#without the background or any idea or a story behind it

[barghest-land]

herbstosaurus

[atzaurora]

heyy! i really love your writings i was wondering if you could do a fwb!mingi x reader x roommate!seonghwa fic!! theyre all college students and mingi secretely sneaks into reader's dorm to fuck her everytime seonghwa is not there due to extra classes <3 one day seonghwa finished earlier since the teacher was absent and when he got back in their dorm he caught mingi and reader fucking, gets turned on and joins in <33 you can add anything you please, has to be ROUGH 😩 please thank you in advance!!!

[˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗] join in

❥ 𝒎𝒆𝒎����𝒆𝒓: Seonghwa, Mingi

➤ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: roommate!seonghwa x fem!reader x fwb!mingi

➤ 𝒕𝒚𝒑𝒆: imagine (smut)

➤ 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑: roommates/friends, fwb

.ᐟ.ᐟ𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔.ᐟ.ᐟ: rough sex, unprotected sex, threesome, getting caught, m & f receiving

➤ 𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: Y/N and Mingi were having one of their almost daily 'meetups' again. While those 'meetings' really only consisted of sex while her roommate was away. Just as Mingi was taking her, Seonghwa finished classes earlier and walked in on them...

➤ 𝒘/𝒄: 2.9k

➤ 𝒂/𝒏: ohhh I love this idea!!! thank you sm for requesting :P hope you like the story :33 enjoyyy

if you have any ideas or wishes let me know, requests are open

here's my [𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕]!

[𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕] here!

[about me] + [guidelines]!

It was a typical Tuesday afternoon, and the college dorms hummed with the soft background noise of students immersed in their routines. The distant echoes of laughter, study sessions, and conversations created a comforting atmosphere of communal life. After your last class, you made your way back to the dorm you shared with Seonghwa. The room greeted you with its familiar mix of textbooks, scattered clothes, and the lingering scent of his cologne—a fragrance that was both soothing and intoxicating, stirring something deep within you.

With a sigh, you flopped onto your bed, scrolling absentmindedly through your phone, trying to shake off the day’s fatigue. Your thoughts, however, drifted to Mingi. Over the years, what began as a close friendship had evolved into something far more intimate and thrilling, a secret connection that added an exhilarating edge to your life. Mingi had a way of igniting a fire within you, his touch leaving you trembling, his kisses pulling you into a whirlwind of passion that you craved more with each encounter. It had become a well-guarded secret, a ritual you both indulged in, hidden from everyone—including Seonghwa.

You glanced at the clock, a flutter of excitement stirring in your stomach. Seonghwa had an extra class today, granting you the luxury of having the dorm to yourself for a few precious hours. The anticipation of Mingi's impending visit quickened your heartbeat. You could almost feel his strong arms around you, his body pressing against yours, and the way he would devour you with his hunger.

As the time approached, a soft knock echoed through the quiet room, pulling you from your thoughts. You sat up, quickly checking your reflection in the mirror to ensure your appearance was flawless. When you opened the door, Mingi stood there with that familiar mischievous grin, his eyes dark with desire. He didn't hesitate, stepping inside and closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

Without wasting a moment, Mingi closed the distance between you, his body exuding an energy that made your breath hitch. His gaze locked onto yours, the intensity of his need unmistakable. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both fiery and tender, igniting a spark that spread through your entire body. His hands roamed your form, every touch deliberate and knowing as he undressed you with practiced ease, his fingers brushing your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

Mingi’s hands moved with purpose, stripping away the last barriers between you. He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to your bed, laying you down gently on the soft mattress. The heat of his body against yours was electrifying, and his whispered praise—"You look beautiful, baby"—made your heart race even faster. His lips traveled across your skin, leaving a trail of heat as they moved from your neck to your collarbone, each kiss stoking the fire that burned within you.

Mingi’s arousal was evident as he discarded his clothes, his cock already hard and eager. He wasted no time, positioning himself between your legs, his eyes drinking in the sight of your body laid out before him. There was no need for foreplay; the two of you had done this enough times to know exactly what the other needed. With a low groan, Mingi lined himself up with your entrance, pushing into you with a single, powerful thrust.

A gasp escaped your lips, your back arching off the mattress as pleasure coursed through your veins. Mingi’s hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he set a steady rhythm, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through your body. The room was filled with the sounds of your coupling—skin slapping against skin, mingled with the breathy moans and whispered praises that spilled from Mingi’s lips.

He started slow, savoring the feel of you wrapped around him, but it wasn’t long before his thrusts grew faster and more intense. The bed creaked beneath you, the headboard tapping against the wall in a steady rhythm that matched the pounding of your heart. The force of Mingi’s movements drove you closer to the edge, the coil of tension tightening in your belly with each passing second.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Mingi groaned, his voice rough with lust. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, his hips never faltering in their relentless pace. You could feel the sweat beading on his skin, his body slick against yours as he poured every ounce of his desire into you.

Your hands found purchase on his broad shoulders, your nails digging into his flesh as you tried to ground yourself amidst the overwhelming pleasure. Mingi’s cock hit all the right spots, pushing you closer and closer to the brink. You knew he could sense it—the way your walls clenched around him, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He quickened his pace, his hands moving to cup your breasts, kneading the soft flesh as his thrusts grew more frantic.

“I’m so close,” you whimpered, your voice barely above a whisper. Mingi growled in response, his lips trailing down your neck as he drove into you with renewed vigor. He was rougher than usual, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises, but you didn’t care. It was exactly what you needed, the kind of raw, primal sex that left you feeling utterly consumed.

Your climax hit you like a freight train, the world around you fading to white as pleasure crashed over you in waves. You cried out, your nails raking down Mingi’s back as your body convulsed around him, your pussy squeezing his cock as if trying to milk him dry. Mingi wasn’t far behind, his thrusts growing erratic as he chased his own release. With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself inside you, his cock throbbing as he emptied his load deep within your core.

The room was filled with the sounds of your ragged breathing, your bodies slick with sweat as you came down from your highs. Mingi stayed buried inside you for a moment longer, his forehead pressed against yours as you both caught your breath. But he wasn’t done yet.

A smirk played on Mingi’s lips as he pulled out of you, leaving you feeling achingly empty. He rolled you over onto your stomach, his hands guiding your hips up so that you were on all fours. “One more,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire. “We’ve still got time until Seonghwa gets back.”

You barely had time to process his words before he spread your cheeks, the tip of his cock pressing against your tight hole. The anticipation sent a thrill of excitement coursing through you, the promise of more sending a fresh wave of arousal flooding through your body. You’d done this before, but the anticipation and the pleasure that came with it never waned.

Mingi didn’t hold back. He slammed into you with a force that made you scream into the pillow, your body stretched to accommodate his girth. The initial pain quickly gave way to pleasure, the sensation of being filled so completely overwhelming your senses. You moaned loudly, unable to hold back the sounds of your pleasure as Mingi set a brutal pace, his cock driving into you over and over.

The pleasure was all-consuming, your body trembling with each powerful thrust. You were so lost in the sensations that you almost didn’t hear the soft click of the door opening. But when you did, your eyes widened in shock. Through the haze of pleasure, you managed to glance up from the pillows, and what you saw made your heart stop.

Seonghwa stood frozen in the doorway, his eyes glued to the scene unfolding before him. His expression was unreadable, a mix of surprise and something else—something darker. His books slipped from his hands, thudding to the floor with a dull thud. The room grew eerily quiet, the only sounds now were your ragged breaths and the rhythmic slaps of Mingi’s hips against your ass.

For a moment, the three of you were caught in a tense standoff, the air heavy with an unspoken tension. Mingi paused, his eyes flicking up to meet Seonghwa’s. There was a flicker of surprise in his gaze, but it was quickly replaced by something else—something more confident, almost challenging.

Seonghwa’s eyes darkened as he took in the scene before him, a slow smirk forming on his lips. He let out a low chuckle, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “So this is what you’ve been up to while I’m gone,” he murmured, his voice laced with amusement. He took a step forward, his eyes raking over your arched back, your flushed face, and the way your body trembled under Mingi’s relentless pace.

Mingi grunted, his cock twitching inside you as he adjusted his grip on your hips. “Well, someone has to take care of this pretty cunt,” he growled, his voice filled with possessive pride. He continued to fuck you, his pace never faltering even as Seonghwa approached, a look of intense curiosity in his eyes.

Seonghwa’s hand reached out, his fingers tracing a line down your face, his touch gentle despite the lust burning in his gaze. “Does he feel good, yeah?” he asked, his voice low and seductive. Your breath hitched, your body trembling as you nodded, unable to form words as pleasure continued to course through you.

Mingi’s thrusts grew more deliberate, his cock driving deeper with each movement. “She’s a good little slut,” he murmured, his voice filled with satisfaction. “Always so eager to take whatever I give her.” His words sent a thrill of excitement through you, the mixture of praise and degradation pushing you even closer to the edge.

Seonghwa’s eyes never left yours as he stepped closer, his hand moving to cup your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “Do you want to know what I feel like, too?” he asked, his voice thick with desire. There was no hesitation in your answer this time, your need for more overwhelming any rational thought. “Y-Yeah, please,” you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation.

Seonghwa’s smirk widened as he quickly stripped off his clothes, revealing his own impressive erection. The air grew heavy with anticipation, the tension between the three of you crackling like electricity. Seonghwa stepped forward, positioning himself beside Mingi, his eyes never leaving yours.

Mingi pulled out of you, allowing Seonghwa to take his place. The loss of his cock left you feeling achingly empty, but the sensation was quickly replaced by the stretch of Seonghwa’s cock sliding into you. The feeling of being filled by a different man, so soon after Mingi, was overwhelming, your body trembling with the intensity of it all.

Seonghwa’s strokes were long and deep, each thrust sending pleasure shooting through your veins. Mingi stepped back for a moment, watching with a pleased smirk as his friend fucked you, his cock disappearing into your tight pussy. But he didn’t stay on the sidelines for long. He leaned down, pressing his lips to your neck and leaving a trail of hickeys that would be impossible to hide.

“Good girl,” Mingi whispered in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. His hands found your breasts, kneading them roughly as he whispered more dirty words into your ear. “You’re doing so good, taking him like the little slut you are.” His words sent shivers down your spine, the mixture of pleasure and degradation pushing you even closer to the edge.

The two of them took turns, fucking you with an intensity that left you feeling completely overwhelmed. You were caught between them, your body a vessel for their pleasure, each thrust, slap, and bite sending you spiraling closer to your next climax. Your body trembled with the effort of holding back, the pleasure building to an unbearable level.

Seonghwa’s cock hit your sweet spot over and over, his pace relentless as he drove you toward your peak. You could feel your orgasm building, the tension coiling tight in your belly as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. Your mouth hung open, drool escaping as you whimpered and moaned, completely lost in the pleasure.

“You like that, huh?” Seonghwa growled, his hips slamming into you with a force that made you see stars. “Such a brat, getting fucked by both of her friends at the same time.” His words only fueled the fire inside you, your body clenching around him as you hurtled toward your release.

Seonghwa’s thrusts became more intense, his hips snapping against yours as he pushed you over the edge. Your body trembled, every nerve ending lit up with a mixture of pleasure and pain. The sensation of being filled so deeply, with both men’s attention on you, was overwhelming. You could barely keep your thoughts straight, the only thing grounding you was the relentless pleasure that Seonghwa was giving you.

Your walls clenched tightly around him as your orgasm built to a crescendo. The room spun, your vision blurring as you were consumed by the intensity of it all. Seonghwa groaned, feeling you tighten around him, and with one final thrust, he buried himself deep inside you. His cock pulsed as he reached his peak, his hot seed spilling into you.

You came hard, your body shaking uncontrollably as the waves of your orgasm crashed over you. Your voice caught in your throat, the only sound that escaped was a strangled moan as you clenched around Seonghwa, milking every last drop from him.

Seonghwa pulled out slowly, his breath heavy and labored as he collapsed onto the bed beside you. His body was slick with sweat, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Mingi, who had been watching intently, wasted no time in reclaiming his position. He didn’t let any of Seonghwa’s cum escape, pushing it back into you with his cock as he thrust inside you again.

Mingi’s movements were frantic, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he pounded into you. The room was filled with the sounds of your wetness, your pussy now filled with a mixture of both men’s cum, making his thrusts even more intense. You were beyond words, your mind hazy and clouded with the overwhelming pleasure.

Seonghwa, despite his own exhaustion, leaned in close to your ear. “You’re doing so well,” he murmured, his voice soft and soothing against the chaos of Mingi’s rough thrusts. His fingers found your swollen clit, rubbing in tight circles that made your back arch off the bed. You whimpered at the sensation, the combination of Mingi’s hard cock and Seonghwa’s gentle touch driving you to the brink once again.

Mingi’s thrusts grew erratic as he chased his own release. He could feel you trembling beneath him, your pussy fluttering around his cock as another orgasm built within you. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his hands digging into your flesh as he pounded into you mercilessly. “Take it, baby. Take all of it.”

Your body obeyed his command, your muscles tensing as you reached your peak once more. Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, your entire body convulsing as you came around Mingi’s cock. He wasn’t far behind, his cock swelling as he emptied himself inside you, his cum mixing with Seonghwa’s in a messy, sticky blend.

Mingi collapsed onto the bed beside you, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. You lay there, completely spent, your body trembling with the aftershocks of your multiple orgasms. Seonghwa’s hand stroked your back gently, his touch comforting in the aftermath of such intense pleasure.

The room was silent, save for the sound of your labored breathing. The three of you lay in a tangled heap on the bed, the events of the last hour catching up with you. You felt Mingi’s hand find yours, his fingers intertwining with yours as he pressed a gentle kiss to your shoulder.

“You did so well, baby,” Mingi whispered, his voice soft and full of affection. “So fucking good.”

Seonghwa chuckled, the sound low and soothing. “I think we’ve discovered a new favorite pastime,” he teased, his fingers brushing over your flushed skin. “What do you say, Y/N? Ready for round two?”

You laughed softly, the sound filled with exhaustion but also contentment. “Maybe after a nap,” you replied, your voice weak but happy. “I’m pretty worn out.”

Mingi and Seonghwa both chuckled, their hands continuing to caress your body as you all settled into a comfortable silence. The air was heavy with the scent of sex and sweat, but there was also a sense of peace that settled over the three of you.

As you drifted off to sleep, nestled between the two men who had just taken you to heights you hadn’t known existed, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of satisfaction. You had no idea what tomorrow would bring, or how this new dynamic would change things between you, but for now, you were content to just be.

And as you lay there, with Seonghwa and Mingi’s arms wrapped around you, you knew that this was just the beginning of something new, something exciting. And you couldn’t wait to see where it would lead.

[thydungeongal]

There's this idea floating around the general TTRPG space that's kind of hard to put one's finger on which I think is best articulated as "the purpose of an RPG is to produce a conventionally shaped satisfying narrative," and in this context I mean RPG as not just the game as it exists in the book but the act of play itself.

And this isn't exactly a new thing: since time immemorial people have tried to force TTRPGs to produce traditional narratives for them, often to be disappointed. I also feel this was behind a lot of the discussion that emerged from the Forge and that informed the first "narrativist" RPGs (I'm only using the word here as a shorthand: I don't think the GNS taxonomy is very useful as more than a shibboleth): that at least for some TTRPGs the creation of a story was the primary goal (heck, some of them even called themselves Storytelling games), but since those games when played as written actually ended up resisting narrative convention they were on some level dysfunctional for that purpose.

There's some truth to this but also a lot of nuance: when you get down to the roots of the hobby, the purpose of a game of D&D wasn't the production of a narrative. It was to imagine a guy and put that guy in situations, as primarily a game that challenged the player. The production of a narrative was secondary and entirely emergent.

But in the eighties you basically get the first generation of players without the background from wargames, whose impressions of RPGs aren't colored by the assumption that "it's kind of like a wargame but you only control one guy." And you start getting lots of RPGs, some of which specifically try to model specific types of stories. But because the medium is still new the tools used to achieve those stories are sometimes inelegant (even though people see the potential for telling lots of stories using the medium, they are still largely letting their designs be informed by the "wargame where you only control one guy" types of game) and players and designers alike start to realize that these systems need a bit of help to nudge the games in the direction of a satisfying narrative. Games start having lots of advice not only from the point of view of the administrative point of view of refereeing a game, but also from the point of view of treating the GM as a storyteller whose purpose is to sometimes give the rules a bit of a nudge to make the story go a certain way. What you ultimately get is Vampire: the Masquerade, which while a paradigm shift for its time is still ultimately a D&D ass game that wants to be used for the sake of telling a conventional narrative, so you get a lot of explicit advice to ignore the systems when they don't produce a satisfying story.

Anyway, the point is that in some games the production of a satisfying narrative isn't a primary design goal even when the game itself tries to portray itself as such.

But what you also get is this idea that since the production of a satisfying narrative is seen as the goal of these games (even though it isn't necessarily so), if a game (as in the act of play) doesn't produce a satisfying narrative, then the game itself must be somehow dysfunctional.

A lot of people are willing to blame this on players: the GM isn't doing enough work, a good GM can tell a good story with any system, your players aren't engaging with the game properly, your players are bad if they don't see the point in telling a greater story. When the real culprit might actually be the game system itself, or rather a misalignment between the group's desired fiction and the type of fiction that the game produces. And when players end up misidentifying what is actually an issue their group has with the system as a player issue, you end up with unhappy players fighting against the type of narrative the game itself wants to tell.

I don't think an RPG is dysfunctional even if it doesn't produce a conventionally shaped, satisfying narrative, because while I do think the act of play inevitably ends up creating an emergent narrative, that emergent narrative conforming to conventions of storytelling isn't always the primary goal of play. Conversely, a game whose systems have been built to facilitate the production of a narrative that conforms to conventions of storytelling or emulates some genre well is also hella good. But regardless, there's a lot to be said for playing games the way the games themselves present themselves as.

Your traditional challenge-based dungeon game might not produce a conventionally satisfying narrative and that's okay and it's not your or any of your players' fault. The production of a conventionally satisfying narrative as an emergent function of play was never a design goal when that challenge-based dungeon game was being made.

[moonwoodhollow]

Exerzierplatz - a cc lot by moonwoodhollow (feat. The Green Room & the bookshop + a retro corner store)

Exerzierplatz is a building I've been working on for a long time as it was a bit of a trouble-child. I was never satisfied with it and kept thinking that I should scrap it, because of its awkward apartment-floor plans, until I embraced the idea of using it more as a retail/café lot. The result is something I am very satisfied with and I hope it exudes the kind of ~hip/cute neighbourhood~ vibe I'm feeling.

But it's all up to you, how you'll want to use this lot: as a café, a deco lot for your sims-stories (I'd love to see that!!) or as an actual residential building.

More screenshots, info + download link under the cut!

Building background

Another historical brick building, but I'll spare you the historical background this time because I forgot which real-life building inspired me to create this one, but I can tell you how I got the idea for this building in general! (if you care)

The name Exerzierplatz is a bit misleading if you know any German, as a "Platz" is usually a public square, buildings directly next to a square usually receive the square's name as well with a house number added. The square that inspired me is quite a dismal and empty square with a huge car park, but it got me thinking about what kind of buildings originally might have stood there. The historical context here is post-WW2, which left a lot of cities in ruins. Instead of rebuilding the original structures, some cities opted for a "car-friendly" approach, meaning lots of car parks and wide streets, that nowadays feel over-dimensioned.

