#like i am not the weird one here for not understanding what you meant by that. nor was my coworker. or my boss.

[measureyourlifeincake]

open letters to various customers i've had

to all the visibly trans/gnc customers/anyone going for the "most fuckable person in the grocery store" look: hiiiiiiiii i love you i love you i love you i love you, yall make my job worth doing and my life worth living thank you for existing

to every customer i went to high school with: don't fucking look at me (unless youre gay now)

to the customers who put literally everything in produce bags: stop fucking doing that shit. youre just making my life harder. those granola bars are individually wrapped in plastic and in a fully sealed cardboard box. why do you do this to me.

to the guy who came in today asking where the "cooking water" was: wtf dude

love, me, a cashier at a grocery store in my hometown

[fappellmoan]

something that makes me feel guilty is the fact that seeing that persons face rn literally makes me angry. they walked into class and i nearly winced. and in all fairness they were quite kind to me. outside of the several kind of odd red flags. girl whatever. to be quite frank i am a horny bastard and vocal proud etc but few people interest me enough to actually want to hang out with and get to know And i have deep seated intimacy issues so it's like. we really dont have a shot unless the circumstances r exactly right on a full moon perfect thursday of a month etc like. well and tbh i probably would have fucked around with this person but i dont... care... about some big relationship w them.. and i know i could be a relationship girl like eventually i have it in me to have a muse that's what im built for i think idc but not rn... rn i need to hang out with my friends and do my film stuff and have people that maybe wanna make out sometimes is that so much to ask for. for a lesbian at a bar to want to make out perhaps. ** for there to be lesbians at the bars to potentially make out with.

[toscrollperchancetomeme]

One thing about „Long Face” I haven’t seen discussed yet is its “perfectly premeditated flaw”. While it’s obviously primarily meant to bait Louis, it does so in a very smart way.

The writers have gone out of their way to make us understand that Louis has built himself up to be this super posh art dealer. He’s a connoisseur, he has “ze eye”, he is extremely distinguished in his tastes. Or, as Lestat probably sees it: He’s super pretentious, “like every pompous art student” he’s ever eaten. (I think he gets it from his mum, but that would be a whole essay.) And a part of this is: He does not like camp. This is quite evident from the way he talks about “Lestat’s tastelessness on the float” in episode 1x7, but also reflects in his reaction to the “weirdness” of the Paris theatre.

Except - I think he secretly does like it, because otherwise he would not love Lestat. Him being in denial of his love for Lestat and of his enjoyment of “camp” art almost seem to stem from the same place within him - he is still denying parts of himself.

So, Lestat writing a song for him, that is this camp? That literally says “Come appraise me” to his art dealer husband? That says “see me for what I am and stop lying to yourself and pretending that you don’t love me and that you don’t enjoy having fuuuuuuun”? The lack of metaphor has never been more striking. I’m so here for this.

[miserycanary]

DEFINITELY NUTS ᡣ𐭩 ⤷ next

pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & model!fem!reader

synopsis: Ghost mentions you but 141 doesn't believe that he got a wife

tags: crack (well, attempted), fluff

Ghost’s strict rules for privacy are something the 141 has known for years now. He’s not the type of person to blab about his personal life and often chooses just to keep quiet. So, imagine their surprise when he suddenly says that he’s going to take a day off because his wife asked him to watch a play. 

“Price, ‘am not gonna be here tomorrow. Got a date with my missus.”

All eyes are on him, everyone stills. “WIFE? Since when?!” Soap exclaimed, finally breaking the silence. His eyes were almost bulging out his eyes. “Never told you about her?” Ghost hums, unamused by the Scottish’s exclaim. “Johnny here does have a reasonable reaction. You never tell us anything ‘bout you, mate,” Price joined, chuckling and pulling out a cigar. The man just contemplates before brushing it off and bidding farewell, leaving the group confused. 

“Ain’t no way he’s telling us the truth. That man ain’t got no bone in his body to bag someone,” Soap voiced out, looking for anyone to support his disbelief. “I mean..” Gaz whistles out, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head as if he’s agreeing to some extent. That’s when, unbeknownst to Ghost, he got the reputation of being delusional and a liar. 

Soap, still doubtful days later, watches the lieutenant with a vision like a hawk. “Hey, lieutenant.” Ghost snaps his head up, looking at him. “How was the date with your wife?” Immediately, everyone else stopped what they were doing, silently listening. It was obvious he was baiting Ghost, emphasizing the wife as if putting on quotes. They weren’t as nosy as Soap but each one of them still held a bit of doubtness that the brick wall of the team managed to get a girl, and even marry her.

“It was okay. The missus had fun,” Ghost chuckles, fondly remembering how you were beaming on the way, rambling about the plot of the play. “Can we see pictures?” Soap smirked thinking he finally got the lieutenant but was taken aback when Ghost only shrugged and pulled out his phone before freezing. “Ah, we didn’t take pictures yesterday. Said she wanted to live in the moment.” 

Soap whipped his head to signal to Gaz, seemingly saying ‘See? He’s definitely lying! How convenient he has no pictures.” 

“How about just a picture of your wife?” Kyle suggested, now invested while Price seemed to be shaking his head in the corner. “I have none with me but..” With a few clicks, Ghost holds up his phone for everyone to see. Like birds, everyone flocked around him, curious to see. For a while, everyone was surprised and sure the man was lying. I mean, he just showed them a picture of a drop-dead gorgeous model from a magazine! 

‘He's definitely lost it’ everyone seemed to think, offering pity glances at the man who had this prideful shine in his eyes. Walking up to his superior, Soap patted him on the back. “It’s fine, mate… we understand how difficult it must be.” ‘not having a lady at all’

Thinking Johnny meant about your hectic schedule, he agreed. “It’s quite tough but we make it work,” he chuckled which made everyone wince.

‘Definitely nuts!’

Weeks passed after that and the topic never got brought up, until Ghost came in with a bento in hand covered with a handkerchief with frilly ends. When asked about it, he replied, “Ah, wife’s testing out recipes for an upcoming TV show. ‘S been practicing and asked me to bring one.” Once again, he was given pity glances and even heard a defeated sigh from Soap. 

‘He’s too far gone’

“How’s work?” you ask, dazedly paying attention to the movie you guys put, more invested in burying your face in Simon’s chest while he drapes both arms on your waist, completely engulfing your torso under his muscles. “Been getting a few weird stares,” he mumbles, playing with your hair and pressing kisses on your forehead. “Why?” you peer up, resting your chin on his shoulder. “I don’ know, princess.”

Meanwhile…

“Should we just… finally set the lieutenant on a date? I feel bad. I mean, he even lied about his “wife” making him lunch,” Johnny sighed.

“Probably the best idea,” Kyle nodded.

Now Price… he knows the truth. He met you before when you dropped by, asking for Ghost— which ended horribly— but he’ll lying if he said he’s not getting a kick out of this.

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱: probably won't be posting for a while :] Did you guys notice the hint to my previous work? Please do. 😔

dividers by @cafekitsune

Please reblog!! Ask is open!

check out my other works in the masterlist: ୭!

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 4

in which spencer reid and inexperienced fem!reader are interrupted at the most inopportune of times. he calls you on the first night of his case. dirty talk turns into a hard conversation. we get a glimpse into spencer's past, and we finally learn why he's so hesitant to sleep with you.

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: dirty talk, phone sex/mutual masturbation, softdom!spence, obligatory he talks u through it, lots of graphic discussions of sex, established relationship, angst (sorrryyy!) a/n: so remember how i said you'd need the bonus chapter to fully appreciate/understand this part? i was wrong!! it will come in handy probably in the next part tho:) also idk how these parts keep getting so long im sorry! anyway, i love you all so bad. thank you for bearing w/ my craziness. PLEASE let me know your thoughts on this part!! i adore hearing from you!! kisses

(also special thank you to @fliesforeyes who convinced me phone sex w/ spence could be done!! i will link his phone sex blurb here :)) thank u binx!!

“Three million six hundred eighty four thousand three hundred thirty two times fourteen million seven hundred sixty one thousand nine hundred seventy one.”

You’ve lost count of how many stupid math questions you’ve asked your human calculator boyfriend, just to see if he can actually do them. Spencer is silent for a second, and you think you’ve finally stumped him. 

“That one is complicated.”

You sit bolt upright in his bed, looking down at him and pointing an accusatory finger. His brows raise at the manic look in your eye. 

“You don’t know.”

“I do know. I meant it would be hard to explain if you aren’t a math person.”

“Bullshit!” You scoff, “you don’t know!”

“It would display on a calculator as five-point-three-eight-eight-E-thirteen. It’s a really big number.”

“Oh, really big, huh?” you mumble, searching for your phone blindly in the sheets and scrambling to open the calculator app. “Um… what numbers did I say?”

Spencer repeats them back to you and you press the equals sign. 

You look at it. 

And then you set your phone down. 

“I was right, huh?” he smiles up at you, probably reveling in your pouty wrongness. 

Too proud to admit it, you collapse on top of him, burying your face in his shoulder. 

“I don’t like this game anymore. What the fuck even is an e? Why are we doing algebra?”

Spencer laughs, brushing your hair aside. 

“The e stands for exponent. It’s to the power of ten.”

“Ever heard of a rhetorical question?”

“Yes, I have.”

It’s hard not to snort even at his dumbest jokes. 

“You’re annoying. Let’s do something else.”

You roll over onto your back again, letting your head flop over to look at Spencer, whose hair is exactly the right amount of messy after a long day, falling in impossibly soft waves over the perfect lines and contours of his face. Despite lounging, he’s still in his suit from work—he’d left Quantico and immediately picked you up. There were no solid plans for the evening, so after both of you pretended that you wanted to go out for a while, you ended up back at his apartment. 

He looks good. Almost too good. 

“Something like what?” he smiles lazily, reaching over and tracing his fingers over your cheek. 

“Something… naked?”

His grin widens and he shakes his head. 

“Me naked or you naked?”

Pretending to think about it, you roll your bottom lip between your teeth. 

“Mm… why not both?”

“Hm. Why do I feel like I know where this is going?”

The mattress sinks underneath your elbow as you prop yourself up, dropping your head over Spencer’s to kiss him. 

“Because you’re so smart, and you think it’s a great idea.”

He entertains your kiss for a moment. Just a moment.

“You sound sure of yourself.”

“Because I am!” You finally give in to your impulses, tangling your fingers in his hair and looking at him meaningfully. “It doesn’t make any sense for us to have not had sex. I don’t care about any of your weird, cryptic moral reasoning.”

He grabs your wrist carefully. 

“It is not moral,” he scoffs. “We haven’t even talked about it yet.”

“Really? Because I feel like we’ve talked about it a lot.” 

He begins to reply, but you realize you don’t want to get into a debate over whether you’ve technically talked about it yet. “I don’t even care! If that’s all that’s standing in your way, then let’s talk about it. Right now.”

Spencer sighs, his eyes darting between yours as he reaches up to cradle your cheek. 

“Fine. But I have things to say you’re not going to like.”

“So business as usual?”

He rolls his eyes. You allow yourself a tiny self-satisfied smirk, forever relishing in his poorly-hidden soft spot for your constant teasing. Spencer ignores this. Which is probably for the best. 

“I know you probably won’t see it this way, but—sex is different than everything else we’ve done so far. It can be really fun, obviously it feels good, it facilitates deeper feelings of connection—that’s all true. Which is why, in my opinion, it’s incredibly important that you be selective with who you sleep with. Because it’s so easy to do something you regret, and sex is vulnerable. It should always be with someone you trust and—and… care about.”

A pink flush stains his cheeks like watercolor as he stumbles over the last few words. It makes your heart flutter against the confines of your chest.

Maybe best not to think about the absence versus presence of certain four-letter words and what they may or may not mean. You’ll move on to more pressing matters and pretend like it doesn’t ache just a little in your whole body. 

You cover his hand with your own. 

“Are you going to break up with me anytime soon?”

Spencer’s eyes widen, filling with genuine horror and confusion. 

“What? No!”

“Are you going to cheat on me?”

“Absolutely not, I—”

“Then I’m not going to regret it. Issue resolved. Moving on.”

“Honey, I just want you to be 100% sure that I’m what you want.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, flopping onto your back once more. “I have begged you to sleep with me on multiple occasions. We have been dating for months and I liked you even longer before that. I think about it literally every time I see you. I don’t know how to be any surer.”

It’s quiet for a moment as you study the imaginary pattern on the ceiling. The rebuttal you’d been anticipating doesn’t come—instead, the mattress shifts next to you. Spencer enters your field of vision, now leaning over you with a little smile on his face that gives you butterflies. 

“Every time?”

“…yes, every time,” you agree, voice considerably thinner than it had been a moment ago. Spencer glances at your lips as he speaks. 

“Interesting. And what is it that you think about exactly?”

You groan again, attempting to roll facedown, but he pins your shoulder to the bed. The way he’s sweetly kissing down your cheek and jaw is infuriating because you know it’s a false pretense. 

“Ugh, I don’t know! Don’t make me answer that!”

“You said if talking about it was all that was standing in my way, we would talk about it. Now I want to talk about it. Come on,” he says, voice low and cloying against your throat as he attempts to tease the answer out of you. “Tell me what you think about when you think about us having sex.”

You let out a shaky breath at the feeling of his lips skimming your neck, hating how easily he can reduce you to this. 

“I… I always wonder what it will feel like. Sometimes I wonder if it will hurt.”

Spencer sighs, interrogation by way of seduction momentarily forgotten. You silently curse yourself for saying something so un-sexy. 

“It might, sweetheart. That’s one of the reasons we’ve held back. I… really don’t want to hurt you. I don’t even know if I can.”

You grab his face in both hands, forcing him to look at you with more confidence than you feel. 

“Sometimes I worry about it, too. But I like you a lot more than it scares me. I still want to.”

He kisses your palm. 

“You’ll be okay. It doesn’t hurt for everyone, and even if it does, you’re resilient.”

“Exactly. So you have to get over yourself.”

Spencer laughs like he wasn’t expecting to, eyes sparkling as he regards you.  

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I do.”

He’s smiling again as he leans down and kisses you—a slow, lingering thing which tastes like spearmint as you part your lips for him. 

“Please?” you whisper against him after a long moment. He hums, keeps kissing you. 

“What is it that you think you want? You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

“Tell me,” you beg, chasing his lips. “Tell me what you’re going to do with me. We can talk about it. This is talking about it.”

Spencer exhales deeply, wedging a thigh between yours. Immediately you clamp around it, trying not to grind against him too overtly. 

“You want to know what I’d do to you?”

“Yes—” you paw at his jacket. Surprisingly, he doesn’t stop you from pushing it off. Your heart pounds. 

“Well… we both know how anxious you get,” he muses, pressing his lips so delicately to your fluttering pulse-point in emphasis, and then back to your mouth. His thigh pushes harder against you to supplant the absence of his lips as he speaks, though he kisses you sporadically and between sentences. “You’re hard to get out of your head when you’re nervous, you know that? I watch it happen. One minute you’re with me, and then you start overthinking, and getting self-conscious. The only thing that seems to relax you is letting me touch you—so first I would touch you like I’ve touched you before. I’d make sure you know how pretty you are and how good you deserve to feel.” You whimper inadvertently at his words, arching into him and grinding against his leg as he pauses to kiss the sensitive soft spot below your jaw. “You’re going to need to be really ready to let me in. Do you know what I mean by that?”

As he asks, he pushes his thigh against you harder. Your body responds immediately, arching into him and seeking more friction. When you squeak, he takes it as a no. 

“I mean I need you relaxed and wet. You’ll excuse my crude language.”

You pull at his tie, breathing heavier now and so turned on it’s almost painful. 

“What are you gonna do after that?”

“What else is there to do but fuck you after that?” he breathes. “You want me to tell you how I’d fuck you?”

Something about it makes you whine salaciously. You’ve heard him curse—you’ve even heard him talk about fucking you. But it feels more real now; when it’s low in your ear and you’re covertly undressing him and he’s pushing your shirt over your stomach promisingly. 

“Yes, please.” 

He hums against your jaw, nipping and brushing his lips over the skin as he considers. Leaves you waiting. 

“I would have to take my time with you. You’ll be overwhelmed. I know you think you won’t, but you will. I’m going to have to be so, so careful with you, angel. It’s going to drive me insane. But it will feel good for you.”

“Why careful? I don’t want that.”

He chuckles. A chill runs down your spine. 

“Yeah, you do. You’re going to want me to be careful when I’m—” he pauses, pressing his thumb to your bare lower tummy and dragging up to a spot below your belly button. He presses down lightly again. “Right here. Approximately.”

The surface of the sun has nothing on the temperature of your skin in this moment, as you writhe underneath him in both arousal and embarrassment. Mostly, burning need. You feel almost sick with it. 

“Please don’t make me wait anymore. Just do it, please, Spencer. I need it to be you, I don’t want it to be anyone else. I promise I’m ready.”

It’s silent for a moment. Your heart quickens. You sense his walls wearing away, his instinct to keep you intact for god knows what reason crumbling. He’s finally going to give you what you’ve been begging for. 

Spencer opens his mouth, eyes glimmering—

And then his phone rings. 

You both freeze—he melts dejectedly before you do, more accustomed to an ill-timed phone call and realizing the finality it can present. 

He’s breathing heavily against your neck, as if maybe whoever it is will just hang up. But the phone keeps ringing. 

“I’m sorry.”

Your stomach sinks as he sits up, grabbing his phone from the side table and rubbing circles on your inner thigh as he answers.

“This is Reid,” he says, lackluster. 

If you wanted, you could hear what Penelope is saying—but you don’t bother listening. It’s going to be a case. Spencer is about to leave. The details are his problem. 

“Okay. I’ll be there in an hour.”

He hangs up, tossing the phone onto the mattress and not speaking for a moment, just continuing to rub your leg apologetically. Watching you almost mournfully—taking in your disheveled hair, your likely blown-out pupils, the shirt pushed almost over your chest. 

“I have to go right now,” he finally manages with a heavy sigh, gently pulling your shirt back into place. 

You sit up, shedding all the hopes that had been building for the evening, and try to sound chipper—though all you feel is bitter disappointment that goes deeper than you understand. 

“I know. Go ahead, I can get a cab home.”

He frowns, running his hand over the back of your hair. 

“I don’t love the idea of you standing on the sidewalk waiting for a car in this part of town so late. Do you just want to stay here for the night and go home tomorrow?”

You force a smile. Great. So you’ll be spending the night in his bed after all—just without him. 

“Sure. Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of you are feeling particularly grateful. 

Soon you’re walking him to his own door. Both of you come to a stop in front. 

