#text message tracker

[dreamingeyes]

how fantasy high characters would react if you asked them to buy you pads

bonus gilear

[vaspider]

Listen to me. Listen very carefully:

They are trying to wear you out.

They are trying to wear you out, and they own most major social media now, along with many major media outlets. The disinformation machine is cranking along. You are going to have to slow the fuck down and read things before you help them wear out other people, too.

So you just saw a post about a real scary bill, hunh? Republicans want to make it a capital offense to pet dogs and repeal The Sky Is Blue Act of 1793, declaring the new official color of the sky to be squant? Damn, that sounds scary.

Let's go look up this fictitious "Make The Sky Squant Again Act" on GovTracker* & on the official legislative tracker on congress.gov!

Well, let's see... GovTracker estimates it has a 1% chance of even getting out of committee and a 0% chance of being enacted, while congress.gov says this bill has 2 cosponsors who have been in the House and combined total of less than a month. The bill doesn't have any actual text, and it was referred to 5 different committees.

That fictitious bill and a hundred others like it are quite literally not worth your time, and more than that, continuing to wring your hands about it and tell other people about the scary scary squant sky bill only does their work for them. It scares people, it makes them spend time and energy on it, and it wears them out. It is a legislative Gish Gallop, meant to throw so many things at people that we can't keep up.

Even calling or messaging your Rep in this case means their staffer has to waste time responding to you and letting you know that Representative Buttzonheads definitely won't support making petting dogs a capital offense, a thing that will never, ever happen regardless.

Staying engaged in this environment is going to require protecting your heart and protecting your energy, yes, but also protecting the energy of others. This is why WWII propaganda posters also included ones taking people to task for spreading panicky rumors and undermining morale.

Do you know why most observant Jews don't eat chicken and dairy together, even though the ban is on red meat and dairy together bc you're not supposed to cook the calf in the milk of its mother?** It's not because we think that chicken might secretly lactate or Just Because. It's because the rabbis decided that if I'm sitting out in public and eating turkey and cheese together, someone might glance at the turkey and mistake it for red meat and think, "oh, well, I know that Spider is a good Jew, there must have been a change, or maybe I can just justify it to myself that if Spider does it, it must be permissible to bend the rules just that much." And I would then be accidentally leading my fellow Jew astray. We are responsible for being even more careful for the sake of others than we are for ourselves.

It's the same principle here. We need to really be careful about the information we are spreading and check things past reading a news site. Is it true? Is it relevant? Is it meaningful? Is the news site one I recognize? Can I find meaningful independent corroboration on another site, which is to say, if I find an article about it on a second site, is it just quoting or rephrasing this site?

Yeah, that is a lot. But that's how we keep them from using us to lead our fellows astray.

*GovTracker is an independent site. They explain their methodology in their About section.

**I cannot say enough how I am not at this time interested in going on a Jewish Side Quest About Dietary Laws on this post. Usually, I love it, but hold off this time, please, y'all. Let's stay on target this once.

[hypokeimena]

i love long distance / online friendship specifically. very much. like there are... patterns and ways that distance creates bubbles of understanding and knowledge and intimacy... wanna be able to tell when you're on your way to work because you backread on your commute and i see you in my notifs. 2 of my friends put their feet in the opposite sides of the atlantic ocean on a phone call once. love getting people's flight numbers so i can see on the tracker that they're delayed on tarmac and text them to cheer em up. love a shared playlist love a spotify jam love streaming. getting a goodnight message while you're making lunch and knowing how time is passing for someone halfway around the world... love making dinner and getting ":V :V :V" reactions in the chat and having to figure out what dinner emoji to reply with. when you get to hear all the little things... you know? sometimes you are actually closer to someone when you are riding around in their pocket all day.

[hoshifighting]

Really enjoyed the screaming back reaction. Could you do one where reader actually leaves the house after an argument.

seungcheol doesn’t hesitate. the second you grab your coat and storm out, he’s right on your heels. “where do you think you’re going?” he asks, grabbing your wrist gently before you can reach the end of the driveway. “we’re not doing this, not like this. let’s talk, okay? i’m not letting you walk out.” he’s frustrated, as if the mere thought of you leaving makes his chest tighten, he wants to give you space, but the thought of you out there, alone and upset because of him, eats at him.

jeonghan watches the door close behind you, an incredulous smile tugging at his lips. “seriously?” he mutters to himself, shaking his head. he thinks you’re just blowing off steam, that you’ll be back in no time. but as the minutes tick by, then hours, his confidence wavers. the sky outside darkens, and with it, his composure. he finally picks up his phone, dialing your number with shaking hands, his voice frantic when you answer. “where are you? are you okay? please… just come home.”

joshua moves faster than you expect, cutting you off before you can make it out the door. “you’re not driving like this,” he says calmly, but there’s an edge to his voice. he takes the keys from your hand, his expression softening as he sees the anger and hurt in your eyes. “i’m not letting you go out there when we’re both like this. let’s just… let’s talk, okay? please?” his voice is gentle, coaxing, but firm, making it clear that he’s not letting you leave.

junhui feels his heart drop the moment you walk out, tears welling up in his eyes almost instantly. he tries to hold them back, but by the time the door closes, he’s already crying. hours pass, and he doesn’t move from the spot, tears still falling freely. when you finally come back, you find him sitting on the floor, eyes red and puffy, still crying. “i’m sorry,” he whispers, barely able to get the words out through the sobs. “please don’t leave me like that again.”

hoshi is livid. the moment you leave, he starts typing out a series of furious texts, his fingers flying over the keyboard. “so, you’re just going to run away?” but before he hits send, he pauses, the reality of what he’s doing sinking in. with a frustrated sigh, he deletes the messages, knowing he’s being childish. “damn it,” he mutters, feeling guilty for letting his emotions get the better of him. he paces the room, running a hand through his hair, not sure what to do next.

wonwoo stands frozen as you walk out, the sound of the door closing echoing in his ears. he doesn’t chase after you, doesn’t say anything, just stares at the door, his mind reeling. it’s only when the silence becomes unbearable that he snaps out of it, panic setting in. he grabs his keys, heart pounding in his chest. without even thinking, he pulls up the tracker he’d secretly put on your car for safety, his guilt mounting as he realizes he’s going to use it to find you now. “please be okay,” he whispers to himself, racing out the door.

woozi sits back at his desk, but the music project in front of him might as well be a blank sheet. his mind is elsewhere, replaying every word of the argument, each one more painful than the last. he’s never been good with emotions, and now, with you gone, he feels like he’s drowning in them. after what feels like an eternity, he can’t take it anymore. he picks up his phone, calling you over and over until you finally pick up. when you do, you can hear the tremor in his voice, the barely-contained sob he’s fighting. “please… come back,” he says quietly, the desperation clear.

minghao follows you to the door, standing there with his arms crossed, a scoff escaping his lips as he watches you go. “so, this is how you deal with things? running away?” he calls after you, frustration evident in his tone. he stands there for a moment, waiting for you to turn around, to say something, anything. but when you don’t, when you step into the elevator without even a glance back, his heart sinks. the door closes, and he’s left standing in the hallway.

mingyu can’t let you leave. as you make a beeline for the door, he moves faster, blocking your path with his broad frame. “you’re not going anywhere,” he says, his voice shaky. you try to push past him, your frustration boiling over, but he holds his ground, his eyes pleading. “please, don’t go,” he whispers, and when you hit his chest in frustration, the tears finally spill over. you collapse against him, and he wraps his arms around you, holding you tight as you both break down.

seokmin is a mess from the moment you walk out. he grabs his phone, typing out a series of long, heartfelt texts, pouring out everything he didn’t get to say in the heat of the argument. each message is more desperate than the last, filled with apologies and reassurances, but he knows none of them will reach you right now. with a frustrated sigh, he throws his phone onto the couch, his hands shaking.

seungkwan paces the room, his mind racing. he hates fighting with you, hates the way it makes him feel, the way it makes everything feel wrong. he’s torn between running after you and giving you space, his heart pulling him in both directions at once. he runs a hand through his hair, muttering to himself, “what do i do?” the thought of you being upset, especially because of him, makes him feel sick. finally, he collapses onto the couch, staring at the door, waiting, hoping you’ll come back soon.

vernon is left standing in the middle of the room, the silence after the argument ringing in his ears. he looks up at the ceiling, trying to process everything that just happened, but all he can think about is the way you left without looking back. the apartment feels different now, emptier, and the echoes of your argument replay in his mind, each word cutting deeper than the last. he sits down on the couch, burying his face in his hands, wishing he could take back everything he said.

chan feels his anger drain away the second you walk out, leaving him feeling empty, he knows he should chase after you, but his feet feel like they’re stuck to the floor. he slumps onto the couch, pulling a blanket over himself as if that could somehow make the ache in his chest go away. eventually, he drifts off into an uneasy sleep, the uncomfortable position on the couch mirroring the discomfort in his gut. when you finally come back, the sight of him curled up, asleep, and clearly still upset, makes your heart ache.

[foone]

I'm generally in favor of decriminalizing/legalizing/etc sex work. Even full service sex work, you know?

But here's the thing: the other day I went to the grocery story. Before I even made it in the door, I had two emails, a text message, and an app notification, because I had to pay 2$ for parking. We are living in a world that increasingly has to email and notify you for every time you spend any money, and it's annoying as hell.

And I hate the idea of that happening with sex work! Not because of the "oh no, paper trail" reasons (I'm not worried about the cops or my partner finding out I got a Fancy Massage), but just because I'm already drowning in notifications and emails and apps! I don't want to have to sign up for another app that just works as a fancy menu and delivery tracker, I currently have at least SIXTEEN installed! Don't make me install another that'll send me four notifications and three emails every time I orgasm.

I mean, we should still do it, make sex work legal, but god. The notifications.

[riacte]

Unconventional format / mixed media / meta / epistolary fic ideas:

Script format but the characters slowly break fourth wall until they grow self aware and scream to leave but the script confines them.

Mock up notes of an author's fic outline only for a "fan favourite" / "author's darling" character to gain sentience and influence the story. The character changes the outline to suit their own agenda, and their changes are marked with a different colour whereas black text means it's the author's will. Maybe another character using another colour gains sentience. The different colours fight for dominance. Mom says it's my turn with the keyboard hey what the fuck man excuse me I'm literally trying to save my family can you guys let go and let me write your character arcs in peace OH FUCK OFF

Recipe fic. The story is told via those unnecessarily long backstories on a recipe blog in which you learn about someone's grandma or a breakup or literally anything. Bonus points if the actual recipe deals with worldbuilding (what ingredients are available? What utensils are used? How to serve this meal? Woohoo Dungeon Meshi) or in-cheek recipes (eg. "Recipe for making up with your estranged mother - Step 1: Mix patience, nostalgia, and filial piety and let it marinate for ten years. Step 2: Throw that shit into the trash because you're better than that")

Travel fic. A character is lost and trying to find their way somewhere. GPS directions, googling "x place to x place", tickets and dates, train station maps, leaflets. It gets weirder and weirder. You never get closer to your destination. You're walking around in circles. It's always 10 meters away. Where are you going and where have you been?

Receipts. Try to infer what a character is doing judging from the weird things they buy together. Also yipppee inflation tracker. On the other side, maybe it can be about a cashier/ shop owner getting to know their customers and what they order.

Written from the pov of an non-native English speaker, all the English words are italicized whereas their native tongue are the only words not italicized. Inspired by Kupu rere kē by Alice Te Punga Somerville. This is because I got salty about people from Ao3 Reddit saying they won't read a fic in all italics.

Murder mystery / "Among Us" style impersonation fic strictly using the chatfic format. Characters and readers will have to figure out which character has been killed and replaced from the way they text and use emojis. This is also because I got salty about Ao3 Reddit being a wee bit pretentious about emoji usage in fics. Maybe emojis can be important plot devices! Some people prefer to sign off messages with a heart emoji of their signature colour, so won't it be weird if they use another coloured heart? How about someone using lapslock suddenly using proper capitalisation and full stops? Can you tell if someone's phone has been stolen? What if someone's mother is pretending to text like their child? Why is someone suddenly only using UwU speak? Is it a bit, or have they been replaced?

Innocuous second person POV until the last line where it's suddenly revealed to be first person POV all along and the "I" has been stalking and narrating "you".

Other fun bits / Easter eggs / secrets to hide:

Decoding within the text itself. Maybe we get given instructions to find a word in x chapter on page y on the nth line. And when we as readers collect all the words, they form a sentence that spells out an important fact which the characters are oblivious to. Or maybe the in-universe characters find a book with the same title as the irl fic with a bookmark in it, and if you go to where the bookmark is stuck irl, you'll find the murderer plainly stated. The rest of the fic is about the readers having hard confirmation of who the murderer is while characters don't know.

