#way where they can talk to you anyway they see fit and tell you anything they want but you cant talk to them the same way

[talenlee]

Game Pile: So Clover

I promise I’m not just going to spend this year talking about word puzzle games with no meaningful narrative or creative fiction. I promise.

Hey, this is So Clover! It’s a critically acclaimed internationally successful game! It’s real good! Let’s talk about it!

Here’s the really tight, fundamentals of So Clover. Each player gets given a little play board, which has these four notches on it, and four panels around those notches. Each player gets four cards, which they put on those notches, which means under each panel there are a pair of words. You write on those panels a word that serves as a clue to explain the two words on those cards you want people to guess. Once you’ve done this, you take off the cards, add another, and shuffle them up, and hand this collection of clues, board, and cards to the other players, and tell them hey you work it out. There’s a scoring system but it’s not important to this.

Fundamentally, you’re handing people four clues, five cards, and asking them to arrange them correctly. During this guessing phase you have to be quiet, you have to wait and watch as the rest of the players struggle and think their way through your clues. This creates a weird kind of centre-of-attention tension where the player doesn’t have to do anything, aside from keeping their mouth shut.

And it’s hard!

Anyway, So Clover is small, it’s tight, the gameplay loop is extremely predictable but it’s also very satisfying, which means that while the game isn’t varied, that means you’re mostly focusing on each other.

I like it a lot.

Look, So Clover is not by any means an obscure game. There’s a particular category of small social games, games that are competing to be ‘the one game your friends will play,’ where the game has a tight ruleset, an almost non-existent fiction (though not actually non-existant, huff huff PhD writing goes here), doesn’t work unless you have four or five players, and tends to fail fast. At the toothier end of this scale there’s games like Scout, and over at the lighter end you have No Thanks and my personal iconic apex of the form, Just One. These games are games that live in a pub bag, or a social grouping bag, something that you want to bring with you to a place to play with, and the people who love to play them may play no other board or card games at all.

Sometimes you’ll hear them called introductory games, or gateway games, or foundational games. Lots of ways to talk about this kind of game. The main thing these games offer as a grouping is that they are nakedly and clearly a game. You don’t need to get any buy-in, nobody needs to accept a fiction or a concept to make the game work, and while you can play them wrong (like getting the rules wrong or choosing to try to lose, for example), it isn’t a game which asks you to do anything that seems difficult at first.

Oh sure there’s a degree of challenge that escalates – when you play it first, you may struggle with clues that make sense of the cards you have, but then you’ve not experienced the problem of jotting down the clue Cruise for the words ‘Boat’ and ‘Expensive,’ only to panic when the other players flip over your five cards and discover that the fifth card includes the word ‘Missile.’ This isn’t even accounting for when you have a word on your own cards that you do know about and you can see, which you didn’t notice and works with one of your clue words really well and now you’re in your shorts because you should have caught that and you watch them all trying to find a way to make the clues you’ve given them fit, because there’s a better version of your clues you messed up and didn’t make. You can get better at this game, and you can get more and more specific as you realise the game is about communicating with another player, one specific person, going hey you I know you know what this word is and where it fits.

And then hope that they get it off your one-word clue.

Point is this game is hardly remarkable to talk about. It’s in a conversation about a handful of games like it, you can find a bunch of reviews talking about how to play it and how great it is and that kind of is where that conversation sputters out because there’s no real fiction or vibe you can dig into off the game’s limited surfaces. Basically, it’s good, and people know it’s good, and that’s where the conversation kinda hits a wall.

Which is reasonable, I get it.

Let me tell you about an experience I had introducing So Clover to six strangers, though.

It was a birthday party. Relative of mine wanted to play some board games, asked me to bring them, so I’m sitting there at the head of a table with a bunch of teenagers. And I don’t know if you’ve been a not-teenager long but turns out, that being a teenager is a very different experience to being forty. You might not realise just how different teenagers are, but there are some things that surprise you. Particularly, the speed of attention switching; there’s a lot of conversations that start with them bringing something up, seeing if I had an interesting opinion or I’m impressed with what they say, and when they do or don’t get the response they want, they try again, they pivot. It’s okay, they’re youths, they’re faster than me, I understand.

Now I don’t know what these people find cool. I am not cool, but I know that whatever cool is, they know what they think is cool. But, one of my relatives asked for So Clover, so I busted it out.

And I watched as six teenagers heard the rules explained once?

And that was it.

They listened to the rules, they got their boards, and I watched with quiet awe as these people who had struggled with focus just latched onto the rules system. It was one of the cleanest runs I’d ever seen of the game, but what made it even more remarkable than just how easily they took to it, was the kind of clues they dropped. And like, obviously, I’m not playing, I’m just watching them play, but in that watching I got to see clues that made no sense to me handed to the group… and of the six teenagers, sometimes they’d look at a clue, the five guessers, four of them would go ‘I don’t get it,’ and the fifth would narrow their eyes and go … “Hang on.”

One of the boards was an absolute mess too – the clue-giver had both sloppily messed up their handwriting but also mixed up the clue they meant to give. Imagine giving a clue like ‘hippopotamus’ when you meant ‘hippocampus.’ And that clue was a problem, that player struggled and their failure state happened and everything, but the thing is, when the player revealed the clue, the immediate response from their teammate was not to make fun of them, but to suddenly go ‘ohhhh I see what you wanted to do.’

That’s cool!

Now don’t get me wrong: Part of it is that these youths are nice. But it’s also interesting that by having almost no fiction at all, by needing nothing to work, the game was so smooth and clean, and these players who hadn’t touched it could latch into its mechanical system immediately and easily.

It is a game that offers you a chance to ask the people around you: Do you understand me?

And maybe they can say yes.

But if they don’t, afterwards, they can go: Oh I get it.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[tumble-tv]

ICE raids are happening.

Any immigrants, no matter how long you have been a citizen of the USA, is at risk of being deported either out of the country as a whole or into what are basically concentration camps. Raids starting in Chicago, Illinois. and spreading to other major cities with high POC and Hispanic populations. The US Immigrations and Customs Enforcement (ICE) and Customs and Border Patrol (CBP) have started raiding homes and families in California.

There are no "protected locations" as of January 21, 2025. Hospitals, schools, and churches are all at risk of being raided, where before these places were deemed safe and off limits to raids.

When it comes to spotting an ICE agent, look for these:

Weirdly neat/well kept hair (shaved heads, side parts, military burs for men; low buns, high ponytails, close cropped bobs for women)

Oversized jacket (long and bulky outerwear makes it easier to hide tools/equipment without being suspicious)

Both hands in pockets

Many undercover agents/cops buy cheap plain clothes off the racks so they aren’t seen in their own clothes. This can make their outfit seem awkward

Sweatshirts with the hood up

Sports apparel (warm up jacket, sweats, etc) with non-sports clothes (jeans, cargo shorts)

Cargo pants/shorts (usually full of items like their badge, flashlight, taser, pepper spray, backup handcuffs, zip ties)

Military or hiking style boots, sometimes chunky sneakers (extra points if none of it matches anything in their outfit)

Outline of a gun in their pants/shirt (easy to see when bending, leaning, or raising arms) (NO NOT SAY ANYTHING)

Overly friendly

Overly inquisitive

“How old are you” and “what do you know about this happening” are both red flags, along with generally odd and personal questions

Don’t fit in

Mismatched pairs in public spaces (usually cops do these things in pairs. They don’t talk to each other or acknowledge each other much, if at all)

DO NOT SAY ANYTHING UNTIL YOU ARE 100% SURE

YOUR BEST BET IS NOT TO SAY ANYTHING UNTIL THE SUSPECT STARTS ACTING OFF AND GETTING PUSHY

COPS ARE NOT OBLIGATED TO TELL YOU THAT THEY ARE UNDERCOVER

COPS CAN AND WILL LIE TO YOU

SCREAM “LA MIGRA” AT THE TOP OF YOUR LUNGS

For protesting:

N95 masks

Respirator/gas mask if you have access to one

Water water water water water (I hate to say it, but disposable one use bottles are best here. If it comes to it, you need to be able to drop and run.) Use for flushing wounds, flushing eyes of tear gas, and of course drinking.

Snacks! You'll be doing a lot of walking and/or running and need to keep that energy up. Trail mix, dried fruit, nuts, granola bars, crackers, jerky/meat sticks, fruit snacks, candy, etc. Think of it like packing your lunchbox for a field trip.

Eyedrops (teargas is a bitch)

Goggles (I bring my old snowboarding goggles)

If you are wearing a t-shirt or have exposed skin, put on fake/temporary tattoos. If you are brought into something and they say you were there, showing a picture of you with the tattoos, show them where that tattoo would be and how there’s nothing there. How would you get rid of a giant flower on your forearm in 2 days anyways?

Wigs fall under the same category as tattoos. The person they're claiming to be you has a blonde bob and you have green hair past your shoulders.It also makes it possible to go with a completely different color without the use of hair dye. This means if they try to arrest you later and try to prove it was you by taking your hair and testing for dye, it won't come back the way they hope. (Thank you @violetrosepetals for this addition!)

Hide your hair. I tuck my hair into my beanie since it’s short. If you have longer hair, try to do the same or tuck it into your shirt. Balaclavas are also a good choice, as they cover both your face and hair.

Power bank

Chargers

Helmet. Any is fine, my personal choice is a skating helmet since they’re rounder and can take more damage, but tactical is also good

Hand sanitizer

Gloves with hard knuckles (tactical gloves). These pack a good punch even if you don't have the correct form. Don't have those? Wrist guards for roller skating/skateboarding work kinda like that too. More of a slapping motion, but still hurt like a bitch. Extra points if they're all scuffed up from use and falls.

Bandanas. Somebody might need one for their face or hair, maybe you need to get dirt off somebody’s face, maybe somebody got injured. They’re great for anything and everything.

Cash (try to stick to cash, your card can be tracked)

Medications if you take them. If you get arrested or happen to somehow be away for longer than expected after the protest, it’s always good to have emergency meds

FIRST AID ALL THE FIRST AID (Tourniquet, Quikclot, chest seal, trauma shears, gauze, bandages, duct tape, and all the usual stuff you’d have in there)

Good shoes. Boots and sneakers are your best choices. Not heels, not platforms, not sandals. Good boots or shoes that won't come off your feet too easily when you run. Steel toed shoes are a great option. Your toes won't be squashed, but also it'll hurt someone a lot more if you start kicking.

Spare socks. Trust me. You can use them to stop bleeding if it comes to it, but also you can put rocks in there and boom weapon. Also if the socks you're wearing get wet.

As much covering clothing as you can handle. Plain jeans, plain hoodie, plain t-shirt, keep yourself as anonymous as possible. Black and baggy is best.

Photocopy of your ID, not your real one.

Sunscreen!

Make sure your clothes have pockets, even if you have a bag. You want everything to be easily accessible.

Do not wear contact lenses. If tear gas is used, that will make everything so much worse. Wear your glasses or go blind. If you have overly unique or identifiable frames, goggles are your friend here. Get some goggles that will fit over your frames, preferably ones that are tinted.

If you use mobility aids, cover defining features. Logos, brand names, colors, stickers, all of it. Take some old plain t-shirt and tie it around your wheelchair’s backrest. Wrap your wheelchair frame in cling wrap, then duct tape, or plain black self adhering medical tape. Cover stickers on your cane or crutches the same way. Electric chair? You have a little more work, but you can do it. Wrap it up. Same idea. Walker? Same thing. Cover. It. All.

If you are bringing a bag, make sure that bag is as plain as possible. No pins. No patches. No keychains. Except maybe a pride flag so people know which team you're playing on.

Scarf or keffiyeh if you have one. They have many uses!

Write a reliable phone number (of someone who is not at the protest with you) on your body. On the off chance you get arrested, that is your emergency contact.

Pocket knife.

Pepper spray/mace/bear spray

if you get tear gassed, shake around first before using water. Most tear gas is more of a powder and water has a high likelihood of just spreading it around. (Thank you @actually-a-bread-loaf for this addition!)

Tennis rackets also work wonderfully for chucking tear gas canisters back at those throwing them. Anybody asks, you're going out to play tennis with friends later. Baseball bats also work! (Thank you @azul-nova-24 for this addition!)

Anything you can throw. Soup for my family.

IF YOU CAN, LEAVE YOUR PHONE AT HOME

IF YOU HAVE TO TAKE IT WITH YOU, TURN OFF LOCATION SERVICES ON ALL APPS AND TURN OFF BIOMETRICS (FACE ID AND FINGERPRINT) SO YOU CAN ONLY UNLOCK YOUR PHONE WITH YOUR PASSWORD

COPS CAN FORCE YOU TO OPEN YOUR PHONE WITH YOUR FINGERPRINT OR FACE ID

MAKE SURE SOMEBODY KNOWS GENERALLY WHERE YOU ARE

If you see a potential or active raid, take pictures and note the time and location. Post online if you can, as well.

You have the right to remain silent. State that you wish to remain silent. Avoid giving information about anybody's immigration status. You have the right to refuse to sign anything before speaking to an attorney. You have the right to refuse searches of your car, your home, and yourself. Schools do not collect a child's immigration status.

I do not want to scare anybody, but this is what life is right now. That man does not care how long you have been a citizen of this country. If you are not a white, cisgender, heterosexual, Christian male, you are seen as less than by men in power. You are not less than. You are a threat to them, and they are scared. Keep it that way.

Even if you're not currently protesting, it's good to know this just in case. Things are happening very quickly, and there is a very high chance of it changing very quickly within the next four years.

Here's the link to my post on what to bring in terms of first aid.

If you cannot attend protests, that’s fine. Do what’s best for you. Even just reposting information helps.

This is an updated version of this post,

Updated January 27, 2025.

[peachesofteal]

Sweet little librarian who works the closing shift and is always kind to Simon.

Simon who’s realized the world has pretty much left him behind, and all he can do post retirement is sit in his flat and watch mind numbing television or work out to the point of exhaustion in the gym. He doesn’t have social media, doesn’t even have more than ten apps on his phone (thanks Soap). The only computer he’s touched in the last decade is the desktop on base that he used to complete reports and other administrative things, or the banged up laptop they used to bring on missions.

So, he starts going to the library. He sets up at a table and reads books until his eyes bleed, pouring over decades of history because he pretty much refuses to live in the present.

That’s where he meets you. Or sees you, he guesses, since he doesn’t really talk much. You’re always asking him if he needs help or needs you to find him anything. You smell like vanilla icing, ripe strawberries and his mouth waters every time you appear at his side.

Sometimes you even sit down across from him with your lunch, scooping granola and yogurt out of a glass bowl, licking it clean by the time you get to the bottom.

“Hi.” You chirp, smiling. It stretches your face a bit, plumps your cheeks and adds a sparkle to your eyes. He grunts, but it doesn’t deter you. “What is it today?” You lean over, glancing at his spread of books and laminated papers. “Axis powers?” He stares at you. Watches your mouth and tongue work the spoon. He doesn’t answer, and you sigh. “You know, we never talk but you never tell me to go away so…” You trail off like you’re hopeful he’ll say something reassuring. He doesn’t, but you take it on the chin, and smile anyway. “Alright well, see you later then.”

He doesn’t know what’d he tell you, what he would say, how he would explain he’s bad and dirty and would drag you down to the pits of hell. Doesn’t tell you he can’t talk to you because then he’d have to keep you, and he’s not sure how to do that without snuffing the flame out, the one that he sees in your smile, the bounce in the balls if your feet. Doesn’t want to tell you he’d have to lock you away and he knows you’d be miserable.

He doesn’t say anything.