“I’m sorry,” he sighs again. 

“Spencer, it’s fine. It’s your job. You don’t need to apologize. You were very clear about this part when we started dating.”

“I know, but… it’s easier in theory than in practice.”

You smile. If Spencer is a reflection of you, it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. His hair is still messy from your fingers running through it and he’s missing his tie. You hope all his coworkers see and feel bad about taking him away from you. 

But it’s not their fault. You just want someone to blame. 

Instead you mould yourself to his body, wrapping around him like you belong there. He returns your embrace, pressing his lips into the crook of your shoulder and rubbing your back in that way he always does with you. 

In that moment, your affection for him becomes so profound it’s like a chemical reaction—everywhere he touches burns and you love him so fucking much it aches in every inch of your body the way your muscles do when you have a bad fever. Love is the most terrible of afflictions, you realize. It is a fever dream. It’s every fiber of your being screaming to tell him how you feel, to beg him on your knees not to go because you love him like a child loves a parent or a bee loves honeysuckle or the ocean loves the horizon. Pared down to your most basic components, the barest version of yourself, you require him. Your soul needs his soul. 

“Spencer?”

“Hm?” 

It’s nothing more than an absentminded hum against your skin. 

“I…”

Should you be looking him in the eye when you say this? Should you say it right before he has to leave? Just because you say it doesn’t change the fact that he’s about to be gone for several long days. Maybe this is a terrible time to admit something that suddenly feels so true and so consequential. 

He senses your internal conflict, pulling back despite your resistance and holding your face between his hands. 

“You what?” He murmurs, soft eyes bouncing back and forth between your own. Fuck—you feel so observed, now. Like he can read your mind. 

“I forget.”

FUUUUUUCK. 

Spencer blinks. Processes. You watch the disbelief crystallizing over his eyes like ice freezing over a lake. 

He knows. 

He knows you didn’t forget, and he probably knows what you were going to say, and he’s going to tell himself he was wrong to spare your dignity. 

Everything hurts when he kisses you. You wonder what regret tastes like. 

“Well, let me know if you remember.”

It’s too gentle and at the same time he can’t hide the edge with all the tenderness in the world. You nod as if in a trance, already looking forward to dissociating as you lie in bed and stare at the dark ceiling.

Two small goodbyes are exchanged, slightly stifled now, as if shared between drunk strangers who have sobered up and are mutually embarrassed about how candidly they’d interacted before. 

You close the door behind him, doing up all the locks, and meticulously flick every light switch in the apartment off before climbing into his bed—though you don’t really feel like you deserve to be there anymore.

But perhaps this is all an overreaction. It’s not like you owe it to him to say I love you, or anything—it was bad timing, anyway. And why can’t he say it? In fact, why hasn’t he said it? 

Maybe you have it all wrong. 

Maybe he doesn’t feel that way about you. 

You fall asleep before you allow these questions to make you sick. 

24 hours go by. 

24 hours go by and you really had meant to leave his apartment—it was just that you woke up late, and your phone was dead so you couldn’t call a car, so you charged it while you made breakfast, and then you ate, and then you decided to take a shower and wash your clothes, and then it was two in the afternoon and you hadn’t left yet and you decided to walk to the store and replenish the groceries you’d used up. 

Maybe you got a bit distracted looking at flowers and other beautiful things at the market and by the time you got home it was 5:00, so you decided to wait until seven to skip rush hour. And then eight, just to be sure. 

Before you know it, it’s midnight, and you’re dozing off in his bed again (teeth cleaned with the brush you’d bought at the store—maybe this whole situation hadn’t been entirely unwitting on your part.)

Throughout the day, you tried to let all your anxiety about the previous night melt away. If it’s something that needs to be addressed, Spencer will address it. Everything will work out in the end. That thought is how you’re able to doze off. 

You’re almost asleep when your phone lights up and begins buzzing on the side table. You wince as your eyes open, not adjusting well to the harsh bright display and unable to discern who’s even calling you at this hour. Stupidly, probably because you’re half asleep, you answer without checking. 

“Hello?”

Your voice is groggy, quiet with sleep. 

“Shit, did I wake you?”

“Spence?” you whisper, stomach flipping at the sound of his voice on the other line. You feel caught, still sleeping in his bed. 

“… yeah,” he chuckles. “Did you not check who was calling before you picked up?”

“I was asleep,” you pout. “Kinda.”

“Okay. Go back to sleep, honey. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

You sit bolt upright, phone balanced between tense fingers and speaking directly into the microphone. 

“No! No, I’m awake. What’s up? Why did you call?”

A longer stretch of silence—you’re too sleepy to comprehend what it might mean, though never too sleepy to worry about it. With a pang of pain, you recall your strange goodbye, the words you hadn’t said. 

“I just needed to hear your voice,” he sighs. You frown, staring at nothing in particular in the pitch black room. 

“Oh. Is everything okay?”

“As much as it can be.”

“Right.”

More quiet. You chew on the inside of your cheek, stricken with a sudden feeling of awkwardness that you haven’t had with Spencer in a while. 

“I’m sorry… I don’t really know what to say.”

“That’s okay,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice which makes you feel a bit better, “why don’t you tell me about your day? Or you can absolutely go back to sleep, if you’re too tired.”

“Don’t ask me about my day,” you whisper, flopping down on the bed once more. Shame seeps into your voice. He laughs. 

“What? Why?”

“Because if I tell you you’re going to think I’m super weird and you’re going to break up with me.”

Laughter tapers off into gentler tones. 

“I already think you’re super weird. It’s actually one of your most attractive qualities.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks. 

“But it’s like… borderline crazy.”

Immediately, he replies, “for better or worse, I also frequently find myself attracted to crazy.”

“Thank you for calling me crazy and super weird,” you grumble. 

“I also called you attractive twice. Tell me.”

When his tone takes on that easy, assertive quality, and it’s sort of raspy and low because it’s late and he’s been talking all day, and you can hear the lazy smile on his face—you imagine him laying on his hotel bed, arm slung over his eyes in the dark as he grins into the microphone—you have a very difficult time saying no. 

“Fine. Guess where I am right now.”

“Um, I would hope you’re in bed?”

You smile to yourself, basking in the victory of successfully throwing him off his game even slightly. 

“Guess whose bed.”

Silence. 

“What an interesting question.” That cocky smile, the low drawling is back, and you chew on your lip, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine. “If it’s not mine or yours, we’re going to have issues.”

“But if it is yours? You’re not going to call the police on me?”

“Why would I call the police? To tell them there’s a pretty girl in my bed and I don’t want her there?”

“To tell them your psychopathic girlfriend broke into your apartment and might be holding hostages there.”

Spencer laughs; a brittle, drawn out thing, flat and quiet as the desert.

“If you were a psychopath, calling the cops would be a waste of time. I would handle you myself.” The idea of being handled has your thighs clenching. “But—yeah, don’t invite anyone else in.” More humor finds its way into his voice, momentarily relieving some tension that had sneakily begun to build. “Having people in my space makes me anxious.”

“But not me?” Your whisper is half flirtatious, half insecure. Spencer’s reply is soft, as if he’s picking up on this from hundreds of miles away.

“No, not you. You are always the exception.”

“Good,” you say, cheeks aching as you half-bury your warm face into his pillow. “Because I made myself really comfortable. You have a nice shower, by the way.”

Spencer groans. 

“You’re killing me.”

“What? What did I do!”

“Don’t talk to me about my bed and my shower. I might start to think you’re intentionally being a brat.”

“You asked me about my day! I’m just telling you what I did!”

But you’re also intentional teasing him for sure.  After a pause, he sighs in defeat. 

“You’re right. I did do that. Tell me what else happened.”

“Well,” you begin, all too eager, “I had to put my clothes in the dryer after I got out, so I borrowed some of yours. But then they were way comfier than mine, so after I went to the store I put them back on, and—”

“Okay.”

“Okay what?” you frown. 

“Tell me what this is.”

“I—I don’t know what you mean.”

Lying to a profiler is usually pointless. 

“I’m not stupid, sweetheart. Tell me why you keep talking about my shower and my bed and my clothes.”

Caught red-handed. Your skin heats up. 

“I don’t know. I miss you.”

He hums in a way that blurs the line between sympathetic and patronizing. Even through the phone you can feel the bass of it in your bones.  It changes the frequency you’re vibrating at. It’s hypnotic. 

“But that’s not really why you’re being intentionally provocative, is it?”

“No,” you admit quietly. “I’m still upset you had to go last night.”

“So you’re frustrated and you’re taking it out on me?”

Your brow furrows. Well, when he puts it like that…

“I’m not taking anything out on you.”

“I think you are. And I don’t appreciate that, because I’m on your side, honey. Do you think I prefer being in a hotel bed by myself or being in my bed with you?”

Somehow, he makes you feel like a scolded child. But he makes it appealing in ways you don’t understand. 

“Your bed with me,” you murmur, skin prickling with the coldness of his absence even as you curl under the blanket. 

“Right. So why don’t you tell me what I can do for you right now, instead of punishing me for things that are beyond my control?”

“I wasn’t punishing you,” you mutter. 

“No? You weren’t intentionally talking about using my shower and sleeping in my bed and putting on my clothes so that I’d have to think about what I can’t have right now?”

“I—”

“Believe me when I tell you I have been thinking about what I can’t have, all day. Your efforts are entirely redundant and you can’t say anything about yourself that is even close to as dirty as the frankly disrespectful thoughts I’ve been having about you for seventeen hours.”

The lack of air is making you so dizzy your vision goes gray at the edges. 

“What… what thoughts?”

“None that you need to concern yourself with.”

“You can’t just say something like that and then not tell me!” you insist. He’s obviously giving you a taste of your own medicine and it’s fair but it doesn’t mean you have to like it. 

“I can do whatever I want,” Spencer corrects cooly in a way that pisses you off beyond belief because he’s right. It triggers some adolescent immaturity within you—a desire to get back at him, so to speak. He wants intentionally provocative? He can have it. 

“Fine. Then so can I. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it even if I could.”

“Spencer,” you warn. “If you don’t tell me what you were thinking I’m gonna—” you look around the room for ammo. “I’m gonna look through your nightstand!”

“Go ahead. I’ll warn you, it’s not very interesting.”

“Sounds like what someone who has something hide would say,” you mumble, crawling across the mattress through tangled sheets and using your phone flashlight to open the drawer. 

Spencer is patient and silent as you take in its contents—a small blue leather-bound notebook (full of what looks like Russian), a fountain pen, a glasses case, various kinds of vitamins, and—

“Spencer Reid,” you say, dragging out his name and pretending nothing is fluttering in your stomach, “what are these?”

“I don’t know. I can’t see what you’re referring to.”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Oh, I have one. But I’d like to hear you say it.”

You realize you may have gotten yourself in deeper than you meant to by going through his stuff. Well—they don’t say karma is a bitch for nothing. 

“What are you doing with a box of condoms?” 

He chuckles and you feel it in your whole body, warm as you stretch across his mattress and eye the box like it might jump out at you. 

“Those are years old. I’ve used three since I bought them.”

“Don’t tell me that,” you whine. “I don’t wanna think about all the other women you’ve seduced.”

“You wanted them to be for you, huh?” 

You flush. Honestly you hadn’t even thought about that. 

“I… I don’t know. I kind of just assumed…”

It’s silent for a second and you frown, realizing you hadn’t even considered protection when you’d imagined sleeping with him before. 

“You assumed what, honey?” he asks, voice soft. 

“It’s dumb. I can’t tell you.”

“You can tell me anything. I’m not going to think it’s dumb, I promise.”

You chew on your lip, letting your eyes unfocus on the box as you muster the courage to be honest. 

“Whenever I imagined it… we didn’t… use anything.”

The words make you cringe even as you’re saying them. So does the quiet that follows. 

“When you imagine us sleeping together, we don’t use a condom?”

“Ah!” The phone drops to the mattress as you cover your ears and roll onto your side, curling into yourself once more. “You didn’t have to say it! You make me sound so weird!”

“It’s not weird,” he laughs, because he can probably imagine exactly what you just did, “I just wanted to make sure I was understanding you. That said… we would definitely use protection.”

“Do we have to?”

The quiet words take even you by surprise—and they seem to stun Spencer as well. Several false starts are punctuated by a sigh as he gathers his thoughts. 

“We really should, baby. That’s the kind of thing we need to take seriously.”

“But you’re… you’re good, right?”

Thankfully he picks up on your meaning. 

“I am. I wouldn’t touch you if I weren’t.”

“And I’m good. So...”

“Hm. And has anyone ever explained to you where babies come from?”

You groan in frustration. 

“Spencer, I’m being serious! There are ways to negate that.”

“Honey,” he murmurs, “I understand that. But it would be irresponsible of me to say yes. We can talk about it in the future, but—”

“I’m telling you it’s already dealt with. The chances of an accidental pregnancy are slim to none.”

The new information hangs in the air for a moment until Spencer speaks—to your surprise, his voice is low and humorous. 

“That is… good to know. But even so—I’m setting a dangerous precedent if I always let you get exactly what you want.”

“Is it such a bad thing that I just wanna—I wanna know what it feels like? You don’t want that?”

“That’s not what I said. I want to know exactly what you feel like. I’m just hesitant to give in so quickly because it makes me look weak.”

You laugh breathlessly, caught between being turned on by the first part of his sentence and amused by the sarcastic second half. Your thighs clench and your hand absentmindedly wanders between them. 

“You know what I was thinking about?” you ask. Spencer hums curiously. “I was thinking about when you let me, um… when you let me touch you how you touch me.” He hums again, but you can hear the amused curve of a smile in it now.

“When you had your mouth all full of me and you looked so pretty?”

“When I—yeah,” you agree, too caught up to deny his compliment as your fingers brush your most sensitive spot through clothing. “And  how you got me all messy after. And I was wondering what it would feel like… inside me.”

He sucks in a breath. Your legs brush against each other and you twist slightly as you pretend like you’re not touching yourself just a little bit. 

“You want me to come inside you?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, brain short-circuiting at the way those words sound in his voice. 

—

On the other side of the line, Spencer isn’t doing a fantastic job of thinking clearly either. His dick is half-hard already and it’s only getting worse with each little noise you make that you don’t seem to realize you’re making. 

“Really? That would be very messy, baby. I’m surprised that’s what you want.”

“But I really want it,” you breathe. He’s not even looking as he slips his hand under the waistband of his pajamas and palms himself, his other hand rubbing tiredly over his face as his phone rests on his chest. This was not how he intended for this call to go, believe it or not—but he’s here now. 

“Yeah? Is that why you’re touching yourself right now?”

You go silent—which is more or less exactly the reaction Spencer had been expecting. Patiently he waits for you to deny it, in three, two—

“’M not.”

Now, he could explain how he knows that’s a lie. How your breathing pattern changed, and your voice got softer and airier, and how you started speaking with smaller words in fragmented sentences. But he doesn’t feel like explaining any of that. 

“I know that’s not true,” he murmurs. “You know what? It wasn’t fair to get you all worked up last night and then leave. I don’t want you frustrated, honey. I want you to do whatever you need to do.”

You make a little gasping noise, and Spencer can imagine the way your back would arch when you did it. His own hips buck slightly as his dick twitches under his fingers. 

“Where are you touching?”

“Um—over my clothes.”

Cute. 

“Go under them for me. Tell me how it feels when you’re touching yourself like that.”

It takes a moment, in which all he hears is the rustling of fabric, until you’re whispering, “feels… it feels good. I wish you were here.”

He inhales, freeing his cock and squeezing the base. 

“I know. Just listen to my voice, pretty. I’m right here.”

Spencer allows himself a few slow tugs as he imagines what’s happening in his bed. You make a squeaking noise, like a held-back moan, and his eyes screw shut. 

“I need them inside,” you whine, and he knows you’re referring to his fingers—the ones currently stroking his own leaking cock. 

“You can use your own, just give yourself a minute first. Remember what I said about needing to be ready?”

“I am ready—” judging by the surprised chirp you interrupt yourself with, you’ve proven yourself right. What surprises Spencer is the weak sound of disappointment you make next. “Spence, it doesn’t feel the same.”

“We’re different sizes, honey. Your hands aren’t as big as mine. But you can still make it feel good.” 

He almost says, 90% of the nerves in the vaginal canal are located in the lower third—in other words, within approximately 2.36 inches from the opening, which you can most certainly reach—but he refrains. He’s not sure if that’s good dirty talk. 

“You have a really sensitive spot about three inches up, right in front. It’s going to feel a little different than the rest of you when you touch it. I want you to try and find it for me, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathe, ever-eager to please even from a great distance. There’s a quiet moment. “I can’t—I don’t think I can r—oh,”

The moan is so pretty Spencer can’t help speeding up the motion of his hand, hissing slightly as his fingers brush against the angry tip with every pump. 

“Did you find it?”

“Yeah,” you whine, a weak, high-pitched thing. “Oh my god.”

“Be gentle,” he warns with some effort as his own hips jump slightly. “You’re really sensitive there. If you’re not careful you’ll make yourself sore.”

“I don’t care—holy shit—” the way your voice rises and tightens to a squeak at the end has Spencer moaning as he fucks his fist. A black hole forms and warps time, turning every minute into a second and every second into an infinity until he has no idea how much time is going by. He drags his thumb over the tip, smearing precum over his cock and whining as his jaw drops at the feeling. “Oh my god, Spencer,” in that same strained, high voice. “’M gonna—ah!”

He gets the general sentiment. 

“What, baby? You’re gonna make yourself come all over your fingers? Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“Mhm!”

“Yeah, I bet you are. It feels good, huh?”

“Yes,” you cry. 

“See? You don’t need my fingers to feel good. Mine barely fit, you know that? I have to hold your fucking hips down whenever I put my fingers in you because you can’t stop squirming. I don’t know how you think you’re going to take my cock.”

“Spencer!” 

He knows. 

“Come, baby. Let me hear you.”

The delicate sounds you make as you bring yourself to orgasm tip him over the edge of his own—grunting as he comes all over his fist. 

“Jesus,” he strains under his breath, the word dragging out into two long syllables as his hips buck involuntarily and cum drips down his knuckles. He’s lightheaded and he’s created a mess and it all happened so quickly. “Fuck,” he breathes, a rasping chuckle as he reaches for the towel he’d dropped on the bed after his shower earlier. “You conscious over there?”

“I’m conscious,” you slur, breathing heavily. “I’ve never had an orgasm by myself before.”

“Are you proud of yourself?” Spencer smiles, wiping his hand off and making sure he’s otherwise clean. “You should be. I am.”

He’s barely kidding. 