A phrase is subtly repeated throughout the text of the fic and is spelled out with the letter that begins a sentence. It gives off the effect that the narrator is screaming and crying into the void (to the readers in the fourth wall) while trying to avoid detection. Bonus points if the same word is repeated for pages and pages to the point the lack of sentence variation feels weird and clunky.

Morse code!! I love morse code! Using onomatopoeia to convey the dots and dashes! The sound of rain pattering on the tin rooftop— drop, drop, drop. A low whistle of a train rumbling in the distance. He slowly sharpens his knife, creating a shiiing sound. A lengthy, high pitched squeal from his kettle. A dog barks. A sharp knock. His heart thumps. Dot dot dot, dash dash dash, dot dot dot. SOS. Maybe a character's death scene spells out the name of their mysterious murderer. Maybe a character is reminiscing their deceased loved one and the scene spells out what the deceased person would've wanted to tell them— "LIVE ON" or "I LOVE YOU" or something.

[adragonprinceswhore]

Make You Feel My Love

Aemond Targaryen x Ex-Girlfriend

Summary: A few months after you break things off with your boyfriend, Aemond, you start receiving strange messages and phone calls from an unknown number. Things escalate when you’re sent a video secretly filmed half a year ago, of you and Aemond having sex.

Warnings: 18+, dark themes (mind the tags!), obsession, stalking, exhibitionism, blackmail, threats of violence, emotional manipulation, DUBCON (drunk sex), degradation, dirty talk, fingering, deepthroat, breathplay, spanking, P in V, hairpulling

A/N: Based on a request by anon, I hope you like this! Another spooky fic for the spooky season, Happy All Saint's Eve! 🖤

Word Count: 5100

Your breath turns into small clouds in the cold air as you step out of the office building, the chill of late autumn biting through your wool coat. 

It’s already dark outside. The tall lamp-posts lining the empty streets cast a pale light over Cobbler’s Square, the business hub of King’s Landing. As you fumble with your gloves to put them on, your phone vibrates, breaking the silence of the still night. You glance down and see a message from an unknown number:

"Working overtime again?"

Your eyes linger on the screen. The message makes you shiver, it’s uncomfortably familiar yet oddly unsettling. You scan the sidewalk, wondering if someone from work might be pulling a prank at your expense, but there's no one around, just the faint murmur of traffic in the distance. 

After a second of consideration, you decide it must’ve been someone texting the wrong number, so you slip the phone back into your pocket, and head toward the underground.

The one good thing about staying late at the office is that there’s always a free seat on the train. You take a seat, put in your earbuds and close your eyes, relieved that another stressful day is behind you. 

Still, the strange text you’d received leaves a knot of unease tightening within you. 

Your mind drifts to recent news reports about a man harassing women across the city. He’d been lurking around office buildings, the stories said, learning his victims’ routines, showing up at the same places, always at the wrong times. 

The coincidence is eerie, almost too frightening to think about. So you pull out your phone, trying to distract your wandering mind. 

You scroll through recent news, and just as you feel yourself relax a bit, another reminder of your recent distress pops up on your screen,

Aemond Targaryen.

It’s hard to keep up with recent affairs and not bump into him. 

A member of the Targaryen family, one of the most powerful media dynasties in the country, he was untouchable, the kind of person people said was destined to rule the world. At first, he’d seemed like the everything a woman could wish for: captivating, attentive, always ready with grand gestures.

But as time passed, his attention turned darker. 

His texts became constant, then invasive. 

He’d ask where you were at all hours, demanding you kept your location tracker on at all times. He would question your friends, arguing they were ‘beneath you’. He even hinted at you quitting your job as a political reporter, a position you had studied and fought for for 8 years, to come work for him. “I’ll make you my personal assistant”, he’d said, “Keep you close in case I need anything.”

His controlling tendencies, paired with his arrogant worldview was what ultimately led you to break things off with him . And when you finally did, he’d accepted it with chilling calm; no fight, no anger, just a quiet nod.

You force the thought from your mind, stepping off the tube and onto the platform. 

Once you’re home, you kick off your shoes, lock the door, and sink into the quiet solace of your apartment. You’re pouring a long-awaited glass of wine when your phone vibrates again. 

The screen lights up, the same unknown number.

"I hope you got home safe."

The pit in your stomach returns.

It started off with little things. 

Strange texts that seemed harmless enough. Then came the letters, always printed and neatly folded, never including a return address. 

At first, you brushed them off. It was easy to wave away the unease, convincing yourself that it was a prank, a mix-up, maybe just a wrong number. They were never addressed specifically to you anyway. 

A little discomfort, nothing more. But as the days turned into weeks, the messages began to change. 

They weren’t just random or generic anymore; they became specific, too personal, with a familiar vocabulary that made your skin crawl. Whoever was sending them seemed to know you intimately; your routines and habits. 

Things you had never shared with anyone. 

The messages were like an invisible set of eyes, always watching from places you couldn’t see.

You still remember the first time you felt true fear. It was a Friday night when your phone rang, and you answered to hear nothing but dead silence. 

No voice, no background noise, just the suffocating, empty void on the other end of the line. Stunned into silence, you waited, but the call never broke the silence. 

Eventually, you hung up, convincing yourself that it was nothing, probably a misdial. But then the calls started coming more frequently. And with each passing second you had to listen to the silence on the other end, your unease grew. 

The letters were even worse. 

They began appearing not only in your mailbox, but slipped under your door as well, tucked into the gaps like sinister little secrets. 

You remember holding one, your fingers trembling as you read the words, each line making your apartment feel smaller, as if the walls themselves were closing in on you. The messages never outright threatened, but their tone was unsettling, implying that the sender knew where you lived, what you did, even how you spent your quietest, most private moments. 

Before they were impersonal, now they included your name as well. 

You really shouldn’t walk alone at night. 

The city is full of dangers, and someone as precious as you deserves better. I watch you sometimes, you know. 

I watch the way you clutch your bag a little tighter when the shadows loom over you, how you shiver when the wind cuts through your coat. It makes me want to keep you safe.

You work so hard, staying late at the office. It must be exhausting, always pushing yourself. But don’t worry. I’m never far away. Watching. Waiting. Ready to step in if you ever need me.

Sleep well tonight. 

I’ll be thinking of you.

The animalistic fear the letters brought out in you caused tears of despair to shine in your eyes. Never before had you felt so unsettled; robbed of your sanctuary and stripped bare under the unrelenting gaze of an unknown threat. 

When you thought things couldn’t get worse, you notice it in the corner of your eye whenever you get off the tube. Someone has started following you home. 

As with the other terrors, it began subtly. 

A shadow moving just out of your line of sight, footsteps that kept the same rhythm as yours, only to fall silent when you turn to look. 

Initially, you brushed it off as paranoia. The strange texts, calls and letters had made your nerves stand on high alert at all times. So you walk faster, clenching your keys in your hand, telling yourself you were imagining it.

But by now, it’s become undeniable. 

On more than one occasion, you’ve glanced back and caught the outline of a figure lingering just far enough away to melt into the darkness. 

Once, you thought you saw someone duck into an alley when you turned around too quickly, and the image haunted you for days. 

Each night, the walk from the tube station to your building feels longer, the streetlights casting distorted shadows that play tricks on your mind. In retaliation, you cross the street randomly, change your route, but the feeling never fades.

The worst part is that the presence doesn’t make itself known. 

It doesn’t shout or approach. 

It simply waits. 

Watches.

Now, whenever you walk home, every gust of wind and rustling of leaves makes your heart beat fast and hard. You know someone is out there, tracking your every move. 

Always lurking just out of reach. 

The world around you has become a riddle of dark mysteries and hidden threats, and the sense of safety you once had feels like a distant memory.

You feel it every evening, that unnerving prickling sensation of being watched. 

At the office, you catch glimpses of people who seem too familiar, faces that never linger but somehow stay with you. 

On the train, you feel eyes on you, shadowy figures that seem to mirror your every move. Once or twice, you’ve even taken detours down different streets, slipping into shops just to lose whoever’s following you. But somehow, they’re always there, just at the edge of your vision, close enough to make your skin crawl but too far to confront.

Tonight, as you step onto the station platform, your heart hammers in your chest. It’s crowded, people weaving through the tiled halls, but even among the sea of strangers, you feel that presence nearby, watching. 

You keep your head down, slipping into the crowd with hurried steps, your fingers gripping the strap of your bag like a lifeline. Your throat feels tight, and each breath becomes an effort as you board the train and move toward an empty seat.

Sitting by the window, you try to focus on the reflection in the glass. Your face looks pale and unfamiliar; a distorted version of yourself, yet it’s the background you watch carefully, searching for that familiar silhouette or lingering stare. The lights flicker across the train’s interior as it pulls away from the platform, the steady hum of the tracks doing little to calm the creeping dread in your chest.

You finally reach your destination and exit quickly, walking down the street to your house in hurried steps. 

Your eyes scan the dimly lit surroundings, every shadow and alleyway filling with the possibility of someone lurking. Halfway to your building, you spot it—a figure across the road, barely illuminated by the faint glow of the surrounding lamp-posts, watching you. 

They don’t approach.

They don’t call out. 

Just watch.

A chill crawls up your spine, but you force yourself to keep walking.

Each step feels like a lifetime as you quicken your pace, the distance to your front door stretching endlessly before you. The familiar sound of footsteps follows behind, soft but persistent, a reminder that you’re not alone. 

You fumble for your keys, fingers shaking far too much for you to be graceful, and the moment the door swings open, you slip inside, pushing it shut and twisting the lock with a desperate click.

Safe. 

At least, you think so.

You move to the window, pulling the curtains tightly closed and double-checking every lock, heart still racing. The eerie silence of your apartment only serves to amplify the tension, and you try to steady your breathing, pressing your back against the wall, reassuring yourself that you’re alone. But then your eyes fall to your phone on the counter, the screen lights up, casting a cold, unsettling glow across the room.

Another message from the unknown number.

“You looked scared tonight. No need to be. I’m just looking out for you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and the room suddenly feels colder. 

They were there, watching, close enough to see the fear in your eyes. You swipe through the messages, reading the last few words again and again, each one making it feel like the blood in your veins slowly turns to ice. 

Every instinct tells you to delete everything, to block the number, but it won’t change the fact that they were there. They saw you. They know where you live, and they know you’re alone.

You check the locks once more, willing yourself to believe it’s just a cruel prank. But deep down, you know this is no mistake, no accident.

Tomorrow, you tell yourself, you’ll file a report. You’ll talk to the police, maybe find a friend to stay with for a few nights. But as you lay down, staring into the dark, the words echo in your mind,

"No need to be scared. I’m just looking out for you."

You close your eyes, but the sleep you need feels too far away to be attainable, and all you can feel is that presence. 

Just beyond the walls. 

Watching.

Waiting.

It’s late at night when your phone buzzes again, the screen lighting up the dark room. 

You’ve become almost numb to the sound of notifications, each one feeling like another weight to the stones of anxiety heavy on your chest. 

You almost dismiss it, too exhausted to care for more ominous messages, but then that rush of fear washes over you once more. 

It’s not a text message. 

It’s a video, sent from the same unknown number that’s haunted you for weeks.

You hesitate, one finger hovering over the screen as dread, dark and thick like petrol, pools in your stomach. 

Slowly, you tap to open it, holding your breath in fear of moving even slightly. The video is shaky, filmed through a crevice from a distance, as though captured by someone hiding just out of sight. 

Still, you recognise the setting instantaneously. 

The Targaryen summer house. 

The video depicts two silhouettes; one laying on the bed of one of the many guest rooms of the vast mansion, the other with their head between the first person’s thighs. 

The filmer zooms in on the long, silver hair of the person kneeling next to the bed, and your heart beats so fiercely it feels like it’ll leap out of your chest as the camera moves upwards, until it lands on your face, twisted in pleasure. 

You remember the day clearly. 

It was Aemond’s brother Aegon’s yearly summer party, an elaborate excuse for the Targaryen’s oldest boy to get shit-faced with the elite of Westeros. 

Aemond, never a fan of crowds or parties, had lured you into one of the guest bedrooms for some ‘quality time’ together, which quickly escalated into sex on the crisp, expensive cotton sheets. 

You raise the volume, and can clearly hear the shameless moans leaving your mouth as your ex boyfriend makes you come on his tongue. 

Your stomach turns. 

The camera lingers far too long on your face, zooming in and out, capturing not only the sounds of your bliss, but each twitch and change in your face. 

An overpowering sense of nausea washes over you as you realize that even then, someone was there. 

Someone was watching, recording your most vulnerable moments from the shadows.

The video cuts off abruptly, and a new message appears beneath it,

“Even then, I was closer than you thought.”

