming to drive right into your soul as his voice because hoarse. “You’re sure? That you’re… growing one?”

You wish you could read him better right now. You’d laugh at him saying growing one.

Instead you just nod, and it’s like something flips in Dean. He grins—wide and toothy and unrestrained—and you barely have time for the relief to hit when he’s kissing you. Long and deep and passionate, until you’re dizzy and grinding down onto him, falling over his chest and clinging to his shoulders.

“Dean,” you gasp as he dives down to kiss a line over your collarbone. “Shouldn’t we, shit-“ He starts suck on a soft spot behind your ear, and all your exhaustion is starting to catch back up with you, so everything is really just a haze. “Don’t we need to talk-“

“No,” he mutters, rutting slightly up into you and chuckling against your skin when you whine. “Just need you, baby, need to- son of a bitch!”

Dean’s yanks himself up and twists to his bedside table—his hand on your hips holding you steadily against him—scrambling around the drawers as he mutters low words you can’t hear.

“Are you okay?” You ask, your hand fisting in his shirt once more. “I mean, I know you might have doubts about-“

You’re cut off as Dean surges back up to kiss you again, this one shorter and soft, but still firm. 

“No doubts, sweetheart.” He mutters against your lips. “And I’m better than okay. I’m fucking amazing.”

“Good.” You sigh, pulling back to scan over his face. “What was that, then?”

Dean smiles at you, and it’s… nervous. He’s almost never really, truly nervous, but this smile has no edge, no carefully designed charm. It’s just Dean, purely him, smiling at you like you’re holding his heart in your body.

You kind of are.

“I know I, uh, I don’t say it enough. You know I’m not good at saying it. But I do love you,” Dean says your name, and you blink at him. This sounds like a speech. “I love you so much it drives me insane. And I’d never want this, want a baby, with anyone but you. But, I, uh, I want all of this. Whole stupid, apple pie thing, just with you.” He takes a long breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “Marry me.”

You gape at him. “What?”

“Marry- shit, wait-“ Dean reaches slightly behind him, grabbing a small box, and pops it open with his thumb. There’s a diamond ring inside, and it looks like a real one. Not the ones you’d use on cases, that would give you a rash for a week after. This looks… carefully made.

Made for you.

“Dean-“

“Marry me?” Dean looks between your slack jaw and the box, his voice almost nervous. “Please?”

“I-“ This is going better than you could’ve ever even imagined. You’re not sure how to handle it. “I don’t want you to marry me just because you knocked me up-“

“Baby, I didn’t pull this ring out of my ass.” He drawls, his voice a little firmer. “I’ve been getting ready to ask you for months. I was going to kick Sammy out next week, make a picnic in the library-“

“Really?”

“Yeah, I-“ He frowns. “Why’d you think I was poking about your ring size?”

“I don’t, um, I don’t remember you doing that.”

Dean laughs, shaking his head slightly. “That’s good. I was worried I ruined it. I, um-“ he glances down at the ring, his face falling back to the nerves, and you realize you haven’t actually answered him yet. “I haven’t-“

It’s your turn to kiss Dean, and these words aren’t difficult to say at all. “Yes,” you whisper, pressing another, smaller kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’ll marry you.”

“Awesome.” He grins, and the ring is barely on your finger when he’s diving back into you, kissing you until you can’t ever remember anything has been difficult in your life. 

You yawn right as Dean pulls away, and he chuckles. 

“You alright, sweetheart?”

You hum, nodding. “I’m good. So good. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Dean says your name in your ear, and it’s quiet and gentle. Not like a secret, but a promise. “How’s a day in bed sound? We can try and get you pregnant again.”

“That’s not how it works, babe.” You giggle, folding a little deeper into his hold. “I’m gonna have to buy you some books.”

“I’ll read them.” Dean kisses the top of your head, and you can feel his smile on your skin. “For you.”

“Thank you.”

“Course.” He sighs, squeezing your body slightly. “We’re having a fucking baby.”

“Yeah.” You smile, and there’s that piece of him, shining on the surface. All joy and wonder for something that’s really just good. “We are.”

End Note: Dean Winchester in my head this is indeed the life you live every day. Season 15 isn't real it can't hurt me.

Title from Waste by Foster the People

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[the-clock-of-the-time-dragon]

[Wicked Act II spoilers]

[edited for tone and clarity of purpose, apologies for initial crudeness and frustration]

Okay, obviously I'm biased, but I'm gonna need the Fiyeraba shippers to please set a lot of your people straight about some things. I've seen way too many people trying to say that Glinda is just a selfish bimbo and that Fiyero is a virtuous and selfless figure more worthy of Elphaba's love. I'll set aside for now the idea of "worthiness" in this context. But let's start off with Fiyero joining the Wizard. Hoo boy...

Yes, he was initially somewhat less tolerant of the propaganda against Elphaba than Glinda was; yes, he was secretly trying to find her so he could run away with her or whatever. But honey: those facts DO NOT fully absolve his actions as the Wizard's top officer, or selfish recklessness throughout Act II. I see so many popular threads and posts romanticizing and whitewashing with "oh but he didn't REALLY join the Wizard, he just pretended so he could try to get to Elphie! It's all for love, and he sacrificed everything for her!" As if the literal captain of the literally fascist forces responsible for the oppression of Animals wasn't equally responsible for said oppression?? Hello? Fiyero really didn't think of seeking out Elphaba in ANY other way that DIDN'T involve becoming *checks notes*... the trusted leader of the troops committing all the abuses she's fighting against in the first place???? Like it's cool and all that he helped with Brrr, and it's all well and good that he planned on betraying the Wizard as soon as he found Elphaba (which took literal years, so I guess we're left to assume he was prepared to just keep doing fascism indefinitely if she didn't show up????), but uh... it's kind of concerning to how eager some of you are to make excuses for this dude volunteering as the head of the Ozian Gestapo??? smdh

He didn't accomplish anything from it either, by the way — like yeah, we get it, he did everything he did whilst silently fantasizing about running away with the Witch he was being paid to hunt. Fine. But I can't be the only one who doesn't buy that as an actual excuse???? Like, guys: nobody forced him to join the fascist army — even with crazy ulterior motives. He wasn't coerced into it; it wasn't his only choice or anything. Searching for Elphaba did not somehow compel him to go and volunteer to follow (or to give!) orders in the name of the dictator who was trying to have her assassinated the entire time. He could have just not done all that. (Genuinely so curious how the second film plans on covering that material tbh)

Glinda made several questionable decisions that can be (and have been) debated, but she is still very unambiguously a victim. Her position in the Wizard's regime was foisted upon her. There are things we can discuss, but I find that many folks need reminding that Glinda would undoubtedly have been disposed of (or worse) if she failed to make herself useful. I mean hell: she wasn't even supposed to meet the Wizard in the first place — she was only there because of Elphie. If she'd tried to resist, it would have immediately gotten her labeled the Witch's accomplice. As soon as she'd chosen not to get on the broom, her fate was out of her hands, and all available options were varying degrees of horrible.

That's not the case with Fiyero. He went to the Wizard all on his own; no one ever cornered or forced him into it. Thinking Animals are people, and having a crush on Elphaba, simply did not stop him from carrying out the regime's orders — for years. It's not clear exactly how long he's been captain at the start of Act II, but the clear implication is that he's been a soldier for most of the time skip. I've seen Fiyeraba accounts with headcanons about him acting as a double agent, secretly doing stuff to help Animals — and that's a great idea, it would indeed serve to make a lot of his actions way more palatable — but until we actually get to SEE some of that (maybe they'll add it for the movie version of Act II; we'll have to see), there is nothing in the story to suggest that. He certainly didn't do a damn thing for all those Animals who were enslaved and caged in the Wizard's palace — and we don't see a single other Animal outside of there in Act II, so as far as we know Fiyero has participated over those years in the near-total removal of Animals from Ozian society. In the name of "finding Elphaba". Not fighting for her cause. Just finding HER. For HIMSELF.

It's fine to have a ship you like, obviously — and there is genuinely a lot to like about Fiyeraba, I don't dislike the idea of them as a couple or as friends — but come on guys: please stop those out there idealizing Fiyero as somehow a clear "morally-superior" alternative to Glinda, lol. The dude had power, access, and opportunities, for years, that he could have wielded in any number of really selfless, revolutionary ways. He didn't. And I propose (apparently controversially): he simply didn't want to. And that — at the end of the day — is (much as some would like to deny it) true to his character. He always WANTED to be self-absorbed and shallow, and all his actions are consistent with that. Elphaba saw depth and discontentment in him, yes: but (and I cannot stress this enough) when given the chance, he channeled that in the wrong direction. He didn't confront that and become a better person — for the most part he just displaced and projected it onto Elphaba as an object of obsession, and put on an even thicker pretense than before.

All his actions — regardless of the complexity he has deep down — are those of a man who never gives one fuck about anything or anyone, except (kinda sorta) Elphaba. But even then: at no time does the care he has for her seem to extend to caring about any of her wants or needs outside of sexual validation from him, or how she might feel about his actions, or indeed the impacts of those actions upon her, her cause, or anyone or anything else. I don't think it should be all that controversial to say: he doesn't think through the wider repercussions of anything he does — thoughtlessness is just one of his core character traits. He doesn't think ahead or see meaning in anything outside of what can temporarily excite him, in the moment. I think people place a little too much weight on Elphaba clocking him with regard to his internal pain, and seem to expect (understandably of course) that she is not only right, but moreover that he will grow from that in a positive direction, based on her influence.

But he doesn't. If anything, we get a surprising inverse: he pretty much proves her wrong. Not to say he didn't have hidden depth and all that, like she said: but his hypothetical heart of gold proves not to really amount to much in practice. He doesn't grow out of his shallowness and his self-centeredness: he grows into it in a way that he hadn't quite yet in school. Where once he was only masking an internal listlessness, after he's been cracked open by Elphaba he decides to be genuinely self-absorbed and deeply shallow, not just coasting by. He performs in new ways — as a soldier, eventually as a "fiancé", etc. — but by Act II we meet a Fiyero who has staked the last remaining shred of humanity in him on the vain pursuit of the only object of his desire that has ever been unavailable to him, and firmly chosen to say to hell with everyone and everything else.

When put to the test, Fiyero sacrifices Glinda, the Animals, and all else that Elphaba actually cared about, to pursue his own unresolved crush from college. Mostly to get in her pants, really — as harsh as I'm sure that sounds. But let me be frank: that is literally all he ever accomplishes in the show. He gives her dick one time, and one of his castles, and that's it. That's the culmination of his years trying to find her — years in which he actively worked as one of the stormtroopers (or even the one commanding them) committing untold crimes against Animalkind (who, again, it seems have been all but erased from Oz by Act II): y'know, the very crimes Elphaba sacrificed her life to try and stop????? He spent the most important time of his life — of his own free will — being a fascist soldier, but he "did it for her" somehow, so according to some, it's perfectly fine. Heroic, even. Yikes??

But let's make something very clear (since my original version of this post caught a lot of flak, including slurs and other rudeness):

I like Fiyero. I find his role extremely interesting (I could do a whole dissertation on him, but I'm especially a fan of the way his proving Elphaba's assessment of him wrong presents a fascinating parallel and contrast with Glinda, which I think is lost on a lot of people). But PLEASE stop with all the misguided Glinda slander and idealization of Fiyero. By all means, thirst! But don't give me all this bullshit about him deserving Elphaba more, or being super deep, or being really principled or noble or whatever else. He does have layers, and quite intriguing ones, but his insides are straw — he isn't meant to have some deep, overwrought emotional core or motivations; he has passions that he acts upon when given the chance. That's it. And that's fine. Actually kind of refreshing in a story rooted in simple children's fantasy but rife with intensely complicated personalities. Fiyero makes it his mission to represent denial of depth and embrace of raw, spontaneous desire — and I for one love that, and wish others appreciated it.

And in all seriousness, shipping wars aside: by the end of the story, it's Glinda who is ultimately vindicated, and has — for all her faults — made the necessary choices to fulfill Elphaba's wishes, bring down the regime, etc. And all that despite herself. She's miserable: not just because of the mistakes she made, but because of her correct moves as well. Fiyero is simply not — and could never be — that person. And that's okay! Like I said: I am not anti-Fiyero. Fiyero's willingness to throw it all away for the sake of sheer, overriding passion is a huge part of what people like about him, of course — and it's an obvious factor in the attraction between him and Elphaba, because she has her own flavor of that impulse as well — but I'd actually argue that it's not romantic, it's his fatal flaw. And thematically that's fantastic! But I just don't believe that it somehow means he "deserves Elphaba more" because he "gave up his life for her" or whatever. In part because NOBODY truly "deserves" Elphie tbh, not 100% (and I question anybody who claims otherwise), but ultimately because I don't accept the idea that his fleeting acts of passion make up for all the shit leading up to them (or even proceeding after them tbh). At least Glinda managed to do what Elphaba always wanted in the end — but I would die on this hill even if Gelphie didn't exist.

You don't have to agree with my analysis of Fiyero and his choices, relationships, etc. — that's fine. What isn't fine is trying to portray Glinda as some kind of spineless traitor whore for the Wizard and Fiyero as a conscientious hero who earned Elphie through self-sacrifice. That's just not the story that was written. It's WAY messier and more interesting than that.

[mr-mercutio]

I remember once I was at a T-shaped intersection, crossing on the right side of the T from top down. About a second into walking into the street, y'know - after waiting for the lights to change and the walk signal to come on, this guy revs up and pulls into the intersection, ready to turn right. Already breaking the law of course, pulling right into the street before I was all the way across. And then he leans out of his window and starts screaming at me to hurry up and get across the street.

I didn't even have the opportunity to check for this fucker to see if he was going to let me cross. Put aside that I had right of way and had waited for the lights to change, he hadn't even BEEN at the intersection, just came zipping down at me.

I didn't feel terrified until after the whole thing was done. In the moment I was just so angry because how dare he, honestly? How dare he come so close to being able to just murder me with his fucking truck and then get mad at ME because I'm slowing him down by a few seconds?

I was so mad that I actually stopped in the middle of the crosswalk and looked him dead in the eyes. And I wish this was the part of the story where I could say he looked ashamed of himself, where I could think maybe he learned something that day that would change how he drove or treated people. Maybe he looked back at me and realized how much power he held over my life in that moment and mouthed "sorry" at me.

But no, he just got more angry and leaned on his horn and called me a faggot. I must have been the worst part of his day, the way he was acting.

So I just gave him the finger and resumed crossing the street, albeit at a snail's pace because I'm a petty little bitch when I'm mad. And as soon as there was any clearance behind me he went zooming off, still screaming at me. I could see another driver waiting at the intersection, one who had a red light still, look absolutely horrified. I think she felt more shame as a driver than this guy did.

