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#free to use if anyone wants to (same goes for part one)
imaginespazzi · 21 hours
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Part 4: The Art of Letting Go
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Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3
Only know you love her when (she lets you) go
(In which a still very sadistic writer make things a lot worse but only so they can get a little bit better)
Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd
Themes: Angst, Pining, Hurt with very little comfort
Words: 7.9K
TW: Car Accidents, Panic Attacks, Swearing
A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 I know I'm very, very late with this and I love you all for being so patient. I don't really know how I feel about this chapter but it is what it is. Logistical details are probably a little off but I need things to work for the plot, so try and ignore that. Per usual I did edit (very loosely and I'll probably go back over it later), there are probably typos anyways. And as always, let me know what you liked, what you didn't, and what you'd like to see in the future. Happy reading lovelies and let's get a W this weekend. <3
December 2023
A week or so after they get back from the Cayman Islands, Azzi feels like she’s been sleep-walking through life, everything around her hazy and dull. She religiously sticks to a routine of eat-study-practice-sleep. Except well, sleep isn’t really sleeping. It’s her brain conjuring images of blonde hair and blue eyes and Azzi forcing herself to wake-up from a nightmare that used to be her favourite dream. 
She doesn’t tell anyone what happened, lying to herself it’s because it would be embarrassing and not because it would mean having to face the truth. Still, it doesn’t mean that her teammates can’t piece together little bits. There must be something quite sinister about the air around her, because none of her normally nosy and eager-to-help sisters try to weasel any information out of Azzi. They act like they always have, only sharing worried looks behind her back when the façade of i’m doing fine slips momentarily when she thinks no one’s watching. 
And then that façade goes to hell over the span of a couple of hours. 
It starts with the inevitable breakup with Zoe. At first Azzi avoids it, making up excuses as to why she can’t see her girlfriend. Selfishly, there’s a part of her that wants to keep Zoe, keep a girl who would never leave, never make her feel anything less than (or more than) just content. But it’s not fair, Azzi knows that, and it’s why she practises her it’s not you, it’s me speech to perfection in front of the mirror. When she goes to message Zoe that she's coming over, the text chain causes a pinch of guilt in her heart at the contrast between her girlfriend’s hopeful tone versus her own nonchalant one. And Azzi thinks that Zoe will never really understand just how similar the two of them are, stuck at wanting someone who would always let them down. Only, Azzi will let Zoe free but when it comes to her herself, she’s pretty sure she’s destined to be trapped forever. 
It’s embarrassing to admit that Azzi remembers the apartment in Storrs that she’d visited barely a handful of times a lot more than she remembers the apartment she’s currently in, the one that belongs to her girlfriend. Zoe sits rigidly on the couch with the same reserved, guarded expression she’s had since she’d opened the door, clearly aware of what was about to happen. Her foot taps incessantly as the silence between them drags on.
“You deserve better,” Azzi says finally, keeping her eyes firmly locked on the floor. 
“No,” Zoe’s voice is cold, “don’t say shit like that. It’s a cop out. It’s the shit people say to make themselves feel better-”
“Zoe-”
“Don’t be a fucking coward Azzi. Look me in the eye and say it, say exactly what you’re here to.”
Azzi doesn’t want to do any of that. She wants to crumble to the ground and let it swallow her until she’s buried so far away from the mess she’s created. But she owes Zoe this. When she does look at Zoe, there’s this look in the other girl’s eyes that Azzi had never thought herself capable of evoking in anyone and she has to swallow away the bile that rises in her throat, disgusted by her own self. 
“I’m breaking up with you,” Azzi whispers. Her words linger in the air, like shrapnel after an explosion. Zoe flinches, a single tear trickling down her face. 
“There it is,” the Californian says quietly, the ghost of an ironic smile playing on her lips, “I knew it was coming but damn- there it is.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“For what-” Zoe cuts herself, “no actually don’t- don’t answer that. I think I know.”
Azzi draws in a deep breath, ready to confess, “I need to tell-”
“Please-”
“Z-”
“Please,” Zoe sobs, “please don’t tell me. I don’t wanna hear it okay? I don’t- I don’t want to hate you Azzi. It’s too much and I don’t- I just- I’m so tired of feeling so much for you when you don’t- when you feel so little for me.”
“That’s not true,” Azzi counters helplessly, her words ringing hollow to her own ears. 
“Fucking hell you just ended it Azzi, you don’t have to pretend anymore. And it’s okay because I get it. You can’t feel any more than what little you do for me because- because you’ve already given the rest of it away. And it’s not- it’s not like I didn’t know you know? I only ever met you because you were crying over her. You only let me into your life because you missed her. And now you have her,” Zoe says wistfully. 
It’s terrible the way everything else becomes white noise as Azzi’s ear latches on the last sentence, a sentence that couldn’t be any further away from the truth. She was prepared for the accusations, for Zoe to hurl every curse word in the book at her, but this, the unintended reminder that she was giving up on soft, sweet, gentle Zoe for something that she didn’t have, hurts far more than any words could. 
“This isn’t about-” 
Zoe’s quick to cut Azzi off, pushing herself off the couch they had been sharing, trying to put even more space in between them, “please do not insult my intelligence by finishing that sentence. I deserve that much at least.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know you are because I know- I know who you are Azzi and I know you’re a good person and that’s why- that’s why I don’t wanna know okay? Whatever you did- whatever happened- just let me- just let me have this. Let me remember you as someone good- someone great,” Zoe pleads.
“If that’s what you want Zo,” Azzi answers weakly, the guilty clawing at her heart. She doesn’t think she deserves to be remembered like that, doesn’t think she’s worthy of being thought of with fondness, not anymore. 
Zoe doesn’t make any acknowledgement of Azzi having spoken as she starts to pace, “I should have known. You know the day I met her this summer, I got it- the appeal- I got it immediately. She has this aura, this charm. She just- she just fucking glows you know? And she’s just- she’s this huge entity and so are you and I’m just,” she lets out a hollow laugh as she shrugs,  “I’m just a girl from Stockton, California.”
“And you’re amazing,” Azzi puts up a hand when Zoe tries to cut her off again, “you are. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank you for what you did for me last year. You could have walked away that day and maybe- maybe one day you’ll think you should have. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Zoe. You do deserve better. It’s not a cop out. It’s the truth.”
Since she was younger, Azzi’s always hated endings. This time is no different. The bitter truth is that she probably won’t miss her girlfriend, but she will miss the friend that had gotten her through one of the toughest years of her life. Slowly, Azzi picks herself off of the couch and walks over to a still Zoe, squeezing her left hand once before heading towards the door. 
“Azzi,” Zoe calls out, just as Azzi has one foot out the door, “I hope it works out for the two of you. You and Paige always did just seem inevitable.”
***
She blames the fact she’s currently stuck in the terrible LA traffic, with the word inevitable ringing in her ears, for the way her fingers continuously flicker over the green call button under Paige’s name. Zoe saying her name had been the first time in a week that Azzi had even let herself, in consciousness at least, think of the blonde properly. And now that it had been unleashed, whispers of Paige, Paige, Paige echo through every crevice of skull. The pain and anger that she’d been trying to shield herself from, come barraging into her heart as she’s held captive once again by thoughts of her best friend. 
It would be a lie to say that Azzi hadn’t been hoping for a call or a text to come through. She’d waited two days with bated breath for a friendly quip that would lead them back to their safe haven of just pretend. Instead it was as if they were back to being who they had been before summer of 2022 all over again. Back to being nothing. But this time Azzi had been adamant that if Paige was going to cut her off again, she wouldn’t fight it, not this time. Apparently that resolve was never meant to last and Azzi feels a little pathetic with how desperately she needs to hear Paige’s voice, how desperately she wants to try again. 
The traffic clears just as she presses call and maybe that should have been a sign. Azzi’s not a bad driver per say, but as her dad always said, no one’s a good driver when they’re distracted. The phone rings for too long and she should take that as her next sign and accept it as Paige not wanting to talk, but she lets it continue to ring anyway, as she turns onto a more secluded road. And then-
“Hello,” the voice is unfamiliar and Azzi doesn’t really know Paige’s teammates, beyond Caroline, that well but she’s pretty certain this one doesn’t belong to any of them. 
“Hi uh- who is this?” she manages to get out as her grip tightens on the steering wheel.
“Oh um- this is Rose, Paige’s friend” comes the reply, the word friend said with a sultry lilt and Azzi feels her skin prickle. Hang up. 
“Why are you answering Paige’s phone?” her tone is far more accusatory than she’d like it to be. 
“She���s in the bathroom but she told me to,” Rose answers defensively. 
Azzi hesitates, she doesn’t need to know more except, “does she know who called?”
Because surely if she did, if Paige knew it was Azzi on the other line, she wouldn’t let one of her likely random hookups answer the phone, surely Paige would know what it would do, how it would make her feel. 
“Uh yeah- I told her Azzi called and she seemed pretty sure she wanted me to pick up.”
Maybe Paige does know what it would do, does know how it would make Azzi feel, maybe that’s the whole fucking point. Through the phone she can hear quiet footsteps walking closer, towards Rose. When Paige is close enough that Azzi can make out the sound of her breathing, can almost picture the way her chest is heaving, that’s when the tears finally fall, blurring her vision. 
She doesn’t see the blinking headlights rushing towards her until it’s too late and then she’s swerving. The world around her erupts in motion and light and noise, everything spinning and spinning and spinning. For one moment, as she loses complete control of her car, Azzi thinks maybe this is it. And the most terrifying part of it, is that for a second, she’s not all that opposed to the idea of this being the end. It’s a singular image of her parents in her brain that has her regaining her senses and hitting the brakes as hard as she can. Her tires screech as her car barrels into a tree and her entire body jerks around in her car, her seatbelt leaving burn scars against her neck. Azzi feels her heartbeat going haywire, as everything comes to a halt. 
“Oh my god, oh my god,” Rose’s panicked voice echoes. 
“What?” and there’s Paige and even in this wreckage, Azzi’s heart stutters at the sound of her best friend. 
“I think she crashed-”
“WHAT?” there’s frantic shuffling until, “Azzi? Azzi? Hello? Are you there? Fuck. Azzi are you okay? Please say something. C’mon Az. I know you’re there. Can you hear me? Please be okay. Azzi? Fuck, fuck, fuck. Azzi?”
Azzi opens and closes her mouth, trying to answer to the call of her name, but nothing comes out. She feels hot and cold all over at the same and she swears there’s a hand curled around her neck because she can’t fucking breathe. 
“Azzi,” Paige says again desperately, “please say something.”
“P-Paige,” Azzi finally manages to stutter, her chest heaving as she gasps for air. There’s blood rushing to her ears and everything around her feels hazy. 
“Azzi,” and that one syllable is wrapped in so much emotion, “I’m here okay, are you okay?”
No, Azzi thinks, I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay. 
“I c-can’t breathe. I think” she grasps at her neck, “I th-think I’m having a panic attack.”
Paige curses under her breath, “okay, okay alright listen to me breathe okay? And try to match it okay?”
“O-okay,” Azzi whispers, pressing her head to her steering wheel as she tries to mimic Paige’s exaggerated deep breaths on the other end of the line. 
“Good girl, you’re doing so well for me Azzi, just keep breathing okay,” Paige’s voice is far calmer than she probably is in reality, “just keep breathing with me okay.”
Azzi closes her eyes as she feels her chest slowly start to loosen up and lets herself be immersed by Paige’s soothing words of comfort. And for a second, it almost feels as if her best friend is right there with her. For a second, Azzi imagines that they’re on a whole other planet, just them in their little world, like it always should have been, like she’d once been so sure it would be. It’s a beautiful dream that reality is quick to gatecrash. 
“Babe, is she okay?” Rose asks, and Azzi’s eyes fly open at the term of endearment. She’s not on a different planet. She’s alone. And Paige isn’t. 
“I’m fine,” Azzi breathes out and then more firmly, “I’m fine.”
“Thank God,” Paige lets out a sigh of relief before her tone turns sour “what the actual fuck Azzi?”
Azzi winces at the loudness, pretty sure she might have a concussion from the way her head had crashed back into her headrest as she’d crashed into the tree in front of her. 
“I’m fine,” she repeats assertedly, as everything around her slowly starts to make sense again. It’s not a lie really, at least not physically. There’s the potential concussion, and the litany of bruises she’s starting to feel all over her body but she’s pretty sure there’s nothing wrong internally. Well except for her stupid fucking heart but it wasn’t the accident that had fucked that organ up. 
“You just crashed your fucking car, no you’re not fucking fine,” Paige yells, voice thick with tears. 
“What the fuck do you care?” Azzi bites back, “sorry I interrupted your fucking night Paige. I swear it won’t happen again.”
She hangs up before Paige can say anything else, sitting deathly still for a second. And then she lets herself completely break apart. 
***
74 missed calls from Paige
did u go to the hospital 
pick up ur fucking phone 
dude
azzi
this is not the time for this stubborn bullshit 
PICK UP UR FUCKING PHONE 
AZZI 
just say ur ok at least
please 
called ur mom 
said u had a concussion and some bruising 
thats not too bad 
ur so fucking stupid 
it could be so much worse 
please pick up 
AZZI FUCKING FUDD PICK UP UR PHONE 
so u can call carol and not me ok 
thats just fucking perfect
dude i feel like an accident > stupid fights 
so maybe just pick up 
or call me back
u wanna play this stupid game fine 
ignore me for now
but i’mma be in dc for christmas
ur gonna have to talk to me 
i know where u live 
***
The box in Azzi’s arm feels freakishly heavy, like she’s holding the whole world inside of it. In a way, maybe she is. The walk up Paige’s dad’s driveway feels longer than it ever has and she’s fighting the urge to turn back with every step. As soon as she’d seen the vaguely threatening text message, Azzi had decided she would beat Paige to it. The night of the accident had put several things into perspective and Azzi was determined to finally grasp control of her own life. 
It hasn’t been that long since the Cayman Island and so it hasn’t been that long since Azzi’s seen Paige. But when the door opens and she’s face to face with her best friend, despite the dread and anxiety that’s drowning her heart, Azzi still feels that beat of it’s cold but you always make me feel warm flutter in her chest. Paige smiles and Azzi’s arms wobble, drawing the blonde’s attention to the box in her arms. 
“Still a couple of days till Christmas Az, a little early to give me my present,” Paige smirks lightly and Azzi feels a river of hot anger slide around her veins. After everything she’d put her through in the last couple of weeks, the fact that Paige could act so frivolous, as if they were still fine, makes Azzi see red. 
Her voice is icier than the sheet of frost on the ground when she replies, “it’s not a Christmas present.”
Paige’s eyebrows knit together questioningly, “then-”
“It’s all your stuff I had lying around,” Azzi cuts in, trying to keep her voice confident and stable. 
The smile disappears from Paige’s face as she studies Azzi's face, looking for some semblance of emotion beyond the blank stare. 
“What?”
“All the things you’ve left at my house over the years, a couple of t-shirts, a hat, a book and a couple other things, they’re in this box,” Azzi says pointedly. She tries to hand it over but Paige is quick to move away from it, staring at the offending object as if it’s a ticking time bomb. 
“What the actual fuck is going on Azzi?”
“I might have missed some things. Let me know if I have and I’ll mail them to you in the future,” Azzi recites clinically, keeping her demeanour stoic as possible “and of course I would like my things back as well. Not right now of course. You can mail them to me whenever it suits you.”
“Mail back your things? What? What the fuck are you going on about?” Paige asks, a bewildered expression taking on her face. She reaches out as if she wants to shake Azzi but seems to think better of it. 
Azzi doesn’t say anything, as she sidesteps Paige into the house, putting in the utmost effort to make sure no part of herself brushes up against the older girl, knowing the inevitable burst of electricity when they touch would be enough to break her resolve. She places the box of Paige’s stuff on the coffee table in the living room, before turning back to Paige. 
“I’m giving you your stuff back,” Azzi repeats, “I’m giving you what you want.”
“What I want? When did I ask for my stuff back?”
Azzi draws in a deep breath, fighting desperately against the screams of you don’t want this in her own head, “I’m giving you a clean break Paige. I’m letting you go.”
Saying those words feels a lot like free-falling. Her stomach lurches at the way Paige’s features scrunch up in pain and she’d never meant to do that, but Azzi’s so tired. She’s so tired of this push and pull, the way they seem to hurt each other every fucking time, the way things get so close to going right and then go wrong any way. The bitter truth of life, Azzi has forced herself to admit, is that it doesn’t matter how hard you fight, sometimes the darkness wins out anyway. 
“You think-,” Paige stutters, clutching at her chest, “you think this is what I want?”
“Well isn’t it?” 
“Of course n-”
“If I hadn’t called you that night would you have called me first Paige?  If I hadn’t gotten into that stupid accident, would you even have texted me ever again?”
Paige’s silence is an answer in itself . And although Azzi had known it, she can’t deny that there’s a part of her that had posed the question hoping against hope that Paige would have answered it with a resounding yes of course. She thinks maybe she should be used to the singe of disappointment that burns her skin by now but she’s never been immune to Paige’s fire. 
“That’s what I thought,” Azzi says quietly, “I’m tired of running after you Paige. I thought I was done after the Cayman Islands but then I- I don’t know- I don’t know why I called you that night when you- you clearly didn’t want that.”
“Azzi c’mon-”
“It’s my fault really. Because you've always been clear about it and I- for some reason- I just don’t listen. You were clear with it when you told me to go to UCLA and get out of your life. You were clear when you didn’t want me to come into your air BnB. You were clear when you told me to get out of the bathroom last summer. And when you left that night-,” Azzi pauses as Paige’s eyes widen, the words catching in her throat, “when you were gone that morning- every time you didn’t call- every time you didn’t text- you were always clear about it Paige and I- I’m sorry I didn’t listen.”
“You’re being really fucking unfair right now,” Paige accuses, “you’re mad because I didn’t want to be your fucking side whore? I’m so sorry I had more self-respect than that Azzi.”
Azzi blinks rapidly, her face still completely neutral, “excuse me?”
“You wanna blame me for those first two things, fine. But you have a whole ass girlfriend and you wanted me to be what? Just a girl you can fuck occasionally because you feel like it? Who the fuck do you think I am? I deserve so much better than that.”
“I don’t-”
“You wanna know why I left that morning?” Paige asks icily, “I woke up and the first thing I saw is your girlfriend’s fucking i miss you text. All that shit you said to me when I kissed you in LA about not wanting to be one of my groupies or whatever but what did you want me to be Azzi?”
When they were young and naive, the largest fight they’d ever had was about whether or not one of them had cheated in a game of horse. The allegations of cheater from a 15 year old Paige had seemed massive back then, but they pale in front of the accusations of cheater from a 22 year old Paige. It’s not that Azzi thinks she’s some prime example of a good samaritan and she can deal with people thinking she’s not all that, but it’s different when it’s Paige, it’s different to know that Paige could ever think so low of her. 
“You really think I’d do that you? That I’d make you my sidepiece or whatever?”
“What else am I supposed to think about you fucking me while you have a girlfriend?” Paige asks exasperatedly and Azzi flinches at the repeated use of the profanity. 
“Had.”
“What?”
Azzi grips the hem of her shirt, trying to focus her eyes anywhere but Paige, “I had a girlfriend. Past tense.”
“You- you broke up with Zoe?” Paige’s expression morphs from anger to confusion before finally settling on realisation. 
“I never wanted you to be a side piece. You think I don’t know you deserve better than that?” Azzi rubs her temple, as she tries to keep herself steady on her feet, “I know seeing that text hurt you but it’s not like you didn’t know I had a girlfriend. But- but if you’d just waited for me to wake up, god if you’d just talked to me once instead of jumping to conclusions then-”
“Then what?” Paige breathes out and Azzi doesn’t miss the little spurt of hope that’s taken birth on the older girl's face. 
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Azzi shakes her head, “that’s also past tense now.”
