#well i have no idea what this is supposed to be BUT

[reiderwriter]

☎️ Don't Call Me ☎️

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: After catching your boyfriend cheating, you find accidental comfort in your coworker. With your phone ringing nonstop, you're willing to do whatever it takes to start fresh.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, bug mentions (cockroaches), cheating, exhibitionism, dom/sub dynamics, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), squirting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, slight spanking, mentions of masturbation. Dom! Spencer.

A/N: Haha... hi guys... been a while 😚 Please enjoy the fic I dreamed up over a month ago now, and was finally able to conjure up!

Masterlist

If you were to be asked how you assumed a five-year-long relationship would end, you'd likely say something like irreparable differences. Maybe a difference in lifestyle, growing out of love, or even different plans for the future. Unfortunately, the irreparable difference your boyfriend had chosen at 10 pm on a Thursday evening was being balls deep in an irreparably different woman. 

You supposed you should've seen the signs the relationship was drawing to a close and likely you did, but with your job itself being a life or death situation almost daily, you really didn't have much time to worry about the fact that your boyfriend was sowing his oats in other fields. Based on the look of the woman spread across your bed, the oats weren't that great for her either. 

Your reaction had been somewhat delayed, but curiously not as much as hers. She'd been wonderfully blasé about the man writhing on top of her before you started screaming and throwing things, and even now you were armed with a vase of flowers (dead - you'd bought them yourself before the case you'd been on for the last two weeks) she still looked slightly bored. But at least her legs were together now, and not gynaecologist level apart. 

Your boyfriend - ex-boyfriend? - managed to regain an ounce of dignity with a scrap of clothing, and did his best to shepard you out of the crime scene as you regained the ability to hold coherent thoughts that weren't about strangling him with his own tie. 

“Listen to me, please just for five minutes-” 

“Listen? I was just listening! To you moaning into that woman's shoulders with your eyes rolled back in your head!” 

It was as if in the last few minutes all the love you'd had for this man, all five years of relationship and comfort, and nights spent together had melted away in an instant. The rage dissipated, and you were surprisingly calm again, though that worried you, too. Surely you should be crying, or at the very least upset. You should be feeling some kind of emotion that wasn't a vague disgust at the man in front of you in full pooh bear mode, trying to tug down the hem of his shirt to cover the crown jewels. 

“It didn't mean anything. She doesn't mean anything. She's just - You're gone so long on cases, and I just-” 

“So you're saying it's my fault you're cheating on me?” 

“Yes! No, wait, no, no, no, no-” 

“No, heard loud and clear, I'll try not to save lives in the future, I'm sure the BAU will understand I should be on my back 24 hours a day instead, taking all four inches you have to donate to my worthy cause.” 

“Y/N, don't be like that,” he said, exasperated. Whatever he had to be exasperated about, you had no idea. Maybe blue balls. 

“Like what?”

“Like a bitch!” 

The room went still with silence as you let him sit with the words he'd just spoken, willing him to snap back quickly so you could keep even just a shred of respect for him. 

No such apology came. 

“I'm leaving now. I expect your things packed and out of here by 12 pm tomorrow, including your thing in the bedroom. Don't bother cleaning the sheets. Just burn them. Lock the door and post the keys through the letterbox when you're done.” 

“Y/N, I told you it's not like that, I still love you, come on-” 

“Well I don't love you. And please go put some fucking pants on.” 

You stepped back over the threshold of your apartment - the lovely, nice apartment you'd been living in for the last eight years, your nice safe space - and you shuddered. 

The question wasn't exactly what next, but more like where next. What next was sending a group text in your ex-boyfriends family chat telling them what you'd walked in on, and then leaving the chat before you could get any response. The where would be a harder sell. 

From this part of the city, it'd take 2 hours to get to Penelope’s apartment, especially at this time of night without a car. Emily's apartment was similarly far. Going through a list of your coworkers again, you mentally crossed off Tara, who'd been injured on your last case and was resting at her girlfriend's apartment, Luke, who despite the promised comfort of a cute dog, you were absolutely sure didn't have a spare bed, and all members of the team with spouses and/or children. Which left just Spencer and Rossi. 

Needless to say, you found your way to Spencer's apartment in only 20 minutes, though you were sure you had disassociated the entire thing. 

Knocking on the door, you felt a little bit awkward, but not awkward enough to leave and find a hotel at nearly 11 pm. Your last case hadn't been a pleasant one, hotel-wise, and you weren't exactly eager for another check-in.

Spencer opened the door quickly, his eyebrows knitted in confusion as he found you there  but only for a brief flash before his face brightened up. 

“Y/N? Do we have a case again? I thought Hotch said-” 

“Can I stay here tonight?” you blurted, needing to get the words out as quickly as possible before you convinced yourself to walk away. 

Spencer took a moment to take in your words, and you took the opportunity to look at him then. He was fully clothed at least, and you were glad to find that his pajamas looked comfortable and clean. A simple plaid cotton pant with a soft-looking white long sleeved shirt pushed up his arms slightly. He'd taken out his contacts and put on his glasses, and you wondered if you'd caught him mid-book. 

“Please?” you added in a hopeful voice as he still looked at you slightly confused. 

“Oh, of course,” he said, stepping aside and gesturing inside. “Is there something wrong with your apartment?” he asked, taking your go-bag from you without question and guiding you into the main living space of his apartment. 

“Thank you, yeah. Something like that. Shoes off or on?” 

“I have some slippers. You can take them off. What happened?” he said, placing the slippers in front of you and turning back to bolt the door. 

“Invasive species?” You said, trying to sound as nonplussed as possible  despite now feeling incredibly plussed.

“Oh, bugs? Yeah, I've had a cockroach or two in the apartment before. Did you know that the average female cockroach can produce up to 10,000 offspring in a single year?” 

You sat on his couch quietly, trying not to imagine 10,000 cockroaches and failing nearly spectacularly. Unfortunately, the only image that could surpass tiny cockroach babies was of your boyfriend pounding away at another woman. Which was just a brilliant move for your psyche. 

“Spencer, I know I've really intruded here tonight, but do…. Do you wanna drink with me?” You asked, hoping to drown at least a memory or two of the last 24 hours. Hopefully, the cheating one, but you'd take cockroach extermination as well.

A slightly worried look settled on Spencer's face, but he said nothing and nodded, walking to his kitchen, grabbing two beers and meeting you back on his loveseat. 

“Oh you really have beer here!” You exclaimed, thanking him for the beverage before cracking it open and taking a sip. 

“Morgan came over with some to celebrate 6 months out of prison. These are leftovers.” 

“Right… right…” 

The first few sips were so painfully awkward that you thought about returning back to your apartment and just sleeping on your own couch. 

Vaguely, you felt Spencer watching you, taking a sip of his drink for every sip you took of yours. 

“So…” you said, and he raised an inquisitive eyebrow again, already questioning whatever was about to come out of your mouth. 

“So?”  he asked. You weren't sure if it was the beer, the look on his face, or the crazy implosion of the last 5 years that had you giggling all of a sudden. You were just glad that when you cracked up, he cracked a smile as well, and a little bit of the tension went away. 

“Why are you really here, YN?” 

You took a deep breath and looked straight forward at the bookshelves Spencer had lovingly filled. Maybe this had taken him half a decade as well, so he'd understand how your life felt a little bit like a wobbly bookshelf at that second. 

“The invasive species I mentioned? It was the woman screwing my boyfriend in my bed. Ex. Ex-boyfriend.” 

You heard the intake of breath from Spencer before he put his can down and started thinking of something to say in reply to that. 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Oh… Y/N, I-” 

A shrill ringing cut him off, and you were almost glad to not be on the receiving end of whatever pitiful words he was about to push on you, until you checked the caller ID and saw your ex's name. 

“Don't pick that up,” Spencer said as you hesitated towards the phone. With a hand over yours, he flipped the phone over, locking eyes with you as he let it ring out. 

“He's just going to try it again.”

“Let him.” 

You nodded, breaking eye contact and sinking back into Spencer's slightly wilted couch cushions. 

“In your bed? Really?” he asked, talking another sup as you took a gulp, letting the beer fizz down your throat before you could answer.

“I told him to expect me tomorrow because of how the case was looking. I guess he wasn't expecting me.” 

“I think that was a given. Unless he was into that. Exhibitionism is one of the most common kinks among adult males, and-” 

“Oh he was not into exposing himself,” you laughed into your drink, propping your head up on your hand and turning to face Spencer more. He shot another questioning glance but didn't push the issue, so you silently explained as well. By pinching your fingers together to the approximate size of your ex-boyfriend's dick. 

“Oh. Well, it's not the size that counts?” He whispered almost ironically as he took another sip, now much closer than before. You'd done your best to distance yourself from your boyfriend even as he'd followed you through your apartment half naked, but you didn't seem to find Spencer's proximity threatening at all. 

Maybe because he wasn't having sex with a random woman in your bed 5 seconds before. 

“You wanna know the worst part?” You said, leaning closer as if to tell him an even bigger secret. “He didn't even know how to use it. I haven't-” 

Another phone call blasted through, and you grabbed your phone and put it behind you. 

“He's really great at interrupting conversation when it’s just getting good,” Spencer laughed, but you were slightly disappointed that he'd leaned back away now. 

“What was it you were saying?” He asked, taking a swig of beer again, can nearing its close. 

“I haven't had an orgasm in almost three years,” you said bluntly, watching the most genuine spit take you’d seen in your life. You pat Spencer's back as he coughed up inhaled beer, bringing your feet up under you into a cosier position. 

“Okay now?” you asked as his breathing returned to normal. 

“No? Three years, Y/N? Really?” 

You shrugged and looked away  almost embarrassed to be meeting his eyes now that your sexual history was the topic of the night. 

“We had sex. He's just… he's just a really lazy lover. It'd be the same stuff every time. Handjob to some clumsy fingers missing my clit, a few pumps and cum on my face. I wasn't exactly initiating seven days a week in the hopes that this time he'd be able to locate it.” 

Spencer was somewhere between horror and trying not to laugh, eyes wide with either alarm or the strain of having to keep it in. 

“It's okay, you can laugh,” you said, but he shook his head politely.

“Y/N, I was in prison and still had more orgasms than you this year.” 

“Hey, I hear prison is a great place to meet new people. Have new experiences.”

Spencer shot you a quickly horrified look as his cheeks flushed with heat. “Y/N, I was not someone's bitch in prison.” 

“Why not? You're pretty enough for it?” 

You'd meant the line to come across as teasing, just as you'd expected the finger now twisted in a lock of his hair, playing with him, to come off as teasing as well. 

But you felt a definite throb between your legs when he looked at you again, doubly so when his eyes darted down to your lips. 

You cleared your throat and tried for a teasing tone once again. 

“So you made someone else your bitch?” you smiled, trying to drag his eyes away from your lips before you did something you'd regret. 

“No. I… I spent a long time in solitary, and there's… there's really not that much to do.” 

“So you did yourself?” 

The tips of his ears were scarlet when you finally decided to back off, tucking the curl of hair behind his ear and letting him cool off. 

“Why didn't you masturbate then?” he asked, pouting slightly still from your interrogation. 

“Excuse me?”

“Your boyfriend couldn't make you cum, but a vibrator probably could. But you still haven't had an orgasm in three years. Why is that?” 

It was your turn to feel the heat, the warmth from the beer finally reaching your head. 

“He didn't want me to.” 

You didn't mean for the words to sound as sad as they did. The fact itself was just incredibly sad. Your boyfriend saw anything vaguely phallic shaped as competition and had encouraged “organic” coupling instead. 

You waited for Spencer to say something else, anything else as you held his gaze, waiting for the other shoe to drop, and him to start talking down to you as if you were simply a victim of the worst sex in the world. 

Instead, he said “so did that other woman look as miserable as you've been for the last three years?” and the spell was broken. 

You laughed so hard, you nearly choked on the beer you'd already finished. This time, it was Spencer's turn to land a hand on your back as you winded yourself with laughter. 

“She looked bored! She looked genuinely bored. I almost thought it was just a lifelike doll, she was that unphased,” you kept giggling between gasps, forcing the words out as you threw your head onto Spencer's shoulder, hand landing on his thigh as you finally calmed down. 

“I'd be horrified if anyone looked bored while in bed with me,” came Spencer's voice, and a little shiver ran down your spine as the rasp of his whisper rang in your ear. 

You looked up from his shoulder and caught his eye immediately. If you wanted to, you could lean up by a centimetre and catch his lips with yours. And you suddenly, very much wanted to do that. 

A final shriek of your phone behind you deterred you for a few seconds, and you were about to work yourself up to scooting a little bit away from Spencer when he leaned over you, grabbed the phone, and hung up on your boyfriend. 

“Do you want to cum, Y/N?” he asked, as quietly as before as his hands traced over you on their return journey to him. He looked down your body, eyes greedily drinking in your breasts, hips, thighs and legs tucked into his side on his couch. 

You didn't know what you were going to respond when your head practically nodded by itself. Enthusiastically. 

He doesn't immediately pull you in for a kiss, and you're worried for a beat that he meant that only as a hypothetical and not an invite. A final cry from your phone has you standing in seconds, completely detached from Spencer, and the nearly embarrassing moment you pouncing him would've been.

“I should probably take it this time,” you explained, turning slightly. 

But Spencer was faster than you, if not more prepared for what was to come. Wrapping an arm around your waist, Spencer tugged you back, pulling you onto his lap. When you were firmly situated - ass over his now evidently firm cock - he grabbed the phone out of your other hand, hung up and put it in his pocket. 

“Spencer, I-I don't think that's a good idea,” you gasped as his hands slowly progressed up to your chest, and his lips dropped to your neck, biting and sucking along whatever flesh was easy for him to access. 

“You need to cum. You deserve to cum, Y/N. I'm just here to help. Use me.” 

You stifle a sharp, quick moan, biting your lips and thanking God that he couldn't see the face you made when his hips ground his cock up into your ass. 

“I'm probably not ready for this,” you stuttered slightly, breath departing your body quicker than it could arrive. 

“Probably not.”

“We work together, too. It would be awkward.”

“It might,” he nodded. “But you still want to.” 

You couldn't help the moan, finally letting it free as you tossed your head back and clawed at his forearm, wrapped around you. 

Your ass had a mind of its own, grinding back into him in circles as his hands found their way under your shirt, inquisitive fingers stroking your nipples through your bra. 

“S-Spencer,” you whimpered again, legs spreading apart as you felt that familiar warmth settle between them. He didn't miss the longing in your tone, the shift in your core, pushing one hand down your stomach and trailing it onto your thigh. 

It was as close as he could get with your pants still on, tight against your skin. He squeezed your thigh,  still licking and sucking at your neck before his hand rose to the clasp of your pants. 

It took him a long lime to fumble with them, and you thought of helping multiple times but you let yourself get distracted by the tense definition of his muscles, the rigid line of his body as he strained to please you. 

Your mind fogged with lust, and you felt the vibrations from his pocket right under you when your phone rang again. You practically jerked up in shock as pleasure hit you in a wave, Spencer's fingers finally dipping into your panties just as the vibrations hit you. They weren't centred, of course, not anywhere close to where you needed them to be for you to enjoy them the way you would a toy, but that's what Spencer was for. 

He let the call ring out, tracing small, slow circles over your clit as you jumped up into his hand, moaning and whimpering the entire time. 

“What an idiot. I bet he never touched you like this. Nice and slow.”

“N-no, S-s-” 

“I'm so glad I'm right. He didn't deserve this beautiful cunt. You're so wet for me, right, baby?” You nodded and he hummed in response, voice low and making you pulse in his lap. 

“That's it, good girl,” he whispered as you worked your cunt up and down his fingers, stilling himself so you could find your own pleasure. 

“Spencer… Spencer, fuck-” 

With his free hand, he turned your face to the side and finally kissed you properly as you moaned into his mouth. He was quick to deepen the kiss, to press his tongue against the seam of your mouth and enter your mouth, quickly dominating you as you let yourself get more and more excited. Your hips stuttered, out of rhythm and out of practice, and you almost whimpered in frustration that you couldn't get off quicker, that your body wasn't finding the orgasm quick enough despite how good, how perfect this felt.

Sensing your growing frustration, Spencer broke the kiss. 

“Come with me,” he said, pulling his hands away from your wet cunt and out of your stupid pants and encouraging your hips up until you were stood and he was stood behind you. 

Cock still firmly stood against your ass, he walked you all the way to his bedroom, hands on your hips the entire time, memorising the sway of your walk. 

“Strip and get on the bed, please, Y/N,” he said, finally peeling himself away from you as you nodded quickly and listened to him immediately. You weren't sure what to expect, so you hesitated, laying down, crawling up until your head hit the pillows. You were almost disappointed when you finally looked back at Spencer and he was still fully clothed, so sure that he was going to fuck you to your climax. 

Instead, he approached the bed, gently slid his arms around your thighs, opened your legs wider, knelt on the floor and brought your cunt to his face. 

The first touch of his to guess to your clit had you almost beside yourself with lust. You'd been sexually active for a handful of years, and this - THIS - was the first time you'd experienced such acute pleasure. 

Your hips were unable to stop, thrusting up into his face as you willed his tongue to engulf you, to be a tool in your pleasure. 

Again your phone rang, but he grabbed it quickly, pausing only a second to silence it and discard it on the bed beside you, sitting it further up the bed where it would no longer be a distraction to him. 

He dove right back in, and you rewarded him with wave after wave of fierce moan, your writhing body only restricted by a hand snaked up onto his stomach. You still pushed against his face, practically fucking it as he flattened out his to guess and let you chase your high. 

“Spencer!” You gasped and moaned, voice dripping with lust and desperation, mouth not even properly forming words now you were so close. 

You propped yourself up slightly, looking down as Spencer's eye caught your own, his chin slick with your juices, his eyes dripping with lust. You grabbed a handful of his hair and jumped that little bit faster as you felt that long forgotten whisper of pleasure, that all-encompassing explosion of satisfaction, and you came apart on Spencer's tongue. 

“Thank you, thank you, Spencer, shit, thank you,” you whimpered, falling back again into the bed as you rode out the high. When you managed to open your bleary eyes again, Spencer was propped up above you, but instead of paying you attention, he'd grabbed your phone and bought it to his ear. 

“You heard that? Good. I'm sure you're aware now that she won't be returning your calls tonight. Goodbye.” 

His voice, his words, were like a cold bucket of water to your brain as you sat up, reaching for him and finding him as his hips circled your waist. 

“Was that-?” He cut you off with a kiss  a sweet, soft one. 

“Yes.” He kissed you again  and you melted into his touch as he pulled you into his lap again. 

“H-He-” 

“He knows now what a real orgasm sounds like. He knows you're not interested anymore. He knows you're mine now.” 

You shivered at the words, your lust addled brain flooding your senses, and your cunt as you reacted to the possessiveness of his words, his tone. Part of you was turned on by the exhibitionism as well. You'd had to walk in on your ex boyfriend completely exposed, and there was satisfaction in kicking him to the curb with a similar fuck you. A fuck you that you'd enjoyed a lot. 

You pressed your lips against Spencer's and rocked your hips against him again, tasting yourself on his tongue as he laid you down once more. His cock twitched against your leg as he propped you up on the pillows, and your hands trailed down to show it some attention as your sighed into his kiss.

He eagerly shed his clothes, first his top, sitting up and pulling it over his head, giving you a deliriously enticing shot of his chest and soft stomach before dropping down to cover your body again. You let your hand find the sprinkling of hair on his lower stomach, though, following it down as you encouraged his pants off. His cock was thick and heavy in your hand, and you gladly stroked it as he kissed the plains of your body again. He found the side of your neck that he'd neglected earlier, licking and sucking until it was almost as loved as the first side, before pulling your hand away from his cock. 

You pouted and began to protest when he quickly lined his cock up with your cunt, and slid in deep and soft before you could. 

“Needed to be in you,” he whispered in your ear, gripping your hips and sliding your legs up and around him as he pushed that little bit deeper. “Keep them nice and wide for me,” he said, dropping one last kiss to your lips, before his chest rose, and his hips pulled away again. 

When they snapped back into you, you let out a generous scream of pleasure that almost had you wishing you'd never hung up. He set a quick pace, a furious pace as he too moaned into the contact of your cunt and his cock, two desperate people searching for release. 

“So tight, Y/N, you're so tight,” he moaned, flesh hitting flesh as you dug your nails into his arms, already so wet again, you could feel the sheets under you growing damp. His hand left its perch on your hip and found its way to your clit once again, and you knew that you weren't going to be able to keep to this pace without cumming a second time. 

“Keep moaning for me baby, show me how much you want it,” his voice begged, almost a rumble with how lustful he sounded. You let your voice carry, each moan a little bit more unrestricted than the last. 

“Louder, Y/N, please. I want to hear how much you're enjoying this, you don't know how much I enjoy hearing your pleasure.”

His prayers were answered when he lowered his head back down and took one of your nipples into his mouth, gently grazing it with his teeth between licks and sucks. You practically screamed his name, pressing your chest up to grant him better access. 

You liquefied beneath him, pressure building and building until you felt him rock, lifting his chest as you came. He pulled his cock out, teasing it through your folds as you stuttered around him, your arousal squirting across his cock and sheets as you fell back to the bed, gasping in pleasure. Your hips stuttered against him, and he soothed you gently, still working his cock through your folds gently as your clit went from overwhelmed to calm to quickly overstimulated. 

“Spencer,” you whimpered, almost unable to take all the pleasure he was offering you. “Spencer, it-it hurts.” 

“Don't you want me to stop?” He asked, stopping his movements for a second as you deliberated your answer. The lack of movement was answer alone, and you shook your head no wanting to feel his cock against you, inside you, one more time. 

“Louder, Y/N, tell me what you want.” 

“I want to keep going,” you said, as he began slowly rocking his cock against you again, sticky from your cum. 

“What do you want me to do?” He asked, teasing a nipple with his hand as your eyes fluttered shut. 

“Please fill me up again, please I want to cum again.” 

“One more time?” He asked.

“Mhmmm… one more… one more, please.” 

You were cum drunk, so horny that you couldn't fathom stopping there. He pressed another kiss to your lips and encouraged you to flip over, propping a pillow under your stomach as he pulled your legs into the right position. 

You snuggled into the pillows at your head, pushing your ass up for him slightly as he nudged his cock against your entrance once more. 

“Where should I cum  Y/N?” He asked, reaching under you to slowly circle your clit again. 

“H-hmmm…” you said, eyes shut, focused more on the pleasure than the question. You didn't care anymore. You didn't care where he came, just as long as he let you do it, too. 

“Y/N, I expect an answer. Where should I put my cum?” 