And seeing her face was when I felt scared. When the reality dawned on me of how easily I could have been killed in that moment just because I was an inconvenience to an asshole. I slowed him down for an extra 20 seconds, and he treated me like absolute trash. He could have killed me so easily. The only power I had in that moment was to make his day just a little bit worse by extending the inconvenience a few more seconds. And I took that power gleefully in the moment, but I really shouldn't have. I should have just crossed the street because what if he did decide then to run me over? I would love to say that even this douchebag supreme wouldn't be that bad, but honestly? How could I know? If he was that willing to fly off the handle with zero provocation, I shouldn't have trusted that he wouldn't run me down for slowing down and giving him the finger. But taking the tiny bit of power I had in that moment felt really good and necessary in the heat of the moment.

I dunno, I don't have a good lesson here. I don't regret it in the slightest but I do also think it wasn't the safe thing to do. It wasn't worth the risk of dying in that moment.

Some people have no concept of the power they hold. This story is far and away not the only time I feel like I've come close to being killed by drivers who were stupid, angry, mean, or just plain not paying attention. I wish more people would remember that they're piloting a killing machine at high velocity and I'm just a little fleshbag out in the open air. I have to be so careful, and it makes me a bit bitter to watch the drivers who blithely zoom around and forget to stop or slow down or check for pedestrians like me.

Nothing exposes the inability of people to navigate power imbalances quite like the relationship between drivers and pedestrians.

For example, I just had a driver get screaming-at-me mad because I stopped walking at a slip lane to make sure he was going to stop. And like, buddy, I know I have the right of way, but if I assume you are going to stop and I guess wrong, I will literally die. Whereas if I wait to see if you're actually going to slow down, I am just delaying both of us by a couple of seconds. And that might have more to do with why I made the choice that I did than my being a stupid bitch who needs to learn the rules. Like, if you can't understand why the fact that you could effortlessly accidentally kill me (and likely face no consequences) means I am reticent to assume the best from you, maybe you just shouldn't have any power over anyone ever.

[eufezco]

TOLERATE IT 𓂃 𓈒 ❀

oldman!logan x fem!reader

synopsis – the struggles with the growing distance between you and logan and holding on to a man who has already let go.

a/n – kinda inspired by tolerate it by taylor swift.

angst.

logan was late again, though you’d stopped watching the clock weeks ago. time became meaningless when each hour felt like a reminder of how far apart the two of you had grown. he was late and you thought you preferred it this way, because when he was home, it was worse.

when he was home, he didn’t look at you, like you weren’t even there. he didn’t talk to you, offering only brief replies or silence. the man who once made you feel seen, known, and loved was now a shadow. at least when he was gone, you didn’t have to feel the sting of being invisible in your own home.

the sound of the front door opening startled you from your thoughts.

you'd been cooking dinner for him, if you stayed busy, maybe you could ignore the ache in your chest, the endless questions you no longer dared to ask. his heavy steps echoed down the hall, the unmistakable smell of alcohol followed him into the room like an unwelcome guest.

you turned toward the hall, his eyes, bloodshot, avoided yours.

—hey, —you said softly, your voice tentative.

he didn’t answer, just grunted as he moved past you and toward the chair where he always dropped his jacket.

—i've cooked you dinner, —you tried again, forcing a smile.

���not hungry.

the smile disapeared , your lips trembling slightly as you looked at him. —logan, you’ve barely eaten anything lately, —you said, your voice quieter.

—i said i’m not hungry, —he repeated, the irritation in his voice unmistakable. he didn’t even turn to face you, his focus already on loosening his tie.

you stood there for a moment, clutching the edge of the plate, so hard that you thought it would break under your fingers. the meal you’d poured so much effort into, the carefully laid table—it all felt pointless, like shouting into a void. you opened your mouth to respond, to say anything but your eyes caught on the smudge of red on the collar of his shirt. the words died on your lips, and your stomach twisted as realization hit. lipstick.

—logan? —you said, barely above a whisper.

he followed your line of sight, his expression hardening when he saw what had caught your attention. —don’t start, —he said, his voice low and warning.

—don’t start? —you repeated in disbelief. —logan, there’s lipstick on your collar. you—

—i don’t want to do this right now, —he interrupted, his voice rising slightly, frustration etched into every word.

—but... —you tried again. then you noticed how his hair was more disheveled than usual, how some buttons on his shirt were undone. ever since things started to go wrong with logan, you always had a sneaking suspicion that he was seeing other women. most of the times you didn't say anything, not because you didn’t care, but because the thought of confronting him felt more terrifying than the suspicion itself. you had convinced yourself that if this was the price you had to pay to keep him by your side, you would pay it.

but when you confronted him, he’d deny it—nothing was going on. you wanted to believe him, you tried to believe him. but you knew that something was off. there were things you couldn’t ignore and that he didn't care enough to hide, like the way he would smell different when he came home some nights—like someone else’s perfume clung to his shirt.

—i came from work fucking tired and you are trying to start a fight! these things—these things you do are what makes it so goddamn exhausting to be near you.

you didn’t just drop the plate on the floor, you smashed it. the plate carefully prepared, a gesture of love but now, just like everything else, it was broken beyond repair. without thinking, you stepped forward, closing the space between you and him, your breath coming hard and fast, your fist tight with anger.

his expression was unreadable at first, a flicker of annoyance clouding his features, but beneath it, there was something else—something like intrigue, as if he was daring you to keep going, to show him just how much he had hurt you. your pressed your finger against his chest, steady and defying.

—you don’t deserve a fucking thing I gave you, —you spat, your voice laced with fury that you had been keeping to yourself for far too long. his lips parted as if to say something, but you didn’t give him the chance. —what a shame that this mutation of yours is taking so long to kill you and that i have to be the one to suffer all the shit you are rotting in.

silence settled between you after those words. for a few seconds, you both just stood there, locked in each other’s gaze. his eyes were hard, unreadable, and you couldn't see anything shifting. no sign of regret, no sign of guilt.

—are you done? —he said finally, his tone flat, almost bored, as if your pain was just another inconvenience in his already exhausting day.

you made your way to the bedroom. as you passed him, you bumped your shoulder against his and logan closed his eyes and shook his head. you didn't let the tears fall from your eyes just yet. you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you break.

you collapsed in your shared bed. the sheets smelled faintly of him, even though it had been weeks since the last time he slept there, a cruel reminder of the distance between you. the sobs broke free, quiet and muffled at first, but then louder.

and he heard you from the living room.

you knew he did and you waited, even as your tears soaked the pillow, hoping—praying—that you’d hear the sound of his footsteps approaching. that he’d walk through the door, sit on the edge of the bed, and pull you into his arms like he used to. that he’d say something—anything—to let you know he still cared, still saw you.

but he didn't come.

instead, you heard the clink of his whiskey glass, the quiet sound of him trying to drown out the reality with alcohol. his attempts to ignore the sound of your sobs failed. but still, logan didn’t move.

the tears eventually took over and you fell asleep.

logan picked up the shattered pieces of the plate from the floor and then went into your room. you felt his arm slide across your back, pulling you closer to him, the warmth of his skin too familiar, too intimate, but it felt wrong now, like a cruel mockery of what it used to be. you whined and tried to push his arm away, your body tensed, trying not to surrender to the moment, and shook, trying to make it clear that you didn’t want him to touch you.

—don’t, —you muttered, still half asleep. —don’t touch me.

yet he could feel how it instinctively molded to his. your body remembered him, the way you used to fit together.

—quit it, —logan said, his voice low and rough. his arm tightened around you, firmly, to keep you from pulling away. then, just as quickly, his hold softened, arms relaxing as they hugged you.

he stayed there all night, his arm around you, holding you close in a way that felt almost natural. for the first time in what felt like forever, his breathing steadied, the weight of exhaustion pulling him into a deep sleep. you relaxed into his embrace but when you woke up the next morning, the bed felt cold. you turned, reaching out instinctively and the space where he had been was empty.

he was gone. but it wasn't surprising, not really. you should've known that he wouldn’t stay. he had always been a man who left—left conversations unfinished, left wounds unhealed, left you in pieces. what was truly surprising, more than his absence now, was the fact that he had been ever there at all.

[kumkaniudaku]

Worship

Summary: Patrice needs to know how Terry feels about her changing body.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Mentions of Pregnancy, Smut (18+)

MASTERLIST

“Do you still think I’m pretty?” 

If one question could suck all of the oxygen out of the room and put it all back in a gust of disorienting, bitter wind, that was it. Patrice hadn’t intended her inquiry to be an abrupt interruption to an otherwise calm evening, but she couldn’t allow the thought to torment her any longer. 

Patrice watched Terry from the large mirror in front of them, her bottom lip trapped beneath her top row of teeth while she watched him lean over and spit toothpaste out of his mouth into his sink. Sympathy flashed across his face as he looked back at her. “Of course I do. I think you’re beautiful.” 

“Are you still attracted to me? And not just in theory or what you remember about my body from five months ago. I mean, right now. Pregnant, showing, and all. Am I still sexy to you?”

“Patrice…” 

Closing her eyes, Patrice shook her head and lifted her palm to stop Terry before he jumped into a diatribe for what she considered a cut-and-dry question. “Please, don’t do that, Terrence. Answer me. Do you still see me as a woman worthy of your sexual attention? Yes or no?” 

“Yes, baby. You are.” 

Hearing his answer sent a rush of sadness coursing through Patrice’s veins. She wasn’t sure what she hoped to hear, but that wasn’t it. That only created more uncertainty and a slew of questions she wasn’t sure were still worth asking. Still, she persisted, letting her inquisitive nature take over when she wished she could be quiet and go to bed in blissful ignorance/

“Then why,” A painful lump grew in her throat as tears pricked her waterline. Patrice swallowed it back to try and muscle through her interrogation without allowing her emotions to derail. “Why haven’t you touched me? It’s been three months of nothing. What you’re saying to me doesn’t match your actions.”

Strained silence blanketed the bathroom, competing with the humidity responsible for lingering droplets in the air for which one could douse the embers of reconciliation the fastest. 

Physical and mental changes had thrown Patrice into a loop. Every day, her insides were shifted and stretched to what felt like capacity, bringing a bevy of brand-new feelings that rocked her with every unexpected mood swing. Rays of joy reminded her she’d be meeting a life she helped create intermingled with tormenting thoughts of her attractiveness or lack thereof, keeping her lips glued shut for fear that she’d sound bonkers to her husband. So, she kept them all inside or in the privacy of weekly chats with her girls, hoping the kinks would work themselves out, and they could return to the love she recognized.

“I’m not trying to put the blame on you or me,” she tried to explain when she wasn’t greeted with a response from Terry. “I just…I noticed we’ve slipped away from each other. We barely touch outside of a kiss or a hug. The little comments are gone. We’re flirting less. We haven’t been us, Terrence and Patrice, since we saw this baby on that machine a few months ago, and I’m the only one who seems to notice!” 

He sighed and furrowed his brows. “I notice, Treece. I just…I don’t know. I don’t know what to do or how to be. This is my first time.”

“It’s mine too, Terry! But what does that have to do with who we are! What happens when the baby gets here? Is this going to be our life forever? Is this just it?”

Terry didn’t know what to say. The raging winds of life had blown him to and fro as a husband and father-to-be. Where he thought he was balancing both responsibilities with impeccable efficiency, he missed the signs of his wife’s distress. He couldn’t recount where he went wrong to rectify his misgivings. What’s worse is that he didn’t see an avenue to admit his confusion, fearing he’d sound crass and uncaring in the face of Patrice’s concern. 

So, they stood there in silence, letting unspoken words snuff out the already dying flames of intimacy. 

The stench followed them into a new week marred by disjointed interactions and tight lips. They existed like passing ships in the night, exchanging pleasantries typical of a couple who’d long let go of the rope, not one still possessing the will to fight but lacking the how. 

Sounds of children playing and birds chirping filtered through the open kitchen window as Patrice sat at the kitchen table, clicking through pages and pages of baby items to fill their shower registry. Terry watched her from the entryway, quietly admiring how glistening sun rays gave dimension to her fresh dye job and highlighted glowing skin. Her belly curved beneath one of his long-sleeved t-shirts, clothing her and their heir in his presence even though they were still on the outs. The soft smile gracing her face while she undoubtedly occupied her mind with color schemes and furniture layouts made him grin before he could stop the corners of his lips from creeping upward. 

He missed her. The notion of missing someone he slept next to every night felt as alien as wearing two left shoes, but it was the truth. It was a starting point. And, as long as he had a starting point, he could map his way back to where they belonged. 

“Can I do something for you, Mr. Richmond?” 

Patrice’s question startled Terry out of his thoughts and set him on a path toward the kitchen. “How’d you know I was there?” He asked before stopping short to rest his hand on her upper back. The habit made her lean into his touch and the lingering kiss he held against her temple. 

“Heavy feet, remember?” Their stilted chuckles synced into a familiar cadence, slowly releasing the valve on latent tension. She looked up at him and smiled. “You okay? Need something?” 

“Actually, yeah. Mind if I sit down?” 

“It’s your kitchen table, too. Sit wherever you want.”

Curious eyes under long lashes watched Terry round the table to drag his usual seat closer to hers. An inner battle made him look into the backyard from the window when they locked gazes, biding him time to gather his thoughts until he felt satisfied with their direction. He looked back, bathing her in a soft, doting gaze. “You are unbelievably attractive to me, Treecey. There’s not much you can do to turn me off.” 

“So, what’s stopping you? Is it something I’m doing?” 

“No, no, no,” Terry rushed to reassure, gently placing his palms on her thighs for a squeeze. “Can I be honest?” 

Patrice nodded back at him, praying that what existed on the other side of his extended pause wouldn’t act as a wrecking ball on her wavering self-image. 

Terry scooted closer until Patrice’s knees fit perfectly between his before lacing their fingers together. His eyes didn’t waiver as he spoke the only truth he knew. “I don’t know how to interact with this new version of you. After all these years, you still make me nervous. I was nervous when we started dating again. I was nervous on our wedding night. Now, your body is changing, and I’m more nervous around you than ever,” He admitted. “I’m afraid I might hurt or bother you when you’re tired and trying to catch a break between all you have going on. But, I guess I let being nervous keep compounding until I made you feel like you aren’t the most beautiful woman in the world at all times.”

Patrice’s resolve had long morphed her first dose of hot tears for the day, the sensation coming in so quick that a few slipped past her fingers when she tried to tame them. “Am I, really?” 

Moving forward, Terry brought his hands up to rest on Patrice’s cheeks. “You’re gorgeous to me, baby. I’m so sorry I ever made you think you weren’t.” 

Patrice closed her eyes to feel the feathery caress of lips across her nose and cheeks. He’d run out of words. All he had left was desperate pleas in the form of physical affection to atone for all his sins. 

She accepted each one with no pushback, melting into his touch as the weight of untold battles began sliding down her heavy shoulders.