The following Monday, he catches sight of you in the children’s library. You’re sitting on the floor with a toddler, turning the big, bright pages, pointing and gesturing to the little boy’s delight. You look so… happy. So content.

Tectonic plates in his brain shift, and a new reality is born.

How can he keep you and keep you happy?

Easy. He’ll just fuck a baby into you.

He’s rough with it. Bends you over one of the desks tucked in the back after closing, shoves your dress up over your ass and kicks your legs apart. You struggle and cry, trying to bite, to scratch, screaming when he fits the head of his cock against your hole.

“Fuck shortcake,” he groans as he works his way inside, forcing you to take him inch by inch as tears stream down your face. “You’ve got such a good little cunt f’me huh?”

“N-n-no,” you wheeze, short of breath, and he kisses your cheek.

“Don’t worry,” he slides all the way home, shivers snaking up your spine when you clench, trying to take more, greedy for it even though you’re trying to fight. “It’s all gonna be okay.”

“Stop- please,” you rock your hips, but it buries his cock deeper. He grips your neck, pulls back and then slams into you, covering your scream with his palm. He licks your tears and you look at him in the mirror, desperation and horror welling in your eyes.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” he grits, control hanging by a thread, hanging back for one second to make sure he holds your gaze before shoving himself against your womb, “you and the baby.”

[beloveds-embrace]

More roomate!au thoughts because, again, my brain never stops. When you move in with them, dont expect to be able to do anything by yourself ever again (unless its housework and their away), your car needs fuel? Dont worry Simon will go with you and fill it up for you and dont even think about trying to pay for it yourself, you tried once and Simon just glared at you so you tucked your card back into your purse. You need to go get a few supplies for college, Price and Gaz are joining you and giving their opinions about the best laptop to get or the best stationary (they fill out enough paperwork that they know the best ones). You're cooking them dinner, Johnnys right by your side following your every order and helping to wash up while you go relax on the sofa waiting for whatevers in the oven. And you will want for nothing, you see a pair of shoes you want while out shopping but their outside of your price range, they arrive at your door a week later just after the boys deploy, you see a pretty necklace on TV and comment on it, Johnnys there behind you fastening it just before your next night out. You lament that your mattess and bed are uncomfortable, a new one arrives the next and it just so happens to be big enough to fit all 5 of you on it.

Yeah, the boys would 1000% give you princess treatment

My mind is still on that drabble so i absolutely love this so so so very much god yes….

Original post

It doesn’t end there, of course. God, they do so, so much for you.

It’s Simon who stands right outside the bathroom door when you get sick late at night, trying to be quiet and not bother anyone yet when you tell him he should go to sleep, you’ll be fine, he doesn’t even let you finish your sentence.

“Don’t need sleep,” he grunts, pulling you against his body. Despite your protests, his warmth alone makes you melt. “Jus’ tell me what you need.”

It’s Gaz who gifts you with a surprise spa day kit after he notices how exhausted you look during your exams, gently pushing aside your laptop. “You look knackered, lovie,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you, alright? You always spoil us when we return anyways, this the least we can do.”

It’s Johnny who immediately knows your day has been shit just from listening the way you shuffle in, shoulders slumped and head downcast.

“Someone steal yer sunshine, hen?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it, Johnny,” you mumble tiredly, yet you have no energy to refuse when he leads you to the couch. “Bad day. I’ll just go to my room-“

“Nah, none o’ that,” he shakes his head, taking your bag. “Sit down, aye? I’ll fix you up something warm.” Though he makes sure to drap a blanket over yours shoulders before he goes into the kitchen, muttering about food.

It’s Price who goes hand in hand with your safety. All of them do make you feel safe but John is just- a bit different.

Once, you were being followed after you finished shopping and like an idiot, you’d forgotten your usual pepper spray you carried. You knew you were being followed because you could feel the eyes constantly on you and you circled the same area several times. Your hands are shaking when you text him, praying to every god-

- john

- Yes, love?

You are too afraid to even crack a smile at his serious punctuation.

- someones following me idk what to d

You don’t wait for him to reply. Just nervously, with too many typos, you tell him where you are and if please can he come or any of the men-

When John appears by your side in no less than five minutes, he just pulls you close to his side.

“Come on, sweetheart.” He ushers you along. “Bloke’s been dealt with. Give me your backs, yeah? Next time tell me or any of the muppets to join you.”

Too late you notice the blood splatters on his knuckles.

Also, remember when I said the original ad had been because they wanted someone to keep the place tidy when they are away? That doesn’t apply when they are home. If they see you cleaning or cooking, they are helping- nu uh, no complaints allowed, they are not about to let you slave away when you have four very capable men at your beck and call.

Hell, once it was Johnny who saw you scrubbing the kitchen floors and he just picked you up and placed you on the counter, tsking at you.

In a few hours, John returned to find all of them cleaning the kitchen; Soap was now dusting, Gaz vaccuming, and Simon wiping the counters.

And you were bundled in the couch corner, cozy and cute.

“What’s all this?” He asked, an eyebrow raised, and you shrug.

“She was tryin’ to clean.” Johnny grumbled from the corner.

“And you didn’t stop her sooner?”

“Bloody stubborn bird,” Ghost was the one who replied this time, not even looking up.

You opened your mouth to argue, but the look John fixed you with made you shut your mouth with a click.

“Good girl.”

The warmth on your cheeks was definitely not from overworking, at least.

You mention needing new clothes? You wake up to Simon’s credit card on your nightstand with a note ordering you to use it. “Strangely”, you can’t find neither your own card nor your wallet.

You also can’t find him, but Kyle’s there and oh wow! He has nothing to do so he will in fact be joining you (and making you model the dresses and outfits and send pictures to the others so you can be drowned in compliments)!

Also i like to hc that john(s) are both huge coffee lovers and they do in fact have those huge, fancy coffee machines yk? They are insulted when they see you drink the cheap, shitty, tasteless instant coffee you are surviving on and from then on, you will wake up every day to warm, fresh coffee made for you <33

Anyways gods i love them sm can you tell 😩😩

[princessbellecerise]

Snow With A Bimbo Reader

──── ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧ ────

summary | Coryo loves how dumb you are. It makes him look even smarter

warnings | toxic!coryo, dumb!reader, slight innocent!reader, smut, slight housewife!reader

this is an eighteen plus fic. minors do not enter

divider by @princessbellecerise

When he first met you at the academy, it was safe to say that from the moment he saw you, Snow was obsessed

You weren’t in the same class as him, though there was really no reason you ought to be because you were not nearly as smart as the other students, but he still noticed you in some classes

Coryo figured that your parents must have bought your way in, because bless your heart you are so dumb

When he first meets you, it’s almost pitiful how he notices that you’re nowhere near his academic level, but that’s okay because you sure are pretty

And despite being insanely attracted to power and intelligence, Coryo finds himself focusing all his attention on you

He can’t think of anything else in class other than the way your pretty little face scrunches up because you’re not understanding any of it, or the way your lips pout because you’re beyond lost

You’re just so beautifully stupid and cute and Coryo can’t stop thinking about how he can’t wait to get his claws into you

So at first he starts by tutoring you as way to get closer to you

God knows that you need it, and when he offers of course you accept because hello—everyone knows that Snow is on top

So, he begins to tutor you, and that’s all it is at first

A few flirty remarks here and there, like him telling you your hair looks pretty or your outfit fits you nice

Nothing too crazy, but the more time Coryo spends with you, the more you drive him insane

He has amazing self control because even though he wants to do nothing but grab you and kiss you the entire time you’re talking, he holds himself back

He takes it slow as to not scare you or confuse your dumb little mind. After all, you can only process so much

Which is why he doesn’t actually tutor you—not the hard stuff anyways. He just finds little easy thing for you to accomplish so he can watch as your face lights up when you solve something he’s done a million times before

He builds you up before he plans on breaking you down, before he plans on molding you into his perfect partner

Coryo will gain your trust at first and only when he’s got it will he strike

Like a snake, you don’t even see his plan or see him coming until he’s right there in front of you, poisoning you with his sweet lips and kissing you one day

It comes so sudden for you that you’re shocked, not even kissing him back till he’s squeezing your jaw a little so you let him in

He’ll kiss you deeply so that you can feel what he feels for you, so that you know just how desperately he wants you

Through his lips, he’ll spread his venom, and since you’re not smart enough to even know that you’ve been bit, you fall for it easily

You kiss him back, and your giggles when you pull away make Coryo smirk. He loves seeing you nervous around him and fuck; does he love tasting your pretty lips

Once you start agree to start dating him, it’s already too late for you. And for Coryo, it’s just the beginning

Coryo already has plans that you’re not apart of, but he’s excited to carry them out because you are everything that he needs

He needs someone that won’t question him, that will obey him and do everything he says. He needs to be in charge and with you, he is

Like a good little girl, you do everything Coryo tells you to do. Miss class for him, sit on his lap, stop doing your assignments

Pretty soon, he’s got it to where all you do is hang out with him. Make plans with him. Do things for him

He’s got you wrapped around his finger and you don’t even know it. You’re just so happy with him that you don’t even question it when he tells you to quit

“Leave the academy and I’ll take care of you. I promise,” Is what Coryo says, so you do

You stop attending class, you drop out and slowly you move from your home to be with Coryo in his

It’s a little packed, but you make it work especially with Tigris and his grandmother

They both adore you, though Tigris is a little concerned with you dropping out. She’ll try and persuade you to continue your education but don’t worry—Coryo will never let that happen

When you tell him Tigris’ words, he simply scoffs and tells you that pretty girls like you don’t belong in academics. You don’t belong in that terrible, toxic work force

No, no, you deserve to stay home and to serve him. An easy job, he convinces you, and a soft life

“It’s what you deserve,” He tells you, so you give up on the idea of returning

Instead, you stay at home and wait for Coryo day and night. During the days, you’ll cook, clean and during the nights you’ll be there for him

In the privacy of your now shared bedroom is where he fucks you, the mattress squeaking from how hard he pounds into your tight cunt

Coryo loves it when you whine and beg, crying out how he’s too big for you

He loves to hear you praise him and for you to stroke his ego. With a hand wrapped around your throat, he’ll fuck you until you’re screaming his name into the mattress and until you realize that you belong to him

The love bites and marks he leaves on your thighs are a constant reminder. He tells you that you should be lucky, grateful that you don’t have to use your head anymore

Grateful to have someone like him to take care of you, and you are. Coryo gives you a life that people can only dream about

Once he becomes President of Panem, you’re spoiled with riches that you didn’t even know existed. Diamonds, silks, luxurious foods

And the best part is, all you have to do is smile and wave. After all, you are his best asset

[vanillarosekiss]

simon riley, your best friend’s dad…

♡ p!link ♡

warnings: smut, bsfdad!simon x reader, size kink if you read into it, age gaps, not considered very ethical to fuck your bsf's dad but... :b

He was so hot. Every time you came round your best friend's house, because her dad was so accompanying, you could never take your eyes off him. You'd often go home and touch yourself to the little interactions you'd had with him the previous day, which were all innocent of course. He was just so much bigger than you, so strong, and he was extremely good looking for a guy his age. A small part of you was self conscious of the fact it was deemed morally wrong to think of him that way, you felt like it was a crime against your best friend. Although.. it wasn't like anything was going to actually happen, right?

Another Saturday night rolled around and you arrived at their house, not bothering to knock before you went inside because they were used to you coming over so much; you even knew where the spare key was.

It got quite late fast, and after a long girly talk of boys, updating each other on love lives and doing face masks whilst eating a takeaway, you got changed into your pyjamas. You both slept in her room, usually watching shitty, low-budget romcoms before drifting off into a drowsy sleep, but tonight you were restless. You decided to wait until she was asleep, and got out of bed, careful not to make too much noise.

Going downstairs to the kitchen to get a glass of water, you made the awful mistake of accidentally bumping into her dad. Simon. The sheer size of him made it almost impossible for you to not lose your balance, and he grabbed your shoulders so that you wouldn't fall over.

"Are you ok? Sorry, I didn't see you" he said calmly, checking you were alright.

You blushed a little, and nodded without saying anything. If it wasn't obvious that you had a thing for him before, it definitely was now. He was bound to notice soon anyways, your night clothes becoming slightly more revealing each week.

Simon glanced down, noticing how much of your cleavage was on display, for him. He kept his hands on your shoulders, one hand toying with the light pink elastic strap of your pyjama top.

"You don't have anything else to wear?" he asked, in what you thought was a judgemental tone.

"I- No I do, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to.. like.." you rambled and trailed off, flushed with embarrassment.

"M'not complaining, love, don't worry your pretty head" he said reassuringly, before moving behind you and gently leading you into his room to the ensuite bathroom, lower hand grazing your back lightly.

"What are you-" you began, turning but only to be met with a view of his chest.

"You want this, yeah? I'm not stupid, I can tell when a pretty thing like you wants something."

You hesitated, before giving a small, unsure nod.

"Gonna need more than that, sweeth'art."

"Yes. Please."

"Good girl." he praised, before locking the door and stripping you down completely naked for him, making you turn and admiring your body.

"So pretty. Wanted this for so long, haven't you?"

You were still shy, and stood not really knowing what to do with your hands.. hell, with your entire body.

He took you carefully and got you down on your knees, before pulling his already leaking cock from his boxers. It was big, too big. It would never fit. He could immediately see the panic in your eyes, and tried to calm you down.

"S'alright, baby. I'll go gentle on you, I promise. You tell me if it hurts too much, or you get uncomfortable, okay?"

You nod, swallowing a little anxiously.

The next thing you know, you were swallowing his cock, as he guided your head down carefully. His hands caressed your hair, in an almost soothing way, so as to make you feel safe with him. You were definitely not as anxious anymore. Just took a little praise and soft guidance from Simon.

He pulled you back before he came, making you sit on his thighs before plunging into your already soaking core, stretching you out in ways you never imagined you could be. It was hard to take at first, but it quickly became pleasurable, him using you like a little toy. Thrusting you up and down on his large cock, hands grabbing at your waist and squeezing you as he hit your g-spot over and over again.

"God you feel amazing." he groaned, thrusting fastening at the sound of your preciously soft moans. He adored how little and delicate you were, so pliable in his hands.

It was safe to say that the next day, his looks and subtle lingering touches were no longer innocent. You were his pretty little secret, and unless you no longer wanted him, it would stay that way.

Tag list 𖠋: @punkkture @slut-lmao @sebastianstans-slut @ilikeoldmen @g1rlfa1lure0 @queenoflaflames @tmartin0918 @kkloubee @goldie-221 @patricksoulmate @writingandsins @mxnee777 @caro-line19  @decaffeinateddelusionbread @lovidovii @xoxoxoaspen @i-ship-stony-and-superfamily @simonrileysdarling @siphon07 @figthoughts @mlthree

[pricegouge]

shovel talk

it's not even six in the morning and yet the shovel grates across the walkway, grit of pebbles beneath its steel edge scraping and catching. it balks in unsteady hands, tries again with another drawn out rasp before meeting the wall of the bank. trembling as it rises, it spills a portion its spare load back across the pavers before being tipped meticulously atop the mountain of snow that runs parallel the walk. she lets the shovel fall carelessly ahead of her and grits her teeth, rises an inch and scoots forward minutely, dragging the cheap lawn chair she's been perched on along by a hand shoved between her knees, gripping the seat. it scrapes just as much as the shovel, heavy with implication. she's not even wearing a proper jacket, just a flannel over a zip up hoodie, the wool weave of her button up already beaded with melted snow.

she looks ornery and mulish, but so are you and you can't just keep walking past.

clear blue eyes turn on you when you call to her, ask if you can help. her hands might shake but her gaze is level, taking you in from head to toe before scooting herself along another inch. "shouldn't be doin' that," she advises, voice croaky in her old age.

