#And the card reader!!!!! Doesn't work!!!!!!

[bennetsbonnet]

I find it interesting that in fanon Elizabeth Bennet is widely held up as an avid bookworm when, in fact, there isn't a great deal of textual evidence to support that particular headcanon.

Perhaps it's because Mr Darcy comments on her reading at Netherfield or thanks to certain adaptations, but I frequently see her depicted as a voracious reader when we have the benefit of her view of her relationship to books from Elizabeth herself:

'“I deserve neither such praise nor such censure,” cried Elizabeth; “I am not a great reader, and I have pleasure in many things.”'

This is supported by the text as when Elizabeth reads in Chapter 8, it's only when she briefly ventures downstairs after attending to Jane for much of the day because Jane has finally fallen asleep. She picks up a book because the rest of the party are playing cards and, she suspects, gambling on the outcome:

'On entering the drawing-room she found the whole party at loo, and was immediately invited to join them; but suspecting them to be playing high she declined it, and making her sister the excuse, said she would amuse herself for the short time she could stay below, with a book.'

The fact that Elizabeth reads as almost a last resort makes Darcy's infamous 'improvement of her mind by extensive reading,' line all the funnier as it's further proof that he really doesn't know her and was only looking for superficial commonalities, rather than getting to know her on a deeper level.

There is one other time where she possibly reads, towards the end of Chapter 12, when she is briefly alone with Darcy. While he reads, there is no indication that Elizabeth does too:

'Steady to his purpose, he scarcely spoke ten words to her through the whole of Saturday, and though they were at one time left by themselves for half-an-hour, he adhered most conscientiously to his book, and would not even look at her.'

Actually, there are far more instances of Elizabeth picking up some needlework and sewing which perhaps point to that being her preferred method of passing the time...

In Chapter 10, when Caroline gives a running commentary on Mr Darcy writing a letter:

'Elizabeth took up some needlework, and was sufficiently amused in attending to what passed between Darcy and his companion.'

In Chapter 11, when Jane ventures downstairs and Bingley is fussing over her:

'Elizabeth, at work in the opposite corner, saw it all with great delight.'

In Chapter 59, after Mr Darcy returns from speaking to Mr Bennet to seek his consent:

'In a few minutes he approached the table where she was sitting with Kitty; and, while pretending to admire her work said in a whisper, “Go to your father, he wants you in the library.”'

In my opinion, I think most of us that adore Pride and Prejudice are likely bookworms ourselves and want to have something in common with a heroine we adore. It's far nicer to think of yourself as an Elizabeth Bennet than a Mary Bennet... though perhaps, unfortunately, such a sentiment is not supported by the text...

[ohraicodoll]

Ghost

QZ!Joel x Female Reader 7.6K Words/ 3rd POV One-Shot Masterpost Summary: She was used to being invisible but being seen was nice. And Joel saw her. But he also belonged to Tess. Warnings: Language. 18+ Minors DNI. Angst, Jealousy, Longing, Smut, PiV, Pull Out, Being a little rough, No use of Y/N A/N: Part of my 1200 Follower prompts. A new reader for once! And who doesn't love deep yearning and jealousy.

Tommy had been the one to bring her on. 

She had a knack for getting information and getting into hard places, dexterous and fast and quiet, and he thought she would be a good help to their group. She was able to overhear and get info without being noticed, in and out and hiding in the darkness. Tess the planner, Tommy the charmer, Joel the brawn, and her the shadow.

It had taken a while to ease into an already formed group, years honing their dynamic and leaving her on the outside. She was quiet, kept to herself, watched, very much the shadow they had brought her in to be. Observant but separate. It’s how she had survived for so long in the QZ.

Tommy tried to ease her in, get her to relax in that easy way he was able to. Made jokes, an arm slung around her shoulder, pulling her away from the corners of the room and smack in the middle with them with a, “C’mon, little ghost, you’re off duty.” It helped but Tess never quite had the same rapport as with the others, looking at her only for what she could bring to the table and not who she was as a person. The woman was logistical by nature. She weighed her worth and found her wanting.

And Joel��he was Joel. Gruff, blunt, looking at her under furrowed brows and crossed arms and communicating more in grunts than words. He was a guard dog, distrustful and quick to bite at whoever Tess pointed him to, half the time under the influence of whatever alcohol and pills they had smuggled. He didn’t play around and wanted things done his way, a stone splitting the stream and refusing to change ways.

She’d always been good at reading people and didn’t bother trying to win them over.

But there were perks to working with them. Ration cards became a little less scarce, the predatory gleam of eyes on her switched more to caution and wariness, and life got a little easier. She became known by association and that came with protection. 

The ones that didn’t learn, that made comments or grabbed her arm when she ignored them, figured it out quickly. Tommy was fast to make it clear she was with them, ready to throw fists at the slightest comment and at her side like an angry older brother. She didn’t ask him to defend her, was used to scraping by with a knife she sharpened often and staying quick on her feet. But it was nice to have the support.

It was Joel that surprised her.

She had considered herself little priority in his mind, a stray his brother had brought home that he had to deal with. Inconsequential. But more often than not he would be there before she could blink, large hands pushing her behind him or those fists brutally squeezing the arm of whoever grabbed her. She was a shadow but he was a storm cloud, coming in swift and angry and growling at whoever bothered her that if they so much as looked at her again he would break their teeth in. Tommy was loud and sharp, but in those moments she could see why Joel was the guard dog. 

He was terrifying.

It made it more baffling that he was guarding her. 

His eyes, dark and angry, would flicker to her and look her over before grunting and guiding her wherever she needed to go with a hand on her lower back. Most of the time it was back to their apartment, even if she hadn’t meant to go there or was intending to go to her own place. Like he needed to keep an eye on her a little while longer.

Maybe it was just part of being in their group.

When she was too busy, she would come back to him being there, shoving food into her hands with the complaint that she was getting too skinny. If she hadn’t come by the apartment in a few days, Tommy would show up to check on her with a passing comment that Joel had made him. Any injury Joel was quick to push pain medication into her hands or ration cards would mysteriously get added to her wallet and he would grunt at her to take a few days off.

It was hard not to get attached to the Miller brothers. Their protectiveness, the way they cared out loud and secretly. How they didn’t downplay her strength and skills and trusted her to do what she could, but not without worry.

She was used to being invisible but being seen was nice.

But Joel belonged to Tess. It wasn’t ever said outright but it was in the way they moved around each other. A dance neither of them had to think about, the way their eyes found each other, Joel going to check on her first during scrapes and anytime they ran into infected outside the QZ. Sometimes when curfew was late and she couldn’t make it back to her place, she would crash at their apartment. Tommy would be passed out on the cot, having given her the couch, and she would try to ignore the pang when she noticed Tess and Joel go into the same room together. 

It made sense, but left an ache of longing she thought she had pushed away.

Then Tommy joined the Fireflies and started to pull away.

She kept an eye on him, listened to the whispers and kept track of the Fireflies and FEDRA and made sure he was okay. When they were in the apartment, Joel and him would get into it, Tess chiming in but mostly silent as they argued about purpose and a better world. He tried to convince her once to join but she couldn’t make herself pretend that she cared about the grander scheme of things. FEDRA was a shitshow but it was more firm than the pipe dream the Fireflies believed in. Better the devil you know.

Tommy would show up at her door more often than not, sleeping on her couch if only because the fights with Joel were increasing. She didn’t argue with him, didn’t berate him for his choices, just became a silent comfort while he sulked. He went on runs less, the absence of him large in their four person dynamic.

And then he was gone. 

She tried not to take his leaving personally, but it was hard not to. He was the tether between her and Tess and Joel, the one that made her feel like she wasn’t only an asset but that there was a bond between them. And he’d left, leaving her unmoored.

Joel withdrew more, Tess became sharper and more critical, snappier. Her work increased but never felt lonelier.

She couldn’t quite figure out her place anymore. The loss of Tommy almost felt like an end to her work with them, but there were still strings keeping her attached no matter how tight she tried to pull them loose. Joel became more protective somehow. Would find her on rooftops and tell her to go home and rest. Almost broke the jaw of a man at the bar who had grabbed her ass. Snapped at one of Robert’s men when he condescended to her during negotiations.

He had practically carried her and forced her to sit down when she slightly sprained her ankle navigating some of the city ruins during a run. The rain had made everything slick and she had lost her footing while scouting a pathway. It hadn’t even been a big deal but he’d notice the slight limp and picked her up before she could protest. Tess had rolled her eyes and went to look over their supplies while Joel had taken off her shoe, checking the limb meticulously while berating her under his breath for not being careful enough. He had even ripped the bottom of his shirt to use as a makeshift compression wrap, thumb rubbing soothing circles into her skin as he wrapped it around her.

“Don’t know what I’m gonna do with you,” he had muttered, the tone softer than she was expecting. 

He’d forced her to stay back on the next run and she had felt useless, wondering if they saw her as a burden if she couldn’t do her one job.

Tess would stare at her sometimes, lips pressed together as if trying to decide if she was worth the help. It was never out of malice or hatred, but calculation. Like she was weighing the pros and cons of her presence now that Tommy wasn’t around to tip the scales. She was almost sure that Joel’s growing protectiveness weighed in, her guard dog getting distracted.

She doubted it. Joel was Tess’ first and foremost. 

Yet more often, she was getting left behind. The excuse of her skills not being needed or that it was a quick job came about. Sometimes there wasn’t any excuse and they’d just be gone for days at a time. 

She’d still get her split, still find ration cards in her wallet when left unattended or would feel Joel’s presence when she’d walk through the alleys where business was done. The echo of him everywhere.

She avoided staying over at what was now Joel and Tess’ apartment but couldn’t always. When she had no choice, she would lay there late at night on the couch and tried to ignore the rustling of fabric in the other room, the murmured voices and breaths. The apartment walls were paper thin and she could practically feel the low tenor of Joel’s whispers.

But they weren’t for her.

She wasn’t an idiot. She knew that somehow she had developed a crush on Joel no matter how rough and dangerous he was or the logic that he wasn’t interested. Some nights she wished it had been Tommy, how much easier it would have been with him instead of the unavailable older Miller. But she hadn’t felt that way with him. His touch didn’t burn every time he brushed her skin or breath shake when they were close together in the darkness, his hand pressed along her back as they waited for paths to clear. 

Tommy had been cheerful and boyish even during dark times, but Joel had drawn her in with his salt and paper hair, furrowed eyes, and that look that screamed experience and being able to take care of her. She had never even cared about that before, being taken care of. Joel had a way of making you want his attention. 

Maybe it was why Tess held onto him so tight. It must be intoxicating to have all that focus on you, lips brushing your skin and tilted in something other than a frown while calloused, worn hands held you. It was hard not to want that. To be seen. Years of quiet, of sticking to shadows and scrounging and surviving alone. No family, no friends, living on the outside. 

It was safer that way. She couldn’t lose what she didn’t have.

Now she had lost that comfort. Tommy had left and she had never felt more alone even with Tess and Joel. Because they had each other and she was the outsider. 

She was back to being a ghost. Maybe it was for the best.

It made sense then when another group asked her for help on a run. It was business, nothing more. She had a skillset that was in demand and it wouldn’t step on Tess’ interests, especially as she could see the woman still weighing her value and how often she was left behind. A simple run to supplement the work she was already doing.

The group was inexperienced and more than once one of the guys, Jason or Jared or something, tried to proposition her. But it wasn’t an awful couple of days and she felt a little more assured in her skill compared to them. Especially when she was the one that had to direct them when they almost got caught sneaking back into the QZ.

She got a break from Boston, a good share of the loot, and the feeling of being needed warm in her belly.

But she hadn’t made it more than halfway to her quiet lonely apartment before a large hand wrapped around her arm and dragged her to a different set of buildings. Fear didn’t flare as she knew exactly whose hands they were, could see the shape of him outlined in the cast off of the spotlights even as they traveled in the darkness to avoid FEDRA.

Joel had never handled her like that though. Anger and frustration radiated off of him with every step and when they got to his place he practically tossed her inside, locked the door, and stood there with his leg cocked and both hands on his hips, “Where the fuck have you been?”

“What the fuck, Joel?” she hissed back, teeth clenched as she looked at him with wide eyes, “You can’t just drag me here-”

“I’ve been looking all over the goddamn QZ for you only to hear you went on a job with fucking Carter?” he snarled, taking a step toward her.

She scoffed and shrugged, voice still raspy from being quiet though she had always been soft spoken, “Okay? Yes, I was on a job. What’s the big deal?”

He looked down like he was trying to collect himself, taking slow breaths though his jaw ticked and nostrils flared, “Carter is a fucking moron who is gonna get you killed. You didn’t even tell me, you simply took off-”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware you were my keeper?” she snapped back, “Besides you and Tess take off plenty of times without telling me, but I guess it’s only okay when she says, right? God forbid I do anything without her approval.”

Joel frowned, eyes darkening with anger and a tinge of confusion, “The fuck you getting at?”

She was tired, dirty, and didn’t want to be arguing with him but couldn’t help the way her body tingled under his gaze. But there was so much bitterness under the surface, her mind on repeat reminding her that he wasn’t hers and was only mad because it would mean losing her as an asset, “Nothing, Miller, I’m going home.”

His hand gripped her arm when she tried to move passed him to the door, “The hell you are-”

“Why do you care?” she tried to shake her arm out of his hold but he held on tight, not letting her go so easily, “You both have made it perfectly clear you’re more than capable without me so I found a group that actually wants my help. What’s it matter to you?”

“It matters because I don’t trust them with you,” he snarled, stepping in so close they were almost chest to chest, “I don’t trust them to have your back or make sure you’re okay or not to fucking get you killed out there where I can’t fucking reach you.”

The air thickened as she looked up at him. She could almost count the growing number of silver hairs in his beard and trace the deepening wrinkles in his skin. Maybe once upon a time they had been laugh lines but life had worn him down, his lips more prone to frowning. And his eyes were burrowing into her, almost like he was tracing out the features of her own face in return.

It was the closest she had been to him in weeks. She forgot how big he was, how consuming his presence could be.

“So what?” she whispered shakily. So what if she went out alone, if she survived alone, if she got killed alone. It had no bearing on him.

Both of them were tightly wound with tension, waiting for the other to snap. Words behind clenched teeth and his fingers involuntarily rubbing into her skin, her heart pounding in her ears.

But instead a knock sounded at the door.

It sounded so far away in her mind but she could see the way he flinched at the sound, the tick in his jaw as he continued to stare until another round of knocks reverberated louder. Frustrated, he turned away with a snarl and dropped her arm, hastily unlocking the door and jerking it open with a hissed, “What?”

It was Margie from the first floor. They paid her occasionally to keep an eye on FEDRA, run to them with tips and make sure certain people weren’t snooping around. Eyes tired and wary, she glanced behind Joel then nervously stuttered, “It’s Tess. She needs you in the basement.” No further info. She whispered the words and scuttled away, disappearing into the dim hallway and down the stairs.

Joel huffed, shoulders slumped and fist clenched on the knob of the open door. The silence was oppressive, hot with anger and things left unsaid. Without turning around though, he grunted a rough, “We’re not done.”

Then he was out the door. Gone without further comment, racing to Tess the second she called him. 

She tried not to let that bitterness spread, but it coated her mouth and beat along her skin as she stood in their apartment, traces of both of them everywhere she looked. He was at Tess’ beck and call and had left without even a look back.

Never had she felt more alone and unwanted.

She was gone by the time they came back.

Some days she regretted not going with Tommy. She missed the days of all of them in the living room, going over maps and Tess’ careful inventory, joking and passing a bottle of homebrewed whiskey around. Those days it was easier to not want to be wanted, to ignore the tingles when Joel would look at her and accept it wasn’t in the cards. She hated that ache of wanting him to want her in the same way he had Tess.

Want left you weak. 

She couldn’t even hate the woman. Tess was Tess. Smart, capable, ruthless, both of them birds of a feather with years of history between them. They clicked, simple as that. Tess was cold, calculated fire and she was a shadow, unobtrusive and hidden away.

A ghost, Tommy liked to call her sometimes jokingly, a nickname that had stuck. Their little ghost.

Ghosts don’t get hurt, just existed on the edges of your peripheral. Held to the earth by want and longing. It fit. A ghost of a person with no ties, unnoticed and living in darkness. Invisible.

She kept to the roofs most nights, skittering from one to the next and listening to the sounds below. Navigating fire escapes, broken balconies, above but not a part of the workings of the city. Voices whispered secrets, yells behind walls, the rhythmic pattering of feet on patrol. She traded secrets for check-ins with the radio tower controller, info on Tommy and if he was safe. Traded hints of new FEDRA patrols to Fireflies and passed along info to barter for ammo or alcohol or stupid things like chocolate. 

She didn’t see Joel or Tess for a while. They still went on runs, now without her entirely. Figured Tess’ list of cons now outweighed the pros. She knew because she followed them from up high, watching the quiet motion of Joel’s shoulders and the tension there. Sometimes he looked up and around as if scanning for her, but she folded that away as yearning and not fact. The reality was they had moved on without her like they had only been entertaining her presence because of Tommy.

It had been a silly crush, nothing more. A moment in time that was over.

The world shifted and she tried to go back to how it was before, but it wasn’t as easy as she had hoped. Like trying to fit back into a puzzle piece sized hole when she was no longer the right shape. And people around her were noticing the lack of a Miller sized shadow behind her. 

Exchanges were tenser, more often than not taking more work or worse, a knife. More than once she had been jumped as if she was weaker on the ground than the rooftops. They were wrong but fighting multiple people wasn’t her strong suit. She was made to be fast, hard to catch. Strength wasn’t her job, it had been Joel’s, but she managed. Didn’t have a choice but to manage, nursing bruised fists and sore ribs alone in her apartment.

So she went back to runs. Sometimes with Carter’s group, sometimes with Lin across town, sometimes solo. 

Every now and then she wondered if she should bother going back. If life outside the QZ would be easier for a ghost. But it would only be a thought before she’d go back to the walls and harsh reality of life post-Outbreak. A pity party. Her life was information and the infected didn’t have any use for that.

Then one day Carter fucked up and pissed off the wrong patrolmen. 

Instead of looking away, they had been waiting at the wall. Most of them got caught on re-entry, Jared shot immediately and Carter hit so hard with the butt of a gun his teeth scattered across the ground. She had managed to slip away with two of the others, all of them taking off, but FEDRA was searching and it was taking everything to lose them.

Rain had started to pour, covering the pants of her breath but making scrabbling onto perches dangerous when tired. She was backtracking around the alley, trying to lose her tail when a hand wrapped around her mouth and dragged her into the shadows. 

Nails digging in, she bucked and thrashed to try to break free even as she was easily picked up and pulled down a set of stairs and a door she hadn’t noticed. Once they were inside, the arm let her go and she spun with her blade out, angry and wet and calculating getting out of the new  situation she had found herself in.

But even in the darkness of the room, she could tell it was Joel. 

Joel angrily standing there in soaked flannel and dark curls plastered to his forehead and breathing hard in the damp basement they were in. His eyes were daggers as he moved, barricading the door with a dresser and turning on a small lamp on a slapped together end table.

It’d been weeks but the sight of him sent her heart into her throat, despite her anger and the adrenaline coursing through her from running.

“Sit down and take off your coat before you freeze to death. You’re soaked,” he ordered, pulling off his backpack and taking his own flannel off, leaving him in a worn gray shirt underneath.

“What is this, Joel?” She stayed standing, muscles locked and brow furrowed, knife gripped in her hand.

He turned to her with a glare, the dim light casting his face in harsh shadows, “It’s me saving your ass because you don’t listen to a goddamn thing I say. I told you not to work with him-”

“-if this is a lecture, I don’t need it,” she growled.

