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matthewtkachuk · 4 months

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bad at love

Breaking your brother's only unspoken rule—don't date his teammates—has never been an issue in your adult life. Until now.

pairing: jt compher x reader

warnings: angstttt, smut, a minor car accident with mentions of injury (broken bone/concussion), and the usual (alcohol, swearing, etc. etc.)

word count: 4.9k

a/n: hiiiiii @comphy-and-cozy i'm your super secret fic exchange writer! sorry this is a day late and a dollar short. one of these days @wyattjohnston is going to perma-ban me from participating in exchanges. until that date she remains my ever loyal editor. mad thanks to @thomasschabot for reading it first and telling me they loved it even though they're contractually obligated to do so and for physically being there when the fic idea popped into my head <3

It’s not the first time you’ve shown up at your big brother’s house with a face full of tears and a couple bags full of all your worldly possessions. Despite your best efforts and well intentions—if you had to guess—it likely won’t be the last.

It is the first time you’ve done so with him being a married man, and so it’s your sister-in-law whose comfort you really seek and are expecting to pop up behind the slowly opening door in front of you.

Unfortunately for you, and for the poor soul you really don’t know that well, it’s not Kenzy who opens the door but the over-the-summer pick-up from Colorado.

If it had been any of the other, more tenured of your brother's teammates, you might have been waved inside with nothing more than a sympathetic glance and an unspoken ‘again?’.

Instead, JT’s look of utter confusion has quickly evolved into something more akin to a quiet rage, and you’re reminded that he is a big brother himself. The look is familiar to you, having inspired a similar one on Dylan’s face more times than you can count.

It’s been a really fucking long day, and you don’t have the emotional bandwidth to have any sort of reckoning with some guy you barely know in your brothers drive way.

JT’s in the middle of some sort of sentence that begins and also ends with “What—” as you none too gently push past him in order to finally gain entry to the house.

The mix of sympathy and feigned disinterest that greets you on the faces of your brothers teammates who occupy the large sitting room has your stomach rolling uncomfortably. It seemed like the entirety of the Detroit Red Wings were always around to witness your spectacular failures. What must they think, watching you disappear with the next great love of your life, only to reappear once again with bags packed in a manner of months?

You could hazard a guess at what your brother thinks, the variants of ‘I told you so’ that live and die on his tongue without ever leaving his lips. He wraps you up in an infamous Larkin hug that serves to fix a tiny crack of your broken heart, and so you revel in it like you used to revel in the comfort when the pain you felt was because of falling off the monkey bars when you were a kid.

But, he has a house full of hockey players to entertain and Kenzy has a glass of wine with your name on it. Dylan returns to the living room and you slide out to the back porch with your sister-in-law, briefly catching the eye of the one who let you in. You don’t see the telltale signs of judgment reflecting back at you, but maybe something else entirely.

Outside you pour your soul alongside the Malbec. Curled up on the wicker chair under a blanket you tell Kenzy about Owen and the promises he failed to keep. She oohs and ahs at the appropriate times, commiserating without belittling you.

By the end of the night your heart—and the bottle of wine—feels a little lighter. There’s a little less shame as you make yourself at home in the spare bedroom that might as well permanently be yours.

Owen visits you in your sleep, breaking your heart again and again until his face morphs into one with a ginger beard and kind eyes.

Those kind eyes become a fixture in your post breakup life. If he’s not hanging around your brother's house, he’s bumping into you at the local coffee shop you frequent when you’re in Detroit. If he’s at neither, he’s obviously at the games you attend in support of Dylan alongside Kenzy.

At Dylan’s, you barely speak to his teammates and friends beyond simple pleasantries. At your coffee shop, it starts at small talk but grows to be considerable conversations that dip just below surface level.

It’s at Little Caesars Arena where he really endears himself to you though. Warm ups are arguably your favorite part of the games you attend. You like to look out at the signs, from the heartwarming to the obscene—picking out your favorites and giggling about the latter with your sister in law.

Dylan’s always been really good about tossing kids pucks, and his big bleeding heart only grew larger when he got the red C strapped to his chest. Some of the other guys, even some of the so-called vets are less good about it.

JT’s just like Dylan, maybe even a little kinder hearted. He takes the time to read the signs that are meant for him, never turns down a trade for a puck and even gives a stick to a kid whose sign says he came all the way from Denver to watch him, his favorite player, play in Detroit.

It warms your heart.

So much so you don’t even notice you’re staring until Dylan’s slamming himself into the boards in front of you to startle his wife. She rolls her eyes and calls him a name not worth repeating while you try to pretend like you weren’t just fixated on his teammate.