“Anywhere,” you pouted, pressing your hips back into his cock in the hopes that he'd just fuck you again already. 

“That's not an answer,” he said, gently slapping your ass as he pulled his cock away. 

“On your back?” He asked, fingers still working your clit underneath, but trailing lower until they found your cunt, two entering you to keep you wet and stretched for him. 

“You'd need to shower before you could pass out, but I'm happy to help clean you off. They have communal showers in prison, so I'm not shy.” You moaned at the suggestion but couldn't answer further. 

“On your stomach? Again we'd have to shower off, but I would love to see your boobs decorated all nicely.” Your moans were whimpers now as he edged you with his fingers, his words gentle in your ear but dripping with so much lust and promise you couldn't stand it. You didn't want to make decisions anymore. 

“On your face?”

“Not on my face,” you snapped quickly, and he nodded and stroked your hair, hooking a strand behind your ear as he agreed. 

“Okay. Where, Y/N? Be a good girl and tell me.”

“I-Inside. Cum inside me. Please.” 

“Of course. Good job.”

He pulled his hand free gently, and quickly replaced it with his thick cock, and you moaned again at the weight of it against your walls, the familiar stretch of it. In this position, he reached deeper somehow, his thrusts slower, more precise as he drew out his own orgasm as long as possible, maximising his ability to pleasure you. 

“Good girl,” he muttered against your skin, dropping a kiss to your back. “Good girl.” 

“Wanted to do this for so long, Y/N,” he confessed with each thrust. “Look at how pretty this pussy is, how wet it is for me. I wish your boyfriend could see it. I wish he could see how well-behaved you are for me. How nicely you take my cock.” 

His deep, slow strokes, his words, the kisses he pressed against any inch of your skin he could reach combined to push you over the edge a third and final time. This one wasn't loud. It wasn't dramatic. It was a steady shudder of pleasure from your hips and a quiet, satisfied sigh. 

You didn't say anything  but Spencer knew, he felt it, and he came moments after, cock deep inside as he filled you with his cum. 

“You're on birth control, right?” 

“IUD. Pill. Yeah.” You say between breathy sighs of contentment.

Muttering something behind you, he pulled out finally, leaving for a minute to grab a washcloth and clean himself off before returning to help you as well. 

“What did you mumble?” You asked, as he crawled back into your arms, looking up at him. 

“What?” He asked, ears turning slightly pink as you stared at him intently. 

“Just now. I told you I was on birth control, and you mumbled something.” 

He looked away, refusing to meet your gaze before dropping to kiss you sweetly once again. 

“Tell me,” you said, and he kissed you again. 

“Spencer, tell me,” you pouted, and he kissed the pout away. 

You almost asked again, but he kissed you too quickly, too deeply  and you lost your breath again. 

“I said,” he started, leaving you panting under him again. “It was good you're on birth control, because I like the sight of my cum dripping out of you.” 

The remaining breath left your body as you gasped, your face growing hot. You burrowed your face in his chest and let him hold you as you drifted into sleep, wrapped up in each other. 

[the-rorster]

Answering these questions about Being a Girl because I finished it !!!!

1. of the chapters I've written which was my favorite and why

Seen as a (his) Girl

I just . I think about it as the most fun. Betty learned who she was, Erica was helpful. It was a longer chapter, I think the longest. I just feel like I did the most with it

2. which scene was my favorite to write in BaG

The scenes with Erica were my favorites. I initially wanted Erica to play Syd's role in the story because I didn't want to have to make up a character and so when I couldn't figure out how to get Erica in that role I was really sad because I wanted "Erica is surprisingly accepting of this" and so when I was able to get Erica to be another mentor for Betty it just made me so happy as I write every time

3. Which part of BaG was hardest to write?

The dysphoria chapter oh man. So many times I sat down to write and I just . Couldn't. I felt like I was going to far, I worried that I the author would seem like a transphobe because of this relating of the concept of Betty not being a girl but just a messed up teenage boy. It was difficult. Writing it was a struggle. Glad I got past it

4. If I could change anything in BaG what would it be

I mean I wrote it so I could change anything? I feel like I wrote it the way I wanted it

5. Did I make an outline for BaG and did I stick to it

So uh. Surprise. I didn't actually start BaG. It was actually the other Host's fanfiction that he put on my side-ao3 thing instead of its own for some reason. There was a point where I started writing it and he stopped. Toby had a very basic outline for the fic and I did not follow it

6. Which scene did u cut and which did I add

Cut - Betty staying and hanging out with the girls longer, almost sleeping over, and Erica taking her home . It was cut because the chapter was getting too long . (I try to keep chapters 1,500 to 2,000 and that one was over 3,000)

Added - Betty sending Rory a letter asking to meet her after school instead of coming out in the middle of the hall or off in a classroom somewhere the way she did for Ethan. This was added because I remembered that Tobys original idea for the fic was supposed to revolve a lot more around the letters than it did and I wanted to add that back in there somehow

7. Who was my favorite character to write

Erica. I just had so much fun with. The way that she is , I don't know how else to describe it. That being said, it was like watching a child grow up to watch Betty come into herself

8. Which came first, the title or the fic

Fic idea -> idea for a parallel between the first and last chapter -> title the fic the parallel -> the fic

9. What idea came first in BaG?

Betty continuing to write Rory letters leads to them being in a relationship . Also she's trans

10. What are some facts readers may not know about BaG

Being a Girl was never supposed to be our first Bettory fic. Our first Bettory fic was meant to be from MY point of view because. Yk. I'm me. And know how to write me and not worry if it feels out of character

Syd is nonbinary. They're only referred to as she/her throughout the whole thing because Betty is making that assumption. I honestly don't know what Syd's pronouns are or what their AGAB is. Syd is also a witch (and well aware of the irony of her vampire statement)

Rorys genderfluid. If you. Didn't catch that. There was no time for an arc about his gender though

Think that's everything. Feel free to send in an ask with a question about any fic I've written :)

and also read Being a Girl in full!

10 Questions Every Fic Writer Secretly Wants to be Asked

There are a lot of fic questions that float around online, but rarely do they ever ask specific questions about the fics themselves. Ask any writer one or more of these ten questions to learn more about the fic and show support.

1. Of the fics you’ve written, which is your favorite and why?

2. Which scene was your favorite to write in [title of fic]?

3. Which part of [title] was hardest to write?

4. If you could change anything in [title], what would it be?

5. Did you make an outline for [title]? Did you stick to it?

6. Which scenes did you cut, and which were added in [title]?

7. Who was your favorite character to write in [title]?

8. Which came first, the title or the fic?

9. Which idea came to you first in [title]?

10. What are some facts readers may not know about [title]?

[capuccinodoll]

Honey love, dark eyes

♡ Chapter seven ♡

Summary: Joel's mind is a stormy place. WC: 14.5k A/N: Hope this part finds u well <3 remember that I no longer use the tag list, and if you want to receive notifications you can activate them on this blog or on capuccinodollupdates. Thank you for your lovely messages and comments, don't forget to leave feedback, it helps and motivates me a lot! love u <3

Joel met you on the night of your your twenty-second birthday, at a small, slightly chaotic party your friend Cassie had put together in her dimly lit apartment. It was one of those nights where the air felt like it held a secret, but Joel wasn’t planning to go. He didn’t know Cassie, or you, and the idea of spending an evening with Brianna’s friends felt more like an obligation than anything resembling fun. But Brianna had that way about her, the kind of charm that made saying no feel almost impossible.

“Come on, it'll be fun,” she’d said, her fingers brushing against his cheek in that practiced, easy way of hers. Her eyes sparkled, soft but insistent. “And I want you to meet everyone.”

Everyone turned out to be Cassie, her boyfriend Freddie, Paul, Paul’s younger sister Iris, and you. He didn’t know much about you, but Brianna filled in the gaps as she rifled through her purse for something or other.

“Well, it’s her birthday,” she said, glancing up with a small smile. “I told you about her—Cassie’s best friend from way back. It’s at her place.”

Joel frowned. “I don’t even have a gift. What am I supposed to bring? What does your friend likes?”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ve got it covered,” Brianna said, already moving on to another task, as if his presence at this party were a foregone conclusion. 

He sighed, leaning back against the couch, watching her with the sort of resignation that felt familiar by now. “I’ll feel out of place,” he murmured.

“You won’t,” she said, dismissive, like it wasn’t even a possibility. “Do it for me, Joel. Then we’ll go to that bar you like after, okay?”

And so he found himself standing, shaking his head but moving toward the bedroom anyway. He picked up the phone to call Tommy, wanting to check on Sarah. It was always like this—this invisible tether that pulled at him, the need to make sure she was safe, that she wasn’t lonely or scared. Sarah’s nanny had quit a few weeks ago, and the new one, while kind, was still a stranger in their world. Joel had made it clear to everyone he wouldn’t tolerate anything less than kindness toward his daughter, but still, worry clung to him like a second skin. 

When he left the house, Sarah had been curled up on the couch with her fruit and a movie, looking happy enough. He tried to focus on that image, tried to let it soothe the part of him that always itched with concern. But the worry followed him, up the stairs and into Cassie’s apartment. 

The apartment was small, warm with the low buzz of conversation and the flickering light of candles Cassie had scattered around. Brianna took his hand, leading him through introductions. Smiles, nods, the blur of names until they got to you. 

You were perched on the armrest of a couch where Cassie sat, and the first thing he noticed was the way your gaze landed on him—sharp, assessing, like he wasn’t quite what you’d expected or wanted. Something tight curled in his chest, an instinct he didn’t know how to name. You didn’t say much, just offered a polite, somewhat distant smile when Brianna pulled you into a quick hug. Your eyes were tired, your posture restrained, your hands folded neatly in your lap like you were holding something in. 

Joel noticed the way your shirt hugged your frame, the soft sheen of your black stockings, the way your legs crossed at the ankle like you were trying to make yourself smaller. He didn’t like how quickly he cataloged all these details—how automatic it felt, like he was breaking some unspoken rule. He nodded politely, offering a faint smile, and then stepped back, unsure how else to exist in this moment. 

He stayed on the edges after that, with Brianna attached to his side, her hand slipping under his collar, her lips brushing against his temple in a way that felt like it was meant to remind him he belonged to her. But Joel couldn’t stop noticing you. The way your eyes flickered away whenever Brianna leaned into him. The barely perceptible shift in your shoulders when Cassie started recounting some story about your last birthday. Like the whole night was built on a kind of friction you were trying not to let show.

Joel wasn’t sure why, but the sight of you unsettled him. Maybe it was the way you carried your discomfort so carefully, as if you didn’t want to ruin the party. Or maybe it was because he knew that feeling so well. That ache of being somewhere you didn’t entirely want to be, surrounded by people who didn’t really see you.

At some point in the evening, Joel felt the weight of it all—Brianna’s hand on his arm, the too-loud laughter from the living room, the vague pull of unease he couldn’t shake. He shifted, leaning away from Brianna’s touch.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her tone lined with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Joel replied, a little too sharply. “I’m just gonna check on Sarah. Be back in a sec.”

He disentangled himself from her and headed for the kitchen, his hand fishing for his phone in his pocket. As he closed the door behind him, the sudden quiet felt like stepping into a different world. The party was still humming on the other side, but here, in the stillness, he could breathe. 

He unlocked his phone and scrolled through the messages from Sarah’s nanny. They weren’t dire—just updates about Sarah refusing to sleep and crying because her movie had ended. Joel sighed, his stomach knotting anyway. Late nights made Sarah clingier, her emotions harder to soothe, and he hated not being there. 

He typed out a hurried reply: Put the movie back on. She’ll probably drift off in a few minutes. If not, call me—I’ll go back home.

From the living room, someone shouted, karaoke. The cheer that followed was met by Joel’s quiet relief at being tucked away in the kitchen. He let out a breath, leaning against the counter, when the door creaked open. 

You stepped in, freezing mid-motion when you noticed him. For a moment, you just stared, your expression shifting from surprise to something softer. The tension Joel had sensed in you earlier seemed to have dissolved in this quieter space. 

He straightened instinctively, a faint warmth rising to his face.

“Oh, hi. Happy birthday,” he said, his voice a little uneven. “Sorry, I didn’t  get a chance to say it earlier—”

You waved him off with a small smile, interrupting. “No worries. Thanks.”

There was something about the way you carried yourself in the quiet that Joel found disarming. The edges of your earlier wariness had softened, and for the first time, he saw you for more than a glance. You were calm, reflective, maybe a little tired—but there was something else, something Joel couldn’t quite place. 

He searched your face for a hint, for the thing that had inexplicably drawn his attention from the moment he saw you. But it eluded him, like trying to name a feeling he didn’t yet understand. He liked you—he realized that much instantly. And not just for the way you looked; you were beautiful, that much was clear. It was something deeper, more intangible. Something that felt a little bit dangerous to analyze, something he could discover if he allowed himself the time... and he couldn't. What was he thinking? 

Joel left that night without saying much else. Every time Brianna suggested they meet up again—usually with you in attendance—he found a reason to decline. Polite, noncommittal excuses. Work, Sarah, tiredness. It didn’t matter. The truth was, he wasn’t sure why the idea of seeing you again felt impossible, only that it did.  

It wasn’t long before things with Brianna unraveled. They hadn’t been falling apart so much as they’d never truly held together. Their conversations ran on parallel tracks that never quite met; their connection relied on superficial agreements that felt thinner every time they spoke. The breakup came naturally, quietly—no grand argument or dramatic gesture, just a mutual fading. Joel knew it was for the best.  

He told himself that the timing wasn’t right for anything serious. Not with Sarah so young, not with the weight of his responsibilities pulling him in every direction. Dating, he decided, wasn’t a part of his life right now. His world revolved around work and his daughter. There was no room for anything else.  

That’s why he didn’t expect to see you again.  

But then came that Saturday afternoon. Joel stood outside his house, his chest heavy with the tightness of panic, his breath caught in the raw edge of fear. Sarah was nowhere to be found. She had been playing hide-and-seek, though he hadn't known the game had begun... Apparently. His heart thudded in his chest as he drew closer. And then, the sun caught your face, illuminating every angle, softening the edges. You were holding a bundle of plastic flowers (why? he had no idea), their bright colors clashing with the quiet confidence in your smile.  

“Joel,” you said, your voice light, like the beginning of a melody. And there it was—the unmistakable spark of recognition in your eyes. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted you to remember him until that moment, when you did.  

He nodded, trying to muster an air of casual indifference, even as something in his chest shifted, calmed. 

“Hey,” he said, the word almost too small to hold the sudden rush of feelings he wasn’t ready to name. 

How could he name the feeling? The space between the last beat of his heart before he saw your face again and the next was a quiet, breathless eternity—because from that moment on, you would be the reason behind every quickened pulse, every ache and swell in his chest.

That afternoon passed like a blur. Sarah had invited you to stay for dinner before Joel even had a chance to think, let alone object. The meal was simple—chicken, vegetables, and bread that Sarah insisted she’d “helped cook.” You’d laughed, the sound light and warm, and Joel found himself watching you more than he should have. You didn’t seem to notice the way his eyes lingered when you reached for a plate or tucked your hair behind your ear. If you did, you didn’t let on.  

Two weeks later, you had dinner again, but this time Joel introduced you to his brother. And all those things that passed you by, Tommy picked up on instantly, impossible to ignore the unmistakable attitude of his smitten brother. And after you’d left his home, he leaned back in his chair and gave Joel a look that was all knowing smirk.  

“So,” Tommy drawled, leaning back with an almost smug ease, “are you finally gonna ask her out, or are we stuck with this whole pining routine forever?”

Joel exhaled sharply, running a hand over the back of his neck. The movement was unsteady, betraying the heat rising to his face despite his effort to appear unaffected.

“I dunno,” he muttered, his voice low and hesitant. “Not sure she—”

Tommy cut him off with a loud snort, shaking his head in disbelief. “She would, you idiot. Of course, she’d say yes.”

Joel looked up, his eyes narrowing slightly as they met his brother’s. He searched for any trace of teasing, waiting for Tommy to give himself away. But there was none. His younger brother’s expression was steady, his confidence unshakable.

“Go ask her now,” Tommy said, his tone nudging toward playful but still earnest. “She’s probably still awake. Probably thinking about you, you know.”

Joel let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as if to brush off the suggestion. “Oh, knock it off. I’ll ask her, alright? Just… when the time’s right. Not now.”

Tommy rolled his eyes dramatically, but he didn’t press the matter further. He knew Joel well enough to understand when to let things lie.

Joel, however, wasn’t brushing it off as easily as he seemed. He would ask you. Someday. Just not yet.

But that day—the day he’d finally say something—never seemed to come.  

The more time Joel spent with you, the harder it became to imagine risking the delicate balance of what you already had. You fit so seamlessly into his life, into Sarah’s life. It felt natural, effortless. You’d come over for dinner, sharing stories around the table that made Sarah giggle and Joel’s chest feel a little lighter. Sometimes, you’d sit on the porch with him as Sarah played in the yard, her laughter echoing in the quiet evenings. Joel trusted you with his daughter in a way he trusted almost no one, a rare kind of faith he didn’t extend easily.  

Your presence turned ordinary days into something brighter. There was a comfort in your company, a quiet joy in the small moments you shared—your easy laughter, the way your eyes softened when you looked at him or Sarah, the unspoken understanding that passed between you. Those moments felt like tiny gifts, precious and irreplaceable.  

But weeks turned into months, and every time Joel built up the nerve to say something, doubt crept in and stopped him. What if it changed everything? What if you didn’t feel the same way? Or worse—what if you did, but things didn’t work out? The thought of losing the quiet, steady friendship you’d built, the one that had come to mean more to him than he’d ever anticipated, was unbearable.  

Eventually, Joel convinced himself that friendship was enough. And in a way, it wasn’t a lie. He truly was happy in your presence, content with the moments you shared. He told himself he could live with the unspoken, that he didn’t need anything more.  

But sometimes, late at night, when the house was silent and the world felt still, his mind would wander. He’d think about the way your smile lingered when you thought no one was watching or the way your laugh seemed to wrap around him like a warm embrace. In those moments, he couldn’t deny the truth buried deep inside him: he wanted more.  

Still, he decided it was safer to push those feelings away, to bury them deep where they couldn’t surface. And so he did. He buried them so well, smothered them so completely, that he nearly convinced himself they were gone. Until, somehow, he forgot they were even there.

Well, he’d managed to bury it—convince himself it was gone—until that night, when everything shifted.  

It wasn’t exactly a surprise. Not really. Somewhere deep down, a quiet voice had always been whispering the truth to him, persistent and patient. But Joel had ignored it, pushed it aside like an overdue bill he didn’t have the energy to deal with, telling himself he’d face it another day. And yet now, there it was, no longer subtle or ignorable, staring him in the face with a weight that felt impossible to avoid.  

Because deep down, Joel had always known that if the two of you crossed that invisible line—if he let himself take even one step past the boundary you’d built—nothing would ever be the same. It wasn’t the intimacy itself that gave him pause. Joel wasn’t afraid of touching you, of holding you close, or of sharing the kind of closeness he’d once told himself he didn’t need. That wasn’t it. What unsettled him, what gripped him with both exhilaration and dread, was the certainty that after that moment, he’d never be able to step back. He’d never be able to pull away from you, not in the way he had before, not in the way he’d convinced himself he could. Because once he gave in—once he let himself have you, even for a moment—Joel knew with startling clarity that he’d never recover. You wouldn’t just be part of his life anymore; you’d become part of the very center of it. And that terrified him as much as it thrilled him.  

And then, he met Sienna. She entered his life at a time when he had successfully buried those feelings for you so deep that they rarely surfaced anymore, their edges dulled by time and avoidance. Her arrival was almost perfectly timed, slipping into the space he’d created in his effort to distance himself from emotions he hadn’t dared confront. And it wasn’t just convenience; he genuinely liked her. She wasn’t a substitute or a stand-in for something unresolved. She was her own person, someone who caught his attention and managed to hold it, filling his brief days with her with a kind of lightness he enjoyed. But, she wasn't you.

Sienna, with her warm smile and quick laugh, who was easy to like and even easier to spend time with. She was smart, kind, and effortlessly beautiful, the kind of woman who made you feel comfortable in your own skin. He’d met her one morning at the bank, a serendipitous encounter that had led, improbably, to him asking her out. It had surprised even him—Joel Miller, diving headfirst into something for once, emboldened by a rare flash of courage. 

The first date had been pleasant. A simple dinner, unpretentious conversation, and laughter that lingered. When he got home, he’d felt good—content, even. Tommy had stayed to watch Sarah, and Joel hadn’t mentioned the date to you. It hadn’t seemed important at the time. Just one night out, nothing more. Not worth bringing up. But later, as he lay awake in bed, the quiet of the house pressing in around him, he felt it—the faint, prickling weight of guilt. It wasn’t sharp or overwhelming, just a subtle ache that settled low in his chest, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts.

The second date was even better. Dinner had been just as easy as the first, and afterward, they’d gone to see a movie. Sitting in the dim theater, their shoulders brushing occasionally, Joel had felt a faint sense of familiarity, a hint of comfort that he didn’t expect. When Sienna invited him in for coffee after she’d smiled at him in that warm, open way of hers, Joel hesitated. Something inside him pulled back, and though his refusal was polite, it wasn’t just about needing to get home to Sarah. It was something else, something he couldn’t name.

On the drive back, his mind wandered. Passing your house, he noticed the soft glow of light spilling from your window and, for a moment, considered stopping by. Maybe he could sit with you for a while, let you bring some clarity to the restless thoughts swirling in his head. You always had a way of calming him, grounding him, even when you didn’t know he needed it. But he didn’t. Instead, he went home, crawled into bed, and left the lamp on as he drifted to sleep. Yet, even in those moments before sleep took him, thoughts of you tugged persistently at the edges of his mind.

By the third date, doubt had begun to creep in. Joel found himself questioning why he hadn’t told you about Sienna. Why he was keeping it to himself, why it felt so unsettling. It wasn’t as if you’d judge him, he told himself. If anything, you’d probably encourage him, tell him he deserved to be happy, that he should give it a real chance. That was who you were—supportive, unselfish.

But the thought of you knowing made something twist in his chest. It felt wrong, somehow, like it would shift the delicate balance between you. Admitting it to you felt too final, as though saying it aloud would confirm that he was searching for something else, something permanent, and he wasn’t ready for you to know that. He couldn’t untangle the knot of emotions tightening inside him, couldn’t put words to the unease that crept in whenever Sienna smiled at him or touched his arm. All he knew was that no matter how good things seemed with her, thoughts of you were never far behind.

Then came his birthday. You’d confronted him that night, quiet and firm, catching him off guard with your piercing gaze and steady voice.