“I’ll be proud when I can do it without your help,” you tease. 

“But I’ll always want to help you with that.” His already warm face flushes further as he goes over what he’d said. “Sorry I was so vulgar.”

You laugh. He blushes even more. 

“Are you? I think you secretly love being vulgar.”

“I don’t know why! I have no idea where it comes from. I would never speak that way in any other context. I should probably work on that. Sometimes I look back on the things I say and I’m genuinely appalled.”

“Well, don’t stop on my account. Personally I enjoy it.”

“Yeah, I think I’m corrupting you. You probably shouldn’t enjoy it.”

The truth of it weighs heavy on his mind, but he’s pretty sure his voice alone doesn’t betray that and you can’t sense it through the phone. 

“Oh, my god. Do not do that falling on your sword shit. I like being corrupted by you. If you stop I’ll be very upset.”

“Well god forbid you get upset,” he teases gently. Idly he wonders if the reason he’s suddenly feeling so depressed is because his cortisol levels were already high from the case, and then he jarred his system with an orgasm, spiking his dopamine and ultimately causing it to plummet without the oxytocin release that post-coital physical contact would usually provide. 

Or if it was something else. It could also be something else. 

For the millionth time, he wishes he was with you. Part of him also wants to go to sleep. But mostly he wishes he was with you. 

—

A comfortable silence settles over the conversation. In the ditch between words, you’re mapping constellations in the texture of Spencer’s ceiling. If you squeeze your eyes almost shut, you can imagine it really is the night sky. You can imagine he’s really here. 

You think about what he said—his apparently mindless vulgarity. Did it mean anything? Or was he just rambling to get you off?

“Spencer?” you murmur. 

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

He sounds earnest, perhaps a little tired, as he replies, “always,” through the little metal rectangle on your chest. He likes me and my questions are important to him, you repeat to yourself silently as you work up the strength. 

“If Penelope hadn’t called, last night… were you going to have sex with me?” 

Your lip tastes like his toothpaste as you chew it. Spencer sucks in a breath of air like he’s about to speak—and lets it fizzle out like foam on a carbonated drink. 

“I don’t know,” he finally admits, lamely. “That wasn’t my plan, but you can be extremely convincing when you want to be.”

“But why can’t it be your plan?” It’s an almost whine, pouty and childish—but the next words are quiet and pained. “Is it something I’m doing wrong?”

“No, no! It’s not you. You’re perfect. It’s—it’s complicated. It’s a me thing.”

Such trite words—such a ubiquitous, simple excuse sounds almost comical from his mouth when you know he’s capable of all the eloquence in the world. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s ridiculous. 

“Okay. Let me simplify this for you,” you begin with an uncharacteristic assertiveness that surprises even you. “I want to have sex with you. Either we are going to have sex or we’re not. So your future branches in two diverging paths. In one, we have sex, and then we keep having sex. In the other we never have sex ever. If you want to ever have the privilege of fucking me, then we just have to do it. Otherwise it simply will never happen. And I’m not eternally patient, Reid.”

Go me, you think, slightly breathless from your monologue. 

“Watch your mouth,” he says dryly. Something about the chastisement makes your stomach flip and your whole body tingle. “When you talk to me you call me Spencer. I will also accept Doctor Reid.” You wrestle down a smile, refusing to let him change the subject. A delayed sigh from him sobers up the conversation. “You know what I want. I’ve been very clear with you about that. But…”

“But…?”

Another sigh. A deeper, shuddering sigh, like his breath is searching for balance. Like Spencer is in a precarious position for which he was unprepared. 

“But—but to be completely honest… I worry that you’ll regret choosing me. And I know virginity is a social construct and I’m not implying that your worth will somehow be diminished if we have sex but regardless of my views on virginity as a construct, having sex for the first time can be weird and scary and it’s incredibly intimate and I don’t want you to regret your first time like I regret mine because you chose the wrong person.”

The words come at you so rapid-fire it takes you a moment to process them. And aside from all the ways you want to reassure him that you will not regret choosing him—that you could never, ever regret anything about him—one thing stands out. 

“You regret your first time?” 

Something between a scoff and a sigh travels through the line. You can tell he’s not annoyed at you for asking so much as he’s flustered himself with all his own words as he occasionally does. 

“Yeah. Yes. Sometimes I do. The person—she didn’t… like me as much as I liked her. And I was really, really in love with her, and she knew that and she knew she wasn’t in love with me—or maybe she was, I don’t know—but my point is, when one person likes the other more than the other person like them, things get complicated. And however you feel about me—that’s fine. It’s fine. I don’t want you to feel bad if we don’t feel exactly the same way about each other. I understand that this is newer for you, it’s different, I—I just don’t want us to do something we can’t undo because I don’t want to relive that. And I’m not saying it will never happen but I just don’t want you to make this choice when… when right now, I think we’re in different places emotionally. Regardless of that, I want you to choose the right person. I don’t want you to choose me and then find out that we feel differently after we sleep together and leave you feeling like you signed up for something you didn’t understand. I’m sorry. Maybe telling you this is selfish. But I’ve been thinking about it and trying to ignore it and I think I just have to be completely honest.”

Your ears ring like Spencer just fired a blank right into the microphone. Like you just got backhanded across the face and now you have the world’s worst case of whiplash. 

Every finger is numb and your blood is so cold it feels blue as it slithers thick through your veins. 

What you want to do is scream. What you want to do is go back to last night and stop yourself from almost telling him I love you, slap yourself and keep your cards a little closer to your chest. Because now he knows, and he doesn’t feel the same. 

You want to scream bloody murder. 

But when you try, when you unhinge your jaw and part your chapped lips and expect a bellow to come hurdling up the corridor of your throat with so much force it rattles your bones, all that falls out is a small, “oh.”

Maybe that’s worse. 

Spencer doesn’t reply. You hate yourself for feeling obliged to fill the silence. 

“I didn’t realize you…”

I didn’t realize that you don’t love me back. 

I didn’t realize I like you more than you like me. 

I didn’t realize you’d tell me to masturbate in your fucking bed and then drop this not even five minutes later. 

If Spencer Reid was able to talk to you over the phone with the same amount of affection and familiarity as always, like everything was still okay, knowing you love him and he doesn’t love you the whole time, he is not who you thought he was. 

“I’m sorry,” he lamely says again, like it could ever help. 

More silence. Now you can’t bring yourself to speak, so Spencer does. 

“I realize how awkward this is. I really didn’t mean to put you in this position. Especially not over the phone when I—god, I’m stupid. I’m sorry. But can we—can we talk about this in person when I get back? Please?”

Is that what grownups do? Is the proper etiquette for him to take you out to dinner and explain why he’s not in love with you? Is he going to break up with you?

What does one even wear to a breakup date?

“Okay,” you whisper. Your eyes sting, your everything stings, like you’ve been wrapped in a shroud of briar. Sheets that were soft a moment ago feel like sandpaper on open wounds. You feel like an open wound. 

Spencer sighs. It’s a sound of relief that confuses and hurts you even more. 

“Okay. I—okay. Thank you. Um—I’ll let you go back to sleep, now.”

“Okay,” you repeat—as if any of this were okay. But you can’t keep being that stupid girl who feels it all so much harder, who loves easily and begs to be loved in return, too naive to assume that someone who treats her so kindly might not reciprocate her feelings. It has to be okay, because if it’s not, you’re silly and dramatic and you’re just proving him right. 

“Goodnight,” Spencer whispers, and you can’t help but feeling that it’s the last time you’ll ever hear those words from his mouth while you’re in his bed. And he’s not even fucking here.

So you pull the blanket a little higher. You let your tears stain his pillow because they’ll be invisible by the morning. It will be like they were never here. Like you were never here. 

“Goodnight.”

-

part five

[prettycottagequeer]

ok maybe I'm a little late to this BUT I'm gonna do a to-do list motivation thingy because I've had the worst two weeks since I started college :)

SO these I should start on asap:

50 I make the snack I really want but I haven't had the motivation to make

100 I clean my dorm. another thing I've been meaning to do for a week

150 I do the presentation about mid-victorian fashion I've been putting off (due Monday)

200 I start memorizing the monologue that was due a week ago (now due Tuesday)

these can wait longer:

300 I spend time outside. It's so nice but I'm getting stuck scrolling because I feel like shit. vicious cycle ect

500 I start setting a better weekend routine (aka getting up before noon)

1k I start working out again. I was doing a routine to get more masc and build muscle and I liked it but life hit me like Crowley driving the Bentley and I've missed like 3 weeks

2k I buy my first binder. I've been coping with sports bras for almost a year now and I haven't been able to justify spending $50+ on a binder even though I know I'd love it and use it everyday.

Do I tag people? I don't know but I'm going to. @the-globe-theatre-maggot @weirdly-specific-but-ok @howmanyholesinswisscheese

here's just some context if you want to read, feel free to skip. some of this I've talked about in the maggot server, some I haven't, but I really just need a place for this to go that's out of my head. tw homophobia, transphobia, car crash(??)

How I Have Been Run Over By The Bentley Going 90 In Central London What Feels Like 50 Times In The Last Two Weeks

I'm going to college about 4 hours away from my parents, and it's been really nice. They.. suck, to say the least. transphobic/homophobic ect, super traditional conservative catholic, racist, all of it. so i tried to move somewhere where I wouldn't have to think about them and I could be myself and do what I can to be happy. March 1st was the start of my spring break, which meant going home because the dorms close. I was already not excited, but I was prepared. the problem with being away from home is I forget just how bad they are. My optimism gets the better of me and I think maybe this time they'll be better. so I decided to not hide my septum piercing.

that was a mistake. it starts a whole fight where they say we know you're trans, you're actually a girl and you always will be, we have the bones argument, they think I'm being influenced by demons or something (if only they knew about crowley) because I want to change my name, and they tell me that going on t will completely ruin my body and give me cancer and other things. They're also mad about my dyed hair, septum, and general style, and say I'm setting a terrible example for my (5) younger siblings and make it a point to tell me just how much of a disappointment I am. I think I'm pretty cute and fun but y'know, whatever. very fun time. I lie so much, don't give them any more details about my identity, and say I'm not planning to go on t to save my ass. which is all on instinct which makes me feel worse because if I'm really trans I should be able to stand up for that, right? maybe I'm faking the dysphoria.

the next morning I wake up really sick, and spend the rest of the week sick and feeling like shit because I'm home and back in the same place and situation I was a year ago that I thought I escaped. at one point I pretty much lose my voice but also kind of get gender euphoria from it. it's weird.

On Friday it's time for me to drive back 4 hours to school, and I make it about 3/4 of the way when google maps takes me on a random gravel road and I crash my car, really crash my car, like sideways-in-a-ditch-windows-broken-crawling-up-out-the-door crash it in the middle of nowhere. (I was fully paying attention to the road, it was raining and super slick) I call my parents because I have no one else to call and I sit in a Subway for 3 hours while they drive to get my car. when they get there they're (understandably) really mad, and they tell me that I'm not mature enough to be going to school so far away and I need to get my shit together and stop depending on them. which. is probably true. but made me feel even more stupid about the fact that I crashed my car. I get back to school and I'm still Very Sick with no energy or motivation to do anything. So I've spent the last week trying to get better and honestly to do anything. it hasn't really worked. I'm a lot better health-wise (Not emotionally), still sick but I have a lot of work due, so I really need a push to get started

[theemporium]

[5.1k] an off-putting interaction with a supposed fan leaves jack cursed and, somehow, you find yourself in the middle of it. because acting like your enemy's girlfriend to not aggravate a curse is totally normal, right?

[find other fright night specials here]

.

It was well known by all that you and Jack Hughes did not like each other. 

If anything, that was an understatement about how the two of you felt about each other. It was one of those things that everyone knew: the sky was blue, the sun rose in the east and set in the west, and Jack Hughes was the bane of your fucking existence. 

You couldn’t quite remember a time when he wasn’t a pain in your ass. Since the day you joined the Devils team, the boy seemed to have it out for you and you returned the attitude. You were constantly at each other’s throats—much to the other boys’ entertainment—bickering and arguing and snapping. 

It was one of the safest bets you could make—especially on game days.

“Dude, I just had the weirdest fucking fan experience of my life!”

You didn’t hold back the urge to roll your eyes, your attention focused on the clipboard in your hands rather than the boy who had barrelled over and interrupted you. “Jesus, I thought players were meant to be mellow and calm before a game.” 

“Maybe that’s just what they tell you because you’re boring,” Jack retorted, flashing you a smile that was as irritating as it was charming. “And I wasn’t even talking to you. I was talking—”

“To my patient,” you bit out, turning your attention back to Dawson who was looking between the two of you with a slightly awkward but apprehensive expression. “Now, like I was asking before we were interrupted, the tension in your—”

“She was so weird,” Jack continued on, his lips twitching when he noticed the heavy sigh you let out but he kept going, facing forward towards Dawson as his shoulder brushed against yours. “I was coming out of the carpark and—”

Dawson’s nose scrunched up. “She was in the player carpark?”

“Yes!” Jack exclaimed, his eyes widening. “That’s what I’m saying, she already snuck in there and then she kept saying something but I couldn’t understand a word. So, I tried to politely—”

You snorted.

“—tell her that I was running late,” Jack continued, shooting you a quick but dirty look as he did. “But then she just started muttering to herself and waved her hands at me before walking away.” 

“Sounds like you broke a sweet old woman’s heart,” Dawson commented, grinning a little when Jack smacked his arm.

“Shut up,” Jack murmured, though his cheeks flushed pink in response. “I was already running late—”

“No surprise there,” you added.

“—I just didn’t have time,” Jack defended, once again shooting you a dirty look. “But it was weird, bro. She had some weird juju.”

Dawson pressed his lips together to hold back his laughter. “Juju?”

“Juju!” Jack repeated with a nod.

“I think you’re letting the guilt get to you, bro,” Dawson said, shaking his head in amusement. “You should head in to get ready for the game. Pretty sure Coach was asking Nico where you—”

“And you just let me stand here and talk?” Jack hissed, his eyes wide before he began rushing down the hallway towards the locker room. “What the fuck, Merc?!” 

“Always blaming everyone but himself,” you huffed, shaking your head. “Typical.”

Dawson grinned a little. “You know, people say that tension is a great aphrodisiac.” 

You shot him a blank look. “The only tension I am interested in is the kind in your muscles. Now, you gonna tell me how your hamstring is feeling or should I tell Coach to scrap you from the game?” 

Dawson quickly zipped his mouth shut.

…

It happened too fast for anyone to comprehend. 

There was five minutes left of the third period, the Devils were up one goal but it was still close. The Jets were putting up more of a fight than they anticipated, pulling moves and hits that were rough and dirty and tiring out the Devils far faster than they would have liked. 

Jack’s whole body was screaming, his heart pounding in his chest and his brain clinging onto the fact that it was almost over. Just a few more minutes until the final buzzer sounded, they just needed to make sure they didn’t let the other team score. That was all. Just tire them out in the last few minutes and they could clinch the win. 

He was so focused on thinking defensively, on thinking what would keep the Jets moving and chasing that he hadn’t even noticed the player barrelling towards him until it was too late. 

The referees blew the whistle too late, Jack’s whole body lurching with the hit as he felt himself get smacked up against the glass before he hit the ice. He felt as though someone had dunked his head underwater, his hearing muffled and his senses disoriented as he tried to scramble up onto his feet. As he tried to show that he was okay and he could keep playing. 

But the pain that ripped through his head when he tried to stand prevented him from doing so. 

“Give him space!” 

“Someone get the medics!” 

“Jack? You good?”

“He looks like he is gonna throw up!” 

Jack could feels hands on him. He could hear voices and he could hear the concern, even if he couldn’t lift his head to work out who was talking to him. He couldn’t do anything but groan and clench his eyes shut and hope that somebody would just make his head stop pounding.

He didn’t even remember how he got off the ice but he was grateful for the darkness in the medic room, the determination to finish the game as a win no longer at the top of his priority list. 

…

You knew the Devils took a chance on you when they offered you the job, but you liked to think you lived up to their expectations. 

You were fresh out of college, lost and intimidated and a degree in physiotherapy in your hands that you didn’t quite know what to do with. You had seen the opening in the Devils’ team by chance, and had applied for the sake of just having the experience of applying. You never considered getting an interview, or for them to like you. 

You never considered that they would take a chance on a student fresh out of college, offering a place under the current head of the team to shadow for a few years before fully taking over the position. 

But life had funny ways of working out and the job with the Devils was one of them.

You had been with the team for almost three years now. You were hardworking and diligent and you performed the roles of your job and beyond. You were a good employee. You knew you were. 

Which is why you were utterly baffled by the fact you were being dragged down the hallway instead of preparing your office for the players' cooldown massages and checkups. 

“What did I do? Are they angry at me? Was there a report I forgot to hand in?” You questioned the boy pulling you, nerves bubbling up in your stomach and you suddenly regretted the pretzel you ate during the second period. 

“No, no, it’s just—” Nico paused, his brows furrowing together. “I can’t really explain it. You just gotta see it.” 

“See what?” You questioned, your eyes darting over the boy’s shoulder to see him leading you towards the medic rooms. “Why are you bringing me here? Did someone pull something?” 

“It’s Jack,” Nico replied, like that explained anything.

“Did Jack pull something?” You asked, albeit a bit desperately. Your patience was already thin and the vague replies were starting to test you. “Nico, tell me what’s wrong? I thought Jack was just on concussion watch, Susan said—” 

“Just,” Nico paused outside the room, grimacing a little. “Just play along, yeah?” 

You opened your mouth, a dozen more questions on the tip of your tongue but it was that very moment the door swung open. 

“Baby, there you are! Where have you been?” 

You blinked, staring at Jack who was currently sitting up on one of the medic beds, grinning happily at you. Then your eyes shifted to the team doctor who looked sheepish, a similar expression shared by the coaching staff beside her. And finally, your eyes landed on Luke who was standing beside Jack’s bed, looking like he was seconds away from laughing (an expression you weren’t expecting on the brother of someone who took a very bad hit).

Nico cleared his throat, nudging you forward. “Found her!”

You stumbled forward, still utterly confused at the odd looks you were receiving from everyone in the room. “What? Was something broken in the hit or something?”

“Baby,” Jack groaned, though it sounded fond and sweet as he reached his hand out towards you. “Stop thinking about work for two seconds, will you? C’mere, I missed you. They said you were too busy to see me just after the hit.” 

You blinked. “Are you talking to me?” 

Jack raised his brows in amusement. “Is there another girlfriend I have that I’ve forgotten about?” 