Now if I had to pin down an era, in which this kind of building was likely constructed, I'd say the latter of the 19th century. It's likely to be a representative of historicism, or at least has elements from this style.

So what do you get?

Exerzierplatz is a 20x20 build best placed in Windenburg, but I could potentially see it in Britechester as well. The building is partly furnished, which means the whole ground floor is furnished, while the other two floors are left unfurnished.

The ground floor includes a café, a bookshop and a Tante Emma Laden (aka a corner store/delicatessen). All three of them are fully furnished and usable as a café or a retail store. The 2nd and 3rd floors are intended as apartments, but everything's up to you!

Uses items from the following packs: I own almost all packs, so I'd say most of them, but I will update this post once I hop back into game to have a look!

Download: Google Drive (600 MB) | Also up on the gallery: aeromantica (but you’ll need the cc files from the Drive folder!)

Is the CC included? Most is! There's an Excel file with all CC that you'll need to download manually, but it's not many files. Deco Sims are NOT included.

Also a BIG THANK YOU to all the CC-creators, without their creations, I wouldn't have been able to build this!

-> Info: I've included 4 merged files, BUT! I've prepared a little note, about which ones are hard requirements, so it's up to you whether you'll include them.

TOU: Please don’t claim as your own or put behind paywalls etc. If you find any issues (wrong/missing files, etc.) please let me know + tag me if you’ll use the house, I’d love to see it in your games.

[secretlysamcro]

Kuttes & Bruises 🐦‍⬛

Female reader x Jax Teller

💀 - DV! talk of DV, Violence, Swearing, SMUT SMUT SMUT: If you’re under the age of 18, easily offended or dislike any of said topics, please read no further.

Request:

“Hello, I have an idea. I was thinking that the reader at first is in an abusive relationship and her boyfriend makes a mistake of trying to hit her public. Jax who was parked nearby, comes to the aid of reader. Jax offers reader to live with him as a roommate till she can get on her feet and she agrees. During that time reader gets a new job and Jax develops feelings for her. One day she tells Jax that she made enough money to move out. This makes Jax heart break little and He tell her to staying with him along with his feelings”

Back story:

For two long years, you found yourself trapped in this relationship with your boyfriend. Displaying the perfect relationship, yet behind closed doors your boyfriend’s actions revealed a violent side. Leaving your body marked with cuts and bruises that you desperately concealed from the world. However, unbeknownst to the both of you, today was the last day he’d ever lay hands on you again.

Jax listens closely to the escalating exchange between yourself and your boyfriend, his senses on high alert. His Harley is parked just a few spaces away. Close enough for him to catch the heated conversation between you both. Every word, every tone and every subtle change in your voice and demeanour is observed by Jax as he keeps a watchful eye on the unfolding scene.

You find yourself trapped in the passenger seat beside your boyfriend, a barrage of accusations being thrown and shouted at you as he falsely accuses you of looking at other men.

“He let me pass, I just said thank you” You respond, your voice very monotone.

The windows are down, the volume of his voice not being controlled in the slightest. No doubt in your mind that anyone in close proximity can hear this turbulent exchange.

As your boyfriend’s words fade into a background noise, you feel the boiling anger within you reaching its breaking point. The constant accusations, the verbal assaults, the physical assaults, every little thing within your relationship has pushed you to the edge and you can feel yourself about to erupt.

His voice thunders through your mental fog, snapping you back to reality. “Are you fucking listening to me?” he says, his tone harsh and demanding attention. You find yourself reconnecting to the present moment.

“If you weren’t so fucking insecure, maybe you-“ your seethed words were immediately cut off. The sudden shock of the impact sets your head spinning, the ringing in your ears growing louder as you register the pain that your boyfriend had conflicted, once again.

In that exact moment, Jax had witnessed it all. He saw how hard your boyfriend’s hand connected with your face. It caused him to feel an intense boiling anger, surging through each and every vein in his body. Without any hesitation, he jumps off his bike with a fierce determination to defend you.

Before you’re able to react, the drivers side door is swung open and your boyfriend is pulled out onto the sidewalk by a blur of movement. Loud thuds and punches fill the air as the unknown man strikes him from various angles. The sounds of your boyfriends pained grunts and cries for help filling your ears, a dark sense of satisfaction begins to creep over you.

Jax stops immediately as he becomes aware of your presence, hovering just above him. He lifts his free hand to sweep back the unruly strands of hair that have fallen across his face, as he maintains a firm hold on your boyfriend with the other hand. “You okay?” Is all he can manage to say right now, the concern for your well being hanging in the air.

You move your head side to side, in a slow defeated way as you silently confirm to Jax that you’re far from okay. Your boyfriend, who is still under Jax’s weight witnesses this. “Stupid bitch” he says, spitting out flecks of blood that stain his mouth.

He glances down and notices the patches on Jax’s vest, realising the unpredictable situation that he’s in. He then manages to break free, in a desperate bid to escape he suddenly frees himself from Jax’s grasp, pushing him away, only to make a frantic escape to the car. He swiftly reverses, narrowly avoiding hitting you and Jax in the process before he accelerates away. Jax with his quick reflexes, quickly pulls you out of harms way causing you to both end up sprawled on the floor together.

As Jax rises to his feet, he offers a helping hand to ensure you find your balance as well. “What’s your name darlin’?” He questions, his voice carries a hint of concern and also warmth as he attempts to soothe your unsettled nerves.

"Y/N" you respond. He smiles warmly as he leads you to a nearby bench, moving with calm and purpose. He tells you that his name is Jackson, but everyone calls him Jax. "Does he always treat you that way?" Jax questions as he attempts to untangle the history of your relationship. You nod slowly, feeling the gravity of your situation resting heavy between you as you sit down next to each other. He shakes his head in disbelief at your answer and you can almost see the anger physically building on his face. It makes you wonder why he is so concerned about you, someone he doesn't even know.

The tears you were managing to hold back, creep out silently as you see the reaction Jax had. You do your best to hide the tears that are betraying your usual strong facade.

"He does this a lot?" Jax says, looking at you intently, waiting for your answer. You nod again, a wave of embarrassment washing over you. He shakes his head harder this time, the anger flickering across his face as he mutters cursed about your boyfriend under his breath, his frustration evident. Jax glances down at his bloody and bruised hands, twisting his 'SO' ring nervously. You cant help but feel a twinge of guilt for the injuries he has sustained because of yourself and your boyfriend.

"Thanks for that..." you manage to mutter, paired with a small smile despite the pain. He smirks back, a slight glint of mischief in his eyes. "Don't thank me... I should have done a lot more than throw a few punches" he replies, wiping his hands on his jeans as he slowly rises to his feet. It feels a bit strange of him to ask, but with your jerk of a boyfriend having abandoned you, he decided to extend an offer. "I can give you a ride home... you know, if you need one?” he suggests, hoping you'll accept.

"I, um... no, I cant... I don't want to go home yet. I don't want to see him... ever" you reply, your voice confident that this will be the last time. "You can drop me to a nearby motel though... if you don't mind?" you add, not wanting to turn down Jax's offer of help.

Immediately, Jax's expression shifts to one of concern. "A motel? are you sure..." he asks, clearly uneasy with the thought of you being alone in a rundown motel, especially in the shaken state that you're currently in.

"Look, I err... I have a spare room at my clubhouse, you're more than welcome to stay there for a few nights, you know to get yourself back on your feet, figure out your next move, or whatever" he offers, aware that it might come off as a bit forward since you've just met.

He catches the small flicker of wariness in your eyes and laughs softly, the sound easing the tension that currently hangs in the air. "Don't worry," he says, as a reassuring grin spreads across his face. He begins to tell you about the motorcycle club that he leads. You can tell how passionate he is about it with the way he speaks. "You'll be safe there, no matter what" he assures you.

"Okay" You agree, a flutter of nervousness settles in yours stomach, but the thought of returning to your abusive (now ex) boyfriend sends a cold shiver down your spine. The promise of safety sounding too tempting to turn down.

The moment you agree to stay at the clubhouse, you can see a tiny spark of excitement light up Jax's eyes. Jax feels a sense of relief as he knows you wont be heading back into harms way. "Alright, just give me a second" he says, pulling out his phone. "Just need to make a quick call, then we'll head out" The confidence in his voice, reassures you, making this small leap into the unknown feel a little less daunting.

The line picks up, and Jax starts talking straight away. "Yeah, Mom, i need you to tidy up the dorm a little, okay?" He rolls his eyes like a teenager being scorned. "Jesus christ Mom... can you just do it... please?" His voice carries an assertive edge, clearly used to navigating these sorts of conversations. "Im just helping out someon-... a friend.... Alright, ok, thanks mom" He hangs up.

[5 months later]

"Jax!" you shout, racing down the stairs from Jax's spare room, which you now call your room. "I got the job!" you shout again, even louder.

In the kitchen, Jax freezes, the carton of orange juice halfway to his lips. His eyes widen in surprise, and then a grin stretches across his face as he hears your good news. "Ahh, Darlin', I knew you would!" he calls out to you, rising to meet you as you rush into the kitchen. Before you even make it fully into the kitchen, Jax wraps you in a comforting embrace, a wave of pride within him. His heart flutters slightly as you squeeze him tighter, unaware that the same butterflies are dancing in your stomach too.

You settle into your chair at the kitchen table, with Jax taking a seat across from you. You chat about your upcoming job, discussing the role, the hours you'll be doing and more. "...and once I save up, I’m gonna start looking for my own place" You laugh slightly as you look up at Jax "finally get out of your way..." Your words land on him like a ton of bricks. "you're not in the way" Jax reassures you, his usually steady voice carrying a trace of worry.

Your stay in the clubhouse dorm was short lived - just under two weeks. Jax had introduced you to most of the guys and some of his family, and you fit right in, getting along with everyone, especially Jax's mom, Gemma, which was a rare occurrence.

In fact, it was actually Gemma who suggested you move in with Jax. She had caught the whispers among some other club members, who were frustrated that they could no longer use the dorm to hide the nights they shared with the crow eaters from their wives.

Gemma also noticed how much calmer Jax seemed with you around. Though she didn't know you well, he had shared some details of the circumstances in which you both met, and Gemma, having walked many paths in her own life, understood your situation and therefor felt a connection to you.

Once you agreed, you provided Jax with the address of the house you used to share with your ex. He took Happy along, and together they gathered your things. Happy, living up to his name, helped Jax to give your ex more than just a mild goodbye...let’s just say he wont ever be able to put his hands on another woman again and Happy has gained a new smiley face tattoo.

The first few days living with Jax were a bit awkward as you both navigated each other’s routines but by the end of the first week, everything fell into place. From the outside, it would be hard to believe you were just two strangers, it was as if you had known each other for a very long time.

Jax furrows his brows, wanting to make sure you understand exactly what he is saying. "Seriously y/n, You kind of ground me…I’m a better person with you around" he admits, aware of how vulnerable he sounds in this moment. You tilt your head slightly, drawn in by the sincerity in his voice. A small smile tugs at your lips, mirroring the familiar smirk that Jax also has.

"You know I could never thank you enough for everything you've done for me... but I've got to get back on my own two feet..." Jax sits up straighter in his chair, a look of discomfort crossing his face at the thought of you moving out.

Though the smirk lingers on your lips, your voice takes on a more serious tone. “You can’t expect me to stay here forever.” Without missing a beat, Jax replies, his stance unmoved. “But what if that’s what I want?”

“What do you mean?” You murmur, wondering if this conversation is steering in the direction of which you desire. His words echo again, “what if I don’t want you to leave?” This time, he sounds more confident. His tone assertive as if he knows exactly what he wants.

“Well… then I’d ask you why” you respond, maintaining your composure but sounding curious at the same time, as you stand up from your chair and lean against the kitchen counter, now closer to Jax.

As he turns to face you, a coy smile plays on his lips. “Then I’d have to confess a few things” The air thickening with anticipation.

You can feel your eagerness growing as you chew on the inside of your cheek, anxiously waiting to hear these unspoken confessions. “Oh really?” You tease, “Things like?” The words leaving your lips, a slight touch of neediness.

Jax rises from his seat, his towering frame overshadowing you. He takes a step closer, the heat between you growing more intense as the seconds pass. “Like this” he says, his voice deep and low as he leans in closer, leaving a kiss on your exposed neck.

He pulls away slowly, your gaze following his every move, your body craving more - so much more. “Wanna hear the rest?” He whispers, seeking your confirmation before carrying on. You nod desperately giving Jax the green light. With your agreement, he moves closer to you once more. His body now pressing against yours.

His movements are slow and deliberate as he lifts his hands to your face, gently cupping you in his palms. The cold touch of his rings against your skin is a huge contrast to the heat he’s causing you to feel inside. The kiss starts off slow and gentle. His hands moving to grasp the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him. You smile into the kiss, feeling that one wayward strand of hair that Jax always has out of place brushing against your forehead.

“What took you so long?” You say playfully, knowing this moment was bound to happen sooner or later. “Fuck knows” he laughs, as the kiss becomes more intense.

His hands travel down to your shorts, his fingers slipping under the waist band. He keeps his gaze locked on yours, constantly seeking permission and reassurance with each touch, making sure that you’re completely comfortable with his actions.

The sensation of his touch against your body causes your breath to catch in your throat. “Fuck, y/n you’re so fucking wet” he mumbles into your neck, his words making your clit throb as you coat his fingers with your desire. He groans deeply as he begins to explore further, feeling you react to his every touch.

Your eyes shift down to his lower half, where you notice his reaction taking place. His hard, growing cock is clearly visible, straining against the fabric of his loose grey sweatpants. You can’t help but let out a little whimper as you instinctively grind your body against him. The need and desire is driving you wild. You can feel every inch of him, pressed against you, as you can’t help but imagine how it would feel having him inside you right now.

He continues kissing and sucking at your neck as he teases you with the light, sensual circles of his thumb against your clit. Giving you that warm pool in the pit of your stomach.

You softly pull at the back of his head, encouraging him to stop the kisses for a moment. When he does, you look deeply into his eyes and utter the 3 words he’s been dying to hear. “I need you”.

His eyes widen at the words as he removes his hand from your soaked pussy. He grins as he sees the sight of your desire left on his fingers. He brings them to his lips, tasting them as he imagines all the things to come. “Mhmm” his voice raspy, “You taste so fucking good” his eyes beaming at the sight of the wetness you've left on his fingers. You take his hand and use your tongue to clean off the remaining moisture, making a show of tasting yourself on his skin. His eyes darken and a low growl rolls from his chest. He swallows hard, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of you taking pleasure in this act, he can’t help but to act on his desperation.

With a swift and powerful movement, Jax bends you over the table, sending the open carton of orange juice spilling on the ground. He pulls your shorts and panties down with a rough tug exposing you to the cool air. He quickly kicks off his sweatpants and boxers. Your face is forced down into the cold, hard surface of the table as you feel your wrist locked in his firm grip and he pins them behind your back with one hand. You’re finally experiencing the raw power that Jackson Nathaniel Teller possesses.

He lets a bit of saliva fall free from his mouth and onto his other hand, rubbing his thick cock back and forth, getting ready to push it into you. He taps it gently on the mound of your ass, before you feel his weight lay into you, your arms still pinned beneath him. “Ready for me? y/n” his lips brush against your ear, he already knows the answer, but you still let out a little “hmm hmm” anyway. You feel his weight shift off you slightly, anticipating his next move. He begins teasing you with his cock, gliding it between your dampened lips as you silently beg him to enter. Just when you think can’t take it anymore, he finally pushes himself inside of you with a single, strong movement, filling and stretching you to a point where you can’t hold in your moans, even if you tried.

“Fuck, Jax” you moan out, your cheek grazing at the table as your body adjusts to his girth and length. Your hands clench into fists as he pushes you to the edge of insanity, your desperate to cling onto the sides of the table for support, instead you find yourself at the mercy of Jax’s firm grip, holding you into place with a level of control that both excites and thrills you.

His voice is strained and breathless. “Mhm, f-fuck y/n” he manages to let out between gasps. “Tell me…” he tries to say, struggling to form a coherent sentence as he keeps up his relentless rhythm. “Ughhh fuck…” he swiftly pushes his hair out of his face, his locks sticking to his sweaty forehead as he continues to pound into you. “Tell me you’re gonna stay”. He manages to let out, over the sounds of flesh meeting flesh echoing through the kitchen. There’s a hint of pleading in his voice, alongside the obvious pleasure he’s feeling. He wants, no, needs reassurance from you, needs to hear that you plan on staying with him.

You fully surrender to him, sinking deeper into the pleasure and give in to his dominance. Your moans are muffled by the table as you understand what he truly wants - you to be his. As the pleasure becomes more intense, you utter the words “I’m gonna sta…” But before you can finish, jax loosens his grip on your wrist, finally allowing you to be free, but instead pulls tightly onto your hair, lifting your face slightly off the table, wanting to hear every sound that escapes your lips with out any obstacles in the way. “Tell me darlin’… say it!” his voice takes on a deeper, possessive tone as he demands to hear your reassurance.

“…I’m gonna…c-c” you become completely undone beneath him. Your body jerks and wriggles as your bruised, wet walls massage him in response to your pleasure. Jax can feel himself wanting to let go too, but he prolongs it just a little longer. He wants you to experience your own release first, before he allows himself the same pleasure. He continues to move against you, his movements becoming more unsteady and erratic as his own need to release builds up.

His hands, now moved from your hair, form a steady but careful grip around the front of your neck, holding you in place as he digs deeper into you, the sensations overwhelming you both. “That’s it baby girl, come for me” are the last words he manages to say, through short, rugged breaths.

With a quick, but reluctant motion, he pulls his engorged length out from inside you. He hovers over you as he begins stroking himself. You and your pussy already missing how full he makes you feel.

He aims with precision as you feel the warmth and stickiness of his cum land all over your back, Jax grunting as he speaks “yeah… yeah…y/n…fuuuck”.

You look over your shoulder to see his face twisting in undeniable pleasure, a sight you could get used to.

The room falls silent, as jax crashes down on your back. Both of you taking a moment to catch your breaths as you regain your composure after that heated, intense moment. Jax finally lifts himself off of you, his body now sweaty and glistening alongside yours.

He picks his sweatpants off the floor and uses them to clean up all traces of him that linger on your body, taking his time to ensure it’s all gone, before wiping the cum off his own stomach and chest.

You finally peel yourself away from the table, turning round to face Jax as he pulls you closer by your hips. His voice is a bit shaky, a hint of nervousness despite the intensity of the previous moment. “So…” he begins, uncertainty and vulnerability still in his tone. “So… I guess I’m staying” you say, your quiet laugh filling the air, signalling your agreement to what you’ve just committed to.

The familiar, sly smirk appears back on Jax’s face as he playfully suggests “I mean, I can always convince you again” he teases, cocking his head slightly clearly enjoying the effect he has on you. “I don’t doubt that, Teller” you respond teasingly.

He reaches for his boxers, slipping them back on and handing your shorts to you as you do the same. He then takes a seat at the table, grabbing his pack of cigarettes and lighting one up.

You move around and stand next to him, asking, "So what? Am I like your old lady now?" with a mocking tone, poking fun at the term "old lady" that Jax had introduced you to before. He chuckles slightly at your question, knowing the underlying meaning behind it.

Jax knows that you need clear confirmation before making this step to a significant change in your life. He inhales deeply before responding.

“Yeah, you are” he finally answers back fast and with confidence.

The smoke swirling around him as his eyes meet yours. He gives a little nod, confirming your status as Jax Tellers old lady.