Joel stomped forward and before she could react, yanked the knife away and tossed it before pulling her backpack off roughly followed by her coat, “You almost got fucking killed back there, darling, so you don’t have any room to backtalk right now. Is that what you want? To get caught then hung up in the fucking square.” He jerked the fabric away with the last words, balling up the jacket and throwing it down angrily. 

“Who fucking cares?” she shoved at him, hands pressed to his chest, needing room to breathe. His presence was suffocating, pressing in all around her and she needed air. Because it hurt to have him this close after weeks away and all the distance. “If I get caught it has nothing to do with you!”

He refused to back up, to concede ground, only gripping her wrists and yanking her closer despite how she tried to pull away, “That what you think? That no one gives a shit what happens to you?”

The word yes was on her tongue but wouldn’t leave her mouth as she fought against him. Because speaking it out loud was too much, a confirmation that yeah, she was alone. And it hurt. 

But the smallest part of her, that hope she’d tried to snuff out, whispered from the darkness, “Then why was Joel in front of her and so angry?”

One of his hands brushed her cheek, so tender despite the anger radiating from him, before twisting through the damp strands of her hair. Joel pressed his lips together and shook his head, eyes almost black in the darkness, “What do I have to do to knock some sense into you? I dunno how someone can be so brilliant and so fucking dumb at the same time.”

She scoffed, flinching in indignation, but couldn’t get the biting words out before his lips were on hers devouring the sound. 

A whimper left her unbidden, heart exploding, feeling the rough feel of his beard against her skin and the way his chapped lips sought hers out desperately. The hand in her hair was tugging her towards him, cradling her head, and she could only try to keep herself above the tide of him as he drowned her. 

Joel was kissing her. 

Had kissed her first, clawing at her and pulling her body tight against his. Her fingers flexed, gripping the fabric of his shirt as her mind struggled to catch up. But her body was moving before she could process what was happening, kissing him back like she was starving. His tongue licked at her lips and she gave in, letting him devour her whole. 

They were moving, his feet maneuvering and guiding them until they sunk onto the dilapidated couch against the wall. He was above her and all around, small noises groaning into her mouth and fingers gripping her like she was his lifeline. It was feeling him pressed against her, hard even through jeans and his body between her thighs, that made her brain finally catch up. 

She stopped, pulling away and breathing hard, looking at him like he had turned the whole world on its axis, “Wait.”

Joel stopped immediately, pulling back and checking on her, fingers pushing strands of her hair back behind her ear. His brow was furrowed but he seemed more worried about why she had stopped and the panic coating that one word, “You okay? What is it?”

All she could do was shake her head, breath starting to become almost frantic because what was this? An hour ago she had written Joel off, ready to let him go, then  a few minutes ago he was dragging her and angry beyond belief, and now he was on top of her kissing her like she had dreamed. It was too fast, too much.

“I don't- you- what about Tess?” The words were clumsy, breathless, tumbling out incoherently.

He frowned and sat back, hand resting on her neck to stay touching her, “What? What about Tess?” She wanted to scream because what do you mean? Tess, who had been by his side every day. Who shared an apartment, a bed, with him. Who made it clear through actions that she held his leash and could direct him where she wanted. 

Tess who she knew he fucked sometimes and had been with him for years.

“I- I can’t,” she was starting to back away, sitting up fully and looking around everywhere but him. Because it felt like getting everything she wanted but at the realization of how little she mattered in comparison. This was a moment of release to him, nothing more. She was stepping on someone else’s territory because Joel wasn’t hers, he wasn’t hers, he wasn’t hers. 

Joel’s other hand came up though and held her cheek, keeping her from running, shushing her softly and trying to get her to look back at him, “Hey, hey, what’s going on? You’re fine, settle down.”

She was babbling, composure gone and everything she kept bottled up pouring over. It felt like being teased, a mouse on a string dangling in front of her and going to be ripped away at any second, “You…we can’t- You’re with Tess and I can’t-”

“Sh, sh, slow down,” he rubbed her arms up and down, working to get the chill out of the still damp skin, “I need you to breathe, baby.” He furrowed his brow and adjusted onto the couch, tugging her closer easily. He watched, taking in the way her eyes darted around the room and how even though she was half heartedly pulling away, her fingers clung to his shirt. 

The patchwork of her words filled the silence and he shook his head, trying to piece it all together, “You think me and Tess are together? That what this is about?”

Sanity was slowly coming back and a scoff left her lips, bouncing in the space between them, “I’m not an idiot, Joel. You two- I’ve heard…the walls of the apartment are thin.”

At that he did wince, chewing on his lip and looking away.

Her throat felt tight, heart hammering, but she shrugged as if she hadn’t dreamed of having his hands on her and this wasn’t killing her, “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but I’m not getting between it. I’m not just a quick fuck. I can’t do that.”

He turned back to her then, eyes hard, “Stop. Just…stop. I need you to sit there and listen.” Joel leaned an elbow onto the back of the couch and leaned in, fingers grasping her chin hard, “First things first, you are not a quick fuck. That ain’t what this is. It ain’t what I want.”

She tried to control the look on her face, shove everything behind walls and disappear, but he refused to let her, “Second, yeah, me and Tess have had sex. But that’s it.” It wasn’t new information but hearing him say it so bluntly twisted her stomach and made her want to back away, crawl into the shadows, get away from the way his eyes bore into her and watched every little reaction.

“Tess and I have been around each other for a long time. She knows me and I know her, but I don’t feel that way about her,” Joel tightened his grip on her chin, words brusque and laid out like fact, “We had needs, we took care of it. Either way, that’s in the past.”

Frowning, she looked at him in confusion, “What does that mean?”

“If you had stopped avoiding me,” he commented pointedly with a raised brow, “You would know Tess moved out a while back. We’d stopped having sex and she was seeing someone so she moved out to her own space.”

The words were a tanged mess in her brain. Tess had moved out, it had only been sex, she was seeing someone, “if you had stopped avoiding me.”

“I-” she swallowed, mouth dry, “I wasn’t avoiding you-”

“Darling,” he chuckled half from frustration, “You watch everything and everyone but sometimes you’re clueless. Cause you think that no one notices you. But I see you, no matter how much you try to disappear and act like no one can, just like a fucking ghost. I’ve always seen you though and I saw the moment you started pulling away.

“For a while I thought that maybe it was cause of Tommy. Maybe there was something going on there, but even before he left he was pushy about you and me. Would tease me about how I watched you. I tried to be there for you, deny whatever this is, but you hadn’t ever looked at Tommy the way you looked at me.”

I see you. And he had. He had always noticed the little things so she wasn’t sure why she was surprised he noticed the big ones. Like the fact he was right, she hadn’t ever looked at Tommy in the same way. 

“I thought letting you go was the right move when you started to distance yourself, but hearing you do runs again, being reckless,” Joel grit his teeth and shut his eyes tight, “Drove me fucking insane. Would have killed Carter myself if you got hurt. Almost ripped into those FEDRA fucks when I saw yall get caught.”

“I can take care of myself,” she whispered, the smallest of protests as her fingers tightened on his shirt. A small act of defiance if only to keep her feet on the ground as he shook everything apart. 

He chuckled and his hand left her chin to dive back into her hair, pulling her forward a bit, “I know you can. But you don’t have to. I’ll feel a whole lot better if I can be there to keep you safe myself cause you drive me up the goddamn wall.”

She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry or try to wake up because Joel Miller was sitting in front of her and seeing her, choosing her. 

So she kissed him, gripping him tightly and practically crawling into his lap to get as close as possible. His hands were equally tight in her hair, the delicious tug of the strands making her groan into his mouth as he yanked her close. They were fervent, pouring every tense moment into each other like the flood gates had been opened between them.

Joel wasn’t gentle and that was fine with her. Too many late nights had been spent imagining how he would feel, the way he liked to fuck and kiss and touch. Joel was not a soft person and she wanted to feel that directed at her. She didn’t want soft. So she took every bit he gave, letting him take over and his tongue explore every bit of her mouth, teeth biting on her lips and his hands bringing her down to grind onto him. 

She could feel how big he was, slightly damp jeans doing nothing to disguise the hard press of him against her covered center. He held her like his touch was the only thing keeping her from disappearing back in the shadows, one hand constantly moving and squeezing, guiding her backwards until her back hit the cushions of the couch. 

“You tell me to stop, I stop,” he whispered into her lips, hand finding its way under her shirt and exploring the soft expanse of her stomach. She wanted to tell him that stopping would destroy her, would break her into a thousand tiny bits, but she only raked her nails down his back and pulled him closer.

Her hands trembled at being able to explore him to her heart’s content. The warmth of his back and the way his muscles flexed under her fingertips, the trail of hair along his soft belly leading to his waistband, the strength of his biceps as he held himself above her. His calloused fingers found her breasts, flexing and squeezing and rolling her nipples causing her to almost whimper in return. Every touch was electricity and fire, endless and overwhelming. 

She tugged at the bottom of his shirt and he practically ripped it off so he could resume kissing her, lips moving to bite and suck at the underside of her jaw. Her skin had been cold from the rain and he was like a heated blanket on top of her, warmth sinking in and leaving her panting. 

They were frantic and clumsy, all teeth and moans as they struggled to unbutton jeans and discard shirts. She was usually so quiet but when his mouth wrapped around her nipple hard he had to cover her own with his hand as she cried out loudly, lifting her chest to press it closer to him. He kissed and sucked one then the other while his free hand slipped under the waistband of her underwear, finding her completely soaked for him. “Fuck,” he whispered into her skin, forehead pressed to her sternum as his hand explored her slick folds and the way her hips chased his touch, “Fucking so wet for me already.”

“Joel,” she gasped as his thumb rubbed at her clit, the tip of a finger dipping into her slowly. It was almost embarrassing how good it felt, how easily she could topple over the edge already simply from the fact it was him touching her. He let out soft pants, curls ticking her chest as he looked down and concentrated on exploring her. They had kept their jeans mostly on, a reminder that this wasn’t their apartments and it wasn’t safe to be completely naked, the only thing keeping him from stripping her bare. 

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he moaned, slowly pumping a single finger in and out of her, stretching her out, “Fuck, I can’t wait to take you back and have you fall apart on my tongue. Wanna taste you so bad.”

Her hips jerked at the thought, feeling him sink in deeper while his thumb kept up slow circles on her clit. “Yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you,” Joel chuckled into her skin, teasingly biting at the underside of her breasts, “Gonna have that pretty little cunt cumming all over my mouth so hard you’ll listen to what I say for once.”

Her orgasm was a quickly rising wave, the sound of his voice whispering filth leaving her trembling as he added a second finger inside of her. They moved in and out, curling and stretching and hitting a spot her own fingers could never reach. She felt simultaneously full and like it wasn’t enough. 

“Fuck fuck,” she gasped, squirming and holding onto his bare back as her legs trembled.

“That’s it, baby, give it to me,” Joel growled, speeding up and dragging her over the edge as her orgasm hit her so hard it left her breathless.

Stars were exploding behind her eyelids and sensation was overwhelming. The feel of his beard dragging deliciously as he kissed a trail up her neck, the callouses of his hands a contrast to the soft skin of her cunt, the way his belt dug into her thighs. 

He was everywhere and yet it wasn’t enough. She wanted him inside of her, hot and filling. The feel of his naked torso against her own was intoxicating and even though he had said it wasn’t a quick fuck, one and done, she couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have him fully naked over her. 

“I need you,” she mumbled against his lips and tugged at his hair, pushing him to sit back. He easily sat up, pulling her with him like she weighed nothing to settle with her knees on either side of him. Both were panting, breathing heavily between kisses, as she scrambled to shove her pants down and he did the same. It wasn’t graceful, the wet denim fighting and Joel getting distracted by the slick painting her inner thighs. 

He let out a hiss and his head fell back against the couch as his cock was pulled free between them, thick and hard and weeping at the tip. Joel jerked when her thumb trailed through the bead of precum and slid along the underside to touch the pulsing vein there.

“Fuck,” he growled and ripped her hand away, pulling her close to hover above, “Later, baby. Right now I need to feel your pussy on it or it’s gonna be over too damn quick.”

She didn’t think she was one for dirty talk but his southern drawl and the gravel in his voice hit her low and hard. She wrapped her hand around him and slid his cock through the arousal pouring from her before slowly easing down onto him. He was fucking big, so big, and it burned to be stretched out after being alone for so long. 

Joel let her take control, let her impale herself and go at her own pace, whispering, “Good girl, good fucking girl,” over and over again. His arm fully stretched along her back, bracing her and able to grip the back of her neck tightly. She had never whimpered or begged in her life, but feeling him holding onto her, groaning with muscles taut with restraint as he let her have control, made her want to beg him to fuck her so hard the memory of him would be imprinted on her skin.

The angle was breathtaking as she fully sank down, the patch of curls at his base rubbing against her clit and his cock so deep she wanted to cry at how perfect he was. They both moaned, looking down where they were joined and her stretched around him, as he murmured praise at how good she felt. 

She moved slowly at first, rocking a little, hips instinctively canting to rub against him. His grip on the back of her neck was a steady presence, his other hand moving up and down her neck, pressing against the sides of her throat and making her slightly light headed. It was intoxicating, feeling him after wanting him for so long, the dig of his fingertips on her windpipe controlling her breath.

“That’s it, darling, you take what you need,” he grit his teeth, jaw clenched, rolling into the rhythm she was leading. Her nipples moved against the bare skin of his chest, sending twinges of pleasure coursing through her. Her moans were breathy, brow furrowed and she was drowning in how good it all was. It was like being consumed, those eyes in the darkness burning deep down into her. If this was all she got from him, she would die happily. 

“Joel,” she cried, nails digging into his broad shoulders and biceps. 

Everything she wanted was in the way his name broke from his lips and with it, his control. He kissed her hard enough she could almost taste blood from cracked lips and he pistoned up into her with a growl. It wasn’t slow or soft, almost brutal in the way he drove his cock up, punching the air from her lungs and splitting her open. 

He kept her lips against his, tongue tasting the inside of her mouth and swallowing the screams that threatened to rip from her as he thrusted over and over again frantically chasing both of their orgasms. It was pain and pleasure and the sun exploding underneath her skin as he coaxed her release like it was the last thing on earth. It was all she had hoped for, dreamed of late at night, imagining how it would feel to be at his mercy.

Every nerve was set aflame and she clung to him desperately as she went over the edge, arousal coating their thighs as her orgasm barreled through her. 

He whispered her through it, fucking into her as pleasure crested through her, and then cursed. His voice was a low rumble that hit deep in her before he easily lifted her off him, cock slapping against his stomach before he wrapped his own giant hand around himself and furiously worked himself to release.

She was slumped against him, dazed and watching as he gripped himself tightly, feeling the deep moan as he cummed over his fist and onto her stomach. Everything felt like it was floating, the warmth of his skin and release all over her and she couldn’t tell if it was sweat or the rain that clung to both of their hair and was dripping down their backs. They were sticky and hot and out of breath, but she had never felt better.

“Holy shit,” he groaned, blowing out a breath and pressing a kiss to her hair while wrapping his arms around her. She couldn’t properly form words yet, boneless and only able to nuzzle her nose into his neck. 

She let herself drift in the silence, feeling him run fingers up and down her spine and the way both their breaths started to even out.

He kissed her temple again, whispering almost hesitantly in the calm, “You do runs with me. No more other groups, just me. And no more avoiding me or I’m going to drag all your shit to my place and lock you inside.”

A chuckle left her, putting him slightly at ease as if his command would throw the balance of them into disorder, “Bossy. You wouldn’t.”

Joel only smiled and tightened his hold on her, “Sweetheart, you have no idea what I would do for you. Don’t tempt me. Wouldn’t mind keeping ya all to myself.”

It was said jokingly but her heart sped up, hearing words she had hoped but never thought she would actually hear, “That so?” She pulled away to look at him, eyes connecting even in the dim lamp lighting up the darkness of the room they were stashed away in.

He didn’t say anything at first, cupping her face and thumb tracing over her bottom lip. His eyes swept over every bit of her face like he also couldn’t believe she was there with him. Slowly, he kissed her, breathing in her sigh and whispering almost with reverence back at her, “I see you. You’re not going to be able to get rid of me, baby.”

And that didn’t sound so bad to her.  

[matt-murdockk]

Atonement

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader words: 4.2k summary: Spencer battles his addiction and self-loathing, only to find the possibility of redemption in the unwavering care of someone who refuses to leave. warnings: oh boy, ok so we've got a LOT OF ANGST!!!, Spencer's addiction (!!!), suicidal thoughts, a lot of self-loathing, Spencer is spiralling (rip), mildly descriptive withdrawal process, possibly incorrect etymology facts, a dead fish, the self-loathing really is heavy on this one, I'm serious. a/n: i am holding your hand, i scared myself with this one, BUT the ending is pretty optimistic so it's not all pain :')

Heracles atoned. His crimes were a result of madness— divine madness, not his own. It can be argued that they weren’t even his actions at all. And still, he atoned.

The Oracle of Delphi instructed him to give twelve years of service to the king of Mycenae, and even though Heracles believed Eurystheus to be beneath him in stature, he accepted the 12 labours. Heracles completed the 12 momentous tasks as atonement for the crime of killing Megara and their children, even though it was Hera's vengeance that drove him mad and tricked him into committing the crime in the first place.

If Heracles sought redemption for something that wasn’t truly his fault in the first place, what about the rest of us? What about atonement for crimes not born of divine madness, but of choice? What about the consequences that stem not from insanity inflicted by gods, but from choices made— cold, human, and deliberate? Is that something one can atone for?

Apophenia. A common human tendency to see patterns where there are none. It makes you believe in coincidences. It’s why people find meaning in lottery numbers, in shuffled tarot cards, in the sequence of a roulette wheel. It's what makes Spencer draw parallels between himself and perhaps the mightiest of Greek heroes, only he doesn't see them as equals, but one as a sorry excuse, an imitation, a failed attempt at living up to the other. He sees one as a myth, and the other as a mockery. A hollow echo. A failure.

I feel like a kid again. That's a nice thing, right? Feeling like a kid? Innocent. Loved. Nurtured. Pure. Scared. Wait, scared? Scared. Alone. Vulnerable. Guilty. Crying to sleep every night. Curled up into a ball on the playground, busted eyebrow and broken glasses with stains of blood and dried-up tears. I gotta tell Mom I need new glasses. Again.

Oh. He feels like a kid again.

Do they know? They might know. They must know. They know. He pretends they don't. They pretend they don't. Everybody knows. Was it kindness that kept them quiet? Decency? Look the other way so he wouldn't be ashamed? Not exactly helping, then. Or was it so they could have deniability? We had no idea. Spencer Reid? Our Spencer? They gasp. He wouldn't.

They've definitely noticed. That much he knows. All eyes are on him when he's in a room. Not in the usual Spencer is being his brilliant self again way. In a Spencer is a disgrace to himself, look at his pathetic face way, except no one would look him in the face anymore. Like if they looked at him, it would be painfully obvious in their faces what they really thought of him. Like there was no way to look at him the way you would look at a normal person.

Every day, he comes in to work screaming: Look at me. Do you see me? Do you see what I'm doing to myself? Do you see it? Do you see me? Look at me. Don't look at me. Stop looking at me. Stop. Don't look at me. Please. Stop. Stop. No. Stop. STOP. "Morning," is all they hear.

You look at him. Oh no. Not you. Please. You're... not disgusted? You're not looking at him as if one would an insect. Huh.

Great. You are so pathetic, you're pretending people like you. Do you realize how pathetic that is? Do you realize how pathetic you are, Spencer? You're so deep in delusion that you think someone cares. No one cares. Nobody cares.