“Girlfriend?” You repeated, your jaw almost hitting the ground. “I am—”

“Very much his girlfriend who loves him very much,” Nico interrupted, stepping forward and giving you a look you were starting to understand. “And who must be very concerned after he took that big hit that could have gone badly and could have affected his memory.”

Your lips parted slightly as everything clicked.

“Geez, Hisch, way to look at things in a glass half empty kinda way,” Jack laughed before lifting his hand out to you. “Baby, m’fine. Don’t listen to him.”

You had half the mind to shoot Luke a glare as you closed the distance between you and took Jack’s hand in yours, ignoring the snickering from the younger Hughes. You swallowed harshly, turning to look at the team doctor instead of Jack.

“So, doc, what’s the consensus?” 

The team doctor gave you a sheepish smile. “He’s been cursed.” 

You blinked. “Yeah, no shit.” 

“Shit, can you tell?” Jack frowned, lifting his other hand to touch his face. “Do I have warts on my face or something? Oh god, do you still think I’m hot?” 

“I—” You flashed him a slightly strained smile. “Still hot, babe.” 

“Oh, it gets better,” Luke mumbled under his breath. 

Jack beamed in response. 

“The hit should have been a standard hit, the Jets player wasn’t even skating fast enough to cause the…damage Jack is experiencing,” the doctor continued. “We suspected foul play and did a few additional tests. It seemed like Jack had a curse manifesting throughout the game but the brunt of the curse didn’t hit until mid-play. And whoever cursed him seemed to have it out for him because it took the environment around him and made it worse—hence, the Jets player’s hit seeming harder, the force he hit the glass and the pain caused by the hit.” 

You frowned. “So, what do we do? How do we…un-curse him?” 

“You can’t,” Luke jumped in, smiling far too wide for your liking. “Doc says we just have to let the curse play out.” 

“I hardly feel cursed,” Jack said dismissively. “What, a rough hit? That’s it? Some curse. Everything else is normal.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. 

“Until then,” the doctor continued. “I strongly advise doing anything that would…agitate the curse. It could make things worse. We got lucky with the…limited inconveniences.” 

Despite her cryptic words, you understood the message loud and clear. 

Play along and be his girlfriend until his memory returned to normal or else god knows what will happen.

You just wondered what you did to deserve being cursed along with him. 

…

“I bet it was that old lady before the game.”

You lifted your head to find Jack lounging on the massage bed in your office, staring at the ceiling as he continued to contemplate. You had mentioned to him that you needed to finish some paperwork before leaving for the day. 

You expected him to head back to his apartment with Luke, not stay behind with you.

Luke just cackled when Jack decided to stay with you. 

Your brows furrowed together. “Who?”

“The weird old lady that I told you and Dawson about before the game,” Jack said, turning his head to look back at you. “The one who I said had bad juju?” 

And of course he would remember that, just not the fact you weren’t his girlfriend.

Stupid curse. 

“Oh, yeah,” you nodded, leaning back in your seat. “So, what? You didn’t take a photo with her and she curses you? Seems a bit harsh.” 

“Maybe she didn’t like the fact I told her I wasn’t available,” Jack teased, winking at you.

It took every tensed muscle in your body to stop you from scrunching your nose in response. 

“Seems likely,” you replied with a strained smile on your face once more. “Right, I’m done here. Do you want a lift back?” 

Jack laughed, pushing himself to sit up. “Yeah, unless you expect me to walk back to your place and meet you there.”

You froze. “You’re coming back to mine?”

“Duh,” Jack said, his brows furrowing a little at your reaction. “Like I do after every game, babe. This isn’t new. Are you feeling okay?” 

“Yeah, just—” You waved him off, focusing on tidying up your desk instead. “Tired. I think I slept badly.” 

“Aw, baby,” Jack cooed, and it was odd hearing it in a sweet, concerning way rather than the condescending tone you were used to. “S’fine, you’ve got me tonight. Bet you’ll sleep like a baby.” 

“Definitely,” you agreed, making a mental note to strangle Luke the next time he came in for a deep muscle massage.

…

“Uh, where’s your clothes?” 

Jack glanced over at you, that stupid grin on his face that still looked unbelievably fond. It felt wrong to be on the receiving end of it. 

“M’getting ready for bed,” he said simply. “I can’t sleep in a shirt, babe, you know this.” 

“Right, of course I do,” you nodded. “I was just testing you. Making sure you have no more memory problems.” 

“That’s sweet, babe, but I am okay,” Jack assured you, climbing under the covers and settling on the right side of the bed, like he somehow fucking knew you preferred the left. “The doc cleared me and I’ve felt fine since. You know I’d tell you if I felt like something was wrong.”

“Yeah, I just…worry,” you answered after a few moments, trying to calm the thoughts racing through your head as you climbed into the bed next to him. You kept telling yourself to relax, to just pretend like this was normal, to do what the doctor said and play along with the curse so it doesn’t get worse.

But it was hard to believe you were sharing a bed with the boy when he—mutually—hated your guts a few hours ago.

“C’mere,” Jack hummed, pulling you into his embrace with ease and ignoring the way your body seemed to tense at the contact between you both. “Just relax. It’s hockey, hits happen. You know that.” 

You swallowed. “Curses don’t, though.” 

“True, but we will get through that too,” Jack said with so much confidence. “We’re a team, remember? I’ve got your back and you’ve got mine.”

Your eyes widened as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“Mhm. A team. That’s us.” 

Jack grinned against your head. “Goodnight, baby.”

“Night, Jack.” 

…

You woke up the following morning to an empty bed.

For a moment, you thought the whole thing was a bad dream. You thought that it was some twisted nightmare your brain tormented you with, something that would haunt you for the next few days but ultimately forget. 

For a moment, you let out a sigh of relief. 

And then you heard a crash from the kitchen, followed by a familiar voice whispering ‘shit’ and realised it was not, in fact, a dream.

You weren’t even sure what you expected to find when you threw the covers off and quickly rushed towards the source of the noise. But finding Jack, half dressed, with two plates on the counter with a sizzling pan on the stove was not it. 

“Oh hey, you’re up,” he beamed once he spotted you lingering in the doorway. “We didn’t have much in the fridge, so we should probably do a grocery run soon. But I managed to whip up something edible.” 

You blinked. “You cook?”

Jack groaned but there was still a smile on his face. “Babe, I’m getting better. I only set the toaster on fire twice in the last few months!” 

You blinked again, your brain far too tired to even stay with the conversation.

“Your coffee is in the fridge,” Jack said, turning back around to focus on not burning whatever was in the pan. “I didn’t make it, so I promise it tastes good. It’s from that cafe down the road you like.”

You knew the cafe well. It was one of your favourites and one you frequently bought coffees from, especially before work. You knew it wasn’t the most shocking thing in the world that he knew of its existence, but the fact he somehow seemed to know it was your favourite and choose the correct order threw you off.

“Thanks,” you murmured, taking a sip of the iced coffee whilst Jack just grinned at you. 

“You’re snappy before coffee,” he teased. 

You shuffled towards the stools by the counter, settling down as you watched the boy closely, like somehow staring at him would reverse whatever curse that old lady put on him. It didn’t. Instead, you were just blatantly staring at the shirtless boy in your kitchen like he was an alien.

He almost felt like one, if you were being honest.

“So,” you spoke up after a few moments. “What are your plans for today?” 

Jack glanced over his shoulder, shooting you an odd look. “Are you sure you’re not the one who got hit last night? We have the charity event with the other boys, remember? The picnic in the park? Don’t tell me my date is bailing on me.”

You laughed nervously. “Of course not! Just…testing you again!”

“Well, you can chill with the tests,” he assured you, pressing another fucking kiss on your forehead that made you feel warm and gooey and confused as he placed your plate in front of you. “M’okay, baby, promise. Also, I promised Nico we would bring something so we should probably stop by some bakery and grab cookies, or something.” 

You only hummed in response, fighting the urge to blurt out the truth and somehow relieved that you wouldn’t have to be spending the day alone with him.

…

“You. Here. Now.” 

Luke blinked, his brows furrowed in confusion as he stared at you. He pointed his finger towards himself and you could have rolled your eyes if you weren’t so desperate. 

“Yes, you, idiot. Hurry up.” 

However, Luke was a little bitch so he slowly made his way over to the tree you were currently hiding behind, a plate of finger foods in his hand that he was snacking away on. 

“Sup?” 

You stared at him blankly. “You’re already on thin ice.” 

“Aw,” Luke cooed, a teasing grin growing on his face. “Was the night with Jack that bad?” 

“He knows things!” You hissed under your breath, a bit more frantic that you would have preferred. “We need to find this fucking witch, I can’t do this anymore.” 

“It’s been less than twenty-four hours,” Luke pointed out.

“It’s freaky as fuck,” you retorted. “He knows things about me that a normal boyfriend would.” 

“Wow, it’s almost like magic,” Luke deadpanned.

“I hate you.” 

“Rude way to talk to your possible future brother-in-law,” Luke grinned, letting out a squeal when you pinched his side. “Ow, ouch! Okay! I’ll try to keep him away from you as much as I can.” 

You sighed. “Thank you.” 

…

It took twenty minutes before that plan flopped. 

Jack snuck off after an interview he had done with Luke for the Devils social media team, hardly giving his brother a chance to come up with an excuse to hang out on the other side of the park before he hunted you down. 

You almost screamed when a body flopped down on the blanket beside you, Jack’s grinning face in your line of vision as he settled his head on your lap. 

“Hey, stranger,” he greeted, lifting his hand to tuck some hair behind your ear. “You’ve been quiet today.” 

“Just tired,” you said, the response almost automatic at this point. 

But Jack frowned. “I think you might be getting sick. We should pick up some soup from that deli place you like, down in Hoboken. Maybe pick up some tea too.” 

Your throat felt tight but you nodded nonetheless, hoping your surprise wasn’t obvious on your face.

Fucking magic. 

…

When you woke up the next morning, Jack still thought he was your boyfriend.

The next day was the same. 

So was the one after that. 

And the days following. 

Before you knew it, it had been well over a week—honestly closer to two weeks—and the curse seemed well and truly cemented in place. It was still an absolute mind-fuck, and not just for you but everyone on the team. 

It felt like one big secret you were all holding back on telling Jack, letting him live in some weird and ignorant bliss. The worst part was that he was so unsuspecting of the people closest to him lying to his face. He didn’t question the snickers Dawson or Luke would sometimes let out when the two of you showed up to work together. Or the way Nico seemed to actively avoid talking about the relationship (despite Jack insisting it was his friend’s shove that prompted him to ask you out). Or the fact you had been ‘sick’ for the last two weeks and, therefore, unable to kiss him.

Though, that one was easy with hockey players and their odd superstitions and need to prevent any possible scrap from a game. 

He was so trusting and gullible when it came to the people around him, you almost felt bad. 

The emphasis being on almost because by some weird and twisted turn of events, you didn’t mind it. Not really. Not after the initial weirdness and tension of it wore off. Maybe you had been single for too long or maybe you were mourning something you had never truly experienced, the love and attention of someone who notices, who sees you, who cares about keeping you happy. 

It felt wrong, like you were exploiting Jack for emotions and feelings he didn’t organically have. But it also felt too nice to tell the truth, to tell him that you weren’t really his girlfriend and lose the benefits you had gained over the last two weeks.

It was weird seeing this side of Jack. Not a bad weird, just a different kind. 

A kind you knew you would have to give up once the curse was gone.

“M’gonna be a bit longer, Dawson wanted to run some more drills outside of practice,” Jack said as he lifted himself off the massage bed, flashing those puppy dog eyes at you that made your stomach twist in endearment (when once upon a time, they pissed you off). “Wait for me? I’ll pay for your lunch.” 

“You don’t have to bribe me, you know,” you snorted but your eyes fluttered shut as he rounded your desk, placing a kiss on the top of your head. “But deal. We’re getting burritos.” 

He beamed, shaking his head fondly. “Fine. I’ll catch you in a few hours.” 

You watched him scurry out of your office, probably running through the corridors to get to the locker room before he was reprimanded for being late. He had even arrived two hours earlier than he was meant to, just because he wanted to chill in your office whilst you worked. 

It shouldn’t have made your heart flutter when you knew it wasn’t really Jack but it did.

It really fucking did.

…

It was an hour or so later when you couldn’t ignore your stomach rumbling anymore. 

There was still another two hours before Jack would step off the ice, heading towards the locker room to shower and change before the two of you could grab some food. And you sure as hell could not wait that long. 

You let out a groan, your joints clicking as you stood up from your desk for the first time in a few hours. You ignored the voice in the back of your head that reminded yourself to try walking around a bit more between writing reports before you headed into the hallway, deciding to treat yourself to the vending machines closer to the players’ locker room (it had better snacks, despite what management liked to tell everyone).

You had been standing in front of the vending machine with your brows furrowed in contemplation that you hadn’t even noticed an old lady approaching you.

“You’re the girl.” 

You jumped out of your skin, an unflattering noise of surprise leaving your lips as you stared at the woman with wide eyes. “I, uh, what?” Your brain took a few seconds to catch up. “I mean, I am a girl. I don’t know about being the girl.”

The woman smiled and it sent shivers down your spine. “Hm, yes, I can see it now. His aura lingers on you.” 

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, but the magic remains. It is strong. Pungent,” she continued, tsking as she shook her head. “You delay the inevitable!” 

Your eyes widened as you took a step back on instinct. “You’re the one that cursed Jack, aren’t you?”

“Curse?” Her smile became knowing, sneaky, disconcerting. “Oh, honey, there was no curse.”

You frowned. “Uh, ma’am, with all due respect, I find that hard to believe considering he—” 

“All I did was give him what he wanted,” she said, so simply and so directly that it caught you off guard. “His deepest desire to be his, though I assumed that would be a game win. The losing streak was quite off-putting.” 

“I—” You blinked. “So, wait. You’re a fan?” 

“Yes,” she stated. “Was it not obvious?” 

You bit back the sarcastic response that wanted to leave your lips. “And what? You cursed him to win the game?” 

“That was my mistake for assuming it was what he desired the most,” she replied, that almost-creepy smile on her face. “It seems his deepest desires lay with you.” 

You stared at the woman in front of you. “You’re joking, right?” 

“I do not joke,” she stated bluntly. 

“So…the way he’s been acting…” you trailed off, your mind racing with a million different thoughts.

“All himself,” the woman answered. “Think of the magic as the confidence boost he needed to get there.” 

“He likes me?” 

“Yes.”

“Like, properly?” 

“Yes.” 

“And everything he’s been doing? That’s been done by him and not influenced by magic? Not even the tidbits of knowledge?” 

“My dear, it sounds like you have been very oblivious to how this man feels about you.” 

You shot her a look, unsure how you felt about being called out by the very witch who ‘didn’t curse’ the boy you had been calling your boyfriend for the last two weeks. 

“Oh my god.” 

“Though, it seems like his change in relationship with you has been what he needed to get him out of his losing slump, so I guess we both win.”

You frowned a little. “You’re one odd lady.” 

She shrugged in response. 

“How did you even get in here?” 

…

“Run it again!” 

Jack’s muscles were screaming at him as he pushed himself across the ice, pushing himself to go faster, faster, faster like the coach wanted as he carried the puck on his stick. His eyes were laser-focused on the players around him, on dodging the defencemen lined up in front of him and skating around them to get to the goal. 

He didn’t let himself relax until the sound of the puck hitting the back of the net hit his ears.

“JACK!” 

He turned his head, expecting to find one of his teammates skating towards him to celebrate his goal in their makeshift drill. But instead of Nico skating towards him with his arms in the air or Dougie prepared to smack him on the back for dodging his attempts, he instead found you standing by the tunnel. 

You looked flustered and on edge and panicked, and it made his spine straighten.

Jack dodged the others, ignoring whatever the coaching staff were barking at them as he made his way towards you at a speed that you would have disapproved of if you knew how sore his muscles were.

“What? Are you okay? Did something happen?” He asked frantically, confused as to why else you would have interrupted a training practice. 

“You like me,” you said to him.

His brows furrowed in confusion. “Uh, yeah, babe. I do. What are you—”

But before he could continue, you grabbed his face with both hands and tugged him closer. He stumbled a step or two before his lips were pressed on yours. His surprise disappeared after a few seconds, his body melting into the kiss and his brain forgetting whatever he was trying to ask moments ago.

He was still in a daze when you pulled away, your hands still holding his face and your gaze completely focused on him, like you were expecting to see something different. 

“Do you still like me?” You asked, a little breathless.

And he felt winded. 

Winded by an influx of memories and realisations and emotions that were all his own. Winded by the magic coursing through him, ringing obvious and evident to his body despite two weeks of feeling nothing. Winded by the look on your face, a hint of fear and hope shining in your eyes as you awaited his response.

“Yeah,” he rasped, his cheeks burning hot. “I do.”

“Okay,” you nodded, your lips twitching upwards. “Good.” 

And then you kissed him again. 

However, this time it was the shrill of a whistle that broke you two apart, the annoyed voices of the coaching staff telling Jack to stop slacking and continue on with his training ringing loud and clear through the rink. 

“We still have a lot to talk about,” you said as Jack began to skate back towards the rest of the group. “Like, a lot.”

He grinned at you. “We still on for burritos after?” 

You laughed. “Only if you’re still playing.” 

“It’s a date, baby,” Jack winked. 

It was well known by all that you and Jack Hughes did not like each other. 

But maybe a little bit of magic was the shove the two of you needed to realise that wasn’t quite true. 

.

[arieslost]

ok i don’t know if it’s just me who gets really giggly when it’s late at night but imagine laying in bed with lando and you’re just rambling about smth so stupid that it ends with you two just giggling at nothing. like getting full on stomach cramps from laughing but there wasn’t even anything funny to begin with

anon u and i are the SAME! once its past midnight i always end up becoming a victim of the late night sillies 💔

© arieslost 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

1:30 am | ln4

you knew you were up too late when you nearly tripped over the loose edge of the blanket you and lando had been sharing on your way back to the couch, and when he had caught you before you could hit your head or anything, you started laughing.

“oh, no,” he’d groaned dramatically. “got the late night giggles already, huh?”

“uh-uh,” you shook your head, even though him saying the words “late night giggles” was enough to make laughter start bubbling up in your throat again.

something always shifted in you when the clock struck a certain hour at night, and lando had only been witness to it a handful of times before you moved in together.

now, you’d managed to get through the rest of the movie the two of you were watching without laughing, even if it meant biting your lip hard and refusing to make eye contact with your boyfriend. it was bad enough feeling his eyes on you every time he wanted to see your reaction to something that happened on the tv. making eye contact would just take you out entirely for no reason whatsoever.

which is why you think you’ve successfully avoided making a fool of yourself when you’re both finally laying in bed with the lights out at the fine hour of 1:30 in the morning.