[one year later]

“You ready sweetheart?” Gemma’s voice breaks the silence in the room as she carefully adjusts the veil on your head. You turn to face the mirror, taking a moment to admire yourself in your wedding dress - a day you never thought would happen. You take a deep breath and look at yourself one final time, feeling a mixture of excitement and nervousness. “I’m ready” you let out in a confident, soft whisper.

Jax stands at the altar, alongside his best friend Opie. He notices Jax’s nervous behaviour and asks “You nervous?”Jax can’t help but fidget in place, scanning the surroundings ahead of him, anxiety and excitement written all over his face. Opie reassures him with a firm pat on the shoulder, trying to calm his nerves.

“You know it’s gonna be okay brother” he says “she’s the one for you man, we all know it… so do you”. The confidence and trust in Opies words is present, and Jax is able to draw strength from them.

The ceremony as a whole was truly beautiful, filled with little details that represented you both as a couple. Emotions ran high especially when you both said you “I do’s” with a few tears shed and a room full of love and complete support.

You and Jax manage to steal a quiet moment together, tucked away in the corner of the after party. After a day of being the centre of attention, it’s a relief to have a moment in peace, just the two of you, the newlyweds.

“What was that little thing you and Ope did there?” You smile, ear to ear. “I promise to treat you as good as my leather, and ride you as much as my Harley” Jax laughs as he repeats the phrase, the creases around his eyes deepen as he smiles at you, the love in his look is undeniable. “Another one of our traditions” he says, as he traces small patterns against your bare arm with his thumb.

“I love you so fucking much y/n” he confesses, his voice filled with emotion and his eyes welling up slightly. “The both of you” his hand instinctively moving to caress your stomach, the secret you both share adding an extra layer of special to the moment.

“Jackie boy!” Chibb’s voice calls out. Jax moves his hand discreetly from your stomach. But the sharp eyed scotsman catches the subtle movement. He walks towards you both slowly. “Your Mothers needing you in the photo booth” he lets Jax know whilst giving you a knowing wink, a silent acknowledgment of what he’s just observed.

[four and a half years later]

You sit on the floor, drawing pictures with your eldest son Abel. Baby Harley is sat in her bouncer quietly observing. You glance over at Abel’s drawing.

“What are you drawing baby?” You ask, a small smile on your lips. “I’m drawing our family mommy… there’s you, see, and then me and daddy and that one is Harley” the sweet innocence in his voice tugs at your heartstrings, a beautiful representation of the family that you and Jax have created together.

Abel glances up at you, a curious expression on his face. “Mommy… where did you and Daddy find eachother?” He asks, as he continues moving the crayon across the page waiting for your response.

You take in a deep breath as your thoughts drift back to that very morning, the day that you and Jax had unexpectedly crossed paths, his presence changing your life in ways you never could have imagined.

You smile, looking over at Abel as you explain. “Mommy needed a place to stay for a while, so Daddy let me stay here” you explain, keeping the situation simplified, but still letting your son know how kind his Daddy was - and still is, opening his home to you, even though at the time you were still a stranger.

Jax chimes in from the kitchen, with a hint of humour, “yeah! and it was only meant to be for a few days!” He laughs to himself, as he’s sat at the very same kitchen table (still going strong by the way) that was involved in the moment that changed the course of your lives forever.

He bites his lip gently whilst smiling as the memory of that day, so many years ago now, lingers in his mind. He takes a deep breath, almost as if he’s trying to capture the moment in time again. The smells, the sounds, the raw emotions all flooding his senses.

You laugh, shaking your head at Jax’s comment. You turn your attention back to Abel who is patiently waiting for more details. “Daddy told me I could stay, until I sorted things out and got back on my own two feet…” you explain, looking over your shoulder to the kitchen door, seeing a slither of Jax’s figure sat at the very table. “…but I never did leave” you finish the sentence, twirling your ring on your wedding finger. Your words hang in the air.

Jax walks into the living room, slumping down on the black leather couch as he watches over his wife and two children. He can’t quite recall the specific reason as to why he was in that parking lot all those years ago. However, he knows he had to be there for a reason, and that reason, was you.

He catches the smile that you direct towards him a subtle cue that you’re expressing your love for him. This particular smile has become a silent language between the two of you, a way of saying “I love you” without making a sound. The corners of his mouth pull up in response, his own way of acknowledging your sentiment and returning the unspoken words of his love.

I know, I know this took me ages too! So apologies once again haha! Thank you to the anon that requested it, I’m actually really proud of this one 🫶🏽

🖤 @ravennaortiz @theesirenteller | here you go my lovelies! I hope you both enjoy too!

On to the next request 💅🏽

apologies for any mistakes also, I’ve read over this a thousand times so it’s literally like a blur to me x

SEND IN UR JAX TELLER REQUESTS! this is a no judgement zone. Honestly🖤

💀photos, gifs and music is not mine. (Apart from being edited and put together)

XOXO secretly samcro

[netherfeildren]

Greener Memories of Better Men

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Best Story of the Day! South Austin elementary school started a “Breakfast With Dads” program but many dads couldn’t make it and several students didn’t have father figures. The school posted fliers at the local YMCA’s for 50 volunteer fathers… 600 different people from all backgrounds showed up…

Joel Miller is one of them. 

-OR- 

Sarah’s gone and Joel wants to feel close to her again. He reconnects with someone he used to know along the way.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No outbreak; Grief; Child loss; Emotional hurt/comfort; Angst; Fluff and smut; Unprotected sex; Creampie; Oral Sex (f!receiving); Size Difference; Size kink; Dirty talk; Truck sex; Praise kink

A/N: This was planned for a long time, and then just happened all at once today without prior thought. Enjoy! :)

Word Count: 10.8K

Read on AO3

When she got very sick, towards the end, they used to listen to “The Weight” by The Band all the time. He’d sit at her bedside playing it for her over and over again, and he’d watch her breathe. For hours, he’d sit there and watch the rise and fall of her chest, the slow, weak thrum of her pulse in her neck beneath the wan and clammy skin, listen to the sound of her fight to continue existing. Sometimes, when she was a little more on this side of lucid, when she’d let him look at those gorgeous green eyes, she’d mouth the words at him through cracked, parched lips. Hey, mister, can you tell me where a man might find a bed? The still beautiful sound of her laughter, not made any less lovely despite its weakness now, when she adapted the lyrics to suit herself, take a load off, daddy. 

And sometimes, when she was keen on showing that superior and tremendous wit, that intelligent mind, the eye she had for seeing within and through him, she’d say that Fanny was the friend they’d always needed, but had never had. Like she knew, she knew there were times, only sometimes, where there was something missing, an imaginary figure that would have been nice or helpful, that was sometimes wished for. A mother, a wife, a partner, a friend, something they might have both needed or liked to have, perhaps, even especially, now, at the end. 

It had been a slow crawl towards death, for a long time, and then, suddenly, a mad dash to the finish line she’d seemed desperate to win. 

At times he’d been angry, angry and resentful and so fucking filled with a rage so deep it terrified him at the unfairness of it all. Sometimes there were parts of Joel that wished it was him lying in that bed, rotting away from the inside out by that invisible poison crawling through his little girls veins, but then the idea of Sarah being the one left behind, the one left alone, seemed an equally terrible fate, and he could not discern which was the worse of the two evils. And so he was left with nothing but this terrible impotence warring inside of him against his equally terrible anger. 

If he could have carried the weight of her illness for her, he would have. If he could have bore the pain and suffering of it, he would have. He would have eaten his own heart, cut off his own limb, forsaken everything he’d ever known, to have taken her suffering from her. He’d told her they’d be brave together, that they’d get out of it together. Eventually though, that mad dash had ended, and after it was all done, she’d been the only one to be brave, and he’d been the only one to get out of it. If that’s what it could even be called. Sarah had died and Joel had been left with nothing more than whatever half life he pretended at now. 

It’d been a year and a half since then, five hundred and sixty seven days since he’d put his only child in the ground. Days of living his life as if a thousand raging gladiators screamed and readied for battle in his mind while he lay limp and motionless in their midst. While he lay limp and motionless as the rest of the world went on around him. He failed all the time now, it seemed. Failed at being a father, a man, a brother, in his waking hours and in his dreams. And sometimes he wondered or worried at what she’d think of him now, if she saw what he’d let himself become. A limp and useless thing in the shadow of the memory of what he’d always been or wanted to be. 

But he remembered love, he remembered loving her, and he thought that if he held onto that, perhaps, he could be something again. Certainly not himself, or who or what he’d been before, but he could find the wherewithal or the strength or the conviction to be something, surely, he could be something again. How could death have the ability to touch such perfection? He could not understand. So, if he could no longer be a father, Sarah's father, then he could find it in himself to at least be alive, couldn’t he? For her, at least, for that memory of loving her. 

He sees the flier at the YMCA one evening, after he’s finished his workout. For months he’d gone from work to bed and bed to work. Gotten soft and lazy and horrible, half dead, but he’d had a dream a few weeks ago, a memory of them at Lady Bird Lake when they’d go and feed the ducks. She’d wanted to burst into the water after them, catch one for herself. Skinny little arms and legs flailing as he caught her around the waist, stopping her from rushing in after the poor things as they paddled madly away from the lovely little terror that she was. The thing he was now was not the man, the father, he had been before, not even a fraction. And he’d felt disgusted and ashamed and frightened with himself at the thought of her ever seeing the creature he’d become. He’d gone for a jog that evening after work. As exhausted and beaten down from the day as he’d been, he’d tied on his sneakers and forced his body to move. It had felt terrible and cathartic and he’d thrown up in his front yard afterwards, pathetic, heaving sobs wracking his body as he emptied the contents of his stomach in the overgrown grass and tears dripped down the tip of his nose, right there for the whole world to witness. But he’d gone out again the next day and the next and the next, and then he’d gone and gotten a membership for the Y, paid the thirty dollars and promised himself he’d make it there a few days every week. Pushed himself week after week to exhaustion and tears, even, sometimes. Wilting into bed at the end of the day like a felled weed, but he couldn’t stop. 

Don’t stop to think, don’t interrupt the scream. 

So he tried to not think, and he tried to keep going. 

They used to walk down there all the time before, to the Y, Joel, Sarah and Tommy. She loved to swim, and the three of them would jump in the pool together and play for hours every summer. They were good memories he knew he needed to keep fresh in his mind, like a muscle that needed to be exercised constantly. He couldn’t, didn’t want to lose them. 

The flier called for volunteers to show up for an event at Sarah’s old elementary school, “Breakfast with Dads” requesting fathers who could show up for those children who didn’t have a father figure in their lives. He’d stood still as a statue, reading the poster over and over again for almost ten minutes there, in the middle of the bustle of the busy gym around him. He could still remember the last time he’d picked her up at school with perfect clarity, the way she’d looked, curls bobbing around her, green eyes shining, shooting out the double doors towards him. She’d always been good in school, smart and lovely and friendly. He’d had to make the difficult decision to pull her out almost a year before she’d died, when she’d started getting too weak from the treatments to continue going in person. He’d not been back to the place since. Didn’t know if he was capable of walking through those halls she used to walk through, where she’d been happy, had friends, been a kid. 

He thinks about it for days afterwards, afraid and unsure and awkward with himself. Worried the children will be able to smell the deceit on him, the fact that he isn’t really a father anymore, lying on the soft purple rug of her perfectly preserved bedroom. A mausoleum to her memory that he meticulously cleans every Sunday to maintain exactly as she left it, staring up at the stick-on stars of the ceiling. He thinks that perhaps it would be good for him, that perhaps he would like the chance to feel like a father again, to remember what it is to have some spunky little kid talk at him for hours on end the way Sarah used to. And if nothing else, he thinks that there might be some child out there without the commodity of a father, the way he is without the blessing of his daughter, who would appreciate the fact that he’d shown up. Perhaps, he can make some kid not feel as alone as he always feels now. 

The morning of the breakfast dawns bright and warm, but with the faint scent of impending rain in the ether. She’d died on the same kind of sunny, tremulous day, and Joel’s hands shake as he walks up the steps of the elementary school. Flashes of the memory of her running out of these same double doors, skipping down the steps, curls flopping and gap toothed smile more luminous and sillier than any sight he’d ever beheld before. His heart beats like a hummingbird in his chest, hands clammy and shaking and ridiculous. He cries all the time now, at any and everything and it embarrasses him but is also so strangely freeing. He’d watched that ridiculous, but not really, movie Uptown Girls last night and had wept like a child at the end of it, all throughout it if he’s being honest. Huge mistake for the night before he was supposed to show face bright and early and have some kid inspecting him. Tommy’d shown up this morning with coffee and burritos and told him his face looked swollen, fucking asshole, and he’s once again ridiculous and embarrassed and awkward and shaking with nerves as he takes a few deep, calming breaths, before stepping into the Sarah’s old cafeteria. 

The large room is loud and chaotic, the bright sound of children’s voices and laughter and commotion, and people, there are a lot of fucking people. Two different lines of men, traversing the entire wide room, starting at a long table on one end and snaking through the lunch tables. It seems he wasn’t the only one who’d seen the posters, who had felt the need to come here today. He’s inspecting the lines, deciding which one seems to be moving faster when he hears his name, soft and breathy and incredulous, voice like a fucking angel: “Joel?”

He turns and there you are. “Joel Miller?” You almost stumble towards him, hand almost outstretched, eyes almost swimming. The last time he’d seen you was the last time he’d picked Sarah up here, and there’d been real tears in your eyes that time as you got to your knees, and his daughter buried her face in your neck, your soft hair, as she cried and told you how much she’d miss you, how much she didn’t want to go. You’d been her last teacher before she’d had to leave school – she’d never gotten to finish the year with you, and it had been a painful and difficult parting for the both of you. One he’d not appreciated fully in the moment, but now, looking at your shocked face, like you’ve seen a ghost, the memory rears its head in his mind, the sound of your voice trying to soothe her, trying to remain strong, stifle the sound of your own tears. You’d gone to the hospital once, near the end, the nurses had told him, in the quick hour he allotted himself to go home and shower every day, to say goodbye to her. Had sat at her bedside and laughed with her, brought her a card and a bright bouquet of yellow daisies in a pretty, blown glass vase from her entire class. It had been near the end of the school year, what would have been the end of Sarah’s second grade year, and he’d been glad, after the nurse had gushed about the pretty young woman who’d come in, made Sarah laugh and smile, perked her up for even a few brief moments, he’d been so fucking glad he’d missed you. He hoped he’d never have to see you again, could avoid the memory of his daughter in your care, the way the two of you looked at each other, like you shared a secret, a friendship, a connection, that of pupil and teacher, but also just two girls, something special and sacred. He envied it and resented it and was glad he’d missed you and grateful he’d not had to see you, but he was also grateful for the fact of you, that you’d been able to give her something she’d needed and he could not provide. 

He whispers your name, and you finally reach him, hand fully outstretched now, not an almost anything anymore, and your small, delicate fingers grasp at his thick forearm. The soft touch burns. 

He places his big hand over yours, completely engulfing you, and when he whispers your name back he feels a tremble in your limb. “Joel, I’m so glad to see you,” said with so much sincerity he feels the backs of his eyes pinch. He did not think the hardest part of this day would be seeing you again, a person who’d known and cared for his daughter so deeply. 

“I– I’m glad to be here,” he chokes, coughs, tries to take a steadying breath. “I saw the posters– just thought… I just thought it’d be nice for me to come around.”

“Yes,” you squeeze his arm gently, “Yes, of course. Welcome, please, I’m really so glad to see you here. There are so many great kids here today–” you cut yourself off, and your face does a funny sort of uncertain thing, you shake your head, try and give him a small smile. A deep breath, and then: “There are so many kids here that need someone. It’s a real good thing you came.”

“Yeah, well… I just wanted to– to feel– to remember–” he shakes his head too, unable to continue, but he sees that you understand. You slide that small hand into his, wrapping around two of his thick fingers and pull him around and further into the room. Nodding your head and smiling back at him like you’ve got the best sort of secret you’re about to let him in on. “Of course. Come on, I’ll show you to your seat. I know just the person for you.”

-

“Joel, this is my niece–”

“Who the fuck is this guy?” All the sass in the world and a scarred eyebrow to boot. 

“Ellie,” you say nice and slow, voice soothing as if trying to calm a wild banshee on the verge of revolt, it makes him smile a small smile, “We’re gonna be nice. You promised this morning.”

“Ugh, fine,” she drops her head back on her neck, and he can see the whites of her eyes flash as she rolls them as far back as they can surely go. “Stick me with the dinosaur, what do I care?” Christ, he mutters under his breath, trying to hide his scoff of a laugh with a rough cough. He turns his head to rub his chin against the hill of his shoulder, running a hand over his whiskered face. 

“Ellie– Mom said you can’t go to the sleepover tonight if you aren’t nice. Right?” You try and reason with her. 

“Fine. Whatever – nice.” And she flashes a big old, saccharine grin, wagging her eyebrows at you. 

“Okay,” you turn back to him, bringing your hands together in a soft clap beneath your chin and giving him a small and painfully sweet little smile – worried and probably a little afraid for him. He shakes his head, “It’s alright, we’ll be okay,” he says low, distracted by the sight of your small hands, fine and delicate looking, and the dainty gold necklace that sits at the hollow of your throat, a little golden pendant of your initial. 

You nod your head slowly, turn back to give the kid, Ellie, one more stern look, and then turn to walk away, leaving him to face her alone, and no, he most definitely does not glance at your ass as you walk away from him.

He turns back to look at the kid, and she rolls her eyes again, turning back to flip open the book she’s got infront of her on the lunch table, a one Will Livingston’s No Pun Intended: Volume Too. 

He snorts a little, sighs and settles into the cramped bench made for a child, thick thighs barely squeezing into the space between the table’s edge and the seat, knees bumping the underside. “Well aren’t you a pleasant one.”

“Yeah, a ray of fuckin’ sunshine. What’s your problem?”

“Jesus, kid. How old are you?”

“Thirteen. How old are you?”

“Forty eight.”

“Old.”

“Yeah.”

“So, why'd you get stuck with the leftovers? Where's your kid?”

He clears his throat, “Uh well, she– she’s not here anymore. Or I mean– she doesn’t go to school here anymore. She died. A while ago.”

“Oh, shit.” She’s quiet for a beat, looking down at the open page of the book, It doesn’t matter how much you push the envelope. It’ll still be stationary. “That sucks, man. I'm sorry.”

He supposes the correct response is: “Thank you,” he nods his head awkwardly, still unaccustomed to going through the motions of having to tell people and accept condolences. He doesn’t think it’ll ever be something he gets used to. 

“I think…” she tilts her head side to side, letting the thought slide between her ears, flips to the next page, I walked into my sister’s room and tripped on a bra. It was a booby trap. “That my dad is dead, or at least a dead beat or something,” she snickers. “Don’t know. My mom never talks about him.”

Dead or a dead beat, he mutters, shaking his head, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s hard– being a parent, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah… hardest thing in the world–”

“Is it like – like weird… to not be one anymore?”

He feels his stomach drop out from under him, coughs roughly, “Dunno… I guess– I guess in ways I still feel like a parent. Think I’ll always feel like that. But in other ways, yes, it’s… weird.”

“Yeah… I guess that makes sense. You don’t forget how stuff feels, right?”

“Yeah, you don’t forget how stuff feels.”

“Do you like space?” she asks suddenly, very seriously, knocking her head to the side, looking up at him with big, baleful, hazel eyes. His heart twists in his chest.