“It wasn’t just you.” Patrice’s confession came with a deep breath to settle herself. “Every time I step out of the house, someone is commenting on my body or touching me. ‘Oh, you’re carrying high!’ or ‘Girl, you gettin’ big fast!’ It’s too much. I thought I was strong enough to validate myself because that’s what I’ve been doing, you know? But I couldn’t. So, when it felt like you were pushing me away for the one thing I can’t control, I spiraled. I shouldn’t have let it get that far, but I didn’t know how to speak to you without losing my shit. These hormones are kicking my ass.” 

Loud, harmonious laughter meshed to heal aching souls navigating their first storm as parents-to-be. Terry watched Patrice’s face light up like stars over the countryside and smiled as he reached up to dry unshed tears gathered in her eye’s inner corners. “That’s okay. Lose your shit every once in a while. Now’s the perfect time.”

Patrice sighed before reaching for Terry’s wrist to anchor her racing thoughts. Her eyes bore into familiar green pools that always regarded her with love that felt almost too overwhelming to absorb. She watched him mouth a sincere ‘I love you’ that made her skin tingle from head to toe. She gripped him tighter, hoping he could feel the effect he had on her.

“Listen, baby, I’m five months pregnant, not dead,” Patrice laughed, earning a bright smile from Terry. “I still want my husband. I still want to be wanted by you, too. Because your validation means a lot to me. Especially while I’m changing like this.” 

Terry dropped a hand to make space for an incoming round of kisses, each deeper than before. “I want you, Piggy,” he spoke before pressing another kiss to her lips. “I’ll always want you. We’ll be 90 in the nursing home, and I’ll still be chasing behind you with my walker and calling you my girlfriend.”

“Good,” Patrice giggled, tickled by the imagery of a distant version of themselves still head over heels with time winding down on their time together. Static passed between them. Touches became magnified. Pupils dilated with an incoming flood of endorphins. She bit her lip before finishing her thought. “Because if I’m half as horny at 90 as I have been for the last few weeks, we’ll have to keep the nurses on speed dial.” 

“It’s been like that,” Terry questioned, his eyebrow arching.

Patrice moved his hand closer to the meeting of her thighs, hoping he could feel the throb matching her increasing heartbeat. “It’s been like that.”

Terry let his eyes wander across Patrice’s face to linger on her lips before looking back at her with drooping eyelids. His voice emerged from beyond his lips, sounding like hot chocolate on a winter morning. “Let me fix that for you. Show you how much I want you until you tell me to stop?” 

An offer she couldn’t and wouldn’t dare refuse. Permission granted with a short nod and shallow breaths set them on a path down the hallway and into their bedroom, where the sweet symphony of early evening lovemaking was poised to reclaim its space in their lives. 

Patrice lay in wait, lower back and hips lifted off the mattress by a throne of pillows arranged for her comfort near the edge of the bed while she watched Terry arrange scented candles on the dresser in all his naked glory. 

At some point, she’d find time to thump the back of his head for using her expensive stuff to set the mood. But tonight, she chose to focus on the sensual shadows dancing across his body as he stepped between her legs and leaned forward to see her face under dim candlelight.

“Comfortable,” he asked as his hands roamed from her knees to her thighs and back in an effort to soothe his bubbling nerves. “Google says I should have a wedge for you, but I hope that’ll do.” 

Patrice sank deeper into her cocoon and nodded. “This is perfect. I’m okay.” 

“You promise to let me know when you aren’t?” He waited for Patrice to respond verbally in the affirmative before gingerly lifting her right leg to bring her ankle to his lips for a slow kiss. “What’d Mookie say in Do The Right Thing? Thank God for the ankles?” 

He dropped a kiss against her calf before nuzzling the spot. “Thank God for the legs.” He inched further to suckle Patrice’s fleshy inner thigh, drawing a soft sigh from her as a reward for his good deed. “Thank God for these thighs. I love them so much.” 

He set his sights on the swell of her growing belly, rounding day by day with the promise of a little bundle of joy made in their image. He kissed his way past her belly button and up to her breasts, lingering on his name written in slanted script before moving again. “Thank God for the left nipple and the right.”

Patrice let her eyes flutter closed as he directed her hands to the back of his head while expertly pulling one of her nipples between his teeth. Terry lavished each areola with attention from his tongue, letting quiet moans serenade him until he backed off to say more.

“Thank God for all this gorgeous skin.” He rubbed his nose up her sternum into the crook of her neck. “Thank God for the way you smell. Nothing in this world compares to how it drives me crazy.”

Patrice arched into the kisses Terry left along her neck until her core ached for his attention. 

Every sensation, every lick and practiced nibble at the hands of the only man to satisfy the nooks and crannies of her womanhood, and then some felt intensified ten times over.

The second trimester had done a number on her. Her best friends and OBGYN all confirmed that the gnawing, insatiable sexual appetite she’d developed was normal and meant to be harnessed before her libido waned on the way to the final stretch. 

“Men used to fight wars for women like you. And here you are, giving me  chance after chance to get it right.”

She whimpered into his ear. “Baby.” Her nails lightly scratched at his shoulder blades, begging for a touch only he could provide. “Please, Terrence. Don’t make me wait.”

How could he deny her? She’d asked so nicely and waited so patiently to have him joined to her at the waist. He owed her swift pleasure after all he’d put her through while the stress of growing ten fingers and ten toes reigned down new emotions every other day. 

Terry didn’t tarry on his way to granting her wish. He stood flat-footed before her, slightly bending his knees to deepen their kiss as they reveled in the feeling of his tip gathering wetness at her opening. 

“Tell me when to stop,” he breathed against her mouth. “I know I can’t go too deep. Say when.”

Their lips remained connected throughout his measured re-introduction to her body until a shared gasp turned two breaths into one. Patrice’s jaw dropped as he inched closer and closer to her limit. He watched her with intense focus and a furrowed brow, waiting for her to make the call. 

A little deeper. A little more. Almost. So close. “Right there,” she called out, her hands gripping his biceps to maintain her tether to reality. “Mm, right there.” 

He rolled his hips in a fluid, intentional back and forth, letting the tug from her walls set his start and endpoints. He lifted a hand from its space beside her hips to guide one of hers back toward the mattress for their fingers to interlock. 

Terry murmured variations of ‘I love you’ while Patrice allowed him to gently rock her through rolling waves of pleasure until moans turned into screams trapped in her throat. Strong legs acted with equal parts power and restraint to coax her into the release she deserved. 

He carefully leaned forward to rest his weight on his forearms and speak against her mouth once she felt her getting close to the promised land. “Look, this beautiful body carrying my baby. I was an idiot for wasting all this time when you needed me most. You forgive me, Piggy?” 

“Mhmm,” Patrice managed to whine as the coil in her body began to tighten in preparation for her orgasm. 

He shook his head, needing more. “Say it. Tell me you forgive me.”

“Yes!” She answered, tossing her head back to revel in the euphoria spreading across her limbs. “Yes! I forgive you!”

“My beautiful girl,” he whispered as he thrust into her, feeling the tips of her nails turn his skin into her personal emery board. He blinked away the mix of pain and pleasure to finish showering Patrice in praise. “You always have been.” He could feel her tightening around him, spurring a falter in his stroke that quickened his pace. He panted to match her deep breaths, turning a simple sentence into one he had to grit through clenched teeth. “You always will…be. Fuck, I’m…fuck.” 

Ninety days of pent-up emotions and withheld affection came with an orgasm strong enough to push Terry up on his toes while he listened to Patrice marvel at what he’d gifted her with his hard work. 

They heaved until heaving became delirious laughter, then ‘til laughter circled back to needy kisses missed during their time apart. 

Patrice pulled Terry close, cradling the back of his head to speak into his ear while leaving budding markers of his love under her earlobe. “I don’t want you thinkin’ that’s all for tonight.” Terry slowly released her skin from his lips and pulled away to answer with a quizzical look. Patrice pushed up on her forearms to nip at his bottom lip. 

“Come on. Get me off my back. It's your turn to be worshipped.”

--------

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[lastoneout]

Sorry to add on(also sorry it's so long) but this is also why now is a good time to start wearing masks if you stopped.

We have been on the road to a potential Bird Flu(H5N1 or HPAI) pandemic for the last year and while we still haven't seen evidence of Human to Human spread...monitoring that and giving the public information in case thing change was the job of the CDC, NIH, and FDA, all of who have been silenced by Trump. There's a very real possibility that H5N1 could go H2H and without anyone noticing and/or without the ones who notice being allowed to speak about it. Currently samples from any US H5N1 cases HAVE to be sent to the CDC to confirm, most hospitals and state agencies don't have tests that can distinguish between different types of Influenza A, and the CDC just got gagged. One of the only agencies in the US that can confirm human cases and tell the public if H5N1 goes H2H was just forbidden to talk to anyone at all.

Every single disease expert and vet and doctor who has been talking about H5N1 is sounding the alarm on this because the US's reaction was already painfully inadequate, and now we don't even know if the US government is going to do anything about it at all. And like, we don't even know for sure how bad H5N1 could be as a pandemic! There are already off-shoots like the one in cows that seems to mostly be mild in humans, but that's just one variant. Worse ones have killed or nearly killed people, and all versions have devastated animal populations around the world, and it's already proven extremely difficult to contain even in countries that ARE doing everything they can to stop it.

We could be fine, or we could have a pandemic with a virus that can kill way more efficiently than COVID living in a country led by a president who oversaw COVID and who's inaction during that disaster is responsible for hundreds of thousands of deaths who fills his government health positions with anti-vaxxers and raw milk snake oil salesmen and forbids the agencies that are supposed to handle this from talking about it at all.

We are in the dark. We don't know when the CDC, FDA, and NIH are going to be allowed to speak to us again(they said Feb 1st but I don't trust them not to extend it, and that's still too long for them to be silent, we were supposed to get several H5N1 alerts today and that obviously didn't happen) and tbh just seeing what happened with TikTok does make me worry they're also going to come back wrong.

So please, start masking again. Get your flu and covid shots(and others you might be due for). Buy extra masks if you can, and be willing to pass them out to friends and loved ones. Keep you cats inside, and do NOT feed them raw pet food or milk. You also should avoid raw milk, pasteurized is still safe. Avoid interacting with wild aninals, especially birds and especially ones that seem sick. Wear an N95, gloves, and goggles if you have to clean up a dead one. If you can stay home when you're sick please do and if you can't PLEASE MASK, studies have shown if you wear it properly even a baggy surgical mask is better than nothing. And like OP says, pay attention.

This gag order is genuinely really scary, worse than what I expected back in November, so please do what you can to minimize the damage that can be done to yourself, your loved ones, your community, and the world as a whole. We're on our own but we're still in this together. Don't give up, but be safe.

Trump has ordered the FDA, CDC and NIH to "pause communications with the public" until February 1st, with includes new regulations, announcements, press, we posts and more until they are "approved by a political appointee". Please keep your eyes on this. Trump is about to fuck up FDA shit again and we may potentially see a radical change in regulations on our health and food.

Some in my circle were talking about subscribing to European FDA communications and only taking medications and advice vetted in Europe until then or for the foreseeable future.

[cherrixpie]

NEMESIS

part four of five

↬ you were supposed to steer clear of mattheo riddle. Shame that he was just so irrestible.

↬ sfw; wc: 9.1k (good lord these keep getting longer); cw: violence, blood, broken bones, suggestiveness, swear words; tags: gryffindor!reader, muggleborn!reader, enemies to lovers

( masterlist )

The wind howled through the stands, tearing at banners of both red and green, as sheets of icy rain slashed down in relentless torrents. Over night, the weather had taken a dramatic shift, to the disfortune of any poor bloke who was on the pitch today. The pitch had turned into a mire of mud and puddles and looked more like a battlefield than the site of one of the most anticipated Quidditch matches of the season: Gryffindor vs Slytherin. Above, the players on their broomsticks were little more than blurred streaks of color, their shouts swallowed by the roaring of the storm. The sharp crack of a Bludger smashing into a broomstick echoed through the chaos, drawing gasps and cries from the diehard fans who clung stubbornly to the stands despite the weather.

Near the base of the stands, Madam Pomphrey hovered over you like an agitated owl as you sorted through the bandages and potions at hand. Ever since you'd started practical training in the Hospital wing to improve your chances to become a healer at the prestigious St. Mungos Hospital, you'd been assailing her at quidditch games. But you'd only ever had Gryffindors to look out for before.

“Playing in this weather is nothing short of lunacy,” Madam Pomphrey muttered, her words only heard over the howling wind because she stood so close to you. “The last thing I need is another student catching their death out here- or worse, ending up on one of my stretchers.”

Though you didn't say it out loud, you estimated the chances of that being close to zero. Not only the weather made this an exceptionally brutal game. It seemed as if the players translated the stress of playing in such conditions into pure violence, and the thick mist of rain only made the many fouls harder to detect. The game was turning more brutal by the minute. You did your very best to identify your friends, but only caught a glance of Harry hovering over the game, looking for the faint glint of the snitch through the fog and dodging the occasional bludger. And, of course, Ron, guarding the rings.

But your restless eyes didn't only scan the skies in search of your friends. Any time a Slytherin player passed the stands, you'd anxiously try to make out whether they were a beater, whether they were Mattheo. But he seemed to be amidst the center of the game. Sometimes you thought you spotted him when you recognized a figure with club that vaguely resembled him. Sometimes, you thought the figure looked back at you, but you couldn't be sure of anything when rain and fog clouded your vision and made it impossible to pin point anything.

Suddenly, another violent crack echoed through the stadium and the fans let out a collective gasp when the small, blurred figure of Gryffindor’s seeker slipped from his broom, having been violently hit with a bludger. Before even Madam Pomphrey could react, you, who'd been on your toes all game, cast a spell to slow his fall and took off over the field to meet him when he met the ground in a rather soft thud thanks to your spell. The nurse followed hot on your heels and together, you hoisted Harry up on your shoulders and helped him towards the sidelines as Madame Hooch signaled time-out.

The bludger must've hit Harry in the face at short distance, because it only took one look at his blood-smeared face and crooked nose to know the latter was broken. You had the vague idea it wouldn't be the last one toady. As Madam Pomphrey healed it with a flick of her wand, eliciting a crack from the nose as it sprung back in place and a pained groan from Harry, you recovered a diptam from your belt and leaned down in front of him to apply it to his face.

“That was Riddle,” said Harry bitterly as you healed the cuts and bruises to the best of your abilities. The murtlap essence did wonders on his injuries, but still, your worried eyes scanned his face restlessly as Harry kept raging. “He's had his sights on me ever since we lifted off the damn ground! Dunno what's up with him, it's like he doesn't even care about the game anymore. He's a damn psychopath, he is.”

Before you had the chance to respond, three thuds announced the arrival of three other players and you turned to them as they approached. Madam Hooch lead them, she walked on large strides over to Harry to inspect the graveness of his injury. Behind her followed a highly enraged looking Malfoy, platinum hair clinging to his forehead, and Mattheo, seemingly relaxed though there was a storm brewing in his eyes that rivaled the one he and the others were facing above ground. Your eyes met and you froze mid movement when he, despite the situation, gave you a quick grin. Just like Harry and Malfoy, he was covered head to toe in mud and his hair was even more of a mess than usual, but you had to admit it suited him better than the other two.

