#sorry these are late but it was one of those weeks where i hated. everything i wrote.

[farklelucas]

A POEM A DAY➜ week seventeen (insp)

[simpjaes]

FRENZY ៸៸៸ part two

Jake is experiencing real love for the first time in his life. He’s so infatuated with you that he would do anything to make you understand. And you? Oh, you are in no place to argue with a man who appears to be perfect. 

៸៸៸  part one here ៸៸៸ you must read the first part in order to understand this one!

៸៸៸ sim jake x afab reader 

 ៸៸៸ minors dni

 ៸៸៸ wordcount: 14.2k

 ៸៸៸ genre: stalker au, dark fic, slow burn, smut

 ៸៸៸ content tags: switch!stalker jake, he is gross but on a plus side he’s got a big shlong, obsession, panty stealing/sniffing, toothbrush sucking, shower water tasting, jealousy, manipulation, past trauma involving sa of reader, reader is manipulated into being obsessed with him too, trauma, jake is very insane, he’s thinks you need him to fix you, reader can be lifted and carried by him. 

 ៸៸៸ !WARNINGS! there is intense trauma, past abuse, and conflict in this fic. It’s dark with mentions of noncon and dubcon, and an instance where jake keeps going after reader faints. Everything is consenting between the two but only because he is manipulative and a bad person. if you can’t handle it, don't read it.

 ៸៸៸ a/n: sorry again for the way i had to post this in two parts, still i hope it was worth the wait!

៸៸៸ nsfw tags under cut

៸៸៸ nsfw tags for the whole fic, as in both chapters: masochism (jake), sadism (reader and jake), overstimulation, painful masturbation, praise, worship, dirty talk, blowjob, finger fucking, pussy eating, riding, missionary, mating press,  standing up sex yayyyyy, huge giant fat cock jake, deep penetration, unprotected sex, implied breeding, choking, hair pulling, suffocation, cock warming, crying, begging, hate sex, hitting (m receiving), squirting

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The next morning, you were late waking up to log into your work account but Jake was still there, drowsy and smiling at you from the moment you opened your eyes. 

You briefly remember the early morning pouting he gave you, hard against you and lips all over you, and in turn you remember how you made a promise to yourself swiftly after rejecting his needs.

Your face heated up the second he said good morning to you, flustered over the fact that not only do you want him, but you want him to want you like that again, despite your rejection. After all, you let him sleep over, and he didn’t try to take advantage of you despite sporting an intense boner through the majority of it. 

He sees the way your eyes check him out upon waking up too, but you stay silent after he gives you his good morning greeting. 

“Are you hungry? I can step out and pick up some breakfast so you can work.” He offers, stretching his arms out wide and tapping you to stand up. “I’m staying again today.” 

Your eyes widen at him, but the smile on your face betrays that little red flag in your head that has forced you, up to this point, to struggle to give him what he needs. 

“I’d like that.” You nod to him, cheeks permanently warmed at the image of your shining boyfriend. “Sorry about last night.” You blurt now, standing up and stretching yourself. 

“It’s fine love, it's just hard to keep my hands to myself sometimes.” He says, intensely watching your reaction.

You lend a pause in your stretch at those words, having heard them before when your ex did things that made your body ache for weeks. There is a pull in your gut hearing him say that before you remind yourself that they’re just words. He just really likes you, and he did stop when you told him to.

He is not your ex. 

“I wouldn’t have hurt you though,” He continues, seeing you deep in thought in front of him. “If you’d have let me, I mean.”

“Jake I–” You stop yourself, feeling a flood of words on the tip of your tongue. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me.” You confirm, now moving forward to hug against him. “I would have–” 

“You would?” His eyes light up, smile brighter than you’ve ever seen before. 

“No, I mean,” You stutter in panic, hugging him tighter. “I would have touched you if you asked.”

His eyes go dark instantly, making his smile seem more eerie than anything as you look up at him. 

“I’m okay with doing the touching, we can work our way up to the other stuff…maybe? If that’s okay?” 

“Oh, baby, that’s more than okay.” He coos out, now losing his appetite for actual food and wanting nothing more than to show you just how good he could really be for you. His arms hug you tightly before releasing you, and he ushers you across the room. “We can talk about this later though, you’re already late, right?”

You nod, feeling a bit better about initially rejecting him and doing just that, moving to the small nook that holds your desk and PC and listening to him slip his shoes on. 

“I’m going to grab breakfast, and I’m gonna stop by my place to grab some clothes.” 

He leaves before you can answer, which is nice because part of you didn’t want to hear your own voice accepting that. 

Accepting that he’s leaving right now, accepting that he’s coming back to stay another night, accepting that you feel perfectly fine with all of this despite your inner demon advising you to run. 

You don’t know who you are in this moment, but what you do know is that you’re safe. That’s what’s driving you to act blatantly against what your own brain is telling you.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You’re clinging and Jake is fucking devoted to the feeling of it.

Devoted to the way your fingers, so much smaller than his own, grab him to kiss him. Devoted to the way you kiss the bruise above his brow, and the way you ask him to stay for another night, and another, and another, up until he finds himself doing his and your laundry together just so he doesn’t have to go back home to grab more clothes to rotate through. 

It’s been a week since he’s been in your apartment, rolling around on your bed with you in it, cleaning himself in your shower, washing himself with your soap. It’s like only the two of you exist in this space, where he is the only one to step out and see the sun, solely so you don’t have to.

Or, solely so you can’t. He doesn’t think he’d let you at this point, now that you’re his and you prove it with each kiss and hug. All you need to do is sit and look pretty, sit and love him. That’s what your purpose is in this relationship, he will do the rest. 

Given, he’s also fucked his fist each second he can get in your bathroom. But goddamn do you cling. You whine when he separates himself from you even for a moment, and day by day he can see you come closer and closer to fulfilling his need to be loved by you entirely. 

Your phone hasn’t received any unsavory messages you’ve noticed as well, they haven’t needed you to come into the office, and all you can manage to think is that…you’re in love with being in this apartment with him.

Only good things happen when Jake is with you and you’re growing so attached that you’ve thought more than once to just move him in with you. Your mother would scold you, your ex would kill you, and arguably, Jake would absolutely do it. 

He waits on you hand and foot. Cooking, cleaning, doing your laundry, holding you and giving you some of the best sleep you’ve had in years. You refrain from considering it seriously though, because this relationship is still so new. You don’t want to freak him out or cause an uproar in your already fucked up and unsteady life. You’re throwing yourself in like you always do, but…is it so bad when he’s doing the exact same thing?

Until he’s not, anyway. 

“Love,” Jake starts, tapping his chin with the tips of his fingers as he lounges on your bed. “I need to go home today.”

Your heart immediately sinks. 

“What? Why?” You ask in a voice that plainly shows your panic.

“Well,” He taps on his chin again before moving his hand through his hair. “I’m pretty sure my mailbox is probably full by now, I need to clean out my fridge, and I should probably check my course work.”

“You’re…in college?” 

Jake nods with a snicker, laughing at how he’s given up his entire life for you. 

“Yeah, probably won’t be soon though.” He laughs, shaking his hair out and then looking at you with big, rounded eyes. “Just for the day, I’ll be back before sunset.”

You look down in a disappointed way before nodding to him. 

“Aww, babe. Don’t be like that–” He mock pouts as he turns to you, grabbing both of your cheeks and squishing them up, forcing your lips to pucker before landing a harsh kiss against them. “I’m coming right back, I promise.” 

You nod again, unable to keep a smile from forming on your face. 

“You’re so cute, it’s going to kill me one of these days.” He smiles back at you, hopping up and preparing himself to head back to his apartment. 

What you don’t know is that, while Jake wasn’t lying and that he should at least clean out his fridge, he needed to go home. 

He needs to unload the footage onto his computer, he needs to watch it back, he needs to fuck something.

And so, he does just that. 

The second he gets back to his apartment, it’s almost uncomfortable. Unfamiliar scents, no warmth, rotting food in the fridge, neglected pillows and bed sheets. 

Even so, it’s like he acts on instinct when he walks past everything he needs to do and lands himself at the window. His mind takes over in an instant.

It felt like so long ago when he first saw you from here, knowing you were the most beautiful, the perfect girl for him. Knowing you would love him too, and that you’d never want to leave him. He smiles at his victory, knowing that you’re sitting in that apartment right now thinking about him too. If he knew where he would be now, he thinks his former self may have very well fucked himself to death. After all, he’s felt you, tasted you, and even seen parts of you based on the little image he sent to himself from your phone. Everything happened better than he knew it would.

If it weren’t for your ex, perhaps you wouldn’t have let him stay with you in your apartment. Perhaps you wouldn’t have clinged to him so immediately. 

In a way, he almost wants to thank the man before he eventually strangles the life out of him. 

He’s tasted almost all of you by this point, and each moment it happened is trapped within the files of that little camera there. All of it, for him to remember. Each kiss and makeout session he made sure happened in the view of this camera, and so badly does he want to watch over and over again the moments where you gave in to him. The moments where you needed him. 

He’s quick to push the camera to his pc, uploading a weeks worth of files before placing it back onto the window sill and immediately shoving his hand down his pants. 

Jake shivers at the first unrestricted graze of his hand against his cock, eyebrows falling into that of probably one of the most pathetic faces he could ever make in his life. The relief is so good, so painful.

He can’t fucking help it. After jerking off multiple times a day before finding himself in your apartment with you, it’s hard to only do it once a day within a short time span of a few minutes. He felt so restricted in terms of his release, and he has so much cum to give right now. He’s aching for it. He wants to bleed it dry. 

He wants you so bad at this point, seeing you dangle yourself in front of him and not yet give in to at least going down on him– he needs this. He needs it now. 

Even if it’s not you touching him, he needs to release before he takes it from you. Before he does something stupid and makes you hate him forever. Before he really does become your ex. It felt like he was going insane in your apartment, surrounded by you, only wanting to fuck you, and still not getting to. 

God, the footage is so grainy but it hits his cock so fucking fast. He memorized each moment as it happened, and now watching it in third person makes him feel as if he’s some sort of ghost. Like he’s having an out of body experience and can see and feel you in a completely different light.

In more ways than he already has, even.

He releases within thirty seconds, barely holding his cock when he doubles over at the footage of that very first, harsh kiss you gave him. Sensitive and twitching, his raging length spilled all in his pants, drenches them through even, as his body shakes with the need for more.

And as if it never happened, he takes a firmer hold of his cock now, fast forwarding the footage to each and every kiss, wondering how good those lips of yours would feel elsewhere on his body. How pretty your moans would sound for him, how cute your hand looked gripping your tit in that little nude of yours, how–

He comes again, forcing him to let out a choked sob and drop his head to his desk. God, it hurts. He’s so sensitive, and still, he wants you so bad. His dick is still raging, aching, and begging, especially when he thinks of how you’ve been clinging. How your hands have fucked yourself, and how badly he wants them to stay on him forever. 

God he wishes your fingers could slice him open, leaving painful and love-filled reminders of not who you belong to, but of who he belongs to. 

When he thinks of how he’s only doing this right now because you have your claws buried into him already, almost refusing to let him leave you, he knows he could come another four or five times within the next thirty minutes solely because you cling, and cling, and fucking cling. Fuck..

That’s so hot to him.

He’d let you cage him up in a heartbeat, he’d let you fuck his entire life up and then laugh at him for it. It’s what you deserve. To have a man willing to do anything for you, someone willing to give up everything just to hear you breathe, to have him be that person. 

Third release, forcing him to hold his breath to the point of feeling faint.

The veins on his neck protrude, sweat now dripping down his brow. 

It hurts, it hurts, it fucking hurts.

But it doesn’t hurt enough.

And all day he does this. Until the sun is telling him that he needs to go back to you, until his hair is drenched in sweat and his arm is sore. Until his body feels weak and his cock feels spent, raw, and still throbbing for more. 

It hurts when he puts on a new pair of pants, hurts even more when he forces himself to squat in front of his fridge to clean it out, opting to toss everything into a bag rather than sifting through what’s good and what isn’t. 

Now more than ever does he want you against him, knowing that he’s fucked himself half to death solely to keep himself from scaring you, and still he isn’t satisfied.

At this point, nothing will satisfy him but you. He knows this now.

He’s quick to lock up, even quicker to toss his trash, and finds himself inside of your lobby at a loss.

Goddamn his libido. Goddamn this love for you. 

He can’t stop wanting you, and he can’t just fuck the need away himself at this point. He needs you to fuck his brain quiet, only you can satiate this horrifyingly deep hunger. 

Waiting, watching, waiting, waiting, waiting. 

He’s waited enough. He’s done waiting. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Jake appears at your door right on time, and you were expecting to see his smiling face and big stretched out arms to greet you as you open the door for him.

You didn’t get that though. In fact, you found yourself frozen with the door half open as you stared at your boyfriend and the way his terrifyingly small pupils looked back at you before instantly growing twice the size. So different from this morning, heaving, lips shaking, eyes darker than they’ve ever been. 

Before you can even ask why he’s looking at you like that, you learn exactly why. 

“I’m going fucking insane.” Jake says shortly in a hot whisper, stepping forward and slamming the door behind him. You feel his hands on you instantly, slipping under your shirt and grabbing your waist tightly. “Can’t be away from you, can’t be with you, I can’t stand it.” 

You just listen, feeling him walk you into the living room, fluttering his lips all over your face and neck, only to press you up and against the window with his entire body pinning you there with a slam. 

You’re shocked, unable to do anything but listen to him and feel the way his hands grip and search your entire body for something to hold onto. 

“All fucking day,” Jake seethes out angrily, pulling back from you and grabbing your face to turn it. Almost pissed that you simply exist in front of him right now. “Right there.” He says, pointing directly to his apartment. “I sat right there trying to deal with this.” He presses his hips against you, letting you feel exactly what he’s talking about. “And still, I need more.”

Your brain goes numb. Or maybe it goes hot, you’re not sure. You’ve only recently realized that he turns you on beyond belief, it’s difficult to decipher the difference between horniness and fear right now. 

“Jake–” You turn back to him, now using your own hands to grab his face, forcing his eyes to steady and look at you, as if to bring him back to reality. “Do you need–”

He cuts you off with a harsh kiss, hands running up just to press you harder against the window, his hips chasing whatever he can get from you. Like he’s using you in this moment, as if you’re not real and simply a doll for him to release against and inside of. 

He’s fucking gone. Outside of himself, and you, and the universe as a whole. 

“What I need,” He says, pulling back and stating in an almost demanding tone. “Is for you to take care of me.”

You knew this would come sooner or later, and you’d been trying to work up the courage to do it. You’ve run his patience dry, and you guess it’s now or never at this point.

“Just tell me.” You whisper submissively, wanting to give him whatever he needs solely so that he won’t leave you.

You see his expression soften within a split second, his hips release their pressure against you, and he pulls his hands back.

“Fuck.” He lets out apologetically, demeaning himself for losing his control and being so blatant. Pointing out his fucking apartment to you. “Baby, I’m sorry, I–”

You’ve already made your decision, understanding exactly why your boyfriend broke his composure. This past week proved enough to you that he wasn’t in it to fuck you, and even though his needs weren’t being met, he still worked hard to meet yours, you feel…

Yeah, you’re happy he did this. Even the force didn’t scare you entirely. The only thing that scares you is him leaving you over this. And he watches as you do it, sinking to your knees and reaching out to hook your fingers into the loops on his pants. 

“Baby,” He warns you, feeling you pull him straight to you. “Wait, wait.”

You don’t, knowing that if you were to stop now you might end up talking yourself out of doing this again.

“No,” You shake your head, lifting on your knees just to rub your cheek against the length in his pants. “Let me take care of you, I’ve neglected you enough.”

God, he fucking buckles. Dropping right to his knees in front of you, pulling you in by the face, and kissing you as hard as he possibly can. His entire body quivers, bursting in a euphoric sense of arousal as the hairs rise on his body at the very image of you on your knees for him. 

“You’re so good to me,” He mumbles through kissing you. “So, so good to me.”

And you just let yourself feel it. Intensely, to the point that even your stomach flips at knowing what’s about to happen.

Strangely enough, it flips in a good way. You haven’t felt like this in years, and it brings so much glee to you knowing that Jake is right here, willing to let you make him feel good. Willing to let you feel these things again, willing to make you feel good if you work up the courage to ask for it. And most of all, he’s staying. 

“Stand up then.” You whisper in a smile. “I’ll take care of you, so don’t run back home to do it yourself anymore.”

Jake shakes his head with a smirk, happy to get what he not only wants at this moment, but what he so desperately needs. 

“I did that for you, and look where it got me.” He says, standing and staring down at you. “Nothing will ever satisfy me, only you can.” 

You chuckle shyly, reaching up to fumble with his button only to have him take over for you, dropping his pants and gripping himself. 

“Don’t be so sure though.” You swallow around a lump in your throat at the size of him, proving why you were always able to feel it and not quite ignore it. “I don’t have a lot of practice with this.”

Oh, could you be any more perfect? Any more fucking endearing? With those pretty eyes staring down what he wants to put in you so bad, not even knowing how he’s only ever gotten this hard for you and you alone. Fuck, he could give it to you so good, he could fill you until you can’t breathe, he could keep you forever.

You look so pretty like this, with your lips trembling as you wet them, with the way your smaller hands swat him away as if to ask him to let you try and hold it yourself. 

He could shoot his load right now if you asked him to, looking so fucking docile on the floor for him. He needs to look away, he needs to prepare for this.

“I don’t know if I can, um,” You start, gripping him and noting that he’s thick, there’s no way it will all fit in your mouth without absolutely suffocating you. “Jake, I genuinely don’t know if I can fit all of it.”

He lends you a short chuckle as he takes in a breath, his fingers going down to tip your chin up at him. You feel it pulse in your hand as he looks at you, almost feeling his quickened heartbeat through the vein that runs up the underside of it. 

“Love, I don’t need it to fit.” He smiles, pressing it harder into your palm. “Even this is enough right now.” He lies, pressing his hips forward as if to show you that he’s lying.

He needs it to fit so bad.

You eye him down, feeling the twitch release a little dribble of precum that rolls down and onto your circled fist. It’s been a long time since you’ve looked at another person this way, wanting to taste it, almost needing to. 

Rubbing your legs together, almost uncomfortably, you swallow again as you keep your eyes trained on his before glancing back down. You pull your hands back just to see the way it drops. God, it’s so heavy. You can imagine he’s full of resentment for how long it’s taken you to simply look at it. His cock rages at you, darkened in color and glistening in the light of the setting sun through the window. 

All you can do is stare.

And all Jake can do is stare too, watching you do math in your head of what you need to do with him. He’d take anything, fucking anything, from you right now.

“Mm,” Jake hums for a moment, grabbing your hand and squeezing it tighter. “Like this.” He instructs.

“I know how to give a hand job, you know.” You roll your eyes playfully, despite totally forgetting how to do it now that, you know, you want to. 

“Yeah, don’t tell me that.” He warns, annoyed that you’d even say that right now. “Just, grip me harder–” He closes his eyes, pretending that you’ve never touched a cock that wasn’t his own, noting how your hands have always been gentle with him, save for that day you dragged him around by the shirt in a kiss.

You listen, trying to grip the girth of it as tightly as you can while dragging your hand forward and back, forcing little grunts out of him.

“Yeah,baby–” he encourages you, “Just like that.” He continues to lose himself to the feeling in soft moans, blinking down and now moving his hips in your grasp, fucking forward a bit harder. “Use your other hand too..”

You listen intently, never having to use both hands on a man like this before. You try to squeeze him, offering as much pressure as you can as he swivels his hips forward and back, slicking your hands up nice and wet with his precum. Unbelievable how much he has, actually. 

 You look up when he lolls his head back in a drawn out moan, staring at the expanse of his neck and the way it tenses when he swallows around the same moan. And then, suddenly, in a split second he hangs his head back down and looks at you as if he can see everything you are, everything you ever have been, and everything you ever could be. You gasp at his expression, feeling totally lost and in awe when you see that gaze go dead as he stares back. 

His lips fall slack when his hips pick up pace, essentially fucking your fists rather than letting you do the work. And when you glance away from him, tuning in to the consistent pre-cum spilling out of him, he sees you lick your lips. 

He watches, he sees you want it. 

So, very gently, he places one of his hands on the back of your head, encouraging you to do it. And it’s like he can taste colors when you let him and instantly wrap your lips around the big, swollen head of his leaking length.

The half-moan-half-amazed-chuckle that falls out of him only comes from the fact that you instantly stretch your lips around it, lapping at his tip in an almost hungry way. 

“God, fuck–” He keeps his head hanging forward, watching intently as you take him further and further into your mouth, up until you release one hand and grasp his thigh to hold onto. “I’ve dreamed of this.” He admits, shocked that you’re really going to do this for him.

You blink up at him, trying to smile around the heavy length pressing your tongue down. If you’re going to do this, the least you can do is make sure he fucking loves it. Not to mention, the fact that you’re also enjoying it only drives you to do more. Like the wall inside of you has been shattered and nothing could ever stop you from wanting him in any and every way possible.

He smiles through a deep groan at the way your lips still curl around him.

Never in his fucking life did he imagine you smiling while sliding his cock down your throat. Really, you did that entirely on your own and somehow, he feels even more insane than he did walking into your apartment earlier. 

You’re making it fit, and all he can do is help you, now bracing that same hand on your head and pressing further into your mouth.. 

More, more. 

And when he feels your fingernails dig into his thigh and his cock hit the back of your gagging throat, he chokes out, eyes tearing up, and he sobs out your name in a desperate attempt to compliment you for it. 

That sound alone from him went straight through you, igniting a long awaited arousal within your belly. You feel the drip, relishing in the feeling of being wet for the first time in fucking years. He’s so big, and he’s so suffocating. You want to do this, you want to hear him cry out your name again.

Even when he tries to pull his hips back, you grab onto him and hold his hips in place, pushing your lips further down, depressing your tongue even more as the thickest part of him cuts off your airways. Your throat restricts around him, and you feel proud of it. Proud of choking on him, happy to keep doing it. 

He stutters in awe, gripping the windowsill with his free hand and using the other to feel your hollowed out cheeks. Shit, you’re going to taste him, he’s going to give you all of it, he’s going to–

Shocked, floored, entirely drunk for you, all he can do is watch as you choke. His body did not warn him at all when his cum shoots into your throat, warming your belly with that first swallow around him. 

Your reaction to it is immediate though, as he watches with half-crossed eyes the way you pull off of him and let his cum spurt out and drip all over your face. Down those beautiful cheeks, onto your plush lips, and down your neck.

It won't stop. He just keeps coming. His entire body trembles as he stares at you, and you stare back before closing one eye due to the fact that there is now cum in your eyelashes, and you fucking smile at him.

The image alone keeps him hard as his body finally stops twitching. You, there on your knees, smiling up at him drenched in him. 

“Baby,” He soothes out with a raspy tone. “Fuck, you didn’t have to do–”

“I’m wet. Jake.” You smile, as if you’re admitting this to him to gain some sort of congratulations for it. And in a way, you are. He has no idea how amazing it is to you right now that you can feel your panties go sticky. It feels amazing to admit to him, actually. 

It’s so relieving, it’s so warm, it’s something you never should have missed out on in the first place.

“What?” He asks with uneven breath, dropping to his knees in front of you again, rubbing the cum into your skin with his thumb as he caresses your face. “You are?”

You beam at him, smiling with a nod.

“Really?” He asks again, in disbelief because this was all it took? 

You nod again, leaning back on your arms and watching him follow, hovering over you and slotting himself between your legs with a hungry gaze. 

“Can I feel?” He asks abruptly, crawling over you to the point that your back hits the side table behind you, keeping you from lying all the way down. 

And you nod before you think about it. Wondering if this is how it’s always supposed to be. Always willing, always wanting, always needing. 

He stares at you when you nod, glancing down to your middle then back at you as if to gain another confirmation. 

You nod again, this time wanting to hide your face in your arms. You anticipate it, wondering what it’ll feel like to be touched there again by a hand that isn’t your own after all this time. And when you feel his shaking hand dip into your sweat pants, you don’t even shutter. You don’t shy away.

You’re surprising yourself even, letting out a gasp when he cups your core and looks down at you with a cautious smile. 