The thing is Dylan has never outright said his teammates are off limits. Not since you were a teenager making eyes at his USNTDP teammates anyway.

The memory keeps you from looking JT’s way the rest of the warmups, but once the puck drops your eyes can’t help but wander.

Wandering appears to be your specialty, considering you’ve gotten yourself lost in the underbelly of the arena.

Your first mistake was leaving Ken’s side—she was your ferryman, guiding you down the River Styx, and without her, you were lost in Hell.

Were you overdramatic? Maybe. Were you lost with no hope of getting out? Still overdramatic, but definitely a possibility.

The walls begin to look the same, and you’re half worried you’ve accidentally fallen into a back room or something stupid when you stumble upon the one who caught your eye earlier.

‘Stumble upon’ is a gracious way of saying you absolutely smack into him and fall on your ass.

He hauls you up effortlessly with one hand and your skin burns beneath his grasp.

“What are you doing?” you both say in near unison before he laughs.

“I was getting my shoulder checked out, what are you doing all the way over here? Are you lost?”

Regardless of what he was doing, JT obviously has more of a reason to be found wandering the halls of the arena. And he’s right, you’re most definitely lost but you play it off like he’s crazy.

“Me? Lost? No, I know exactly where we are,” you bluff.

JT’s eyebrows raise and he nods slowly. “Which is…?”

Well, he’s called your bluff but he also gave you a key context clue. “Near the athletic trainer, obviously.”

He laughs again and it has your cheeks feeling hot.

“Okay fine, maybe I’m a little bit lost and maybe I was contemplating how I’d be trapped down here forever before you knocked me over.”

“I’m sorry, but you ran into me.” You roll your eyes and begin to argue, but he doesn’t let that happen. “Doesn’t matter, I can help you find your way out.”

You swoon dramatically, only half joking as you reply “My hero.”

Now that you’re no longer focused on navigating your way out of Pan’s Labyrinth, you’re free to focus on your close proximity to JT. Based on the way his eyes dart between meeting your own and staring at your lips, you assume he’s just as aware.

Is this not what you’ve been wanting since you knocked on Dylan’s door? But that’s part of the problem, and you’re sure JT is thinking the same. Not only is your brother his teammate—and you’ve always been off limits to your brother's teammates to your chagrin growing up—but he’s JT’s captain, too. There’s a million ways this thing could go wrong and blow up in both of your faces.

You could get caught, and be forced to sit with Dyl’s disappointment. You could hurt the one person in your life who consistently showed up for you and loved you and cared for you.

Not to mention you could risk it all for nothing—could crash and burn spectacularly as you were wont to do. Could fuck it all up with not only your brother, but JT too and be left with nothing. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d gone behind your brother’s back, but you had a sneaking suspicion things would be worse than they were when you were 15 to his 16.

Ultimately you decide fuck it, because what’s life without a little risk?

Tentatively, you slide your hand over the rough beard covering his jaw. When he doesn’t flinch or move away from you, you lean in closer.

He’s not pulling away, but he’s also not moving closer, letting you make the first move.

It’s probably a terrible fucking idea, but you’ve never been accused of being someone who makes good decisions when it comes to romantic partners.

The first press of your lips to his is cautious, barely a brushing of your mouths, just to get a taste. Quickly you become a woman obsessed. Unable to get enough, the kisses turn frenetic, bordering on sloppy.

He reciprocates in kind, his mouth hot and heavy on yours while his hands grasp and pull and hold. His very essence consumes you, taking over all of your five senses and pulling noises from you that you didn’t know existed.

If your arm burned from his grasp earlier, your entire body has caught fire.

You’re unaware or probably more accurately uncaring of your public nature, despite your earlier hesitance. Now you just want more and more and more of JT, as much as he is willing to give and maybe even a little more.

He seems to be on the same page, entire body wrapping around you and pulling you deeper and deeper.

Unconsciously your hands begin to pull at the waistband of his pants and it’s then that the two of you finally separate.

You’re worried you’re going to find regret in his eyes and excuses on his tongue, but he’s just looking at you intently.

“Not like this,” he says. “Not here.”

“I don’t want to wait,” you protest, but he shushes you with his mouth.

“It’ll be worth the wait.”

And worth the wait it is.

It's sexy at first. Clandestine meetings in dark hallways, sneaking in and out of JT’s apartment that’s on the same floor as Jake Walman’s, covert texts and quiet phone calls where you get off on the sound of each other's voices.