The thing with Paige is that anger is her protective mechanism. When she gets a little close to losing control of her emotions, or feeling too much, it’s what she falls back on so it’s not surprising that her tone is harsh when she speaks again. 
“How the fuck was I supposed to guess you were gonna break up with your girlfriend Az c’mon,” Paige takes a step towards her, “I’m not a fucking mind reader.”
“I never asked you to read my mind. I just- all I’ve ever wanted- is for you to just have a little faith in me- in us,” Azzi’s voice breaks on the last word. 
“That’s not fair. I was really fucking  hurt Azzi-” Paige begins, her voice pleading.
“And then you tried to hurt me back on purpose,” Azzi spits out as the façade of neutrality completely slips off, “you knew it was me calling and you had that girl pick up any way knowing exactly how it would make me feel.”
“Azzi,” baby blue eyes sparkle with tears and Azzi has to force herself to look away, because no matter how much she’s convinced that this is what needs to happen, seeing Paige break, will drown Azzi and she’s barely floating as it is. 
“I don’t enjoy hurting you Paige,” Azzi says softly, “and I don’t think you enjoy hurting me but for the last couple of years, I feel like that’s all we’ve been doing and I- I can’t do it anymore.”
It’s not something she’d ever admitted out loud, or even to herself, but once upon a time Azzi used to think her and Paige would have one of those stories, one of those soft, sappy fairytale-esque stories that had no chance of an ending that wasn’t happily ever after. And she hopes that maybe in another universe, maybe they did have that. Maybe in a universe where she chose UConn and things never went wrong in the first place. Maybe in that universe, they’re happy. But in this universe, they seem to be destined for misery. And Azzi thinks the saddest tragedy of it all, is that it feels like she’s ending a story that never even really got the chance to start. 
“So that’s it then, you’re walking away- you’re just- you’re fucking giving up?” Paige says bitterly, crossing her arms protectively over her chest and Azzi feels a flicker of annoyance light up against her ribcage. 
“Isn’t that what you did?” she accuses, “Is that not what you do? You walk away every. single. time. because you can’t deal with things getting just a little too fucking hard. And what? I’m just supposed to wait until you come back? Or chase after you like a pathetic little puppy?”
Paige flinches at the hardness in Azzi’s tone, mouth opening and closing but nothing escaping. 
“I’m so fucking tired of always being the one calling, the one showing up, the one trying. I’m so fucking tired of fighting for us when it feels like you’re fighting against me,” Azzi pauses,trying to blink away the tears she’d tried so hard to keep locked behind her eyelids, “if you wanna call that me giving up then okay, but I don’t think you realize just how fucking hard I want to hold on.”
Azzi’s not sure if it’s the way her voice cracks, or the absolute misery behind every word she says, but Paige's hard and cold expression is gone so fast it gives her whiplash. And then her Paige, the girl with the warm eyes and soft heart is back, looking at Azzi in a way that makes her want to believe in them all over again. Arms outstretched, Paige takes a step forwards and there’s nothing more Azzi wants then melt into them. It takes everything in her to step away instead. For a moment there’s nothing but them staring at each other in silence, a moment where Azzi tries to memorise everything about Paige just in case this is the last time. And then-
“What if,” Paige begins softly, “what if I entered the draft?”
Azzi looks at her in confusion, “what does that have to do with anything?”
“The Sparks have the second pick, it’s where I’m projected to go,” Paige bites at her lips, peering at Azzi through her eyelashes. 
The Sparks. The Los Angeles Sparks. 
“Is that what you want?” Azzi asks quietly, trying to prevent her brain from already coming up with dreams of stupid picnic dates at the park during sunset. 
Paige hesitates. And it’s enough for those dreams to crumble, because Azzi knows Paige just a little too well, knows exactly what that little bit of hesitation means. 
“I haven’t decided yet but if- if there was a reason that I should-”
“There isn’t,” Azzi says firmly, “it’s not what you want.”
“I don’t even fucking know what I want,” Paige argues and that doesn’t make it any better. 
“Then figure it out,” Azzi yells, frustratedly rubbing her hands over her face, “I won’t deal with you fucking resenting me and running away again in a couple of years- hell in a couple of months- because you regret your fucking decision.”
“I wouldn’t-”
“Please just stop. It's done. I’ve made up my mind” Azzi begs, exhaustion flooding into her body, “just- just let this go please.”
Paige meets her eyes with a stubborn fire, “I don’t fucking want to.”
“Well tough luck because I do.”
“Azzi,” Paige pleads desperately, trying to block Azzi as she beelines for the door, but the younger girl is quick to push past her. 
“Goodbye Paige.”
***
December 2024 
azzi please just let me in 
ur parent are saying u dont wanna see me 
and i get it 
but i can fix this i swear 
i know u know im here
please fucking let me in 
i fucked up 
i know 
im so fucking sorry
but dude we can fix this
just 
can u just fucking let me in
i really wanna see u 
i really wanna talk 
can we just fucking talk 
please 
merry christmas az
u know what fuck u actually 
didnt mean that sorry 
i was just mad 
u make me really fucking mad 
christmas breaks almost over 
i have to go back soon and ik u do too
we should talk before that 
ur so fucking stubborn 
but so am i
im not giving up 
i won’t 
January 2024
hi 
i miss you
ur really fucking annoying
not texting me back
but its fine
i’ll just fucking spam 
i had an ok day today 
practice was kinda ass 
not me tho
i was great
as always 
bet i made more threes than you did 
bro im watching ur game
and
what the fuck kinda airball did u just throw up 
get in the gym az jfc 
oh that was a good pullup
not better than mine
but decent 
been a fucking month azzi 
just fucking call me back 
or text me idk 
i miss u 
sooooooooooo
hows ur day
good? good.
hows mine?
oh kinda shit 
lets see
we lost in front of all these uconn legends
to their fucking rival 
everyones saying uconn fucking sucks 
some people are saying i suck
they might not be completely wrong 
now would be a good time to reply az 
like maybe make me feel better
fuck u actually 
what the fuck am i doing 
idk if u even read these 
February 2024
idk maybe i should stop 
like maybe only fucking psychos do this 
but idk bro 
i feel like ur gonna text me back eventually 
well sc was a shit show 
i mean we knew it but holy shit 
i really wanna talk to you about it
it’d mainly just be me fucking yelling 
and u giggling 
fuck i miss ur laugh
i miss you
idk if u just ignore these
so idk if ur gonna even see this 
but 
i wanted to tell you first 
before u saw it from somewhere else 
im staying at uconn 
u were right
i didnt want to leave yet 
i want my 4 years
but 
just dont think it means i didnt mean what i said
that i dont wanna be in la with u
i do
its not about that
i just need to do whats best for me
and thats staying here 
fuck
i get what u meant now
u didnt pick ucla over me
fuck fuck fuck 
im sorry az
is this how u felt 
when i didn’t text u back 
because it’s actually fucking hell 
i miss you so fucking much dude
i’m so sorry 
i’m really fucking sorry azzi 
for all of it
please just call me back
March 2024
last pac-12 tournament mvp!!
dude i’m so proud of you
we also won 
idk if u heard 
it wasnt easy either 
everything just always fucking goes wrong 
fucking pisses me off 
but oh well 
u know i dont even like texting 
idk how many messages ive sent u 
its gotta be hundreds atp 
insane shit on my part 
tf is wrong with me 
did u see the bracket
see u in the final 4 azzi 
April 2024 
i fucking told u 
i told you id see u in the final four
fucking meant it
fuck 
gonna kick yalls ass
revenge szn
we’re built different in march
cleveland here we fucking go 
but also
cant avoid me anymore 
i cant fucking wait to see you az  
***
UConn 87     UCLA 84 
There’s six seconds left to go and UCLA has control of the ball. The game today had been completely different from the on down in the Cayman Islands. That one had featured a UCLA team that had dominated from start to finish versus a UConn team still reeling from multiple injuries. This time around, UCLA seemed to have lost some of their shine and UConn had been on a tear. She would never give Paige the satisfaction of knowing it but her stupid goading, her incessant smirking because UConn seemed poised to win handedly, had gotten in Azzi’s head for most of the game. The fourth quarter had seen UConn enter with a 11 point lead that had held study until the last two and a half minutes when something had finally clicked for Azzi. 
“Told you, you should have fucking come to UConn,” Paige had sneered while casually dribbling the ball and that had been enough to break Azzi out of whatever funk she’d been in. All of her anger and frustration at Paige seemed to culminate into that one moment as she’d swiped the ball straight from Paige’s hands, narrowly avoiding a foul. An easy steal-and-score layup was followed by two signature three pointers, created by her team’s defence, and suddenly the lead had been cut down to three. On the other side, Muhl had been called for an offensive foul and immediately Coach Close had called for a timeout to advance the ball. 
When both teams get back on the court, Azzi, with her competitive streak in full control of her emotions, relishes in the way Paige’s face is contorted up in frustration. But it isn’t just this game that has Azzi irritated. Paige had been relentless since both teams had landed in Cleveland in trying to corner Azzi. She’d known it was gonna happen since she’d read the text but still Azzi had hoped that maybe the blonde would just let it go, would understand just how much Azzi didn’t want to have to deal with this. Because seeing Paige hurts. All the missing and yearning of the past few months seemed to have blended into this ball of tight hot pain that had burst the minute Paige had smiled at Azzi. She knows Paige means well, and it’s taking everything in her to ignore the part of her that’s secretly enamoured by how hard the point guard is trying finally, but Azzi just can’t do it again. She can’t let Paige in again and then spend every other second scared that Paige will run away again. 
The whistle blows and Charisma gets ready to inbound the ball. The play call had been to just get it to Azzi but it’s clearly one that UConn had anticipated, because she finds herself swarmed with Paige and Muhl both trying to make sure she doesn’t get the ball. Instead, it’s Kiki who gets the ball and the countdown starts, as Azzi fights to get herself free, running off of screens, to get herself open on the three point line. It takes too much time and they don’t have any more timeouts left. Kiki throws it inside to Lauren who misses the layup but gets her own rebound and somehow the ball finally finds its way into Azzi’s hands. And with barely a second left to go, and Paige’s hand firmly in her face, Azzi throws up a prayer. The arena goes deathly silent as the ball hits the back and then circles every inch of the rim before spilling over the edge and falling straight into Edwards’ hands. 
The crowd erupts in deafening cheers as the UConn bench rushes to the court, jubilantly hugging each other with Paige in the middle. Azzi blinks rapidly, refusing to be caught shedding a single tear on camera. Her teammates look distraught and Azzi feels disappointment curling into every crevice of her skin she’d almost had it. In the grand scheme of things she knows that, that shot would have only guaranteed overtime and not a win but still, it wouldn’t have meant a loss. And she knows this one isn’t completely on her either but it doesn’t mean that she doesn’t feel the burden of it on her shoulders any way. 
But despite it all, seeing Paige’s bright smile stretch all over her beaming face as she celebrates with her team, soothes the sting of the loss just a little bit. Azzi still remembers late night calls and Paige’s broken voice too well, her brain imprinted with the misery of a girl who had just wanted to play the sport she loved and couldn’t. And even if everything between them resembles the remnants of an earthquake, Azzi can’t help but be just a little bit happy for Paige. 
The handshake line is better this time around with no one being unnecessarily hostile. One team is too happy to care and when Muhl briefly hugs her, Azzi can’t help but be a little shocked by the affection. Her team is too despondent to be mad, and Angela briefly nods at Paige when shaking her hand, and gets a reassuring grin in return. Azzi has to force herself not to run away, if only for decorum’s sake, once she and Paige finally get to each other. Trying to keep herself steady, she reaches out her hand to counter Paige’s outstretched arms. The smile falls a little bit from Paige’s face as a more resigned expression takes its place. 
“Good game Bueckers,” Azzi manages to muster out. 
The last name stings but Paige does her best to not let it show, “good game Az.”
***
When there’s a knock on the door to her hotel room a little bit after 10pm, Azzi knows exactly who it is. The look that Charisma gives her as she goes to open it, suggests that she does too. 
“Oh thank fucking god, I thought maybe y’all left already,” and there it is, Paige voice echoing through her room and from where she’s perched on the edge of bed, her feet dangling over the side, Azzi catches a brief glimpse of the UConn point guard. 
“Had a little bit of a transportation issue. We’re not leaving til tomorrow morning,” Charisma explains, “what are you doing here Paige?”
Paige shuffles her feet nervously at the doorway, peering over Charisma’s frame in the doorway to catch sight of Azzi, “can I talk to Azzi?”
“First you kick my ass in the final four, and now you wanna kick me out of my own room?” Charisma asks, voice light but there’s an edge of seriousness to it. 
“I-uh-” 
“Az,” Charisma turns to Azzi with a questioning look, and Azzi sighs at having all the attention on her, “you wanna talk to her?”
Say no. Say yes. Her head fights with itself. And for the last few months, Azzi’s done well with listening to the logical part of her brain, diligently sticking to letting go. But that had only been easy to do because Paige hadn’t actually been there. Now that she is, with bright hopeful eyes fixed on Azzi, well, this time the emotional side wins out. She nods her head in yes at Charisma and Paige seems to glow all over. 
“You’re lucky it’s me and not Angela or Kiki or any of the other girls,” Charisma warns, “but I swear to god Bueckers if I come back and there’s a single tear-”
“Then you have my permission to fucking murder me,” Paige vows, her face a paragon of sincerity. 
Charisma nods once, stepping aside to let Paige in. The Bruin’s point guard looks at Azzi once more for confirmation and then, satisfied by the small smile Azzi shoots at her, she leaves the room, letting the door shut behind her. And then it’s just Paige and Azzi and the myriad of unspoken thoughts that seem to always linger between them. 
“Hi,” Paige says softly. 
Azzi stares up at her with tired eyes, “shouldn’t you be celebrating or something?”
“Still one more game to go. Gotta lock in for that first.”
“Then go do that. What are you doing here?”
Paige flinches at the harsh tone and Azzi feels a wave of guilt come over her. She doesn’t mean to be so hostile but she’s scared that if she gives in just a little, all of her will go tumbling down. 
“Sunday is the most important game of my life,” Paige says quietly. 
“I know- I know it means a lot to you.”
“It does,” Paige nods, as she takes a step forward, hesitating for a second, before she drags a foot stool over, so she can sit right in front of Azzi, “will you stay for it?”
“That’s not-,” Azzi sucks in a deep breath, her senses muddle by having Paige so close to her again, “I thought I was clear about- about us.’
“You were but I thought I was clear with my texts,” Paige counters. 
“Paige please.”
“I just-,” Paige pauses, leaning forward and staring intently at Azzi, “I don’t know how the national championship is gonna go. I don’t know if we’re gonna win or lose but I just- I know that no matter what happens, I want you there. Because if I’m gonna end up fucking crying, then I want it to be on your shoulder. And if I’m gonna end up celebrating, I want it to be in your arms. I just- I just want you there. With me. Always.”
Everything else floats away and for a moment, all Azzi knows is Paige, and the warmth that reverberates through her body at the earnestness in those words. If she could, she’d capture that feeling in a bottle and keep it forever. Because moments are fleeting. And when her brain catches up to her heart, and that voice in her head is back to echoing it won’t last, Azzi feels cold all over again. 
“You don’t believe me,” disappointment echoes in Paige’s voice; she’s always been a little too perceptive of Azzi’s emotions, “you think I don’t mean it?”
“I think you mean it now. I don’t think you’ll mean it forever,” Azzi shrugs. 
Paige is quiet, nerves on full display, as she cautiously reaches for Azzi’s hands with both of her own, an audible sigh of relief floating out of her lips when Azzi lets her. 
“I know I fucked up,” she begins quietly, thumb caressing Azzi’s palms, each trace sending jolts of electricy through the younger girl’s body, “like really fucked up and I get why you think that. I get why- why you’re so scared to believe me. And I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
A teardrop rolls down Paige’s cheek, falling onto their intertwined hands, and Azzi feels herself flinch, her own eyes beginning to glisten. 
“If I could go back in time, I’d change so many fucking things. I’d go back to the beginning- back to your room the night before you went to LA and- and I’d tell myself to shut the fuck up. I’d tell you that I supported you- that I understood that you weren’t choosing UCLA over me- and I’d- I’d tell you that it didn’t matter how many fucking miles away from me you were- we’d survive it. But I can’t- I can’t change the past. I can’t change that we fought. I can’t change that- that I was a fucking idiot for ignoring you for a year. I can’t change that I was a dumbass for leaving that morning.”
Tears are freely streaming from both of their eyes now as they grip each other’s hands tightly. There’s something cathartic about finally being able to cry, about finally being able to mourn the loss of what could have been together.And it feels a little bit like healing. 
Paige looks up at Azzi through watery eyelashes as she continues to speak, her voice wrecked with emotion, “and I’m not gonna make promises about how I’ll never do shit to hurt you again because god knows I can be really fucking stupid.”
They let out simultaneous giggles at that and Azzi can feel something in herself unravelling. 
“But what I can promise is that if you let me, every day- every fucking day that I live- I will try. To not hurt you. To make it up to you. To fix this. To fix us. And I can promise, that I will never ever fucking run away from you again. I know- I know it’s gonna be hard but I swear- I fucking swear- that I will stay right here and face it with you.”
“Paige,” Azzi whispers helplessly. It’s everything she’s wanted to hear and it’s too much. The voices in her head are too loud again, screams of she’ll hurt you, she always does, let her go colliding with shouts of it’s Paige, it’s your Paige, hold on to her. 
“You said- you said you were tired of fighting alone but you never- you never have to do that again because- because I’m here now. Fuck- Azzi I’m here. And I know- I know there’s so much we have to talk about and so much we still have to fucking deal with. But we can do that- we can- we can deal with anything. Because it’s us. Paige and Azzi. We can do anything. Together.”
Paige presses her forehead to Azzi’s, pulling their interlocked hands to her chest. They’re breathing in sync and Azzi can feel the thrum of Paige’s heart beat against her fingertips. Azzi’s eyes close of their own accord, as Paige’s lips brush over hers, her next words coming out in a breathless whisper. 
“Believe in me- believe in us just one more time, please.”
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babiebom · 2 days
Note
Hello hello. I just recently stumbled across your blog and in celebration of the 1.6 update (and also just outta pure curiosity), I wanna ask about the SDV bachelors reactions to a farmer who's ace/uncomfortable with intercourse but still wishes to pursue a loving relationship with them. If this ask isn't up your alley, feel free to disregard it. Hope you have a good day ✌️
A/N: hiiiiiiiii!! Obligatory I am not a part of this community(I am cishet lmao) so I am just going to have to try my best!! I am not ace or aro or anything but like never feel bad for sending an ask like this!! By the time you see this it’ll probably be like next week or something bc I do take little writing breaks so it isn’t absolute trash but I hope when you see this you enjoy it!!
Tw:mentions of sex, some cursing maybe,
Bc: idk at least 5 or 6 for each bachelor
Stardew Masterlist
Sebastian
Is this a joke?
No? Okay.
Would be disappointed at first because let’s face it dude is constantly horny
But would get over it rather quickly like just because you don’t wanna have sex doesn’t mean he can’t run one out
And now that you’re dating it’s easier than ever to do that because he finds you so attractive.
So not really all that disappointing when he thinks about it, really
Sam
Dude for real? Like ever? I mean I guess that’s okay
Sex isn’t the top thing on his list so it’s fine
Like yeah he would like to have it but it’s whatever
Would rather give up skateboarding and music than give you up so not having sex is easier than that by a long shot
Can he still get kisses tho??? That’s all he’s really worried about
Shane
I think the least affected and disappointed out of the bachelors
He has more things to worry about than having sex
It’s not that he isn’t attracted to you
It’s that you loves you for you and sex is the last thing on his mind when he’s thinking about bettering himself and taking care of Jas and his chickens the list goes on
Would actually be so chill when you have this conversation like “yeah okay, that’s fine.” And would never make you feel bad about it because he honestly doesn’t mind
Elliott
Tries not to react on the outside.