“You’re dripping, baby.” He smiles as he balances himself on one arm over you, rubbing his hand back and forth and memorizing the dips and folds he can feel through this flimsy fabric. Then, his more intrusive thoughts spill in an unintentional and needy groan. “Fuck, I bet you’re so tight.”

Words that would make you recoil are no longer scaring you. You can tell he wants to apologize for saying it too, but goddamn, you loved hearing it. In fact, your entire body pulses at the words, feeling his hand do nothing more than hold you there and gently rub. His eyes are pleading though, with his lips pouting as he relishes in thoughts of probably fucking his fingers into you just to see if he’s right. 

Or maybe it’s just you hoping that’s what he’s thinking about. You can’t help the way you clench, letting out a strained breath as you lurch forward and hug him around his neck, squeezing so tightly as you whisper against the shell of his ear. 

“You can touch me– if you want.” You whisper, physically feeling the goosebumps against his neck raise to your lips. “Just go slow.”

You still need to go slow, after all, you don’t know how your brain may react to this, despite loving it at the moment. Relishing in the fact that someone managed to make you feel horny again. You feared that you never could again. God, he’s amazing. 

“I’ll go so slow for you,” He whispers back, twisting his hand in your pants to hook his fingers around your panties to pull them to the side. “Oh, baby, you really do want this, don’t you?” He whispers again upon really feeling you drip, trying to slide his fingers through the slick mess before rubbing circles around your hole. He’s lost his train of thought now, only able to feel one sense at a time so that he can fucking memorize how you coat his fingers entirely.

He moans again from deep in his chest along with you, despite knowing you’re the only one feeling the pleasure of his fingers. You feel his moan vibrate through his throat when you kiss him there, anticipating what it’s going to feel like when he slides a finger in.

And it’s like you see stars when he does, slowly pressing one into you as he wraps his other arm around your waist to hold you in place, sitting back on his knees and forcing you to stand on your own infront of him. 

There he holds you as if he’s afraid you’ll start to fight, relishing the feeling of your wet walls hugging his finger all while you cling to him through it. He was right, you are tight despite how wet you’ve gotten. It’s almost like you’re a virgin despite knowing that you’re not. 

Your body is reacting this way for him, and you’re hugging him, and your pussy is clenching for him. He just knows that if he manages to fit his cock into you, he’d fucking lose it. You’d squeeze him so tight, and he’d fuck it so deep. Fill you up, deeper, deeper, until the only name you know is his. 

He’s losing it again, hearing your little whispered moans against his ear, hanging on him like a fucking pet, god, he wants you to squeeze the fucking blood out of him. You’re being so compliant, so submissive, so–

“Do you even know…” He starts babbling, trying to silence his thoughts by giving them straight to you as his finger slides out, eagerly shoving two back in at a much quicker, much harsher pace. “How much I’ve dreamed about this?” 

You shake your head noting how he’s already mentioned dreaming of you once. The thought has you spreading your legs out to feel how deep his fingers reach inside of you. There’s no pain involved in this, despite his pace not being nearly as slow as he said he would go. You’re not upset, you want him to go faster, you want him deeper, you want to hear him talk.

“So many times, baby, so many times.” He soothes himself more than you through these words, losing himself more and more each second to the feeling of your core clenching his fingers. “You’re even prettier to me right now,” He continues to babble, listening to you hum in his ear at the pleasure you feel. “I want you to take everything from me.” 

“I want you to wrap your legs around my neck, I want you to rub my nose in it, I want you to suffocate me, I want—”

“Shit, Jake.” You moan out his name for the first time at the dirty words. They’re a lot to take in only because you know it truly is a lot, or rather, it should be. But you fucking want that too. You want everything from him, you want everything he wants. Everything. “What else?” You urge him to keep talking.

“I want you to pull my hair,” He says, instantly feeling your fingers slide up his neck and into the thick of it, tugging immediately. “I want you to make it fit here too.” He continues, curling his fingers inside of you, thrusting his own hips against the dense air in your apartment. 

You moan again at his hot words. You’re overwhelmed by how much you want more, how much you’d let him, right here, right now. 

“Keep going,” You sing out, feeling it in your stomach and knowing that this familiar feeling is so much better than you’ve ever felt before. “Tell me, Jakey, fuck–” You continue, huffing at the way his fingers quicken even more. 

“Sound so pretty saying my name, fuck,” He groans now, more level than before as he feels your legs close around his arm, fingers relentlessly hitting the soft spot inside of you. “Tell me that I’d never hurt you, that only I can make you feel like this.”

You nod aggressively as your brain hits a wall, unable to fulfill his request. Every muscle in your body tenses in pleasure as you begin to shake, moving your own hips against his fingers and tugging his hair harder without intention. 

He moans out at how tight you hold him, wanting nothing more than to lay you out and bury himself into you, to feel your pussy jerk him off. 

“Feels so good, baby, right?” He continues to talk, feeling your tight walls try to push his fingers out with each threat of your build up, his mind is spinning. “Say it–” He stutters, feeling his own body react the same way yours is. “Fuck, please, say that you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.” You whisper out of breath against his ear, the hot breath sending him overboard as he immediately pulls his fingers from you and grips his cock instead, ignoring your whimper of the lost build up.

“Yeah,” He cries out, thrusting his hips against his hand. “So let me– please, please let me.” 

His face looks so broken when you stare at him in shock, eyes pleading for you to give him all of it. To give him everything right now. How could you fucking say no to that expression? How could you ever say no to him? 

And still, with your orgasm half-fulfilled, you’re entirely enamored with the way you instantly want it too. As if you’re rushing head first into a brick wall with him, and you stop just to think for a moment.

Should you? 

Do you intend to keep this man forever? Do you want him to leave? Would you be able to picture a day without him? 

It confirms in your brain right then and there. You do intend to keep him. You don’t want him to leave. You could never picture a day without him at this point. 

If he wants to have sex with you right now? Why not? You’re sure that if he is truly wanting to stay, sooner or later you’ll feel him pumping inside of you. Why should it matter that it happens now rather than tomorrow? Or next week? Or even next month? 

Instantly upon your snap decision, you stand on shaking legs, watching him watch you. His hand gripping himself harshly to prevent a pathetic and untouched orgasm, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy. 

You smile, dropping your pants, panties, and then lifting your shirt right up and over your head. All he does in response is wince, grip the base of his cock harder, and try to focus on not spilling and wasting his cum on your floor. Brain only slightly trying to distract him with the idea of grabbing those sticky panties to suck them clean. 

“Really?” He chokes, out of breath and standing up, swiping your panties up quickly and crumpling them in his hand.

Then, you feel one hand on you after he drops his length, and the other rubbing those same wet panties against your skin, as if he has a death grip on them and you. Still, he walks you right back to the window and against it, speaking in that same, needy and shaking breath. “Baby, are you sure?” 

You look away, feeling vulnerable and shy but so willing, so ready when you nod and throw your leg around his waist as if to tell him that you’re more than sure. 

He gives you a breathy chuckle, pulling back just to lift his shirt off of him, hang your panties at the base of his cock, and then he grabs your leg and holds it in place. “Right here?”

He can’t tell if he’s even alive right now, with your pussy sitting spread open right up against him as you let him hold you here, your ass is probably looking great for the camera right now. Your panties feel so good in their rightful place, dangling just in front of his balls. You feel so good in your rightful place, right up against the wall with him trapping you here. 

You nod again, pressing your hips forward, proving to him how hungry you feel for him right now. Finally feeling dirty and not hating yourself for it.

“Right here.” You confirm, tuned into his lips and leaning forward to lick against them. “That’s what you want, right?”

He’s stunned by how you take control while still being somehow submissive to him about it. Almost like you’re shaming him for wanting it, almost like you don’t want to admit that you want it too. 

“Is that what you want?” He asks, trying hard not to think about how you’ve shifted entirely within the span of however long it’s been since the two of you started this. Is this how you act when you're horny? 

“How could I not?” You confirm again with a confident tone, watching your boyfriend break in front of you. “Look at you.”

Jake can’t bear to look at himself, he knows he looks just about as pathetic as he’s always wanted. Never quite able to feel pathetic enough to satisfy him, only now understanding why he chased and chased the feeling to have you like this. 

Controlling whether he can stick his dick in you, controlling whether he can fuck off and die. 

That’s how it’s supposed to be in a relationship, but somehow it’s something else between both of you. For him, it’s like you’ve intentionally edged him for an entire week and for you it’s like you finally have control over your own sexuality again. 

You feel powerful, and Jake wants to be entirely at your mercy. 

“No one has ever wanted me this bad and waited.” You finally say to his intense and loving stare. “I want to give you anything you want.”

If he had a tail, it would be wagging so fast right now. It’s like he’s being given a treat for being exactly who you needed him to be, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop doing it. 

“I could wait longer,” Jake mumbles, inching his lips to yours and letting his other hand cup one of your tits. “You could make me suffer,” He continues, whispering it right into your mouth. “Could lock me up and starve me of it.”

You lean your face back, a little shocked at his choice of words there. 

“So you meant those things you said earlier?” You ask, remembering how he babbled on about wanting you to suffocate him, about how he wanted you to take everything from him. 

“Do you want me to be honest?” He counters, now pressing his hips forward and letting his cock weep against your thigh. 

You nod to him. 

“I want you to take it all out on me.” He admits, gripping your tit in his hand tighter, hiking your leg up higher. “I want you to control every aspect of my life.”

Honestly, it shouldn’t be a thought that brightens your brain but it does. It sounds toxic, and you can’t even tell if he’s saying this just because he’s horny and is about two seconds from slamming you up and against this window with the force of his cock alone. Somehow, you love the thought of all of it. 

“Every aspect?” You ask with interest. “What do you mean?”

He chuckles as he hangs his head, watching his length pulse constantly against your thigh and the panties hanging off of it. Only then does he release your tit and use your panties as a way to position his cock up, lining up with the wet of your core that is only for him.

“It means–” He starts, sliding into you with a paused moan, hiccuping slightly as he furrows his brows. “I want you to make me cry for you.” He continues with a tilt to his head as he watches the way you wince at all of the strength he has to hold you up like this, to slide into you like this. “I want you to hurt me, and I want you to love doing it.”

He bottoms out after that, holding you in place and feeling your walls struggle to adjust to the tight fit. 

“It’s what you deserve.” He soothes out to you, kissing you once. “To take someone the same way you’ve been taken.”

You recoil instantly, pussy restricting in horror at the reminder of why you never do this with another person, but god the way he lifts on his toes just to plunge somehow deeper into you. The way his lips trap you even more, the way his force is nothing but fucking amazing to feel. All you can do is moan, bump your head against the window, and squeeze him. 

“You said you wanted to give me what I want–” He slides out of you just a little bit. “So, can you?” He pushes back in, listening to you get wetter at his words and feeling your answer when you can’t seem to speak for yourself. 

“I said I’d never hurt you, love,” He coos out this time, watching your body shift up against the window as he picks up some sort of rhythm, taking you the way he’s always wanted you. Right here, against the window. “But I never said that you couldn’t hurt me.”

Why the fuck is that so hot? God, why does a man like Jake offer you so much? Why is he doing this to you? Why is he doing it to himself? Why do you love it? 

You find yourself nodding as you moan out, still not quite adjusted to his size and the way he made it fit into you in such a…pleasurable way. It doesn’t hurt at all, it feels good. 

“Yeah, I knew you would.” He continues to talk as if he’s not internally losing it, but months worth of pretending, several orgasms today alone, and having your pussy hugging him just as tightly as he knew it would? That’s helpful. 

And now, as your fingers grip at him through his harsh and deep thrusts, all he can do is hold your leg against him, lean forward, and stare directly into his apartment window. As if he’s mocking his former self, as if everything in the world has fallen into place. You wouldn’t leave him now, never, you’d be just as stupid as everyone else if that were the case. 

He has faith in you, in himself, in this, and the way you drip all over him. 

He knew you’d be perfect for him. 

It doesn’t take long, really, for him to pull an orgasm out of you when he’s doing it this good. In fact, you don’t even have to reach a hand down to help pull it out of you by the time your body begins to stiffen up at it. 

His pace is slow, his cock is deep, and fuck his entire body is on you. You couldn’t squeeze your hand down if you tried, in fact, you don’t think he’d even consider letting you do any of this on your own. 

His grip is so strong, you can feel your sweat stick to the window as you slam your head down on his shoulder, sliding up and down the window with each of his powerful thrusts. 

It feels so good to do this again.

“Jake–” You hiccup against his neck, listening to his heaved and choked breaths through each thrust. “I wish I had done this sooner.” You manage to get out, body tensing and relaxing by the minute with the threat of an orgasm. “I’m sorry I made you wait so long.”

And honestly, you don’t know what’s gotten into you, nor do you fucking care. If you want to cry, you’ll fucking cry. It’s been too long since your tears hit you out of pleasure, or happiness, or fucking safety. At this rate, you’ll never let this man go. 

“I know baby, I know.” He soothes you, arms shaking as he holds you up and thrusting in as deep as he can go.

You feel him stutter in his pace, his hips stopping as you feel his heavy cock pulsate against your clenching walls. 

“Are you close?” He says, pulling back and looking at you. “Is that why you’re sorry?”

You look at him with glassy eyes, smiling dazed at him as you shake your head. 

“No,” You smile wider, running your hands up and into his hair, remembering what he asked for before. You tug, forcing his head to tilt back so that you can attach your lips to him. “I’m saying it because I want you to always make me feel this good.” You whisper against his pulse point, kissing it hard. 

You feel him lose composure at that, his hips immediately moving again, slamming up and into you so hard that you can’t even hold your head still enough to kiss him there again. 

“Ah, fuck,” He whimpers out, “why would you fucking say that to me right now?” He continues, relentlessly fucking himself against the soft and sensitive spot inside of you. “You still make me feel so insane, only you could do this to me.”

You smile, having learned that he appears to love the torture anyway. 

“You love it though, don’t you Jakey?” You say, loving the way he loses it for you, learning how badly he’s wanted this, seeing him intend to stay. 

And at those words, he can’t take it anymore. Fuck the camera, fuck anything else in the world that isn’t you. He ignores that wince on your face when he slips out of you, ignores the way the panties fall from his length, and focuses entirely on the way you hug him as he carries you straight to the couch. 

Right there, he drops you and watches the way your tits bounce at the motion. 

“I’m fucking obsessed with you.” He says, feeling the arousal run through his veins, knowing you’d love to hear him say that while never knowing just how true it is. “How are you real?”

You smile, hiding your face as you feel his hands hold your thighs open. You know what he’s looking at, and you can’t force yourself to see him do it. Solely because you know it’s going to swell your heart so big that you’d only fear the day he wants to leave it empty.

And you don’t respond either, because you can’t. His fingers are spreading you open and you can hear him drop to his knees yet again for you. You wan’t to look so bad, but still, you fear the love in his eyes.

You fear and want all of it. 

He hears the sharp inhale you give when he spreads you out, really inspecting the single spot on your body that no one on this earth should ever see aside from him. 

“This is where it hurt the most, isn’t it?” He asks, staring into the hole he’s already fucked, watching it beg him for more despite his words that probably stab your soul. 

You’ll never understand how he can take your pain and turn it into something you don’t mind hearing though. Yes, that’s where it hurt the most, and still, that’s where you want him the most. 

“Yeah, baby?” He asks again, reaching an arm up and forcing you to look at him. “This is what you were so afraid of?” He continues, dipping down and rubbing his face directly into the folds and inhaling a deep breath. 

“Y-yeah.” You choke out at the feeling, in awe of how you knew his eyes would make you terrified. He still stares up at you as he does it, pointing his glare straight through you and into your fucking spirit.

Only Jake can make you fear nothing else in this world aside from the thought of losing him. 

“I’ll make it better,” He says, boosting his ego at the way your legs wrap around his head. “You’ll always want me here,” He continues, cooing out with each taste and lick of your budding arousal. “You’ll never want me to stop–” 

No man has ever wanted you this bad while having you, even as you experienced the trauma of just that. Your ex wanted you physically, but something about the man drying to drown himself in your pussy right now makes you feel like he wants you on a level far deeper than what’s possible.

He’s eating you out like he wants to eat you whole. Like he could devour you, and never spit you out of his mouth. 

“Shit, shit–” You moan, hands shooting down to his hair yet again, finding yourself loving the way his grown-out roots feel softer than the harsher dyed section of his hair. You tug harder than you have before, feeling his tongue search and yearn for everything you have to offer him. 

“Mhm.” He mumbles with a mouth full of pussy, rolling his eyes back at how you do just as he suggested before. Rubbing his nose in it, letting him continue to lose himself in the point of all of his problems. 

And it’s as if you forgot that this only happens to reach a point of coming. The experience alone feels like one long and drawn out orgasm already, it doesn’t take anything at all for him to get you there. 

It’s like he already knows it too, because you go entirely silent with a held breath as he holds your hips and buries his tongue deep inside of you. He wants to feel it, he wants to taste it. And he suffers for it, really, neglecting his own cock and knowing he’s going to come through this alone anyway. 

As expected, he does. Upon the first gush of your slick hitting his tongue, his cock pulses, his balls squeeze up, and he can feel it shoot out of him each time your pussy shakes against his suffocated mouth.

And your hands, so perfect in his hair, pulling without even knowing. You’re everything he’s ever wanted, this is more than he could have ever asked for. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

By this point in your relationship, the two of you have moved so quickly that it doesn’t even scare you. In fact, if it slowed down at any point, you’d probably be preparing a suicide note simply because you don’t want to be in this world without Jake. 

Since the first time you got intimate with him, it’s like it hasn’t stopped. You’re shocked at his thirst for you and even more shocked that someone so fucking perfect would waste his breath on you even for this long. 

It hasn’t been that long, really, since the first time you touched him. A few days at most, but it’s like that moment solidified a lot for the two of you.

One, he’s not going to be sleeping in his own bed anytime soon or, ever, really. Two, you’ve learned through at least two more sessions of Jake’s mouth on you that he really does want you to live up to his requests. He makes it known how badly he wants you to make him suffer, how badly he needs you to give him everything he wants. Thankfully, he’s patient with your reluctance. And Three, your ex is no longer a threat. 

Each message you receive, you just hand your phone to Jake and he takes care of it. 

It doesn’t even translate in your head that you’ve been barred from answering your mother’s calls until the police show up at your door for a wellness check. Where, of course, Jake answers,

“Yeah, she’s here.” You hear his voice as you lay flat against your bed, heaving breaths as if he didn’t just have the tip of his dick in you. “Why?” You hear him question. 

A few more muffled words and you hear the door close and his footsteps making his way to your room. 

“Cops.” He dead-pans, “Your mom thinks you're dead.” he adds with an eye roll. 

Your internal panic, a feeling you had once been so accustomed to that now feels almost foreign, takes over your body.

“Fuck, my mom!” You say in a fast breath, rushing onto your feet and throwing on a pair of his soiled sweatpants. 

Jake hangs back but listens to your conversation from your hallway, listening intently to how you speak to other men, cops or not. 

“Yeah,” You say, scratching your temple with shame. “I guess I didn’t realize she was calling me so much.” 

Try five times a day. 

“I’ll call her now, sorry for wasting your time.” You continue with that nervous chuckle that you used to use on him during your dates. 

And then you’re back in the room, looking at him with a raised brow. 

“Why didn’t you tell me my mom has been calling?” You ask, a little annoyed that it’s gotten to the point of freaking your mother out. 

Jake shrugs, then looks at you apologetically. 

“I don’t like when she forces you to talk about it.” He finally says, sulking his shoulders and huffing out. “I don’t like that she tells you to be careful around me.”

You roll your eyes, relieved that he’s just being himself and wanting to keep you happy. 

“Still, you should have told me. She’s going to have a fucking heart attack thinking he showed up at my work place again.”

Jake’s entire brain stops working, his body going rigid as if the cold air outside is hitting him in full force. 

Your eyes immediately widen as you slam your hand over your mouth. Fuck, you forgot that you told her in a hushed tone, explaining that it’s okay. That Jake wouldn’t let anything happen to you. 

Fuck. 

“He what?” Jake says, dumbfounded at the slip of your words. 

“Jake, wait–” You try to get an explanation but he’s not having it. 

“You haven’t been at work, what do you mean he showed up?” He glares, chest heaving as his heart rate picks up. 

“It was from that day when you first stayed over,” You look at the floor apologetically. “I didn’t want to talk about it…” You trail off, feeling his energy hit you in the face at how he’s completely shifted from that loving, soft boyfriend you’re so used to. 

“You kept that from me!?” He seethes out in disbelief. This whole time he thought he fucked your ex up enough to prove what would happen if he even fucking tried it. By you explaining that it happened just after Jake found him, that’s a direct insult.

A threat.

A fucking death wish.

“I didn’t–” You stutter trying to explain yourself. “I didn’t think it would matter since you were here. You were keeping me safe.” 

“You lied to me?” He continues interrogating you, coming up to you and practically demanding an answer through his eyes.  

You look away, nodding. 

“You said you wanted me to keep you safe, what would have happened if you had to go to work again?” He drones on and on, seemingly stuck on the fact that you didn’t tell him. “What would happen if they called you to go in today?” 

Already you’re starting to cry, feeling stupid for not making a bigger deal out of it. To be fair, not talking about it helped and you did intend to tell him at some point. That just…never happened. 

“I would have asked you to stay with me at work.” You say, feeling numb as the fear of losing the man in front of you steals your every thought. “I’d have not gone. I’d have quit. I don’t know!” 

Jake backs down at your words, only able to soften his rage if you’re the one who causes it. 

“Baby,” His soft voice shocks you when you feel him come back to himself, as if to comfort the fear he just instilled in you. “I’m not mad.”

Yes he is, you know he is. 

“Now you’re the one lying.” You argue, pushing him away only to feel his grip on you tighten. 

“Am I?” He asks, urging you to keep talking. “Are you mad at me now?” He continues, intentionally pushing your buttons. 

“Mad that I should have already known?” 

“Mad that I didn’t let you talk to your mom?” 

“Mad that I’m keeping you safe, while you keep putting yourself in the position to be hurt by him again?” 

You stare at the floor. 

“Mad that this is your fault?” 

Yeah, you are mad. 

“Fuck you, Jake.” You break, feeling his strangling fingers on your skin scratch and leave welts when you force yourself away from him. “Fuck you for all of that.”

“What else?” He presses, hanging on specific words. “Fuck me for what else?” 

You just stare at him, and he can see the anger in your eyes. 

“For not being there when it happened?” He asks gently. “For not killing him when I had the chance?”

When he had the chance. 

“What do you–” You try to ask, but he just continues, closing back in on you. 

Somehow, you need it, despite wanting to pull away every time. 

“Fuck me for wanting this from you, right?” He says, much closer to you and dipping down to kiss you. “Fuck me for wanting you to be this mad, hmm?” 

You break again, something deep within you spiraling into a different type of insanity you’ve never felt. You don’t feel trauma, you don’t feel scared, you feel…enraged.

“Fuck me for thinking you look perfect,” He whispers against your lips. “Fuck me to fuck me, fuck me to fight me, fuck me.” 

The repeated words fit into your brain like they belong there. Like this anger is supposed to be filling you with pleasure rather than dread. Like you’re supposed to feel just as in love as you are mad. 

“Just fuck me, baby.”

And god fucking dammit. How does he crawl into the depths of your brain, like a fucking roach, and kiss all of the areas you don’t know exist? How the fuck does he wake shit up inside of you that you never dreamed of having, or feeling, or wanting.

“I hate you.” You say, and meaning it too. 

Because you don’t think you’ve ever loved someone more than you do now. 

“Yeah, I bet you do.” He smiles, dipping his hand down into the sweats you put on and sliding into the same slick he had spilling out of you just before the pigs showed up. “I love it.” He chuckles against your lips when you refuse to moan at his touch. 

You’re pushing against every good feeling inside of you right now, thinking only of how this rage spills out of you and against his fingers. 

“So wet to hate me–” He says, pressing and pressing and pressing for you to just fucking– “Hit me.” 

He sees your eyes shine at the very thought of how badly you must want to do that, unknowing of how much he wants it too. Needing it almost. 

And oh, the moan he lets out when your weak hands raise to shove him back. He plays off of it, stumbling back to your bed just to fall on it. Waiting, knowing you’ll come take him for all he’s worth.