“Why would you lie to me?” you’d asked, your tone a mixture of hurt and bewilderment. “We're friends. Why wouldn't you tell me you're seeing someone?”

And just like that, the truth he’d been avoiding stood between you, unspoken but undeniable.

You cornered him, and he didn’t handle it well. The anger Joel felt in that moment wasn’t just irrational—it was childish, unfair, the kind of emotion he’d scold Sarah for if it came from her. But it rose inside him, stubborn and hot, because deep down, Joel felt as though he was betraying you. The thought alone unsettled him; it was absurd. You weren’t his, and yet, the idea of you holding that kind of sway over him—being able to tilt the axis of his decisions—left him feeling exposed, furious. He knew, with unsettling clarity, that if you asked him to leave Sienna, he would. That realization burned, not just because of the power you held over him but because he was certain it wasn’t mutual. At least, he thought so.

“I know you too well to know you’re just jealous,” he spat, the words sharp and venomous, aimed more at himself than at you. He hated the way his own insecurities betrayed him, how they shaped the bitterness in his tone. The accusation was hypocritical; he knew that better than anyone.

The month before, when you casually mentioned that Travis had asked you out, Joel felt like the ground had been ripped out from under him. Your tone was so light, so unaffected, that it caught him off guard, knocking the air out of his lungs. His reaction was instant and visceral, jealousy surging like a tidal wave and gripping his chest in a vice. The mocking laugh that escaped him wasn’t intentional—it was sharp and bitter, a reflex from the worst parts of himself. Out of all the men in town, why him? The sting of it still lingered, the memory sharp and vivid.

Three years ago, Joel had first met Travis Dunn on a scorching Sunday afternoon. The kind of day where the sun bore down relentlessly, turning the air into a suffocating blanket of heat and making every movement feel sluggish. Joel was outside his house, organizing tools in the back of his truck, more out of habit than necessity, while the hours stretched long and slow.

Two houses down, across the street, Travis was in his yard, wrestling with an overgrown bush that refused to yield. Joel had noticed him before—a new face in the neighborhood—but they’d never spoken. Deciding to introduce himself, Joel grabbed a rag to wipe his hands and wandered over, his shoes crunching against the dry grass.

Travis straightened when he saw Joel approach, leaning on his shovel with an easy, welcoming smile despite the oppressive heat.

“That’s real kind of you, Joel,” Travis said after Joel offered to help, his voice friendly and conversational. “But I’m just about done here. Damn Texas sun’s brutal, though. Still tryin’ to get used to it.”

Joel chuckled, nodding in understanding as he wiped the sweat from his brow. “Yeah, it’s a killer. You get used to it after a while. Been working outside my whole life—kinda got the skin for it now. But if you ever need a hand, I’ve got the tools. Sometimes even the time.”

Travis nodded, brushing damp hair back from his forehead, and smiled sideways, an idea forming in his mind. “Actually, there is something.”

Joel tilted his head, curiosity piqued. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

Travis hesitated only a moment before blurting out your name as an invocation of the terrible, and the mention of you froze Joel’s easy smile in place, turning it into something tight and forced.

“You’re close to her, aren’t you?” Travis continued, his tone almost playful. “She’s something else. So sweet, beautiful too.”

Joel forced himself to nod, his voice flat. “That she is.”

“I like her,” Travis admitted, a nervous laugh bubbling up as he spoke, oblivious to Joel’s growing tension.

"No shit." His voice was low, flat.

“I mean, I was relieved when I realized you two were just friends. For a while there, I thought you might be, y’know, together.”

Joel’s brow furrowed. “What made you think that?”

“The way you act around her, and the way she acts around you,” Travis said with a shrug. “You’re together a lot. I dunno, it just... felt like a thing.”

Joel didn’t respond, but the silence between them thickened.

Travis, either unaware or unconcerned, grinned and added, “Anyway, you might wanna watch yourself, man," he said with a smug grin. "If you're not careful enough, I might just swoop in and take her off your hands forever. And trust me, I don’t do refunds—especially not with something as gorgeous as her."

Something snapped inside Joel. The casual arrogance in Travis’s tone, the smug smile—it was too much. He stepped closer, his posture rigid. Something as gorgeous, he said? Who did he think he was, strutting up and talking to him with all the confidence in the world, like they were old friends or something?

“What did you just say?” Joel’s voice was low, the Southern drawl sharpening into something dangerous.

The grin faded from Travis’s face, confusion flickering in his eyes. “Oh, sorry—”

"Y’ain’t gonna get anywhere near her with those words, Dunn," Joel growled, his voice low and thick with anger, his strong southern accent accentuating with emotion. "You better watch your damn mouth 'fore I show you what it really means to cross a line."

"No, listen—"

"No," Joel cut him off, stepping even closer. "You listen here, boy. You think you can talk about her like she’s some kinda prize to be won? Like she’s just sittin’ ‘round waitin�� for some fool like you to come swoopin’ in and steal her away? You’re downright dumb if you think you can underestimate her like that—like she’s some kinda damn manipulable thing you can just twist ‘round your finger."

“Joel, I didn’t mean—”

“You stay away from her,” Joel warned, his voice calm but edged with steel. “You hear me?”

Travis’s hands went up in surrender, his expression wary. “Alright, alright. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Joel stared him down for another beat, his jaw tight, before turning on his heel and walking away. His fists were clenched, heat simmering in his chest long after the confrontation ended.

For a while after, Travis kept his distance, careful not to overstep again. But three years later, when he reappeared, asking you out as if that encounter had never happened, Joel was flooded with a familiar anger—and something else. The possessiveness he thought he’d buried roared back to life, impossible to ignore.

“Why don’t you like him?” you had asked Joel that afternoon, your voice laced with curiosity as you leaned against the counter, watching him with that determined look that always made him feel like there was no escape. He had just scoffed at Travis invitation, brushing it off like it was the most ridiculous idea he’d ever heard.

Joel barely paused before spinning his answer, sharp and dismissive.

“I just don’t like the guy,” he said, his tone gruff. His hand reached for the coffee mug on the table, more to occupy himself than because he needed another sip.  

You didn’t let it go, of course. You crossed your arms, head tilted, waiting for something more.  

“He’s... weird,” Joel added with a shrug, avoiding your gaze. “Something about him rubs me the wrong way.”  

That was a lie, and he knew it. The truth was more complicated, and Joel hated complicated. He didn’t like Travis because the guy seemed too perfect, too slick, the type who could charm everyone in the neighborhood without even trying. Worse, Travis hadn’t done anything genuinely wrong, and Joel knew it. Hell, he wasn’t even all that bad of a guy—just the kind who could make you laugh, who could say the right things at the right time. And Joel? He wasn’t about to admit that every quip and joke Travis threw your way felt like a punch to his gut.

The real problem was simpler, though Joel would never say it out loud: he didn’t want Travis—or anyone—getting close to you. Because deep down, he was terrified that if someone did, you’d start to drift away from him. Slowly, naturally, like it was the most normal thing in the world. He could already picture it—the quiet evenings you two spent together fading into quick hellos and polite smiles as your life began to revolve around someone else.  

And Joel wasn’t sure he could handle that.  

You didn’t make it easy for him, either. You’d always talked to him about your boyfriends—there weren’t many, but enough to leave a mark. He listened like the good friend he was supposed to be, his face calm and unreadable. He even gave you advice sometimes, measured and practical, and he pretended to be relieved when things didn’t work out. But the truth? He was selfish. He couldn’t deny the ugly twist in his stomach every time you lit up talking about someone new.  

The worst part was the details. You shared everything—how they made you feel, the way they looked at you, the tiny, romantic gestures that made your heart race. Joel would sit there, nodding along, while his insides churned. Sometimes, he was almost convinced you did it on purpose, like you wanted to poke at the feelings he’d buried so deep. But then he’d shake that thought away because it couldn’t be true. You didn’t see him like that.  

Still, the possessiveness lingered, and it wasn’t one-sided. Whenever Joel mentioned a woman he was seeing, your posture would stiffen ever so slightly. He noticed the way your smile faltered, the way you suddenly seemed distracted. Joel kept his descriptions vague, never giving you the kind of vivid details you offered him. At first, he found a strange satisfaction in your reactions. If it bothered you that much to imagine him with someone else, maybe—just maybe—you felt the same way he did.  

But then you’d start listing their flaws with pinpoint accuracy, dissecting them in a way that left him wondering if you had a secret playbook for unraveling his attempts at romance. And you were always right. Every critique you made landed, exposing cracks he’d tried to ignore, as though you saw right through his attempts to prove he had control over his feelings.  

It frustrated him, how easily you could tear down the façade he worked so hard to build. Yet a small part of him—a selfish, conflicted part—was glad. Because it meant you were paying attention, and maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want to lose him either.

Sienna had taken him by surprise. She was unlike anyone Joel had encountered in a long time, and that unfamiliarity left him unsure how to talk about her—especially to you. He knew you were angry, and he couldn’t blame you. You had every right to feel shut out. Still, Joel couldn’t help but dig in his heels. His life was his own, and no matter how close you two were, some things felt too personal to share.

Yet, despite his stubbornness, the guilt lingered like a low hum in the back of his mind. He couldn’t stop replaying that night, the one you had so carefully planned, the kind of evening he usually dreaded but had come to cherish since you had entered his life.

It had been just the three of you: Sarah, you, and him. Tommy had bailed last minute, caught up in some errand or chore Joel couldn’t even remember now. But Tommy’s absence hadn’t dampened the warmth of the evening. It was perfect in its simplicity. Everything Joel loved most in the world sat around that small kitchen table, the faint glow of the overhead light softening the edges of the moment.

Joel wasn’t big on birthdays. He never had been, and neither were you, which was probably one of the reasons you understood him so well. For him, it was complicated. As a kid, he’d get excited—what child wouldn’t? But as he grew older, birthdays became a cruel reminder of time slipping away, of how life only seemed to grow more complicated with each passing year. 

The last time he had truly enjoyed the day was the year Sarah was born. He could still picture it vividly, like a snapshot preserved in his mind. He and Amelia had been newly married, their relationship rocky but held together by the promise of their daughter. Their apartment was small, the wallpaper peeling in the corners, but that night, none of it mattered.

Amelia had baked him a cake. It wasn’t anything fancy—a bit uneven, with frosting that leaned to one side—but Joel had loved it all the same. She had dimmed the lights and sung "Happy Birthday" softly, her voice barely above a whisper as he held Sarah in his arms. Joel blew out the single candle with a quiet wish: that this fragile moment of happiness might last forever.

After cake, he had sunk onto the couch, Sarah nestled against him, her rhythmic breathing lulling him into one of the most peaceful sleeps he’d ever had.

Joel hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the next thing he knew, Amelia was shaking him gently awake, her fingers brushing against his cheek.

“Come on, Joel,” she’d murmured. “Go to bed. You’ve got work in the morning.”

The next morning, Joel was stirred from sleep by the sound of Sarah’s crying. It was sharp and persistent, cutting through the fog of his exhaustion like a knife. His eyes fluttered open reluctantly, his body heavy with the weight of another long day ahead. He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling as the cries continued, loud and unrelenting. Something felt off, though he couldn’t quite place what it was.

“Amelia?” he called out groggily, his voice rough from sleep.

There was no response. The silence, save for Sarah’s escalating wails, gnawed at the edges of his unease. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Joel sat up, running a hand down his face as if to wipe away the lingering haze of sleep. His chest felt tight, a faint, inexplicable tension coiling there.

Pushing himself to his feet, he shuffled toward Sarah’s crib in the corner of the room. She was red-faced and wriggling, her tiny fists flailing in frustration. Joel bent down, scooping her up with the practiced ease of a man who had done this many times before.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured softly, rocking her gently against his chest. Her cries tapered off for a moment, replaced by hiccuping gasps, but it didn’t last. Soon enough, the wails returned, sharper and more insistent.

Joel recognized the sound immediately—it was hunger. The kind of cry that pierced through everything else, demanding attention. He adjusted her in his arms, cradling her close as he moved toward the kitchen.

“Amelia?” he called out again, louder this time, his voice tinged with irritation and concern.

Still no answer. His eyes scanned the dimly lit apartment, searching for any sign of his wife. That’s when he saw it—a piece of paper sitting on the kitchen table. Bright yellow, stark against the dark wood, it seemed out of place, almost glaring in the soft morning light.

Joel’s stomach twisted. A sinking feeling settled deep within him, heavy and cold. Shifting Sarah in his arms, he stepped closer, his boots creaking softly against the worn floorboards.

The note was short—just five lines scribbled hastily in Amelia’s familiar handwriting. Joel’s eyes moved over the words, his heart pounding in his chest as he read them.

She was gone.

The words blurred for a moment as the meaning sank in. She was gone. Amelia had left, abandoning both him and Sarah with nothing more than a half-hearted apology. The note was filled with excuses: This life isn’t for me. I need something more. I’m sorry. I can’t keep lying to myself. I can’t do this anymore.

Joel’s hand tightened around the paper, crumpling it as Sarah’s cries rose again, loud and demanding. The sound seemed to echo in the hollow space inside him, amplifying the storm that had begun to rage in his chest.

“Bullshit,” he muttered, his voice low and trembling with barely restrained fury. He tossed the crumpled paper onto the floor, watching it roll to a stop near the edge of the table.

The anger came fast and hard, crashing over him like a wave. It wasn’t sadness he felt—not yet. It was anger, raw and consuming. Anger that Amelia had been so cowardly, so selfish. She had left a note, five lines scrawled on a piece of paper, and walked away without looking back.

His fists clenched at his sides as his jaw tightened. She hadn’t just abandoned him—that, he could handle. Their marriage had been strained for a long time, both of them going through the motions more out of necessity than love. But Sarah? She had left their baby.

How could she walk away from their daughter, from the tiny life they had created together? Joel’s thoughts spiraled, his mind racing through every moment he had tried to make things work, every sacrifice he had made to ensure their family had a future.

Was it his fault? Had he pushed her too hard? Or had she been looking for an escape all along?

The questions churned in his mind, but Joel didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on them. Sarah needed him, her cries piercing through the fog of his thoughts. He held her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he rocked her gently.

“It’s just us now, baby girl,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “But I promise you, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll take care of you. Always.”

And in that moment, his anger hardened into resolve. He didn’t have the answers, and he didn’t have Amelia. But he had Sarah, and that was all that mattered.

From the moment Joel heard Sarah’s first cry, the sound pierced through him like a revelation, sharp and clear. In that instant, his entire world shifted. It was as though the pieces of his life, fractured and disorganized, suddenly rearranged themselves around this tiny, fragile being. Everything else fell away—the struggles, the exhaustion, even his own doubts. There was only her.

When he first held her, she felt impossibly small in his arms, her body warm and soft, her head nestled against his chest. She opened her tiny mouth, her cries quieter now but still insistent, and Joel couldn’t help but smile through the exhaustion. Her fist closed around his thumb, her fingers barely curling all the way, and he felt his breath hitch in his throat.

That was it. That was the moment he knew. Nothing else mattered. Not his job, not his own dreams or fears. Sarah was his purpose. She was everything, and he would do anything—everything—to protect her, to make sure she would always be safe and never want for anything.

He threw himself into work with a ferocity he hadn’t known he possessed. Early mornings turned into long nights, and he pushed through each shift with a singular thought in his mind: This is for Sarah. He dreamed of a better life for her, one where they wouldn’t have to struggle. He wanted her to grow up in a house with a backyard, not in the cramped apartment they currently called home.

But his hours away from home weighed heavily on Amelia. She spent most days cooped up in the apartment, caring for Sarah alone. Joel knew it wasn’t easy for her. He saw it in the lines of exhaustion etched into her face, the way her shoulders sagged by the end of the day.

One night, after a particularly grueling shift, Joel came home to find Amelia sitting on the couch, her head resting against the back of it, her eyes closed. Sarah was asleep in her crib, the faint hum of the baby monitor the only sound in the room. Joel sat down beside her, placing a hand gently on her wrist.

"You'll see," he murmured, his voice soft but firm. "Time's gonna fly by, and before we know it, she'll be runnin' around, goin' to school, talkin' our ears off. So fast, we'll wish we could turn back time and have her be a baby again."

Amelia opened her eyes, her gaze tired but sharp. “That’s easy for you to say,” she replied, her tone edged with bitterness. “You’re nobody’s barf towel, Joel. Sometimes I wish she’d grow up faster.”

Her words hit him harder than he expected, like a quiet punch to the gut. Joel felt a pang of guilt and tried to see things from her perspective. He knew she was overwhelmed. He knew his long hours left her bearing the brunt of the daily grind at home. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fully understand. For him, those fleeting moments with Sarah—feeding her, rocking her to sleep, holding her tiny hand—were treasures.

“I know it’s hard,” he said after a long silence, his voice heavy with sincerity. “But we're doing this for us, for her. So we can have more. So she can have more.”

Amelia sighed and stood up, muttering something about needing a shower. Joel stayed on the couch, his head in his hands. He was doing everything he could, wasn’t he? But the cracks in their relationship were growing deeper, and he didn’t know how to fix them.

And then, a week later, she left.

Joel didn’t care that Amelia had abandoned him—not really. Their relationship had been hanging by a thread for months, maybe longer. But the fact that she had walked away from Sarah? That was something he could never understand. How could a mother leave her own child?

Everything got harder after that. Joel had to reorganize his entire life. He adjusted his shifts at work, found a nanny he could afford, and learned to function on less than two hours of sleep. Every day was a balancing act, and every night he fell into bed completely spent, knowing he’d have to do it all over again the next day.

He was alone. Completely, utterly alone. His parents were long gone, and his friends were too busy with college and their own lives to offer more than the occasional word of encouragement. Tommy tried to help, moving in with him for a while to lend a hand. But Tommy was still just a kid himself, more often getting into trouble than out of it. Sometimes it felt like Joel was raising them both.

But no matter how hard it got, Joel never wavered. Sarah was his everything, his reason for pushing forward even when it felt impossible. And when he looked at her—her tiny smile, her bright, curious eyes—it was all worth it. For her, it would always be worth it.

Why would Joel want to celebrate his birthday? For years, the date had meant nothing to him. If anything, it was a day he preferred to forget. Even Amelia’s absence, once a source of raw pain, had dulled into something distant, like an old scar that no longer ached. He was better off without her, he often told himself. Why would he want someone in his life who could abandon her own child so easily, without a second glance?

Eight long years of birthdays came and went, each one passing without fanfare. That is, until you showed up.

It was a warm afternoon when Brenda knocked on Joel’s door, Ian trailing behind her with a small red-wrapped package in his hands. You stood next to them, your bright smile lighting up the quiet entryway as if it had been waiting for this exact moment.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?” you asked, your voice full of playful reproach. You’d only been living next door for a couple of months, but you spoke as though you’d known him far longer.

Joel shrugged, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Didn’t think it was important.” His tone was casual, almost indifferent, but the way his eyes darted to the floor betrayed the discomfort he felt about the subject.

“Well, that won’t do,” you said with a firm nod, your excitement practically radiating off you. “We have to throw you a celebration.”

Before he could protest, you’d already begun making plans, dragging Tommy—who was lounging on Joel’s couch—into your whirlwind of preparation. In what felt like record time, you had organized a small dinner in your backyard, insisting on inviting the people Joel cared about most. Brenda, Ian, and of course, Tommy, were enlisted as guests, and Sarah eagerly volunteered to help with the preparations.

The two of you spent the afternoon in your kitchen, Sarah perched on a stool as she carefully spread cream over a sponge cake. It wasn’t perfect—some spots were uneven, and the red lettering that spelled “Happy Birthday Joel” varied wildly in size—but the effort was unmistakable. You even let Sarah place the single candle right above the word “birthday,” despite her giggles about it looking “a little crooked.”

In the backyard, you strung up Christmas lights, their warm glow transforming the space into something almost magical. A flowered tablecloth adorned the table, set with colored glass plates and matching glasses. It was simple, yet charming, and as Joel stepped outside to see what you had done, he felt an unfamiliar tightness in his chest.

You stood there, watching him expectantly, your hands clasped together as if bracing for his reaction. Joel scanned the scene—the lights, the table, the cake—and then his gaze settled on you. He felt overwhelmed, unaccustomed to this kind of attention, to the idea that someone had gone out of their way to make him feel special.

“Do you like it?” you asked softly, a hint of uncertainty creeping into your voice.

Joel cleared his throat, nodding slowly. “Yeah,” he said gruffly, his voice betraying a mix of gratitude and awkwardness. “It’s… it’s nice. Real nice.”

What he couldn’t say—what he didn’t know how to say—was how much it meant to him. No one had ever done something like this for him before. Sure, Tommy would swing by with a gift and some good-natured ribbing, and Sarah always crafted him heartfelt gifts, usually paired with a movie night of her choosing. But this? This was different. It wasn’t just thoughtful; it was intentional.

You had done it simply to make him happy, without expecting anything in return. And that was what stayed with him.

A few weeks later, when your birthday rolled around, Joel found himself returning the gesture. He spent the better part of the day barbecuing in his backyard, carefully grilling your favorite dishes and picking up a cake from the bakery he’d overheard you mention. He wasn’t the most expressive man, but he wanted to show you how much your efforts had meant to him.

The party was small but warm, filled with laughter and good food. Joel watched you closely, noting the way your eyes lit up when you saw the cake, the way you laughed with Sarah and Tommy, the way you seemed lighter somehow.

It was only a few days later, during a quiet evening, that you opened up about your own complicated feelings toward birthdays.

“You know,” you began, sitting on Joel’s porch with a mug of tea in your hands, “I’ve never really liked my birthday either.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah? How come?”

Your birthday was always a delicate subject, one you rarely spoke about. The day carried a weight too heavy for celebration.

When you were fourteen, just two days before your birthday, your father passed away after a year-long decline that left him a shadow of the man he had once been. Your relationship with him had never been easy. There was a distance between you, a lack of understanding that made every interaction fraught with tension. He didn’t understand you, and you couldn’t bridge the gap to reach him. So, when his illness took hold, it wasn’t just his body that deteriorated—it was also any chance of finding common ground. Watching him grow weaker day by day, his spirit worn thin, felt like mourning someone you had never truly known.  

When he finally passed, it was strange. The grief was there, sharp and biting, but layered with regret, guilt, and a strange hollowness. Your mother, shattered by the loss, withdrew into her own anguish, locking herself in a grief so consuming that it swallowed her whole. She became a ghost of herself, distant and unreachable, leaving you to navigate the loss alone.  

Somehow, you were left adrift. With your father gone and your mother emotionally absent, the world seemed colder. The rest of your adolescence blurred into a haze of solitude. Nights became long and heavy, filled with tears that no one heard. Birthdays, once a day of excitement, became unbearable.  