His thoughts are loud today. Louder than usual. Not ideal. You're still looking. You're crying. You're crying?

Amazing job! You've made the one person who probably cares about you cry just by existing. Hey, do you know what you should do? Do you know what you should do, Spencer? Kill y—

"Hey, are you okay?" It's his own voice. An act of rebellion against himself. A lifeline.

"Spencer, are you?" you ask, sniffling. That's the first time someone has stopped to ask him that question. He didn't know what to say.

At the depth of my delirium, I think of you. I think we're in love. I think of being in your arms. I think of you holding my hand and telling me you love me. I think of you telling me I'll be fine. I think of you telling me I'll be okay. I'm not fine. I'm not okay. I need you. I'm sorry. Tell me you love me. I'm sorry.

He just stares. You look at him just a second longer than he wants you to, give his hand a little squeeze, and then you're gone.

See? She's gone. You know why she's gone? You know why she didn't stay, Spencer? Wait, actually, think of a reason why someone would stay. Go on, try. That'll be much harder, yeah. Pathetic.

Mirrors don't work anymore. Whenever he looked in one, he used to see himself. He just sees a silhouette now. A hollow void that only moves seconds after he does. Somebody he knows but cannot quite recognize.

You see that? Even your fucking reflection thinks you're pathetic.

They're mocking him. They are taunting him. They don't even have the decency to look back at him. Pretty shitty for a mirror, he thinks.

Hey. Idiot. Yeah, you. What are you looking at? You're feeling sorry for yourself? You're sorry, buddy? You're guilty? You wanna go back? Back to mommy? Back to before all this? Back to how it used to be? Back to... what, exactly? Back to being brilliant and broken and hiding it better? Back to when you still had the energy to fake being whole? Weak.

Spencer doesn't remember what home feels like. It used to be Vegas until he had to leave. It used to his job until he had to hide. It used to be his apartment until he couldn't trust himself to be alone anymore. Sometimes when you look at him, talk to him, touch him, he thinks this could be home. But it's never enough. The more of you he had, the more of you he wanted.

Boy, you never stood a chance, did you?

The first time, he promised himself it would be just this once. It's wrong, yes, but it's for recovery. It's just this once. He can stop whenever he wants to.

Second time, the last time. It's not like he can't stop if he wants to. He's in control. It's fine.

Third, the final time, for sure. It's only for a while. It's not permanent.

He can stop whenever he wants to. He can stop whenever he wants. He doesn't want to stop. He can't stop. The more he had, the more he wanted.

The pull, the calling, the addiction, it's far too evil. It's a siren. It's a mimic. It fools you into thinking it's taking you somewhere beautiful. Some place you need to get to. And every time, it promises you that you're getting closer. That you'll get there soon enough. Just a few more steps. Just a couple more times. Just another leap. But all it does is lie to you and make you feel like you're close. Like you're getting there. Like you will be home in no time. When in reality, you've regressed. You're worse off than you were when you started. Only then do you notice you're all alone.

What a wonderous, massive, cosmic joke. Doctor Spencer Reid. Child Prodigy. Genius. Criminal Profiler. Special Agent with the FBI. Drug Addict. Liar. A threat to himself and the people around him.

The walls are too close tonight.

Everything is itchy. His clothes. His skin. The thoughts under his skin. The thrum in his veins that won’t quiet down.

You don't know who you are when you're not in pain. That's why you keep coming back, Spencer. Not for the high. For the silence. The certainty. God, what a burden it must be. Having to pretend they're not afraid of you. Like they don't flinch whenever you open your mouth.

"Shut up. Just shut up," he yells to his empty apartment.

He rubs his face hard enough to leave marks. Paces the length of the living room five times. Seven. Twelve. He forgets what number he’s on.

He wonders, not for the first time, if this is the moment he finally fractures beyond repair. If this is where the brilliant, broken, bullet-dodging Spencer Reid finally snaps and nobody notices. Maybe they already did notice. Maybe they’re just waiting to see if he self-destructs before they have to say something.

This is pathetic. You are pathetic.

He sits. Then stands. Then sits again. The couch is too soft. The floor is too cold. The apartment smells like nothing and everything. Bleach. Dust. Failure.

You don’t even get to be tragic. You’re just exhausting.

His hands are shaking again. Not just the twitchy, ignorable kind— full tremors, rattling like change in his pockets. He tries to hold them still. Fails.

You’re not going to get better.

He closes his eyes.

You're alone, Spencer.

He opens them.

Nobody's coming for you.

No one cares.

You are all alo—

Three knocks. Someone's here. You're here. You're here? What are you doing here?

"What are you doing here?"

"Hello to you, too, Spencer. Care to let me in?"

~

You're leaning against his counter. He's stood on the other side, facing you, but not quite meeting your eyes.

Can't even look her in the face. Loser.

"Spencer?" He responds with a hum that sounds like it is meant for him as much as it is meant for you.

"I've been here for fifteen minutes and you haven't said a word."

"Right. Ah, there you go. That's a word. That good enough for you?"

That's right. Push her away. Antagonize her. Make her hate you. That'll show her for caring about you.

"Spencer, don't be like that, come on."

"Don't be like what? Like a junkie? Like an addict? Is that what you mean? Jesus, you can't even say it." I am not trying to push you away. I cannot help it. I am so sorry. Please still like me.

"I meant, don't be distant with me. I meant, don't be a jerk, you jerk," you say, your voice more reprimanding than angry. That shuts him up.

"Spencer, I am not going to walk around eggshells with you. I don't want to. You have a problem. You need help. You know that. I cannot sit still at work, pretend everything's fine, nod my head and hope you'll be okay and forget everything when I go home. I cannot be like that."

Spencer looks at you like you're hanging stars in his sky. You continue.

"I am so sorry that it took me this long to figure it out and come help you. I had to be sure we're doing it right."

"Doing what right? What are you talking about?"

"Getting you sobered up. I don't really know much about it, and I didn't want to go somewhere that would leave a paper trail. You could lose your job. I did some research, pulled some strings, and well, I was able to get some supplies and over-the-counter meds and worst case scenario, if something does go wrong, which I'm really not counting on, I know some people who would be willing to help off the record."

He stares at you like you're some kind of hallucination. Some fever dream conjured by withdrawal and regret and too many sleepless nights. For him? Why would you do this?

“Why would you do this?” he says aloud, voice flat. Hollow. “What is wrong with you? You could get fired for this. Do you understand that?”

Please don’t stop. Please don’t take it back. Please don't leave me alone. Please don’t say this was a mistake.

You cross your arms, unfazed. “Yeah, I know. Thanks for the concern, by the way.” You look at him and see his face contort in confusion.

"Honey, no offence, I say this with lots of love in my heart," you put your hand over his and continue, "but you're a self sabotaging moron who thinks he doesn't deserve good things. You are very wrong, for the record, and I deeply care about you in spite of that."

Exactly. Why?

“Exactly. Why?” he says. The words are louder this time. Angrier. Desperate. “You don’t owe me anything. I’ve treated you like crap. I’ve lied to you. Pushed you away. I'm a mess. A tragic self-fulfilling prophecy. I’m not— I’m not someone you should still give a damn about.”

And there it is. That trembling, cracked little part of him. The kid who got beat up on playgrounds and cried about it alone. The man who thought he had to earn affection with perfection.

You take a breath. You move your hand, which was on top of his, to hold it now.

“I don’t need reasons or incentive to care about you, Spencer. You don't have to deserve or earn anything from me. Or anyone, for that matter. You are a good person. You deserve to have joy in life. You were not this self-loathing, withdrawn, quiet person, not when we first met. I love listening to you. I love when you get excited about something. I know you're still in there. You’re still my friend. A huge part of my life, whether you like it or not. I love you.”

I love you too. Oh god, I love you too.

"I miss you when you’re not around,” you continue. “And I’m done missing you even when you are. So pony up. We’re getting you sober.”

"Did you know that the word sober originates from Latin? Yeah, se meaning without, and ebrius meaning drunk. The word sobrius which is where sobriety is believed to have come from, literally means without wine."

"There he is."

~

"Alright, so it's nothing you don't already know, but I'm telling you anyway so you know the drill. It's going to be painful. You'll have cold fevers, nausea, you'll sweat a lot, your body will hurt, you may have episodes, and you will feel awful. And that's all before it gets to the hard part."

"You know, you don't have to do this. You don't need to— I don't—"

"Spencer, Spence, hey," you hold both his hands in yours and continue, "Look at me. It's okay. I know what I'm getting into. We can do this. I'm not going anywhere, okay?"

I hope I hold on long enough for you to see me when I'm not like this. When I'm okay. Like I used to be. Like I was when I first saw you. But God forbid, if I let go, I hope it's in your arms.

"Okay."

It comes in waves. The chills start first— sharp, stabbing needles running down his spine, crawling beneath his skin like he’s being flayed alive from the inside out. Then the nausea, rising like a tide, acidic and angry. His body betrays him over and over again. Sweat clings to him, drenching the sheets, pooling under his neck. Every movement feels like a punishment. Every breath feels borrowed.

And she’s still here. Still here. God.

He can’t look at her when it’s bad. When he’s shaking so hard his teeth chatter. When his limbs lock up and his sobs catch in his throat like barbed wire. He hates that she sees him like this. Hates that he can’t hide the worst parts of himself.

Why are you still here? Leave.

Every time he opens his eyes and finds her still at his side— cool rag in hand, whispering his name, smoothing the hair back from his forehead, holding his head up when he vomits— it shatters something in him. A tenderness he’s not strong enough to hold.

You shouldn’t have to see this. You don’t deserve to.

He tries to apologize. For the sweating. For the smell. For the vomiting. For the crying. For the memories he’ll never let himself say aloud. For existing like this in front of her.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, voice hoarse and cracking.

“You don’t have to be, you have nothing to be sorry for,” she says every time.

But he is. So, so sorry.

You could’ve loved a hundred better men. Men who would’ve taken care of you, who wouldn’t need saving, who would know how to say thank you instead of I’m sorry.

And still, she stays.

Maybe I’m being made new. Maybe this is what it means to be reborn, to be stripped down to nothing, to be known in every terrible inch, and still not be sent away.

He doesn't believe in God. Never really has. But if he did, if he ever were to believe in something divine, it would be this. Her. Here. Now. In all her human mess and radiant grace, holding the pieces of him steady like they're sacred.

If I make it out of this… If I make it to the other side… it’ll be because she walked with me through the fire and didn't once let go.

And if he doesn’t—

Let it be here. Let it be now. Let it be in her arms.

He shakes his head, eyes glassy and wild, muscles locking in protest. “I don’t think I can do this. I don’t— I can’t—”

His voice is barely human anymore. It's all pain and fear and shame twisted into syllables that sound like defeat.

You kneel beside him, one hand on his shoulder, the other brushing damp curls from his forehead. “Yes, you can. You’re doing great. You’re doing so good, Spencer. We’re almost there. You’re so close. You’re doing great.”

He wants to believe you. God, he wants to. But everything hurts. Everything burns. His bones feel like they’re breaking and reforming all at once. His mind is louder than ever, telling him he’s weak, that he’s wasting your time, that you’ll hate him after this.

But your voice cuts through the noise like light through smoke.

You’re still here.

You’re still here.

You’re still here.

When the worst of it passes, you're both tired. Him, more so than you, of course, but you're exhausted regardless. His world is still spinning, but not violently anymore. Just slow, dizzy loops. You're sitting beside him on the floor, hair messily tied back, sleeves rolled up, skin warm where it brushes his.

“Hey,” you say gently, pushing a water bottle toward him. “When was the last time you ate?”

He blinks. “I… don’t remember.”

You nod like that’s what you expected. “Okay. No worries. I’ll look around your kitchen, see what I can make work.”

God, you’re so… gentle. It’s devastating.

You're holding a knife in your hand, looking at his fridge, hoping to find some vegetables, fruits, anything. You don't. You absentmindedly hold the knife as you ransack his kitchen as politely as possible.

He watches you shuffle toward the cabinets. He should offer to help. He should stand. He should do something. But all he can do is sit there on the counter, hunched, wrapped in the too-big hoodie you made him change into, staring at the way you move around his space like it’s your own. Like you're allowed to be here.

And if you could just twist that knife into my heart, stab me lightly, yeah, that would be great.

You start opening drawers and cabinets and make a little sound of horror. “Spencer, honey. You live like a caveman. Where’s all the food? Have you been eating at all?”

He shrugs. Tries to play it off. “I’ve… had protein bars. Mostly.”

“Mmm.” The noncommittal hum you make isn’t exactly believing. But you don’t push. “That’s okay. We’ll do takeout tonight. Figure out the rest tomorrow.”

He nods, too tired to argue. Too in awe of you to try.

“Go relax, okay?” you say as you pick up your phone. “I’ll order something. Just rest until it gets here.”

You wait until he’s curled under a blanket on the couch— he didn’t want the bed— and that’s when you really look around.

It’s chaos. The kind that builds slowly, quietly, until it drowns a person.

Books are scattered everywhere. His meticulously labeled files are out of order. His fish tank light is flickering and dim. The automatic feeder has maybe a day’s worth of food left. And worst of all, one of the tiny fish is floating belly-up, pale and still.

You cover your mouth and breathe through your nose. He hadn’t noticed. He didn’t even see it. That’s what breaks your heart. You step into the hallway and call Garcia.

“Penelope. I need you to do me a favor. No questions asked. I’ll owe you forever.”

You hear the shift in her tone instantly. “Tell me what you need.”

“I’m sending you a picture. I need a fish. Exactly like the one in the photo. Same kind, same size. I need it tonight. As soon as you can.”

There’s a beat. “On it.”

By the time the takeout arrives, you’ve got the new fish hidden in a thermos packed with water, and you’re swapping it into the tank just as Spencer wanders into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes and asking if he should grab plates.

“Yeah,” you say, forcing a smile. “Grab whatever you’ve got.”

He disappears into a cabinet, and you finish the switch in record time, flushing the old one without blinking. He doesn’t notice.

He just sits down beside you a minute later and says, “Thanks for staying.”

You hand him his plate.

“Always.”

He smiles at that— tired, but genuine. You both eat in silence for a few minutes, the clinking of forks against ceramic the only sound between you. You keep glancing over, watching for signs of nausea, ready to intervene. But he seems okay. Exhausted, but okay.

After a while, he leans back, running a hand through his hair.

“I think I need to lie down.”

“You shouldn’t lie down just yet,” you say gently as he settles onto the couch.

Spencer looks up at you, eyebrows furrowed. “Why not?”

“If you end up throwing up again while you’re asleep, you could choke on it. Just for tonight— until it’s fully out of your system— it’s safer to stay upright. By morning, it should pass.”

“Oh,” he says quietly, like he hadn’t thought of that. Of course, he hadn’t. He’s not used to someone else worrying about the aftermath. He's not so used to someone else worrying about him, period.

I love you.

You sit down beside him, not too close, but close enough that he could lean if he wanted to. “You can rest here. Sit with me. Like you do on the jet.”

He turns to you slowly. “You’re… not going home?”

You shake your head once. “I’m not going anywhere until I know you’re okay.”

There’s a sharp sting in his throat, and for once it has nothing to do with withdrawal. Have I mentioned that I love you? In case I haven't, I love you. I'm sorry. I love you.

You open your arms a little, wordlessly offering, and after a moment’s hesitation, he lowers his head to your shoulder. He doesn’t even realize how tightly he’s holding onto you until your fingers slide through his hair.

"You're fine. You're going to be okay."

The next morning, he wakes up before you do.

The light’s different today. The early sun filters through the blinds in soft, dappled gold. For the first time in what feels like ages, it doesn’t feel too harsh or blinding. For the first time in longer than he can remember, the sun doesn’t scream. It just… glows. Gentle. Warm. Alive.

You’re still asleep, head tilted, mouth barely parted. Your brow’s furrowed even now— worried in your dreams, probably about him. Always about him.

He watches you in silence. Not like a man haunted. Not like someone waiting for the sky to fall. Just grateful. Reverent.

You saved my life.

If there's anything the BA in Philosophy has helped him understand, it's this. Existentialists argue that life has no inherent meaning, and individuals must create their own meaning through their choices and actions. By that logic, his choices and actions, having subconsciously led him to you, must mean that you are the true meaning of life. Not an existentialist? Not a problem.

Plato believed that the meaning of life lies in attaining the highest form of knowledge, which is the Idea of the Good, from which all good and just things derive utility and value. Considering how Spencer's pursuit of this exact idea is what led him to you in the first place, this must prove beyond a reasonable doubt that you were the true meaning of life. At least to him.

Nihilism suggests that life is ultimately meaningless and that there is no objective value or purpose. Nihilists must have never encountered you, he concludes.

This could be home. You could be home. It could be enough.

a/n: it could count as fluff towards the end but like only if you're mildly fucked in the head like I am

[transboyswitchytales]

'Toxic To Consume But Delicious Too'(DARK FIC)

REQUEST FROM ANON: I would love to read a Claire Debella x reader fic where they have a toxic relationship…..

WARNINGS: DARK FIC

REQUEST FROM ANON: ‘if you are still taking requests, I would love to read a Claire Debella x reader fic where they have a toxic relationship. They separate because Reader wants to end the toxic cycle and Reader even moves and gets a job far away. However, Claire finds Reader e insists on returning to the relationship. Reader refuses and it seems that Claire will stop insisting but mysteriously Reader is forced to move back to Connecticut - perhaps because of her job. Yes, it was Claire but Reader doesn't kno’

NON CON ELEMENTS / Dub Consent / Piss Play Mentioned but not done / Daddy/Mommy Kink / Manipulation / Murder / Blackmail / Money Manipulation / Abuse / DARK FIC / Impregnation Kink / Non Safe-Sane - Consensual kink play / Humiliation Kink / Cock cage mentioned / Power Plays / House of Cards Aesthetic / yandere/ entrapment and negotiation / Begging / Claire G!P / Claire has a dick / You don't have the mental fortitude to say no / Past Relationships mentioned / Dr. Vidal for sure tried to fuck you / Dead Dove ; Don't Eat

Anon I hope you don't mind me making this dark, I hope you like it!

My Masterlist

You dropped yet another box full of books into the empty flat. Well, the apartment was less empty than before, you had shipped the sofa, side table, mattress, and two kitchen chairs. It was bare bones as you’d been moving pretty regularly. 

You grabbed another box full of books, and the bottom of it broke out from under you.

“Fuck.” You curse, and you see it’s one of your many ‘Claire’ boxes. A small box clatters to the floor. You don’t open it, knowing it’s your wedding ring. Your therapist said you should get rid of most of this, but you couldn’t. 

Governor Clarie DeBella was your ex-wife. Wel,l technically, you were still married. You’d tried to get a divorce and she’d refused.

She promised she’d fix everything, and you smiled and agreed. You’d made love in her office, in the town car, and then back in your mansion. 

And then, when Claire fell asleep after you’d both cum around twelve times, you silently got up wincing in pain from being fucked so hard. You grabbed your phone, your wallet, and changed into street clothes. Sneaking out like a thief in the night. 

That was a year and two months ago. 

Every three months, Claire finds you, though, a man in a tux with an ear piece would come to your work, your coffee shop in the morning, your apartment. And you’d run, pack everything again, and start over. 

It was not really a life to be honest, and you were so tired of running. 

But here you are again. 

You’d read in the paper and online that Claire DeBella, about to be former governor of Connecticut, as Claire was running to be Vice President. Was no longer in her home state. 

It was a rumor at this point, but you knew better. Claire loved power; that’s why she craved your submission so much. 

You’d been married before her, and Claire had been relentless until you belonged to her. 