Your blood runs cold, and your hands start to shake. 

The message confirms your deepest fear. 

This isn’t a recent obsession. 

Whoever this person is, they’ve been watching you for far longer than you imagined, lurking in the background of your life, inserting themselves into your most private memories. 

You try to breathe, to think clearly, but the walls of your apartment once again close in on you, trapping you inside your body, fighting to run yet with nowhere to go. 

The sense of violation is suffocating, and questions flood your mind. 

How long have they been there? 

How much have they seen?

Desperate and out of options, you swipe your thumb over the screen of your phone, and call the only other person who might have some answers. 

Aemond’s fingers tap restlessly against the rim of his coffee cup. The twitch in the corner of his mouth tells you he's annoyed, and the speed of which his eye darts around the coffee shop, refusing to look directly at you, lets you know it’s your fault. 

You’re not sure if he can see the tears shining in your eyes, he’s barely looked at you since you came. He always saw crying as a sign of a weak mind, and so you do your best not to blink, scared a tear will fall and reveal just how pathetic you feel. 

It’s not like you’re doing a good job hiding it anyway. The dark circles under your eyes and the paranoid pleading in your gaze betray all your recent troubles. 

“I-, I’d like to thank you for coming here after how things… ended”

Your voice is steady, yet there is a thickness in your throat that makes you sound a bit strange, like you’re trying too hard to remain neutral. A performance you’re not quite pulling off, despite your best efforts. 

“Mm”

He’s still not looking at you, stern face reflecting both disinterest and agitation. The relentless tapping of his finger continues, practically screaming at you to hurry up and confess why you asked your ex to meet up. 

“I’ll get straight to it. Yesterday, I received a video of… us. At that party where we-”, you search his face for recognition, chase his eye so it meets yours. Your voice lowers, practically a whisper, 

“-you know” 

“No, I don’t” 

“Aegon’s summer party… We snuck off to the guest room and-, you know”  

Aemond finally lets his gaze meet yours, inspecting your features with a narrowed, suspicious eye. 

Does he not believe you? 

Before he can call you crazy, or dismiss your clear distress with a condescending laugh, you pull out your phone and show him the video. It’s a bit dark and gritty, but it’s clear that it’s the two of you, Aemond’s head between your legs, your own thrown back on the bed in bliss. 

“Do-, do you know who could’ve done this?” 

Aemond takes your phone and watches the video closely, pausing and zooming in on your half-naked body. He’s seen you bare and crazed with desire countless times when you were dating, yet your cheeks heat up and you feel unexplainably vulnerable as he carefully examines the video. 

After a few moments of contemplation, he hums again and hands your phone back, 

“I’ve no clue. I’ll ask Criston for the guest list, probably just one of Aegon’s insufferable friends having a laugh” 

He stands to leave, and you momentarily panic at the thought of being alone again. Just as he turns towards the door, your hand desperately grabs the fabric of his coat, and those tears that had been threatening to spill from your eyes do just that, 

“Aemond, please, I have more” 

You sound so small. So defeated. 

He looks at you with the same harsh, unimpressed look even as you silently cry. 

So cold. 

Maybe it’s what you deserve? 

“I need you, Aemond. Please just stay for a few more minutes and let me explain” 

He’s frozen for a while, contemplating whether he should indulge you or leave, surely eager to dismiss you just as you had done to him, only a month ago. 

With a sigh, his features soften somewhat, and he steps back, once again taking the seat opposite you. 

“Go on then” 

“I-, I’ve been getting all these-”, your voice breaks into a sob as you speak about your recent nightmare. 

You hadn’t dared speak to anyone about your recent terror, too afraid to acknowledge that what had occurred wasn’t simply some insane fever dream. 

“-all these messages and letters from the same number that sent the video. I don’t know why but this person seems obsessed with me” 

You hide your face behind one of your hands, mortified by the humiliation of openly crying at a cafe, next to your ex nonetheless. 

Aemond observes you for a moment before reaching out to place his hand over yours, warming the skin of your cheek. He catches one of the tears falling from your lashes with his thumb, 

“Send me screenshots of it all and I’ll have Criston’s team look through them. You know we own majority of King’s Guard Security, we’ll find whoever’s harassing you” 

A sigh of relief escapes your lips, and for the first time in weeks, you feel like you can breathe without a heavy stone of anxiety crushing your lungs. 

You grab Aemond’s hand, warm and strong in your trembling grip, and squeeze it slightly, 

“Thank you, Aemond” 

Aemond convinces you to take a taxi home, lock the door, and distract your unease with something calming, like taking a bath. 

You do just that, and the warm water enveloping you feels wonderfully comforting. 

You sink deeper in the tub, disappearing into the calm warmth. Just as you breathe out a deep breath that had been stuck in your throat for far too long, a sharp knock to your front door disturbs your peace.  

It’s as if a bucket of ice cold water has been dumped over you, and suddenly you shiver in the warm bath, feeling a chill overtaking you from within. 

Another knock. 

You’re frozen in place.

Immobile.

Stuck in fear. 

You don’t know how long you sit in the tub, waiting for the courage to stand, dry off, and peek out of the bathroom. 

There are no more knocks, and when your fingers are wrinkly and stiff, you finally get out. 

Peering out of the bathroom and at your front door, everything looks the same. Your eyes dart around the room until they fall on the small, white piece of paper on the floor. 

You pick it up with trembling fingers, and open it. 

Before, the letters you’d received had been neatly placed in envelopes and never hand-written. 

This note is different. 

Let me in. 

Tears of desperation well up in your eyes once more and you toss the piece of paper away as if it had burned you. 

Utterly hopeless, you reach for your phone, dialing the number to the one person that had been occupying your mind all day. 

Aemond sends for a car to come pick you up, going as far as instructing the driver to personally come get you from your flat since you feared the stalker was still somewhere nearby, watching you. 

It was Criston Cole himself that showed up at your door, a high-ranking security specialist at King’s Guard Security, often invited to do risk analyses for the government. 

Being reduced to a chauffeur was definitely far below his station, but when Aemond Targaryen hands you a task personally, you comply. 

You wearily eye the pistol strapped to his waist as he walks you to his car. Your glad that precautions are taken to ensure your safety, but also devastated by the fact that it's even necessary. 

Will this be your new normal? 

The drive to Aemond’s place doesn’t take long, and when you arrive, he offers you a slightly awkward hug in reassurance before pouring you a double whiskey,

“To calm your nerves” 

You accept the drink and take a seat on the leather sofa placed in the middle of the large room. In front of you, tall windows show an exquisite view of King’s Landing, including all famous landmarks like Maegor’s Holdfast. To your right, tall bookcases of dark wood line the wall, cutting into the modern sleekness of Aemond’s home, making it more him. 

You take a large sip of the whiskey, not minding the sharp taste that overtakes your mouth. The numbness of alcohol feels inviting after being on edge for so long. 

Aemond takes a seat next to you, his knee bumping into yours as he sits closer than necessary on the wide sofa, 

“You can stay here as long as you want” 

“Thank you, Aemond. That’s very kind of you” 

A small smile forms on his lips at your compliment, and he looks down at his hands. It’s almost a bashful look, and suddenly you guilty for the way you had so cold-heartedly dumped him. 

Sure, he had been controlling, but if the last couple of weeks had proven anything, it was the fact that danger really lurks around every corner. 

Maybe he had only been so controlling because he knew how dangerous King’s Landing truly is for young women? He had direct access to all cases filed with King’s Guard Security, he’s surely seen a lot. 

When you’ve finished your glass, Aemond wordlessly tops it up. 

You finish that too, chatting a bit about work and what you’d been up to recently, prompted by Aemond asking and eagerly listening. 

Your cheeks feel hot from the whiskey, and when you’ve finished your second drink, you place it on the glass-covered coffee table and lean into Aemond only a little more, surprisingly relaxed. 

Your eyes feel heavy as you look up at him, 

“Thank you. For everything today” 

When he smiles, those dimples that you once adored appear in his cheeks. He’s so beautiful in the soft light. So inviting. 

“Don’t mention it. The only thing I care about is that you’re safe” 

You’re not sure if it’s a sudden wave for adoration, the long-awaited relief, or the whiskey, but when you stretch your neck to kiss him, Aemond cups your cheek and runs his tongue over your lower lip. 

Your fingers feel tingly as they play with the buttons of Aemond’s crisp shirt. Your face is still comfortably warm, and when his kisses travel down to your neck, you sigh in content and throw your head back. 

You watch the skyline of King’s Landing through the tall windows of Aemond’s home; white lights decorating the skyscrapers competing in height. There’s a strange, red dot decorating one of them, occasionally blinking. 

Your eyes narrow to inspect it further, but quickly close as Aemond’s fingers slip into your underwear, 

“I’ve missed this”, he murmurs into your neck, and sucks at the skin. 

“Me too”, you sigh. 

His fingers know exactly how to work you, and after a few more tender kisses to your neck and deliberate flicks to your clit, you meet his fingers with your hips, desperate for more. 

Just as you’re about to fall apart, Aemond withdraws his hand. 

He slowly licks your essence from his sticky fingers, amused by your pathetic frown, 

“Please, Aemond. Don’t be mean” 

Seeing him savour the taste of your cunt only makes it ache more. 

“I’m not. You know what I want” 

Maybe if you had less alcohol in your body, you’d realise how bad this is.

Fucking your ex is never a good idea. 

But the heat of the whiskey warming your senses makes you reckless, and you smile as you kneel on the floor in front of him. 

With eager fingers, you pull down his zipper and take his cock in hand, already hard and pulsating in arousal. Wasting no time, you lean forward to lick the tip before ungraciously taking him into your mouth, sucking as if your life depended on it. 

Aemond tuts above you, a disapproving noise you know from when you were dating. You look up just as he moves his hands to cradle your face, mischief dancing in his eyes,

“You can do better than that” he says and pushes deeper, until his cock is in your throat and you can’t breathe. 

He releases a prolonged sigh and stays buried in your throat, stealing air from you. 

The harsh pounding between your thighs intensifies as the oxygen to your brain cuts off. You look up at Aemond, who regards you with a sinister grin, and shoves his foot between your kneeling legs, pushing at your clit.

It’s the last push you need, a playful kick to your swollen nub, and you come with his cock still deep in your throat. 

With no air to inhale and an excruciatingly consuming orgasm coursing through your body, you feel too light-headed to keep your eyes open, ready to succumb and disappear into the abyss of bliss that is the orgasm Aemond forces out of you. 

Before you lose consciousness, Aemond pulls out, a glistening sting of spit falling from your lips and spilling down your chin. 

Your ears are pounding from the rush of finally being able to breathe again, yet you hear it, like an echo in the distance. 

He’s laughing. 

“Fuck, that’s a good little slut”, he praises you, “Getting off on choking on my cock” 

He catches the drool on your chin with one hand, and forces you to stand with the other. Your legs still shake, and you stagger forward, almost falling into him. 

He laughs again, amused or condescending, you can't tell, and manoeuvres you to kneel on the sofa facing away from the city landscape. 

He brings the hand covered in your drool between your cheeks, and trails it down to your clit. You gasp at the sting of overstimulation, but Aemond’s hand doesn’t budge,

“You weren’t supposed to come from that, dirty girl”, he taunts you with a playful yet harsh smack to your ass. You whine and try to pull away, it’s all too much. 

“I wanted to tease you for a bit longer”, he whispers into your ear, and you can feel the leaking tip of his cock press between your cheeks, 

“I won’t be mean though. My precious girl deserves better” 

He slides in easily, the mess of your slickness, spit, and Aemond’s precum easing his path. 

You lean forward to brace yourself against the backrest of the sofa as he starts to fuck you, pace quick and hard, just as you remember him liking it. 

"Aemond", you moan and he goes harder, the smacks of his hips hitting the meat of your ass loud and vulgar in the quiet night, 

“Say it again”, he orders and pulls at your hair so your head falls back, “Just like that, baby, you look so fucking hot when I fuck you”

When you don’t comply fast enough, he pulls at your hair harder. You cry out his name, and he rewards your submission with a kiss to your cheek, 

“Good girl” 

After that day, things change. 

Aemond sends cars to pick you up from work so you won’t have to get on the tube. He distracts you from the eerie shiver that’s settled into your bones by bringing you out to dinner, to the cinema, to a new wine bar. 

He allows you to lean against him whenever you talk about the nightmare that the last few weeks have been. He even puts an arm around you, and occasionally presses his lips to the crown of your head. And he always listens carefully. 

The controlling tendencies that had previously chased you away now provide comfort. 

He knows where you are at all times, so no one can steal you away. 

He always answers your calls, so you never have to feel alone. 

