#I don’t want to mop the floors or clean the bathrooms

[detentiontrack]

Closing tomorrow

[strang3lov3]

Seeing Red

“Because if I don’t fuck you,” he says, “Then I’m gonna strangle you. So which would you like?”

Joel’s sorry that your period sucks, but he's reached the end of his rope with your attitude. (6k)

Tags - 18+ smut, brat taming, blow jobs, face fucking, rough period sex, fingering, mating press, overstimulation and multiple orgasms, creampie, aftercare in the form of a shared bubble bath, all things periods and period symptoms so headaches, breast pain, cramps, irritability that reader takes out on Joel. You will feel so bad for being such a cunt to this man but he gets to fill two of your holes with his cum so it all kind of evens out. takes place in jackson Fic help - @beefrobeefcal and @joelsdagger for all of their love and support and eyeballs, @noxturnalpascal and @endlessthxxghts thank you both for being my compass and giving me direction and helping to make this fic perfect. I love you <3 A/N - if you're on your period, i'm sending you a hug <3 if you're not i'm hugging you too

I was reminded of my friend @covetyou's fic "Sleepless" which is a lovely piece of classic literature, just like the rest of her works, and I'd like to credit her for inspo. Thank you Lo 🤎🩷💚

You should have guessed there’d be a bloodstain in your underwear, but despite the headaches, your sore breasts, and your cramping abdomen, you’re surprised when you’re met with rusty red in your panties. Fucking great, you whisper, dripping with sarcasm, this is not what you needed today. You had so many things you wanted to get done and now you were going to be spending the whole day miserable and in pain.

“Joel,” you loudly call out. You wait a beat, nothing. “JOEL,” you yell louder. 

You hear the faint sound of his recliner, the popping of his knees and the creaking of the stairs as he walks up them. His two feet are visible through the space between the floor and the bathroom door and then he knocks, “Whatcha need, darlin’?”

“New underwear,” you answer. “And a pad. Also in the underwear drawer.” 

Joel walks away and returns with what you’ve asked for and slides both items under the door. You change your panties and secure the pad made of old rags and t-shirts with the clothespin attached to it. “You got it?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you reply.

“Guessin’ you just started your cycle, then.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Can I get you anything?”

“Nope,” you answer. “I think I’m just gonna go to bed.” 

“Alright. I’ll join you, then.” 

 You wash your hands and rinse the bloodstain out of your panties with annoyance in the sink, wringing them out before tossing them in the dirty laundry hamper in the bathroom. When you unlock the door and leave the bathroom, Joel’s already asleep in your shared bed. He sleeps curled on his side and yet he still fucking snores - between that and the pain you’re in, you know it won’t be a restful night of sleep. You look at Joel, sleeping peacefully like a baby, and yet you wanna beat the living fucking crap out of him. You curl your body around his, stealing his body heat to soothe your cramps. 

Joel wakes up early the next morning and greets you with a kiss pressed to the side of your head. “Fuck off,” you mumble, your voice is still thick with sleep but he knows you mean it so he lets you sleep in a bit while he cleans the bathroom for you. He works as quietly as he can, scrubbing it and mopping it from top to bottom. He empties the trash can and the laundry hamper, he makes sure there’s a fresh bar of soap and a new washrag for you. Joel’s just finishing up and wiping dust from the mirror when you find him in the bathroom. “Mornin’, sunshine,” he says as he kisses the top of your head. “How do you feel?” 

“Shitty.” You grab at the mirror and Joel’s skin crawls as you touch the glass with your thumb, the smudges left behind from your fingertips clear as day on the freshly cleaned glass. He’ll just touch it up later. You pull out your toothbrush and frown, your nose scrunched in disgust. “It smells like bleach in here,” you complain.

“Well, yeah,” Joel chuckles. “I just cleaned it for ya. ‘Course it smells like bleach.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” you mumble. “The bleach you used makes my head hurt worse.”

“Oh,” Joel scratches the back of his head and frowns. “M’sorry, then. Well, we can let it air out for a while, we’ll leave the fan on. Shouldn’t smell for more than a day or so.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

If looks could fuckin’ kill, Joel thinks. You’re glaring at him. He takes that as his cue to leave. You shrink away from him as he gently brushes your arm when he walks past, then shut the door loudly behind him. Ouch. Joel knows not to take it personally, though. You’re crampy, but you’re also probably hungry. He’ll make you breakfast, something with protein because he knows you need it. 

He cleans the kitchen first. He washes the dirty dishes you must’ve forgotten about last night and wipes crumbs from the table. As you come downstairs dressed in sweats and a shirt you stole from Joel, he’s finishing up making your breakfast. “Sit down, I made your favorite.” 

You sit down at the table with your head in your hands. Joel puts a plate with two slices of perfectly golden brown toast and two over-easy eggs in front of you, then a fork and a knife on either side. He fills a glass with water for you as well. He walks away to clean up the stove, then turns around to check on you. Your face is contorted in disgust and you’re not eating. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t want this,” you grouse.

“But s’your favorite. You love your eggs over easy,” Joel says. “And the toast, that’s fresh bread and butter. Eat up.” 

“Yeah, but I wanted scrambled.” 

Joel stares at you for a moment, dumbfounded. You usually hate scrambled eggs, and he knows this. But you’re not smirking or holding back laughter like you’re fucking with him. So maybe your tastes have changed, who knows. “Okay. Would you like me to make you scrambled eggs instead, then?”

“Yes,” you mumble in a small voice. 

“I didn’t hear ya, sweetheart. Speak up, please.” 

“I said yes,” you snap. 

Your clipped tone cuts like a knife. Joel bites his inner cheek as he takes your plate from you. He quickly scarfs down the perfectly cooked eggs and toast as he makes you a new plate of breakfast, this time with scrambled eggs. He places it in front of you with a little less care than before and waits for you to take a bite. “Better?”

“Just okay.” 

‘Just okay’. Of course you think it’s ‘just okay’, they’re scrambled fucking eggs - which you don’t like. You’re just being - 

Joel needs to cool off. Hopefully once you’ve eaten you’re a little less irritable. “I’m gonna head out an’ do some errands. Be back shortly,” He’s met with no answer from you, which he expected. 

-

He comes back an hour or so later with a few things from the market he’s been needing along with a couple of VHS tapes that he rented from the library. “So,” Joel says, “I picked out some movies for ya.” He lays four tapes down on the coffee table in front of the couch where you lay. “When Harry Met Sally, that’s a good one,” he begins, “Next is How To Lose a Guy In 10 Days, then Blade Runner, and I picked out My Cousin Vinny,” Joel says. He thinks you’re gonna pick out Blade Runner because it stars Harrison Ford, who he knows you have a thing for. “My Cousin Vinny is pretty good, I don’t think we’ve seen that one yet f’ya wanna give that a try.”

“Mmm, no.” 

Shot down. “Okay. How ‘bout Blade Runner, then. S’got Indiana Jones in -”

“No. I don’t care,” you interrupt, which hurts Joel’s feelings a little. A lot, actually. “I wanna watch this one,” you point to How To Lose a Guy In 10 Days. “He’s cute.” 

Of course you picked the Matthew McConaughey movie. God, Joel fucking hated him. He always seemed so skeezy, if there’s anyone who should’ve bit it on Outbreak Day, it should’ve been Matthew McConaughey. “Yeah, okay. Whatever. Do you think he’s dreamy too?”

“Fuck off, Joel.” 

So teasing’s off the table too, he’ll add that to the list of things that have pissed you off today. Joel turns on the TV and puts the tape in the VHS player before he sits back down next to you. At first you rest on his shoulder, then you spread out and lay your head on his lap. It’s not long before you fall asleep on Joel, leaving him to watch this dumb fucking movie all by himself because god forbid he move you and disrupt your nap. He knows better than to do that. 

-

“So fuckin’ stupid,” Joel whispers to himself as the movie plays, though he did find himself enjoying the part where the Kate Hudson sings “You’re So Vain” by Carly Simon. He always did like that song. 

“Mmmm,” you groan, shifting onto your back. Joel’s hand is stroking your hair as you look up at him, but you push it away. “You’re too close to me,” you grumble. 

“What’re you talkin’ about?” 

“You’re crowding me. I feel smothered.” 

Joel scoffs. “Oh, you feel smothered? You’re the one who laid on me.” Once again, your glare is all that you need to say. “Alright then, I’ll move.” Joel concedes. He lifts your head gently and scoots down to the opposite end of the couch. And then he hears you huff. “What?”

“Well, now I don’t have a pillow.” 

Joel sighs as he gets up to grab a throw pillow from the opposite couch. 

“The other one.” 

You’re referring to the other throw pillow that’s absolutely indistinguishable from the one currently in Joel’s hand, but he gets it for you anyway. “Lift your head,” he says softly, putting the pillow under you. He sits back down in the spot you made him move to as you both watch the movie play, but your soft groans interrupt. You’re no doubt in pain from all the cramps right now. “I’ve got somethin’ like a heating pad,” Joel says, looking at you. “S’a big sock filled with rice, I heat it up and use it for neck and back pain. Would that help with them cramps?” You nod without making any effort to meet Joel’s eyes, which he finds a little rude. But still, you’re hurting. He’ll give you grace. 

So, once again, Joel gets up for you. He goes upstairs to get his rice sock from his nightstand, then comes back downstairs and heats it in the microwave for a couple of minutes. He pokes the sock to make sure it’s plenty warm for you and then gives it to you to take. “Here,” he says, “Hold it on your tummy.”

“JESUS,” you yell at him. 

“What?”

“It’s too fucking hot, Joel, why would you make it so hot?” 

 “Just give it a second, sweetheart, you’ll get used to it.” 

“No. It was burning me.” 

“Okay, then let me have it and we’ll let it cool off a minute. Christ almighty.” Joel takes the sock back from you, and he knows his hands are pretty calloused but…it doesn’t feel that hot. When a few minutes have passed, he gives it back to you. “This should be better.” 

You lay the big, warm stuffed sock across your stomach and frown. “It’s not warm enough.” 

“You have gotta be kiddin’ me.” 

“Mm-mm,” you shake your head, giving Joel back his sock like you just assume he’ll heat it up again for you. 

“Just a couple minutes ago you screamed bloody murder about it burnin’ you. And now it’s not hot enough?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” When Joel doesn’t jump immediately to reheat the sock for you, you look at him impatiently. “Joel.” 

“You can ask, you know.” 

But Joel gets the hint and gets up for you a third time to reheat the sock he’s letting you borrow. You don’t say please, and when he returns with the sock reheated, there’s no thank you either. What does he get from you? “It’s too hot.”

“Then tell me how I should rectify that for you, because last time I let it cool off and it wasn’t warm enough for ya after.” 

“I don’t know,” you snap. “You’re just really upsetting me right now. Everything hurts and your voice is grating.”

“I’m upsetting you?” Joel repeats your words back to you. “And my voice is grating.” 

“Yes.” 

He’s about at his wits end. “You know, you–” Joel decides not to finish that sentence. Instead, he sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose and breathes out on the count of five. “Two, three, four…You need to drink some water. S’your first issue, you’re probably dehydrated. Did you drink any water?” 

“It’s not your business.”

 Jesus fucking Christ. “Okay, well I’m makin’ it my business.” Joel gets up for the fourth goddamn time and slams the cup cabinet before filling a glass with water from the sink. He marches back to the couch, “Sit up,” he says. “Drink.” 

“I don’t want to,” you whine. 

“It’ll fix your headache. Drink.” 

“It won’t actually, that’s a myth.” 

“Right, what do I know when you’ve got an answer for fuckin’ everything. Drink.” 

You sit up, scowling at Joel as you take a sip. 

“All of it.” 

You drink the rest of it, glaring at him the whole time. He’s so full of shit, as if any of what you’re going through could be fixed by drinking a glass of water. Water won’t fix your cramps, won’t fix your aching and sore back. When you’re done, you slam the glass on the end table next to you and in doing so, break Joel’s reading glasses. Oops. Didn’t see those. The lenses aren’t shattered, but one of the arms is all bent now. When you look at Joel, he’s biting his bottom lip and breathing deeply. “Your glasses broke.” 

“Yeah. I see that.” 

“I didn’t mean to,” you tell him defensively.

“Right.” 

“But you really shouldn’t leave your glasses there, Joel.”

“Yeah, right. Shouldn’t leave my glasses on the end table,” Joel says. “I should leave them where, exactly? Maybe the floor?” 

“Somewhere else.” 

“Right. Somewhere else.” 

He’s hoping that by repeating your words back to you, you start to hear how absolutely ridiculous you sound. But you don’t seem to. Joel turns and walks away before he fucking throttles you. 

“Can you put on the next movie? I wanna watch My Cousin Vinny.”

Now, now you want to watch that movie. And Joel’s gonna miss out, because he can’t stand to be around you for one minute longer. “Are your legs broken?” 

“Yes.” 

Walked into that one. “You’re fuckin’ impossible. Fine. I’ll put it on, then I’m goin’ away for a bit.” 

“Good.”

Oh, he could fucking kill you. This whole day he’s heard nothing but complaints from your mouth, no pleases or thank you’s at all. Everything he’s done today has been for you, and you couldn’t give a flying fuck. 

Joel puts on the movie, grabs his bent glasses from the end table and heads out to the garage without saying a single word to you. You wonder what bug crawled up his ass. 

-

My Cousin Vinny plays just fine until Vinny shows up in his ridiculous suit to the courthouse. The tape begins to skip a whole bunch, the movie barely making sense, and you have no idea how to fix it - not that it’s your job to know, anyway. So you call out the name of the man whose job it is. 

“Joel.” 

No answer. 

“JOELLLL,” you yell. 

Same deal. You sigh as you sit up and get off of the couch, walking to the garage door. There’s finally a break in your cramps and you’re feeling halfway-human for the first time since yesterday. Entering the garage, you find Joel sitting at his workbench, he’s working on bending the frame of his glasses back into shape. “Joel.” 

He doesn’t turn around to look at you and in fact, he heard you calling for him. He had just ignored you. “Looks like your legs are workin’ now,” Joel replies, without looking at you. “S’a miracle. Means you can follow me around now, terrific.”

You choose to ignore his sarcasm. “Whatever. You need to do something for me. The VCR is messing up and you have to fix it.”

“Hm,” he hums.

“What’s hm?” 

“I’ve fixed lotsa things for you today,” he says quietly. “I need some time to fix my glasses that you broke. S’a difficult task on account of the fact I need my glasses to see.”

“You can do me one favor, Joel. It won’t kill you.” 

Joel stops and gently places his broken glasses on his work bench. He turns to his right and glares daggers at you. “One favor,” he scoffs. “Oh, you’re a fuckin’ peach. You wanna try that again?”

“Try what again?” 

You’re fucking with him. You have to be fucking with him. Why are you fucking with him? You’re not antagonistic like this, not usually, so he concludes that you must be looking for a fight. At this point, Joel is too. 

“I’ve done you countless favors today, sweetheart,” Joel gripes.

“Yeah, but-” you begin.

Joel’s large, warm hand suddenly covers the lower half of your face, silencing your argument. “If the next words outta this mouth aren’t thank you, then I don’t wanna hear ‘em. In fact…”

He bites his inner cheek, nodding his head as he thinks. The way he stares at you, his dark eyes piercing through you - you feel the chill deep in your bones. A wave of clarity hits you as you recall some of the details of the day, the way Joel was there at every turn and while you were busy being cranky and achey, he was trying to wait on you hand and foot. Shit. You’ve been a Grade-A bitch to him all day, a total fucking cunt.

Breaking the silence, Joel finally clears his throat and continues his thought, “I’m gonna give you two options,” Joel says. “You can walk the fuck away from me, or you can get on your knees. Whichever you choose, you do so silently. Nod if you understand.” 

It’s like you’re watching a scene from a movie. You hear Joel’s words, but you almost don’t believe they’re real and so they don’t quite register. He pulls his hand away from your face slowly. Your mouth falls open a bit but you don’t say or do anything.

“Nod. If. You. Understand.” You nod quickly. Joel awaits your decision as you look at the garage door and contemplate your clean way out from this situation, “So what’ll it be?” he asks. Despite it all, that uneasy feeling in your gut, you drop to your knees anyway, eyes still lingering on the door before you look up at Joel. You trust him to take care of you and you think you might owe him this obedience after your behavior today. “You’ve earned yourself brownie points choosin’ the latter of the two options, but this still ain’t gonna be fun for you,” he says. It should scare you - and it does - but you’re still thrilled by it, by the way he sighs and his knees crack as he gets off of his barstool, by the cold look in his eyes as he reaches under his thick belly to unbuckle his belt. Standing above you, he pulls out his half-hard cock and pumps it, feeling it grow to full length in his hand. He’s thick, veiny, and generously sized, a pearly white bead of precum sits atop his slit. His cock is just an inch or two away from your mouth as he holds it between his fingers, his thumb on top and middle and forefingers on the underside. With his other hand, he cards his fingers through your hair and pulls you close, the tip of his cock pressing against your lips. “Open.”

You part your lips open and with that, Joel pushes himself into your mouth inch by inch. You smell him first, that musky and heady sort of scent. Next, you taste the saltiness of his skin and his precome on your tongue and for a moment it’s pleasurable, with his cock halfway in your mouth. You wrap your hand around the end of his shaft like you know what he wants but you don’t know, not really - Joel holds your hand in his own and squeezes it so that your knuckles grind against each other a little bit. He pushes himself further and you can’t lick him or savor this like you wanted to, you just feel his cock intruding, sliding into your mouth. Joel’s testing you, making sure that you can handle all of him and if you can’t, you know he’ll make you. 

He draws out of your mouth entirely only to force his way back in, making you gag and sputter. You attempt to pull away but Joel keeps his hand firm on your head and holds you right where he wants you. “Nuh-uh. I don’t know where you think you’re goin’, hon.” 

There’s no gentleness to it, he fucks your mouth heatedly so that you’re drooling and choking on him, your eyes springing with tears as that pressure builds behind them. “Breathe through your nose,” he reminds you. “In and out. You ain’t done jus’ ‘cause you’re cryin’.” Your lips are sore with the repeated action, your jaw is aching. He rolls his hips, his cock is deep down your throat as he relishes in your warm, wet mouth and the way it makes him feel. 

“Mmm,” you moan, you’re not sure if the noise is indicative of your pleasure or discomfort.

“Quiet,” he growls. “Heard fuckin’ enough outta you today. You keep quiet.”

Your nose is buried in that thatch of coarse curls as he rocks his hips over and over, his soft and pillowy tummy bouncing against your forehead. You squirm and whine as his tip teases the back of your throat and your mouth feels so full, uncomfortably so. Joel picks up on that. “Let it be a lesson to ya, then, if it hurts. That mouth ‘a yours has done nothin’ but bitch and moan at me today. S’a punishment, ain’t ‘sposed to feel good.” 