"neither should you," you counter, nodding at her makeshift mobility aid. it teeters when she turns to chuckle at you, though she hides it in a cough. stubborn old bat, you can already tell.

"anyway my son will be here soon."

pursing your lips, you look the walk over properly. the poor woman's already done over half of it - how late is the son exactly? but you don't comment on it, step closer when her shovel catches on a shelf of ice instead. "give it here, please," you offer rather diplomatically. she frowns apprehensively but does as told, shuffling her seat back a smidge to give you room to work. it takes a couple tries but you catch the bottom edge of the ice, ply it back and huck it over the bank easily enough. it thunks as it sinks through the snow, a real ice breaker.

"and here i'd pegged you for some soft, sweet thing," she laughs, sheepish.

"must've loosened it for me," you shrug, and turn to finish the walk while she's distracted, laughing herself into a minor coughing fit. "should you go inside?" you offer, unsure if it's a good suggestion seeing as that would leave some strange woman alone on her front lawn.

thankfully she just waves you off as she calms herself down, heavy breaths clouding around her like the smoke that's probably catching up to her. "can't. gotta take credit for your work when my son gets here."

"oh, i see how it is," you snark, and purposefully leave a good quarter inch on the paver, a base level that will freeze solid soon enough and create another sheet of ice for her to struggle with in the future.

she just eyes you, thin eyebrow pulled low on a once-heavy brow. she may be old and frail but it's a sort of sternness that doesn't dull with age and you can only smile to yourself as you fix it. no wonder her son still comes by to help. "he running late?" you ask conversationally, nod up the path where she's already done most of the work by way of explanation when she hmm's at you.

"oh, no. he'll be two hours early, probably. which is why i'm out here three hours early. a woman's got to have her pride, after all."

you nod along as if that's reasonable. "well what's he gonna do when he gets here, then?"

"fix my water heater," she gripes. "say, you wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

it earns an unladylike snort from you, but you don't think she's the type to mind. "'fraid not."

the stoop is easy enough, just a quick swipe to clean the steps. you note the name above the door with some interest, a misplaced desire to keep tags on her, come back and check maybe. "got any salt, mrs. price?"

she motions you toward the open garage behind her but sticks a hand out for help as you pass. her grip is surprisingly strong on your forearm, the fingers of her other hand digging into your tricep almost cruelly when she uses you to drag herself up. you snatch the lawn chair up before she can even try it, nod toward the garage questioningly.

"next to the overhead, please," she agrees, and you find the bucket of salt right beside it, an empty coffee can already filled and ready for dispensing. when you emerge from the garage, there's a truck parked out front.

"give me that," mrs. price hisses and you jump to find her so close, already snatching the can from your fingers. old bat can still move.

the driver's door creaks when it closes. you can only see the top of a blue beanie from over the roof of it but mrs. price doesn't wait to see him before hollering at her son. "i thought you wouldn't be here until nine!?"

tall and burly with his mother's same stern brow, price junior rounds the corner of his truck and frowns between the two of you."and i thought you didn't like when other people shoveled for you," he counters before tacking on a quick hi pet towards you.

"hi -."

"who's shoveled for me?" she demands, motioning up the walk with another spray of salt. "did this all on my own."

he hums as he comes closer, boots crunching over the thin dusting of snow that still coats the driveway. you sincerely hope mrs. price didn't shovel all that, but judging by the banks that line the drive you suspect a service was likely hired. why they couldn't take an extra two minutes to clear an old lady's walkway you'd never know. you think maybe the son is wondering the same, the way he's inspecting the short stretch critically, but when he opens his mouth it's not at all meant to insult the snow removal service. "you're losing your touch, woman."

you're unsure who's more offended, yourself or his mother. "what's wrong with it?" you blurt, unheeding of the way mrs. price elbows you again.

"i've done a fine job," she supplies, trying to save face.

he just tilts his head at her patronizingly, rocks up onto his toes to appear unnecessarily bigger. "you've forgotten we're expecting more snowfall soon. you'll want to widen the walk to push the banks back, make it easier to shovel out the next storm."

this ass. "well if you'd wanted it done right, you should have shown up on time," you huff, unreasonably defensive of the quick job you'd done.

he's still got that insufferable expression on when he turns to you, but you think you see an edge of something playful glimmering in his clear blue eyes, that same expression his mother had worn when she'd asked if you could perhaps also take his job fixing her water heater. "'on time' would be hours from now," he reminds you. "would you have had this all fixed by then?"

the worst part is, calling him out on the insult would mean admitting you'd done it, and you're suddenly very aligned with this man's mother re: his versus her pride. instead you turn his own words back on him, leaning close to your new friend to ask her if she's going to take that.

she chuckles. "oh, don't mind him. john here's just scared because he knows his job is at risk."

you watch john frown between the two of you, the furrow between his brows deepening in a way which brings you too much pleasure. part of you wants to stay, keep carving away at his pride, but you're now running late for work and you still have a few blocks to walk. "well, it was lovely to meet you, mrs. price," you say with an overly formal shake of her hand.

"pleasure doing business," she agrees with a wry smile. "see you again bright and early next snow storm."

john doesn't budge to let you pass, instead squints down at you in open assessment. you note his cheeks are rosy with the cold and you briefly hope he gets stuck outside fixing the damn walk, cold wind stinging the chapped apples of cheeks which his ridiculous beard doesn't quite cover. they scrunch up when he affects a smile, lend a sort of disarmingly childish quality to the patronizing tone he still can't quite drop. it just pisses you off even more. "didn't actually catch your name," he prompts, gloved hand extended, as if attempting to continue the ruse.

"that's because i didn't give it," you chirp in your best customer service voice. you brush past him when he can only blink in confusion, the contrast between your words and your tone evidently too much for him to process so early in the morning.

"she usually pays me with breakfast if you want to stick around!" he calls after you, far too late to start acting sweet.

you nearly slip in your haste to spin around and fix him with an overly saccharine smile. "oh, i already ate. got here at five," you lie, just to watch his face crumble into genuine concern.

behind him, his mother's thin mouth twists into a cheshire grin and you stumble away before she can solidify any real plans.

too bad she's just as stubborn and ornery as you.

too bad john's worse than both of you.

[satellite-evans]

Hi! Could I please request a one shot where Harry is sick maybe during tour and his gf has to take care of him? Thank you! I love your writing!

a/n: thank you so much for liking my work, it truly means a lot! it's a little short but I still hope you'll like it <3

sick on tour

The hotel room is quiet except for the noise of the air conditioning and the occasional sniffle from the lump of blankets curled up in the middle of the king-sized bed. The curtains are drawn, shielding the bright city lights outside from intruding on the peaceful, dimly lit space. Harry has always liked his hotel rooms cozy—candles on the nightstand, his favorite hoodie draped over the chair, and the softest pillows he could find. But tonight, none of it seems to bring him comfort.

You stand at the edge of the mattress, arms crossed, watching Harry sulk into his pillow. His curls are a mess, sticking to his slightly damp forehead, his nose a little pink from the fever, and yet—despite looking absolutely miserable—he’s still trying to convince you he’s fine.

“I can do the show,” he rasps, voice hoarse and scratchy. He attempts to prop himself up on his elbows, but the movement sends him into a fit of coughing. You sigh and press a hand to his chest, gently urging him back down.

“Baby, no. You can barely sit up.”

He frowns, brows knitting together like a petulant child. “S’just a little cold.”

“You have a fever, a sore throat, and you sound like you swallowed sandpaper,” you point out, smoothing your fingers over his clammy forehead. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Harry grumbles something incoherent and burrows further into the pillows. You can tell he hates this—hates being taken care of, hates being seen as anything less than strong. But the thing is, to you, he’s always strong. Even now, curled up in a nest of tissues and blankets, he’s still the man you love more than anything.

Tour has been brutal on him lately. Night after night of performing, giving his all to the crowds that adore him, leaving every ounce of himself on that stage. He never complains—not about the exhaustion, not about the jet lag, not about the toll it takes on his body. But you see it in the way his shoulders slump when he thinks no one is looking, the way his voice is a little more raw each morning, the way he clings to you just a little tighter when he finally collapses into bed at the end of the night.

“I can’t cancel, though,” he whispers after a long moment, his voice laced with guilt. “They’ve probably spent so much money—flights, hotels, tickets, clothes and waited months just to see me. I can’t let them down, I just can't.”

You soften, understanding where his frustration is coming from. Harry has always carried the weight of his fans' happiness on his shoulders, always put them first. It’s one of the many reasons you love him—but right now, he needs to put himself first.

You take his hand in yours, rubbing slow, comforting circles over his knuckles. “Harry, sweetheart, I already spoke to Jeff. He and the team handled everything. They put out a statement, rescheduled the show, and made sure the fans know how much you care about them Not that they need a statement anyway. They know how much you love them.”

His brows furrow. “You—”

“I took care of it,” you interrupt gently. “So you don’t have to worry, okay? The fans love you, but they love you healthy and not sticky. You can’t give them the show they deserve if you push yourself too hard now. That is not what they deserve.”

Harry lets out a slow breath, his tense shoulders easing just a fraction. He still looks guilty, but there’s also relief in his tired eyes. “You really talked to Jeff?”

You nod. “Of course. Your health comes first, baby. Now please let me take care of you."

You slip out of the room quietly and return with a damp cloth, gently dabbing it against his forehead. The coolness makes him sigh, his tense shoulders relaxing under your touch. Then, you hold up a spoonful of honey-laced tea to his lips. He scrunches his nose but accepts it, swallowing with a soft grimace.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, voice slightly clearer now.

You smile and brush your fingers over his cheek. “Of course, my love.”

After making sure he’s warm enough, you reach for the small bowl of soup on the nightstand that you kindly asked form the hotel staff. “Just a little, H. You need something in your stomach other than medicine.”

"The fans would've probably ask for me to sing medicine tonight but they can't because I need it. The irony." He said, trying to lighten the room up with a joke but cough wave that crushed him once again.

"Drink Harry." You said sternly.

He looks at you like he wants to argue, but he knows better. You lift the spoon to his lips, and after a moment’s hesitation, he leans forward and takes a bite. A small, content sigh escapes him, and you can’t help but grin.

“You’re good at this,” he mutters, sleep beginning to weigh heavy on him.

“I'm just good at loving you lovie,” you reply simply, brushing back his curls as he lets his eyes drift shut.

His fingers reach for yours under the blanket, giving them a weak squeeze. “Love you more.”

You sit beside him, pressing a soft kiss to his fever-warmed temple. “Just rest, my love. I’ve got you.”

And with the way he sighs, relaxing into your touch, you know he believes you.

Tomorrow, he’ll probably try to argue again. Try to tell you he feels fine, that he’s ready to get back out there, to put on another show. But for tonight, he’s yours to take care of. And you wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world.

[moonstruckme]

im literally in lovee with your writing of sirius black id love love love more of him x reader pleasee [my favourite is friends to lovers or just being super domestic but tbh I'd read anything u write with him in lmaoo]

Thank you for requesting lovely! It worked out that I'd just written this when I got your ask, so I hope it fits what you're wanting!

cw: reader has hair long enough to tie back

Sirius Black x whimsical!reader ♡ 833 words

Sirius finds you out behind Remus’ house, sitting in the grass and, by all appearances, playing with mud. 

“Hey there,” he says, “did you manage to find the bathroom?” 

You have a tendency to wander off. Sometimes it’s intentional, sometimes you get lost, and Sirius can never tell which is happening at any given time. As much as he’d like to tie a string between you so you’re never very far, he’s learned to let you go where you will; you always end up where you want to be anyways. 

“You were talking about football,” you say by way of answer, the slightest hint of sheepishness in your sweet voice. “I thought you wouldn’t mind if I went off for a bit.” 

Sirius hums and lowers himself onto the grass beside you, stretching his legs out. The sun is warm and welcome on his face, just enough breeze to keep it from getting too hot. 

It’s a beautiful day, you’d noted upon waking up this morning, already opening the windows in his bedroom. 

Looks like it, Sirius said from bed. He smiled wryly. It’ll probably be the last decent one we have all year.

You’d frowned. That’s not a very nice way to manifest the weather. 

While Sirius is upturned, you’re bent over, messing with something in your hands and dipping your fingers occasionally into a pail of water. 

“What’ve you got there, pretty girl?” 

“A mug,” you say simply. You thumb concentratedly at the slimy thing in your hands, lips pursing. “Or, a soon-to-be-mug.” 

“And you’re making it out of…mud?” 

“No,” you laugh, looking up at your boyfriend in that fond, indulgent way you have. Like he can be so silly sometimes. “Remember how Remus said there was clay by the stream back that way? I’m using some of that.” 

“Ah.” Sirius tilts his head, studying the misshapen lump in your hands. “I see. And this is going to be a drinking mug?” 

You hum in affirmation, and he leaves it at that. He’s not terribly sure whatever you end up with will be able to hold water, but he knows better than to try and dissuade you once you’ve set your mind to something. Maybe he can sign the both of you up for a pottery class sometime. 

A piece of hair falls from behind your ear, and you blow at it, trying to keep it out of your face with your hands occupied.

“Here,” Sirius offers. He takes an elastic off his wrist, gathering the hair away from your face and tying it back loosely the way you like it. 

You gift him a sideways smile in return. A bit of dried clay on your cheek cracks with the movement. Evidently, this isn’t the first time you’ve had to push your hair back. “Thank you.” 

“Baby,” he says, voice laden with fondness. He steadies your face with one hand, swiping at the clay with the other. “You’ve got it all over you.” 

It’s true. It covers your hands up past your wrists, and several places on your legs have pale gray tracks where you’ve wiped your fingers off on them. 

“It’s a messy business,” you say matter-of-factly, “but it dries sort of pretty, I think. Do you want some?” 

He cocks an eyebrow. “How do you mean?” 

You set your soon-to-be-mug down gingerly, extending a hand to him. “Give me your arm.” 

Sirius suppresses a sigh. He didn’t really plan on getting dirty today, but he’s hardly in the habit of denying you anything you ask for. He sets his forearm in your hand. 

You dip a finger into the wettest part of your clay, setting it to the skin above his wrist. Your touch is cool and slick on his sun-warmed skin. You draw a little star like you’re fingerpainting, the clay a funny contrast to the dark tattoos surrounding it. 

You look so pleased with your work that Sirius can’t help himself. He leans forward, giving you a drawn-out, amorous kiss. 

“Thank you,” he says in his most saccharine voice. 

Your lashes flutter prettily as you blink, a rare shy smile taking you. “You’re welcome.” 

Sirius dips two fingers into your pail of water, using them to wipe the remaining clay off your cheek more thoroughly. When he’s done, he spots another smudge on your shoulder, inexplicable. He tsks. “When you’re done with your mug, we might have to ask Remus if you can use his shower, lovely girl. You really do have it all over you.” 

“Oh, there’s no need to trouble him,” you say airily. “The stream’s not very far, and it’s flowing rather quickly with all the rain we’ve been having.” 

He blinks. “Did you bring your swimsuit?”

You look at him bemusedly. “No. Why?” 

Sirius bends his head, letting his hair fall like a curtain to conceal his smile as he kisses the clean part of your shoulder. “I think it’d be better if you used Remus’ shower, sweetheart. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

[notjustjavierpena]

Parents

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Merry belated Christmas from me! I know this is my second Christmas fic this time around but I finally got the courage to write about Wife’s awful parents. 

Summary: Javier puts his foot down during Christmas with your toxic family. 