“From such a short distance, my my,” raged Madam Hooch who was quite red in the face. As most teachers did, she directed her anger at some point over Mattheo's shoulder instead of looking him into the face. “That's a foul if I ever saw one. Gryffindor gets a penalty.”

“But Madam Hooch!” called Malfoy indignantly. “He only did his job, isn't it allowed for the beaters to use their clubs anymore?”

“On the bludgers, not on fellow players!” hissed Madam Hooch angrily. Malfoy stroke up another argument, beginning with the words "my father...", but Mattheo couldn't have cared less. So what if Gryffindor got a damn penalty, there was much more important things to be enraged about. Like the way you fussed over Potter, how worried you looked, how pretty you looked in your nurse uniform, a white dress that fell down to your knees paired with the most adorable nurse cap. Mattheo realized he liked white on you. In his world that was drowned in such darkness, you stood out amongst crowds like a glowing ember. As much as he hesitated to admit it, he felt lighter anytime he laid eyes on you.

“Mate, help me out here!” Malfoy pushed him, but he fell on deaf ears, because you had just glanced back at him. Your reproachful look almost made him smile. A few loose strands of hair fell from your nurse cap into your face and clung to your skin. Even if you were to glare at him, he'd much rather have you do that than go back to giving your attention to Potter, of all people. But alas, you turned back to him and wiped the paste off of his face, giving him a light slap on the back to get back on his broom.

If possible, the wind cut even sharper as the game went on. Even under the cover of the stands, theoretically providing protection from the rain, you were soon drenched to the bone. You'd even had to borrow a Gryffindor sweater from Dean because your uniform had started to become see-through, and the material wasn't thin. By now, everyone was just praying for one of the seekers to catch the snitch and win the game. Though Slytherin was in the lead, partially due to a newfound brutality from their beaters, if Harry caught the snitch soon, Gryffindor would still win.

Just when you dragged the box with the medical supplies further under the cover of the stands to prevent the bandages from soaking up- by the looks of the game you would need them plenty- it happened. You hadn't looked, preoccupied with your task, so the only indication that something was wrong was the shocked screams of the crowd. As you looked up to see what was going on, for the smallest split of a second, you could make out a seemingly rogue bludger rushing towards the stands, specifically, towards you. You didn't even have time to close your eyes or shield yourself from the impact when a flash of green shot through your field of vision and the crowd breathed a sigh of belief.

Rushing forwards, you gripped onto the barrier and looked up at the sky only to catch a glimpse of Mattheo's jersey until he disappeared into the mist once more. Gryffindor scored. As the red and golden covered stands to your left erupted in hollers and cheers, you were hit with the sudden realization that Mattheo had not only saved you from being hit by a bludger, but had also diverted from the Gryffindor chasers, allowing them to score. It didn't fit. He'd been playing with undeveloped ferocity the whole match and now passed up the chance to intercept Gryffindor scoring? But, you thought to yourself, heart still hammering in your chest from the shock, maybe you should just give up trying to make sense of Mattheo Riddle, when he'd so far proved to be everything you thought he wasn't.

Due to the doubled efforts of Nott’s solo runs and Mattheo's bludgers being a major hindrance to the Gryffindor chasers and messing up their formations, forcing them to scatter, Slytherin took the lead by a long shot. But still, if Harry caught the snitch now, they could still win.

You were focused on him that you didn't even catch the maneuver of the Gryffindor beaters. There was a resounding crack heard throughout the stadium, even through the splatter of rain, and one of the Slytherin beaters was slammed into one of the stand walls with such force he bounced off of it before hurling towards the ground. Seconds before the player could hit the ground, they managed to pull their broom up and towards the sky, but their face was full of blood.

Your brain needed a moment to comprehend the situation, but then you read the name on the back of the player’s jersey and the blood seemed to freeze in your veins. Oh God. It was Mattheo. Panic-stricken, you turned to Madam Hooch. Not only had this clearly been a foul, but Mattheo needed time out to get patched up. But Madam Hooch was preoccupied with overlooking the Slytherin chasers ramming through a Gryffindor formation and the endless sheets of rain seemed to obstruct her vision. The Slytherin stands roared in indignation, but Mattheo steadied his broom mid-air, wiped his sleeve over his face, which only seemed to make it worse, and got back into formation.

Even Madam Pomphrey, who had expressed her dislike of Mattheo several times, gasped worriedly. “The game needs time out! He can't play in this condition!”

Your insides felt like claws, reeling against your ribcage as a sudden assault of worry hit you. The impossible frustration of not being able to help, to have to watch Mattheo get back into the game with gritted teeth was suffocating. Past you would have been indifferent, maybe. Past you was an idiot. Your hands gripped the barrier so tightly your knuckles turned white, and you couldn't take your eyes off of Mattheo’s figure. The blood seemed to be obstructing his vision even more than the walk of downpour already did,

Why did you care so much? Why did worry over a boy like Mattheo Riddle eat you up from the inside? Though it was quite untrue, you doubted there was anyone like Mattheo Riddle. Maybe it was just easier to pretend that your concern, the fact that you cared so much, was illogical, than to admit to yourself that he wasn't just you-know-who’s son anymore. That your fear of him had subsided and given way to not only interest, but affection.

The thought scared you. You knew exactly what your friends would say if they knew that you cared for their mortal enemy. Hermoine would look at you with a mixture of disgust and worry, maybe she'd even feel betrayed. And Ron? He'd feel like you'd fratanized with the enemy, you knew he would be angry. What about Harry? He'd been so understanding yesterday, but only after you reassured him that you detested Mattheo. A lie. Mattheo was supposed to be your nemesis, too. But he wasn't anymore.

What was he to you? The question rummaged in your brain as you watched his figure anxiously, wincing any time he got too close to a bludger. In the forest, he'd been intriguing. In the kitchens, exciting. Then, in the library, and you felt almost ashamed to admit it, attractive. But that wasn't all. What you felt for Mattheo couldn't be summed up in mere interest or attraction. It was a coiled up snake in the deepest pits of your self that had raised his head slowly, before you'd even realized it. You couldn't pin-point it, you just knew you wanted to know everything about Mattheo there was to know, and, that you hated to see him hurt.

The Slytherins were now in the lead by one-hundred-and-sixty points, but you couldn't have cared less about the score. More than ever now, you hoped for the game to end so you could have a look at Mattheo. But when the whistle sounded shrilly through the stadium, it was only to announce another two penalties for Gryffindor after Malfoy had fouled Harry mid-dive, both of whom Ginny dunked.

And then, finally, Harry and Malfoy went into a dive and, under the victorious roars of the Gryffindors, Harry emerged holding the snitch over his head. The score board showed Gryffindor: 260 points - Slytherin: 250 points.

Mustering up little more than a sigh of relief, you hurried over to the cart with the bandages and healing potions, arming yourself with supplies as the players landed one after the other. More than half of them immediately made a beeline for the medical tent, to you and a very ill-tempered Madam Pomphrey who muttered something about high risk sports and student safety. It had been an exceptionally rough game, and most players were at least bruised up, at worst limping heavily and clutching their ribs. As they trailed in, your eyes frantically darted around in search of Mattheo, but you couldn't find him.

Soon, you were preoccupied with fixing up the Gryffindor chasers, but your quick, distracted glances around the tent told you that he wasn't here. But where could he be? Dread pooled in your stomach as you bandaged up Ginny’s left hand and applied murtlap essence to her fellow chaser’s cuts and bruises. Only more people seemed to trail in, but, bit by bit, you managed to send them all off again. Still, Mattheo hadn't showed. As you were just contemplating whether you could just walk into the snake’s den, aka the Slytherin changing rooms, and offer treatment, you felt someone’s hand on your shoulder.

You spun around and were faced with Theodore Nott, looking very wet and very moody. The sight of him calmed you somewhat, you knew he and Mattheo were close. Nott looked as grumpy and sinister as ever, but he didn't sound aggressive. “Are you free here?” he asked in his Italian accent and you nodded silently. His frown subsided somewhat. “Can you come with me? Mattheo’s refusing treatment.”

For a split second, you wondered whether Nott knew about Mattheo and you. Then, you mentally slapped yourself back into reality. There was nothing between Mattheo and you, other than a few late night encounters. He'd only asked for you because he didn't want to ask Madam Pomphrey, you supposed.

“Of course,” you said, a little more enthusiastically than would have been necessary, and quickly rounded up some medical supplies to stuff them into your bag. Then, you followed Nott out of the tent, through the downpour of rain and down the steps that led into the Slytherin’s changing rooms.

As you walked down the stairs, you passed a group of Slytherin players who shot you nasty, albeit unsurprised looks. Struggling to keep up with Nott’s long strides, you hurried after him and averted your eyes from the passing Slytherin's. In front of a door with the engraved words ‘changing rooms’, Nott halted his step and nodded towards it. “He's in there, make it quick.”

Nott took off after his friends and you were left standing before the door. For a few hesitant seconds, your fist hovered in the air in front of the wood, and for some silly reason, your heart was thumping like mad. Finally, you knocked. Due to your sudden surge of timidity, it was a soft, quiet sound, barely heard over the splatter on the roof. Still, a voice you recognized as Mattheo's called from inside, clearly audible. “Come in, princess.” As if it had been a command, your hand fell down to the handle, you pressed it down and the door swung open.

The first thing you noticed about the Slytherin changing rooms was that they were way tidier than the Gryffindor ones that you'd often visited after a game to fetch Harry and Ron. No empty bottles, no forgotten jerseys on the ground and it smelled surprisingly good for a sports changing room, though the distinct smell of smoke clung to the air. All seemed perfect in place- except for the a smashed-in locker on the left side and the boy that sat, smoking, on one of the benches.

Mattheo hadn't even made an effort to change yet, both his jersey and his face were seeping with blood. His nose looked broken and his lip was busted up, which didn't stop him from taking continuous drags out of his cigarette, the ember glowing faintly in the dim light. Wisps of smoke curled around him like ghostly shroud. His dark curls hung heavy and damp over his sharp features, framing the defiant smirk that tugged at his lips despite the pain evident in his furrowed brow and clenched jaw. His eyes, dark and unfazed, met yours with a flicker of something unreadable- half daring, half relief- as if, even now, bloodied and battered, he was too proud to let the hurt take hold. Or too used to it.

His heavy gaze felt disarming as you stood aimlessly in the doorway, faintly dripping with water falling from loose strands of your hair. Mustering up a small smile, you closed the door behind you and attempted to ignore the way his gaze burned into your back as you turned to the door. “What if I hadn't been me?” you asked in an effort to diffuse the situation of the weird tension in the air. “What if I'd been one of your friends? That would've been awkward.”

When you turned back to him, his gaze had softened almost indiscernibly. His cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, his eyes raked over your drenched and drippy figure before snapping back to your eyes with the self-assurance of a skilled predator cornering its prey. You met his eyes without blinking and the corner of his lips twitched slightly. “None of my friends knock as if they're scared somebody will hear it.”

Your lips curled. “Touché.” With slow, deliberate steps, you walked over to him and came to a halt before him, fingers closing tensely around the handle of your medical bag. Even just the parts of him you could see looked badly hurt, though he didn't show any signs of pain. Maybe he had CIPA syndrome. Or maybe he was just a masochist.

Mattheo caught your wandering gaze, blew a cloud of smoke your way and leaned back against the back of the bench expectantly, cigarette between his bloody fingers. “Well, then, I'm all yours.” A lazy grin played around his lips, in spite of the situation, and it was as attractive as it was infuriating.

Before he could react, you snatched the cigarette out of his fingers and discarded it into an ashtray near you before turning back to him. “It smells disgusting,” you let him know and he chuckled, raising his hands in faux surrender.

You felt hesitant to approach him, touch him, even though you had his consent. His dark eyes rooted you to your spot, made you unable to move. You wondered whether it was some sort of spell until he raised his brows. “Any day now, princess.”

“Don't rush me,” you whispered, averting your eyes and scrambling around in your medical kit for the right supplies. You layed out bandages and healing potions out on the bench opposite him and turned to him once more to tap your wand against his nose, murmuring “episkey” under your breath. With a disgusting cracking sound, it snapped back in place, but Mattheo didn't flinch, only continuing to stare up at you. With the same feeling of sticking your head into a snake den, you leaned down nervously to examine the wounds on his face, whether they needed stitching. The deep cut near his jaw did.

“Careful there, princess,” Mattheo murmured and your eyes snapped from the wound to his eyes, only inches away. “Someone might think you have un-pure intentions.”

You couldn't help the blush that painted your cheeks pink, more so due to his proximity than his words. Still, you brought some distance between you and searched in your bag for needle and thread. “My intentions couldn't be more pure,” you huffed and he laughed lightly from behind your back about a joke you couldn't understand. Or maybe, you did.

“That is true,” he lamented and you heard ruffling. You turned around quickly and snatched the pack of cigarettes out of his hands. He looked mildly surprised at the frown on your face.

“Come on,” you said, voice somewhere between annoyance and pleading. “are you really going to poison yourself while I try to patch you up?” Fitting the threat through the needle, you ignored his raised brows and concentrated your attention on the deep cut in his cheek. A damp towel in the other hand, you ran it over the wound to clean it and then leaned in closer. “This might hurt.”

He completely ignored the last part, but you could feel his eyes on you. Damn him, he was just so distracting. “Hm,” he hummed, as if in thought, and ignored your hiss to keep still. “One might almost think you care about me.”

“I do.”

Both you and him looked up in surprise, and you quickly looked away as his eyes stayed on you, almost hungrily. “Hold still,” you murmured, and finally, he complied, allowing you to insert the needle as gently as possible and start to surture the wound. It was almost scary how still he kept now. You desperately wished to break the silence that spread, that followed your words like a blanket of led pressing down upon the both of you. It was only the truth, you cared about him. You cared for him. You cared for Mattheo Riddle. In order to concentrate, you attempted to shut all that out, but the confession hung in the air between you, as impossible to ignore as he himself was.

Finally, you finished the last stitch and tied the suture with a surgeon’s knot off the side so it didn't touch the wound. A small part of you hoped desperately that Mattheo would overlook your slip up, maybe even forget it, but that, of course, was naive. When you put away thread and needle, grabbed the murtlap essence and walked back over to him, he looked up at you without the trace of a smile on his lips. “You care about me,” he repeated, not a question but a statement. His eyes fixed yours as he got a hold of your wrists. “More than you care about him?”

“Who?” you asked, perplexed by the severity in his tone. A hint of displeasure washed over his face, but it gave way to indifference after just a second. “Potter.”