“It’s not worth celebrating,” your mother had said one year, her voice hollow. “What’s the point? It’s just a reminder of what we lost.”  

And you believed her. You let the day pass quietly, pretending it didn’t matter. But deep down, it did. Every year, the ache in your chest returned, as if your father’s death had marked you in ways you couldn’t escape.  

When you moved to Austin, Cassie was determined to change that. She insisted on throwing you a party, bringing her friends together and decorating her small apartment with balloons and streamers. She wanted to make the day special, to give you the joy she believed you deserved. But instead of feeling included, you felt like a stranger in the crowd. The forced laughter and cheerful chatter only amplified the loneliness you carried inside.  

Joel noticed it immediately. From the first glance, he saw something in you that mirrored his own quiet pain, his own complicated relationship with birthdays and loss.  

With the Millers, though, it was different.  

Joel had a way of pulling you out of your own head. He didn’t ask if you wanted to celebrate; he simply turned on the music, took your hand, and pulled you into the courtyard to dance.  

“C’mon, don’t make me look ridiculous all by myself,” he teased, his hand warm and steady on yours.  

“I’m terrible at this,” you protested, laughing despite yourself as he spun you clumsily.  

“You think I’m any better?” he shot back, making an exaggerated face of concentration that sent you into a fit of giggles.  

His other hand rested lightly on your waist, tickling just enough to make you squirm.

“Stop!” you laughed, swatting at him, but Joel only grinned, spinning you again until you were both dizzy and breathless.  

The weight in your chest began to ease. Slowly, the familiar sadness faded, replaced by something you hadn’t felt in years—a glimmer of happiness. The music, Sarah’s laughter in the background, and Joel’s insistence on making you smile wove together into a moment so genuine that you couldn’t help but let go, even if only for a little while.

With the Millers, you felt something you hadn’t in years: belonging. Joel, Sarah, even Tommy—they made you feel like you were part of something bigger, something that mattered. For the first time in what felt like forever, you were happy. And for once, your birthday didn’t hurt. 

On the afternoon of his birthday, Joel made it a point to leave work early, a rare indulgence. The day had been grueling, his body carrying the weight of hours spent hauling, lifting, and concentrating through a persistent ache in his shoulders and arms. By the time he pulled into the driveway, fatigue clung to him like a second skin.

But the moment he stepped through the door, all of that began to melt away. The warm, savory aroma of your cooking wrapped around him like a welcoming embrace, teasing his senses and making his stomach rumble in anticipation. From the kitchen, he could hear Sarah's laughter, a sound so bright and carefree it seemed to lift the heaviness in his chest. And then there was your voice—soft and melodic, weaving effortlessly into the rhythm of his home, a sound that had come to symbolize comfort itself.

He paused in the doorway for a moment, letting it all wash over him. The tension in his shoulders began to ease, his mind quieting in a way it rarely did. Home. It wasn’t just the place—it was you, Sarah, the life you all shared within these walls.

As he stepped further inside, Joel noticed something different about you that evening. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on but felt instantly. He always noticed you—more than he liked to admit. His gaze often lingered longer than it should, studying the way your lips curved when you smiled, the way your hands moved with quiet purpose, the subtle shifts in your voice when you were excited or uncertain.

Tonight, though, it was as if the world had conspired to make you glow. You wore that dress he liked, the one that clung just enough to hint at your shape without being overdone. The warm light from the kitchen seemed to catch on your flushed cheeks, making your skin look soft, almost luminous. Your hair was tied up, exposing the graceful curve of your neck and the delicate, fine hairs at its nape.

He found himself staring, his fingers itching with the desire to reach out and touch that spot just beneath your ear, to let his thumb trace the softness of your skin. He could already imagine the way it would feel, the warmth of you under his touch. But Joel stopped himself, swallowing hard and forcing his hands into his pockets.

His tongue betrayed him then. A slip—a small comment, laced with more emotion than he intended.

The three of you sat around the table, and Joel took his first bite of the stew, eyes widening, a kind of bliss washing over his face. He tossed his head back and groaned.

“Sweet Glory,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. “Thank you for this.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, though part of you couldn’t help but feel a pang of something between irritation and flattery. “You say that every time I cook for you.”

He shook his head, smiling as he chewed, then spoke softly, his gaze slipping downward.

“I’m not exaggerating—I love everything you do.” A pause, and then a quick, awkward clarification. “I mean, everything you cook.”

You didn’t seem to notice, though, your focus elsewhere. But Joel felt the heat rise in his face, a faint flush creeping over his cheeks. He turned away quickly, clearing his throat as if that could erase the moment. Joel hadn’t meant to say it aloud. The words slipped out before he could stop them, his voice soft but heavy with emotion.

I love everything you do. It wasn’t just a compliment—it was a confession, unguarded and dangerously close to exposing everything he’d tried so hard to bury.

If someone had told Joel how that night would end, he would have laughed, dismissed the thought outright. It was unthinkable, a fantasy he’d never let himself fully entertain. But as the hours unfolded, something inside him began to shift—subtle at first, like a whisper at the edge of his mind, then growing louder and more insistent.

But then came the emotions, rushing in like a storm—anger, jealousy, desire, all tangled together in a mess he couldn’t untangle. The anger was irrational, sharp and sudden, a flash of heat that burned at the thought of you smiling like that at someone else. The jealousy felt even worse, a bitter ache in his chest at the mere idea that you might one day belong to someone else, someone better than him. And the desire... it was unbearable. It had been building for so long, so quietly, that he hadn’t noticed it until it was too late to ignore.

Something broke inside him.

“Fine. I’ll leave you alone, and maybe then you can run across the street and fuck Travis Dunn, if you want it so badly,” he shot back, impatience tinging his voice as he turned toward the still-open door.

The words hit you like a slap. You froze for a moment, the anger washing over you in a wave. Before you could think twice, you rushed up to him, gripping his arm tightly to force him to turn and look at you.

“What the hell did you just say, Joel?” you hissed, grabbing his shirt, fingers bunching in the fabric as you backed him up until his shoulders hit the wall by the door. “Go on, say it again!”

Your breaths came fast, chest rising and falling as the rush of anger pushed tears to your eyes. You couldn’t believe he’d actually spoken to you like that, cutting right through to something raw and vulnerable. He’d never spoken to you like that before. Maybe he was a little drunk, or maybe he was losing his mind.

But there was no softness in his gaze, no hint of the Joel you knew. His stare was sharp, almost wild with something simmering underneath, something you didn’t understand. To you, this whole argument made no sense, at least not his reaction.

Joel’s grip on your wrist was firm, almost grounding, as he pulled you closer, pressing your palm against his chest. “I can’t stand that asshole, but go ahead and fuck him if you want,” he spat, voice laced with frustration. “Go fuck the whole neighborhood while you’re at it. I really don’t care anymore.”

His words were harsh, designed to cut, but they only drew a laugh from you—sharp and derisive. A tear slipped down your cheek, uninvited.

“What, did you ever care?” you asked, your voice trembling on the last syllable, thick with emotion.

But Joel didn’t respond, and the silence ignited a fire in you, something that swirled beneath the surface, ready to boil over.

“Do you know why we’re friends, Joel?” Your pulse quickened, each beat like a drum in your ears. “Because it just works between us. There are no ulterior motives. You know why? Because I don’t like you like that. You’re not even my type, and you never will be. And no, I’m not jealous that you’re dating some woman you’ll probably dump in less than a month, so get the fuck over it and leave me the fuck alone!”

He wasn’t your type. He wasn’t your type. He wasn’t your type? The words echoed in Joel’s mind, each repetition a fresh sting to his ego and a sharper stab to his heart. But your eyes told him a different story. They mirrored his own intensity, and that unspoken connection was undeniable. 

In that moment, he surrendered to an impulse he had fought to suppress countless times before. He kissed you, a kiss laden with every restrained emotion, and carried you to your room. The world around him blurred; it felt surreal, as if he were watching himself from a distance. Every sense was heightened, every touch electric, his entire being focused solely on you.

You were perfection to him. The intoxicating scent of your skin, the soft texture of your lips, the sweet taste of you—all of it was exquisite, overwhelming. When he was finally inside you, he felt as if his heart might explode from the sheer intensity of it. The warmth, the sweetness, the way it consumed him—it was almost too much to bear, almost too beautiful to be real. Every sound you made unraveled him further, pushing him closer to a peak he had thought unattainable. The desire that coursed through you felt almost tangible, as if he could taste it on his lips with every kiss.

As you drifted off to sleep beside him, your face looked so peaceful, so heartbreakingly beautiful, that Joel couldn’t resist. He leaned in, brushing the gentlest of kisses across your forehead, your cheeks, your eyelids—each kiss a whisper of affection, as though trying to capture this fleeting moment. Only when the rhythm of your breaths lulled him into calm did he finally surrender to sleep at your side.  

But deep in the stillness of the night, he stirred awake. His emotions, once overwhelming, had quieted; his mind, no longer softened by the haze of passion, now felt sharp and cold. And then it struck him—a suffocating wave of fear.  

What had he done? What had he done? The question echoed relentlessly in his mind, each repetition laced with dread. He had crossed a line, dragging you into his chaos, disrespecting you in a way that made his stomach twist with guilt. He had shattered the bond you shared—a friendship he had held in the highest regard. He had taken something pure and irreversibly tainted it with his own selfish desires.  

Panic surged through him, relentless and unforgiving. How could you ever look at him the same way again? Surely, you wouldn’t want him in your life anymore. The thought of losing you gutted him.  

A storm of thoughts battered his mind as he quietly slipped out of your house like a ghost, each step feeling heavier than the last. The walk back to his own home was a blur of regret and self-recrimination. By the time he shut the door behind him, the weight of what he had done pressed down on him completely. He knew, with a sinking finality, that he had ruined everything.

He had ruined everything. 

And four days later, the dagger in his chest sank even deeper.

Swallowing hard, you tasted the salt of your tears, and it burned your throat like an unwelcome reminder of the turmoil within.

“I’m not sure I can be your friend anymore, Joel,” you confessed, your voice shaking with the weight of your admission.

He shook his head, disbelief flashing across his features as a weak smile broke through the hurt. It was as if he couldn’t quite fathom the words that had just escaped you.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do,” you asserted, each syllable a battle against the rawness in your chest.

“No, you don’t,” he countered, stepping back just inches, his tone laced with incredulity. The mocking sneer that crept onto his face felt more like a mask than a reflection of his true feelings, and yet, the moisture pooling in his eyes betrayed the battle raging within him.

You regarded him in silence, the atmosphere thickening with unspoken words as you watched his smile fade into something that was almost painful. It twisted his features, morphing into a look of discomfort that hung between you like an unsaid apology. He remained still, his gaze locked onto yours, waiting for you to break the tension with a word or a gesture. The sight of him like that burned inside you, igniting a longing to rewind time, to swallow your questions, to let him live his life free from the weight of your curiosity and the tangled feelings that had blossomed between you. But that wasn’t an option; the reality of your situation loomed large and unavoidable. You had to confront the truth: he didn’t feel the same way about you, and for him, sleeping with you felt like a transgression, a sin, a burden he couldn’t carry.

“Joel, please,” you began, your voice cracking under the pressure of your emotions. A tear slipped down your cheek, salty and bitter, tasting of the anguish that your words carried. “I can’t be your friend anymore. I can’t do this. I’m sorry, I really am, but you’re breaking my—” You hesitated, swallowing hard against the swell of grief that threatened to overwhelm you. “I think this is over.”

"She just needs time," Joel told himself, clinging to the fragile hope that things would eventually mend. But that comforting thought crumbled when he saw how easily you seemed to move on, as if he no longer existed in your world. You carried on with your life without so much as a glance in his direction, each moment of indifference cutting deeper. It felt like a deliberate erasure, and Joel's heart shrank under the weight of it, splintering all over again. Did you truly not want him in your life anymore?  

His decision to break things off with Sienna had come with a strange clarity. Her warmth, her charm—things he had once appreciated—now felt hollow, like they no longer belonged in his life. Joel couldn’t pretend otherwise. He couldn’t lie to her, tell her everything was fine, and carry on as though his heart wasn’t consumed by someone else. She deserved more than being a placeholder for feelings he couldn’t shake.  

In the aftermath of the breakup, Joel thought he might finally find the courage to come to you. To apologize, to face you honestly. He imagined himself laying it all out—his regret, his fear, and the possibility of something more. Perhaps, if you felt even a fraction of what he did, you could both explore the connection that had ignited that night. He had told himself he was ready to risk it all, to bare his soul if you would give him even a sliver of space to do so.  

The breaking point came when Tommy casually mentioned you and Travis. The words were innocuous, but the storm they unleashed within Joel was anything but. Something dark and bitter began to fester in his chest—jealousy, anger, resentment? He couldn’t quite name it, but it clawed at him, a toxic mix that he struggled to contain. It wasn’t his proudest moment. It wasn’t even close.  

“What’s this?” he asked, a note of suspicion in his voice.

Tommy leaned back, watching him with a faint smile playing at the edges of his mouth.

“Your girl next door gave it to me,” he replied, each word almost too measured. “Said it was yours.”

For a few moments, Joel just stood there, as if frozen, processing Tommy’s words. He looked down, finally lifting the lid and peering inside. There, neatly folded, was his sweatshirt—the one he’d handed you one chilly evening when he picked you up from work. Beneath that was his old Pearl Jam t-shirt, the one you’d borrowed after a swim in his pool last summer. His favorite coffee mug sat tucked in the corner, along with a few CDs, a dog-eared paperback he’d loaned you weeks ago. Each item seemed to carry its own little echo of the time he’d spent with you.

After a few seconds, Joel placed the lid back on the box, sliding it away from him with a muted thud. He kept his expression steady, but his jaw was set, and his eyes remained fixed on the counter.

“When did she give it to you?” he asked, his voice strained but steady.

“A few moments ago,” Tommy said with a shrug, holding back a smirk as he noticed the tightness in Joel’s expression. “Saw her walking back from Dunn’s house, actually.”

Joel let out a dry, sardonic laugh, a smile twisted in disbelief. "Right. Of course."

"Actually," Tommy said, savoring another spoonful of ice cream, "he walked her to the door, all sweet-like. Gave her the whole mushy goodnight routine—kiss, movie shit." His gaze stayed fixed on the bowl, though Joel could see the glint of mischief there, Tommy barely holding back a grin.

Joel’s fingers drummed on the counter, his gaze hardening. “She must be happy then,” he muttered.

Tommy didn’t look up, just continued with his ice cream, though there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Sure she looked that way to me.”

“Like I care,” Joel muttered, his gaze fixed hard on the box beside him, fingers curling against the edge as if steadying himself. “I can bet everything I’ve got she doesn’t even like him that much. That guy isn’t worth it, and she knows it.” 

Tommy’s mouth quirked with amusement as he leaned back against the counter.

“Too bad that’s not up to you,” he said, casually pushing Joel’s buttons, almost like he enjoyed watching his brother’s patience fray. “She looked happy. And for what it’s worth, in her own words, she does like him.” 

Later, in the solitude of his room, Joel tucked away the box—the one filled with memories and unfinished gestures. He couldn’t bear to look at it, to confront what it represented. Instead, he tried to distract himself, but the emotions that swirled within him refused to be ignored. But he didn’t. Fear, hesitation, and the unrelenting weight of what-ifs kept him rooted in silence.

What Tommy told him shattered any remaining hope Joel had of making things right with you. Whatever fragile intentions he had to mend the rift between you dissolved in an instant, crushed under the weight of his own assumptions.  

You had moved on, hadn’t you? It seemed so, as if you had turned a new page in your life without a second thought. Apparently, that night with Joel hadn’t meant as much to you as it had to him. The realization struck like a knife, twisting with every memory of that fleeting connection he had held onto so desperately. Anger bubbled up alongside the pain, a raw, bitter cocktail of emotions that left him reeling. He wanted to show you that he could move on, too—that he wasn’t as affected, that he could be indifferent.  

But the act fell apart every time he saw you with Travis. The sight of the two of you together hollowed him out. You looked happy, didn’t you? The way you smiled, the ease with which you leaned into Travis—it was more than Joel could bear. Each moment of apparent joy between you and this other man chipped away at something inside him, leaving him feeling smaller, more fractured.  

Still, the urge to seek your forgiveness lingered. It gnawed at him, the desire to bridge the gap and find some way to fix what had been broken. But every time he mustered the resolve to approach you, his feelings betrayed him. Anger surged to the surface, overpowering the vulnerability he had tried so hard to embrace.  

Instead of mending things, he withdrew, consumed by resentment and heartache. The man he became in those moments was someone he didn’t recognize—someone fueled by a mixture of longing and bitterness, too afraid to confront the truth of what he felt, yet unable to let it go. 

“That’s mine,” he said.

“What?” you managed, almost gasping, your eyes darting between his face and his hands, as if looking for something—anything—to explain this new, impossible tension. 

Joel didn’t move. He was still, a presence that loomed larger by the second. His gaze was steady on you, tracing your body and your face, slow and deliberate.

“The flannel,” he repeated, his voice dropping lower, rough around the edges. “It’s mine.”

You looked down at the fabric, the soft, familiar warmth of it, and felt a sudden jolt. God. He was right. It was his. But it had been yours for years. You'd worn it so often, so comfortably, that you'd forgotten it ever belonged to anyone else. Maybe he'd lent it to you once, a lifetime ago, on one of those cold nights when you both sat under blankets. But he’d never asked for it back, had he? He never seemed to care, and you never thought to return it. It had just... stayed with you.

When you lifted your eyes back to him, Joel had moved off the wall, stepping toward you with slow, deliberate steps, closing the distance between you. Too close. He was too close, and you could feel the heat radiating off his body as his presence engulfed you.

“What happened?” His voice was soft, but there was a simmering undercurrent, a teasing tone that made your pulse quicken, though you weren’t sure why. “Did you forget to include it in your little box when you gave everything back to me?”

You felt a bitter chuckle bubble in your throat, an angry little sound that you couldn’t quite hold back. You shook your head slightly, irritated, your chest tight as you opened your mouth to speak, but he interrupted you, his words coming fast, sharper than before.

“Doesn’t your little boyfriend mind you wearing another man’s clothes?” he asked, his voice dripping with something like disdain, like he had been holding that question inside for far too long. His eyes darkened, gliding down to the fabric again, then to your body, before he reached forward, his fingers brushing the edge of the flannel as if testing the boundaries. “Or does he already know this isn’t the only thing of mine that’s wrapped around you?”

Later that night, Joel’s fingers entwined with Clara’s, but her hand was cold, and the contact felt unnatural. When she wrapped her arm around his, an almost visceral rejection welled up in him. Her touch wasn’t comforting; it was suffocating.

The pair walked in silence as they left the Hoffmans’ yard. Joel kept his eyes ahead, determined not to glance back. But he couldn’t help himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw you resting your head against Travis’s chest, your body cocooned in his jacket. The sight made Joel’s stomach twist painfully.

This was his fault. He replayed the night in his mind, how he’d told you to take off his shirt, how he’d inadvertently pushed you closer to Travis. Regret pressed heavily on him, a weight he couldn’t shake.

“Do you like wine?” Clara’s voice broke the silence as they neared her house.

Joel turned to her, his gaze distant, his mind still lost elsewhere. His entire body felt stiff, as though rejecting even the possibility of being there.

“Actually, I should get home,” he said abruptly, his voice flat.

Clara blinked at him, her expression faltering. Her easy smile gave way to a confused grimace, but Joel didn’t try to read her emotions.

“Oh,” she murmured, awkwardly. Then, with a hesitant laugh, she added, “Why don’t you come in for a bit? We could… have some fun.” Her hand reached for the collar of his shirt, a playful but suggestive gesture.

Joel gently pushed her hand away, the discomfort etched across his face.

"I really don’t feel like it," Joel said, his voice sharper than he meant it to be, the irritation slipping through despite his effort to hold it back. "And if I’m bein’ honest, I don’t like the way you’re always throwin’ yourself at me, especially in front of everybody like that. It ain’t right, and it sure as hell don’t sit well with me."

The words hung heavily in the air, cutting and cruel. Joel knew his tone wasn’t fair—it came from anger that had little to do with Clara herself. But he didn’t care. If anything, it was a chance to end this farce, to kill two birds with one stone.

Clara’s face flushed, embarrassment washing over her features. She stammered, “Then… why did you invite me to come with you?”

"I wanted to tell you in private," Joel drawled, his voice low and steady, each word carrying the weight of his frustration. "I don’t like you, Clara. Not like that. It ain’t fair to either of us. So why don’t you just go on and find someone else, someone who actually wants what you’re offerin’?"

Her lips parted, as though to say something, but Joel didn’t wait to hear it. His feet were already carrying him away, his thoughts full of you. Always you.

He cursed himself silently, the same harsh words looping in his mind. He was always screwing up, always doing the wrong thing. Everything he touched seemed to fall apart, especially where you were concerned. It was as if he was wired to ruin everything.

He was screwing up, screwing up so bad that he kept hurting you. And he knew there was no turning back when that Saturday after the Halloween party, your eyes had locked onto his, sharp and unyielding, cutting through him like shards of glass. Your voice, heavy with pain, lingered in his mind, echoing with all the things he couldn’t fix.

"Do you think what you’re doing is right, Joel?" you asked, your tone sharper than before, slicing through the fragile quiet between you.

His brows knit together, confused, and he tilted his head slightly as if to ask what you meant.

"Do you think you’re accomplishing anything by sleeping with the women in this neighborhood?" you continued, your words rushing out faster now. "I mean, first you sleep with me—oh, the worst mistake of your life—then you sleep with Clara. And what about Sienna? What does she think of all this? You’re a selfish, irresponsible man, Joel Miller, so irresponsible." The words kept spilling, your voice trembling now, laced with both anger and something softer, something that felt like pain. "And as if that wasn’t enough, you’ve ruined us. Completely. And I hate you for that, Joel. I hate you because you’re not the man I thought you were. And i love you so much I—"

Your gaze dropped to the ground, unable to meet his eyes. The tears welled up before you could stop them, blurring the edges of your vision and leaving your cheeks hot.

You hated how raw it all felt. How exposed. And worse, how the alcohol that had loosened your tongue was no longer numbing enough to shield you from the reality of what you’d just said.

Before you could stop him, Joel’s hands came to rest gently on your arms. The warmth of his touch made your stomach flip, and it took everything in you to pull away.

“No,” you said firmly, shaking him off and turning on your heel. But you barely managed two steps before your foot caught awkwardly in front of the other, sending you stumbling.