I think before you two start getting hot and heavy it probably wouldn’t have come up
Because I think Elliott would want to be a gentleman and not bring it up until you do
And during a particularly heated makeout session he tries to take it further to test the waters when you stop him in his tracks
And he’s like oh…okay!
He’s good with whatever you give him
Sometimes he’s disappointed when he gets the urge but gets over it very quickly because he obviously knows how to handle those feelings himself.
Alex
“Like…at all?”
Would be high key disappointed because dude likes to fuck tbh
BUT at the same time you aren’t just some random whose pants he’s trying to get in
You’re quite literally the love of his life (if anyone asks him he will never say he believes this because he’s scared of rejection)
So it takes a minute but he accepts this with literally a “welp back to using my hand” mentality
Like when he thinks about it, sex is literally the least important aspect of your relationship, he fell for you because of who you are not because he just wants to fuck.
Harvey
I think he wouldn’t really be disappointed but like dang y’know?
Like he doesn’t care that much about sex to really be disappointed
But does enjoy the act of sex, especially with a person he’s connected to like you two are
So it’s not as far as disappointment but is still like oof okay.
Out of all the bachelors understands the lbgtq+ community better than the others so isn’t really all that surprised when you talk to him about it.
He knows what it is and doesn’t mind, you don’t have to explain yourself, you’re valid how you are he doesn’t mind and he won’t and doesn’t want to force you to do anything.
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matchingbatbites · 8 months
Text
"What the fuck did you do?"
Eddie wasn't expecting hostility when he answered Jeff's phone call, his best friend's usual calm demeanor replaced with open annoyance. And yeah, okay, the annoyance itself wasn’t new, but Eddie doesn’t think he’s actually done anything recently to earn it.
"Well-"
"Actually, no. I'll tell you what you did. You retweeted photos of Steve Harrington - internationally beloved heartthrob actor Steve Harrington - along with the caption 'not to sound like a subby slut but GOD I would be his puppy baby boy in a heartbeat'. So I guess the better question is, what the fuck were you thinking, Eddie?"
Eddie's jaw clicks shut because- yeah, he had done that. Had seen those photos of Steve smoking circling the internet and spent god knows how long just staring at them, had curbed the desire to shove his hand down his pants by posting a single thirst tweet about it.
“I was thinking, Jeff, that I'm allowed to post whatever I want to my private fucking twitter, man. I mean it's a free country, isn't a guy allowed to make a horny tweet about a sexy man every now and then?”
“You are, when you actually post it to your private account and not our award winning band's main account.”
No. Oh no. There's no way Eddie actually-
He rips his phone away from his face to open twitter, and realizes two things simultaneously. One, Jeff is right, he had posted it to the band's account. Not on his private, locked, personal account, but on the account that's actually open and free for literally anyone on earth to look at.
The second thing he realizes is that their notifications are currently flooded with responses to Eddie's tweet, somehow racking up into the thousands in the few hours it's been since. 
Jesus Christ.
“Eddie?”
The metalhead jerks back into the moment and put Jeff on speaker so he can scroll through the horde of replies, says “Fuck, I fucked up. Are we gonna have to do damage control on this?”
In the mess is a reply from Gareth's own personal account: @ corrodededdie stop tweeting from the band account challenge 🙄🙄🙄
”Maybe. There hasn't been any type of response from Harrington or his people, but they might ask us to take it down if it blows up too much.“
Eddie hums, thinking they might be too little, too late about it blowing up too much, and flips over to his main account so he can reply to Gareth's little jab appropriately. He isn't surprised to see that he has a couple of new messages, probably from other people wondering just what the fuck Eddie was thinking, but when he goes to check them-
He's never been happier that he turned on messages from followers only, because then he would have missed this, missed Steve Harrington's little profile picture beaming up at him from the screen of his phone, along with a new message request.
”Jeff, I gotta go,” he says, not even realizing he's cut the other man off.
“Eddie, what-
”Harrington messaged me. I'll call you back.“
Eddie doesn't wait for a response as he hangs up on Jeff, and his hands definitely aren't shaking as he opens the message from Steve. And listen- Eddie is a fan of the guy, that much should be obvious. 
Steve had grown in popularity around the same time Corroded Coffin had; he’d gotten some part in a drama film that had skyrocketed him into stardom, and Eddie fell in love the moment he saw that gorgeous face on the silver screen for the first time. He's never had a chance to interact with the guy, has been in the same place a few times but always missed him, like ships passing in the night, but Eddie's been fine with pining from afar, just like every other person on the planet that's even remotely attracted to men.
Besides, even with how popular Corroded Coffin has gotten over the years - a couple of Grammy’s here, a dozen chart topping metal songs there - Eddie doesn’t expect Steve to just. Know who Eddie is.
With all of this in mind, Eddie is expecting some kind of semi-casual request to take the tweet down, that it's not a good look for his image-
Anything other than what Steve actually sent.
'If you're puppy baby boy, does that make me Master? Or Daddy?'
And Eddie- 
Eddie slides down, sinks into his couch cushion as all of the blood in his body suddenly shifts, rushing to fill his dick like it's a fucking race. The phone almost slips out of his hand and he fumbles it briefly before taking a deep breath. 
Is Steve serious? He wouldn't send that if he wasn't serious, right?
This could be it, could be Eddie's one chance to impress Steve, to get his foot in the door of Steve's interest. He bites his lip and types out a reply, something quick that he sends before he can change his mind.
‘I’m open to either, actually. Do you have a preference, sir?’
He doesn’t expect the typing indicator to come up immediately, and just knowing that Steve is somewhere right now, typing out a response to Eddie, is enough to have him nearly vibrating in his seat.
‘I’m partial to Daddy, myself.’
Fuck fuck fuck.
Eddie takes a breath, tries to think of a response that isn’t just ‘Please, Daddy, can I sit on your massive dick that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since that one indie film you did that just had all of your junk out in the open?’
Steve saves him by sending another message.
‘But maybe we could start with Steve, and possibly dinner? Though I’d be happy to see where things go after that.’
He- What-
Eddie must have stopped breathing, because the next time he takes a breath his lungs burn, his mid races because there’s no way Eddie’s long term celebrity crush just asked him on a date. He sits there long enough that the screen goes dark and he scrambles to turn it back on, sees the message still there, real and unchanged.
There’s no way he can say no to this, to Steve, and his hands shake as he types out a response.
‘Dinner would be great. Just name the time and place, Daddy.’
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seravphs · 11 months
Text
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ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — YUTA x FEM READER 
You’ve been trying to get a boyfriend to get over your one sided crush, but being known as Yuta’s girl across campus is a major cockblock for your romantic endeavours. The worst part? You’re not even dating.
wc — 4.8k
tags — pining, childhood friends to lovers, jealous Yuta, possessiveness, college au, Getou #1 wingman Suguru but only cause he gets a kick out of watching Yuta suffer, Yuta and you are so delusional, some suggestive content
♫: cologne — beabadoobee
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This is the fifth boy that’s turned you down so far. You’re starting to wonder if something’s wrong with you. 
As with all of your woes, it ends with you at Yuta’s apartment. Is it pathetic to be comforted for your failed attempts at flirting by the boy you’re in love with? Very. Do you trust anyone else but Yuta not to make fun of you? No. 
“Yuta,” you whine into his stomach. He’s sitting on the couch with his legs tucked neatly together to form a cushion for your head. “Am I ugly?” 
He drops his controller instantly, muttering a quick sorry to Inumaki who’s suddenly left single handedly defending their team against the enslaught of monsters. “Why would you say that?” 
He pinches your cheeks between two fingers, squishing your face until your lips form an ‘o’. “You’re the prettiest girl in the world! Anyone would be lucky to have you.” 
Clearly not, or Yuta would have you. He’s just saying that because he has to. He’s your best friend.
“Did someone say something to you?” He asks. 
“So you do think I’m ugly!” 
Yuta grabs you by the wrists and hauls you upright so you’re face to face on the couch, knees uncomfortably entangled with his as you’re forced to sit up. He’s too earnest, too eager as he presses your hands together in his grip and says, “Everything about you is pretty! I never want to hear you say that again. Don’t disparage the eyes and lips and nose that I love.” 
This is the reason why you can never get over him. How can you when he says things like that? If you hadn’t known Yuta since you were five, you would say he was leading you on. But because you’ve grown up together, you know it’s just the way he is, like the sky is blue or the sun is warm. Yuta just loves you - but not like that. Not in the way you want. 
Never in the way you want. 
It’s been difficult. You and Yuta have no secrets between you, or at least you used to. It’s a side effect of growing up practically out of the same womb. What’s his is yours and vice versa. When you share everything with each other, it goes against your very nature to hold things back. Your secret strains at your lips, climbing up your throat, constantly begging to be set free even as you suppress it. 
“You’re making me sad,” he says, poking at your cheek at your silence. He’s trying to provoke you. “Why can’t you see yourself the way I do?” 
Normally he can get a smile out of you under any circumstance, so it distresses him not to be able to cheer you up instantly. He’s your best friend, the only one you have. You’ve been together your entire lives. Would telling him really change everything? 
You want to trust him more than the fear that he would reject you. Even if he can’t love you back the way that you want him to, at least this nightmare would be over. You could learn to accept what he was willing to give you, in time. Isn’t it a slight against the love you share to doubt him like this? 
But you’re scared. A childhood friend is irreplaceable. You can make new friends, but you can never get another Yuta. You’ll never be able to replicate the way he’s shared all of the bumps and bruises of your childhood with someone else. His mother has a box of your baby teeth that she keeps with her mementoes of his childhood. Who else can you say that about? You can’t risk it. 
“Yuta. Stop flirting and get your ass back in the game before we die!” 
Inumaki’s normally quiet voice hits a volume so loud it echoes through the headset. Yuta winces. Sorry, he mouthes at you. Talk later. 
God damn it, Inumaki. You were so close. 
“It’s not my fault,” he says through a mouthful of rice at lunch the next day. “How was I supposed to know that’s what you guys were talking about? I thought you guys were making your usual goo goo eyes at each other, not making breakthroughs.” 
“To be fair,” Panda says. “We never thought you were going to make a breakthrough, so it can’t be Inumaki’s fault.” 
“Ouch,” you rest your head against the cool linoleum of the table. “Way to let me down easy, guys.” 
“Come on,” Inumaki pushes his miso soup at you in a show of contrition. “You know we’re just joking.” 
“I know, I’m just annoyed cause you’re right - keep your mouth shut, Inumaki. He’s never going to see me that way.” 
“Didn’t you just jump from friend to potentially attractive friend? Sounds like a win to me,” Inumaki says. 
“For anyone else, yeah. For Yuta, it probably just means he’s going to start setting me up with his friends so I realize I’m pretty.” 
Inumaki and Panda share a look. You know the look. It means they think you’re being dumb. 
You steal Panda’s soup too as payback. 
Inumaki and Panda are easy to talk to about Yuta. More often than not, they’re the ones who bring up your relationship woes first because Inumaki loves teasing you and Panda secretly loves rom coms.
It’s a complete contrast from your other best friend. You’re too scared to tell Maki about the latest development in your relationship because she hates hearing about it. She’s a good friend who cares about you and your feelings, or so she claims, but she can’t stand watching you drag your feet. 
“Just confess already,” she hisses, using her textbook to shield her face from the professor. 
“I can’t! It’ll ruin everything!” 
“Don’t be a baby,” she snaps back, unaware of the professor walking towards her. You try to gesture at her to shut up, but she’s too focused on saying her piece. 
“Ladies. Would you like to continue your riveting discussion outside?” 
Even getting kicked out of class isn’t a deterrent for Maki. “Fine. You won’t confess to Yuta. What about your other plan?”
“No one will talk to me because they think I’m dating Yuta,” you wail as quietly as possible. 
“You serious?” She squints at you. “I’m telling you, just confess at that point.”
You shake your head vehemently. 
“Fine! Ignore me if you want to, but you see that guy coming our way? Try it one more time so I can see.” 
Maki pushes you down the path towards him before you can say no. You have an inkling how this is going to go based off the five previous times you’ve tried this, but Maki’s stare is drilling holes into the back of your head. 
“Hey,” you smile. 
“No thanks,” he says immediately. “Just save yourself the trouble. No one’s stupid enough to go after Yuta’s girl.” 
“Yuta’s girl? What does Yuta have to do with anything? Why does everyone keep saying that to me?!” 
“Bark up the right tree enough times and eventually you’ll find the devil.” 
“…I think the saying is ‘if you knock on enough doors, the devil will answer.’ How did you even come up with that?” 
“I’m just saying! Feels like the answer’s obvious to me, Yuta’s girl.” 
“Argh!” You march back to Maki, who’s giggling to herself. You just hope that at least she’ll be able to help you after that embarrassing little display. “So? What’s your advice?”
“Huh? Oh, I didn’t have advice. I just wanted to see it happen in real time.” 
Maki’s no help, either. 
The problem with being in love with Yuta is he doesn’t even allow you the grace of trying to get over him. No one will touch with you a ten foot pole until Getou. 
Getou is two years your senior, thinks of Yuta as this cute little puppy that follows Gojo around, and looks just right for your purposes. He’s not a carbon copy of Yuta. He just shares features with him. If anything, he could be his older brother. He has long black hair instead of short, but the same haunted eyes. 
It’s better that way, easier to not cut too deep. You know exactly how far you can go before the pleasure of pain tips too far into the wrong side. If he looks like him just enough, then you can slip in between lucid dreams. Yuta’s face comes to you in flashes rather than consistently when you’re together with Getou. 
He’s a smart man. He picks up on it almost instantly. 
Another reason Getou’s perfect for you? 
He simply doesn’t care. It’s not his problem what his darling little underclassmen get up to as long as it doesn’t interfere with his life. If you just want to have a good time, he’s down for that too. 
If you weren’t so hung up on Yuta, you think Getou might be fun. Fun could turn into love, perhaps. But those were only what ifs that were useless to you. It’s Yuta, it’s always been. He’s the only one for you. 
You can’t lose him. 
But you want him in ways he isn’t willing to give you. Incessantly, he haunts you at odd hours. You’re doing homework at one in the morning when your thoughts wander and you’re thinking of him. The way he’d coach you through this problem. The sure, strong strokes of his handwriting, as familiar as your mother’s voice. 
It’s hopeless. Every part of you has already been attuned to Yuta since childhood. You can’t extricate yourself. You can only hope to outlast the growth, and cling on as long as you are able. The only concessions you can allow yourself are small ones. 
Yuta’s a good student who sleeps early, but he’ll pick up for you. He always does. You’re his childhood best friend after all, and that leaves a sour taste in your mouth even as you begrudge yourself your own greediness. 
“Hello?” His voice is thick with sleep, husky and low in a way that you know doesn’t belong to you. You savor it anyways, these small intimacies you get to keep until he finds a girl of his own and doesn’t need you anymore. 
“Hello?” He says again. “Are you drunk? Do you need me to pick you up?” 
“Just bored,” you reply, playing with your pen. “Sorry, were you asleep?” 
“Don’t play with my feelings like that,” he laughs. “We both know you knew I was. Want me to stay up with you?” 
“Nah. I’m sorry for waking you up.” 
“You know I’d want you to, anytime. Are you working on the paper from English?” 
“Yeah. Go back to sleep,” you say, letting the smallest of smiles grace your lips. Alone in your room, you can allow yourself these small weaknesses. 
“Mm, but I wanna stay up with you,” he says, even as his voice grows softer and softer. You can almost picture him, hair sleep tousled and eyes half lidded. It’s a sight out of your dreams. 
“I’ll hang up when I’m done. Go to bed, Yu.” 
By the time you finish, you can hear his breathing evening out through the speakers. He’s a light sleeper, so you tip toe around as you finish getting ready for bed. When you have to hang up, you’re almost tempted to leave him on speakerphone so his soft breaths can lull you to sleep. 
You banish that unwelcome thought to the deepest, darkest, most remote time out corner of your brain and immediately text Getou to meet up the next day. You need to get a hold of yourself. 
“You know,” Getou drawls, “keep calling me out like this and I might get the wrong idea.” 
“If you fall for a girl that only talks to you about how much she likes her crush, that’s your own fault.” 
“Fair enough,” he laughs. “So what is it this time?” 
“I called him at night and his voice was so sleepy-“
“I meant,” Getou says, a finger running over the rim of his coffee cup as he looks at you. “What do you want me to do about it?” 
“Please make me forget him.” 
Getou smiles at you. “What a coincidence. I needed to blow off some steam today.” 
If you close your eyes, you can imagine someone else when Getou kisses you. One thing leads to another and he ends up taking you home. 
The thing about your relationship with Getou is it’s so ridiculously easy. There’s no strings attached for either of you, so when you wake up to his peaceful face in bed the next day, there’s no regrets. 
Well, except one. 
Getou’s a gentle lover in every way, but he’s a biter. There’s a trail of dark bruises blooming over your neck and collarbones. 
“Pretty, isn’t it?” He calls from the bed as you admire yourself in the mirror. 
“You’re an asshole,” you tell him. “I have to get breakfast with Yuta today.” 
He grins. “That’s the point.” 
You barely have time to messily apply concealer before you’re almost late to your appointment with Yuta. He’s waiting at the place he and you claimed as your own the very first day you arrived on campus. The nice granny who runs this diner has a soft spot for the two of you and often gives you free desserts. 
You slide into the seat across from him just as he’s wrapping up one of his readings for that day. He barely looks up when he feels you come closer, just lifts his arm wordlessly so he can tuck you into his side like a baby bird under its mother’s wings. He turns his head to the side even as his eyes are following the words on the page to press a light kiss to your temple, his breath stirring your hair as he rests his head against yours for a brief moment before returning to his textbook. He flips a page. 
Would he still allow you these gentle, nonchalant touches if he knew how you really felt? Your stomach drops at the intrusive fear that he might be disgusted by you afterwards, withdrawing the easy skinship he shares with you that he thinks nothing of, but you savor. You’re hyper aware of every brush of his hand against your shoulder as he lets his arm hand loosely around you. 
“I’m done,” he announces, stretching out so his lanky body is pressed flat to the table for a second before he straightens. He must be sore from hunching over his textbook all morning. In sympathy, you lightly rub at his shoulders. 
“Did you eat yet?” He asks. “Want me to order you something?” 
“No-“ You’re in the middle of replying when his face is suddenly far too close to you. 
“Hey there,” you laugh nervously. “What are you doing?” 
Yuta pulls back, but there’s a minute crease in his expression. 
“There’s something on your neck.” He says. 
“What?” 
His hand curls around the base of your neck. It doesn’t hurt. There’s a complete lack of pressure in his grip, fingers loose and curled. He’s just holding you. You inhale sharply, a recoil aborted. 
“Sorry,” he says, easy smile and gentle demeanor that doesn’t reach his eyes. They’re a little shadowed today, harried. He wears his emotions all over his face. You know he has a final today, that he likely didn’t sleep last night. It must be why he’s acting weird. 
His fingertips ghost over your neck, light tap-tap-tapping that makes you shiver. “What’s this?” 
You pull out your phone to check yourself in the camera. The concealer you put on this morning has sweated off, leaving streaks on your shirt. Underneath the smudges, the blurry outline of the marks Getou left on you last night are visible. 
Your face burns with mortification. 
“Yuta! You shouldn’t ask people stuff like that!” 
It’s not like he’s a child. You know he knows what a hickey is. He’s just pointing it out so you know he knows. 
He shrugs. “I mean, yeah, I’d be more careful about what I was saying if it was anyone else, but it’s you. What the hell happened? It looks like you had a tryst with a vampire.”
Gingerly, he touches your neck again, his fingers cold from holding his iced latte. You need him to stop doing that before you do something stupid. 
“Does it hurt?” He asks. 
“It felt good-“ 
“Stop! I didn’t need to know that,” he says, face turning red. 
Defensively, you retort, “Well, you asked!” 