“W- what?” you spluttered out, laughing nervously. How on earth were you supposed to answer that question? “He's my friend,” you said hesitantly and freed your wrists to dab some of the potion onto the tips of your fingers. As you leaned down, you froze mid motion when you felt hands on your waist. His hands on your waist. Large and warm and rough even through the fabric of your nurse uniform. His touch seemed to send sparks of electricity through your body that balled in your stomach and made your breath hitch.

“Go on,” he commanded quietly, and though they were trembling, you brushed your cream-smeared fingers over one of the bruises on his jaw. They travelled up over his cheek, tending to the scratches there, but you could hardly keep your attention on them when his eyes seemed to bore through your skull.

With a low voice, he muttered your name, your first name, and you were so shocked to hear him call you anything but ‘princess’ you did the smallest of double takes. “Is there anything more than that?” he asked, and he seemed more tense than before as his fingers curled into the flesh of your belly lightly. “Between you and him?”

Both the idea and the fact that you'd just been asked it by Mattheo Riddle of all people elicited a shocked little laugh from you. But he didn't laugh, only watched you with an expression that you might have mistaken for indifference if it hadn't been for the clenching of his jaw. “He's just a friend,” you clarified, your cheeks growing warm. “We're not- we've never- It's not like that,” you closed abashedly and put a bit of distance between you under the excuse of getting more murtlap. His hands fell from your waist as you walked over to the opposite bench, heat boiling in your face.

You tried to keep your expression composed as you got back to him to tend to the other side of his face, putting some murtlap over the stitches as well for good measure. This time, he didn't hold your waist, but when you were finished and brushed off the remaining essence on your skirt, he caught the hem between his fingers and his light tug caused you to stumble forwards in between his parted legs. His hand travelled upwards, tracing the curve of your hip without ever touching them and locked around the hem of your Gryffindor hoodie. There was a magnetic sort of darkness in his eyes when he looked up at you, two black holes that threatened to swallow you whole. “Take that off.”

In hindsight, you probably shouldn't ever have complied with his request. But his voice was so soft, his eyes so alluring, his whole being like a siren’s call. So you curled your fingers under your hoodie and, heart beating hard against your ribs, pulled it slowly over your head.

Mattheo's breath hitched as his gaze locked on you. The dim light of the changing room caught the soft outline of your figure beneath the thin, damp fabric, your nurse’s uniform clinging to you like a second skin, innocent in intention, but anything but now. The delicate outline of your bra was visible through the slightly see-through fabric. His throat tightened, a mix of a pang of guilt and a despicable surge of fire curling in his chest like smoke.

You looked so pure, so untouched by the edges of the world that had long since roughened him up. The contrast hit him like a bludger- your soft, careful hands that had just cleaned his wounds now pulling your hoodie over your head, oblivious to the firestorm you'd lit inside him. The urge to discard that Gryffindor hoodie and dress you in one of his jerseys, hiding the sacred sight beneath with a claim of his possession, was so overwhelming he clenched his fists, desperately trying to remind himself that you were not his, you were too good, too-

His train of thought was interrupted when you shifted slightly and folded your arms over your chest, only pressing your boobs together. He dragged his gaze away, but the weight of your unreachable warmth, your white-clad purity, lingered, carving through his battered core and leaving him feeling utterly undeserving.

When he looked away, you recoiled slightly and scolded yourself for thinking, hoping, he might react. But before you could put some distance between you, he looked up at you and his gaze locked you in place, making you freeze just as effectively as a pointed wand might have. Mattheo leaned forward and for a confused moment, you almost thought he was going to kiss you, but he only rose from his seat and walked past you.

Only when you heard shuffling behind you, you realized he was rummaging around your medical supplies. No, not rummaging, you realized when you looked over in alarm. He was cleaning up, packing all bandages and potions back into your bag.

“You don't have to do that!” you called and hastily approached to take the murtlap essence out of his hands. But he kept a firm grip on it and raised his brows at you with a mocking little smile. It seemed so out of place after the heavy tension between you in the room. “Hey, ‘m trying to do something nice here, princess!” With one glance, you assessed that Mattheo wasn't one for neatness, as he didn't assort the items in any order or symmetry whatsoever but merely threw them all into a heap and closed the lid. But still, the gesture was weirdly considerate and you couldn't help the little smile that crept onto your face.

“Thank you,” you smiled and he only nodded, averting his eyes. Right now, with your moist strands of hair sticking out of your nurse cap, your pretty little smile, the way the nurse uniform clung to your body, it was hard to withstand the urge to kiss you. Then again, what if he did? It'd all be over. It was etched into Mattheo by habit that if he got close enough to a girl to get intimate on any physical level, it was time for any strings to be cut loose as to not endanger the fragile balance that was what was left of his heart.

But it had never mattered to him, he'd kissed and fucked them anyway because he could, and it felt good, and then he was relieved when it was over. He’d never before held back. And in favor of what? Spending time in your presence? Pathetic, was what his father would call it. Mattheo couldn't explain it either, he just knew that, in this moment, his desire to be near you, to keep you, was stronger than the desire to rip your damn uniform off of you, explore the soft flesh beneath and give you the time of your fucking life right here on this bench.

You seemed hesitant as you grabbed the handle of your bag, your eyes raking over his torso. Of course, you were too good of a nurse and too smart of a woman to not guess what wounds he had to hide beneath. But for now, you couldn't see them.

“Thank you,” he said honestly, and the unfamiliar sound felt so natural when he said it to you. “For patching me up. Fine nurse you are.” He made no attempts to hide the flirty undertone and the lightest of blushes spread across your cheeks. He breathed it in like a drowning man.

With a barely concealed smirk and a “you're welcome,” you approached the door of the changing rooms.

Something like an iron fist closed around his insides as you opened the door and he couldn't hold back the words that stumbled from his lips. “Wait!” You froze and turned to him once more with an expectant look, and, as if he'd always known it, a stroke of genius found his way out of his mouth. “You know shit about muggles, right?”

A genuine grin formed on your lips. “I should hope so.”

“How ‘bout you tutor me in muggle studies then?” he asked, trying to sound as casual as possible. With a light frown, you crossed your arms over your chest and he gave you a pleading look. “I'm gonna fail the class if I don't get my grades up asap.” Satisfied by the way he could practically see your resolve melt at the look he was giving you, his lips almost twitched but he bit down on it to hide any trace of his true intentions. In truth, he couldn't have cared less about muggle studies, but it was the perfect excuse.

“Fine,” you said, albeit begrudgingly, but you also gave him a little smile as you slipped out of the door, leaving only the vague smell of your perfume and a shaken up Mattheo behind.

Even though you had been apprehensive to the idea at first, tutoring Mattheo turned out to be something you started to look forward to every week. With every tutoring lesson, he seemed to be warming up to you more and more- and you did, too.

A few weeks into december, you found yourself laughing at his jokes and getting caught up in his brown eyes, that seemed softer than you'd ever perceived them. And you discovered that Mattheo was funny. He had a dry, sarcastic sense of humor that never failed to make you chuckle, even when you probably shouldn't have. Not only that, but he was also smarter than you'd ever given him credit for.

Previously, you'd thought of him as a mix of brute force and cunning, not unintelligent but thinking more so with his fists. But he was incredibly smart, and you felt not only a growing bond but also fondness in a not-so-platonic way. It also helped that confusion looked simply adorable on him, which was not a word you thought you'd ever apply to Mattheo Riddle.

“So,” he asked in one breath as he plopped down on the seat opposite you in your secluded corner in the library one snowy tuesday evening, “what the fuck is a movie?” Taken aback by his sudden arrival, you did a double take and quickly cleared the desk of your schoolwork to make space for his books and parchment as well. As he spread them out, your eyes got stuck on a few splatters of blood on his white shirt and you frowned. He, of course, didn't miss it, you saw it in the way he shifted his jacket to cover the stains, but didn't mention it further.

“Harry or Ron?” you asked, as you knew him well enough by now to know that the only instance in which he wouldn't brag about his brawls to you was when your friends were involved. He looked almost guilty when he glanced up at you. Almost.

“Both”

Rolling your eyes, you put your books aside and crossed your arms over the table. “So, movies, huh? Where might that word come from, ‘movies’?”

“Come on, princess, you know I hate word definitions,” he whined, resting his head on the propped up palm of his hand and making his best puppy eyes at you.

You chuckled about his behavior and gave a light slap to his forehead that made the curls fall into his eyes in the most irresistible fashion. “It's supposed to come from 'moving pictures’”

“But muggle pictures don't move,” Mattheo frowned, seemingly recalling what you'd taught him just last week.

You nodded. “No, they don't. You see, when muggle pictures move, they don't call them pictures, they call them videos. And they don't move in their own, but because muggles line up an unbelievably high number of pictures and then play them in order, so they look like they're moving. Of course, today, the technology is a little more advanced. But movies often span one if not several hours and they tell stories, like books. It's kind of… as if books came to life. They have a whole range of other means to archived their ends though, like camera perspective, many also have music that can emphasize moments and influence how you see them, actor's performances, lighting-”

You fell silent suddenly and cleared your throat. As so often when you explained muggle concepts to him, you had started to ramble on with increasing passion. Now, you looked back at Mattheo to apologize, but his gaze was locked on you and a light smile graced his lips. Your heart seemed to skip a beat and you quickly averted your eyes down to your book. “Sorry, that was- I'm rambling again.”

“Do you see me complaining?” Mattheo asked with raised brows and kicked your shin lightly under the table to make you look up at him. “So, what's your favorite of these things? These movies?”

“Impossible to answer,” you laughed outright and ran a hand through your hair. “There's so many that are just so good, I could never pick one.” The smile remained in your lips as you contemplated the movies you'd maybe have chosen, but none of them were better or worse than the next.

“So, you like them? Movies?” he asked, watching your features closely. These last weeks, you'd started exposing more of your emotions to him through free expression more than words, had taken down some of the walls you still had left around him. Though he didn't say it out loud, you could tell he appreciated it, because his eyes studied every change of expression rigorously, as though he'd receive everything you gave to him of yourself with insatiable hunger, though he didn't reciprocate them in the same way.

“Yes,” you replied, fiddling with your quill.

There was a slight furrow of his brows when he locked eyes with you. “But they don't exist in our world. So, you'd give them up?”

“Why would I have to give them up?” you countered and leaned back in your seat. “I think the way we talk about the muggle world and the wizarding world is completely wrong. We talk about them as if they are different universes entirely and not part of the same word, the same country. Look at me!” You performed an awkward motion indicating yourself. “I'm part of both, and I don't feel torn, I feel more complete.”

His eyes flickered between yours as he contemplated your words. In the short silence that followed, you glanced around to make sure no one had taken notice of your little outburst. You hadn't told anyone you were tutoring Mattheo, that you were meeting you-know-who’s son two times a week in one of the more secluded corners of the library. Your friends would freak out if they knew, you could picture their aghast expressions, they wouldn't understand that an irresistible force pulled you towards the boy sitting in front of you. How the tutoring lessons had turned into a game of pretend for you, as you tried to hide your growing fondness for him while opening up parts of yourself for him to see. A fragile balance. And whether intentional or not, you'd seen parts of him you'd never known, or maybe you'd heard them through the tone of his voice or the tapping of his hands.

“There are worlds within worlds,” Mattheo broke the silence, and you frowned. His serious look indicated that he wasn't merely talking about the muggle and the wizarding world. You caught his hands tightening ever so slightly around his book and bit down on your lower lip.

“I’d have to disagree. There are just collectives within collectives. If the limits of different worlds are separating us, we can just make it simple and give each other up.”

You'd made it personal, and you scolded yourself silently, glancing up at the clock despite not really seeing the time. Both you and him knew you had slipped up. When talking about issues slightly more serious than movies or superhero comics, which had amused Mattheo greatly, it was a fine line drawn in the sand neither of you could cross, a silent agreement.

The air felt weirdly tense whenever one of you- more often you than him- threatened to bring up the fact that the unmistakable divide between the two of you went far beyond little house quarrels and teasing. That there was a world behind those protective castle walls both of you drowned out whenever you were in each others presence. The clock showed ten past nine.

“Worried that you're going to break curfew again, princess?” God, how you hated yourself for loving the way he said it, that little nickname that you used to despise, and now it was all his.

“No,” you said, tearing your eyes away from the clock and back to him. Nothing in his sharp features indicated that he recognized the tension that had lingered in the air just moments before, but he was too perceptive of a person to have been unaware. It dawned on you that he was probably trying to make you less uncomfortable and nervously tapped your quill against your lips. Mattheo Riddle being considerate was dangerous, because every time he showed his gentle side, it evoked a hunger in you to see more of it.

“You sure?” he asked, a sly, teasing smile resting comfortably on his soft lips. Only now that you found yourself looking at them closer, you realized there was a cut on them, continuously seeping small drops of blood into the corner of his mouth. You suppressed the sudden and utterly mental urge to lean over and wipe it off with your sleeve. It was not the blood that you minded, though. Maybe his craziness was rubbing off on you, because you abruptly thought that you wouldn't mind having his blood on you. Yep, he was definitely rubbing off.

Then, you realized what you were doing, staring at his lips, and fumbled to answer his question. “We still have enough time until curfew, if we leave in half an hour, we'll still have more than enough time to get back to our dorms.” You realized you were babbling on to avoid his heated stare and looked back at him almost defiantly, daring him to tease you for it.

Mattheo didn't take his eyes off you as the corner of his lips quirked upwards lightly. “Look at you, little miss perfect. I'll bet you’ve never broken a single rule in your life before I came along.”

You shrugged, feigning indifference. “Maybe I don't feel the need to.” The ‘unlike you’ lay on the tip of your tongue, but you didn't need to say it out loud.

Mattheo grinned and shifted in his seat, his knee brushing yours under the table. “You're missing out. Breaking the rules is half the fun. The other half is not getting caught.” He watched you bite your lip, trying to conceal a little smile that threatened to creep onto your face. So, he'd been right, you had enjoyed your more risky encounters. Thinking back to the night in the library when you'd fled from madame pince, he remembered the way your breath had hitched when his hand had touched your neck. The way your soft skin had felt against his rough palms, your doe eyes glittering in the dim light.

Suddenly, there was shuffling in the shelf behind you and you shot around, holding your breath. The place you'd chosen for you tutoring lessons was hidden behind the shelf with the twelfth century economical wizarding records and every single tome in it was layered with a centimeter-thick layer of dust that had allocated there over centuries of disinterest. You'd thought it the perfect hiding spot. But after a few seconds of nervous glancing around and your heart racing as you listened into the silence, one of the school’s cats rounded the shelf and passed by you and Mattheo without a glance.

You breathed a sigh of relief who looked back at Mattheo who was watching you closely. “Dangerous, isn't it? Sitting here with me like this.” He twirled his wand around his fingers and leaned forward subtly, the motion alone making you feel as if he was cornering you against the shelf behind your back. “People would start talking.”

“About what?” you said dismissively and rummaged through your notes, just to have something to do with your hands. This tended to happen once you'd strayed from the topic at hand even slightly. Mattheo starting to tease you out of nowhere, and you struggling to keep up with his quickly changing moods that sometimes threatened to give you whiplash.