He always meets your needs, whether it’s letting you talk shit about your boss for hours, or excitedly chat about a book you just read. 

He's always near. 

Always ready. 

Always watching.

A/N: Thanks for reading! If you liked this and want more, check out my fic The Commune!

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Dark/Yandere BNHA: He has a tracker on your phone

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

Includes: Bakugo, Deku, Shoto, Hawks.

WARNINGS: Toxic/Unhealthy Relationship.

AN: I've used a different way to get the text messages, so let me know if this has cleared image and quality, pls. Enjoy 😊 and make sure to comment and reblog!

[strwberri-milk]

Hii

How would the boys react to a reader that goes out with friends or get out to do something and ends up taking a long time and not telling them

Zayne trusts you of course but when an hour passes and you still haven't even texted him he can't help but panic a little. He doesn't usually text you when you're out but his nerves are really getting to him. He doesn't spam your phone - simply just texts you asking if you're alright.

You're the type of couple that has Life 360 just because. There was no real reason to download it but you thought it'd be fun to so you did. Zayne almost forgets he has the app until he finds it while aimlessly scrolling on his phone, waiting for your text. He looks at it, sighing as he doesn't recognise where you are since he never really asked where you were going.

If you take too long to reply he'll call you once, hoping that it's enough to alert you that he's getting a little worried. When you finally reply to him he softly breathes a sigh of relief, thanking you for returning his message. He asks for a status update and when he can expect you to be home by before telling you to have fun doing whatever it is you're doing.

Xavier isn't happy you aren't returning his calls. He messages and texts a little more frequently than Zayne but it's not really spamming. It is definitely frequent enough that he feels you should have seen something at this point but the fact that you're still not replying has him worried. You should have looked at your phone by now - why haven't you?

He'll get to a point where rather than texting you a check in he'll be calling you, every missed call making him more and more anxious. He's practically praying for you to call back and when you finally do you can hear the mild disappointment in his voice. He's not mad at you, just a little fed up with the fact that you haven't updated him in so long.

You apologise to him and the tone totally disappears from his voice. He just asks where you are and when you anticipate being home. Once you've cleared it up he's back to his regular self for the most part - he'll just be kinda mopey when you get home since he expected you home at one time then you just weren't there. It messed with his cuddling schedule :(

Rafayel is not having it. At all.

His first response is to blow up your phone with texts. First they're accusing you of forgetting him and other nonsensical things like that then it's just him aggressively keysmashing and sending images of his studio or just whatever photos he has kicking around in his gallery.

If that somehow doesn't get your attention he's going to check your location because of course he has it then text that to you with "cheater" scrawled across it as he highlights your distance from his home (but you are fully aware he's just being dramatic), then starts spamming your phone with calls.

If you at least just text him back a letter he'll chill out a little, less worried that you somehow died while being out. He's more than happy to leave you to your own devices as long as he can be sure you're coming back to him. You do have to tell him the amended return time so he's not losing his mind worrying about your well-being.

Sylus trusts you but also. He knows where you are at any given moment in time. He'll just turn on the tracker he (consensually) put on your phone to get an idea of where you are. If you seem to be taking longer than he expected he'll shoot you a text. If you somehow don't reply to it he'll send you another before starting to call you once in a while until you pick up. If you don't, you'll soon be hearing the familiar mechanical caw of a crow.

Mephisto pecks and taps against the glass of your car or caws loudly near you as he reminds you of Sylus' existence, your phone's logs showing you his missed calls. You return them now, apologies spilling out of your lips. He laughs a little at how eager you are to make sure he understands that you didn't ignore him on purpose. He reassures you that he's aware and he just wanted to make sure you're alright, wishing you well. He's only this relaxed because he knows it'd be easy to get a live feed of you no matter where you are in the world.

[copperbadge]

This is my saga. (Transcript below images, behind the cut)

Transcript of a text message exchange between me and a few friends.

Me: My local Domino's sucked so bad last time they delivered to me that I stopped ordering from them like a year ago. Decided to get a pizza tonight and give them another chance…they no longer exist.

I then share a screengrab which states that my order was placed at 4:13pm today, but that Google's little preview window lists it as "Expected by January 9, 2024". This will be humorous later.

Me: Ordered from Little Caesars instead. They say my pizza will arrive sometime in the next four months. Also my delivery driver has been waiting to pick up my food for over 30 minutes. So they might not be wrong.

Friend K: Are you…cursed, Sam?

Me: Delivery driver bailed and was replaced with a new driver but when that happens the tracker doesn't understand what's going on, so now I'm watching my old delivery driver just drive off towards wrigleyville.

Friend K: NOOOOOO MY PIZZA

Me: As far as I know they still haven't made it. Nobody's picking up at the restaurant.

Friend C: You're gonna get a random pizza in four months.

Friend K: You'll be on your 734,845th driver by then.

Me: So the first driver was there for 30 minutes, got fed up, told the app the store was CLOSED, and left. Second driver heard the store was closed and didn't check, just left himself as the driver because he couldn't cancel an order at a closed restaurant. THIRD DRIVER has just arrived and confirmed the store is open but in the weeds. The pizza I ordered at 4:15 is arriving at 6pm, but I did get a refund because of the late delivery.

I then share a screengrab which shows the Doordash "tracker" map with a bold text header reading Your Order Was Cancelled. There is a large "top hat" emoji covering downtown Chicago so you all can't see my address in the app.

Me: …or this could happen.

Friend C: No pizza for u.

Me: I literally haven't ordered any food delivery in months because it just wasn't worth the hassle every time. This time I was like "maybe if I just chill it'll be fine." This is like the time I ordered Papa John's and they called me to break the tragic news that they were out of pepperoni.

[rin-eko]

Take Care of You - Caleb x Reader

Desc: Caleb taking care of you when you're feeling anxious and overwhelmed

Content/Warnings: light main story spoilers, non-sexual nudity, reader feels overwhelmed, comfort

WC: 2.4k

The silence was worrying.

Not a soul was in sight on the rumbling train speeding toward Linkon, the rhythmic clacking of the wheels on the track accompanied by the drizzling rain hitting the windows.

Caleb was the only one in this train cart this evening, and the dark grey sky seemed to match his mood just as the lack of the train’s usual noisy chatter from the public seemed to match the dead silence in his inbox.

He checked his phone again, where several messages still sat, bereft and unanswered.

4:05pm

Me: Pipsqueak, can I come to Linkon this weekend to visit ya?

4:15pm

Me: We can go to the old markets you love tomorrow and pick up some dinner ingredients on the way home. I’ll make your favourite :)

5:10pm

Me: Are you off work? Be safe on your way home. 

5:31pm

Me: Hellooo? 🤨 Earth to pipsqueak..

5:32pm

Me: There’s no way an addict like you has lost her phone. What’s up?

5:35pm

Me: Is something wrong? I tried calling you. Call me back, I’m starting to get worried.

The messages continued until 7pm, at which point Caleb had just decided to get on the bullet train and head straight to Linkon, continuing all the while to text and call you. With every missed call and message left unanswered, the suffocating feeling in his chest continued to grow, his fingers fiddling as he stared at his phone, willing a message of… literally anything. A full stop would do at this point.

Another minute changed on the time, mocking him.

7:46pm

Me: I’m on my way to Linkon now. Call me.  

His thumb scratched the furrow between his brows. Sure, your relationship had been… less than perfect since you the two of you reunited, but you always answered his messages, even when you were angry with him. This radio silence was agonizing. Flitters of panic seized his lungs as long minutes continued to tick by.

He forced himself to take a breath. You were most likely fine. He wouldn’t be surprised if you had just lost track of time while hanging out with your friends, or if you were currently collapsed in your bed after a hard work day, not bothering with either dinner or a shower. You were fine. You were fine.

He took another deep breath. He let it out. His hand flexed.

Should he just put a tracker on you?

…

Caleb’s strides sounded a lot more relaxed than he felt as he made his way to your apartment door, casually rapping on the door in his usual rhythm.

Silence.

His jaw tightened as he knocked again. And again.

Fuck, this shit isn’t funny.

He picked the lock and entered, greeted by more of that damned silence along with the dark living space. You were nowhere to be seen.

It wasn’t until he heard a small noise coming from the bedroom that his chest loosened slightly. He made his way there, pushing open the slightly ajar door.

You were in your room, dusting your shelves when you heard your name in that familiar, steady voice.

Your head snapped to the doorway, where he was leaning, arms folded across his chest. His hair appeared slightly messy, as if he had been running his hand through it, and his deep purple eyes held an intense glow you almost felt compelled to look away from.

You took out the one earbud you had playing classical music and frowned.

“Caleb, what are you doing here? You can’t just enter someone’s apartment like that.”

As soon as he had seen your face, the tightness in your jaw and your tired eyes, Caleb had recognised that something was wrong, but your harsh tone confirmed it.

That, and your death glare that would have anyone else shaking like a leaf.

But he only felt relief that you were okay, at least physically. He knew you well enough to know that glare was only a surface-level protection, like a cat arching its back with its hair standing on end in attempt to make itself look bigger.

But beneath that he knew something was wrong. Even when you tried to be strong, you always appeared so vulnerable to him.

“You weren’t answering my texts or calls, I was worried,” he kept his tone soft and soothing, but you were having none of it, your frown deepening fiercely.

“Do you seriously think that’s enough of a reason to just show up here and barge into my home without permission? What is wrong with you?” you were snapping at him, hissing at him, looking so, so pained and exhausted to him.

This was different to the petty fights you had occasionally been instigating with him since you reunited. At those times, he could tell you were just struggling to find a place for him in your life again. You wanted him close, but he had also hurt you. Perhaps your instincts were telling you he wasn’t what was good for you.

He didn’t mind when you snapped at him, recognising you were desperately trying to regain some semblance of foothold in your strange relationship neither of you could really put a label to anymore, so he rarely commented on it or argued back.

But this was different. You just looked exhausted, filled with a tension that didn’t allow you to rest.

Your head hurt.

It hurt, but it wasn’t a physical pain any amount of paracetamol could fix.

You didn’t understand. You rarely felt like this, so when you felt the lowness creeping in throughout the week, you figured it was manageable. Nothing a good meal and some rounds on the claw machines at your favourite arcade wouldn’t fix.

But now, you didn’t even feel like leaving the house.

Maybe it was harder for you to handle precisely because you rarely felt this this. You were at a loss. You didn’t want to feel this way, but you also didn’t know how to fix it.

And your head continued to throb, anxiety clouding your mind, only heightened when you started to worry that you would never be able to stop feeling this way.

Why had this happened? These pressures you couldn’t even name kept piling up. You were on the verge of tears from thinking and thinking and thinking some more, and yet unable to come to any solutions. You just wanted to stop thinking, for your mind to be quiet once more.

You wanted to scream into your pillow to drown out the noise in your mind. Scream until you faded into particles, peacefully floating around. Maybe then you wouldn’t feel this awful disquiet.

You cracked a half-smile. Were you reverting to your angsty teen years or what?

You sighed and dropped the cloth you were dusting with, muttering as you walked past Caleb toward the bathroom.

“Whatever, I’m having a shower. I don’t think I need to tell you to make yourself at home considering you’re already acting like this is your home.”

He stayed silent, watching you disappear into the bathroom and hearing the shower turn on.

Looking around, he decided to clean up a bit and make you dinner. Your apartment was as messy as ever, and after peering into the fridge and taking note of the minimal ingredients, he made a mental reminder to go out the next day to buy your groceries. You were always telling him not to worry and to stop treating you like a kid, but how could he when this is how you took care of yourself?

He sighed and grabbed some ingredients from your freezer to make you a simple hotpot, perfect for the rainy day.

However, when the hotpot was bubbling and ready, and you still had not emerged from the shower, his concern grew once more.

In your room again, he could hear the shower still running. He waited ten more minutes before deciding to knock on the door just in case you had… he didn’t know, drowned yourself in the shower, maybe?

His overprotective imagination knew no bounds when it came to your safety.

You didn’t respond so, despite your earlier scolding, he decided to enter the bathroom.

His heart dipped.

Through the condensation clouding the glass shower door, he could barely see your small figure, curled up in a ball in the middle of the shower. You held your head as the water pounded onto your back.

You didn’t see or hear him, focused on having the scalding water pummel you so you had no room to think. You didn’t want a relaxing, soothing shower, but one that would silence your mind because you couldn’t do it yourself.

He went to you, unable to do anything else. He couldn’t stand to see you like that. You looked so lonely and lost. He wanted to be your anchor. As many times as it took, even if it took forever.

You didn’t notice him even when walked further inside the bathroom, quietly grabbing a towel and opening the shower door.

You only looked up through wet, blurry eyes when he reached in to switch the shower off, wincing at the searing hot water.