You yelped as your palm scraped against the ground, but Joel caught your other arm before you could fully collapse. The heat of embarrassment rushed to your face as you stood quickly, brushing off your dress and refusing to look at him.

You marched toward your door with renewed determination, ignoring the sting in your palm and the sound of his voice calling after you.

“Wait,” he said, his tone softer now, almost pleading. 

But you didn’t stop. Your trembling fingers fumbled with the key, eyes fixed on the lock as if opening the door quickly enough could make him—and everything you’d just said—disappear.

The key slid into the lock on your first try, a stroke of luck you hadn’t expected. You stumbled inside, not bothering to close the door behind you. Maybe it was unconscious, or maybe some buried, foolish part of you wanted him to follow. Whatever the reason, Joel did, shutting the door softly as he stepped in, his footsteps trailing after your clumsy, rushed ascent up the stairs. His hand found your lower back more than once, steadying you whenever your feet betrayed you and your balance faltered.

When you reached your room, his presence pressed down on you, heavy and inescapable. Your chest felt tight, emotions boiling over with an intensity you couldn’t contain. The exhaustion—of everything—clawed at your insides, raw and relentless.

“Fuck you, Joel,” you spat, spinning to face him, your palms colliding with his chest in a sharp slap. The sound echoed between you, loud and angry. You hit him again, this time harder, though he barely moved, only stepping back an inch. “Fuck you. Fuck you. You’re a complete asshole, and I hate you. I hate you so much.” Your fists clenched, pounding against him now, the blows strong but harmless.

The pain in your eyes, the tremor in your voice—it shattered Joel completely. Every crack in your expression, every unsteady word, drove home the truth he had been avoiding: he had hurt you. Deeply. Irrevocably. And in that moment, the weight of his guilt became unbearable. He felt like he deserved every ounce of hatred and anger you could muster, every harsh word or cold glance. Hell, he deserved worse. He deserved every bad thing the world could throw at him.  

When you lay down on the bed, exhausted and emotionally raw, Joel felt an overwhelming urge to stay. He wanted to be near you, to watch over you, to be a steady presence even if you didn’t want him there. But your words had been clear, leaving no room for misunderstanding. Reluctantly, he obeyed, dragging his heavy feet out of your space. The weight of his body mirrored the weight in his chest as he trudged home.  

Once inside the dark silence of his living room, the self-loathing consumed him entirely. He sank into a chair, burying his face in his hands as the shame and regret clawed at him. How could he have done this to you? How could he have hurt the sweetest, kindest woman he had ever known? He replayed every misstep, every moment he let his anger or fear get in the way of treating you the way you deserved.  

Joel knew he had to make it right, no matter the cost. He had to apologize, to lay bare his mistakes and accept whatever consequences you chose to impose. Even if it meant watching you move on with Travis.  

The thought of seeing you with another man was agonizing, like a knife twisting in his chest. But Joel couldn’t ignore the truth: despite his disdain for Travis, the man made you happy. He’d seen it in your laughter, the easy way you leaned into him, the light in your eyes that Joel himself had dimmed. And wasn’t that what you deserved? Happiness, warmth, stability—all the things Joel doubted he could give you.  

He hated himself for the jealousy that still lingered, for the bitterness that coiled inside him like a serpent. But more than that, he hated himself for failing you. You deserved better. So much better. And if Travis was that for you, Joel would accept it, no matter how much it tore him apart.

But then, when you went to his house...

He would never have imagined the way your lips sought his again, desperate, hungry. Joel could hardly believe what was happening. The feel of your kiss finding him again, so warm, perfect—it was as if the world had tilted off its axis. For a moment, he thought he must be dreaming. Maybe this was all in his head, his mind playing tricks on him because he couldn’t bear the thought of you being gone. It was too perfect, too real. He convinced himself that any second now, he’d wake up and find himself alone again, lost in the hollow ache of regret.  

But no, you were there. Really there. Beneath him once again. The weight of your presence was grounding, pulling him back into a reality where everything felt possible, where maybe—just maybe—he could make things right. Your head resting on his chest, the soft rise and fall of your breath against his skin—it was everything he had wanted and more. For the first time in weeks, Joel felt at peace. His heart beat so strongly in his chest it felt as though it could burst, and for a moment, he forgot all the mistakes, all the pain. Nothing could ruin this. Nothing, least of all him.  

This time, he promised himself, he would do things right. He wouldn’t let fear dictate his choices. He wouldn’t push you away. He couldn’t. Not again.  

But just as quickly as that fragile peace had settled—

Sarah arrived, interrupting the quiet moment with a sudden presence that jolted him awake. The sound of her voice was enough to make him freeze, the peace slipping away.  

Downstairs in the living room, Joel forced himself to straighten, to steady his nerves. His hands were clammy, his pulse racing, but he masked it all. His posture was rigid, controlled, serious as always. Nothing about him would give away the chaos he felt inside.  

You looked between Sarah and him, your gaze flicking back and forth, and Joel noticed the shy smile that touched your lips. His chest tightened, but he couldn’t help but notice the softness in your expression. 

"C'mon, what do you wanna eat?" she asked. "You're staying, right?"

“I… sure, uh, I don’t—I have to do something first, okay?” you said, your voice a little unsteady, a little unsure, but there was a determination in your eyes that he couldn’t ignore.  

Sarah, ever the curious one, tilted her head, her face full of contentment, though it quickly shifted to confusion.

“What?” she asked, a hint of innocence in her voice.  

Joel, feeling the need to regain control of the situation, stood up from the doorframe. He walked over to Sarah, his hand gently resting on her shoulder, grounding himself in the familiar warmth of his daughter.  

“Why don’t you help me pick out dinner in the meantime?” he suggested, keeping his voice calm and steady, just like he always did. It was the easiest way to pull Sarah away, to give you space without making it obvious.  

Without another word, you left his house, your legs unsteady, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts, of questions. Joel watched you go, his chest heavy, knowing that what had just happened was different.

As he watched you leave, he knew one thing for certain: Sarah was going to wait for you for dinner. That, at least, was something he could count on.

[moonchild9350]

Before You Go

Summary: you’d give or do anything for your boyfriend, especially if he pouts cutely at you.

Pairing: established relationship Han x fab!reader

Genre: smut-18+ MDNI

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: teasing, masturbation, handjob, oral sex (m & f receiving), clit play, clit slapping, dirty talk, unprotected sex (don't), squirting, creampie, taking nudes, thick cock Han lol

Notes: Jisung's pouts, that's it that's the post. I'd do anything for him if he pouted at me lol

Divider by: @cafekitsune

If you enjoyed please reblog, comment, or like ♡

Please do not copy, translate, modify, use, or repost this work elsewhere without my permission. ©moonchild9350 (2024)

“Babe, lemme fuck you.”

These four words stopped you in your tracks, your head snapping to look at your boyfriend sitting on your bed. You eyed him as he lounged on the bed, his hand placed behind his head as he smirked at you.

“What?” You responded you voiced laced with disbelief.

You were packing your suitcase, preparing for a trip with your girls in three days. You would be gone for one week and your boyfriend Jisung had much to say about it. He’s been nagging you nonstop, saying he’ll miss you and what will he do when you’re gone. Every chance he’ll get he attaches himself to you in some way…not that you cared much.

“Lemme fuck you!” He repeated, this time with a little desperation in his voice.

You stared at him, watching as he squeezed his thighs together, his bulge very much present in the gray sweatpants he was wearing.

Taking a deep breath you said in a sing song voice, “No.”

You walked away to gather more clothes as Jisung whined, his bottom lip jutting out like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

“Well what am I supposed to do about this?” He inquired, gesturing toward the tent in his pants.

“Go jerk off babe…without me,” you added as you noticed his eyes get big and bright as he probably thought of some grand idea to get through this slump.

“You hate me!” Jisung said as you walked out the bedroom, to go grab a snack.

“Whatever you say babe!” you teased as you smirked.

The next two days passed in a similar fashion with Jisung flashing his boba eyes at you and begging for sex, claiming he’s had blue balls for the last two days. You knew the last part to be true, but that just made him more whiny and desperate which you loved.

He tried everything from cooking you a nice dinner to even helping you pack, his little brain thinking you’ll give in and have sex. However, you were steadfast in your task, not budging in your decision.

The afternoon before your departure, you needed to make a quick drugstore run, picking up some last minute supplies. You pressed a chaste kiss to Jisung’s lips, chuckling as he chased after you hoping for more.

“I’ll be back babe!” You said as you shut the door, a little whimper from Jisung reaching your ears last minute. — — Once you were done with your errands, you made your way back to your apartment. You made it in record time, wanting to finish up packing as soon as possible so you could relax.

As you unlocked the door, you heard a low moan, the sound drawn out and laced with frustration. You tossed your keys on the hallway table, kicked off your shoes, and made your way towards the sound.

It seemed to grow louder as you neared your bedroom door. You smirked, knowing exactly what was going on behind the door, the thought causing your pussy to clench.

Taking a deep breath, you opened the door, your eyes zeroing in on your boyfriend laying spread eagle on the bread. His head was tossed back as he rhythmically stroked his cock, lewd wet sounds echoing in the room from the copious amounts of precum that was leaking from his tip.

“Fuck! Y/n, please!” Jisung whined as he canted his hips upwards as he picked up the pace.

You decided to stop his fun, walking over to the bed and slapping his hand away. He let out a loud groan in frustration, his wet eyes snapping to yours.

“Why’d you do that?” He whimpered, his cock twitching pathetically as it lay against his stomach neglected.

“Awww, are you having trouble babe? Hmm?” You teased, rising your eyebrow at him.

Jisung nodded his head, his lip jutting out as he wiggled on the bed. He was so hard it was almost painful, his length seeming to grow with each passing second.

“Answer me babe,” you cooed, crawling onto the bed as you shucked your top off.

Jisung’s eyes widened at the sight of your tits, the flesh all but spilling from your bra.

“Mmm yes baby, need- need your help…please, please,” he whimpered, his words trailing off to a whisper.

You chuckled as you approached him, licking your lips at the sight of his chubby cock.

“Poor baby,” you hummed, as you wrapped your hand around his length.

Jisung let out a hiss as you slowly stroked his shaft, your wrist circling around the head to gather more of the leaking pre cum. With your other hand, you fondled his balls, squeezing them gently as he thrashed around, high pitched moans leaving his lips.

“Mm close baby,” Jisung panted as he thrusted his hips up into your hand as you matched his pace.

“Already?” You smirked as you squeezed his cock causing him to yelp. “Aren’t you just desperate.”

Jisung whimpered as his breathing increased, his words a jumbled mess as he chased his high. You chuckled before leaning down to take him within your mouth. You bobbed your head once, twice, three times before darting your tongue out to press into his slit.

“I’m…I’m coming!” Jisung wailed as he shot ropes of his cum down your throat.

You suckled the head as he came, moaning around his length at the taste. Once he relaxed, his body going limp, you continued to suckle his cock, teasing his slit again and again until he was whimpering from the overstimulation.

He tugged on your hair, attempting to get you to stop, mumbling that it was too much. You released his cock with a pop and licked your lips, grinning at the man below you.

“Help me out babe,” you said as you popped your bra off and rid yourself of your sweatpants and panties.

You laid down and chuckled as Jisung eagerly laid on his belly, grasping your legs in the process. He spread your legs, moaning as he laid eyes on your wet folds, your arousal glistening in the light of the bedroom.

He leaned forward and licked a stripe up your folds and pressed a kiss to your clit. Jisung repeated the action again and again, grasping your legs tighter as you thrashed around.

“Mmm love your pussy,” he mumbled before sucking your swollen clit between his plush lips.

You moaned as he alternated between licking and sucking, his nose pressed flush against your mound as he ate you out like a man starved. You ran your fingers through his hair, grasping some of the strands as you rocked your hips against his tongue.

Jisung relaxed the muscle so you could get off as you pleased, the vibration from his moans sending little shocks through your core.

You were close as he was at your mercy, your belly tightening with each thrust of your hips.

“So close Sungie, so good, lemme just use you,” you said as you grasped his head harder and pulling him further flush against your pussy.

Jisung wrapped his lips around your clit once more before sucking hard, the sudden switch causing you to tip over the edge, your orgasm racking through your body. You continued to ride his face, coated his nose and chin with your arousal.

Once the last ebs of your high faded away, you released your hold on Jisung and tried to focus on your breathing. Jisung sat up with a huge grin on his face, his chin glistening.

He brought his hand to his hardened cock, stroking the length a few times before pinning your legs down to the bed.

“Can I fuck you?” Jisung asked as he looked down at you desperately, his big boba eyes traveling from your tits down to your pussy and then to your face.

You pretended to think for a moment, your eyes on his face. You thought about saying no once more, but you needed him just as much as he needed you. Your pussy clenched around nothing, your slick continually leaking out and dripping down your ass.

Jisung smirked, his eyes trained on your core. He brought a thumb to your clit and gently circled it, biting his lip as wet sounds echoed in the otherwise quiet room.

“Let me fuck you baby,” Jisung cooed as he continued to tease your bundle of nerves. “Your pussy needs me, listen to it, she’s talking to me.”

You whimpered as a wave of pleasure settled in your pelvis, the need to be filled by his thick cock on the forefront of your mind.

You gripped your thighs and held them open as you looked your lover in the eyes.

“Yes, fuck me Sungie,” you said in a sultry voice.

Jisung smiled and pushed the head of his cock through your folds, the flesh parting at the intrusion. He dragged his length from your clit down until the tip caught your entrance.

With a breath, he pushed in, your little hole stretching as it accommodated his length. You moaned at the pressure, loving how he filled you so good, so perfect.

Jisung thrusted his hips slowly, fucking just the tip within your entrance, mesmerized at how you took him so well.

Your walls were warm and wet, the sound your pussy made driving him insane. He needed to be within you and he needed it now. With a powerful thrust, he sheathed himself fully within you, letting out a loud groan as he settled within your thighs.

“Ahh!” You whined at the sudden intrusion, your eyes rolling back as he begin to pummel into you, his balls slapping your ass with each thrust.

You gripped your thighs, his biceps, the sheets, anything you could get ahold of as he fucked you deep and hard, his cock massaging your walls just right.

Jisung adjusted his hips so he could fuck into your sweet spot, sending little waves of pleasure through your core.

“Faster Sungie!” You begged as you took him in, watching as he fell apart above you.

His eyes were trained on his cock, watching as your entrance stretched around it, leaving behind your cream assisting with the glide. He let out a groan as you clenched around him, trying to keep him snug within you.

“Look at this mess baby,” he said as he watched your arousal mixed with your cream drip down your ass, coat the little hairs on his pelvis and your folds.

You groaned as his words, clenching your walls again and again as your pleasure built within. Jisung brought his thumb to your clit and flicked it, his cock twitching at how you responded, your body jerking at the shocks of pleasure he was giving you.

“Don’t stop,” you mumbled so close to your high, the warm feeling slowly spreading throughout your lower region.

“Gonna come? Come for me baby, give it to me,” Jisung growled as he slapped your clit.

You yelped at the sensation as he chuckled. Jisung loved your pussy, worshipped it, would do anything to make it cum, cream his length, and milk him for what it’s worth.

“Damn, im gonna miss this pussy,” Jisung whined.

He was close, your pussy too much for his sensitive cock. He thumbed your clit in earnest, needing you to reach your high so he could fill you up.

You began to pant as your pleasure mounted, coming to a crescendo as Jisung continued to fuck you and finger your clit.

With Jisung’s name on your lips, you let go, squirting your release around his cock. You moaned as you listened to the lewd sounds, so wet and filthy as your arousal dripped onto the sheets.

“That was hot, so hot. Gonna cum, gonna…” with a strangled moan Jisung came, filling you up with his cum until it dripped out of your hole mixed with your slick.

Jisung looked down once more before grabbing his phone off the table.

“What are you doing?” You asked as you watched him search through the device.

He didn’t answer but instead you heard a shutter click as he took photo after photo of your pussy, his cock still buried within your warmth.

“Gotta have something to remember you by while you’re gone,” Jisung said as he tossed his phone to the side.

“And you thought to take photos of my pussy,” you chuckled.

“Mmhmm, I love her just as much as I love you baby,” he said as he withdrew his now softened cock.

“You’re unbelievable,” you said as you waited for him to clean you up.

“Maybe, but you love me!” Jisung shouted from the bathroom.

That you did. And how could you not with that adorable cute face and pout of his.

taglist: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek @simpforleeknaur @armystay89 @palindrome969 @slut4hee @ivydoesit23 @amarecerasus @kaysungshine @fun-fanfics @baby-stay92 @velvetmoonlght @baby-stay92 @possum-playground

[muletia]

These obsessed Orian and Optimus fics have got me thinking about what if Megatron was just as obsessed with reader as Optimus, and they have a tug of war sort of battle between them where one side snatches you for their leader back and forth.

It has gotten to the point where you couldn’t even sleep in your own home anymore without some decepticon destroying your ceiling in order to take you away to their leader like a toy.

Megatron would definitely see reader as a tool to further his goals as well as leverage to use against Optimus. He laughed out loud when he heard about his nemesis having feelings for a puny human. If Megatron could punch his past self for daring to think so lowly of you, he would do it without a second thought. He is so much worse than Optimus because he doesn’t allow you to leave him sight even when you plead that you have to go to work.

Work? What work? You don’t need to work anymore now that you’re his queen. Don’t be ridiculous.

Oh, but Optimus… He. Is. Pissed. He would never rest until you were back in his servo safe and sound. He would quite literally crash out as soon as he found out Megatron took his beloved.

I love having two obsessed bots fight over me <3

YOU ARE SO BIG BRAINED OMG, these ideas are so tasty

okay, this scenario could unfold in several ways, but i see a huge comedic potential here. at first, of course, there's nothing funny about it at all, because being kidnapped by the leader of the decepticons himself to be used as a bargaining chip is far from humorous. but! let's say that despite the hopelessness of your situation, you dare to resist, to fight back, because you know that megatron doesn’t have the guts to hurt you. he knows you’re too important to optimus, and killing you gains him nothing. the problem is that by being defiant, you end up sealing your fate because megatron starts to take an interest in you. at first, he’s just fascinated by you, maybe even slightly amused. but this unimportant infatuation quickly turns into something more, something that terrifies megatron himself. it’s stronger than him, more powerful, more aggressive, and more relentless. suddenly, you’re no longer a bargaining chip—you’ve been promoted to a much worse position. you’ve become his partner, his second-in-command, his queen. someone who suddenly holds immense significance for him. and that is absolutely terrifying.

megatron doesn’t get to enjoy your company for long, though, because you’re quickly rescued by the autobots. optimus is, of course, ecstatic that the mission was a success and that you’re finally safe, but for a few days, you’ll have to kiss your social life and work goodbye, as optimus will insist on you being under constant supervision at the base. maybe during this time, the two of you grow closer despite the circumstances of your house arrest? and despite the paranoia wreaking havoc in optimus's processor, part of him is content with having you constantly in sight and that your relationship has warmed even more.

the same can’t be said for megatron, who is, to put it mildly, tweaking out. is he just supposed to let you go after he’s had a taste of you? after he’s grown to enjoy your company and having you always within reach? ha! he’s not letting go that easily. a few days after you return to your normal life, a random vehicon gets the order to bring you back to nemesis, straight into his master’s hands. megatron is satisfied—you, not so much—and optimus is losing his mind. this time, however, the rescue mission doesn’t go as smoothly. the leader of the decepticons personally keeps an eye on you, and you’re constantly watched by soundwave. but let’s say the autobots manage to rescue you again... until you’re kidnapped once more.

and here’s where the comedic aspect kicks in. at some point, your fear for your life shifts to irritation. by the tenth time you land in the servos of the great leader of the decepticons, whose most sinister plans apparently involve just keeping you here against your will and occasionally you patting him on the helm, it’s honestly just exhausting. the most troublesome part is the lack of autonomy—otherwise, you’re pretty much chilling as long as you don’t tease or provoke him. although, even that gets boring after a while. you just want to live a normal life... you never asked to be sandwiched between the boobs of two leaders who do nothing but bark at each other...

[hvbris]

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy

It seemed her biting words had worked: Little Tony was washing his hands off the entire thing. He was just the "helping hand," after all. Violet was not blind, she could see his gun and dagger. He was a dangerous cultist and she was in danger. But right now, she had to pretend to be utterly unimpressed. She wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"Since you seem set on wasting my time, I suppose I'll have to talk to someone who actually matters, yes. Someone capable of appreciating my abilities," she scoffed, getting personal again. As if she had a choice anyway. They were taking her to the Apocalypse Club whether she liked it or not. And she didn't like it one bit. Talking to 'the big guys' seemed like a terrible, terrible idea. But what else could she do?

Little Tony was finding it hard to believe, and she could scarcely blame him. She wasn't actually a cultist. But she had to convince him, somehow. And if words weren't enough... She felt a weight in her pocket, one she knew very well. It twisted her entrails painfully. He was watching, then. Was He enjoying the show?

Violet casually put her hand in her pocket, grabbing the amulet that had suddenly appeared there. She plucked it out, holding it in her open palm for Little Tony to see. "Are you still finding it hard to believe? This was a gift from Him. Not that I should have to prove myself to you. This is beneath me."

Little Tony was clearly uncomfortable now, more and more so as she listed off time and dimension travel and he again tied to catch Big Tony's eye in the mirror. What did this mean?! Should he make a call or something? Was her He the same as their He? It would make sense right?

"Woah, woah, woah," Little Tony tried to settle for the judgemental sneers he was getting. Completely thrown on what to actually do in the situation it had not been something he had thought as a possibility. Beneventi was such a 'straight arrow' he would have never thought in a million years that his daughter was a cultist and a powerful one at that.

"We're just the helpin' hands is all, we do as we're told by the big bosses," He did not mention 'Fates' or 'Lords' but he was assuming she knew of them one way or another. "If you gots a problem, you take it tah them, kid. Me 'nd Big Tony, we're just the collection guys in this case." It was supposed to be simple.

"Maybe you can explain it all tah the big guys when we get there, but you gotta understand we gots ah job tah do." He eyed her again, cautiously, "I'm just findin it hard tah believe Beneventi's kid is a cultist, it's either hilarious or dangerous, kid." Though now that he had time to think about it, maybe it did make sense and they had the wrong idea about Beneventi in the first place?! "There ain't no need to get perseenal." His hands were up in a submissive gesture, fingers on little hands spread wide as if he was unarmed despite obviously being very much armed given what was attached to his hip.