“Sure, yeah. Space is alright.”

And then another seeming one eighty: “If you could do anything you wanted, where would you go? What would you do?”

“Don’t know, never really thought about it. Maybe… an old farmhouse, some land, a ranch.”

“Cool. What kind?”

He shakes his head, Jesus, I don’t know… “Sheep. I would raise sheep.” She nods, doubtful, unimpressed look on her face, and he frowns at the look, “They’re quiet, do what they’re told.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. So, just you and a bunch of sheep. Romantic,” she says sarcastically. 

“What about you? What would you do?”

She points a single finger up towards the ceiling, ah, space… “Probably because I’ve always been here, never left Austin, single mom and all, ya know– I’ve read everything I could in the school library… Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, Jim Lovell. But you know who my favorite is?”

He could understand her on this. He felt, too often, like he was still right where she’d left him. “Sally Ride,” he says, of course.

“Sally fuckin’ Ride!” She slaps her hands down on the table, “Best astronaut name ever,” Shakes her head, whistling through her teeth appreciatively. 

He nods his head, yeah, figures. “So, your aunt…” and he feels a hot flush spread over the tops of his cheekbones, real smooth, Joel. At least he’d waited this long. 

“She’s my mom’s sister. She’s great. The three of us live together – kind of like my second mom, I guess. Or like they take turns being mom and dad. We’ve always been together.”

“That’s great, kid. She’s great. She– she was my daughter’s teacher, I’ve known her for a while now.”

“Yeah, she really is. I punched this girl last year,” she says way too excitedly, “Bethany,” rolls her eyes, “For being a huge dick, man, like seriously, she was. And she got me out of it. Backed me up with the principal, Mr. Kwong. No one else would’ve stuck up for me that way.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Seems like her style–”

“Protective,” she snickers.

“Yeah–” 

“And good. Her and my mom, they’re a unit, the three of us. Don’t know, I’ve never seen anyone take care of each other the way they do. Sometimes…” she looks away a little shyly, “I misbehave,” she says slowly, “Like the fighting. For no reason, I guess. And I know it worries them. But I’m trying to be better, not fight as much. My friend Riley, she’s a good influence. She stops me when I get too riled up.”

“I reckon it’s a lot easier said than done, but the fact that you’re trying to be good is what counts, is what I’d say. I’m sure being thirteen is difficult,” he says a little sarcastically, but giving her the approximation of a small, warm smile.

“Fuck you, man,” she laughs, “It’s difficult as shit.” It hits him then, suddenly, that the kid just needs someone to talk to, someone other than perhaps her mother or her aunt who she knows love and worry for her so much. A third, impartial party. Joel had come here today and been able to be that for her, and as inconsequential as it may seem, after all he’s lived through, it’s everything to him. 

The teachers and school administrators begin the process of handing out the breakfast: pancakes and bacon and sausage and fruit, and Ellie tells him about her book, full of terrible puns he pretends to frown at but also can’t really help but laugh at with her, and about a comic she loves Savage Starlight. Endure and survive, she tells him, is the motto, and he can’t help but think the idea is far reaching and significant in its truth. They sit and talk and laugh together, and it’s easy, this surly kid who pretends at being angry, hiding her charm with a potty mouth and a scowl, but who’s really nothing but sweet. It makes his chest ache and his throat go tight. So much so, that after a while he needs to excuse himself. He tells her he’s going to the restroom and runs off like a coward, the devil and his memories on his heels to take a few deep breaths, a moment alone to collect himself. 

He rushes out of the cafeteria, bursting through the double doors and out into the hallway, scurrying to find a lone corner to hide himself and his shame and grief away in. He makes it to a shadowed alcove at the mouth of an empty hallway of classrooms and presses his hands to the concrete blocks of the wall, painted a soft blue color. He stares at the pockets in the aggregate and tries to take deep breaths, feels the air pass through his lungs, inflate his belly, and then back out, transformed into the world as something else. Sometimes he wishes he had the ability to transform his grief into something else – a non-memory, perhaps. Sometimes he wishes he could forget the whole thing, a terrible, selfish, disgusting thought. But pain makes terrible creatures out of us sometimes, and Joel has existed in a pool of such pain these past five hundred and sixty seven days that sometimes it’s difficult to recognize himself anymore, his desires, his goals, if he even has those anymore. Like he’d said to the kid, it’s a lot easier said than done, but the fact that you’re trying to be good is what counts, and he was trying so very hard to be good, better. 

“Joel?” That soft voice again, a shiver claws its way down his spine, and he shakes his head at the wall, letting his hot, pinched eyes fall closed. 

He coughs, trying to clear his throat, “M’fine. Just needed a second–” Coughs again. And then he feels that small hand from before, at the small of his back. You rest there, gifting him that brief, comforting touch, and he reaches behind himself to clasp you around the wrist, keep you there with him, silent for a moment while he tries and fails to collect himself. His fingers wrap entirely around your wrist and something different and hot and alive flutters deep in his belly. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I can’t talk about it. I’m just– It’s overwhelming being here. I’m sorry. I’m okay,” he rambles. 

“It’s okay, Joel. Just take your time.” Your voice is too soft and gentle for a hard and broken thing like him. 

“She’s a good kid,” he tries and fails to keep his voice steady, comes out all hiccupped and cracked instead, and he feels you step closer, not touching him anywhere else, but he can feel the heat of you against his back. 

“She is,” you whisper.

“S’got a fuckin’ mouth on her.”

“Yeah…” You try and laugh, fail.

He cracks and splinters: “I didn’t think it would be like this coming back here… seeing you,” voice breaking, “She was sick for so long, and I knew she didn’t want to leave me. I knew she was so fucking tired, but she kept holding on just for me. And I told her it was okay, I told her to go and that I’d find her again one day, and now I don't know who I am or what I’ve become, and all I can think about every single day is that if she saw me now I worry she wouldn't recognize me anymore.”

“You’re trying, Joel. That's all that matters. I know you are. I can see it now even just here today, you being here–”

“I wish I could see her smile again, just once–” he cuts you off, not really listening. His ears filled with static noise, chest heaving. Your other hand comes to his flank, and it’s too much: this place, your touch, the kid, all of it, all of his memories and all of his grief, and he shouldn’t have come here today. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, and for a second, right before he pushes you away, he squeezes your wrist tightly, as tight as he can without really hurting you, lets the heat of your skin burn him, and then lets go of you, harshly shaking you off. 

“I’m fine. I shouldn’t have come here today, I’m sorry. This was a mistake.”

“Joel–”

“Tell Ellie I’m sorry, but I have to go.” And like a fucking coward, like a man his daughter’d be ashamed of, he leaves, runs away from you and the memory of her and another child who needs something he is not equipped to give. 

He listens to the sound of your voice calling after him, and he is nothing but sorry and nothing but too much of a man he wishes he’d never been made into. 

-

You’re on your second margarita when he walks in. Trailing his brother, serious, sullen look on his handsome face. When you’d seen him this morning, after all that time, after the last time which had been so painful and so sad and so full of regret for the circumstance of it, you’d felt like your heart was about to burst through your chest. You thought about him so often, about her, more often, probably, than was warranted or healthy, but the experience of having a child such as that in your care, such a special little person, and having to witness the extinguishing of such a bright flame… Well, calling it a tragedy was entirely inadequate in the face of all it truly was. 

Anna was kind of dating the bartender that worked here, and with Ellie away at a slumber party tonight, the two of you’d decided to have a girl’s night out that you were almost certain was going to turn into a slumber party for Anna with her bartender, Ben, as well. 

You eye the two brothers as they find their spot at the far end of the bar, watch as Tommy, you remember she used to talk about him all the time, flags down Ben to order them two beers, appreciating the way Joel pulls on the glass bottle with that soft, frowning mouth of his. 

He’s so sad. There’s no other word for it. Sad and hurt and made into a sort of tragedy of a man that you wish desperately, and even though it’s not your place, that you could do something to help. The sound of him choking back tears this morning, the sight of him laughing with Ellie, she’d warmed to him immediately which was a miracle all on its own, and he is, you think, a man with so much tenderness to give that has nowhere to go now. And it is nothing but the gravest and saddest sort of tragedy. 

“Hi, Joel.” Eventually, you muster up enough courage, after one more margarita, to approach him. You think that, perhaps, he’ll be annoyed to see you again, another reminder of his past and the difficulty of the morning, but you need to just talk to him one more time. To thank him again for being so brave, to reassure him that he’d done good. Tommy’d abandoned him to brave the waters of the bar a while ago, and he turns in his stool at the sound of your voice to peer over his shoulder. You love his beard, thick and lush and so soft looking, his thick, dark curls, slightly threaded with silver at the temples, and his ridiculously broad back. He’s wearing a dark green button down that brings out the colors in his eyes, tight around the swell of his thick biceps. He’s gorgeous and so fucking hot, and he makes you feel silly with nerves and fizzy bubbles deep in your belly. 

“Hey–” he clears his throat, says your name softly, with a hint of apology. “Hey.”

“I saw you come in earlier, and I– I just wanted to come over and say hi and thank you again for this morning. It was a real nice thing of you to come today.” You try and swallow the shyness and nerves in your voice, but you’re pretty sure you fail spectacularly, can just picture Anna’s mocking giggles as she watches you twist your fingers and fidget in front of the man. 

“You already thanked me,” he says gruffly, “And besides there’s nothing really to thank me for.”

“I know, but again, or anyways,” you stutter, “And there is.” There’s absolutely no reason for these nerves, you know this man, have known him for years, “It was a good thing of you to do. Ellie really liked you–”

“You gave her my apologies, right?” He cuts you off, a thing akin to desperation and worry coloring his tone. 

“I did, don’t worry. She understood.” He looks like he wants to ask what excuse you gave her but forces himself into silence, looking down at his hands in his lap sullenly. “I don’t know… I just wanted to say thank you again.”

“Alright. And I’m sorry too, about earlier – after. I was an ass.”

“You weren’t. I shouldn’t have gone after you, should’ve given you your privacy. I’m sorry. I was nosey.”

He shakes his head, looks up at you with those hazel eyes, “No, I wanted you to come after me.” His voice is rough, like it costs him something to admit this truth to you, “Thank you.”

You have to look away, glancing back at Anna who gives you a wide, cheesy grin and a thumbs up, followed by a much more inappropriate hand gesture. You roll your eyes at her, a hot flush burning your cheeks. “That’s your brother, right? Tommy?” You turn back to him. 

“Yeah, it is… You wanna sit?” He gestures to Tommy’s empty stool. 

“She used to talk about him all the time.” You take the offered seat, nervous for a second that he’ll resent you bringing her up, react badly, but he gives a soft laugh, looking after his brother. “Yeah…” he says slowly, “They were real close.”

“That’s really nice,” you say sincerely. You catch Ben’s eye, and he nods his head at you, turning to get the two of you another round. “You two having a boys night out?”

He gives a short laugh, bringing his beer to his mouth again, pressing the lip of the bottle to his smile, “Guess he was just trying to do the same thing you are right now, distract me, make sure I’m alright or somethin’,” a quick shake of his head, and then takes another drag, and you watch the thick muscles of his neck work as he swallows. You have to look away from the sight, cross your knees together tightly, pulling down the hem of your wrap dress to keep it from riding too high. 

Ben comes around at that moment to place two shots in front of the two of you. “Here you go, baby girl,” a wink and that smarmy little smirk that makes Anna lose her head, for some inexplicable reason, “Tequila for you and your friend here.”

“Baby girl?” Joel eyes you, as you push the shot towards him. 

You roll your eyes, “Ignore him.” He takes the shot from you, fingers brushing yours briefly and you swear you feel a slight jerk move through him. You want him to want you so badly, you think suddenly. 

“Shall we?” you wiggle your eyebrows at him, and he gives you a soft laugh. 

“Seems I don’t got much of a choice,” before clinking his glass against yours, touching the base of it to the bar’s surface, and then shooting it back, not even an insinuation of a grimace as he swallows the strong alcohol, while your face puckers ridiculously. 

Gross. You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut and sucking on the lime Ben had left also. “He sweet on you or somethin’?” 

“No, not at all.”

“Huh, not so sure about that,” he eyes your sister’s boytoy almost sourly, and you get brave or reckless or something, all of a sudden, when you press right up to his ear, your breasts against his arm, emboldened by the liquor or the soft hazel of his eys, or the breadth of his shoulders when you whisper right into the peach fuzz covered shell of his ear, “He’s fucking my sister. Not me.”

He freezes, a soft, masculine sound rumbling deep in his chest before he clears his throat. He sets the glass down, and then slowly turns to face you, gripping your knee briefly as he spins on the barstool to bring your legs between the space of his spread thighs. He’s so thick everywhere. 

“Is that so?” The place on your legs where he’d gripped you burns and throbs and the other, softer place between your thighs drips and aches. You nod your head at him, temple resting in your palm propped on the edge of the bar. Ben walks by again, snagging your attention from Joel’s molten gaze, “Gimme permission to come over tonight?” he says as he passes. 

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh after him, and you swear you feel the whisper of Joel’s touch on the curve of your bare knee again. When you turn to look back at him he’s staring down at you, a flush sitting high on his cheekbones. 

There’s something slightly bold or desperate or sad stirring inside of you, and you need to hear the sound of his voice. You wish you could make things better for him. You wish that perpetual look of grief didn’t sit so deeply embedded in his gaze all the time now. 

“You know that feeling of knowing someone, but not knowing them?” He asks you suddenly. “You and I, we’ve known each other for years. You were Sarah’s teacher, and she talked about you all the time – her last teacher – and I felt like I knew you, even though I didn’t really, not in a way that mattered, not in the way I would have liked, if I’m bein’ honest, but we knew each other peripherally. And I wanted you, all that time ago,” he laughs a boyishly shy little huff of laughter interrupting the rush of his confessed words, the crests of his cheeks flushing bright, “In that way you want someone you don't know but see all the time and want to know better. And now, it’s like… like we’re meeting again for the first time, but in a different way, in a way we’ve never met before, and yet you know so much about me already. You knew my daughter, spent time with her, you cared about her – it’s… I don’t really know what it is I’m trying to say, to be honest. I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, another unsurely shy laugh, and you reach out to set your hand softly on his knee, rubbing the thick, muscular ball of it. It’s okay, you nod and shake your head at him at the same time. Confused also, with what you’re trying to convey, but knowing you want him to continue anyway. “You knew me before in a different way, and I’m not that man anymore. And I don’t know who I am now, or I’m beginning to relearn, but I’m not there just yet,” He trails off, and then softly: “Have you ever not known yourself?”

You tilt your chin slowly, watching the slow rove of the leftover tequila in the glass as you roll the base of it along the grain of the bar. “I’m… I’m not sure. Would it be very naive or arrogant or shallow to say, no? That I’ve always known myself, that even when I was lost or afraid, I was still certain of who I was, or at the very least, who I wanted to be? Like… like sometimes when you’re uncertain of the next step, or– or of what it is that you want to do next, but you still know the direction, maybe? Or what ending you’d like?” You give a brief huff of laughter, not really meaning to laugh, but expelling the air anyway, glancing down at where you’re still gripping his knee. He lays his own large paw over your much finer hand, calluses on his palm that you can feel on the back of your knuckles. “I think now we’re both, maybe, not making sense. But I think that sometimes happiness is only the peripheral thought, the peripheral ending, like obviously we all always want to end up happy. I was always open to the journey, open to the different avenues my life could take, but all I’ve ever wanted was for me and Anna, and then later, Ellie, to be okay, to be happy. Nothing else matters after that. The way I get there, the way I’d make it happen never mattered. Only that, in the end, we’re okay.”

“No… I know exactly what you mean.” His brow caves in on itself, “I know exactly what you mean because I failed at that. That was all I ever wanted too, and look at what I ended up with. She’s gone, I failed her.”

“But you didn’t, Joel,” you say with all the fervor you can pull from your heart, all the certainty you absolutely know that he’s wrong with. You bring your other hand to his other knee, leaning forward to make absolutely sure he’s understanding. “You can’t honestly say that. You’re right, I did know her, and that little girl was an exceedingly happy child. If anything, you were nothing but a triumph, and you need to hold on to that, and think of it every single day for the rest of your life. You were triumphant in that girl. Never forget it.  There is not even a shadow of failure in the memory of that child and the life she led.” And this does not seem like the appropriate environment to be having such a conversation, but you push on. His hand tightens over yours almost painfully, his blunt rough nails digging into your soft skin. “When she died – was she scared? Or peaceful?”

“She was so fucking brave,” he chokes. “She was so fucking brave. There wasn’t an ounce of fear in that heart. I’d swallowed all of it. I’d swallowed all the fear either of us could ever carry. She’s the one that held me while I fell to pieces. While I lied through my fucking teeth and told her it would be okay, that I’d be okay, that she could rest, she could go. And held me and tried to soothe me and told me she’d see me again one day, but not too soon. Eight years old, dying and comforting her father, cracking jokes. She was so fucking brave, and I’d promised her that we’d both be – that we’d both have courage and both get out of it, and in the end, I ended up being nothing but a goddamn liar.” And there are tears in his eyes, and maybe you shouldn’t and maybe you’re overstepping and maybe it’s the alcohol, but you lean forward in your barstool, that boldness and that desperation and that sadness pushing you along so that your knees are sliding further between his spread thighs to wrap your arms around his neck to hug him tightly to yourself, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, big hand coming up to cup the back of your head. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, even though you know the words are redundant. Even though he’s probably heard them an antagonizing amount of times. You are so sorry, and you have to tell him that you wish you could help him in some other way, that he’d not have to bear this alone, that he’d never have had to live it at all. I’m so sorry, Joel. I’m sorry that you lost your daughter, and I’m sorry you’re alone now, and I’m sorry we didn’t know each other better before, but maybe we can know each other now. I’d like to know you now more than anything else.

You feel the rattle of his wide back as he takes in a shaky breath, and you slide your hand soothingly up the broad expanse to tangle in the curls at the nape of his neck. 

“I’m sorry,” he laughs wetly into the warm space beneath your jaw, rolling his forehead against your shoulder, “I’m killing the mood,” and you feel the wet press of lips to the soft spot beneath your ear, right at the vulnerable hollow. Your heart stutters, and you shiver a syrupy sweet little jitter down the line of your vertebrae in the clutch of his arms, letting your head fall to the side to open yourself further to him, you smell good, whispered into your skin, but the two of you are sitting at the center of the crowded bar, industriously dedicated patrons hooting and hollering around you, and you can feel Anna’s nosey gaze zeroed into the back of your head so you pull away, letting your hand on the back of his head drag around along the edge of his jaw, fingernails pulling through the soft whiskers of his beard so that you can feel the snick, snick, snick of each bristle beneath your nail. 

“Let’s go outside,” you whisper, made only of boldness and desperation and want now. Wetness pooling at the center of you. 

He pulls back, and his hand slides to grip your jaw in his wide, rough hand. The architecture of you feels inconsequential and without strength or steel in his grasp. “For what?” Voice serious but also knowing, also provoking. 

“I wanna kiss you.” Might as well be honest now that you’ve got his hands on you.

“I think that if we go out there, I’m gonna do more than just kiss you. You prepared for that?”

“Yes, let’s go,” and you’re already pulling him out of his barstool before the words are even fully out. His hand goes to your elbow to steady you as your feet meet the ground, and you can’t help but give him a small laugh. “Are you okay?” Just making sure.