“you’re so far away,” lando grumbles, dragging your body into his so his one arm is around your shoulders and your face is nestled in his neck.

“better?” you ask, smiling when he shivers as your lips brush his skin.

“mhmm.” he’s quiet for a moment, running his fingers up and down your arm. “you’re gonna come to miami, right?”

“yeah, if you want me to.”

“what kind of question is that, babe?” he cranes his neck in a way that tells you he’s fixing you with a judgy look even though you can’t see each other.

you shrug, feeling the giggles building up again for no reason whatsoever. “i dunno.”

“obviously i want you there, why wouldn’t i?”

“i dunno,” you repeat. “it’s miami. maybe you just wanna party with all your homies.” and just like that, you’re laughing again.

“oh dear god, here we go,” he sighs, pressing his lips together to repress his own laughter as your body shakes against his. “my homies? when have i ever referred to any of my mates as my ‘homie’?”

he sounds so incredulous that you laugh even harder. “oh, you’re so british! i can’t call them your mates, lan. it sounds too weird.”

“so homies is the word you went with? why can’t you be normal and just say my friends?”

“why can’t you be normal and say your friends?” you shoot back, and that does lando in.

“it’s not funny,” he tries to admonish, and it’s entirely true, but it’s a moot point when you can barely understand him through his laughter.

“stop laughing then!”

“you stop!”

naturally, that makes you both laugh harder still, to the point where you have to roll away from him, clutching your stomach from how badly all the laughing is making it hurt.

“i can’t breathe,” lando gasps from behind you.

“stop laughing,” you repeat. “you’re killing me.”

“i think i’m dying,” he continues like he didn’t hear you, and he honestly might not have because your face is half shoved into your pillow in your attempts to stifle yourself.

a few more minutes go by of the two of you absolutely losing your minds before you’re finally able to catch your breath.

“ow,” you whine, holding your stomach. “i think i just grew a six pack.”

“i think mine just became ten times more defined,” lando says, voice raspy from all the exertion on his vocal chords.

“ooh, lemme feel.”

“absolutely not, because you’re going to tickle me,” he grabs your wrist out of thin air. “i know your tricks, baby. i’ve laughed more than enough tonight thanks to you.”

“not my fault you’re weird and british.”

“i love you,” he says sweetly, pulling you back towards him and kissing your forehead. “now’s where you say, ‘i love you too.’”

“i love you too,” you reply dutifully, blindly reaching for his face so you can kiss him properly. “even though you’re weird and british.”

he kisses you again. “i thought it was especially because i’m weird and british.”

you snuggle into his side, now thoroughly exhausted. “please don’t make me laugh more, lan.”

you both know he’s right, of course, but you usually need to have the last word, so he lets you get away with it. he does love you, after all, even though you had him in stitches over nothing at 1:30 in the morning.

word count: 790

masterlist — join my tag list here!

note: this was sooo self indulgent, like i was laughing as i wrote this because the term “homies” is so silly to me for some reason. also helped me test my dialogue skills!! n e wayz…

requests are OPEN, and my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation!

reblogs are greatly appreciated <33

dividers by @/saradika

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[nanenna]

Jeez Louise This is a Mess

Sleepy King (Nenna edition) Master Post

Apologies in advance, I'm not very familiar with John Constantine, trying to do anything from his perspective is definitely an unwise decision. I have chosen it anyway. He's almost definitely OOC.

---

John watched the Fentons and the mayor just saunter through the brand new hole in the mayor’s wall like this was just a normal Friday for them. Considering how weird the town was as a whole, it probably was. And he meant that by the old meaning of the word and as literal as one could possibly interpret it. He’d never been anywhere where the veil was so thin over such a large area, with æther so thick in the air of course it was affecting the locals. Probably had something to do with whoever or whatever had cloaked the whole town.

John turned to Tall Dark and Broody, “So, what happened to all the bugs and trackers you put on them originally?”

Batsy frowned, “Danny’s are still in the Fenton residence, expected since he clearly changed his clothes. His parents’ trackers and bugs all went offline not long after arriving home, the ones I placed inside the residence are malfunctioning.”

“And that’s not the least bit suspicious?” John asked.

“It’s incredibly suspicious,” Batsy said with a completely straight face before turning and also walking right out the brand new hole. “I suggest you actually use the comm I gave you earlier, they’re explaining the situation to Masters.”

Unfortunately Mr. Gargles Gravel for Breakfast had a point, John sighed and did put in the comm, though he knew it would be spotty with the use of magic to follow the group. Batsy and Wonder Woman could follow however they liked, John did not have the energy for that.

The comms were staticky, cutting in and out even without John’s abuse of the thin veil to quick step around town. Not surprising, the amount of pure death magic radiating off the two dead-alive people in that tank would be enough to mess with most electronics even if the veil weren’t practically non-existent.

“Somehow this place feels cozy,” Boston commented as he followed John.

“You would think so.”

The conversation on the comm was getting worse, the bugs were clearly slowly giving up the ghost. John only caught a few words here and there, and those were only because they were Ghost Speak, something that shouldn’t be possible for flesh and blood mouths to speak. It’s just bits and pieces, names and titles mostly, but if he’s understanding this right…

“Huh, that may change the situation a bit.”

“What are you going on about?” Boston asked.

“It sounds like Pariah isn’t the Ghost King anymore. But Batsy’s bugs are losing the war against æther, so when we get there you’re gonna need to go spy on them.”

“Will that work?”

“Try to keep out of sight, but even if you get caught the worst they’ll do is kick you out. Undead solidarity.”

Boston grumbled, but when John met back up with Batsy and Wonder Woman staring through a window right to where the group was talking, Boston did as he was asked and slipped right through the wall and inside. John cast a quick spell to spy through Boston.

Boston floated slowly into the room, seemingly becoming braver as the Fentons looked right past him without reacting. Unfortunately, he got a little too close to the one person in the room that could definitely see him. The kid jumped out of his seat in surprise.

“Don't sneak up on me like that!” The kid whined as he picked himself up off the floor. Then he froze, eyes glaring at Boston. “How did you sneak up on me? You didn't activate my ghost sense at all.”

“Oh, you can see me? And ghost sense?”

“You don't know who I am?”

“Uh… Daniel Fenton?”

“Well yes, but ghosts don't usually call me that.”

“Then what do they call you?”

“How about you tell me your name first?”

“I’m Deadman.”

The kid burst into laughter. “Are you for real?”

“Danny, is it Youngblood?” The sister asked.

“Huh?” The kid looked to his older sister, then back to Boston. He gestured, “You can't see him?”

The Fentons all shook their heads.

The creepy mayor came back into the room holding a cardboard box, knocking a thin layer of dust from the top. “Here it is!” He looked up and frowned. “Who are you, and why are you in my home?”

“I’m Deadman and I’m uh… lost?”

“He didn't set off my ghost sense,” the kid added. He turned back to Boston, “Are you even a ghost?”

Batman, who’d spent the last few minutes getting into the perfect position while he waited for the most dramatic moment chose then to crash through the window. John started cursing as he rushed to climb in after the loon, already prepping a spell. The moment he had a clear line of sight he shot off the revelation spell at the kid.

It did… well not much.

Really about all it did was give the kid a couple extra accessories. He expected them, but he also expected it to somehow reveal the kid’s undead status too. Make him look all glowy and ghostly like he had when he’d first arrived last night, because John was pretty sure the kid hadn’t been kidnapped after all. Or at least not how they originally assumed, he was pretty sure some spirits considered an unwilling summons a kidnapping.

Still, there the crown was. Just floating over the kid’s head, toxic green æther flames around it like a death energy aurora. And like any teenager the kid seemed completely oblivious, having to be told the crown was even there. Once he got a hand on it though he said something odd, “Okay, crown retrieved.”

John just tucked his hands in his pockets, waiting to see what they were doing. Why did they think they needed to find the crown?

“We may have a problem,” The creepy mayor said as he pulled an identical crown from his cardboard box.

“What.” The kid looked back and forth between the crown in his hand and the one in the creeper’s. “Why are there two?”

And, well, John agreed. Why the fuck were there two? He already started muttering an identification spell as the kid turned to him.

“What did you do?!”

“I didn't do anything,” John protested, “that was purely an identification spell, it can't duplicate things!”

“Well clearly you did something wrong,” The kid’s mom said while glaring at the him.

Of course things got dicey after that, the kid and the creepy mayor got into a fight over the second crown, things turned into a right mess, and John was quite content to let them squabble among themselves. He moved to go stand next to Batsy and Wonder Woman, Boston with him, waiting to see how this went.

Of course the tussle then turned into fighting over the ring on the kid’s finger, still blaming John for just revealing the crown and ring the kid had apparently had this whole time.

“Alright, that’s enough. Shut up!” John may have put a bit of intent into that, and it worked beautifully. The whole group stopped and stared at him, finally shutting up. The parents managed to get between the kid and the creeper, each one still with one of the crowns.

The crowns he now knew were both, somehow, legitimate.

John pointed at the kid, “Just call the crown, it’ll listen.”

The kid gave him a disbelieving look. “Oh sure, I’ll just,” he hunched forward a little bit, clapped his hands, and whistled like he was calling a dog, “here Crowny, Crowny, Crowny.”

For a brief moment nothing happened, then the creeper mayor jerked forward as the crown yanked itself from his hand. It went to go join the other crown floating over the kid’s head, one of them grew wider so the other could nestle inside it, both spinning in place but in opposite directions.

Everyone was staring at the display.

“What uh… what are they doing?” The kid asked nervously.

“They… like each other?” The sister asked skeptically.

“Great, wonderful, fabulous, just what I need in my life.” The kid sighed and turned to glare at John. “What. Did. You. DO?!”

“I didn’t do shit,” John replied, much to the parents’ combined horror. “Looks like somehow they’re both legit, my best guess is one of them isn’t from this timeline.”

“Oh,” the sister said, grabbing everyone’s attention. “The Nasty Burger explosion happened after the fight with the king, right?”

“The what?” the kid’s parents asked.

“Oh,” the kid responded, “I’m starting to see why the council of eyeballs hates my guts.”

And wasn’t that a concerning sentence. John desperately needed a drink, thankfully he had a flask on him and chose that moment to take a swig. “Alright, so there should be a second ring too, no point leaving that on Dark’s finger in case he gets out again.”

“Vlad did it,” the kid said while pointing at the creeper.

“Excuse me!” Creeper actually put a hand to his neck, like some fainting Victorian lady.

“Vlad tried to steal the ring and crown, so he let Dark out of the sarcophagus and I had to go clean up his mess, like always.” The kid glared at the creeper, it was starting to paint a really concerning picture.

“I’m sure Vladdie was just trying to keep these powerful artifacts safe,” the kid’s dad said loudly and happily. Yeah, there was the concerning picture again.

“I’d believe it if all he took was the ring, but the crown was safely sealed away with Pariah and he let the guy out to steal it.”

“Just call the ring,” John said gruffly.

“Here Ragey, Ragey, Ragey.” The kid whistled and clapped his hands again. The ring showing up on the kid’s other hand was expected, the glowing green hell hound that came sprinting through the wall and practically tackled the kid wasn’t. “Cujo! Hi! Who’s a good puppy?!”

Keeriest, John needed a stiffer drink.

[loverslodge]

shifted for you

summary: bucky was stuck in a pup form till you came in his life

pairings: shifter!bucky barnes x reader

warnings: fluff, angst, SMUT, nudity, reference to his injury, barely a plot

A/N: this is the fic that is for my over 100 followers. thank you all for loving my work and following me. i am not good at interactions so i apologize i come off as snobby but i do encourage you to leave requests and messages.

Bucky was a shifting White Wolf till Hydra had ruined his shifts and he was stuck in pup form, even after Steve had found him.

The Avengers helped him but he could never shift back to himself and so Tony made Bucky a special communication device so he didn't have to bark every two seconds because everyone wanted to pet his cute ass.

One day he and Steve were ambushed and they got separated and Bucky would have gotten back, only if he knew what part of the city he was lost in and he had also lost his communication device.

You were walking home after a stressful day at work when you heard small whimpers coming from an alley.

You stopped and looked in the alley to see a roughed up pup with two electric blue eyes staring back at you.

“It's okay, little buddy. I'm not gonna hurt you.” You walk slowly and crouch down to approach the whimpering pup. “Let me help you. I promise I will try to find your owner.”

You were close enough to hold it but you held out your hand instead, wanting the pup to sniff and make sure you really meant him no harm.

He slowly walks over a little sniffs around your hand and he gives you the sweetest look and you give him your brightest smile but he struggled to walk to you so you whipped it up in your hand and pulled him close to your chest.

You brought it to the new vet that had opened near your house. The vet examined the wolf pup and gave him a suspicious look. The vet gave you a few tips and tricks on how to help the pup and gave you some supplies that would last you a few days before you could go shopping for them.

The pup had a metal left front leg that kept his balance. You figured it was from the previous owner. On your walk home, the pup stayed alert and kept on looking around. You found it adorable how smart and alert he was.

When you reached your apartment, you let him down and he cautiously made his way from one to another while you set up his stuff

You bent down to look at his neck. “I don't see any collar on you. How will I know what's your name and who's your owner? Do you have a name, Little Wolf?”

As if he could understand you, he nodded which shocked you. Perhaps this was a very well trained pup. “Ok. Well, you can't talk so I will have to find a way for you to spell your name out to me. Can you spell?”

After waiting a beat, the pup nodded again and you nodded back. You looked around to find a way to interact with him. You rummaged around the apartment to find something but couldn't come up with anything.

Meanwhile, you had poured food for the pup in his bowl but he wasn't eating it, giving it a disgusting look. He just drank the water and trotted to sit on the carpet in the living room.

“You've at least got to eat to keep the strength up. Do you not like the food?” He shook his head in no.

“Then what do you eat? Do you eat human food?” He nodded yes.

“You are a very weird wolf and your owner must be even weirder for feeding you human food.”

When your pizza arrived, you pulled out a spare plate for the pup to eat in. you turned on Stranger Things and were watching the scene where Will’s mother had written alphabets all over the wall for him to interact with her.

That clicked in your mind and you immediately pulled out a large paper and wrote alphabets on them for the pup to walk and put his paw on them.

“Here, now we can talk. Let's start by you telling me your name, Little Wolf.”

The pup trotted on the paper and put his paw on the alphabets and you wrote them down on your phone to stay up to speed.

B-U-C-K-Y

“Bucky? Is that your name?” The pup nodded a bit more enthusiastically.

“Well Bucky, looks like you're stuck with me for a while. At least till I find your owner.”

………………….

It had been almost a month since you had Bucky in your life. The pup hadn’t grown at all but you were used to having him around.

You had learnt quite a few things about him.

He loved sweet food, especially pancakes.

He would whine if he didnt see you for more than 15 minutes.

He was very alert and protective of you.

He loved to cuddle against your chest and crook of your neck.

Last but not the least, he has nightmares often but once you rub his head gently and coax him to sleep, he would cuddle into you and go back to sleep.

This is why he has been sharing the bed with you and you thought you were spoiling him but you couldn't see him sleep alone and have nightmares.

You work from home often but you go to the office from time to time to get a change of scenery.

So whenever you're working from home, he would snuggle into your lap.

But every time you left, he would be whimpering and whining the entire day till he hears you walk in.

“Hey Bucky! How has your day been? Did you do anything instead of missing me?” You teased the little pup. Bucky humphed and trotted away from you. “Aww, don't be like that. I was just teasing.”

You swooped down and held him closer to your chest and kissed his head. “I'm glad I found you, little wolf.

You give me so much comfort and you keep us safe, my fierce wolf.”

That night as you and pup cuddled, Bucky felt something shift in him and he jumped off the bed, trying not to hurt you.

As soon as his feet touched the ground, he just automatically shifted back to his 6 foot beefy human form.

Bucky excitedly walked in the bathroom and closed the door gently to not wake you up.

He looked at himself. He hadn't seen himself since Hydra had taken him. His vibranium pup hand had now grown with him, attached to his jagged shoulder.

Bucky must've spent an hour or so in the bathroom looking at himself. He slowly creeped out of the bathroom and stood right above you.

This was his chance to touch your face with his human form.

He's always wanted to feel how your skin would feel against his.

He caressed your face gently and it sent shivers down his spine.

Your skin was so fucking soft.

He wanted to bury his face in your neck and hold you close to him, make you feel the real him.

He had started developing a tiny (yeah right) crush on you.

You cared for him, cuddled him and shared everything with him.

He would find all kinds of ways to cuddle on your chest.

Your heartbeats always calmed him and your smell, damn, it was all he could think about.

And when you patted his head and caressed him and pulled him closer whenever he had nightmares, all he wanted to do was mark you up.

He leaned down and kissed your cheek.

He knew he would have to find a way to tell you about his shift.

But he didn't want to leave you either.

So he thought of risking it.

He tried shifting back and he did but this time he was a huge wolf and not a pup.

Then he thought maybe he should try shifting back to human form, see if it was still working and it did.

Bucky was, somehow, back to normal.

He turned back to his wolf form and climbed back in bed, placing his snout in the crook of your neck. He went back to a calming sleep.

When you woke up the next morning, you felt a wetness against your neck and heaviness on your body.

You shuffled to see that little pup and suddenly grew into a huge wolf that had taken over most of your body and bed.

His metal forearm was snuggly wrapped around your waist.

You slowly got out of the bed and went to the bathroom to get ready.

When you got out, you saw the wolf sitting by the bathroom door with, what looked like, an abandoned face.

He whined as soon as he saw you.

You bent down and laughed, scratching his head. “Oh little wolf, I would never go anywhere without telling you, you know that, right? And look at you! All… grown up in a night? Must be a miracle that have happened. But no worries, it's okay. You look more comfortable now than when you were a pup.”

Bucky rubbed his head against your hand.

His ears touched a fluffy thing and he turned to see that you were in nothing but a towel.

His primal instincts were trying to take over but all he did was let out a quiet growl to calm himself.

In his pup form, you would busy him with some task and change and he didn't really mind that but now he was back, all Bucky, and the attraction towards you was hard to deny.

You threw him a toy and thought he was distracted but his blue eyes were following your every move.

You had completely removed your towel and were moisturizing yourself.

The dips and curves of your body were being taken in by a certain blue eyed wild wolf. Your erect nipples and your glistened pussy was calling out to him but he held off.

Once you were done with moisturizing, you wore your traditional home pjs, shorts and tattered crop top.

You had decided to forego your bra and were just in your underwear.