Claire was obsessed with you, you weren’t even sure if she understood what healthy love looked like.

You bent down to look at the box contents. 

Love letters from Claire, and expensive jewelry were in the box. Mementos from dates, ticket stubs, and Polaroids. You’d not had time to pack most of these things. Instead you paid one of Claire’s staff members for it. You knew he’d get caught. 

But you wanted these things….It was selfish. But your wedding dress hung in your closet, and you had three boxes of Claire memories…ok, maybe more. 

But you found the small electronic, the thing you’d been afraid to turn on. 

Your old iphone, you’d turned it off only an hour after you left. 

It was the most tempting thing to turn back on. But you bought a new phone quickly with a new number, something Claire couldn’t hack or track. 

But you stared at that phone so many times, wanting to turn it on, wanting to hear her voice. 

You watched Claire on the news of course, but it wasn’t the same. 

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t use Claire’s face on CNN to cum at night. You didn’t want to, but it was the only way you could masturbate. To her blue eyes and piercing gaze. 

You were sick. 

Your marriage was toxic. 

And you’d been good to run. Or so your first four therapists had said before you’d fired them. You felt raw, you couldn’t talk badly about Claire with someone. She was not good for you, but that didn’t mean you could sit and listen to someone talk poorly about her. Talk about your marriage like they understood. 

No one would ever understand what happened between you and Claire. 

Or how you ached still for Claire DeBella. 

You held the iPhone in your hands, the tether to your old life. Every photo of your wedding and vacations, every text of ‘coming home’ and ‘I love you more than anything’, every voice memo while she was busy but had to tell you something. Your dirty home videos together while you cried for her to let you cum just put you out of your misery, they were on this fucking thing.  

You set it on your kitchen countertop. 

No. You were stronger than this. You’d just signed a lease, and you knew she’d find you in a month or two tops. 

Well, not this time actually, because the Governor was in D.C. to prepare for the election to come. Claire would be too busy to hunt you down. 

And so you’d returned to Connecticut, knowing she’d be in DC. It was the safest place to be now. 

You’d gotten a job at your alma mater (and Claire’s) Yale. 

You were going to teach Sociology, and you were really excited. 

Sure you loved being Claire’s trophy wife, fuck was it nice to not work. You had gotten to do the community service stuff you wanted. You’d gotten to start charities and..well it didn’t matter. It would be good to teach. 

So when your old professor, who is now on the board, reached out for a job offer. You’d been so excited you couldn’t believe it. 

So you’d moved back to Conneticut in this shitty apartment. 

You fell into a routine for the first two days. You enjoyed teaching again, even if it wasn’t perfect. You didn’t get close to any of the polite professors who wanted to talk with you. 

You couldn’t be close with anyone, never again. 

So it was no shock on the day you were feeling a little bit too lonely. 

That you opened up a bottle of bourbon. And you thought about your wedding….

You don’t believe you even thought it through for a second. 

But you turned your old phone on. 

It had 40 voicemails, all from Claire, the box was full. You had over 2,393 texts from Claire. Over a hundred missed calls. 

You knew what you wanted, though. You wanted that one video…of you two fucking that one night in Kansas City. Yeah, that was a good one. You were about to click on videos when your thumb hovered over the last voicemail. 

What was the last thing Claire called and said?

You are drunk, this was a bad idea. 

But you click on it.

It’s muffled for a minute, and you wonder if she’d not meant to call you, if it was her pocket or something. But then you hear her breathe, and you wait. 

“I miss you so much.”

You gulp and tears you didn’t know you could still shed for your wife fell down your cheeks. It was so quick you don’t have time to shame spiral for your feelings.

You think that’s it, but she speaks the last thing you’d expect. The last thing you’d believe from her. 

“I need you. I love you so much…You just..ran away. And now all I have left is the broken pieces of our life together.” Claire pauses in the voicemail, and you put a hand over your mouth so you don’t make noise. “If you were here, we could fight, but you didn’t even do me the courtesy of an argument…I just…

“Please come home. “ Claire says and the call ends. 

You drank a lot more that night. 

You did end up masturbating to multiple dirty home movies you two had made. 

And when you wake up, you are so ashamed of yourself. You turn off the phone and pray that you didn’t just send up a signal for Claire to notice you. 

How dumb you had been. 

You’d gone to work that morning a little hungover. 

Getting two coffee’s at your local shop, you were late for your first class.

You did your three lectures and showed your TA what you needed for the first big assignment. Bought a new set of post it notes instead of lunch. And made your way back to your apartment by four thirty. 

You slid your key into the lock and opened the door. 

You’d gone to toe your shoes off when your eyes snapped to the sofa. 

Claire.

She look at you like no time had passed.

“No….No! This isn’t happening! YOU ARE IN DC! YOU CAN’T BE HERE!” You shout as you find your wife drinking white wine on your sofa like it was another weekday. 

“Oh, come now, Mrs. DeBella, no kiss for your wife?”

Your fight or flight takes a minute to kick in. 

“Hi sugar, I’m home.” Claire teases and raises her glass as if to cheers you. 

Claire threw her keys onto the side table to prove that she in fact did have a key to your apartment. 

Your mind reboots and you stepped back and grabbed the doorknob spinning around to run and three jacked secret service looking fuckers stood there. 

They were quick, you hadn’t seen them at all in the hall.

“No more running, baby. Come inside, let’s have a chat.” Claire loudly slaps the leather sofa cushion next to her ass, indicating for you to sit next to her. 

You slam the door closed in the Men in Black’s faces. 

Fuck.

Before walking over and grabbing one of the two chair’s you’d shipped. It’s an old chair you bought antiquing with Claire. It had stayed in a random storage locker with the old sofa you’d owned in college. The one she sat on. 

You prayed she didn’t recognize the chair. 

And she obviously does, as she sips her white wine with an amused curl of her lips. 

One leg thrown over the other, her stiletto in the air. Her dress is perfection and it costs more than you make with your new job in a month.  

“Well, you seem to be enjoying Connecticut again.”

“It is where we fell in love.” You throw back, hoping it wounds your wife. 

Claire smirks, and it’s cold as she sips her wine. 

“Love, it’s good to know you still feel it. Still have the word in your vocabulary.  You have been avoiding me dear. One whole year, two weeks, and four days I’ve been trying to catch you.” Claire tilts the wine glass in a circle. Memories of wine tasting with her in Napa come back to you, somehow she’d eaten you out while wine dripped down your cunt, Claire knew how to have a good time. 

“Claire, what do you want?” There’s no fight in your voice. And she doesn’t seem to like that. 

“No, I’ve waited a long time to talk to you, my sweet wife. And now that I have you, we are going to take our time. Have you eaten?”

“I-” You start, but she puts one hand out and waves you off. 

“Let me drop the pretense, I’ve had you followed since the second you got here. I know you haven’t eaten, because I pay four different teams to take pictures of your every move. I know that you get your oat and honey shampoo, the same one I use, from the store on Third Street. I know you still have a double-shot vanilla chai latte like the ones I bought you in Dubai. I even know you went at exactly 8 thirty two am, today when you were late for work. I’m guessing a little hungover. That’s right, I haven’t slowed down. Your Mama hasn’t lost her touch. I also know that the thirty something red head slut who sells them to you asked you out. And I know you said you were married. But where is the very expensive ring, not on your finger?”

Claire’s words are commanding, just like her.

Your jaw juts to the side. 

“Shall I assume that Wanda is dead and someone is using her body for filler in cement? Or is she going to be found burned up in some accident that happens to point the blame somewhere else?”

Claire laughs but doesn’t answer. And you take that as a ‘yup.’

“I missed you, you look good, sweetheart. This look reminds me of when I first met you. Though you did look better in the Louis Vuitton, Hermès, Chanel, Gucci, Prada, Dior, Saint Laurent, Burberry, Balenciaga, those little brands I bought for you.” Claire took a sip of her wine before humming and adding. “Your best outfit was naked in our bed, of course. Nothing else could compare to that.”

Claire is punishing you, the knife that slowly cuts always takes the longest to heal. This would be good. But it’s real agony, like she’s performing. 

The door opened, and three waiters came in. They unfolded a table, draping a white tablecloth, and lighting candles. Claire just watches with a delicious grin as she takes another sip. The waiter holds two bottles of wine, and she nods to the left but doesn’t take her eyes off of you. 

A man came out with two large platters. Claire continued to stare at you, but she flicked her wrist for them to leave. 

She takes the wine, and you recognize it is an extra expensive one that she’d bought a vineyard out of for your wedding rehearsal dinner. 

She pours your glass first, always a gentleman, and the light twinkles against the rim of the expensive wine glass. 

Claire's eyes you with such heat, you try to remember you aren’t here for romance. 

She’s manipulative, and she doesn’t love you, not in a good way. You are going to run the second she looks the other way. 

Claire goes to her own glass nice and slow. 

“Mm, I suppose it makes sense we break up over the bottle we promised to spend the rest of our lives with.” You muse. 

Claire stops pouring and looks at you conflicted, before snorting in offense, finishing her healthy pour and corking the wine bottle. 

“I think you’ve misinterpreted my dinner intentions, darling.” You notice Claire’s wedding ring sparkles under the romantic lighting. She hadn’t taken it off. 

You take the glass to your lips, but speak first before indulging. 

“What is the plan, then, Claire? You going to drug me and kidnap me?”

“That all depends on you.” Her voice is so serious, and you feel a cool chill. “Let’s eat, and then we can talk details?”

“No, Claire, you know me better than that. I want the rules out here. If this is a negotiation, then let it be.” You say and take a larger gulp. Claire laughs at you but reveals your dinner, she serves you with ease and domesticity. It’s your favorite Italian food from you’d wager from your favorite place. The bitch, it was what you ate on your first date. 

“Happy wife, happy life I suppose.”

Claire gives you the fettuccine first, knowing you never ordered if for yourself but it was your favorite. You only got it on special occasions, anniversaries, valentines day, and today it seemed.

You felt like you were losing this battle already. 

Claire takes a steak knife and starts to cut her meat. 

You don’t touch your noodles, wondering if they’re drugged. Or even poisioned. 

“What do you want, Claire? I thought you’d be happy. There’s no bad look here for you. Sure, you got a few paparazzi who wondered where I went. But you could easily slip a nice warm-blooded American with the right amount of education in my place. Someone who doesn’t think for themselves too often. Give them the correct lines on the teleprompter, teach them to host dinners, there are a million people who would jump for joy at that job.”

“No,” Claire says, and she holds out a bite of her steak to you on a fork. You scoff at her, but she lifts an eyebrow, and you can’t believe your body is betraying you. You lean down and take the bite off her fork.

This was one of your many traditions, the small idiosyncrasies that made a couple. 

You had a million of them with Claire, and you missed every single one. 

And you thought Claire would have forgotten them. But here she was, feeding you stake off her fork. 

You’d joked the first time that Claire was like a lion going in for the kill. That she was a powerful woman out for blood. So of course, she’d take her stake rare, bloody. Claire had not taken offense to this at all. The Governor had told you that you were her partner, her queen on the throne, then. And if she hunted, well then it was only respectful to give the queen the first bite. You’d eaten the first bite of steak ever since. 

Claire smiled at the memory you were reliving. You chewed and tried not to moan at how fucking good it was. You couldn’t really afford steak while on the run. You don’t know the last time you’d had it.  

“What do you mean no?” You swallow the bite. 

“You know me better than that. I know you know I’m running for Vice President.” Claire was setting the scene, and you were walking into her trap. And the worst thing is, all you could do was obey. 

“It was in our plan, of course, I know.” You roll your eyes and drink your wine, not touching your food still. You lean back in the chair like you want to throw a tantrum and Claire just seems to find it cute. 

You play with the napkin and place it in your lap, you just need something to do with your hands. 

“Well, the head of our PR team tried to tell me to find a dumb replacement, like you just did. I reminded him that I am married.” 

You chew your own cheek in anxiety for a moment. Before you guess where this night is going. 

“But you don’t have to be Claire.”

Perhaps she had finally been ready for a divorce?

Claire’s face told you that wasn’t the case. As she used the big knife to cut her food. You wondered if someone would be wearing the knife by the end of the night. 

“Oh, but I want to be. Oh, I get it, you’ve deluded yourself into believing that I am here to do… what exactly, darling?” Claire cackled and took a bite of steak while never leaving your challenging stare.

“Break up? Or maybe punish me? Dump my beaten corpse in some sex scandal? Then tell the world you are hard on sex trafficing.  Oh, or maybe make it so I’m terrible and you tried to save me and work some story?” You think of angles but you are missing the big picture. 

And it is clear from the sound coming out of your wife. 

Claire laughs and drinks her wine. Almost like you’d just told the best joke at a gala.  

“You always had a good imagination. But if you think back to our plans? All those nights wrapped up in bedsheets. Think now…I’ve always been honest with you.” Claire says, and she reaches across to your plate. She twirls the fat noodles and then holds the fork over your mouth. You want to throw your wine in her face. 

Part of you still wonders if it’s posioned. But your choices are far and few. And the nagging part of you refuses to listen to reason. 

The truth is you missed this. 

Fuck, you are just as sick and toxic as her. 

You bend forward and take the food into your mouth. 

And if it is posioned it is a good bite to die on, you chew and you can’t believe how delicious it is. 

“Good girl,” Claire tells you, and you press your thighs together. As you chew, Claire looks around the apartment. “It is a cute little place, I mean I bought it of course. I thought you’d gotten rid of this grimey sofa. But the chairs were nice to see.”

You cough on your food, and Claire beams at her ability to still surprise you. But she pulls the cloth napkin out of her lap and dabs your mouth until you push her hand away. You catch your breath and then glare at her. 

“You!”

“The apartment, the job, hell, baby, I think I’ve been pretty good at setting your life up.” But she says it like it’s a challenge. You two loved to talk politics, of course you did. And you agreed on most topics, but not all. And If Claire got bored she’d disagree on a topic she believed in, in the comfort of your own home. Just to see how you’d fight back. 

That look, is the same one she was giving you now. She just wanted a debate. 

“No, you didn’t do this to set me up.”

Claire likes your answer. 

“You are smart, always were, keep going, Mrs. DeBella.”

“You wanted to show me how quickly you could give me what I want..”

“And?” Claire looks like she’s about to reveal how she performs a magic trick.

“How quickly you could take it all away.” The last part made you feel a little sick. 

This was all an illusion. You would never get to teach at Yale again. You’d never see this apartment again. 

All of this was a lie. 

Just to show you how far her reach could go. 

Claire takes another bite of steak before she balances the knife and fork on the side of her plate. Swallowing she let’s you sit in your wallowing for only a second longer before she can’t wait any longer. 

“You want it out in the open? Let’s negotiate then. I want to give you everything. You enjoyed our life together, the parties were droll, of course. But you were making a difference, we were climbing the ladder together. You liked the power. But it was really always the game of it, the sportsmanship. So you can pretend being a Professor makes you feel fulfilled. But you and I both know that sharing a cigarette in the middle of the night as we plot the fall of a Supreme Court leader is what makes you tick.” Claire says it and leans forward, and your eyes fall to her lips, and she smiles in victory. 

The image of the seconds before dawn, where you’d fucked and made love all night. And then spent the last hours before light smoking a cigarette naked and deciding how you’d put beastality pornography on a public officials work computer…it was a form of intimacy you couldn’t ever replace. Claire would kiss your shoulder and neck as you spoke. And you’d pass her the cigarette and she’d push smoke into your mouth. And you’d share in your sin. 

That was the closest you’d ever felt to another person’s soul. 

Claire DeBella was your drug.

“So?” You can’t exactly call her a liar. You’d helped her end careers and frame innocent people. 

“So your Dr. Vidal and I spoke.” 

“Wow, you are truly vicious!” Not even a beat passes before you say it. But you are thinking of all the things you told your last therapist. You wonder what made Rio fold and tell Claire everything. Did she give your recorded sessions or just the cliffnotes? Did Rio need to be blackmailed or was it money? Or perhaps a favor? 

It wasn’t shocking that Claire did it, it was….almost flattering. If it wasn’t so fucked up. 

“Oh, baby, you have no idea what I would do to get you back. You have no idea what I’ve done to get this dinner. To have you here tonight with me by candlelight. I’ve waited over a year to sit across the table and tell you this.”

“Well, let’s get on with it then, so you can buy your next partner.” You look at the sofa for the divorce papers. 

Claire snaps then, the vein pops in her forehead and her voice booms across the table. 

“THERE WILL BE NO ONE ELSE! I WANT YOU!”

She stops and takes a breath through her nose like you’d taught her when she’d lose her temper. But you don’t let her calm down. 

“Claire, you can’t be serious!” You almost laugh at the idea. Claire’s tongue pokes out between her lips as she gains her control back. 

“I absolutely am. I’ve done terrible things to get you, and I won’t let go now. We are the same. I may be Frankensteins Monster but you will always be my bride. One cannot be without the other. You need me too.” Claire says like it’s romantic. She picks up her fork and knife once more to cut her food. 

“Do you hear what you are saying?” You lean forward as if you are at a restaurant and about to tell her to go fuck herself for no one else to hear. 

She can’t be serious. 

“You are my everything!” Claire shouts at your whisper and drops her cutlery. Threading her fingers together and putting her elbows on the table. Covering her face in anguish as if this isn’t going how she’d liked.

“No, no, you have politics.” This was always a point of tension. You hated when she called you her everything. Scratch that, you loved it, but your lack of self confidence always hated it. Because Claire lived to destroy in politics, and yet she acted like she’d throw it away for you. It was a lie, just like everything else. 

Her hands fall off the table as she regards you. 

“The kill has lost all sport. It is boring without you. If I don’t have you at the top with me, then I don’t want it. I don’t want any of it.” Claire reached across the table and put her hand out, like she needed to touch you. Like if you felt her hand you’d believe her. You glare at the offending softness she is displaying.

It’s manipulative,  you hear the doctor saying it in your mind.  You always cave from her touch, you won’t give in now.

“You don’t mean that.” You sneer. 

“Oh, I do.” The Governer retorts but retracts her hand. If she feels stung by your rejection her poker face doesn’t let it show.  

“Claire.” You bite your top lip like you just don’t know how to get out of this spider web. Not when Lady Spider herself was spinning the web faster than you can think. 

“I love you.” Claire’s voice is strong and sure. It makes your heart ache. But you refuse to let her draw you back in. This was a strategic move, nothing more. 

“No, you don’t, you love power.” You correct her and she gives a disappointed look before disagreeing with you. Her painted nails ball into a fist on the table. 

“No baby, I love you. And I’ll prove it for the rest of my days. I can be so good to you, you know that. We were good together. People called us a power couple, but they had no idea, did they? I crave you, I have gone absolutely mad in your absence. I love you baby girl.”

You wish that didn’t make you feel so good. 

“Claire.” Everytime you say her name, you want to follow it with ‘I’m leaving and you are sick and twisted.’ But it gets stuck in your throat. 

“Here’s what I propose. You come home.”

The term home made your stomach flop. You missed home. You hadn’t felt at home since the night you snuck away. 

The candle flickers and the light in the room is so dim now, no sunlight. 

No light outside at all, you felt like your life was quickly changing and you were in the audience unable to tell the lead character to not go in the basement. Not in her thin white shirt and panties, don’t go towards the killer with no weapon. 

“That’s not much of a negotiation.” You tell her, because it feels like Claire is just playing with her food now. Claire’s body responds to you, as if she feels like this is flirting now. 

You aren’t sure if she’s right or wrong. 

“You aren’t holding much of a good hand, dear.”

Those words bring you back, Claire wasn’t here to romance you. She’d always gotten what she wanted. 