“Come on, love.” He encourages you. “Make me sorry.” 

You hate him, and you hate that you love it. Love that he loves it, fucking adore that he wants this, he wants to let you do whatever you want to him. 

To kick, cry, scream, release everything that’s been trapped in your head for years.

You don’t even falter, feeling it bubble up and overtake every thought. Dripping down your legs as if this is the only way you could ever fulfill your own pleasure again. Only now to you slide the pants back off of you, so horny out of your mind that all you can manage is to feel these emotions drip for him. 

He watches you straddle him bare from the waist down, sees your breath shaking, and your lips quivering.

Jake knew you had it in you. 

“Take them off.” You demand, rolling your eyes at the way he looks up at you with pure bliss.

“Hit me first.” He offers, feeling his cock strained against his own pants that he haphazardly threw on when he heard the knock at your door. “Hit me, and I’ll fuck the hate out of you.” He lies.

“Take them off.” You repeat, cold hands reaching down as you do it yourself, lifting just enough to shove them down far enough.

And god, the breath is knocked clean out of him with the way you just take him. You slide down perfectly, bottoming him out in one motion. He can see now that you need this perhaps even more than he does. 

“God, come on baby.” He moans, feeling you just sit still on him. 

“Jake,” You warn, running your cold hands up to his neck on instinct. “Shut up.” You squeeze. 

The smile that forms on his face is pornographic at best, and drunk at worst. You see him love every instant of it, and you don’t want to admit that you do too.

You didn’t know it would feel so good to have a man’s neck in your hands, squeezing it just to shut him up. Releasing it just to hear him gasp out a praise. 

“So good,” He praises, eyebrows knitted together as he loses himself to the way your pussy chokes his length. You’re not even fucking him, you’re just– “So perfect.” He continues, nearly wailing out at the immense love he feels inside. 

And then, you do. You hit him. Power hungry and entirely at a loss for your own pleasure, you land a harsh and loud slap right against his face, only for him to moan louder. 

Only for him to fuck up. 

Only for him to grip your sheets so tight that you hear a rip. 

Again. You slap him, feeling your anger slowly fizzle with each frantic moan he gives back. 

Again, and again.

“Shit, you love that, don’t you?” He manages to say, feeling his cheeks sting with red-hot passion, only to be hit again, and again. “God, make it hurt.” 

At this point, you know that you could never give him enough as the rage leaves your body entirely and it’s replaced with nothing but the need to just….fuck him. Never in your life have you ever been blinded by a need so badly, save for safety.

And you have that now, don’t you? You have Jake now, right where you want him, right he wants to be. He wants you to feel this, he made you feel this. 

The first bounce felt like pure agony, slamming his cock into you by your own force, feeling him stretch you open, hearing it slap and echo against the walls. 

“Make it hurt?” You finally say, pinching his cheeks together and forcing him to look at you. “I don’t think I could hurt you enough if I tried.” You admit, quite truthfully, mind you.

Jake gives you a crooked smirk. 

“Try it anyway.” He coos, feeling the way you repeatedly arch your back just to ride him faster. “Could fill you up, right here, right now, flip you over and make you take it if you’re so worried that you can’t.” 

It runs through you like a cold shiver. You don’t want to give up this power, you want to try. 

“That’s big talk for someone asking to be choked right now.” You dead-pan at him, voice even and calm. You continue to move your hips, listening to his repeated moans with each breath. “So loud and needy for it too.”

Jake nods proudly and drunkenly, reaching his hands out to yours and forcing them back on his neck. 

“I could be needier.” He says, pressing your hands against his airways. 

You take over for him, choking his remaining words out of him and forcing him to moan. 

“You said you’d make me take it?” You seethe out through your own pained moan, riding him so hard that you feel sensitive. “Like you think it would hurt me?” 

He shakes his head rapidly, implying that you’re wrong to think that. Wanting to tell you that if he made you take it, you’d love every second of it. You wouldn’t tell him no. 

“After promising you never would, Jake?” You question still, knowing he can’t answer. You squeeze harder as you watch his face darken, the blood rushing to burst in the whites of his eyes. “Is that it? You want to hurt me so that I hurt you back?”

He nods in a daze, wanting nothing more than to die like this now, or some other day. To hear your voice, feel your hands, and know that you’re fucking him through it. 

“You don’t scare me.” You finally say, releasing the grasp and listening to the sharp inhale he takes in. “As much as I wish you did, you don’t.” 

That’s all it takes really, knowing that he could work you like a puppet and you’d still love him. Why else would you say that? You wouldn’t fuck him like this if you didn’t mean it. Your mother long forgotten, the anger gone, it’s just a raw form of you and him right now. 

Everything you’re saying is more truthful than he ever thinks you’ve been with him. 

“Want me to?” He finally asks with a wet gasp as he continues to catch his breath. “I bet I could.”

“You can’t.” You say, now slowing your hips as your legs tire out, bracing yourself on his shoulders to take a breath. 

“I can.” He says, immediately overpowering you. He sits up quick, flipping you right over and onto your back. “I can make you feel anything I want.” He whispers darkly to you. He grabs your legs and pushes them to your chest, lost entirely from this reality. “Anything you want.” 

You just stare up at him, willing to accept his words even more when he slams his length into you, so deep that you feel nothing but the pain of it. 

For the first time, he’s hurting you through pleasure alone. 

“Could make you love it too,” He continues to dote on himself as he watches the sparkle in your eye dim. “You love it already, don’t you?”

“I’m not afraid.” You manage to mutter out through a guttural groan, wincing at the way he drives himself into you at such a speed that all you feel is pain. 

“I can’t take you seriously when you talk like that.” He chuckles, feeling entirely in control of whatever entity is running his body right now. “I see you baby, you’re terrified to lose me.” 

Your eyes die in that moment, because out of anything in this world, he’s pinpointed your biggest fear. 

“So pretty when you’re scared too,” He hums out, not relenting at all with the force of his hips when he lets your legs fall around him, and he finds himself burying his face between your tits. “Maybe I should threaten to leave you.”

Instantly, you cry. 

“Just so I can eat up these little tears you have for me.” 

You wish he would shut up. 

“So I can taste the way you come on me, and feel your pussy try and lock me here.” He smooths over your nipple at the words, slowing his hips and pulling out just to the tip. “Your body tells me more than you know, love.”

Your eyes roll up when his pointed thrust shoves your body across your sheets, your hands reach for his shoulders, clawing for any sense of normality to this moment. 

“So quiet.” He lightens his own voice now, letting it fall against your collarbone in a tone just above a whisper. “So stubborn.” 

Your mind awakens at the insult, hoping he’s right. 

“To think I’d ever leave you.” He smiles, lifting up to meet your lips. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He tastes your tears and it’s just enough for him to forgive you. 

To forgive you for not hitting him enough, for not choking him until he died. To forgive you for even thinking you’d need to talk to your mother, and for fucking lying to him. 

And only now does he go quiet, fucking you will full intent now that he’s already in your head at every turn and corner. He can tell with the way you don’t even realize your previous orgasm. 

With the way it bubbled out and down his balls, hugging his cock so tightly that all he could do was keep fucking with your mind, toying with threats only to silence them. 

And then, you inhale a sob, and breathe out his name, so pretty to your ears, even more beautiful to his own. 

“Don’t leave me.” You chime out, body numb and emotions threatening you into a panic attack.

“I’m right here, love.” He chuckles. “You’re shaking.” 

You are. More than you can even comprehend, your body is shaking from feeling everything and nothing at once, all the way up until you do feel something. 

“Ah, shit.” You cry out, hugging his body so tightly against you. “Right there–”

And Jake does it, angling his hips to repeatedly hit the spot inside of you. Knowing you’re sensitive, knowing you can take it, knowing that he can’t when he feels every drop in your body push him out of you. 

Instantly he plunges back in, listening to the wet sounds of all that love you must have for him. He can barely move in this suffocating hug as your body shakes and quivers more than it ever has, even through your past traumas, even through the cold nights this city offers. 

He has spent you and fucked you dry. 

“There she is,” He echoes into your ear. “The girl of my dreams.” 

The only energy left in you is enough to give him a smile before your tunnel vision fades into nothingness. 

It feels calm in the darkness he gives you, and even calmer when you wake up feeling as if all of this was a dream. 

It wasn’t though, because you can feel the way you’re still leaking all over your bed. Your own slick mixed with his, and you don’t even remember when or how he orgasmed because he certainly was taking his time before you initially fainted, but you’re glad he did. You think he is too, with the way he clings to you like a puppy, as if he didn’t just fuck reality straight out of you. 

Lending you the gift of floating, and of pain you find yourself to love. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Waking up the next morning felt like you were a new person and you couldn’t be happier to see the saddest version of you die. The only fear you need to have is that Jake may some day choose to leave, and he said himself that he never would. 

You trust him more than anyone, more than yourself even, considering he’s managed to force you into facing so many versions of yourself that you didn’t even know you had. 

This is the first morning you’ve woken up without your skin crawling and you can’t help but shake him awake, destroying that blushed and sleeping face of his. 

“Jake,” You shake him, feeling him stir instantly and lend you a crooked smile. “Wake up.”

You listen to his morning stretch as his body vibrates in a yawn, and then he’s nuzzling his face even further into your naked chest. 

For what feels like hours, you find yourself engaging in pillow talk. Logging into work? Long forgotten. Calling your mother? Forgotten. The pain in your body? Ignored.

You tell him everything. Every detail of your life, your first memory, your first laugh and cry. All of the times your heart has been shattered, your least favorite colors and favorite words in the world. And he just…listens.

He nods, he smiles, he coos and kisses you throughout all of it. 

And then–

“You know, a while back before we met, I came home and noticed some of my things were missing and messed with. I can’t help but feel like he’s known where I’ve been this whole time.” 

Jake stiffens in your grasp before relaxing. It happened so fast that you don’t think anyone but you would have noticed it.

“Some of my panties were gone, and the batteries in my toys went missing weeks ago–not that it matters now or anything.” You continue, watching his face intently. “ At first I thought that maybe I was just forgetful but– now i know that it really was him.” You pause, smiling at him. “I’m just kind of waiting now, wondering if he’s ever going to try and do it again.”

“Do you want me to kill him?” Jake chuckles out as if to offer a funny little solution, one that he has genuinely considered more times than he can count. And he should have already, honestly.

You feel warmer at the way he makes jokes, but you know better than anyone that Jake jumps into action driven only by rage at times.

“He won’t come near you again, love, haven’t I proved that to you already?” He continues, imagining the blood of his man on his fists again. Imagining the way his bones would crack so beautifully. 

You nod in an almost shy way to him.

“You’re safe with me.” He says, wrapping his arms around himself as you cradle him. “You’re safe with me.” He continues, repeating it more to himself because he feels as though he can’t fail you again, “You’ve always been safe.” 

You haven’t believed words so deeply until you met him. 

“He already fucking knows–” He whispers shortly, cutting himself off. “I’ll kill him.” He whispers a bit louder, uncaring if you heard that first slip of his words.

Something in your brain floods at those words. A confirmation that you’ve seen him break before, and it wasn’t your imagination. Your protective, loving, and sweet boyfriend has a side to him that you’ve yet to truly see. Those words were more believable than any of the sweet things he’s ever said to you. 

And still, you almost want to encourage it, reminding yourself of the image of your ex the day he showed up, all bruised up. And then to the image of Jake with his own little battle scar.

Deep down you think you knew what happened.

And you still wonder how such a perfect man fell into your lap? Your bruised up, pain-loving boyfriend, breaking his soft persona and showing you a glimpse of something that feels….unnervingly beautiful to you.

Unsure, almost, you feel. As happy as you are that he lied to you, you try to not think of how Jake found your ex with nothing more than an out-of-context description of your abuse. You try not to think of the way he looked away from you when you mentioned the items in your apartment that went missing. 

You try not to think about how close he lives to you, and how he always managed to show up when you couldn’t hang out. 

How all of his interests matched your own, up until he never spoke about them again when he started staying with you. 

How he only looks at you, how he only talks to you, and about you.

How he always knew what to say to you.

You try not to think about how you saw him toss his own laundry into your washer many nights ago, seeing a glimpse of what you thought could have been a pair of your own missing panties. Or how he always accidentally picked up your toothbrush rather than his own in the mornings.

You push those thoughts far into the back of your mind, knowing that you were just being paranoid, grasping to not trust a single person in this world as you fall into this life with him. Even if all of those instances were with purpose on his end, you know you’d simply accept them as normal. You’d accept him, you wouldn’t think twice. 

Jake is your only safety. He would never do anything to harm you, he’s proved that. 

You hold his head tighter against your chest, breathing out a sigh and accepting everything at face value, pushing back the slight doubt in your head that everything he has done for you, to you, and with you, isn’t normal. 

“Did you tell him already?” You sigh out in a calmer tone, soothing him with your fingers in his hair. “That you’d kill him? Is that really why you had that bruise?”

Jake stiffens under your grasp briefly. 

“What do you m–” He starts. 

“I won’t ask how,” You cut him off. “But thank you.”

He relaxes, thumbs now rubbing hearts into your skin, stomach bubbling in butterflies. 

“I did.” He now admits reluctantly, feeling dangerously close to a truth you don’t need to see or know about. “I couldn’t just let another person think that you still belong to them.”

You pause, then nuzzle closer to him. 

“I knew from the first time I saw you that I wouldn’t let anyone else touch you.” He continues, spilling and spilling. “I knew that you’d be mine.”

You try not to think too hard about it, asking out gently and instead choosing to just love him harder.

“When was the first time you saw me?”

Jake goes silent and tries to read the air in the room, sensing how relaxed you are against him. 

“Eighteenth of October at the supermarket. We both made spaghetti for dinner that night.” He lies, never intending to admit that the first time he saw you was through your window. Never admitting that he actually already knew you by that eighteenth of October. That he followed you to the market.

He says it so confidently, and the fact that he’s right about what you cooked should scare you. The fact that you must have seen him that day too should make you feel unnerved.

You choose to ignore that too. 

“Was your spaghetti good?” You ask, allowing yourself to spiral into the safety that he offers you. The image of your bruised ex boyfriend bringing joy to you, the idea of Jake keeping his promises making your stomach tingle with even brighter joy.

“No.” He admits with a chuckle. “Yours was probably better.”

“You really would kill him, wouldn’t you?” 

Jake nods.

You trust him. 

He’s not lying. 

He would never lie to you. 

Him knowing what you cooked that night is a coincidence. Him remembering the date and month is just him being mindful. Your lost panties must have gotten tangled in his laundry, surely. He found your ex because you probably let sensitive information slip without realizing it. 

He met your mother and uncle by coincidence. 

He’s the perfect man by chance, and you’re lucky to have him. 

“I love you, you know.” You say, feeling him immediately shift away from your chest to look at you.

The look in his eye when he’s immediately getting on top of you, it’s still as if he’s about to wisp away with you in his arms to another realm. You’ve already been there before, and your body warms at the thought. 

“What did you say?” He asks, voice shaking and somewhat far away from your own dissociated reality. 

“I love you.” You say again, watching his lips quiver, and feeling his hands squeeze you. 

He did it. He’s won. 

And at the end of the day, you don’t think Jake could ever lose. After all, you’ve never felt so safe in a grasp as tight as this one, as painful as this one. You’ve never wanted a man to leave his fingerprints on you so bad. 

As you look at him, seeing him lose himself from reality, you follow suit. Losing yourself with him, feeling that painful grasp on you turn into begging hands. Swelling him under your palms, soothing his stinging skin with your lips, listening to him encourage you, knowing that if your ex ever tried to step into this room, he wouldn’t make it out alive. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

oh, the horrors, amirite?

this is the last of the fic. there is not a part three.

taglist: @skzenhalove , @taetaemylovie, @soocult, @nyanggk, @grilledbananas, @dneltrise, @becc09, @nielle002, @sjyfolder, @sd211, @moonmoongi, @sweetiewolfie, @ksnooppy, @woongkification, @laxatives4hre, @hiddensideofmoon, @mywaaw, @beomstarz, @multifandombtvh, @heeverseblog, @floclover, @elliesuh, @iloveleeknow, @crazydelulu, @dasa3040, @sluttyhee, @bethroedtojae, @cherryunie, @hiamlili, @seojunandsoju, @parksunghoonsgf, @jungwon-xo, @fxiryeon, @jwnghyuns, @juliesblogs

[surftrips]

CROSS YOUR HEART AND HOPE TO DIE

pairing: young coriolanus snow x reader

word count: 600+

summary: based on "follow you" by bring me the horizon. young/slightly ooc coriolanus snow finds comfort in y/n's arms.

a/n: yeah, i can't believe i'm returing from my hiatus with a coriolanus snow x reader fic, but here we are. please feel free to send in prompts/requests with him though ;)

"Because I don't want to fucking hurt you.” Coriolanus snapped. "God, half the time, I'm scared I could break you, even though I'm doing everything I can to hold back."

Your boyfriend was having a hard time lately. The anniversary of his father's death was creeping up and you knew he was having those thoughts again.

He had confided in you early on in your relationship his two biggest fears: losing you, and turning into his father. Now, he was spiraling with thoughts of both happening.

"Talk to me," you said, trying to reassure him. The two of you were by the lake, entangled in each other's arms on a blanket.

"I- I just..." he was trying to catch his breath. "I'm so angry all the time and you, you're an angel. You've never done anything wrong in your life. I don't deserve you, I don't know how to not fuck this up."

You couldn't help but smile at his name for you, reaching out to caress his cheek. He leaned into your familiar touch, one of the few things that could calm him down when he was like this.

It was true, he did get mad at the smallest things. Just last week, he got jealous of Sejanus for holding up your skirt as you went down the stairs, even though the two of you were clearly just friends.

And yesterday, he was frustrated with something that happened during training and came back to the cabin furious. You had asked him how his day was, like usual, and he had snapped at you.

"It was bad. Do you have to ask me that everyday?" he retorted, knocking over the items on the shelf closest to him.

But even though he got jealous or angry sometimes, you knew that he was working on it. He always felt awful afterward, and always made sure that you knew how sorry he was. That night, he had drawn a bath for you and even added some wild lavender he found near the water.

"Hey, you know I love you, right?" you said.

He sat up slightly to make better eye contact with you, "I do. But what if that's not enough?"

You frowned, "My love isn't?"

"No, no. I meant what if love, in general, is not enough? What if that's not enough to change my fate? Y/N, you know about my father, he was awful."

"I know, Coryo," you sighed. "But I also know you, and you're a good person. You love me, you love the Covey. You care about me, and your family. You want to be good, and I think that is enough."

Still, he didn't seem convinced. "I hate that I can barely remember him anymore, but he's still haunting me. The rebels that killed him haunt me. What if that happens to me?"

"Stop. No one here is going to do that, they know you're on our side. Don't you see? You're trying so hard to not be like your father, but you don't have to try to be good. You just are, deep-down in here," you pointed to where his heart is. "You are."

He leaned down now to pull you into a kiss. "Angel, can you promise me something?"

"What is it?"

"Promise me you'll never leave my side."

"Coryo, you could drag me through hell if it meant I could hold your hand. I will follow you to the ends of the earth. We're in this together."

That seemed to please him, finally. He wrapped his arms tighter around you and pulled you to lay back down with him. The two of you stared up at the stars, each silently wishing for this to work out.

[rothpie]

❝FIDELITY❞ |part7

MASTERLIST -`✮´- Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader x JJ Maybank

Summary: Kook!Reader’s world is upended by betrayal, and her only way forward might lie with the most unlikely person—JJ Maybank. But as they build a new life together, old flames and past mistakes refuse to stay buried.

Warnings: mentioning fighting, blood

Selly’s note: Once again, english isn’t my first language🫣🥺 I’m sorry if there’s mistakes💗

previous - next

You held your mother’s hand, trying to take deep breaths. Some days were unbearable. Scents alone could ruin your entire day. But then there were the good days, when everything felt just a bit easier, and the smells didn’t seem as overwhelming—they were perfect.

Those were the days when life felt like a rainbow stretching across your world, as if you could eat a thousand candies and never gain a pound. Pure joy, like the kind you felt as a child, when the weight of the world didn’t exist.

Luckily, today was one of those better days. The nausea was minimal—just the usual discomfort you’d gotten used to. The smells didn’t bother you much. Even when you were mildly irritated, you managed to brush it off.

Excitement hummed in your chest. Today wasn’t just any routine check-up—it was the day you’d find out the baby’s gender.

There weren’t many people you wanted with you for this moment. You didn’t even have to ask your mom; of course, she’d be there. 

She’d softened her approach lately, you could tell. Regret lingered in her initial reactions, and she was trying to be kinder now. Even though she still thought it was early days, she had been making an effort to meet you where you were.

“You okay, sweetheart?” she asked, her voice full of concern. You nodded, your hand instinctively resting on your stomach. 

“Just… feeling a little overwhelmed,” you admitted. She nodded in understanding, reaching out to clasp your hand in both of hers. Her smile was warm, genuine. “It’s going to be okay, I promise,” she reassured you. 

Her arm wrapped around your shoulders, and as she pulled you close, a calmness settled over you. She placed a kiss on your temple, and for a moment, you believed her.

Three months and a week in. By all calculations, this was the perfect time to find out the baby’s gender.

You hated the smell of the hospital. But today, you were grateful it wasn’t making you nauseous.

“Shall we begin?” Dr. Hart’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. You turned your head quickly, your grip on your mother’s hand tightening. You nodded, signaling that you were ready.

Letting go of her hand, you raised your shirt to reveal your belly. When Dr. Hart handed you a tissue to protect your clothes, you tucked it into the waistband of your shorts without hesitation.

“Alright,” the doctor said calmly, holding up the bottle of gel. “This might feel a bit cold. Let’s take a look, shall we?”

You nodded again, and when the gel touched your skin, a shiver ran through you. The coldness was sharp, but it was soon replaced by the gentle pressure of the ultrasound wand. 

Your eyes drifted to the ceiling, trying to center yourself. Why were you so nervous? Finding out the gender made everything feel so much more real, so much more permanent. It was overwhelming, this responsibility. But it was yours to bear. New beginnings were always scary—this was no different. You would adjust. You had to.

The sound of a heartbeat filled the room, breaking through your racing thoughts. Your gaze shot from the ceiling to the monitor. 

“That’s your baby’s heartbeat,” Dr. Hart said with a smile, adjusting the screen to show the grainy black-and-white image.

Your hands were clammy as you stared at the monitor. You tightened your grip on your mother’s hand, trying to steady your breathing. 

It was real. The heartbeat was steady, strong, undeniable. There was a life inside you. Your baby.

The thought hit you like a wave, leaving you momentarily breathless. Tears threatened, but you didn’t have the energy to cry. You just… marveled. It was surreal. 

You closed your eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath as you tilted your head back. 

Your mother’s touch in your hair reminded you of her presence. When you opened your eyes, her face was full of joy, her gaze bouncing between you and the screen. Her smile widened when your eyes met, and it was contagious—you smiled back, despite yourself.

“It’s beautiful,” your mom whispered, her voice blending with the rhythmic sound of the heartbeat. Dr. Hart chuckled softly, nodding in agreement as she continued to examine the screen. “It really is.”

You couldn’t speak. You simply nodded, your focus glued to the tiny movements on the monitor. A lump formed in your throat as you swallowed hard, determined not to cry. Not from sadness this time—this was happiness.

Dr. Hart gestured at the screen, her voice warm and steady. “Everything looks great so far—healthy growth, perfect positioning. And, if you’d like, I can tell you the gender today.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, and without thinking, you nodded eagerly. “Yes,” you blurted out. The word spilled from your lips before you could stop it. You wanted to know with all your heart.

You hadn’t even had the time to think about what you wanted. You’d been so focused on the future, on survival, that you hadn’t allowed yourself to imagine this moment. But now, it was here.

“I want to know.”

You didn’t care whether it was a boy or a girl. Healthy was all that mattered. Though, deep down, you couldn’t deny the hope—one you didn’t even want to admit to yourself—that the baby wouldn’t resemble him. You didn’t want the reminder.

You glanced at your mom. Her smile was wide and reassuring, her joy as infectious as ever. You were grateful for her presence. You wished your dad could have been there too, but he was out of town. He’d wanted to come, truly, but work had kept him away.