It doesn’t take long for you to want more, though. To fantasize about not just what his calloused hands can do to your body, but what it would be like to hold one in your own while walking down the street. To show up at a home game and have everyone know you were there to support not only your brother, but JT too.

It’s a fantasy that is only stoked by the comfort you feel walking around JT’s apartment in just his t-shirt with his number on the shoulder. By nights spent together at his dinner table, on his couch, in his bed. By sweet texts and stupid memes and random photos of things that made him think of you.

You don’t dare speak your desires out loud though. For fear of JT not wanting the same thing or for fear that he would, you’re not quite sure.

It’s a tough situation to be in. One where you’re worried you're heading to a fork in the road that has JT on one side and your brother on the other.

You have no delusions about the two paths eventually forging back together again, know that you’ve come dangerously close to that intersection marked with a big fat caution sign.

Probably you should speak to JT, get on the same page about where you’ve been and where you’re going. Following that, assuming he secretly yearns for the same thing you do, you should probably then come clean to Dylan.

Probably you should do a lot of things, but unfortunately what is done in the dark always comes to the light and sometimes it happens quicker than you can make your mind up.

A road win presumably has JT in a good mood. He’s texted you letting you know he’ll be home before midnight, requesting your presence in his bed.

It’s an easy yes, considering you’re already in the aforementioned bed. It’s nice to get out of Dylan’s house, of the suffocating feeling that you’re intruding in someone else’s home, on someone else’s life.

There’s really nothing particularly sexy about the way he finds you, but his eyes darken upon finding you curled up in his bed just the same. You’re not attempting to recreate a sexy pose from a boudoir photo shoot, and one of JT’s shirts and a pair of boy shorts aren’t exactly fancy lingerie.

That doesn’t stop him from dropping his bag dramatically and stripping from his dress shirt and pants.

“Awfully presumptuous,” you say as if the very fact that you’re in his bed in not much more clothing than he is.

He shrugs, “Not presuming anything. I’m fine if you just want to sleep, but I’m sure as shit not going to sleep in those dress pants. Bad enough I had to sit through a plane ride like that.”

His tone is teasing, but the implication that he would be just as fine falling asleep beside you as anything else pretty well takes all the fight out of you.

“C’mere,” you say instead of a catchy comeback, lifting the covers and inviting him into his own bed.

He wastes no time sliding in beside you and curling up around your body. “Hi.”

You snort and hide your face in his neck. “Corny.”

“I’ll show you corny,” he says, but you shush him by pulling his face closer to yours until your lips brush.

“Thought I was presumptuous,” he says upon breaking the kiss.

You roll your eyes—“Shut up.”—and kiss him again.

He doesn’t manage to keep his mouth shut, but at least this time it’s to slip his tongue into your mouth.

The temperature of the room rapidly increases—between the weight of his body covering your own and your body’s reaction to his fervid kiss, you feel the need to lose at least one item of clothing.

“I need—“

Luckily he quickly understands what you’re trying to accomplish by pulling at the hem of your shirt, lifting off of you long enough to assist in removing it from your body.

He makes a noise of appreciation at the bare skin revealed to him before diving back into your lips, this time with one hand cupping your right breast.

Appreciative noises of your own build in your throat when that hand slides down your body to dip into your underwear. It’s teasing touches at first, until you reciprocate by cupping him through his boxer-briefs.

Finally you both shed that last remaining layer, uncaring of where they end up in the bedroom. There’s a brief pause while he rolls on a condom and then he’s entering your body like it was made for him and him alone.

There’s no rush about his pace, just gentle thrusts and soft moans and sweet praises.

Sex with JT is so good, better than with anyone else you’ve ever been with. He’s the very opposite of a lazy, selfish lover. It’s like your needs and your pleasure come first, and you certainly do too.

The positioning of your bodies is so intimate, bodies close, mouths slotted over each other with intermingling breaths.

You worry you’re getting too caught up in that intimacy, possibly running in a direction not quite warranted and so you seek to depersonalize it a touch.

“Let me,” you say softly while gently pressing a hand against his shoulder, indicating you want him to lay on his back. He moves willingly, even helping you climb atop him.

It feels just as good with you on top, and the bit of distance between your upper halves means you can breathe a bit better.

It’s easy to get lost in the feeling, to tilt your head back and focus on your movements and the feel of his bruising grip on your hips.

Feeling the pressure build in your stomach, you slide a hand down your abdomen to where your bodies meet while the other grasps your breast just for something to hold on to. The added friction to your clit is pulling you closer and closer as you move on top of him.