“Yeah, I’m okay, sweetheart. Are you?” His gaze is so warm. 

“Yes.” And you can’t help but smile widely up at him. He gives you a huff of laugh through a half crooked smile that looks a little bit like the sliver of the moon when it’s nothing but a silver crescent in the sky, hand wrapping entirely around your bicep to tug you closer. You feel a little bit out of control when you slide your hand over his belly, and his eyes go immediately dark and molten, rubbing slowly up his chest. He makes a deep, rough sound, low in his throat. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” He pulls you along behind him, and as you’re making your way together out the door, you hear the sound of Anna whooping and whistling loudly behind you right before the bar door slams shut. 

He tugs you along behind him, and then passes you gently in his hands to walk in front of him as he weaves through the crowded parking lot, his wide chest, smoldering hot through his clothes, pressed up against your back, big hands wrapped around the soft of your hips. You feel him nosing into the curtain of your hair, smelling you and humming appreciatively, and you realize that he’s steering you towards the back of the parking lot, his familiar truck tucked into the far dark corner, and you twist, suddenly, in his arms, walking backwards and reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. His hands go to the small of your back, bunching your dress in his hands tightly so that you feel the humid night air against the uppermost backs of your thighs. The look in his eyes is so dark, so wanting, and he presses you tight against his chest, your breasts squished up against the hard planes of him. He’s not even looking where he’s going, and your feet are barely touching the ground anymore as you tiptoe backwards, guided by his embrace. One of his hands comes up to grip the curve of your jaw, and then you feel the side of the truck against your back. He hoists you higher up towards his mouth, “I’m going to kiss you now,” he says, and before you can even think about saying yes, yes, please, finally, he’s swallowing your breath in his mouth, eyes still slightly open to watch you as he does it, pushing his tongue into the wet gleam of you to taste everything you so desperately want to offer him. He nips at your full bottom lip, then laps at it soothingly, and you moan for him, head falling back on your neck to open further for him, cradled now in the palm of his hand. Your hands smooth down the sides of his neck and then curl to scrape your nails down his stomach, and he groans into you, one thick thigh shoving between your knees. One of his palms slides over your hip to grip the curve of your ass, the other coming up, gentle yet unyielding, to circle your throat and tip your chin up to him as he pulls back to look down at you. The hand on your ass tips your pelvis into his and pulls your core along the broad expanse of his thigh so that your pussy slowly rides the hard muscle, once, twice. “Joel–” you gasp. 

“Back seat,” he orders, tugging the truck door open and hoisting you inside. Are you really about to let this man fuck you in the back seat of his truck in a crowded parking lot? Yes, yes, you are. He follows in after you, and then slams the door shut behind him, encasing the both of you in this quiet, paused moment before he’s pulling you forward to straddle his lap, spreading his legs wide to widen your own stance perched atop him. You listen to the sound of your panting breaths as he runs his hands over your curves, squeezing and kneading as he goes, and you plant your palms on his strong chest, smoothing them down over his belly, reaching the line of his belt to tuck them inside, he growls low, leans forward to lick at your throat and you feel the tug of his fingers at the tie of your wrap dress, then the pull of the fabric as he bares you for his eyes. You pop the first few buttons of his shirt as his wet mouth moves down the thrumming line of your neck, over the wing of your clavicle to the tops of your breasts where he pulls back to take you in. You’re wearing a soft pink lace bra and a matching thong, and as his eyes move down the length of you, the fire already smoldering within seems to ricochet up to a burning inferno. There is something about the look in his eyes, compared to before, compared to the usual look, that is even more thrilling than just the fact of him gazing upon your naked body. He’s always so serious, melancholy and sad and straightforward, in a way. But taking him in like this, the way he’s looking at you now like he wants nothing more than to devour you, to push inside of you, it makes it all the headier. “Fuckin’ gorgeous, look at you,” he murmurs, smoothes his hand over your breasts, thumb catching and flicking at your nipple, down the soft swell of your belly, stopping at the little bow at the front of your thong. He pushes the sleeve of your dress over one shoulder and tugs you forwards, you feel him lift the back of your dress over the curve of your bottom, his hand following the path of bared skin, taking in the tiny scap of lace disappearing between your asscheeks, and he makes a breathy, desperate sound, “Where the fuck are the rest of your panties, little girl?” He pinches the lush of your ass, smoothes his hand down and around to cup you between your legs, and you’re sure he can feel the soaking wet there because you listen to the sound of his gasp, and then he’s pressing there, seeking out your clit and rolling gentle circles to the swollen, throbbing nub. You run your hands up his chest into his hair, gripping there, pressing your nose into the thick curls to take in the scent of him and then running them down the heavy swell of his biceps. He’s so masculine, hard in all the places you’re soft, and wet, for him. His other hand grips your hip to pull you closer, rolling you onto the thick line of his erection, and oh God, he’s big. You can tell just like this, thick and long. Your hand moves to his belt buckle, pulling at the leather and the zipper of his jeans, and then you’re slipping your fingers beneath his boxers and wrapping around the thick heft of him. “Jesus, fuck–” he gasps. 

You fist him tightly, squeezing at the thick root of his cock and sliding up to the fat head to twist there gently. His fingers move beneath the line of your panties, finally making contact with your bare skin. 

“Fucking wet little cunt. Shit, you’re soaked for me, baby.” All you can do is moan as you pull him out of his jeans. He’s heavy in your palm and your mouth waters as you take in the sight of his big cock. Thick and long, wide, drooling head an angry red verging on purple. He hooks the gusset of your panties to the side and slides the underside of the shaft through your swollen lips, pressing the fat tip to your clit, and then sliding along your slit to catch softly at your opening. “Joel, please–” you moan. The head of his cock catches again and again, and you’re so wet, coating his thick length in your slick. He reaches to pull both cups of your bra down, exposing your breasts to his gaze and when his mouth latches onto one peaked nipple, sucking sharply, his other hand wrapping around the heavy weight of your other breast you cry out, fingernails digging into his thick shoulders. You use your grip on his shoulders to drag yourself along the length of his shaft while he sucks and nips at your breasts, pulling back to gently slap the full side of one, sending a jerking shiver through you while he watches how it jiggles and sways for him. “Shit, you’re too fuckin’ pretty,” he groans, and you’re about to come just from this, just the feeling of his thick cock sliding through the lips of your sex, and you tell him so, wet mouth presses to the arch of his ear, you tell him you’re about to come, but he changes the angle, presses his hips up and then the tip of his cock is breaching the dripping mouth of your cunt, stretching you wide to take him and you both pant and gasp, burying your face in his neck as one wide hand presses at the base of your spine, forcing you to take more of that impossible length. You feel the pinch and snap of your thong around your hips as he rips the scrap of lace off of you, and you think you must shake your head or something, make some soft sound because he tuts his tongue in a gentle reprimand, “All of it, baby. The whole thing.” He squeezes your breast, strums at your nipple, presses a feather light kiss to the hinge of your jaw, and you feel your cunt flutter around him, sucking him deeper so that he can wedge that thick cock further inside of you. “Yeah… Fuck, yeah. Just like that, good girl. You asked for this, sweet girl.” You hitch and sob into his neck, clawing at his shoulders as he finally forces you down all the way onto him, buried balls deep in your weeping, fluttering pussy. “Now you’ve gotta take the whole thing, no cryin’” He sounds like he’s spitting the words through clenched teeth, struggling to get them out despite the demand of them. “You’re doing so good,” he whispers, “Taking my big cock in this tiny little cunt.” He kisses your ear, your throat, pulls back to suck on your nipples, all while his hands on your ass start to rock you on his length, working you loose and wet and pliant. 

“Fuck– fuck, Joel–” 

“I know, I know, it’s so much, isn’t it? But you can take it– deep breath, you can take it.” He fucks up into you, holding your hips steady as he feeds you his cock over and over again, and you drip down onto his balls and the leather seat beneath. “Does that feel good, sweet girl? Tell me–”

“It’s so– it’s so good. Wanted it so bad–” you slur, wet cheek pressed to his shoulder, you mouth at his neck, little teeth digging into the thick line of muscle so that he’s growling, thrusting up quick and a little painful into your cunt, tip punching right at your cervix. 

“Lemme see you– I’ve gotta see you,” he says suddenly and presses you back. You reach back to plant your hands on his spread knees, arching your back to present yourself to him. His gaze is almost manic, licking over your skin, your bouncing tits as he fucks up into you, the swell of your tummy glistening with a fine sheen of sweat, down finally to the place where he’s fucking in and out of your swollen, blushed cunt, stretched obscenely around the base of him. “You’re so goddamned lucky we’re in a car right now,” he growls. He jerks you back into him, both hands squeezing your ass in each palm and rolling you hard and fast onto his impaling cock, your swollen clit presses into his pelvis on every thrust in, and you feel your cunt pull tight and then go loose as you start to come around him. Yes, yes, yes, fuck, yes – just like that. His cock kissing your g-spot with every press inside. You sob into his neck, pull at his hair, scratch at his shoulders and neck as you gush around him. 

He surges up then, orgasm not entirely abated, and flips you over onto your back, laying you down on the truck’s bench. He pulls his dripping cock out of your still grasping clutch to kneel down on the floorboard, hulking form entirely too large to fit in the tight space, and drags the broad, flat of his tongue through your drenched sex, tasting the echoes and throbs of your climax, sucking your clit and your come into his mouth while you sob up into the roof of his truck. He pushes your knees up to your chest, displaying you for himself entirely and devours you. “Fuck, there ain’t enough room in this fuckin’ truck to eat your cunt the way I need to,” his accent suddenly heavier, a sharper twang cutting off the end of his words, lost to the taste of you and the feel of you and the scent of you. You lean up onto your elbows, sweaty face burning bright hot with shyness as you take in the sight of his mouth wrapped around your clit, lapping at your leaking sex. He looks up at you, reaches up to wrap one hand around your breast, one of your legs is hanging down the length of his back over his shoulder, the other hooked at the bend of his elbow to keep you open and spread wide for him, and the two of you hold gazes for a moment. His eyes flash with something… different to desire or lust, something more in tune with whatever it is that’s happening here between the two of you right now, something more than just a quick fuck. You whisper his name, and his eyes flash again, predatory and desperate, and he’s pushing up, the wet sound of his mouth unlatching from your pussy and crawling back up onto the seat bench, pressing his slick wet mouth to yours and licking into you, sloppy. “Taste–” he orders, he pulls back, fists the root of his cock and feeds it back into your gaping cunt, “That’s what it tastes like when you come for me.” His voice is a growl, something like a commandment or a promise, something else that hums beneath the mere words, something that says this is happening again, I need this to happen again, I’ve wanted this longer than I can say. He fucks into the very end of you, and you squeeze your eyes shut, let him maneuver and manhandle you to his liking so that both of your ankles lay limply over his shoulders, pressed entirely in half for him to pound into you. 

“Open your fucking eyes,” he pants. “Look at me,” he begs. You do, and you watch a bead of sweat roll slowly down his temple, over the curve of his jaw to the point of his chin, and then drip and splash down onto the swell of your breast, seep into your skin. 

He’s so deep like this, right at the heart of you, and it hurts and it feels good and you can’t help but think about the next time already, hope that this can happen again. “Yes, Joel,” you gasp, “Please, don’t stop.”

“Yeah?” He grits, lifting one hand to hold on to the edge of the window above your head, the other gripping at your ass to pull you onto him harder. “Yeah, just like that– Taking me so well, baby. Taking the whole thing like such a good girl.” He’s so big, maybe too big, and he pounds into your cunt, forces you to take the entire thing, thick thighs bracketing your frame, cock punching at your womb over and over again. You feel cock drunk, Joel drunk, and you turn your face to press into the back of the seat crying, telling him you’re about to come again. 

“God, yes, yes, you’re such a good girl. Come on my cock again, one more time for me.” His thrusts speed up, harsher, stronger and he’s saying your name while you sob out his, while you leak around him. “Hey,” he grips your jaw, gives your head a little shake, “Hey, baby– you gotta tell me where. Where can I come? Inside? Can I come inside?” It sounds, a little bit, like he’s beginning. 

You nod your head, yes, gaze delirious, unfocused, the swell of his anchoring bicep is so thick and distracting, and you start to milk his thrusting cock inside of you, muscles squeezing tight, fluttering loose – please, please, please, come inside of me, please, I want it so bad. He groans, grits a curse, your name, something that sounds like gratitude, and then he’s filling you, thick cock kicking and jerking and spitting his come right at the mouth of your womb, inciting your own orgasm to throb again, again, harder, deeper. 

-

He drops his head to the damp crook of your shoulder, takes in the heady scent of your sweat and sex, licks a path up the side of your throat. He’s careful not to ask you to bear the full, heavy weight of him, and he pulls his hips back, shivering at the sensitive slide of his spent cock falling from your wet cunt. He sits back, grasps your knees to keep you spread and watches the flutter and clench of your hole as the thick white leak of his spend starts to drool out of you. He gives a low, appreciative hum, and then bends forwards to press his face into your tummy, nuzzling there softly. Your hands come to his hair, panting chest heaving, and he mouths and sucks at the skin of your stomach, the undersides of your breasts as you both catch your breaths. He looks up, then, suddenly, a thought occurring to him, “You’re going to have dinner with me, right?” Voice a little frantic. 

You give him a slow, lovely smile, eyes sparkling, “Think we’ve gone and done things a little out of order here, haven’t we?”

He frowns in mock severity, then presses his face back into your tummy, another soft kiss, and shakes his head slowly, “No,” another kiss, this one to your hip, “Not at all. This morning counts as breakfast together.” He looks up to give you a quick, boyish grin. “How I see it, that’s actually an extreme dedication to order. Breakfast, sex, dinner.”

You sigh, laugh softly, “You know… I’m actually a little hungry right now,” you say contemplatively.

“Burgers? Fries?”

“Milkshake?”

“Well, we’ve gotta have somethin’ to dip ‘em in, right?”

“Of course.” Your fingers twist in his hair, pulling him up towards your mouth, “You’re so smart.”

“Very true. You’ve gotta stick with me now, I’ll teach you everything I know.” A kiss, another and another. 

He rests his face back on your belly, looking up at you, and you run the pad of your thumb over the fan of his lashes, and he feels so happy. 

-

It’s been months since then… and still even now, when he looks at you, all he knows is that he’s sure you saved his fucking life. 

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

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[3nni3]

What happens in teledisko, stays in teledisko...

cw: +18, nsfw, rpf, consumption of alcohol, smut (handjob), cursing, lowkey exhibitionism. f! reader

a/n: when the idiots get an idea for a story, i make it happen. this is my first smut i've ever published, and english isn't my first language, but i hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing this. also if you find any mistakes, no you didn't 😅

no word count because idfk i wrote this in my phone's notes app👍🏻 kinda short one

okay let's go

----------------------------------------------

The night had started out with getting drinks at the nearest Späti. You two had been wandering around Berlin for a few hours now, getting drinks at every corner store. After seven different spätis, and six beers (one stop was to get a bottle of water, even though the tall man who accompanied you wasn't that excited about your drink of choice) you started feeling tipsy and tired.

Sightseeing in Berlin was amazing, but tiring. You felt the energy being drained from your body and ready to return to your hotel, but the man who was sat next to you in this tram had other ideas.

--

"Found it!" he basically dragged you after him, holding your hand gently but firmly as you approached the teledisco booth. This was a mutual agreement earlier today, before you felt too tired, but your time together was getting closer to an end so you pushed past the exhaustion and enjoyed the moment.

You stop in front of the screen to choose a song, and he stands next to you, his hands now in his pockets.

Scrolling through the music lists, looking for the perfect one, you find something. "Can we do Gimme Gimme Gimme by ABBA?" you ask and press the button, without waiting for an answer. He grabs you by your shoulders and pushes you in the booth, closing the door behind him laughing.

The first notes of Gimme Gimme Gimme starts playing, lights flash and the vibe is intense. You scream out the lyrics together, your arms against each other as you feel the beat of the music in your body.

The space is small, not much air left between you two as you glance up at him, noticing his eyes on you, the hot air in the booth making him sweat and his face glisten. 'He looks so fucking hot' you think to yourself as you suddenly get pressed against the wall, startled. His chest is flush against yours as he gently tilts your head up, feeling his breath against your lips as you look him in the eyes.

"You're gonna be the death of me..." his voice is a whisper, but loud enough for you to hear. He captures your lips in a heated kiss, the music fading in the background as you feel his tongue brush against your lower lip. The intensity of the moment drowns your thoughts and your mind gets blurry. The blonde man's hands explore your body as yours find their way to his hair, pulling slightly as he moans against your lips. That must be the most gorgeous sound you have ever heard. You pull away to breathe, he smiles against your lips as the song nears it's end and you hear the last chords of it playing.

"Another song or do we get the fuck out of here?" he asks smirking. You push him away, laughing, as you pass him and step out of the booth, going back to the screen to choose another song. Joost stands behind you, and you feel him take a step closer. His chest pressing up against your back and you feel lips on your neck, making your breath shaky. Shaking him off of you, you open the door to the booth. "Ladies first," you joke as he rolls his eyes laughing, entering the booth.

Stepping in the booth after him as Call Out My Name by The Weeknd starts playing, and everything feels like a fever dream. Beautiful man in front of you, smiling his charming smile, you both surrounded by music and flashing lights.

"So this was your song of choice huh?" his voice low as he presses you against a wall once again. You feel his hand dragging down from your chest, over your stomach, to the hem of your skirt, lifting it up as his fingers trace your inner thigh. Whimpers leave your mouth as he grins at you, pressing his lips slowly against yours.

"What's up with all the teasing?" you ask, pulling away for a moment, playing with the buckle of his belt, and it opens...accidentally? Oops. Your fingers find their way to the waistband of his boxers, sliding ever so slightly underneath it. As a shaky moan escapes his lips, he laughs quietly, his eyes closed and his head slightly tilted back, mouth staying open. You slide your hand a bit further and his eyebrows furrow as he whimpers, begging for any kind of friction with the desperate sounds leaving his mouth. He drags his hand up your thigh, thumb getting dangerously close to your heat, turning the tables as you're now the one who's desperately trying to hold back the whining.

"Oh so this is how you wanna play?" you smirk as you slide your hand fully in his boxers, placing your fingers firmly around his length as your thumb brushes over the tip. He lets out a loud moan, slapping a hand over his mouth to muffle the beautiful sounds as you stroke him up and down. His head falls back, eyes squeezing shut and his concentration drifting away enough so he drops his other hand down from your thigh, fully at your mercy now.

"You sure you wanna keep doing this here?" you ask as he moans again. "I truly do not give a fuck." he answers with his head still tilted back and eyes squeezed shut. You grin and move your hand faster, as he grabs your shoulders to gain some kind of balance. As if it wouldn't be hard enough to maintain your own balance with how tipsy you are, you now need to hold up the man who's literally towering over you. His head falls forward on your shoulder as your thumb brushes over his tip again.

"I'm not gonna last much longer, liefde..." he lets out a chuckle, but not amused one. More like an 'embarrassed about how strongly he reacts to your touch' one. Proud smile creeps up on your lips as you try to hold the man up while he moans shakily in your ear. "The song isn't that long either." you remind him, and the exciting realisation hits you both that anyone could open the door any second and see this all.

You feel yourself getting more wet by every moan he lets out, every breath you feel against your neck. He presses his mouth on the soft skin of your neck, nibbling as he tries to muffle out his begging whimpers. You work your hand up and down, earning more and more beautiful sounds that get louder by every stroke.