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: Toxic family dynamics, psychological abuse, childhood trauma, Christmas, conflict and confrontation, sobbing, declarations of love, hurt/comfort, body/fat shaming

Word count: 5.7k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61942318

Parents

You get a call from your parents’ home number a few weeks before Christmas. Your mother and father haven't actually bothered seeing you since your wedding day last year but Lucas is four months old now and there’s suddenly a strange interest from them in being grandparents to your firstborn. Somehow, they talk you into spending Christmas with them and reassure you that they’ll take care of everything as long as you bring their grandson. The whole idea causes a ball of anxiety to settle in your stomach, almost imitating getting hit right in the solar plexus with how much your breath struggles to even out as you tell Javier about it. Your husband agrees reluctantly but not without raising a concerned brow, asking you several times - and with days between each time - if you are absolutely sure. 

He even asks you now as he parks the car in your parents’ driveway, looking at you with a serious expression, brows furrowed while you sit stiffly in the passenger seat. You glance towards the front door, trying to act casual as if you’re staring at a wild animal who might pounce if it notices your anxiety. It is an odd feeling you get, staring at your childhood home but feeling more as if it is the scene of a crime. This house is not a memory of warm and fuzzy feelings but rather a place of constant criticism and unjust pain. 

Javier says your name softly beside you. On the backseat, Lucas hiccups.

“Do I look okay?” You quickly ask instead of acknowledging the tone of his voice, fixing your hair without changing anything. 

“Yeah,” he answers and tries not to comment on your nerves, “You look beautiful, mi amor (my love).”

The call from two weeks ago had your shoulders tensing up before you even answered the phone but the way they had reasoned you into revisiting the place of your hardest years has made your shoulders not come down again. 

You sigh gently and unbuckle your seatbelt, “Okay. I can do this for just an afternoon. Let’s get this over with.”

You climb out of the car, Javier following you after carefully unbuckling Lucas and cradling him in one arm while balancing the diaper bag on the other shoulder. You leave his car seat, knowing how much easier it would have been to transport your son inside in it but Lucas has been fussy all night. You really wish he hadn’t because you don’t want to go inside with only half the energy that a good night’s sleep could have provided. 

As you ring the doorbell, you take a look at Javier one last time, “Please don’t interfere. I don’t want to make everyone uncomfortable.”

“Baby, are you sure that—“

“Oh, there you are!” Your mother exclaims when she opens the door with a syrupy smile, “We were starting to wonder if you’d gotten lost.”

“Sorry. Life with a baby and all,” you shake your head with an embarrassed chuckle and try to ignore the tension in your muscles, shrugging your coat off your shoulders to reveal your wine-red button-up and dark skirt. 

“Honey, I thought you knew we always dress up a little during the Holidays,” your mother says while glancing at your outfit with veiled disdain, “Where’s that nice blue dress? With the ribbons?”

“This is all that fits me right now, that isn’t maternity clothes,” you answer apologetically at the first jab of many. Beside you, Javier takes a step closer to you without saying anything. 

“Anyway! Where’s the little man?” Your mother chirps, already having moved on and looking to Lucas who has started stirring in Javier’s arms. When she gets closer, about to reach out to run a hand over his little head, Lucas immediately starts whimpering as if he is aware of the unpleasantries that his mother has had to endure at the mercy of this woman. He knows the culprits before they’ve even revealed themselves. 

“Oh, he’s a little fussy, isn’t he?” She laughs it off and retreats much to your relief, letting Javier bounce your son to make him settle down again. When he quietens down again, you share a glance with your husband who signals that everything is okay. You take a deep breath and let him handle the situation. 

“Where’s Dad?” You ask to turn your attention away from your crying child, smoothing out a nonexistent crease in your skirt. 

“I think he’s just about to get the turkey out of the oven,” your mother says, wagging a finger in Lucas’ face with a little smile, “Why don’t you go say hi and I talk to my grandson for a moment? Oh, look at you, Lucas! You’re just perfect, aren’t you?”

You reluctantly leave the three of them to head for the kitchen. You can feel each family photograph staring back at you as you walk through the hallway to your destination; a picture of your five-year-old self on a bike but somehow no picture of your graduation ceremony as if it has been decided where things went wrong before you could acknowledge it yourself. 

“Hey Dad, smells so good in here,” the kitchen does indeed smell wonderfully as you walk through the door. Your father looks at you over his shoulder, giving you a little smile and you try not to think about how he didn’t bother to come out to greet you. 

“Mom and I were wondering if you were ever coming,” he notes while plating pieces of turkey meat. In the hallway, you can hear Javier striking up polite conversation. He’s handling your mother with his usual calmness, and you feel grateful for his presence yet embarrassed that you aren’t strong enough to handle it yourself.

You shrug a little, Javier’s presence giving you the courage to try and mirror said calmness, “Newborns, you know.”

“He’s four months,” he corrects. 

“Right, time flies,” you reply with your confidence fading fast, the words coming out in a way that doesn’t quite carry the quick wit that Javier usually loves about you. You touch your arm, standing awkwardly by the counter, “Still figuring it out as we go.”

Your father doesn’t turn around, “Parenting’s not rocket science, you know. Your mother and I managed just fine without all the made-up nonsense you young people talk about these days.”

You jump a little as your mother puts a hand on your shoulder and says your name to get your attention. You look back at her, “Can you set the table? I put the tablecloth ready on the silverware cabinet.”

“Sure, Mom,” you smile, already heading for the dining room to escape from your father’s subtle judgments. You find Javier has already gone, an irrational thought popping into your head of how he has bolted and left you to deal with your mom and dad by yourself. 

You glance into the kitchen as you start placing the plates in each of their respective places, “Where’s Javier?”

“He went to get the presents from the car,” your mother replies from the kitchen. You hear her take out a serving bowl from a cabinet. 

“Oh, I should go help him wi—“ 

“He’s your husband, sweetie. Let him handle it. There’s no need to emasculate him like that,” she is suddenly in the doorway, staring you down in a way that makes your hands shake. Her gaze drops to the table and her brows furrow, “You’re using the wrong plates!”

You look up with a racing heartbeat, “What?”

She sighs your name audibly, “These aren’t the Christmas plates. We don’t use regular plates for special occasions. Honestly, I thought you’d know better.”

The words sting and you set down the plates you have been holding in case the littlest twitch will make you drop it onto the floor, “Sorry, Mom.” 

“Ah well, now you’ll never forget it,” she jokes without humor in her voice as she opens the door to the china cabinet, pulling out the plates adorned with what you recognize to be hand-painted holly. You shamefully realize you know them from childhood Christmases and that they are exactly where they’ve always been. 

Automatically, you gather the wrong plates to make room for the right ones. It’s Christmas, you remind yourself as you do it. It is one day. You can survive one day. 

“See? Isn’t this much better?” She says cheerfully when your mistake has been corrected and while you nod, Javier reenters the house. 

He joins the two of you, carrying a large gift bag in one hand and holding Lucas on the other arm. You immediately go to take him, doing a careful transfer until you can lay his tiny body against your shoulder while supporting his bottom. 

“¿Todo bien? (Everything okay?)” Javier asks quietly when you follow him into the living room where the tree stands. He sets down the bag and tries to act casual, laying out the gifts and waiting for your honest response in the meantime. Apparently, you haven’t been as successful in hiding the distress on your face as you thought you had. 

You force a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes and Lucas starts whining again. You bounce him gently, “It’s nothing. Just… Christmas stuff.”

Javier glances toward the hallway to the kitchen where your parents’ voices can be heard faintly over the sounds of cooking. His jaw tightens slightly and his mouth becomes a thin line. 

“Don’t,” you say as firmly as you can muster because you wish he would, “It’ll only make it worse.”

“Dame un beso (give me a kiss),” he says instead, and you shyly lean in to peck him on the lips. Afterward, he pulls back but only after stroking Lucas’ back, “You’re both doing great, okay? Don’t let them get in your head.”

You are interrupted by your mother’s voice ringing out from the dining room, telling you that dinner is ready. Javier kisses you one last time before reassuring you that everything will be okay and that he is in your corner. You try to smile, tense as you take a seat with Lucas still in your arms. 

The Christmas meal begins with polite conversation, your father asking Javier about work and your mother telling you about neighbors that you haven’t spoken to in years. You mostly just speak when spoken to, having decided to focus on your baby as he keeps wriggling in your arms in discomfort. You try to rub his belly, try to make him settle by giving him your attention but still, his tiny face crumbles and he lets out a string of small complaints. 

“Maybe we could open presents while he naps?” You suggest hesitantly when your mother has given you enough judgemental advice, “He’s been so fussy all night, and I don’t want him to get more overwhelmed than he—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” your mother says your name with a sigh. You hear Javier’s chair scrape against the floor, almost as if he is about to get up and get ready for a physical altercation.

“Let’s do whatever is easiest for the baby,” your father interrupts, placing a hand on your mother’s wrist. Her annoyance shines through her eyes but she nods with a smile nonetheless. 

“Of course,” you hear her grit out, “It’s just… We’d love to spend time with him. We’ve already missed so much, and Luke needs his grandparents.”

“We’ll see,” Javier answers for you. 

The dinner continues in mostly silence with turkey being substituted by pie, cutlery clinking against plates, and glasses being lifted and set down again. There’s tension so thick that it can be cut with a knife, your mother glancing at Lucas with a smile before it disappears from her face when she shifts her gaze to your direction.  

Mercilessly, she finally speaks, “So, honey, have you thought about when you’ll start losing the baby weight?”

“Mom!” You exclaim in shock, surprised that sound comes out when your throat feels like it is about to close up completely.

In the same manner as one would spit out a drink in shock, Javier’s fork scrapes unpleasantly against his plate, and suddenly, your mother’s name falls from his lips like the sound itself leaves him with a bad taste in his mouth. She looks startled by the interruption, almost like a deer in the headlights of a car, but it doesn’t faze your husband, “My wife looks beautiful and she has just given me - us - the greatest gift which is our son. Let’s not diminish that, shall we?”

You try to feel the weight of Lucas against your chest instead of how you don’t feel safe within this house, with its bruises on the walls and its ghosts of a youth spent walking on eggshells. Lucas’ body is warm, a reminder that this doesn’t matter. He matters. 

“I’m focused on taking care of my son right now, Mom,” you reply coolly with your lips resting on the soft hairs on Lucas’ head. 

“Right, of course. I didn’t mean anything by it,” your mother argues, clearly flustered, “You know how important it is to stay healthy for the baby.”

“Your mother just wants what’s best for you, honey,” your father intervenes, trying to steer the conversation onto friendlier and safer topics but she has already gotten up from her seat. 

“Why don’t I clear the table so we can move into the living room and open presents?” She mumbles, putting on a show by letting her voice waver. She has begun stacking plates before anyone can even say anything, practically fleeing the room and leaving you all looking slightly sheepish. Javier hides the roll of his eyes exceptionally well and he smiles when you catch him.

“I’ll put Lucas down for a nap,” you announce to what is left of the party.

Javier gets up alongside you to help you. He walks upstairs right behind you, a calming presence with the diaper bag in hand as you head for the guest room.

When you close the door behind the three of you, the tension seeps out of your body at having a quiet moment with your boys. The lighting in the room is soft and calming, almost making you want to lie down to nap with your son. 

“There we go,” you say as you gently place Lucas on the bed while Javier rummages through the bag for his pacifier. Lucas blinks up at you, his tiny fists balled and his chubby legs kicking excitedly. He lets out a happy gurgle.

“Oh, now you’re happy,” you tease softly and kneel by the bed to rub his tummy, “Picky with who we’re smiling at, are we?” 

Javier joins you by the bed and offers Lucas his pacifier. Your son stretches his arms and reaches for his father, letting out a high-pitched giggle around the pacifier. However, as he suckles gently, accompanied by your soft touch that has now moved to his chubby cheeks too, his eyelids start to grow heavy. 

When his breaths have slowed, you do whatever you can with the pillows to create a safe space for him to sleep. You create a barrier around him, ensuring as well as possible that he won’t roll over. 

“You know, you’d think that they would have set up a crib for him if they’re so desperate to see him,” you murmur bitterly as you adjust the last pillow.

“You sure you want to go back down there?” Javier asks carefully. 

“Can you grab the baby monitor?” You ignore his question at first but Javier is already handing you the monitor, ruining your attempt at not addressing the situation further. You sigh and get up from the floor, “I can get through it. If it’ll make them stop pestering me for a visit for a while.”

“I swear, one more word out of her mouth and I’ll open my own,” Javier says with anger simmering just beneath the surface. He drags you into his arms when you stand up again, hears your sigh of relief at being squeezed. It calms your nervous system so effectively that you slump. 

“Believe me, I feel like I am going insane,” you whisper into his neck and shoulder, grabbing aimlessly at his strong frame and inhaling his scent. He returns the desperate touch by simply rubbing your back in slow circles. 

“Yeah, I don’t know how you stay so calm,” he kisses your temple a few times. 

“Trust me, humans can endure a lot when they know there’s a time limit,” you chuckle humorlessly and pull away, “Let’s just do the gift exchange and leave.”

Downstairs, your parents are waiting for you by the tree. The collection of presents is sparse this year due to the short notice but you find it relieving to know that the gift exchange will be over quickly. 

Placing the baby monitor on the coffee table, you sit down on the sofa but don’t allow yourself to relax into it. Javier drops down beside you but leans back into his seat, his hand resting casually on your thigh to ground you. 

“Let’s get to the gifts. It’ll be nice to end this day on a happy note,” your mother says overly cheerfully, pretending to have forgiven and forgotten all about the situation earlier. She reaches for the first gift under the tree while your father stands ready with a bag for the wrapping paper. 

“That’s mine,” Javier tells her with a little smirk in your direction. He holds out his hand until she gives it to him, “To my beautiful wife. Merry Christmas, baby.”

“How thoughtful,” your mother mumbles and sits on the edge of her armchair. 

“Javi, I thought we weren’t on gifts this year,” you scold playfully but there’s no seriousness to your voice. You finally smile and this time it is genuine, feeling his gaze on you while you impatiently rip the wrapping. 

“I know what I said but I know you’ll love it. It’s more for Lucas anyway,” he informs you shyly. 

Inside, you find two pairs of identical fuzzy and comfortable socks with a dinosaur print on them. However, one pair fits Lucas’ tiny feet and the other fits yours. Your whole demeanor changes with the sight of your gift, your face lighting up with a bright smile, “These are so cute!”

“For your cold feet. Thought you could use something cozy while you take care of Luke at home,” he moves his hand to rest just above the small of your back, his palm smoothing over you on top of the fabric of your blouse. 

Your parents sit idly by. They stare at the gift with confusion and arrogance, clearly holding their tongue over how ridiculous they find it. Your mother picks at her fingers, “Interesting.”

“Interesting? Aren’t they adorable?” You hold the matching socks up happily, not sure what to expect but not even your mother’s judgmental expression can bring you down right now. To really rub it in, you kiss Javier’s mouth gently in front of them, “Gracias, esposo (Thank you, husband).”

But the happiness is short-lived as your father goes to get the next present from the small pile. He searches for a moment amongst the few there are, deliberately seeking out the present that you have brought them, most likely to be able to leave the room soon due to the obvious tension. He has never been one to intervene. 

“You shouldn’t have,” your mother tuts with a small smile as she carefully unwraps it in her lap, her fingers doing everything they can to not tear the paper so she can reuse it. 

When the framed picture of Lucas is revealed - a photo taken during an afternoon when he was particularly happy and smiling - her smile develops into a slightly wider one even if it looks against her will. She studies the picture with your father looking over her shoulder. 

“We thought you’d like something to remember him by,” you encourage her to say something. 

Your mother places the photo on the coffee table, her hands smoothing out the wrapping paper while she talks, “It’s lovely, sweetie. Though I’m sure we’d have more memories if we got to see him more often.”