He’s staring up at you with lust filled eyes, mouth open in a mix of awe and pleasure. A look of almost disbelief on his face. His hands are still on your hips, now helping the movement of your body on his when your body lights up like the fourth of July with your orgasm.

It’s hard to keep moving while in the throes of pleasure, but it’s like JT can read your mind, gripping your hips and thrusting up into you until he finishes too.

Your whole body tingles as you collapse on top of him, relishing in the feel of his arms wrapping around your body. Leisurely you kiss for a minute, until your heart rate returns to normal and you feel like you’re not likely to fall over when going to the bathroom to clean up.

When you return, you’ve slipped on one of his shirts once again. There's a soft look on his face as you crawl into bed beside him. It only cracks when you quietly whisper, “should we order pizza?”

“I think you’re the girl of my dreams,” he laughs.

The room is quiet, filled with only the sounds of your breathing and occasional kissing as you wait for the delivery.

Finally the doorbell rings. “I got it,” you tell JT and pull on a pair of discarded sweatpants before pulling the drawstring so they don’t fall.

You don’t bother to check the peephole, certain it’s your food which turns out to be a giant mistake.

Not only is it not your pizza, it’s also the last person you want to catch you with sex hair in oversized clothing that obviously belongs to the guy you’ve just had sex with.

Dylan’s mouth has dropped so far down it would be comical if it wasn’t also horrifying.

“Dylan I–” you start to explain yourself but pause midway through. How could you even begin to explain?

“I can’t believe this.” He shakes his head, hands curling at his side. “Actually no, I can’t believe this from JT, I can definitely believe this from you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you snap.

Your brother laughs sardonically, “Well you’re not exactly known for making the right decisions when it comes to relationships.”

JT exits his room, no doubt lured by the loud voices and the lack of food. “Hey man, come on, let's talk about this like adults.”

“Like adults?” Dylan is incensed in a way you’ve never seen before. “Now you want to talk about things like adults? The time to talk was before you started sleeping with my sister behind my back.”

“I’m sorry you found out like this–” JT continues to try to defend himself, defend you while you stand there speechless.

Dylan interrupts, “Sorry I found out or sorry you got caught?”

JT goes to respond but Dylan cuts him off again. “I trusted you dude. I told you she was off limits, and not only did you ignore me, you went behind my back.” He then turns to you. “And you? My teammate? Seriously? You couldn’t have chosen literally any other douchebag to treat you wrong?”

That snaps you out of your stupor. “JT doesn’t treat me bad!”

A different kind of look crosses your older brother's face then. “Well when he does, don’t come running back to my house and crying to me.”

Dylan slams the door and you sit in the quiet of the room for a minute with your ears ringing.

The reality of the situation hits you.

“I can’t stay there, God not only am I a fuck up but I’m homeless too.”

“You can always stay here,” JT offers and it really bothers you that you can’t tell if he wants you to, or if he’s just offering because of his hand in the most recent blow up of your life.

“I’m pretty sure his baby sister shacking up with his teammate he doesn’t want her with isn’t exactly going to win me any favors with Dyl,” you reply.

“Well I’m pretty sure he’d rather you be here than living on the street.”

Ordinarily you think that would probably be true but the look on his face when you opened JT’s door is seared into your mind. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

In the end you do move your things into JT’s apartment. Kenzy is the accomplice to your crime, helping you pack your things while the team has practice, wrapping you in her arms and telling you that he just needs some time.

“He loves you,” she says.

You’re not so sure.

That’s probably overdramatic. You’re sure he loves you, and you sure hope he forgives you. You’re just worried that this time you’ve both done and said things you can’t take back and you’re not sure how things will move forward from here.

It’s not all bad though.

Living with JT is surprisingly easy, even right one might say. You fit directly into each other's lives like perfect puzzle pieces. His strict routines of practices and morning skates and games—both home and away—allow you the space to complete your own work on your own time. Cooking pregame meals together and curling up beside him when he takes his pregame naps quickly become some of your favorite activities.

You dance around the feelings talk, never quite broaching the subject. But it can’t feel this right if it’s all one sided, all in your head, right?

He’s even kind enough to let you drive his SUV even though the price tag makes you nervous every time you’re behind the wheel. You’re not a bad driver, as evidenced by the fact JT lets you drive the Audi, but you are possibly on this side of over cautious as a result of a bad car accident in high school.

Three home games after your fight with Dylan and approximately zero words or text messages exchanged between the two of you, you find yourself in the passenger seat.