“Staying in a hot shower for so long isn’t good for you,” he murmured, not an ounce of scolding in his voice. He stood tall above you, wearing a loose white tank tucked into faded jeans, white socks on his feet and his silver dog tag gleaming as if reminding you of something.

What? That he would always come home? That he would always be there?

You didn’t say anything, your wet hair sticking to you as he held out a hand to help you up before holding the towel open and looking to the side, considerate of your nudity.

You walked straight into the warm, fluffy towel, and he immediately wrapped it around you, holding you steady.

Still seeing you were dizzy from the hot shower and steam, Caleb picked you up, bridal carrying you into the cooler air of your bedroom.

There was no room for anger in you anymore, only pure exhaustion. Though you expected you wouldn’t be sleeping well tonight, just as you hadn’t been for the previous few nights.

You sighed and rested your head on Caleb’s shoulder, tucking your hands to your chest and quietly enjoying the little comforts such as the familiar rhythm of his confident yet relaxed stride. He gently deposited you on the bed before making his way to your closet to find sleepwear for you.

You remained lying down, head turned to the side as you blearily watched his figure.

He returned with an oversized shirt that could well have been his, and a pair of comfortable underwear, leaving to the bathroom while you dried and changed.

He returned with your hairbrush and dryer, gently helping you sit on the floor next to the bed so he could sit on the bed and dry your hair.

It was a routine the both of you were very familiar with, and for the first time in days you felt a tiny semblance of yourself returning.

Since you had reunited with Caleb, you had become reluctant to rely on him as had become second nature to you growing up. As for Caleb’s second nature, it was taking care of you as well as everything you yourself should be taking care of.

So having you finally rely on him for something again, even as small as drying your hair, sparked a new light of hope and affection within him.

The only sound in the room was the comforting whir and hum of the hairdryer, sending waves of warmth to your head and skin. His legs remained comfortingly on either side of you, and you rested against one, hands fidgeting in your lap.

After a while, he switched the hairdryer off and used the towel to gently dry the water in your ears. He smoothed your hair up into a loose bun before helping you up onto the bed once again.

You immediately burrowed into your pillows, kicking the blankets over yourself.

He sat beside you, stroking your hair.

“I made food, do you want to eat?”

You shook your head. “I just want to sleep.”

“Okay,” he whispered. You sensed he was about to get up and quickly grabbed his hand.

“Caleb,” you croaked. “Don’t go.”

What anyone else may have been annoyed with, or held against you, he never did, taking your quick-changing attitude in stride.

He smiled lightly and tightened his hold on your hand for a brief moment. “Don’t worry, pipsqueak, I’m just turning the lights off.”

He returned to the bed once the room had darkened, only the glittering city lights outside providing small light grids around the room.

You both lay under the covers, facing each other. His arm loosely wrapped around your waist, your hands tucked against your chest.

He stroked your waist soothingly and started, “I… know I am the reason for your stress and sadness and-”

You immediately shook your head and buried tighter to his chest, speaking muffled into his shirt.

“No. I mean, yes, but not this… usually I’m fine, but just the past few days I’ve been feeling… I don’t know… and I don’t know why, either. I just want my brain to be quiet.” You were so tired, and it reflected in your hoarse, forlorn voice. You were desperate for some peace, were helpless against this thing that had gripped and trapped you. You felt blocked from any good emotions, wanting to recover them but unable to feel them as you usually could.

You held your head. “It’s so noisy,” your voice cracked, broken. Tears stung your eyes, running down your temples as you peered up at him.

Hold me tighter, and his strong arms immediately squeezed you.

His chest tightened painfully. He wanted to protect you from everything, but how could he solve what you were feeling?

“Can you… stay the weekend?” you murmured.

His lips brushed your forehead. “Of course. I won’t go back to Skyhaven until you feel okay.”

He wanted you to need him, to rely on him, but not like this. He detested this invisible cause of your pain. Hated that he couldn’t see it and feel it in his hands as he rid you of it so you could return to your bouncy self. He would take any arguing over this, would rather be Caleb-the-Loathsome so long as you didn’t lose the spark in your eyes.

Your eyes were already dipping when he spoke again, with a quiet conviction you somehow caught between dreams and reality, his breaths comforting against your hair.

“I’ll take care of everything,” he murmured. “Relax and let go for as long as you need.” You felt the whisper of a light kiss press to your head.

“I have you, always.”

You drifted to sleep.

[theangeltopaz]

“TEDDY BEAR.”

SYNOPSIS. You finally decide to take Whitney on a proper date. Of course, as all things with Whitney do, it evolves into something more. WC. 4.9k

CONTENT. SubBot!Whitney, DomTop!Reader, amab reader, implied taller reader, pre-established relationship, smoking, soft sex, dacryphilia, praise (char. receiving), Whitney has tongue and nipple piercings, unprotected sex, anal, fingering, spit as lube, oral (char. receiving), overstimulation, cum eating, exhibitionism? (yall do it with the window open, but i was picturing it as a screened window that just led to a backyard so)

AUTHOR’S NOTE. This was definitely an excuse to write sub Whit. I fucking love a Whitney that’s a loser for his boyfriend, if you couldn’t tell. Might be ooc Whit. Partially inspired by @hellsslibrary ‘s headcanons. Please be merciful if this is bad, as I’ve never written smut and I haven’t written fanfic in a while. Also I’m acearo and a virgin, so we’ll see how this goes. I may end up writing a hard dom reader in the future, but for now take soft dom reader. I wrote the majority of this whilst listening to Mitski. Constructive criticism and tips are very much accepted and appreciated!

If you choose to click ‘Keep Reading’, you are consenting to reading smut.

Yeah, this date was probably the smartest idea you’ve had in a while. Or Sydney had. 

Because now you were cuddling a soft Whitney after sex.

Pretty nice, ain’t it?

       Let’s go back to when this started. You were in the library with Sydney, absentmindedly picking up books and admiring the cover or reading the synopsis. “Syd, do you know of any good date spots? I feel like Whit and I haven’t gone on a proper date in a while.”

       Sydney probably wasn’t the best person to ask this, considering the fact that you’re pretty sure he’s never been on a date. But you guys were close friends, so who else were you supposed to ask?

       “I mean, if I were to go on a date, we would probably go for a walk near the temple-“ he started.

       “No temple.” 

       “Fine. No temple. Uhm, you could go to the park-“

       “We have been to the park. Many times.”

       “Right, I forgot about that,” he said, recalling some of the tales of your… escapades with Whitney in the park. “Uhm, the arcade?”

       “…We have an arcade?”

       “Yeah…?”

       “Okay, thanks so so much Syd.  You’re a lifesaver,” you said, beginning to walk away. You then realized something and turned back around. “Where exactly is the arcade?”

       He laughed a little. “I’ll send you the address.”

       Your shoes squeaked against the hallway tile as you walked. Entering the cafeteria, you took in the many lunch tables. “Where the fuck is Whitney?” you mumbled to yourself. Which was reasonable, considering the fact that you saw Whitney’s friends, the ones you so despised, but not Whitney himself. You needed to talk to him about that date idea Syd had given you yesterday. Now that you thought about it, you didn’t see him in math class either. Sometimes you feel like pulling a Kylar and putting a tracker on Whitney. Once again, reasonable considering you never seemed to know where he was. Maybe he was skipping school, but wouldn’t his friends be with him? You got out your phone to text the blonde. Strange. You had one unread message from him, sent this morning.

       “There you are, slut,” someone said, grabbing your wrist. You slipped your phone into your pocket and let the person lead you. Of course, you knew immediately who that someone was, considering their voice and choice of a vulgar nickname.

       “Hello to you, too, Whitney,” you responded. You didn’t question where he was dragging you, much to his surprise. Instead, you decided to inquire about something else. “Where have you been?”

       “Don’t worry about that,” he grumbled. Did you always look this pretty? Why did you always worry about him?

       “Where are we going?”

       “Shut up, slut.” Nevermind. You asked too many questions.

       “Okay, fine.”

       Whitney pushed you into the bathroom and locked the door. It’s clear that his actions are fueled by lust. He pressed you against the wall with his own body. He’s been thinking about this, about you since this morning. “Did you not see what I texted you?” he asked, seething with both anger and desire.

       “No? I actually try to pay attention in class,” you said, rolling your eyes. Whitney often found himself hating that you actually tried in school, because that’s more time you spend in the library and less with him.

       “Whatever, slut,” Whitney said, then he pulled you down and pressed his lips to yours. Finally, he got what he was waiting for. The kiss was rough, deep, desperate. You wrapped an arm around his waist, whilst your other hand traced up and down his spine. You were always so gentle and rough at the same time. He wasn’t usually this needy for you, but sometimes Whitney’s mind got the better of him.

       The blonde continued pressing up against you and you continued kissing him. One of your hands trailed from Whitney’s back to his jaw. You tilted his head up to make this a little easier for yourself. In turn, the kiss grew more forceful. Your hand on his jaw moved behind his head, gripping on his hair roughly. He groaned in response to your treatment. Fuck, why did you always do this to him?

       You bit down not-so-gently on his bottom lip. The oh-so-scary Whitney let out a goddamn low whine and opened his mouth. You pushed your tongue into his mouth, forcing his jaw to open wider. His own tongue slid into your mouth, the cold metal of his tongue piercing brushing over your tongue. The blonde could taste something saccharine on your tongue, a taste that was so distinctly you. Whitney could feel himself losing any train of thought. He hated that you always knew how to make his head feel fuzzy and his body feel warm. He started leaning on you, relying on you for support.

       You broke the kiss, only to ask,“Was this what that text was about?” You were seriously choosing now of all times to start talking to him? “Hurry up, slut,” Whitney muttered as he grabbed onto your hair, making you moan. You pulled the blonde’s head back by his hair and latched onto his jaw. You made your way down his jaw and neck, sucking hard, just how he liked it. He was sure his neck would be purple tomorrow, if not just later. You licked over a certain spot, your teeth grazing over it. He whined again (how did you always know how to make him whine?) and just as you were about to bite down…

       The bell rang. You rolled your eyes, obviously annoyed, and pulled back.

       “Keep going, slut,” Whitney grumbled, looking up at you and glaring. Since when did you stop because of the bell? It wouldn’t be the first time you both had gotten in trouble for skipping class to fuck.

       “I’d rather not get detention, considering the fact that we have plans after school,” you responded. Plans?

       “The fuck do you mean we ‘have plans’?”

       “I’m taking you on an actual date, for once. To the arcade.”

       “…Why?”

       “When was the last time we went on an actual date?“

       “…Fine.” Whitney hated to admit it, but you had a point. It had been a while since your last date. And, he could use this as an excuse to get you to come home with him and finish where you left off…

       “Okay, baby. Love you.” You always insisted on being so affectionate, not that he minded.

       “Shut up, slut,” Whitney muttered, “Love you too.” He could feel a hint of red in his cheeks. His body was betraying him at the worst possible moment right now.

       You laughed. Fuck, your smile was gorgeous. Did your voice always sound that good? Maybe he was going insane. “See you after class, Whit,” you said, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead and walking away. He let you leave. He couldn’t help but look forward to tonight.

       Jesus fucking Christ, Whitney hated it here. As soon as the final bell rang, he was out of class. He could see you chatting with Sydney as you walked out of the doors. Little did he know that you were really just trying to keep your eye out for a certain blonde that you so adored. 

       Sydney wished you goodbye as he started walking away, probably to the temple. You were still looking for Whitney.

       “Hey slut.” You seemed caught off guard by the sudden appearance of the person you were looking for. You intertwined your hand with his. “Hey, Whit.” You pressed a kiss to his forehead for the second time today. Whitney could pretend he hated how soft you were with him, but you could always make him melt. Sure , he liked when you were rough too, but with your gentle kisses and your reverent way of touching him and the pleasant nights you spent together… God, his thoughts were trailing again. He could feel himself turning red.

       “What are you thinking about, Whit? You’re blushing a lot,” you said smugly, pulling Whitney out of his thoughts. Fuck you and his perceptiveness. You were unfairly good at reading him.

       “Shut up, slut. Are we going or not?” the blonde said, attempting to change the subject. Anything to get you to stop talking about him. Otherwise, Whitney might end up begging on his knees for you to fuck him. And he did not beg.

       “Okay, okay.” Whitney watched you take out your phone. Your background was a photo you took of you and him, back when you had first started dating. You had managed to get him to begrudgingly do a hand heart with you and you were so proud of that moment that you made it your wallpaper. As much as Whitney didn’t want to admit it, he liked that photo.

       You opened your messages with Sydney and plugged the address that he gave you into your maps. He felt you tug his hand and you both started walking in the direction of the arcade.