You tense up beside Javier. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him do the same but he squeezes your hip to tell you that he is right there. Anxiously, you curl your fingers into your skirt but your mother isn’t finished.

“I just don’t understand why you’ve been so distant,” she continues, cold in her tone. “You hardly call, which would be fine but you visit even less than that, and now you’re letting Lucas sleep through his first Christmas. It’s not like you’ve gone back to work, so what is it?”

“Mom, please,” you say quietly but it doesn’t veil the wavering of your words, “I’m doing the best I can.”

“Are you?” She challenges, “Lucas has been fussing all night, hasn’t he? Maybe he’s picking up on your stress.”

You hear Javier say your mother’s name as he had during dinner, low and with warning. At the same moment, the baby monitor crackles with the sound of Lucas’ tiny complaints. The sound pulls you from your seat, your instincts to go to him overriding your desire to defend yourself from further abuse. However, your mother’s voice rings out behind you just as you take your first step.

She rolls her eyes, “Oh, just let him cry a little. You’ll make him clingy if you keep running to him every time he whimpers.”

You stop in your tracks, finally turning around to look her in the eye with your own eyes narrowed. You can see Javier watching you closely while you talk, “Mom, if he cries, he needs me.”

According to you, she has already gone too far but it seems that she cannot stop once she has started, “You know, you really should stop babying him so much. He needs to learn to self-soothe.”

Tears of frustration start to build in your chest and you can feel the muscles of your throat start to tighten as they rise to your eyes, “Jesus Christ, Mom, I’m not going to stop babying my baby.”

Her final blow comes out with a deliberate intention to hurt you, “There you go overthinking again and snapping at your mother. He is whimpering. Honestly, sometimes I wonder how Javier puts up with it. You can be such a bitch when you’re stressed.”

The room falls dead silent and the first tear escapes your eye at the cruel nickname… then a second and then a third until you start to cry silently and hopelessly. You suddenly feel like a teenager again, suffering from forced proximity. Your father opens his mouth but nothing comes out, seemingly not able to figure out how to defend his wife for once. It is the final straw for Javier.

“What did you just say?” He firmly cuts through the silence. He has gotten up from his seat and has stepped in front of you to shield you protectively from your mother’s line of sight. His nostrils flare with anger that might explode into rage at any moment but he keeps his voice steady, “You better not have said what I think you did or I am wondering why you haven’t apologized already.”

Your mother’s eyes widen at the idea of consequences. She splutters, caught off guard, “Apologize? Javier, don’t be ridiculous! I’m her mother—“

Javier laughs dangerously and condescendingly and looks away with a roll of his eyes. He shakes his head, not afraid to let the room know that he thinks she sounds pathetic without even calling her out on it. He crosses his arms over his chest, “You got a hell of a way of showing motherly love then; all you have done is tear her down today.”

“Javier,” your father tries to interject, “Let’s not make this into a scene.”

“No,” Javier turns to him, his jaw muscles flexing slightly underneath his skin with how much anger is flowing through him. The simple word makes your father sit up straighter than before - a testament to Javier’s days in Colombia - but Javier is not done, “You don’t get to lecture me about making a scene. Not after sitting there and letting this happen. She is your daughter.”

When your father has shut his mouth, looking uncomfortable by his defeat while he leans back into his seat with no intention to follow up on his words, Javier’s fury settles on your mother once more, “What’s your goal here, exactly?”

You’re aware that it isn’t just a simple few tears falling from your eyes anymore but rather a silent stream that has your face puffy and sensitive. It is accompanied by grief over your younger self not having had someone like Javier in her corner. You sniffle audibly, feeling as if you have been punched in the gut with how much it hurts and humiliates you to sit idly by. Your mother catches a glimpse of you behind your husband but it doesn’t seem to have any effect whatsoever. 

“There’s no secret agenda here, for God’s sake. I didn’t mean anything by it,” she sneers, trying to keep her demeanor straight despite the humiliation of getting called out being evident on her face. 

“Yes, you did,” Javier argues immediately and fiercely, pointing his index finger at her in an accusing manner, “You knew exactly what you were saying. You wanted her to hurt. Well congratulations, you’ve succeeded. Unfortunately, your daughter is a lot nicer than me and handled your words with a lot more grace than you deserve. I will not be doing the same thing.”

Your mother’s composure falters. She says your father’s name helplessly but he looks at her with tired eyes, full of quiet disappointment. Even if he is absent and passive like always, his refusal to intervene further is a sign that he would never go as far as his wife has just done. He shakes his head in disapproval, “Why’d you do it? We were having such a nice time too.”

She gapes at your father while his gaze drops to his lap, shrinking herself slightly at the realization that she is outnumbered and has to face your husband alone. Javier takes a step closer, radiating authority when she tries to avoid further confrontation, distaste so clear on his face for how he has lost her attention for a moment. When you let out a quiet sob, too paralyzed in your spot on the couch to go to your whimpering child, his face hardens further and he continues, “Listen to me.”

Your mother looks up reluctantly. She appears to be on the brink of an attempt to turn his words against him and argue right back once more, but Javier cuts her off before she can even start. 

“You don’t talk to her like that again. Ever. And you most certainly do not question her ability to be a mother. She is a perfect mother and God knows, she hasn’t gotten it from you. Lucas is a happy, healthy, and thriving baby because of her,” he takes a breath, and for a second, it seems like he might be done but then, “You hurt my girl, you understand that? And if you ever speak to her like that again - actually if you even speak about her like that again -  I will personally make sure you don’t get to have Lucas in your life.”

“Are you threatening us?” Her composure slips even more. 

“No, ma’am, I am instructing you,” he replies coldly, “If you can’t respect his mother, we’re done here.”

Javier turns to you now, his face softening immediately at the sight of you sitting teary-eyed on the couch with your hands clutching the baby monitor. He says your name so softly, a sound that has always felt like an unfamiliar and unwelcome sound within this house, and gently pulls the piece of technology out of your hands. 

“Listen to me, baby. Go wait in the car. I’ll get Lucas and his things,” he instructs you, placing the baby monitor on the coffee table behind him without looking away from you. He helps you to stand when you find yourself nodding. 

When you’re up from your seat, he puts a hand on the small of your back to guide you towards the door. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t let you linger in the room. 

“You don’t have to leave,” your mother protests with obvious surprise that you and Javier are carrying out the promise of consequences. She begins pushing herself to stand. 

“Sit down, I will not let you disturb any of the peace she has left,” he commands harshly when she tries to take a step toward you. 

Your mother falters, stunned by his audacity, and sinks back into her seat.

The moment you’re out of the front door, your legs start shaking so badly beneath you that you aren’t sure if you’ll even make it to the car. The walk feels endless, like climbing a mountain, the neighborhood surrounding your childhood home quiet because everyone is inside with the happy family that you never got to have growing up. 

Until now. You have it now. However, you have left them to fend for themselves on the battlefield to slide into the front seat of the car. You rub your chest as it feels tight but it soothes nothing and suddenly, the tears come harder than they had in the living room. You rest your head against the glass window, screwing your eyes shut and feeling drips of hot tears on your cheeks.

Memories come flooding and you have no power to stop them, pictures of many nights spent in solitude in your room because it was the only illusion of sanctuary in the house before you. The sound of your mother’s scoffs, her unbearable ability to make you feel small, inadequate, and unwanted. Her year-long cruelty feels like a knife in your chest but your father’s silent complicity twists its blade too, makes you think that you were never worthy of defending. 

Yet Javier had done it so effortlessly, had done what you’d wished someone would have done for you in your entire life, and he had done it without any hesitation. You are shattered by another night believing the worst about yourself, yes, but you realize that a part of your sobs comes from relief too. Suddenly, it all feels silly and you don’t know why you have always stopped Javier from speaking up for you since you met because his words - she is a perfect mother - have taken the power out of your mother’s incredibly fast. 

You hear the front door open and a shaky sob leaves you at seeing the two of your boys approach the car. Javier has the diaper bag over his shoulder whilst cradling Lucas against his chest, his face serious. He moves in long strides to get to you fast, not saying anything as he buckles Lucas’ sleeping form into his car seat before climbing into his own seat in the front. 

You sit up again, eyes still brimming with tears that streak your face. You feel overwhelmed like you have run a marathon or fought a bear or a monster. 

Javier puts on his seatbelt but doesn’t put the key in the ignition yet. He looks out of the windshield for a moment, breathes a sigh of relief. The car is quiet except for Lucas’ soft breaths as he sleeps.

Right until Javier says your name when you don’t automatically turn your head to look at him, ashamed of how the day has progressed. It is Christmas, after all, and Lucas’ first one ever too. 

“Mírame (Look at me),” he says in a gentle murmur. 

You shake your head, unable to answer with how tightly wound you are. You feel his hand under your chin, carefully pulling you by your chin until your eyes meet his. His outline is blurry from all the tears but his voice cuts through the fog in gentle firmness. 

“I love you so much, and I love our son, okay?” He says it like it is a promise, “They aren't ever gonna to talk to you like that again because I won't allow them to. Do you understand me?”

You silently look at him through your tears, nodding weakly. He reaches to brush your tears away with a knuckle. 

“Everything’s gonna be okay because you don’t have to see them if you don’t want to. You just have to let me take care of you,” he continues and cups your cheek instead, “And right now, I say you’re done with them for tonight. Actually, for as long as you fucking want.”

“I want… I don’t…” You say at first but then, “I’m sorry.”

Javier furrows his brows, “Why are you sorry?” 

“Because that’s my mom,” you try to speak around a fresh sob, “And you married me and I trapped you with my fucked up family.”

“Hey, heyheyhey,” he shakes his head, moving his other hand to cup your whole face now. He leans over the console of the car and rests his forehead against yours. When you simply cry harder, he pulls you into a hug, “You didn’t trap me, okay? You didn’t. I’m here because you make me happy. You make me so happy, baby, and Hell knows, I needed a bit of taking care of when you met me. Let me return the favor.”

His body is warm, soothing, and grounding. His embrace squeezes you hard enough to make you calm down, giving you a moment of quiet peace in your mind as you begin to take in his words. You feel the same. You want to say it but you’re afraid that you’ll never stop crying tonight, so instead you find the courage to say those words that you should have told yourself years ago, “I don’t think I want to go back.”

“What do you want to do then?” Javier pulls back to look at you. He moves back into his own seat again and starts the car to give you time to think clearly about his question. 

“Can we go to your dad’s?” You ask hesitantly. 

Javier’s brows rise slightly but he doesn’t argue, just nods as he puts the car in reverse. Before reversing out of the driveway, he pulls you in to kiss your forehead softly. 

“Claro, mi amor (Sure, my love),” he says simply, “He’d love to see us.”

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[miniimerry]

My litmus test for deciding if I respect or value a person’s One Piece opinions is looking at the way they discuss Usopp tbh. You can tell a lot about someone based on how they talk about Usopp specifically.

If a person insists that Usopp is useless (whether it’s because he’s not as strong as Zoro or Luffy or Sanji or because he “doesn’t have a real job” on the crew) it tells me that they don’t pay attention to what Usopp does contribute, nor do they pay attention to what the story itself deems useful. Usopp may not be a massive, hulking powerhouse with ultra-powerful haki, but he does have utility in the crew. (And even if he didn’t, he would still belong because they wanted him.)

If a person insists that Usopp is just a crybaby or a coward and that he sucks because of this, it tells me that you don’t pay attention to what he’s doing while he’s running or crying. He might cry or shake or run, but he always comes back. He always stands up and fights in the end. He feels scared and then he does it anyway. It’s easy to forget, but Usopp is just a human in a world of monsters. For him to stand up and fight takes a lot of courage.

If a person insists that Usopp is not strong, it tells me they miss what the story itself tells us about what strength is and what it means to be strong. He has a skill that most do not. He is able to shoot with a degree of accuracy that is borderline inhuman. Whether he can kick through a boulder is irrelevant. Sanji can’t snipe from hundreds of feet away.

If you can’t look at Usopp and see where he fits in the story, I am truly uninterested in anything else you have to say about this story.

[buckevantommy]

Everyone's always telling Buck what he should do. Okay, sometimes he did ask for their advice, but every piece of advice he's followed through on lately has ended badly and everything they tell him to do he doesn't actually want to do.

He should want to do something if it's supposed to make him feel better, if it's supposed to be better for him, right?

Josh told him to bulldoze ahead and tell Tommy what he wanted. Tommy told him to re-enact his Buck 1.0 days and spend time with some indeterminate amount of people until he finds someone forever. Maddie and Chim told him to start dating again and also wait for the universe to bring him someone special; another someone. Hen and Eddie told him not to contact Tommy.

He doesn't want to do any of that! He wants to talk to Tommy, to see him, to get Tommy to talk to him instead of giving up on them and running away because he's scared. He wants to tell Tommy he loves him. He wants Tommy to know first and last aren't mutually exclusive. He wants to yell at Tommy, and kiss him, and hold him. He wants Tommy to apologise for breaking his heart and for being a dumbass. He wants Tommy to believe him when he says he won't do the same; well, he might be a dumbass sometimes - but he would never break Tommy’s heart. He wants to apologise for jumping ahead but also not have to apologise for wanting a life with Tommy or for being too much.

Since that first night Tommy kissed him, he's felt reborn. Not in some starry-eyed way that Tommy seems to think is fake and won't last, but in the way that he's shed the skin of past Buck upgrades and finally grown into his body, become comfortable in who he is instead of trying to fit a facade that other people would accept. Always too big, too much, not enough, never content to just sit in his self and be without his worries and insecurities moulding him into something else, something with a better chance of getting people to like him, love him, stay with him. 

He’s never felt more himself or more at ease in a relationship that meant something to him than he did with Tommy. Never felt more wholly seen - the good, the bad, and the too-much and not enough - by his partner and adored anyway, wanted anyway.

Halfway through making swiss meringue buttercream instead of breakfast, he realises he's thinking about Tommy. His coping skill, as Bobby called it, has stopped working.

There's butter and sugar in the creases of his hands and nailbeds even after he hurriedly wipes them with the dishcloth over his shoulder. He can see it as he scoops up his phone from the charger and thumbs over to his message thread with Tommy, leaving greasy crumby residue on the screen.

i saw you bubbling

After it happened, after the Chief distracted everyone enough for him to grab his phone and retreat somewhere he wouldn't be disturbed, he'd stared at the space where the unsent message had appeared for twenty minutes waiting for the type bubble to reappear. Waiting for Tommy to hit send on whatever he'd backtyped.

Buck's mind had spiralled with all the possibilities and while it spiralled and he stared and waited he never got around to actually calling or texting Tommy himself. And then the bell rang.

He has time, now. He has things he wants to say.

you were going to tell me something an maybe i wont like what it was but just knowing you almost reached out is kinda driving me crazy bc i have a fridge full of baked goods bc everytime i think about calling you i bake and now i havnt cooked a proper meal in my own place in over a week bc i dont have room in my damn fridge to store anything besides chocholate chip bananan bread and baked alaskas

He wants to say: and it's all your fault! but that's not the whole truth. Buck played his part in this, set the wheels in motion that drove Tommy away from him. But how the hell was he supposed to know that? And Tommy should've known by now he doesn't really do 'slow'.

i'm not sorry for being too much bc i shouldnt haveto apologize for being myself

Screw it. Can't get any worse, right? Tommy's getting all of him whether he likes it or not.

i dont see you as some queer life coach or someone to fill space until someon else comes along

thats not who i am

i thought you knew me better than that but whatevr ig

i wanted to live with you bc i want a life with you bc i love you

i love you

i shouldve said that first

Send after send, typing like a man possessed, he gets out everything that's been pent up inside him since the shock wore off a week ago.