“I could have taken the bus,” you protest weakly, almost knowing exactly what JT’s response will be.

“Over my dead body,” he laughs, eyes flickering over to you before focusing on the traffic in front of him. “Just pick me up after practice or text me if you’re still out and I’ll find a ride.”

“I’m not gonna leave you stranded at the arena, of course I’ll be there after you’re done.”

It’s oddly domestic, kissing JT across the console and then sliding into the driver’s seat that he vacates. You wait as he grabs his gear and walks away, you do really love watching him walk away.

The moment is cut short by catching a glimpse of your brother's vehicle. He’s not in it, obviously already inside the arena, but the sight of it makes your stomach clench all the same.

Thoughts of Dylan and his disappointment and worry that he’ll never forgive you flood your mind the entire drive. So much so that when the next light turns green, you let off the gas without realizing that there is a larger SUV running the red.

It all happens so fast. The screeching of tires, the crunching of metal, the pop of airbags going off and then a blinding pain in your wrist.

In the end, you’re pushed into the wrong lane of traffic, the other vehicle damn near in the passenger seat you occupied only fifteen minutes ago. There’s a distinct ringing in your ears and you offhandedly wonder if this is what it feels like to get boarded.

“Are you okay? I’m calling 911.” The words sound like they’re underwater, and it takes you several seconds to realize they’re being spoken to you. Turning your head to the side, you try to get the words out to say you’re fine, but you’re blocked by the airbag that has gone off near your head.

Emergency services come quickly, a perk of living in Detroit you suppose. Embarrassingly, it takes the jaws of life to peel off the driver's side door to get you out. A cop takes your statement and then you end up in the back of an ambulance. Despite your assurances that you’re fine, one raised eyebrow from the female paramedic and the idea that you’ve probably broken your wrist has you agreeing to the ER visit.

It’s then that someone asks you if there’s anyone you want to call. Heartbreakingly, your first thought is Dylan and your second thought is you’re not sure he’ll pick up.

Your third thought is JT and his SUV that you’ve probably totaled.

One of the paramedics helps you dial the equipment manager’s number, the one you were instructed to only ever use in case of emergencies. If ever there was a reason…

When he picks up the phone, you have to explain that you’ve gotten into a tiny fender bender and if you could please speak with JT and yes I mean JT not Dylan.

“Are you okay?” JT all but demands when he picks up the phone.

“I’m totally fine,” you fib, and then concede based on that same female paramedic once again raising an eyebrow. “Okay so I might have broken my wrist but–”

“Which hospital are you going to?” he interrupts.

You tell him, but try to say, “It’s okay you don’t have to–”

He interrupts again, “I’ll be right there.”

He hangs up quicker than you can ask how he’s going to get there without the car that you’ve wrecked.

True to his word, he’s sitting on a chair in your hospital room when you return from getting an x-ray. He stands abruptly upon your entrance and takes the three strides to stand in front of you before hesitating, like you’re made of glass.

You take matters into your own hands and slide your good arm around his back, careful to not jostle your injured wrist. There's a slight tremor to his body that you feel run through yours.

“I’m okay,” you say comfortingly, rubbing your good hand along his back before pausing. “Your car though….”

The tears are already starting to pool in your waterline as he pulls back.

His hands slide to cup your jaw as he speaks seriously, “I don’t give a damn about the car. It can be replaced, you can’t.” A tear slips out before you can stop it and he brushes it away with his thumb before kissing you softly. “I care about you. So much. And that phone call scared the shit out of me.”

Despite the less than stellar background and circumstances, his words have your heart leaping in your chest. “I really care about you too,” you whisper and kiss him again.

“Where is she?” you hear coming down the hall and it occurs to you that your brother is still your emergency contact.

“Did you tell him?” you ask JT who promptly shakes his head.

You don’t even have time to step back from JT’s embrace before Dylan comes crashing into the room. JT wisely pulls away and gives Dylan the space to place his hands on your shoulders and scan for any signs of injury.

“I’m okay,” you reassure him but the words feel hollow considering they’re the first you’ve said to him in more than a week. “Broken wrist they’re gonna cast and probably a concussion. Can’t say the same for the car.”

Eerily similar to JT, Dylan replies, “Cars can be replaced–”

“But I can’t,” you say in unison with him. “I know, JT said the same thing.”

It’s like Dylan remembers his teammate then, eyes sliding over to where JT stands and then back down to your slowly purpling wrist.

The room is silent except for the sounds of medical equipment and the faint sounds occurring outside the door.

“I’m sorry,” you say in unison with your brother again.