Still, you appreciated the support they both offered in their own ways. It felt like, for once, life was on your side. You’d prayed for this, and it was happening.

Dr. Hart’s smile grew as she studied the screen. “Congratulations—it looks like you’re having a baby girl.”

Your mother’s delighted squeal filled the room. She practically jumped in place, still holding your hand, her laughter bubbling over. “I knew it! I knew it! My baby’s baby!”

It took you a moment to process her words. A shaky breath escaped your lips as tears welled in your eyes. Your mom’s kisses rained down on your hair, her joy boundless.

A baby girl. 

Your little girl.

You remembered your mom jokingly wishing you’d have a child just like you—and now, it seemed, that wish was coming true. You couldn’t stop smiling, even as the weight of the realization settled over you. 

Could you handle being a mom? You’d spent so much time worrying about that, you’d never let yourself imagine this moment. But now, all you could see were the possibilities—her eyes, her laugh, the moments you’d share together. It felt so real. So close.

Your mom met your gaze, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She nodded at you, her expression full of pride and love. Her hands cradled your face as she whispered, “She’ll be as strong as you.” 

The kiss she pressed to your forehead was soft, and you breathed deeply, letting yourself feel the comfort of that moment. 

For the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself relax. You silently thanked the heavens for this moment, for this peace that felt untouchable. Maybe all you needed was to hear your baby’s heartbeat, to know she was thriving. 

The steady rhythm of her heart in the background seemed to remind you: no matter how scared you were, you weren’t alone in this.

“She’s very healthy,” Dr. Hart said with a smile, handing you a cloth to clean off the gel. You quickly wiped your stomach, your heart full to bursting.

Your hands trembled as the reality sank in. It was almost too much to believe—like you might wake up and find it was all a dream. But you didn’t want to wake up. You didn’t want to lose this happiness.

With your mom’s hand on your back, you left the hospital, your heart lighter than it had been in months. There was a long road ahead, but for now, you let yourself feel the joy. You climbed into the car, the journey ahead—boats and drives—barely crossing your mind. All you knew was that you’d take every step with a heart full of hope.

You had decided the mainland would be a safer option than the island for a hospital visit like this. It was still the right choice for you. Even if the journey was a bit complicated, it felt secure, and you actually enjoyed it. 

This way, everything would be better. 

When your mother started the car, you fastened your seatbelt. As your eyes roamed the surroundings, you couldn’t help but admire how beautiful the area was. The idea of building a new life here wasn’t far-fetched; it was starting to feel right. 

You couldn't stop imagining all the moments you’d share with your little girl here. A smile crept across your lips as you glanced at a park you were passing. You watched mothers interacting with their children, and the thought of being one of them someday filled you with peace. Knowing that one day you’d be the one playing there with your daughter—it was priceless. 

The car slowed down, and your mother gestured ahead. “What do you think about something with a little garden?” she asked, pointing to a row of cottages along the road. “She could run around, and maybe someday we’d even set up a swing.” Her voice was cheerful; she was enjoying the thought as much as you were. You couldn’t help but giggle as your eyes wandered over the homes. 

“They look cute,” you said, examining them while your mother nodded quickly, as though she already had the whole thing planned out. 

“Don’t they?” she said with enthusiasm. You nodded, starting to believe this really was the perfect place to build a future. 

“And it’s a great school district. I’m sure you’ll be comfortable here. There’s even a park nearby,” she added. Her excitement made you laugh uncontrollably. 

“Mom, she’s not even born yet,” you reminded her with a chuckle, feeling like she might start saving for college any moment now. 

Your mom rolled her eyes, laughing as you instinctively placed a hand on your belly. 

“I’m just saying, sweetheart—there’s no harm in planning ahead,” she said warmly. 

You kept smiling as you took in the sight of the houses. It was comforting, thinking about your unborn child’s future. Dreaming about her, imagining what life here could be like. The idea of leaving all your bad memories behind felt so good. 

Starting fresh in a place where your daughter could grow up far away from the island—away from everyone there—felt right. You liked the thought of not needing to look perfect or hold everything together for others. 

There was something about this place. The energy here felt brighter, livelier than the island. The trees seemed greener, the streets cleaner, the homes more charming, the people kinder. 

When you reached the marina, you watched your mom park the car. Stepping out, you took a deep breath of the fresh air that hit your face. 

You just knew you loved it here. You realized you wanted to stay a little longer, to explore the area, imagining the memories you could create with your daughter. You wanted to dream about those moments, even though they hadn’t happened yet. 

You were so excited that you found yourself questioning if it was all real. 

As your mom walked toward the dock, you turned around for one last look at the place. No. This wouldn’t be the last time you came here. You felt like you had a lifetime to spend in this place. It seemed better in every way. 

It felt like a place where you wouldn’t hesitate to step outside. Even now, the thought of returning to the island brought a heaviness to your chest, as though you were stepping into a dark tunnel. But here, every moment felt bright. 

The idea of a home sounded nice—quiet, steady, hers. 

Settling beside your mom, you took in the salty sea air. Neither of you spoke much. Instead, you both savored the evening sun and the soothing sound of the waves. 

It had been an unusually tiring day. You hadn’t done much, but your whole body ached. The warmth of the sun paired with the cool breeze created the perfect balance, lulling you into a drowsy state. 

You didn’t even notice when your eyes drifted shut. But the slight pressure on your arm woke you, making you realize you’d arrived back at the island. 

You stretched out your arms and unlinked them. “You can sleep at home, sweetheart. Come on,” your mom said softly. Rubbing your eyes and straightening your clothes, you followed her. Your steps were sluggish as you trailed behind her. You just wanted to get home and sleep until you couldn’t anymore. 

If you could, you’d ask them to leave you alone for 24 hours so you could sleep. 

As you got back into the car with your mom, you let out a sigh. Normally, you enjoyed road trips, but this time, it felt unbearable. You just wanted to be in your bed—where you belonged. You deserved some rest. After all, you were a pregnant woman. 

“Do you think I should move?” 

You didn’t know where the question came from. You were just full of doubts. 

Your mom took her eyes off the road for a second to glance at you, her eyebrows raised. “Well,” she said, taking a deep breath as she focused back on driving. Reaching over, she took your hand. “If it’ll make you feel better.” 

Looking at your hand in hers, you took a deep breath. The sky had grown darker. You leaned your head against the window, fear stirring in your chest. You wanted so badly to move, but there was a part of you that was scared. “What if I don’t feel good there?” 

Your mom gave your hand a reassuring squeeze, her voice steady and warm. “Then you come back. We’ll figure it out. We’ll keep trying until we find where you feel right.” 

You lifted your head from the window to look at her, meeting her gaze. There was a tender smile on her face. 

“Don’t think for a second that our doors will ever be closed to you. Never. If you decide it’s not the right place—even if it’s your first day—you’ve got a home to come back to. Always.” 

Warmth flooded your chest. Hearing her say that was invaluable. You knew they wouldn’t turn you away, but still, it felt good to hear. You wanted this new place so badly. But what if it didn’t turn out to be what you’d imagined? 

“I’m scared,” you whispered. 

“There’s no need to be. You’ve got this. And you’ve got me,” she said, her voice filled with quiet determination, as if willing you to believe in yourself. 

“We’ll do this whenever you’re ready. There’s no rush.” You nodded, unable to summon the strength to say more. 

The car ride was quiet at first. You stared out the window, watching the scenery blur by—cypress trees swaying in the wind, the ocean sparkling in the distance. 

The silence in the car wasn’t unsettling. There was a familiar comfort in her mother’s presence. The steady hum of the engine and the slight vibration of the wheels grounded her as her thoughts wandered. 

Your eyes drifted to the trees along the roadside, their trunks illuminated in the soft orange glow of the setting sun. It felt as though they were whispering to you. 

Your hand instinctively went to your belly. There was a life there—tiny, but growing each day. The thought warmed her, but it also terrified you.

Your mother broke the silence with a gentle tone. “You know,” she began, “do you want to know what I felt when I found out I was pregnant with you?” 

The question caught you off guard. Your mother rarely shared memories like this, but her voice invited her in. “Were you scared?” you asked softly. 

Her mother smiled faintly, nodding. “Oh, terrified. I was a mess. But at the same time, there was this… hope. Like everything in my life suddenly had meaning. And that hope—it makes you strong.” 

Your chest tightened. You turned your gaze back to the window, swallowing hard. “What if I make mistakes?” you whispered, voice barely audible. 

Your mom smiled, her voice rich with love. “You will make mistakes. We all do. But that little one? She’ll love you through them. Because you’re her mom.” 

Tears pricked your eyes, though they didn’t fall. Her throat felt tight. The words your mom said so easily now felt like the most precious truths in the world. 

“Still…” you said. “Should I stay here? On the island? Or somewhere else?” The question tumbled out again, as if you couldn’t stop yourself. You felt like no matter how many times she heard the answer, you’d always feel uncertain. 

Your mom paused for a moment before responding with a thoughtful expression. “If being here makes you happy, stay. If you’re somewhere else and happy, stay there. But remember this—home isn’t about the house. You build a home with love, with patience. That little one just needs you to be there.” 

Your eyes filled with tears you wouldn’t shed. Somehow, your mom’s words made everything feel possible and terrifying all at once. You nodded quietly, letting the weight of your mother’s wisdom settle into your heart. 

With those words, a bit of the tightness within you seems to ease. You glance down at the hand resting on your stomach, and in that moment, your mother’s words give you a small surge of strength.

You hated the suffocating sense of dread that settled over you the moment you stepped onto this stupid island. It felt like the shadows themselves were closing in on you, draining you of air. Like you were already drowning.

As the car entered the narrow roads, the headlights bounced off cracked concrete walls and the weathered faces of old buildings. Your mom gripped the steering wheel tightly, swerving carefully to avoid potholes. The world outside was unnervingly quiet, as if everyone had retreated into their homes, leaving the streets deserted for just the two of you. The faint hum of the radio played in the background, but the silence in the car was far deeper.

You stared out the window, though your thoughts were miles away from the neighborhood outside. Your eyes darted around, catching fleeting glimpses of the world beyond the glass—until something stirred in your peripheral vision.

Something didn’t sit right. Instinctively, you felt it. As if—something was off. “Mom, slow down,” you said, your voice startled but firm.

“I’m not going that fast, sweetheart.” No, it wasn’t about speed. Something was wrong. If you didn’t look back, you thought you might pass out.

“Mom, stop the car.” Your tone was laced with urgency now.

“What is it?” she asked, glancing at you but not slowing down.

“Just stop the car!” you snapped, sharper this time, your eyes still glued to the figure outside. “Please.” At last, your mom hit the brakes.

Your gaze didn’t waver. You recognized that face—though it was barely visible under the dim light. Even if blood and shadows obscured it, you knew. That stupid hair. Those dumb clothes. That ridiculous boot.

“What’s going on?” your mom asked, but you were already opening your door.

“I think I know him.”

You didn’t just think it. Deep down, you were certain. You couldn’t make out his face clearly, but even his posture screamed it was him.

You moved quickly, rounding the back of the car as you heard the distant creak of your mom’s door opening. She called your name, but you didn’t turn around.

Maybe you didn’t catch his attention at first, but something must’ve tipped him off. His head lifted. Your eyes met. And deep down, you already knew.

You’d recognize that stupid mop of hair from a mile away.

JJ was slumped against a wall, looking seconds away from collapsing entirely. One shoulder drooped awkwardly, and his clothes were soaked in blood. When his blue eyes finally noticed you, they weren’t like you remembered. They were dull. Tired.

Your steps quickened, a tight knot of anxiety building in your chest. The first time you’d met him, he’d nearly looked like this too. But not this bad. And now, things were different. You were—friends, kind of.

“JJ.” His name left your lips as you reached him. He smiled faintly, head sagging as you caught him. “What happened?” Panic seeped into your voice.

He looked awful.

His brow was split open, clothes torn to shreds. Bruises—dark and ugly—lined his neck. It was terrifying.

“You should see the other—” he mumbled before his knees buckled. You held him tighter, feeling your mom approach from behind. You shot her a pleading look.

“Mom, we need to get him to a hospital.”

Before she could reply, JJ groaned, attempting to wriggle free. He stumbled. He couldn’t even stand straight, yet he was fighting like a fool.

“I’m fine! I’m fine.”

Was he serious? He could barely walk. His clothes were drenched in blood, bruises painted across his face, and he thought he was fine?

Was he trying to insult your intelligence?

“You’re clearly not. Mom, help me. We’re taking him to the hospital.” But when you tried to steady him again, he jerked back, collapsing onto the pavement. He sprawled there, motionless, eyes shut.

“No. Absolutely not. I said I’m fine.” His voice was barely audible, slurred. Fine? He was out of his mind.

Your mom called your name, snapping you out of it. Her expression was a mix of confusion and worry. “Who is this? A friend of yours?” she asked, still processing the scene.

“Yes,” you answered curtly, sparing no details. Stepping closer to JJ, you hesitated, noticing blood trickling down his shirt. The sight made your stomach churn. You weren’t going to stand there and watch him bleed out in the middle of the street.

Behind you, your mom spoke again. “What happened to him? Is he hurt? We can’t leave him like this.”

JJ shook his head weakly, mumbling to himself, “No… just leave me. I’m fine.” His voice was so faint it was barely there. None of it made sense.

“There’s no fine here!” you snapped, your voice harsher now. Even your mom seemed startled. But this wasn’t just for him—it was for her too. “I’m not leaving him.”

Your mom hesitated, then nodded slowly. She didn’t know JJ, but she didn’t need to recognize him to figure out he was a Pogue. “Okay,” she said, her resolve breaking. “Let’s get him to the car. We can’t leave him like this.”

JJ tried protesting one last time, his half-lidded gaze barely focusing on you. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t scared of him passing out—or worse. He looked wrecked. “Fine. But no hospitals. Just...no.”

You exhaled sharply. He wasn’t going to move unless you agreed. Finally, you closed your eyes, exasperated. He was killing you with this stubbornness. He needed help, and yet he was making demands. “Shit— okay.”

This time, he didn’t fight. Carefully, you draped his arm over your shoulder, your mom supporting his other side. His weight dragged both of you down, but you didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was getting him somewhere safe.

Once you got him into the car, you let out a shaky breath. You tried not to see it as some sort of personal moment. He’d helped you before, after all. The car was quiet, save for the hum of the engine and JJ’s shallow breaths. You glanced at him, his head resting against the window, eyes half-closed. You silently prayed he wouldn’t pass out.

“You didn’t have to pick me up,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. At least he was talking. That was something. You turned to him, your expression softening. “And you didn’t have to act invincible.”

Your mom hadn’t fully grasped the situation yet but started driving toward home. You, meanwhile, kept stealing glances at JJ in the rearview mirror.

-

To say you were worried would be an understatement—you were terrified.

It wasn’t the first time you’d seen him like this. Months ago, when you’d first met, he’d been almost as bad. But back then, you didn’t know each other. You were practically strangers.

Now? Things were different. Seeing him like this shook you. It made you realize something. 

You considered him a friend.

He wasn’t just the guy who’d show up with supplies when you needed something. Somewhere along the way, you’d started to see him as someone close enough to share pieces of your life with.

Hell, he was one of the four people on this godforsaken island who knew you were pregnant.

You trusted him.

Seeing someone you know like this—bruised, battered, and barely holding on—how terrifying is that? 

For a moment, you genuinely thought he might have a brain hemorrhage. You’d tended to him, watched him slip into unconsciousness, and feared he wouldn’t wake up. He looked utterly wrecked.

You didn’t know what had happened. You hated the not knowing, especially because he never asked about you. All he’d ever inquired about was the baby—and even then, he’d respected your boundaries, letting you share only what you wanted. He hadn’t even asked if it was Rafe’s. He could’ve, but he didn’t.

But you couldn’t help your own curiosity. What had led him to this state? You wanted to know. And more than anything, you wanted it never to happen again. He was your… friend. At least, you thought so. He’d helped you as much as you’d helped him. 

The hospital was off the table—he made that crystal clear. So, you didn’t take him. But seeing him like this? It shook you. 

First, you gently cleaned the blood off his face and arm with a damp cloth. Then you patched up the gash above his brow. When you pulled his torn shirt off, your breath caught. His body was a patchwork of dark bruises, covering nearly every inch. You didn’t want to look too long—it felt intrusive, wrong even. 

It wasn’t like last week when he shamelessly changed his shirt in front of you. This was different. He was vulnerable, beaten, and unconscious. 

When his eyes fluttered open, you were leaning against the bathroom tiles, watching. His gaze was hazy, like he was trying to piece together where he was. Finally, his eyes locked onto you. They scanned you briefly, taking in the damp cloth in your hand, the bucket behind you, and the open first-aid kit on the floor. 

“You didn’t have to drag me here,” he muttered, his voice scratchy and low.

Still talking like an idiot. 

You avoided his eyes, focusing instead on the stubborn bloodstain on his forehead. “Right, because leaving you to bleed out on the street was the better option.”

He tried to smirk—of course, he did—but winced instead when you pressed the cloth a little too hard against his brow. You pulled back quickly, a flash of guilt crossing your face, but you didn’t apologize. 

“Do you always get yourself into this kind of trouble?” The question wasn’t even genuine. It was more of an observation. Every time you saw him, he was banged up. It was ridiculous. No one got into this many fights by accident. 

What if it hadn’t been you who found him? What if he’d collapsed? Hit his head? Then what? 

How could anyone be so damn reckless?

“All the time,” he said, his tone laced with smugness. It made you grit your teeth. Was he trying to kill himself, or was he just this dense?

You tended to his wounds in silence, simmering with a frustration you couldn’t quite place. Was it because you considered this idiot a friend? Or because this idiot had come dangerously close to getting himself killed tonight? 

When you were done, you began gathering up the dirty gauze and supplies. He shifted, trying to sit up. 

“If Nurse shift is over, I’ll be on my way now,” he said, gripping the edge of the tub for support. The first-aid kit slipped from your hands as you turned, catching him just before he fell over. 

“Yeah, about that—you’re not going anywhere.” 

His brows knitted together in defiance, but you shoved him back gently until he was sitting on the toilet. You needed him to stay put while you cleaned up. Like a dog told to sit and stay.

“You don’t get to decide that,” he snapped.

You threw the last piece of gauze into the trash, pointing a sharp finger at him. “Well, it looks like you can’t decide either. You can’t even walk straight. Stop being an idiot.”

He huffed and fell silent, though his scowl remained firmly in place. He might hate being told what to do, but you weren’t about to let him stumble back onto the street like this. You were better than that.

When you finished cleaning up, you walked over and tried to help him to his feet. Of course, he made it as difficult as possible, practically deadweight in your arms, until he finally relented and started cooperating. 

You led him to the guest room and helped him onto the bed. He smirked, gesturing to the large, king-sized mattress. “Nice digs. Didn’t know I rated five stars.”

You rolled your eyes, too tired to engage. He was infuriating sometimes, but there was no way you were kicking him out. Not in this state. He needed time to recover. 

“Don’t even think about sneaking out,” you warned, watching him settle into the bed. He didn’t respond, just stared at the ceiling, a blank expression on his face. 

You waited for a sarcastic comeback, but none came. As you reached the door, you hesitated, glancing back at him. 

You hated yourself for it—for caring so damn much.

“Who did this?” 

When JJ finally opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling, you heard him exhale deeply. If this was a Kook thing, you knew you could handle it. Hell, you’d even get your lawyer uncle involved if it came to that.

“It doesn’t matter.” His dismissive tone made you take a step closer, stopping about a meter from the bed with your arms crossed. All he had to do was say the word—accept a little help for once in his life. But of course, that wasn’t his style. JJ had to deal with things on his own. Always. 

“I can help—”

“You can’t help me!” He cut you off, raising his voice as he started to sit up. For a brief moment, you seriously considered shoving him back down into the mattress. Sometimes you hated him so much—

“Stuff like this happens to Pogues. It’s just how it is. You’re a Kook, so sit back and observe like you’re supposed to. Stop asking questions.” 

His words, paired with the attitude he wore like armor, had you rolling your eyes as you let out a bitter laugh. You paced the room, trying to shake off the frustration boiling under your skin.

“Always with this Kook-Pogue bullshit! Since when is helping someone in need such a crime? Was I supposed to leave you to die in the street?” 

JJ laughed then, sharp and manic, nodding as if you’d said the most logical thing in the world. “Yes! That’s exactly what you should’ve done! God, you’re so annoying. I can’t deal with you right now.”

And this is someone you called a friend. 

That motherfucker.

There wasn’t even a reason for him to be mad at you. You weren’t the one who’d beaten him up. You weren’t the one who put him in this position. You were just trying to help. But this was what happened when you cared for someone who didn’t deserve it. 

You stared at him, shaking your head. The disappointment you felt wasn’t just in him—it was in yourself. You’d gone so far as to consider this idiot your friend. It made you sick. 

“Don’t worry. You won’t have to see my annoying face anymore. I’m moving to the mainland, jerk.” Turning on your heel, you walked toward the door, ready to be done with this.

JJ could be… JJ. Sometimes that meant he lashed out at the wrong people, taking his anger out on those who didn’t deserve it. He hated showing weakness, hated sharing his struggles. Even though he knew you were only trying to help, he didn’t want you to see him like this. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be seen.

Hearing your name fall from his lips stopped you in your tracks. You turned back to face him, your expression unreadable. The anger that had burned in his eyes moments ago had vanished. He just looked…tired.

“I’m not running away.” His eyes met yours, and the ridiculousness of his statement was almost laughable. He should’ve been apologizing, but of course, he couldn’t even manage that.

“My dad. I’m mad at my dad, not you. I’m sorry. You’re not annoying—well, you are, but not in a way I can’t handle. And… thanks.” 

The words spilled out of him so fast that all you could do was nod in response. His constant mood swings—he had to be bipolar or something.

You thought about leaving the room. You hated him, you really did, but at the same time, you understood him. And you hated yourself even more for that. It made you want to throttle him.

You stepped closer to the bed, his eyes never leaving you. “If you ever yell at me like that again, I will bury you right here.” Your tone was sharp, dripping with warning. 

A faint smirk tugged at JJ’s lips as he nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Stay awake for a while.” He nodded again, but his brows furrowed as he looked around the room.

“How? Is this some kind of anti-tech isolation chamber or something? There’s nothing here to keep me awake—besides you.”

You rolled your eyes, not in the mood to humor him. “Not a chance.”

JJ sighed dramatically, tossing his head back. You knew if you left, he’d fall asleep immediately. And there you stood by the door, arms crossed, debating what to do. His reckless attitude tested your patience more than you liked to admit. You didn’t even know why you were still here. You didn’t want to stay, but leaving him like this felt… wrong.

After the way he’d acted, he deserved every bit of the mess he was in. Honestly, he should’ve been thanking you for not shoving his smug attitude down his throat.

JJ let out a heavy sigh, still staring at the ceiling. “If you’re not leaving, at least hand me that bottle.” He nodded toward the water bottle on the nightstand.

You narrowed your eyes at him, not moving. “Who said I wasn’t leaving?” 

Your own bluntness surprised you, but JJ’s smirk only made you angrier. “Of course,” he said lightly, like it was nothing worth debating.

You couldn’t see yourself staying much longer. Not without wanting to strangle him. But as you turned, JJ cleared his throat.

“The mainland, huh? For the baby?” 

You wanted to yell at him, to throw his earlier anger right back in his face, but you were too tired. You just wanted this night to end. You’d already dealt with enough of his drama. 

“Yes. And by the way, it’s a girl.”

JJ turned to look at you, his eyebrows shooting up as a slow grin spread across his face. “Thank God. Nobody could survive a second Rafe Cameron.”

Normally, that comment would’ve pissed you off, but you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. He wasn’t wrong. One Rafe was bad enough—no one needed a second.

“If you need anything there, let me know,” he said. 

You nodded, knowing he meant it. 

The two of you sat in silence for a while. You realized then how hard it would be for him to stay awake with nothing to do in this empty room. If it were you, you’d have fallen asleep immediately. 

“So… wanna play games on my phone?”

[amongemeraldclouds]

Down Bad

Theo runs to the Astronomy Tower to confess his feelings for you before it’s too late.