[userautumn]

college!au where buck is an engineering freshman and tommy is a architecture senior + football player and their housing arrangements are only supposed to be temporary. see, the thing about it is that tommy was supposed to be rooming with howie and sal for his last year on campus. but someone fucked something up somewhere and now he's stuck with this douchebag fratboy punkass kid who keeps confusing him. because on the one hand, this kid seems like he's trying to fuck everything that moves. but on the other hand, when they're alone in their room, he looks like he's constantly on the verge of tears? so what the fuck is that all about.

anyway. one night, buck gets messy drunk and ends up falling into tommy's bed at two a.m. and tommy, initially, is like "dude get the fuck out of my bed, what the hell is wrong with you?" but then buck really does start sniffling, and his voice shakes, and he's like "please don't make me leave. i'm so tired and everyone always leaves. please just let me stay." and, like, how is tommy meant to say no to that? he doesn't even know if the kid will remember this shit in the morning, but when tommy makes a promise, he keeps it. so he takes buck under his wing and that's how they become inseparable, borderline codependent.

tommy walks him to class every morning and night, and buck comes to all his football games, and they eat breakfast lunch and dinner together and sleep in the same bed, and buck has tommy wash his hair while he's in the shower, and tommy has buck give him a massage after practice, and, well. you get it. sal and howie are both surprised and concerned. they've seen kinard fall head over heels for a guy, but not like this and not since He Who Must Not Be Named (tommy's emotionally abusive ex boyfriend from his freshman year). anyway, idk what else happens next, or, rather, i have several ideas of what happens next, but all it amounts to is that tommy graduates and is drafted by the 49ers during the first round and buck still goes to all his football games and sits with the WAGs and cheers him on <333

[ivysprophecy]

please please please

word count; 1644

summary; turning off your phone and shutting out the world isnt the best way to handle your problems but its what you do. and jjs had enough of it.

warnings; i dont think there is any? mentions of anxiety attacks? tagging @murdockcastleslut @kimoralov3 @arkofblake

p.1 | p.2 | p.4

divider by @bernardsbendystraws

"well hey there stranger"

i turn from my book to look behind me, seeing the boy id been actively avoiding for the past two days. carrying his surf board.

i shouldve remembered he'd come here to surf. i just wouldn't have guessed this early in the morning.

"hey jayj."

"oh thats all i get? 'hey'? no 'i miss you so much'?" he sets his board in the sand taking a seat next to me on my blanket.

guess im not finishing my book today. "oh my god jj! youre here! ive been dyingggg to talk to you! i cant believe youre really in here in the flesh! there. better?"

"oh dont be like that- cmon mama whatd i do?" i feel bad with the genuine concern on his face.

okay was ghosting him out of nowhere awful of me? probably. i just didnt know what else to do.

after that night at the bonfire i realized that with my feelings for him growing it wasnt a good idea for us to continue our casual... something. it played with both our emotions. it isnt fair to either of us.

especially after his 'i love you'. that really did it in for me.

"you didnt do anything jj. trust. i just... ive been in a funk. needed some me time thats all."

"well... do you still need your 'me time'?" he looked so hopeful. how could i say yes? where jj maybank is concerned ill easily fold every time. "cause you havent answered my texts so i couldn't ask you to surf with me this morning."

"... i dont have my board. but i suppose i can hang out with you for a little while."

"im honored," he smiles laying back on his elbows, "but really. are you good? i like to think i know you pretty well and this whole MIA thing was not normal."

turning to face him more, i sigh, what the fuck am i supposed to say? 'yea im just so in love with you i cant be around you' yea that would go over really well.

"i dont know. just gotta lot of stuff goin on. you dont have to worry though. im good."

"well do ya wanna talk about it?"

"trust me jay you dont wanna hear about my problems. theyre trivial at best."

"what are friends for if not for listening?" he nudges me with his shoulder urging me to talk. i really dont think i can do this. i was not prepared.

"youre not a very good listener," i point out, to which he immediately takes faux offense. jaw dropped and everything.

"oh thats just not true! i can listen!"

i run a hand through my tangled hair in frustration. this cannot be how i tell him. it just cant. i came here to get away from thinking about this and now hes right here in front of me acting so unserious while im spiraling.

"jj i really appreciate how eager you are to help me but its really not necessary. i didnt really prepare myself and its just too much-"

"prepare yourself? mama what the fuck are you talking about? does this have to do with that night after the bonfire? i mean obviously it does who am i kidding you havent talked to me since then. did i do something wrong? was- was it bad?" he leans in closer, lowering his voice thats laced with worry and guilt.

oh my god that is the absolute last thing i expected him to say. shit i really fucked this up. and honestly just not true.

"what? no! no jj you didnt do anything wrong and it was perfect. promise," i try to reassure him but i know deep down hes gonna over think this whole thing if i dont tell him straight up

i may love him but i never said he was the brightest in the bunch.

"okay so whats the problem?"

"the problem is that it was perfect," i cant help but let out a sigh before hiding my face in my hands as the words leave my mouth.

god my heart is racing, im not ready for this conversation. maybe if i pass out i wont have to. yea if he has to call an ambulance then we can avoid this all together. but an ambulance is also like five grand so...

shit.

"... youre mad at me because you had a good time?" his face contorted in a weird fixture of confusion.

"no! no- god youre so dense sometimes!"

"mama i dont have a fucking clue what youre saying! how does that make me stupid??"

i hide my face in my hands again trying to compose myself because what the fuck kind of confession is this?

"jj im avoiding you because ive been developing feelings for you and i cannot in good conscience keep being so casual with you and sleeping with you knowing this and i know that you do not want anything serious so i figured id just make it easier for the both of us and just take myself out of the situation entirely so that nothing bad happens and i cannot stop fucking talking so please for the love of god say something or do something because i feel like my heart is about to beat out of my chest and-"

oh my god im getting my book moment. he just kissed me to make me stop talking!!! oh my god hes kissing me.

is this where i kiss him back?

of course i kiss him back!! what the fuck!!? and oh my lord does it feel nice, so so so nice.

the way his tongue presses against mine, the way he cups my jaw and pulls me close to him. it was slow and confident and loving and everything he knows i like. his hands find my hips like muscle memory, pulling our bodies together, eventually having me on his lap. where he takes my hands and places them on his chest so i can feel his chest rise and fall with deep breaths.

“… mama you need to learn to breathe.”

“that’s not funny right now jj. im actively having an anxiety attack, horrible thing to say really."

"what're you so anxious about? i think we're havin' a pretty calm conversation, dont you?"

"i mean yea- but thats not-" he interrupts me while shaking his head with a shrug.

"listen, i get why youre a little nervous to say that, all things considered. but i thought it was pretty obvious i was into you, i just didnt wanna push you because you made your boundaries clear so i just took what i could get."

my eyes bug out of my head in shock. am i the dense one? i mean yea hes a really good kisser and i can feel he cares deeply about me when we do stuff and makes me feel safe and supported but that doesnt mean-

yea im stupid. he all but outright said it. actually he has. thats what started this panic.

"... okay yea- maybe. but you agreed they were a good idea so i figured that meant you wanted them there too. and i dont know- it just kind of got overwhelming and i didnt wanna be one of those girls who expects something huge after sex so... you know what i mean? and truthfully youre not what i expected for me."

"what does that mean?" his face showed a little offense.

"i just mean- ya know. for one i didnt expect to love my best friend. and then on top of that i didnt think id love a guy who was a treasure hunting, or- adrenaline junkie i should say."

he leans back putting some space between us, "is that supposed to be a bad thing?

"no! no jay im not saying this right- i-... youre a fighter and youre adventurous- a lot of things im not. if that makes sense. all im sayin is a few years ago i wouldnt have expected to be here. but i like it here. love it here even," i smile at him teasingly trying to ease his worries. the last thing i need is to say the wrong thing right now.

"so what youre saying is that you love me?"

"youre such an idiot."

'but do ya? because i think you do mama."

i roll my eyes chuckling, "yea. yea i do maybank," i press a small kiss to his cheek leaning back into him.

"does this mean youll let me make you a maybank mama?" his eyebrow was quirked up as he teases his question.

"lets not get ahead of ourselves. how about we take this slow?"

he looks down at my button up shirt i was wearing over my bikini to shield me from the ocean breeze, and i could tell he was debating taking it off of me. giving me that same look he always does.

"slow? mama i dont think we're gonna be too good at that."

"all 'm sayin is we dont have to jump the gun, we both admitted it, doesnt mean we gotta change the way we act or announce it or nothing. we can just enjoy this ourselves ya know?"

"you embarrassed of me mama?"

"not at all baby, just want you all to myself. is that too much to ask for?"

he shakes his head leaning up against me, our faces inches apart, "nah i dont think so. i like the sound of that."

i meet him the rest of the way pressing his lips to mine, smiling into it. pulling him as close as humanly possible. i need him under mind skin, in my blood, you know?

"i do too, so we agree? we'll keep this between us for now?"

"whatever you want mama. yes maam."

[covenofagatha]

alright alright i’m thinking dub!con modern/nonmagic au.. into something rough and/or bondage. we love the age gap. i’m leaving a lot of holes lmfao i will talk shop if you want specifics baby

finally finished omg

hope everyone enjoys

title is from Chains by Nick Jonas cause why not

Chains for your love

When you're house sitting for your neighbors Agatha and Rio, you decide to throw a party and they are not happy when they find out

Word count: 3400

Warnings: dubcon, smut, rough sex, bondage (handcuffs), vibrators, fingering, spanking, choking, threesome, might be missing one or two sorry if so, age gap (all legal)

Your neighbors would kill you if they found out what you were doing right now. 

Agatha and Rio, the couple next door, had asked you to house sit for them while they were on vacation to Cabo for a week as a favor to your mom. 

You had just graduated from high school and she said, and you quote, “you need to get your lazy butt off the couch and do something with your life or so help me.” 

So when Agatha mentioned to her that they were leaving for a while, your mom had thrown you under the bus. 

You didn’t know much about your neighbors, only that they were two smoking hot older women who were kind of crazy. You had also barely ever interacted with them, always at school or doing homework when they came over to have lunch with your mom. 

Agatha is about ten years older than her wife, with long dark curly hair and piercing blue eyes. Her fashion sense is always on point and her veiny hands do things to you. 

Rio, while pale and a brunette as well, is tall and lean, and very intense. Her hazel eyes bore into you whenever you’d come downstairs to get a glass of water, like she knew something that you didn’t. When she looks at you like that, you can’t help but squirm and wonder if you did something wrong. And yet, for some reason, you find it hot.

All you had to do while they were gone was stop by, water their plants, collect their mail, and make sure their house was in order. 

Which you did, perfectly, you might add. 

It just so happened that on the last night of house sitting, you were supposed to go to a party at your friend’s house to celebrate the end of senior year, but her parents came home early so she needed to move it. 

And you had the brilliant idea to use the giant, empty house at your disposal. 

Cue the music, lights, and drinks. 

“This is so nice of your neighbors to let us use their house!” Your best friend Wanda yells at you. 

You laugh, pretending not to have heard her over the bass, because they certainly did not. 

In fact, you think, you think they would be quite opposed to it. 

Agatha and Rio were quiet people; they didn’t like mess, especially in their house.

And this here, with Jimmy Woo throwing up in the bathroom and Natasha Romanoff knocking over a bottle of beer on the ground and two people making out in the pool, was as messy as it could get. 

You’re on your second wine cooler, feeling it start to hit, and you stumble around the living room, trying to assess the damage before the party is even over. 

It may have gotten more out of hand than you were intending it to. When you had told your mom what you were doing, you had mentioned having a few people over for pizza, and she had said that if it got out of hand, or if she heard about even one thing being out of place when Agatha and Rio got back, she would, and you quote, “ground your butt until you graduated from college.” 

You almost pointed out the irony of her wanting you to do something, but the moment you were going to, she threatened to not let you do anything for the next four years, but decided against it. 

“Here!” A bottle of beer is pressed into your hand and you turn to find Darcy Lewis standing there. Even though you shouldn’t, you take a swig and Wanda leaves to go find her boyfriend. “Cool party!” 

“Thanks!” You shout back and she giggles before taking your hand and leading you into the kitchen, where it’s a little quieter. You haven’t talked to Darcy that much, but she was in two of your classes and you know she’s going to MIT. 

“Got any summer plans?” She asks but she slurs the words. You laugh like it’s the funniest thing ever. “What?” 

You point at her, almost doubling over. “You’re so drunk!” 

She looks scandalized for a second, raises her hand to fix her glasses, and then becomes hysterical too. “So are you!” 

The next thing you know, Darcy and you are kissing. 

You’re not sure who started it, but her mouth is against yours and your tongue is in her mouth. 

You pull back, there’s some eye contact, and then the two of you crack up again and she goes outside to the patio. 

Drunken makeout accomplished and your head sufficiently spinning from the two and a half drinks now, you make it a mission to start cleaning up. 

You’ve collected half a trash bag full of cans when people start pouring out of the house, telling you to “stay in touch!” and “have fun at college!” and then it’s just you in the house. 

There’s still a lot to clean up, but you’re tired and sloshed, so you set an alarm on your phone for six in the morning so you can get up and tidy up the rest before Agatha and Rio get home. 

You pass out on the couch immediately. 

Which turns out to be a huge mistake, because when you finally wake up in the morning, your neighbors are sitting in the chairs across from the coffee table, both wearing matching displeased looks. 

You shoot up, scrambling into a sitting position, heart pounding. “What–” You furiously tap your phone to find out why the alarm didn’t go off, but it doesn’t turn on. 

Of course it died. 

Rio chuckles, leaning back and crossing a leg over the other, amused with your panic. “Care to explain what happened here last night, doll?” 

Your cheeks redden and you try to think of something that won’t get you in trouble because it seems like you are fucked. “I had some friends over,” you say, and it sounds pathetic even to your ears.

Agatha tuts and rests her elbows on her knees. “‘Some friends?’ Angel, have you seen what our house looks like?” 

You gulp and take a look around, dread sinking deeper into your stomach. The pieces of glass that no one picked up. All the cans and bottles you missed. A sweatshirt thrown onto the floor. Pizza crusts and plates scattered across the furniture. 

“I was going to clean it up, I swear,” you say, your throat suddenly really dry. 

“Oh, and,” Rio says, so cheerful for no reason. You can only imagine what she’s going to say, but she takes out her phone and taps the screen. You raise an eyebrow and she turns it to you. 

At first, you’re not really sure what you’re looking at, but then it becomes clear. 

It’s a recording of you and Darcy making out in their kitchen, the angle from somewhere on the counter. 

You lurch back on the couch. “You were spying on me?” You hiss, feeling violated.

Agatha rolls her eyes and scoffs. “Please, darling, this is our house, we can do whatever we want in it. Plus, we weren’t sure if we could trust such an immature, young thing like you and clearly, we couldn’t.” 

The jab about your age makes you angry. “I’m not that young and I’m not immature!” You say indignantly. 

“Making out like a slut with the first girl who gives you attention while drunk at a lame high school party?” Rio taunts, standing up and sliding next to you on the couch. You feel the pit in your stomach grow when Agatha does the same on the other side. You’re not sure who to look at. “Seems like something a childish brat would do.” 

“And now, we think there should be consequences,” Agatha coos, hand coming to brush a piece of your hair back behind your ear. Fear spikes through your veins. 

“Please don’t tell my mom! She can’t find out about this, I’ll be in so much trouble,” you beg and Agatha smirks. You jump when you feel Rio’s hand touch your thigh and you freeze when it slides up to the hem of your short skirt.

“So you don’t want us to tell your mom,” Rio muses, toying with the edge of the fabric. You have to bite back a moan and it becomes hard to breathe. “I guess that means we’ll have to punish you some other way for creating such a mess.” 

“What did you–” You have to stop to swallow roughly. “What did you have in mind?” 

Agatha hums lowly. “We need to make sure you learn your lesson, no matter how hard we have to beat it into you.” You whimper and pray that neither of them heard it. 

But of course they did.

Rio snickers and cups your pussy, all the air being punched out of your lungs. “God, she’s dripping, Aggie,” she says and your face burns hotter than it ever has. 

You shake your head, denying how much you actually want this, and try to clamp your legs close, but Agatha pries one open and Rio moves her fingers up and down your clothed slit. 

“We can always go next door and tell your mom,” Agatha warns and that’s all it takes to convince you. You turn to Rio, wrap your arms around her, and pull her in for a kiss. 

Immediately, Agatha yanks you back by your hair and Rio slaps you across the face. It’s not hard enough to seriously hurt, but the sting makes you gasp. 

“Bedroom, now,” Agatha barks and practically drags you off the couch and up the stairs, Rio practically cackling while she follows. 

You’re thrown onto the bed in the room that you may have snooped through a few times this week. Enough times to find all of their toys in their bedside drawer and imagine the women using them on each other. 

The same nightstand where Rio is heading toward now. You watch her saunter over, lips parting, but Agatha roughly grabs your chin and forces your mouth open with her thumb. 

“Don’t look at her,” she growls and leans down to whisper in your ear, “If you ever want us to stop, say purple.” 

The second you nod, she spits directly into your mouth. A strangled moan leaves your throat and Agatha slides two fingers inside your mouth to spread her saliva all over your tongue. You gag around them as she pushes them deeper and you feel tears pricking your eyes. She scrapes her nails against your tongue and you roll it up to flick at her fingers, not missing the way she bites her lip. 

And then she flips you over so your stomach is on the bed, hikes your skirt over your ass, and spanks you. The impact reverberates through your body and the sound echoes throughout the room.

“Fuck,” you gasp.

“A young thing like you shouldn’t be using such dirty language,” Agatha tsks and slaps you again. “That’s for kissing that whore in our kitchen.” 

Again. 

“That’s for leaving a mess all over our house.” 

Again. 

“That’s for proving us wrong when we thought we could trust you.” 

Again. 

“That’s for making us punish you the second we get back from our lovely vacation.” 

Again. 

“And that is for teasing us all those times at your house when you’d come downstairs dressed in barely anything. It’s like you wanted us to notice how desperate you were for us,” she snaps. 

You’ve dissolved into a moaning, sniveling puddle on their bed but the thought that you’ve been unknowingly turning this couple on makes you even hotter inside. 

Agatha reaches down to the crotch of your underwear and laughs meanly. “God, you’re so fucking wet, did being spanked like a slut turn you on?”

While you consider yourself a proud person, there’s absolutely no pride in the way you nod your head so hard it hurts. 

She tears your panties off and shoves two fingers in you without preamble. A loud sound rips out of your mouth and your body rocks forward with the force. She fucks you with a brutal pace and it’s exactly what you need, but then she pulls out and slaps you harder than before on the ass. You groan, absorbing the hit, and you feel yourself clench around nothing. 

You need her fingers back inside you, but she turns you back over and you prop yourself up on your elbows. 

Rio comes back into view with two pairs of fluffy handcuffs and a few other toys. “Get against the headboard,” she orders and you scramble to obey. She hands one pair to Agatha and they both make quick work of chaining one cuff to your wrist and the other to the bedside post. You give an experimental tug of both hands and while you can wiggle your arms and wrists comfortably, there’s no getting out. 

The two women come back around the bed to face you and you squirm under their direct attention. 

“What do you think we should do with our naughty little plaything?” Rio asks, tongue pushing against the inside of her cheek, eyes lighting up with possibilities. 

They fall into these roles so well and you can only imagine what it’s like when the two of them have sex. 

“I think we should fuck her until she can’t take anymore and she’s begging for us to stop,” Agatha muses with a smirk. Your breath catches at her idea. 

“I think the slut likes that sound of that,” Rio says and Agatha nods in agreement. “Maybe we hold the vibrator against her until she cries. What do you think, doll?” She raises an eyebrow at you. 

“Whatever you want, please just touch me,” you beg. 

Agatha bends over to run a finger up your thigh, watching how you shake. “Be careful what you wish for, angel.” She crawls onto the bed so she’s kneeling in front of you and once again, pushes two fingers forcefully into your dripping pussy. She’s not gentle at all, curling her fingers and scraping her nails against your insides, but it’s perfect. 

You struggle against the handcuffs, wishing you could touch her, but Rio tuts, takes off her pants and underwear, and moves to straddle your stomach, blocking Agatha partially from your view. 

Your breath hitches as she pulls up the crop top from the party last night and lowers her wet cunt onto your abs and lightly grinds. Her head falls back and you think you could cum from the feeling of her against you like that.

And then she starts moving faster just as Agatha does, her fingers filling you and fucking you just how you need it, and Rio’s right hand comes to clasp around your throat. You throb around Agatha’s fingers and you had no idea that would be such a turn on for you. 

Agatha’s thumb presses down so hard on your clit that it almost hurts while she keeps her merciless pace and your hips start to buck against her fingers. Rio squeezes harder and the lightheadedness you feel only drags you closer to the edge. Her nails dig into your skin and you think you might die from how good it feels. 

“Are you going to cum for us?” Agatha asks from behind the woman riding your stomach faster. 

“Yes,” you manage to choke out, seeing Rio’s delighted face on top of you. 

And then Agatha pulls her fingers out of you and you whine loudly, only for her to slap your pussy hard. 

You can hear the wetness. 

And then you can hear buzzing. 

Agatha presses something against your clit and you almost jump out of your skin. 

It’s the vibrator and you’re guessing she turned it up to one of the highest settings. It’s so intense on you and you can’t help but cry out as it sends you straight into an orgasm. Being breathless from Rio’s hand around your throat only increases the pleasure and you’ve never felt anything like that before.

You expect some relief from the assault on your clit but it never comes. Agatha holds it against you while Rio slips a finger down to her own pussy to get more direct stimulation where she needs. The woman on top of you is beginning to fall apart and it only heightens your own sensitivity. 

The vibrations have your hips rolling and you quickly cum again, and this time, you try to close your legs or scooch up the bed to get it off, but Agatha doesn’t let you. 

She rakes her nails on your leg and then you feel her roughly bite your inner thigh. You gasp and your hips buck up, almost throwing Rio off. 

Rio finally takes her hand off your throat and bends down over you so she can suck marks into your collarbones as well. 

Both their mouths on you and the vibrations still on your clit throw you right over the edge again. 

This time, Agatha does move it away from you and you can finally breathe.

But not for long, because Agatha slides a finger back inside your sopping cunt and lazily fucks you. Rio’s panting on top of you and she finally buckles with pleasure as she cums for the first time. It’s the hottest thing ever, the way she tosses her head back and seizes up, small sounds falling out of her mouth.

Once Rio comes down from her high, she gets off you, smirking at the glistening wetness on your stomach. You gape down at them as she joins Agatha to watch her fuck you. 

And then your mouth falls open and your eyes roll back in your head when Rio pushes a finger into you too. 

Fuck. 

You have both of them inside you. 

They move in sync, dragging their fingers out and thrusting back into you at the same time, and you groan loudly. 