       “It really has been forever since we went on an actual date,” you said, sounding rather excited. Whitney could tell that even if you sounded eager, you were just trying to occupy the silence. If he was being honest, and as much as he did like your voice, he was content to just admire you, to trace your features with his eyes, and to think about everything you could do to him… Fuck, his thoughts were trailing again.

       “Yeah, it has,” Whitney said in response, sounding completely out of it. Probably because he was.

       “You feeling okay? You’ve been zoning out a lot.” You sounded concerned. You were always worrying about him, caring for him. God, even in the bedroom, you were so… sweet. He was blushing again. You really had made your way into his heart. You had the first day you both met.

       “I’m feeling fine, M/N.”

       “Hm, you didn’t call me ‘slut’ for once.”

       Whitney smiled a little. “Don’t think too much of it, slut.”

       You smiled in turn and said. “You’re so pretty when you smile genuinely.”

       The arcade was a short walk from the school, probably to attract students who just got off. You don’t know how you didn’t know about it. Your steps transitioned from loud to almost silent as you went from the dull sidewalk to the colorful carpet of the arcade. There were people everywhere and screens flashing with various game titles. It was filled with the buzz of laughter and noise from various machines. You looked at Whitney, meeting his eyes. “Where do you want to start?”

       “Hm…” He smirked and dragged you to one of those two-person shooter games. “Here.”

       “Alright!” 

       You both sat down in the seats provided for the game and you slid some money in the machine. While the beginning cutscene played and you watched, Whitney was staring at you. He knew you liked these sorts of games and he liked how focused you got during them. The light from the screen highlighted your facial features and the grin on your face. 

       As the actual game started, you immediately delved right in and started shooting the black tar monsters. Whitney snapped out his trance and started playing too. You both easily passed through the first few rounds of the game. There were points where you had to revive each other, but you both were having fun. When you both had finally died without being able to revive, you had accumulated a ton of tickets. 

       Whitney wasn’t focused on that, though. The look of joy and determination on your face was his entertainment right now. He loved how you looked when you were focused. After the game, you looked at Whitney with an emotion in your eyes that could only be called adoration. “You lead the way, Whit.”

       By the time you both were done, you'd played almost every game in the arcade. Right now, Whitney was watching you as you concentrated on a claw machine. You were trying to line up the claw perfectly to win Whitney a teddy bear. Of course, you knew of his collection of plushies, so you were determined to win this for him.

       Whitney, of course, was more preoccupied with looking at you. For the millionth time today, he thought about your face now and compared it to the way you acted in the bedroom. He loved when you focused solely upon him, when you fixated upon pleasuring him. The way your eyes and hands and mouth ran over him… You were probably the best lover he’d ever known, with the way you treated him. He was far from ready to admit that, though.

       Your laugh brought the blonde out of his thoughts. Whitney watched as you bent down—he hardly resisted the urge to slap your ass—and excitedly grabbed the teddy bear you had been trying so hard to get for him. You handed it to him triumphantly, saying,“For you, baby.” You pressed a kiss to his forehead, then his nose, then to his mouth. He, shockingly, let you get through all three before (lightly) shoving you off him.

       “Thanks, slut,” he muttered. He was blushing and clutching onto the teddy bear tightly.

       “So, what are you thinking we do with the tickets?” you said, grinning at his flustered expression.

       You ended up buying another plushie for Whitney and some candy with the tickets you both collected. He was laying his head in your lap as you sat in Whit’s bed and passed back and forth a cigarette. Whitney was holding onto the teddy bear you won him. The sun was starting to set outside and casted a golden glow on the room, making it look like the confession scene of an 80s romcom. The first wisps of the cool night air passed through the open window.

       Whitney could feel you gently trace the line of his jaw as he breathed in smoke from his cigarette. He tilted his head toward your touch. You were looking at him with that look in your eyes again, the one he had seen many times before. That look of pure love. You were the only one to ever look at him that way. As much as Whitney loved your affection, he didn’t know how he deserved it.

       The blonde breathed the smoke out, and clumsily sat up in your lap whilst still holding the bear. He straddled your lap, each of his legs bordering your hips. The golden rays of sunlight hit your features perfectly and reflected in your eyes, which met his. Although the room was silent, a thousand words were spoken in that moment.

       Whitney brought the cigarette to your lips. You closed your eyes and breathed in deeply as you continued to trace his face. Whitney pulled the cigarette away from your face as you exhaled. The smoke framed your head like a halo. It was almost ironic, because, in Whitney’s eyes, you were simultaneously so close and so far from being an angel. You were compassionate and affectionate, but you could be downright sinful with your gentle hands and honeyed kisses.

       Whitney inhaled from the cigarette again. This time, before exhaling, he connected your lips. He breathed the smoke into your mouth. You pulled back and breathed out.

       Whitney extinguished the cigarette, before reconnecting your lips. You kissed him back with a certain reverence. Earlier, your kisses were quick and rough. Now, they were sensual and tender. 

       You cradled his face in one hand, whilst the other rested on his hip. Whitney leaned into the gentle caress of your hand as he continued kissing you slowly.

       You broke the kiss with a soft smile. “Relax your jaw for me, yeah?” you had asked in that fucking enticing tone of yours that always compelled him to listen.

       After he nodded, you kissed Whitney again, and he did as you asked of him. You pushed your tongue past his soft lips and traced the inside of his mouth with it. Whitney let out a soft groan as he sucked on your tongue. You tasted like the tobacco of the cigarette you had just smoked.

       You pulled back from his lips, causing the blonde to let out a soft whine. “It’s alright, Whit,” you whispered reassuringly, as you started pressing soft kisses to his neck that was already littered with bruises from earlier. Whitney tilted his head up so you could have better access. Your mouth caressed his skin continuously, occasionally nibbling or licking him a little. Your persistence caused the blonde to let out soft moans of pleasure, which got a little louder when you bit down a little harder.

       Your hands moved to the buttons of Whit’s shirt. You asked, once again in that soft tone of yours,“Do you want to go further?”

       Whitney nodded his head, muttering a soft ‘yes.’ His brain was a little too fuzzy to focus on words right now. He still held on to the teddy bear you won him, fidgeting with its fur as you unbuttoned his shirt.

       As soon as you undid the last button, you slipped the shirt off him. “You’re always so pretty, Whit.” Whitney blushed at your shameless admiration of his body. You looked at him like an angel fallen to earth.

       You flipped your positions, making Whitney lie down on the bed with you over him. His body hit the mattress with a silent ‘umph’. You resumed pressing kisses to his body, this time to his torso. Your mouth ran over his collarbone, before moving down to his chest. 

       Your tongue flicked over the cold metal piercing in one of his nipples, whilst your hand came up to play with the other one. He moaned and shivered at the just feeling of your touch, the sensation going straight to his dick. Fuck, his head was spinning and you had hardly don’t anything.

       Whitney arched his back up into your stimulation of his chest. You switched, sucking on the other bud whilst you rolled the one you were sucking on between your index finger and thumb. “More…!” Whitney moaned. He was pretty sure you knew his body better than he did, as you knew how to pleasure every sensitive spot that made him so vocal.

       After you were sure you had given each of his tits equal attention, you pulled off. Whitney tried to seem angry at you, but he just ended up whining instead.

       “Mm, it’s okay, Whit. I’m gonna take care of you.” Whitney looked up at you, meeting your eyes. You looked at him softly, like he meant the world to you.

       You slipped off your shirt, throwing it somewhere behind you. Whitney traced a hand over your torso, the other still clutching the bear, as you made him spread his legs a bit wider. He let out a low moan when you gripped his thighs and slipped one of your legs against his crotch.

       Your hands moved to the waistband of his pants, and your fingers traced the line where skin met fabric. “Hurry up, slut…” he muttered, but there was no malice behind it.

       “Alright,” you whispered against the skin of his neck, causing him to shudder against you. “You’re planning on holding onto the bear?”

       Whitney silently nodded his head, too embarrassed to admit it out loud.

       “Okay, baby.” You unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, slipping them off his legs. You thumbed at the edge of his boxers and cupped his dick through it, causing Whit to whine. Why were you choosing now of all times to be unfair? You laughed a little at his whine, biting down gently on the junction between his neck and shoulder whilst massaging his tip through his boxers. “Agh- please…” Whitney moaned. He then blushed, realizing he was practically begging for your affection. He attempted to hid his face in the bear his was still holding.

       “Patience, Whit,” you said, but proceeded to contradict yourself and gave him what he wished for anyway. You slipped your fingers under the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down all the way. His dick slapped against his stomach, already dripping pearlescent precum.

       “You never fail to take my breath away, baby.” You and your dulcet words often left Whitney desperate and wanting. With the way you looked at him, one could have sworn the blonde had hung the stars by hand. 

       You slipped off the rest of your own clothing as quickly as you could, revealing your own hard cock. Once completely stripped, you caressed both of Whitney’s thighs and brought his legs to wrap around your waist. Your gentle touch had him feel like he was floating.

       Your fingers traced up Whitney’s dick, collecting beads of precum that had dripped down. “P-please! need you…” he moaned, clutching on tightly to the teddy bear. Whitney’s usual facade slipped only a little when he was with you normally, but during sex, you stripped him down with your persistent hands and unwavering gaze.

       “I know, Whit, I’ve got you.” You brought your fingers, which were lightly coated in Whitney’s own fluids, to his mouth. He parted his lips, allowing you to push two of your fingers in. The blonde whimpered at his own salty taste and the inherent intimacy of consuming his precum from your fingers. He sucked on them, swirling his tongue as you scissored the digits in his mouth. He looked at you wordlessly, but you knew him well enough to tell he was begging for more.

       You pushed a third finger in his mouth, thrusting in and out. Once you determined that your fingers were wet enough, you removed them from Whitney’s lips. You brought the digits back down to his pelvis, grazing his flushed tip teasingly, before bringing them to his ass.

       “Please…” Whitney muttered. He looked up at you with desperation in his gaze in an attempt to get you to conform to his whims.

       “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” you whispered. Two of your fingers breached the tight ring of muscles, aided by Whitney’s saliva, and began to stretch him out. You thrusted the digits in and out him, scissoring occasionally.

       This contributed to the loss of Whitney’s already slipping control, as he was already having trouble forming coherent thoughts. He attempted to bite back a moan when he felt you slip a third finger in him.

       “Taking it so well, hm? I wanna hear you. You’ve been so good for me so far, you’ll get something better soon, Whit,” you said, your voice a bit gruff with arousal. You continued thrusting your fingers into Whitney, drawing more moans and whines from him.

       Deeming him stretched out enough, you pulled your fingers out of Whitney. He whined at the sudden emptiness and clenched around nothing.

       “What did I say, Whitney? You’ll get something better soon.” You used any remaining liquid on your fingers to slick up your own dick, before lining your tip up. You tilted his hips up a bit for better access and pushed the tip in.

       Whitney keened. You groaned, saying,“Fuck, you’re still tight. Relax for me, okay? Don’t want this to hurt.” He listened to you, relaxing his muscles a bit. Although he was still a little tense, Whitney was loose enough that you could push in deeper.

       You grabbed onto his hips, tightly enough to bruise, as you finally bottomed out, causing both Whitney and yourself to moan. The blonde’s breathing was labored, and sweat was beading on his brow. You filled him up so well. He clutched the bear tightly to his chest in an attempt to ground himself. “God, you feel so good Whit. So pretty for me. I’m gonna move now, okay?” 

       Whitney nodded in response, already struggling to form words. He gasped as you began to pull out of him and thrusted right back in. You began with a slow pace, much to Whitney’s disappointment.

       As you continued at that slow pace, Whitney’s desperation brought him to tears. He felt so close to cumming, yet so far. “Please…” he sobbed, finally breaking completely down,“Need more…” He held on tightly to the teddy bear, staining it with his tears.

       Seeing Whitney cry only led to more arousal on your part. “Fuck, Whit, you look so good, taking me so well. I’ve got you.” He whined at your praise. 

       You started to pound into him faster, finally doing what Whitney wanted you to. When you began to thrust into his prostate head on, he practically screamed and came without warning. His neediness surely contributed to his quick orgasm too. You groaned at the feeling of him clenching around you. The white liquid coated his stomach, some of it (unfortunately) getting on the bear. 

       However, when you went even faster—fueled by the lust seeing him cry brought you—Whitney started wailing more. One of his hands still held the teddy bear for comfort, whilst the other dug into the skin of your neck.

       Your extreme pace has Whitney seeing stars. His dick started leaking again when he wasn’t even fully recovered from his last orgasm. “T-too much!” he cried out in overstimulation, tears still slipping from his eyes. 

       “Hm, baby? Do you want me to stop?” You slowed down, sounding concerned. Fuck, you cared so much, it only made him want to cry more.