Theodore Nott x f!Reader

Warning: fluff, no use of y/n, kissing. Inspired by the Taylor Swift song with the same title. The first paragraph may sound grim, but I swear this is a fluff piece!

✿ Masterlist | 762 words

Theodore Nott had really screwed up this time. His lungs burned and his heart pounded as he raced towards the Astronomy Tower where he was about to lose the love of his life. If he was too late, you would never know how he felt. Let alone have the future he wanted with you. No, he can’t think that way.

He allowed himself a moment catch his breath when he reached the top of the Astronomy Tower. When he saw you looking out beyond the ledge, his worst fears were confirmed. He ran towards you and grabbed your waist, holding tight as he walked backwards. You yelped in surprise, struggling against your unexpected assailant.

The struggle sends you both toppling down the floor, away from the ledge. You squirmed beneath - oh, Theo. Your breath caught in your throat when you realized he’s on top of you. Salazar, everything about him was so beautiful. You kicked yourself internally, willing your brain to catch up with your heart.

“What in Salazar’s name, Theo! What are you doing?” You seethed, angry and confused. You had been avoiding him for a week since he broke your heart. Picture this: you finally mustered up the courage to confess your feelings for your childhood best friend only to be met by silence - not even rejection, just silence. Like your feelings were not even worth his words. And now he tackles you?

“No, I should be saying that to you. What are you thinking jumping off from the Astronomy Tower? You can’t just leave me before I tell you that I love you too.” His intense gaze burned into you.

You blinked at his words, confused. “Pray tell, dear genius, what does one do at the Astronomy Tower?”

It was his turn to blink back in confusion. He looked off to your side and noticed your telescope and scattered instruments. He was too stunned to speak.

“I was doing our Astronomy homework, you dolt, which you would know about if you weren’t busy skiving off with Mattheo.”

“But Pansy said you’ve been depressed lately and was alone in the Astronomy Tower,” he thought back at the conversation. Sure, you had been down bad for him and because of him this week. You couldn’t even get through quidditch practice without crying and cursing his name.

And yet - “So you just assumed I’m going to throw my life away for you?” You scoffed. “I’ll get over you someday, but I don’t know how you’ll ever get over yourself,” you teased. It was adorable how his cheeks blushed in embarrassment though you hated how quickly your anger faded.

He buried his head into the crook of your neck to hide in shame just like all those times you’ve cuddled together. Your hands wrapped around his shoulders out of habit. “I didn’t know what I was thinking,” he admitted. 

“So there is hope yet for you and your ego,” you mused before your mind snagged on the rest of his words. “Wait, did you tell me you love me?”

He raised his head and looked back at you, “I did. I’m sorry I froze when you confessed your feelings. You deserved better. I’m not good with these things, but for you I will try. I love you. Ti amo così tanto.”

“Well, you already know how I feel,” you deadpanned, trying to channel your teenage petulance despite the warmth blooming in your chest. 

“I don’t get to hear it again?” He asked with a hopeful expression.

“No,” you replied, tilting your head away from him though you couldn’t hide the grin on your face.

“Too bad, I was hoping to kiss you after you said it.”

You looked back at him, returning the challenge, “kiss me and maybe I’ll say it.” 

So he did. Electric bliss shot through you the instant your lips connected. His lips were soft and warm, the taste of cigarettes and mint mingled together as he ran his tongue along your bottom lip. You gasped at the sensation and he took the opportunity to explore your mouth.

There was nothing gentle about the kiss. It was a hundred ‘finally’s melting together into this one euphoric moment. You ran your hands through his hair, needing him closer. Needing more.

The kiss was over way too soon as he propped himself on his elbows to look at you. He saw everything he needed to know in your expressive eyes. Still, he asked, “will you tell me now?”

“No,” you bit back a smile.

“Guess I’ll just have to kiss you more.”

✿ Masterlist

A/N: A literal Down Bad moment with Theo tackling you bahahaha.

[gurugirl]

Bad Morning

professor!harry x professor!y/n

A/N: Started writing this a few days ago and then I got a request just now that just went so well with what I was already writing and this pic is giving these vibes so... here is the result. + a little background if you're interested.

Summary: You run late to an important meeting with your colleagues and Professor Styles decides to punish you.

Word Count: 3650

Warning: 18+ only, NSFW, smut, spanking with a paddle, slight degradation, punishment, barely proofread

It really had been just a shitty morning all around. Your alarm went off on time but in your half haze of sleep, you shut it off instead of snoozing it and so when you finally did bolt out of your bed to get ready you knew you’d be late for your meeting.

You didn’t even have time to button up your shirt properly. Running to your car carrying your bags in one arm with your mug of coffee in your free hand sloshing all over the ground and a toothbrush stuck in your mouth you knew you looked like a maniac.

Speeding down the street to get to the university (you were lucky it was only a 15-minute drive) you found a hair elastic to pull your strands into a bun the moment you parked. You’d barely touched your coffee, well, most of it was on your skirt, and your toothbrush fell into the floorboard below your feet when you opened your mouth to curse at the slow driver in front of you.

Parking in the closest spot you could find you quickly smoothed your hair down and tied it back with the elastic, thankful that you’d even found one, and grabbed your bags before running at full speed to enter the building and run through the hallways toward the science labs where Mr. Styles and the rest of the science and tech professors were likely waiting for you.

Today was a big day. You would be settling on a plan for the range of your experiments and choosing which students to bring along the following week to the energy conversion laboratory in Colorado.

 “Ms. Y/L/N. How nice of you to finally join us.”

You rolled your eyes as you quickly sat down on the floor, dropping your bags down before you crossed your legs and raised your brows at your devastatingly handsome colleague, “Sorry. Bad morning.” Was all you could say as you dug your notebook out. You hated how attractive he was. That you noticed how well-built he was and how he carried himself like he owned everything around him. And as much as you hated it (mostly because he was such a dick) you often imagined him taking you into his office out of nowhere. Spanking you and spitting dirty words into your ears. You even imagined him slapping you with those ringed fingers and fucking you with what you were sure was a nice big cock.

Professor Harry Styles was quite intimidating, though. You and all the staff thought so. He wasn’t unreasonable but he was very strict. Your teaching and working style was totally opposite of his but since you were both in the same department, your paths crossed often. Daily. Which meant you had plenty of fodder for yourself late at night when you were alone.

You shook your head at your dirty thoughts.

You and the other science and tech professors were in the process of planning a huge trip to a specialty lab your university didn’t have. It would be a costly trip and the school was footing most of the bill after raising close to a quarter of a million dollars for the “excursion”.

Everyone spoke in turn with their ideas and shared which of their students they’d like to bring. Each professor would choose two students (of those who volunteered to take part in the trip and experiment).

You’d selected your two and then offered an idea about coordinating schedules for the experiments and taking turns. You opened your notebook and explained your thoughts based on the notes you’d taken, “So, then on the third day, the third group can follow the timeline we set in place for group number 1–“ you continued to rattle off timelines, and looked up at Harry who did not appear impressed by you at all. In fact, his glare had you forgetting for a moment where you were going with what you were saying and you paused briefly before finally finishing your thought.

The entire meeting went like that. Glares from the head science professor aimed at you, making you feel tiny and unwelcome. You were a new professor but you’d earned your spot and you weren’t going to let him intimidate you (except for in your fantasies). You’d apologized for being tardy and while it was unfortunate that you’d showed up nearly thirty minutes late to a very important scheduled meeting, what was done was done. You couldn’t go back in time and have a redo. Though, you wished you could.

Everyone stood up when Harry clapped his big hands together and indicated that the meeting was over. You had no classes that day, as it was Saturday (another reason you’d slept through your alarm because you’d been out the night before).

You stuffed your notebooks into your bags and stood up, pushing your glasses back up to the bridge of your nose after they’d slipped the tiniest bit. You also hadn’t had time to put your contacts in. Obviously.

And just as you were about to make a beeline for the door and get out of there before anyone could talk to you, you were stopped in your tracks when you heard the low baritone of Harry calmly speaking your name.

You turned to look behind you at the tall man and realized he was dressed quite casually in a Mickey Mouse t-shirt that said I love you, the love being a red heart balloon. It was cute. And it almost made him less intimidating. Almost.

“Yes, Harry.” You addressed him by his first name the way he had just addressed you by yours as you turned to face him. He was already taking long-legged strides toward you, his face set in a serious expression, just as it had been for the duration of the meeting.

You stood in your spot as three teachers left the room and Harry stood over you, “Come to my office.”

That was all he said. And it wasn’t a question, but rather a command, which honestly you were used to with him by that point.

Harry had been at the university for quite some time. His office was one of the nicer and bigger ones. You’d seen it before in passing but had never stepped in until that day.

“You were late today,” Harry spoke as he closed his door behind him and then made his way across his office toward you. He sat at the edge of his desk and crossed his ankles together.

“Yeah, I know.” You scoffed. What was he playing at?

“Care to explain to me why you were so late to such an important group meeting?”

You blinked your eyes and began to sit in one of the chairs he had in front of his desk but he stood quickly and grasped your elbow, “I didn’t say you could sit.”

You looked down to where he was touching your arm and back to his face, “What are you doing?”

Harry pulled you to stand facing his desk and brought your arm down so your palm was flat on his desk, “Teaching you a lesson. If you want to survive being a professor at this university you need to learn discipline and respect.”

You turned to watch him as he stood behind you. You honestly were so confused by what was happening but when you looked at his eyes and noticed that he was dragging his gaze down your backside you stood up straight and removed your palm from the desk, “Mr. Styles! You are out of line. I was late, yes, but–“

He stepped in toward you, pressing his chest to your back, grasping your wrists, and making you place your palms back down onto the wood, “Do not move, Y/N. Not until I tell you to.”

He moved away from you and circled his desk to face you, opening a drawer with a key as he spoke, “We both know you have an attitude that needs fixing.”

You were suddenly feeling hot and embarrassed as your breaths deepened. Everything that was happening was straight out of your fantasy. It was as if you were writing this whole scene out from start to finish. You wondered where this was going. You were curious what he would do next.

Your eyes widened and your mouth dropped open as you watched him lay a paddle across his desk in front of you.

“Couldn’t even dress yourself properly. Look at you,” he gestured to your haphazard buttoning job and you realized your bra was exposed as you looked down over yourself. You laughed and looked back up at him but his face was not amused.

“I was in a hurry. I’m sorry if this offends–“

“Please stop talking.” He lifted the paddle up and rounded his desk to stand behind you.

The sudden awareness of what was going on had your skin pimpling with goosebumps. You were wearing a knee-length skirt and realized that all he had to do was lift it to expose your bottom to him. Your white panties covered your bum but it wouldn’t be hard for him to paddle you right through the thin material.

As your thoughts grew lewder about what was coming and what Mr. Styles would do you squished your thighs together and adjusted your palms as you turned to look over your shoulder at the professor.

“I’m going to give you 30 paddles to your bottom. One for every minute you were late. How does that sound for a punishment?”

You inhaled deeply and looked down at the leather-wrapped paddle and back to his eyes. It was wild that he’d even suggest it all. And so casually too? But of course, you understood that he was asking permission. Perhaps this was the beginning of some sort of thing you and he would have in secret.

You nodded slowly, “Yes, professor. I think that’s fair.” You gulped down your saliva. You had never been spanked with a paddle before so you hoped saying yes was the right choice.

Harry grunted as he let his eyes drop to your ass and when you felt him pull at your skirt and lift it up ward you held your breath and closed your eyes, turning to face his desk again.

But the small little groan you heard from behind you had your eyes popping open. It sounded like the groan of a man who was turned on. Frustrated. You sure hoped that was the case.

“Can you keep quiet like a good girl?” His dark tone was pinched as you felt his warm hand brush over your ass before pushing the material of your skirt up to your waist.

“Yes, sir.”

The shuttered breath he let out as he groped your ass, palming at the material of your panties had your heart thumping hard under your ribs. He was enjoying this.

“Good.”

The suddenness of the first hit had you rocking forward quickly and yelping. You hadn’t been prepared for it. You’d been spanked with bare hands before. Not with a paddle.

“Shh… said you could be a good girl for me. One more outburst and I’ll stuff these panties into your mouth.”

You didn’t know why but that idea had you moaning softly and rolling your eyes to the back of your head.

The next strike you were prepared for. You gritted your teeth and panted as he brought it down again on the other side, “That’s three. From now on, I need you to count for me. Keep track so I don’t. have to.”

You breathed out heavily and nodded, “Yes, sir.”

4, 5, 6, 7… All within range of you being able to tolerate the pain and keep your little noises in.

But 8? For some reason 8 came down especially hard and stung like a mother fucker so you gasped and cried out loudly.

The paddle was suddenly placed on the desk next to your hand and you tilted your head to look at your colleague as he met your eyes. Blown-out pupils and puffy, bitten lips. He looked like sex. He’d always looked like sex but in that moment…

“Tell me what happens when you can’t keep quiet.” He leaned over you, one palm down on the desk, his other smoothing over the cotton of your panties softly.

You gulped hard and blinked the tiny bit of tears away that had formed in your eyes, “You said you’d stuff my panties into my mouth.”

“S’right. At least you know how to listen. Too bad you don’t know how to keep quiet.”

You nodded, “I’m sorry, sir.” You really didn’t want him to stop. It hurt but you loved the way it felt to have this man standing over you and spanking you. Watching you. Enjoying the view he had of you.

“So what should I do, then?”

You gasped when you felt his thumb push under the elastic of your panties and slip over your bottom, “Take my panties off and put them into my mouth. Like you said.”

Harry’s lips turned up into a sinister grin and you watched his tongue swipe over his bottom lip before he nodded and moved behind you, both hands now in the elastic of your cotton panties as he dragged them down your thighs.

You felt him pause his motions and once your ass was fully bare to him. You were sure with the way you were leaned over his desk that he could see your pussy too.

“Fuck…” his words were whispered into the room before he gently tugged your panties the rest of the way down your legs and you stepped, one foot at a time to have them removed completely.

When his hands found your bottom you felt him massage your cheeks and suck in a sharp breath, “You okay?”

It was the first time he sounded as if he were truly concerned about you. Perhaps he could see the marks he’d given you with the paddle. Or maybe it was just that you were so exposed to him in that moment.

“Yes, sir. I’m fine.” Your voice was a little shaky. You were on edge completely. You’d be thinking about this tonight for sure, and for many nights to come. But you still hadn’t determined if it was even really happening.

Harry leaned over you and you felt the cloth of his pants brush against your ass, “Mrs. Y/L/N, you are absolutely soaked. Did you know that? Had to be careful pulling your wet panties down your legs and now looking between your thighs I can see how much you are enjoying this. Not much of a punishment is it?”

His deep voice traveled down the shell of your ear and to your neck as you softly moaned and shook your head, “No. It’s not much of a punishment. I like it.”

You heard him chuckle before lifting your messy panties up to your face, “Open.”

You complied as he shoved the cotton into your mouth and then returned to his position behind you.

“Since you can’t count for me anymore I’m going to do it for you now.”

The 9th swat came down and the sting of the paddle against your bare bottom made you yelp out, though it was nice and muffled just as Harry had hoped.

The progression of each of his swats only made you drippier and pushed you further away from reality. And as he counted, the higher the numbers rose, you could hear the lust and pain in his voice. He was putting himself on edge by just watching you squirm and get wetter and wetter between your thighs.

At number 21 you didn’t know what you were doing anymore. You needed to end your misery. Without much of a thought in your brain (you were hardly able to connect your thoughts together by that point) you removed one hand from the desk as you leaned forward further over the wood and spread your legs before you began rubbing your clit.

Harry stopped quickly and you heard the clunk of the paddle fall to the floor and then his hand was grasping your wrist, yanking it away from your pussy, “What the fuck are you doing?”

You felt fuzzy and so far beyond caring about anything but coming you moaned in muffled words as you tried to speak through your panties. You could barely open your eyes as you felt his hand on your chin to turn your face toward him.

“You are dirty, aren’t you? Naughty, dirty, disrespectful professor,” Harry pulled the panties from your mouth and you gasped softly, drool falling from your mouth over his hand that remained at your jaw.

“Is there no punishment that will set you right?”

His own face was flushed and his eyelids were heavy with lust.

You thought about his question but you had no answer for him. You couldn’t put your thoughts together to form a sentence even if you wanted to. You moaned and reached a hand for his forearm as you turned your body toward his, causing your skirt to fall and cover your bits.

Harry pulled you in close and pressed your bottom into his desk, spreading your legs and lifting your skirt back up to expose you to him. He kept his eyes on yours as he used his free hand to softly swipe at the damp skin just next to your pussy. You bucked your hips into his hand and he laughed, “And desperate too.”

The hand he had at your jaw smushed your cheeks together harshly, “And because I’ve been so good I think I deserve a treat. Don’t you?”

You moaned again and nodded, “Yes, sir.”

He grunted as he moved his hand from your face and began to unbuckle his pants. You looked down to where his cock was clearly engorged and pushing against the material of his pants, He got his zipper down and found his way back between your thighs, pushing you down flat to your back, “Can I have a treat?” He thumbed at your clit as he looked into your eyes and you nodded, “Yes. Please.”

“You sure? Because I have something very specific in mind. Want to know what it is?”

Nodding your head you reached for the collar of his t-shirt and pleaded with him, “I want to know. Please…” you hoped he’d fuck you. Hoped he’d rail you right on his desk just as you often imagined him doing.

He laughed darkly as he pulled his briefs down and his cock came in your view. He began stroking himself right over you, using his foreskin to pump his cock quickly and upward over his tip, repeatedly yanking and pulling as he looked from your pussy to your face, “This is my treat. Gonna fuck my fist and come all over your pussy.”

You watched in awe. His long cock and his fist jerking himself was the hottest thing you’d ever seen. You groaned and bucked your hips upward, “Please, Harry…” you whined.

Harry had one palm flat on the desk as he kept himself angled over you, his cock above your pussy, so close but not close enough for your liking. You wanted him inside of you.

He laughed as he continued pulling at his shaft and he began to pant his next words, “Not gonna fuck you because that would be a nice treat for you too. And you’ve been naughty, Y/n. So you don’t get my cock.”

You scrunched your brows together with a pout and brought your own hand down to your clit and moaned. Harry gasped as he neared his end but slowed his pumping as he slapped your hand away from your pussy, “You don’t get to come. This is your punishment,” he grunted as he got back to fucking himself with his fist.

You watched in awe as he began to slightly tremble and his soft moans got more frequent.

And just as you heard him cough out one loud moan you knew he was coming before you even felt the first drop of come spurt over your pussy. You took the moment to swipe his come up and your arousal and lift your fingers to his mouth, shoving your digits past his lips as he poured his hot sperm all over your wet pussy and down your thighs.

You moaned as he wrapped his mouth around your fingers, his palm still milking his cock, draining everything he had all over your labia. You felt his come drip down past your entrance and to your bum as he licked and sucked your fingers.

You’d never seen anything more erotic in your life. You wanted to come too but to watch him come on your pussy as he sucked on your fingers was worth it.

When he’d finally emptied everything he had he let go of his dick and you pulled your fingers from his mouth with a smirk on your face.

He pulled his pants back up and looked at the mess he’d made, “Guess you’re gonna have to go home and clean that up aren’t you?”

You sat up and watched him as he lifted your panties up and handed them to you, “Was thinking I’d just run to the bathroom first–“ “No. I want my come smeared all over your pussy and those panties full of your spit and your arousal. Want to know you had to sit in traffic all dirty and desperate.”

You scoffed but began to pull the panties up your legs anyway.

When you stood up and turned to look at the professor he was tucking his laptop into his bag, his eyes already on you, “Maybe next time, if you’re good for me, I’ll let you come.”

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[mosaickiwi]

Home Away From

I love hopeless agony almost as much as tooth rotting fluff??

Post-kidnapping Angel adjusting (badly) to the new normal.

might do a part 2 where it gets even worse idk ← my last words before i get thrown out of the plane

Kidnapping, imprisonment, codependency, etc.

proceed with caution

Eyes straight forward, you had to keep yourself occupied fiddling with the edge of a couch cushion. Every single one had a few loose threads from how often you worried away at them. 

Twelve… thirteen… fourteen neatly aligned book spines on the lowest shelf behind the dark haired man kneeling in front of you. A full, hardcover collection of your favorite webcomic, each book signed and dedicated to you. Maybe you'd force yourself to read them all again. For the third time since your arrival.

"Angel."

It was hard to keep track of how long you'd been here—in this house far removed from Corland Bay, with everything you ever wanted in a forever home. All those wild, fantasy-ridden dreams you joked about with Ren, and then [REDACTED], were true now.

And yet your supposed fiancé carried you over the threshold of that forever home kicking and screaming. 

"Still not talking?"

His hand reached for yours, fingers gently lacing between your own before you eventually pulled away. You saw their real reaction in the corner of your vision. By now, you knew him as obsessively as he knew you—there wasn't much he could hide anymore. The pain in his blue eyes lingered for too long this time.

It hurt. You hated to see that look on his face. But you hated being trapped here so much more than that. Why couldn't he understand?

Realistically, a silent treatment would get you nowhere. A few hours had turned to days, then weeks, and he was still soft-spoken and doting towards you. There was hardly a difference in the man you proposed to, and the one that bolted the front door shut from the outside on the few occasions they left for supplies.

You were too used to domestic life, too docile compared to that first day—sometimes you'd lose yourself and forget you were a prisoner. All your old hobbies still occupied your days while he sat nearby, and it just felt natural to include the only person you ever saw. To call his name and read a passage from a book aloud for him to laugh, or casually scoot closer to him for warmth during a movie.

Those moments when you forgot felt like they could slot in between all your old memories with ease.

"I'm sorry, love. I only wanted t'keep you safe," he whispered.

His breath almost tickled your legs, followed by the feel of his forehead resting against them. The urge to brush a hand through their hair—an innocent gesture you did at least daily back home—hurt just as much to ignore.

Were it not for their words of apology, even now could've been another memory. Who could fault you for falling into habits of comfort with the one who lived for you, and you alone?

The silent treatment was the best you could do.

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

Tired and disoriented, you woke up alone in your bedroom. The pink haired plushie you normally cuddled had disappeared somewhere, probably tossed to a corner of the room in your fitful sleep. Your usual replacement for a space heater was nowhere to be found, either.

Had he stayed up late? You called their name. "Ren?"

A muted commotion in the hallway outside, then the door creaked open. "Angel?" your beloved hacker answered back cautiously.

"Are you coming to bed?"

There was no response for a long moment. But soon enough, his familiar footsteps sounded against the floor.

You sat up and pulled the blanket to the side for them. As he settled in, you cuddled close, resting one arm over their chest while your head laid in its rightful place atop his shoulder. You managed to lean up and find their lips for a quick kiss before closing your eyes.

Though you couldn't see his face, you imagined the blush that painted his cheeks at every piece of affection you gave. With the thought fresh in your mind, you drifted off.

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

Hours later you woke again, your rest this time far more peaceful in their embrace. A pitiful, lazy groan left you as you stretched, then opened your eyes to greet your partner.

[REDACTED] was silently looking down at you, propped up on one arm. 

You reached up to cup his cheek and smiled at him. He leaned into your touch like always, but their usual loving gaze was laced with hesitation. As if waiting for something. Anxious of what could bother him, your hand followed the line of his jaw down to their neck, past the tattooed heart of your name, and settled on a piece of jewelry. 

Was that correct? It felt off. A long moment passed as you fiddled with it, trying to figure out what was so out of place about that silver chain, until it hit you.

The golden ring was back on his necklace, instead of on your finger where it belonged. Where it used to belong.

Weeks, or maybe even months ago, when they kept you in a careful hold while locking the bedroom door behind them—you'd thrown that ring in his face the second he let you go. 

For all the scratches and bite marks you'd put on his arm, tearing at skin that was already long scarred, he hadn't shown a hint of worry. Not until they bent down to get the ring that hit their chest and clattered to the floor.

It was the same worried face you saw now.

Your hand stilled, and before you could even whisper the words you wanted to yell, he slipped from the bed to give you space. The door clicked shut behind them to trap you in with your thoughts.

How could you be so stupid? Weak? They didn't have to try at all to wear you down; you did it all on your own. He tore you away from friends and family, yet here you were, forgetting yourself to play house with him. Then you took it a step further and let him sleep in your bed.