He’s grunting and groaning, eyes screwed shut as he uses you, pumping in and out of your mouth. Your jaw aches with the brutality of the way he fucks your mouth, and just as you think you can’t take anymore, you feel Joel’s cock begin to twitch and pulse. He comes in your mouth without a warning, painting your tongue with his hot spend. It’s salty and bitter and warm on your tongue. Once you’ve swallowed, Joel reaches down and yanks you up by your bicep. He thought fucking your mouth and coming down your throat would make him feel better but honestly, it doesn’t. As he looks at your face, all puffy with tears and swollen lips, he can’t quite find it in himself to let go of his anger. Not yet, at least. “Let’s go,” he grunts as he drags you with him towards the garage door. He marches you though the house and up the stairs. 

“Where are we going?”

“Bedroom,” Joel growls, answering your question like it’s obvious. You suppose it should be, but you figured he was done with you. But he’s not. The regret begins to set in when you realize the retribution you’re about to be met with for the way you’ve treated Joel today. You’d be lying if you said that while wallowing in your pain you didn’t notice how your curt tone got under his skin, hurt his feelings and frustrated him immensely. The dread you feel can’t save you, it’s all too late now. 

 “Because if I don’t fuck you,” he says, “Then I’m gonna strangle you. So which would you like?”

“Fuck me,” you whisper. 

“Exactly.” 

Joel pushes you into the bedroom and locks the door behind himself. “Lie down on your back,” he says. 

You protest, “But the sheets, Joel. The blood–”

“I will wash the fucking sheets. We can add it to the list of all the things I’ve done for ya today, hm?”

When you don’t jump at his request, Joel takes initiative. He pulls off your - his - shirt from your body and then bends you over the end of the neatly made bed, the old and worn comforter feels rough on the skin of your cheek. Joel pulls down your sweatpants and panties in one motion and then flips you over onto your back, your legs hanging off the end of the bed. You feel embarrassed when you catch a glimpse of your bloodied pad and underwear, moreso when you feel yourself making a mess on his bedding and between your legs. 

“You didn’t make yourself come today, did you?”

“Uhh–” you stutter. “I - I…”

“No point in gettin’ bashful now, darlin’. Just gimme an answer.”

“No,” you tell him. It’s been a while. 

“Figures.”

Joel had assumed sexual frustration had been playing a role in your attitude today. Cramps, headaches, all sorts of things going on with you and a needy, aching pussy to boot. He does feel sorry for you, but he feels sorry for himself too. It’s why he got his first, but now it’s time for you to get yours. An orgasm should set you straight, or two or three. Whatever he feels is necessary. 

Joel undresses himself before pushing your thighs apart and hitching your legs around his waist. Slowly, he slides his thumb through your folds and then circles your clit. He knows you’re vulnerable like this - bleeding pussy on display for him as you make a mess of his sheets. But he’s patient, and he massages your clit calmly until you finally let a moan, a little mmm slip. He smirks at that. 

He pushes his middle two fingers inside you, pumping in and out slowly. He then curls his fingers, searching for that sweet spot on a woman he loves so much. “Fuck,” you cry out, legs instinctually closing shut around him, and he knows he’s found it. 

“Don’t fight it,” he says, opening you back up. He curls his fingers and circles your clit in tandem, making all sorts of lewd noises with your cunt. He admires your body all laid out for him like this, your breasts and your pebbled nipples, soft tummy rising and falling with your breathy oh’s and ahh’s, thick curls framing your pretty pussy like a picture just for him. Joel takes his free hand and uses it to press down on your lower stomach, intensifying the feeling of it all. You come hard, gushing on his fingers as you whimper his name. 

Joel pulls his fingers from your core and wipes them haphazardly on his own torso. “Joel,” you gasp when you feel the thick head of his cock at your entrance.

“I am sorry,” he begins, notching his tip inside you and popping it out. He slides the blunt head through your folds and over your clit, then taps the sensitive part of you with himself. “That you’re in pain. It isn’t fair and I know that. But you’ve done nothing but take your hurt out on me.” He presses himself inside you again, “I’ve got a half a mind to take my own hurt out on you, y’know.” His voice is dark and angered, but he speaks calmly in a way that contrasts the darkness but maintains his authority all the same. “And I think I’m gonna.”

“Joel, I– ”

“Quiet,” he commands. He begins teasing your slit with his cock once more before he speaks, “So this is what we’re gonna do: you’re gonna take what I give you, however much or little it is. You’re not gonna cry or complain ‘cause you’ve done enough of that today. Right?” Joel pauses, “Nod your head.” 

 You obey his rule and nod, yes.

He drags his cock up and down your cunt again, the soft skin of your labia rubbing so nicely against his thickness. He notches himself inside you over and over again, pushing in a little bit deeper each time and pulling back out. You whine, rolling your hips in search of more. “I know, I know, sweetheart,” he coos at you to quiet you down. “You’re all out of sorts today. M’gonna fix it. I always fix it, don’t I?”

Yes. You nod again. Quiet.

“S’right,” he says. “Good girl.”

With that, Joel pushes his leaking cock into you entirely, one gradual slide that has you sucking in a breath that comes out in a strained sort of whimper. His hard, warm shaft parting your insides, filling you whole. Joel hears it in the way that you sigh, that this, this is what you needed. He rocks his hips once, twice. Experiments with shallow thrusts, inching his way in and out of you before he draws out of your pussy entirely only to thrust himself right back in, deeper and harder than before. 

With the fullness of Joel inside of you, everything seems to melt away - all that anger, misplaced or not. Joel’s rhythmic thrusting soothes you, sort of. The soreness of your body, the aching cramps in your abdomen are all gone as you focus on the in and out, the in and out. He builds a comfortable pace, but one that borders on too much too soon. His hands on your waist, pulling you towards him as he pushes into you in equal measure. 

He fucks you without discipline, no tenderness at all to the action with those sloppy thrusts, but you’re more lost in him than he is in you - he’s focused on your face, watching you make an ‘O’ with your mouth, and he’s focused on your bouncing body, your twitching thighs spread wide. Your moans, your whimpers and your whines, babbling nothing but nonsense. Joel’s brow is furrowed as he breathes heavily through his teeth, his soft body jerking above you as he hits that sweet spot inside you over and over and over…

“It’s all ya needed, isn’t it? The whole goddamn time,” he pants. “Didn’t need to go an’ bitch me out all day if you needed lovin’ like this. Woulda been nice f’ya just said so.” Joel reaches for your breasts, harshly squeezing the tender, sore flesh. You wince in pain and he loosens his grip, focusing on your nipples instead. He twists and flicks the sensitive buds and your moans become louder, more high pitched. Joel fucking loves it when that happens, you never realized. 

“Oh, Joel,” you moan, “Yeah, fuck.” 

With one hand still teasing your nipples, he brings the other to your pussy. A few strokes of his thumb on your clit is all it takes to send you over the edge a second time, wanton moans and choked sobs spilling from your lips as he fucks you through it. 

And fucks you, and fucks you. 

And keeps fucking you. 

It doesn’t end, he doesn’t slow himself and you never feel that come down, that descent from pleasure. It keeps going, like pressure with nowhere to go and you feel like you might break. “I can’t, I need you to stop, stop, Joel.”

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head, thrusting still. “You can take it, be a good girl. Gonna fuck you good and deep like you need. You brought this on yourself, anyway. Two more.” 

This whole time, he doesn’t stop. It’s so much at once and when you thought it was going to end, it doesn’t. Tears of overstimulation spring in your eyes and flow freely down your cheeks. Joel lets you cry because he knows you need it, he knows the release is good for you. You poor thing, how much you must be feeling right now, both physically and mentally. “It’s too much, Joel, I can’t,” you plead.

 “Always the tears with you, huh?” he taunts. “Always somethin’. Oh, I know. I know.” 

It’s the way you look at Joel that causes him to cave, eyes all wide and tear-stained. You’re spent and he knows it, what with all that your body’s put you through. You’ve had a rough day and though he did too, he can’t help but feel sympathy for you at this moment. “Oh, my sweet girl. What am I gonna do with you, hm?”

“I don’t know,” you sniffle. 

“Know you don’t, ‘n you don’t have to. S’my job,” he soothes. With his clean hand, he traces the side of your face and rubs his thumb over your cheekbone. “How about this, then - what are we gonna do next time you’re not feeling so good?” 

“I’m - I’m–”

“You’re gonna tell me what you need,” he instructs, “And you’re gonna ask for it. Nicely. So that means usin’ your manners. Please, Joel. Thank you, Joel. Remember those words?”

“Yeah,” you nod, “Yeah, I remember.”

 “But you forgot ‘em the whole day today,” Joel says softly. “I think you gotta learn to compromise, too,” he adds. The guilt had begun to set in before, but you really start to feel the burn now. You were unkind to Joel, and he’s been nothing but sweet, doting on every one of your needs. “I think an apology’s in order for the way you treated me today.” 

He’s right, and you know it. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Joel.”

“Oh, I know you are. You just needed the reminder, s’okay,” You hadn’t even noticed how his thrusting had slowed to a still until it picks up again slowly, as he presses kisses to you. Your cheeks first, then your lips. “I’ll compromise too - I’m only gonna make you come one more time, not two. Sound good? Sound fair?”

“I don’t think I can, Joel…”

“Yeah, you can, s’the last one. Take it good for me,” he encourages. “Take it good.” 

That’s what he repeats as his thrusts build again, fucking you deeply. Take it good, take it good for me. He hikes you up further on the bed and joins you so that he’s no longer standing at the floor, he’s got you pressed in half instead, your knees on either side of your chest and your feet above his shoulders. This angle intensifies everything and he knows, oh he knows how much it is for you. You’re tired, sore, overstimulated. But you’ll be done soon, he’ll be done with you soon. He takes your hand and wedges it between your bodies, pressing your own fingers to your clit, “Let go for me, I wanna feel you let go for me,” he says. “Focus right here. You’re gonna come with me, keep your eyes on me…”

You don’t even have to massage your clit, the way Joel angles himself has his body doing all the work, his pubic bone adding pressure to your fingers adding pressure to your clit. It’s intense, all of it - deeply energetic, overwhelming. You can’t quite discern your orgasm as it builds, there’s no definitive start but it’s powerful, devastating almost. Washing over you in waves, you feel it in the base of your spine first. You feel it in your gut, the backs of your thighs all the way to your toes. You hardly register that he’s coming with you, filling you deep with his come. His jaw is clenched tight and he’s groaning, grunting as he milks himself in you.

He leaves you there, whimpering, twitching on the bed. You hear the faint sound of running water, you figure he’s washing himself off. You’re surprised when he returns to you, pelvis covered in your blood, and scoops you right up in his arms. He helps you to your feet and on shaky legs, guides you to the bathroom. It no longer smells like bleach but instead, lavender. He’s got a candle lit on the sink and the bathtub is filled with warm, bubbly water. “Picked out a bubble bath for you earlier when I went out. Wanna test it out with me?” 

“Yeah,” you sniffle. “Yes. Please.” 

Joel sits in the tub first, spreads his legs and welcomes you to sit between them. He washes the blood from your poor, sensitive core and your thighs, washes it from his own body as well. When he’s done, he pulls you back into his chest and his hands find your breasts. “They’re tender, huh,” he murmurs into the side of your head. 

“Super, yeah. Sore.” 

“I’ll bet,” he says. He gently massages the tissue for you, his strong hands working you out in a way you can’t quite do. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

Joel chuckles. “Bout fuckin’ time you thanked me,” he says. “You’re welcome.” 

If you enjoyed, please reblog with thoughts, leave me a comment, or send me an ask! Your words motivate me to keep writing for you all 🩷

Least helpful cats award goes to these two 👇 if you’ve ever wondered what takes me so long to put fics out, it’s this. I try to write and I’m cockblocked by these fuzzballs.

[seungfl0wer]

*Changbin Calling You Clingy*

Pairing: Changbin x Reader (GN)

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Mentions of blood, Arguing, not proofread. Should be all actually

-This is part of a series find the others here:

Bangchan, Minho, Changbin, Hyunjin, Han, Felix, Seungmin, Jeongin

-🩵

Today was a cleaning day for you, you were scrubbing everything trying to get things clean. Your boyfriend’s parents were stopping by for dinner and you wanted the house to be spotless. Changbin was sitting at the dinning room table talking on the phone with someone as you gutted the house. You swept the floors, cleaned the bathroom, cleaned the fridge and now you were mopping the floors.

You had stopped doing so though because you needed more soap which was at the top of the shelf. You tried reaching it but you just ended up pushing it further back. You sighed “hey babe can you help me?” You say feeling defeated. You got no response. You ask again this time a bit louder “babe! I really need your help can you come here?” Ignored. Again.

You rolled your eyes “Changbin I know you can hear me!” You huffed looking for a sturdy chair just to grab it yourself “y/n I’m on the damn phone!” He said back his tone harsh. “Can’t you just help me for one second?” You ask peering around the corner to look at him. “Are you for real right now? Get a chair or something this is a work related call I can’t just get off it. Stop being so needy and clingy be an adult. You’re so damn dependent on me!” His words spewed out like hot liquid burning you slowly.

He sighs seeing the tears in your eyes “I’m sorry I didn’t mean that, everything just happening today- please just give me a minute and I’ll help you.” He said his words becoming more soft. You wiped your eyes and walked away without saying anything. “Fine. If he doesn’t wanna help and be a dick, I’ll do it myself” you said as you grabbed a chair. You got up on it to grab the bottle, as you put your foot down off the chair you ended up slipping from the floor being wet.

You ended up hitting the floor pretty good no time to react or put your hands down. You ended up face planting making your head smack against the ground and twisting your ankle. Your nose was also now gushing blood along with your lip, you grabbed a tissue to try and stop it wanting to yell for changbin again but stopping yourself not wanting to piss him off more.

You sat on the floor trying to help yourself before getting up and painfully strolling to the bathroom. Your ankle was swollen by the time you sat down on the tubs edge. You grabbed the first aid kit you keep under the sink to try and find something to clean the wound better. Changbin at some point had come to help you finally but not finding you there. He kinda just shrugged and went back to the cleaning he started before the call.

You got yourself all pulled together or at least you tried to before you hear changbin sprinting down the hall calling for you “y/n! Babe where are you!” He said running past the bathroom before coming back seeing you sitting there “babe oh my god! What happened I saw the blood are you ok?” He asked coming towards you “I’m fine Changbin.” You said coldly. You slowly got up as you limped past him “you don’t look fine you look like you’re in pain.” He said softly “Wouldn’t wanna bother you with it, might sound clingy or something.” You said using his words against him.

His eyes widen a bit “y/n I said I was sorry” he said reaching out to hold onto you “please let me help-“ he said before you cut him off moving away from his touch “no. I don’t need your help. I’m an adult I’m fine.” You said eyes glaring at him as you walked back to the spot you had fallen. You cleaned up the drops of blood and finished cleaning. The house was quiet, Bin wanted to say something wanted to help you but each time he even looked your way you shot him a look.

His parents came and went both of you trying not to let them feel the tension. After they had gone you started to clean up from dinner. “Babe I’ll do this you go sit down ok?” He said putting the dishes in the sink “no I’m fine” you breathed out. You finished cleaning and headed to the bedroom as you did you became a bit dizzy you grabbed ahold of the wall to steady yourself. Bin had noticed you in the door way, he walked towards you putting his arm around your waist. “I just have a headache.” You said pulling away from him before he walking into the bedroom.

You fell asleep almost instantly as you hit the bed, changbin on the other hand curled up on the couch and cried himself to sleep. He felt like a big piece of shit abuser. He knows he didn’t hit you however seeing your lip swollen because he didn’t help you made him feel so. And raising his voice at you? He’s never done that, the words he said were just words of anger words he never meant.

You woke up from a bad dream in the middle of the night looking around for bin to hold on to. You started to cry a bit seeing he wasn’t there with you. He had heard you rustling around and was making his way back to check on you before he heard you crying. “Y/n?” He said softly opening the bedroom door. He saw you sitting there half asleep crying your eyes out talking to yourself “why do I have to be so stupid I can’t even do small things by myself without fucking hurting myself. God I’m so stupid” you said crying even harder.

Bin was about to run to you before you choked out “he’s right all I am is clingy and I can’t even do anything for myself, why the fuck is he even with me? I bet he just pity’s me.” His eyes started to water feeling the familiar feeling of earlier cry. He didn’t say anything he just came into the room quickly grabbing you pulling you into his lap. “Y/n hey” he shushed you as he patted you back trying to sooth you. “Babe I love you I’m not with you out of pity. There’s so much you do and so much so just love about you. I’m so fucking sorry for what I said earlier.” He rambled.

“I didn’t mean those things I was frustrated and just wanted you to leave me alone while I was talking so I hurt you. I’m sorry. I know sorry doesn’t fix what I said but I’m sorry.” He said leaning his head into your chest. You couldn’t muster up any words as you cried feeling yourself falling back asleep. Bin smiled to himself a bit as he saw that you had fallen asleep. He laid you down before laying down beside you.

“Y/n I love you and I promise I’ll make everything up to you. You’re not clingy I love how you are..” his voice trailed off “please don’t let this change you. I couldn’t live with myself if i made you change anything about your amazing self.” He said rubbing your back feeling himself ready to fall asleep. “I love you with all my heart y/n I’ll fix this I swear.” He said as he fell asleep with you.

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

[flowerfreya]

Weaponized Incompetence

“Do you know how to clean”

Part 1

Pairing : John Price x Reader

John and you are going through a rough patch , one that may not be solvable

John is going to win his wife back. How? He doesn’t know but it will be done. He loves you with all his heart and he hasn’t been showing it in the best way. He put you on the back burning , a constant always in his life that he didn’t nurture or pet. Never stimulated. Didn’t think he needed too. Thinking paying the bills, having money, and not cheating was enough to be a good husband. (It wasn’t).

Price has been cleaning all day, trying to make things right. He brought flowers for the house. Vacuumed every room , mopped the kitchen and bathroom and started laundry.

He thought he had a great day, so he decided to take leave for the next three weeks. He hasn’t told you yet but he thinks that you will be excited.

That’s not the case.

When you step into the house, Price is standing at the door waiting for your reaction, if you have any at all.

Looking around and then seeing his face and looking likes he’s waiting for something, “What’s going on ?” , you say with a little chuckle.

“I cleaned up” , he says, lifting his arms up and turning his body in a look around motion.

“Oh…what did you clean up?” , you ask, starting to walk around the house.

“I vacuumed, mopped and started the laundry”.

“Did you put down carpet freshener?”

“No”

“What did you use to mop?”.

“Just water”.

“Did you separate the clothes by light and dark?”.

“No”.

John looks up and sees you just exasperated and shaking your head.

“I honestly don’t know why I’m surprised”, you walk over to the washing machine and stop it, pulling out a light pink shirt that you know is for sure supposed to be white.

“John, you basically just pushed dirt around when you mop with just soap you know that right”, you start getting the mop bucket out with soap.

He thinks that’s found a solution , “maybe if you write me a l-”, he stops talking when you whip your neck and stare at him.

“Are you a child or an adult?”, you ask.