“Forget it,” he sighs. “I’m sorry I spent all of breakfast studying. What are you doing later?” 
“Hanging out with Getou, probably. He said he wants to go to this new restaurant that just opened up.” 
“He’s the one that gave you all those love bites?” 
At your nod, Yuta rolls his eyes. He’s certainly in a mood today. Poor thing. He’s been working really hard lately. Not just today, but every day this past week, he’s been studying non stop. You should reward him. 
“Don’t go with him,” Yuta coaxes. “Hang out with your best friend instead. We can have another sleepover. Don’t you want to game all night?
The decision is made before Yuta even offers you a choice. You text Getou a quick apology, to which he replies with a lazy ‘lol. Loverboy?’
You’re happy Yuta asked you to come over. You’ve spent so much time fearing how he’d react if he knew that you’d forgotten how nice it felt to just hang out with him. 
You’re cuddling with Yuta on his couch as you watch a movie. He opted for a quiet night instead of gaming, so he broke out the snacks and remotes instead of controllers. You wish there was a way to push him away without explaining what’s going on. You and Yuta have always been touchy like this, comfortable with each other in a way that superseded even the closest of friends. 
It was never abnormal until now, when new love has redefined every aspect of your relationship with him. It makes it awkward to touch him, to be this close. But you always want to be this close. It’s hard, fighting a war with yourself. 
You snuggle into the hoodie he lent you, trying to hide your face. Your eyes dart to him, watching him instead of the movie. His hair has a faint blue sheen from the screen. He’s enraptured, staring open mouthed at the action sequence. 
Your heart beats double time, as it always does around him, prey instincts going into fight or flight. Yuta just does that to you, makes your body sing like it’s in the most exquisite agony possible. Like a runner’s high, you’re addicted to the pain of having him but not having him. Even the scraps of romance you can get are worth more than a lifetime of other lovers. 
You hope he can’t tell. Yuta has always had weirdly sensitive senses. 
Yuta’s line of sight shifts from the TV to you. You feel like a deer in headlights, trapped in the yawning black void of his gaze as he looks back, watching you as you have been watching him. 
‘Hey,’ he mouthes at you, the corners of his mouth lifting into a soft smile. 
‘Hey back,’ you mouth in return, wanting him, loving him, missing him. 
You rarely bring clothes when you’re staying the night at Yuta’s. Either he has some for you in a dresser he’s saved for your use, or you can just borrow his. You always end up changing into his clothes, anyways, so big and comfortable they swallow you up. 
He’s lying on his belly on the bed when you come out of the bathroom freshly showered and in his T-shirt. He looks up when he hears you. 
“Oh,” he says. He blinks once, hard. “Come here, please.” 
Self conscious, you cross the room to him. Your crush makes you miserable, coloring your every action. The fear that your desires are written across your face shadow every step you take. Are you that transparent? Can he tell? 
He reaches up to touch your face, reverent.
“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes, then he pulls you down onto the bed next to him. 
“Don’t tease,” you tell him. 
He buries his face in the crook of your neck, embracing you. Even this feels too much. His skin against yours feels like a thousand colts of electricity. Where his nose brushes against your nape is so sensitive you squirm in his grasp, kicking uselessly in his hold. 
“I only say things that are true,” he tells you solemnly. “You are pretty.” 
You don’t know how you’re supposed to sleep after that. 
In the morning, you’re finally back in your own set of clothes to head out and face the day. You and Yuta get ready together, running through your morning routines. You brush your teeth and eat breakfast side by side. 
Before he leaves for work, he spritzes himself with the cologne he leaves on the dresser. When you reach for the perfume you keep in his apartment, a twinning his and hers set you had gotten together one day during the holidays, he pins your hand down. With an appeasing glance over you, he spritzes his cologne on you instead. 
He leans in and sniffs experimentally. 
“You smell nice,” he says. 
You lift your wrist to your nose and inhale. 
“I smell like you,” you say, laughing. He smells like a crisp winter morning, a hint of pine and frost. 
“Well, yeah,” he says. “I wouldn’t have picked this scent if I didn’t like it.” 
It’s true. Nothing Yuta does is unintentional.
“What the hell,” Getou says as soon as he opens the door to you. “You reek.” 
Your face burns. 
Getou roars with laughter when you tell him why you smell the way you do. “What a brat,” he says. 
“Hey!” You feel the compulsion to defend Yuta against even the smallest of slights. It’s instinctual, even though you know Getou doesn’t really mean it. 
He shakes his head at you. “I really pity you, you know? You’re so whipped.”  
Hanging out with Getou doesn’t end in anything physical tonight. He injured himself playing volleyball with Gojo and he’s not interested in anything but good company. You don’t know if you’d be interested, either. It’s always easier to pretend you don’t want him after a little bit of distance. Trying anything right after seeing Yuta would only tear your heart apart. You and Getou pass the time in amicable silence, working on your separate assignments in the same room. 
Your phone buzzes three hours in. 
Yuta 4:15 You busy? 
You 4:24 With Getou Working on homework  Why?
Yuta 4:24  Come over  I miss you 
You 4:24  I saw you this morning 
Yuta 4:24  …
Yuta 4:25 …
Yuta 4:25  I always miss you when you’re not here 
Getou cackles. You jolt, startled. You had honestly forgotten where you were. 
“Is that loverboy?” He says, trying to grab the phone out of your hand so he can see the message. “You look so lovestruck.” 
You yank it back from him. “I gotta go.” 
“Abandoning me again?” He shakes his head in mock sadness. “I’m really just a toy to you, huh?”
That makes you hesitate, even though you do want to see Yuta. 
He ruffles your hair. “Ah, youth. So gullible. I’m fine, sweetheart. Go see your beau. And send him my regards,” he says with a devious smile as he walks you to the door. His eyes light up when he sees the forgotten garment he had discarded on his coat rack. 
You look at him quizzically. It’s not strange for him to be a gentlemen, but it is strange for him to offer you his letterman before you leave. He loves that jacket. He wears it so often that his name emblazoned across the back has been worn down into a soft cream instead of eggshell white. 
“What’s this for?”
“Just wear it. And tell me how Yuta reacts.” 
With that, he pushes you out of the door. 
Yuta wrinkles his nose at you in a display of badly disguised contempt. He was so excited to see you when you walked through the door, but as soon as he saw what you were wearing, his smile dropped off his face. 
“What’s with that guy?” He grumbles. “It’s so weird that he’s giving you his letterman. Isn’t that almost like a claim in the sports world?” 
For some reason, it pisses you off. On most days, Yuta could commit a crime and you’d help him cover it up, but this time you seriously can’t tell where he gets off acting like this. He’s not dating you. He’s not interested in you. He doesn’t even see you as a potential partner. 
You jab your finger into his chest, punctuating every word you speak by prodding him. “Why do you think you can judge Getou? You don’t even know him.” 
“I know that he’s going after a taken girl.” 
“We’re just friends, Yuta.” The admission stings. No matter what anyone else thinks of your relationship with Yuta, that’s all you will be. 
“Yeah, but no one else thinks so.”
“And who’s fault is that?”
“Is it so bad to be seen with me?”
“It is if I’m trying to get a boyfriend! You’re the reason no one wants to date me!” 
“Do you need to date someone?” he says. Every word out of his mouth only makes you’re more incensed. He’s being condescending without meaning to, but it doesn’t soften the blow. 
“I want to!” 
“And if I don’t want you to?” 
“Excuse me?” 
“I think I’m in love with you.” 
Your head is spinning. “That’s not funny.” 
“I don’t want you to be with Getou,” he says. “I want you to be with me. You’re right, it’s not fair, but I get this ugly feeling in my chest when you’re together and now I know why. I can be so much better for you than he is.”
“This isn’t about who’s better! You’re always-“ You’re on the brink of tears. “Ugh! You’re so frustrating, Yuta! I’m trying to get over you and you think you’re being noble by dating me because you want to keep me safe? Why would I ever want that?” 
“That’s not what I meant,” he says, so soft it makes you want to run into his arms and run away from him at the same time. Then he frowns. “Did you say you’re trying to get over me?” 
You glance at him, then the door. The calculations you run in your head say you can make it outside before he catches you. You turn so fast on your ankle the floor makes a despairing screech beneath the soles of your shoes as you beat a hasty exit.
The calculations in your head are wrong. He loops his arms around your waist and picks you up, throwing you effortlessly over his shoulder so he can carry you to the couch. You’re deposited with a soft grunt as he climbs over you and pins you down so you can’t even think of escaping. You thrash, regardless. 
“Let me go, Yuta!”
“I thought you called me Yu,” he teases. 
“You aren’t being cute!”
“Is it him?”
“Him?”
“I’ve been trying to get you to look at me that way this whole time,” Yuta says despairingly. “I didn’t want to scare you away, but I couldn’t hold myself back anymore. But before I even got a chance, this asshole steals you away?” 
“Yuta, what are you talking about?”
“Are you in love with Getou?” 
“Are you stupid?” You can feel hot tears well up in your eyes. It’s frustrating to be crying so easily because you’re embarrassed and angry. “I said I was trying to get over you! Just say what you have to say, don’t torture me like this.” 
“Did it work? Are you over me?”
“I’ll never be over you,” you sniffle. You just want him to leave you alone now so you can wallow in your own patheticness.
“I’m glad,” Yuta says, and then he cups your face in his hands so delicately, like he’s holding the most precious treasure in the world, and kisses you like he’s trying to steal the breath from you. 
Your knees crumble underneath you. He catches you easily and hoists you up, letting you settle with your legs wrapped around his waist. He holds you up with just one arm as he presses you harder against the wall, cushioning your head carefully. You’re pinned between his body and the wall. You moan against him, pleased and warm and disgustingly in love with him. All your senses are full of him as you cling to him.. 
Distantly, as if through water, you hear your phone buzz.
Getou 6:01 You owe me for that, by the way. 
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5K notes · View notes
maybankswhore · 10 months
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“𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄.” “𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃.”
PAIRING: jj maybank x reader.
SUMMARY: you’re always there when he needs you.
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jj hadn’t talked to you in weeks. he knew it was wrong. to just , disappear the way he did. but he couldn’t keep doing it. the whole ‘relationship’ thing. it wasn’t that he didn’t love you , because , fuck , did he love you. but he loved you too much.
he loved you in the way he searched for your face in everyone he came across. always scanning for the familiarity of you in crowds. he loved you in the way that his heart would race when you held his hand , dragging him along the shore of the beach rambling about your special interests. holding on to every word , storing it in a part of his brain that he specifically reserved for you and everything you loved or didn’t.
he loved you so much to the point that it fucking petrified him.
and so jj did was jj was the best at— ignoring the problem and hope it goes away.
he thought he could just ignore you , forget you. erase the mere memory of ever coming across you.
he didn’t want to. he knew he didn’t. and if he thought about it too long he’d cry and cry like a little boy , clutching onto himself to help self sooth the pain he had inflicted onto himself.
it was better this way. he told himself over and over. that’s what he told john b when he was confronted about your absence. that’s what he told pope who could tell he missed you dearly. he repeated it to kiara who’d scold him about ghosting you.
this way he was in control of when it ended. you didn’t have the chance to leave him , to hurt him.
to abandon him.
and maybe that’s why he was so angry.
so angry to the point that all of that sadness and hurt mixed together and blinded him from the matter at hand.
so angry he’d get into a fight at the country club and earn himself a cell to sit and think about what he did.
jj was leaning against the wall , eyes closed as he hummed some tune to distract him from what was happening all around him.
“maybank!”
his eyes shot up at the officer who looked at him in a way that made his skin crawl and eyes roll. eyebrows up , he cocked his head to the side. “yes?”
the officer unlocked the cell door and moved back , glaring at the young troublemaker. “you’re free to go. ride’s here.”
jj jumped up triumphantly , saluting him in the process. he had expected john b or pope waiting for him outside , anyone really. anyone but you.
as he walked outside and saw you leaning against your car with your eyes wide with worry , he froze in his spot. immediately his heart thumped in his chest. looking around , there was nobody else around.
“y/n?” he said lowly , cheeks flushing in embarrassment. one because he hadn’t spoken to you in weeks and two because the first time he’d speak to you after those weeks were from him being thrown in jail for fighting.
your head perked up at your name , relief flashing over you. you practically ran towards him , throwing arms around his shoulders instinctively. “jj! i was so worried about you. i-i heard about what happened and they called me because i was on your emergency list and everyone else was busy when i called so—”
“you came?” jj’s hands were frozen at his side , his chest hammering into his head. “but-”
“you called.” you pulled away and gave him a small smile. “and i’ll always answer when it’s you.”
the weight of your words hit him harder than he had ever felt before. he had always been so used of being alone , or falling into john b and pope’s arms because the pogue’s were all he had— but maybe he did have you. maybe. . . maybe you wouldn’t leave.
jj held back the tears he felt begging to flow , and his arms felt like jelly as he wrapped them around your waist and held him to you tightly. your hair still smelled the same , you still scrunched the fabric of his shirt in your hands when you hugged him.
“i’m sorry , y/n.” jj mumbled into your hair , sniffling just a bit— holding onto his composure. “i didn’t want you to leave me.” he choked back a sob as he confessed all what he had been feeling , all what he was too scared to say then. “and i know that it was selfish and i know i don’t deserve for you to be here right now but i’m so fucking scared and i hate being scared.”
you sighed. you couldn’t say you weren’t mad or upset that jj hadn’t talked to you sooner , that he just stopped answering your calls and messages.
but jj was different. and he was special. and you knew he had never been loved the right way. and you couldn’t blame him for wanting to protect himself.
you rubbed your hand down his back soothingly , fisting the fabric of shirt. “it’s okay.” you assured him. “i’m not mad at you anymore.”
jj pulled away and wiped his cheek with the back of his hand quickly. “you should be. you should hate me.”
“i could never hate you.” you shook your head , cupping his cheek gently to avoid touching the bruised parts. “i missed you.”
jj held onto your hand that held his cheek , kissing the palm of it softly. “i missed you. . .”
you looked into his eyes and saw how he looked at you. and he didn’t need to say it.
you could be patient.
“let’s get you home , j.”
3K notes · View notes
demieyesore · 5 months
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You - Theodore Nott
Currently listening to Hollywood undead while I write this fanfic, anyways I’m a big whore (unfortunately) and I see that currently my poll is around the same votes for Mattheo and Theo…so this one will be for Theo (since my first fanfic was for Mattheo) and then my next fanfic after this one will be Mattheo x Reader x Theo bc I absolutely love men and poly relationships‼️
Summary - Theo notices someone being too handsy with GN!Reader in class and gets possessive
Warnings / Mentions - Reader is not in a specific house, no use of Y/n, kind of strangers to lovers? Reader is friends with the golden trio, Harry is the one being touchy, Possessive!Theo, Yandere!Theo, Stalker!Theo (but doesn’t really mention anything creepy except claiming the Reader)
I am willing to make a smutty part two of this if anyone wants it and I hope y’all recognize what I’m loosely referencing in this fic at the end LOL
Requested - No
POV - 1st person
Word Count - 1979
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I fiddle with my tie, trying to re-adjust the cloth as it hangs loosely around my neck. I had originally loosened it because it had gotten really hot in the class room but that can be expected when you’re working on potions from time to time.
Harry was assigned to be my potions partner. Ron and Hermione were sat next to us as we read off all the needed ingredients.
Harry begins listing the items while counting them on his fingers in 3s. Once he’s mesmerized part of the ingredients, his eyes drift towards me. His eyebrow quirks up when he sees me struggling with my tie.
Immediately he forgets the stuff we need as he reaches over to my tie, gently removing my hands from the area as he re-adjusts it for me. A small blush forms on my face at how close he has gotten. I can very easily see his scar up close and how his glasses are settled on his nose.
Has he always been this pretty?
As if on command, his hands drop from my tie. I look down at his hands and back up as he gives me a cute but awkward looking smile.
The kind of smile you give someone when you realize just how close you are before moving away.
Harry stands and goes to grab the ingredients.
Hermione smiles at me with a grin that just screams, “I told you he liked you.”
I roll my eyes at her, watching as Ron fucks up something in their potion, causing his eyes to go wide. Hermione’s attention is redirected as she hits the back of his head, pushing him over to fix whatever he’s done.
As I wait for Harry, I look around the room. Some people are already done with their potions, some are restarting. And by restarting, I mean that Seamus’ is covered with dust and his hair is everywhere.
Well now I know why it’s so hot in here.
My eyes wander next to him to see the next table of students. At this table, Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott are sitting and just talking.
Looks like they’ve finished their potion.
I realize that Theo is looking at me and quickly look away.
I’ve talked to him a few times before but I really tried to stay away from his friend group. Except Enzo and Blaise, they’re really the only two I get along with well.
Being friends with the golden trio is nice but that just means that Draco’s friend group bitches about it all the damn time.
Harry walks back over, holding a tray in one hand with everything we need. He stands behind me, placing his free hand on my shoulder as he leans over me in order to place the tray on the table.
My eyes widen as a reaction at the touch. It’s not necessarily a touch that most people would think about however, I wasn’t used to people being physical with me.
#TouchStarved, I think to myself before cracking a smile at my own humor.
Theo and Blaise’s table is right behind where Hermione and Ron are sitting so I furrow my eyebrows when I see Theo staring directly at me still.
Ah shit he looks pissed.
I avoid eye contact with him because we all know that a mad Slytherin really isn’t someone you want to be around. Although I can’t help but wonder if he’s pissed at me for something. I never talk to his friends though so there shouldn’t be any problem.
I brush it off as Harry begins speaking.
“Alright. Um- could you hand me that knife?” I nod at his question, grabbing the blade next to me and handing it to him. He nods in appreciation.
Soon enough the potion is done and was a great success. Harry and I were really happy with how it turned out since this would be very important for our grade.
Harry and I smiled at each other and raised our arms, celebrating the victory. Harry’s hands make contact with mine in a double high five. At this I smile even bigger, entwining our hands before he pulls away.
We begin laughing as Ron groans, upset with how his potion was turning out. Hermione rolled her eyes before grinning at the Potter boy and I.
Harry had the greatest idea of standing up from his stool and pulling me to stand with him. Our hands were still locked as he began to make me dance with him. At first we were doing the waltz that we were taught for the Yule ball but after he spinned me, I came back to him and instead of having our hands together, he settled for placing his hands on my hips.
He began using his hands to guide my hips in a very different dance than the waltz.
My hands were around his neck as my hips swayed from the pressure of his hands. And honestly if we were at a party this would seem extremely sexual, but since it’s just Harry and I, it’s platonic fun.
Although it definitely brought yet another blush to my face, but I was like 100% sure that Harry didn’t like me. I think he’s just a very physical person when he becomes close with people.
The Professor looks over at us, staring us down as we both laugh before scrambling away from each other. Rushing to sit down before we got yelled at.
Once the Professor looks away, a note flies over and hits Harry in the glasses. He picks up the note with his eyebrows tensed in confusion. We both look over from where it came from and it was definitely from Theodore Nott.
The only way I could be sure is when I saw him motion for Harry to read the note.
I watch as Harry reads over the words. Clearly becoming more and more confused, stealing glances between me and the note.
“What is it? What’s it say?” I vocalize, inquisitively.
He shakes his head as if he were clearing an echa sketch. But instead of a drawing, he was clearing his thoughts.
“Ah- um- it’s nothing really.” Harry stutters, licking his bottom lip. Which I’ve become aware is one of his nervous signals.
His eyes connect with Theodore, who in return stares back. His stare is clearly more frightening since he has what I like to call “dead eyes”.
Those eyes are absolutely gorgeous but when the light fades from them when he’s pissed, it’s the most terrifying thing.
I make eye contact with Hermione, having a conversation with just our eyes. Asking about what’s happening seeing as the two boys look like they’re holding back to urge to jump the tables and punch each other in the face.
Granger shrugs.
I quickly try to gain control of the situation again by calling the brunettes name. “Harry?”