Nails dug into the pillow under your head, but instead of throwing it you squeezed it tight to your chest. You bit your lip to hold back the tears, glaring down at the empty spot on your ring finger that had only now begun to match the skin around it.

Another foolish dream to pile with all the others.

As much as you wanted to hope they would see reason one day and bring you back home to make things right—a thought far past irrational by now—you had to mourn the life taken from you.

You knew them, you knew them. Always seeking your favor so quickly that any argument quelled before it had a chance to begin, but stubborn when he felt it necessary.

If the first answer was a no… the next one and the next one wouldn't change. You should've accepted it the second he locked the door.

Ren was the only person you'd ever see again.

[appleblueberry-pie]

They usually show Gojo as the dominant one in the relationship, someone who is only with you for a while, but what if it were the other way around, if the reader took that role and Satoru couldn't get over what they did to him? ? (I think I need to stop imagining scenarios with this guy 😔)

Sorry, I Guess. Lol.

Satoru couldn't just ignore this feeling in his chest. It wasn't strong, but he really couldn't control it even if he wanted to. It was like a piece of metal was stuck in his chest and no matter how much he shifted or rubbed at that spot, the feeling wouldn't go away. And he only felt it when he was around you. That annoying feeling.

You always drove him around. Said that it would be a hassle waiting for him, when you knew he had a thing for always being late. And you always found him, even if his location was off on his phone. A mysterious one, you were. That's what he's supposed to do.

You drove with that left hand on the steering wheel and the other hand on the stick, a little smirk on your face. Almost half of the time that you two were together, he never had your full attention. There was always those few moments where you had to take(a very loud and exciting looking) phone call or just texting your little friends or whoever was making you smile like that.

You never had minded him. It was like he didn't matter that much.

You paid for his food too. He never liked it. He always had the money to pay for both of your plates, but you never ever settled for letting him pay for everything. You said you hated feeling like you owed someone. He told you a million times you don't owe him a dime but you always persisted. The most he ever got out of you was letting you two split the bill.

He hated you. Your personality. How he couldn't ever just have you. You weren't emotionally available. What was the point of dating you if he wasn't gonna have your damn time? It was a waste of his own, dammit, and he hated every second of it. But the more he tried to detach from you.....the more he realized he couldn't.

He really really liked you. He enjoyed your suave personality and effortless movements and charismatic energy that you poured into the conversations you had with him. He was the one that usually radiates energy in the friend group, but when he's around you, you seem to be able to dim him down and steal the spotlight. He can't ever take it back either. You're just that good.

He can't have you and he realizes that. He also realized that when you ghost him on all apps. When he tries to get back in touch but you block him for blowing up your line. He tries to get back in touch when he realizes you never told him anything about your personal life and it was extremely hard to find out where you worked or anything. And it was really hard to find where you lived when he realized you didn't even live in the city you took him all around.

You're probably a player, but he didn't care. He loves how you ignore him. Honestly, he wants you to do more damage, he wants to keep you around just to repeat what you two had again. He wants to see your face when you realize he's an actual weirdo stalker that's most likely obsessed with you.

You two never fucked and you made it clear with your body language that you never wanted him like that in the first place and he was just your decoration for a few weeks. But he didn't want to be like those temporary tattoos. He didn't wanna be henna either. He wanted to be painfully embedded in your skin for so long, that even though he might fade years later, that pigmentation on that one part in your skin will always stick around to tell the tale.

He just wants to be yours.

[marvelstoriesepic]

Angstober (day 17)

Pairing: Endgame!Bucky x Reader

Prompt: “Shhh…”

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: allusions to deep depression; very slight mention of suicidal thoughts; mentions of an eating disorder (neglecting food due to mental health problems); sad!Reader; sad and desperate!Bucky

Author's note: I'm so late, so sorry!! Actually planned on ending this way more angsty but I just couldn’t. Hope you still like it!

Angstober Masterlist

Not that you’re counting, but it has been 14 nights now. Two weeks. Nearly 340 hours since Bucky returned. He came back, along with everyone else who had vanished for five long years. But nothing else seemed nearly as significant as the feeling of seeing him again - the man you loved before the blip, during the blip, and thereafter.

Obviously, this was supposed to be a moment of pure, unadulterated joy. And it was for a moment. But you never felt the weight fall off you, that great release where all your problems just go away and nothing is left but love, relief, lightness - the kind of peace you can finally sink into.

But peace is far from what you feel.

You carry something in your gut; a stone lodged deep, heavy, and smooth to the touch but sharp on impact, that pushes your insides down and twists the knots in your belly into nausea. It’s guilt. So thick and visceral, it hurts, your body trying to reject it, to shake it, but you can’t breathe it away.

Because it’s also the 14th night of you leaving the warm and cozy embrace of two arms - one flesh, one metal - and the feeling of a chest pressed against your body just to sit out on the balcony, the exact same you spent ceaseless and lonely nights on when the world had emptied itself of Bucky Barnes.

Back when this place was only yours for the better part of the blip. With an old armchair placed to overlook the stars and form changing moon blinking at you from the blackness overhead. As if each of those tiny bright dots stood for something specific.

Bucky is asleep inside the bedroom, you’re supposed to be in right now. Wrapped safely in his arms, surrounded by the comfort of having him back. But the truth is, this comfort you should feel suffocates you.

You’re frozen. Stuck between two worlds. The one where you lost him, where you had to endure five long years without him, and the one where he returned as though no time had passed at all.

Five years living without him just for him to return to earth within the blink of an eye as if it was nothing. As if the time spent alone wasn’t agony in the worst sense of the word. As if your suffering didn’t even happen and everything just went back to normal in seconds.

You don’t know how to react. You don’t know how to be normal again. How can you just slip back into a love that feels like it was frozen in time for him but battered and painful for you?

It hasn’t been easy for anyone, you’re aware of that. Disappearing or not. Suddenly re-entering a world that had moved on without you, a world you never knew you even left, is a scary thought. But, honestly, it’s so much worse for Bucky. Your stomach, again, churns in pain.

Bucky has already lost so much of his life, trapped in decades he was never meant to live, a ghost haunting the wrong era. The world keeps slipping through his fingers, time moving around him while he’s frozen in place. Literally even. And now there goes another five years.

But you just can’t turn your head off. And you hate yourself for it.

The truth is, you’re not the same person you were when you met Bucky, started dating him - the one he fell in love with. A bright spirit, an effervescent soul, full of light, energy, softness, with a laugh that was infectious. That version of you is gone, taken by the same breeze that took Bucky years ago. What’s left was a hollow shell, lost in the grief of your greatest love story.

Time wore you down, erode pieces of you that you didn’t even realize were fading away until there was hardly anything left. Just bare bones of who you once were - a thin foundation, fragile, with crumbs already falling to your darkest depths, ready to be swept away for good.

How can you possibly go back to the person Bucky expects you to be? How can you pretend to be the version of yourself he fell in love with when it doesn’t exist anymore? When what’s left of her is irredeemable, too far gone to be resurrected?

You’re certain you’ll only end up disappointing him. If you haven’t already.

Fourteen nights you’ve been out here, on this balcony, sitting in that chair, wrapped in the dark, keeping yourself apart from him when you know you should be beside him. When all you ever wanted was to be beside him again.

Thirteen of those nights, Bucky has noticed your absence. The first night he found you out here, sitting in silence, you nearly snapped at him, frustration and confusion at the way you feel bubbling up so fiercely, you didn’t know how to contain it.

You told him to leave you alone. Insisted on it for so long until he finally, reluctantly relented, slowly retreating back inside with a tremble in his breath and clenched fingers. You knew he would respect your request. You also found out that he didn’t sleep a wink that night, since you didn’t come back to bed, wearing circles under his eyes that matched yours as he made you some breakfast in the morning you barely ended up stomaching.

Since then, you haven’t asked him to leave. Though you don’t really engage him in conversation either, only letting him linger. His presence is gentle, never pressing, always so patient, but it doesn’t make it easier. If only, it worsens the guilt, its fingers tightening around your chest, digging into your skin painfully. You don’t know how to let him back in, not when you’re still so tangled up in the person you’ve become - someone so worn-down, you don’t recognize yourself anymore, afraid to be confronted with the harrowing reality by looking in a mirror.

And every night, you wonder, silently asking the night sky, how much longer it’ll be before he realizes that the person he loves is someone he lost.

You’re waiting. Waiting for him to notice that this new version of you isn’t enough.

Every time, Bucky comes out to you, bringing you something - blankets, jackets, his hoodies, a cup of tea still steaming in his hands, or thick socks to warm your feet. He gets you all the things you never thought to grab in your rush to escape to the balcony, to get lost in the night air that bites into your skin but usually feels oddly comforting in its coldness. The chill always manages to give you a small sting of reality.

You never make the first move to wrap the blankets around yourself or pull any of the clothing items on, so Bucky usually does it for you. And he’s nothing but kind. Patient and soft in ways that almost hurt to witness. It’s in his eyes, in the way he watches you, never pushing too hard, never demanding more than you can give.

But his worry is etched into every corner of him like he is carrying it in his very bones. It’s heavy on his brows, weighing them down in a furrow that never seems to ease, lips pressed into a slight frown that tugs at the corners even when he tries to soothe it out.

It’s in the way his hands twitch, as if he’s fighting the urge to reach out and pull you close, but stops himself because he’s unsure if you want him to. He’s constantly walking that fine line, balancing between the space you seem to want and the need to be there, to comfort you, troubled with his own helplessness.

It’s in every considerate gesture, every thoughtful thing he does to make sure you’re okay, or at least giving you a sense of solace.

And yet, you can’t bring yourself to really talk to him. To explain what’s going on in your mind. To voice the fear that now lives there and which places it travels and where it settles down, lodging itself deep into your conscience, roots spreading and festering.

There’s no way to explain what drives you out here night after night, sitting in the darkness while your returned love waits for you inside.

It’s not that you don’t want to. God, you want to more than anything. But the words just won’t come, not making it past the lump in your throat. You’re trapped in a loop of thoughts; confusion, and guilt guiding them to twirl in your head like an indecipherable storm.

How do you even begin to explain that the person he’s so worried about isn’t really there anymore; that you’re afraid you’ve changed too much; that you’re not sure how to go back to the way things were, or if you even can? So while you remain silent, your mind races and your heart aches with the weight of everything you can’t say.

There are so many ghosts in his life and you don’t want to count yourself as another. But you don’t have it in you to do something about it.

As expected, the door to the balcony opens, quietly, slowly. It gets shorter, you notice. The time it takes him to realize you’re gone. As if he instinctively wakes up the second you leave his embrace. As if he barely has to stir to know you’re missing, to feel the cold, empty space where your warmth should be.

You wish he had given you just a little more time. Woke up just a little later. Nausea pools in your gut.

“Sweetheart.”

You pick up his whisper. You intended to ignore it, just as you had intended to ignore the quiet shuffle of his steps, the way he appeared in your peripherals like he always does. But the way his voice reflects so much of a fragility you can’t and don’t want to describe, your head lifts almost on autopilot, responding to him before your mind can even catch up.

He’s crouching down to your level in front of the chair you’re perched on, carefully lowering himself to your eye level. You hadn’t even acknowledged the bowl of pasta he brought until he set it down on the small table next to you, food you hadn’t even glanced at all day. As well as the blanket draped over his forearm he now deliberately wraps you up in. His hands linger on your arms longer than needed until he almost reluctantly pulls away.

He doesn’t take his eyes off you. Not for a second. Gaze so intense and solid, it undoes you. They’re filled with everything you try to run from, everything you try to bury deep inside yourself, everything you try to hide from.

You avert your eyes at the new wave of pain that tears right through your chest, intended to knock you off that chair, perhaps even off that balcony. Your silence is wearing on him and you know. You know that his brows are creased in worry, that his hands are trembling as they grab onto his knees to prevent himself from reaching out to you because he thinks that’s not what you want. That his touch is unwanted. His lips are pressed together as if holding back the flood of words he’s too afraid to say out loud.

Still, you don’t open your mouth. You don’t move closer to him to feel some of his warmth. You don’t look at him. All you do is let him down, night after night, as he watches you drift further away.

From yourself.

From him.

“Please eat something, love.”

His pleading voice again reaches you with the force of a knife, thrown straight to your heart, tearing through the blanket, your thin clothes, your skin, to embed itself into the organ that once held something so precious. A love so fierce, not only for the man in front of you but for the woman he fell for. For the woman that’s now lost in a body filled with coldness.

“Not hungry.” The words fall flat from your lips, monotone, your voice as hollow as you feel inside. There’s no weight behind them, no energy. They’re the same words you’ve been giving him all day, all week - really, for two weeks straight.

Actually, you haven’t been hungry in what feels like forever. The idea of eating, of caring for your body, feels so distant, so unimportant, perhaps even ludicrous, that you’ve stopped thinking about it entirely. Your stomach knots itself in protest but the thought of offering sustenance to your weary body pales in significance amidst whatever storm is brewing inside your mind.

Bucky never relents. Never gives up. Never stops trying.

But it’s heavy on him.

The pained sigh that ripples through his body, drags his shoulders down, his entire frame. His desperation is so evident, it’s standing out like a light that wants the attention of the darkness around you. His pain almost echoes like a sound, ringing in your ears.

He bows his head, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment.

Another stab. Another twist of the knife, that never really leaves your body anymore. It’s always sharp. Always intense. Always piercing. Because it never ceases to hurt when Bucky is in pain.

And he’s in pain because of you.

It’s always because of you.

His despair now is an extension of the love that triumphed against odds, yet now feels so misplaced, so undeserving in the wreckage that was left behind.

Every line of his body screams misery and it’s so unlike Bucky to carry it so openly. He’s not able to stop his hands from shaking, even though he’s clenching them into fists that leave his skin white. He’s not able to ease the tension in his jaw, the way his breath catches as though he’s holding back more words, more pleas, more desperation.

You know it’s your fault. You know this is a love he still holds for a person that doesn’t deserve it anymore. He holds on so tight. So fierce. And that’s what hurts the most.

A new sensation wells up, one you had consciously buried for the past 14 nights. One you hadn’t let yourself feel every time you got lost out here. It grips your throat, wraps itself around it, and squeezes, cutting off the flow of air. It’s choking you, as if in triumph, confronting the tidal surges of emotion you’ve been holding back for so long. It stings behind your eyes, making them swell and burn as tears form faster than you can stop them.

The sob that forms in your belly takes shape in a revolting way and you can’t grasp it properly.

So, when it finally escapes, it’s heart-wrenching. The sound rips from your chest violently and guttural, tearing through your lips before you can do anything to keep it inside. Your hand flies to your mouth, desperate to stifle it, but it’s useless.

Bucky’s head snaps up with so much vigor, and he stumbles in his rush to reach you, arms shooting up, eyes wide with alarm. His hands move toward you without hesitation, disregarding the fragile boundaries you had set, the cautious distance he believed you’d wanted.

You’re shaking, shoulders trembling with the power of the cries that rack through your body and he pulls you against him.

He cradles your head against his chest, his other arm pulling you closer, closer, closer. His grip is so full of anguish, holding onto you like his very life depends on it, his warmth fighting against the chill that’s been living inside you for such a long time.

Your sobs come harder, sounds muffled by the fabric of his hoodie. Bucky tries to hold you tighter, letting you crumble against him.

Minutes stretch out and your cries don’t let up. Each breath you take is painful, rough, and with every shudder that convulses your body, Bucky grasps you firmer.

“Shhh… it’s okay, baby, I got you.” His voice sounds so soft but frail, hoarse with the effort of keeping himself composed. He keeps whispering, though his words tremble on his lips as if he’s battling the same ache that’s threatening to break him apart all the same. His face is buried in the crook of your neck, and you can feel his breath against your skin, shaky and uneven, trying so hard to be the anchor you need.

“Shhh…” he breathes again, but there are tears in his tone. He’s holding on so solidly, gripping you as if letting go would mean losing you entirely.

“I’m sorry,” you cry, the words tumbling out over and over because it’s all your scrambled mind manages. It’s the only thing that feels true in the mess of your awareness. The silence, the distance, the weight you’ve placed on him, on his shoulders, which should be free from burden after the hell he’s been through. He’s only just come back from five years of being lost to the world, and now you’re drowning him in your own grief. And that makes your tears come without control, the guilt crushing.

“I’m so sorry,” you sob again, the only thing you can offer. An apology isn’t enough but it’s all you have. Because you don’t know if you’re supposed to hold onto the hope that maybe, one day, he’ll forgive you for being too much, for not being who he needs anymore.

Bucky shakes his head against yours, strong, fast; his breath broken. “No,” he breathes, rough and thick. “No, baby, don’t apologize. There’s nothing to apologize for.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you try to drown out his voice. He’s too nice. Too sweet. Too forgiving. Too patient. Too Bucky.

Shaking your head, you grip onto him. “You should leave me.” It’s louder than anything you’ve said the whole night. It’s more resolute. It sounds more like you, but it still doesn’t seem to come from you. Because never in seven years did you believe those words would ever make it past your lips. Would ever even be formed in your mind.

Bucky pulls back. Not harshly, but urgently, in a panic, determined. His hands cradle your face and he only moves his head away a little to get a better look at you. His eyes, wet and glassy, lock onto yours, filled with pain so stabbing it matches your own. But there is a resolution in his eyes, a firmness in the small glimmer of blue.

He shakes his head as if something is breaking in him.

“Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that,” he whispers, his thumb brushing away the tears on your cheeks that keep rolling down even as his own spill over. His touch is so gentle, so tender, so loving and you feel the guilt that settled deep inside you in a war with the longing you had felt for so long. The longing to feel his touch in a way that always knocked the breath straight out of your lungs. The longing to have his eyes sear right through you as if you’re the only thing in the world that holds worth.

“This isn’t your fault,” he continues. “None of this is your fault, Y/n! Alright? Nothing you could do would make me leave you. Hear me when I say this, my love. Hear me when I say that I'm here. And I'll stay.”

A sad, wobbly smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “There’s no getting rid of me, sweetheart. Nothing you could do would ever scare me away.”

Something cracks open inside you. His words, his touch, his gaze, everything is so full of love. And even if it’s just a little, the compressing weight of guilt loosens. It will take many more nights for it to completely leave you but Bucky will walk this road with you. You’re sure; because in his eyes, the way he holds you against him, you finally see that he’s not asking for the person you used to be. He’s asking for you, as you are, as you’ve become, broken pieces and all.

He’s still loving you with a depth your guilt could never reach.

[daycourtofficial]

Hello. If you dont mind i have a request for azriel where maybe reader has just given birth and has lately been feeling very insecure about her body and azriel comforts her...with lots of fluff

A New Warmth

Sorry about how long this took anon, but I hope the wait was worth it!

-

You watch the baby nestled in the crook of your arms, mirroring her deep breaths to keep yourself calm. She was so soft, so sweet, and whenever she reached for you, it made your heart melt. She was everything you and Azriel had hoped for - healthy, chubby, and sweet as can be. She even had the cutest little wings that twitched in her sleep.

The problem with having an Illyrian baby is you develop an Illyrian’s appetite while pregnant with them, along with the other stretching and tearing your body has gone through to accommodate her.

She was two weeks old at this point, and you knew you shouldn’t be too hard on yourself. Your body created this - a perfect mirror of you and your mate. But you couldn’t help the negative thoughts fluttering through your mind as your hand rested on your stomach, knowing the fresh stretch marks that lay underneath. You gained a good deal of weight during the pregnancy, your labor only removing about a dozen of those pounds.

As if sensing your spiraling thoughts, your mate walks in the door of your shared bedroom, his eyes alight with love and adoration at seeing his two girls.

“My loves,” he greets the both of you, setting the mugs of tea he had brought down, lifting the blanket to lat next to you. His presence under the blanket providing a new layer of warmth- not just physical, but the warmth of the three of you being together.

You lean your head against his shoulder as he wraps an arm behind you, slowly to not disturb the baby in your arms. ���Will I ever get my body back?” You mumble into his shoulder. His fingers start caressing your shoulder, rubbing soothing circles into it.

“Mmm, no, I don’t think you will.” You want to snap your head up, tell him that’s no way to console someone who had just pushed out his baby out of a tiny opening in their body when he uses his hand to hold your head in place.

“We will never be the same. We cannot go back.” He looks down at the baby in your arms, “maybe one day you’ll have more autonomy again - you won’t have a baby latched to your breast every other hour.”

His hand snakes down to rest on top of the hand you’re using to cradle the baby. “But she’ll always be a part of you.” The baby starts stirring, moving her tiny hands, and he reaches out a finger, which she quickly wraps her delicate fingers around. You both watch the scarred flesh in the pristine grasp of your innocent babe, no idea of an outside world that could cause harm. All she knows is the sanctuary of your home.

You look at Azriel with tears in your eyes, feeling incredibly silly over being upset at stretch marks. But as if he can read your mind, he tells you, “you have constantly given me what I thought I’d never have. You loved me, you gave me a true home, you gave me a mate, and now?” He laughs, flexing his finger in her grasp. “You’ve expanded our family. You gorgeous thing, you.”

He kisses the top of your head, inhaling your scent. “Your love knows no bounds, and I am eternally grateful for you.”

You start crying, post partem hormones taking control of you. “It’s so shallow,” you laugh as a tear falls, “I just was so upset over how weird my body feels. The pregnancy glow is gone so now I just feel heavy and weird in my own skin.”

He uses the hand not gripped by your baby to grab your chin and tilt it towards him. “I couldn’t look at my hands for a long time, after they had done it.”

Azriel always has a way of leaving you speechless, telling you another facet of himself he never had before.

“I could barely look at them before I met you. But you called them beautiful, this part of me I hated so much.” He looks into your eyes, the bond between you two humming in joy and adoration. “It’s okay if you don’t like how you look right now, I will find you beautiful enough for the both of us.”

[petew21-blog]

Life upgrade

Hi, I am Earl Montgomery. I am 34 year old gay man. I studied history and enhlish literature at Columbia and then I became a teacher. I have been working as a teacher since than and I have to say that being a teacher is one of the most honorable proffesions there are. You get to educate all the young minds and set them on a right path in life. If only they would listen to me during classes. Maybe my life wouldn't be so boring. The job takes all my energy. I never believed that so many teachers get burnt out, but man. Once you see that your job affects only few of those kids and the rest just doesn't care, you contemplate back on your life. What could I have done different? I could have had a happy, adventurous life full of fun and sex. Oh how I miss the sex.

Oh sorry, my bad. You thought the guy wearing sports clothes is me? Oh no no no. This is me actually

That guy is Barry. The gym teacher. He's the same age as me. But his life is much better. He works as a gym teacher, coach and in his free time he is a personal trainer in gym. He gets to coach all the hot bodybuilders and sometimes women, that lust over him a later on sleep with him.

I onced tried to hit on him, thinking he might be bisexual, but ended up being ignored for the rest of the school year. He started talking to me again recently and that's fine. If there is no drama it's all good. Besides. He has his own life full of sport and travelling around the world, fucking everything that moves. And I have my own life. My slightly boring and depresive life.

Who am I kidding? I hate my life. I wish I were Barry. To have his hot body, his libido, his life full of travellling and fucking everyone.

Suddenly it was so bright all around me. I was in a garage. Running. I stopped. Where am I? Why am I running? How did I get here?

I looked around but the place was empty. Then I looked down and saw the grey clothes for sport that Barry has. "This can't be". I walked over to the nearest car and saw Barry. No, I saw my reflection.

"Well well well. Can't ignore me now, huh?" I flexed my biceps over the shirt. So freaking hot. He is so buff. Must be amazing to be so strong and have strong muscles like this. His skin is so tense and beautiful. I gotta go somewhere more private to look what he's hiding under this. Don't know how this freaky friday will last.

Vibration in my pocket. Some girls want to have a private class with me in the gym. But the emojis don't seem like they want to take the training very seriously. Might be fun.

"Flex for the camera. Perfect!"

"Omg Barry, you're really hot. How did you get so big?"

"You think this is big... you haven't seen all of me yet. Haha" Where the hell was this coming from? Why did I say that?

"Really? We were actually thinking you coul help us stretch some time and show us how to do this to not hurt ourselves."

"I can stretch you both now in the showers, babes" Whyyy am I saying this. I'm not straight for fucks sake. Oh no. I'm not, but Barry is. I need to get back. I can't be straight.