“No, I'm sorry,” he says first. “I’m your big brother and I’ve seen you get your heart broken too many times. I’m always going to worry about you but I was out of line.”

“I’m sorry we went behind your backs and I’m sorry you found out that way. We should have just talked to you, I should have just talked to you.”

“Truce?” he asks, like you’re 10 and 11 again, fighting over something silly and trivial.

“Truce,” you confirm, hissing when you knock your broken wrist as you pull him in for a hug.

Later, when you’ve gotten over the guilt of totaling JT’s barely used Audi and the cast on your wrist is long gone, it’ll be a fun story to tell at parties. About how it took an idiot running a red light for you to define your relationship with JT and to reconcile with your brother.

#nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl fanfiction #nhl fanfic #nhl x reader #jt compher fic #shelb writes

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fandomwritingbit · 2 months

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Sweet girl pt.6

Dbf William Afton x (fem) virgin reader

Synop: Your parents are throwing a neighbourhood party, you're looking forward to it. It's too bad you're going to miss all of it.

Warnings: smut, oral, taking of virginity, public sex, coercion, corruption and manipulation. William is pretty evil ngl.

Imma just link to the masterlist, this series is getting well too long lol.

A/n: I've never written cherry-popping before I hope this is okay. This is so far from my experience it's hard to believe it'd be the same even lmao. Also my writer's block has been so fucking bad recently, I need all the slack you're willing to give.

It sounded great when your parents first put it to you: a barbeque a few weekends from now, the whole neighbourhood invited to enjoy some good food and sunshine. The perfect excuse to flaunt a gorgeous lavender dress you bought months ago, it caught your eye on a sales rack, a perfect flowy fabric that clung to all the right places. Your size, a match made in heaven. You can’t help but shiver with the thought of how William will react to it, handsy is the word that springs to mind, not that you are against that.

The day of, you step into that dress, the fabric soft and almost soothing around your body. It’s hot today and you’re glad for the lightness of the material, though you think that maybe the heat on your face is from anticipation. He’s all you think about, the danger of him asking you to touch him with your dad barely 10 feet away, the beautiful feeling of his fingers inside you tearing an orgasm out of you like nothing you've had before, the nights you’ve spent calling him and getting off. You’re addicted to all of it and it has your fingers dipping into your panties at any given opportunity.

You pad downstairs about ten minutes before people are set to arrive, finding your mum and dad hurrying around. “Oh you look lovely, sweetie.” Your dad says in passing, carrying an overly big bowl of salad towards your dining table. It was full of all kinds of buffet bits, but enough space left for guests to contribute things, as tends to be customary. Right now the amount of food seems over the top, but you know that once things get going your house will be full of everyone with a tie to the community.

…

And you were correct, your house is swarming. People in the living room, the dining room, outside, all chatting and greeting neighbours that ‘they really should see more often’. You’re herded around groups of people by your mum and dad, introductions and re-introductions said to what felt like hundreds, but was likely only twenty or so. You are as polite as you can, smiling through small talk about your education and how much you’ve changed since last year, but your heart’s not in it, your eyes are constantly flicking around for William. It should be easy to spot him, he's a tall enough fella, but your searching keeps turning up empty.

Your glancing around the room is interrupted by a squeaky, “Oh my god, y/n?” You turn to where the voice is coming from, instantly recognising the girl of your age who was squeezing past your dad to get to you. “I haven’t seen you since… school.” She pulls a face at the word ‘school’ which you commiserate with, you can’t place this girl's name but the mention of school makes you frown. Your manners are important to you but it doesn’t take a genius to realise that if you haven't seen someone in years, there’s most likely a reason why.

“Yeah… It’s been a long time.” You agree, giving her a bright smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. In the middle of this awkward interaction you clap eyes on him and your heart jumps in your chest in such a ridiculous way you pray it doesn’t show on your face. He’s talking to a bloke you know from three or four houses down, a small smile on his face that has an air of amusement like he’s laughing internally at the gentleman’s expense.

You are almost physically pulling away from this conversation but the lass doesn’t stop talking, oblivious to your lack of interest as she tells you all about her cosmetology school and her apprenticeship. You just don’t have the rudeness in you to walk away so you grit your teeth and ride out the conversation, eagerly watching William out of the corner of your eye.

It takes so long trying to get her to leave that by the time she’s got out her phone and is part way through finding you on instagram, William is slinking out of the room. The moment she’s done, you brush her off with a polite see you later, leaving the room in the path your bad influence had used. You’re experiencing some kind of withdrawal from not having his attention, it’s pathetic but it’s true, and achingly obvious in how you walk your house searching for him… again.