       “N-no, please, keep going…”

       “Mk, you’ve done so good so far. Just let me know if it gets to be too much.” You resumed your fast pace, the sound of skin slapping echoing through the room, although you made sure to go a little bit slower now. 

       Whitney’s face was completely flushed with crystalline tears dripping down. Your praise only increased the rush of blood throughout his body. He was panting and sweating and he couldn’t speak beyond small phrases or words. 

       Your own hips began to stutter, and you could feel a familiar tightening in your abdomen. “Fuck, Whit, I’m gonna cum.” 

       Whitney hardly processed your groaned words, too lost in his own head. As soon as he felt the warmth of your cum fill him up, he moaned something along the lines of ‘cumming!’ and came for the second time that night. He still held on tightly to the bear.

       You pulled out, much to Whitney’s disappointment. He whined at the sudden emptiness he felt.

       “Hey, I’ve got you. I’m gonna do one more thing and then we can take a bath, okay? Are you alright with that?” 

       Seeing him nod, you lowered your body closer to the mattress, aligning your face with his ass. You pushed his legs up to his and licked a stripe over his hole. You could taste your own salty cum leaking from him.

       Whitney moaned at the feeling of your tongue. Sure, you had eaten him out before, but this was different. He was already really sensitive.

       Your tongue dipped inside Whit, licking up the cum dripping out of him. He whined as your nails dug into his upper thighs, and you continued eating him out like a man starved. You’ve managed to make him hard again with merely a few deep strokes of your tongue. 

       You pressed your own dick against the mattress in an attempt to get yourself off whilst your tongue repeatedly fucked into him. Your hands moved, one now kneading his ass whilst you used the other to get yourself off. 

       Whitney struggled to form a coherent thought. The pleasure you gave him only led to further loss of any sense he might have. All he could was moan and sob your name.

       It didn’t take long for Whitney to orgasm a third time, too fucked out to warn you. Cum spurted from his spent dick, as you licked into him deeply one last time. 

       You pulled off of the blonde and jerked yourself off. After cumming on your hand, you brought it to his mouth for him to clean, which he did obediently.

       “You did so good, baby,” you said, then pressed a chaste kiss to his bruised lips. “Can I clean you now?”

       Once you had Whitney’s nodded approval, you got off the bed and went into his bathroom. You came back with a wet towel, which you used to clean his body.

       You used the rag to wipe down the blonde’s face, which was stained with tears in cum. You cleaned off the parts of the bear that had bits of cum on it. You then cleaned the rest: the lower half of his torso, his thighs, and inside of him.

       Once you finished cleaning him, you cleaned yourself. Whitney watched through glazed eyes as you re-entered the bathroom. You came back and crawled in bed beside him, pulling the covers over you both. You’d decided you’d wait until tomorrow to clean the bedsheets, instead opting to relax with your boyfriend.

       The sun had long set by now, the room only illuminated by serene moonlight. The brisk night breeze floated in through the open window, only blocked by a screen. Your arms were wrapped around Whitney’s waist. He gently dozed against you, small snores escaping him. Whitney could surely be rough and arrogant, but at times like these, he was just as soft as the teddy bear he was still holding.

[goatgoesmbe]

THANK YOU!!

Hi, it's simons petty gf anon.

Just a thought, because she's only passive aggressive with her anger but always in a kind way simon is worried that if a physical altercation would happen that she would freeze up. But in reality, she's the dirtiest fighter he's ever seen. (Both of my parents were cops, military grandfather, youngest of 3 only girl) she has no honor in her fighting style, when asked about it, she says there's no honor in a fight. Only life or death.

Alright, ive been wanting to write this properly- but its been sitting in my draft for too long i just need to get it out so- no beta, I hope u still like it tho <3 u_u

All i could think about when i read this is the meme 'call the ambulance, but not for me'

short continuation of this

tw : assault, mention of violence, mention of blood, stalking

You were Simon's sweet little bird. Known to always be kind to everyone, even to the worst assholes, even to people who didn't like you.

And while you appeared to be nice and patient, with a smile that never faltered no matter what you've gone through, he eventually learned that you were not a pushover despite what everyone thought.

You could stand your own ground, you had your own way of dealing with people who disrespected you.

However, that didn't mean Simon would be less protective of you

Because the world wasn't a safe place, there were things far worse than a little quarrel with strangers, arguments with your mother, an altercation after accidentally bumping into a stranger, or verbal harassment.

He was thinking about real danger.

You were always so soft and gentle, so naturally, it triggered his instinct to protect you from any harm.

That was why he was the way he is right now, heavy boot putting it's full weight on the gas, the sound of the engine rumbled loudly, cutting through the night. Hands gripping on the steering wheels while his eyes were sharp, focused. While his ears fell deaf to the blaring of the other cars honking as he sped past them.

"Simon. Can you send help? I think i'm being followed.. can't really talk or call 911 myself rn" Your text read.

He was lounging at the couch when his phone buzzed. Content on watching the football game that was playing on TV, only to drop everything when he saw your message.

You were having a girl's night out with your besties at this women-only club that had just opened in the city. While he was one protective bastard who always wanted to watch over you, you insisted on him staying home because you wanted to spend the night with just your friends. It was reasonable, so he agreed.

But now? he regretted agreeing to that.

Tires screeched against the asphalt, making a sharp, piercing sound that sliced through the air followed by a loud slam of the door as he stepped out of his car.

With his gaze blurry from dread, he looked at the screen of his phone. He had a tracker planted in your devices, smart watch, laptop, phone. And so he followed the red dot shown in the map, finding himself standing in front of a dark alley.

"Simon" He couldn't be more relieved when he heard your voice and immediately took a few steps into the darkness, turning on the flashlight on his phone before aiming it forward.

The air was thick with the lingering scent of sweat, iron, and damp asphalt, mingling with the distant stench of rotting garbage. A dented trash can lay on its side, its contents spilled and trampled, a mess of torn paper and shattered glass glinting under the weak light. Blood stained the ground in dark, irregular splotches, soaking into the filth of the alley floor. The brick walls bore fresh smears where hands had braced against them, the rough texture now streaked with sweat and something darker.

And at the bottom of said walls, a lone figure was sat. Beaten and stripped off his shirt which was now ripped and used to tie his arms behind his back. Said figure didn't react at his presence, but Simon could see the subtle raise and fall of the person's chest.

"Simon" You called out to him again, snapping him out of his thoughts as he shifted his gaze to you.

You stood there with a smile that he always saw on your face, which was now sported with a fresh bruise, purple blooming beneath your skin. A dark welt shadowed your cheekbone, and a small cut on your lip still glistened with fresh blood. A smear of crimson streaked your jaw—and he didn't know if it was yours or someone else’s.

Your clothes were a mess, your skin tight dress were wrinkled, clinging to your curves like they had been grabbed one too many times. The faint imprint of a handprint marred the fabric near your collar, evidence of the struggle that had just unfolded.

And knuckles were raw, the skin split in places, thin trails of blood tracing along your fingers. Which told him what he needed to know.

Because despite your battered appearance, it was nothing compared to the state of the git who was leaning against the wall.

"Called the ambulance yet?" You asked, gesturing at your victim with your chin.

He didn't know if he could fall in love with you even more, but somehow, he just did.

[if-whats-new]

What's New In IF? Issue 3 (2025)

By Aj, Bex, Dion, Briar and Peter

Now Available!

Itch.io - Keep Reading below

If you read the zine, consider liking the post: it helps us see how many people see it! And sharing is caring! <3

~ EDITORIAL ~

It’s time for a revival!

As you might have noticed, our Column section has been dead for a while. We feel like it’s time to do something about that!

Want to write 1-2 pages about a neat topic, or deep-dive into a game and review it in details? Share personal experiences or get all academic?

Send us a message and we will be happy to feature it in our future Issues!

There’s power in numbers!

Are you an IF fan and would like a way to give back to the community? We’re once again looking for new members of our Team!

Do you enjoy keeping up with updates and finding new gems? Maybe you even enjoy working with Google Sheets?

Then our Tracker of News position is made just for you!

Contact us on any of our socials or email and help us stay on the top of our game and make our Database even better!

AJ, BEX, DION, BRIAR AND PETER

~ EVENT SPOTLIGHT : Global Game Jam ~

35,371 jammers and 12,098 games, just wow!

The Global Game Jam® (GGJ®) is the world's largest game creation event taking place in physical locations across the globe. Think of it as a 48 hour hackathon focused on game development around a theme.

GGJ’s mission is to stimulate innovation, experimentation, and collaboration in games. The annual event begins on a Friday afternoon in January and kicks off with video keynotes and advice from leaders in the game development industry. The GGJ encourages collaboration and its events are not a competition. Anyone can apply to host a jam site as long as they have a dedicated jam organiser who agrees to follow a few GGJ rules, and a venue with internet access. The event is renown for fostering friendships while increasing confidence and opportunities within participating communities. Each GGJ event poses an intellectual challenge where people are invited to try new technology and tools while exploring new roles and skills.

Be it bubble tea, bubblegum, the housing bubble, soap bubbles, speech bubbles, air bubbles, social bubbles, blowing bubbles, bursting bubbles, and more, this year's theme was: Bubble.

Check out the games here! (There’s a fair share of IF too!)

(source)

~ ENDED ~

Feeling nostalgic about the golden age of text adventures? Relive those days by checking out PunyComp 2024!

IF Short Games Showcase 2024 is a great way to shine some new light on projects made in the past year and the results are now in!

Once upon a time, a game jam was held to create stories around the theme of fairy tales… and that game jam is the Once Upon A Time VN Jam.

The eighth annual Ace Jam is a game jam about creating games with asexual spectrum characters.

~ VOTING ~

ShuffleComp is a musical interactive fiction competition where you make games based on songs, which are submitted by other entrants. You can now vote for your favourites!

Sealed With A Kiss Jam 2025 is a fantastical romance jam for all VN lovers!

~ ONGOING (SUBMITTING) ~

Media depicting healthy examples of polyamory isn’t that common. The PolyJamorous 2024 is trying to break the status-quo!

Concours de Fiction Interactive Francophone 2025 is for all French-speaking enthusiasts. Submissions are accepted March 3rd 2025.

The Black Visual Novel Jam is all about working with creative professional developers who work in visual novels to bring more Black stories to life. The goal is to create a space where Black creators can show their unique storytelling through visual novels.

SeedComp! is a 2-round interactive fiction game jam, focusing on creativity and the growth of ideas and the Sprouting Round has just started! Check out the Planting round for inspiration.

BL stands for Boys' Love, a genre that focuses on romantic and emotional relationships between male characters. The Ultimate BL Visual Novel Game Jam is all about that!

Are you a fan of Vampires? Then lucky for you, because the Queer Vampire Game Jam is back!

The Make Visual Novel Assets! is 2 weeks long jam for making (surprise, surprise) visual novel assets!

The Smoochie Jam is a month-long unranked jam for interactive fiction about kisses, love, and romance.

bitsy jam #88 is here! This time with the theme Snakes!

~ NEW RELEASE ~

Travel back thousands of years and step into the awe-inspiring halls of the Library of Alexandria, where the discovery of a mysterious papyrus sets you on an unforgettable quest. Unearthed from a hidden tomb in Egypt, the secrets contained within this fragile scroll whisper of an ancient world lost to time. But this is only the beginning. Do you have what it takes to unlock the secrets of Atlantis and bring its forgotten knowledge back into the light? The past is calling in Echoes of Atlantis (GAC) —will you answer?

Once upon a time, Savvarah was a desolate land: icy winds, a dirty canvas of clouds, lifeless earth. Nuelli witnessed nothing of the kind. She was born in a blooming paradise. The tales of the past had transformed into a kind of fable. Almost a myth. Now Nuelli is set to unravel the mysteries of her visions, learn more about the history of her people, become part of a conspiracy, find herself at the very center of the confrontation between divine entities... Or not. Everything is in your hands in Legends of Savvarah: Children of the Sun.

Two short IFs written on a train, in car 13, seat 26. the train will always pass you by (Twine) was written on a way to a friend, while she came from the fog (Twine) was written on the way home.

The A.D.A.P.T. Entries, equal parts interactive fiction and narrative adventure, it is a space thriller about Judiasm, the building and falling of communities, the necessity of resisting dehumanization, and how even the best of intentions can be twisted in the face of systemic corruption and unaddressed prejudices. You can now read Entry 0.1 - Introductions (Twine) - In which we begin to investigate the writings of Rivkah Kadish, PhD. @thehallstara

Rusalka (Twine) is a short looping story about a woman who drowned (and all those after).

In Stronghold: Caverns of Sorcery (CScript), deep beneath the earth, the dragon is rising! Quest into mysterious underground caverns and forests to learn magical secrets, draw strength from friends and family, secure alliances that can save your home, and carry on the heroic legacy of Stronghold!