“You can’t kidnap me.” You say it like you have to. Like if you say the words maybe she’ll hear it and think it’s ridiculous. Then she’ll feel shame at even having the idea. But you’d both orchestrated kidnappings for far less important reasons. 

Claire’s left hand turns into a claw on the table. Dark red nails pristine. 

Her fingers drum on the tablecloth like she’s considering how to move on the board next. 

But Claire is always honest with you, she finds it refreshing to not have to lie. 

“You are mine, I can do whatever I want, in fact. So it is up to you it seems. Personally, I’d just rather you naked, wrap in fur and diamond rings. I can see it now, just as you were. Legs wide open for me in front of a fire. I want you and I’ll leave politics, I’ll leave DC or Connecticut. I’ll beg, borrow, and steal.”

You are both quiet for a second. 

The memory of Rio’s words sing in your ear once more. ‘Don’t play her game. You have control over your own choice.’

So you say what you know anyone else would in this moment. Not what you want to say. 

“You are crazy if you think this is going to work. That I’ll just roll over and show my stomach for you again.” You push the food towards her the expensive plates and cutlery clink, and she doesn’t flinch. 

Seeming to figure you’d act out like a child. 

“I am crazy.” Claire agree’s but she continues;” I’ve killed for you. Can your college girlfriend Jenny Barkley say that? Can your Ex Wife Maya Mason say that? Can anyone claim to do anything for you the way I do? I’ve tortured and murdered innocent people for you, and I’ll do it again. Without a single hesitation. And you, your hands are just as dirty as mine. I’ve seen what you’ll do for me, you’ve ruined people before having your morning coffee. You didn’t even blink before sending them to their doom. Just to see me succeed to protect your wife.”

Claire says it like it’s romantic.

You wish you felt guilt. You couldn’t even tell Dr. Vidal all of that. It was horrible, but you had…fun.

“That was before, I’m not like that anymore.” You stated what you told yourself in the mirror every morning. When you missed it. 

Claire scoffs like you are being silly. 

“No one will ever love you like I do, the way you crave love. No one will understand your mind the way I do. And you know it, but I won’t let you have a chance to find out. You ran for a year, I was careless in giving you any freedom. Never again, that is the last time you run from me.”

You wondered if this is what Clarice felt like looking through the glass at Lecter. 

“So what, do I get a tracker under my skin? You're gonna have a security team on me at all hours?” The idea made you wet. Fuck you needed to get out of here. 

Claire pretended to mull this over. Tongue going over the front of her teeth as if she’s really considering it. 

“The tracker under the skin is a little too Fahrenheit 451, don’t you think? No, I like the other option.”She says like she didn’t prepare for this. On how she’d keep you in a cage. 

“I’m going to have a 24 hour security detail.” You repeat it like the court needs to put it on record. 

You wonder if Claire had ever taped your conversations. Just in case, in case you grew a conscience. In case you ever wanted to turn her into to the authorities. But you realize Claire had enough to end you. And perhaps she liked playing with the idea that you loved her more than you feared her. 

“No one would think anything of it. You are the vice president's lady. I want you safe. No one will know I’m keeping you safe from yourself as well.” Claire looks up like she’s brilliant. Like she was inventing a new thing right here. 

“Wow, so this isn’t a negotiation. This is a terrorist list of demands” You state it and you feel the need to be a brat.

Claire laughed and then let out a high pitched noise. It wasn’t her warm laugh, it was the one she used for people in politics she was about to destroy. You were in her cross hairs.  

“Everything is a negotiation, baby, you know that. I taught you better than that. You are too smart to play dumb. So you can pout like a brat at the dinner table, you know how I adore breaking your bratty attitude. Or you can tell me what you want. And we can really talk.”

“I want to be rid of you.” The lie stung in your mouth. Almost like a nun in catholic school had used her ruler on you. 

Claire doesn’t laugh now she regards you like one does a horse in need of breaking, and then puts the glass down. 

“Try again.” She holds more patience in her tone, but you hear that it is empty. 

“I mean it, my consent matters, no?” You know it doesn’t but Claire enjoyed the illusion. So she played along with your coyness. Her face was clearly 

“Of course, if that’s where you want to go with this. Let’s try a different method. Why my shampoo?”

“What?” You hated that she knew that. She’d gone through your fucking apartment and found your secrets.  

“You don’t love me, remember? So why our college? Why my shampoo, why do you keep your wedding dress hung up in your closet? And why did I find this?”

Claire throws your wedding ring in the box onto the dinner table and the plates clatter under it. She’s smiling with that feral look now. 

Checkmate mother fucker. 

“That’s the proof I want you still? Oat shampoo, a job you manipulated me for, and the fact I didn’t throw out some jewelry?”

You are lying and Claire doesn’t believe it’s coy anymore, she finds it irritating. So she grinds her jaw. She was fine with you being a brat it seemed, but not with you lying. 

“You really want to play it this way? I come in here with dinner and wine. I try to be romantic, and you want to do this. You need to play dirty, honey?”

You hadn’t touched your fork. Only the bites she’d fed you, the wine wasn’t drugged you realized which was wild. Maybe Claire thought you’d go with her willingly.

“I don’t want you.” You repeat. 

“Ok,” Claire takes a deep breath and tries to calm herself down, “You are coming home tonight. I have changed our security protocols. You will sleep next to me tonight and for the rest of our long lives together. Now, can you guess what comes next?”

You study her, and then it dawns on you.

“I’m not pumping out four kids for your stupid campaign to look better on posters!” You snap, and Claire doesn’t budge. She doesn’t react to your harsh words. 

“You and I will have those four children we planned, not because of a menial campaign. But because we had a life planned together, we will have it. Now I’m going to give you a chance to live out the rest of your need to be a brat. But once we leave this apartment, you will remember who you are. You are Mrs. DeBella, and you are all mine.”

You can’t believe her. 

“You actually think you love me? You know we are so toxic, why would you want any of this with me?”

Claire for the first time looks actually hurt by your words. You want to feel victory, but it doesn’t reach the parts of you you’d hoped it would. And as her jaw sets like an injured soldier, she says it low and slow. 

“You must be joking.”

As if you are the one being unreasonable now. 

“I’m not Claire.” You tell her, because you don’t want to believe her. She wanted a possession. You were bad for each other. At least that’s what the doctors told you. And you tried to remember it now, as part of you desperately wanted to take it aback. 

To crawl into Claire’s lap and kiss her face. Ask her about her day and let her fuck you until all her stress was gone. 

Claire scratches her nose, then presses her lips together in a thin line before her attention cuts you down a peg. 

“I love you more than anything. I’ve been tracking you down for a year to get you back. I watch our wedding video every fucking night and drown my sorrows with bourbon, I can’t sleep. I’ve fired more people for saying your name in my office than there are assistance in D.C.  I’ve tried to chase my sorrows with your old negligee and some sleeping pills, no luck. I can’t think, I can’t focus on my campaign or… I can’t do my damn job. Or even fucking cum in the shower. I haven’t cum since you left. You think I don’t love you? You think we are toxic? You know what’s toxic? Toxic is you waiting until I’m asleep and leaving me in MY SLEEP! You couldn’t wait until I was awake? Of course not! Because you knew I’D FIGHT FOR YOU!”

Claire grabs her empty wine glass and throws it against the floor and it smashes and glass flies everywhere. You gape in awe at her. 

Not realizing a small pieze cuts your arm. 

“You don’t know the depths that I would go for you. But you fucking will. You broke my heart. So no, I won’t be hiring a stand-in while I run for VP. Because no one will ever stand next to me, but you. You’ve scorched the earth with the memories of you, and I will never be happy again. You are my world. You are my fucking disease.” Claire says, and you can’t breathe. 

“Now let’s try this again.” Claire points her finger at you menacing,ly and you don’t back down, but your hands shake under the table, “What do you want?”

You lick your lips and try to think, how will you defuse this. Claire waits for you. But she’s rabid and she speaks out of turn. 

“You want an island? I’ll buy it, it’s done. You want to open a charity for fucking sexually limp sea turtles, I’ll give you three billion dollars right now. What do you fucking want?” Claire said, and you couldn’t believe it. 

“You’ll never let me go, huh?” You said and pushed all the morals you’d work hard for this last year away. 

“Never,” Claire shrugged like ‘it couldn’t be helped.’ “It’s out of the question.”

And you knew that Claire knew you would never make a fool out of her on stage. It wasn’t your style. You scratched the back of your neck. 

“I want…I want power again. I want an in on your power plays.” As you say it you can’t help but feel alive again. 

Claire’s face says it all. She’d won. 

“Done.”

“I want you to take a weekend off each month, no phone, no emails. You have to buy that house along the Caribbean I wanted four years ago. I get full access to open as many charities as I want. And I want to buy that publishing house. The one for queer authors.” You couldn’t believe yourself, and Claire was nodding so obediently at the idea. 

“I’m yours and it’s yours. Whatever you want.”

Perhaps Claire was lying, it seemed you had a pretty good hand. Or maybe not, but you had more power in this discussion than you realized. 

You were Belle getting the library but still in a haunted castle with the Beast. 

“I know what else I want.” 

Claire tilted her head, in wonder. 

“Get on your knees.” You said, and Claire’s mouth fell open just enough for her to take a heavy breath. 

She was always a top, well, not today. Toda,y she would beg. You wanted her to break under you. 

“Is that what you want?” Claire asks as if she’s making really sure. But she throws her napkin down onto the table and pushes out her chair. She unzips the dress, and it falls. You see her cock is semi hard already, no underwear or bra on. But she comes around to your side of the table and she drops down hard to her knees. 

You lift one foot with your heel onto her shoulder, and she watches eagerly as your long skirt rides up. 

You easily pull off your thong and throw it behind you. 

Claire’s head goes down to lick your cunt and you slap her hard across the face. Claire’s face turns to the side at the strength. 

“You fucked me up! You ruined my life! And you think I’m just going to be a good little wife? Fuck you Claire!” You snap, and Claire’s glare that she turns on you is wicked. But you take your right hand and open your pussy wide for her to see. 

“I loved my life with Maya. And you ruined everything. I was happy you know.”

The words are meant to hurt and you see it devastate Claire. 

But you touch your clit now and Claire’s face changes quickly. 

You see the red handprint across her skin, and it gives you a rush. 

She goes again to lick, and you slap her with your wet hand, arousal filling the air. It glistens on her sharp cheeks. 

“This game can only go so far for you.” Claire growls, and you shake your head. 

“No, I want you to submit. For once in your life, I want it to be clear that I bested you. That you lost the battle even if you are winning the war.” You tell her, and Claire’s face is that of sexual frustration. Like a teenager begging for release. 

But you bring your fingers to your hole and you start fucking yourself fast. Knowing it was Claire’s favorite place in the whole world.  

“That’s my cunt you are touching, You are in for a world of hurt little girl.” Claire growled, and you took your hand out and slapped her again. And she made the angriest noise in her throat. 

“You submit, that’s part of our deal.” You tell her, and something in her face shifts, understanding. She’d gone to Yale, Claire knew how to study for an exam. 

Her arms locked behind her back, and she let her cheek rest on your bare thigh. Close to your cunt but not touching. 

You’d never seen Claire submit before, and it was making you feel in control, which was all an illusion. 

“You know I did this all the time. I fucked myself without you. You are so desperate for it aren’t you? Tell me Claire.”

Claire moved to rest her chin on your thigh and look into your eyes. 

“I’m mad for you. I will humiliate myself for you. I am nothing without you. I am lost, a complete mess. You own me.” Claire said and it was so needy that you almost stopped fucking yourself from the words. 

“Fuck!” But it feels good to touch yourself and you hadn’t been this turned on since Claire was your bedmate every night. 

“You could do anything to me. Whatever you want. You can piss on my face and film it. You control me, baby. I just want you. I just want you. I’ll do anything. Just for a second in your cunt, just for one lick. You can ruin me, baby. ” Claire chants and you hate how quick you are going to cum. But it’s impossible not to. 

Claire opens her mouth and sicks her tongue out but doesn’t lick. Just to show you how low she’ll go. 

“Fuck Claire fuck!” You are losing your resolve. Claire closes her mouth to say more, knowing her words are what is making you cum, not your hand. 

“I’d let you use the strap in my ass in front of all my candidates. Put my cock in a cage. You could invite all of my cabinet, all of their wives, your colleagues and students. I’ll get on the kitchen table and you can fuck me until I pass out. Then you can draw nasty words on me. I’ll be your whore, you own me. Ruin me, baby. I deserve it don’t I?” Claire says and you are so close as you fuck your hole. 

“I love you. Be toxic with me, Mrs. DeBella. Fuck yourself, punish me. You know how much I hate not getting to touch you. Punish me! I LOVE YOU!” Claire chants intensely and it helps and you cum around your own fingers and then you accidentally fall onto the floor. Off the stupid chair. 

You shouldn’t jump when hands grab your hips but you do. 

You took a ragged breath and Claire flipped you onto your back. 

“Did you have fun?” She asks and her voice doesn’t even sound like she’d done anything at all. 

Your eyes open quickly in horror to see that Claire isn’t even fazed. She was playing pretend the whole time. And you’d bought it. She was topping you from the bottom. 

“Fuck you!” You snap, and Claire laughs and pins you under her body. You try to wiggle free, but Claire just giggles.

“I know I know but I got you good.” 

You slap at Claire, but she pins your arms. Then she kisses your jaw.

“I know you want to hate me. I actually thought you did for a minute…but you don’t. You still remember our first slow dance. You kept the locket I bought you on our first Valentine’s Day. You think this is toxic? I get it. It’s not perfect. I’m being blackmailed by a billionaire, I know it’s not sane. I pulled string in your life to trap you here…but baby.” Claire says and pulls back to look at you.

“Can you really say you didn’t miss me? The way we loved, the way I love you. That you don’t love me still? That you don’t want me?” Claire said it, and you saw her fear clear as day. And your face broke.

Fuck.

You craved Claire DeBella.

Her fucked up way of love. Who knows, maybe if your parents had held you more or not filled your life with trauma…maybe you could have met someone nice and settled down.

But she was right, you lived for manipulation and sinister ties. You missed blackmail and fancy dinners where you pulled strings. You helped get laws passed by your midnight schemes with Claire.

This last year had been…so bad.

Boring.

You hated yourself for admitting it…..you were looking at the Joker…and you wanted to jump in the vat. You would poison yourself for her. You would help her deranged plans… you’d always be her harlequin.

Claire knew you well enough to read you. 

That’s when she shifted and you felt her cock press against your entrance and it dawns on you. 

Claire had manipulated everything, and it made you feel at home again.

But you’d been out of her loop so long, you’d gotten lazy, sloppy.

And you’d let your guard down…you also hadn’t been sexually active…so..You’d not taken birth control in four months. 

“Claire wait-” You are about to tell her. But she knows, of course dhe does. 

“I know baby, I checked. No birth control in the whole place. It’s like you wanted me to bring you home.” The top Claire’s veiny cock rubs against your slit.

You get wetter, from the contact and the threat.

“Claire wait!” You shriek but she puts one hand on your throat. 

“You were so sexy in control, you took what you wanted, I love that about you. But hon, I’ve been doing it so much longer. I’ll let you do it again, though. We made a deal after all. I keep my promises. Like how I promised you four children. Well maybe we’ll have more, but at least four. No birth control, and you can imagine why I won’t be wearing a condom.” Claire teases, and she feels you gush this time and looks down between your bodies. You feel Claire’s dick strain and twitch against you at the heat and wetness of your pussy against her.

“Claire fuck-” You hadn’t been fucked since the night you left. You want to tell her to go easy on you. 

This was so fucked because you used to pretend this in bed. You’d beg her not to impregnate you and she’d push her cum inside of you. It was your own little power game. One you both loved that you’d always lost.

“I know we used to play this. But here’s the day now. Negotiation over, and so is play time. It’s time for me to breed you. Who would ever vote against our nice little family? And you’ll stop running from me. And you’ll be round and swollen from my seed. I can’t wait to put our kids in private school.” Claire said and her hand started to teach your clit. Mostly, she just missed the feeling of her fingers getting messy inside of you.

You were hot and sticky just how she liked. 

“Oh fuck-” you don’t know why you aren’t telling her no. Or rather you know why. You want this.

You want to be pregnant from Claire. You have for forever.

And you want her to make you stay, to own you.

God you needed a new therapist.

Your eyes roll back as she rubs under your clit hood.

But Claire grabs your jaw to make you look at her again.

“You know what, I know you said you don’t love me anymore. But I wanted to ask you something?”

You looked at her, scared and confused. 

“If you didn’t want me to find you, to catch you…why in the world did you turn your old phone on, baby? Was it the video? The one where I told you I’d gotten you pregnant?”

Your face turns beet read and Claire loves it. 

She’d guessed it first try…

“Holy shit, I am right. I didn’t think I would be. Yeah, that’s my favorite one too. Let’s do it now, let’s play Mommy and Daddy. You always liked that game. Who shall I be tonight?” Claire sounded so excited like this was christmas morning. 

You bit your lip til you tasted blood. 

You loved when she played with you, her dirty words drove you to hours of orgasms.

Her body is so good against yours. 

“Claire-” You gasp as she rubs your clit and you feel your orgasm. But she spits in your face, and it lands on your mouth. 

You missed this.

“No, call me by my name.”

“Please damn it..fuck me!” You hate yourself for breaking, but you can’t stand it anymore.

If Claire wanted to kill for you, to be toxic and deplorable. Who were you to say no?

Claire leans in and bites your neck and you already feel the bruise. Before she turns back in triumph. 

“I thought it would take at least another two orgasms before you started begging.” She loves to demean you, and you gush from her words. You loved her praise but something about her humiliating you made you cum the hardest.

“Please please please, I’ll be yours. I promise.” You want to cry. 

Surrender never felt this good. Your red flags were going off but your need to cum was too strong. 

Claire’s cock is moving on its own against your pussy. Like it wants attention and you two were ignoring it.

Claire moves her hands to your white blouse and whe rips the fabric and then breaks the front clasp of your bra. 

Before she bites your nipples like she wants to draw blood.

You wiggle underneath her and moan and gasp. Not sure if you want to run anymore, or ever again. 

Claire chuckles and you want her inside of you. 

“I can’t tell who’s happier, me or my cock.”

“Please go inside, I need it!”

“Dr. Vidal told me you know.”

You should be scared again, but something about Claire going to all this trouble to stalk you…..it made you feel wanted. Oh god, that was wrong.

But you sorta..liked it.

Claire must sense that because she keeps going. 

“She told me you used to masturbate to me. Naughty girl, you know I never let you touch yourself without me. But I do like the idea of you so needy and only able to get off when you watch me. That’s what the Doc said, you only could cum from CNN clips of me. That warms my heart.”

Claire is making you a moany mess. 

You gasp and grab her biceps and squeeze. 

“It was pretty cute when you tried to dominate me, I think I’m a good actress don’t you? Not as good as that actress you have a crush on…what was her name?” Claire moves her hand to your opening and thrusts three fingers inside, she hits your cervix and you quiver in pain and ache, you want it to be her cock. “What was her name?”

“KATHRYN HAHN!” You shout, knowing she was punishing you more. And if you behaved, you’d get your reward.

“Oh that’s the one, remember when you told me that. Do you remember what I did?”

How could you forget?

“You used the flogger on my back for three hours..you fucked my ass on the kitchen table…and I wasn’t allowed to cum.” You gasp and you remember the whole thing. 

Claire’s breath was hot against your skin. You felt your bodies grow a little sweat and it was fucking erotic. 

“That was such a small punishment. What do you think I’ll do to you if you run from me again?”

Images pass through your mind so fast.

You shiver in fear and arousal. 