You find him in your living room and you edge through a group of chatting neighbours to get through to him and as you get near still unnoticed you find your mum standing beside him, looking up at him and talking through a wide grin. “It feels like a long time since I’ve seen you properly, William.” It takes you no effort to lock onto your mother’s words, they make you frown instantly.

“Yeah I’ve been busy with work.” He shakes his head, “I’ll have to come and see you and Chris soon.” And your lovely daughter, he mentally adds, though some of the intention must show on his face because the woman in front of him puts her hand on his arm. His eyes widen.

“Anytime.” She says, doubling down on it, “I mean it, any-time. I like having you around.” Something about the tone of that turns your frown into a scowl. It’s flirtation, and you burn with anger. Jealousy, yes, you can’t help it, it’s instant, but for god’s sake your dad is right fucking there. You don’t consider how you could be overreacting, the indignation is too strong, so you leave the room in a huff, feeling like a fucking idiot for spending your whole day looking for a bloke who clearly wasn’t looking for you. It stings and in a flurry you remind yourself that all the things you’ve done with him are only your first times, not his.

You’re out of the house before you know it, keeping your head down as you go far to the bottom of your garden where a hedge gives you respite from turning heads. You’re not crying, but you’re not a mile away from it either. Maybe it’s that withdrawal again, but you stand in the corner feeling let down, lonely and stupid. Anger at your mum outweighs anger at William, but the latter is still strong.

You stand there for a while, getting a better grip on your emotions, you need enough of a hold to walk back inside and either brave more of the party or hide away in your room. This is when people need a smoke, you think to yourself, wondering if a fag could actually help relax someone in this state.

Calming yourself down takes a good few minutes but once you get there, you decide that yeah, you need some quiet for a bit, then some thought about why you went off the handle so quickly, why you’re so enamoured by William. But to do that you’re going to have to escape this whole party, preferably without being noticed because if someone asks you how you are right now, you don’t know how you’re going to react.

So you slip out your hiding place, peeking around the hedge to see the silent picture of people through your back windows. Here we go. You cross the garden pretty quickly and soon get your hands on the door handle into the house, you step inside managing to smile at the few heads that turn your way. But that smile soon drops away when he appears. Your heart jumps at the sudden confrontation, so long of trying to catch him but now you don’t want him anywhere near you.

“So that’s where you’ve been hiding.” William’s voice drips with honey and you try to ignore the warmth already settling in your core, but you know it’s a battle you won’t win.

You turn from his invasive gaze, hands a little shaky as you try to close the sliding door behind you. “Hey, where are you going, hm?” His eyes narrow at the blatant way you’re ignoring him, he can’t hold a serious expression though so a confused smirk rests on his face, how sweet you look with that pet lip. He puts his hand on your arm, halting the process of closing the door easily, no force necessary, the touch is enough. “Come with me outside, sweetheart, come on.”

You look up at him frowning, partially from previous anger, partially from fear that someone else will see, how he can dare to be so obvious is beyond you. There’s no room to reason with him, not when he’s already opening the door again, already guiding you through it, that grip still present on your arm. It’s not a firm hold, it’s barely there but, the skin to skin contact has you enthralled.

He takes you all the way back to the hidden spot you left just minutes ago, only this time it doesn’t feel like such a safe space. Once out of view he lowers his head down to look you in your face, not liking when you turn away and so catching your chin with his thumb. “Are you alright, sweet thing? What’s wrong?”

His sickly sweet tone is enough to spark a flash of anger as bright as it is sudden. “Why don’t you ask my mum?” You snap, your voice much more petulant than it is clever, the patheticness of it has your cheeks hot but you double down. William just grins, confusion leaving his brow furrowed. This is new, he thinks, you’ve never taken that tone with him before, it’s fun, shiny-new and exciting.

You continue, provoked by him not understanding what you mean, “...You seemed to be enjoying her company anyway...” You speak dejectedly, your jealousy running riot with you. You want to pull away from him, the lack of genuineness in his expression inflames you, he thinks it’s all a game and you can’t believe you’ve only just cottoned on.

William hums in acknowledgement before dropping his hand from you, you’re glad that he’s taking you that bit more seriously but it’s downright shameful how you miss the contact already.

It takes a lot in him not to laugh, the unfounded envy practically has your eyes glowing. This is good though, such passion all from feeling cast aside, you so desperately want him to want you and that is just perfect. For him. He faces your glare dead on, being very careful not to patronise you too much. “What exactly are you jealous of?”