“An adult”, he answers.

“I’m not making you a list to clean, you're in the military, you should know how to clean…do you know how to clean?”, you turn off the water and turn your whole body towards him., “are you going to answer the question?”

John clears his throat,”yes, I know how to clean”, he doesn’t understand why you are so angry. He thinks that he did a lot for you today, shit almost everyday he does a lot for you and you being angry at him and not telling him why is starting to grate his nerves.

“What did I do to you”, he snaps, “because you are angry at me and I don’t understand why”

“I guess it’s because you act like a child and I’m tired of it”, you snap back.

“I heard what you said to your friend over the phone, do you actually feel like that?”, he ask, moving closer to you. He doesn’t want to argue with you. He wants to be better for you. He wants you to want him not because of convenience , but because you love him.

“Am I tired of cleaning of your shit, shit that I have AKSED you multiple times to clean up….?”, you answer him.

You start to cry, an angry frustrated cry , “I work too you know , I’m tired all the time, and when I get home from work and see nasty dip bottles on the floor I get frustrated.” , you start to mop , like you don’t want him to see you cry.

“I remember asking you to clean up the bottle, to not leave it just laying around, you said okay, do you remember that”, you look up at him with raised eyebrows. He nods his head because he does remember that, actually he remembers all the times you’ve asked to not leave the dip bottles everywhere.

“In my head, I told myself that this would be the last time I ask you to clean up after yourself, and the next week a fucking dip bottle sitting right along side the couch”, you let a self deprecating chuckle.

“I’m done”, you say with such finality. It scares him that he won’t be able to get you back.

[elliesflower]

i hate u [abby anderson]

pairing; abby x afab!reader

word count; 3.8k how tf did that happen

cw; language, mentions of death, angst (like, so much angst), enemies to lovers, eventual smut

summary; abby has always had it out for you. the feeling was mutual.

until it wasn't.

an; hiiii, it's me, providing you with the abby content i'm devoid of. i love this buff lesbian woman so fucking much.

read pt 2 here!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT OR I'LL CRY (and as always read it on AO3 here <3)

there were much more productive ways you could be spending your time. you could be, i don’t know—literally doing anything else other than being forced to clean these goddamned bathrooms. 

it’s not that you didn’t mind cleaning, no. in fact, under ideal circumstances, cleaning could actually be fun for you. there was just a big problem with who it forced you into a room with this time. with her stupid long french braid, and her absurdly large muscles—like seriously, what the fuck was she showing off for? we’re killing scars, not for training for the fucking rapture.

“you know, if you move the mop in a back-and-forth motion, it would actually clean the floors.” 

to put it quite plainly, abby doesn’t like you. you said left, she had to say right; you say go, she had to say stop—the mutual loathing was just routine at this point, it came almost as natural as breathing. surely it didn’t help that the two of you were typically sent on assignments that involved being together for far too many hours at a time. rarely was it made only slightly better by the presence of someone else, another body to diffuse even an ounce of the tension that hung between the two of you like a rope. 

you scoffed at her juvenile insolence, though you started mopping again nonetheless. “trust me, i don’t want to be here any longer than i have to. i have shit to do,” you jeered, making it a point to look down at the ground, watching the soapy water spread across the tile. not at the way her muscles—have you mentioned they’re absurdly large?—flexed as she wiped down the counter with bleach. 

“oh, i’m sorry, i didn’t realize i was keeping you from something!” abby exclaimed, feigning ignorance. “by all means, you run off and do whatever it is you have to do, and i’ll just finish this little punishment all by myself.” 

you had to bite back a bitter laugh, instead choosing to shake your head at the ground, your mopping becoming just a little bit more aggressive with each stroke. you chose to ignore it. you almost had her completely tuned out of your mind, until you didn’t.

“it’s not like i was the one who just let that scar go.” that stopped you dead in your tracks. 

abby has said a lot of things to you. a lot of untrue things. a lot of hurtful things, even. and again, it was entirely possible you could have even ignored that. but then you looked up—and you saw her stupid, imprudent fucking smirk, and it was over. “you know what abby?” you started, throwing your mop. you didn’t even have the energy to smile at the way she flinched when the wooden handle hit the ground with a loud bang. she played it off quickly, though, raising an eyebrow and leaning back against the counter. you didn’t expect the sudden lump in your throat. 

“fuck you.” 

the words didn’t come out exactly like you’d hoped. maybe there was a slight hesitation, the faintest crack between the syllables, a single tear threatening to spill down your cheek—but you meant it, wholeheartedly. 

fuck abigail anderson.

you couldn't bother to give her even a second thought as you turned on your heel, ignoring her calls of your name from behind you. perhaps a bit childish, but you slammed the door extra hard on your way out. 

let that scar go? is she fucking for real? 

you were so tired of having to prove your place here to her. isaac sent you both on the same assignments, he trusts you just as much as her to do his most important jobs, but it never seems to be good enough. whether it was jealousy or stubbornness, you could never be quite sure. 

time and time again you’ve tried to make nice with abby; you had actually wanted to be friends with her—the jaunty girl who never seemed to let her past slow her down, taking every opportunity to crack a sarcastic joke and practically jumping in front of bullets for the people she loved—you’d tried to spark friendly conversation, volunteered to take some of her extra assignments, even offered her a book you’d overheard her mentioning she wanted to read that you just happened to have on your bookshelf, but it was all futile. she wanted nothing to do with you, like your presence alone was a personal inconvenience. so, naturally, you stopped trying—yet, the two of you almost always somehow ended up in the same room together, whether it was a drunken night in leah and nora’s room, or cleaning bathrooms as a stupid punishment. 

but one, one little slip up and that’s all it took. you took your eyes off that scar for a split fucking second, and now she’ll never let you live it down. you were furious, angry tears clouding your vision as you stormed away, down the hallway and practically sprinting up the stairs to your room. 

she can clean that bathroom all by herself, you thought as you fumbled to get your keys out of your pocket, dropping them on the ground in your haste. “fuck!” you exclaimed, bending down to pick them up, searching for the small silver key on the ring. 

“there you are,” a sudden voice from behind startles you enough that you flinch, dropping your keys again. of fucking course. 

“go away abby,” you practically snarl, wiping away the wetness on your cheeks with your palm before she could see. despite your weak protest, you could hear her heavy footsteps getting closer as you finally unlocked the door, pushing it open and slipping inside. 

“oh, come on,” abby was right on your heels, pressing a hand against the door and preventing it from fully closing behind you. your eyes felt like they might roll into the back of your head. 

“i’m sorry, what part of ‘go away’ was unclear to you?” you snapped, turning around to glower at her through the small crack in the doorway. her arm strength was incredible, she was barely leaning against the door as you pushed with an embarrassing amount of effort to try and close it on her. what you lacked in brawn, you pride yourself in making up for with brains—yet another reason it was already embarrassing enough that you fucked up, now she was practically rubbing it in your face. 

abby’s eyes held a look you couldn’t quite understand. no way she was apologetic, but her face held a certain softness to it you’d never quite seen before. usually her face was all rigid lines and sharp angles, clenched jaw and guarded eyes, especially with you. it was rare for her to smile around you, now that you thought about it.

“can we talk?” abby asked, and her voice was almost…pitiable. her eyes were low and her pink lips parted slightly. it was unnerving. she never asked you for anything, let alone to talk. your eyes flickered across her face, trying to make sense of what she was really trying to say, beneath the surface. 

but there was really nothing to say to that. no, you wanted to scream, no we can’t fucking talk, fuck you, and i never want to talk to you again. but you said nothing, instead shaking your head and turning away, letting the door swing open against the pressure of her hand. 

“why do you hate me so much?” your mouth was moving before your brain could catch up, arms crossing defensively over your chest, though you were no longer facing her. 

“why do i hate you?” she scoffed, and you heard the door closing softly. 

“yes, why?” you spun around to face her now—she still stood near the door, that same indecipherable expression painted on her face. you avoided her eyes, but noted the way her nose twitched ever so slightly. “ever since i stepped foot in this stadium you’ve had it out for me, and no matter how hard i try, i can’t understand why,” oh fuck, the anger was coming back up, rising in your throat like bile, “is it because i don’t put up with your shit anymore?” 

“no,” abby gritted out, taking a step toward you. “listen, i—”

“because i see right through your little act?” you cut her off and wow, she was fuming now, chest rising and falling heavily as she clenched her fists together. “stop it, i’m trying to—” 

but you couldn’t stop, even if you didn’t mean it, “‘ooh poor me, my dad died and now i’m stronger because of it, and everybody loves me,’” the words stung in your mouth, and in your eyes, “‘i’m isaac’s top scar killer but i have a heart of gold,’” tears falling as you stomped toward her, “well good for fucking you abby. i’ve lost a lot of people too but you don’t see me acting like i’m better than everyone.” 

you couldn’t help it, you were pushing her before you knew it, right in the chest with as much strength as you could muster, and she wasn’t expecting it because she stumbled backwards into your bookshelf, a picture frame falling and shattering on the ground before she caught her footing. 

you looked her right in the eyes for the first time since she had entered your room, uninvited, and all you saw was flames, burning through her blue irises like wildfire. you stepped back, wide-eyed and disoriented, her figure nothing more than a blurry silhouette in front of you. her heavy breathing was all that you could hear, it consumed you, made you dizzy as you staggered backwards, that ineffable sadness reaching into your chest and squeezing around your heart, fuck, how does she do this to you? 

“for fucks sake, would you just listen?” abby’s asked suddenly. her voice was rough around the edges, chipped away by your words—you couldn’t look at her, it was too much, a sob escaping your throat before you could stop it. why did you say that to her? she was reaching toward you before you could say another word, you half expected her to hit you, to strangle you, to say fuck you and never speak to you again, but then her calloused fingers were gripping your forearm. 

“abby,” your voice was pathetic, broken and whiny, god, you were completely out of control. you let your arm go limp, watching as her hand practically burned an impression into your skin as she pulled you into her chest. you were overwhelmed by her scent, that fucking pine soap she always hoarded and faintest hint of bleach that burned your nose, reminding you of what started this in the first place. 

no, this couldn’t be real life, there was no way you were crying in front of abby, your biggest vulnerabilities tumbling from your lips like an avalanche, but her arms were there, wrapping around your shoulders like a blanket as her head fell into the crook of your neck. you couldn’t tell whose heart was beating faster, her pulse pounding against your ear as your arms hung limp by your side. your brain was absolutely spinning trying to figure out what to make of this, a few loose strands of her braid hair tickling the side of your cheek as you shifted your head.

“i’m sorry,” her strained voice bled down your neck, sending a shiver down your spine, her breath hot against your shoulder as she tightened her grip. instinctively, you wrapped your arms around her waist, giving in to her touch, her apology washing over you like a humid rain in the summer—you’d waited so long just to hear those two little words, but it felt wrong somehow. “i’m sorry,” she repeated, quieter now, though you were probably the one who should be saying that.

“abby,” you found yourself saying again, squeezing your eyes shut as you leaned into her, feeling the tightness of her back muscles flex as you flattened your hands against her back, oh god, what the fuck is happening right now? “i didn’t mean that,” you whispered, muffled slightly against her shirt. the words i’m sorry usually came easy to you, often apologizing for things that didn’t warrant one in the first place, but the words were harder to get out somehow in this moment, pressed against the fabric of her shirt. 

her grip on you loosened, her arms sliding down your back and she was gone in an instant, turning away, clasping her fingers together and bringing them to the back of her neck. 

“i don’t hate you,” but she couldn’t face you, dropping her arms to her hips as she looked at the ground. you watched the anxious tapping of her foot and it felt like you couldn’t breathe—isn't this what you wanted? to be friends, or at the very least, for her to not hate you? maybe then, but not now. “i’m intimidated.” she was quiet, turning to face you. the orange glow of the lamp cascaded over her face, painting her in the softest form you’d ever seen her in.

“intimidated?” you were taken aback, furrowing your brow. “by me?” you shook your head, incredulous at her sudden confession. what could she possibly be intimidated by? “abby, you’re-” you gestured at her, unsure of what to say. “-you could probably snap me in half if you wanted to, i-i don’t understand-”

“oh trust me, i know,” abby cut you off, scoffing, and fuck, she just couldn’t help herself could she? you were mortified she’d caught you in a moment of weakness, you were angry, you were so fucking confused. your pity quickly soured, tears dried up in an instant, the disdain seeping back into your skin like a parasite—no matter how many times the two of you got close to reconciling, it always went wrong somehow. it had felt different this time, but maybe you were wrong. 

“abby, i swear to god i-”

“okay, okay, i’m sorry,” she softened again, taking a deep breath to steady herself. “old habits die hard, am i right?” 

you squinted at her, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “does this really seem like the time to be making a fucking joke? because the door is right there,” you made a show of pointing at the door before turning to sit on the chair behind you, bending over to take off your boots. anything to avoid looking her in the eye. 

“fuck, i’m sorry, i don’t know how to talk to you about this,” she was walking towards you now, and you didn’t bother to look up. she sat opposite you in the mismatched chair, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. you looked up at her through wet lashes as you pulled your boots off, tossing them haphazardly to the side. she looked just as confused as you felt, brows furrowed in frustration—nothing about this felt normal, or okay. 

“what i’m trying to say is that i’m sorry,” she started, dropping her head to look at the ground. 

“you said that already,” you noted dryly, scooting back in the chair and pulling your knees to your chest protectively. she laughed, but it didn’t sound bitter. 

“i’m sorry, for everything,” abby looked at you now, and your breath hitched. “for how i’ve acted around you. for the way i’ve treated you, the things i’ve said. all of it,” her eyes were full of sorrow, and it made her look a way you’d never seen before—vulnerable, fragile, empty. “right after you moved onto the base, leah told me about what you’ve been through, losing your parents and your brother, being forced into that military school, and still fighting to get here all the way from boston. if i’m being honest, i was jealous that you could take it all in stride.”

you could do nothing but stare at her, wide-eyed and dumbstruck. 

“from the minute you got here, you were so calm and collected, ready to help anyone who needed it. you were constantly volunteering for extra assignments, helping out in the classrooms, doing all the work that no one else wanted to do with a smile on your face…i know we all have a past but i never could’ve guessed yours,” she let her head fall again, clasping her hands together and taking a deep breath, “and god, you’re so fucking smart, like there’s no way you learned all the shit you know about history at that dumb military school.”

your mouth fell open slightly, trying to process her words. first, an apology, and then a compliment? no smart-ass comments, no snarky look, no just kidding. you’d never even talked with her about your love of history that much, let alone your family.

“abby,” you started, pulling your knees tighter to your chest. your brain and your mouth were fighting over what to say, the years of dissention between the two of you threatening to surface—but she seemed genuine. bouncing her leg up and down, abby continued to avoid your gaze as she picked at her cuticles. 

“when i first got here, i was a mess.” she cut you off.  “i could barely eat or sleep, i hid in my room whenever i wasn’t out on an assignment, and i didn’t care about anyone or anything. it took me months to get past it all and then you came along, so open and easygoing, even after everything you’ve been through…i was embarrassed.”

“everybody handles grief differently,” you said quietly, putting your feet back on the ground. she looked up at you, and her cheeks were wet. you swallowed thickly. “i wasn’t always that happy behind closed doors.”

abby frowned slightly. she was quiet now, pensive as she held your gaze. your cheeks burned under the scrutiny, and you wanted to shrink into the chair. less than an hour ago you had all the intention in the world of never speaking to abby again, and now she was sat, taking up space in your room, and your mind, fuck, how was she always on your mind?

“that still doesn’t explain why you were so mean to me,” you broke the silence after taking another second to process her words, and tears were clouding your vision again.

“yeah, if i’m still being honest, i don’t really have an explanation for that either. or, not a good one, at least,” she at least had the decency to look sheepish, leaning back and scratching her neck lightly. “i guess because i was so intimidated by the way you handled yourself, i just defaulted to…jealous rage?” she sounded unsure, and you scoffed. 

“wow,” you said. “you’re right, that is a terrible explanation,” you shook your head, leaning back to match her pose. she laughed again, looking up to the ceiling, and it sounded foreign. 

“i’m not the best with words,” she smiled weakly, a blush creeping up her neck.

“trust me, i could tell by all your elementary insults.”

“hey, didn’t i just say i was sorry?” 

you smiled back at her now, against your better judgment. the two of you had spent the past three years practically at each other’s throats, and a simple i’m sorry i was mean to you because i don’t know how to handle my emotions was supposed to fix it all?

“i meant it though,” abby said softly now, eyes boring into yours. “i’m sorry. for everything.” 

you held her gaze a moment longer, but had to look away. you had to, before she could see that you were caving, that all you’ve ever wanted to hear was that—that you wanted to just talk to her without always being on guard, that you wanted to know her favorite music and what she really thought about all of manny’s sexcapades and if she ever took her hair down from that goddamn french braid and— “you don’t have to forgive me. not right now, anyways. i just hope that one day you can.”

and then she was standing up, your eyes followed up her torso as she stood, smoothing her shirt down before giving you another weak smile and heading for the door. oh god, fuck, fuck all of this, “abby, wait,” you were up and after her in a heartbeat, grabbing her forearm just as she had yours earlier, forcing her to turn around. she looked surprisedly, first at your face, then down at your grip on her forearm, which you quickly dropped when you felt your heart skipping a beat. her eyes were wild, tired and full of anguish. 

before you could talk yourself out of it, you were practically throwing yourself at her, arms wrapping around her torso as you pressed your cheek into her chest. she stumbled only briefly, before you felt her arms envelope your shoulders once more. this time, it didn’t feel wrong. 

it felt like coming home. 

“i really shouldn’t have said that thing about your dad,” you said, but it was muffled in her shirt. 

you felt her laugh rumble in her chest before she squeezed you tighter, her head lowering into your neck so that you felt her lips on your shoulder as she spoke. “yeah, that was pretty fucked up.” 

you smiled into her, and god, this was all fucked up. the world was fucked up, and out of it was born you and abby—two fucked up people making fucked up choices that lead to some pretty fucked up consequences. 

she pulled back from you, but kept her hands on your shoulders. you took a fistful of her shirt, looking down to avoid her eyes. your stomach was flipping, the heat radiating from her body overwhelming you and making you feel dizzy. “can you forgive me?” 

and yeah, that was maybe your fucked up, roundabout way of telling abby, i do forgive you, but she seemed to understand. when you dared to look back up, she dropped a hand, and the other came to softly caress your cheek. she looked at you tenderly, the rough pad of her thumb wiping away a tear you hadn’t even noticed. 

“of course i can.”

and then there was only the sound of your heart thrumming in your ears, her quickened breath as she looked at you in a way you’d never seen before. you gripped her shirt tighter, lips parting slightly as you felt the weight of her hand against your cheek. you leaned into it, eyes slipping closed for a moment. 

“abby,” you whispered, your free hand coming up to hold hers in place against your cheek. 

“shh,” she shushed you softly, and you could sense her getting closer. you didn’t dare open your eyes, heat pooling in your stomach as you felt her breath fanning across your face. 