“Hm?” Instead of breaking eye contact with Nott, he just makes a hum of acknowledgment.
“What’s wrong? What did the note say?” I whisper to him, trying to cover our chat from Theodore.
Potter doesn’t make an effort to say anything, instead he throws the note in front of me to read. I pick up the note and begin reading from left to right.
“Back off from what I’ve been trying to claim.” Is the only sentence written on the piece of parchment.
My mouth drops open in surprise, my mind immediately drawing the dots together like Stiles does in teen wolf.
Man he’s a smart character. But also really stupid.
I get off track with my thinking, refocusing on the important thing at hand.
But honestly, I don’t care all that much. Is that a bad thing?
Now that I know why they’re both death glaring at each other, I can only feel my stomach erupt into butterflies.
I crumple up the note, trying to be sly as I slip it into my pocket but I see as Harry’s jaw clenches and Theo now has a shit eating grin on his face.
It lasts for a couple more seconds before Potter breaks eye contact first, scoffing at the Slytherin. Harry stands abruptly and turns to leave the classroom. Ron following after him as I hear the ginger exclaim, “Bloody hell mate!”
Hermione and I look at each other again, an expression on our faces that is making it very evident that we both thought that was attractive.
Like oh my god, two guys getting jealous and possessive over me.
Perhaps it is wrong to find it attractive but I love feeling wanted.
Class soon ends after that, Harry and Ron never returning back for anything. Hermione is left to pick up after them while I exit the class. Hermione agreed to cleaning up, knowing that my next class is basically across the school and with all the moving staircases and students. It’s just torture to arrive on time.
I walk as swiftly as I can, dodging people and walking between random people in order to reach my destination.
But before I reach my class, a hand is promptly placed on my upper back. I look over my shoulder to see Theodore standing tall over me. His hand still resting on the small of my back, showing his possessive and dominant side. Practically towering over me as he guides me over to a private area.
Which happened to be a janitor’s closet. He opened the door and gently but still roughly shoved me inside. He steps in after me, clicking the lock.
I was about to speak up but he cut me off.
“I want to make you mine.” He said with a completely straight face as he put it bluntly. His voice low and deep as he kept eye contact with me.
I froze with my eyes wide as a small smirk formed on his lips.
“What? Cats got your tongue, Amore Mio”
Oh okay that got me a little bit.
I feel a small wave of attraction wash over me, something so intense for just a moment it could visually be seen in my eyes.
“Oh oh ohhhh, you like it when I speak Italian don’t you, Dolcezza?” He inquires, his eyes searching my face for some kind of a reaction as a smile grows on him.
And the answer to that question is 1000% yes but why would I admit that???
Unfortunately my body betrays me as I swallow anxiously, giving him the flustered response he was hoping for.
He could literally be calling me a cunt in Italian and I wouldn’t know except based on his tone but I would still find it attractive.
His captivating eyes look down at my lips as he closes the space between us. He slowly looks back up into my eyes as he gets on his knees in front of me.
Oh I like that too.
Theo grabs my arm gently, placing a kiss on my inner wrist as he still keeps eye contact.
My stomach flips and I shuffle a little closer to him.
“Can I kiss you?” He questions, and holy shit I swear to god if he doesn’t look away I will because his eyes are literally hypnotic.
I nod but it’s not enough for him. His eyes are trained on me, pulling me down to be level with his height.
“Words.” Is all he says. Yet it’s such a powerful thing for me to hear right now.
“Yes, yes you can kiss me.” My face heats up, I turn my head away from him out of embarrassment. But he just grabs my face with his hands, aligning the kiss.
He hovers over my lips for a moment,
“If I wasn’t about to kiss you, I would’ve beat Harry bloody for the way he touched you.”
And just like that, our lips meet.
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visionsofmagic · 5 months
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day 16: bruce wayne [power play]
࿓ synopsis • the game you play takes a different route in which you try to dominate him, but, he doesn’t allow you.
―❦ nsfw, dominance/submission, roughness, licking, marking, wrist holding, short, f!reader, brat!reader, riding, begging, pet names, ‘is all I guess? • 0.7k • he's my favorite dc character and the idea popped into my mind because he's looking so dom! enjoy! [kinktober m.]
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“who’s in control now, love?” he asks as he pounds into you, hands holding yours above your head as your back arches onto his bare chest, filthy voices leaving you one by one since it’s too much to keep silent – he’s trying to gain it from you after all, wanting to make you scream his name louder with each of his deep, hungry thrusts that hit the exact spot that drives you crazy in every time.
the question is a reference to what you said before being in this situation; leaning down on the mattress, wrists inside his palms, breasts bouncing shamelessly and even hitting his chest from time to time, legs wide open, pussy soaking wet enough to make the white color of the sheets goes grey because of how much it is, legs shaking yet still having the strength to stay on his back, hugging him from there only to bring his body closer to yours as if it’s possible – as if he’s not already deep buried inside you, fucking you roughly because he has something to prove to you – to dig it into your pathetic mind as he said before.
he’s angry – a little bit, with the lust that flows inside his veins until it reaches the tip of his thick cock – using it to shove it into you mercilessly.
the feelings are there due to you – being a little brat and trying to take control while riding him a while ago, teasing about how his dick dripping, pale face is full of redness, breathtaking with a rapid way, and even sweating – only you can make the vigilante sweat like this – the reasons why he is rough now.
with the power you had at that moment, your body moved without your mind acknowledging it, making you look down at him, taking control, riding him so slowly to make him beg for you to move, to fuck him, yet, bruce who knows you better than anyone else, including you, understood what you were trying to do, especially when your hand tried to hold his neck – with sudden movement, he gripped your wrists, turning your body over, hovering above you as he mocked you – showing the dominance he has on you – not yours – his.
power play ended when he began to fuck you ruthlessly.
his question remains unanswered – he doesn’t seek one either, he just enjoys watching how messy you’re getting under him, ready to beg more when his hips slow down – and nearly stops as he fucks you leisurely, taking his time, and even having a ghost smirk on his face. 
and when you look at him, your vision is blurry yet witnessing his lustful expression, representing of the dominant side he has on you, you know he waits for you to beg – to cry. weren’t it for your aching pussy that is in need to be fucked by bruce, you would stay still, yet, you have no brain at all – only a greedy wet pussy and passion mixed with love.
“bruce –“ his name comes out of your parted lips on its own – pure instinct. “ohh – bruce!”
“yes, my pretty slut, what’s wrong?”
“move – aghh – please, move already! nee – ohh – need you to move!”
leaving your wrists free, his hands positioned on your hips, holding it strongly, ready to bounce into you with all his strength, his weight can be felt on you, sending a different sense of both pain and pleasure at the same time.
“look who’s begging now –“ he teases, kneeling down until his lips touch your neck, biting it – licking it so that he can leave marks on you- bigger and more efficient ones than yours that you left on his entire body before he took control. he enjoyed being under you, yet, the delight of having you under him is far greater than it. “tell me – that I am the one who is in control over you, not you over me,” he lowers down, licking and kissing your exposed body gladly, reaching until its tongue travels on your hardened breasts. 
pushing you against his hot tongue, you answer, feeling his cock leaving your pussy slowly, “you! bruce – ohh – you!” “good girl.” he says lastly, then, pushing his hip further, the cock fills your warm walls entirely with a powerful thrust and he doesn’t stop – he thrusts into you with a great pace and power that you no longer remember the power play – letting him do whatever he wants to do with you until he’s satisfied.
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❦ tagging: @lilvampirina & @snowprincesa1 & @dookiemeshibear & @chloee0x0 *lots of kisses!*
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and it's the chaggie ladyhawke AU with the steel chair!!!!!
A knight by day and beast by knight, a hawk who's lady only in moonlight: two lovers cursed to be always parted even when when they're never apart-
-and the quest to undo this curse before it, and their separation, becomes permanent >:)
Extra twists I'd add to the original film canon:
Ironic Curses - Charlie, who never wanted to hurt anyone and used her noble title to speak up for the downtrodden, turns into a monstrous wolf creature filled with bloodlust that goes on the rampage every night (except for the hour directly after sunset and before sunrise, when she is tame around Vaggie) - Vaggie, ex-guard who was more loyal to Charlie than to the corrupt officials who paid her enforce their cruel laws, each day turns into a wild hawk desperate to escape (except for the hour right after sunrise and before sunset, when she is fiercely protective of Charlie and refuses to fly out of sight from her)
Extra Suffering - Hawk!Vaggie won't take food from people, or leave long enough to hunt when she's more herself at dawn and dusk, so Charlie has to repeatedly risk losing her forever by taking off her hood and setting her loose- then desperately chasing after her- trying keep track of her long enough for the sun to start setting again ---- Sometimes Charlie can't find her before nightfall and Vaggie wakes up alone in the woods to the sound of a distant inhuman howl of despair (not fun, but, it makes it easier to get back to Beast! Charlie) - Beast!Charlie spends most of the night trying to kill everyone and everything around her- so if she wasn't able to lock herself away before sundown, Vaggie has to grab her spear and do her best to keep Charlie from doing murder- by fighting her, leading her on long chases until sunrise, or trapping her ---- Sometimes Charlie wakes up at dawn to find Hawk!Vaggie crumpled next to her in a nest of bloody rag bandages, and the first thing she does before anything else is try her best to at least rebandage the wounds she gave her
They Go Around Rescuing People (against the law) - Vaggie mainly does this by not letting Beast!Charlie eat people as midnight snacks - During the day, a guilt wracked Charlie goes out of her way to free imprisoned people, save them from punishments, and fight Vaggie's former fellow guards every chance she gets ---- she gets this chance A Lot, since the reason they have to keep traveling is there's a warrant out for her head and the dead body of her hawk
The Other Roles Go To - Evil Bishop Guy: split between Adam and Lute, with Adam pissed that one of HIS guards got with the daughter of the woman who turned him down, and Lute wanting Vaggie to suffer and die for leaving the exorcist guards - Nice Monk: Emily is the one who accidently let slip about chaggie to Sera, who told Adam, who did the curse thing on them. After that all happened, Emily left her comfy position and locked herself up with all the old texts she could find, searching for a cure to the curse. She finds one, yay! - Loveable Rouge Who Helps: All the hotel crew. Charlie rescues / helps them each in turn, and they tag along with her for protection (meaning Vaggie then has to protect THEM from HER)
after the gang is assemble, the film plot plays out as expected
blah blah blah, holy shit the bird just got hit by an arrow, what the fuck the knight lady is REALLY freaking out about that, oh no it's almost sunset- uhhh lady knight says leave her here take her horse and the hawk and ride to the nearby abandoned tower where someone named Emily should be, because Emily can help the hawk.
AHHH the bird turned into a woman!!! A woman with the same injury as the hawk?
AAAAH that monster thing from before is outside howling and screaming, kill it-! Nope, never mind, the injured lady says she'll stab us if we hurt the big scary monster thing, and Emily says to leave it alone it'll be gone by sunrise.
blah blah blah, during the next eclipse, if chaggie can make Adam and Lute look at them standing together as themselves during the few moments they'll both be human at the same time, the curse will be broken! If this fails, they both stay in their cursed forms forever! Great!
.... how are we getting inside the castle for that? Oh right. Chaggie has been adopted by a rag tag band of criminals. This should be fun.
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uglyducklingofthe2000s · 10 months
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If You Leave Me, You’re Out Of Your Mind - Charles Leclerc
Summary: Both Charles and y/n are very confident about their place in each other’s lives and don’t consider anyone or anything else a threat to it.
Short but sweet I think - playful banter between Charles and y/n, not sure Charles would tolerate y/n irl but this isn’t real so all good 
Charles Leclerc x very confident!reader
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“I love this suit.” Y/n grins actually obsessed with the white Monaco suit. Knowing he played a part in choosing the design, it’s just brilliant. 
“I’m glad you like it.” Charles smiles then picking up his helmet and pushing it down onto her head. 
He’s got into the habit of putting any specially designed helmets on her and taking pictures of her in them, he’s got a whole album just dedicated to picture of her in his helmet with difference variations. This one is especially meaningful with it being inspired by his dad’s helmet and matching Arthur’s.
“Awww...you two are so sweet. I want to be sick.” Lando states as he catches sight of the two only to be given the middle finger from y/n.
“Don’t be jealous you can’t have me.” Y/n smirks while he walks away laughing and shaking his head at her as she turns back to Charles as she pulls the helmet off and notices a certain expression on her boyfriend’s face. “Don’t look jealous over Lando, Charles.”
“I’m not jealous.” Charles mumbles then looking at her. “If you leave me, I know you’re out of your mind.”
Y/n laughs actually not feeling like she could possibly disagree. She’s as obsessed with him as he is with her, their feelings are mutual and the thought of  either of them leaving each other is just madness to both of them. Even others have said they can’t imagine the two apart. However, Charles is still protective and doesn’t like other men being too friendly or too close.
Charles picks her up in a hug holding her tightly for a few moments and just clinging to her.
“You smell good.” Charles comments suddenly then frowning. “You smell different to normal. Is it the one I got you for Christmas?”
“It’s scary that you can do that. You always smell the same to me.”
“I have never changed what aftershave I use.” Charles shrugs then grinning as he leans down and kisses her softly. “You have to go...don’t go and find Lando.”
“Noted...Max and George are ok though? Maybe Lewis.”
Despite his wishes that y/n would stop constantly teasing him, he also knows that she wouldn’t be y/n without that specific tendency. 
“You have got to stop riling him up before he goes out for free practices.” Andrea laughs as he walks with her upstairs while she just grins at him about it, not looking sorry about it in the slightest.
-----
Despite the entire Monaco weekend taking a sharp downwards spiral after a grid penalty left him out of the top three and then the rain towards the end of the race left the driver wreaking havoc on the track in slicks. 
More than one of them just slid right off the track. But somehow Charles kept P6. So while he didn’t lose any positions, he also didn’t gain. 
Which means drinking to a stupid state was inevitable and being the caring girlfriend she is, y/n stayed sober to make sure she could take care of her boyfriend. 
Eventually they leave the party at some ungodly hour of the morning. Y/n is exhausted since the lack of alcohol has left her much less energetic than most of those in attendance. 
“I’m so lucky I have you.” Charles states after being helped to sit down on the edge of the bed while she moves to undo his jeans making him smirk and lie back.
“Charles, you are far too drunk to be letting your mind wander to that sort of thing.” Y/n laughs while he groans in defeat.
“I lose a race and my girlfriend’s love all in one day.” Charles states dramatically, clearly joking about the first part which earns and eye roll. 
“Yeah, I’m going to go find Max and see if he wants to celebrate with me.” Y/n murmurs before she gets his jeans off. “Come on baby, I need to get your top off.”
Charles smiles bright sitting up and letting her pull his top off before he moves his hands to hold her then nuzzling his face into her stomach. Which she just lets him go with.
“Are you ready for bed?” Y/n asks quietly after letting him stay in that position for a bit, running her hands through his hair which makes him look up at her with a soft smile.
“Yes, please.”
“Ok, you lie back. I’m just going to get ready for bed then I’ll be right back ok?”
Charles looks very hesitant to let her go but she moves and leans down kissing him before she slightly rushes her skincare routine and cleans up a little before smiling when she shifts over and moves to lie with him. The moment she’s within reach, she feels his arms wrap around her in a python grip.
“I love you.” Charles whispers then kissing her temple. “Even on the worst days, I know I just need you here to make things feel better.” 
Despite her usual strong and confident persona, y/n feels tears prickle her eyes before she rolls to face him and presses her forehead to his. 
“It’s a good thing I’m never going anywhere then.” Y/n states then opening her eyes to find Charles already looking at her. “You’re stuck with me for life, no matter what.”
“Good.”
“I love you too...forgot to say that.” Y/n whispers before frowning a little. “And never doubt that you’re going to come back from this. Fred might just be the saving grace that Ferrari so desperately need.”
It might be wishful thinking, but most of the amazing stuff that happens in the world start with wishful thinking.
“Will you stay with me even if I am a loser?”
“Charles! You are not a loser, you have led the championship before and you will do it again. Next time all the way to the end and I’m going to cheer you along every second of the way. Don’t ever doubt yourself again. Or I’m withholding sex entirely.”
“You are cruel sometimes.” Charles pouts then grinning. “But at least I know I can turn to you for support.”
“Always. How else can I expect you to keep being able to afford to share your luxury lifestyle?” Y/n jokes earning a whine before gently bites her shoulder. “Can’t have a sugar daddy without the sugar.”
“You are the sober one and yet you talk that way.” Charles snorts then shaking his head. “Can we sleep now?”
“Yes. Let’s sleep. Though I am taking note that you didn’t oppose the sugar daddy label.”
“Shut up.”
Charles, as he always does when he’s a little sad and whenever he’s drunk, spends the whole night smothering her. Some might say they’re too dependent on each other, but neither of them would have it any other way, and if they’re happy then it doesn’t seem like something that realistically matters. 
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the-library-alcove · 3 months
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In the midst of the current Hamas/Israel conflict, the Antizionist movement has gone from being generally ineffectual to a state of being actively harmful in regards to their stated cause of Palestinian liberation.
And from what I've seen there are three primary issues with the Antizionist movement, as it currently stands, that contribute to that harmfulness and also actively inhibit their ability to achieve any of their stated goals regarding Palestinian liberation.
1. Maximalist Stance Focused on Ideological Purity
To the apparent mainstream of the Antizionist movement, there is no other acceptable position than the destruction or dissolution of Israel, possibly featuring a replay/do-over of the 1948 Arab-Israeli War, and anyone who disagrees is treated as a heretic. Diplomacy? Mutual peace processes? Two state solutions? All of these are not only Wrong, but a cause for shunning the disbeliever.
And, as part of this, people who are actually affected by the issue are spoken over and ignored, if not actively ostracized and attacked. This goes for both Israelis and Palestinians; in particular, Palestinians who are not onboard with this stance are treated as sellouts and traitors deserving of punishment and death, which goes to show how little concern there is in the movement for actual Palestinians, as opposed to the idealized concept of "Free Palestine".
Also affected are Jews living in the Diaspora, who are harm indirectly by the threats to their fellow Jews in Israel, but also directly from the rampant antisemitism in a movement that demands complete ideological conformity in order not to be shunned and demonized. Since 90%+ of them do not conform with that ideological stance, they are essentially freely targeted by the movement.
2. Cargo Cult Activism
This is a problem across the board of the antizionist movement. On one end we have BDS, which is predicated on using the same tactics as worked on Apartheid South Africa against a target, Israel, which has a completely different economy, history, and ethnic structure. And on the other end, we have random protestors trying to "raise awareness" by engaging in truly random acts of protest, sabotage, and arguably terrorism. As part of that, there is a noted tendency of such activists inserting the I/P issue into every other activism issue out there and treating those other issues as subservient and secondary to the I/P issue, if not outright "distractions".
The problem is that these movements and individuals are imitating the feel of effective activism without first identifying why those pieces of activism were effective in the first place. As part of this, there is also an intense willingness to ignore reality that doesn't conform with the narrative they've adopted as part of their activism, because they tell themselves that they are right, and if they try hard enough, reality will conform with what they want it to be... and the planes with cargo will arrive.
3. Rampant Conspiratorial Antisemitism
For a variety of reasons, including the above two, the Antizionist movement is rapidly turning into a Leftist version of QAnon, full of recycled Jew-hating conspiracy theories from the last two thousand years. Blood libel, "Jewish control of the government/economy/media", "Jews killed Jesus" deicide, and more, are not only commonplace, but egregiously popular in ways that make it actively hostile for any but the most compliant or ignorant Jew to be a part of the movement.
This accomplishes nothing in terms of gaining sympathy (as per point 1), but feels good (point 2) and just makes the general Jewish population fearful, and shows that the movement is full of hypocrisy when it comes to anti-bigotry principles, and is thus untrustworthy to the vast majority of Jews in regards to their safety.