“You are mine. If you want to see the sunlight again, you are going to have to earn it. Do you understand?”

You know she means everyday, you’ll have to prove you won’t run away. Claire had endless abandonment issues and you’d made it a million times worse.

You nodd and Claire is so delighted when your hand wraps warmly around her cock. 

“I taught you well.”

She says and you know just how she likes her cock held, sucked, and tugged.

You stroke Claire, and she tries her best not to buck her hips into you. Her cock feels so good under your hand. She’s so hard it must hurt. 

She’s all control all the time.

“After you left…I pulled all of your dirty panties out of the hamper and i fucked every one of them. But I haven’t cum in so long, how much semen do you think will fill your womb?  You think I don’t love you? I’m in ruin for you.” Claire says, and you don’t know what about all of that makes your heart bust open but you surge forward and kiss her. 

Claire moans happily and she pushes your hand away and pushes her cock into your cunt and you gasp and break the kiss. 

“You are a good girl.” Claire is on cloud nine. 

“Fuck me Daddy! I want it. I want a baby, don’t stop until I’m pregnant.” You cry out and you wish you weren’t so desperate. But you were, for Claire.

Her cock stung and stretched you but you just kept gushing around her. 

Claire grins in delight at you breaking down so easily for her.

She hadn’t even needed to spike your drink.  

You never even bought cutlery for your apartment, never got to teach again. You also never slept alone again.

But you are pregnant before Claire runs for office. But with you by her side. You tell her to make the change, and she agrees. She switched her campaign to President. 

Claire never loses. 

[charlesslut16]

Carlos helping his physiology student girlfriend to study for her finals

(or trying because he doesn't really understands this kind of things)

-the nerd kind-

summary : you and carlos are studying for you physiology finals...

PAIRINGS : carlos sainz x fem!reader

WARNINGS : none

note : I hope that you will like this! I hope that i converted it right and used the right terms, if not please tell me! LOVE YOU ALL and send request!!!

masterlist

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

Your brain feels like a scrambled egg. The kind that's been stirred one too many times and is now very slowly sliding out of the pan and onto the floor of your sanity.

You’re somewhere between memorizing what part of the body does something important and completely giving up to scroll cat videos for three hours.

Your desk is chaos. Highlighters, notes, and a half-drunk coffee that’s definitely cold by now. You haven’t moved in two hours. You might be forgetting how to blink.

Carlos peeks into the room like he’s afraid to spook you. He knows that he should not disturb you while studying. You loved Carlos, but studying was very significant right now.

He’s wearing gray sweatpants and a hoodie, a combo you loved seeing, and that slightly sheepish look he gets when he’s not sure how much danger he’s walking into.

“Baby?” he asks, gently. “How’s it going?”

You make a sound that doesn’t resemble any real language — a groan, a sigh, or maybe a whimper. You didn't even hear what he asked if you were honest; your head was full, filled to the brim.

Carlos takes that as his cue to walk in, stepping over a pile of your notes like he's navigating a minefield. He places a snack and a bottle of water beside your laptop like it’s an offering to a very tired, overworked deity.

“I brought almonds,” he says proudly. “They’re brain food, right?”

You smile weakly. “Everything’s brain food if you’re desperate enough.”

He crouches beside your chair and rests his chin on your arm. “Want help?”

You glance at your notes. Then at him.

“Carlos,” you say gently, “you’re amazing, but this is… not your thing.”

He narrows his eyes at your stack of flashcards. “How hard can it be?”

“Very,” you mutter. “You’re not ready.”

Carlos grabs a card anyway. “What’s the—” He squints. “How do you even pronounce this? Hypo… thala… mus?”

You laugh for the first time in hours. “Close.”

“I feel like I just summoned a Pokémon.”

You reach over and take the card from him, still smiling. “Told you.”

But he’s already settled himself on the floor beside your chair, legs crossed, leaning back on his hands like he plans to stay. “Okay. Explain it to me like I’m five.”

“Carlos.”

“Come on. Teach me. Maybe I’ll make a great study buddy.”

“You don’t even know what you’re asking.”

“I don’t need to know,” he says, all confidence and dimples. “I just need to look at you like I understand and nod at the right times.” 

You stare at him. He nods enthusiastically. You didn't know if it would work, but trying wouldn't hurt, right? I mean, Carlos was a good listener, so it might be worth a try.

“You’re impossible,” you murmur — but your voice is lighter now.

He grabs another flashcard and holds it up like he’s hosting a game show. “Alright, Miss Genius. What does this one mean?”

You rattle off the answer, more focused on him than the actual words. He stares at you, nodding sagely.

“That sounds super important,” he says.

“It is,” you say, laughing again.

He grins. “Then I’m impressed. You’re smart and cute.”

You shake your head, cheeks warm, but he can tell your shoulders have relaxed. He scoots closer, resting his arm on your leg like he needs physical contact to stay grounded, and honestly? So do you.

For a little while, he keeps reading flashcards. He doesn’t pronounce most of the words right. Sometimes he makes up his own answers. How can this be this hard? Those were carlos exact thoughts at this moment.

“This one says… ‘Cell membrane.’ That’s like the skin of the inside, right?” “Kind of?” “See? I’m basically a doctor.”

Eventually, you’re half-lying in his lap, textbook forgotten on the floor, his fingers playing gently with your hair while your eyes flutter closed. Maybe a pause would be good.

“You’re going to do amazing,” he whispers against your temple. “Even if I don’t understand a single thing you just said.” He loved that you were the nerd kind; it was one of the things that made him fall in love with you.

You hum in agreement, nuzzling more into him and his warmth. Carlos could always cheer you up and make you feel safe and comforted. “Thanks for pretending to.”

Carlos kisses your forehead, slow and warm.

“Always.”

[ddarker-dreams]

Hiii just wanted to say that yan anaxa fic was v tasty and u captured his special kind of crazy swag so well (also the fic itself reads v smoothly)!!

If you dont mind could u explain the way u went about it (up to u how in-depth) like i know hes not particularly difficult to see doing weird yan shit cos hes a weird guy but idk the v candid shyness at the mention of his loneliness, the denial of the divine being a key driving force to his character but willingly offering to beg/bow the reader and many others but im rambling GRAHHHH EITHER WAY UR A V SKILLED AUTHOR AND IM GRATEFUL I GET TO READ UR WORK

Have a lovely day!! <33

there's nothing i love more than an excuse to dive into the behind the scenes of a fic 👁👁 even short stories have lots of time and thought poured into them!

this excerpt from the 'as i've written — amphoreus' saga of heroes' left a strong impression on me. (unrelated, but has anyone noticed how anaxa's character card is reminiscent of the major arcana's hanged man? how fitting...) whenever i write a character for the first time, one of my first goals is identifying what makes them distinct. i try building their characterization around that.

for anaxa, this narrowed down to:

his heretical tendencies in a relatively god-fearing society

willingness to engage/debate ideas he disagrees with

history in alchemy

how he 'leans into' the theatrical rather than being a stern, distant intellectual

a tendency to never give outright answers, instead helping others arrive at conclusions for themselves through well-timed comments and guidance (e.g. castorice's story arc)

with these as my guiding principles, i felt more comfortable characterizing him. honestly there's still a lot of guesswork and pruning along the way. i toned down his condescension because it didn't feel right. i write a lot of condescending characters (looking at you, chrollo, gojo and geto), so i have to be careful to not let that seep into characters it doesn't work with 😭

another few notes regarding his characterization:

i tried leaning into his desire to cultivate knowledge in his pupils. since the start of the story is ambiguous about what exactly anaxa has done, i wanted his questions to put you, the Actual reader, in the MC's shoes by having you piece together wtf is going on. once the MC reveals his 'crimes' it's then up to you to determine how much of this (or if there's anything else) anaxa is guilty of.

if you're curious, i made it a rule for none of anaxa's dialogue to contain outright lies. he's still being shady tho

when darling says, “You must be lonely, professor" we see a change in his behavior because that hit a little too close to home. he actually finds disclosing that he enjoys darling's company more embarrassing than his verbose declarations toward the end of the story. it's just a little too intimate, hence his rush to move on by bombarding darling with his unhinged nonsense.

i hope this is what you were looking for ,, thank you so much for your kind words and interest in my writing!!!

[kakusu-shipping]

PLEASE PLAY THE RABBIDS GAME ITS SO GOOOD

I WANT TO I WANT TO I WANT TO SO BADLY

I am however a broke ass bitch all the time and cannot afford two 60 dollar games even at the best of times atm

It looks really cool, the models are surprisingly pretty and the animation looks really good, I'm not sure I'd be good at the gameplay but they look nice and I'd LOVE to try them some time

I don't mind story spoilers (does it have a deep story? dunno) so feel free to come talk at me about it some time!!

[shopwitchvamp]

This (or really, last) week's tarot video is up now!

Today we're all gonna believe in our ability to serenely flow with life and then tell anyone that says we have to struggle-

[queer-obsession]

I have something I need to say!!! I keep hearing unholy rn and Kim Petra's verse is just 😙👌 but i've gone down the rabbit hole and now i'm thinkin abt characters that would be the type of guy she's singing abt and timeskip!kenma, pro hero!todoroki, and pro hero!bakugou just keep invading my brain when I hear it 😫 listen to that verse and tell me you don't think of them...oh right you can't! if y'all know any other characters that would fit tell me cause this shit is so interesting to me 😭 i have no life

[ffiolette]

CALEB XIA TWT LINKS

INCLUDES— fingering, clit play, cunnilingus, facesitting, handjob, recording, exhibition/voyeurism (??), car sex, making out, groping, penetration, squirting, creampie, blowjob, size difference kink, virgin caleb in some links, masturbation, breast/nipple play.

WARNINGS— CHN/KR/JP DYNAMIC !! USE OF GEGE AND MEIMEI !! added a virgin!caleb series because I love the headcanon of him saving himself for mc after all these years, he's yearner number one !! 16 links, all of these videos are for afab readers/viewers, don't like don't read/watch, make sure to be logged into twt/x beforehand, if some of the links stop working please lmk ! nsfw below the cut

caleb absolutely ravishing you after having to wait years to get his hands on you

your gege holding your hands while he creampies you <3

you're staying at home while you're on summer break from college, but you have to be quiet so Grandma Josephine doesn't catch the two of you

caleb saved himself for you all these years so you have to teach him the basics ⋆ giving virgin!caleb his first handjob ⋆ you know your gege has a particular interest in your panties ⋆ virgin!caleb seemed quite useless when you tried to teach him how to eat you out, he couldn't even find your clit, so you ordered him to lie still while you rode his face instead ⋆ teaching virgin!caleb how to make you come with his fingers ⋆ when you finally take caleb's v card he's such a desperate mess, humping and rutting into you like he's in heat, he's so cute

watching you rub your clit really gets him going

fuckboy!caleb on the phone to one of his flings from the academy while he's fucking his meimei senseless

he needs you close to him, it's a must when he's bearing all of himself to you after so many years of pretending

caleb is just obsessed with your tits, always has been

recording so he can send the videos to one of your pathetic ex flings that was blowing up your phone so he can show them that no one fucks you better than your gege

car sex because he really couldn't wait five minutes until you got home

he thinks the way you gag on his cock is the hottest fucking thing

© ffiolette

[bizarrelovetriangel]

lipstick stains.

reader decides to dabble with art using several lipstick as her tools and sylus' sleeping face as her canvas.

fluff. inspired by one of sylus' texts in the game (included down below near the end). no warnings, just little kisses and reader having a little fun <3

It's two in the afternoon and there's nothing to do until sunset, when it's time to get ready for a date with your lover who's currently sleeping.

No... maybe there is something you could do.

A certain someone recently just bought you several new shades of lipstick from the brand that you love. Maybe now is a good idea to see which color would suit your outfit best for your date.

You wore a sly grin as you gathered all of your new lipstick and tiptoed your way inside Sylus' bedroom.

He's still in the same position as when you put him to bed: mostly on his back, though his upper body's slightly on a higher level due to the fluffy cold pillow supporting his shoulders.

He's wearing his satin burgundy robe, which had gotten a little loose to expose a portion of his chest. You were tempted to rest your head against it, but you can't afford to be distracted right now. You have a mission.

You're going to test the shades of your new lipstick with Sylus' help.

First up is cherry.

You put on a single layer of that color on your lips, then you carefully leaned down towards Sylus' face and softly kissed his forehead. You made sure it was as light as a feather so he doesn't wake up and end your fun so soon.

Next: rose.

You painted your lips with the brighter shade and pecked Sylus' left cheek. It gave a similar result as the previous contender: it looks great, but this particular color probably won't match your outfit tonight.

Third candidate is: wine

This one went to his right cheek and your gaze lingered on it for a little longer than the rest, as the color seemed so fitting on Sylus' face. The stain of wine always did compliment him, so this shouldn't be a surprise.

Up next is blood-red.

It's darker than wine and you also love its velvety texture. More importantly, the kiss mark of its hue looks wonderful on Sylus' left jawline.

Following that is blush.

This one's brighter and more on the pink side. Even though you like it, tonight won't be the night when you'd wear it. Nonetheless, it certainly looks lovely on your lover's chin, which twitched for a second after you kissed it.

Next one is apple.

You kissed the right side of Sylus' jaw and awed at its surprisingly vibrant tone. This one might work quite well with your outfit.

There's the shade called merlot, too.

It's more on the darker side, but you're not sure if it'll look good with your outfit tonight. On the other hand, it's cute on Sylus' nose.

Last but not least: ruby

This one seems like it's in the middle of the palette in terms of saturation, and it appears to have an appealing texture as well. To test it out, you put it on your lips and left a mark on the little spot just above his lips.

Or at least, that was the plan.

Sylus stirred all of a sudden, so you ended up kissing him on the lips.

From the very moment your lips touched, your face heated up and you backed away in panic.

You've kissed him plenty of times. You've kissed him on the lips and on spots that are not his lips. You've done way more than kissing. And yet still, your heart raced at the thought of him catching you stealing kisses from him while he sleeps.

It's still a little early for him to wake up, so you decided to leave him alone for now. You took all of your lipstick with you and ran out before he could detect your presence.

//////////

Your mouth drops at the text message you just received.

"I need to hide, quickly! You guys better not snitch on me! Especially you, Mephie!" You glared at the crow before leaving Luke and Kieran, suddenly ending your game of Kitty Cards.

You fled to look for a hiding spot, but it's too late. Your face planted against a strong chest.

You swore you heard a cough from behind you, followed by the sound of someone's phone clicking for a picture.

It didn't matter though because Sylus spared no attention to Luke, Kieran, and Mephisto as his eyes are completely focused on you.

"Sylus....." you laughed nervously. "Good afternoon. Had a nice dream?"

"Mhmm." He crossed his arms, giving you a raised brow. "In my dream, I was being attacked by a mischievous kitten while I was asleep."

"...."

"You're coming with me." He took one step towards you and leaned down to whisper to your ear. "You have to be punished for your crimes."

Suddenly, he threw you over his shoulder and retreated back to his bedroom.

Luke and Kieran looked at each other.

"Did you get the picture?"

"Yeah."

[el4ise]

filthy rich﹐秦

cast ⤷ sylus x reader

genre ⤷ fluff

warnings ⤷ none!

sho's note ⋆ sy spoiling you with his riches, and more (◜ᴗ◝)

sylus is rich. really rich. you could steal his card for a week, use that whole seven days to try to make him go broke, and come back to see his sly smirk, because you failed to bring even 1% of his money down.

in your whole relationship with him, you've never paid. dates? he got ‘em covered. going shopping? he's handing the card already. his birthday? he hid the receipt before you could see. at this point you even forgot you have a card or wallet. the only time you're paying in your life was when you go out with tara and spend a few bucks here and there.

but even sometimes he doesn't let it go, he gives you his black card to spend, but when he finds out you used yours instead of his? he's sending you thrice as much money as you spent.

as much as sylus is insanely rich, he doesn't let his money define the value of your relationship. you're upset? he's putting you on his lap as he soothes your back, pressing kisses on your cheek and forehead as you rant to him. you're mad? at him or something else? he's giving you time to cool your head, then when you do, he's hugging you gently. whispering sweet apologies. you're hungry? he'll cook your favorites, he even learned how to bake your favorite desserts just because he knows you like it handmade than ordered. you're lonely? he sends luke and kieran to take care of his business instead of him. just so he could spend the whole day with you by his side.

so yes, he's filthy rich. but you're also rich because you have someone like him by your side. something that could never be bought even with millions. and hey, maybe you could win the lottery sometime? oh wait, you already did.

© work of httpzsho | do not repost, translate or copy | reblogs are appreciated

# taglist ──── @nishikio, @jeondyy, @ruenaie

[fushitoru]

i don't wanna lose this with you a spiderman gojo fic

pairing ⸺ spiderman!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ an amalgation of misunderstandings and stress lead to a very big fight between you and satoru, but you certainly don't expect the way he wins you back.

warnings ⸺ college au, spiderman!au, angst, hurt/comfort, i warn you reader might infurate you, but she's just a woman in stem :(, tooth rotting fluff bc he's a loser for his gf, not edited sue me

playlist ⸺ quantum rizzics

a/n you'll probably need to read the first installation (nsfw, so mdni) to understand this one :3

general masterlist | spiderman!gojo m. list

you've blocked gojo on all platforms.

you don't really remember what caused the "break up" (you didn't really break up). maybe it's the fact that you've been stressed about grad school admissions, your dorm's floor was covered in his boxers, and he's never been able to visit you pre-3am these days. somehow, the city's criminals are determined to keep your boyfriend away from you, and maybe it was your pms, or maybe it was truly just because satoru is annoying. regardless, it's when you guys have plans that's not an impromptu healing-gojo's-wounds-in-your-dorm-at-3am sesh and you're waiting at the coffee shop that you explode.

because he was supposed to arrive ten minutes ago, and when you move to go to the bathroom, you see him. through the window, his white hair is never not noticeable, and who you see next to him makes you falter.

he's standing next to a girl with blue tinted silver hair that you recognize as mei mei, and she's gripping his upper arm as she smiles while looking at his face, his lips with such fuck me eyes that you could tell they were having some sort of intimate conversation.

and if it were an ideal day, you would know that it's all a misunderstanding, you would know your boyfriend is someone you trust. but, again, the cards were stacked against you, and the only things that go through your mind all make your eyes all glossy. he's late to the one date that you planned because you and him were finally free at the same time and you've been busy because you've been desperately applying for internships because unlike your boyfriend you don't have a plethora of papers and coding experience and you've been getting four hours of sleep on average this week and ugh you've heard a rumor that satoru used to hook up with her and fuck now your tampon is poking at you in the wrong way—

great. now tears are fully streaming down your cheeks. in public.

as you rush to the table where your stuff is your vision is so blurry that you also almost fall flat on your face as you stumble over the legs of chairs and tables. blurting out a ensemble of choked up sorry's and excuse me's you hurriedly gather your laptop and notebooks in your backpack and book it for the exit.

the biting cold stings at your face, but you nevertheless determinedly move in the opposite direction of where satoru and mei mei are situated, praying your boyfriend doesn't recognize you. however, it seems that the heavens are working against you because you hear a yelled "baby?"

you don't look back because you know a new set of tears will leave your eyes, and with it being finals season, you're not very hydrated to being with. but you hear footsteps running towards you and fuck your boyfriend's long ass legs because he quickly catches up to you. then, he grabs your hands, attempting to stop you from running away and face him.