“How does it feel, angel?” Agatha says, voice thick and low. 

“Feels so good,” you babble, sweat breaking out on your forehead as you raise your hips to meet them. 

“Does our little slut need to cum over both our fingers?” Rio taunts. 

Your head falls to the side, blissed out with the feeling of them both curling and pressing on that spot inside you that you can rarely get to on your own. Your stomach is almost cramping and your arms are aching from pulling so hard on the cuffs. “Yes, please, fuck, wanna cum, so close.” 

And then they pull out of you at the same time like they planned it and you clench needily around nothing, your hips still undulating. 

“Wait, what, why?” You wail and they start laughing at you. “No, no, come on, please.” You pull at your restraints like that will do anything and Agatha harshly slaps the inside of your thigh where she bit you earlier, and it makes you jump. 

“Stop being a greedy little slut,” she scolds. Rio walks over and unlocks the handcuffs from you so you can sit up. “You already came twice. Maybe you’ll think twice about using our house for an orgy next time.” 

“It wasn’t an orgy!” You protest and Rio rolls her eyes and grabs your jaw roughly. 

“We don’t care if it was your fucking church group,” she snarls. “You made a mess and hopefully you’ve learned your lesson.” 

You slouch, still feeling desperate. You can still feel both their hands in you, twisting and fucking you so well, and you don’t think you’re bound to forget that anytime soon. 

“Well, angel, did you learn your lesson?” Agatha presses and you petulantly nod. 

Not exactly beating their young and immature allegations anytime soon. Who cares though. 

“You better get home before your mom starts to worry and thinks we’re torturing you,” Rio says, playful glint in her eye.

“Cause that would be so far from the truth,” you mutter and Agatha swats your leg again. 

“Get out of here,” she says. “Maybe next time we go out of town, we can see if you were actually paying attention.” 

All you know is that next time they leave, you’re going to throw an even bigger party. 

[didalexiabreakupwitholgaisback]

another oldie but goodie: breakfast with baby alexia, her daily routine at barça, and explaining why people say she has a bad temper 💙 ❤️

source: fcbfemeni on twitter

translation under the cut:

q: alexia, today instead of having breakfast with the team, you came here with us. it's the first thing you do when you get to the ciutat esportiva, right?

a: yes, well, we go to the physio room to weigh ourselves, to have our weight checked and then we go to have breakfast.

q: and what do you usually have for breakfast? because weight control, diet control, nothing of that sort, i don't suppose.

a: no, no. exactly, nothing of that sort.

q: and in the morning is it hard for you to get up to have breakfast on the way to the ciutat esportiva or you get up straight away?

a: no, it's just that you do it at the first opportunity. man, i'm usually awake quite early, i don't usually stay in bed.

q: and how do you get to ciutat esportiva?

a: well, i come by car, ten minutes by car.

q: and how would you describe yourself? how would you say you are with the team, with your teammates?

a: well, i think i have quite a 'bad mood', so to speak, and i'm aware of it. there are times when i never like to lose, that's clear. and there are times when it's hard for me to accept that i've lost in some training session or in some possession of the ball or these kinds of situations. and i get a little angry, it's true. but i'm a person with very clear ideas and i know why i'm here and what i do i do with 100% conviction and that's it.

q: well, what's an example of you having an outburst?

a: well, one day there has been something, i told a teammate to go take a walk or these kinds of things. then it's true that we go to the locker room and it's sorted out without problems, but above all things that happen when you always want to win, because it's very competitive, and when the rival team has done better or because you're losing, well you tell someone to get lost.

q: on a trip, do you like to sit in the front area or the back of the bus?

a: always from the first day i was here it was…in the center, normally. the area where it was empty is where i sit.

q: and do you use an iPad, books, music?

a: i carry everything with me, but i only use one thing, normally. if i start a book, i stick with the book. if i look at the computer, i'm watching a series. i carry everything, but i only look at one of the things i carry. i'm not going to touch the others.

q: what is the book you're reading, or what series are you watching?

a: el caso extraño de harry quebert.

q: awesome! and i've read it too. do you like it?

a: yes, i'm about to find out who the killer is.

q: and the series?

a: and for tv series, american horror story. well, i thought it was scary, but it is a bit scary, yes, there is a bit of anguish because of that, there is a lot of blood.

q: and the series that you have seen which one you liked the most?

a: well prison break is the one i liked the most and then i also follow blindspot, one episode per week and with american horror story as well.

q: and we've talked about series, books, your education, but in your free time, is there anything you like to do that maybe we don't know and that wouldn't surprise us?

a: i don't think it would surprise you. i'm a total sports consumer, i really like watching sports, i like going to sports events, watching matches…

q: any sport or any team, i imagine, maybe Barça, some specific team that you like to follow?

a: no, barça, especially above all, and, well, really any football match, maybe. the other day i was watching gavà against cornellà, i imagine.

q: someday we'll have to accompany you. are you more of a TV person or a person who goes to places?

a: no, no, i'm a person who goes…i go to places more when it's with family.

q: alexia, you had breakfast with me today (well, it was more of a drink). and before you go, any person, whether they're an athlete or not, with whom you'd love to have breakfast and be able to talk to?

a: well, i could tell you a lot of players, but i'd like to chat a little about football with guardiola.

q: why?

a: because of the experience he has, to listen to him, well… i wouldn't even talk, i'd just listen to him and learn.

[somnoir]

Bats and Phantoms - Part 2

Part 1 | Masterlist

Wraith and Nightwing

OG Schrodinger's: A CRIMELORD IS TRYING TO BE MY SUGAR DADDY

Dandadandan: Tf

Voice of Reason: You've been in Gotham for less than a month and this happens????

Thrice Danned: Why is Danny allowed a cool boyfriend but I'm not ಠ⁠︵⁠ಠ

Voice of Reason: No

Dandadandan: No

OG Schrodinger's: LOL ¯⁠\⁠_⁠༼⁠ ⁠•́⁠ ͜⁠ʖ⁠ ⁠•̀⁠ ⁠༽⁠_⁠/⁠¯

Thrice Danned: (⁠ノ⁠｀⁠Д⁠´⁠)⁠ノ⁠彡⁠┻⁠━⁠┻

Well, for one thing, the squirthis younger brother was up to his usual bout of trouble. Not that Dan was too worried. At least Danny wasn't getting shot this time.

Traveling out of Amity Park after being simultaneously shoved into a new clone body was disorienting. Sure, the Fentons and Vlad were now pretty okay and he had his new identy and life—but that didn't change the fact that Clockwork was making him do 'community service'. What a load of bull.

What did his new job involve? Occasionally assisting the heroes of their world. Which has led him to Blüdhaven. Jazz's most recent demands was making sure Danny didn't die (or fake his death) in Gotham. But Fenton (and now Masters) luck strikes again and now he's staring at a fight between the city's local vigilante: Nightwing.

He's a pretty thing, that's for sure. Dan might actually get sick of how many times a civilian mentions that man's ass (it was amazing, he knows). But it would be creepy if 'Dante Mastere-Fenton' were to stalk the local hero.

He's got a coffee in hand when he sees Nightwing grapple away, smiling brightly at citizens that waved at him. It was peaceful... If not for the fact that gunshots banged loudly in the streets and Nightwing's line was suddenly cut.

Hero time.

Dan has been a victim to his siblings' commentary on the JL one to many times. He's seen the way Superman scoops up Lois Lane whenever she's made hostage and is dropped from a building.

Nightwing is in his arms seconds later, floating in the air while Dan carries the vigilante bridal style. He offers the obviously surprised man a grin, flashing his fangs.

"I'd ask if it hurt when you fell, but I did catch you in the end."

Dick wasn't expecting to fucking fall. He was usually light on his feet and not just anyone could cut any line that was supplied by Batman. He had prepared to crash, for his bones to break from the fall, but no. His body was pressed against hard and very much sculpted muscle and his eyes blew wide when he saw the man that was surely carved from fucking marble.

The hunk of a man that was surely bigger than Jason had almost fiery hair that reminded him of Kori's, just white. Clearly, he wasn't human. An almost teal tinge to his skin and deep crimson eyes—reallt handsome too. Also, he was flying.

He was being carried the same way Lois Lane was whenever Superman saved her from danger. Damn, was this how she felt? All giddy and kinda aroused excited?

Dick Grayson was not a coward and shoot his shot immediately.

"I'd have to ask what heaven's like since an angel caught me." He grinned, watching as his unknown saviour chuckled.

"I'm no angel, darling. More like a demon."

Teeth... Oh... Fangs.

"So... Can I have my saviour's name?" Dick hummed once the stranger landed in a nearby rooftop. He was... Gentle, kinda. He didn't drop Dick, or whatever, but he did make sure he was on his feet in the concrete roof.

The stranger gave him yet another toothy grin.

("I'm Phantom! I had it first in this world!" Danny argued, immediately flipping Dan off once the subject of their aliases were brought up.

"Then what the hell am I supposed to be called?! CW wants me playing hero for my 'redemption'." There's a mocking tone in his voice before he shudders at the invisible presence of the ancient.

"I have an idea!" Jazz—the only sensible one in the famil—smiled and went to giving him a name.

"How about—")

"Wraith." The stranger—Wraith—chuckled softly and tilted Dick's head a bit. Damn, that man was tall.

A second later, he was gone.

(Later, Dick hijacked the batcomputer to search for any cases that involved 'Wraith')

Part 3 | Masterlist

[drferox]

So I have been massively burnt out this year, partly due to illness and separation stress, but I have been trying to do all the self-care things that I encourage people to do when you’re trying to make a brain be well, and one of those is writing fiction.

Just short fiction, because my brain balks at the idea of picking up the really big, long neglected projects. But short fiction is still fiction and if I write enough of it, then maybe I’ll build up enough momentum to pick up the bigger projects again.

So I thought that maybe if I can write enough fiction, because there’s a bit of horror flavour running though these pieces, I could narrate them for YouTube and work on the momentum for yet another project that fell by the wayside between the MS, relationship breakdown and single parenting.

Which is why I searched for ‘how to run a scary stories YouTube channel’.

And boy oh boy did that induce some rage.

I genuinely hold the art of writing in high regard, and I recognise that it’s a learned skill and difficult to do. All creative pastimes are. But there are a bunch of ‘entrepreneurs’, and I use the term with a great deal of sarcasm, that have decided to use A-Bloody-I for every single part of telling a story, except one. And for that single piece that they do not outsource to a computer program, they simply copy what has worked for other people.

There are videos providing instructions for people about how to use A-Bloody-I to:

Generate a YouTube channel name, banner and profile picture

Generate a story of the desired word length

Generate a fake voice to narrate that story

Generate a background image and thumbnail

At which point why did they even bother? They don’t even listen to the story that they generate before uploading. I know it’s all about the dream of money, they think 5 minutes of work every day will earn them an income, but what they have generated is soulless garbage.

The results have all the dressings of a horror story, but they don’t have the body of one.

It is like fae realm food- looks a little too good and all the reflections are wrong if you look too close, but it won’t satisfy the way the real thing does. You can’t really live off it.

But the more I know to look for it, the more of it I find. Particularly with fake voices, that seem to have trouble with words like vague or Dalek for some reason.

My main solace here is that these ‘entrepreneurs’ seem to be employing the same strategy in their own niche, flooding themselves with endless AI generated content coming from the same one idea, so at least they get to create their own hell I suppose.

[toournextadventure]

everyone but her pt.45

Summary: Wednesday has no idea where you ran off to after your little argument. What she finds is nothing short of horrific.

Word Count: 4.5k Warnings: swearing, delusions, fairly graphic violence, murder, consequences of dismemberment Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (Masterlist)

It had been an entire night since you had left the apartment, and Wednesday still hadn’t heard from you.

Not that she was entirely surprised considering you had forgotten your phone on the kitchen counter. But you had always come back. There were nights you had vanished for hours, but you always came back. She couldn’t recall a night you had left the apartment and not come back, or at least warned her of your prolonged disappearance.

The nature of your disappearance was also a concerning factor. Wednesday was never really one to put the blame onto someone else, nor to deny her own fault when necessary. In all fairness, your reaction to discovering her visions wasn’t entirely uncalled for, aside from one simple fact.

She had genuinely believed you were aware of her ability.

You were correct; after so long, how had you not known? Yet everyone else had known of her visions. They hadn’t necessarily confronted her about it, but they had known. Was it truly so wrong for her to have assumed you had known as well? Would it have been so far-fetched for her to believe you had known of her visions and simply hadn’t felt the need to bring it up?

No, she didn’t fault you for your reaction, but she couldn’t ignore the hurt you had caused. It was no comparison to your own, considering you were under the impression everyone had lied to you. But she didn’t find it enjoyable to be accused of such a thing when it had never been her intention. She had never wanted to lie to you, not even from the beginning. There was no chance she ever would have told you, of course, but it didn’t change the fact.

And now you were, for all intents and purposes, missing.

Wednesday tried to be patient once morning came around. An entire night of silence was unusual, but she supposed you had had an argument. While she certainly hadn’t used the time to reflect and grow angry (instead moping around and feeling sorry for herself, which was a foreign feeling), you most likely had. It was forgiven, of course, and all you needed to do was come back home so you could both move on.

When midday rolled around, her patience was waning. What could you be doing that would have you gone for so long? Surely there was nothing more important than coming back home, correct? So why were you still absent? She knew she had upset you, she was well aware, but that didn’t mean you needed to run away like a petulant child.

As the sun started to set, and the main room of the apartment dimmed with the light, Wednesday fell victim to the worry she had shoved down after your vanishing act. You were nearing 24 hours of being gone; something entirely unheard of. Preposterous even. And you had proven time and time again that you were capable of keeping yourself alive (by questionable means on occasion), but she wouldn’t deny the reality of the world.

Something was out to get you.

It had been very much in character for Wednesday to hide things from the friend group in the past. Since you had come around, any and all secrets had been laid bare and, as disgusting as the truth was, she had been open with everyone. But it never occurred to her to inform someone that you were still gone, or that you had even left at all. Eugene was still in hospital, Enid was mostly recovered but still terrified, and Ash was most likely being fussed over by Bianca for having shot something. How could she burden them with something that in all actuality was an overactive imagination.

Oh no. She was openly considerate. How very well dare you.

Consideration for her friends aside (she could hear your teasing now; “Friends? I knew you liked them”), she wasn’t sure what to do. Should she wait for you? After the current amount of waiting, the thought of continuing that course left her feeling empty and hopeless. Her brain ran through countless options, none of which helped her current predicament.

Not that any plans would have mattered too much considering she was still missing a vital piece of information.

She mentally rattled off the list of locations you could have frequented. The floor was worn in the place you normally paced, and Wednesday was doing her best to leave her own wear and tear. Pacing always seemed to help you think, so perhaps it actually worked. Her boots were loud against the wooden floor; so very different from the haunting silence of your own steps.

The longer she paced, the more frustrated she became. Nothing was coming to light and she didn’t know what else to do. The pacing was useless. Sitting and waiting was worse than a waste of time. A roil of emotion bubbled up in her stomach as she stormed off and grabbed your phone-

-the forest was gone, instead replaced by a house that she could recognise even from her single visit. Wednesday had never been downstairs in your parents house, instead only exploring a few rooms upstairs when she came with you, but she recognised the tile.

The image flew from her mind as quickly as it appeared, but it was all she needed. Without warning or hesitation, Wednesday all but ran out of the apartment (just as she had the night before). It had never occurred to her to tell anyone; to let anyone know that she was leaving. Or that you had disappeared after the woods fiasco the previous night. Or even that she had been so inadequate that she had forgotten to tell you such an important aspect of her life.

It was a decently lengthy trip to get down to DC. Thanks to you, however, Wednesday was incredibly well versed in using the bus to get to her destination. A talent that she was surprisingly proud of. If anyone had told young Wednesday Addams that she would be proficient in using public transportation, she never would have believed them.

It was as if she had simply blinked and ended up in front of the door to your parents’ house. The startlingly white wood was a sharp contrast to the overly large and intricate brass knockers hung high in the middle. In another time, she would have possibly taken the time to admire the decoration. After all, the craftsmanship of the piece was worthy of the Addams family name (almost).

The metal was cool against her palm as she swung the heavy knocker against the solid doors. The sounds they created resonated both inside the house and outside, leaving an increasingly satisfying hum through the air. Behind the door, underneath the deep bass of the knockers, footsteps slowly stomped their way closer. The door opened, and the blinding light grew from the now-open doorway.

Wednesday felt her heart stutter.

“Hey, Willa,” you said in a raspy voice.

A stunning array of blood trailed across your face. Strands of hair were loose, hanging limp and heavy with the dried sticky mess. The Addams ring faded into the thick coating on your hands, ending around the middle of your forearms. She couldn’t remember the exact clothes you had been wearing when you had left, but this? It was nothing more than a mangled, somehow both stiff and wet mess of cloth.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” you said. Your smile was a stark contrast to the blood splattered across your skin. A few splashes dotted your teeth.

“I-” the words caught in her throat. There were so many things she wanted to say. She settled on, “You vanished.” The words clawed their way past the lump in her throat.

“I’m sorry, mi amore,” you answered, leaning heavily against the doorframe. Blood smeared across the startling white wood. “I forgot my phone.”

She nodded. Your body was lax; exponentially more than… well, than almost the entire time she had known of your very existence. Wet and sticky hands were tucked carelessly into pockets. If your eyes had been any more hooded, she would have assumed you were asleep where you stood. Each and every laugh line on your face was gone.

Your eyes didn’t glow.

“I came to bring you home,” Wednesday said softly. Always soft; only for you.

The corner of your mouth ticked upward. “Stay for dinner,” you said as you reached out for her hand. Your fingers were slick. “We can go home after.”

Inside the house was silent; Wednesday didn’t need to step foot past the entryway to notice. Your parents were rather selective in their words and actions, but it was nonsensical that they would be so incredibly quiet. The abnormal fact of your presence should have exacerbated the reaction, not enforced it. You remained in the doorway.

“Please?” You asked in a voice so soft, Wednesday wasn’t sure the word had come from your mouth. And how could she possibly say no?

She took your hand; it was cold, and she felt dirty. You squeezed once, and the ring you placed on her finger lightly pressed into her skin. Behind her, your leg stretched backwards, pushing the door closed with an eerie click of the lock. The only thing she could hear was the rumble of the aircon hidden in the elevated ceilings.

Wednesday felt a light tug on her hand, and she veered sideways until she was all but leaning into you. Seemingly on instinct, your wing moved to cover her. Motes of dust sifted down and fell on her nose. She did her best not to sneeze.

“I need a little help with dinner,” you said, “but then we can eat.”

You pulled her past what she assumed was the dining room. Her eyes were drawn to a small patch of discoloured wood outlining the doorway. A barely noticeable spot, but when caught in just the right light, it was obvious. As if someone had grabbed a paint brush, dipped it in the colour closest to the doorway but not quite exactly, wrung most of the paint out, and dragged the brush across the fine grain of the wood.

You didn’t let her dwell on it.

She didn’t believe she had ever been to the kitchen in your parents’ house, which wasn’t saying much considering she had hardly been to your parents’ house. It looked vintage (not the real vintage, simply a cheap imitation), but was, unsurprisingly, as blindingly white as the rest of the house. Each and every appliance, from the things brought out of the drawers to the range hood over the stove, was an obnoxiously shiny silver. It was as if it had never been used, aside from the dishes currently cooking.

“Give me just a minute,” you said, leaning down and placing a sticky kiss on her cheek before walking over to the pan on the stove.

She wondered if her skin now sported a dark red lip stain.

“They’re behaving tonight,” you said. You didn’t turn around, and Wednesday slowly moved from where you had left her.

She walked toward the island in the middle of the room; a stunning marble that was surprisingly the only good thing in the entirety of the house. It was a mess; littered with cutting boards and various remnants of whatever ingredients you had been using. On the corner closest to her, she noticed a few drops of red that appeared to have been hastily cleaned.

“Obviously dad and I aren’t good,” you continued to talk, “but he didn’t call the cops on me, so.” A shrug. “That’s a win.”

You continued to stir, and Wednesday continued to move so slowly you would never notice. Or you shouldn’t have. On her third step closer to the fridge, you turned your head. Your gaze alone was enough to nail her to the spot, cementing her bones together until she was stiff; far too reminiscent of death itself.

“Can you grab the salad?” You asked with a polite smile. “I’m almost done.”

Say something, Wednesday thought. Even a single word is better than this silence. But she couldn’t. No word, no noise, not even a breath left her mouth. You didn’t seem to notice. You turned back to the stove and kept stirring, and talking, and Wednesday didn’t hear a word of it. She simply continued to the fridge.

Her own hand covered the bloody print on the handle as she pulled it open. It was cold and dry, she had no fear of it sticking to the palms of her hands. Not like what had remained on your own skin. Inside the fridge was entirely unremarkable. The salad - which looked rather delicious, she would admit - was front and center on the middle shelf. The glass bowl was cold as she grabbed it, and the door shut with a satisfying hiss before she placed the bowl on the island.

“It’s just nice to be together again, you know?” You said, and Wednesday remembered she hadn’t heard a single word you had said. “Like a family.”

Wednesday’s finger tapped on the glass. “What of Momma and Pop?” She asked. Your stirring slowed. “What of the ones who raised you?”

The stirring came to a horrifying stop. Her eyes were glued to the back of your head, then your cheek, then your eyes. Those eyes which she would know so deeply within her soul, she could pick them out in all of heaven or hell. Eyes that had been dull and unassuming to the occasional passerby, but that had sent a chill down her spine. Eyes that were glowing once again like they should have been.

“Of course they’re family,” you said in a tone much more like yourself. A tone Wednesday had fallen for. “They’ve always been my family.” Your eerily cheery faux disposition had all but vanished as you looked at her. She saw you.

And just like that, you blinked and the glow faded back into a dull imitation of yourself. You didn’t smile, not exactly, but the worry that had momentarily etched itself into your forehead had been erased. You looked calm. Far too calm for the amount of blood covering your skin.

“We should go see them later,” you said. Your shoulders lifted dramatically before falling with a silent exhale. “I think this is done.” You glanced at her over your shoulder briefly. “Give me one sec and we’ll go to the dining room.”

The dining table was huge, accentuated by the measly five plates that sat around the perimeter of the stunning wood. Only five. Two seats were empty, and two more were filled with sights that Wednesday didn’t think she could have imagined even in her most demented nightmares. In the fifth seat, Wednesday saw the near-perfect reflection of herself.

Dread crept through her veins. She had told you the night before that her visions weren’t fact; that was true. There had been numerous times she had been outright wrong in her visions. After all, one of those visions had seen you remaining little more than an acquaintance. It had been horrifically, wonderfully wrong.