You feel him twitch in your grip, his teeth on your neck making sure there's going to be a mark to remind you of this later. "Don't stop... please liefje, please don't stop," his weak words can be heard repeatedly against your neck as your strokes get faster and faster. His hips thrust up to meet the movement of your hand, chasing the high. The last chorus of the song starts playing in the background and your hand works it's magic on his length, feeling the twitching again.

With a final few strokes you feel your hand being coated by his warm release. High pitched whimpers leave his mouth, turning into breathless chuckles as his forehead remains rested on your shoulder. "Fuck...liefde..." he tries to catch his breath, "you're insane..." he finally manages to mumble, still chuckling, as he lifts his head up from your shoulder to meet your eyes.

You laugh, pulling your hand out of his pants and fixing his belt as the song's final chords fade out. He opens the door, places a soft kiss on your lips and steps out as you walk behind him, wiping your hand to a tissue you found in your purse.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

CW: incel-like behavior

WIBTA if I brought up a topic from our group chat to my therapist?

Important background: this story does not take place in the US and everyone (except my therapist) is autistic. Names are fake in case anyone from the story uses tumblr for some reason. English is not my first language.

Six years ago, my therapist convinced me to join a therapy group organised by her. The idea behind the group is to help autistic people like myself get better at social interactions, managing our emotions, things like that. It’s been quite fun, and I enjoy the monthly sessions.

My therapist encourages us to talk to each other and meet up in between and/or after sessions, so we have a group chat for that. In that group chat, we essentially talk about whatever we want without the fear of being judged. Last couple of days we had, let’s say, an unfortunate conversation.

One of the members (Peter, 20sM) went on a rant about a girl who rejected him in favor of some ugly guy (we never got to see pictures of said guy) and that he felt “betrayed” and began believing he won’t “find any woman who will love him”. Some of us consoled him, saying that it sucks but he should focus on other things he enjoys to cope/move on. Another member (John, 19M), however, gave him “advice” which sounded a lot like incel talking points – how most women are selfish and superficial, how he’d need to be tougher/more selective to find “one of the good ones”, things like that.

There are 4 girls in the group chat including me, and none of us said anything regarding that (we sort of pretended that didn’t happen). Neither did the 8 other guys. Personally for me, I didn’t feel safe doing so because I’ve had a bad experience with a guy who wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I decided to just not talk about it and block both Peter and John. I don’t know how the other girls felt about that conversation because they didn’t talk about it with me.

I’m thinking about bringing this topic up the next time I have solo therapy (after this post is up, at least). I’m worried I won’t be well received for two reasons:

1) My therapist has explicitly said she doesn’t care about what we do in the group chat and we should solve problems ourselves.

2) Other members will find out about this and accuse me of leaking information and generally being hostile towards me.

WIBTA if I brought up this conversation to my therapist anyway?

[zosin-ya]

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 11 - ʙᴜʀᴅᴇɴ

Summary: It had been weeks since you had talked to Law, feeling drained from the past events. You needed time to figure the relationship out, which caused you to run away from talking completely and be confronted with a storm, none of you were ready to face.

tags: Law x Reader, Modern AU, angst, a lot of tears baby, confessions,

a/n.: I wanted to write about Law expressing more intense emotions, hope all of you enjoy this cuz I rewrote this so many time ;; (i fkn cried writing this omfg send help;;)

[ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ɪɴᴅᴇx]

The last two weeks had passed in a haze. You couldn’t quite put words to it. Somewhere between numbness and exhaustion. Since that incident at the ceremony, you kept your distance towards Law, hoping time might help you make sense of things.

Slowly however, you started to question whether this thing with him was worth pursuing. You knew being with Law wouldn’t be easy. You were ready to face any storm he was battling. But the way Law kept you at arm’s length—never letting you in, yet exposing you to his world without a warning—cut deeper than you’d expected. The idea of ending things twisted painfully in your chest; you didn’t want to let him go. But maybe it was for the best… or maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t.

“Miss Y/N!”

The sharp voice jolted you back to reality and ripped you out of your thoughts. Startled, you looked up to see the clinical professor staring you down through her thin glasses, an impatient expression on her face. You felt the eyes of your classmates on you as well, and even the patient in the hospital bed, a faint trace of amusement in his gaze. Your stomach twisted with embarrassment as heat crept up your neck.

“I asked you a question,” the professor said, her tone laced with disapproval. “If you’re serious about becoming a doctor, you don’t have the luxury of drifting off in your head.”

The comment stung, and you forced yourself to hold her stern gaze, giving a small nod of acknowledgment.

“Apologies, Professor,” you replied, quickly gathering your focus. “For a Pseudomonas infection, kanamycin.”

The professor’s expression softened slightly as she nodded, and a flicker of approval crossed her face. You’d gotten it right—barely.

Clinic hours were proving to be tougher than you’d expected. Instead of simply memorizing facts, you were constantly moving from one department to another, shadowing doctors, working alongside nurses, and having to think on your feet with real patients in front of you. Every case was a test of your knowledge and intuition, and every question was a reminder that this wasn’t just theory—it was real.

And there was clearly no space to be distracted by personal matters.

With a quiet sigh, you finished up your tasks and left the patient’s room together. The professor gave you a few last-minute reminders, her voice fading into the background as you fought off the wave of fatigue. All you could think about was going home, collapsing onto the couch, grabbing something to eat, and letting your mind go blissfully blank.

As you made your way back to the lockers to hang up your white coat and grab your belongings, a flash of movement caught your eye.

You paused, squinting down the hall, and felt your stomach twist. Just for a second, you thought you saw him. Law.

He passed by with a group of students, their chatter filling the hallway as he trailed a few steps behind. You couldn’t see his face, but his posture told the story—you could tell he was drained. You’d come to know him well enough to notice the subtle signs.

You felt a pang of concern. A part of you wanted to walk over, to stop him, maybe even say something. But then the memories from the ceremony flooded back, bringing with them a surge of tension, of unresolved words and feelings. You hesitated, torn between the impulse to reach out and the instinct to keep your distance.

In the end, you turned away, your heart heavy as you continued down the hallway. The hospital doors closed behind you, a finality that sank in as you stepped into the cool evening.

The walk home was uneventful, the same routine of passing streetlights and faded storefronts. By the time you reached your apartment, you felt like you’d run on autopilot the whole way. You kicked off your shoes, let your bag slide off onto the floor, and grabbed your phone to order takeout. Cooking was out of the question tonight.

The moment you hit the order button, a thought flashed through your mind: there was a chance Law could be the one delivering it. You were pretty sure he still worked that job. For a brief, dizzying second, your heart skipped, a mix of nerves and anticipation stirring in your chest. But you quickly suffocated the feeling, refusing to let your thoughts linger on him. You told yourself it didn’t matter, that it was just an order—nothing more.

“Ah, fuck it,” you muttered, flopping onto the couch with a heavy sigh. You weren’t about to change your plans just because of the awkward, unresolved tension hanging between you two. You knew a conversation was inevitable, but for now, avoiding it seemed easier.

A few quiet minutes passed, each one stretching longer than the last, until the doorbell rang, making you jump. You cursed under your breath—maybe you weren’t as good at pretending as you’d thought. The thought that Law might stand in front of your door made you freeze at the spot. The seconds dragged as you sat there, heart pounding, almost daring yourself to ignore it. But the bell rang again, sharper this time, each chime pulling you closer to the reality you were trying to ignore.

You took a deep breath, got up, and crossed the room, your pulse hammering louder with every step. What would you say if he was there? Would he say something, or ignore you completely? Each footfall seemed to echo the questions swirling in your mind, but you shoved them down, focusing on the task at hand. With one last inhale, you gripped the handle and pulled the door open.

...it wasn’t him.

A strange mix of relief and disappointment washed over you as you started at the stranger, hitting harder than you’d expected. You let out the breath you’d been holding, managing a polite smile.

The delivery person gave you a confused look, irritated by how you had just swung open the door and seemed relieved.

Weird chick, he thought, yet stretched out the warm paper bag of food towards you and waited for you to pay.

You took the bag and handed over the money with your usual tip before closing the door. For a moment, you simply stood there, as your heart was slowly settling back to it's calm rhythm. Did you actually want him to show up? You’d been so anxious about it, and yet… here you were, feeling let down that some random guy brought you your food.

Why hadn’t you reached out to him, did you want things to end like this? Law had tried more than once, always patient, until you’d finally told him you needed some time. And, true to his word, he’d respected that boundary, hadn’t pushed or chased after you, as if he understood you better than you understood yourself.

Setting the food on the coffee table, you absentmindedly grabbed your phone and opened your chat with him. The last message was from Law, two weeks ago. Just a single word: "Ok."

Nothing more.

You bit your lip, staring at the empty message box, fingers hovering over the keys. Before you could think about it, your fingers moved on their own.

You typed a simple “Hey,” then deleted it. Typed a different message, something longer, only to erase that too. You could practically feel the weight of the unsent messages pressing down on you, the silence between you two growing louder.

Avoiding him had only made reaching out harder. Now here you were, caught in a web of your own hesitations, unable to even send a god damn text. The thought of finally talking it all through tightened its grip on you, a knot of anxiety you couldn’t shake. You stared at the empty message box, frustrated with yourself, wondering when—if—you’d ever find the words.

“Fucking hell…” you muttered, letting your head drop, shoulders sagging under the weight of this shitshow. You were on the verge of losing him, and that thought scared you more than you’d allowed yourself to admit. You didn’t want things to end, not like this. But you needed answers—an explanation that only Law could give you. And you’d never get it if you kept silent.

A flicker of courage rose within you, shaky but determined.

You typed out a simple, “Can we talk?” and hit send before anxiety could tighten its grip on you again. The message was out there, hanging in the ether between you, irreversible.

Staring at the screen, your heart pounded in your chest, each beat growing louder, more urgent, as you waited. You couldn’t stop your leg from bouncing, a nervous twitch you couldn’t shake. Your eyes stayed glued to the phone, biting your nails, praying he wouldn’t leave you hanging.

A minute passed. Then another. Five minutes.

This was torture.

Frustrated, you tossed your phone aside, hoping the noise of the TV would drown out the growing anxiety. But it didn’t. Your appetite had vanished, and the food sat untouched on the coffee table as you mindlessly flicked through streaming services. Every few minutes, you glanced at your phone, your stomach sinking each time the screen remained dark.

An hour passed, then another. It was getting late, and the hope that he’d respond had dimmed. You were just about to turn off the TV and drag yourself to bed when your phone finally lit up.

"When?"

The message startled you so much that you almost crashed against your coffee table as you reached for your phone. Heart pounding, you unlocked it, fingers hovering as you processed his reply. Before you could reply, the typing bubbles appeared, and you held your breath, leg bouncing in anticipation.

"I have time if it’s not too late."

“Now?”

A pause. Then, simply: "Yea."

You felt like your heart was going to jump out of your chest as you stared at his response. This was it. The nerves churned in your stomach, but you felt a small spark of relief—he was willing to talk. You didn’t know where this would go or if it would make things any clearer, but at least you wouldn’t be sitting in silence anymore.

“I'm home. Come over.”

Law arrived quickly. You opened the door, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you felt heavy, thick with all the words that lingered but hadn’t yet found their way out. His eyes met yours, a flicker of something unreadable passing between you before he looked down.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

“...hi."

He slipped off his shoes with a familiar ease but without his usual energy, and you gestured toward the couch. He nodded, moving past you, the faint sound of his footsteps almost disappearing into the silence. You followed, sitting down beside him, both of you careful, leaving a strange, deliberate space between you on the cushions.

Now that he was here, you saw him more clearly. Law looked… rough. Dark circles sat under his eyes, his hair was disheveled, and a stubble cast a shadow over his jaw. His eyes were dull, as if they couldn’t bear the weight of whatever he was holding inside. His shoulders slumped, the tension in his frame draining him.

A tense silence stretched between you, filling the room with a charged stillness. Law’s gaze was fixed on his lap, his fingers tracing slow, restless circles on the back of his hand. At first glance, he looked calm, almost still, but a closer look revealed the tension woven into his every movement.

Finally, he drew in a shaky breath, the silence cracking as he let out a heavy sigh. He forced himself to look up, his eyes meeting yours.

“I’m sorry…” His voice was low, almost hoarse. “For what happened. For all of it.”

You stayed silent, arms wrapped around yourself as you pulled your legs close. The memory of that day crept back, clear and sharp—the way he’d exposed you to his family’s turmoil without any warning, leaving you to navigate a situation you hadn’t been prepared for. As much as it pained you to see him like this, you still needed answers.

“I’m sorry about…” Law continued, his voice faltering. “...about leaving you alone in that situation.”

You tilted your head slightly, absorbing his words. It wasn’t quite what you’d hoped for. Law, who seemed to understand others so well, still struggled so much with his own emotions. You’d expected him to say more—to address the actual issue.

“...That’s it?” you asked, voice soft but pointed.

Laws eyes widened, and for a moment, he looked almost hurt, like he hadn’t realized how his apology might come up short. He blinked, seemingly searching for what else he could tell you, but for once, he was at a loss. He had two full weeks to think what to say, and the only thing he came up with was a cheap sorry.

“I know what I did was wrong. Just… give me some time to work on it. Please.” His voice softened, almost pleading, his gaze searching yours for a sign of forgiveness.

More time? You bit your lip, hesitating, and the silence seemed to weigh on him, making him sink even deeper into himself. Everything depended on what he had to say, and the start of this conversation wasn't convincing you yet.

“I’ve been patient with you, Law. But … I’m not sure. I don’t even know what we are.” You gave him a sad, brittle smile that faded almost as soon as it formed.

He leaned forward, desperation flickering in his eyes. “You know I care about you,” he said, his voice thick, as if willing you to understand. But his words felt hollow in the face of everything that had happened. This wasn't what you wanted to hear. It was the same answer you had gotten at the ceremony.

“Do I?” Your voice starting to quiver as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. The frustration of him being so emotionally dense was finally catching up to you. “Because it sure as hell didn’t feel like it. You left me to fend for myself, in a situation you knew I wasn’t ready for.” Your voice cracked, but you didn’t look away, holding his gaze steady with a simmering mix of pain and defiance.

Fuck.

He was making it worse. Law closed his eyes and let his hand run over his face as if the weight of his own mistakes pressed down on him. Why couldn't he get this right? He wanted to fix this, truly, but he couldn't find the right words to convince you. “I know,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper. “I know I messed up, alright? But it’s not easy for me.”

"Easy for you?" Your voice trembled as you took a shaky breath, forcing the words out even as anger and hurt fought to spill over. You couldn't believe what you just heard. Was he serious?

"You didn't tell me how fucking crazy your ex was, so crazy that she'd put me into danger just to make sure I was out of the picture. Or that your parents didn’t even know I existed, that they’d look down on me and my friends. And then there’s...,” you said, voice wavering. “There's the way your family looks at Yuki, like she’s everything I’m not. You threw me into all of this without a warning, without even a way to defend myself!"

Law’s expression crumpled, torn between guilt and helplessness as he slightly flinched at every point you made. Valid ones, he had to admit. He looked away, his fists clenching so tightly his knuckles went white. He opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly wrestling with himself before muttering, “I never wanted it to happen this way.”

“If you actually cared about me, you could have just told me!” You threw your hands up, unable to hide the frustration building inside you, the desperate feeling that no matter what you said, he was refusing to hear you. “If you would have told me I could have prepared myself! I wouldn’t have followed Yuki blindly, I wouldn’t be so fucking hurt at what your parents said! Non of their behavior is your fault, but you made it worse by hiding this from me!”

“Okay, what if I fucking tell you, huh?” Law’s voice rose, the edge sharp, almost dangerous. His eyes flashed, but you didn’t look away, holding your ground. “Tell you how fucked up this whole situation is?” He let out a bitter laugh, almost scoffing at the thought. “You think I’m going to drag you into this shit? This is my burden. I carry it. Not. You.”

His words hung in the air, a raw, jagged tension between you two. His shoulders were tense, his jaw tight, as if he was trying to push you away—to protect you, or maybe to protect himself.

As much as his words made sense to him, you could see right through them. You knew the damage he was causing by holding onto this alone, and you aimed your response straight at the heart of it.

A scoff escaped you as fresh tears welled in your eyes. “You didn’t drag me in, you threw me into the fire for fucks sake! Multiple times! You are hurting others by trying to handle it alone, can’t you see?“

Your words seemed to knock the wind out of him. His whole posture shifted—his shoulders sagged, his jaw unclenched, and the fire in his gaze softened as he looked at you, stunned, as if he’d never considered this before.

He was hurting you. He’d done this to you.

You could see it—how torn he was. He didn’t want to hurt you, but something deep inside kept him from letting you in. His eyes flickered around the room, as if he could find the answer somewhere in the empty spaces. But there was no escape. He was trapped, caught between the fear of losing you and the fear of letting you get too close.

Swallowing hard, you pushed on. “Why?” you asked, desperate, the question trembling as it escaped. “Why is it so impossible for you to let me in?”

Law stayed silent, but you could see him tense up, his composure unraveling with each word you spoke. His leg bounced restlessly, and his brows knitted together in frustration. It was as if every sentence you spoke struck a nerve, pressing him closer to a breaking point he clearly wasn’t ready for. But you didn’t give in.

“Seriously?” You let out a bitter laugh, a shaky, painful sound as tears streamed over your face. “You’ve had two weeks to think about this, and you still can't tell me?“

He exhaled sharply, looking anywhere but at you, as if his mind was already miles away, trying to escape the conversation. His fingers dug into his knee, and his jaw clenched, but you didn’t waver.

„Why even try to fix something if you can't give me an answer! Why are you even here, Law?”

“Because I fucking love you, okay!”

It ripped out of him like it hurt to say, as if every syllable was dredged up from some dark place he’d kept locked away. His chest heaved with labored breaths, and the walls he’d held up for so long were suddenly, violently crumbling.

You froze, his confession hitting you with the force of a tidal wave. For a moment, you were lost. Completely speechless.

He ran a shaking hand through his hair, pulling at it, as he struggled to contain the overwhelming emotions. His voice, now quieter but still shaking with intensity, softened, almost pleading.

"I love you...," he repeated, barely a whisper now, but the words were filled with so much pain it felt like they could break you. "And I can’t… I can’t let you drown in this with me. I can’t watch you suffer with me."

Law took in a shaky breath, you could see tears forming in his eyes, before he hid his face in his palms.

"I don't want you to see me like this-” He broke off, his voice thick with self-loathing, muffled as he whispered, “I didn’t want to drag you down with me. I can barley handle it, how are you supposed to?”

He was unraveling, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. Every word seemed to crack something deeper within him, and he looked up, desperation spilling over.

The look he gave you was everything—so broken and vulnerable, that you knew, it would be burned into your memory forever. You saw it then, in his glassy eyes, the battle he was fighting, the fear he couldn’t outrun, the love he didn’t know how to handle nor believed he deserved.

“I want to protect you not hurt you, I-” He shook his head, not able to speak as choked sobs left his throat.

You moved closer, hesitantly reaching out and placing a hand on his arm. Law stiffened, the tension practically vibrating from him, his shoulders hunched, fists still clenched. But he didn’t pull away.

“Law,” you said softly, feeling your own tears slipping down your cheeks. “This isn’t handling it. This is letting it destroy you.”

He looked at you, eyes wide and filled with an almost childlike vulnerability. There was no resistance left, no armor, only the shattered young man he was.