"baby," he breathes, baby blue eyes looking into yours as he moves to kiss your forehead. you stay silent, pinning your gaze to the ground while shivering. "where are you going? aren't we supposed to hang out right now?"

look, you and gojo have a good relationship. but recently, things have gotten...strenuous lately. you guys haven't been communicating, and it might not help that half of your calorie intake was from energy drinks. or perhaps what lead you to say what you said next was driven entirely by the brain eating mold on your unwashed dishes, but dumb excuses aside, you sneer. "shouldn't you be busy doing that with mei mei, instead?"

a small part of you--the part that knows you shouldn't be like this--feels relief that hurt doesn't immediately flash across his eyes, only confusion. but lack of sleep has not only stripped away at your sanity but also your people pleasing and overthinking tendencies, leaving you only as a girl frustrated, even irrationally angry, with her boyfriend. so you only avert your gaze when he dumbfoundedly asks, "what?"

"what do you mean, "what?"" you scoff, wrenching your hand from his grasp. "you were ten minutes late to our meet-up, gojo." it is at your use of his last name, instead of your sweet my love, that the hurt you've been looking for flashes across his eyes. he moves to speak but you cut him off, no longer wishing to be here with him. "if you're so busy talking to bitches you hooked up with before, why did you even bother saying yes to hanging out with me?"

he looks at you in confusion, eyes quickly flitting back and forth across you. then, slowly, as if he's still processing the weight of your accusations, he says, "i don't exactly know what you're referring to, but let's calm down---"

and you see red.

"calm down?" you snap, voice sharp and icy, just like the wind stinging your cheeks. "did you seriously just tell me to calm down? you were late again, gojo, and i find you chatting it up with her?" you practically spit the word, arms crossing as a flimsy defense against both the cold and the ache building in your chest.

satoru blinks, his confusion genuine, but you’re too far gone to care. "wait—mei mei? is this about mei mei? she's not—"

"don’t you dare finish that sentence," you cut him off, your voice rising as your blood boils hotter. "i don't want to hear how she's just a friend, or how it's not what it looks like. i’m so tired of hearing the same bullshit excuses."

"baby, you're jumping to conclusions—"

"and you’re jumping at the chance to look like an idiot in public," you snap, your hands trembling now, either from the cold or your rising fury. "god, what do you even say to her? let me guess, you go around telling girls you're spider-man to get into their pants, huh? bet that works like a charm."

the accusation hits like a slap, and for the first time, satoru looks genuinely stunned, his mouth falling open slightly. "what the hell are you even saying right now?"

"am i wrong?" you let out a bitter laugh, one that echoes in the frosty air. "you’re late to the one date i actually planned, and i see you with her, all cozy, like i’m not even waiting for you. like i don’t even matter."

his eyebrows knit together, frustration mixing with something softer. "you seriously think i’d—"

"i don’t know what to think anymore, satoru!" the words burst out of you, your voice cracking as hot tears well in your eyes. "all i know is that i can’t keep feeling like this. like i’m some afterthought while you’re out doing—whatever it is you do. swinging through the city or flirting with your exes or—" you choke on the words, wiping at your cheeks furiously as the tears spill over. "just forget it. i’m done."

"wait." his voice is quieter now, more desperate as he steps toward you, his hand reaching out. "baby, come on, we can talk about this—"

"no," you say firmly, jerking your hand away before he can grab it. "i’m blocking you. on everything." then, mockingly, "you can figure out how to save the world without me."

his eyes widen, his mouth opening like he’s about to plead or argue, but you don’t wait for him to speak. you turn on your heel and storm away, the cold wind biting at your skin as the lump in your throat grows heavier.

you don’t look back. not when he calls your name, not when you hear his footsteps falter. you just keep walking.

it’s 3 a.m., and you don’t know if you exist.

well, you do, but after how light you feel after you’ve cried a disgusting amount, you just lie down on your floor staring at the ceiling and contemplating the meaning of life. or more specifically, the meaning of your life, which right now feels like it’s revolving around nothing but stress and a breakup you don’t even fully understand.

you wouldn’t be having these problems if you were a childless cat lady.

but alas, you’re just a college student. in the few days where you haven’t seen satoru, you’ve finished all your finals—miraculously, considering the fragile state of your emotional wellbeing—and now you’re finally on break in your dorm. you’re supposed to go back home in two days, but the thought of packing feels like trying to climb a mountain barefoot. you can’t summon the energy to do anything except wallow in your self-pity and selfishness, letting it wrap around you like a weighted blanket that’s somehow comforting and suffocating all at once.

you’d like to say this is rock bottom, but truthfully, it’s worse than that. because rock bottom implies a kind of finality—a place to push off from. this? this feels more like you’re sinking in quicksand, the weight of everything dragging you further down.

in your stress and impulsiveness, you’ve managed to kill your entire grind for internships. deadlines have slipped past while you spent hours doom-scrolling job boards and second-guessing every application. the ambitious, career-focused version of yourself feels like a stranger now, buried under the weight of your own doubts and insecurities. and on top of that, you may have potentially lost the love of your life.

it’s laughable, really, how thoroughly you’ve managed to self-destruct in such a short time. the worst part? you can’t even bring yourself to check your socials. if you unblock him and see there aren’t any messages, you think your heart might shatter completely. which, if you’re being honest, isn’t exactly fair to him. you’re the one who had the meltdown. you’re the one who blocked him on everything. he probably doesn’t even know what he did wrong because you didn’t even communicate anything.

your stomach twists at the thought, guilt mingling with the ever-present ache of missing him. he was supposed to be the one person who made everything feel a little less impossible, and now you’ve pushed him away.

there has got to be a taylor swift song for this.

so you make your way to your spotify account to listen to afterglow, putting in your airpods while somberly looking at the ceiling once again as the lyrics fill your ears. tears well up as soon as the lyrics start

i blew things out of proportion, now you're blue⸻

tears well up before you can stop them, hot and heavy as they trail down your cheeks. god, you’re a mess. and yet, as much as you hate it, you can’t seem to stop the flood of thoughts that follow.

you miss him. you miss the way he made you laugh even when you were on the verge of tears, the way his ridiculous confidence somehow made you feel like everything would work out. you miss how he’d stay up late just to facetime you when you were overwhelmed with schoolwork, how he always seemed to know exactly when you needed him most.

and now? now you’ve gone and ruined it. maybe he’s angry, maybe he’s hurt, or worse—maybe he’s just done with you entirely.

the thought makes your chest ache, your breaths coming in shallow and uneven as the lyrics hit their crescendo.

i need to say, hey, it’s all me, in my head—

then, suddenly the song changes. you frown as you hear early 2010's pop blast through your ears.

i threw a wish in the well, don't ask me i'll never tell⸻

why the fuck is call me maybe playing?

annoyed and rubbing at your eyes, you move the change it back to, now, the sad girl hours playlist spotify curated for your and assume your dead fish position on the floor once again.

however, it seems as if your spotify is genuinely tweaking, like it's realized it’s gotten your attention. when call me maybe starts playing again, you groan out loud and move your phone. but before you have a chance to switch the song again, it seems to switch.

baby by justin bieber.

call me, blondie.

i love you, i'm sorry, gracie abrams.

letstalkaboutit, aminé.

i don't understand but i luv you, seventeen.

please please please, sabrina carpenter.

and then, once more, as if to really drive the point home: call me maybe, carly rae jepsen.

again, it's 3am, and you're stuck in a surreal mix of grief and confusion, staring at your phone as your spotify queue seems to have gained sentience. each song feels like a pleading nudge, an unmistakable pattern forming, and your blood runs cold when you remember one very important fact.

you share a spotify account with satoru.

"carly rae jepsen," you mutter under your breath, a mix of exasperation and fondness bubbling up despite yourself. he's hijacking your queue. right in the middle of your emo songs.

you sit up abruptly, tossing your airpods onto the bed, and hover over the call button on your phone. there’s a split second of hesitation—your pride battling with your longing—before you give in and press it.

the line rings twice before his voice comes through, breathless, like he’s been pacing. "baby?"

the sound of his voice sends a fresh wave of emotion crashing over you, sharp and raw like an open wound. the sound of his voice makes your stomach twist uncomfortably, equal parts relief and guilt. "satoru," you say, barely above a whisper. "why are you messing with our spotify?"

"why am i messing with our spotify?" he echoes, his tone incredulous. "why did you block me on literally everything? what was i supposed to do—send you a letter by carrier pigeon?"

you wince at the edge in his voice, your earlier anger wilting under the weight of his hurt. "i… i don’t know," you admit, the words tumbling out before you can catch them. "i was upset, and i wasn’t thinking straight. i shouldn’t have done that."

"yeah, you shouldn’t have," he says, still sounding a little indignant, though there’s something softer beneath it now. "do you know how many songs i had to go through to make my point? do you know how hard it was to resist the urge to rickroll you instead?" then, there’s a pause on his end, the line suddenly feeling too quiet. then he sighs, his voice softening into something that feels too much like an apology. "i didn’t know what else to do. i hate not talking to you. i hate knowing i made you upset, even if i don’t entirely understand why."

you close your eyes, the lump in your throat returning with a vengeance. the silence stretches between you, thick and unbearable, until you finally break it. "i’m sorry," you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "i shouldn’t have blown up at you like that.” and now that the dam has been broken, it all comes rushing out as you start choking up. “i’ve just been so stressed, and i’ve been missing you and then i saw you with her and then got irrationally angry when i really should’ve trusted you and oh my god i’m like a possessive tradwife husband that doesn’t let you leave the farm i’m sorry and i didn’t even communicate before i blew up at you like that—”

"hey. hey, hey, it’s okay," he says immediately, his tone filled with an earnestness that makes your chest tighten. "i know things have been hard for you. i should’ve been better, too. more present. i hate that you’ve been feeling like this while i’ve been...doing spider-man things." then, he lets out a dramatic sigh, the kind that’s equal parts exasperation and playfulness. "but wasn’t fair,” and you can hear a whine in his voice, “you blocked me and then ghosted me like i’m some kind of random tinder match. do you have any idea how insane i felt when i couldn’t even check to see if you were okay? i thought you hated me."

your breath catches at his words, guilt twisting like a knife in your chest. "i don’t hate you," you say quickly, the words spilling out in a rush. "i could never hate you. i was just… stupid, and emotional, and i didn’t know how to handle everything piling up. i’m so, so sorry, satoru."

there’s a pause, and when he speaks again, his voice is quieter, a little more vulnerable. "then why did you say those things? about mei mei, and… and me using the spider-man thing to get into girls’ pants."

you bite your lip, the memory of your harsh words making your throat tighten. "i didn’t mean any of it," you whisper. "i was just lashing out, and i know it wasn’t fair to you. i know you’d never do something like that, and i trust you, satoru. i just… i let my insecurities get the better of me."

"wait," he interrupts, his voice laced with amusement that shouldn’t make your heart ache the way it does. "you actually think i’d use the spider-man thing as a pickup line? that’s...wow. that’s genius. i should write that down."

"satoru!" you exclaim, half-laughing, half-crying, your emotions unraveling all over again. "i’m being serious!"

"i know, i know," he says, but you can hear the smile in his voice, warm and teasing. "and i’m being serious, too. i’d never do that to you. mei mei’s just...she tripped in front of me, i was just helping her up. i didn’t even realize how it must’ve looked, but i’ve never done anything with her. you’re it for me, okay? always."

you sniffle, wiping at your cheeks as your heart swells and aches all at once. "you mean that?"

"of course i do," he says, his voice soft and sincere in a way that makes your breath hitch. "i love you, even when you block me on everything and make me resort to spotify warfare." he sighs again, but this time it’s softer, the warmth in his voice breaking through his remaining irritation. "i’m not mad. i mean, i was mad, but mostly i was just upset. you really hurt my feelings, you know?"

the lump in your throat grows, your guilt threatening to choke you. "i know," you say, your voice cracking. "i’m so sorry, satoru. i’ll make it up to you, i promise."

"oh, you will make it up to me," he says, the teasing edge returning to his tone. "i want a week of boyfriend privileges—no complaining when i steal your fries, no making fun of my movie picks, and you’re buying me snacks for at least three of those days."

a small smile tugs at your lips despite the tears still clinging to your lashes. "deal," you say softly.

there’s a pause on his end, and then his voice comes through the line, quieter but no less sincere. "you really mean it? you’re not still mad at me?"

"i’m not mad," you say, your voice thick with emotion. "i was never really mad at you, satoru. i was mad at everything else, and i took it out on you. but i’m not mad anymore. i just… i miss you."

"i miss you too," he says, and the raw honesty in his voice---the subtle way it chokes up, as if he had been crying and missing you too---makes your chest ache. "so, can i come over? or are you going to make me keep hijacking your playlists to get your attention?"

you laugh softly, the sound tinged with relief. "just come over already, you dummy. and bring snacks. good ones."

"done," he says, his grin audible through the phone. "i’ll be there in twenty. and for the record, you owe me at least a whole playlist dedicated to how amazing i am and you sucking the absolute soul out of my dick---."

"don’t push your luck," you reply, but there’s no heat in your words, only warmth (and you’re absolutely going to suck his soul out of his cock). regardless, for the first time in days, the tightness in your chest starts to ease, replaced by something lighter, something whole.

general masterlist | spiderman!gojo m. list

a/n he's so cute :( i'll keep on writing stuff for them whether it be small fics like this or long ass fics. i think my next one is gonna be freaky if you guys are nice to this one

TAGLIST im really sorry if i missed you if you sent an ask asking to be tagged pls feel free to remind me again im afriad ur ask has drowned in my shitposts and other asks

@chilichopsticks @livelaughloveisagiyoichi @moonchhu @k0z3me @seobluv

@m1gota @celloccino @satxoru @fishrene @myahfig4

@watermelonmuntchers @bxnfire @ayumilk @venussdovess @michelleeveline

@bochichi @applepi25 @6xillaa @almostdifferentstudent @mugamoo

@iv-vee @jaemissso @wil10wthetree @localartisttttt @rirk-ke

@backinmyphase @novaisbebita @heiejdhdh @blueemochii @helloalex80

@gojodickbig @kyon-cherri @nikkissecretlibrary @omg-its-rdj @isleqt

@suguruscousin @idkwhatursayinh @yourfavbabigirl

[cherie-doll]

I said "do you think you'll kill for me one day?"

(Yes, of course I will, my darling)

― yandere!cod men x reader ― ε price, ghost, soap, gaz, roach, makarov, alejandro, rudy, phillip graves, keegan, könig, horangi, nikto з suggestive?

꒰ ͜ ‿ ͜ ♡ ͜ ‿ ͜ ꒱

ଘ You're no plaything for Price. He doesn't just like you, he adores you. Cups your pretty face in his hands; delicately. His rugged and rough hands become gentle as soon as he comes into contact with your skin, treating it as if it were finely-grained porcelain. He treats you the exact opposite of how he treats anyone else. Whilst he leaves everyone else covered from head to toe in blood for coming near you, you're covered from head to toe in the most expensive items you wish for. But, he doesn't want you to forget that his money doesn't represent his love for you, it does not begin to cover not even half of what it should. He'll be sure to remind you not to be spoiled rotten. He's fond of you and while he's interested in you, you should listen and obey to what he advices you. He is more experienced after all.

ଘ Compare what Simon's scars and bruises are to your unscathed body. Let his hands roam over your body, taking in all he works for. Let them wander and familiarize with what he's toying with. His breath on your skin as it quickens, losing his train of thoughts as he fondles you. He's convinced you're meant only for him. No one else should touch you this way, no one could do it like he does. And please return it! Cradle his head in your lap, so the sizzling subsides and he feels alive. Let him know he's the best, the one. Let him lean in and capture those soft, plump lips in a passionate kiss. Don't pull away, don't deny him his heaven. And don't you dare let anyone else trail your body with their eyes like he does. Why, he'll feel as if they're already doing what their mind desires. He's screwed up in his mind but he'll move heaven and earth for those thighs to wrap around his waist at night spilling the warmth between them. Make him feel warm and welcome, give him the world he burns everyone else for. He sacrifices others at the feet of your altar.

ଘ Johnny's smug smile can fade rather quickly with one sensual move from you, watch him get lost as his breath is winded and his body is overtaken with an all-consuming fire of passion. Oh, he can't even fathom the idea of anyone before or after him experiencing such things. He'll be paralyzed the moment you sit on his lap and putting your hand to his chest, let it trail over his heart which at the moment beats wildly. It's a sensation he experiences when plunging a knife deep within someone else's chest, he reckons the feeling is almost the same. He thinks his victims rather lucky they die this way. How many other people can experience that fleeting, overwhelming feeling?

ଘ Kyle's hand kisses are done with such reverent trembling and respect that he'll have your skin tingling with warm sensations as if the late evening sun was seeping into your skin. Let his and your body blend together like the watercolors on an artist's canvas does. Bask in his affection like you'll sunbathe on the beach. Take in all the good he brings you, accept every touch of his that starts with a secure embrace and ends with the colliding of your bodies. The cold with which he lashes out for others has no place with the gentleness he entreats you with. Keep your eyes on his, locked in his steady gaze immerses himself in fantasies. He feels dizzy as if his world was spinning, losing himself in the sensations. And after the elation, let him shower you in praises, caresses and gifts. Let him buy you two rings for each finger, how many could you want to show off having a caring partner when you slide his card at the register? Make your hands look pretty whilst his are leaving a trail of crimson blood after him.

ଘ Roach couldn't ever hurt anyone else, he didn't know what he was capable of until the importance of you came all too clear. You're something that shouldn't belong to anyone else in the world. It's a quick descent down the spiral of violent devotion. His soft gaze usually filled with admiration and sentiment for you hardens, his pupils dilating as fear takes over. He's only acting on behalf of all his anguish, you haven't the heart to condemn him. He's shown you what your heart is worth, couldn't you give him some sort of heaven? He will do very well at whatever it is you ask of him, just wait while he shows you. There isn't anyone else like him he says over and over as if a prayer or spell he could make come true.

ଘ Makarov does not care whether he deserves you or not. Unlike the others who will commit unspeakable acts out of guilt and use their "pure" intentions to purify their actions, Makarov is selfish and relentless in what he wants. He does not flinch at your attempts of control, it's lost the moment he takes you in. He's determined to taste everything you have to offer, whether it's willingly or not. But he does like things to be served on a platter for him, he also has no problem taking it himself. Let the hand on the back of your neck guide you in the direction you are to walk, be docile and you'll surely receive tenderness. He can never deny that he loves the way your lashes flutter as you look through them up at him as he pats your head for being so good. Overtime you might notice small details showing his exterior cracking and revealing the soft, white underbelly of affection. He feels as if his chest caves in from your actions, the subtle red at the tip of his ears. Keep pulling at his neck collar, he'll like that fake sense of control you have.

ଘ You wouldn't ever catch a glimpse of Alejandro's manipulative strategies until he finds someone threatening. Is it wrong you're not seeing enough of other people? His biggest fear is you falling for someone else, the danger of you getting too close to someone is palpable for him. The intimacy you two share is from the harvest he's worked so hard for. He's been slaving away for so long to just let someone else lay a hand on you. He kneads you into what he desires, anything to feel the beating heart in your chest which pumps only for him. He'll keep polishing you until he gets down to the bare essence of you, which he can only dream to capture. The rhythm he wants to feel rushing through his veins, circling throughout his body.

ଘ Rudy's tenderness blinds you as he takes you to what you can only describe to be paradise. With the shining of luxury, all new and just for you he says. He'll press a million sweet kisses on your face before dropping that a most bothersome person will no longer be graced by your presence ever again. To him it's like a quiet act of love, to you, it's unimaginable. Don't worry your head will all the details, isn't it better to have no worries? He's all smooth indulgence telling you to keep looking at the adorned future he has ahead for you, telling you not to pay attention to the blood that stains the walls of the hallways you walk. He would lay out a new, fancy red carpet over the corpses for you to step over and continue in this fabricated dream.