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neptunes-sol-angel · 5 months
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BOO! 👻🎃🕸 How are you scaring people with their shadows? Pick the picture(s) that you're drawn to the most then scroll down for the corresponding message(s). Happy Halloween my Sol-cherubs!!
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Pile One
"SHE AIN'T NO DIVAAA!"
You trigger others in a way that threatens their confidence and provoke them into a cycle of evaluating their self worth and identity after an ego death that's probably been long overdue. Some people in this group may hinder themselves back from speaking to people about anything in general, like expressing your opinion on something, talking about yourself, joining in a conversation so that you can be outgoing and network with others because you could feel like developing normal interactions with others is difficult for you. You could feel that people may find what you have to say as meaningless, they could even talk over you, or maybe you fear that people will hate you for what you say. You could also find yourself in too many situations where people are dedicated to misunderstanding you by twisting what you say or snubbing you. But despite their reactions, people strongly value what you say, and are often changed personally by even just a few words that you mention and could still think about what you've said years later whether it's from a normal conversation or an argument. I feel called to mention to this group that you shouldn't restrain yourself by muting your verbal expression in order to please others, because I'm getting that even though you aren't aware that there are people who want to listen and do listen to what you have to say and will like and respect you for who you are, you understand the weight of your words and the repercussions you face when you defend yourself and but there are times you don't in order to keep the peace. You must understand that peace is simply an illusion when you keep putting your feelings and wellbeing aside to keep people that are not even for you in your life. Tip toeing around others is not what's going to keep you safe—you gotta step on some toes to free yourself. This group has to learn both when it isn't your fault for when you trigger someone and when it is. Because I'm getting that another part of this group is more so in the darker aspect of this trait, you don't hold your tongue for anyone and when someone goes low, you go to straight to the pits of hell. You're fully aware of how you know just the right words to break someone and to intentionally offend them. Your brutal honesty isn't needed all of the time and sometimes you're not being blunt, you're just being an asshole. Reserve your poison for the people that deserve it, but it will benefit you to learn that the same way the magnitude of your words can be poison to others it also be venom used to help others heal. I know it may feel like that someone's always trying it with you but you gotta calm down and start seeing the good in humanity, because not everyone is a piece of filth that you need to sweep. The shadow work that you make other people do eventually creates a balance that keeps their egos in check and where their humility is holding them back.
Pile Two
What's chilling about you is how elusive you are. This can mean a variety of things, but one of the scenarios that I'm getting is that this pile could be adamant when it comes to holding grudges. People hate that you don't forgive them because it gives them a reality check with how entitled they feel to treat others and how they expect them to react about it afterwards. You seem to unfortunately attract a lot of people that don't take any accountability. They show up as either someone who feels like they have the right to mistreat others and have control over how their victims feel or perceive the situation or people who have lived their entire lives as victims but are in disbelief when they are in situations where they have made someone else a victim so they manipulate the situation to confirm their bias and lack of self awareness. These people are possessive over outcomes and how they want to be seen. You are very much capable of forgiving others, but you are strong with your boundaries to the point where you don't make yourself accessible anymore to the people have hurt you and this confuses them. They're used to thinking that words have more meaning than their actions or that forgiveness is something that's automatically given when asked for it, but you show them that's not exactly how it works. This makes them have to unpack guilt that they will deal with for a very long time or your absence reminds them of how powerless that they feel. Both are situations that are hard to sit with alone so these people may tend to latch on others and surround themselves with company. The shadow work that you make others do is to reflect on situations where they are habitually self-undoing.
Pile Three
What makes other people shook about you, is how unmoved you are but how you always seem to ironically move others. You could have this radical intelligence and self sufficiency where you don't care who's on your level or not. You could be isolated by others a lot, and on the outside it could look like you're out of touch with humanity, but no, you're actually way ahead of your time, they just need to catch up. The same things that people have tried to shun you for, end up becoming trends in the future. You guys are very secure with yourself and it intimidates others, but you've grown or will grow to not let that effect you anymore. I see that your purpose involves leading others. You guys could be coaches to help people break habits that maladaptively stagnate their lives, you keep yourself strong, in order to pass this on to others who finally decide that they to help themselves. Your insight isn't going to be accepted by the majority because those people are still stuck on outward appearances or are complacent with their own delusions, and it's not your responsibility to help everyone, but you're good at what you do and you have the potential to save a lot of lives with the changes that you help other people make within themselves. It doesn't even have to solely be changes either, you could motivate others to recognize what they already have within themselves too and that's so empowering. If you guys are tarot readers that are feeling down about the messages that you're trying to bring to people, I'm getting that you guys need to keep going, what you're doing is meaningful even if you can't physically see it, you awaken others deeply to things that they may not be ready to publicly share with others so give it time and remember your mission. You aren't here to entertain any thoughts of staying the same, you are here to promote growth. Don't downplay your gifts, you know what you know.
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valeskafics · 6 months
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"A Good Marriage" - Tom Bennett x Wife!Reader (Stepford Wives/Don't Worry Darling AU)
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Summary: You and Tom move to the new Stepford living community to work on your marriage.
TW: DUBCON, profanity, innuendo, afab reader, she/her pronouns, period-typical sexism, brainwashing, daddy kink, breeding kink, oral f receiving, p in v sex, cockwarming
Word Count: 3,000 words
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the World On Fire characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️
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The minute Tom returned home from the war, the first thing he did was marry you, his childhood sweetheart from his secondary school days. You’ve always been the more ambitious of the two of you, with dreams of attending Oxford and becoming an investigative reporter, dreams that you did indeed accomplish. You got a job at one of the local London papers when you and Tom moved to the city shortly after the wedding and have been slowly climbing your way up the ladder in hopes of one day getting your own column.
You work hard, much harder than anyone else at the office in part because you’re a woman and your asshole boss seems to want to push you harder for that fact alone. Over the last few months, he’s been dropping hints that, come the end of the quarter, he’ll be announcing which new writer will be getting their own column and that you’re the favorite for it, assuming you keep up the good work. You’ve been staying late nearly every day, sometimes not getting home till just before midnight, and editing your pieces in what is supposed to be your free time.
Tom feels pathetic for it, but he’s come to resent your job. He misses the days when you’d both get home around the same time, when you’d sit down for a meal together and make love late into the night. Though it was less than a year ago, it all feels like a distant memory now. He often goes to bed alone, eats alone, wakes up alone since you are so absorbed in finally getting the column you’ve been working your arse off for.
The straw that breaks the camel’s back is when you don’t return home until half past eleven one night, looking like a dead woman walking. Tom’s made your favorite, spaghetti bolognese, and is extremely excited to have you taste it. He’s become quite a chef in his own right, if he says so himself, often being the one to prepare both of your meals. However, you give him a brief peck on the cheek and mumble that you’ll eat later. That you’re too tired to eat right now and have a deadline tomorrow. Tom feels his entire world crumbling in on him and turns to face you.
“You hardly sleep, you hardly eat. It’s like being married to a ghost,” Tom accuses, “Half the time, you don’t even bother looking at me when I talk to you! I miss you! I miss my wife!”
“Tom,” you sigh wearily, “I’ve told you, it’s just for the next month or so till I get my column-”
“And after that it’ll be till you publish your next story. Then the next,” he protests, “You know, you say you love me, but I don’t think you do. You never kiss me or touch me, forget making love to me. Why are you even married to me?”
You sink into a dining chair, pinching the bridge of your nose with frustration, “Do you want a divorce, Tom? Is that it”
His jaw drops and he shakes his head vehemently, “Baby, God, no! I just,” he bites his lip before muttering, “I just want my wife back. I just want to know why you don’t love me anymore. Have I done something?”
You walk over to him, resting your hands on his face, “No, Tom, of course not. I do love you-”
“Then why do you always disregard me?” Tom questions insistently, “The only time I see you is when you’re leaving for work or when you’re coming home and heading off to edit. I feel like I have to beg for your attention. For your love. And it’s not a good feeling.”
You wince, feeling the truth behind his words and give him a small nod, “You’re right. I promise I’ll try harder.”
Tom embraces you, pressing a kiss to your forehead, appeased by your sweet words. He fixes you a sizable plate of pasta and sits down opposite you, each of you at one head of the table, wolfing down your respective meals. And you talk, for the first time in a while, and it’s nice. He’s missed this more than words can say.
The two of you watch telly together that night and an advert comes on for a new living community, just outside of London - Stepford, they call it, full of young families with smiling faces looking entirely content. The women are all dressed like stereotypical housewives, something you’d never be caught dead wearing. And yet, Tom can’t help but imagine how sexy you’d look in one of those little numbers that would cling to your arse, your breasts. He imagines you fawning over him like these women are shown fawning over their husbands, just being adoring little wives to them. And God, is he tempted. And the idea of finally having kids? You’ve been so focused on your career that the two of you have been putting it off for a while, but the idea of you with a round pregnant belly, doting on him… Tom turns to you and speaks quietly, running a hand through your hair.
“You know, that would actually be perfect for us.”
You wrinkle your nose, “The suburbs? Tom, really? We both work in the city.”
“It’s only a thirty minute commute,” Tom insists, “Cost of living is lower. So much more space for when we have kids-”
“Which won’t be for a while,” you remind him sharply, earning a bit of a wounded look from your husband.
“Right, but, still! We’re always saying this flat is too cramped. And we’d be paying half the price for twice as big a place!”
You know that his logic is sound, and so you sigh, “I suppose it’ll be good for our marriage too, won’t it?”
Tom nods earnestly, gathering you in his arms, “I think this could be really amazing for us, my darling. Consider it at least?”
“It would be nice to not have to walk up three flights of stairs after a long work day… And I guess, when we have kids, the schools there would be much better,” you relent.
“A big backyard,” Tom points out, “You’ve always wanted a dog, love.”
Before you can think twice, you find yourself agreeing to go look at homes in Stepford tomorrow after work.
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Tom knows you’re not the biggest fan of the other ladies in the neighborhood, judging by the way you constantly complain about them after speaking to some of the wives from your street on move-in day.
“God, these women are awful,” you groan, “They’re so bloody vapid! All they care about is pleasing their husbands and their hair! I bet they didn’t even vote in our last election! What ever happened to intelligent conversation? All they do is ‘yes, dear’ their husbands and cook and get pregnant, like bloody robots!”
“They’re perfectly nice women,” Tom protests, “Jack’s wife, Alice, seems lovely!”
“Alice,” you scoff, “Sanctimonious little bitch. She gives me the creeps. Always asking when you and I are going to have kids, what I cooked for you. It’s ridiculous! And also, let’s go back to the voting thing!”
“Why are you so hung up on that?” he questions as you slam the car door shut with your hip, instructing the movers on where to put the last of the boxes, “Maybe they just prefer to stick to the home and family and not worry too much about politics!”
“Politics are the backbone of our society, Tom,” you retort, annoyed, “I mean what if their husbands are,” you glance around before whispering as though it’s a curse word, “Tories?”
Tom can’t help but chuckle at your reaction, “Oh, come on, darling. At most, they’re a little old-fashioned.”
You scowl, “I saw your precious Alice and her little mate Gloria chatting shit about my jeans, you know,” you say, gesturing toward your outfit - a flannel shirt and pair of jeans, “Bitches.”
Tom grins wryly, “If they prefer their skirts and dresses, why is it such a big deal? Besides, you look beautiful in anything.”
You dodge Tom’s kiss and head inside the house, grumbling to yourself about how he doesn’t understand anything. Tom sighs and follows after you, rambling that once you make friends and get more settled that the two of you will enjoy living here. He even suggests a dinner party where you can invite the neighbors.
“Well, I want to invite our real friends from the city.”
Tom bites back his annoyance at your words, “Love, these people seem friendly enough. Don’t write them off completely-”
You ignore him and continue setting up the house, “Look, I’m nearly done here, so I’m going to head out and drop off my article. You can go play golf or go to their little Stepford Gentlemen's Club and make some friends or whatever. I don’t care.”
Frustrated with how dismissive you’re being of the neighbors and your new home as a whole, Tom nods and sets off toward the club. He has a pint with a few of the other husbands, who welcome him with open arms.
“Your wife seems a bit tense from the move,” one of the men - Jack  - says sympathetically, “You know, we have a spa right here that all our wives went to in order to help them relax after working so hard moving into a new place.”
This piques Tom’s interest and he nods happily, “That sounds exactly like what she needs! I’d love to treat her to a little spa day!”
He broaches the subject with you after dinner, and after thinking on it for a moment, you agree. After all, what harm can a manicure, pedicure, and massage do to you? You get in bed beside Tom, the two of you laying there and reading your respective books. And you feel the distance between you and your husband now more than ever. You turn to him, resting a hand on his arm, giving him a gentle smile.
“I do love you.”
“I know,” he says softly, “And I love you. Just give this place an honest try. For me?”
You nod, turning off your light and going to sleep.
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Tom drops you off at the spa the next day and heads off to work, being told that a car service will drop you back off at home. He presses a soft kiss to your lips before driving off, grateful that you’ve agreed to take the day off to relax at the spa. The entire day, he’s buzzing with excitement, hoping that you might even be in a relaxed enough mood to get intimate with him when he returns home. The thought of being able to touch you again after so long has him achingly hard. You’ve always been the one to take the lead in the bedroom, but sometimes he wonders how it would be if you just let him take control once, just let him dominate you…
The first thing Tom notices when he gets back to the house is the smell of freshly cooked food in the air and the sound of an old jazz record. He wonders to himself what’s going on as he rounds the corner toward the kitchen.
And there you are. His eyes practically bulge out of his head as he takes in your visage. Your hair is perfectly set in loose waves, half up and half down, you have make up on including a very sexy shade of red lipstick. You wear a baby pink dress that accentuates your curves, a bit low cut in the front, like all the other neighborhood wives wear, with a frilly white apron on top. And to top it all off? You’re wearing high heels.
As though sensing his presence, you turn around and look at Tom, smiling demurely, “Tommy! You’re home!”
You rush to embrace him, pressing a kiss to his cheek before taking his briefcase and helping him out of his jacket, hanging it up for him. Tom takes you in his arms and pulls you against him, feeling your curves press against his body, breathing in the soft, vanilla scent of your skin. For a moment, it feels like the two of you are back in Paris on your honeymoon again. You giggle as Tom practically paws at you, his large hands moving along your waist, squeezing your arse.
“Tommy, I need to set the table,” you say in a sweet, lilting voice.
Tom reluctantly lets you break the embrace, eyes still greedily drinking you in, “Of course, love, I’ll just… Um…” He leans against the wall, just gazing at you, trying his best to contain himself, “Wow. How was the spa?”
“So relaxing,” you say dreamily, humming to yourself as you finish cooking, “Go sit down, my love,” you coo, leading him to a chair at the head of the table, pouring a tumbler of whiskey for him as well as lighting a cigar, “You must be just exhausted! Let me take care of you.”
Tom preens under your attention, unsure of what’s brought about this sudden change in demeanor but enjoying it nonetheless. You look so gorgeous like this, fussing over him, fawning over him, being so sweet and adoring. You hear the oven go off and dart away, returning with a massive tray, a docile smile on your face.
“I made Sunday roast, darling. Your favorite.”
Tom immediately opens his arms and pulls you into his lap, wanting to be near you. And God, the way you nuzzle up against him and how that cute little bum of yours rubs up against his cock… You’re being so coy and demure, lifting a fork to his lips and feeding him, even. He wonders if this is what heaven looks like as you gaze up at him with those gorgeous eyes of yours. He nearly lets out a whine of protest as you get off of him.
“Can I massage your back while you eat, Tommy? My poor husband, working so hard…”
Well… That seems like a fair exchange. He lets out a low groan as your hands work against his back, feeling the arousal within him continue to build. You let out a coquettish giggle at the sound, one that goes straight to his cock. He imagines you giggling like that, your arms wrapped around him as he pounds you into the mattress, and the thought is almost too much to take.
“You know, Tommy,” you say softly, whispering in his ear in that sweet, honeyed voice of yours, “The doctor here said tonight would be a good night to start trying…”
The prospect of what you’re implying sends a thrill up Tom’s spine. And before he even knows what he’s doing, he’s pushing the tray of roast backward, swiping the plates off the table, lifting you up and placing you on it. You let out the sweetest little gasp as he presses a kiss to your ankle, his mouth leaving a trail of kisses up your calf to your inner thigh before he hikes your skirt up to reveal your panties. White lace. He quickly lowers them, admiring the sight of your bare pussy, which he feels he hasn’t seen in so very long, before shoving your underwear in his pocket and burying his face between your thighs. You let out a little mewl of his name as he lifts your legs so that they dangle over his shoulders, your hands in his hair. Tom works his tongue against you, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he laps at your folds.
“Oh God, Tommy,” you whine, your hips bucking up against his.
Tom grins up at you, nuzzling his nose against your clit, mouthing at it, flattening his tongue against the sensitive bud, loving the way you squeal his name as you come undone against his tongue. But he’s nowhere near done with you. Tom loves how pliant you are beneath him and intends to take full advantage of that, quickly undoing his belt, lowering his trousers just enough to free his cock, precum already leaking from the tip. You gaze up at him doe-eyed, throwing your head back as he sheathes himself inside of you, feeling your cunt squeezing him so tight he thinks he could cum without even moving. He can feel himself throbbing, buried inside you as he begins to rut against you, ripping your dress open to mouth at your tits over the pretty lace bra you wear.
“Breed me like the good little wife I am, Tommy,” you murmur in his ear, your words driving him to the brink of madness.
Tom lets out a quiet growl as he continues pounding into you, feeling your velvet walls clenching around him as you get closer and closer to your own peak, your mouth twisted in pleasure, breasts heaving as you gaze up at him. He continues, feeling his balls tighten as he gets closer to his own end, wanting nothing more than to fill you up with his cum, watch it leak out of your pretty little pussy. And when you cry out his name, squeezing around him as you reach your peak, it triggers his own end and Tom spills himself inside you. When he pulls out, his fingers immediately move to push his cum back into you, and he grins.
“Don’t want to waste any.”
“Yes, Daddy,” you give him a sweet smile, one that nearly has him growing hard again.
He sits down, pulling his plate back toward him and seating you in his lap once more.
“Get me nice and hard again, love,” he murmurs, “Want you to sit on my cock while I eat this meal you’ve made for us.”
Tom doesn’t know what happened at that spa and he doesn’t care.
He’s just happy to have a good marriage with his perfect little Stepford wife.
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mawofthemagnetar · 1 month
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TFC’s Completely Normal Afternoon Where Nothing Goes Wrong And Nobody Dies Horribly
(shoutout to @lindentree for inspiring this silly fic!)
TFC sat in his little bachelor pad, coffee in hand, watching the steam rise out of his mug. 
It was a nice mug, all things considered. A gift from the other Hermits. A handmade blue thing, turned on a potter’s wheel, with an extra-large handle to give his old hands a break sometimes. Full of coffee from his ancient coffee machine, that gurgled and growled like a jackhammer being waterboarded.
TFC took a sip, and winced. Okay, so maybe it was time to leave the mine and get more coffee. He’d re-used the grounds for the fourth time, and now it was really starting to get properly bitter. 
He drummed his fingers on his glass-top table, listening to the echo against the cold stone walls of his little antechamber. Maybe he’d decorate the walls at some point soon. 
TFC shrugged, and opened his comm. Hopefully one of the other Hermits had some coffee beans. He wiped the stone dust off his screen, and held down the three buttons to switch it on. Yes, he kept his comm strapped to his arm like almost every other player with some semblance of sense. No, he refused to let the damn thing be awake for any longer than it needed to be. The Hermits were chatty folks, and when TFC was deep in his mines and deep in thought, the last thing he needed interrupting his musings was a million buzzing noises as Cleo and Jevin got into a slapfight in the general chat. 
TFC’s personal logo flashed across the screen (the three letters of his name in red, natch) and he took another slurp of his bitter coffee, wrinkling his nose. The comm beeped, and TFC opened the group chat and tapped out a quick message. 