His chest is heaving as the adrenaline rushes through his veins. And his eyes sting. He has to blink away tears as he reads over the last message.

He never told Tommy. Tommy doesn't know. Maybe Buck wasn't sure that night Josh asked him, but he knows it now.

i wanted you to be my last

He still does.

i wanna hate you for giving up on us

but i cant seem to hate you

This whole thing would hurt a lot less if he could just hate Tommy for what he did. It would hurt a lot less if they could find a way through this mess, together, and come out the other side stronger because they know each other better and know they want to fight for what they have.

Real love is worth fighting for. Red taught him that. Real love isn’t found, it’s made. Old gay Thomas taught him that.

Well, Buck found Tommy. Or, the universe did. And he’s going to fight, dammit, because he wants to build a future with Tommy. 

His vision has blurred with hot tears. Movement on his screen catches his attention from where his gaze had drifted over to the couch where Tommy had stayed to take care of him through his Billy Boils saga.

Tommy is bubbling him.

Buck’s heart lurches in his chest. His breath catches.

can we talk?

There’s a huff of something like manic laughter as he swipes at his snotty nose.

that’s what i typed

Hope blooms in his chest, sudden and bright and painful in the best way.  

can we?

I think I owe it to you to yell at me in person

There’s a long moment where Buck tries to return his breathing to normal but its bated as he watches three little dots appear, then disappear. 

Then reappear. 

Then disappear.

Then:

I don’t want to give up on us either

Buck’s tears are still making his vision watery, but now they’re tears of joy. He did what he wanted to do - he reached out. And Tommy heard him.

He should take his own advice more often.

[burreauxsworld]

Ours To Keep (3) | Joe Burrow

Smut/18+, Fluff, Slight Angst

Summary: you and Joe are learning to juggle your pregnancy on top of the fast approaching football season, all while growing even closer than before, which neither of you thought was possible.

You’re bent over the toilet of the facility bathroom emptying to contents of your stomach. The nausea seemed to come in swinging. This is how you found yourself most mornings, and even throughout the day. The anti-nausea medicine prescribed to you barely ever seemed to work. Letting out a groan, you flushed the toilet and stood up.

It’d been two weeks since the confirmation of your pregnancy, and you learned from the ultra sound that you were about 3 months along. While you weren’t showing yet, the weight gain was starting to become obvious. Your jeans no longer fit you, so you opted for leggings most of the time. Your bra’s became too snug, so you had to get new ones. Most of all, you’d started wearing Joe’s bengals shirts to work to hide the weight gain. The two of you still hadn’t told anyone about the baby. You wanted to live in your own little bubble for a while. Joe agreed, knowing it would cause less stress for you if you hadn’t told anyone yet.

You washed your hands and walked out of the bathroom. You stopped by your office to grab your laptop, and made your way toward the practice field. Practice wasn’t open to the public today so you opted to work outside. You needed some fresh air anyway. You took a seat on a slightly shaded part of grass, and started to respond to emails regarding brand deals and events that Joe would need to go to. Setting up interviews and juggling everything around his football schedule. You also had to plan doctors appointments around both of your schedules, because he said he refuses to miss a single one.

You hear a whistle blow, and look up just in time to see Joe hoping on one foot, out of the way of the play and taking a seat on the ground, with his brow furrowed in pain. Your heart drops to your stomach. You set your laptop aside, and watch as Coach Taylor walks over to Joe. You don’t dare walk over there because Joe would throw a fit if someone even accidentally bumped you.

“Fuck,” you mutter as Joe gets carted off the field. You gather your things and quickly make your way back into the facility. You find Joe in one of the medical rooms sitting on the table, he’s by himself so you slip into the room. “Hey, what happened?”

“Strained my damn calf.” he spits, and you wince. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come out so harsh” he apologizes. “Zac dismissed me for the day. I’m just trying to find the motivation to get up and take a shower before we head out. Hurts like a bitch,” he admits, looking over at you. “Do you need help?” You ask and he shakes his head.

“No, I should be okay. I don’t think I can drive though”

“Well it’s a good thing we came together then. You’ll just have to trust me to drive your baby” you joke, and he jokingly rolls his eyes. “If I can trust you to carry my baby then I guess I can trust you to drive my third baby” he jokes, and you grow confused. “Third?”

“Well, there’s you, our baby, and my Porsche” he explains, and your heart melts. “Let’s get outta here,” he says before you can say anything, slowly getting on his feet.

•••

“Thanks, baby” Joe says as you set a plate of food in front of him while he sits on the couch with his leg elevated. You smiled at him in return before taking a seat next to him. You look over at him while he eats, and you can’t shake the thought from your head. “Joey,” you say, catching his attention. “Can we talk…about us?”

He sets his plate aside and looks over at you, not being able to move much due to his calf. “What about us?” He asks softly. You let out a sigh. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just wondering where everything leaves us. You know, with the baby and all. I’m 100% okay if you don’t feel the same way, but I have to get this off of my chest” you tell him, taking a deep breath. He bites the inside of his cheek, stopping a smile from forming. He knows exactly where this is going.

“I’ve liked you for a really long time. Which is why I let our situation go on for such a long time. I craved that touch from you. I craved literally anything from you. I guess what I’m trying to say is, this baby made me realize that I don’t want to be without you. Ever. I love you, Joey, and you don’t have to say back. I just needed you to know-“

He cuts you off by pulling you in for a kiss. The kiss was slow, not rushed. Soft and full of love. It felt like fireworks were bursting in your chest. You pulled away and stared into his eyes, a look of adoration evident in the ocean blue irises that you loved so much.

“I love you, so so much” Joe mutters. “You and our baby”

“So what does this mean for us?” You ask quietly, with a hint of hope in your voice. “It means you’ve always been my girl, but now it’s official” he smirks, pulling you to straddle his waist. “Joey, I don’t wanna hurt you!” You shriek, trying to get off of his lap. “It’s my calf not my thighs. You’re perfectly fine, baby” he assures you, before smashing his lips onto yours.

This kiss was feverish and full of desire. The raw passion made the room around you feel warm. Joe’s hands settle on your ass, grinding you down on his growing erection inside his sweats. He groans into the kiss as he repeats his action. Your hands slide down his clothed chest, moving slowly toward the bottom of his hoodie. You slide your hands under his hoodie and his shirt, moving it up and he help you take it off. His hands grip the bottom of your shirt and pull it over your head, you weren’t wearing a bra, do your boobs sprung in his face.

His mouth attaches to one of your sensitive nipples and you let out a sharp gasp. “Please be gentle, they’re sore right now” you tell him breathlessly. “I got you baby, I’ll take care of you” Joe says, his tongue slowly circling your left nipple. You tip your head back as you let out a soft moan. He gently sucks it into his mouth before letting it go with a pop, moving to the other side.

“Fuck, Joey” you whine, grinding yourself into his lap. “You like this gorgeous? Fuck, your tits are huge now. They’re so beautiful” he groans, softly kneading them in his large hands. You lean in capturing his lips again. His hands push your cotton shorts over the curve of your ass, slapping it as he does so, causing you to gasp.

“Take these off,” he says, helping you stand to remove your shorts. He removes his sweats as well. Both of you completely bare, not like you haven’t been before. You straddle his waist again, his hard cock rubbing perfectly against your swollen bud. You whine, grinding down. “I’m gonna take care of you, baby, don’t you worry” he whispers in your ear, his voice laced with lust. His hand moves between your thighs, groaning when he feels how wet you are for him. You whine as he gathers your wetness and his fingers start to circle your clit.

Your nipples rubbing against his chest made the pleasure feel almost overwhelming. His lips are back on yours while his fingers work you. Your moans and whines are caught in his mouth. He pulls away, his lips finding your chest again, you throw your head back. “Fuck Joey!” You whine loudly. “Fuuuckk” you moan out, and he smirks against your chest. You let out a sharp gasp when his fingers move from your clit to your sopping entrance, and he inserts two fingers.

“Fuck you’re so wet for me,” Joe groans. “Baby, I’m gonna cum” you whine out and his fingers move faster. “Cum for me baby. Cum all over my hand”

Your breathless moans sound throughout the living room, your head tipped back as you fall apart from just his talented fingers. You lean forward and rest your sweaty forehead on his shoulder. “You think you can ride me, baby?” Joe mutters into your ear, nipping at your earlobe. You nod and pull back to position yourself above him. Sinking down slowly, you feel every inch. Every vein. Your eyes are shut and mouth formed into a perfect “O” shape. Joe lets out a groan as you’re fully seated. He gives you a minute to adjust to his size.

You feel so full. You haven’t felt this in almost a month due to the two of you being so busy. You start to move back and fourth, a soft moan slipping past your lips. Joe’s large hands find your waist to help guide you. You let out a laid moan as he lips your hips and slams you back down. “Oh my god!”

“Yeah, you like that baby?”

You let out a loud moan in response. His hands basically doing all of the work. The pace is merciless. His cock hitting all the right places. “Fuck, daddy, right there!” You yell out, without realizing what had slipped, but Joe fucking loved it. “Say it again.” He orders, moving you faster. “Fuck, daddy!” You gasp out. You can feel the knot tightening in your belly. Joe can feel the way you’re squeezing him, and he knows you’re close.

“You gonna cum baby? Cum all over this dick”

You let out a loud, high pitched whine. “I’m gonna fill you up. You’re gonna look so sexy all big and pregnant with my baby. Fuuckkk” Joe groans, tipping his head back. You yell out as you come apart, his hands holding you in place. Both of your chests heaving. You lean forward and lay your head on his shoulder and slowly lift yourself off of him, both of you hissing.

“That was hot,” you comment breathlessly.

“So hot.” Joe agrees. “You good?” He asks and you lift your head to make eye contact. “So good.”

“But I am a little hungry.” You comment sheepishly, and Joe lets out a loud laugh. “Alright. Let’s go shower and then get you and baby some food”

•••

The next day at work was a busy one. The first pre season game was in just 3 days. You and other players assistants were running around like chickens with their heads cut off trying to prepare everything for the guys. You more than most since you literally work for the quarterback. You felt like you hadn’t had a chance to stop and take a breath.

Finally you were able to retreat to your office for lunch. Gabby already sitting at her desk, smiled at you tiredly as you walked in. “Hey girlie” she says, and you smile at her. “Hey. Heard your load was pretty big today” you comment and she groans. “Don’t remind me—oh my gosh! Y/N, you have blood on the back of your pants” Gabby says, letting out a gasp. You heart falls into your stomach. This isn’t happening.

“Oh my god!” Your eyes begin to fill with tears. “Hey, it’s okay. I have an extra pair of pants in my bag that you can borrow-“

“Gabby, I need you to go get Joe”

“Why would you need Joe for this?” She questions confused. “Gabby please. Just get Joe”

[starsxblazing]

Hi friend! I had an idea that perhaps you could bring to life. Its an azriel x reader. Where shes a seamstress for Rhys, she makes all his suits and all the beautiful gowns and dresses for the girls to wear. She even makes their leathers for fighting. I imagine one of them or maybe a few of them make a comment on how she's no one important and kinda belittles her work cuz shes just a seamstress. Rhys brings all 3 males to be measured for suits and azriel is getting flushed as readers kneeling to measure the length of his pants and the slit for his wings. Rhys sees Azriel blush and gives him a stern look shaking his head like "not this one." She doesnt look them in they eye, and rhys doesnt tell azriel anything about her. Like shes rhys best kept secret. Reader feels like the IC is so much better than her and thats why they sometimes say mean things (maybe someone asks elain where her dress is from and she just scoffs like "this old thing") but its actually a protective rhys trying to keep her safe cuz she reminds him so much of his deceased sister. Bond snaps but readers so insecure she wants to decline. Sorry this was so long. Lol. Just trying to get the jist of it out. Non important seamstress reader, flushed azriel, brother like rhys. The end. 🤣🤣🤣

a/n: I really hope that I did your request justice! It was so cute writing a shy Azriel

Unnoticed

You sat at the front desk of the shop to place your order for your inventory, sighing to yourself as your eyes momentarily moved around the small store that you owned. It wasn’t anything special and was small compared to the many others in the city. There were so many other places that would be preferred by the citizens but this was your passion and refused to give up on it. The bell on the door rang and you looked up with a hopeful smile that turned into a grin when you saw who was striding in.

“Hey!” you started happily, thankful to see such a familiar face. “It feels like forever since I’ve seen you.”

“I will make it a top priority to come visit when it isn’t just for your services,” he chuckled.

“And what is it that I can do for the all mighty High Lord?” A giggle at his playful frown escaped you. “I’ve been looking forward to the new things that you always request.”

“We have a visit to the Day Court and it would be nice to have some new attire for the ball that Helion will be hosting.”

“That sounds so nice,” you sighed dreamily. “The same sizes as last time?”

“The females, yes.” He gave you a smile that was full of love and admiration that nearly brought tears to your eyes. “However, Azriel and Cassian will need to be measured since they usually do not wear this particular form of attire.”

“Just let me know when you’re ready and I’ll have everything set up.” You searched through the files under your desk to pull out the Inner Circles information. “I can go ahead and get what you have in mind so I can get it done in time.”

Rhysand gave you a small smile, the adoration still shining in his eyes. You were never sure why he looked at you in such a way but you appreciated it anyway. He was the only thing that came close to a friend since there were times where he would stay with you and talk for hours before departing again. You had no family since they were lost in the war but you were thankful that you had been able to take refuge in Velaris.

There were times when the High Lord would try to offer to move you into a larger store in a better part of the city. It was a sweet offer but you felt as if it was charity and you didn’t want any pity. The Night Court black that was used was always beautiful to you and your friend seemed to like the little details that you added to make it stand out a bit more while still fitting his court. 

Your store stayed in business simply because of Rhysand’s orders for his family because you made everything for them. He always assured you that they loved their dresses and gowns but there was always an emotion in his eyes that you couldn’t place when he did so. Despite that, you always put everything that you had into it. His family was important and special. All of them were nothing like you. Just a little nobody that had nothing but your little shop to keep you busy.

It wasn’t until three hours later that the High Lord left did you realize just how alone that you truly were. You wished that you had a family like he did but you forced your mind to remember how happy that you were for him. There were so many that you had come across in your life that only had half of what he did and even then, there wasn’t much happiness in it.

The next day, you made your way out to begin your search for the things that you would be able to find in town when you saw someone you recognized. It was one of the High Lady’s sisters but you weren’t sure which one it was. You did your best to not be noticed as the female spoke to another one but you were pretty sure that you wouldn’t be. 

“Where did you get your dress, Elain?” the female asked.

“This old thing?” Elain looked down at her dress, one that you had made, with her nose scrunched in distaste. “It came from some nobody seamstress. Rhys has never told us anything else.”

“Well, I think it’s beautiful.” The female’s head tilted slightly with a raised eyebrow. “It seems like you don’t like it.”

“It’s definitely not my favorite,” Elain huffed, scrunching her nose in the process.

Unable to hear anymore of the conversation, you turned and darted back to your shop. So many feelings had hit you all at once and you weren’t sure where to start as you began sobbing once you were in the safety of the building that you also lived in. You began doubting yourself and the work that you loved while also wondering if the male that you considered your friend has been lying to you all of this time. 

Even though you had cried yourself to sleep in the early afternoon, you were still unable to pull yourself out of bed the next morning. You could barely hear the knock on the front door but you ignored it. You had already felt like no one of any importance but the words that you had overheard only proved it. Not only was it from a customer but also from someone who would be able to destroy what tiny bit of name that you had for yourself in the city within an instant. Facing Rhysand again would be one of the hardest things that you had to do in a long time but you refused to let him down.