“don’t speak.”

her lips pressed against yours so softly that for a moment, you wondered if you were dreaming.

[mochis-cream]

23:55 — choi san ♡

・ cleaning up after a party is a necessity, it always has been. and yet, as tedious as it may be, as tedious as the whole process may be, you find that you really don’t mind. in fact, you’ll do it time and time again just to make sure he knows he’s loved, and to put a smile on that beautiful face

c.s x gn!reader ・ ateez ・ 에이티즈 ・ sfw ・ non!idol au ・ wc: 932 ・ genre -> fluff, slice of life?? ・ one shot! -> masterlist!

content warning: established relationship, birthday boy san, kissing, lots of fluff me thinks, one singular curse word, lowercase intended, not proofread, let me know if i missed something!

author’s note: yoo employment is crazy dawg 😭 like wdym i don’t have enough free time to actively be working on my own personal projects 😰 so yeah this definitely isn’t getting posted while it’s still his birthday 😞 but hey! it’s still his birthday in alaska, yeah? that’s gotta count for smth right?

“bye! thanks for coming!”

the night winds down as you gently usher the last party guest out of the house, exchanging tired yet happy goodbyes. the door clicks shut behind them, and you lock it, letting out a sigh of relief. turning around, you survey the battlefield residing in what was once your living room. streamers hang limply from the ceiling, confetti is scattered about like glittery snow, and popped balloons lie sadly around the floor. and there, in the dead center of your living room, draped over the couch like a cake-covered renaissance painting, is san. he’s half asleep, a mix of frosting and confetti adorning his face, and he looks like a complete utter mess.

you sigh again, this time out of resignation, and grab a broom. starting with the confetti, you sweep up the colorful pieces, the crunch of paper underfoot filling the quiet room. next, you gather the popped balloons, their deflated forms serving as a stern reminder of the earlier chaos. fallen cake chunks are carefully swept into a dustpan, and you mop up the frosting smeared across the floor, each swipe of the mop bringing back a bit of the room's former glory.

with the house now looking somewhat presentable, you return you equipment to their rightful locations and then turn your attention to san. he’s now fully asleep on the couch, one arm dangling off the side, his face still a frosting-covered mess. fighting back the urge to groan, you tiptoe past him, heading to the bathroom, and return with a wet towel. despite the mess, the sight of him makes you smile—he looks so peaceful like this you almost don’t want to disturb him. and yet still, you carefully climb on top of him, straddling his hips. you give his nose a gentle peck, smiling as you lick the frosting off your lips. san stirs slightly but doesn’t wake. you begin to gently wipe his face with the towel, the cool water making quick work of the remaining frosting. about halfway through though, san starts to wake up, his hands almost instinctively finding your hips.

he mumbles something about the towel being cold, and you can’t help but laugh softly. “mornin’, sleepyhead. did you sleep well?” you ask, your voice barely concealing your amusement.

san chuckles, eyes still half-closed, and nods. you continue cleaning his face, but he starts shifting beneath you, making it a bit difficult. “hold still for a moment, sannie. i need to get the rest of this frosting off,” you say, trying to sound stern yet failing completely.

san, ever the playful one, shakes his head and swiftly swipes some frosting from his lips onto yours, a mischievous smile spreading across his face as you nearly splutter around his fingers. “ah- come on, san, seriously?” you say, half-exasperated, half-amused. you could hardly complain though, it wasn’t like the frosting tasted bad. it was your favorite.

and just as you begin to lick the icing off your lips, san's free hand cups the back of your head, pulling you into a kiss. his tongue sweeps across your lips, licking off the remaining frosting in the process. the kiss is sweet and lingering, and when he finally pulls away, it's just enough to whisper, "thank you for making my birthday special." his words are sincere, filled with warmth, before he pulls you back in for another, gentler kiss that nearly sends your heart tumbling out your ass.

despite not wanting too, you force yourself to pull away first, instead opting to give him a soft kiss on his forehead. you don’t miss his little blissed out eye smile as you climb off of him, grabbing his arm and hoisting him up off the couch with you. as he stands, most of the confetti clinging to him falls off, fluttering to the floor in a colorful shower. you both laugh at the sight.

"don't worry, i'll clean it up later," you assure him with a smile. "let's go to bed now, kay? you promised your sister you'd spend the day with her tomorrow."

agreeing, san follows you to your shared room. you both change into your pajamas, laughing at how tired you look in the mirror. finally, you climb into bed, snuggling close to each other, the warmth and comfort of being together enveloping you both.

after a moment of peaceful silence, san speaks. his voice is quite, vulnerable, and filled with an emotion you recognize wholeheartedly as love. “seriously, thank you so much for today. i couldn’t possibly have asked for a better birthday. you always make everything feel so special, i’m so glad i met you. thank you.”

you couldn’t stop smiling even if you tried, and your heart all but burst within your chest into a puddle of sunshine and rainbows. “of course, sannie. you deserve this, you know? i want to make sure that you always feel loved by those around you, and that the love you give is returned to you tenfold. whether it’s me, or your family, or your friends, we won’t stop until we’ve put the whole world in your hands.”

san's eyes are red and glossy when they meet yours, his voice fragile and tender. “i know. thank you, i love you.”

you return his sentiment with a gentle squeeze. “i love you more. now go to sleep, okay? you have a long day ahead of you. goodnight, my love.”

“okay, yeah, goodnight.”

with a final kiss to the crown of his head, you both drift off to sleep, wrapped in each other's arms.

[poemsillneversend]

In another life, we’ll stay up all night together.

We’ll manage our lives together seamlessly.

We’ll clean on Saturday mornings so we can enjoy the rest of the weekend.

I’ll make the coffee and pick out an album for us to jam out to.

You’ll sing along to our favorite songs while making pancakes.

We’ll laugh and dance and you’ll use the batter-covered whisk as a pretend microphone.

We’ll finish cleaning up after breakfast, and I’ll join you in the shower.

We’ll scrub each others backs, and make out while rinsing off under the hot water.

You’ll follow me back to bed, the bed you freshly made with clean sheets just hours ago.

We’ll make a mess of it and make it up again.

You’ll tuck in the corners.

We’ll spend the afternoon at the library.

I’ll pack a picnic and you’ll read your old favorite books to me.

I’ll kiss you in the dusty History section, and when I think no one is looking,

I’ll touch and tease you some more.

You’ll take me to the bathroom and lock the door because you want me so bad

You just can’t wait any longer.

We’ll get caught and almost get thrown out and we’ll run away laughing.

I’ll drive us home, but maybe I’ll stop somewhere secluded first

And touch you just how you like it, from the safety of the backseat.

In another life, we’re so fucking good together.

I’ll hold you when you need to cry,

you’ll make me a hot cup of tea when I forget how to take care of myself.

We’ll cook dinner together.

I’ll wash the dishes and you’ll put them away.

I’ll clean and cut up fruits and vegetables to snack on.

You’ll motivate me to be good to myself when I don’t feel like it.

We’ll remind each other to take our vitamins and meds.

I’ll make you a smoothie when you don’t feel like eating.

You’ll tell me I’m beautiful when I don’t recognize my own reflection.

I’ll tell you you’re worth the world, because you are.

I’ll sweep the floors so you can mop.

I’ll do the laundry and you’ll mow the lawn.

When we’re both having a bad day,

We’ll let each other be as grouchy as we need to without judgement.

You’ll kiss me when I can’t make myself get out of bed.

I’ll gently play with your hair when you can’t sleep.

I’ll say something careless on occasion and you’ll be rightfully upset.

We’ll both feel guilty.

I’ll shut down and you’ll implode.

You’ll call me out and I’ll get defensive.

I’ll take way too long to process and understand my feelings as well as yours,

And you’ll get tired of explaining it to me and eventually give up.

You’ll feel invalidated and I’ll feel confused.

We’ll work through it and try not to hurt each other again,

Even though we both know it’ll happen again anyways.

We’ll grow to resent each other in new ways.

In another life, maybe we’re still no good for each other.

[seijorhi]

Scar Tissue

here there be monsters :))

Miya Atsumu x female reader

w.c 5.8k

tw: blood, gore, body horror, character death, people are munched does that count as cannibalism? sort of implied non-con, horror themes, yandere themes

Standing in the middle of an empty cabin, you find yourself slightly nonplussed. 

Every once in a while guests forget to check out on time. It happens. You give them the courtesy of an extra half hour and eventually they show up at the front desk a little frazzled but mostly apologetic. No worries. 

Once or twice it goes past eleven, and you’ve had to knock at the door and politely remind your guests that checkout was at ten, so if they please wouldn’t mind hurrying it along so you could begin checking them out, that would be greatly appreciated.

In the grand scheme of things, an hour or two delay isn’t the end of the world, it just means you need to kick your ass into gear to get the space ready for the next visitors. So long as they’re not rude about it, you’re happy enough to let it slide without charging them extra. 

This, however, was a first.

With the rain setting in and the humidity only rising, you’re in the beginning of the shoulder season, meaning the few bookings you do have are sparse and sporadic, the cabin set to be vacated this morning not due to be occupied again ‘til Thursday. 

Ten o’clock had come and gone, then eleven, and you’d once again grabbed your spare set of keys, intent on marching down there to find out what the hold up was.

Except there was no answer when you’d knocked, and when you’d finally relented and let yourself in, you’d found the cabin empty.

Not just of its occupant, but his belongings too. The bedroom’s a mess, sheets rumpled and dirt tracked through, there’s dishes in the sink, a pot of stone cold tea sat on the coffee table, a half empty cup beside it. You desperately don’t want to see the state he’s left the  bathroom in. 

The keys, mercifully, are by the door. 

Which is… odd. You have the guy’s credit card details on file so charging the room isn’t an issue, and yeah you’re not thrilled about the mess (why, exactly, did he feel the need to track half the forest in with him?) it’s more that, well, you have an out of hours key drop box for that very reason. If he’d wanted to check out early or there was some kind of an emergency… he could have at least let you know. 

You had better things to do this morning than waiting for a no show. 

—

In the busier months when tourists show up in droves to see the mountains and the hot springs, your cousin drives up to stay with you, and you usually get one or two of the girls from town to come help keep the place clean and tidy and running smoothly. 

At present, you’re it. 

Sheets and towels have to be washed and replaced with fresh ones, you have to vacuum the floors, sweep the dust and the dirt away, mop, clean up the kitchen and the bathroom, wipe everything down – all in all, it takes a solid hour or so, and by the time you’re done, lugging the dirty washing off to the laundry, it’s early afternoon.

A little after four thirty, you hear the telltale sound of tires on the gravel driveway out front. A car door slams and a minute later a familiar face pops up in the entryway.

“Makoto,” you greet. “I missed you yesterday.”

The park ranger, tall and handsome, smiles back at you, “Yeah, well, even lowly rangers get the occasional day off. Taishi came ‘round, right?”

“He did. I told him the same thing I always tell you.”

Makoto lets himself in, closing the door behind him and making his way to the countertop that acts as your front desk. “Which is?”

“That as much as I appreciate the concern, I’m not some helpless damsel all alone in the woods. You don’t need to keep coming up to check on me, Mako.”

The ranger shrugs, “I know.” He smiles, brown eyes crinkling in the corners, “You remind me of my little sister s’all. I wouldn’t like the idea of her out here all by herself, either.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much what Taishi said, minus the whole sister thing.”

He hums, “If it makes you feel any better, we used to come check on your grandma too before you moved up.”

“Oh, she told me. She’d go on and on for hours about the strong, handsome, young forest ranger who’d stop by – I think she was a touch smitten.”

Makoto bursts out in a bout of surprised laughter, and despite the painful tug inside your chest, you find yourself smiling at the sound. 

In his mid-thirties, tall, broad shouldered and more importantly, raised right, these days you think she might’ve been onto something. 

“Well, in any case, no bear sightings, maulings, creepy strangers or break-ins to report. Nothing but rude, messy guests disappearing into thin air,” you huff. When he lifts an eyebrow, you’re quick to elaborate, “Not like that, he just didn’t bother coming to check out and he left the place a mess.” You sigh, “It’s not really a big deal, more annoying than anything.”

“I can imagine.”

Before she passed, your grandma had instilled in you a strong sense of hospitality towards any guest who entered your home. “D’you want some tea? You’re on the overnight shift this week, right? I have coffee if you’d prefer that.”

It’s a dance the two of you have perfected over the past few months. 

You offer him a drink, he politely refuses. 

You offer him something to eat; snacks, leftovers from the night before, onigiri from lunch – you’re still adjusting to cooking for one, there’s always plenty left over and you’re more than happy to share – and he politely declines that, too. 

Then, you remind him that the daily check-ins aren’t necessary and he doesn’t have to go out of his way to keep dropping by, he makes some non-committal noise, and come tomorrow, he’ll be back on your doorstep and you’ll do the whole thing all over again.

Only this time, he doesn’t get the chance – interrupted by the reception door swinging open, a tall man in worn jeans and a rumpled shirt ducking his head to step inside.

No, not a man, you realise with a horrible jolt. 

A ghost. 

It’s the dark hair that strikes you first. Scruffy, longer than you remember, it’s missing the bright, bottle blond of his high school days – so much so that for a split second, you think it’s his brother who’s appeared out of the blue.

And then he grins – smirks, really, and any doubt vanishes from your mind. That expression isn’t one you’re likely to forget any time soon.

Hooded eyes flicker towards Mako, giving him a brief, dismissive once over. “‘m not interrupting anythin’, am I?” he drawls.

Makoto answers before you can, which is a good thing, you think, because currently, words seem a bit beyond you. 

“No, no ‘course not. I was about to head off soon, anyway.”

Despite saying it, Mako appears perfectly content staying right where he is. 

If you spared him more than an ounce of your attention right now, you’d see the small wrinkle in his brow, the way he shifts, straightening his spine, his shoulders, how he angles himself between you two – calm, yet wary, ready to intervene if need be. 

But you don’t. 

It’s been years since you last laid eyes on Miya Atsumu. 

Back then he was a senior with you, a talented volleyball player on track to join the national youth team and undoubtedly go pro. There was even talk of the Olympics, he was that good. You were… not nearly as interesting.

Mere weeks from graduation, that changed for the both of you.

“Miss me?”

Your throat dries. “… Miya.”

“You two know each other?” Makoto asks, glancing between you. 

Atsumu chuckles, wearing that same lazy grin, “Aw, we’re old friends. Been a while, though, hasn’t it?”

Not nearly long enough. 

“Yeah,” you say with a halfhearted nod. “Something like that.”

Before you can stop to think better of it, you take Makoto’s hand in yours and lean over the countertop to press a kiss to his jaw. “You should get going,” you tell him, your voice light and breathy. Play along, your smile begs. “I’ll call you later.”

And you could honestly kiss him again, because Makoto sighs then, rolling out his shoulders, “Yeah, I s’pose. Taishi’s on patrol tonight, he mentioned he’d stop by if he had a chance. I think Yuki made you something for helping out with the baby shower.”

Yuki had indeed gone to the effort of baking you some thank you muffins, Taishi dropped them off yesterday when he’d come to check up on you. Mako knew that. 

She’s not alone out here, asshole. 

“I’ll keep an eye out. Now go, you don’t wanna be late.” 

Mako gives you a soft look, slowly withdrawing his hand from yours. “Call me if you need anything, love.” 

He spares Miya, watching your interaction with a faintly bored expression, a short, perfunctory nod, “Nice to meet you, excuse me,” and with one last look your way, he leaves.

And you immediately wish he hadn’t. 

You’re not the same girl you were in high school, though. You won’t cower behind Makoto – no matter how tempting the thought is.

“Boyfriend, huh? Ain’t he a little old for ya?”

Whatever fondness had been on your face quickly vanishes, and you turn your attention back to Miya. “I can’t imagine how that’s any of your business.”

Swaggering on further inside, Miya takes the place Makoto vacated, leaning over the counter, his big, broad frame filling up the tiny room. An athlete from the day you met him, both he and his brother were always bigger than you, stronger than you, too. 

Now, looming over you is a veritable wall of muscle. He must be what, 6’4? 6’5? When the hell had he gotten so huge?

You swallow, heart fluttering uneasily inside your chest. 

The heat radiating off of him, the scent it carries with it, permeates the air around you – he smells like the forest, fresh and earthy, cedar and sap and musk. He smells like the rain drizzling outside.

Rolling off of him in waves, it’s thick and dizzying. 

“Just makin’ conversation,” he replies, unperturbed by the thinly veiled hostility in your voice. “It’s been a while, no harm in catching up with old friends, right?”

“We’re not friends, Miya. We weren’t back then, either.”

He feigns a pout, a hand to his heart. “Ouch. Ya weren’t nearly so harsh when your boyfriend was around.” 

You take a deep, calming breath in, only to regret it a split second later when your head swims. “I have things to do, so if you don’t want one of the cabins, then leave. Please.”

Miya offers a toothy smirk, “Why else would I be here?”

Hundreds of miles from home, years after he dropped off the face of the earth and you moved away, what other possible reason would he have for showing up in this tiny mountain town and walking through your door?

Why else indeed. 

“Fine,” you acquiesce, waking up your computer with a jiggle of the mouse. “I’ll just need a credit card to put on file – how many nights?”

A booking was a booking, you didn’t have to like Miya to take his money. 

“Yeaaah, I haven’t got a credit card on me. S’fine, though, I’m not planning on runnin’ off on ya.”

Of course he doesn’t have one. Why would he, looking like he’s rolled out of bed and walked here, no luggage or car in sight. 

You grit your teeth, forcing a terse smile. “That’s fine, I’m sure we can work something out.”

If he trashes the place or leaves you high and dry at the end of it all, you’ll send the damn bill to his brother instead. 

—

Night falls and the rain does not let up.

Fresh from your shower, hair damp, sitting cross legged on your bed there’s an edge of something you’re yet to put a finger on niggling away inside of you. It’s not restlessness, not anxiety exactly; a prickling at the back of your neck, an uneasiness that settles in despite you being in the safety and comfort of your own home. 

The scars on your back twinge, a shiver rolling down your spine. 

From the window, you can spy the cabins in the distance, the warm glow of light spilling out from the darkness. After you showed him the way over and left him with the keys, you’ve seen neither hide nor hair of Miya, which suits you perfectly fine.

Still, you can’t pretend that the old adage ‘out of sight, out of mind’ rings particularly true right now. 

Beyond a bruising grip, Miya never laid a hand on you. He never followed through with the whispered threats, the promises held in dark, greedy eyes that seemed forever drawn to you.

But, as you’d confided in a friend at the time, it wasn’t what Miya Atsumu did that frightened you, it was the thought of what he could do. 

… You’ve faced worse things than Miya Atsumu and come out the other side, though. He’s a relic of your past – an unhappy relic, a reminder of things you’d rather forget, but a relic all the same, and in a few days time, he’ll be gone.

Another glance out the window, the wind picking up – howling as the trees rustle and shake, you nibble at your bottom lip. You should go to bed. 

You grab your phone. 