1 hour later

"Thanks Barry. What a great personal class. Haha. Same time next week?" the taller oned asked while walking away from the gym

"You bet!" the sex was really good I have to admit that. But only this body craves it. Not me. I am gay, I don't want to watch pussy all day.

Phone vibrated again

Holy shit, A message from my number:"Hey, I don't know what you did to me, but I just jerked off for the third time thinking about my own body and I can't keep doing this... I want to swa... SUUCK your dick"

Oh maan, he has the same problem as I do. His body responds to what the person craved before, bout our minds didn't change our sexual orientation it seems.

"Came to your body's place in 30 minutes. Bring lube. Don't be late" I texted. I love this confidence the body is so full off.

And I bet I am gonna love the fact that my old body is gonna suck my dick very soon.

Haha. Gotta thank the istock photos for the inspiration

Story from inbox: Would you be able to do a story where a nerdy teacher swaps bodies with the hunky football coach. Maybe even cucking him?

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 90 (Under Pressure)

cw: a bit of coarse language from River, it's just his voice.

Light snow fell over Sable Square on this sunny winter morning, and Conrad tensed his shoulders as he opened the front door. But his best friend and future brother-in-law stood before him, and Conrad relaxed as he stepped out to greet him.

"Hey Riv. What are you doing here? We're gonna be in Henford in two days."

"I'm off for a few weeks with Cass and baby Sammy, but I wanted to talk when we weren't surrounded by family," River said. "Everyone's kinda worried about you, you know."

"Everything's fine. Work's just a little stressful right now."

"Yeah? Those security cameras are pretty intense. You've got that restraining order, and Hazel said you guys brought home a ghost from your date last night...?"

"He's not a ghost anym- Is there anything your family doesn't talk about with each other?"

"Not really, but you knew that already. Are my sister and her kids in some kind of danger?"

Conrad shook his head stiffly. "No."

River studied him. "That's good, because you know if you put a Landgraab in danger, that old bitch who hates my sister will probably have you killed."

He laughed a little but wasn't kidding, and Conrad shifted uncomfortably. "I've got to get to work soon, but come on in for a few minutes."

River followed him inside and greeted Gord with a smile. "You're also about to miss the deadline for our fantasy sportsball league."

"I completely forgot that was this week. I'm sorry. Maybe I should skip it this time around. My head's kind of jammed lately. I haven't even kept up on offseason trades."

"Dude, you're not okay at all. You're the first one in every season..."

"Riv, I just have a lot going on." He tried, but failed, to bottle his frustration with himself, but his reply came out terse and unwelcoming. If everyone could see his stress, he wasn't managing his secrets, but he didn't mean to take it out on River. "Sorry."

"It's alright...I brought the number for that ring designer you asked for, too." He paused, and Conrad didn't fill the silence. "You should go see Cass' mom. Every time she calls, she says how stressed you are. Cass thinks she talks like you're one of her kids, but that's Bella Goth for you - everyone's family to her. Besides, you and my sister have gotten into some real Goth-flavoured shit the last couple years, so it's no wonder she's started thinking of you like family."

Conrad laughed, trying to lighten the mood. "Maybe it's just a Brindleton Bay thing for everyone in town to pick up strays. How are you doing? How's Michael adjusting to having a new baby at home?"

"Michael loves Sammy, but he doesn't understand why the baby just stares at him so far."

"Ash was like that. Now Lavender tries babbling with him and he's a lot more interested. Seeing them together kinda makes me wish I had a sibling or two."

"Dude, you've got plenty these days." River stood from the sofa and tightened his scarf. "Listen, I'll get going. I told Cass I'd stop in to see her mother before I left town, myself. It'll be great to see you this weekend, and just...take it easy, okay? No case is more important than my sister and those kids."

"They're my entire world, man. If they're ever in danger, I'll do anything to keep them safe. Thank you for coming by, but I'm handling the stress. I swear to the Watcher."

River leaned in for a hug before they both left the house on Sable Square. He thought about their conversation the whole way to the precinct, about Heather's suspicions, needy Ximena, and angry old George Brindleton. By the time Conrad made it to work, he felt like his heart could explode from his chest.

He made a beeline for the break room and hit redial on the unlisted number he knew would be Ximena. This time, she picked up after only two rings.

"Conrad, do you need me?"

"Where's your brother?" He kept his voice low to ensure no one might overhear if they walked in the room.

"If I knew, I wouldn't have found you to ask for help."

"You found me before you said he went missing. What did you want then? Just me, right? Then what? Things start to go a little sideways with the cartel and you remember I said I'd help you if you ever left, the day I finally left you? But you never left, did you? When's the last time you worked for Los Tigres?"

"Four months ago."

"You and Jimmy, huh. How did it go?"

"It should have gone better!"

"Did they take your brother?"

"It's possible."

"Ximena, I can't do this. I can't help you. I've got kids. I'm not getting mixed up with you and that world again. When it might've been some degenerates trying to mess with the cartel, it was different."

"So you're just going to let them do whatever they want with him? Like they did with me before I took my future into my own hands?"

"You figured out how to beat the cartel at their own game once. If you're really against them and this isn't another lie, do it again for your brother. I'm not going to start investigating the cartel just because they've cut you out after too many bad deliveries." She stammered, and Conrad sighed. "Did you not think I'd read your file after you found me again? You don't even know that's who took Rafa."

"So you're really out? Even though it's Rafa." The sweet voice she put on for him had disappeared.

"Good luck, Ximena. I'm out."

He shook from a mix of anger and guilt when he hung up the phone and blocked her latest number. He was angry at her, but angrier at himself for letting it get this far. To never see her again wouldn't trouble him, but the mystery of Rafa's disappearance wouldn't be so easy to leave behind.

Yet River was right, as usual. He had to let it go. Heather and his family deserved his attention more than Ximena. More than Rafa.

He changed into shorts and a t-shirt and found one of the punching bags unoccupied in the upstairs gym. He funnelled a torrent of guilt and frustration through his gloves, pounding the leather bag at the end of his gloved fists.

For the rest of the day, Conrad stuck close to his desk to organize his case files. When 6p.m. hit, his head still clouded with stress, he clocked out and headed home.

But he remembered what River suggested and changed course, driving his cruiser across the bridge to Cavalier Cove, instead. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

Meanwhile, Ximena returned home and made herself a sandwich. Anyone recognize her apartment? 👀

[artsymeeshee]

Hello! I just found your laundry list of art last week, and I have to say…I LOVE IT! Love the instinct comics, Ford being cool never ceases to make me giggle, and I loved the autumn drawing. I’ll admit, that one had me in tears…made be believe in the what-if’s of my own family. What they…could be like someday. Or what I wish they were. Thanks for the tears, they were much needed.

 Anyway! This is what I came to message you about! Although,…I am extremely sorry for the late message. I tend to check back into tumblr at…weird hours of the night. Heck, it’s almost the next day as I type this. I seriously need to sleep more. So! I had a few thoughts on Stan and Ford relationship, and I wanted to hear your thoughts on it. Just a disclaimer, I’m kinda basing this off my actual life as I find these characters mirror personal events very closely! I am also a writer and soon to be author! Might post some archive of our own content about these two soon. Also, and this is the most important, I have NOT read book of Bill yet. So plz…no spoilers. Anyway, long introduction aside, let’s begin!

In my personal head cannon of these two, which I don’t imagine is “too” different than how anyone else could see them, Stan and Ford have an extremely awkward and emotional conversation after Weirdmagedon. Why? B/c they’re both, to some degree, emotionally numb. In my opinion, why wouldn’t they? They haven’t spoken to each other in 40 years, properly, and they have repressed a ton of their emotions since then. It’s hard to bring that back up. (Speaking off of experience) I’d say even harder for Ford. Stan, thanks to the twins, has learned to loosen the locks on his heart while Ford kept running away from those emotions to defeat Bill. Just like his ambitions, that was the main priority, and everything else later. To me, this would explain why Ford never bothered to talk to Stan properly since coming back during the show. He wouldn’t know how to. If they were to talk, and this is where the writer in me comes out, I’d write Ford as the one that needs it most. He’s been traveling dimension for decades, running from the past that held him back…but he has no anchor now. Stan becomes that anchor, paralleling what he wasn’t when Ford was lost. And Ford…he just breaks. Like, completely breaks. And Stan is there with him, breaking like he is, but still there for him brother. Finally back after all those years apart. And as someone who has been on the side of neglect from one’s own brother…nothing would be me happier if we went to connect. Just like Stanley and Ford. And eventually, soon to be sailing on the seas to connect even more.

Phew…that was a lot. Sorry for the rambling. Told you I had some ideas! So, what do you think? Do you see Ford acting like this? If not…why? Genuinely, I’d like to know. Anyway, thanks for taking your time to read this. Again, sorry for the ramblings. Oh! One more thing, I know you aren’t taking art request right now, but would you be open to take them in the future? Say in 2 months time? Anyway, bye!

Well first off, thank you! I appreciate it! :D

And to answer your headcanon, I agree on it. Stan is definitely more open to talking, especially thanks to the kids. I mean there's still moments where it's hard and awkward for sure. And Ford would for sure have a harder time opening up, especially with the constant guilt and mistakes that replay over and over. And there's always that lingering feeling of "well, Stan has to hate me for what I've done" and it's always so surprising when Stan tells him differently and he never once hated Ford. Sure, was angry but never hated him. He had too much self-hatred to feel that way with Ford. And as many times as it needs to be said or repeated, it really makes all the difference when they tell each other how much they love and care for each other. As Alex said, "they're both so damaged, they desperately need each other."

As for the requests thing, most likely not. Only because I'm entering the busiest time of year for my work so it's gonna be a miracle if I even have enough energy or motivation for drawing if I'm not completely burnt out.

[supernovafics]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄

"i'll be there for you" universe masterlist

pairing: bestfriend!roommate!steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 5.6k words

warnings: explicit language, alcohol consumption, mentions of weed, “the beatles” slander (sorry?), just a lil bit of angst

summary: in which you force you and steve to have a housewarming party

general note: everything in this universe/series can be read as standalone oneshots but to understand the full “lore” it would prob be best to read the other stuff too<333

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Fall 1985

“Oh no, you’re playing The Beatles at full volume... On a scale of one to ten, how worried should I be for you right now?” 

Hearing Steve’s voice right then put a timestamp on how long you’d been in your current position— lying in the dark on the couch in the living room of your shared apartment, an oversized hoodie, which just so happened to be Steve’s, covering your body; even the hood was pulled over your head because you wanted to feel completely cocooned. 

He finished his shift at Family Video at seven and the drive usually took no more than twenty minutes, and you’d gotten home from your last class around five. That meant you’d been sulking for over two hours. A part of you felt a bit disappointed in yourself. 

Not enough to stop sulking and get up from the couch, though. 

Steve flicked on the light, which made you groan and pull on the strings of the hoodie so that your eyes were covered too, and then he walked over to where the record player sat atop a low shelf that was full of books, magazines, and random trinkets including a pink piggy bank that contained stray arcade tokens rather than actual money. He turned off the record player, putting a stop to the Abbey Road vinyl that you had been playing on repeat for hours. You absolutely detested The Beatles so whenever you were in a melancholic mood, it felt only right to play their music.

“Our neighbors probably hate us now,” Steve said as he joined you on the couch, moving your legs for a moment so that he could sit down and then placing them over his lap. “If we don’t get the cookie basket from Miss Johnson for Christmas, I fully blame you.” 

He expected that to get a laugh or at least a smile out of you. The mention of the sweet old woman a few doors down who had given you two a welcome basket full of freshly baked muffins when you moved in and then promised to bring you the cookies that she always made and gave to people in the building during the holidays. 

You didn’t do either of those things though. Your mouth felt too stuck in a straight line to even think about smiling. Therefore, you instead disregarded everything Steve had said since he’d entered the apartment and mumbled, “Why are guys such idiots?” 

He placed a hand over his heart as if he’d just been wounded. “Ouch.”

You pulled the hood off your head and then propped yourself up by your elbows to finally look at him. “Obviously, you’re the exception.” You then thought about your words for a brief moment. “Well, sometimes.”

“Double ouch,” He said. “But yes, guys are idiots. Which one are you talking about, in particular? Charlie?” 

You sighed and looked away. “Sadly.” 

“He’s lasted longer than I expected,” Steve told you. He fully thought that the crush you had on this guy from your early morning Statistics class wouldn’t stem past a few weeks.

“At this point, I wish I didn’t like him anymore,” You responded and then looked at Steve again, a small amused smile gracing your lips as you thought of something. “Any hot people come into Family Video lately?” 

Steve simply laughed and shook his head at you.

It was almost too easy for you to develop a crush on someone. So much so that many of them you wouldn’t even mention to Steve or your other friends because of how fast they’d come and go. 

Most of the time, the inevitable abrupt ending of the crushes would leave you feeling something adjacent to heartbreak because most of the guys you’d ended up liking were, in fact, idiots, or you’d feel disappointment because your feelings never lived up to how they were at the beginning of the crush. But there was always still something about the idea of liking someone that was surprisingly fun to you. You wouldn’t necessarily call yourself a hopeless romantic, but it sometimes felt as if you were exactly that.

You finally sat up from the couch and moved close to Steve. “Okay, spare me the supportive best friend ‘we’ve known each other since we were ten and I only want the best for you’ spiel for a few moments and just answer a quick question for me, okay?” 

Although he was completely confused and would’ve killed for more context, Steve nodded at your current antics. “Okay.” 

“If we had just finished a really hard test, and you were worried about how you did on it, and I did this,” You grabbed his hand, linking it with yours and giving him the sweetest smile that was typically only reserved for when you were hardcore flirting with someone. “While saying ‘I’m sure you did great,’ you would understand that I have a massive crush on you, right?”

He glanced down at your intertwined hands for a brief moment before ultimately nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, I would.”

“Exactly,” You said as you dropped Steve’s hand and then slumped back against the couch. “So Charlie pulling away— no smile back or anything— and simply saying, ‘Thanks. You probably did good too,’ in response to that means either he can’t read my stupidly obvious flirting cues, or he’s not into me. And, honestly, I’m almost certain it’s the second one.” Suddenly you were hit with a fresh wave of sadness and you pulled the hood over your head once again. “Please put back on The Beatles and let me wallow in peace for the rest of the night. I promise I’ll be better by the morning.” 

“I’d rather hear Harold running on his squeaky wheel all night than The Beatles on repeat,” He said and you actually perked up at the mention of the pet you two had gotten only a few months ago, barely a week after you’d fully moved into the apartment, the brown and white furry creature formally known as “Harold the Hamster.” 

Currently, he was sleeping only a few feet away in his cage that sat on the coffee table. Somehow he managed to be completely unbothered by the music you’d been loudly playing. 

“Okay, how about this,” Steve started. “Let’s order a pizza from that place close by. I’ll even suffer and let you put olives on it.”

You pushed the hood off your head again so that you could look at your best friend, only slightly intrigued by what he was saying. “Keep talking…”

“And then we’ll watch The Breakfast Club because you love it and you immediately rented it out from Family Video when we got it in,” He continued and you perked up even more at the mention of one of your favorite movies. “Which, by the way, is a copy that is weeks overdue and has probably racked up an insane amount of late fees at this point.”

You smiled at him. “Good thing I know someone who works there. And he would never let me pay any late fees.”

“Wow, he sounds like a great guy.”

You shrugged as you looked away from Steve. “Meh, he’s alright.” 

He immediately poked your side, causing you to laugh loudly. “I’m gonna make you pay all of the late fees now.”

“That’s very evil,” You said with a shake of your head, but you were still laughing because you knew that he wasn’t being serious. 

Steve ordered the pizza as you put the Breakfast Club tape in and then you both settled on the couch again. You had probably watched the movie five times since you rented it, but somehow you hadn’t grown tired of it yet. Instead, it managed to effectively take your mind off of Charlie and the entire situation with him, at least for the time being. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Steve may have been the one who worked at Family Video, but you knew that place so well it was almost as if you worked there too. His almost never-changing schedule was practically seared into your brain, and you knew the exact times the place was always busy and the moments when it was pretty much dead aside from a handful of random customers.   

Somehow Fridays at noon were one of the store’s emptiest times. 

Steve was standing behind the counter sorting through movies on a cart when you walked in. 

“Hello,” You smiled at him. “I come bearing one not-at-all overdue copy of The Breakfast Club and very fun news.” 

Steve was quick to smile back when he saw you, but it dropped when it seemed as if he remembered something. “Shouldn’t you be in your Psychology class right now?” Just like you knew his schedule like the back of your hand, he knew yours. “Your parents will find a way to blame me if you’ve dropped out of school, y’know.”

“My professor canceled last minute; her sister went into labor. So, don’t worry, you won’t be hearing any sort of lecture from my parents,” You answered as you dug in your bag for the movie. 

Steve grabbed it from your outstretched hand and placed it on the cart before looking back at you. “What's your news?” 

“Okay, so remember when we were ten and on that cruise, and you liked this random girl from New Jersey— Rebecca, I’m pretty sure her name was?” You said. “She was sixteen, completely unattainable, but I still tried to help you talk to her.” 

That cruise was actually when you and Steve met. It was a very weird serendipitous kind of moment where your parents bumped into his at the buffet one of the first few days and found out that they not only lived in Indiana, but in a town that was two over from yours, and they even had a son that was the same age as you. 

You had been somewhere sitting by the pool when this romcom-esque “meet cute” happened, but when your parents found you, they introduced you to Steve. Although at first, it felt like a friendship that was being forced upon you both, it was still nice to have someone other than your parents— actually, someone better than your parents— to hang out with on the ten-day trip. 

You beat him countless times at air hockey at the arcade onboard and the two of you spent most of the nights successfully sneaking into the “club” that was only meant for kids fifteen and up— which was where his crush on Rebecca began and subsequently ended.

“Yes, I remember that, not my finest moment. But, I also don’t blame her, it probably would’ve been weirder if she wanted to flirt back to a ten-year-old,” Steve responded and then furrowed his eyebrows. “Wait, I’m confused, though. Is your news that you found her or something?” 

You immediately shook your head at his question. “No, what I’m gonna say actually has nothing to do with that, but I wanted to remind you of how supportive I was of you during that time, and how supportive you should be of me right now with what I’m about to say.”

“I’ll always support you,” He didn’t hesitate to tell you. “Unless you’re pitching the matching tattoos idea again. And then, in that case, I guess our decade-long friendship will have to end here.” 

“One day I’ll eventually convince you to do it; mark my words. And the tattoo will be one of those stupidly cringey ones where we each get a flower with the other person’s name blooming out of it.” 

Steve did nothing but groan and shake his head at you, which only made you laugh. 

“But, anyway, my actual news is that we’re having a party tonight,” You said and then continued before he could say anything in response just yet. “Kind of like a housewarming party. I realized that we never really had one.” 

“We did have one.”

You shook your head and let out a sound that was a cross between a scoff and a laugh. “Robin and Eddie coming over on our first night and all of us smoking weed on the fire escape and then falling asleep on our mattresses in the living room because we didn’t have any furniture yet did not count as our housewarming party.”

Steve laughed a bit. “It was very fun, though.” 

“It was great,” You agreed with a nod. “But, not an actual party, so that's why we're having one tonight.” 

Steve only looked at you for a moment and you knew that he was trying to read you. He was the only person that you were certain could completely see through you— he could tell what you were feeling even when it was too hard for you to put those muddled thoughts into words, and he could see right through all of the bullshit you’d spew at times. Sometimes it annoyed you, but most times it felt nice to be so completely seen and understood.

It only took a second for things to seemingly click into place for him. “Is all of this about Charlie?” 

“No,” You immediately answered, but you didn’t even sound convincing to yourself. 

Of course, Steve didn’t believe you at all and he didn’t have to verbally say that for you to know, the unspoken words were clear in the deadpan look he gave you. 

“Okay, fine. Yes, it is,” You said and then sighed as you leaned against the counter. “I saw him today and he said that he was planning to go to this party tonight and he wasn’t that excited about it, but it’s better than doing nothing on a Friday. And then for some insane reason, I blurted out that he should come to my party tonight instead. In hindsight, I probably should’ve immediately backtracked when I said that, but I didn’t and instead, this whole “housewarming party” plan was born.”

“Is there any way I can say no to this?” Steve asked and you quickly shook your head. 

“Sorry, but no. Remember what happened on the cruise. Remember how I tried to be helpful with Rebecca,” You told him as you walked around so that you were behind the counter with him. You began sifting through the cart which was full of movies that people had just returned. “And honestly, I just wanna use this party as a last-ditch effort to see if he likes me, and if not then I’ll just make out with someone else at the party to get over him. So, actually, this is a win-win situation no matter what, and this party needs to happen.”

Steve only sighed in response at first, which made you look at him again. He then was quiet for a moment before ultimately nodding and plastering on the brightest and fakest smile you’d probably ever seen from him. “Okay, fine, let’s throw the best two months late housewarming party ever.”

You smiled back at him. “Thank you.” 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

There were a lot of things Steve wanted to tell you.

One of the main things being how even though he hadn’t met him yet, he knew that Charlie definitely didn’t deserve you basically throwing a whole party for him just for you to see if he liked you back. Also, how actually most of the guys you ended up crushing on didn’t deserve your attention for a second. 

However, he knew that he couldn’t tell you any of that. Not when you’d been there through his ups and downs when it came to dating, and not when you were always supportive; even though a lot of the time it was easy to tell that you weren’t the biggest fan of the girls he went out with.

Early on in your friendship, it was unspokenly decided that bearing through each other’s plethora of shitty relationships just came with the territory of being best friends, and whenever things inevitably went downhill you’d both just be there for each other to pick up the metaphoric pieces.

However, that didn’t mean he couldn’t internally roll his eyes when about an hour into the party he finally did meet Charlie. It was a brief interaction where you introduced them when he entered the apartment and then Steve almost immediately walked away because he knew that you wanted to be alone with Charlie. Well, as “alone” as you two could be with a party that was in full swing around you. 

Your shared apartment quickly became full of at least forty people. It was a mix of people from your classes, the small handful of people from high school that you still sometimes talked to, a bunch of people that Steve knew, and anyone else that Robin and Eddie also wanted to invite. For a party thrown together at the last possible second, you both had to admit that it was a pretty solid turnout.

And also for a party that Steve hadn’t really wanted to have in the first place, he was actually having a good time. He was playing a drinking game version of Uno with Robin and a few others circled around the coffee table; Harold’s cage was placed next to him on the couch for the time being. 

After a second round in a row where Robin won— she was always crazy good at the game— Steve wanted to ask you to join because he knew how much you loved the game, even though you were very bad at it. He was even tipsy enough that he would’ve been fine with Charlie joining in as well.

He looked around, trying to find you, and it was something that should’ve happened in seconds. No matter what, it was always somehow easy to spot each other in any sort of crowded room— how effortless it always was almost felt equivalent to some weird kind of party trick. However, this time, Steve couldn’t find you. 

At first, he thought that that meant that things were going well with Charlie, but when he eventually spotted him standing in the kitchen talking and smiling at a girl who was definitely not you, he had a feeling that things had probably gone the opposite.

“I’m gonna sit out this round,” Steve said to Robin as he got up from the couch. 

The short walk to your bedroom was more difficult than expected because maneuvering through all of the people in the apartment proved to be a battle in itself. He ignored the sign on your door that said “Keep Out!” which you put up right before the party started to discourage people from going into your room and using it as a place to make out or have sex; Steve also had a sign on his door. 

When he walked in, he didn’t see you on your bed or sitting at your desk, or even lying on the floor, so he headed to the door right next to your closet that led to your bathroom.

“Hey, you in there?”

Twenty minutes ago, when you went into your bathroom, you had initially thought that you didn’t want to talk to or see anyone— you wanted to wallow alone and in silence. But, it turned out that hearing Steve’s voice right then didn’t annoy you or make you upset. Instead, it was the exact voice you wanted to hear in that moment— because, of course, Steve never counted as just anyone. 

You were sitting in your empty white tub. The cool porcelain felt nice against the exposed parts of your skin that the dress you were wearing didn’t cover, and you thought that the small confines of your bathroom would be the perfect place to spend the rest of your night; a night that had gone downhill almost too fast.