<Tinfoilchef> anyone got any more coffee? I’m clean out. 
He put his comm down, and took another swig. 
And waited. 
And waited. 
And waited. 
TFC frowned. He was a patient man by nature. The same could not be said of the other Hermits, who were usually falling over themselves to help each other out. 
And he hadn’t gotten a reply yet. 
It had been a whole ninety seconds.
TFC scrolled up in chat, and he sighed, rubbing his face. He sank back in his chair in annoyance. 
Of course. 
He tabbed upwards, watching things spiral out of control… in reverse. 
<Renthedog was blanched to death> 
<Renthedog> THE PAIN! THE PAIN IS INDESCRIBABLE
<Vintagebeef was portaged to death> 
<Vintagebeef> RUN! THE BOATS! THE BOATS ARE COMING!
TFC rubbed his temples with his free hand, sighing in exasperation. ‘
“Guys, I dug up five stacks of diamonds, don’t make me do this…I don’t want to re-dig those tunnels…” TFC groaned. 
And of course the nonsense kept coming as he scrolled farther and farther back. Gee, that last message from Ren was about four hours ago, now...
<Iskall85 became part of the weft> 
<Iskall85> HELP GOD THE LOOM’S GROWN LEGS
“Does anyone on this server besides me even know HOW to weave?!” TFC growled, averting his gaze from his pile of unfinished weaving in the corner of the room. It didn’t exist. He couldn’t see it. His WIP’s couldn’t hurt him.
And on and on it went.
<Xisumavoid was hooked to death>
<Grian was torqued to death>
<Tango was unraveled to death> 
<Zombiecleo was racqueted to death>
“Right, I’ve seen enough.” TFC sighed, “On the bright side, at least I’ll have all the coffee I had a week ago, so there’s that…” 
He carefully tabbed through his various screens and menus until he arrived at the one bit of his comm that was set aside for admin functions. Now, TFC wasn’t a server admin. That much was true. But he had slight admin privileges, for one thing and one thing only: server rollbacks. 
While, say, Hypno would have had an extensive wall of options, showing his permissions and all sorts of bells and whistles, TFC’s admin console had a text box to input a date and a big red “GO” button. 
He looked mournfully at his ender chest, and, with a sigh, keyed in a date one week prior. 
And TFC jabbed his thumb on the big red button. 
The world flashed white, utterly blinding him, and a second later TFC was deep in the branch mine in a half-finished tunnel, the same spot he’d been exactly a week prior. 
Unfortunately, he was still in a comfortable sitting position, resting all his weight on a chair that suddenly wasn’t there, so he immediately toppled to the ground, landing on his ass in an undignified heap. 
“Ow.” TFC muttered, sitting up slowly and tapping through his messages. 
<Xisuma> oh, we rolled back. Is everyone alright!?
<Tango> Mumbo you are BANNED FROM TIME TRAVEL
<MumboJumbo> It wasn’t me this time! I mean it was. But blame Zedaph! 
<Zedaph> ME?! No! Blame Cub! Cub gave me the doodad! 
TFC rolled his eyes and typed out a message. 
<Tinfoilchef> Does anyone have any fresh coffee beans?
Silence. 
No messages. No new complaining. As all the hermits re-read TFC’s words and soaked them in. 
Finally, Cleo broke the silence. 
<Zombiecleo> TFC. How many times did you re-use your last filter of grounds. 
<TinfoilChef> eh, six? Seven?
<Zombiecleo> are you telling me we’d all still be in shuttlecock hell if you hadn’t gotten sick of the taste of reused coffee grinds?!
<TinfoilChef> Pretty much, yeah 
<TinfoilChef> anyway 
<TinfoilChef> does anyone have some fresh coffee? 
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heartfullofleeches · 1 month
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Femboy slasher Yandere and Darling is giving me brain rot SO BADLY RN. Okay so what if yandere is a playboy, luring in his victims using his oh so perfectly hot body. One day, he goes out late at night to a bar and finds Darling hooking up with some guy. He plans on killing the both of them, but loses them in the crowd. When he finds them again, Darling is gutting the fool who thought that they would ever touch scum like him, and yandere can't help but plan their wedding.
(This could kinda go with what I had in mind so I hope you don't mind me merging the two- Mentions of Murder/Death)
Femboy Slasher Yan + Femboy Murder-Streamer Slasher Darling-
"Looking for some fun?~ Two cuties seeking third partner to celebrate their anniversary with. Location and pictures provided after a few questions. See you soon ;)"
" "You're making this way too easy, love. People might get suspicious."
"Whaaat? No way - ugh, this blows. I wish we could go to our usual spot, but there's too much attention around that area after that last guy you picked...."
"He was being too sweet with you - he had to die...."
"All he did was give me a free drink - on my birthday!"
Yan's Darling is so weird. Instead of movies of grabbing a bite to eat, Darling has a different idea of what the perfect date night is. They're lucky they're so damn cute in red-
Derailing from your ask a little, Yan actually never murdered anyone before he met darling. Robbed them blind and maybe left a few in the hospital, but he never killed anyone far as he knew or cared. He used his looks to lure people in and take everything from them once they were under his spell. One day, he catches word of another cute face frequenting bars and other places Yan chose as his place of business. He couldn't have that. Eventually, Yan locates Darling on the same night Darling is luring some drunk guy behind some dumpsters. Yan heads over, hoping to catch some blackmail he could used to get Darling off his turf, but what he saw behind those dumpsters was not what he was especially to see."
"Hey gang~ Oops, looks like someone's finally feeling the effects of the medicine I put in his drink. We'll have to cut this stream a little short tonight."
Yan watches as the person behind the dumpsters slits the man's throat - blood mixing with white foam bubbling from his lips. The person looks almost identical to the boy Yan had seen early, but now he's wearing some weird make. It doesn't take long for darling to notice Yan. Instead of rushing him, Darling reaches into the man's pocket and pulls out his wallet - throwing it at the other male.
"That's what you wanted, right? I've seen you around here before, but I thought you'd be good bait to lead the police off my scent when this guy here was found... Wanna be friends?"
Yan should run. He should scream - yell for help, but the way Darling is so carefree and nonchalant about their crimes..... It's the hottest thing he's ever witnessed.
Darling tells Yan all about their life. Killing people has always been more of a hobby to them, but somehow they found a community of freaks who'd pay hundreds to see a cute boy like them crack someone's skull open. Better than being stuck as at crappy cashier job in their book. Their first manager would have been their first victim had he not passed away in an accident the same week Darling planned to butcher him.
Darling and Yan quickly come to the agreement that if Yan lures people away, Darling will do the deed. Yan develops more of a crush on darling seeing how much pleasure and glee comes from killing for rhem. Yan is approached by someone who's cautious of their new friend and warns Yan about them. Yan kills their acquaintance in a fit of rage after they express their plans on telling the police about Darling. Yan realizes he hasn't been entirely in it for the money and has developed feelings for Darlings. Feelings he'll protect in any way necessary. Darling is so proud of him. They give him their favorite knife as part of his promotion to becoming their partner. The two become a team who passionately kiss in between disemboweling the poor fool who was stupid enough to answer their online ad.
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beardedjoel · 6 months
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pretty little wife | sit tight
joel x f!reader one shot collection
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part four of pretty little wife — can be read independently series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 summary: 6.5k words — you're hosting a dinner party in the miller household, and as usual, joel can't help but turn it into a chance to tease his pretty little wife. no apocalypse au, no use of y/n warnings: 18+ MDNI! pre-established relationship/dynamic, free use kink, unprotected piv, rough sex, free use kink, sub/dom relationship, vibrator play?, overstimulation, food play, sir kink sprinkled in there, dirty talk, pet names for reader, brief mentions of food / alcohol, very submissive reader a/n: anyone else feeling completely normal about husband!joel right now cause i for sure am..... so normal
i've decided to start a kofi in case anyone wants to consider a small donation to support my work! ♡
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Joel breezes into the kitchen where you’re standing at the sink, diligently rinsing up some potatoes and vegetables for dinner tonight. You’re hosting a small dinner party, more a gathering of a few of your friends to catch up and spend some time together. You typically take turns hosting each other, and you always find yourself a bit giddy when your turn comes back around, relishing in planning the meal and getting the house just right for your guests.
He's just gotten home from work, a time he tends to lavish you with immediate attention, and today is no different - his body quickly finds its way against yours, bringing himself as close as he can get. One of his hands reaches out in your periphery, dropping a bouquet of gorgeously arranged flowers onto the counter before both hands find their way to the sides of your body.
“Pretty girl,” Joel murmurs, chin resting on your shoulder and hands brushing down your sides to your hips, fingers gathering and bunching the fabric of your dress as he goes. You’ve put on a dress you know Joel loves, a sage midi dress with a flowing silhouette but a tight top that certainly shows off your assets. “Perfect choice,” he tells you, breathing against your neck as he brushes his lips there. You giggle a little at the sensation, thanking him. 
“Thank you for the flowers,” you tell him, glancing over to inspect all the different colors and textures in the bouquet again with sparkling eyes. You know Joel has been going to the same florist for ages to get flowers for you - he’s absolutely insistent on trying to replace the bouquet as soon as it starts to die off, just another thing he does for you that has you constantly swooning over the man.
“How’s my pretty little wife today?” Joel asks you, sweet and slow with his accent coming out strong, dropping a kiss on your cheek after he asks. 
“Better now,” you tell him. “Been a long day, missing you.”
“My sweet girl,” he says, giving you a squeeze and another kiss on the cheek. The feel of his soft lips and stubble makes your heart flutter, and you can’t help but smile wider. Seeing Joel after a long day always seems to soothe something in you, and you’re grateful it’s stayed that way as long as you've known him. 
“You got everything ready for tonight, or d’ya want some help in here?” he asks you, peering over your shoulder at everything in the sink. 
“Mm-mm, I picked up everything at the store yesterday. Just a little prep work left,” you reply, turning your head to return Joel’s kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, though.”
He seems satisfied with your answer but his hands are still on your hips, pressing into you from behind and he starts swaying slightly. 
“Everythin’ looks great, doll. House is spotless, food looks perfect, you’re always workin’ so hard for me.” He presses his lips into your neck a few times, letting a quiet hum out of his throat. 
“I love it when you notice,” you reply, lips curling into a sickly sweet smile. 
“Always notice my pretty little wife, don’t I? Noticin’ her right now,” Joel quips back, pressing himself impossibly close to you, the solid wall of his torso pressing you flush against the counter. 
You nod and make a small noise of pleasure in your throat as you try to focus yourself forward to the produce in the sink, but Joel’s wandering lips and hands are making it difficult to even see straight. You’re finally able to finish getting everything rinsed and ready to dry out, wanting to move onto cutting the potatoes to get mashed potatoes started, but Joel is still pressing you close enough to the counter to stop you from moving. 
“Have a fun little idea,” Joel says, spinning you by the waist to face him. You land into place with a hand flat on his chest, looking up at him with an expectant smile. “For tonight,” he adds on, and your eyebrows raise. 
“You’re not going to… right now?” you ask, slightly taken aback, having thought you were reading Joel’s usual signals right, gearing up to have his cock inside of you any minute. 
“Could if I wanted, but we’ll have our fun later, baby,” Joel promises with another kiss on your neck that you sigh into. “No, right now I’m gonna let my wife do what she’s gotta do since she’s been doin’ such a good job.”
You feel your blood rushing through you, your ears hot and prickling, not fully understanding Joel’s motives or plans right now. “O-okay, darling. Thank you. I promise I’ll be done soon,” you tell him, flashing a smile his way. 
“Good girl, back to work, then.” Joel spins you back towards the counter and gives your ass a slap, eliciting a cheery giggle from you. “Come see me after, mkay?”
“Of course,” you coo, starting up a quiet humming again when Joel leaves the room as you start to cube your potatoes. Whatever Joel is promising has you working faster than you’d really needed to, all the potatoes cut up and in a pot in nearly record time. You’ve started to nearly ache all over with need for your husband - even with such a vague promise he gave you, your anticipation for Joel doesn’t need much to be triggered. 
You amble out of the kitchen, eager to seek him out and hear the shower running in the distance upstairs from yours and Joel’s bedroom. 
You hope to catch him in the shower and hop in with him, one of your favorite things to do, but he’s already turning the water off and emerging from the bathroom a few moments later with a towel wrapped around his waist. You feel your insides squeeze a little along with your thighs, clamping at the sight of him glistening from the water, hair slicked back, droplets dripping all down his chest. 
“That was fast,” he says, cocking a brow at you as he sees you sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting patiently for him.
“Didn’t want to keep you waiting,” you say pleasantly, which elicits a smile from Joel. How eager you are to be there whenever he needs you makes his cock twitch under the towel and he bites back a groan.
“Got you a little somethin’.”
Joel doesn’t waste any time heading to his dresser and pulling a small box out of the drawer. Your mind immediately makes guesses as he walks it over to you - a new dress to wear tonight, lingerie for afterwards, perfume - some of the many things Joel often buys you spin through your brain as you try to predict what’s inside. 
When you open the box and see a pair of pretty but plain black underwear, you’re not necessarily surprised, but your brows furrow when you notice something slightly different about them.
“Wh- what’s this…?” you ask, gingerly touching inside and your eyes go wide as your fingers touch a small, hard rubbery piece. “Joel… you’re kidding.” He’s beside himself if he thinks you can get through the night wearing panties with a vibrator inside of them and not have a complete meltdown in front of your guests. 
“Serious as can be, honey,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Thought it’d be a little fun for the both of us tonight.” His smile curls in the devious way it does when he knows he’s got you right where he wants you, and you snap and break under that look each and every time. 
“I- I -“ you stutter, grasping the panties in your hand now and inspecting them. 
“You don’t wanna wear ‘em for me?” he asks, the smirk on his face continuing to grow. He knows his question is in vain, that you’ll put them on simply because he’s asking you to. 
“I do… I j-just. I’m worried.” 
Joel approaches closer, leaning down to press his lips to the top of your head. “Promise I’d never embarrass you, y’know that, doll,” he replies, wrapping his hand around the back of your head and splaying it out, holding you in place as he continues pressing his lips to your hairline. 
“You’re right, of course you wouldn’t,” you agree, feeling yourself becoming more confident in the idea already. Joel has never let you down, and you doubt he’s about to start today. 
“Jus’ wanna have a little fun w’ya tonight. If you’re good you know what you’ll get afterwards,” he teases, a hand dragging slowly down your bare arm and you suck in air through your teeth, shuddering at the touch. 
You whimper and breath in shakily at the thought of possibly hours of stimulation before finally being able to get Joel’s cock inside of you. You’re practically getting wet just at the idea of being constantly teased by Joel tonight. 
You wordlessly shimmy your dress up your thighs to reveal your lacy red panties to Joel, keeping your eyes locked on his as you spread your legs slightly. He crouches in front of you, settling between your knees and hooking his thumbs on both sides of your underwear, giving them a tug. You lift your ass off the bed, helping him slide them down your legs before he tosses them aside and grabs the new pair from the box. He takes his sweet time, letting his fingers brush over your skin slowly, leaving a buzzing along your thighs before he finally gets them in place. 
“Fuck, I wanna eat this little pussy so bad, doll,” he groans, his eyes trained between your legs, half just mumbling to himself. “Lay you back right here and fuckin’ taste you,” he rambles on, hands gripping tightly on either side of your thighs, pupils getting larger and eyes hungrier. He sighs, fluttering his eyes for a moment before bringing himself back and loosening his firm grip on your legs. 
“Gonna torture myself a little today, too with this thing,” he says, holding up the tiny vibrator with a smirk as he pointedly slides it into the small pocket in your underwear with two fingers. You nearly cry out at this smallest of touches from him, realizing it’s about to be a very long evening. 
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You’re sweating bullets wondering when Joel is going to choose to use the vibrator first. You’re sure this is half the fun for him, watching the tension in your body, your drumming fingers as you finish setting everything up - plates and silverware perfectly placed on the table with shaky hands while you await your friends’ arrival. Once everyone is inside, hugs given, settled in and seated, your mind races as you go to open a bottle of wine, feeling the vibrator there still doing… nothing. You swear, if he turns it on while you try to pour it you’ll have his head, but he just stares at you, eyes glimmering with mischief as you narrow your eyes in his direction. 
A small smile from him sets you at ease, a reminder of his promise to never embarrass you, for this to be a fun thing for the both of you. You grin to yourself and decide to give in to him and do as he says, make it a fun evening for the both of you. 
Joel has steaks on the grill for you and the six friends you have seated and waiting for dinner while you pop into the kitchen to grab the cheese board you’d made to let everybody sate their appetites for a bit before dinner. Joel sees you through the kitchen window in the backyard, and you’re only able to catch his gaze for a moment before your entire body jolts in surprise, and you place your hands against the counter to steady yourself. 
A faint, steady vibrating had started between your legs, and you blow out a breath before peering back through the window at Joel. He has a devilishly handsome grin on his face as he gives you a single wave through the window with his phone in his hand, and you can catch from afar that there’s some kind of app open, concluding it’s the one controlling the sudden change in between your legs. You straighten yourself and wave back with a renewed sense of determination to drive Joel equally as wild as he’s driving you right now. 
You swallow hard and put on a smile as you deliver the charcuterie board to the table, thankful for the tasteful, relaxing music you’d put on throughout the house that might help cover any possible noise from this vibrator. You’re not sure you’d survive the embarrassment of everyone here finding out about yours and Joel’s little game tonight. 
Joel comes back into the house briefly while the steaks are cooking, flicking his eyes up from his phone to your face as he stands in the doorway, watching intently as he clicks on the screen and you feel the intensity between your legs increase. You squirm a little in your seat, willing your eyes not to roll back as your body starts to respond to the pleasure. 
Joel comes to stand behind your chair, a hand on your shoulder and rubbing lazy circles as he glances down to see your legs clamp together tightly underneath you. 
“Good?” he says, leaning down to whisper in your ear. You nod and smile for him, and he looks satisfied as he steps away and back outside to the grill. 
You feel the vibrator going the same, steady pace and you already feel your core tightening and heating up from the constant stimulation, although Joel has it on a relatively low vibration. He suddenly cuts off the vibration from where he’s standing outside, and you breathe an unnoticeable, long sigh of relief and feel your entire body lose all the tension that had been building.
When Joel turns the vibrator back on during dinner, pulsing it on and off a few times, leaving it on longer and higher for each turn, you start to stiffen in your seat and glare at him teasingly, and he simply raises his eyebrows in return as if to say what are you going to do about it?
You simply dig back into your meal, trying to ignore the way your body is starting to tighten and scream at you from within, a heat pooling between your legs as you start to feel yourself soaking your panties, trying to ignore the wetness and desperate thoughts of needing Joel to touch, fuck, and completely wreck you. Joel is barely giving you any mercy, seeing how far he can push it before you completely snap as he discreetly changes the settings all throughout the meal. 
“E-excuse me, everyone, I just need to check on one last thing for dessert in the kitchen,” you say to the group, trying to not expose yourself too much by clenching your teeth together as you speak. You clank your fork down harder than you mean to in your daze and push your plate away. Your eyes glance over the table as you stand up, catching on Joel’s serene but cunning expression, and you can’t decide if you absolutely love or despise your husband right now. 
You exit the room as quickly as you can without garnering any suspicion and push through the kitchen door, thankful you have such a separate space from your dining room to take a moment. You hear Joel in the distance telling your friends that he’s heading to help you out in the kitchen, to enjoy more wine and you’ll just be a few more moments. You hear him approach behind you and you whip around, trying not to show how your knees are starting to feel wobbly. 
“I can’t decide if I want to kill you or fuck you,” you say bluntly, and Joel chuckles with a deep rumble, running a hand through his beard. 
“I think we both know which one it’ll be,” he teases back, and you frown before letting a long, desire filled sigh through your nose when the vibrator speeds up after Joel clicks his phone screen. He approaches closer to you, bracketing his arms on either side of you around the counter. “You want me to stop?” he asks, quirking a brow. 