You allowed yourself to mope in bed for the remainder of the day in hopes that you would feel a bit better the next day. No sooner than you opened your store, the bell rang and you felt the High Lord’s power throughout the entirety of the small building.

Azriel had felt a bit frustrated when his brother dragged him out of bed and rushed him through his breakfast. He wasn’t sure what the hurry was, not seeing the big deal in getting fitted for new suits and leathers. In truth, he did need them but he felt as if it could’ve waited until a bit later in the day. His High Lord had a hint of eagerness to him that wasn’t so present unless it came to his mate or son.

He was only annoyed further when they arrived at what he could swear was the smallest shop in the entire city and there was no answer even after Rhysand had all but beat the door down. The store couldn’t even be considered to be in the district where most of the stores were but he was somewhat relieved because he was able to spend the rest of his day as he wanted.

Rhysand did the same thing the following day which had both him and Cassian grumbling about doing the same thing two days in a row. Thankfully, the store was open and his brother walked in as if he owned the place with a small smile on his face.

“Is everything alright?” Rhys asked the female at the front desk hesitantly, a hint of worry in his voice. “We came by as planned but there was no answer.”

“I had some business to take care of,” you muttered, causing him and Cassian to glance at each other in confusion. 

Neither of them knew who you were nor even knew of the business that was being run here. He watched carefully as you gathered what was needed and even though you carried yourself in a confident manner, you kept your eyes downcast. It was as if you didn’t have it in you to look them in the eyes. You had obviously done so with his brother but it appeared as if it wasn’t the case today.

From what he could see, he could tell that you were beautiful but what would confirm it the most would be some form of eye contact. He watched you carefully as you started with Cassian, fully committed to doing your job to perfection. You started with his other brother’s legs for his height and he only saw a smirk pulling on Cassian’s lips that he was trying to hold back. For reasons unknown to Azriel, it had him frowning and almost bristling at the sight.

You continued on with your work in silence except for a hum here or there when the High Lord asked you questions as if you didn’t want to speak to any of them. It wasn’t until you moved to him did he truly pay attention to you. He wasn’t sure why but the sight of you on your knees in front of him, with your notebook in hand, had heat creeping onto his face. The quietest snicker came from Cassian who had moved behind him. When he turned to glare at him, he noticed a stern look on Rhysand’s face that had his eyebrows furrowing.

Azriel’s body stiffened when your fingers brushed lightly against him to take other measures. He sucked in a quiet breath when you moved behind him to measure the slits for his wings and your fingers just barely grazed them. It sent a jolt of what felt like electricity through him. He cursed himself silently because it wasn’t the first time that his wings had been touched but there was something about yours that nearly had him wanting more of the contact.

He was slightly disappointed when you were finished too quickly for his liking and moved to Rhysand. You still kept your eyes downcast from all of them and it seemed to have the slightest frown tugging at the High Lord’s lips. Cassian continued to watch as if he too was wondering what was going on. 

“Everything should be ready in three weeks if that’s alright,” you said, giving Rhysand the briefest glance before returning to your desk.

Rhys ushered them out quickly and was unusually quiet. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that he was brooding. Neither Cassian nor himself knew anything about you so they weren’t sure what to say but his own curiosity got the better of him.

“Who is she?”

“No one for you to be concerned about,” the High Lord answered. “And you will stay away from her.”

He was given a stern glance but he could note the protective fondness in his eyes. It only caused him to wonder more but he kept quiet on the matter.

You were thankful for the time being that you didn’t have a lot of customers. The work of making suits and gowns for seven people would take a while but you were thankful that it gave you a break from your thoughts. You didn’t waste any waking hour, putting your greatest effort into it all in hopes that the gowns would be appreciated more.

A week had passed faster than you had originally imagined that it would and the only break in your concentration was the bell to your shop opening for the second time during the time. You shouldn’t have been surprised to see Rhysand before you, a small frown on his face as he looked down at you.

“As promised, I have come to spend some quality time with the most beautiful seamstress that I know,” he said with a grin that contradicted the caution in his eyes.

“You come to visit or check on my progress?” you asked, eyeing him for a moment before returning your work.

“As I said, I’ve come to visit,” he repeated gently. “Are you alright? You’re acting differently.”

“Fine,” you answered a bit too quickly to be believable. 

“I apologize when I say that I do not believe you.” There was a worried frown on his face that made your heart clench and tears almost formed in your eyes. “Talk to me.”

“I just..” You trailed off, unsure what to say or how to say it. “Why does it matter? I’m just trying to balance everything.”

It was a lie and they both knew it. There was worried determination on his face and you knew that he wouldn’t let it go but you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him what happened. It could possibly cause a divide or rift between the family that you thought so highly of and you couldn’t have that.

“You’re evading,” he replied flatly before his face softened when he gripped your chin lightly to keep your attention on him. “I don’t like seeing you like this.”

“Your family is very important,” you muttered. “I just want to be sure that I make everything perfectly. There’s so many ideas going through my head and I’m just trying to be sure to keep it all together.”

“You are no less important than any of us.” His matter of fact words paired with his gentle smile had a small one forming on your face as well. “As a matter of fact, you are just as important if not more so than my entire family combines.”

“Why?” You moved out of his grip and stared at him flatly. “Look at m-”

“I do see you. Every single time I come in here.” Rhysand continued with a charming smile that caused you to huff. “There is nothing wrong with you.”

“Then why-” You stopped short, reminding yourself to not give into your emotions. “I have Feyre’s gown completed and this one that I’m almost finished with is for Nesta. Do you want to see?”

He nodded with a grin and followed you to a separate room in the back where you kept the outfits that you made. You watched him carefully for his reaction as he stared at the gown and then blew out a silent breath of relief at the genuine smile on his face.

“It’s beautiful,” he said, turning to grin brightly at you. “She will love it and this just may become her new preferred gown.”

“Promise?” you asked tentatively while you tried to decipher if he was lying or not.

“On my mate’s life,” he answered as a look of adoration etched into his features once again. 

“Is there anything that I should change about Amren’s, Mor’s, Nesta’s or..” You swallowed hard, the action not going unnoticed by the High Lord. “Elain’s? I want everything to be absolutely perfect for everyone for such an important event.”

“No.” He shook his head but the certainty in his eyes was answer enough. “I look forward to seeing what the rest look like.”

“I’ve made these my top priority so the leathers-”

“Can wait until you’re finished with these,” he replied. “What they have now will work until later.”

“Okay,” you whispered, gripping onto the kind reassurances to push you through your self deprecating thoughts before he pulled you into a tight embrace.

“I wish there was a way to make you realize just how special you are,” he muttered, squeezing tighter to emphasize it. “You remind me so much of my sister.”

Your eyes filled with tears immediately because it was no secret about what happened to his mother and sister. The fact that had such a high opinion of you that he would compare you to someone so important to him had you sobbing. He simply held you until your tears finally ceased and stayed with you for a few hours before returning to his court duties.

By the time that the door shut behind him, you felt a bit better but knew that you would never compare to any of them.

Azriel wasn’t able to keep his mind off of you while they waited for their new suits and gowns for the upcoming ball. He wasn’t sure why but despite his High Lord’s orders, he walked past your shop every so often to simply get a glimpse of you. Only once did he get a full view of your face and it took his breath away as he saw you smile at the only customer that he had noted that you had.

It was reaching the three week mark that you had given his brother and he was itching to ask the High Lord if he would let him retrieve the order. His gut told him that Rhysand wouldn’t allow it. He wasn’t sure why you were kept such a tight secret from all of them but Azriel knew that his brother meant it when he had given the order to stay away from you. 

“I can’t go with you today.” Azriel stopped just outside of the study, listening to Rhys as he spoke to Cassian. “I have to leave in a couple of hours to pick up our outfits for our trip to Day Court.”

“I don’t understand why none of us-”

“As I’ve said,” the High Lord growled, his voice low and almost deadly. “You need not worry about her.”

“Yea but she-”

“Is not a topic of discussion.”

The snappy tone of their brother had Cassion falling quiet on the topic but Azriel’s curiosity about you wouldn’t let him sit idly by. It was almost as if he was being pulled towards you and he couldn’t ignore it. He slipped out as silently as he had come in and disobeyed Rhysand’s orders. Even though the plan had already been arranged, Azriel wasn’t bothered with the anger that would surely ensue about him taking the initiative that was purely personal.

The bell on your store’s door sounded as he entered but you were so focused on your work that you didn’t notice his presence until he cleared his throat. You jumped from your stool, startled from the noise before you finally looked at him. It felt like the entire world stopped when you both made eye contact and he felt the one thing that he was beginning to believe that he would never have.

Your eyes went wide and you stumbled backwards, tripping over your stool and fell to the ground in surprise as the golden thread connected the two of you. He rushed as fast as he could through the small area, his wings knocking some items over even though his wings were tucked in tightly behind him. A breath of relief escaped him when you didn’t recoil from him when he reached to help you up.

“I- I don’t- What?” you gasped through heavy breaths as you stood.

“I’m- I’m sorry,” he stuttered, unsure what to say since he didn’t know what you were thinking. 

“No. Don’t be. I just..” You took a deep breath before fully looking at him again. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

Your words barely registered in his mind as he stared back at you, your beauty captivating him the longer that he did so. There were so many things that he wanted to say but at the same time being unsure since he didn’t know you. No sooner than he could open his mouth to reassure you, the front door opened and he felt the High Lord’s power filling the store. His brother was angry beyond belief with him.

“Y/N, would you mind stepping outside for a moment while I have a word with my spymaster.”

Azriel could feel the uncertainty and anger flowing off of you but you nodded after swallowing audibly. Once you were out in the streets, Rhysand had him by the collar of his shirt and shoved him harshly into the wall. There was nothing but pure, unadulterated anger on his brother’s face.

“Did I or did I not tell you to stay away from her?” Rhys growled.

“Yes but-”

“But what, Azriel?” he snapped at him. “Are you simply attracted to females that I insist on you staying away from?”

“It isn’t like that,” he tried. “Why are you so insistent on no one knowing about her? None of us even knew that she existed until now.”

“Because I want to protect her.” Azriel was released before Rhysand took a few steps back. “She reminds me too much of my sister and I refuse to let anything happen to her. If that means keeping all of you clueless to her existence then that is what I will do.”

Azriel’s thought began flooding in all at once, making it hard to keep up with what his shadows were whispering and the things that he wanted to say. He understood now what his High Lord’s motivations were but there was no way that he could let his mate go. Not after finally finding it after the centuries that he had waited for it. As he went to explain what had happened, the door opened again and it had your scent filling the room.

“I don’t want to be the reason that there’s trouble,” you mumbled as you looked at your feet.

“You are not-”

“We’re mates,” Azriel said, interrupting Rhys.

The High Lord’s eyes widened when he swirled around to look at him. There was uncertainty in them while he stared at him before looking back at the female that he held in such high regards. For the first time in a long time, his brother was speechless and Azriel was honestly shocked. 

“I don’t deserve it,” you continued, finally looking up with tear filled eyes. “I don’t deserve someone as special and amazing as he is.”

“Why?” he asked in a raspy voice.

“You- All of you-” You paused, taking a deep breath. “You’re all so much better than me to the point that some of my dresses aren’t even liked.”

“What do you mean, Y/N?”

Your eyes switched between Rhysand and himself before stopping on the former. The tears that began flowing down your face made him unable to not go to you, placing his hands on each cheek in hopes of calming you.

“I heard Elain telling someone that she didn’t like-”

“Screw her and her opinion,” he growled before apologizing when your eyes went wide.

“There is a dress in particular that she isn’t the most fond of,” Rhys answered and you looked around him to gaze at the High Lord. “It is the only one and she simply doesn’t care for certain parts of the style. It has nothing to do with you or how amazing that your work is. It is simply a personal problem.”

“She said I was a nobody,” you sniffled, the words causing his body to shake slightly in anger. 

“That’s my fault.” Your brows furrowed at Rhys’s words. “You’re an amazing female and I didn’t want to risk putting you into danger by letting all of them know who you are.”

“But I-”

“Give us a chance,” Azriel whispered, pulling your eyes back to his. “Please.”

“Why don’t we start with the upcoming ball?” Rhys gave you a small smile when you looked at him cautiously. “It’d be a high honor for my shadowsinger to have you by his side.”

“It would,” he agreed.

Your bright smile in return for his words sent his heart fluttering and a rare, genuine smile adorned his face. He knew right then and there that there was nothing that he wouldn’t do to keep that smile on your face. 

It was the start of something new that he couldn’t wait to see unfold.

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[littelovelunette]

could you do one where reader feels bad about themselves, and starts to struggle with eating, and after weeks go by it’s a problem, they’re skipping meals and feeling sick a lot, and vi noticed and keeps an eye out and then confronts reader and helps them get better, maybe having meals together? maybe she confronts reader by making dinner one night and reader refuses to eat it or something

Pretty As The Sunrise (2)

Contains mentions of eating disorder

You were watching the stretch marks on your stomach and thighs, you had really gained weight this time.

Some of your tops didn't fit you even, that made you feel really sad. You remained there seated on the floor for a while admist clothes and pants that didn't fit you anymore.

You looked at the mirror, hand coming to cup your stomach as your lips formed a little pout, you hated looking like this.

You sighed and decided to wear a loose t shirt and some baggy pajamas, you didn't wanna see the imprint of your figure through your clothes that's how disgusting you felt.

It's been weeks you've been skipping out on lunch, having just a toast for breakfast and barely eating anything for dinner yet somehow you felt like you were the fattest whale to exist on the planet.

"Gosh, I pity Vi," you murmured, pulling your hair down to frame your face in an attempt of making it look smaller, maybe the weight gain wouldn't show then.

"Hey baby, what's with the mess?" Vi asked as she opened the door to the bedroom, brow raised at the clothes scattered around the floor.

"Oh nothing I just couldn't find something comfortable you wear," you lied through your teeth, it was only partially the truth.

"Baby have you been crying?" Vi asked closing the door behind herself and walking upto you, cupping your face in her hands. Vi tucked your hair behind your ear but you quickly pulled them back down to frame your face.

"I'm fine I just need a moment can you give me that?" You asked softly and Vi sighed before nodding, "I'm only a room away, call for me okay? Don't suffer alone whatever it is." Vi reluctantly walked out of the bedroom to give you some space.

"Eat, babe," Vi's voice was gentle whenever she tried to coerce you to eat but you didn't want to, sometimes smiling and telling her you weren't hungry and sometimes simply behaving like you were full.

You didn’t think she noticed.

The way you pushed food around on your plate, always claiming you “weren’t that hungry.” The way your clothes started fitting differently, a little looser. How you sighed when you looked in the mirror, eyes scanning yourself with something too sharp, too cruel.

Vi wasn’t the kind of person to push when you weren’t ready to talk, but she wasn’t stupid.

She saw you. And she wasn’t about to sit back and let you wither away.

So that’s how you ended up in your tiny kitchen, standing at the threshold in nothing but Vi’s old shirt, watching her cook.

It was an unexpected sight—Vi, of all people, focused, brow furrowed as she worked at the stove.

She wasn’t a chef, not by a long shot, but the woman could cook when she needed to. And right now, she was cooking for you and what's what mattered to her.

“Take a seat,” Vi said without turning around, her voice casual but firm.

You hesitated, rubbing your arm. “Vi, I’m not really—”

“—Hungry?” She shot you a glance over her shoulder, an amused smirk tugging at her lips. “Yeah, I figured you’d say that. Sit your ass down anyway.”