“Let me help you carry it. I can’t stand by and watch you tear yourself apart, just because you think you have to go through it alone.”

He closed his eyes, tears still slipping down his cheek as he let out a broken, shuddering sob. Your words hit deep, right where it hurt the most. He hid his face in his palms again as shame washed over him. He never wanted you to see him like this. But Law couldn't control it any longer. It was too much.

You pulled him into your arms, holding him close as if anchoring him to solid ground.

“Hey… I’m here,” you whispered softly, one hand stroking gently through his hair, the other rubbing soothing circles on his back. “You don’t have to do this alone. Not anymore.”

Seeing him like this, so raw and vulnerable, hurt to witness—but it also felt like a bittersweet gift, a piece of him he’d never shown anyone else.

You held him close for what felt like forever, letting him pour out everything he’d kept buried, everything he’d held back for so long. His broken sobs, the way his breathing came in ragged gasps, and the warmth of his tears soaking into your shoulder—all of it shattered your heart. Every sound and shudder cut deeper, each one a reminder of the weight he’d been carrying alone.

But you knew you had to hold steady, to be his anchor. Right now, he needed your strength. So you tightened your grip, pressing a gentle hand against his back, letting him know without words that you were here, that you weren’t going anywhere.

As Law’s breathing finally steadied after a whil. You loosened your hold on him and slowly pulled away, giving him some space. He rubbed his eyes as he glanced down, a flicker of shame shadowing his gaze. His vulnerability lay bare, and you could tell how uncomfortable it made him, exposing himself like this.

But to you, it was anything but uncomfortable. You reached up and gently cupped his face, your thumbs brushing softly over the rough skin of his cheeks, grounding him. You gave him a small, reassuring smile, letting him see the love in your eyes—the acceptance, the gratitude that he’d let you into this part of him.

“Hey…” you whispered, your voice gentle as you held his gaze, unflinching. “I love you too.”

He looked back at you, and slowly, a weak but genuine smile broke through his exhaustion. He gave a small nod, leaning into the warmth of your touch, his shoulders finally relaxed. And as he let himself fall into the moment, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his in a kiss so soft and tender, it made your heart ache. It was a promise, an unspoken vow to stand by him through whatever storm lay ahead.

“I won't do this again...I promise.” Law’s voice was tentative, a hint of vulnerability still lacing his words. He knew he owed you more—a real explanation of the tangled mess of his past relationships and complicated family. It wasn’t an easy conversation, but he was determined to get everything out this time, to rip off the bandages before another wound formed. He couldn’t risk putting you in another situation where his silence hurt you.

You nodded slowly. The weight of the conversation hung between you, leaving both of you visibly drained—but Law looked even worse. His eyes were bloodshot from the tears he’d shed, and he was still letting out soft, stifled breaths. He seemed calmer now, the tension in his shoulders released, but he was unmistakably exhausted.

For a while, you both just sat there in silence, staring at the blank TV screen.

“Wanna go to bed?” you asked quietly, your voice soft and reassuring. Law’s gaze flickered to you, and for a moment, something like relief washed over his face.

He couldn’t believe he’d almost lost you because he’d been too closed off, too guarded. His head was still a mess of thoughts, spiraling in countless directions, but he was too worn out to follow any of them. He just nodded and got up with you.

He followed you down the hall, each step heavy and slow, and the confidence he usually carried seemed to be missing. You knew that tonight’s talk hadn’t solved everything—far from it—but it was enough for now.

When you reached the bedroom, he sat on the edge of the bed as you rummaged through your closet. You found a pair of his spare clothes and tossed them over to him.

Law caught them, looking almost… surprised.

“What?” you asked, a little confused by his expression.

He shrugged, looking down at the clothes in his hands. “Just… kinda thought it was over between us. Figured you’d thrown my stuff out by now.”

You let out a sigh, sitting down beside him. “Couldn’t bring myself to do it,” you admitted. You weren’t holding a grudge against him; you were just hurt. Seeing his things around the apartment while there was so much tension between you had been painful, but even then, you hadn’t wanted to let go completely.

Law twisted the fabric between his fingers, seemingly a bit lost in thoughts as you watched him. His shoulders rose and sank as he let out a sigh.

“Guess I’m just… used to different shit,” he muttered with a short, bitter laugh.

You scooted closer to him, your hand lightly touching his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“Wasn’t rare for me to have to grab my stuff off the street after a fight… with her.” He kept his eyes fixed on the clothes in his hands, as though they brought back memories. He wasn't sure if mentioning his Ex was the right thing to do, yet after the conversation he was so drained it just slipped out of his system.

You blinked in surprise. You’d heard bits and pieces about his ex—never anything good—but you’d never understood why he’d stayed with her or endured the emotional punishment she put him through. Law was sharp; he could read people better than anyone. So why had he missed it with her?

“Why?” you asked softly, not accusingly, just… curious. “Why did you stay with her?”

Law’s gaze drifted, his shoulders slumping slightly. Though he wasn’t one to open up nor understand his own feelings too well, he seemed to have thought about this one a lot, maybe even rehearsed the answer to himself. “I met her when someone in my family got sick,” he murmured, a distant look in his eyes. “Guess it was… desperate times.”

You swallowed and didn’t press further. Instead, you watched as he stood up and pulled his hoodie over his head, folding it with that meticulous care he always had. Then, to your surprise, he went on, as if talking helped ease the ache a little.

“It was my sister,” he said, his voice softer now. “There was no cure. And I’d just started uni, miles away from home. I met her around that time. She was…” he paused, choosing his words carefully. “She was a distraction. Gave me comfort when I was too far from my own family. But things… fell apart after my sister passed.”

You felt the weight of his words settle in, understanding now just how much he’d been carrying. The realization hit you hard, and you understood what he meant with not wanting you to drag you down with him.

This was heavy, and you felt it.

“Law…” you whispered, voice choked. “I’m… I’m so sorry.”

He nodded and sat back down beside you, running a tired hand through his hair. You deserved to know, especially after what happened moments ago. Even though, exposing himself like this, twisted his gut.

Silence between you settled. Law couldn’t help feeling a pang of regret. He hadn’t meant to leave you speechless. He wanted to tell you about his sister one day, but not like this. Seeing you at a loss for words was exactly what he feared.

Fuck, why did I tell her this out of nowhere?

His teeth grazed the inside of his cheek as doubt crept in. He was starting to feel uneasy about opening up. He could see the empathy in your eyes, the way you seemed to feel even a small piece of his pain—he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to pull you down with him or make you feel sorry for him.

But then, you placed a gentle hand on his cheek, pulling him back from that spiral of doubt. “You should tell me more about your sister sometime." Your touch, light and reassuring, calmed him, and your smile—warm and unwavering—let him know that you could handle this. You weren’t going to pity him or wallow in his grief; you were here to help him bear it, to remind him that he didn’t have to carry it alone.

It was like you were telling him that his memories could stay, just as they were—the good ones to cherish and the bad ones to heal from, but not to hide.

A soft, almost shy smile crept onto his face, the edges of his mouth lifting in a way that was both loving and grateful.

taglist: @mars-mizuko , @tadomikiku , @hopelesslover06 , @loraleiii @mwhahahalasagna , @ttalgi , @metonimia-de-bellota , @parkquimin , @ephemeress , @not-a-glad-gladiator , @littleleelee , @chillerkiller

(Let me know in the comments and I’ll add you)

[atinyslittleworld]

Unleashing Desire

demon!mingi x f!reader

Summary: A shy college student, Y/N, is drawn to Mingi, a demon. Their mutual attraction intensifies, leading to a passionate, feverish encounter as Mingi unleashes his dark side, igniting an uncontrollable desire.

Word Count: 1,732

Genre: dark romance, paranormal, fantasy

Warnings: MDNI 18+, mingi is described as a demon, the story explores themes of losing control and surrendering to darker impulses

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons or actual events is purely coincidental. The characters, settings, and events are entirely imaginary

The cold air brushed past Y/N as she walked through the crowded college hallway, her books clutched tightly against her chest like a shield. She was used to feeling invisible, always melting into the background, unnoticed. But today, she felt something different—something unsettling but not unwelcome. It was a pull, a magnetic force drawing her attention to the figure walking toward her.

Mingi.

There was something about him that no one could quite place, and yet, everyone was aware of it. He wasn’t like the others—he carried an aura that was dark and mysterious, a brooding intensity that clung to him like a shadow. He never spoke much in class, but when he did, his voice resonated through the air, deep and haunting. His eyes, dark as the night, seemed to pierce through whoever they landed on. And yet, it wasn’t fear Y/N felt when their eyes met. It was something far more dangerous.

As they passed each other, Mingi’s gaze flicked toward her, just for a moment. It was quick, subtle, but it sent a ripple of warmth down her spine. Every time they crossed paths, it was like this—glances, brief and fleeting, but enough to set her pulse racing.

Mingi noticed her too. Every time she passed by, his senses sharpened, his demon instincts flaring. She was different from the others—her energy, her quiet presence. There was a pull he couldn't explain, an invisible thread that seemed to tie him to her, and it unnerved him. The more they encountered each other, the stronger the connection felt, leaving him unsettled yet intrigued.

But tonight, things would change.

The college party was in full swing, the air thick with the scent of alcohol and the thrum of music vibrating through the walls. Mingi had come, though he wasn’t sure why. Parties were never his thing, especially when his demon side felt more agitated than usual. The house the party was being thrown in carried an odd aura, something that unsettled him from the moment he arrived.

As the night dragged on, the energy in the house seemed to press in on him, suffocating. His demon instincts were growing harder to control, his eyes darkening as the power surged within him. Needing to get away from the overwhelming chaos, Mingi slipped upstairs, finding an empty room. He sat on the edge of the bed, his hands gripping his thighs, trying to calm the storm brewing inside him.

But it was no use. His demon side was too strong tonight, spurred on by whatever strange energy lingered in the house. His eyes darkened further, turning pitch black as he felt the hunger rising, the need to let go, to release the darkness that had been building for so long.

Just then, the door creaked open.

Y/N stepped inside, her breath catching when she saw him sitting there, his head lowered, his darkened eyes barely visible through the strands of his messy hair. She had no idea what had pushed her toward the room, only that she had felt compelled—drawn toward something. Toward him.

Mingi looked up slowly, his black eyes meeting hers. For a moment, time seemed to stop. The air between them was thick with tension, an electric current running through the space that neither of them could ignore. Y/N closed the door behind her, locking it without a second thought. Something about the way he looked at her, the way the darkness in his eyes mirrored the heat she felt inside, made her body move toward him on its own.

Her breath was shallow, her heartbeat erratic as she approached. Mingi’s eyes tracked her every step, his chest rising and falling heavily as his control slipped further. He felt the pull, stronger than ever before, and it scared him. But the moment her hand reached out, her fingers brushing the sharp outline of his jaw, something inside him snapped.

Y/N stared at him, her voice barely above a whisper. “Beautiful.”

Mingi’s dark eyes widened, his breath catching at the unexpected word. He had never been called beautiful before, not when his demon side was so close to the surface, not when his eyes were black with power. But Y/N wasn’t afraid. She stood there, her touch soft, her gaze steady as if she could see past the darkness, past the monster inside him.

Without warning, his hands shot to her thighs, gripping them tightly as he pulled her onto his lap. Y/N gasped softly, but there was no hesitation in her. She straddled him, her body pressing against his as their lips collided in a kiss that was raw and desperate, filled with an intensity neither of them could contain.

Mingi kissed her hungrily, his hands roaming her body as if he couldn’t get enough. Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as she pressed her chest against his. The heat between them was unbearable, a fire that seemed to burn brighter with every touch, every kiss. She could feel the darkness in him, the wild, untamed power that threatened to consume them both, but instead of pulling away, she leaned into it.

Her body moved instinctively, her hips grinding against his in slow, deliberate movements that made Mingi groan into her mouth. The friction between them was maddening, and Y/N’s skirt swayed with every roll of her hips, brushing against his thighs as she pressed herself harder against him.

“I’m burning up,” Y/N whispered against his lips, her voice trembling with desire.

Mingi’s grip on her hips tightened as he pulled her even closer, his breath ragged as he felt the same heat coursing through his veins. His core burned, the hunger inside him growing stronger, more uncontrollable. Y/N’s hands moved to the hem of her shirt, and before he could process what was happening, she pulled it over her head, tossing it aside.

Left in nothing but her bra and skirt, Y/N’s skin glistened under the dim light, her body flushed with heat. She leaned into him again, her hips grinding harder against his lap as she whispered, “I’m still burning…”

Mingi’s control shattered completely.

With a low growl, he gripped her waist and flipped her onto the bed, his body hovering above hers as his demon side took over. His blackened eyes bore into hers, wild and untamed, but Y/N didn’t flinch. She welcomed it, her hands reaching for him, pulling him closer as her legs wrapped around his waist.

Mingi’s lips crashed against hers, the kiss rough and desperate. His hands roamed her body, exploring every inch of her as if he needed to memorize the way she felt beneath him. He was lost in her, lost in the heat and the fire that consumed them both.

Y/N gasped as Mingi’s hands moved to unclasp her bra, his fingers skilled and quick. The garment fell away, and Mingi wasted no time, his mouth moving to her chest as his hands gripped her hips, pulling her against him. Y/N moaned softly, her body arching into his touch as her hips began to move on their own, grinding against him in a slow, rhythmic motion that drove them both wild.

“I can’t… stop,” Mingi groaned against her skin, his voice thick with lust and something darker.

“Then don’t stop,” Y/N whispered, her voice low and commanding. “I don’t want you to stop.”

Her words sent a shockwave through him. Mingi growled, his hands gripping her thighs as he pressed himself harder against her, his body moving with a force that left Y/N gasping. The room pulsed with energy, the darkness between them swirling, growing as their bodies collided in a feverish rhythm.

Y/N’s breath came in ragged gasps, her moans filling the air as she moved against him, her hips grinding faster, harder. The friction between them was unbearable, the pleasure building to heights she had never known. She could feel Mingi’s hands on her body, rough and desperate, his lips leaving a trail of fire wherever they touched.

“I’m still burning,” Y/N whispered, her voice thick with desire as her hips rocked harder against him. “I’m still burning…”

Mingi’s demon side surged forward, fully unleashed. His eyes darkened even more, the hunger in him becoming something primal, something untamable. He growled low in his throat, his hands gripping her thighs as he thrust against her with a force that left her gasping, her back arching off the bed.

In one swift, urgent motion, Mingi reached down, his fingers working quickly to unzip his pants. He fumbled for only a second, the need overwhelming, his breath catching as he freed himself, the tension between them unbearable. The sound of the zipper breaking the air made Y/N’s heart race, her anticipation spiraling as she watched him with darkened eyes.

Mingi’s breath hitched as he moved against her, his control hanging by a thread as he pressed his body against hers, their heat merging as one. Y/N's hips ground against him harder, her skirt moving with the rhythm of her movements, driving them both closer to the edge.

Y/N’s body trembled beneath him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she cried out his name, her movements frantic and desperate. The pleasure between them was overwhelming, pushing them both to the brink of madness. Mingi’s breath was ragged, his chest heaving as he lost himself in the wild rhythm of their bodies, the fire between them consuming everything in its path.

And then, everything shattered.

Y/N’s body tensed, her breath hitching as the pleasure reached its peak, her back arching as she cried out his name. Mingi followed, his body shuddering above hers as the heat between them exploded into something neither of them had ever experienced before. The air around them crackled with energy, their auras intertwining in a way that felt both terrifying and intoxicating.

When it was over, they lay there together, their bodies still entwined, the room thick with the remnants of their shared passion. Y/N’s fingers brushed over his cheek, her breath still coming in soft, uneven gasps as she whispered, “I’m not afraid of you, Mingi. I never was.”

Mingi stared down at her, his chest tightening at her words. She wasn’t afraid of him—of the demon he had become. Despite everything, despite the darkness inside him, she had embraced it. And somehow, he knew deep down that this was only the beginning.

[zenkindoflove]

I have a new hypothesis about why the ACOTAR fandom is so weird.

And I think it's because there is a difference between the people who enter this fandom as shippers and the people who enter because they like the romance genre*.

I think many life long shippers enjoy romance. Maybe they don't always seek out the genre but they see romance in whatever media they are engaging with and they take those characters and put romance spins on them even if those characters aren't from a romance story. You ship because of a feeling. You see a dynamic or maybe you think about what a dynamic could be and then suddenly you're pulled in. Like falling in love. But you're falling in love with the idea of a couple. How that couple ends up becoming in canon is independent about how thinking about them together makes you feel.

I think romance readers aren't necessarily shippers*. They enjoy reading romance in a romance canon but they don't necessarily ship in the way shippers do with obsession and devotion regardless of what the canon says. They ship because they see that this couple is good together and it does make them feel squishy inside. Similar to a shipper. But they weren't necessarily going to see that until the canon actually played it out. To me that is responding to a romance plot as the author intended.

And maybe that is something different than shipping. I know for myself, I can read and watch romance and feel pulled in by the love I see but I don't "ship" them in the way I have shipped my OTPs with the level of obsession and devotion and need to construct my own head canons and fanon.

And I think that is a big issue when people from different backgrounds try to talk about shipping and the ship war in ACOTAR if they aren't coming from a similar experience. As I discuss a lot on this blog, there is history and culture behind shipping. And shippers have developed a common language to discuss shipping in a way that respects others shipping habits while also maintaining your devotion to your own ship.

It seems like those who are in this fandom because they enjoy canonical depictions of romance only are often confused by people who are taking characters into their own fanons and playing around with them or are devoted to them regardless of what the canon validates or not.

If you are used to shipping generally it seems very weird for people to say things like "I ship this because they're end game" or "I'll stop shipping if they don't end up together". Because shippers tend to not ship because of end game. They would LIKE end game because having canon validation is great. But it is not necessary (I also am tempted to make a whole post defining the differences between canon vs. fanon vs. end game ships because I frequently see the ACOTAR fandom using these terms incorrectly).

I think sometimes we are talking across each other and not to each other because we don't share a common cultural understanding of fandom or approach to shipping.

*obviously people can be both. Maybe the first couple you shipped is because you got into a romance series. But the point is that shipping at its heart comes from a feeling. How thinking about these characters together makes you feel squishy inside. And that can exist with or without canon. Shipping canon couples does come with many rewards, and canon can validate and be positive feedback on your shipping feelings, but you don't ship because they're end game. You would ship them regardless because you saw something special in their dynamic and whether the canon gets it or not isn't going to stop you. I like reading romance but I find romance in any genre because my shipping brain never stops.

[satureja13]

As a story teller, what advice would you give to fellow Simmers who want to start a story but struggle?

For example: How did you start story telling and which obstacles did you have to shove out of the way to finally start? What made it easier for you to put yourself out there? Did you gain any personal rewards/benefits by telling your stories? How do you set up a story post? Pics first or plotting the episode? Where do you find inspiration? What did you wish you knew earlier? Or anything else that comes to your mind that could be of any help. I see quite a lot of posts from struggling future story tellers and I thought it would be nice to collect a few tips.

Questions are very welcome too!