A few swipes of your finger brings up your last conversation with Mako. You type up a quick message; sorry about before, i panicked. 

After a moment of deliberation, you add; the kiss was probably a bit too far, i really am sorry! 

Adding a smiley face at the end to hopefully alleviate some of the awkwardness, you send it.

He’s in the middle of a shift, and while it’s not as if he’s run off his feet in the middle of the night, you’re not expecting a reply any time soon. 

Within about thirty or so seconds, however, the read notification comes through. Then he starts to type up a reply. Watching those three little dots flicker across your screen, an odd sort of anxiousness fluttering in your gut, you wait…

And wait…

… And wait. 

Either he’s writing out a mini essay, or the poor guy doesn’t have a clue how to respond. You’re on the cusp of letting it go for the night when, finally, his reply comes through.

You don’t have to apologise for being uncomfortable, I get it. 

I’ll be your fake boyfriend whenever you need it. 

It’s not much – an assuaging of guilt, perhaps – you feel lighter for reading it anyway. With the sound of rain pouring outside, the strong winds, soothing in spite of their violence, and a distant clap of thunder, you set your phone aside, flick off the lights and tuck yourself into bed.

—

Red. The trees, the forest floor, the moon hanging low in the sky, your own hands, bathed in a crimson glow. Blood falling from the sky, drenching the earth beneath bare feet.

Fire, burning in your veins, your scars lashed with it, throbbing, searing, excruciating. You shriek and howl and scream ‘til your throat bleeds with it. You keep screaming. You’d claw yourself apart if you could, surrender to death, to pain, to nothing at all – if it’d stop the hurt.

Laughter echoes around you. Mocking. Biting. 

Claws in your spine, teeth at your neck. Fingers drag through the dirt, scrabbling for purchase. 

Is this what it feels like to die?

Air punched from your lungs as you’re split in two, a weight above you, puffs of hot breath fanning your face, a tongue lapping your cheek. 

Pounding, throbbing, aching, ceaseless, agonising–

You jerk awake with a heaving gasp to find you’re not alone in your bedroom. Makoto, still in his ranger’s uniform, hovers over you with an arm outstretched, a concerned look twisting at his face. 

“Your front door was wide open, banging in the wind. I did call out, but when nobody answered I got worried,” he tells you, his brows knitting together. With the back of his hand, he touches your forehead, and his frown deepens. “You’re burning up.”

Even as he says it, your sweat soaked pyjamas cling to your skin, your head throbbing, a dull, heavy ache that reverberates through your entire body. “What– what time is it?” you ask blearily, voice like sandpaper.

“A little after seven – early still.” 

Your attempts to rise are thwarted by a gentle, insistent hand pushing down on your shoulder. “Nope. You’re not getting up, you’re not well. You need rest.”

“I have to–”

“No, you don’t.” Again, he gently pushes you back down. “It’s just that Miya guy staying, yeah? No other guests?”

You mumble something in the affirmative, and Mako nods to himself, “Okay, that’s fine then, we can deal with that. I’ll keep an eye on the front desk and anything else that crops up and you can go back to sleep and rest up, alright? I’ll bring you some water and advil, and some food later if you’re feeling up to it.” 

There’s plenty to argue with him about that. 

For one, he’s fresh off a twelve hour overnight shift, running on less sleep than you, and while it is the off season, there’s still plenty to be done around the place, none of it his responsibility. Not to mention Miya’s probably going to come sniffing around later and you really, really don’t want those two crossing paths any time soon – especially after all the weirdness yesterday. 

You like Makoto, you’d even consider him a friend. The last thing you want is for him to think of you as some burden he should’ve steered clear of. 

And besides, feverish or no, you’re not an invalid. You can get up and push through, just as soon as blinking stops making you want to hurl. 

“Mako–”

“You can argue all you want, I’m not going anywhere.” He pats the top of your shoulder and straightens up, “I’ll make sure this place doesn’t burn to the ground without you for a few hours while you get some rest.”

“…‘kay.”

He smiles, “Good girl.”

Sleep, when it finds you, is fitful.

You dream of yellow eyes, a monster with a snarling maw chasing you through the woods.

You dream that you’re back in hospital again, flickering in and out of consciousness. Like an angel of death, you hover unseen, watching the team of doctors and nurses scramble to save your life. 

‘The EMT’s said she kept mumbling about a wolf.’

The doctor scoffs, ‘Wolves went extinct back in the 1900’s. Look at her back – no wolf did this.’

The creature had stood on its hind legs, covered in thick, black fur. With its snout and tail, claws and gleaming white teeth, wolf was all your delirious brain could conjure. 

You’re not alone in this dreamscape, you come to realise. Standing on the other side of the room, grinning, Miya stares back.

You blink and the doctors and the hospital around you are gone. 

The two of you stand in the woods back behind your childhood home, the gurney and your ravaged, twitching body lying between you. Your heart thuds loudly and he shifts with it, the boy you knew, cocksure and arrogant, and the stranger who walked through your door wearing his face. 

Back and forth, back and forth, like a glitch. He’s drenched in blood, it colours his teeth, smeared across his jaw. His hands are dripping with it. 

The dream melts away, and when it reforms around you you’re in the forest outside, the moon hanging low, full and bright.

‘Can you feel it burnin’ through ya?’ the dream Miya asks. ‘Second time’s the charm. Won’t be long now.’

He fades into shadows, your grandma takes his place. Her wizened face kind and gentle, she takes your hands in hers. They’re soft and worn, warm, so familiar that it makes your heart ache with grief and love and sorrow. Tears well, even as you smile at the sight of her. 

‘Why, child, were you in the woods that day?’

Because I heard it cry out, the words stick in your throat, it cried out in pain, and I wanted to help. 

—

“You’re getting worse.”

Teeth chattering, you manage a weak nod, “I noticed.”

The dumpling soup he’d brought you lies mostly untouched, though you’d made some effort slurping down the broth. You’ve no appetite, the mere thought of trying to eat right now making your stomach churn. At the very least, you had hoped the drugs you’ve loaded your system with might’ve helped ease the aches and pains, the throbbing in your head – alas, no such luck. 

All you want to do is burrow under your duvet and sweat it out, let whatever’s raging through your body run its course, and then you can sleep for a week. 

“Mako, go home.” Every word is a slow, painful effort. “I don’t want you getting sick.” 

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.” He cracks a smile, placing a fresh glass of water on the nightstand beside you. “‘Sides, if I do get sick, you’ll come take care of me too, right? Return the favour?”

“Mhm, sure.”

For a moment, something akin to delight dances in his eyes, yet he’s quick to sober, the reality of the situation not escaping him. “You’re not getting any better,” he says. “Kick Miya out, close up for a day or two. You clearly need the rest.”

The authoritative tone brooks no room for argument, so you simply hum in acquiescence. 

If you actually stopped to consider it, you could almost say it’s a blessing that you’re sick now, at the very beginning of the rainy season when tourists and visitors to this part of the mountain are few and far between. Closing your doors for a short while wouldn’t hurt you financially when there was no guarantee of business to begin with.

And as far as disrupting Miya’s holiday plans goes – you care even less about that. 

Maybe the fever dreams are still muddying your head, maybe it’s that in your current, rather pathetic state, your capacity for generosity and forgiveness towards his teenage self has dwindled well below what you could manage on a good day.

Either way, a fresh wave of goosebumps prickles at your skin. You want him as far away from you as humanly possible.

“Where’s my…”

Makoto diligently picks your phone up from the nightstand and passes it to you. Each of the cabins has a phone, the numbers pre-programmed into your cell in case of emergencies. After finding the right one you tap on the call button, setting it to speaker and laying the phone back down on the pillow beside you.

It rings once, twice, the noise like a jackhammer to your skull. Makoto frowns as you wince, a soft, discomforted noise leaving your lips, but before he can interject, the call’s answered. 

“Yeah?”

Licking parched lips, you squeeze your eyes shut in an attempt to gather your wits (and ignore the violent pounding inside your head) long enough to string together a coherent sentence. 

“I– the retreat’s closing, you can’t stay here. Sorry for the… short notice, or whatever. Just– just leave the keys, I’ll waive the rate for last night.”

There’s a short chuckle on the other end of the line, “You’re not sounding too good there, sweetheart. You feelin’ alright?”

“I‘m fine,” you force out. “Can you be out before dark?”

Ignoring the question entirely, Miya snorts, “Lying really ain’t your strong suit, y’know.” There’s a short pause, and you can almost see the shift in his expression, the wicked looking grin taking shape as he speaks again, “You want me to come over and keep ya company? I just hate the thought of you sufferin’ through this all by yourself.” 

Mako’s eyes narrow, his lips pulling into a frown. 

“No, I want you to leave. Please.”

“… Well, since you’re askin’ so nicely, guess I don’t have much of a choice, do I? I’ll leave the keys by the door.” 

He hangs up.

The victory feels hollow, almost. Too easily won. Something insistent tugs at your subconscious, but you’re too exhausted to pay it any mind. With a sigh of your own, you meet Makoto’s eye.

“What?” you ask, sinking back into your pillows.

To his credit, Mako doesn’t reply straight away, seeming to chew on his words before he gives voice to them, “It’s none of my business, I realise that. I haven’t– You act different with him. The way you talk, your whole body language, it changes.”

He’s not referring to your conversation on the phone just now. 

“You want the juicy backstory?”

Makoto hesitates, but curiosity wins out. He nods.

“There isn’t one, really. We went to school together, he was good – really good – at volleyball and thought that meant he was entitled to whatever he wanted.”

“Which was… you?” 

There’s no attempt to mask the distaste in his voice. Mako’s the very antithesis of Miya, though, to treat someone like that, to believe yourself entitled to them would never cross his mind in a million years.

You nod. 

“Huh…” His expression turns thoughtful then, head tilting as his brow furrows, “Doesn’t strike me as the pro-athlete type, you know what I mean? Sure, he’s big, but…” 

But the wild, scruffy look ruins it. Nothing about Miya seemed to fit. It was difficult to put a name to; the clothes were wrong, he felt out of place – like a lion prowling city streets, or snow falling in mid-July. 

“Mm. He went…missing’s the wrong word, I guess. He ran off for a few days.” The words come slow, laborious, but Mako doesn’t push you. “And when he came back… he stopped playing volleyball, stopped showing up at school, he was… different. That was after I was in hospital though, last I heard he’d dropped off the face of the earth. I never thought I’d see him again.”

Mako hums again, his attention drifting to the scars peeking out from your bare shoulder. Usually they’re covered up, but with the summer heat and humidity, the thin straps of your pyjamas do little to hide the ugly marks from view. 

“Get some sleep,” he says eventually, rising from his seat. “I haven’t gotta leave for a few hours yet.”

—

When you’re pulled from sleep next, your bedroom’s painted in a golden glow.

There’s no sign of Makoto. A handwritten note lies folded on your bedside table, trying to make sense of the scrawled message only makes the radiating pain inside your head grow worse. The light’s too bright, every noise amplified tenfold – the clock downstairs ticking away, cicadas chirping, the sound of a truck barrelling down the winding road out front and the wind whistling through the trees. It’s deafening, all of it, and you can’t do a thing to block it out.

Despite the oppressive heat, you find yourself shivering, curling trembling limbs around yourself as you sweat and whimper. Your skull feels like it’s slowly being cleaved apart, every breath a shallow rattle. Even your blood burns, liquid fire that scalds you from the inside out. 

Surely your heart, racing frantically within the cage of your chest, can only take so much of this before it gives out. 

Through the delirium, you begin to realise that something is truly, deeply wrong. 

And then you hear it, the front door creaking open, a large body crossing the threshold. You barely have the energy to lift your head, “M-Mako?” you croak out, fingers weakly curling into the sheets around you.

“The ranger?” a familiar voice calls, footsteps thudding down the hall. “Nah, he left a while ago.”

Your stomach twists, a sharp, lancing panic lost to the haze of aches and pains wracking your body as Miya appears at your doorway, dark eyes flitting over your pathetic form, drinking it in. 

“Poor thing,” he tuts. “Hurts, don’t it?”

“Go… away,” you whimper – to no avail. Miya strides into your bedroom like he owns the place. Walks right up to where you lie, shivering and helpless.

You don’t think it escapes either one of you that right now, you’re entirely at his mercy.

You can’t stop him from taking a seat on the mattress next to you, his massive frame looming over you. Can’t do a thing but flinch when a rough fingertips push a lock of hair back from your sweat slicked forehead and trail down your cheek. 

“Only a few more hours, you’re nearly through the worst of it,” he tells you. 

Through the worst of what? 

He hushes you when you let out a frightened whine, stroking your hair, “I’m not gonna let ya go through this alone. You’re mine, my fuckin’ mate, and if that asshole hadn’t–” he breaks off with a huff, the muscle in his jaw working away. It isn’t until a sharp pain breaks through the throbbing haze that you glance down at your leg – at the hand he has resting on your thigh, and the razor-like claws digging into the soft flesh there.

Eyes widening, a strangled noise escapes you. 

In an instant the claws are gone, replaced by normal fingernails – if not for the gruesome looking gouge marks dug into your thighs, the blood that wells to the surface and spills down your leg, falling in fat droplets onto the bed sheets below, you’d think you imagined it.

The sharp burst of pain fades, the wounds closing before your eyes – until nothing but smooth skin marred with streaks of red remain. 

Miya stares at your thigh for a moment longer, seemingly lost in thought. When his eyes meet yours again, they’re dark, resolute. “He’s not around to stop me this time.”

You simply shiver, closing your eyes to try and block it all out. 

None of this is real. You’re hallucinating, or dreaming – you have to be. 

‘Wolves went extinct back in the 1900’s. No wolf did this.’

The room gets darker, moonlight creeping in through the window, and the pain gets worse. At some point, Miya shuffles you over a bit to lie down beside you. He takes you into his arms, ignoring your pitiful attempts at struggling and tucks you into his broad chest.

His scent, the deep timbre of his voice as he speaks to you, his hands, wandering over your clammy skin. Even in your delirium, he won’t let you forget that he’s the one here with you. 

Eventually, the words stop making sense, syllables blurring and twisting together. You can only lie there, waiting for the pain to end, for your fever to abate while Miya takes advantage of your weakened, sickly state.

The first snap comes out of nowhere.

White hot and agonising, it shoots up your leg, radiating like a shockwave. You choke on a scream, eyes flying open.

Miya’s hands are nowhere near your legs. 

There’s no time for you to comprehend the pain, much less how a bone can spontaneously break on its own; another sick crack echoes through the room – your femur.

And the howl that rips its way free of your lungs is something animalistic. Tears leak from your eyes as your back arcs up off the bed, only for a second, and then Miya’s sweeping you up into his arms, holding you close. Without a word of explanation – not that it’d do you any good, not that you’d understand – he carries you through the house, out into the balmy summer night and the forest that lies beyond.

Wailing and shrieking like a wild thing, your bones snap and elongate, tearing through your skin. Thick, dark fur sprouts across your body, the tatters of your clothes falling to the dirt below, your jaw cracks, blood filling your mouth, spilling down your chin. 

In a small clearing he lays you down on the forest floor and pats your head, “You’re gonna do great, babe.”

You snarl in response. 

Muscles tear from bone, growing, reshaping, your teeth sharpen and claws burst through the beds of your fingernails, the same happening to your toes. Your face contorts, a muzzle violently forcing its way through the front of your skull. 

You lose your mind to the pain. Writhing in the dirt, bathed in the glow of moonlight, you lose all sense of self. There’s only blood and agony and a hunger that gnaws at the pit of your belly. 

And as your bones settle, the last ripples of the change fading away into nothing, you stagger to your feet, taking in this new world of yours.

With eyes sharper, a nose a thousand times more sensitive, ears picking up a cacophony of noises from miles around you, the assault to your senses is near overwhelming. Yet instead of whimpering and cowering from that, you relish in it. 

You’re a beast born to hunt. There’s a scent in the air, mouthwatering, rich–

A low whistle sounds behind you, and on instinct you turn, teeth bared in a vicious growl. Yellow eyes stare back from a human face, he smells… familiar. Like you. No… no, something more than that. There’s a bond there, a tether between you two; sire. 

He grins, “Look at’cha. My perfect little mate.”

Mate?

You hesitate, ears twitching. That intoxicating scent of prey still carries on the breeze, you can hear their beating hearts, voices in the distance, every instinct within you screaming to follow it, to hunt. Yet you still yourself, waiting – for what?

A low whine slips from your muzzle and he laughs.

Head tilting back to soak in the moonlight, his grin wide and inhuman, the change sweeps over him, too. Bones crack and shift, skin ripples and reforms. In mere seconds, a monstrous, furred beast stands in his place and when he speaks next, it comes not from his maw, but echoing in your head.

Poor thing. You’re hungry, need to eat – first time really takes it out of ya. 

It’s all the permission you need. Bounding across the forest floor, you chase after it – towards the voices, the yellow lights of the ranger’s station twinkling on the mountainside.

Perhaps when you wake up curled around Miya, freshly human, slathered in blood with body parts strewn around you and the taste of raw meat on your tongue, some part of you will shatter irreparably. 

For now, though, the promise of tearing into warm bodies and sating that empty, gnawing hunger, of ripping into flesh and muscle is enough to have you salivating as twin howls shatter the calm, summer night air. 

[sangyeonsmuse]

REPAY ME | DAY 10

PAIRING lead vocalist & bassist Changmin x groupie reader

WORD COUNT | 2.5K

GENRE Smut

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ‼️ tongue kissing, dom Changmin, Fingering, nipple play, fondling etc

SUMMARY Leave it to Ji Changmin to have a drink spilled on him, and be the one to take care of the girl that spilled it on him.

MORE | Day 10 of the Groupie Love Series

Changmin honestly hated parties, in all honesty he’d prefer being back home with a book in his hands. Unfortunately for him, he never knew how to say no to his friends when they would ask him to make an appearance so there he sat in the corner of the room with a drink in his hand.

“You know it wouldn’t kill you to be social.’’ Eric approaches him after having found his friend sitting in a corner scrolling through his phone rather than talking and mingling.

“That would require me wanting to talk to other people.’’ at his quick retort Eric couldn’t help but laugh. He and the others were honestly used to this by now, Changmin was the least likely to stay out late partying and drinking like the rest of them. Of course all the tabloids and headlines told different stories, but truth be told they were never right about him.

“At least try to enjoy the music, Younghoons friend is Djing tonight and you gotta admit her setlist isn’t that bad.’’

“Can you explain to me why you’re only nagging me? Look, go bother her, she doesn’t seem to be having a good time here either.” Both Changmin and Eric's eyes land on a girl leaning against the kitchen counter, not seeming the slightest bit interested in what had been going on around her.

“You know what maybe I will, hopefully she’s a lot less snappy.” Eric scrunches his face at Changmin who simply went back to looking at his phone, before walking off to bother the mystery girl.