“Yes,” You mumbled, but it was loud enough for Steve to hear. 

“Can I come in?”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see you. “Yes. But, please don’t turn on the light.”

“Okay.”

You heard the door open then close and then the sound of the shower curtain being pushed to the side caught your attention and you looked up at Steve. 

“What happened?” He asked. Your eyes had long adjusted to the darkness so you could make out his face fairly well and you could see the concerned look on it. 

“I don’t wanna lie and say nothing, but I also don’t really wanna talk about it right now.” 

“That’s okay,” He said with a small nod. “Can I sit?”

You didn’t verbally answer and instead simply pulled your knees up to make room in the tub for him. He got in, pulling his knees up as well, and for a few moments, it was quiet. You could faintly hear the sound of music coming from the living room, but you couldn’t fully make out whatever vinyl Eddie decided to play on the record player.

“Someone gave us a plant,” Steve told you, breaking the silence. “Housewarming gift.”

“Oh, no,” You responded with a small sigh. You and Steve were probably the least “green thumb” people ever. “It’s gonna be dead in a week.”

“She said it’s a low-maintenance one so we’ll see how true that is,” He said as he shrugged. “Now that I’m thinking about it, though, is it weird that we can easily take care of a hamster, but a plant will barely last a week with us?”

You shook your head. “Harold provides us constant love and affection— even when he’s running on his squeaky wheel at three in the morning, it’s somehow still adorable— a plant does not do that. So, which one are we gonna remember to care for?”

“Very, very true.” 

“At least one person gave us a gift, though,” You said. “Now that I’m remembering that we called this a housewarming party, I’m actually kinda upset that we didn’t get any more presents. Where’s our fancy plates and cookware, or even a nice throw blanket?”

You were only slightly joking with your statement, you would’ve actually loved getting a blanket.

Steve laughed a bit. “If that’s what you wanted then we should’ve invited our moms and their friends.”

“Fuck, we really should’ve done that when we moved in. Such a missed opportunity.”

“I fully think that if we did do that our apartment would look eerily similar to Miss Johnson’s,” Steve said and you could imagine it completely. Frilly white curtains in the living room instead of the black ones that were currently up that blocked out the sun perfectly, and flowery pillows on the gray couch instead of the sage green ones that you found on sale a few weeks ago.

You inwardly shuddered at the thought. “Okay, yes, that’s probably true, but at least we would be using nice plates and not the Mickey Mouse ones we got from that thrift shop.”

Steve jokingly gasped, offended. “I love those Mickey plates, actually.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. Just for a moment, it was nice to completely forget about what happened not even an hour ago and what led you to essentially hide away in your bathroom in the first place. 

Things got quiet again and it was the kind of silence that you liked; the kind that made you feel completely comfortable with spending the rest of the night avoiding everything and staying right there in your tub with Steve, and you knew that he would’ve been okay with that too. Even though your bodies would’ve probably started aching after just thirty minutes of being in this position, and he was taller so it would be worse for him, he wouldn’t have complained. 

You focused on the muffled sound of the music playing in the living room. This time you managed to make out the familiar beat of the song; Somebody to Love by Queen. You let out a sigh because that song playing right then somehow felt way too on the nose. 

Steve reached over and lightly poked your knee. “You okay?”

You were so close to pushing the question away again, avoiding the topic and bringing up something else completely— maybe saying that you actually loved those damn Mickey Mouse plates too— but you actually didn’t feel like brushing the topic away anymore. 

“He doesn’t like me,” You abruptly said, voice quiet. “I was tired of trying to read between lines and shit, so I just asked him, and he said no.”

You noticed the sad look cross Steve’s face, which only made a fresh wave of embarrassment and sadness wash over you, but you kept going before he could say anything just yet. “And then to make that whole moment even more embarrassing for me, after he said no he pointed at this girl— I don’t know her name, I think Robin invited her— and asked if I knew if she was single or not.”

Steve’s response of “What the fuck,” was immediate and it was really nice hearing how angry he was on your behalf and it made you smile a bit.

“This past hour has been extremely humbling for me. And I know I said I’d find someone to make out with if things didn’t work out with Charlie, but I’m not even in the mood to do that,” You told him as you leaned back against the cool tub and closed your eyes. “And you wanna know what the worst part of all of this is?”

“What?” “I’m not even drunk right now, so I’ll sadly remember all of this tomorrow.”

You weren’t entirely sure what you expected Steve to say in response to that, but you fully did not expect him to laugh. You opened your eyes and lightly kicked his leg. “Wow, thank you for laughing at my pain.”

“I’m sorry. I am a little drunk right now, so you saying that you’re not is kind of funny because it feels like the roles are reversed,” He said and you slightly hated how right he was. At any party you went to, he was usually the sober-ish one helping you out whenever you drank too much. “Robin and I were playing the Uno drinking game with some people.”

“What? I can’t believe I missed that.”

“We can go play it now. You’d honestly probably win for once since you’re the only one of us who isn’t drunk.”

“Ha ha,” You said with a roll of your eyes as you reached forward so that you could playfully hit him. “I know I’m the worst at that game, but it doesn’t make it any less fun.”

“Okay, come on, let’s go play,” Steve said before standing up, and then reaching his hands out toward you so that he could help you up.

He was trying to cheer you up, you could clearly see that, and you almost took him up on his suggestion. But, the thought of leaving your bathroom or even the comfort of the tub didn’t sit well with you. Mainly since you were unsure if Charlie was still out there and you didn’t want to see him or what he was doing because you knew you’d only feel embarrassed all over again. Yes, it was your apartment and you could’ve easily kicked him out if he was still there, but it felt so much easier to simply stay right where you were. 

You looked up at Steve and shook your head. “I don’t really wanna play, actually.”

Steve sat back down with you. “Okay, I haven’t seen you this upset over a guy in a long time. What is it about Charlie? Why is he so special?”

It only took a second for an answer to come to your mind because it was something that you had actually been thinking about a lot lately but had yet to verbalize it.

“I don’t– I don’t even think it’s really about him specifically. It’s just, I’m so tired of having crushes— of liking a guy and it going absolutely nowhere… I want something real. It’s been what feels like forever, and the last time was with that guy whose name we will never say in this house. And we both know how that horrific relationship ended.” It was rare that you ever talked about that relationship anymore, so hearing you mention it right then— even in just a minor way— actually surprised Steve, it even surprised you a little bit. That relationship was something that went on from the end of your Sophomore year of high school to the middle of Junior year; close to a year of your life that you really wished you could get back because you put up with a lot of shit that you now knew you shouldn’t have.

“I want something good for once, and I thought that maybe I could have that with Charlie. I thought maybe he wasn’t an asshole. But, now I’m back at fucking square one, and it’s just so…” You trailed off with a sigh, not bothering to finish your statement.

“It’ll happen. You’ll find someone. Someone actually good,” Steve told you, his voice was soft and you could hear the sincerity behind his words. 

You let out a sigh and leaned your head back against the wall. “Sometimes I hate talking about relationship stuff with you.” 

“What? Why?” Steve asked. He sounded genuinely confused and for a second you felt bad because there wasn’t supposed to be anything you didn’t like talking about with him— you were best friends.

“Because you can get a date with any girl ever, and you could probably easily be in a committed, serious thing if you wanted to. Meanwhile, I’m getting rejected left and right or falling for complete idiots,” You answered, letting the words fall out and not really thinking about them too much because they just felt way too true. However, once they fully registered in your head, you could feel yourself inwardly cringing. “Ew. Oh, God, I sound pathetic. Please forget I said anything.” 

“It’s not true,” Steve told you with an immediate shake of his head. You almost said “Which part?” but he continued before you could ask that question. “I go on dates, yeah. But, none of them are close to, or are even leading to, something real. Even if I wanted it to, the girls I date don’t want something real with me.”

You considered his words for a second. “Well, in that case, they’re idiots.”

“Charlie’s an idiot too.”

“Cheers to that,” You responded. “God, I wish I was drunk right now.” 

Steve laughed at your words and then opened his mouth to say something. For some reason, you had a feeling that he was going to try and coax you out of the bathroom again, and you were still unsure if you wanted to get up just yet, so you decided to say something before he could. “Do you ever want something serious?”

He was quiet for a second, as if really thinking about your question. “I don’t know… It changes a lot.” You nodded at that before he continued. “Most of the time I think I do, though.”

“Well, with what you just said about the girls you date and with what happened to me tonight, I think you and I are just gonna be alone together forever.”

He let out a small laugh. “I think so too.”

You smiled at him. “And I know that should sound at least a little bit sad, but right now, it honestly doesn’t.”

He smiled back at you. “Yeah, that actually sounds okay.”

Neither of you got the chance to say anything else because the sound of the door opening caught both of your attention. 

“Okay, two things,” You both recognized Robin’s voice before she pulled back the curtain to look down at you two. “One, I really need to pee so I need you both to get out of here, please. And two, Eddie pulled Harold out of his cage and is trying to teach him to do tricks.” 

You groaned as you started standing up. “Oh, God. Not again.” 

Steve followed suit, standing up as well, as he rolled his eyes. “Why is that always his go-to thing to do when he’s high?”

Robin laughed, you easily noticed how tipsy she was. “And what makes it even funnier is that he does this all the time but Harold has not actually learned any “trick” yet.” 

“The day that Eddie somehow teaches him how to “roll over,” I will pass away in shock,” You said as you adjusted your dress, fixing how much it had ridden up while you were sitting in the tub.

You and Steve stepped out of your bathroom to let Robin use it. But, you hesitated to open your bedroom door and let you two step back into the party happening in the rest of the apartment. 

Steve easily noticed your hesitation and his hand found yours, giving it a light reassuring squeeze. “You handle Eddie, and if Charlie is still here, I’ll tell him to leave, okay?” 

You inwardly sighed in relief hearing him say that because, of course, he knew the exact thing you had been worried about.

“Thanks.” There was so much more said in the simple one-word— thank you for reading my mind, thank you for always being able to do so, thank you for being the best goddamn person in my life. 

Steve nodded and gave your hand another squeeze, hearing all of those underlying words and then some. “I have been waiting all night to do this, actually, so thank you. And we’re playing the Uno drinking game after.”

You smiled at that and gave him a quick nod. “Okay.”

You then opened your door and stepped out, giving Steve’s hand a squeeze of your own before pulling away as you started making your way toward Eddie, who was sitting on the couch with Harold in his lap. You pretended as if you were completely unaffected when you briefly noticed Charlie standing in your kitchen and talking to the same girl he had pointed out to you earlier. 

“Edward Munson put Harold back in his cage right now.” 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

let me know ur thoughts<333

(also requests are open for stuff you wanna see in the universe/series!🫶🏾)

[cece693]

Stupid Crush Pt. 2 (Nico di Angelo x Son of Poseidon)

Because many of you keep requesting a part two of my original post, I couldn't help myself :) However, you might hate me for this but I want to practice writing sad endings, so if you aren't comfortable with that, I suggest living blind.

link to part one

tags: breakup, no making up, reader tries to move on, major character death, ambiguous ending, heartbreak

Nico di Angelo had never been one to give up easily, and when it came to you, he refused to let you slip away without a fight. Even after your breakup—after the heart-wrenching conversation that left him feeling gutted and empty—Nico couldn’t accept that it was truly over. He loved you. He knew he had made mistakes, but there was no way he could let that be the end.

For weeks after your relationship had ended, Nico threw himself into trying to prove his love. He started small, hoping that maybe you’d notice: he’d offer to help with your tasks, leaving small reminders that he still cared. He lingered around the Argo II, hoping for a chance to talk, to catch your eye. But every time, you kept your distance.

But then came the war.

The final fight against Gaea loomed over them all, leaving little room for anything other than survival. The battle was brutal, stretching the demigods to their limits, and for a while, Nico had to push his desire to win you back aside. They were fighting for their lives now. There was no time for hearts and feelings when the world was on the verge of collapse.

Even as he fought with everything he had, one thought kept Nico going: you. He clung to the hope that when this was all over, when Gaea was defeated, and the war was behind them, he would have another chance. Every swing of his sword, every shadow he manipulated, every ounce of his energy was fueled by the need to return to your side. He had to survive. He had to make it back to you. The war didn't come without a cost; many campers had died in battle, and with restoration efforts taking everyone's time, Nico didn't breach you or the topic until a week later.

He took it a step further. If you didn't want to see Nico, he will leave reminders of his love. This gesture alone should tell you how much you meant to him; he was always someone who kept his emotions buried beneath layers of coldess and sarcasm. But for you, he would try. He left small letters under your door—handwritten notes that declared his love in ways that were unfamiliar to him. They were never long, just a few lines scrawled in his messy handwriting, but they held every ounce of sincerity Nico could muster:

I’m sorry. I love you. I’ll never stop loving you.

You were never the second choice. I wish I could make you see that.

I’m still here. Waiting.

He even placed his skull ring inside one of those notes, hoping that action alone would make you answer his pleads, but to no avail. Finally, after countless sleepless nights and too many failed attempts to reach you, Nico couldn’t take it anymore. He needed closure. He needed to hear your voice, even if it ended with you punching him (rightfully so.)

It was late in the evening when Nico made his way to your cabin. The sky was painted in hues of deep purple and orange, the last remnants of the sunset casting long shadows across the camp. Nico’s heart pounded in his chest, dread and hope warring within him as he stood outside your door. He knocked, and after a long moment, the door creaked open.

You stood there, framed by the soft glow of the cabin’s lanterns, your expression unreadable. You didn’t say anything at first, just stared at Nico, waiting. Nico swallowed hard, his hands trembling slightly. “Can we talk?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You hesitated, but eventually stepped aside, letting him in. The cabin was quiet, Percy nowhere to be seen. For that, Nico was thankful. He wouldn't be surprised if you had told Percy what occurred that day. He stood there for a moment, unsure where to begin. He’d rehearsed this conversation in his head a thousand times, but now that he was here, in front of you, the words felt heavy, stuck in his throat.

“I—I’ve been trying to show you that I’m sorry,” Nico started, his voice shaky. “I know I messed up. I know I hurt you. But I never wanted to. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

"Nico." You whispered softly, eyes softening. "I-I'm trying things out with Will."

Nico's world shattered. "What?" was all he could muster. He blinked rapidly, unable to process what you had just said. His mouth opened, then closed, and for a moment he looked like he was going to crumble right in front of you.

“I…I’m trying things out with Will,” you repeated, a bit more firmly this time. Your voice was gentle, but there was a finality to it that made Nico’s heart twist painfully. His gaze dropped to the floor, staring at his shoes as if they held some kind of answer he couldn’t find in your eyes.

The silence stretched on between you, heavy and suffocating. Nico’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, the weight of all his efforts—the letters, the gifts, the endless nights of regret—collapsing under the simple truth of your words. He wanted to scream, to beg you to reconsider, but his voice failed him. When he finally managed to speak, his voice was barely a whisper.

“When did this happen?” His throat felt tight, like the air was being squeezed out of him, but he forced himself to look up, to meet your gaze even though it hurt.

You hesitated, biting your lip. “A few weeks after the battle with Gaea. Will and I…we just started talking, and things…they just happened.”

Nico’s heart twisted again, sharper this time, like a knife being driven deeper. The battle with Gaea—the war that had forced him to pause his desperate attempts to win you back, the war he had survived just so he could return to your side—had been the turning point for you, but not in the way he had hoped. He’d come back, bruised and exhausted, believing that his chance would come after the fighting was done. But the war had ended, and you had already found someone else.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You exhaled slowly, the sadness in your eyes deepening. “Because I didn’t want to hurt you. I was waiting for the right moment, but there never seemed to be one. You’ve been trying so hard, and I didn’t know how to tell you that I had moved on.”

He flinched, feeling the sting of those words cut deep. His hands trembled, and he shoved them into his pockets, trying to stop them from shaking. “Moved on?” The disbelief in his voice was raw, painful. “I never stopped loving you. Every day, I thought of ways to make it right, to show you how much you mean to me.”

“I know, Nico.” Your voice was almost pleading now, as if you wanted him to understand. “I saw everything you did. The letters, the ring—you don’t know how much it meant to me. But it’s not about how much you love me, Nico. It’s about trust. It’s about how I felt and how I still feel.”

“Then why did you keep the ring?” he asked desperately, his voice breaking as he gestured towards your desk, where his skull ring still sat, untouched since the day he left it there.

You looked away, your expression pained. “Because a part of me will always care for you. You were my first love, and I’ll never forget that. But Will, he’s been there for me in a way I needed. He’s open, and he doesn’t hide from me. I needed someone who could be honest with me, and you never were.”

The words felt like a slap to Nico’s face. He stepped back, his breath hitching as he tried to hold back the tears burning in his eyes. “I wanted to be,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I tried. I tried so hard.”

“I know you did,” you said softly, a single tear slipping down your cheek. “But sometimes trying isn’t enough.”

Nico’s chest tightened, and he felt the darkness inside him stirring—the familiar, suffocating void that had always been there, lurking just beneath the surface. He’d fought so hard to keep it at bay, to be stronger for you. But now, standing in your cabin with the truth hanging between you like a wall he could never break through, he felt it closing in on him again.

“I—I have to go,” he choked out, turning away before you could see the tears welling up in his eyes. He couldn’t bear to look at you any longer, not when the weight of your rejection was crushing him from the inside out.

“Nico, wait—” you called after him, but he was already halfway to the door, his footsteps heavy and unsteady. He paused, just for a moment, his hand on the doorknob, and for a second he thought about turning back, about begging you one last time not to leave him behind. But he knew it wouldn’t matter. Your mind was made up, and no amount of pleading would change that.

Without another word, Nico stepped out into the night, the cool breeze washing over him as he made his way toward the darkness beyond. The camp was quiet, the stars twinkling overhead, but all he could see was the shattered remains of his hopes and dreams, lying in pieces around him. He had tried—he had tried so hard—but in the end, it hadn’t been enough.

As he walked away, the darkness swallowed him whole, and for the first time in a long while, he didn’t try to fight it.

Three days later, the camp was still buzzing with post-war activity. You threw yourself into helping with the rebuilding, avoiding thoughts of Nico and the painful conversation that had ended it all. Will was always by your side, his presence a comfort to your wounded heart. It wasn't that you didn't love Nico anymore; you would perhaps love him for the rest of your life, but it was time to put yourself first.

One afternoon, you were helping organize the infirmary with Will when a sudden, cold chill ran down your spine. You froze, a sense of dread settling over you. Before you could say anything, a shout rang out from outside, a voice filled with panic and fear. “There’s been an attack!”

You and Will bolted out of the cabin, following the frantic crowd toward the forest’s edge. Your heart pounded in your chest as you pushed through the campers, the anxiety mounting with every step. When you finally reached the clearing, you saw them—several demigods huddled around a small, motionless figure lying in the grass.

“No,” you whispered, your blood turning to ice as you caught sight of the dark clothes, the familiar face pale and still. “Nico…”

Will was already kneeling beside him, his hands glowing with golden light as he tried to heal the deep, ragged wound that marred Nico’s side. But you could see it in his eyes—the terror, the hopelessness. The injury was too severe, the damage too great.

“No, no, no,” you said, falling to your knees beside him, your hands hovering helplessly over Nico’s broken body. His eyes fluttered open, just barely, the shadows that had once seemed so invincible now dimmed to a fragile flicker.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice a faint rasp that barely reached your ears. His gaze was distant, glassy, but somehow he managed to find yours, a small, sad smile ghosting across his lips. “I never meant to hurt you."

A sob caught in your throat as you cupped his cheek, your hands trembling. “Nico, please…Just hold on,” you begged, your voice cracking under the weight of panic and grief.

Nico’s smile wavered, his chest shuddering with the effort to breathe. “I’m…I’m so tired,” he murmured, his eyes beginning to drift shut, the pain etched into every line of his face. “I wanted to make things right…to make you…happy.” Each word came slower, his strength ebbing away with every breath he took.

“You did,” you said, your voice fierce despite the tears streaming down your cheeks. You squeezed his hand harder, as if the strength of your grip alone could keep him tethered to this world. “Nico, you did make me happy. You still do. Just stay with me. Please, Nico, don’t go.”

A tear slid down Nico's pale cheek, mingling with the blood that stained his skin. “I love you,” he whispered, the words barely a breath, his eyes locking onto yours with a desperate intensity. “Always…love you.”

“I love you too,” you choked out, pressing your forehead against his, your tears mingling with his. You felt his body go slack, his hand falling limp in your grasp. “Nico! No, please! Nico!” You held his body close, your heart breaking all over again as the truth settled over you. The boy who had fought through hell for you, who had bared his soul and faced his deepest fears, was gone.

His last breath had been a promise—a truth you’d never doubted, even when he had hurt you. But now, that truth lay heavy in your arms, lifeless and still. His body felt too small, too fragile, for someone who had carried so much pain, who had survived so much darkness. The only comfort you took was that you would see Nico again. That was a promise.

[tsumuus]

For prompt 2 for your event, could you do that one Leah and Rob sound. "You don't hate me?" "I could never hate you." with Oikawa? tyyyyyyyyyyy

₊✩‧₊˚ toru oikawa + prompt 2 ˚₊✩‧₊

₊✩‧₊˚ ‘so you don’t hate me’ ‘i could never hate you’ ˚₊✩‧₊

You had always thought you knew Toru Oikawa like the back of your hand. From the days when you first met in middle school, his charisma and infectious energy had drawn you in, and over the years, you had become inseparable. You shared laughter, tears, and countless late-night conversations. So when the sudden shift came—when he started pushing you away, his demeanor growing colder and more distant—it threw you into a whirlwind of confusion.

At first, you thought it was something you had done. Had you unknowingly said something to upset him? Or perhaps your busy schedule had pushed him to the background? The questions buzzed incessantly in your mind, but you couldn't find any answers. Each time you tried to reach out, he seemed to withdraw even further, leaving you feeling lost and adrift.

It was during one of those quiet evenings, when the moonlight streamed through your window, that you finally confronted him. You had just returned from a particularly painful day at school, your heart heavy with the weight of his cold shoulder, and the sight of him at the park, sitting alone on a bench, felt like a last straw.

"Toru," you said, your voice trembling slightly, "what's going on? Why have you been pushing me away? Did I do something wrong?"

He looked up at you, his eyes softening as if he was seeing you for the first time in weeks. He sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair in frustration. The usual charm and confidence that he wore like a second skin seemed to be stripped away, revealing a vulnerability you rarely saw.

"I've been an idiot," he admitted, his voice low and rough. "I didn’t want to hurt you, but I didn’t know how to handle everything I was feeling. It’s like every time I’m with you, I want to spill everything out—everything I’ve been keeping inside—but it scares me. It’s so unnatural for me."

You listened, heart aching, as he continued. “You make me feel things I’ve never felt before, and I don’t know how to explain it. I thought if I distanced myself, it would be easier for both of us.”

You stared at him, processing his words. The silence that followed was thick with unspoken emotions, and the moonlight cast a gentle glow on his troubled face. Slowly, you approached him and took a seat beside him on the bench, your presence offering a silent comfort.

"So you don't hate me?" you asked softly, the fear of losing him gripping your heart.

He turned to look at you, his expression a mixture of relief and regret. "Hate you? I could never hate you," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "The way I’ve been acting, it’s because I care so much. It’s because you mean everything to me."

The tension between you seemed to melt away with his confession. You reached out, taking his hand in yours, feeling the warmth and the sincerity in his touch. His eyes searched yours, and for the first time in weeks, you saw the familiar spark of affection in them.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn’t mean to make you feel like you were the problem. I’ve just been struggling with my own feelings, and I didn’t know how to handle it."

You squeezed his hand gently, offering him a reassuring smile. "It’s okay, Toru. I just needed to know where we stood."

He nodded, his relief palpable. "Thank you for understanding. I promise I’ll work on this. I want to be better for you, and I don’t want to let my own fears ruin what we have."

The night continued with a renewed sense of closeness, the distance that had grown between you now replaced by the understanding and the warmth of a bond that had weathered the storm. As you sat there together, the moon casting its gentle light over you both, you knew that despite the struggles, you were still there for each other. And for the first time in a while, everything felt right again.

a/n RAHHHHHHH i don’t like this but here you go🙏😓

₊✩‧₊˚ 555 follower event ! ˚₊✩‧₊

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