But some of them were accurate.

“Alright, let’s go,” you said. You were already holding the sides in separate dishes, one in each hand. “And don’t forget the salad.”

You walked before her without looking back to ensure she was following. That was wrong. Nonetheless, Wednesday grabbed the faintly condensation-covered bowl and followed your eerily silent footsteps. Her eyes remained glued to your feet; they were bare.

“Our first family dinner,” you said softly as you disappeared into the dining room. “This is gonna be great.”

Wednesday turned the corner.

Instinct should have relaxed her grip on the glass, allowing it to slip through her fingers to crash to the floor. Her pulse skyrocketed. A single bead of sweat tickled her neck as it rolled down her skin. The glass warmed under her touch, but it didn’t drop.

“You can set the salad by mom,” you said with a soft smile.

That was the last place she wanted to set the bowl. The sight itself was worse than her vision could have ever created. You stepped in a puddle on the way to the other side of the table, leaving sticky footprints in your wake. Horror crept up her throat when you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the gaunt, hollowed-out cheek of your mother. It hadn’t been long since Wednesday had seen your mother last; warm, professionally animated, cautiously talkative.

Alive.

Wednesday was a cold person. It was how she had been born and how she lived. If she had to put it into words, she would say it was an Addams family gift. The ability to face the weather head-on without the slightest fear of having to wear something other than the usual Addams gothic fashion. She was very well aware of the fact that the rest of the population was nowhere near as blessed as they were.

Your mother looked as cold as an Addams.

“I remember your last words to her were,” Wednesday exhaled shakily as she struggled to turn away, “unkind.”

“Well yeah,” you said with a nervous laugh, “they were.” You readjusted your jaw. “But we actually talked it over, so.” A simple shrug and smile. “We’re good now.”

The smell reached her senses when she was close enough to set the glass on the table with a subtle *clink*. Not quite nauseating, but well on its way. Cold, dark, empty eyes stared at her. That horror clawed its way higher again. Her stomach twisted into knots as realisation dawned on what they looked like. Or who they looked like.

“You can sit by mom,” you said with a far-too-cheery disposition. “You haven’t really met dad yet so I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

Your father was… arguably in worse shape than your mother. Or, she supposed she should say: she’d rather face your mother if given the chance. His new fleshy wings were a grotesque imitation of yours. As if they could hear her, your wings twitched before you situated yourself in the seat directly opposite her.

Wednesday lowered herself into the chair. It was sticky.

“Where’s Mabel?” Wednesday asked. The kind-faced maid had been on her mind from the moment she had entered the dining room. Accompanied by inhumane levels of dread.

“I sent her home,” you said with a shrug. “She should get to see her son too.” Your eyes glowed for a second; one blink and it was gone. She almost missed it.

Something creaked. You didn’t move, but Wednesday’s eyes flew to the side. She could still see your mother (and attempted to keep the nausea at bay at the sight), but she was drawn to the picture frame at the end of the table. A picture of Nicky, young and happy with a smile that was an exact copy of yours. His picture frame, at the very head of the table, was all she needed to see to know your mental state.

You sighed, and slowly she turned to look at you once again. There was a serenity on your face as you looked around the table, stopping on every person before settling on her. There, surrounded by the unsettling corpses of your birth family, you looked at peace. The faintest glow was behind your dull eyes and almost, just almost, you were what Wednesday would consider happy.

The realisation crashed upon her like a burning house.

“Would you like some wine?” You asked, pulling Wednesday back from the cliff of her thoughts. “Dad got some of the good bottles from the cellar.”

The blood on your hands had long since dried. Each movement as you reached across the table to grab an unopened bottle (a good vintage indeed) resulted in the dried mess flaking off piece by piece. The smallest piece lodged itself into the ring on your finger.

Wednesday shook her head in the negative.

“Expensive wine is kind of gross,” you said as you finished pouring the liquid into your father’s glass and set it back on the table. “I guess I never developed the taste for it.”

You kept talking. To your father, your mother, Nicky’s picture. Pausing for appropriate amounts of time before continuing the conversation. That little worry line between your brows that was so prominent on weekends or evenings after not talking with your family was erased as if it had never been there in the first place. Looking at you alone, she could see the vision.

“Wednesday?”

She blinked once. You were looking at her with the slightest tilt of your head and the dullest eyes she had ever seen. They stared into her soul, searching for something she couldn’t comprehend. The usual abrupt flow of warmth she got from looking at you was terrifyingly absent.

The nausea grew with the smell wafting in her direction. 

“Nicky asked you a question,” you said.

She had heard no question. Of course she hadn’t, it was simply a picture in a frame. His hospital gown was almost entirely out of frame, but if you knew what to look for it was obvious. His eyes were closed; they hadn’t been open in a decade. You were looking at the frame as if he was sitting in that very chair, enjoying the meal that you had painstakingly made and yet hadn’t even bothered to touch.

“What was the question?” She asked. It wasn’t the first time she had talked with a corpse. Or perhaps it was a ghost? A spirit, maybe?

You smiled the way you normally did. “He asked if you’re enjoying your first family dinner.”

Oh. Of course he had asked that, how preposterous for her to have believed any differently. She should have known what your dead, ghostly brother had asked her. Your eyes stayed on her, and your body gave nothing away. Not even the smallest indication that anything was amiss.

She wished she had gotten to talk with your mother before… her demise.

“It’s-” Wednesday looked at your parents’ mutilated corpses and the delicately plated meals in front of them “-acceptable.”

You nodded and took a sip of wine - from the glass in front of your father - before looking back at the picture. Wednesday could only imagine what was going on in your head at that moment. Perhaps all the trauma had finally broken you. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. After all, you had been saying you had heard things, seen things, that you yourself felt like you were going insane.

“Told you,” you mumbled.

Your fork pushed things around on the plate in front of you, but not once did you eat it. The black polish on your nails, which Wednesday had graciously (eagerly) painted, was chipped around the tips. From the elbow down, your arms looked like they would be better suited to some sort of demon.

Or perhaps an Addams.

As you continued to talk to no one but yourself, Wednesday tapped her foot. Every time she picked it up, she could hear the sticky sound it created before she placed it back down gently. You didn’t turn to inquire about her actions. Why didn’t you inquire?

“Oh shit,” you said, pulling Wednesday once again out of her thoughts. “Nicky’s right.” Your eyes rolled. “I forgot Casey and Devan.”

“I’ll get them,” Wednesday said immediately. So quickly, in fact, that she didn’t initially recognise the outburst as her own.

You looked at her with nearly-glowing eyes. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt your dinner,” you said.

“I insist,” she continued, standing up from her chair.

If she inhaled the rising stench one more time, she truly felt she would lose her nerve. Who would have thought? She didn’t easily forget the autopsy date you had set up for her back in Nevermore; one of the most romantic things you could have ever done. This, however… something about this wasn’t right.

You stood up far slower than she had. Patient, deliberate movements. You expertly maneuvered away from the fleshy monstrosity beside you. Nothing else dripped onto your clothes, and if it hadn’t already been stained, she would have been amazed by the impeccably white shirt that she hadn’t remembered you wearing. Each step was precise until you were standing in front of her.

Your eyes were glowing.

“I can get them,” you said softly. “I want you to have a nice night.”

She should have flinched when your dried, itchy, blood covered hand rested on her face. More flakes came off as your thumb rubbed lightly against her cheek. It wasn’t preposterous to assume you had been either witness or perpetrator to the scene she was standing in the middle of. Fear would (and should) have been the most prominent emotion pounding inside her chest.

It wasn’t. All she felt was the warmth of your palm. The spreading warmth in her chest as your eyes roamed her face the way they had back in Nevermore. You were both back in the Addams mausoleum, dancing around your feelings until, for the first (and certainly not the last) time, she felt your lips upon hers. Your wings, ever dusty and protective, wrapped around you until you were both alone in the little cocoon she had come to love.

“You look beautiful tonight,” you said.

Wednesday exhaled harshly through her nose when you leaned down and she finally felt your kiss. Your lips were chapped as usual, and you tasted metallic. She should have been hesitant. But with your wings around her, blocking out the rest of the world, she put it to the back of her mind. Your nails lightly scratched against her cheek, grounding her in the most Addams form of love. She-

-a sharp prick in her abdomen was quickly followed by an inferno.

Her breath caught in her throat. Hands instinctively went to the source of the pain. They were met with a small handle. Your hand never left her cheek. Your wings didn’t part. She looked up and saw the dullness in your eyes once again.

“Stay here,” you said, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. “I’ll get Casey and Devan and be right back.”

You leaned in for another kiss that she couldn’t focus on.

“I love you,” you said before finally pulling back away. Your wings parted, and the blinding lights did nothing to distract her from the pain.

Wednesday staggered backwards. She reached out for a chair and felt the back, but when she attempted to sit, it moved. The floor rushed up to meet her, and she let herself fall to her back in the sticky puddle of blood that she was now contributing to.

Her hands gripped the knife handle tighter as the front door clicked shut behind you.

[flemingsfreckles]

Safe Space

Synopsis: based off of a request I got (that I can no longer find) that wanted to see reader comforting Jessie, Jessie seeks comfort from her girlfriend after a hard couple days at the Olympic Games.

Warnings: discussion of the Canadian Olympic scandal, that’s it

WC: 1.6k

A/N: hi, I’m on vacation again, so here’s a sort little blurb (I have no idea when this is posting because my time zones are all messed up!) I also may or may not have reviewed this after being awake for like 24+ hours so no promises on the grammar and spelling.

You had quickly wrapped a towel around your body as you stepped out of the shower, hearing a second knock on your door you originally figured it was the hotel sending up the extra blanket you had requested before you hopped in the shower. However, when the knocking continued, becoming more insistent you turned and moved over to the door, double checking that you were covered before looking through the peephole and immediately pulling the door open.

“What are you doing here?!” You said, shocked to see Jessie standing in front of you. “You can’t be here.”

“I know but, can I come in?” Her voice was quiet, she only made eye contact with you in short glances. She shifted her weight, hands fiddling together.

“Jess…” as you say her name she looks up giving you the chance to fully take in her appearance. You notice her slightly disheveled appearance, a frown across her face, eyes watery, her lip had a slight shake to it as she awaits your answer. Your heart sinks at the obviously distraught appearance she had. “Yeah, come in.” You open the door to your own hotel room before quickly glancing into the hallway to see if anyone else was around.

“You’re not supposed to be here Jessie.” You tried to gently remind her as you follow her into your hotel room.

Jessie sighs. “I know, I just, I needed you. Even if it’s just for a few minutes.”

The Canadian team had spent the last couple of days playing their first games of the Olympics, all wins but outside of the game, everything was a mess for Canada. Everything was a mess for Jessie. Drone scandal, being labeled as cheaters, losing coaching and staff, constant pressure from the press to make statements, nothing about this tournament had been easy.

You knew the pressure your girlfriend was holstering. Not only was she captaining her first major tournament, she was captaining what felt like a sinking ship. She had been nearly silent since the news broke, calling you just to say a hello before falling into silence and letting you speak until other obligations caused you to hang up.

You saw her briefly after the first game, she had looked tired, as did every other player. You got the chance to talk with her, remind her how proud of her you were, how proud everyone was, but you knew she didn’t care to hear it.

By the end of the second game she looked not just tired, but drained. Only coming over to quickly see you following their victory she hardly spoke, muttering a greeting and letting you kiss her cheek and give her a quick hug before she retreated to the locker room, head down as if they had just been beaten.

The third game she hardly looked like herself. Dark circles had formed under her eyes that had slowly lost the sparkle you had become so used to seeing. She hardly smiled, only looking like she was having fun during a goal celebration before her face would return stoic. She hardly even spoke during the game, not to her teammates, not to the ref, not to the other team. She simply waved to you before leaving the field, not utter a word to you, her family, or any fans.

It was unlike Jessie, she wasn’t one to usually let a games or the sport in general ruin her mood for the day, a couple hours sure, but today and this week was different. To say you were worried about her was an understatement.

You worry for her had set in days ago, when the news first broke. You knew your girlfriend well and you knew how she’d likely cope with the situation. Jessie would do her best to take the weight off her teammates inadvertently putting it on her own back. She’d try to hold the team together as best she could, at the expense of herself. She’d stay up late to talk with the other girls, to make sure they felt reassured, not caring that she lost sleep over it. You knew she’d do anything for her teammates, even if it meant hurting herself.

You felt like you were watching your girlfriend break apart, unable to do anything.

When she showed up, unannounced at your hotel room, you knew things were bad. It was so different, she was actively going against the team's rules and guidelines sitting in your hotel room. Jessie wasn’t one to mess around with the rules. She followed them and encouraged her fellow teammates to follow them as well. Thus meaning she never left the team hotel to see you when she wasn’t allowed, she didn’t sneak off, especially not to come to your room, her being here meant she needed you.

“What’s going on?” You said looking over your shoulder at her as you rummage through your suitcase for some sweats. You give her a second to respond and when she doesn’t, you turn around as you drop the towel and pull a shirt over your head.

Jessie is laying on your hotel bed, one arm slung across her eyes, her other resting on her stomach. You watched as she took a few deep breaths, her chest rising and falling. Slipping on underwear and a pair of sweats, you quickly moved to hang up your towel before sitting on the edge of the bed.

Your hand comes to rest on Jessie’s thigh, giving her a comforting rub. “Jess, do you want to talk about what’s going on with you?”

“It’s, just all of it, it’s too much to get into, I can’t do it.” Her voice quivers slightly, to anyone else they might not have noticed, but you knew. “I know I can’t be here but, just a quick cuddle please?” She pulled her hand away from her face, and sat up. Seeing the mix of disappointment and sadness in her eyes made your heart ache. You never wanted to see her this upset over a game, especially one they didn’t even lose.

“Sure babe, but it’s gotta be quick, you can’t be getting in trouble for sneaking out.”

“I know, but I, I can’t be in that hotel anymore, I just can’t. They’re all looking to me, and I don’t have the answers!” Her words stop and you notice she’s suddenly breathing unevenly.

“Jessie, hey.” Trying to pull her attention, you quickly stand up from the bed to squat in front of her, putting your hands on her face. You can see her relax slightly into your touch. “Look at me, Jess, look at me.”

“You’re doing the best you can, that’s all anyone can expect of you. That’s all you can do.” You try to convince her of the words you were saying, letting your thumbs gently caress her cheeks.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, I’m so tired of talking about it, I just need you.”

“Okay, come here.” You stand up, climbing onto the bed to lay down before lifting the covers out so Jessie can join you. She curls her body into your side, her head coming to rest on your chest and her arm draped across your chest, her hands resting just under your breast. “I love you.” You kiss the top of her head, feeling her hum in response.

You run your fingertips along her back, scratching lightly, aiding her in falling asleep. It’s not long before her breathing slows and you feel her completely relax against you.

You remained still in bed, the last thing you wanted to do was to stir and jostle the head that rested on your chest. The arm that was wrapped under her body had fallen asleep a long time ago but you couldn’t move her. You watched as your girlfriend’s phone rang, Janine’s face on the screen, you debate answering it for her before letting it go to voicemail.

Your own phone then begins to ring, this time you answer. “Hey Janine, what’s up?” You whisper, trying to keep your voice low.

“Hey, have you heard from Jess? I don’t mean to panic you but she’s not in our room, haven’t seen her in a bit.” You can pick up on the worry in your girlfriend’s best friend’s voice.

You look down to where your girlfriend’s head was resting on your chest, soundly asleep. For the first time in days she looked peaceful, she looked like she was okay.

You whisper back to Janine, not wanting to wake Jessie. “I don't want her to get in trouble, but I’ve got her, she’s fine.”

“She’s with you?” Janine asks, sounding confused.

“Yeah, I know she shouldn’t be, but she showed up and I think she just needed a break. She’s sleeping.” You continue to whisper, pausing when you notice Jessie stir slightly.

You hear Janine’s sigh of relief through the phone. “Okay, good, good. I don’t think she’s slept more than a few hours the past 5 days. I won’t say anything, everyone just wants her to be okay.”

“She’ll be back tonight, don’t worry.”

Janine thanks you before hanging up a second later. You feel the weight on your chest get lighter as Jessie lifts her head to look at you. “Was that for me?” She looked up at you with eyes still heavy with sleep.

“Janine just wanted to check on you.” You whisper, bringing your hand to her head with a gentle push in an attempt to get her to relax back against your chest.

“Am I in trouble?” You can hear the worry in her voice.

You give her another kiss to her forehead before running your hands through her hair and down her back to scratch her skin again. “No, not at all, go back to sleep Jess, I’ve got you.”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

tamashina mina/cloudcalling on the savanna — missed opportunity

Since this event will be rerunning in the JP server this month, I wanted to share something I felt the event was lacking. (Well. Besides the things I already mentioned here—)

There’s a section of the event dedicated to exploring the markets and sampling local cuisines. I don’t take issue with this since it’s a staple of any hometown event. However, I think that it’s a shame we didn’t get any unique interactions between Leona and the NPCs in the market. Supposedly Leona isn’t well-liked or acknowledged in a positive manner by his people, so it would have been nice to see it portrayed more prominently on-screen. Maybe the vendors and other customers don’t necessarily go out of their way to insult him to his face, but maybe they’d be whispering amongst themselves or side-eyeing him (something which the other students notice) as he passes.

The framing of the purchases implies that Kifaji is the main person going around buying food for us to try. Lilia, Vil, Kalim, and Yuu/Grim also shop around for souvenirs. The NPCs are, for the most part, not directly interacting with Leona (save for that time he gets annoyed enough to get away from the group and buys some candies to eat grumpily by himself). This would have been the perfect time to overhear the vendors and customers gossiping about Leona. It would show us how his people feel about him, not just what the palace servants feel (as we saw in his post-ON flashback). It would give us a better understanding of what kinds of comments the people make about him even to this day, how that wears on him mentally and emotionally.

And what if Leona walks in on that kind of gossip??? I want to see how he’d handle it… (I don’t see him getting mad but instead reacting with a sarcastic quip or fake politeness to remove himself from the situation. Then he broods and angsts and doomposts about it later in private 💀)

While this ire obviously wouldn’t be resolved in the event itself, I think setting up this apprehension around Leona would enhance the payoff of what he does later in the event. This is especially true considering that we also had the previous year’s winners openly upset with Leona for not doing his royal duties and training them. Make it clear that Leona is on everyone’s bad side. Then when he comes through in the end and earns the respect of last year’s winners, it signals to us that—even if just a little at a time—Leona is capable of switching around the common attitude his people have toward him. It establishes a modicum of hope.

I guess maybe they didn’t want to spoil his backstory for anyone that didn’t read book 2 by the point the event ran??? But I still feel like it’s possible to write dialogue in a way that implies a dynamic or relationship without outright spilling everything. You don’t even need dialogue. Maybe just have there be a general air of discomfort as soon as the group enters the market; Vil (a celebrity who is perceptive about public opinion and how the public’s gazes linger) might notice this and ask what’s wrong, only to have Leona brush it off. (That way, we at least get the idea that Leona isn’t liked for some reason but is used to this.) It’s not like events haven’t had details that allude to main story spoilers either. For example, College Gear Ortho has appeared in multiple events such as Fairy Gala: What If and White Rabbit Fest, even though technically it is a spoiler for book 6.

bdbdbsejhfiekd I don’t know 😭 I just feel like this would have been so interesting to see more of Sunset Savanna reacting to the supposed scorned second prince… It’s sad we missed out on it.

[maidragoste]

Hot Chocolate

Gwayne Hightower x Reader

Hi, first day of the December drabble special!

I hope you like it 💖💖

Reblogs, comments and likes are always greatly appreciated. comments always motivate me to continue writing 💖💖

If you have ideas for other drabbles, don't hesitate to write them in my inbox 🥰🥰

Tomorrow's drabble will be with Aegon

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

Gwayne smiled as he watched you light up when you walked into the living room with two mugs of hot chocolate. On the way home you were talking about how you wanted to have one and warm up on his couch after spending the afternoon Christmas shopping.

“Thanks,” you said taking one of the mugs and reaching over to give him a quick kiss. “I was waiting for you to pick out what movie we would watch.”

You brought the mug to your mouth as your boyfriend settled next to you.

Gwayne watched you struggle to swallow. It was obvious from your face that you didn’t like your chocolate. Had he put too much sugar in it? Or maybe it was bitter for your taste? Or wasn’t hot enough? He couldn’t believe he had ruined this when it’s something so easy to do.

“Please don’t keep drinking it,” he asked putting his hand on your arm to stop you from bringing the mug to your mouth again. It was obvious that you didn’t want to make him feel bad and that’s why you were planning to finish the drink. “I know you don’t like it.”

“It’s watery,” you said making a face.

“Then the problem is that I put in too little cocoa, I’ll go get more,” he said getting up.

“No, love. It’s watery. It has water instead of milk” you said making him stop on his way to the kitchen and look at you confused “Do you always put water in it?”

“Isn’t it supposed to be done like this?” he said feeling embarrassed. Now that he thought about it the last time Daeron went to his house and had his hot chocolate he had told him that it wasn’t good like his mother’s. But Gwayne hadn’t taken the comment seriously thinking that his nephew was just a mama’s boy.

“Oh, poor you, I’ll teach you how to make a good hot chocolate” You got up with a smile and kissed his cheek before entering the kitchen. “Don’t worry, it’s not difficult”

“You’re my guest, you shouldn’t be washing up,” your boyfriend said seeing you start washing the mugs. He quickly rushed to your side and grabbed a dish towel to at least help you dry them.

“It’s nothing, it’s just two mugs,” you said as you left the last mug beside him and went to look for the milk in the fridge and then went to where the shelves were to take the jug to heat the milk. Probably if you had stretched your arm a little more you would have been able to reach it but Gwayne didn’t miss the opportunity and stood behind you, pressing his chest to your back, and took it himself.

“Here,” he said as you turned to look at him, not at all impressed.

“Thanks” you thanked him taking the little jug but your boyfriend didn’t seem to have any intention of moving to let you pass. “What are you waiting for?” you said trying to contain your smile knowing perfectly well what he wanted.

“A real thank you,” he replied, smiling.

Maybe on another occasion, you would have spun around until he asked you to kiss him. But now Gwayne was looking at you as if you were precious, something unique as if you were the most wonderful thing in the world when you weren’t doing anything special. His gaze makes you feel happy, warm, and loved. You want to kiss him so you do. You were planning to give him just a short kiss to take away your desire and be able to continue with the task of making a good hot chocolate but you forget about that the moment you find yourself tasting his lips and you feel his hands on your waist.

The hot chocolate can wait.

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