You on the other hand were an absolute party girl, shy to say the least but when you got any form of alcohol in your system you would turn into an entirely new person. That was exactly how you ended up dancing on top of the nice marble coffee table in Younghoons living room. You had tossed down drink after drink, courtesy of your best friends having been spending the entire night trying to loosen you up. Maybe this time they had loosened you up a little too much, because now you were falling straight off the coffee table after having kicked over a glass and spilling your drink on some handsome stranger that was standing in the corner.

“Oh my god oh shit i’m so sorry i didn’t mean to.’’ you were so panicked about having spilled your drink on him that you had forgotten entirely about the glass you kicked over.

“Wait be careful.’’ Changmin tried his best to warn you and stop you from stepping on the now broken glass, but he had been too late. You let out an immediate yelp as the glass punctured your foot. Your friends run over to you in a panic as they see you fall to the floor.

“Shit.’’ Changmin curses under his breath before setting his cup aside.

‘Hey, try not to move. I'm gonna see if there's anything still stuck in your foot.” Changmin kneels down beside you and looks at your friends.

“Can the two of you go find a broom and a mop to clean this up before anyone else steps on it.’’ Your friends just gave him a nod before running off to look for something to clean the mess.

“But what about your shirt.’’

“My shirt will be fine, just worry about getting this glass out of your foot.’’ He responded while he had been trying his best to examine your wound.

“Shit it’s too dark in this damn room. I can't see anything. Is it okay if we go somewhere brighter? So I can get a better look?’’

“You know you really don’t have to do this I-’’ Before you can refute any further he had already been lifting you up into his arms and carrying you upstairs to the bathroom. Truth be told he just wanted an excuse to get away from all the chaos, I mean of course he wanted to help you but he honestly was just looking for any reason to get away from all of those people. After carrying you inside he closes and locks the door to ensure there were no interruptions.

“Finally, some quiet.’’ he sighs and looks over at you before pointing to your foot.

“Can I?’’ you simply nod in response, suddenly not having the right words to say as you were now seeing the handsome strangers face more clearly. As he leans down to examine your foot, your eyes observe his movements, each time you’d blink it’d be as if you were capturing photos with your eyes, the man in front of you was absolutely breathtaking and you had spilled your drink all over him.

“Doesn’t look like you have any glass in your foot, just a deep cut, Younghoon has bandages somewhere in here so we can at least wrap it, but you’ll have to keep off it a while which means we may be stuck in this bathroom a while.’’

“We?’’

“I wouldn’t mind keeping you company for a while, that’s if you wouldn’t mind because i’d rather be anywhere than down there right now.’’ At Changmin's complaining you couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’m guessing you're not the party type? I’m Yn by the way” you give him an amused smile as you watch him rummage through the cabinets for some bandages.

“Changmin, and I only come to these for my friends, only this time i was dragged here and the bastard Younghoon couldn’t even bother to show up to his own party.’’

After finally finding a roll of bandages Changmin returns his attention to attending to your foot. He went dead silent as he cleaned your wound. You could pick up on something with this act alone, it told you he must be someone that blocks out distractions easily, especially when focused.

“You must enjoy a few parties or two, you don’t seem like the type that would silently observe in a corner. Considering i’m wearing your drink.’’ He spoke absentmindedly as he finally wrapped the bandage around your foot. He was trying his best to tether back and forth between tending to your foot and conversing. After all he was never really the best when it came to socializing with others. You were now feeling completely embarrassed all over again.

“Fuck, that was so embarrasing, this entire situation is so embarrassing. I’m so sorry, i don’t think i’ll touch another drink for a month after this.’’ you groan out of pure embarrassment as you cover your face. Changmin simply laughs before sitting in the bathtub across from you.

“Hey it’s fine, wouldn’t be the first time something like this has happened at younghoons parties.’’

“Guess that doesn’t make me any better than the others from those previous parties then huh?’’ you laugh, trying your best to joke yourself out of embarrassment.

‘Well, you were the first to kick down a glass and then step on it while panicking because you spilled on me.’’ Changmin responds playfully, laughing as he watches your face contort into a cringe at his teasing.

“Yeah and now you reek of alcohol.’’ You scrunch up your face and cover your nose in a teasing manner.

“Oh i wonder whos fault that is.’’ Changmin lifts his shirt to his nose only to immediately pull away at the strong smell. Without warning he pulls his shirt over his head and throws it to the side.

“You must have been drinking something pretty strong for the scent to be that overbearing.’’ by now you weren't listening to a work he had been saying. He was now naked from the waist up and that was all that you could seem to focus on. As Changmin notices your sudden silence his eyes lock with yours and an amused smile made its way on his face. He wouldn’t pass up this opportunity to tease you further.

“Either you’re planning to spill another drink or me or you’ve got something else on your mind right now.’’

“Are you going to keep milking this whole drink thing the entire night?’’ you roll your eyes at him bringing up your mistake once again.

“Not if you tell me the real reason that your pretty eyes are glued to me right now.’’

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.’’ He had caught you, and the only option you had right now was to play coy, you certainly couldn’t tell him the truth. That you had literately been eye fucking an absolute stranger in the bathroom of another stranger. While you had been lost in thought Changmin pushes himself up out of the tub and steps in front of you, trapping you on the bathroom counter top, between his arms.

“You really won’t tell me? After spilling your drink on me and having me tend to your foot for free hm? What a selfish woman.’’ your breath caught in your throat as he stood right in front of you, eyes piercing into your own while your faces had been so close you could feel his breath tickle your nose.

“If you’re that upset about the shirt i can pay you back for it.’’ your response makes Changmin's brows arch upwards, an amused smile on his lips at your careless retort.

“Oh? You’ll give me 4 thousand dollars for ruining my shirt? If you’re sure you can pay i’ll gladly take the money.’’ Changming could care less about the shirt or the money, he was honestly just finding entertainment in teasing you. Your reactions were cute, a complete contrast to some party girl that loved to dance on tables.

“I’m sorry 4 what now?’’ Changmin chuckles and brushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Unless you want to repay me in some other way.’’ Your lips had been mere inches apart, and you weren't show if you had been doing it on free will or if the alcohol had forced you to make a move, but you kissed him. To changmin's surprise your lips crashed onto his, of course he had only been teasing not expecting much of it, but he wouldn’t oppose your kiss. His hands slid down your waist until they landed on your hips. Changmin's hands explored your body in a modest yet fiery manner.

Changmin's kiss starts out really slow. Before he gently pries open your mouth, making the both of you exchange intense, open-mouthed kisses without the tongue. Impatient you let out soft whines into his mouth, making him tap your thigh as a warning to be patient. Changmin's lips are pliant, soft, the perfect combination of soft and plum, they make for great things to suck on. He tugs at your bottom lip, soothing it over with his tongue, sucking on it tightly with his own lips. His hands start to wander over your back, coming down to cup your ass and shove you closer to him. Your hands slowly tangled within the hair on the back of his neck, and it sent a delicious sensation down Changmin's spine.

As your tongue broke past his lips and danced around Changmin's own tongue, he reached up to cup at your jaw to keep you in the place he wanted. A soft moan spews from your lips softly, soft pants being earned from him. He slips one hand under your shirt, pushing it up so that your stomach is exposed to the air. He runs his soft hands over your stomach, before reaching to chip your breasts pressing his finger against your nipple and lightly scratching over that spot. He was playing with you, on the contrary to how sweet and Changmin seemed to be he had sadistic teasing tendencies. Always playing with the other party before giving in to his own desires.

Between the aching between your thighs and his heated kisses, all while

His name spilled from your lips followed by a soft whine. As he felt your lips form a pout against his he let out a soft chuckle. Slowly but surely he began to tail the kisses down your neck at a painfully slow pace. You let out a silent yelp as he bites down on your skin, cooling the spot with his breath and tongue, making a hickey.

Changmin lets out a soft hum against your neck, making goosebumps form across your skin as he slips your jeans off and throws them off to the side somewhere. As he pushes your legs back so that your feet are now up on the counter, his fingers begin to circle your clit causing your hands in his hair to tighten. He lets out a groan upon feeling how wet you are combined with your tight grip on his hair.

Without warning Changmin's lips wrap around your nipple and he takes it between his teeth making you gasp.

“Quiet pretty girl, you wouldn’t want anyone to know you’re in the bathroom repaying a total stranger in such a slutty way.”

His words made you clench around his finger making him click his tongue.

“Tsktsk I bet you don’t even care if they hear.”

As he shoves two fingers deep into your cunt you let out a slutty moan making him bite his lips. You were looking at him with stars in your eyes right now, making it harder and harder for him to want to go easy on you. His fingers had been moving so diligently, pumping into you while his thumb rubbed at your clit. The way your hips desperately grind against his fingers to meet his pace.

"Oh, fuck…" you cry out a string of curses before pulling Changmins mouth back up to kiss you once more, the two of you biting and licking at one another lips equally hungry to taste one another.

"Changmin I-" between ragged breaths you mumble against Changmin's mouth, who's immediately licking at your top lip, sucking on it afterwards.

"Go ahead love" Changmin responds heatedly against your mouth, his fingers pumping into you faster than before. The pleasure makes tears form in your eyes, as it builds up more and more.

Changmin's fingers split apart, scissoring between your cunt serving as the last push you needed before you finally came. Your warm cum spills down your thigh and all over his fingers making him smile before bringing his fingers to his lips to taste you. Your body shivers in the afterglow, overstimulated when Changmin runs his fingers over your clit again. Feeling his thumb slip between your folds you moan weakly. Changmin kisses your shoulder, rubbing over the mark he left on your neck with his free hand.

"As sweet as you taste, I don’t think it’s enough to repay me for something so expensive" Changmin voices as he brings his thumb to your lips for you to suck on.

“How else should I repay you?” You tilt your head at him before taking your thumb between his lips and he watches in admiration at the way you suck on it.

“I have a few things in mind”

[writerlola24]

Captain Gerard’s return has ruffled all members of the 118. It appears that the ‘new’ captain has returned to finish what he started, making all members of the 118 miserable. But this time around, Evan Buckley fights back.

Or whenever Captain Gerard targets a member of the 118 Buck is ready to pull that line of fire back to himself. What better way to do so than drop dirty innuendos at your homophobic boss?

——————————————————————————————————

Chapter One

Chimney

The 118 is spread out doing house chores. Chimney glares and uses more force than necessary in pushing the mop across the floor. If only he knew his comment a week ago would come back and bite him in the ass.

“Missed a spot there Han,” Captain Gerrard chims from his perch on the balcony. Chim grits his teeth and the plastic of the pole squeaks at the added pressure he forces upon it.

“I would’ve thought you would be better at this by now,” Gerrard pokes again. Chim stills for a moment and contemplates chucking the mop at his ‘Captain’ when a new voice chimes in.

“Captain Gerrard, I’m ready for hose inspection sir,” Buck calls out from his station beside the truck. Gerrard’s eye twitches.

“I’ll be there in a minute Buckley. Surely a man with your experience can handle a simple fire hose,” Gerrard responds, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Well I’m not just good with a hose sir, I’m also great at brightening your day,” Buck retorts with a bit more cheeriness than would be believable. Chim stifles a laugh and sees Hen double over in the back of the ambulance where shes restocking.

Eddie and Ravi pause their cataloguing at the air tanks with bated breath, looking between Buck and Gerrard.

Gerrard sets his coffee down and stalks down the stairs. Buck simply turns his back and leads the way to the perfectly rolled hose. Of course Captain Gerrard makes him redo all his work, but Bucks retaliation has the Captain monitoring his every move until the alarm rings.

The 118 load up and head out. Captain Gerrard reassigns Buck away from hose duty after that.

——————————————————————————————————

Chapter Two

Ravi

The team has caught on quickly to what exactly Buck is doing. It didn't take a genius to see that with every remark made by Captain Gerrard towards one of their own, Buck was quick to draw the mans attention to a new target, himself.

The 118 could only hopelessly stand by and watch the slow motion car crash that was Evan Buckley versus Vincent Gerrard.

Ravi and Eddie are in the gym when it happens again.

“PANIKKAR!” Gerrard bellows into the room. Ravi startles and nearly drops the weight on his chest but Eddie catches the bar.

“Yes captain?” Ravi calls standing at a stiff attention.

“I thought I told you that you were on bathroom duty until further notice,” Gerrard growls.

Ravi opens and closes his mouth a few times.

“He completed his duties before we came in, sir,” Eddie states, he stands at Ravi’s side with his hands on his hips.

“Tell that to the biohazard in the second stall,” Gerrard grits. Eddie opens his mouth with a twisted snarl when he feels a hand on the small of his back, tugging at his shirt.

“That was me sir, so its only fair that I fix it. After all, I am very good at cleaning out pipes,” Buck deadpans.

Captain Gerrards face spasms in a complicated array of emotions.

“Well then get to it Buckley,” Gerrard relents before storming away.

Ravi heaves a relieved sigh and gives Buck a grateful nod.

“I don't know how much longer I can do this,” the youngest member whispers.

“Don’t worry, Bobby’s working on his reinstatement as we speak,” Buck encourages with a placating shoulder pat.

Ravi walks away, leaving Eddie to glare at Buck.

“I wish you’d stop doing that,” Eddie whispers.

“Doing what?” Buck asks with an exaggerated confused expression. Eddie sighs and shakes his head.

“I just don't want to see you getting hurt, Buck,” Eddie says.

“He can’t hurt me. And I won’t let him hurt all of you. I can handle it Eds. It's not like he's been able to get to me. If anything, I think I can get him to quit before too much longer,” Buck whispers with a conspiratorial grin.

Eddie sighs, “Yet Buck. He hasn’t gotten to you yet.”

Buck shakes his head before jogging over to the storage room and making a show of swinging around the toilet plunger as he all but skips past Gerrard to the bathroom.

———————————————————————————————————-

Chapter Three

Hen

Hen and Chim take refuge in the ambulance after a medical call. Hen is glaring at a valve mask when the tell-tale signs of stomping boots can be heard.

“I’d take that rebar now,” Chim mutters in defeat when Captain Gerrard rounds the ambulance door.

“Wilson! That valve mask failure was your fault. Do I need someone more competent to supervise the equipment checks?” The older man baits.

Hen was already on the verge of tears after nearly losing a child due to the faulty mask in her hand. Luckily her quick thinking had her patching the hole and makeshifting the equipment so that it still worked. The child survived, but they lost precious seconds all because of a hole the size of a pinprick at the seam of the valve.

“Don’t worry Captain Gerrard, I’m always trained in mouth-to-mouth, in case you need resuscitation,” Buck chimes from the rig, slamming the door a bit more forcefully than necessary.

“Buckley,” Gerrard responds with a warning tone. Over the past couple of weeks its been a battle of wills on who would break first.

Gerrard assigned Buck every possible demeaning task to which the man was overly happy to do and made into quite the ‘bordering-on-calling-HR’ spectacle. He was struck from hose duty, bathroom duty, mopping, and Gerrard knew better than to have Buck pole polishing anytime in the future. No matter the task Buck was assigned, so far, he got the upper hand on Captain Vincent Gerrard.

The problem was that most of Bucks quips were nonreportable. Everyone was aware of the double innuendos, but everyone was also aware that nothing was a fireable offense.

Buck holds up his hands in a placating manner, “I’m just trying to be helpful sir! I’m like a fire hydrant, always ready for when you need me.”

“For the love of-“ Captain Gerrard spins on the soles of his boots and storms away in frustration.

“And another point to team Buckley,” Chim hoots. The team morale appears lifted as Hen reaches out to take Bucks hand, a silent ‘thank you’ exchanged between the pair.

“That's like what….12-0?” Ravi asks joining the scene.

“Something like that,” Eddie responds with a chuckle.

———————————————————————————————————-

Chapter Four

Eddie

It was only a matter of time before someone other than Buck snapped back. Today, it was Eddie.

“DIAZ! I told you to pair up with Pannikar, NOT Buckley!” Captain Gerrard shouts through the radio. Eddie huffs a sigh of annoyance. Captain Gerrard did find an achilles heel with Buck, his partnering with Eddie, and was exploiting that button whenever he possibly could. The problem was that in times of crisis, the Buck and Eddie team worked best and this was a time of crisis.

“DIAZ! You are defying a direct order. Do I need a translator for you to better understand me?” Gerrard bellows. Eddie growls in rapid Spanish and turns his radio off.

“BUCKLEY! Tell Diaz to turn his radio back online and get your asses out of there! You’re both getting written up for this!” Gerrard screams over Bucks line. Buck gives a whole body groan and pounds through the door in front of them after a hurried ‘LAFD Coming in.’

“Copy that Captain Gerrard,” Buck calls into the line.

Eddie spies the children and mother huddled in the corner of the bedroom. Buck takes the unconscious mother while Eddie scoops up the children. The building is about to cave and Buck nudges Eddie towards the second story bedroom window. Buck shouts out that they’re changing their exit plan and the duo work together to scale the side of the home while carrying the civilians. Ravi and Chimney are setting up the crash pad while Hen is grabbing all the oxygen she can onto the gurney. The second fire station arrives as Buck and Eddie make it to the ground with the civilians.

They just finish handoff to Hen and Chimney when Captain Gerrard is in their faces, spittle flying at them as his veins pop.

“What the hell were you thinking! You defied a direct order and put this entire fire house at risk because you’re too stupid to understand basic Engli-“ Captain Gerrard is cut off quickly by Buck shouldering in front of Eddie.

“You can’t really blame me for wanting to pair with Eddie Captain Gerrard, he’s hotter than any 5-alarm fire,” Buck says with false nonchalance.

“You’re already on thin ass ice Buckley, don’t think for a second i don’t know what you’ve been doing with all your little remarks and insertions,” Gerrard hisses stepping up nose-to-nose with Buck.

“Wherever his ass is concerned is the only place I’d like to insert myself, sir,” Buck quips without missing a beat.

“THATS IT! YOU ARE DONE BUCKLEY!” Gerrard bellows, snatching Bucks helmet from his head and throwing it across the lawn.

“And what is it that I have done, sir?” Buck asks, squaring his shoulders and crossing his arms.

“You have been insubordinate! You have been inappropriate! And you keep spreading your perversions all over my station!” Gerrard lists.

“Please explain to me how I have been doing any of those things, sir,” Buck asks with a challenging expression.

Gerrard opens and closes his mouth. Aside from today with Eddie and Buck defying a partnering order, Gerrard had nothing on Buck and they both knew it.

“Perhaps you would like to come with me to the board so that we can both review our accounts of my behaviors and the environment that's being created,” Buck proposes with a defiant smirk on his face.

“You are playing a dangerous game, boy. You are playing with fire,” Captain Gerrard warns.

“Well Captain Gerrard, I do resonate with fire. It’s hot, dangerous and uncontrollable,” Buck whispers in a low growl.

They stare nose-to-nose until the other units Captain calls Gerrard over to debrief. Captain Gerrard mutters something indescenable under his breath before shouldering past Buck and away.

“I might actually be in love with you Buckaroo,” Chim says, sidling up to Bucks side.

“Me too,” Eddie adds.

“Me three,” Hen tags.