“It’s s-so much, all night…” you say more softly, quickly giving in to him. “But n-no…” 
“You wanna come now, baby? Tell me you want it and I’ll make it happen, hm?” Joel says in that sweet but condescending way as he takes in your heated face that’s starting to glisten from holding back on all the pleasure you’d been feeling. You bite your lip at his gravelly voice, the words he’s saying going straight to your aching cunt. 
You nod deeply and slowly, letting your eyes flutter shut. You lean your forehead onto his chest, clamping your legs together against the vibrator. 
“I want it, can’t take this any more Joel,” you whimper, and Joel wraps his arms around your back, keeping you tight against his body. 
Joel holds his phone in one hand and turns up the vibrator another click, and you fight the loud cry that climbs up your throat as you fall apart into his arms. He spins you around quickly, grasping at your chest, squeezing your tits into his hands and kneading at them, brushing his thumbs over your hardened nipples. He pushes you against the counter as you start to shudder, knees wobbling and completely using him as support.
One hand slips down to cup your cunt through your dress, feeling the strong vibration and pressing it harder into your begging, swollen clit. He grinds himself into your ass and groans softly, and you feel the hard bulge of him press into your plush cheeks. “Fuck,” he murmurs, seeing the effect he has on you as you’re gasping and breathing little moans for him. 
“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant quietly, starting to move your hips into his hand, trying to get as much friction as you can. You can feel the familiar sensation of you losing yourself, your core tightening deep inside of you and begging for release. You wiggle and moan, trying not to feel the pressure of finishing as fast as you can with a room full of people waiting on you.
“C’mon now, let it all go, doll. Soak these little panties for me,” Joel urges when he sees you starting to get in your head. He rubs his fingers on the vibrator, moving it against your clit and you can feel the difference immediately, breathing in sharply as you start to shudder down onto it. He immediately slaps a hand over your mouth, hearing the wild moans that threaten to sneak out loudly into the room. “Shh, shh, gotta be quiet, we got guests,” he adds on in a cocky, hushed tone next to your ear.
“I k-know,” you whine, “But I’m gonna - oh -” You feel the tight coil in your belly finally snap, letting you release all of the pent of pleasure and frustration from this evening. You breathe heavily against Joel’s hand, pathetic moans vibrating into his palm as he holds your shaking, taut body up for you.
“Tha’s it, pretty doll. Look so good when you come,” he murmurs as he gets a better look at you when your head lolls back onto his solid chest. You whimper his name repeatedly but it’s lost among the cover of his hand over your open mouth. When you start to relax and come back to reality, Joel loosens his grip, and you suck in a gulp of air and try to steady yourself. You blink dazedly a few times, pushing your arms out and leaning against the counter for several moments. 
“Thank you,” you breathe out, and Joel responds with a kiss to the back of your head before he pulls away from you. You want nothing more than for your husband to take you up to bed, peel your clothes off of you and hold you, letting you doze off until he decides to wake you up with his head, cock, or fingers between your legs. Joel’s little toy had done a number on you, and you were exhausted, but the sound of laughter in the next room pulls you back, reminding you that you still have a dinner party to wrap up. 
“I’ll hold ‘em off, you just come out with that pie in a few, mkay?” Joel says, and you turn to look at him as he walks away, flashing a wink in your direction. 
You try to get your head back on straight, taking a few more steadying breaths before heading to the fridge, pulling out the chocolate chiffon pie you’d made. You quickly get the whipped cream and chocolate shavings you’d prepared on top, barely even registering your actions as you try to stop your head from spinning. You think to smooth your clothing and hair, praying that nothing is out of sorts from your rendezvous with your husband.
You hear the unmistakable sound of Joel chuckling with your friends as you enter back into the dining room, and everyone stops to ooh and ahh at your pie, and you smile, thinking you must have pulled off your little secret with Joel well enough that nobody noticed just how long you two had been gone for.
When everyone finally heads out for the evening, Joel’s heavy footfall approaches the dining table where you’ve started to stack up plates and dishes, clearing them into a pile to take to the kitchen. You’re quietly humming to yourself, but it turns into a surprised, breathy yelp when Joel promptly wraps his forearm around the top of your chest, tucking you tightly into him. He’s already taken the liberty of pulling his cock out of his pants on the way into the room, and you can feel it in full pressing against your ass, heat immediately radiating off his length into you. A few drops of precum smear and rub onto the fabric of your dress as he grinds into you, already gathering your dress up around your hips.
He murmurs under his breath, something about needing you, tight little pussy, can’t wait and you can barely hear any of it through the blood rushing through your ears. You’d expected Joel to be a bit needy and uncontrolled after the events of this evening, the way he’d teased both of you, but he’d barely shut the door behind your friends before his cock was out of his pants and into his hand, jerking it a few times to take the sting off before he could reach you.
He tightens his grip around your chest, his forearm nearly pressing into your neck now as he gets your dress over your ass and makes a growling sound deep in his throat.
“Liked these little panties tonight, didn’t you? Bet they’re a fuckin’ mess,” he says as he reaches in between your thighs to feel evidence of his statement - evidence that is surely there from the way you’d been teased and pleasured by Joel’s new toy all night.
You nod and let out a breathy moan in reply. “Made me need you so bad, baby,” you tell him, and he loses himself, tearing your underwear to the side at the same time he presses his hips forward, using a hand to quickly guide his cock between your legs and swiftly pushing himself inside of you.
A relieved, desperate grunt escapes his lips with a sigh and he pumps himself fully into you, burying his cock fully in one movement. You breathe in sharply and spasm around him, your body not having caught up with the unexpected intrusion just yet. Joel pushes past the hesitancy, only pulling you even tighter to his body and shushing quietly in your ear, barely giving you a moment before he’s moving inside of you.
“S’okay, I know y’can take this big cock, I know y’can. Jus’ open up, little doll, relax f’me,” he says, quiet and steady, as he makes small movements inside of you.
You wince a little at the way you tighten around him, the pain and pleasure quickly mixing together as your body tries to meld with the way your mind wants Joel so badly right now.
“Jus’ breathe, that’s it. Little more, baby,” he coos, starting to pull out more each time before thrusting back inside of you. “Takin’ me so good, my good little wife, take this cock whenever I need y’to.”
“Y-yes,” you manage to stutter out between your clenched teeth, finally feeling your body relaxing under his grip, melting into him. Your muscles lose tension and you feel yourself fall back, letting him completely crush himself against you. “It’s all yours.”
“This pretty pussy is all mine, is it?” he says as he thrusts into you harder, nearly taking your breath for a moment, so you just nod eagerly for him. “Can feel it… loves my cock don’t it? She’s givin’ right in to it.”
“Mmm,” you moan out, nodding again. “Give me more, baby.”
“Harder ‘n this? That what you want?” he taunts, and you can feel the smirk against your neck as his lips clash there for a few brief moments. You moan and throw your head back into him as he sucks harder on the skin, using his teeth to bite before he releases it to inspect his work with satisfaction. He doesn’t wait for your answer, just pounds into you harder, taking everything he’d been needing from you this entire evening full of painful teasing. 
You lose yourself as you always do with Joel, letting the feel of his cock become everything to you in that moment, blocking anything else out as your eyes flutter and roll back when he grips your throat with his hand for a brief moment, squeezing it.
“Need to see your face, doll,” he mumbles with a heady voice, his mind screaming at him for even considering pulling out of you for the time it would take to turn you around. You let your body go, pliable and easy to move as he pulls out of you with a lewd noise and spins you by the shoulders, hoisting you up onto the table and you sit, heavy lidded eyes gazing at his sly smile, looking almost as if a lightbulb has gone off above his head.
“Sit tight,” he says before disappearing, leaving you to try to bring yourself back to reality, your body cold and missing him already. He glides back into the room moments later, holding the shiny bowl from the stand mixer in the kitchen. 
“Get your panties off,” he tells you as he approaches back to where you’re perched on the table.
“Don’t want to rip these ones?” you say, taunting him by spreading your legs wider and lifting your brows. 
“Swear, you’re testin’ me tonight, little doll. Do it,” he says with a wry smile. You feel your heartbeat ramp up, understanding the small shift in dynamic, the way you’re now truly Joel’s to play with from here on out. You do as he says, maintaining eye contact as you try to lift your hips and shimmy your underwear down. You fling them off your leg and they land nearby with a quiet thud. 
“Good girl,” he says, crowding between your legs. You wrap them around his torso, hooking your ankles over each other and try to pull him closer. Your hands reach out and toy with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel more of his skin. 
“Y’want to take this off, do you?” he asks, cocking his head and taking your chin in between his fingers. “Gonna have to ask nicely.”
“P-please, Joel, can I take it off?” you ask, hoping the pleading look in your eyes is coming through to him. 
“Little nicer,” he says, and you can feel his cock hardening against where it’s pressed on your belly, loving the way he has control over you right now. 
“Please, s-sir,” you say, casting your eyes down from his.
“Go on, then,” he says with a nod of his head, releasing your chin. Your fingers scramble forward, clumsily clutching at the buttons of his flannel, trying to quickly undo them. He shrugs the shirt off, revealing his chest to you, salt and pepper hair curling along it and you smile and run a hand down his pecs and down to his belly. 
Joel inches forward while you’re preoccupied and grasps underneath your thighs, lining himself up and pushing himself into you again as your mouth pops open to inhale a sharp breath. 
“Thas’ right, just take it so good, honey,” he murmurs as you flutter around him, your body readjusting to the size of him another time. “God, just so tight f’me.”
He rolls his hips into you, groaning as he starts to become consumed by the feeling of you giving him everything he needs. He stares into your eyes with a lustful, half lidded gaze and you see Joel’s index and middle finger dip into the bowl he’d set next to the two of you on the table. He brings them up to your eyeline, covered in leftover whipped cream from dessert.
He hooks his thumb to your chin and slides the two fingers over your bottom lip, and you don’t dare to open them until he says, knowing that’s what he’s waiting for. He spreads the cream along the seam of your lips, watching you dutifully keep them closed for him, eager eyes trained on his.
“Open up ‘n taste,” he says, “Need somethin’ in that pretty mouth of yours.”
You instantly lap your tongue out and he jams his fingers in, his knuckles smearing the cream from your lips that you hadn’t gotten yet. Your tongue wraps around his fingers, lips closing and sucking the light cream as the sweetness hits your tongue. 
“Mmm,” you moan softly, loving the combination of his fingers in your mouth while he thrusts himself gently in and out of you. Joel tugs his fingers out of your mouth and he repeats getting a finger full of whipped cream, upping the speed of his hips snapping into yours along the way. You gasp a little around his hand as he shoves his fingers deeper, making you gag for a moment. 
“Prettiest sound,” Joel comments with a smirk, and you continue to lick at his digits as they sit in your mouth. You start to nibble at them, giving them a swift bite and Joel hisses through his teeth. 
“Oh, you wanna be rough, huh? I’ll show you fuckin’ rough, sweetheart,” Joel spits out, a more menacing tone to his voice now. He sticks his entire hand into the mixing bowl and brings it to your face, smearing the cream down your cheek and trailing it to your neck as you watch on, eyes filling with shock, and unsurprisingly to you, desire. You try to catch his fingers in your mouth along the way, but he’s too quick, pulling away just in time to give you nothing. Joel goes back for more in the mixing bowl and palms your chest, pulling your dress down as he starts to spread the whipped cream all across your now exposed tits. With his palm splayed out, he presses you down, laying you flat onto your back across the table.
“Bite the hand that feeds you and you’ll get punished, got it?” Joel asks, and you tremble a little at the way his cock is now stretching you full each time, as far in as he can seat himself. 
“Yes… sir,” you manage to get out as your body starts to jostle with Joel’s increasing effort to pump himself in and out of you. His eyes train on your tits, bouncing with each movement as they pop out of your dress more and more. 
“Good girl,” he replies, keeping his palm pressed onto your chest, groping at your tits among the sloppy mess of the whipped cream, his hand slipping and sliding across your curves, brushing your nipples. You clutch onto his arm and dig your nails in as you feel the pleasure building, all the sensations he’s sicking upon your body completely taking over. 
Joel’s other hand grasps underneath your back, pulling you up slightly for his head to bend down, his mouth warm and inviting against the hard buds of your nipple. 
“So fuckin’ sweet,” Joel says, lifting his mouth off of you to lick his lips, revealing the mess of whipped cream now in his beard before he dives back in, biting and swirling his tongue on your nipple, alternating between both of them. 
“God, feels so good, don’t s-stop…” you cry out, and you hear Joel grunt a little, realizing you’d forgotten yourself momentarily. “Please… don’t stop, sir.”
He makes a noise of approval against your tits and continues the way he’s absolutely ravaging you, sending you calling his name in a few short seconds as he finds the sensitive, spongy part inside of you with his cock. 
“Tha’s right, lemme just take care of you, fuck you till you forget where you even are.” Joel’s voice is so low and rumbling, the way it gets when he’s fully enraptured in the moment, in you. 
You start to reach your second high of the night, writhing and moaning on the table as Joel looks down at you from above, watching with satisfaction at the way you’re absolutely helpless for him, face contorted in pleasure with your lips parted so perfectly as you whine his name. His name. Everything he’s seeing, everything you’ve become in this moment, is all because of him, and the thought alone spurs Joel towards his own climax, feeling the perfect shape of your cunt fluttering around him and squeezing as repeating waves of pleasure take over you. You’re shaking in his grip, and Joel scoops you up, pulling you flush with his chest as your hips buck forward into his while you come. 
He groans with the effort of slamming into you, riding your high out for you as he continues to set the pace, starting to move faster and more erratically, desperate to fall off the edge with you. 
“F-fuck, right there, gimme what I need, little doll, lemme use you.” 
You slump slightly in his hold, your body exhausted yet still needy for him, your over sensitive cunt now still fluttering around his length, begging him for more. He slips a hand between your bodies, rubbing tight circles on your clit and you cry out, your face scrunching up and tears nearly springing to your eyes, unsure of how your body can even take more from him right now, but it urges you on nonetheless. 
You can hear him sliding in and out, the obscene slickness gushing around the two of you, your thighs and dress starting to get a coating of your arousal and it makes you feel even more feral to feel just what Joel does to you. It’s never made sense to you, the way he affects you, can make you wet just by existing, but you can’t say it’s ever been much of a problem.
He doesn’t let up, panting breaths right near your ear as he buries his head in your shoulder and takes and takes and takes. You feel yourself tumble off the edge again into bliss, and Joel follows right behind, hips stalling as he pumps a few more times into you and stops with himself fully seated inside of you, releasing everything he has. 
You clench around him, not sure if you’re crying or sobbing or moaning at this point, so consumed by everything Joel is and the way he’s so much a part of you right now, your bodies melded together. 
When you both come down, you feel your vision speckled and starry, looking into Joel’s eyes, pupils completely blown out.
He dives in for a lengthy, opened mouthed kiss, running his tongue along your lip as you both clash your lips and tongues and teeth together over and over. His hips buck a few times as you start grind into him slowly, and he makes a whimpering sound, breath catching in his throat. 
“F-fuck, baby, y-you -“ Joel pants, his face twisted in a confusion of pleasure and overstimulation.
“Feels good still?”
He nods, lips finding yours again as you pleasure him a few more moments, his half hard cock grinding into your spent cunt, both of your arousals a mess around your bodies coming together. He finally tears his mouth from yours with a loud grunt and pulls back enough to signal you to stop. He’s breathing heavily, closing his eyes for a long moment before opening them and smiling at you. 
“Little devil,” he says, smile turning towards a smirk. 
You open your legs wider, and as Joel pulls out and steps back, you hold your dress around your hips so he can see the absolute mess he’s made you tonight, and he gazes in satisfaction between your thighs. A small shake of his head follows a breathy laugh. 
“Don’t fuckin’ tempt me.”
“I’d never dream of it,” you tease, and Joel lurches forward, scooping you up underneath the legs and carrying you towards the stairs. 
“Gonna get a filthy, messy little girl like you in the shower, then in that bed where you’re gonna wear absolutely nothin’ cause I said so, and I’ll teach you a few more lessons, how’s that sound?”
You laugh, genuine and clear before wrapping a hand around his cheek. 
“I’d bet anything you’ll fall asleep before I’m even out of the shower.”
Joel frowns and makes a disapproving tut before he cracks a smile he’d tried to hold back. 
“God damn it,” he murmurs quietly with a slight irritation. “Hate that y’know me so well, darlin’.” Joel shakes his head a little, and you know that you're right - you can see the sleepiness in his eyes despite how badly he wants to do everything on his little list. The combination of a hearty meal, a good fuck, and wine alone the way tends to knock your husband right out every time. 
“I’ll still wear nothing, if you want me to,” you offer teasingly, just to add insult to injury. Joel’s eyes narrow in your direction but he can’t help but picture the vision of you, angelic and asleep, body on full display for him tomorrow morning where he can pick right back up where you two left off. 
“Ain’t even a question.”
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gamma-radio · 9 months
Text
I hate when people play phone audio out loud in public spaces. The screechy quality of phone speakers, the disregard for literally anyone's auditory comfort, my poor autistic ears — I rage mode.
I know I'm not alone, so I am going to share my flawless embarrassment-free technique to get them to stop.
1) Carry a pair of earbuds on you. Not required, but it helps give you the confidence to actually confront them
2) walk up to them and be as nice as possible, no matter how mad you are. However, do not explain yourself or apologize, just make a simple request: "Hi, would you mind using earbuds for that?" (You're not asking them to stop, just change their method)
3a) 90% of the time they will shamefully put their phone away, and because you were so nice, they aren't even mad at you!! Then you can thank them for being so thoughtful, and maybe compliment their shirt or something! Everybody loves compliments.
3b) Alternatively, they might say, "I don't have earbuds." Normally, this would put you in an awkward situation, but You aren't normal. You are Prepared.
OFFER THE EARBUDS: "That's okay," you say, "you can borrow mine!" dazzling smile, you are so nice and thoughtful, what a great guy you are
Don't worry about losing your earbuds (or if you don't actually have earbuds), because they won't accept your offer. THEN they will put their phone away of their own free will. You never even had to ask.
If you want a detailed explanation of why this works (for the autistic besties, I see u):
People don't like it when you tell them what to do, especially if that request is to stop doing their activity in any shape or form. It pisses them off, and rightfully so! No one wants to be controlled.
That's why this method is so good: you never asked them to stop their activity, you asked them to make a small change to how they are doing the activity, which is far less obtrusive.
This works for lots of things, and lots of people. Imagine being a kid, goofing around, and someone says, "Stop doing that." Upsetting! Compared to: "Would you mind being quieter?" Because really, the issue is not that you are goofing around, the issue is that you are being loud and disruptive about it.
Same goes for the stranger on their phone in public. It's totally fine that they're watching a video, the problem is that they're being disruptive, and chances are they know that being disruptive is rude.
The second half of why this works is offering the earbuds.
When you ask them to change how they're doing their activity, you are placing a burden on them. If they have a pair already, it is a very tiny burden. If they don't have a pair, it is suddenly an insurmountable burden, and that's very uncomfortable. In fact, it's so uncomfortable that by making the request, you might become the bad guy in the situation (according to them) even if you're being nice, and even if they're in the wrong.
That's why you offer the earbuds. Now you are actively helping them by alleviating the burden. You are being kind and thoughtful instead of demanding!
Sure, they might think you're a little weird, because it's not part of the social script, but they've got no ground to be mad at you.
Which brings up the last point: offering to lend your earbuds isn't part of the social script. It's surprising, and so their default reaction is to avoid that path: they will decline your offer. So, you don't have to worry about a stranger wearing your earbuds with their gross stranger ears.
So that's the whole idea behind the method. Confrontation that is respectful and thoughtful of their autonomy and your comfort all at the same time. ~social engineering for good~
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