With a sigh, you did as you were told, perching at the small, worn-out table. The smell in the air was good—savory, rich, something warm that made your stomach twist with a hunger you’d been ignoring.

“What are you even making?” you asked trying to peer around and get a peek, watching as she plated up.

Vi turned, holding out a dish. “Noodles with grilled chicken. It’s good shit.”

You stared at the plate as she set it down in front of you.

Steaming noodles, coated in a thick, spicy sauce, mixed with crisped-up vegetables and tender slices of grilled chicken. It smelled amazing.

Vi took a seat across from you, arms crossed, gaze unwavering. “Eat, babe.”

You swallowed, fingers twitching on the table. “Vi—”

“Listen.” Vi's voice softened, but her eyes never left yours. “I know what you’re doing. I’ve seen it before—hell, I’ve done it before. You start thinking you’re not enough, that if you just shrink a little more, you’ll feel better. That it’ll fix whatever’s in your head.”

Your throat tightened. She saw right through you. There was no more hiding.

Vi leaned forward, resting her muscly forearms on the table. “But that’s not how it works, sweetheart. You deserve to eat. You deserve to be strong. You deserve to feel good in your own skin, not punish yourself.”

You exhaled shakily, looking down at your plate.

“Just try,” Vi murmured. “For me?”

Your fingers curled around the chopsticks. You picked up a bite, hesitating before finally tasting it.

It was good—spicy, rich, the kind of food that warmed you from the inside out. Your body reacted instantly, the hunger you’d been denying making itself known.

Vi grinned as you took another bite, then another. “That’s my girl.”

A warmth that had nothing to do with the food spread through you.

Maybe, just maybe, she was right.

[shockercoco]

No I’m Not

Austin Butler x reader

Warnings - 18+, smut, sub!austin, handjob, kind of public sex, slight edging

Word count - 3052

A/n - request: “Please can you write an Austin smut where he’s really possessive? Maybe you and him bump into one of your exes?” - i was supposed to write this as soon as i got the request 2 weeks ago, but my motivation went down hill im so sorry💀, anyways i hope you all enjoy :)

��It’s so hot out here,” you whine, fanning yourself with your hand.

A chuckle leaves Austin as he looks down at you through his sunglasses. “I asked you if you wanted to go inside, and you said no.”

“It’s too cold inside, i’m just going to want to come back outside to warm up,” you roll your eyes.

The two of you were at a house party hosted by one of Austin’s friends, and you were leaning against the railing in the backyard admiring the view of LA. The house was beautiful, and in your opinion had way too many rooms for a single man, but you don’t expect anything less given the fact that the guy was loaded. There isn’t even a door to the backyard, it’s just a giant open wall.

“I could shove you into the pool, that would help you cool off,” Austin jokes, 

“I dare you, see what happens,” you give him a warnings look and he just smirks. 

“I actually would like to see what would happen,” he says. He suddenly grabs you by the waist and pretends to push you into the pool. You let out a scream as you cling onto his shirt, thankful that the backyard was too crowded and loud for anyone to really care about the two of you.

“Keep playing around and you’re sleeping in the living room,” you tell him as you shove his chest, only partly joking.

Austin fake gasps, and just as he’s about to say something, he’s interrupted by one of his friends he had met while shooting his latest film. Austin has talked about him several times, but you’ve never actually met him until now.

“Austin! So good to see you,” the man smiles brightly as he brings Austin into a hug. Austin happily accepts it as he beams at the man in front of him, eyes bright. “Surprised you're here, y’know since you're a homebody and all.”

Austin smiles as he pulls away from the hug. “I have to leave the house sometimes and let everyone know I’m alive.”

The man laughs in return, and right as you’re starting to feel awkward from standing there, Austin speaks up and introduces his friend to you.

“Cal, this is my girlfriend,” Austin says proudly as he wraps an arm around your shoulders.

You thought Cal was going to offer you his hand to shake, but instead he leans in to give you a hug as well. You’re a little thrown off at first at his friendliness, but quickly recover as you hug him back.

“It’s so nice to finally meet the girl Austin wouldn’t stop telling everyone about every other day on set,” Cal tells you, pulling away and shooting Austin a smirk.

When Austin had left to shoot the film, the two of you had just started dating, and it was the first time he would be leaving you for that long9. The two of you made sure to talk as much as possible, and Austin being the person he is was happy to tell anyone who would listen about you. It was mainly Cal. 

Sometimes it wasn’t even on purpose. He would be in a conversation, and when something was said that reminded him of you, he said it.

Austin shakes his head as he looks down at you, his ears turn pink at Cal’s exaggeration, as he looks down at you. “He’s lying.”

“He’s right,” Cal glances at you before looking Austin in the eye with a straight face, “it was more like everyday.”

Austin pulls away from you to playfully give Cal a shove, causing Cal to throw his head back as he bursts into a fit of laughter. 

You shake your head in amusement as you watch the two of them fool around. Feeling like you should give them space and  a chance to talk and catch up, you decide to head inside for a drink. After informing Austin of your plans and giving Cal a quick ‘it was nice to meet you’, you turn around and maneuver your way through the crowd.

Right as you're about to walk inside, you bump into someone who was laughing with their back towards you. You stumble back, and you’re about to shoot the person a dirty look when they turn around to reveal your ex-boyfriend Ryan. Your expression quickly changes as you smile up at him in surprise.

He looks the same since you last saw him, the only difference is that he has gotten older.

“I’m so sorry about that, I wasn’t paying attention,” he apologizes as he brings you in for a hug, which you gladly accept. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here with Austin,” you gesture behind you to the two men, who already seem to have gotten into a deep conversation. “What are you doing here?”

“A friend invited me, and you know I can’t say no to being in a house like this,” Ryan motions with his hands as he gives you his signature smirk.

You both had been best friends for years before he decided to ask you out one day. Since you had known him for so long, and he really was a great guy, you agreed, leading to the two of you dating for a couple of years. The two of you had both moved closer to the city after getting similar jobs, and you even ended up being his roommate. 

When the relationship ended, it was on good terms and you guys wanted to stay friends, but of course there was that drift. There were no ill feelings towards him in your heart.

“Of course you can’t,” you tell him. He had always enjoyed driving through wealthy neighborhoods and would always tell you that one of those houses would be his one day.

“Where were you headed before I bumped into you?” he asks, his eyebrows drawing together.

“The bar, I need something cold to help me deal with this heat,” you answered.

“Still don’t like the heat, huh?” he smiles and you nod, mimicking his smile and letting a small laugh slip past your lips. Then he added, “how about I join you?”

“Why not,” you say with a shrug, and the two of you move the conversation inside. 

From behind you, Austin notices that  you didn’t enter the house right away. You appeared to be talking to someone, but he couldn’t quite see who it was due the constant movement of people in front of him. He could tell it was a man, though. 

He continues to listen to Cal updating him on what he has been up to since the two last saw each other, but he can’t help but glance over in your direction every once in a while. Austin hates the fact that he’s not giving Cal his full attention, but the only thing he could think about at the moment was you.

Finally, the few people that had been blocking his view moved, revealing the man you had been talking to – your ex. He freezes, his brow creasing and his eyes narrowing as he watches the two of you smiling at each other. 

It’s not like he hated Ryan because he never seemed to be a bad guy, it’s just the fact that he always seemed to show up somewhere you’re at.

He wasn’t jealous, that’s just not who he is.

“Aus?” he hears Cal say, bringing him back to reality.

“I’m sorry, man, I got distracted,” Austin admits.

“Yeah, I can tell,” Cal laughs and turns his head to try and see whatever Austin had been looking at. “What is it?”

“Her ex,” Austin tells him and Cal raises an eyebrow at him.

“Are you jealous, Butler?” Cal asks him as he bumps his shoulder into him.

“Of course not,” Austin’s jaw tenses for a second, his fingers fidgeting inside of his pockets, “I’m just not a fan of the guy, that’s all.”

Cal gives him another questioning look, still not believing him. “Any specific reason?” he asks, and Austin shoots him a glare. “What? I’m just asking because it looks a whole lot like jealousy to me.”

“I’m fine, I promise,” Austin rolls his eyes. Cal just snickers, deciding not to push him any further.

Meanwhile, you were standing by the bar with Ryan as you listened to him ramble on about what he’s been up to in life. You don’t mind, really, Ryan has always been like this – not in a douche-y way, he just loved to talk – and you don’t see him changing anytime soon. 

You both had gotten something to drink – Ryan's was alcohol and yours was not, given the fact you felt it was too hot to be drinking. Suddenly, you see Ryan’s eyes dart away from yours and he stops in the middle of his sentence. Your eyes narrow as you glance away to see what caught his attention, but you look back at him confused.

Ryan smiles once he sees your face. “There’s this girl I've been trying to go on a date with me for a week now, and she’s standing over there,” he explains as he nods his head in what you guess is the girl’s direction.

“And no luck?” you assume, and he nods.

“Yes, but that doesn't mean I'm going to give up just yet,” he adds. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some business to take care of.”

You can’t help but laugh to yourself as you watch Ryan adjust his appearance as he walks away from you. Deciding you should use the bathroom before heading back out to Austin, you make your way deeper into the house and eventually find a bathroom to use.

While all this was happening, Austin had ended his conversation with Cal and entered the house in search of you. It doesn’t take him long to find you as he notices you leaving the bar and heading down one of the home’s many hallways.

As you’re washing your hands and checking your appearance in the mirror, you hear a knock on the bathroom door. Assuming it’s just some random stranger needing to relieve themself, you quickly speak up to say, “Just a second!”

“It’s me, open the door,” you hear, instantly recognizing the voice on the other side.

You dry your hands before opening the door to reveal Austin standing there looking right back at you. He simply brushes past you and enters, ignoring your curious look.

“Austin?” 

“Hmm?” he innocently asks as he leans against the bathroom counter.

“What are you doing here?” you question as you close the door behind him.

“You were taking a long time to come back outside, and I just wanted to check on you,” he shrugs.

“How did you know I was in here?” 

“I asked Ryan where you were and he pointed me out the direction he saw you going,” Austin lied. He was too focused on you to notice Ryan in the crowd,  and there’s no way he’s going to willingly tell you that he followed you. “How’s he doing by the way?”

You’re thrown off. “Who, Ryan? He’s doing well, we were just chatting a couple minutes ago,” you tell him as you look him up and down. You notice how tense he was, his arms folded across his chest as he looks at you. “Wait a minute…are you jealous?” you wonder, not completely offended.

“Why do guys keep asking me that?” Austin rolls his eyes.

“What? Who else asked you?” you furrow your eyebrows as you look up at him.

Austin hesitates for a second. “Cal.”

Now it’s your turn to cross your arms. “Well if someone else notices it, then it must be true.”

“I can assure you, I’m fine. There’s nothing to be jealous of.”

“You’re right… there is nothing to be jealous of, but you are,” you point out.

“I’m fine,” Austin repeats.

You scoff. “You’re not fine. Just admit it, you’re jealous.”

“No, because it wouldn’t be true.”

You just stare at him, holding back a smile from forming on your lips. Austin just stares at you right back.

Ok, then.

“So you wouldn’t mind if I left you in here to go find Ryan so I could finish my conversation with him?”

Austin gives you a look, silently daring you.

Your lips break into a smile as you let a laugh slip out. “Oh relax, I’m just messing with you.”

You uncross your arms to wrap them around Austin’s waist – whose arms were still guarding his chest. He looks down at you with no emotion. You smile sweetly up at him as you lean up to give him a couple pecks on the lips, but Austin doesn’t budge. Though, with a couple more kisses, he lets out a defeated sigh and gives in to you.

“You’re not funny,” he mumbles.

“I mean, you did say you were fine, after all,” you laugh as you pull away.

“And I am.”

“Really?” you ask him, daring him to say the wrong answer.

Instead, Austin says nothing as he silently looks between your eyes. You lean back up to him to place your lips onto his once more, all the while, one of your hands unwraps itself from his waist and sneaks down to palm him

 over his jeans. You feel him instantly starting to harden under your touch. Austin’s eyes widened a smidge, surprised and not knowing what to do. 

“Are you sure?” you tease as you continue. Austin’s breath begins to speed up, not removing his eyes from yours once.

“Yes,” he breathes out, and you shake your head.

“I don’t think so,” you tell him as you now use both hands to slowly unbuckle the belt on his jeans, and tug the waistband of his underwear down just a little. You use your other hand to rest on his shoulder, slightly adding pressure to keep him in place against the counter. “I’ll ask you again? Are you sure?”

Austin breath hitches as your hand slithers its way past the waistband of his underwear and grabs ahold of him. He lets out a small groan as his eyelids flutter. He finally unfolds his arms, only to move them behind him to rest on the countertop. “No.”

You quickly glance at the doorknob to make sure it’s locked before finally freeing him from the tightness of his underwear, causing Austin to release a small sigh. “No, what? No, you aren’t jealous or you’re not sure?”

Austin can’t form the words to answer as you begin to move his hand up and down his shaft. His breathing is shaky as he looks down at your hand wrapped around his hard length. “Fuck,” he mumbles.

“What was that?” you tilt your head. Using your thumb, you tease the tip of his cock, making his hips jerk into your hand and a small moan slip past his lips. You don’t even try to hide the smirk as it grows on your face.

Austin throws his head back as your hand begins to move quickly up and down his shaft, precum starting to lip from his sensitive tip. He bites his lip in hopes it would help him collect himself enough to answer you, but he just ends up biting down harder and harder.

“It’s okay if you are,” you purred. Austin whimpers at your words as his eyes shut.

“Baby-,” he starts, but he isn’t able to continue before another whimper leaves his mouth, feeling too overwhelmed to respond.

“What? I’m just asking you a simple question.”

Austin's head tilts forward as his mouth hangs slightly open. His breath is hot and uneven as you continue your tortuous pace. Austin’s grip tightens on the counter, trying to keep himself grounded and pretty much up right.

“If you won’t answer me, then I guess I’ll have to stop,” you let out a fake disappointed sigh as your hand stops its movements.

Another sound leaves him, but this time it’s one of torture. His hard length is beginning to become more painful the closer he gets to the edge, and the last thing he needs right now is for you to stop. Right as you're about to pull your hand away, he quickly moves to grab your wrist.

You look up at him to see his flushed and jaw clenched as he breathes through his nose. You raise your eyebrows, waiting for him to say something. He knows exactly what you want him to say, but he doesn’t want to admit his jealousy. Then again, he doesn’t want to leave this bathroom without cumming either.

Austin breathes in before saying, “Fine.”

“Fine what?” you press, enjoying the advantage you have on him – which he will definitely get you back for.

“I got jealous.”

“Jealous from what?” 

Austin lets out a frustrated laugh before continuing, “seeing you and Ryan together,” he answers and you give him an accepting smile.

You give him an accepting smile as you lean up to connect your lips with his, moving your hand around his shaft again. Austin sighs into your mouth as he eagerly kisses you back, his eyebrows furrowed. He places his hands on either side of your face to pull you closer to him, needing every ounce of pleasure he can get. 

As the familiar feeling of his orgasm comes back, it becomes harder and harder for him to continue kissing you. His mouth comes ajar as his head falls down towards your shoulder, his moans getting louder into your ear. Any other time in public you would shush him, but the loud background noise of music and people’s chatter makes it nearly impossible for anyone to hear him from the outside.

Austin’s hands quickly puts his hands back on the counter to brace himself as he feels himself cumming in your hand. His whole body goes rigid as the sticky, white liquid shoots out onto your hand and the floor. Your hand doesn’t falter, aiding him as he comes undone. You only stop when Austin winces and reaches for your hand as everything becomes too much.

“That wasn’t so hard to admit was it?” you ask and Austin lifts his head only to glare at you.

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