Bucky was not someone who was good at holding off for this long so he turned and walked to the large alphabet paper to talk to you.

He had to let you know that you were living with a man, a shifter and not a pet.

You saw him walk to the paper so you brought out your own tiny pad to help you form sentences so you wouldn't get lost.

“I am not a wolf.”

You snorted at it but nodded your head to let him continue.

“I am a man.”

You got quieter because you had heard of shifters who were endangered and were mostly under hiding.

“I'm the Winter Soldier.”

You gasped.

“I don't mean you any harm but if you let me change i will explain.”

You nodded slowly and he shifted in front of you.

He was a god.

He was a completely naked beefy god on whom you want to jump but can't because of lots many reasons.

“I'm Bucky.”

Why the fuck is his voice so fantastic?

You could feel his voice vibrating through your wet pussy.

His cock is was right in front of your face and so close to grasp.

He was big and veiny.

You grabbed your bottle and drank entirely to quench your dry throat.

You got up suddenly, startling him and grabbed an old pair of men’s sweatpants and handed it to him with your cheeks burning red.

Even the sweatpants werent hiding his beauty.

He sat at the edge of your bed and patted next to him for you to sit down.

“I was lost when you found me. I stayed a pup because of my past but I was able to shift yesterday.”

He looked at you so innocently.

His blue eyes dripped with innocence and all you wanted to do was steal it but you held yourself off.

“I swear I would've told you the truth but it really takes a lot of effort for me to tap every letter and i didnt know if I could trust you after what I have been through.”

You pull him in a hug to comfort him.

His face is buried in the crook of your neck and your bodies are pressed together.

Your taut nipples were pressed tightly against his bare chest.

You felt him tighten his hold on you and he rubbed his nose against the crook, lazily kissing your sensitive spot.

“...Bucky…”

He lifted his head and brought his nose closer to yours and bumped it as if asking for permission.

You leaned forward and put your lips on his.

His primal instincts spurred and the kiss became more demanding.

“Tell me to stop, doll.”

“You're in charge, Bucky. Take what you want.”

He threw you in the middle of the bed and climbed on top of you, his lips not leaving your body.

He tore through your shorts, t-shirt and underwear, leaving you naked and writhing under him while his lips and teeth marked your body as his.

You moaned and mewled as he ate you out.

Your hand held his hair tightly, making him groan on your pussy, sending vibrations straight to your core.

“God, baby, you're so perfect.”

He loved eating you out so much and he kept at it till he made you cum three times, leaving you glassy eyed and panting.

Your naked bodies, pressed against each other, made the entire scene look like a painting.

“Are you sure?”

“Make me yours, Bucky.”

Bucky rubs his cock against your folds and your back arches, giving him the sweet sounds he's been listening to all day.

He slides his cock in and takes his sweet time, making you feel things your body had never felt before.

His lips move all over your body just like yours do to his.

He speeds up his thrusting and you moan out his name, making him go feral.

“Yes Bucky please.”

“So sweet, doll.” “So tight for me.” “not gonna last long, baby.”

His thrusts become irregular and you rub your fingers against your clit to match him.

You both cum together as he spills in you.

“Can I stay in you for a little longer?”

“Stay as long as you want, Bucky.”

“I want you.”

“You have me.”

“No no, not just like this. I want to be bound to you.”

“And how can you do that?”

“I mark you, bite you, bind you to me for life.”

“Do it, Bucky. I'm all yours to be bound.”

[yourneighborlyweirdo]

The Easiest Way to Manifest/The Ultimate Beginner’s Guide to Manifesting! (My Personal Method)

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ��¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*

What if I told you there was a way to instantly manifest whatever you’ve ever wanted?

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*

I’m talking like, you think it and it appears minutes (or even seconds with practice) right before your eyes?

If you’re interested, this is how.

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Introduction:

So, let’s get into it. Hey, if you don’t know me, I’m kinda new here on Tumblr—new like I just started posting today type shit. (I literally set up my account hours ago.) I’ve been scrolling on this app for atleast a month now and I’ve been seeing some posts that are pretty helpful, so I just want to give my personal advice to any of those who are struggling. (Because that used to be me.) I wanna start this off with a warning…

Warning: If this doesn’t resonate with you, take what you like and leave the rest. If my advice doesn’t help you out it doesn’t have to! And don’t force yourself to use my technique if it feels weird to do or something you aren’t comfortable with. But if my method doesn’t work for you, (which I highly doubt because this can work with anyone and everyone) then maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. And also, I am not a professional. I am merely a vessel trying to pass my knowledge on to others. But, I do consider myself a Master at Manifesting, only because I’ve Mastered it. And my only goal is to help you Master it too. If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to drop a comment or a DM. Thanks!

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*

The Law:

In this technique, I will be using the Law of Assumption. If you’re not sure what this is, let me explain…

The Law of Assumption is a universal Law for manifestation. As the name suggests, it means assuming. Everything you assume will become your reality. Practicing the Law of Assumption means realizing that the 4D (Your mental reality, your imagination) is the only thing that matters, not your 3D (Your physical reality, the thing you’re seeing right in front of your 2 eyes.)

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(Side Note: I use “LOA” to abbreviate/shorten “Law of Assumption.” Both of these terms will be highlighted in pink for your understanding. Also, the 4D is your imagination and the 3D is the physical world around you. I suggest you remember these terms.)

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An Example Scenario of Using The Law:

Example: Let’s say, I really want a soda. But I’m laying down in my bed, so obviously, I can’t see a soda in front of me. But, using the LOA, I can get my soda. Here’s how…

So, I’m sitting here in my bed really wishing I had a soda in my hands. To manifest a soda, I will use the LOA. To use the LOA, I will either think or speak out loud, whatever you want to do, to manifest. I will start thinking. “Damn. I really want a soda right now. I know I’ll get my soda. I want it so I can get it. I will have my soda, one way or another.” And a couple minutes later, I got a text from my parent saying they brought me a soda from the gas station. (Yes this example is a true story on how I started manifesting using the LOA for the first time.)

If you’re not picking up what I’m putting down, let me break it down. Here’s what just happened in that example:

1. I really wanted something (in this case the “something” was a soda)

2. I started to think about how I wanted it, then I assumed that I would get it, one way or another.

3. Boom! I got my desire. (Which was the soda in this case.)

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*

Breaking It Down:

See how easy that was? Within minutes I got my desire in only 3 easy steps. If you’re still confused, let me explain…

What happened there was I identified what I wanted (AKA: My desire being something I wanted.) Then, I used the LOA to manifest my desire to becoming my reality. Then naturally, the 3D followed what I thought in my 4D.

Literally the only thing I did was think what I wanted to happen and it happened in front of my eyes.

You: “But why? But how? How is that even possible—”

What happened was I thought something in my imagination (my 4D) and the physical world (the 3D) conformed because the 4D will always be in charge of the 3D.

Think of the 3D as a chief in a restaurant. The 4D is the waiter, and you are a customer in that restaurant. Let’s say you wanted to manifest a soda, so you’d say, “Waiter! I would like one soda please.” And the waiter, (The 4D) writes down in his notepad that you ordered a soda. The waiter would then go to the back and go tell the chief (The 3D) what you ordered, and then the chief would make it, and then you would get it.

That’s what the 3D and 4D are. You’d “tell the waiter what you want to order” (AKA: Think in your brain using your imagination/4D what you want to manifest) Then the “chief would cook up what you ordered and you’d get your order.” (AKA: The 3D will make what you manifested happen in your physical world and your manifestation would appear in front of your eyes.)

Hopefully now you understand what the LOA is, how to use it, and what happens when you do use it.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*

What Happens When I Manifest Something and The 3D doesn’t conform?

Let me say this now: That is impossible. It is impossible for your 3D to not conform to the 4D. The 3D only will NOT conform when you ASSUME it won’t.

Your assumptions will become your reality. To change your assumptions, use your thoughts and imagination, (AKA: the 4D) and your 4D will become your 3D.

Assumptions are thoughts. Thoughts are your reality.

Read those 2 sentences again until they are memorized.

Don’t you see? Do you understand how easy it is?

So let’s say, you manifested something, imagined it (using the 4D) and it didn’t appear right infront of your eyes. Don’t panic. It’s okay. Take a breather, and tell yourself that you will get your desire. You imagined it in the 4D, and after reading this post, you’re sure that the 3D will conform because it WILL. Just persist in the fact that you WILL get your desire.

(Do you get what I’m saying here? Assume, assume, assume. Assume you will get your desire. Assume it will come quickly. Assume that it’s easy because it is! When in doubt, assume, assume, assume.)

If you don’t get your desire, it’s because you’re assuming (AKA: Thinking) that it won’t. Assume that you can and will manifest, and it will.

The 3D DOES NOT MATTER. You know why? Because, I’ll repeat,

Assumptions are thoughts. Thoughts are your reality.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*

A Step By Step Tutorial:

1. Identify what you want to manifest.

2. Assume it will happen by thinking.

3. You get your desire.

You can assume things many ways. Here are my favorite ways in the form of sentences:

1. Assuming it will happen in the future. (Example: Using sentences containing “I Will.” Sentences in the future tense. “I know I will get desire one way or another.”)

2. Assuming it will happen in the present. (Example: You use sentences containing “I Am.”Sentences in the present tense. “I have my desire.”)

3. Assuming it already happened in the past. (Example: You use sentences containing “I Had.” Sentences in the past tense. This is also referred to as “Living in the End.” “I already have my desire.”)

Remember that all of these ways are ways to manifest. There is no better one than the other—use what works best for you! (I personally use all 3 ways all the time. They all work the same way and for me, not one is better then the other. They’re all great and they all work. Use what works best for you!!! Don’t let anyone tell you one works better then the other because that’s simply not true. I’ve manifested using all three and so can you!)

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*

Summary And Last Thoughts:

In order to manifest, you only need to figure out what you want to manifest, then think about it as an assumption, (one of the 3 ways I listed above, using a Past, Present, or Future sentence) and then just wait knowing you will get your desire.

Notice how in this post I never covered the “how” or the “when.” (The only “how” I covered was how manifestation works with the 4D and 3D, nothing beyond that.) Because you don’t need to focus on those things! Focus on manifesting, NOT how it happens or when. The only time you should be focusing on the when is when you are manifesting your desire to come quicker.

Also notice how in this post, it was a continuous cycle of…

Thoughts=Assumptions

Thoughts+Assumptions=Your Desired Reality

Anyone can manifest. And this isn’t the only way to manifest, this is one method of many. It’s easy when you assume it’s easy!

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*

I hope this post helped atleast someone. Have a good evening, morning, or afternoon. If you have a question or concern, feel free to drop a comment or send a DM.

The ultimate Law of Assumption song (You deserve your manifestation and that’s why you should get it!)

⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️

Sincerely,

Your Neighborly Werido

[borathae]

↳ Index [Day 04 - Nipple Sucking]

Pairing: Brat to Good Boy!Jungkook x Mommy Domme!Reader

Genre: established relationship!AU

Kinks: nipple sucking, breast worship, thigh grinding, clothed sex, vaginal fingering, cumming in his pants, subby boy tears, drool, he accidentally bruises her nipple from being too eager, he is a lil brat at the beginning and bites her nipples jfsdjf, masochist!Jungkook, tongue spanking, hair pulling, subspace, cuddling & praises for aftercare

Wordcount: 3.8k

a/n: this is inspired by anonie’s idea this was actually not planned to be included in kinktober at first but i suddenly felt the unbearable urge to write this and so i did <3 have fun besties i’m a whore for him

You and Jungkook have been arguing. It wasn’t a terrible fight, nor a very burdening one, but it was still a fight. You say that Jungkook was in your magic kitchen and messed up the papers on your desk, while he insists that it wasn’t him. You know for a fact however that it was him and that he is being stubborn. You know because you noticed the ink stain on his shirt from accidentally dunking it into your inkpot. 

“I don’t understand why you want to keep up this stubborn farce.” 

“It’s not a farce, it’s fact. I didn’t mess up your papers.”

“So you were in my magic kitchen?” 

“Ye- No? No, that’s not what I meant.” 

“Mhm sure and I’m the queen of the moon.” 

Jungkook huffs out air, pouting. 

“Even if I was, theoretically, it doesn’t mean I was the one who messed up your papers. Maybe they were already messed up when I got there.” 

“We’ve been over this, Kookie. How the hell did the ink stain get on your shirt then?” 

“It’s from the love letters I was writing to you.”

“Wow, I can’t believe you. Flirting isn’t gonna work right now”, you say, but chuckle.

Jungkook grins boyishly, closing the distance between you and him.

“What’s a few papers anyway, right?” he says, fluttering his lashes at you.

“No, no stay away, you stubborn walnut.”

“I’m not stubborn.”

“Yes, you are. You’re even more stubborn than I am.”

Jungkook gasps, clutching his imaginary pearls.

“You take that back.”

“I’m taking it back once you admit that you were in my kitchen and messed up my papers.”

Jungkook sits down on the sofa and crosses his arms in front of his chest. He pouts, looking to the side like a sulking baby.

The thing is. You weren’t angry, nor really frustrated. In some weird way, you were amused. The fight is silly and so obviously not taken seriously by either party. In a peculiar sense, it almost feels like flirting. You and Jungkook find yourselves in a weird yet exciting dance of “who breaks first?” and you know exactly how to break him. 

You begin opening the front lacing on your dress. Jungkook notices from the corner of his eyes, shifting on the sofa as inconspicuously as possible. 

You sometimes like to wear pretty dresses from earlier time periods when at the estate. Your dress today consists of an outer layer and a flowy under dress. You let the outer dress fall to the floor, stepping out of it. 

Jungkook shifts again, clearing his throat. He turns his head further to the side, acting as if he can’t see you. 

Your under dress is made of a very thin cotton fabric, making it so perfectly translucent at the parts of your body which were more sinful than the rest. Yes, we are talking about your nipples and pubes here. Jungkook has a very hard time not looking at you. The collar of your under dress is closed with a ribbon. You open it as you strut to Jungkook.

You straddle his lap. His meaty thighs tense, jaw tightening. 

One skilled move and the dress slips down your shoulders, revealing your chest to him. 

Jungkook tries to turn his head even more but you stop him, nudging him to face you with two fingers gripping his chin. 

His eyes ghost over your breasts but flit up to stare at your face obsessively. Even now he is stubborn enough not to admit that you have him charmed.

“Do I really have to force you to confess, sweet one?” you say, caressing him under his chin. Your eyes race between his.

“I didn’t mess up-”

“Hush now”, you silence him, stuffing your nipple into his mouth. 

Jungkook mewls in surprise, eyes widened and hands stretching from his body. One second, two. He whimpers and sucks, eyes falling closed and hands grasping your waist. His thighs tremble as his body makes sense of the almost drug like effect your nipples have on him. 

“There we go”, you get out, playing with his hair, “now you can’t lie anymore. You’re so much sweeter like this.” 

Jungkook breaks away, craning his neck.

“I’m not ly-”

“Pssst.”

You force his head down and shove your other nipple into his mouth. Jungkook keens, sucking on it instantly. He drags his hands up your bared back, tickling goosebumps to the surface. 

He feels good. Really good. His touch is so gentle while his mouth is so eager. He is still trying to hold back, to pretend as if he wasn’t utterly into this, but his mouth begins to betray him. He sucks but he also licks. Very sloppily and messily. And whenever he licks, he lets out a throaty purr, thighs tensing under your weight. 

Jungkook changes sides, sliding his hands to your breasts to hold them. His tongue darts out, circling your nipple quickly while his fingers knead the flesh. 

“That’s good. Your mouth is put to so much better use like this. It’s too pretty to be used for lying.” 

“Shut up”, Jungkook murmurs and takes your nipple between his teeth to tug. 

“Ah, hey”, you gasp, arching your back. 

He grins against you. This little shit has the audacity to grin after biting your nipple. 

You can’t let him get away with it. You twist a bundle of his hair and tug. Jungkook’s head tilts back, revealing his boyish grin and cloudy eyes. His lips are glossy from spit. 

“Did you just bite my nipple, you little brat?”

“And if I did?” 

“Then I might need to punish you.”

His grin turns into a smirk, his eyes glimmer. He slides his fingers to your nipples and pinches them both.

“Ah”, you flinch in surprise.

He chuckles, pinching them again. 

“Hey, brat”, you gasp, slapping his hands away. 

He laughs, looking so pleased with himself.

“That’s it. Tongue out.”

Jungkook obeys, sticking it out as far as possible. He can’t wait to have your nipples on it. Except that you don’t give him what he craves, you give his tongue a spank. 

“Ahng”, he lets out, pulling it back instinctively. So you grab him by his chin and pull him closer, spanking his tongue as you do. 

His wet muscle trembles and tenses. He mewls and sticks it out some more, accepting the next spank with a tense of his entire body. It was a tense of pleasure, the kind which builds up fire in one’s stomach. 

One last spank and then you soothe it by dragging your tongue over it. Jungkook moans, fingers cradling the back of your head and lips closing around your tongue to kiss you. You kiss him back for one second, two seconds. No longer than that. It makes him desperate. Good. You like him desperate. 

“Mhm”, you hum and pull him down into your chest by holding his cheeks between your thumb and fingers. 

Jungkook returns to heaven in a mewl and his mouth wide open to take you in. He holds your breasts, wasting no time this round. He sucks as much of your softness into his mouth as he can fit, then moves his head back so you would slip out of him again. He sucks the entire time, resulting in pressure around your nipple so wonderful you sigh his name. 

Jungkook purrs, repeating what he did on your other side. His name falls from your lips a second time, your hips grind back and forth on his thigh. 

You had a fight once, didn’t you? Jungkook can barely remember. Neither can you. The charged tension which is still present keeps reminding you however. You want each other like crazy yet are too proud to give in already. That’s good though, means that Jungkook can suck on your breasts until you are sensitive.

“So good. So much better than when you’re bratty.” 

Jungkook loves being punished though. He has a thing for it. He bites your other nipple and tugs. 

You squeal and writhe, instantly pulling him away by his hair. 

Jungkook looks up at you, grinning goofily.

“You did that to yourself, Mommy.” 

“Do I have to punish you again?”

Jungkook sticks out his tongue and nods his head. Look at him waiting so eagerly. He wants to be punished and you want to punish him, but where is the fun in a punishment that is wanted?

No, you are going to ruin him another way. You lift your butt from his thigh to make up for the difference in height between his lips and your chest. Once in position, you slap your tits on his tongue, watching in delight how his eyes roll back and his mouth goes slack. You lift yourself and slap his tongue again then change sides to repeat it with punishing strength. 