Mattheo leaned closer still and propped up his chin on his elbow, still wearing a casual grin. “Oh, I don't know. Maybe about how l've completely corrupted you with my evil charms.”

Your sighed with a mix of exasperation and amusement. Tapping your finger against your chin, you rolled around the words in your head before speaking. “You know I'm not treating this as, I don't know, something forbidden. I'm not scared of, how did you put it last week? Ah, yes, tarnishing my reputation. You're-” you hesitated, but then, your words reached out to him like a welcoming hand through cold and unfeeling fog. “You're not as bad as people think, by a far.”

A dry, almost bitter chuckle fell from his lips as he absentmindedly fiddled with the collar of his blood-stained shirt and bit down on the cut of his lip, drawing drops of red from it that trailed down to his chin without hinderance. This time, you couldn't resist the urge and leaned over the desk, extending a hesitant hand. Mattheo froze, not watching your approaching hand but you, but he didn't recoil either, so you wiped the blood from his chin with the hem of your shirt sleeve. The blood stood out prominently against the white of your shirt.

When you drew back your hand, his shot up like an attacking snake and closed around your wrist. With some sort of morbid fascination, it seemed, he stared at the tiny spot of scarlet, before his eyes snapped back up at you. His tone surprised you, you couldn't really place it, it was a mix of softness and chilling intensity. “You really think there's good in everyone, don't you?” he asked, piercing you with his brown eyes that were so unlike those of his father.

“I try to,” you said, attempting to sound humorous, but the chuckle dried on your lips and your voice swayed to softness as you held his gaze. He didn't have to ask, you could see the question burning in his eyes, so loud as if he'd screamed it. And you didn't even need to nod your head to make him understand that the answer was yes.

The winter holidays came and went. The lesson before departure day, he'd told you he'd stay in Hogwarts over Christmas, and you felt tempted to invite him over to yours for a split second before the cruel claws of reality dug into you and you merely wished him happy holidays.

There was a slight unease in you when you boarded the train, as if something was about to go horribly wrong. But when you arrived after the holidays and left the train alongside Harry, Ron and Hermoine, you spotted his shrouded figure in one corner of Hogsmeade train station, a soft curl of smoke rising from his dark profile. For a split second, you'd locked eyes with him and you couldn't help a smile of relief to see him again.

Because both of your friends started asking questions eventually, you often met up after curfew, though you still hushed around the halls nervously any time you did and earned a great deal of teasing from him for your timidity. From time to time, you managed to break into (you preferred the term sneak into) classrooms at night.

These weeks of sneaking around made you masters of discovering hidden chambers in every corner of the castles, and you were particularly careful and made sure Harry ‘forgot’ the marauders map somewhere in the common room or ‘lost’ it and found it again next morning under his bed. Frequently, you met up in the kitchens and you baked while telling Mattheo all about muggle cellphones, that he understood the concept of surprisingly quickly.

On one occasion, you even demonstrated them to him as you pretended to get lost in the sheer blizzard howling around the houses in Hogsmeade to meet him behind Madam Puddifoots and called your parents, fascinating Mattheo. This night, however, Mattheo had discovered a new room behind the entrance hall. The two of you had cozied up with blankets and candles on the couch, keeping a few inches distance at minimum. The dim candlelight was way too ripe for disaster.

“So, let me get this straight,” Mattheo said an hour and a half into your study session. “Muggles have metal, bird-shaped containers with which they can not only fly, but they actually do it.” You laughed at the incredulity in his voice, though a tad bit distracted by the shape of the record sleeve digging into your back. Because Hogwarts castle only had enchanted record players available, you'd asked your parents to send you one of your vintage vinyls you thought he might like, but you were hesitant, had told yourself that you'd just take it in case there was a record player in the chamber Mattheo had discovered. Well, there was.

“I don't really like planes either,” you said, smiling understandingly, “I even prefer brooms over them and you know how I feel about those.”

He hummed vaguely and glanced over at you. “What's got you so shifty, princess?” A sly grin spread over his features. “You got something hidden behind your back, don't you?” Infuriatingly good at reading you, he was, as ever. With a small sigh, you decided that he'd learned enough about muggle transportation for tonight and pulled the record sleeve out from out of your bag.

“Listen up,” you said, excitement and nervousness coiling in your stomach. “Do you remember when I told you about muggle music?” Though Mattheo had undoubtedly been preoccupied with watching your expression shift with passion and your hands gesticulate, drawing patterns into the air, he nodded. “Okay,” you said, nibbling on your lower lip, and held up the vinyl awkwardly. “I thought I might give you a taste of muggle music, only if you want, of course.”

He could tell you were anxious about playing him the track and raised his brows at your humming and hawing and nervously twitching fingers. “What are you waiting for, princess?” The abashed smile you gave him melted him in ways he'd never be caught admitting out loud.

Sometimes it was quite frightening how you made him feel, and more than once, he'd found himself laying awake at night, not only because of his chronic insomnia and returning nightmares but also torn between the reflexive urge to push away you and how you made him feel so utterly disarmed and vulnerable, and the irresistible desire to see you smile again and let your unconditional kindness wash over him, soothing the dark voices in his head.

By now, you'd walked over to the record player and inserted the vinyl. With a tap of your wand, it started spinning and the sounds of a guitar filled the room. The muggle guitarist played a few chords before starting to sing. When you lowered yourself down on the couch, you didn't bother with putting the usual space between the two of you. No, you seated yourself right beside him, so that he could feel the warmth of your body radiating against his like a hug. As the refrain set in, you put your head on his shoulder.

“And if a double-decker bus

Crashes into us

To die by your side

Is such a heavenly way to die”

Mattheo froze for a moment, his breath caught in his throat as your head gently shifted against his shoulder. The simple, unspoken gesture of affection sent a rush of warmth through him that was both startling and utterly intoxicating. He glanced down at you, his a dark eyes softening as they traced over the curve of your cheek, accentuated by the flickering candlelight, and your lashes resting light as feathers against your skin. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips, hesitant at first, afraid to disturb the fragile moment. Slowly, very slowly, his hand shifted, fingers brushing against the fabric of the couch before finding their place beside your arm, just close enough to feel the warmth radiating off of you.

“Take me out tonight

Take me anywhere, I don't care,

I don't care, I don't care”

He felt like one of the mythological figures you'd told him about. Mattheo had scoffed at Icarus' idiocy, but now, he felt like he could understand where he was coming from. His voice, when he finally spoke, was low and teasing, betraying none of the blazing storm raging inside him. But even still, it was edged with a sincerity he couldn't quite hide. “Getting comfortable, are we?”

You only shuffled closer in response, but Mattheo had to suppress the urge to pull you in, wrap his arms around you, drag you into his lap for all the pleasure and calm it would give him. He was a selfish creature, but at this moment, he managed to stay perfectly still, safe for his fingers barely brushing over the fabric of your sleeve. Your breathing, having come in small, hasty little puffs before, slowed as you sat in silence, leaning on each other and listening to the lyrics filling up the space in your room you didn't fill with your words, because they would never be sufficient.

“There is a light that never goes out

There is a light that never goes out

There is a light that never goes out”

The song faded into silence and you started to move again. Mattheo hid his disappointment when you stood up from the couch to walk over to the record player. As you put the vinyl back into its sleeve, you turned back to him and for a few seconds, you merely watched each other in silence. Then, Mattheo rose as well and handed you your bag, that you took without looking at it.

Could it be that you felt the same reluctance to leave this room as he did? But you had to, his gaze flickered to the clock. Other than him, you had the chance to get some sleep tonight. So he threw one quick glance around the room, the floating candles, the sleeping portraits, the empty couch, leaned down to your level and pressed the lightest of kisses to your cheek. It was warm and soft under his lips, and he could hear your breath hitch in your throat. Damn little minx you were.

“Good night,” you said, quietly, and he returned your smile before opening the door for you, the feeling of your skin against his still lingering on his lips.

Maybe you both should have known it was going a bit too well. Maybe you'd become too self-assured in your nightly adventures. In any case, neither of you had caught the portrayed woman in the frame above the couch watching you through half-closed eyes, feigning sleep. As you closed the door behind you, she rose from her false slumber with a dirty secret in her hands- and a burning desire to spread it around the castle.

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[cercandodiscrivere]

Quod fata ferunt | emperor geta x reader.

word count | 2.3k

tags | @self-shipping-doll13

warnings | 18+, NSFW, concubines, blowjobs, porn with too much plot, unbeta'd.

synopsis | Being the favored one of an Emperor came with many privileges, one of them being able to see his most human side.

Under all their power and their might, even powerful ruler are still men at their core.

gifs by @batty4steddie

Geta is worried.

You don’t blame him; you understand.

You were present when he decided upon Acacio’s fate: all it took to turn the common people against their rulers where good words and a fleeting display of gentleness among foes – which ultimately meant nothing. Greater men have begged for mercy within the walls of the Colosseum, their distressed cries ignored by the spectators.

No, it wasn't pity that stirred the crowd: the anger had been simmering in their minds before, biding its time for the perfect opportunity to release itself.

A single withered leaf can ignite an entire town if placed upon an open flame.

Geta understands the significance of this – so he is worried.

It is an uncommon occurrence, which in turn worries you.

He paces around his chambers, twisting and turning the rings on his fingers – gold and gemstones and colored glass that send shimmering hues throughout the rooms.

The same hand he is torturing now condemned a man just moments earlier: and even as it happened, you couldn't help but wonder if Acacio would be the only one to bear the brunt of fate.

“You did what you had to do” you try.

There was no specific reason for why you were taken – dragged – to his quarters, other than the fact that you happened to be near him when the rebellion broke out. Amidst the chaos, two praetorians seized both you and Geta as their comrades protected Caracalla and Macrinus.

Oh, it was an incredible privilege to be invited to witness the fights from the imperial pulvinar: and yet, if you hadn't been busy serving wine to your domine the exact moment the revolt started, you would have likely been left to be trampled over by a raging mob.

Three other favorites of the Emperors were also present, but you haven’t seen them since. They weren't present in the chambers where the twins and their arms-dealer discussed what had occurred. None of them came running when Caracalla erupted into screams, nor when he stormed out of the chambers followed closely by Macrinus.

Alone with your master, you watch as he paces back and forth.

The argument with his brother left Geta in an even worse state, if that is possible. His mind seems to be pulled in two different directions, the distress visible on his face.

He knows some of the words spoken by Caracalla may hold truth, despite being laced with the poison of his illness.

Could he have made a mistake in his decision?

The Gods themselves communicate with him in ways that you could never comprehend – not with words, but through the sacred blood he shares with them. Did he misunderstand their wishes?

Even in his divine state, he may not be immune to the burdens of human existence. After all, despite sharing the same sacred lineage, Caracalla's mind is still plagued with flaws.

“There was nothing else to do” you say again. You feel a bit useless as you parrot his own words back to him, but in this delicate situation you fear saying anything that could be taken as an insult.

Geta is a pleasant companion and a passionate paramour – for those who know how to handle him.

From a young age, you have been taught how to play the lyre. Over time you lost the quick skilled fingers needed to captivate an audience, but the lessons learned still serve you in other ways.

In untrained hands, the instrument produces nothing but a jumble of harsh and unpleasant sounds: only those who have mastered it can create a tune that leaves others yearning for more.

During your initial encounter with Geta, you likened him to a lyre; a rather silly comparison, perhaps, but figuring out how to please him in order to gain his favor felt much like learning to strum the strings at the right moment.

And what a masterful musician you’ve been with him.

Still, the Emperor possesses the fiery temperament of a powerful man not accustomed to receiving criticism. He is quick to boast and show anger - but just as quick to calm down and become merciful again.

I play a lyre made of splintered wood, you think, but quickly push the image aside before a smirk can form on your face.

"You made the right decision" you repeat as you stand up, trying to infuse your voice with comfort.

Your movement catches Geta’s attention. He stops in the middle of the room, lingering, but not quite still. His hands continue to fidget and twitch: he looks at you as if he had completely forgotten of your presence.

Taking advantage of his confusion, you approach him and gently place your hand on his tense arm. “The praetorians are fulfilling their duty. Has any crowd ever been able to sway them?”

There have been past attempts at rebellion by the common people - their leaders too weak, too consumed by hunger to have the chance to succeed.

When Geta finally speaks, he does so while grasping your hand, his gaze fixed on the windows once again. “They listened to that poet’s words. That has never happened before.”

You refuse to acknowledge it, but he is right. It is not uncommon for gladiators to captivate audiences with their skillful use of spears and brutal displays of violence – but never with peace messages or pledges of liberation.

In another life, the man’s perspective would have seemed almost convincing. In this one, you've witnessed far too many good-willed revolutionaries meet a violent end.

“Gentle words can’t win a battle” you gently stroke his cheek, tilting his chin towards you so that he focuses on your face instead of the chaos happening outside. “Gladiators tend not to live long” you add to further placate his mind.

Geta’s eyes move, following your gentle guidance. He leans in and presses his lips against the inside of your wrist, sending shivers down your spine from the warmth of his breath on your skin.

Being the favored one of an Emperor came with many privileges, one of them being able to see his most human side. Under all their power and their might, even powerful ruler are still men at their core. Still, in moments like this one – when he stares at you with such vulnerability and openness, as if your voice is the only thing worth hearing – it becomes harder to contain your feelings to a level deemed acceptable for your position.

“The Gods have spoken through you” you reassure him once again, this time shifting just enough so you can pull him towards the lectus. “To attack you is to declare war on the deities themselves.”

“My brother…” he starts, but his voice fades. His eyes are shrouded in shadows once again; crammed amongst the pillows, he appears almost like a scared child, lying down but still far from being at ease. You gently twirl his ginger locks between your fingers, feigning a calmness that eludes you.

“He is scared” you murmur. You search for words that are reassuring yet respectful; it doesn't matter how much Geta favors you above others, you would still find yourself in the dungeons if you showed Caracalla any less devotion that what his status demanded.

“The mob is loud, but screams are nothing to arrows and swords” as you talk, you gradually lower yourself onto your knees in front of him, never breaking eye contact. “The praetorians are loyal to you and you only, no pretty words can change that.”

He hums, a quiet sound. “What about your pretty words?” he smirks.

A mischievous grin creeps onto your face as you play with the delicate hem of the elegant ivory palla draped over his tunic. “All I say is for your satisfaction.”

From this angle, with white paint masking his features, he bears the same daunting presence as the marble figures that decorate the halls: a god once again, towering over his most devoted disciple.

“All I do, is to please you.”

It’s eerie how greedily his gaze seems to follow even the slightest fraction of your movement, yet he remains seated on the cushions without making a single motion. His breath escapes in short puffs, tickling your forehead.

Now it's your turn to take control: this is the moment when he abandons his all his titles and becomes nothing but a man.