“Same here,” Ravi says.

[septembersung]

@citadelofthestars You are in luck because I just overhauled our entire chore system for the new school year so this is all fresh on my mind.

Context: this was from the post about making chores fair for kids and not requiring more domestic labor of girls than boys or having sisters clean up after brothers but never vice versa.

The following sounds complicated but it’s not? It evolved organically based on what our house needs and fits into how I organize the rest of my life. And, ymmv based on kids’ ages, temperament, and varieties of neurodivergence. My kids are all under 11 and we homeschool and half of us are probably adhd, so we’re still learning skills and also in our space making messes a lot. I would also like to emphasize that I am so bad about chores. Hence the system. When we follow through… it’s amazing. And then we don’t and we start over again (distant screaming.)

We do chores 2-3 times a day on school weekdays (or… sometimes once… but that’s a rough day for cleanliness) and everybody helps at mealtimes. Everybody gives me an hour or a set number of chores on Saturday. We aim to have the house “Sunday ready” by dinnertime Saturday.

Morning chores: this is their chance to take care of their personal space: bed, desk, laundry tidy, that sort of thing. It’s part of general getting ready. After this, the big 3-4 kids help with animal chores (and gardens when applicable) except when they’ve fractured a bone like kid 4 currently has. In some seasons the big 3 will each have an easy first thing kitchen chore like “empty the dishwasher” but not usually during the first part of school year. Mornings are hard for us so we have to get into school routine fir a whole first.

Afternoon chores: By age and ability. Mostly, one-off jobs like change out laundry, put away your laundry, take out trash, entertain a little for 20 minutes so I can have free hands for a separate task, help make the afternoon snack, etc. (Our lives run in 20 minute increments it feels like. I have a timer for everything. It’s what keeps me on task.) I expect big kids (7+) to do 2-4 tasks in this time depending on what the tasks are and under 7s to do one or two things tops, with me. Laundry is a coveted job but the rule is you have to be able to read the label on the knob and reach the bottom of the washer. We’re always behind so I decide as we go what the next load is, and if it’s your basket you’ll be called to help me load even if you’re not big enough to do it independently. Everybody folds (except the 1yo. Because she thinks it’s a keepaway game.)

We have a basic laminated grid on the wall with a column for each kid and little chore stickers with Velcro buttons on the back. (Well, we will when I print and hang the updated version.) Stuff no one likes doing I assign in 2 month increments or more (for habit and technique building) like scrubbing the bathroom; things everyone wants to do, like dust mop, they trade off each week or so. My oldest is so possessive of his sweeping job it’s possible no one else will ever sweep that bit of floor again. But there’s so much else to sweep I’m not too worried tbh.

I try to reset the chart for changeable chores every weekend. In my new and improved version there’s a section for each chore time, and separate for meals, instead of one long column under your name, and you have two columns!, so you move your little chore sticker from “undone” to “done.” Also contemplating have a little sack of random chores to draw from, like a scrabble tile bag, because “contribute positively to the family” is our go to consequence for misbehavior.

Evening chores: This is when we “get in the zone”. Your zone is one specific area of the house you are responsible for. You can do it on your own as you like to stay on top of it or wait til during the fast zone tidy which comes right before or after dinner. And it is fast, like maximum 20 minutes and 10 is better. Big 3 kids rotate between dining room, living room, and main bathroom. Little kids share the playroom. Everybody helps in their own bedroom at the end for 5-10 minutes. I cycle through and help everybody as needed unless something urgent calls me.

Meal time jobs include: table, chairs, floor, dishes (load up or wash by hand.) We’re working up to include kitchen floor and counters as the big kids take on more responsibility for cooking. Again the big 3 kids rotate among the more skilled jobs, while the little 3 trade out what they help scrub and sweep and carry.

Saturdays the kids will do a more irregular job, like “clean out the van” (which is all hands on deck together) or a periodic job like “mop or vacuum your zone” or “scrub cabinets.” We mostly discuss these jobs each week depending on what seems most needed instead of having a specific thing on the chart. (In my improved version the Velcro buttons say “Saturday chore time” in the little Saturday section at the bottom.)

This is probably way more detail than you ever needed in your life, but here we are. Happy planning!

[dontopenfairies]

“Hey,” read the text, “can you bring me something to wear? I had a big accident in class.”

Melissa’s boyfriend, David, had been taking (and failing) a community college class for young adults who had never really gotten the hang of potty training for the last year. Always willing to bail him out, she packed up a bag and drove over to the school. The parking lot was dark and almost empty. To avoid too much embarrassment for the students, the class was always held later than even a typical night class.

David was waiting in the hallway outside the classroom. “Oh honey, on your first day in jeans, too?” asked Melissa as she approached him. He nodded sheepishly. “Okay, let’s go in the bathroom.” She led towards the single-stall men’s restroom. Just as the door was closing behind them, Melissa saw the classroom door open in her peripheral vision. She stopped the bathroom door with an outstretched hand.

“Is everything all right?” asked the professor, peering out from the classroom doorway. “Did you bring a change for David?”

“Yes, don’t worry. David will be okay with me,” said Melissa. The professor nodded and slipped back into the classroom. Melissa let the bathroom door clang shut and locked it.

“Let’s assess the damage,” she sad. “Turn around.” The back of his jeans were lumpy and a little stained. “Oh, okay. That’s not great.” She set her supply bag down on the cabinet and unzipped it.

“You know what the worst part is?” said David. “I didn’t even think about it. I didn’t try to hold it at all. I just started pushing, oh…I’m peeing now.” Melissa looked up. Urine was quickly soaking the front and back of David’s jeans and splattering on the floor.

“Oh, oh, stop, honey, or we’re going to have to mop up the floor!” David grabbed his crotch and whimpered, trying to stem the flow. “Oh, it’s no use now. You might as well just take your pants off. Or, oh, alright, I’ll help you.” She stepped forward and unbuckled his belt. His hand slipped away from his crotch but he kept his thighs pressed firmly together to try desperately to hold in the last bit of pee.

“Hey, don’t bother with that now,” she said. “Otherwise getting these off will be impossible.” David relented and she pulled his pants and underwear off as more urine cascaded to the ground. “Did you have to go a lot? What’s up with that?” she asked her boyfriend, looking up into his face.

David fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. “I don’t know. I didn’t go since before class. I guess I’m just not getting the hang of it at all.”

“Hasn’t your teacher told you to go every 20 minutes or something? Or maybe 10 with your bladder capacity.” She wiped the worst of the mess off him with a bunch of wet wipes. “Okay, lie down on the changing table.” David obliged.

After she cleaned him up, she reached into the bag and pulled out a big diaper. “I know you already graduated to pull-ups. But I just don’t know if you can be trusted with that yet since this whole situation happened.” She gestured at the crumpled pile of messy clothes on the ground.

“I know,” said David. He let her put the diaper on him and tape it up. Then he sat up on the changing table.

Melissa washed her hands in the sink. “Do you want to finish up your class? I think you still have 20 minutes left,” she said as she dried her hands with a paper towel. “Although it’s going to take a second to clean up the mess on the floor.”

“I want to go back to class,” said David. “I’m just really…I don’t know. I’m disappointed in myself.”

“Oh, no, it’s okay! This happens sometimes,” said Melissa, rushing over and grabbing both of his hands. She squeezed and let go, and then ran her fingers through his hair and slid his glasses off. “You’re doing great.” She kissed him.

[hoesplay]

Good day~ could you do something for sae itoshi? i wonder how he will react to seeing his shy s/o dancing and having a concert around their shared house, just being the exact opposite of the shy type, and when he asks why they just go on saying that he might hate that side of them so that's why they act shy instead. I hope this didn't confuse you! thank you anyway!!

𝕀𝕥𝕠𝕤𝕙𝕚 𝕊𝕒𝕖 𝕩 𝕤𝕙𝕪! 𝕤/𝕠

𝘈𝘢𝘢𝘩 𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘢𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴, 𝘣𝘳𝘰’𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘐’𝘮 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘴.

𝘐 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘐 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺𝘦𝘥.

𝘐 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘸 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘐’𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯 :)

ｗｏｒｄ　ｃｏｕｎｔ：　１１５６ ｇｅｎｒｅ：　ｆｌｕｆｆ　＋　ａ　ｌｉｔｔｌｅ　ａｎｇｓｔ

ｔｗ： ｍｉｓｓｃｏｍｕｎｉｃａｔｉｏｎ， ｃｕｒｓｉｎｇ

Sae is the picture-perfect guy anyone would dream of. With long eyelashes framing his piercing gaze, sharp jawline, athletic body and cold demeanor to match his beauty, he is on the highest pedestal: unreachable. How you got under his skin is still a mystery in your mind. Even though you moved in together, you still sometimes struggle with this dilemma. You have the tendency to refrain yourself, despite the effort you put in staying as genuine as possible. It’s never with bad intention, probably in your subconsciousness you feel the need to match to your boyfriend, and as long as he doesn’t complain, things should stay like this. Afterall, he chose you, right? His shy and tame girlfriend who is always so sweet to him.

You picked Thursday as your cleaning day. Usually, Sae has his hands full on that day of the week, so you don’t mind doing the household chores once a week. He is fantastic at football, but just as disastrous with a broom in his hands. Since you enjoy cleaning by yourself, you rid him of these responsibilities.

The sun shining through the window woke you up to a new day: a Thursday. You stretched in the empty bed, checking the time. Your boyfriend has a tight schedule that starts early in the morning with a run, followed by hours of practice. You have the whole day to yourself. With a skip in your step, you made your way to the bathroom to start the day. Throwing on his shirt after a refreshing shower, you did your morning routine before proceeding with the day’s chores. You turned on the speaker to put some music as background noise, turning it as loud as respectfully possible. Subconsciously, your started tapping your foot to the beat, gradually starting to sway you hips to the rhythm. Without realizing, you were soon holding an entire concert, arms gesticulating, lips following the lyrics religiously, using whatever you had in hand as a microphone. You didn’t care, who was here to watch anyway?

Holding the mop as your dance partner, you swiped the floor in sync with your moves. Spinning around, you dropped it in an instant with a panicked shriek as you saw who was witnessing your show out of nowhere.

“You’re early”, you said, trying to sound as composed as possible, which came out as a stutter. Sae was leaning on the doorframe, little smile on his face, studying your figure as you stood frozen as a deer caught in headlights. “Yeah, I’m free today, so I went for the morning run. I also went to the café down the street and bought you coffee. It’s still hot so be careful.”

You thank him, taking a sip out of the beverage, placing it down on the table to continue awkwardly moping the floor. You closed the music that was playing. “Why did you stop? Looked like you were having a good time.”, his sentence caught you by surprise. “What are your plans for today?”, you brushed off his question with one of your own. “I was hoping to spend the day home with you. If you want to go on a date though I don’t mind.”

You agreed to his plan, quickly finishing with the task at hand so you can enjoy your coffee. You took a sit next to him on the couch, beverage in hand, trying to rid yourself of the embarrassment that lingered. “Does it bother you that I’m here?”, the phrase took you by surprise, making you choke on the drink. After a few coughs, you managed to answer “Why would you think that? I should be the one asking that.”

Sae didn’t mean to sneak up on you back then. His curiosity got the best of him when he entered the house to the loud music. He was surprised to see you dancing around in his shirt while being preoccupied with chores. You were so in the moment you didn’t even notice him leaning on the doorframe, admiring your good energy. It made him feel giddy inside.

“You seemed to be enjoying yourself, but stopped when you noticed me. I never knew you had a side like this.”, the moment you heard his explanation, you started apologizing profusely, trying to find reason to your actions, as if you did something wrong. “This is a shit apology.”, his words hit you like a truck. Your shoulders slouched, eyes averting him. “Don’t make that face. You don’t need to explain anything, why are you even sorry in the first place?”, at your silence, he continued, “you know, sometimes I could see something was off, like you were trying to restrain yourself. I don’t understand why you would hide from me of all people.”

You let out a long sigh, finding the courage to give him an explanation. “The truth is, I am kinda scared. Not of you, of course, it’s just that… you’re so cool, and serious, I thought that you’d be displeased by my random bursts of energy. I know I can be annoying, you come home tired, and I really didn’t want to bother you.”, at this point, you didn’t know how to put your thoughts in words anymore.

“We’re not at that point in the relationship where you have a crush on me and want to be up to my standards. We’re sharing a house. Grow up, (y/n), we’re not in high school anymore.”, his blunt words brought tears in the corners of your eyes, that were threatening to spill. He took a moment, sighing.

“I don’t hate this side of you. Afterall, it’s part of you. To be honest, I enjoyed watching you vibe around the house. You looked like yourself the most.”, at his words, a tear rolled down your cheek in relief. You punched his side jokingly. “You should just say you love me, a**hole! What kind of pervert creeps up out of nowhere like this? Creep!!”, you said, earning a grumble from him.

You laughed at his displeasure. All your walls were down now, there was nothing to hide. “Let me join, then.”, he got up offering a hand for you to stand. Taking it, he pulled you close, swaying your bodies left and right. The moment was ridiculous, but with no music in the background, you hummed a phony rhythm out of context. You wanted to laugh at his clumsy moves, but your heart felt so full you just smiled, reaching up to place a kiss on his lips. “Thank you”, you mumbled against him, enjoying the moment. “What are you even thanking me for? Jeez, you’re so lukewarm.”

You bit his lip in protest, giving him a nasty look. You remembered those days in high-school, before you even dated, when he used to reject every confession he received. You don’t know how you got here, but it doesn’t bother you anymore. You’re working on it.

𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓀 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔! :)

[rainytrashh]

— – - – — – - – — – - – — – - – — – - – — – - – — – -

Stop worrying so fucking much

Fic type-> Hurt/ comfort + angst

Warnings*-> Anxiety/ panic attack, PTSD

Word Count-> 1931, a short story

Please check out my other drabbles either on here or on my AO3, the link is at the end <3

~Masterlist~ | Most popular post

*I’ve written Marc’s anxiety/panic attack off of mine that I’ve had in the past but I don’t have PTSD so if there’s anything I wrote wrong please tell me so I can fix it and improve my own understanding of it, thx and enjoy!

— – - – — – - – — – - – — – - – — – - – — – - – — – -

You and Marc were working in the museum together, just chatting, not doing much of anything really. Well except when Donna was watching, which was more or less every five minutes or so because no matter how much you two tried to convince her that you were, in fact, cleaning the floors she just wouldn’t fuck off.

“Steven!”

They haven’t told her about their DID, they don’t think she’d react too well. They’re also glad she hasn’t been bothered to ask about the occasional shift in accents; she hasn’t cared enough to ask anyways.

“Donna-“

“Steven…”

“Donna, I’m cleaning you’re watching me do it.”

Daggers, right into his eyes. You can practically see them.

“Ma- Steven has the mop in his hand?”

-Is your attempt at defending him.

“Really?”

-Is her sarcastic reply.

You turn to Marc and give him a downwards smile, he side-eyes you pretending not to see but he can’t manage to suppress a grin of his own.

“And- I don’t see any mop in yours!”

She snaps, putting her hands on her hips.

“Don’t forget to do the bathroom, y’know the one someone managed to fuckin’ implode-“

“Yes, ok Donna.”

“Water literally everywhere! How does someone even-“

“We’ll. Be. Right. On it. Donna.”

You say stiffly cutting her off once more knowing their sensitivity around the subject, around what happened that day. Wouldn’t you still be a little freaked out if a massive demon dog chased after your alter and left you both just a little shook afterwards; finally making that alter finally aware of you? You know, big plot point in someone’s life to be honest.

Of course him and Steven are cool now, the whole ‘protecting the travellers of the night’ thing being over helps too. What doesn’t help is being able to remember all the bloody, action-packed, I’m-gonna-die moments that came along with it.

You give her the best ‘I’m being as polite as I can to you right now given that you’re my boss and I need this job, desperately’ smile that you have before she slowly turns and walks off.

“Could she’ve gone any earlier?”

“Yes, definitely.”

You catch his gaze after he glanced behind him in the direction of the bathroom.

“You… want me to do the bathroom?”

“No, no you don’t have to. I’ll help just like I’m helping now.”

You smile softly at him.

“Ok, I’ll take the mop. Do you wanna get the rag and spray bottle?”

He hands you the mop, swiping it from him letting the wheelie bucket it’s in trail behind.

“I’ll be back.”

He walks off to the cleaner’s closet.

You make your idle way over to the bathroom, fumbling a bit with your wired earbuds and phone to blast some music while you clean.

—

You see Marc in the corner of your eye, not being able to hear what he’s saying while waving frantically to get your attention. Taking one earbud out, you put the mop in the bucket and turn to face him.

“Sorry what?”

“I’ve got the rag and shit.”

He holds them up so you can see, he’s also oddly far away.

“Oh, ok yea. Just be careful the floor’s wet still. You… good?”

You glance down noticing he hasn’t stepped fully into the bathroom yet.

“Yea, of course.”

Your gaze clings to him worriedly before putting your earbud back in continuing to clean. You know better than to not trust his own judgement, who are you to tell him he’s not ok when he says he is…?

—

Alright Marc, time to do Steven’s job some more.

“You insisted on fronting today!”

As if on cue, an annoyed Steven from the back of his mind.

“I just wanted to talk to Y/n, I didn’t want to do your damn job.”

Marc snaps back almost instantly.

He looks up from the counter he’s wiping down and sees Steven looking back at him, he seems uneasy. A glance is shot in your direction to check you didn’t hear his sudden outburst.

“Marc…”

“What, Steven?”

“Your hands are… all trembly, maybe you should… take a step back from the situation mate.”

He sighs shakily, gripping the rag tighter in hopes to stop the shaking.

“I’m fine, stop worrying so fucking much.”

Steven scoffs. He throws his arms out and furrows his eyebrows obviously confused at how stubborn Marc’s being.

“I can quite literally read your bloody mind, you’re not fine!”

In turn Marc just hangs his head, closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths blatantly ignoring Steven. Eventually, he pries his eyes open and turns his head to face you, happily bobbing your head to your music trying to get a particularly stubborn mark out the floor- completely oblivious, as you should be.

He tries to focus on you, on grounding himself, as memories of that night weave their way into his head.

“It wasn’t nice for me either, please at least just tell them?”

There’s a sense of urgency to Steven’s voice now.

“Shut- shut the… shut up Steven.”

They both notice his voice beginning to falter despite Marc’s efforts to hide it. Him in particular notices it’s getting harder to speak because of his throat starting to close up, stupid adrenaline.

“Marc, you can’t be in here any longer…”

A plea from Steven- ever so soft, ever so tender, ever so endearing.

He tries to reply but nothing comes out, he ends up just pitifully mouthing Steven’s name. Everything is going so fast somehow, his breathing is getting heavier, sounds seem oddly muffled, and his body feels like it could topple over any second.

“Tell them.”

Marc tries to swallow but can’t get it down, he leans over the sink resting his forearms on the counter. He simply shakes his head and rests it in his hands.

As if Steven had managed to tell you from the mirror something was wrong, you turn around to see how Marc’s doing. Not so well obviously.