Jungkook moans, tongue shaking under your nipple. He curls the tip each time you are in contact with him, trying to get a feel of you that way. It is so good because he is shaking so much when does.

You lift yourself and slam down, pressing yourself closer afterwards to grind your nipple over his tongue. 

He gurgles out a sound of need, fingers dimpling your hips as he grips you desperately. 

You’ve got him. You wrap your arm around his head and push, smothering him with your breasts. Jungkook moans, sinking his face into them gladly and when you keep him there? He swears he actually spills into his pants. He moves his head from side to side as his eager mouth begins trying to be everywhere at the same time. His tongue is just as restless, wetting your entire chest as he swirls it over you aimlessly. He just loves to be like this. It is so obvious that he is currently worshiping your tits with no goal in mind. All that he lives and breathes for, are your breasts. And that he can use his mouth on them. 

“So good, such a good wet mouth you have. So good” you sigh, running your fingers through his hair. You rock back and forth, coming to realise that there is something missing. You instantly make up for it by dropping down on his thigh again, pulling his head with you to make sure he wouldn’t leave your chest. 

Jungkook lets you move him gladly, mewling into you as he mouths at your tender flesh eagerly. He is so dizzy. You smell so good and feel even better.

You rock your hips, moaning in bliss now that there is finally something that brings you pleasure. Now granted, Jungkook’s mouth already feels like heaven, but you want even more. His warm, wet mouth and  his strong thigh in contrast. It is so good. 

He is wearing a pair of white cotton pants today, they are oversized and comfortable and they feel so good against your warmth. Just a little rough, but still soft enough, also perfectly thin to let his body heat through. How goddamn addicting.

“Fuck this is so good now that you’re quiet. So good”, you moan, fingers feeling up his scalp and neck while Jungkook mewls into you, licking you eagerly. 

He doesn’t even want to be really bratty anymore. Okay, maybe he tries it a little by grazing his teeth against your nipple but one corrective tug on his hair and he already gives up on it, burying his face in your softness with a defeated keen. His tongue soothes what he wanted to bite, his drool runs down your breasts but instantly gets slurped up by him.

“So good, fuck…” you moan breathily, hips dancing on him eagerly. 

You didn’t truly think about the concept of grinding for pleasure before you met your lovers. How could something like that be fun? You were wrong. You were very wrong. You could honestly jump them all day every day. It is so addicting to find pleasure this way, to use their bodies until you find your highest peak.

Today is such a day. You can’t get enough of the friction and the pressure and how little movements are enough to build pleasurable tension in your stomach. 

Jungkook is gone as well, high on a different kind of drug. He loves quarrelling with you when it is so obvious that it wasn’t serious. He loves it because he can be bratty and tease you and therefore get punished. He also loves the tension and how you look at him when you pretend to be annoyed. He loves it, but he can’t win against your breasts. He feels submissive and stupid and good. So good. As if he never ever wants to be bad again. 

He whimpers, glossy lips sucking on your right nipple helplessly while his fingers grasp your hips. He sucks with such eagerness that hot electricity shoot through you. 

“Is that nice?” 

He nods his head, changing sides because he doesn't want to neglect even an inch from your perfect chest. 

“Nice enough to confess your sins?”

Jungkook makes a sound. 

You twist his hair and pull, denying him of the only heaven he craves right now. 

“No please”, he gets out, looking up at you teary eyed and pouty lips parted. His cheeks are flushed, his dark hair messy. “Please.” 

“How much do you want it?”

“So much, please.”

“Then confess.”

He mewls, shaking his head. You stop it with a thug of his hair. You lift your hips, guiding your nipples to his lips. He moans and opens his mouth, drooling in anticipation. He is panting quicker the closer you come. 

Stop. 

Jungkook tries to make up for the last inch of distance but you hold him in place by his hair.

“No please”, he squeaks out, spilling tears. He looks agonised and tortured, fighting your grip helplessly. 

You cradle your right breast in your hand and move it around, showing him what he can’t do right now. 

He pulls an expression of pain, letting out  a sound which borders a sob.

“Confess and I’ll make all of this go away.  The pain, the withdrawal, you can be freed of it.”

“Mommy please.”

“I know sweet one, I know”, you coo, caressing his cheek, “Mommy can help you, but you have to be honest with me.”

Jungkook sobs softly, squeezing his eyes shut. You broke him. 

“I lied. I ruined your papers. I, I tried to look for a pen and, and accidentally knocked over the inkpot with my sleeve. I’m sorry.”

“See? Doesn’t the truth feel so much better?” 

“Please”, he cups your tender breasts, eyes widening in pleading, “please I did what you asked of me.” 

“You did. Go ahead then”, you allow him, letting go of his hair.

Jungkook takes the freedom instantly, burying his face back in your breasts with a loud moan. He squeezes them together in his hands, sucking and nibbling on you hungrily. 

“Fuck, that’s so good”, you sigh, rolling your hips against his thigh. You bury your hands in his hair and drop your head against his own head, closing your eyes. “You feel so good, sweetie. Keep going.” 

Jungkook agrees with a mewl, slipping his hands under your dress so he could hold your bared hips. No more fabric, he needs the sensation of your warm, soft skin. No panties. Sometimes in long dresses you go pantieless. Jungkook traces the naked paths where normally a piece of cotton would sit with tingling fingers. So soft. All of you. 

“Why are you so soft, Mommy?” he mewls into you, lips trembling as they suck on your left nipple.

“You’re so sweet”, you sigh, smiling blissfully. You scratch his scalp slowly, melting in his touch. “Ah fuck”, you breathe, hips desperately trying to search for more friction. You are dripping on him, soaking his pants. It feels good, but starts to feel like not enough. You feel so empty, so goddamn empty. 

He notices that you are using his thigh to pleasure yourself. His pants leg became very wet all of a sudden and your sweet scent tickles his nose. He wants to come up for air and ask if you feel good, but he can’t. He doesn’t want to miss even one second of your chest. But he has to. You are restless as if you are searching for more. 

“Is it enough?” he asks, mouth barely gone from your chest.

“I don’t know, I ahm.”

“Lift your hips, Mommy.” 

You follow his wish. Jungkook wiggles his arm under you so he can rest his hand on his thigh. He turns his palm up and sticks two of his fingers up. 

“Holy fuck. Holy fuck, baby, holy fuck”, you babble, claiming what he offers instantly. You sink down on his fingers, pulling him into your chest at the same time. 

You yelp in pleasure, Jungkook matches your enthusiasm, moaning into your chest  as he takes your nipple back inside. Your walls are throbbing and trembling around his digits, taking him in eagerly.

“Holy fuck, Jungkook”, you croak, arching your back and twisting his hair. 

This is finally scratching that itch. You are so stuffed, so goddamn full of him and it’s heaven. You chase the explosions of pleasure with eager rocks of your hips, filling the silence with moans and gasps. Like this, your clit is grinding on his lower arm while your spots inside are grinding on his fingers. They are so long, so perfectly girthy and groomed.

“Jungkook baby. Baby, this is so good, holy fuck”, you moan, dropping your face into his soft hair. 

“Mommy”, the word is muffled and barely audible, his mouth is sloppy and restless on your chest. Even more than before. It is as if he was experiencing more pleasure as well, as if this is scratching his itch as well. 

Truth is, it feels like that for him. You are so wet and so warm around his digits and so goddamn fucking soft. Jungkook goes insane because of it, lost enough in you that his own mind is betraying him and he swears that he can feel you on his cock. It’s impossible because he is crammed into his pants, but it feels like it. Wet, soft, warm. 

“Mommy, soft. Mommy”, he whimpers, curling his fingers desperately.

“Urgh fuck”, you get out and drop into him, forcing his back to fall against the sofa cushions and for your nipple to leave his lips. “Sorry.”

“Is okay”, he mumbles, free hand rubbing your back and eager mouth sucking on your breasts in the new position. 

“Curl them again.” 

Jungkook obeys, moaning with you when this makes you shake and keen. Your hips move on him sloppily, your pussy keeps tightening around him. 

“Fuck baby”, you rasp, grabbing the pillow edge and twisting it. 

Jungkook spills tears, thighs shaking under you and cock throbbing in his pants. Your heart is racing like crazy. He can hear it, feel it too. He tries to get to it with eager sucks and wiggles of his head. It not only forces his lips and tongue to grind against your nipple but his nose as well. You are so sensitive at this point, you genuinely can’t feel any difference between stimulation on your clit and your nipples. 

“Holy fuck, holy fuck, urgh fuck”, you chant, convulsing and shaking on him. You are close. Dangerously close. 

Jungkook knows that you are feeling so ruined by it that he can barely move his mouth. He is ruined, running on nothing but you and everything that happens to your body when you are experiencing pleasure. Your raised pulse, your choppy breathing, your higher body heat and the array of sweet scents. He also swears that your skin becomes even softer than usually, contradicting the spots where the electricity is bundled. Your nipples hard and swollen, your clit enlarged and throbbing, your folds heated and engorged. So soft yet so plump in pleasure. Jungkook swears this is heaven and he promises silently to never ever be bratty again (he will be bratty again).

He curls his fingers and knows that this was it.

“Jungkook, baby”, you get out, tensing up as your pussy begins throbbing and clenching. Your voice pitches, coming out as squeaks and mewls. Your fingers twist his hair and hold him oh so close. This is so intense that you can’t see as it happens. Every single spot of concentrated pleasure was set off, forcing your entire body to be engulfed in flames. 

Jungkook’s eyes roll back even closed. He sobs, truly sobs, losing against the warmth. He orgasms in his pants. No touch, no grind, no lick just your breasts and your pussy on his fingers was enough. He accidentally bruises your nipple from sucking too aggressively, free hand leaving a bruise on your waist as well. You don’t mind, riding the waves with him until you both come down together.

“Oh god, baby”, you get out, slipping off his fingers. You nudge them down into a relaxed position, sitting on his hand. You grind as slowly as possible, wanting to enjoy the warmth and pressure just a little longer. 

Jungkook calms down in twitches of his body and little whimpers into your chest as he mouths at your breasts tiredly. He is so ruined, head dizzy and vision blurry, and your chest comforts him beyond comparison. 

“How…” You clear your raspy throat. “...how are you?” 

“Good”, he squeaks and shakes, sobbing softly as he hugs you closer, “feeling submissive.” 

“Mhm”, you scratch his scalp soothingly, holding him safely, “good boy. You were such a good boy. Let it happen, you’re safe with me.” 

“Mommy.”

“My good boy. You made me feel so good.”

He agrees with a nod of his head, hips twitching up. It calls your attention. You need to check something.

“Can Mommy touch you for a moment?” 

He nods his head.

You cup his clothed and softened cock, squeezing it a little. Jungkook whimpers, hiding deeper in your chest to handle the overstimulation. 

“Just as I had thought. You came in your pants. It’s soaking the fabric.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“That’s okay, sweetie. Did you enjoy yourself?” 

“So much.”

“Then that’s all that counts.” You give his soft dick one last caress then use the hand to ruffle his hair. “My good boy.”

Jungkook tugs his hand free and wraps both arms around you in a tight hug. He whimpers, dimpling your skin as he practically tries to melt you with him.

“I’m sorry for ruining your papers. I want to fix it, please.” 

“Mhm, we’ll find a solution together. But for now, hush, okay?”

“Okay, oh god. Can we hold each other? Please, Mommy.” 

“Of course, my baby.” You melt into him, resting your cheek on the crown of his head. “Let’s relax like this.” 

“I love you so much ” 

“I love you too, my baby. So much.“

[ghostssimp]

Aegon Targaryen//The Right One

As a daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen, you were supposed to find a man who would take your hand in marrige. It's your duty to be wed away. Your grandfather Viserys, he made a royal gathering to find the best suitor for you.

The real problem is, you had one in your eyes.

Aegon Targaryen. Your uncle. It looked like history was repeating itself, thinking how your mother fell for Daemon. Targaryens always had traditions that others found weird, but to keep the blood pure, sometimes you have to do what you have to do. Even Alicent, who first was against it, was thinking of marrige between Aegon and Haelena. In the end, Haelena got married to Aemond.

As you stand in the corner of the room, you see how a lot of men are having their eyes on you. Eating ypu with the looks of desire and need for power. You were just a pawn to them. Greedy bastards only wanted to have a little part in the game of getting closer to the crown. The sad truth is that they had no idea what it meant to be on the top.

You're always watched. Can't have a moment for yourself. Every step that you take is carefully watched by everyone. Every desicion is important and there is no place for mistakes. And as for women? You knew you were here for them to just spread your legs and give them a new heir. They didn't care for you. They didn't want you for love. Just to use you.

"Pretty boring out here, isn't it princess?" There is a low voice next to your ear and you can't help but smile as shiver runs down your spine. "I should be honored, my prince." Your eyes met his lilac. "After all, this is for my engagement."

Aegon scoffs, his eyes scanning the place. "Yes, but to whom?" His eyebrow rises as he takes a step closer, brushing the lock of hair from your face. "Neither of them are worthy of you."

Your breath hitched as your lips parted for a bit."And who is it then? I am nothing but a tool." Aegon looks at you, something battleing inside of his eyes. They always seemed distant, but when he talked to you, it felt like everything made sense back.

You were the only one to understand his pain. To understand his preassure. Who said he wanted to be a damn king as his mother was expecting him to be? Who said he wanted this life? His mother was always preaparing him for the big role he didn't wanted. To hell, his father didn't even look at him and he had to be ready to be a king?

"You are so much more than that." His fingers grazed beneath your chin, barely touching it leaving a ghost feeling underneath. His thumb crosses over your lips. The feeling of his rough skin on your soft lips made you feel like it was supposed to be like that. For your lips to belong to him. To any part of him. He glanced away, clenching his jaw. He was in a deep thought as he walked off.

Your eyes follow him as he gets lost in a crowd. You felt like you should've ran after him. You wanted to, but you were sceptic.

"Why is such a lady standing alone?" My head turns to see one of the lords over. Tyland Lannister. You never liked Lannisters. In your eyes, they were just a one more pawn that wanted to become a closer to a king. Maybe even to become a king.

"Just enjoying the gathering, my lord." You give him a polite smile. You didn't want to engage the conversation, but he seemed too interested in you. "Well, the night is long, and the songs are delightfull like you. Would you give me an honor, and give me your hand for a dance?" He chuckled extending his hand out.

You clench your jaw your lips in a thin line. "I really don't feel like dancing, my lord." His face changed to a frown. "Oh, am I not worth of a dance with your grace?" Something bubbled in you with his words. Anger, for him to use a guilt card. You didn't want to make a scene. You were a royalty afer all.

"That is not what I said, my lord." You take his hand. "Of course I would like to dance." There was a smug smile on his lips. You knew what he wanted. His grip got more like a possesive one as he pulled you onto the dance floor. His other hand held the small of your back. It felt like he was holding you too tight. Like he held you with greed.

Despite you trying to hide your discomfort, Tyland pulls you even closer and held you tightly to him. The two of you danced in a dead silence. You started to look around the place, trying to find someone to save you. To get you away. Your eyes searching around, it seemed like you were looking for a specific person. "Something is on your mind, princess?"

You look up to him giving him a fake sweet smile. "Not at all." When you look away, your eyes finally meet his with a pleading look in them. Aegon as soon as he catched your eye, stopped in his tracks and seemed to process the situation. He starts to make his way towards you, his eyes never leaving yours.

As Tyland takes you in for a spin, you extend your hand and Aegon takes it pulling you away and swaying off with you in a dance.

Aegon seemed proud with a smug smirk on his lips. "Tief." You say under your breath, feeling how he held you much more gentle as the two of you took off in a dance.

Aegon laughs heartly at your statement shaking his head. "You seemed like you needed rescuing." You nod your head, gazing up at him."You stole my heart, you stole me from my dancing partner. What is next?"

Aegon grins at your words, enjoying the playful banter between you. He spins you around, pulling you back against him as you continue the dance.

"I'm a greedy man, my princess," he says with a smirk, his hand on your back slipping lower for just a moment before resuming its usual position. "I'll steal whatever I can get my hands on."

His eyes never left yours. There was a glint of something in them. "Stop looking at me like that."

Aegon raises an eyebrow, his smirk growing wider at your words. "Like what?" He asks innocently, though the mischievous glint in his eyes betrays him. You have to bite the smile that wanted to escape your lips. "Like I'm a dinner."

"Oh, believe me, my princess, you're a feast fit for a king." He leans in a little closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And I'd happily devour every last bit of you." He pulls you impossibly closer, his hold on you possessive but tender at the same time. "Can you blame me for admiring you so? You're far too captivating to ignore." A chuckle escapes your lips.

"Va moriot gīmigon se paktot udir, gaomagon ao daor?" You're always finding the right words, aren't you? His eyes glanced down to your lips as he leaned his head to the side. He hums, you knew he enjoyed when you switched to Valyrian."Ñuha jorrāelagon, you're going to be a death to me." His voice just above a whisper. it was raspy and deep as you look at him in a haze through your lashes.

He leans in closer, his own eyes flickering down to your lips before meeting yours again, a mix of fondness and desire in his expression. "You keep looking at me like that, and I'll have to claim my future wife right here and then." He mumurs softly.

Your lips part in a shock. "Since when am I your future wife?" He smirks smugly, pulling you in, his face just inches away from yours.

"Since now. I'm not letting anyone else claim you. You're mine to have."

[slightly-knot-insane]

A Little Bit Rusty [ part 3 ]

Monstertober 2024 - day 25 [ Oviposition ] by /@ozzgin

[ m!monster x fem!reader ]

a/n: let's restart the monstertober, shall we? this is part 3, and here you can read [ part 1 ] and [ part 2 ] content: egg insertion, creampie, breeding, belly bulge, praising, pregnancy (?)

Ever since that little tryst inside the closet, your little 'situationship' stagnated. Not that you wanted that. But your mentor has been sending you some weird signals. The fact that he is a monster didn't help at all. He could definitely blush and strong emotions were recognizable on his scaly skin. But some subtle feelings like amusement, irritation, content very hard to catch. He truly seems interested in you, watching you often and eyeing you with his pupils dilated. You swear you even saw him lick his lips seductively (or was he just hungry?).

On the other hand, he has avoided staying alone in a room with you. As long as topics were professional, you could communicate, but as soon as you would try to talk about something private, he would blush and excuse himself to some 'very important business'. Bull shite.

Very soon you completely lost your patience, so one day, you wait the end of your shift and corner him. "I like you!" you almost shout as you bang your hand at the wall next to his head. He seems quite terrified. Maybe this wasn't the right approach? "Sorry, but yes, I do. And I think you like me? In any case, I would like to talk about us."