You remain on your knees between his spread legs, lightly tapping your fingers against his inner thigh - but still, he does not budge.

The challenge in his eyes is unmistakable, as if he's daring you to do something - anything - without his assistance.

As you press your lips against his clothed cock, he lets out a loud grunt, as if there was no fabric between your kiss and his skin. The noise goes straight between your legs, but this evening is not meant for you.

You continue to tease him, kissing your way up and down his thigh, deliberately avoiding his erection. To his credit, he tries his hardest to stifle his groans as best he can, but you can sense his muscles tensing and his patience wearing thin.

You want to consume him. You tug at the fabric of his tunic; this time, he doesn't hesitate and quickly moves into action, removing his own clothes until his hips are bare.

He begins to mention something about comfort, gesturing towards the luxurious pillows that surround him - but you're already nuzzling at his exposed thigh and the words die on his tongue. With one arm slipping beneath his knee, your body presses closer to his, the other hand running along his skin, hot and damp with sweat.

It’s intoxicating how you can make Geta shudder even when you’re taking your time with it. Sometimes, you've questioned whether it's expected of you to just pleasure him as soon as he asks – but in truth, you enjoy taking your time, savoring the sound of his soft moans.

Mouthing at his pale skin, dragging your nails down his legs with enough strenght to leave a trail of soft red marks. You plant a kiss on the head of his cock, pleased to see that precum is already forming at its tip. You eagerly lap at it with your tongue, paying no attention to the way your actions cause him to grip the cushions of the lectus until his knuckles turn pale.

He lets out loud groan as you engulf him completely in the wet, slick warmth of your mouth. His legs shake on either side of you, his hips thrusting forward as your cheeks hollow, tongue curling as you suck him.

 He keeps moaning, seemingly unconcerned about how desperate he must sound. Under different circumstances, he may have been more conscious of his tone. Perhaps, if your meeting had occurred after a triumphant war victory or a grand celebration in his honor, he would be as confident and arrogant as you are are accustomed to - but now all he craves is comfort, and you’re sucking him into oblivion.

Tracing the tip of his dick with your tongue causes him to bite down on his lower lip in response; licking along the underside has him closing his eyes and sigh. Your favorite moment, though, is when he's in so deep your chin rests on top of his balls - and he can't help but release a deep, raw moan of pleasure as he tries to thrust more into you. 

You can tell he's already close just from this. 

You peer out from under your lashes, eyes filled with longing, only to catch Geta's gaze fixed upon you with adoration. His mouth hangs open in a silent whimper, his adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallows saliva. There is no being more magnificent than him in this right moment, neither god nor mortal.

Without warning, his hand shoots out and grabs onto your hair as you become more frantic. You whine, a mixture of pleasure and pain as his fingernails digs into your scalp, and he responds with even louder noises of his own.

His cock rests on the back of your tongue as he lets out rough and guttural groan and empties himself inside your mouth. His head falls back, his eyes fluttering closed.

You swallow it all, ensuring his eyes are back on you before nonchalantly wiping the cum from the side of yout mouth and licking it off your fingers.

Exhausted, you lean your head against his leg and close your eyes.

_

Geta's breathing is still uneven, but the haze of satisfaction is not enough to make him lose awareness completely – not  when Caracalla comes back into the room, shouting.

"Get out!" he growls. The harsh order is directed towards you, still kneeling on the ground, but his gaze is fixed solely on his brother.

In the past few months, there were times when he had lost his temper. Servants, concubines, hosts: everyone was subject to his outbursts of rage – but those were short-lived explosions, like fires on wet sticks.

Caracalla's skin is now covered in red blotches, visible even through the numerous layers of makeup on his face. Whatever words Macrinus exchanged with Caracalla during their private conversation did not seem to have a soothing effect on his temper.

“Get out, leave!” he screams again, pacing back and forth in agitation. This time, Geta helps you to your feet before nodding towards the entrance. His expression is serious once more, a confident facade to hide his underlying concern.

You are dismissed.

A chill runs down your back: you have witnessed the anger of the ill Emperor before, but never in such a furious state. Caracalla is yelling, Geta stands with his hands raised in surrender.

A moment of panic overwhelms you - even greater than the fear induced by the riots outside, but you quicly manage to calm yourself and take a deep breath.

Just as you approach the door, you catch sight of Macrinus once more. He watches the twins from afar, his gaze sharp and calculating, as if ready to intervene at any moment.

He's a strong man; he'll have everything under control.

With that last comforting thought, you turn away and leave.

[dollediary]

webcam perv! pt. 1

pairings ❥ heeseung x fem!reader

point of view ❥ third person, omniscient

warnings ❥ mutual masturbation, cyberstalking, noncon recording

synopsis ❥ you meet heeseung on omegle and quickly hit it off until you accidentally disconnect. feeling at a loss from not being able to find him again, you give up and live life as if it never happened. unbeknownst to you, however, he turns out to be a hacker who hacked into your camera, resorting to watching your secretly from behind the screen… until he didn’t.

word count ❥ 4.4k

taglist: @rayofsunshineeee

author’s note: sorry it took me a bit longer to release, i ended up rewriting over the whole draft. i was gonna write the full story in one go, but if there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that i love making series. anyway i hope yall enjoy! & a reminder that my requests are open (send as an ask or submission pls do not dm me lol). go check out my other stories while you’re at it bc i have much more cooking! not proofread so don’t come for me!

y/n lay blank faced on her bed with her phone in hand. it had been hours since she’d gotten home from her classes, and now she was just scrolling mindlessly on tiktok out of boredom. her room was quiet except for the occasional hum of her heater and the everchanging audios blasting from her phone’s speakers.

she sighed, tossing her phone to the side resorting to staring at the ceiling. as the days were growing colder, y/n couldn’t help but to feel this growing sense of loneliness creeping in, like there was something missing that she couldn’t quite put her finger onㅡexcitement was the closest word she think of. she didn’t have many friends to talk to, or text, or hang out with—just her best friend natty, but the girl was currently unreachable as she had already fallen asleep after their brief phone call.

midterms were always the dryest times for y/n. after spending hours in the library, forcing far too many categories of knowledge down her throat for her own goodㅡ just to end up with barely above average scores, she was too drained to do much of anything else when she got home. but, it was hard to just sleep. she was intransigent when it came to resting after studying because she wanted to give herself the free time she’d lost instead. usually being on her phone, and rotting her brain away with the useless curated content that she handpicked for herself would suffice. but on days like thisㅡ where her studying ended close to (or in this case, after) midnight, it wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy the dopamine she was longing for.

after a few moments of lying in a frozen state of staring off into nothing, she reached for her laptop, opening it on impulse. omegle. it had been a while since she’d used it, and honestly, it wasn’t the best idea, but she figured it might help pass the time. and maybe it’d even give her some form of human interaction, though her hopes weren’t too high given the website’s reputation. she typed “k-pop” into the category field, hoping it’d narrow down the pool to people around her age who might share at least one interest with her.

the first few chats weren’t anything special. she ran through the typical brief hellos, the awkward pauses, and of course the familiar “stranger has disconnected.” a few times, however, she was met with the sight of creepy old men who took pleasure in flashing, reacting at lightning speed to skip the chats before things could get worse. some people seemed normal at first, friendly even, but as soon as they’d start saying weird thingsㅡor worse, making noises that gave away their intentions, it’d soil her mood once again as she refreshed her tab.

after getting skipped again for the umpteenth time, y/n found herself hovering her mouse over the “new chat” button, debating. she looked at the clock in the corner of her screen, she had already wasted 30 minutes trying to find a normal human being to talk to. she was beginning to wonder if this was really a good idea to begin with. was it even worth possibly getting harassed for another half hour, in the name of being social? she weighed her options: she could either waste another 2 hours on tiktok, or go to bed. neither seemed appetizing for the hunger of connection she craved. with a sigh, she decided to try one more. and if it didn’t work out, it just meant that it was time to call it a night. she clicked to start a new chat.

stranger is typing…

stranger: hii

you: hello

stranger: m23

you: f22

stranger: cam?

you: earn it?

this one didn’t seem too bad so far, but she wasn’t going to make an early judgement. the man seemed to respect her decision as he quickly changed the conversation. they kept things light, alternating on asking each other random questions back and forth about hobbies, favorite foods, movies, shows, and music. the conversation was easy, fun even, and y/n found herself smiling a little despite the earlier frustration. it was like she was finally getting what she was looking for. with the conversation being tame, he took it as a green light to ask again.

stranger: can i see you now?

you: fine lol

y/n hesitated before turning her camera on and adjusted her hair quickly before looking at the screen. the male in her vision had a sharp, almost angelic face, with delicate features that seemed to be personally sculpted by the man above. his hair was dark and tousled, the slight messiness giving him a laid-back, calm vibe with his headset only adding character to his visual as they laid over his ears. his eyes were a captivating deep brown. they were soft and friendly, it made it hard to look away. even through the webcam, it was clear he had this undeniable charm, his steady gaze hinting that he knew the effect he had on others. the two of them stayed still, ogling each other for a bit, the stare down only being interrupted when he abruptly started typing again.

stranger is typing…

stranger: damn ur fine lol

you: thx so are you

stranger: you in korea?

you: yeah

stranger: me too

stranger is typing…

stranger: audio?

you: yk what? yeah

heeseung and y/n both go to turn on their audio. while her room was silent, disregarding the small noise coming from her room’s heater, heeseung had r&b music softly playing in the background. it only added to this boy next door vibe she was getting from him. the two of them were silent for a second before heeseung decided to break the ice by speaking first.

“hello? let me know if you can hear me.” his voice came through clearly, deep and smooth, carrying a natural warmth that drew her in without him even trying. a part of her was convinced he had to secretly be a weirdo. what was someone as attractive as him even doing on this site, yet alone at this hour? she took a breath before answering.

“hi, yeah i can hear you,” she replied, her tone a little uncertain, unsure of how to match his cool energy. she wasn’t exactly the extroverted type of person to begin with, you can only imagine how much harder it was to speak when such a captivating face was waiting for her response in real time.

heeseung only chuckled softly, the sound seamlessly exuding natural confidence. “so… i guess we finally get to talk now.”

y/n smiled at his words, her need for approval rising as she juggled through all the responses she could make to keep him engaged, “yeah, seems like it,” she responded, her voice was steady now as she tried to shake off the nervousness creeping in. 

heeseung chuckled, shifting closer to his keyboard as his fingers danced over the keys. the music in the background shifted, the beat changing just as he leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head. his voice lowered a notch as he spoke, a hint of amusement in his tone. ”i’m, heeseung, by the way.”

“y/n,” she responded.

“i gotta admit,” he said, “i wasn’t sure if you’d actually turn on your mic.”

“why’s that?” she asked, an almost muted giggle escaping her lips as she twirled a strand of her hair, her fingers displaying how nervous she felt. heeseung watched her with a quiet intensity, noticing every little movement she made. the way her fingers fidgeted and how she avoided meeting his gaze through the screen.

“i don’t know,” he said, his tone lazy and nonchalant, but holding a teasing undertoneㅡ a subtle shift she didn’t quite catch onto. “guess i’m just lucky you did.” he didn’t say anything about her fidgeting, though. he didn’t need to. she seemed like the type to change her behavior once it was called out, and he was more captivated by it than he let on. there was something about her shyness, moreso the way she couldn’t quite hide it, that intrigued him. “so, what do you usually do when you’re not chatting with strangers on the internet?”

his question had caught y/n off guard for a brief moment, another nervous laugh slipping past her lips as she tugged on her shirt’s collar, adjusting it to make sure nothing was out of place though she didn’t actually need to. she didn’t know why, but something about talking to him felt different from the others. “uh, not much… if i’m not studying, i just watch tiktoks or call my friend if she’s not tired.” she replied hoping the answer sounded casual enough.

“hm, sounds like you’ve got some time to kill,” heeseung smirked, inching his chair closer to the screen. he opened a second tab, the soft clatter of his typing blending effortlessly with the mellow r&b drifting through the background.

“yeah, guess i do. life’s… kinda mundane, you know?” y/n replied sheepishly. her gaze followed his, noting the slight movement of his hands just out of view, but chucking it up to him searching for another song to play as the music shifted again. he didn’t back away from the screen this time, though. instead, he kept his eyes locked on hers, unwavering.

“i get it,” heeseung replied, his voice lowering slightly, but still keeping its laidback manner, like they were just two people having an ordinary conversation. “i’m the same, but i'm more of a youtube guy, i found out about this site through a video on there.” as he spoke, his finger subtly danced across the keyboard, the screen flickering with the quiet download of her IP address. his eyes stayed on the camera, his expression open and unreadable, like he was genuinely listening to her.

“that’s interesting, this app usually has a bad rep. like, there’s only creeps on here,” y/n said, though her words seemed to be misunderstood as heeseung furrowed his brows.

“are you trying to insinuate that i’m a creep?”

her eyes widened in shock, and she quickly slapped a hand over her mouth. a stutter broke through her words. “what?! no! i’m just saying—i’ve run into a lot of them tonight before i landed on you. so i was just… i don’t know. forget i said anything.” she sulked, her face reddening with embarrassment at her failed attempt to relate. heeseung watched in awe, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile, at her mannerisms, finding every one of her reactions so cute. sensing her discomfort, he smoothly shifted the topic.

“i’m kidding, y/n.” he grinned, showcasing his pearly whites. “so… what’s one thing you’ve always wanted to do but never got around to?” he asked, his tone light, but there was an underlying intensity to his gaze. he wasn’t just asking out of curiosity; he was studying her, absorbing every word she said, as if her answers would tell him everything he needed to know.

y/n paused, thinking for a moment before she answered. “probably traveling more. i feel like i’m always stuck in the same routine.”

“yeah, routines can be… limiting. but they’re also comforting, right?” he paused, his eyes flickering to a different part of his screen for just a moment before he continued. “you know, sometimes it’s those little moments, when everything feels a little too safe, that you need to shake things up.” he spoke so casually, like he was giving advice, but it sounded a bit odd to y/n. she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to his words, though she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. regardless, she found herself wanting to stay, wanting to know more. and she was always too paranoid for her own good anyway. it was probably nothing.

“i guess.”

“oh. yeah, but is that the only reason you’re on here?” heeseung’s fingers were still moving on his keyboard, the quiet clicking of the keys going unnoticed now. he wasn’t just talking anymore—he was already pulling the strings, weaving a subtle web around her, all while his words remained smooth and harmless. y/n’s lips pursed in thought, the sudden change in the atmosphere making her feel more curious than she was letting on.

“what do you mean?” she asked, confusion creeping into her tone as she leaned forward, trying to get a better look at him. heeseung’s system, working silently in the background, had breached the security of her wifi by now, scanning through the connected devices, its main goal being to gain access to her phone.