“Shit Marc, you ok?”

No reply although you see his shoulders tense up.

You yank your earbuds out and let them hang down from your pocket, the loud music swiftly reduced to a faint hum in the background. Jogging over to him you lean down a bit to try and see his face. He looks so… vulnerable like this. Your nerves begin to build up rapidly as you hear his raspy breathing.

“Marc? Please talk to me are you alright?”

He reluctantly turns his head just so he can see you out the corner of his eye, he’s crying now as you see tears drip down into the sink from his nose. He opens his mouth trying to speak again.

“Ok… come on, let’s get outside, give you some fresh air.”

He takes short gasps of air trying to catch his breath, and half the stuff you’re saying is getting drowned out by his heartbeat rapidly drumming in his ears.

You put a hand on his back as you pry him away from the sinks and lead him out the bathroom and through a backdoor, you have to hold onto him to keep his knees from giving out.

He immediately sits himself down against the wall with your help, you can feel his hands shaking against you.

“It’s gonna be over soon, just hang in there and… do what you need to do.”

You sit down next to him, God you really hope he’s gonna work himself through this. You know he will. You just care about him, a whole lot, and can’t help when you get scared for him whether he likes it or not. Seeing him like this is just so out of character, he’s always so confident and… shielded.

You start to pick your nails anxiously, glancing over at him regularly hoping for any kind of signal that he wants you to help more, that he’ll let you help more. In these situations you know he wants to be left alone, so even though you don’t feel like it you’re doing everything you possibly can.

He brings his knees up and rests his forehead on them, he digs his nails into the back of his head as he tries to calm his breathing down like Steven’s telling him.

“Focus on my voice Marc, don’t think just focus on my voice I’m here ok?”

“Breathe in, breathe out…”

“Don’t think about it think about what’s around you. What can you see, what can you hear, what can you smell…“

He’s trying, he’s really trying and so is Marc but he doesn’t seem to be calming down any time soon. His heart’s getting louder, his breathing’s getting choppier and everything is way more blurry than it was a few minutes ago. He doesn’t know what to do, and everything’s getting worse.

After what feels like forever you check your phone and see it’s barely been two minutes, while doing this you pause your music having forgotten completely about it letting it turn to white noise.

You let your head fall back onto the brick wall behind you. You sigh trying to calm yourself down now, you let the crisp wind hit your features and fill your lungs.

Unexpectedly you hear Marc’s breathing slow down, you whip your head around to face him and watch the grip on his hair let up.

“Marc?”

After a few tense moments you watch as he raises his head and faces you, tear stained face and red puffy eyes meet yours.

“Marc…?”

You furrow your eyebrows confused at his sudden shift in demeanour.

He shakes his head and gives weary smile, he taps his name badge- Steven.

“Oh…”

You nod your head, giving him a weak smile of your own.

“Well, you two good?”

He signals to his throat and nods instead.

Ah, it’s clicked in your head, they may have switched but all the physical things going on with the body would stay the same.

“Good…”

You both sit in a comfortable silence for a while, just letting the tension settle down. Ultimately one of you speaks up.

“Sorry-“

He clears his throat and stretches his legs out on the concrete staring down at his feet.

“Sorry you had to be around for that…”

“No don’t say you’re sorry, it’s not your fault.”

“But, we could’ve prevented it, easily!”

“It’s not Marc’s fault either Steven-“

“No no that’s not what I meant- I just… I could’ve done something. Take control of the legs or something and walked us right out of there, I didn’t. I don’t know why I didn’t, was I scared? Why was I scared to if I was scared? I just don’t bloody understand-“

“Steven.”

Your eyes meet, the calm in yours seeps into his before you look away. You reach to his hand and caress his knuckles comfortingly, oddly rough for someone who should be working in a museum.

“It’s ok now, what’s happened has happened, so try not to think about all these would’ves, could’ves, and should’ves. Just, think about what you’re gonna do about it in the future. Even better, focus on the now.”

Steven exhales weightily and lets his lead fall limp on your shoulder.

“You should tell Marc that.”

—

“Steven! Y/n! Where were you? No, I don’t want to hear it. You’re both getting inventory duty for a week. Yes a week, starting fucking today. Now finish cleaning that sodding bathroom, how long does that take you anyways I’d have it done in half this time already. No, I told you, I don’t want to hear it I’ve got more important things to do—“

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[echo-goes-mmm]

Silas and Wren 2.0 #5

Masterpost

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Warnings: past dub/noncon

Silas paced in his room. 

As much as he hated solitude, he’d grown accustomed to it. Now that he had company, what was there to say?

He’d gotten what he wanted, but it didn’t help the emptiness inside him.

Typical. 

He stopped, sighing. Maybe… maybe he just needed some time. To get used to another person again; or maybe time for the pain of rejection to leave.

If it ever left.

Silas opened his door, bumping into Wren. 

Wren squeaked at the impact. He stepped back, his honey-brown eyes wild.

“Sorry,” Silas apologized. “I didn’t know you were there.”

Wren's expression shifted in a flash, from fear to a placid smile, but Silas could hear his frantic heartbeat.

“I should have watched where I was going,” he said, polite as always. “I’m sorry, Master.”

Wren was afraid of him.

Of course Wren was afraid of him; how could he expect anything different? He shouldn’t hope for anything good from the universe. Nothing ever panned out right.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Wren’s relief was nearly imperceptible, but it was there.

“What’re you up to?” Silas asked.

Wren tensed again, and Silas could have smacked himself. “I’m only curious,” he added.

“I- I was looking for a duster, Master. To clean with.”

“Oh. Uh, I don’t think I have one. Sorry.”

“It’s alright, Master, I’ll make do,” Wren said with a sunny smile. It didn’t quite meet his eyes.

Silas wondered how many smiles Wren had faked before. He was too good at it.

“You don’t have to clean for me.”

Wren shifted. “I’d be happy to,” he said. “I don’t mind, Master.”

Silas knew a losing battle when he saw one.

“Well, alright. You don’t need to call me ‘master’, though. Just Silas will do.”

“Yes, Master Silas,” replied Wren automatically.

Silas sighed internally, and went downstairs.

So much for bonding. How did people make friends?

Silas scanned the bookshelf, looking for something to read. 

Unfortunately, he had read all of his books many times, and he really didn’t feel like risking the streets for the bookstore. 

The library was outside his pitiful territory, and out of the question.

Silas worried his lip. Maybe he could send Wren to buy a book or two?

He glanced at the clock. Ten pm. The bookstore closed at nine.

It was just as well, really. He couldn’t afford to spend money so frivolously. Sure, the banks were as happy to service vampires as they were humans- money was money after all- but his pockets were not as deep as most of his kin. 

Wren alone was a sizable expense, and he had to buy food for him every week. Not to even mention furnishing the attic room. No new books for a while, then.

Silas grabbed a random title and sat in his armchair. He flipped to the first chapter, skimming the words.

Nothing jumped out at him; the plot couldn’t hold his attention. He had read it too many times.

Silas scrubbed a hand over his face. 

He missed his sired siblings, even though they disliked him. He missed games and chatter and jokes, even if he was mostly left out.

But most of all he missed Felix; the only other person in his nest that didn’t hate him.

If only things had been different.

Silas sighed, and stood to put the book away.

___________________

Wren finished dusting the top of the kitchen shelves. No one had cleaned up there in ages, and no wonder. He had to climb on top of the counter to get to it.

Wren wiped off the counters one more time, and admired his work.

The kitchen was sparkling from top to bottom. He’d even mopped the floor, despite the lack of a proper mop.

Luckily, he’d found some rags in the bathroom closet. It seemed a rather strange place to keep them, but it wasn’t his place to question his Master’s organization system.

Speaking of his Master, Silas hadn’t fed from him yet. Surely he was hungry.

Wren put the stopper in the sink and filled it with hot water. He left the rags to soak, and went looking for his owner.

___________________

Master Silas was in the living room, staring off into space. His hands were folded in front of him, and his legs were stretched out.

Wren hesitated.

“Are you alright, Master?”

Silas turned his head, his gray eyes landing on him. Master looked away after only a moment.

“I’m fine,” he said.

Wren hesitated. “You haven’t had breakfast,” he said.

“I’m not hungry. Just… bored.”

What did he mean? A vampire who wasn’t hungry? Laughable. Incomprehensible. Then again, who was Wren to question him?

Boredom, though, he could fix.

Wren didn’t particularly want to at the moment- he was probably covered in dust- but it was about time he did his duty for Master Silas.

“I could entertain you, Master,” he offered, keeping his voice as pleasant and agreeable as possible.

Silas looked at him again. Wren’s hands twitched at the hem of his shirt, waiting for the order to strip.

It didn’t come.

Silas stood up. He walked to the shelf, and pulled down a box.

Confusion and relief swirled through him. A game. Just a board game.

“Do you know how to play Carcassonne?”

“I can learn, Master.”

Silas set the box on the coffee table, and Wren inched forward. Master began to pull out the pieces, and Wren sat on the rug across from him.

One day, soon, Master Silas would take him to the bedroom and Wren would find out what kind of Master he was. What he liked, and how to really please him.

But for now, Master wanted him to play a game.

Wren tried to pay attention as Master Silas explained the rules, but a thought nagged at him.

Why didn’t Silas want to bed him? 

No one had ever turned him down before. He never really had to offer before, either. It was a given; understood that Wren was always available. No Master needed to be bored when he was around.

It had been three days and Silas showed no sign of interest.

No Master had ever waited so long. Some took him into the bedroom immediately, others waited until evening came. One in particular, the worst of them, had bent him over the nearest piece of furniture as soon as they had walked through the door. 

But three days? Unheard of.

Silas placed the first square, and Wren was struck with a horrifying thought.

Was something wrong with him?

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[hannahssimblr]

Clóda is waiting on the couch when I come back with fingers drumming on her knees, “There’s orange juice on the floor,” she points out. “Did someone spill it?”

“Oh, sh- yeah, Ivy did. I haven’t had a chance to clean it yet.”

“Do you need help?”

“God, no, it’s fine, I’ll just-” I dip into the bathroom and yank some toilet paper off the roll and then start layering it over the spill. God, this is embarrassing. Why did I invite her into this mess? She shouldn't be seeing any of this. The house was supposed to be clean and fragrant with some cool music playing and maybe even one of my mother’s less fancy and less noticeable candles lit on the shelf, but no, here I am on my knees beside Clóda, mopping up orange juice with toilet paper that is rapidly disintegrating and turning to mush in my hands.

To add insult to injury she says, “how’s the whole babysitting thing going?”

“Yeah amazingly. So good.”

She looks around her again and I fear that she will spot something else that’s gone wrong, but she just says, “This beach house is pretty nice.”

“Yeah we’re lucky.”

“Do your parents, um, do they have good jobs?”

“Yeah, you could say that I suppose, my dad’s a dentist and my mom is an actuary.”

“What is that?”

I shrug, “Basically she works in insurance, it’s very boring.”

“I actually used to always wonder who owned this house. I’d see it every time I was walking to the end of the beach, but like, it’s shut up all winter so I never really knew anything except for that some wealthy family from Dublin owns it.”

“We’re not that wealthy,” I gather the soaking tissue in my hands and go and dump it into a waste paper basket. “Probably about the same as you, huh? Didn’t you say that your dad owns the boat club?”

“It’s in the family, yeah, but that’s the only business we own now since we had to sell the restaurant in town.”

“Oh now you have just one business?” I slump down next to her and make sure that our elbows are touching, “I didn’t know you were lowly peasants. God, how do you survive off that?”

“Shut up,” she smirks at me, “It’s not all great, with the recession and all..”

“Yeah the recession,” I roll my eyes, “It’s always the recession this and the recession that these days, isn’t it?”

“Yeah it’s so boring, I don’t care about economics or anything like that.”

“Same. I never pay attention in business class.” I spring forward and grab the TV remote from the table, trying to be very cool and play off the fact that it is now sticky after Ivy mauled it with her child-hands. “You want to watch a movie?”

“Okay.”

“What kind?”

“Do you have the movie channels?”

“Yeah all of them.”

“All of them?”

“Yeah.”

“At your holiday house?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re wealthier than I am then.”

I laugh, “Come on, let’s pick a movie. What’s on? Oh look, Ocean’s Thirteen is there, or… Bruce Almighty.”

“What about P.S I love you?”

I flick it on without hesitation, “Yeah sure.”

She laughs in disbelief, “Really?”

“Why not?” We’re not looking for Oscar winners here, just some background noise, and anyway, sometimes I secretly don’t mind chick flicks that much, at least it offers some ambient background noise instead of the gunshots and helicopters that are always in the films I watch with the guys. Obviously I love those kinds of movies, but girls aren't often as enthusiastic.

I sit back and drape my arm over the back of the couch. Not touching her, not yet, but enough to break any awkward tension and dissipate any confusion she may have about why I invited her over. See, I’m slick like that.

“Does your dad know you’re here?” I murmur as the opening credits roll. 

“As if. He thinks I’m at Rachel’s house. You know he actually asked me about you earlier when you came by the boat club.”

“Was he wondering if I work out?” 

She laughs, “No, he was all like ‘who was that young fella hovering around the door?’ and all, he says you look rough.”

“‘Rough’?”

“I think it’s the shaved head, makes you look like a skanger.” 

I pretend to be shocked, “A skanger? I’m no skanger.”

“Well I know that, but you look like one when you don’t have any hair.”

I run a hand over my head. There’s nothing I can do about it now. “And Rachel? Does she know that you’re supposed to be with her?”

Clóda shifts guiltily, “Um, no. She’s mad at me actually, so I haven’t talked to her in a few days.”

I shift in close to face her. I shouldn’t be addicted to teen girl drama but it’s fascinating. The things they say and do to one another are always crazy, it’s true psychological warfare. “Oh yeah? What happened?”

“Oh, just, you know.”

“You’re going to have to give me more than that.”

“She’s annoyed because she called first dibs.”

“On?”

She blushes bright pink and looks away, and I understand that this is about me. They should probably be more relaxed about this kind of thing, because Shane fancied Clóda too but I got there first. There’s no hard feelings, it’s just how it works, and I think girls might have an easier time if they got on board and accepted things like this.

“Did you tell her that I said I don’t fancy her?”

“No, do you think I should? I’ll tell her that you think she’s annoying or something.”

“Um, no, don't tell her that.”

“She is annoying though.”

“I don’t know about that.”

Clóda scoffs, “She is, she, like, copies everything I do. If I curl my hair, she curls her hair, if my nails are purple then her nails are purple, she has no originality. It just annoys me so much.”

“Yeah that sounds tough, I guess, but if you wanna tell her as much then you have to say that it’s you that thinks it, not me. I don’t want to get involved.”

“Do boys have this type of drama?”

“No.”

“Right… I’m sorry for bringing it up, you probably think it sounds really stupid.”

“I don’t, it’s okay, you can chat to me about it if you want.”

“Well, okay then,” she says, and launches immediately into a ten minute tirade about Rachel and how annoying she is, and how this relates to and ties in with some other girls at their school in some friend group they’re in, and I try my best to stay engaged but it’s frankly confusing. I can’t keep track of who’s who, and sometimes it’s Clóda herself, the main focus of all of these stories, who seems to be in the wrong. She keeps saying things like “Do you know what I’m saying?” and I don’t, but I suppose it’s okay and I can just nod along because what’s important is that she’s here and the things about her that are nice make any doubts I may have about her dissipate and float away for now. Like her eyes, hazel, the beauty spot on her chin and that view of the side of her neck when she tucks her hair behind her ear. When I picture myself putting my mouth there her words don't really matter. 

The next time she looks up at me through long, black lashes she trails off, her sentence dies on her lips because she knows I have stopped listening. She knows I am going to kiss her, and I am, because I’ve already subscribed to the idea that kissing her would be so nice. 

She watches my hand as I move to push a piece of her hair away from her face and then locks her eyes on me as I lean in and press my lips to hers, and while the idea is nice, so nice, the reality is different. It is wet and messy and she’s still not very good at this. I don't know why I half expected her to have improved in the last week, but it’s alright because I’m two things, I’m patient and I’m a good teacher.

“Like this,” I murmur, drawing back with her face in my hands and dotting kisses to her mouth. 

Her breath hitches, “Am I bad?”

“No, I'm just trying to show you how I like it.”

My phone begins to buzz in my pocket and I ignore it. I don’t know why she is so eager to unhinge her jaw and shove her entire tongue in my mouth, but I’m not letting her. Every time she tries I pull back and start again as the phone stops ringing. Then it begins again. 

Clóda sounds dazed, “Is someone ringing you?”

“Never mind it.” We kiss more as it vibrates furiously against my thigh.

“It’s kind of distracting.”

“Really?” 

“Mm.”

I grumble to myself and pull it out of my pocket to see Joe calling, and I pull a face. This guy should not be calling me. Preferably he wouldn’t even have this kind of access to me past six PM, or actually, my number at all, but I answer it anyway. 

“Yeah?”

“Hey man.”

I pause for several incredulous seconds, “Yeah, hey. What’s up?”

“Nothin’ much man, how are you?”

“Why are you ringing me?”

“Oh! I think Jen wants you to come and get her.”

“Jen?” I sit up straight letting Clóda’s hands and legs drop away from me. “What’s wrong?”

“We dunno, man. She’s just crying and shit. She just says that she wants you to come over.”

“Where are you?” 

“My brother’s house.”

I pinch the skin between my eyebrows, “Did you- did she-” I’m hyper aware of Clóda listening to my every word, “Is she, um, intoxicated?”

“Yeah man, she took a couple yokes and then started freaking out, I dunno. She’s outside crying and asking for you.”

“You left her outside?”

“That’s just where she was.”

“Can you put her on the phone?”

“Um, she can’t really talk, she’s kinda hypo- hyp- she’s gasping really hard.”

“Okay, I’m coming,”

 I stand up as Clóda watches me. “Where?” She says as I finish up the phone call. 

I move through the room frantically grabbing keys, money, “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry but I have to go and get Jen. She’s at a party tonight and she’s not feeling well,” I instinctively reach to paw at the front of my hair though it isn’t there anymore. “This is terrible, I know, I wish-”

“You want me to stay here?” She glances around awkwardly. 

“Well… yeah, you know, I can’t leave my sister in the house on her own, and Jen needs to be brought home, I promise that I won’t be long, the house she’s at is just down in the village, like ten minutes each way, and-”

“Yeah I suppose, I-”

“As a huge favour?” I interject desperately, “Can you just stay? I’ll owe you one, and you don’t have to do anything, just sit here for like, twenty minutes, half an hour max and I’ll be back.”

“I have to be home by eleven.”

“I’ll be back before then.”

“Um. Okay.”

“Yeah, great, finish the movie, um… thank you so much, seriously. I’ll be right back.” I rush up the stairs and out the front door. This is bad. This is genuinely terrible, but there’s nothing that I can do about it, so I push all thoughts about what is happening to the back of my mind and climb onto my bicycle. 

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