(My answers below the cut)

How to actually start:

I do read quite a lot and also watch series and movies - and what really turns me off is an infodump at the beginning. So I try to avoid that. And that also makes it easy to start. All the lore and background stories can happen later and you don't have to plot that out before you start. (Our current story started as a playtest and hundreds of episodes later, we have a lore as deep as the Mariana Trench ö.Ö') So don't let it stop you. It all evolves over time, when you ask yourself: Why did x have to move and go to a new school? Why is y restraining himself to hit on the cute guy? Why is z so annoyed of y and why is he the only one who thinks like this? How do they cope with stuff that happens to them? Why does x react in another way than y on the same event? ... There is a plot behind literally everything if you just take your time and look closely. Like a three year old child: "Why do we eat cute animals?" ö.ö' Showing your character's feelings and why they are who they are also helps you and the reader to form a connection to them. It never ceases to amaze me when story tellers are able to create characters that grow on you even though they are annoying and vulnerable and have flaws. (Like Terry Pratchett for example, or the characters in The Big Bang Theory.)

Which obstacles did you have to shove out of the way to finally start? I have a few obstacles to overcome putting my stories out there. ADHD often keeps me from concentrating and getting things done. It's hard to stick with something when you're distracted all the time. And I have a weird way of thinking. I'm also autistic and writing about feelings and how others think and stuff, is so, so hard for me. My stories are weird because of all of that and I know it. But I think they are quite unique and fun because of that and I wouldn't want it any other way :3 Plus my english isn't very good. Writing in a different language is quite an obstacle to overcome ö.Ö' But I can't write anything in my native language, I even take my notes in english. I have no idea why. Just sounds wrong to me.

What made it easier for me? - starting slowly I started this tumblr over ten years ago to post about my builds. Only a few people saw and liked my stuff so I got bolder and also shared gameplay pics and, after a while, a few stories. - passion I love my Sims, I think that helps a lot. After all these years, I'm still eager to see what they are up to and to tell about their shenanigans and adventures. - keeping expectations low Of you and your audience. It does not have to be perfect and not everyone will like what you do. That's just a fact. You'll get better at your own pace. I think tumblr is the perfect place to start a story, because if someone doesn't like your stuff, they don't have to follow you. - it's an outlet for my creativity. My ADHD brain is running on warp speed. Sitting down and putting some of these ideas and thoughts in a shape and make them real is relieving for me - and exciting! What rewards/benefits did/do I gain? - learning new stuff: I'm still learning english and just a few days ago, I shed tears of joy because I could finally understand an american series without subtitles! Also Photo editing. I kept looking for better ways to edit my screenshots and I learned so much! My Sims even inspired me to craft some stuff in RL ^^' - changing my point of view Telling about 6 different charcters is quite a challenge. Things that happen to them affect them in different ways and they have their own way to cope with stuff. They helped my autistic me a lot to make me see what's going on with people around me and to understand them.

- healing Seeing how the characters in my story cope with hardships and following them through difficult times helped me a lot. I could never express how glad and grateful I am I started all this. But I am. - fun I'm having fun doing what I do. And I think that's the motor that runs this whole thing. I think the readers can feel if you're commited to what you do.

How do I set up a story post? I have a rough idea where the story is going and what's supposed to happen next. Then I go ingame and take the screenshots, my Sims add a few ideas themselves - and I go with it. I write the post around the screenshots and what happened ingame. Like this, it's still surprising and thrilling - even for me, the story teller.

Where do I find inspiration? My brain goes without filters and I need a lot of time to get back on track after challenging days. But this sponge in my head also soaks up so many ideas! I get inspired by anything. Music, series, things I see... Sometimes, that sponge gets squished and I get to see glimpsesof future episodes and I just think 'whoa!' and take notes.

What advice can I give? Use the things that keep you from starting to your advantage - to make your story special and unique. Don't worry too much. Other people don't see things as serious as you might think. Write for your own healing and growth. There are mutuals who will like what you have to tell. You don't have to please everybody. Read others' stories, watch movies/series you like and note what you liked or disliked. That gives you a rough direction of where your story could go (that was a great advice from youtuber Grayson Taylor, link is below).

What I wish I knew earlier? That there are great youtube channels for writers! I know, that's kind of obvious, but I don't feel like a writer. I barely managed to finish school. And I thought those channels might be too sophisticated and dry, you know? But there are aweome ones. Like Grayson Taylor (who is an author) and Bookfox, (who is editor and author), for example.

You'll never know where it leads. Our current story started when I made four of my favourite adult Sims teenagers to check out the Highschool Years pack. That was ~ 2 1/2 years ago - and I hated school from the bottom of my heart, so I was very sure this wouldn't take long and we could go back to our ongoing story (spoiler: we didn't...). And: the first chapters the Boys spent at school were truely healing for me. I didn't plan anything of it ^^'

Don't be afraid. I'm here on tumblr for over ten years and I never got any hate on my stories or the other stuff I post. Though, I turned anon off. You decide what you see on your dash, that's the great thing here on tumblr. You just get as much drama as you invite in. For me, tumblr is my save place and I still say this is one of the best communities I've ever been part of (on and off line). Thank you <3

[yelenasdiary]

Can you do headcannons on Wanda being pregnant with reader because of the hex and having to tell Natasha on top of dealing with all the hex aftermath?

(That storyline not being picked is the loss of my life fr 😔)

Westview 2.0 Headcannons

Ignore the ugly ass title lmao, I have no idea what to title this x

These are just some of the ideas I had for the story if I did write it, unfortunately there isn't really a need to do that now so being able to share these is fun! I hope you enjoy, this is kinda long.

After Wanda clears the Hex, all she does want to do is go into hiding, seeing what she's done wrong, it made it hard for her to accept that she abused her powers for her own needs.

Things between Wanda and Nat are slightly awkward after the hex, Nat coming back from basically the dead is already a lot for her to deal with but on top of learning what Wanda did in response to grieving also throws her. She's not mad to say because she understands to a degree, she's more mad that nobody kept an eye on Wanda and made sure she was getting help if she needed.

Wanda does see a therapist.

Wanda knows about her pregnancy but it's something she struggles to tell Nat about. A lot of conversations in therapy help her take that step to tell Nat.

Wanda wants to retire from the Avengers, she wants to leave that life behind and just try to live a normal life but she knows Nat wouldn't be open to the idea.

When Wanda tells Natasha about the pregnancy, Nat can't find any reason to be upset. She's happy, she's excited but a little overtime she see's that the unexpected pregnancy throws her more than she thought.

Wanda wants to do the right thing, she wants to try and made things right. The town of Westview now have knowledge of their ordeal and think Wanda should be punished for taking an entire town hostage. Wanda doesn't seem to fight the idea.

Natasha is against the idea of Wanda going to prison, she always argues that Wanda was in pain, she was grieving and that should be taken into account whenever her and Wanda get into arguments over it. Natasha just wants to take care of her wife and unborn child.

Strings are pulled and Wanda ends up being on house arrest, has 100 hours of community service to do and will spend 6 months in prison after her baby is born. Natasha isn't happy about it but she's thankful that Wanda won't be missing years of this new chapter of life.

Wanda & Nat go to marriage counselling. This helps the two of them understand how one another feels after the hex. Nat now understands Wanda's need to do right and do time for what she did and Wanda now see's that although Nat is over the moon about having a child, she wishes that they were about to talk about it and plan it. Nat does feel like Wanda went against her will a little.

Wanda's pregnancy eventually brings the two Avengers together more. They come more excited to be mothers each week.

They buy a house just outside of New York, close by Clint's farm house so Natasha has privacy and help when the time comes for Wanda to go to prison.

Natasha is in full protective mother-mode, she's always by Wanda's side, always talking about the baby and future plans. She ignores the 6 months that Wanda will be somewhat absent and tries to distract Wanda from thinking about it.

Together, they make their new home a home that is every much them. The nursery is very much inspired by Wanda's Sokovian heritage and Nat's Russian background. They want their baby to know where they come from. Not from a hex and spell, but from two mothers that love them more than life.

Before the baby is born, Wanda tells Natasha that when the time comes, she doesn't want to hide anything from their child. Eventually they will ask how they born, they will hear talk about their mothers. Natasha disagrees, she doesn't want their child to know of horrible things Natasha was made to do but with some therapy, Natasha comes to terms with how to tell their child things without tell them the glory details.

Wanda had plenty of unusual food cravings while pregnant, one that she kept going back too was pizza topped with strawberry and caramel toppings.

Nat would always talk to Wanda's swollen stomach, telling the little unborn baby anything she would think off. At night, when Nat struggled to fall asleep, she would read a nursery book to the baby. She wouldn't wait to read them a book and be able to look over to them sleeping of smiling soft back at her.

Nat was excited to let Melina & Alexei apart of this new chapter of her life. Yelena couldn't wait to be an aunty, ofc she wished the baby was born at an age she could take the child out to do things. Melina was excited to be a grandmother but she refused to be called grandma or nan - that changed when you called her nanny Melina for the first time. Alexei was set that unborn baby was going to be a boy, he would boost about how he couldn't wait to take the little champ camping and what not. He was actually relieved when he found out his grandchild was a granddaughter.

Wanda wished she would share all this joy with her parents and Pietro.

Wanda & Nat welcomed their beautiful, healthy daughter at 10:37pm on a Saturday night in August.

They named their baby Y/n Iryna Romanoff.

You had Wanda's big, green eyes and Natasha's smile along with her red hair.

With everything that had happened over the last 9 months, all the bad and the good, Wanda was thankful that the best outcome was you. You made everything better, nothing worried the two mothers but making sure you would always be happy, safe and healthy.

Taglist: @boredandneedfanfics | @music-4ever | @karmasgxrl | @marvelwomen-simp | @swaqcenix | @mostlymarvelsstuff | @scarlettbitchx | @mallyka-blog | @itsalwaysskorpioszn | @angel68104 | @natashamaximoff-69 | @evilcr0ne | @caporal-nino | @boredandneedfanfics | @teganmiller | @ihavezeroclue13 | @tobiaslut | @cigarsandscotchallday | @nuianced-tck-enby | @springsheep | @prentgarcialuvr | @stayevildarling | @mommysgoodlittlebrat | 

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[punksalmon]

Tell us more about this Escape ending AU that you are completely normal about.

WELL, if you're asking

(i first received this ask in 28th of JUNE, but waited for my uni break so i could be as self-indulgent as possible)

the Escape AU is first and foremost my obsession with (1) epilogue-type stories as a way to deal with the conseguences of a plot (which is especially promising with funger's trauma bonanza) and (2) domestic gay people (which is ALSO especially promising with funger's trauma bonanza). i also like when the domestic couple are kind of freaks.

the background for the AU is mostly based with my number of playthroughs with the game, in particular that as soon as i had the girl and knew what exactly her ending was, i would go after literally any other ending just so she could live.

to say the summary of the dungeon-canon, ragnvaldr goes in the dungeon after le'garde to kill him and enki goes into the dungeon after the ritual of ascension, and they just join forces for survival; the girl only comes after, and because ragnvalr is partly in this whole quest because his child was murdered, he becomes somewhat protective of the girl, and then of enki, to the point of doubt about when does this affection and desire to protect is for them on their own, and when it's just comes as a second hand for the family ragnvaldr's lost. enki isn't arsed with any of it at first, but as a feral cat gaining the literal first modicum of care in its life, he starts to become less sure of how far he'd gone to obtain success when it puts this other people at risk, even without understanding (or accepting) any of it. and the girl is, verbatim, "unused to kindness of any kind" - she literally deserves the world.

the ending E, as exactly "underwhelming" as it is, is a reflection of this sense of care the characters develop: it doesn't matter what the dungeon does offer (and what really the characters do achieve in it; i personally like the idea of them facing Le'garde as the Yellow King in the dungeon, for the pathos of it all). the most important thing after the conga line of misery that funger is, is that for people that at that point had no reason to live, they suddenly get one. for it, they leave behind the dungeon and the promises within.

i still like to think that this sort of decision is not without unrest - i don't think enki would do well as a house wife, and this tension of "did i make a good choice? is this really what i want?" is interesting. i also thing ragvaldr has a little parasocial thing going because of his previous family, and i also think that idea is interesting.

as always, i like to see characters go through the ringer and then try to build a happy ending (or as happy as it can be) out of it. i feel that's a sort o theme anyone can find comfort in. and yes, i do like thinking of the funniest possible nuclear family unity Oldegård would ever see (pair of parents + one kid + a dog). (and i do like thinking about rag and enki doing it nasty. who said that.)

thank you for the ask and literally anyone who has the minimum interest about my brainworms… i loved thinking about them to write this. it also made me draw again (miraculous), so here's a little something.

first leaving the dungeons.

[themostimportantnight]

Crafted my first ever Cats OC last night, OH EM GEE.

LORE TIME!!!!!!!!!

BACKGROUND: Her name is Marjolaine (full legal title: Marjolaine the Painterly Cat). She's a Turkish Van, owned by a well-known artist. Marjolaine herself is very passionate about art -- specifically, painting -- and has a real penchant for running around in any colourful liquids she can find and using them to jazz up her surroundings. She is covered in unnatural pink and yellow patches as a result of her escapades. As a Turkish Van, she is quite a fan of bathing (a regular occurrence, given her hobbies); she loves seeing the paint from her fur swirl around in the water, and has been known to splash around just to see her makeshift watercolours fly around the room. Her owner is often out and about, leaving Marjolaine to her devices most of the time. Not liking to be lonely, she tends to turn to painting when she needs something to entertain her (much to her owner's amusement); and when she can, she runs off to the junkyard to mingle with the other jellicles (she spends quite a lot of time here, as her owner is more often than not out of the house). If you find ankle-high splatters of paint on any surface in the area, it means Marjolaine has been around. It's never hard to track her down, for her paws are always leaving trails of paint behind her.

PERSONALITY: Marjolaine is confident, eclectic, and often off in her own world. She considers everything around her a canvas, and has a hard time understanding when others get upset with her for painting things without permission. Her buddies include Jennyanydots (who often asks Marjolaine to paint certain things that really need sprucing up, just to keep her out of trouble), Mistoffelees (who she considers to be an excellent muse given his sparkly fur and knack for posing), and Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer (with whom she often gets into trouble -- they stole her trademark hat for her, and she appreciates the freedom and fun of their antics; they're often hesitant to bring her along with them, however, due to her paws always having paint on them). Munkustrap understands that Marjolaine requires constant outlets for her creativity, and likes allowing her to decorate any particularly drab things in the junkyard (as well as helping out with props and costumes whenever he heads a production for Old Deuteronomy). The older cats find her charming, if not a little hard to understand. She enjoys listening to Gus and Skimbleshanks, as their stories inspire her artwork; she often asks Bustopher Jones to bring her back any leftover sauces he may have so that she can paint with them, though Jones rarely entertains this idea; she finds cats like Old Deuteronomy and Grizabella fascinating to ogle, as she rarely sees other cats with fur as long as theirs.

LIKES: Painting, swimming, exploring, novelty DISLIKES: Strict rules, sitting still, others not understanding her

THAT IS ALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! If you actually read all of that, I think you're pretty neat

[nanamivnemesis]

WxS on a road trip headcanons:

•Driving Priority order:

-Nene

-rui

-tsukasa

-Emu

(Rui and tsukasa can be switched)

-emu is not usualy the one to drive, she’s definitely capable of it and has her license but the group is terrified she’s going to zone out and they will cruise into a ditch when she’s unmedicated. (I believe theirs is thoughts of war behind those big void eyes and therefore she’s the second most dangerous behind rui)

-Nene can drive and usually doesbut she much rather play games and nonverbaly observe conversation, if the others get to tired she’s fine with taking over for a bit, and when she’s down rui usually takes over for her

-Tsukasa can drive and is the third choice driver , boasts about being so good at driving(he failed his driving test twice) then procedes to miss the exit,twice. Rui has to read off the driving app.

-Rui is the second trusted driver of the group ,but his psychopathic ideas make others fear if he is going to stop his impulse of seeing how the airbags work.(hence why tsukasa goes before him) He’s overall good at keeping himself in check tho.

•Seating arrangements and behavior

-•passenger princess priority in accordance to driving priority:

-emu(literally princess I love her so much :D)

-Rui(reads driving instructions to tsukasa otherwise he will miss the exit again)

-Tsukasa (holds onto the celling handle thing the whole time)

-Nene(keeps an eye on emu) (if rui was with emu while driving the chances of their collective thoughts of war increase,nene prevents that)

•when in back row together:

-emu and tsukasa

- read off bill boards and tourism ads and then beg rui/nene to go see them. If rui is driving they are more likely to pull over. Nene will pull over if she decides it’s interesting enough and worth it.

-the WOAHHH!!! WHATS THAT OMG CAN WE GO or like making jokes about weird ass signs

-ba da ba ba ba when the McDonald’s sign

-emu and nene

- are usually playing games together on Nenes phone or switch.Emu loves to watch nene play rhythm games,animal crossing or stardew valley.

-nene listens to emu as she fixates of her favorite villagers and island decor.

-Nene will sometimes share her headphones with emu.

-when they try to get out of the car at stops, 500 different stuff animals they both own start to pour out the car.

-Rui and Nene

Idk if this is already canon but rui made a mini nene bot that is safely buckled in the middle seat. Rui sometimes brings out silly hats to put on it(emu made some of them)

-nene also plays splatoon when he’s in the back

-you can’t convince me rui isn’t playing fnaf or granny for shits and giggles, you cannot

-then nerds out of the stupid ways you can break these games

-emu and rui

Thoughts of war and things that are illegal to construct on stages, these 2 are a dangerous combination without any balance from nene or tsukasa

-elaborately contsructing pranks to pull on tsukasa

-otherwise they are nerding out over over silly shit and having a wholesome time

-if emu sees something cool rui is already on board with trying to convince whos driving to pull over to see the thing.

-Rui and tsukasa

-Rui ,if he decides to take a nap, will kick his daddy long legs on tsukasa lap and there is nothing tsukasa can do to stop him

-“Aw look at that cool car right there I wonder if it would survive the blast radius of a nuclear strike “”RUI WHAT-“

-Rui keep’s proposing increasingly worse and dangerous ideas for shows is tsukasa is like “WHAT” and dumbfounded

-scrolling together through TikTok to see those Reddit stories but they only look at the cool craft videos in the background and don’t care about the story

-tsukasa and nene

-(my apologies this duo I think about the least so my head-canons won’t be as good)

-insult battle where they keep trying to one up the other in more increasingly insane ways, (I think nene wins)

-she isn’t sharing her music or her games with him

-tsukasa sneezes so loud, nene records it so that whenever he annoys her or says something stupid she will play it on repeat

-“Omg look at that””rejected””I didn’t even say what it was yet-“

-if they both see/hear something weird af on the road or on a bill board they just 👀

-tsukasa will try to make jokes to make her smile and she will rate them critically (it’s all fun and games tho)

•Misc:

-nene has threatened to crash the car when the shits gotten to silly

-Emu keeps pulling out snacks from her pockets in unrealistic ways

-Rui brings bags of like candy rocks or candy dice and just eats the em infront of tsukasa and freaks him out at first but then he’s like WOAH and then they are both eating rocks.(don’t mention the chocolate crickets to tsukasa)

-rui has definitely shoplifted at gas stations with nene

-nene handles finding sleeping arrangements

-tsukasa got sick from a gas station hotdog once and he can’t handle takis

-underneath the stuff animals nene is rotting in, there are 17 crushed monster energies and coffee drink cans

-rui is looked to when there is car issues

-nene is basically keeping the other three on a leash at all times but she can’t keep them still and gets dragged along

-the amount of times tsukasa and emu have gotten lost in a gas station is impressive, sometimes rui moves the car while there inside to make them think they were left behind.

{Feel free to request headcannon ideas on my special interests! I’m not the most knowledgeable in other pjsk units tho!}