“i mean… it’s almost 4am, saturday night. you’re a cute girl, seem kind of introverted, but you give off this vibe... like you’re looking for some fun.”

whatever dimwitted perception y/n formed of him had shattered. he was no different from any of the other men she’d encountered prior. “oh. i don’t really do… that,” she replied, a slight pout playing on her lips. she moved her mouse to hover over the skip button, but she didn’t click it. something was keeping her here. maybe it was the way he looked at her—too attractive, too confident. she wasn’t sure, but she didn’t move.

heeseung noticed her hesitation, his grin widening. “oh, neither do i,” he said in a humoring manner, brushing her reaction off as if his earlier comment didn’t mean anything. “i just had to test the waters. can you blame me though? it’s not every day you meet an attractive girl on here. you said it yourself, there’s usually only creeps on here, right?”

“yeah,” she laughed, the sound effortlessly drawn out as she got caught in the pull of his charm. any cautions she had before seemed to dissipate as she got lost in his eyes. she debated whether she should just give in—it wasn’t like they’d see each other again, right? but then, the stories about girls who made impulsive choices, and got extorted, crept into her mind. the fear of becoming just another statistic arose.

“what do you have in mind?” she asked, her words slipping out before she could think them through. her people-pleasing tendencies had kicked in, but the smile that spread across his face made her heart race. somehow, it felt good, like she was doing something right. and that made it feel worth it. rewarding, even.

“whatever you’re offering, baby,” heeseung replied smoothly, his voice dipping into an unfamiliar, alluring tone that made her body tingle. as he spoke, his hand moved subtly off-screen, clicking to start recording. the faintest smirk curled on his lips as he leaned closer to the camera, his eyes burning into hers with a suggestiveness that made her feel seen in a way she hadn’t before. desired. wanted.

“i don’t know,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. a nervous smile played on her lips as her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. her eyes darting away from the camera before flicking back to his. “i’ve never done anything like this before.”

heeseung tilted his head slightly, his smirk widening as he studied her. there was something about her naivety, the way she danced on the edge of her own boundaries, that made his pulse quicken. he decided then and there that if he wasn’t already obsessed before, he definitely was now. utterly and completely.

“well, i’m honored to be the first,” his voice dripped with seduction, but his eyes glinted with something far more sinister.

her cheeks flushed as she hesitated again, her fingers picking at the fabric of her shirt before she finally blurted, “could you maybe…” she paused, laughing softly at how ridiculous she felt to ask. “show me something, too? just to keep it fair.” her words made heeseung pause for a moment before a low chuckle escaped him, growing into full, unrestrained laughter. he leaned back in his chair, shaking his head in amusement, his eyes never leaving her face.

she was truly a character—everything about her was so… adorable. her openness, her immediate trust in a complete stranger, and the impulsivity that seemed to pour out of her without a second thought. it was intoxicating. she was everything he’d been looking for, everything someone like him—a man with desires he dared not say aloud—would dream of finding. and yet, beneath his amusement, there was a darker realization. if she wasn’t careful and kept giving away pieces of herself so easily, someone would take advantage of her. someone crueler, more reckless, more dangerous than him. he couldn’t let that happen. not with anyone else at least. she was his now. and if she was going to be ruined, it would only be by him.

“would you like it better if i go first?” heeseung inquired, his voice smooth as the corners of his lips nearly curled into a restrained smirk. he watched her reaction closely, catching the way her quick, almost desperate nod betrayed her displayed excitement. it was endearing, almost painfully so. it drove him crazy. he pursed his lips, feigning contemplation, before his smile grew wider, softer. “thought so,” he murmured, his tone carrying just enough teasing warmth to make her feel both at ease. she was completely under his spell. 

he reached for his webcam, the movement slow as he decided to savor the moment. tilting it slightly, he aimed it downward, the lens capturing his relaxed posture, legs spread comfortably wide. the soft fabric of his sweatpants clung to him in just the right way, emphasizing his figure without him needing to do much at all. the unthought of confidence in his movements was enough to hold her gaze, her breath catching as the tension in the air thickened. his hands grazed over the fabric covering his length, a small hiss of relief leaving his lips as he did so. she had already gotten him painfully hard without even trying.

lifting his hips, he slides his sweats down. just enough for him to pull his cock out, an unintentional gasp falling from y/n’s lips at the sight of it. he couldn’t hide the rush of pride that surfaced at her reaction. it was a response he’d grown accustomed to from his long list of other victims on the site, but there was something about y/n that struck him differently. her wide-eyed gaze, the way her lips parted slightly as if she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words—it was enough to ignite a deeper need within him, a desire to draw her in further, to leave her completely captivated by him.

a quiet curse slipped past his lips as he stroked, his hand barely being able to wrap around its girth. his movements were meticulous, unhurried as he moved to spread his precum over the rest of his length. he leaned back slightly, his gaze never leaving her face. his dark eyes carried a silent command, the faintest nod of his head urging her to follow his lead. he didn’t have to say a word—his confidence, his control, it was all laid bare in the way he watched her, waiting to see how far she would go.

it was then that y/n realized she couldn't back out now. not that she wanted toㅡ her curiosity, mingled with the pull he had over her, kept her rooted in place. but it was starting to feel too real, the weight of the moment sinking in as she hesitated, unsure of what he was expecting. the fact that he left it up to her made it even more difficult. her mind raced as she nervously tugged at the bottom of her shirt, praying her choice would be enough to satisfy him.

heeseung's gaze didn't waver, his expression unreadable but intent, as though he were savoring every second of her hesitation. when she finally moved, lifting her shirt to display her breasts. her cheeks burned as she moved her hands over one, massaging and pinching her nipples. his lips twitched into the faintest smile. to her, his reaction was subtle, leaving her questioning if she'd done enough. 

but to heeseung, it was everything.to him, everything about her was intoxicating to him, from the nervous way she moved, to the unsure glances she gave him. he would have been satisfied just seeing her collarbone. his heart raced at the thought of how easily she gave in, how willingly vulnerable she was in front of him. it inflated his ego even more, knowing he was the first to witness this side of her.

he forced himself to keep his expression composed, though his excitement was nearly impossible to contain. the speed of his fingers absentmindedly sped up, thinking of how he’d be able to relive it again later tonight. and he’d make sure to replay every moment, over and over, obsessing over the way she unwittingly gave herself to him.“ah~ fuck, y/n,” he whimpered, unable to contain the heat growing over him. his eyes snapped shut, immediately imagining his hand to be hers. his hips bucked, as he began thrusting into his fist chasing the feeling of a body he knew now that he just had to get his hands on. tonight wasn’t going to be enough, he needed more. 

y/n didn’t know where her confidence was coming from when her free hand snaked its way down to the hem of her shorts as she pushed past them straight into her panties. she scooted into a slouch allowing herself easier access as she began rubbing on her clit, the pressure soothing its throbbing ache and sending a sweet, shocking sensation throughout her body. she couldn’t bite back the moan that slipped outㅡ the noise sounding like music to heeseung’s ears. oh how jealous he was of her hands now. being able to touch her because he couldn’t. it wasn’t enough, nowhere near it.

”look at me,” he murmured, his voice rough, making her cheeks flush as she slowly opened her eyes to meet his. his gaze was full of desire, making her feel small in a way that was strangely exhilarating. she found herself wanting nothing more than to impress him. she bit her lip as she quickly moved to lower the camera, aiming it to display more of her chest and downward before returning to her prior position on the chair. it didn’t even matter to him that her shorts kept her beautiful cunt a mystery to himㅡ the whole picture was so fucking sexy. the way she was playing with her nipples, pinching and rolling them, the speed of her circular motions increasing as she chased her orgasm, the way her tongue rested on her bottom lip before she bit it, the way sheㅡ

“heeseung~ oh my god.”

fuck. if he was wasn’t already stroking fast enough, he was moving at godspeed now. he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold back. he rubbed his thumb along his tip’s slit as he kept his pace, the action leaving his hips stuttering. he was so close, and y/n was too. she couldn’t control the volume of her moans, gripping her breast like her life depended on it. “i’m gonna cum, oh my god, oh my god,” the desperation in her voice made him come undone as he bit back a loud, throaty moan. but she kept going, still chasing her climax as her moans got choked out the harder she went on herself.

just as she was about to cum, when she was almost there, her computer suddenly shut down. the screen went black without warning, leaving only an empty, lifeless void. heeseung watched as her screen flickered and then turned dark, his heart sinking in frustration. “fuck!” he swore, shooting forward in his chair, eyes fixed on the blank screen. he slammed a fist on the desk in irritation before quickly ending the recording. his hands moved frantically over the keyboard, reopening his hacking program, desperately trying to figure out what went wrong.

y/n didn’t even notice, her orgasm crashed over her as she felt like every nerve, and cell in her body had come undone. she kept her eyes closed as she let out a breathless sigh, regaining her composure. after a few seconds, y/n opened her eyes to see that her laptop was blank. she frantically clicked on buttons trying to turn it on, clicking the power button which only displayed a red drained battery as if to mock her further. of all times it could have decided to die, why now? the frustration and panic settled in as she realized she may never get to see him again. she didn’t have any ways to contact him, but would he even want to hear from her again? doubt clouded her mind. now there was no way of knowing. she wanted to keep talking to him, but the odds seemed slim. with a heavy sigh, she jumped up, scrambling to plug her laptop into the charger.

meanwhile, heeseung was still navigating through her information. he had closed out of omegle and now his focus was entirely on troubleshooting. he noticed her computer no longer showed up on the network, the last activity was two minutes ago. “that piece of shit must’ve died,” he grumbled under his breath. he figured now would be the time to access her phone’s camera as it would be useless trying to find her again on the website. switching servers on the program, he downloaded the data to his phone and went to lay down. he watched through the front camera on her phone, but it remained in the same spot unmoving. he was getting frustrated.

y/n had wasted almost 45 minutes skipping through hundreds of people in search of his face on omegle. but to no avail, his face never came up again. it was 6am, and she had plans with natty to go through with in the evening. as much as she didn’t want to right now, she had to sleep. oth of them, in their own way, ended up resigned to their separate fates. y/n reluctantly accepted her defeat, bitterly acknowledging that the night had slipped away. but at least for heeseung, there was a sense of satisfaction in knowing he would have another chance to see her again. this wouldn’t be the last time they crossed paths. he’d make sure of that.

[captain-kit-adventuress]

So I read the article too and there's a fundamental flaw in what this guy's plan is, and it's that Trump and the GOP don't actually care about solving those problems. They were never going to solve them in the first place, and they are actually actively trying to make them worse.

I get playing hardball, but demanding accountability from politicians who not only don't want to help, but are also intentionally attempting to harm, isn't a very effective strategy when you don't control the Legislative Branch of our government. It just sets you up to be left behind, because the Dems don't have much in the way of leverage. It also leaves the harm so many state legislatures are perpetuating unaddressed, as if it wasn't state legislatures having far more immediate power to ruin our lives.

The GOP at all levels has shown us, over and over and over again, that if they don't get what they want by Democrats rolling over, they will find ways to get it by force. I'm a big fan of the Maya Angelou quote that states, "If someone shows you who they are, believe them." I don't know what it's going to take to get people to believe that this isn't just Trump, it's the entirety of the Republican Party. If Republicans wanted to stop Trump's crazy train, they could have at literally any moment since 2016, and they have done nothing but enable him at every turn, to say nothing of the shenanigans they've been pulling for 50+ years.

Trump is not normal, but neither is he an outlier. The Republicans have been cackling gleefully and rubbing their palms together since the days of Richard Nixon, and everybody (most especially Congressional Democrats from the 1970s) just shut their eyes and pretended like it wasn't happening. And now, we are the lobsters slowly boiling alive.

An interesting take.

[phtosynthesis]

fruity drinks — s. reid

spencer taking care of you after girl's night with the bau ladies

𖡼₊˚⊹

The room feels like it's spinning a little by the time you make your way inside of the apartment, and the only thing keeping you tethered to solid ground is the feeling of Spencer's hand on your lower back as he guides you inside. Despite your obvious state of inebriation, you've convinced yourself that you're only a little tipsy, when in reality, you're on the thin line between very tipsy and clearly drunk.

You probably would've been worse if it hadn't been for Emily who decided to cut you off and then call your boyfriend to come get you, who despite your insistence to not call him because he was 'probably already asleep', was still up reading when he had gotten the call.

You knew he hated driving, even more so at night, so you were very appreciative to see that he had in fact come to pick you up, greeting him with a fat kiss to the cheek that left a beautifully glossy mark behind and left him flustered the whole drive back.

Said drive back was spent with you thanking him for picking you up before your head was lulling against the car window and you were drifting off. By the time he was lightly shaking you awake, you were already home, and the only thing on your mind was your bed.

You make your way inside the apartment on slightly unsteady legs before plopping yourself down on the couch with a guttural sigh. Your eyes fall shut, and your head falls against the back of the couch. Faintly, you register Spencer taking up space near you until you feel him lightly tugging at the bottom of your shoe. You open your eyes and watch as he carefully slips off your boots for you, wiggling your toes with a relief sigh once they are freed from their confines. "Thank you, handsome," you say softly, watching as the small smile stretches across his face. You always liked how he still got flustered at your words, even after having dated for so long.

You let him help you up from the couch and lead you to the bathroom, where he lets you sit on the counter while he rummages through the bathroom cupboards. He takes out some of your skincare products, dampening one of the cotton pads with micellar water before he starts gently wiping at your makeup.

"Did you have fun tonight?" he asks as he quietly works, out of curiosity and also as a way to keep you awake long enough to finish. "Mhm," you nod happily, legs absent-mindedly rubbing against the side of his legs as he stood between yours. "I missed you though," you add after a few seconds of silence, resisting the urge to pull him impossibly closer and kiss him silly as he wipes under your eye.

He knows you missed him because you told him so already. You hadn't been away for two hours until he got the text message declaring so, and he could only smile as he read it because he knew he missed you just as much, even if he knew you wouldn't be gone forever and that you eventually would be coming back home.

Your friends made fun of how attached to each other the two of you were, but you couldn't find it in you to care. You adored Spencer, endlessly so, and he always took such good care of you. Like now, as he stood between your legs in the middle of the night as he helped you remove your make-up, one hand gently working upon your skin while the other held onto your thigh, thumb rubbing over the skin there. Maybe it was the alcohol (it definitely was), but you could almost cry at how sweet Spencer always was with you. It made your heart ache almost painfully if you thought about it too much.

You took the time to admire him as he worked; his beautiful brown eyes and perfectly pointed nose. Lips that you wouldn't mind kissing all day long, that you wanted to kiss right now too.

Soon Spencer had finished cleaning your face, pressing a kiss to your cheek similar to the one you gave him earlier and helping you from the counter and into the bedroom. He sat you down on the edge of the bed before once again getting down on his knees beside you.

"Will you read to me?" you asked, watching as he helped take off your tights, a kiss pressed to each newly exposed knee once they were pulled off completely. "Of course," he agreed, even if he knew you'd be asleep way before he even finished a chapter. He reckons he'd do anything you'd ask him if it meant he got to make you smile.