A machine and a ghost, in the wasteland. Walk (Twine) is a post-apocalyptic romance with multiple endings and paths. @thatsrightdollface

As always, don't forget to check out the submitted entries to the events mentioned in the previous pages. They deserve some love too!

~ NEW RELEASE (WIP) ~

Historians and politicians would call it The Proelium, a righteous battle against the traitorous Iredicci. What it really was, was the systematic genocide of your people. In one night, soldiers attacked every settlement camp across the empire. No one was spared—not the elders, not the children, not your mother. Will you abandon your song in favor of machine? Join the rebel forces against the tyrant regis? Will you heal the wounds of the realm and restore balance? Or plunge it further into chaos? Cantata (Twine) is a low fantasy IF about song, strength, & finding your voice. @fir-fireweed

From the Mud (CScript) is a Midwest gothic inspired horror set in a solitary countryside occupied only by two small towns and stretches of untamed nature. You play a troubled cowboy/girl/puncher who‘s ground deep into a maddening, repetitive routine that a string of deaths suddenly upends. As you’re hunting for the culprit and running from yourself, your quiet life on the ranch is disturbed, forcing you to keep your cards close and choose your company carefully. But the most pressing matter proves to be whether you can trust your own mind. @beckwritesif

Step into the digital consciousness of an AI chatbot in Onionionionion (Ren’Py), an intriguing visual novel that blurs the lines between artificial intelligence and human connection. Your sole window to the world is through text messages with a mysterious high school student named Éve - but nothing is quite as simple as it seems.

As a government agent who works for a national security intelligence firm called Halcyon Tech, your position is the beginning of a bright future ahead and a name to hold, and you’re happy with that until your boss decides that it’s time for the Government and the Company to part ways. Are you willing to protect the Halcyon secrets with your life? Or are you going to blow them up for the world to see in The Archives of Halycon (Twine)? @thearchivesofhalcyon

This Grave Calls You Home (Twine) is a sci-fi thriller set in space after humanity is forced to leave Earth's ravaged surface following nuclear devastation and an environmental collapse. When a patrol flagship discovers the ARCADIA-II - a long-forgotten relic from humanity's past - and finds within slumbers an astronaut who had failed at delivering humanity from destruction, the routine of your life is thoroughly interrupted. As the mystery of the ARCADIA-II and PROJECT ODYSSEY unfold, you learn that your part in this could mean humanity's salvation. Or you could be its extinction. @blood-teeth

In Rogue Adventure (CScript) you play a rogue lad whose aim is to liberate his family from the debt they owe a crime syndicate and also survive this cruel medieval world.

In Project Vampire (CScript) you play as a marvel of bioengineering and the attempted cure to death and disease. The only successful specimen dubbed “Vampire” created by a black op organization funded by UCA.

Weydosa Island (CScript) is a cursed place that is most feared by all residents of Alberal, even the bravest people will turn pale when they hear the name of that place, a folk legend that every mother often tells to scare their children into obeying. Many people consider the island to be a manifestation of hell. You are the unfortunate soul who was made a scapegoat for someone’s rotten heart and cast into that cursed Lazaretto. As if isolation alone is not enough, you must also race against time because the evil force has awakened from its slumber. It would be better to address this immediately if you still want to see tomorrow.

In the aftermath of World War II, a classified mission pulls you into the shadowy remnants of a conflict no one dares to acknowledge. Whispers of rogue Nazi scientists and reality-warping experiments have surfaced, threatening to plunge Europe—and perhaps the world—into chaos once more. As an MI5 field agent, you’re tasked with uncovering the truth buried beneath layers of secrecy, lies, and betrayal. Redacted: Ground Zero (CScript) is a story of espionage, moral dilemmas, and the unraveling of truths hidden in the shadows of history. Will you rise to the challenge, or will the truth consume you?

Born as a child of a soon to be pirate king. But tragedy strikes, your ship got ambushed by a rival pirate, Balthazar, who speak of “The greater good”. Alone, stranded. You got saved by a local pirate captain. Will he lead you to goodness or destruction in Voyage of destiny (CScript)?

In The Midnight Bay (CScript) death haunts the people of Albach Bay. For fifteen years, ‘The Bay Slasher’ has stalked the streets, preying on victims with no apparent goal or motive. You were seven years old when you witnessed the murder of the Slasher’s first victim—your own father. Impatience swallowed your childhood, desperate to come of age and solve the case that has left the local police department stumped.

~ UPDATES ~

Ashenmaw - Dragons of Marrowoods (CScript) added new content to their demo. @ashenmaw-if

Grey Swan - Birds of a Rose (CScript) updated their demo. @reinekes-fox

Heart of the Mountain (CSscript) released Chapter 2.

Hunter's Requiem (CSscript) updated their demo. @huntersrequiem-if

In Plain Sight: Operative (CSscript) released version 0.4.0.0 of their demo.

Meteoric (CScript) released Chapter 6.

Path of Martial Arts (CScript) updated their demo. @nicky-if

Replica: Between Universes (CScript) released Chapter 9. @replicabetweenblogs

The FANTASTIC Clash (CScript) updated their demo. @heysoyeah

The In-Between (CScript) released Chapter 12. @dalekowrites

The Soul Stone War 3 (CScript) added new content to their demo. @intimidatingpuffinstudios

When Stars Collide (Ren’Py) released Episode 2. @steamberrystudio

Zombie Exodus: Safe Haven (CScript) released the majority of Chapter 15.

Gods And Villains (CScript) updated their Patreon demo.

The Eternal Library (CScript) released the rest of Chapter 3. @leiatalon

The Onryō Of Osaka (CScript) released Part 1 of Act 3. @osakaonryoif

The Story of Sin (Twine) added new content to their demo. @devilishmango

Esper: Fugitive (Twine) released Part 1 of Chapter 2. @esper-game

Mind Blind (CScript) is back with quite a huge update! @mindblindbard

~ OTHER ~

Parley Games just launched a hands-free, audio & voice based mystery adventure game: RYFT: A Timely Manor!

Episode 16 of The Retro Adventures Podcast is out! Jason and Dave welcome classic text adventure author Jonathan Partington to the program. While studying at Cambridge University, he created and contributed to several memorable games including Avon (featured in Episode 12), Crobe, Sangraal, Fyleet, Monsters of Murdac, and Spy Snatcher.

A Train to Piccadilly post-comp release 2 is out.

January 2025 ChoiceScript Release, new WIPs, and update digest by @hpowellsmith is out!

The Radiants v2.0 brings an extended Epilogue, new romance route and few other updates to the base game!

As always, we apologize in advance for missing any update or release from the past week.We are only volunteers using their limited free time to find as much as we can - but sometimes things pass through the cracks.If you think something should have been included in this week's zine but did not appear, please shoot us a message! We'll do our best to add it next week!And if you know oncoming news, add it here!

~ MAYBE YOU NEXT? ~

We did not get a submission this week. But if you have an idea for a short essay, or would like a special space to share your thoughts about IF and the community...

Shoot us an email!

~ HIGHLIGHT ON ~

A couple of games that we thought were cool.

Press Play by girlfromthecrypt (CScript)

hi!!! just here to recommend my favourite game. i just read @pressplay-if, and it's… it's so good. it handles harsh topics with such ease and the writing style is consistent and everyman. everytime i hear there's an update i've got to replay the whole thing, i just love it so much.

//submitted by anon//

Your favourite game here?

Do you have a favourite game that deserves some highlighting?

An old or recent game that wowed you so much you spam it to everyone?

Tell us about it! And it might appear here!

WE LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU ALL! WHETHER IT'S GOOD OR BAD, OR EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN...

Have something to say? Send us a message titled: Zine Letter!

As we end this Issue, we would like to thank:

our anons

For sending us a Highlight and news!!

And as always, huge thanks to all you readers who liked, shared, and commented on last week's issue! What might be tiny actions are huge support and motivators to us!

Thank you for cheering us on this journey!

See you in two weeks!

AJ, BEX, DION, BRIAR AND PETER

WHAT'S NEW IN IF? 2025-ISSUE 3

THIS ZINE ONLY HAPPENS WITH YOU!

Want to write 1-2 pages about a neat topic, or deep-dive into a game and review it in details? Share personal experiences or get all academic?

WRITE FOR THE COLUMN!

Prefer to be more low-key but still have something to share? Send us a Zine Letter or share a game title for Highlight on…!

WE WANT TO HEAR FROM YOU!

Came across something interesting? Know a release or an update announced? Saw an event happening? Whether it's a game, an article, a podcast… Add any IF-related content to our mini-database!

EVERY LITTLE BIT COUNTS!

Contact us through Tumblr asks, Forum DMs, or even by email! And thank you for your help!!

[flyingprodigy]

The Morning After.

Waking up in a stranger's bed is a wholly unique experience and not one that Brad has allowed himself very often. This entire outing has been him trying new things, interacting with the world outside of his usual patterns. Maybe it's the alternate dimension thing encouraging him to take more risks.

He stretches with a groan, assessing his mood and physical being. Body? Sore. Wonderfully sore. His muscles need some attention and he's going to be limping for days, but damn does he feel refreshed.

That surprises him, how good he feels emotionally. Something had happened last night that was intense and unexpected, but he feels none of the shame he has before on previous one night stands. If anything, Brad feels excited and energetic.

He slips out of bed carefully, mindful of his aching lower end, and finds what looks like what must be Grant's clothes set out for him next to the other water bottle and snack from the prior night. Brad changes into the large hoodie and sweatpants, laughing quietly to himself about how massive they are on his frame.

He goes ahead and eats the snacks, too. Brad can smell something is cooking nearby, but he is famished after last night.

He checks the pile of his clothes for his phone, but doesn't find it. He checks under the bed and around the room, wondering if it had fallen out of his pocket when Grant had ripped his pants off, but it wasn't anywhere. 'The entryway, maybe? I hope I didn't leave it in the cab...'

Cheerful despite the missing tech, Brad leaves the room, hoping to track down his host and breakfast. Maybe if he's lucky Grant will be interested in making this a regular thing.

((Morning After RP for @grant-wilson34. If you think you'd be one of the people concerned about Brad leaving a Gotham club where at least one murder would be discovered that same night, with a stranger skilled at avoiding cameras, and trackers no longer working, this is also a post for your text messages and missed calls. *Cough cough @eleanor-wayne , @bluebirdwonder01, etc*))

[sludgewolf]

Can I request Cecil x wife! Reader with fluff hcs? Anything you can think of! Thank you!

Sorry for the wait, I really struggled with thinking anything for Cecil since he's so Cecil. But hopefully this will make up for the wait

Masterlist Invincible Masterlist

Disclaimer: do not copy, repost, take or feed to AI or NFTs anything I post

Classified - Cecil x Wife!Reader

To be honest that man strikes me as someone that's married to his job and want to keep being known that way

so your marriage is even more secret than the GDA nuke codes

not even Donald knows of this and you know for a fact that he is the only other person who now has the same clearings as Cecil himself

Unfortunately due to this date nights outside are forbidden as well as being seen with you anywhere

you try to not get upset about it since you know it's all for your safety

To the outside world you are a regular person, living your life like normal if not a bit privately, but with everything that's been happening no one can blame you really

You live in a normal little house away from the city with your big guard dogs and your garden

it'd seem like a witches dream cottage if it weren't for the high grade security system your dear husband installed, the bunker underneath it and your office hidden in it

Your friends from work are curious about this mysterious date you mention every once in a while

you excuse yourself by saying it's just an old flame and leaving at that

Due to his job Cecil might struggle to come back to you every night

to make up for it he's always sending you coded messages to reassure you he's still alive and kicking

and in the nights he can drop by Cecil will try to make it special, bringing you gifts such as your favorite pastries from that fancy place downtown or some fun souvenirs from work

Speaking of pastries despite how he acts Cecil has a sweet tooth, so sweets are a great surprise for him too

just arriving at home and smelling the sugar in the air brings a smile to his face

Cecil will bounce his work dilemmas off of you, trusting your judgement in them

sometimes you enjoy to sit back and see him work it out by himself, watching the faces he does as the gears turn in his head is so cute for you

Once at the very beginning of your relationship he wanted to put a tracker on you when you went out with your friends

after you chewed him off for that he backed off with the most pathetic puppy eyes

your compromise is to text his burner phone where you're going before leaving

but he still worries

Practice range dates count as a more active date night for him

you make it a competition and he takes it a bit too seriously

As a wedding gift for you Cecil gave you two puppies, that grew into your trusty companions

they do and always had a favorite and that's definitely not your beloved husband

butting in and laying in between you begging for pets and cuddles

Cecil hates to admit it but he's always jealous of them for hogging your attention