ଘ Phillip knows exactly how to get the best out of you. Can you blame a man for knowing how to get what he wants from you? Let him tease and tug for he knows what every maneuver of his does. The hands that massage your skin don't get dirty, he'll always have others ready and willing to carry out whatever order he gives. It's what he's accustomed to and how he intends to keep it. But the droplets of blood that splatter do not miss his skin. The stain is still there, still under the skin of the thumb he pushes inside of you, feeling around for that bliss. Let his protectiveness clothe your body, he's already blurring the lines between obsessiveness and possessiveness.

ଘ Keegan's eyes will have you coming to a stumbling halt. Asking for something only you know how to give so good. Those erratic eyes that are unpredictable as they are deep, representing the deep dive you have to be holding your breath for. Are you ready to indulge? Because the impact will have you gasping for air, and when you try to take one you'll only swallow a mouthful of carnal desire. He ignites such a heat it's scalding to the touch, you don't know what's happening it's like you lose control. It happens so fast that when it's all over you'll let his lips, from which hot breaths slip through, kiss all over your sweat glistened body. His eyes might be softer and hold it for a while until he's back to the merciless, cold gaze which freezes everyone's else blood, feeling it lump within their veins.

ଘ Let König go on his fast rampages. They're over quick anyways. And afterwards, when he comes back, cradle his head between your thighs his tongue tangling as he stutters out promises to buy you what you wish if only you let him lap at your sweetness until his thoughts are left to reckless abandonment. Let him get what he can't get anywhere else. Call him handsome as your bury your fingers into his hair, your fingertips trailing his jaw and down his neck to where his adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard. Place kisses on his cheek until he turns his head in one swift motion and captures your lips in a desperate kiss. He wants it all, wants all of you all at once it makes him messy, shaky and weak. But he just wants someone to hold him, rubbing his ears and whispering words of affirmation in his ear.

ଘ Horangi could care less what other's want from him. You're in his viewpoint and he's determined to apply as much pressure as possible to make you bend. The reason he justifies himself with is the lullaby he's lulled to sleep with. Everyone else wants something from him, why shouldn't you? Everyone else is just in the way, he says over and over again, trying to make you focus on his lips instead of the bodies on the floor. With what he's done, he expects a standing ovation from you, nothing but complete adoration and servitude. He's a man who chases after impulses, who knows how long until this candle runs out. For now, ignore the brusque hand and acknowledge the underlying intents. He'll keep this lecherous momentum going until you're feeling faint from the mere touch of his hand.

ଘ Resignation is a trait Nikto works hard to work out of you. Surely, you ought to trust him after all he's done for you. In his mind, he's dedicated such gentle caring to you, you should be grateful. Don't be afraid to take directly out of his hand, he prefers you lose that skepticism. And when you do start to gentle, oh he can never get enough of it. His fingers grazing and gliding over your body at any and every chance he can get. Let him delve deeper into you, it's only natural for him to want to know you better. Every quiver of yours, he feels through the epidermis of his skin. He just knows you that well. His jerking movements shouldn't startle you by now. Maybe if you were more open, you would be telling him what you want. Give him some sort of sign before that spark ignites an unyielding fire. Because to him, that trembling is a sign of a smoldering fierceness waiting to break through.

:¨ ·.· ¨: `· . ꔫ

[mv1simp]

Cuffing Szn ♥️

Max Verstappen x MidSize!Reader

it's cuffing season and all the girls are leaving to get a big boy (I need a big boy, give me a big boy)

As Max Verstappen's new girlfriend, you're one of the few WAGs on the grid who isn't a model and the only one, you think self consciously, who doesn't look like a model either. Good thing your big, strong boyfriend is here to set the record straight about how much he disagrees with you.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, trigger warning: explicit discussion about eating disorder and body dysmorphia, dom!max, sub!reader, size kink, this is just a shameless excuse for me to write smut about max's thighs, 3.3k WC

When you'd delivered one of your favourite patient's 3rd baby, handing over the healthy, crying pale blob (after thoroughly wiping it down because, you know) with a congratulations, Victoria, its a boy! you hadn't expected to catch the eye of the patient's very attractive, tall older brother at her side.

But as you walked off down the hallway once the baby checks were done, you were surprised to find Max stopping you with a large but gentle hand on your shoulder. You'd seen him a couple of times in Victoria's pregnancy, accompanying her and her husband at the ultrasound checks leading upto the delivery. You'd secretly thought he was so adorable with the way he handled his nieces and nephews patiently while his sister got scanned.

You'd also thought he looked positively delectable in his white linen shirt that highlighted his broad shoulders, and skinny jeans that clung to some of the thickest thighs you'd seen a man be blessed with. But making bedroom eyes at patient's hot family members was generally frowned upon (although not explicitly prohibited in the Hippocratic Oath, one could argue) so you promptly forgot about the handsome blonde 5 minutes later when the emergency bell went off.

But he stood before you that day, looking every bit as attractive as you remembered, even more so with a pink dusting on his cheeks as he asked if this was the last time you'd be looking after Victoria?

You tilted your head quizzically at him, your neck a little strained from looking up at his 6 foot frame from your 5"1 one. Yes it is, you informed him, and because new families often got anxious, you sweetly added that it was a good thing, to not see you again, because it meant darling Victoria and her baby are both healthy.

He confuses you again by saying that he was hoping to see you again. Oh! You smile excitedly, are you and your wife expecting? You pull out your clinic card and tell him that you're actually all booked out for the year but you'll make an exception for Victoria's brother.

His blush deepens. (Somewhere in a hospital broom cupboard, Lando Norris was filming this scene unfold and cackling.) Max rapidly explained that he's not expecting. Oh, and he's not married. And also he doesn't have a girlfriend. Basically, I'm single - he finally stammers out. (Rizzless and bitchless, Lando texts him). Thankfully, at this point you had caught on that Max was trying to ask you out, and after a quick phone call to the legal team to confirm you were clear, you turn back around to inform him cheekily that he could pick you up at 8pm Friday night for dinner. (Wait, this actually worked? a flabbergasted Lando now texts.) The emergency pager then goes off so you gently tug on Max's shirt to hint that you want him to bring his face down, give him a goodbye kiss on the cheek, and sprint off to Ward 6.

The dinner goes perfectly, with Max's charm returning in full force after a G&T - Sorry about earlier, schat, you're such a gorgeous woman and a very smart doctor, it makes me nervous - leading to a 2nd date and then a 3rd and then to a weekend trip in a romantic Nice winery, where you can't resist jumping into his muscly arms after a glass of wine and demanding he have his way with you. (He does. Very thoroughly. Multiple times that night, and the morning after. Thinking about it still has you blushing.)

6 months later, you two are officially going out and you're making your first appearance as his girlfriend at the races. You had carefully dressed in a classy Mirror Palais dress, complete with matching heels to save your poor boyfriend having to bend down too much. You'd also become rather turned on at seeing your normally soft, gentle cat dad of a boyfriend turn into an absolute menace once the Redbull suit is zipped up, terrorising his way all the way to P1 and living up to his nickname of the Dutch lion. As his assistant guides you to the podium ceremony, you're stopped by various fans who compliment your outfit and ask for pictures. The media attention is very new to you, as Max had been very insistent on protecting your privacy as you two established yourselves as a couple. But everyone had been so nice today - until you started noticing the dirty looks thrown your way, glaring up and down your form. And then, a couple of snide comments from passing fans about how you were very confident to wear such a body hugging dress, especially with your curvy figure.

You roll your eyes at their clearly jealous tones, and walk over to the podium ceremony to greet your boyfriend. He breaks into an adorable grin when he sees you, his whole face lighting up as he easily scoops you up for a deep kiss. The cameras around you two go crazy, but don't pick up his whispers when he sets you down and leans in, telling you that you looked so pretty today, schat, he'd been staring at you so much GP had to tell him to focus, and how was your first race? nobody gave you a hard time, did they? You don't miss the way his eyes are attentively focused on your face, clearly still worried about the damage he had warned you about before you agreed to go public.

You aren't going to spoil his win over a couple of snide comments. Not at all, baby you reassure, before whispering back that he looked really hot in his tight fireproofs, could he pretty please bring them home later when you give him his reward for such a good performance on the track? The tip of Max's ears go pink as he struggles to maintain a straight face for the cameras. Giggling, you press a kiss to his cheek and murmur you'll see him after his interviews.

Later though, when Max is in his interview across the paddock and you're being introduced to the other WAGs, you can't help but notice how different they all look in their body hugging dresses compared to you. Although you wouldn't be called fat, you aren't slim either, and you're nowhere near the tiny, trim figures the other girls maintain. Once the seed of insecurity is planted, it's very hard to stop it growing out of control - and at each race or public event or launch party you attend at Max's side, you start to pick apart more and more insecurities about yourself. How you're so much shorter than the numerous models on the grid, making you feel childish and round compared to their lithe gracefulness. How their delicate collarbones and ribs can clearly be seen at all times, but yours only if you twisted your neck a certain way. And they're all so lovely, chatting eagerly with you and interested to hear about your work, asking if you'd take so-and-so on as a patient, you had a great reputation already even though you were a new doctor in Monaco! The conversations distract you from your worries for a bit.

But afterwards, when you'd be laughing at cat memes online and sending them to your boyfriend, you'd come across the paparazzi pics of you speaking to the WAGs and felt sick to your stomach at how huge you thought you looked compared to everyone else, clearly standing out as the plainest one amongst their flawless faces. Some of the comments agreed, saying that it was just sad that the best driver on the grid had the ugliest girlfriend, and couldn't Max buy his gf some ozempic with all his tax evasion money? Comments that would have made you laugh at the originality now suddenly had you sobbing, and you're glad you hadn't stayed at Max's tonight and had to explain the state you were in.

When you'd been younger, in college, you'd started struggling with managing your stress levels given you were a perfectionist working towards a very difficult medical degree. Having always been a stress eater, you frequently binged on junk food, and obviously ended up gaining quite a bit of weight. Your family and ex boyfriend had ridiculed you endlessly, and so the year after you had to work hard and lose it all, which you had managed to do. You'd mentioned this to Max in passing, a couple months into dating when he'd spotted an old college picture of you and muttered so fucking cute, pocketing it.

You didn't tell Max about how you'd lost the weight though - with a vicious binging and purging cycle for the better chunk of a year. You'd grown out of that "phase" once you'd left college, or so you thought - because it was almost too easy to slip back into it now, to enjoy the sick pleasure at barely eating all day and seeing the weight drop on the scale, then bingeing on whatever you wanted because it didn't count, you'd throw it up anyways. You had to be very careful with it this time round, because your boyfriend's attentive gaze had been fixed on you even more so than usual - noting how you've been wearing higher heels, how your dresses are still as gorgeous as ever but never body hugging anymore, how you spend hours before a race now perfecting your makeup instead of joining him in the garage and don't spend the nights at his anymore. You weasel your way out of his questions when he asks you repeatedly if everything was okay, schat?

But you weren't able to fool him any longer after attending a charity gala for one of his sponsors. You'd actually been happy with your appearance for once, pleased with your slimmer waist this month, but as the night went on you started to feel the fatigue of starving yourself catching up, leaning more and more into Max's side as he glanced at you with concern. Rubbing your back soothingly, he asked if you wanted to leave early, but you shook your head, murmuring you were okay, your feet just hurt a little is all. He frowned then, hating to see you in pain just to be dressed up for some stupid event he couldn't care less about. Bringing you to the empty lobby, he told you he was going to grab your coats and have the car brought round, end of discussion, you need to rest, okay liefje? You didn't have it in you to protest any longer so just nodded. You hadn't realised just how much you'd been leaning on him until he left, and as stars started entering your vision, Max returned just in time to catch you before you stumbled.

You felt him firmly grab your waist, fully supporting your weight as he led you out to the car, lowering you gently into the seat and even buckling you in. You started feeling a bit better inside his Aston Martin with the aircon on, nibbling on a high protein low calorie bar you'd stashed in your clutch. Regaining your alertness, you notice the tense atmosphere, with a stormy expression on Max's face as he drove rather furiously through the Monaco streets, his hand not even resting on your thigh like it usually did but gripping the wheel tightly. Maxie - you begin uncertainly, hoping to diffuse the tension and ask why he was upset, but he cuts you off with a terse Don't. Let's wait till we're home.

So you wait, until you're both walking in through the front door. Max rips off his suit jacket, rolling up his sleeves, but he still doesn't talk and instead heads to the kitchen. You follow him, sitting on a barstool to admire how he still looked so handsome in the fitted sky blue shirt and tight navy pants, even when he was clearly mad. As Max starts cooking, his back to you, he tells you about how growing up his sister Victoria had to go to therapy for a long time because she wouldn't stop throwing up every time she ate because their father told her she was too fat (despite looking like a buffalo himself, Max snorts as he sets down a simple but delicious plate of chicken pesto pasta with salad in front of you), about how Max has seen countless girlfriends on the paddock purposely avoid eating all day, including his already stick thin model exes, and how Max himself would be called fat every month or the other by some trashy gossip magazine, because the media is just fucking toxic, he hisses. This is why I wanted to keep us hidden away from the cameras. He glances pointedly at your plate, where you've eaten the salad and chicken and not touched your pasta. You sigh and pick up your fork, slowly working your way through the food as you tell him that you suppose your diet had somewhat...spiralled out of control, but honestly, Max, I'm completely fine, and you two can't avoid the cameras forever given how he's the frickin F1 winner at all-

Don't tell me that you're fine. Do you really think I don't know what's going on? Max demands tersely with crossed arms. Finally finished with your meal, you hop off the stool to neatly place your plate in the sink, ignoring his question. Standing behind you, he watches you wash the dishes, still not even reaching his chin, even in those damn 6 inch heels you're still wearing. You do respond when he asks you just why you're putting your body through such torture.

C'mon, Max you say with an eyeroll, You know why, I need to lose some weight, I'm so much heavier compared to all the other girls and all your exes, and you deserve to have a girlfriend who looks-

Don't tell me what I do or don't deserve, schat. I always want the best and that's why I picked you. You're really gonna question the choice of a world champion, hmm? Max's deep voice is now right by your ears as he leans down behind you. You feel a shiver run up the back on your spine as he curls his huge arms possessively around your waist and thighs. He continues his whispers, his hands roaming up to your plush tits and another squeezing your ass, telling you You're so goddamn pretty. Every single part of you, just for me, making you bite your lip and breathily moan from his affections - it'd been a while since he'd had his way with you with all your avoidance, after all.

You feel him slowly unzip your dress, and the silk easily falls to the ground, leaving you only in your stiletto heels and a deep red lingerie set he’d gifted you for your 3 month anniversary. You tense, already feeling self conscious, but before you can say anything Max has wrapped a large hand around your waist and easily flipped you around to sit on the kitchen counter. You gasp from the action, hands automatically going to rest on his broad shoulders as your face comes level with his.

I haven’t made it clear just how lucky I am to have such a beautiful girl all to myself, schat, Max says huskily, before pulling away to unbutton his shirt, his blue eyes darkening as they roam over your pretty tits spilling over in the lacey bra, over your cute plush tummy, and over those deliciously soft thighs he adores. His hungry stare is really starting to drive you wild now, and you beg at him to hurry up and finish undressing. Chuckling, he throws his pants to the side as well, now only wearing his tight boxers. He pulls you forward on the counter so you're flush against him. See what you do to me, sweet girl? Hmm? he grinds the very prominent bulge in his boxers against your own damp core, making you gasp. You get me so hard and you haven't even touched me yet, that's the kind of power you have over me.

At his words, you don’t hold back from running your hand all along Max’s well defined chest. Your boyfriend is so much bigger than you and it's incredibly sexy. He towers over you easily with his 6 foot frame, all wide shoulders and swollen biceps and muscled thighs, and you don't hide the hypnotised look in your eyes as you trace from his thick neck down to his slutty waist, desire and desperation coursing through you, replacing any inhibitions you'd had earlier.

He grasps one of your wandering hands in his own, his larger palm easily dwarfing your tiny one and making you bite your lip at the difference in size. His attentive gaze doesn't miss this either, and with a low hmm he brazenly asks if you found it as hot as he did, the fact that you were the perfect size for him to snap into half if he wanted? He knows he's got you right where he wants as your pupils go wide with desire, breath hitching at the thought of your big boyfriend using his strength against you for once.

Then he's pulling apart your pretty little set, lace ripping and a large hand easily wraps around your entire throat, pulling you into a breathless kiss that has you moaning at his skilled tongue. You barely have time to collect yourself when he suddenly lifts you up by the waist, biceps flexing, and your eyes widen as you're lifted impossibly high in the air and find yourself straddling his thick shoulders, his face now at the perfect height to bury his tongue into your dripping pussy right in front of him. Max! you squeal, utterly ruined by his impressive display of strength. You're desperately scrambling for purchase at the cabinets behind you, head banging back against the wall as he relentlessly thrusts his wicked tongue into your puffy folds.

And he only sets you down after you cum obediently all over greedy lips like he demands you to do, then gently carries your shaky form to the bedroom to show you multiple more examples of how you were just made to take him, truly the perfect girl for him, weren't you? You'd been too blissfully fucked out by that point to form a coherent response.

Needless to say, you find yourself caring very little next time strangers had anything to say about the way you looked, thanks to Max's hands on affections (he'd also taken you to therapy like the supportive boyfriend he was, bless him.) He'd quickly formed a personal favourite method to prove to you just how desperate he was for you and how you had the world champion in the palm of your hand, whenever he saw that look flicker into your eyes from time to time. He'd take you back home, make you undress yourself for his hungry gaze, then lift you up into his arms, folding your thighs up against your waist from where he held them. You’d moan as he slid into you, bouncing your whole body onto his hard cock like you were a ragdoll, making you scream his name endlessly as he fucked you mid-air.

And sometimes, when he was feeling particularly possessive, he'd flip you around, pressing your back to his toned chest, as he made you watch with him in the mirror how he obscenely slid in and out of your dripping pussy. Whispering in your ear that see, like he had told you, he had such good taste, don't I, schat? And as you met his heated gaze through the reflective surface, clenching around him when you saw the pure love and raw desire in his eyes, you couldn't help but agree.

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

A/N: guys can you guess I have a thing for boys who are big. Big boys, if you will. Someone just let me sit on Max’s lap goddamn 💸💸 as always lmk what you think and if u have any requests!!

[thebibliosphere]

I've had a couple of messages over the last few days from folks saying things like, "Sorry, I can only afford to get your book through the library," and I need you to know I am gripping you by the shoulders, I am shaking you gently, and I am begging you stop apologizing for using library services.

After Amazon and Payhip, the quarterly checks I get from Overdrive/Libby are my biggest and most reliable source of income.

My readers have been nothing but feral in their quest to get Hunger Pangs into as many libraries as possible, and while library lending pays an exceptionally modest amount, if enough people do it (which many of you evidently are), those pennies add up.

I am guaranteed at least $20 a month in library lending royalties. That might not sound like much to some folks, but to me, that's my b12 supplements covered for the month. That's the thing I need to keep me alive paid for.

I will never resent anyone who uses libraries instead of buying books.

I'm a disabled author who lives month to month at the mercy of my medical expenses. Even though I have incredibly generous patrons and supporters, I know what it's like to not be able to afford things.

Use the library. Please.

Use it guilt-free. You're helping the library and the authors, probably more than you realize.

And if you're in the US and haven't signed up for a @queerliblib free library card yet, you should! it doesn't matter what state you're in, the Queer Liberation Library offers free access to their catalogue of queer media across the US.

And if you've got the means, maybe help them out with a little donation. They're only able to expand their collection via the support of their patrons, and the work they're doing is hugely important.