He is silent for a while, staring at your face in, what seems like disbelief or shock. "Lets go to my office, then."

As a perfect gentleman he is, he lets you enter first and closes the door behind you. You have only enough time to gasp before he pushes you against his desk and lifts you on the wooden surface. He kisses your neck, scraping his teeth against your skin while his bony hands knead your thighs. "I apologize," he growls. "I didn't want to be pushy. I thought you needed time to think... But I was thinking about you all the time... Imagining us again and again, over and over..."

"You..." Your breath hitches once his hand glides down your skirt and into your panties. "You said we're done thinking. I thought you truly meant that."

He takes a step back, stopping the kissing. "Shit, I did say that, didn't I? But we're coworkers and you're a young human and I thought... maybe... you would change your mind."

You pull him back onto yourself and press your palm against his hard cock hidden under neatly ironed pair of pants. "I am your coworker. I'm young. I'm a human. But I'm also very into you and want to fuck your brains out over and over again."

The growl he lets out was almost frightening. He pushes you down on his desk, his teeth bared. "Nggg..." He can barely talk, his tongue getting stuck and twisting around the human language. "I want to fuck you right here but... I also want... I've been thinking..." His expression changes to a weird one. He moves away from your, apprehensively rubbing his forehead. What a sudden change of mood. "Let's go to my place... I want to ask you something...

* * *

You expected many things - a BDSM dungeon, a collection of dildoes, costumes, maybe even another monster partner- but you didn't expect three eggs.

"Ever since that night, I've been thinking about you and how incredible you are. I would be so honored if you would carry them for me for three months. I never wanted an artificial uterus." He finally notices your flabbergasted expression. "What? I'm sorry, are you okay?"

It takes a glass of water, a glass of wine and a cookie to recover you. You two have a long chat and eventually reach an understanding. His species has had very short period of dating or courtship in general. Also, there are barely any members of his hybrid species left (and most of them are his relatives), so he had to go artificial even though he didn't want to. And then he met you and well... his breeding urges got a hold of him.

"I'm so so so sorry for overwhelming you. I've never dated a human and just... in the movies, it all happens so fast so I thought it was normal for you too."

All you can do is start laughing. Movies? This silly hybrid really doesn't have a clue about anything. Still, the idea sounds... good. Interesting, at least. Why not, after all?

You take his scaly hand in yours and guide it to your excited core. "Let's do this. YOLO, right?" You haven't nervously laughed like this since high school.

The shock on his face melts into gratefulness before sharpening his features into a very primal lust. He grabs your blouse and there is clear intent to rip it apart, but the polite part of him tames the wild side and he simply clumsily unbuttons it. You truly appreciate his affection and self control... at the moment.

"I need to prepare you," he says, smirking. His work suit is still on him but you're stark naked. Why do you suddenly feel so much hotter and exposed? And thrilled? He gently places you on a plush little armchair that reminds you of a bean bag, and spreads your legs. "First, lubrication," he explains and dives into your cunt.

His tongue is rough and bumpy, and it's too much for you at first. But his patient licks and flicks soon became a delightful sensation. He can't suck your clit, but he rubs it with his snout. He says he never dated human? Well, he probably watched porn and read some manuals because very quickly you're on verge of an orgasm.

"I'm sorry, doll, but I'll stop now. You are ready to cum - and fuck I want you to so much - but your orgasm will help eggs slide in, trust me."

You're panting and nodding, silently screaming to do whatever he wants quickly and give you the climax you need. He places the egg against your entrance and starts licking your clit again all while pushing the egg in and out. The slight stretching of the smooth eggshell and his rough tongue torturing your clit is completely different but so good.

"Such a good girl," he whispers, his burning eyes looking at your just above your pubes. "You're going to be so full of my eggs. You will carry my offspring for me."

The need builds up in you firing up your nerves with every lick and every stretch until you burst and scream. "Perfect," is all you hear him say as he pushes the first egg inside you.

"Oh my gah..." The egg slides inside your vagina, guided by your spasming muscles, until it nests against your warm womb. "So gah-good," you pant, shaking, and your mentor lovingly caresses your sweaty cheek.

"I'm so glad," he says. "There is more."

The second orgasm comes faster and the second egg slides easily too. "More," you pant still shaking. "This is so good. I feel them inside me. They feel so good."

Your mentor stands up and unbuttons his pants. You notice he's trembling too. "You're so beautiful like that. I can see them inside your stomach, all the beautiful curves. And they are mine. Fuck. I have to have you. I have to fill you."

He kneels in front of you and bites your nipple. His hard cock is rubbing against your anus, needy to enter a hole - any hole! - twitching impatiently. His cock glides against your moist cunt while he grunts into your chest. The next low moan is followed with his thrusting inside your core. Slow but intense. He is constantly cursing under his breath, groaning and grunting as he pounds your pussy. The pleasure erupts inside you and you gush around his cock, and he quickly pulls out. The last egg is inside you.

"Finally. Now I can fuck you all I want." He pushes your legs down with his shoulders and returns to your aching and pulsating hole fucking you and filling you with his seed until you're both exhausted. Before nesting behind you and holding you, he cleans you up and covers you with a blanket.

* * *

Things are a lot less awkward at work, in a way, even though you two can barely control yourselves. Sometimes you end up in storage rooms or offices, too impatient to wait for free time to properly fuck and cuddle. Your 'co-partner' is doting but also surprisingly virile - you have a lot of sleepless nights. You knew there was a proper shiny specimen hiding underneath all that rust.

You happily pat your belly and feel around the eggs. What will you do afterwards - who knows? You work in a museum and helping an extinct species come to life again is something any anthropologist dreams about. Future is just as exciting as the past.

[blushweddinggowns]

“Your boyfriend,” Chirssy sighed as she picked through Nancy’s clothes, “Y’know, Steve?”

Robin blinked at her, “You think I’m dating Steve?”

That was a silly question, “Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I? You guys are all over each other.”

They were. Piggy back rides, cuddling on the couch together, constantly invading each other’s personal space. The only person worse with Steve was Eddie, but Chrissy figured that just came with being best friends for over a decade. She didn’t exactly have a frame of reference for that, considering her first real friends were barely six months old. 

Chrissy just hadn’t expected Robin to burst out laughing. Hard enough to double over.

Robin wiped at her eyes, barely managing to speak through her own cackles, “That’s-oh my god. How have we fucked up this badly?” 

Chrissy could feel a flush creep up her neck, embarrassment kicking in. She hated when she wasn’t in on the joke. It usually meant that it was actually on her,  “Don't be mean.”

“No!” Robin rushed out to say, effortlessly catching on to the look on Chrissy’s face, “No! I-I don’t mean- you’re not stupid! I am. We are. For… reasons. But we aren’t dating.”

That didn’t make any sense. Unless… was Steve leading her on? Was he the type of guy to do that?

Chrissy raised a brow at her, “So what are you doing? The two of you are attached at the hip. Unless he just drives you around everywhere for fun?”

Chrissy could tell Robin was still trying not to laugh. She was failing at it too, obvious as she hid it behind her hand. 

“Stop laughing at me,” Chrissy grumbled. 

“I’m not! I’m just laughing near you,” Robin said quickly. She turned to Steve, “Hey babe, can you come over here for a second?”

He came trotting right over, leaving Eddie to argue with Nancy in his place. He kind of reminded her of a dog, but in a cute way. Like a golden retriever boyfriend. 

Robin wrapped an arm around his shoulder the second he was within reach. She grinned at him, shaking him the slightest bit, “How would you feel about us going out some time?”

Steve stared at her, obviously confused, “Huh?”

“You, me,” Robin went on, “The whole boyfriend girlfriend shtick. What do you say?”

Chrissy didn’t expect to Steve physically cringe, like the idea completely disgusted him, “Ew, no.”

Robin scoffed but she didn’t look very surprised, “Fucking rude.”

“No!” Steve said, raising his hands to placate, “I don’t mean you’re gross! I mean it would be like banging my sister!”

It was Robin’s turn to cringe, “Dude, ew.”

“See!”

Chrissy didn’t understand what was happening. She stared at them, blurting the question out, “You guys aren’t together?”

Robin did a set of jazz hands, “Nope. Absolutely zero attraction between us. See?”

“But why?” Chrissy asked, looking between the two of them, “You both seem so perfect for each other.”

“Hey Eddie,” Steve called, a weird smile on his face, “What do you think? Are Robin and I perfect for each other?”

Suddenly Robin had that same look, “Yeah. He knows Steve better than anybody. Let's have him weigh in.”

Eddie groaned as he came over, clearly eavesdropping the entire time. He left Nancy to dig around her closet, walking up next to Steve with a sigh, “Are we really doing this? Really?”

Robin gasped, faking a faint, “Are you implying that I’m not good enough for Steve?”

Steve gasped right along with her, joining in with the dramatics while Chrissy was still lost, “I think he might be.”

“As fun as this little game is,” Eddie sighed, “I think we should just tell her. I’m tired of keeping my hands to myself anyway.”

Steve looked at him, head cocked, “You think so?”

“Why not?”

Steve shrugged, his eyes landing back onto Chrissy. His voice dipped down, more serious then before. He was talking like he was speaking to Eddie, but Eddie wasn’t the one he was staring down as he spoke, “It makes sense. I think the chances of it going badly are pretty low. The alternative wouldn’t be very wise.”

Chrissy was reminded, not for the first time, why she thought Steve was the scarier one of the best friend duo. 

But then Eddie was clamping a hand onto Steve’s shoulder, pulling him closer as he mumbled in his ear, “Put the claws away angel. I highly doubt she's like that. Plus she's been through enough for one day. Don't you think?”

It was actually pretty impressive, how easily a few words had Steve’s face transforming from scarily defensive to pleasantly neutral. It nearly looked like the words made him shiver, “I-you're right. Sorry Chris. I'm just… sensitive about it “

“I have no idea what’s going on,” Chrissy said, completely unable to accept an apology that she didn’t understand, “What is happening?”

And what did Eddie just call him? 

Eddie went on, “Well… we kind of have this thing when we’re in a near death experience. Or at least adjacent to it. Where we, well, kind of let loose? So we might as well warn you about what you’re going to see beforehand.”

Chrissy stared as Steve leaned further into him, nearly too close. No, definitely too close. He was basically nuzzling the side of Eddie’s face as he spoke, “You’re making it sound like we’re going to commit public indecency in front of her. And I’m the one who needs to calm down?”

Chrissy still didn’t get it. But her brain was still trying to work it out, fitting the weird pieces together. The way they were leaning into each other. The fact that Steve, for some bizarre reason didn’t want the best girl in the country, despite the fact that Robin was right there. How Eddie was instantly able to calm him down. 

Angel.

Oh. 

Oh. 

OH. 

“Uh, you okay there Chris?” Eddie asked, watching right at the realization hit her.

She was not okay. Not because of Eddie and Steve, but because this meant Robin was single. And she had been the entire damn time. 

Chrissy shook herself out of the stupid thought, just because she wasn’t taken didn’t mean she had a chance-

“Yeah, we’re kind of the queer trio over here,” Robin added, effortlessly grinding Chrissy’s train of thought back to a halt, “I um, probably should have told you sooner but piggybacking on their coming out seems appropriate.”

Nancy snorted, her outfit choices formalized as she walked over, “If you’re the queer trio what does that make me? The straight fourth wheel?”

They were all talking about it so casually. Like the thing that has plagued Chrissy’s mind for years, filling her with guilt and doubt, didn’t matter. It was normal, it was fine, and Robin liked girls.

She was pretty sure she was going to faint. But before she could her mouth was opening, “That’s- I - Why didn’t you tell me sooner?!”

Her voice came out more forceful than she expected. Though in her defense, she just found out that she had a real shot with her best friend the same day her life was in danger. She was feeling frazzled, but she corrected herself when she was met with silence, “I-I’m fine with it! Really! I j-just wish I had known.”

Nancy looked at her sympathetically, “Did you have a crush on one of them too? I get it, Steve got me the first time we started getting close. But I promise it’s not that hard to get over it.”

“No!” Chrissy said quickly, again with too much force, “I’m just surprised. T-That’s it. Everything’s fine.”

“Think you got the wrong category there Nance,” Steve mumbled under his breathe, yelping when Robin pinched his arm with a sharp glare. 

“Ignore him,” Robin said with a sad smile, “He doesn’t get everyone doesn’t have the gay gene.”

Chrissy nodded, her eyes trailing the flush that was going up Robin’s neck. Suddenly her mouth felt dry, the urge to correct her coming out full force. She shouldn’t tell them, right? It was wrong, it was bad, it didn't make sense. Because she knew they weren’t wrong. They weren’t bad. And Chrissy was so, so, tired of other people’s words invading her own thoughts. 

Nancy was laying the clothes out, the only one capable of getting everyone back on task, “Since it looks like neither of you were actually looking. I picked these out for you-”

“I have it,” Chrissy blurted out, her eyes still on the clothes on the bed. She refused to look up for any of their reactions, “The um, what you guys were talking about earlier. Me too. And I like the blue skirt.”

Nancy was the only one who didn’t miss a beat, “Ah, so now there’s four. Good for you. And I agree with the skirt, it will make you look a little taller with the heels and the elongation. We can get you to pass for a college student for sure. Robin, what do you think about the pink?”

from the next chapter of this fic

[ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes]

Confessions Between the Pages

pairing: jess mariano x fem!reader

requested: yes/no (anon)

genre: fluff/neutral

el's thoughts: first time writing for jess so he's a new character for me! this could definitely be out of character, but hey, it's alriiight hahaha hope yall like it!

jess masterlist

Y/N never meant to become this person—the one who feels a burning jealousy every time Rory Gilmore walks into a room. Yet, here she is, seated at a table in Luke’s Diner, glaring into her coffee as Rory and Jess chat across the counter. There's an easy rapport between them, the kind of connection that makes her stomach twist uncomfortably. It’s the subtle way Jess glances at Rory, the half-smirk he seems to save just for her, and the way Rory effortlessly holds his attention.

Y/N has known Jess long enough to understand she shouldn’t feel this way. He’s just… Jess—the sarcastic, book-loving troublemaker who stumbled into her life, somehow carving out space in her heart without even trying. But Y/N? She’s no Rory Gilmore—no straight-A student, no golden girl with a pristine future ahead. She’s always felt like the background to Jess’s scenes with Rory.

And now, she’s watching them again, torturing herself for reasons she can’t quite explain.

“What’s wrong with you?” Suki, her close friend/mentor figure, asks, nudging her elbow. Suki’s been keeping tabs on Y/N’s sour mood for days and knows it has something to do with Jess. It always does.

“Nothing,” Y/N mutters, eyes still fixed on Jess and Rory. She can’t help the bitterness that churns inside her. “I’m fine.”

Suki follows her gaze and raises an eyebrow. “Oh, come on. You’re doing this again? You know Jess isn’t into Rory like that.”

Y/N scoffs, stirring her coffee with a bit too much force. “Right. They’re ‘just friends.’”

Suki rolls her eyes. “You’re jealous.”

“Am not.”

“You are,” Suki insists, the knowing tone in her voice only annoying Y/N more. “You act like this every time Rory’s around. You’re into Jess.”

Y/N freezes at her words, her heart tightening with anxiety. She can’t deny it anymore, not to herself and not to Suki. But her jealousy makes everything worse. It twists her insecurities into something ugly—something she doesn’t want Jess to see.

“Whatever,” Y/N grumbles, standing up abruptly. “I’m out of here.”

Before Suki can say anything else, Y/N heads for the exit. But just as she’s almost out the door, Jess turns around, locking his dark eyes on hers. He says something to Rory before quickly making his way toward her, calling out her name.

“Y/N! Wait up.”

She stops, heart hammering. “What?”

Jess looks at her, concern etched in his features. “You’ve been acting weird. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she snaps, though it comes out sharper than she intended. “I’m just… tired of watching you and Rory.”

Jess frowns, clearly confused. “What do you mean?”

Frustration bubbles up inside Y/N, spilling over before she can stop it. “You two are always talking, and it’s like I don’t exist when she’s around! She’s perfect, okay? She’s smart, pretty, and everyone likes her. I get it. You like her.”

Jess’s expression hardens, his usual smug attitude disappearing. “Is that what you think?”

“Yes!” The confession slips out of her mouth before she can stop it, and suddenly, everything she’s been holding back crashes down. “You like Rory, and I’m just… me. I’m not her.”

There’s a long, tense silence, and Y/N can feel her heart sinking with every passing second. She regrets saying anything at all.

“Do you really think I’m into Rory?” Jess finally asks, his voice quieter but firm. “Because if you do, then you really don’t know me at all.”

Y/N blinks, caught off guard. “What?”

Jess takes a step closer, his dark eyes searching hers. “Rory’s great, yeah, but I don’t look at her the way I look at you.”

Her breath hitches. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Jess says, voice steady, “that you’ve been in my head for a long time. It’s you, Y/N. Not Rory.”

Y/N feels her pulse race, the weight of Jess’s words sinking in. She’s spent so long assuming she didn’t stand a chance against Rory. And now, hearing Jess confess his feelings, it’s like her world is shifting.

“You… like me?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jess lets out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “Are you seriously that clueless? Yeah, I like you. I’ve been waiting for you to figure it out.”

Her heart feels like it’s doing flips in her chest, but guilt creeps in, too. She’s spent so much time being bitter, letting her jealousy fester. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice small. “I didn’t mean to act like that. I just… didn’t think you could ever feel the same.”

Jess softens, his tone gentler now. “It’s okay. But next time, just talk to me instead of jumping to conclusions.”

Y/N nods, relief flooding through her. “I promise.”

For a moment, they just stand there, the tension that’s been between them for weeks finally dissolving. Jess watches her, his gaze soft and a little amused.

“So,” he says, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “What are you going to do about this thing between us?”

Y/N laughs, the sound light and free, the first real laugh she’s had in days. “I don’t know. How about we start with dinner?”

Jess’s grin widens. “Sounds good to me.”

They walk back into the diner together, side by side, and Y/N can’t help but feel lighter. The air between them is easier now, and for the first time, she feels like maybe, just maybe, things will turn out okay.

As they sit down, Suki looks between them, raising an eyebrow knowingly. Y/N rolls her eyes but can’t help the smile tugging at her lips.

Jess leans over, whispering in her ear, “You’re going to have to stop glaring at Rory now, you know.”

Y/N smirks, nudging him playfully. “No promises.”

Jess laughs, shaking his head as he picks up the menu. And for the first time, Y/N realizes that she doesn’t have to compare herself to Rory anymore. Because to Jess, she’s always been more than enough.