You open your mouth to protest, hating yourself for being so easy to read. You know your bitterness is written on every inch of you, your closed stance, your harsh jaw, the immature tone of your voice, but you just can’t fucking help it. There’s no point denying it, so you don’t bother. “There…” you stumble, having to abandon your daggers to continue, “You didn’t have to flirt with my mum right in front of my face like that… and my dad’s.”

He nods, sighing before answering you through a slick grin, “I think maybe your mam was teasing me, a little.” That grin simply blossoms, thorough amusement peeking out of hiding, “But you more than anyone should know that flirting with me isn’t half as boring as that was.”

You don’t have time to fight the way you flush, it’s not fair, are you really this easy to win over? He’s doing the William equivalent of batting his eyelashes at you and you’re falling for it, you must want to deep down. But you still don’t trust him as far as you could throw him, which is needless to say, not far.

“Come on, why would I even consider your mother when I have her sweet girl looking at me so moody right now, huh?” You roll your eyes at that, moving to turn away and think for yourself but he stops you, his hands on you holding you still and muting the dull noise around you. “At least tell me what I can do to make it better. How can I earn your forgiveness?” He speaks with a certain glee, prideful of his art form, like you’re some puzzle he’s solved before. And with his face close to yours he adds mockingly, “Or have I got it already?”

You want to touch him, shut him up, but you’re a mere corner away from the whole neighbourhood. “You’re slimy.” You speak honestly, well maybe you’re sugar-coating it even, “And I’m not stupid.” Your conviction is there, but the physical support isn’t, you’re looking up at him like a doe, breathing quicker than normal, your chest rising and falling fast in your new dress.

He laughs, “True. But watch it, you’ll hurt my feelings.” He has something else to say, some other mocking teasing syrup, you don’t let him, throwing yourself towards him. Your lips press against his in a sudden desperate way, like you’ve something to prove. Your lack of finesse could be mistaken for hunger but he knows you better than that, he dominates the kiss without much effort, easily pulling you along with his rhythm. He likes you like this, smart, able to see through him, it turns him on. Because what’s better than spoiling a naive young woman? Spoiling one who knows it’s happening and can’t help herself either way.

William breaks the kiss, hands eagerly taking in your shape, “Let me make you forgive me, right here.” As he talks his touch slides low, over your arse and making your back curve against him. “I’m dying to pull this cute dress up.” You need it, just whining some form of approval, wordless at that predator’s glint in his gaze. He slides his hand between your legs and you’re keen, shivering at the spark of pleasure and eagerly angling your hips for more.

He pauses his touch for a moment, breath staggering as he thinks about what he’s going to do, you hardly notice for your own need. When you do look at him, you see him shaking his head, snickering at something unbeknownst to you.

He moves then, debasing himself by dropping to his knees on the grass, hands grabbing your skirt fabric up above your waist band, gathering it there in one to rive your panties down with the other. The cool air invades you, unwarned exposure making you moan. “William-”

“Shush.” He chastises bluntly, as if his thumb wasn’t now resting against your clit and giving it a perfect gentle pressure. He knows what you’re going to say, “You don’t want anyone to see, huh? Well, bite your tongue. I don’t have to worry about mine.” The words are wicked with innuendo and you have to stifle everything in you except a sharp intake of breath when he shows you exactly what he’s doing with his tongue.

It’s dirty, shame-ridden and debauched, but you’re at the mercy of his mouth devouring your cunt. Parting your seam to toy with the slick plea of your hole. You can hardly stand still, body shaking with fretful want, it’s too much and not nearly enough, you have to battle to keep quiet against the vindictive way your core is tightening.

His tongue drags through your slit and he sniggers against you before cruelly sucking your bundle of nerves. You’re grabbing him, pulling him closer, trying to push him away, as you tingle with need for your end. He’s relentless, playing your instrument just right and you have no faculty to ask for respite. Your coil clenches tight and snaps, and you come undone right there in your garden, waves of bliss so bright your legs shake and you need his arms to hold you up. There are tears in your eyes and you don’t know if they’re because of your climax or the emotional whiplash you’ve just endured. You don’t have it in you to care.

He pulls away from you and you watch over-blissed as he wipes your slick from his face on the back of his hand, letting your skirt fall to its rightful position. “Now that’s the perfect thing, I’ve missed.” He stands, his eyes dark with arousal. “You’re a good girl on the phone but fuck there’s nothing like it in person.”

You beam with pride, his praise so much nicer when you’re pliant and glistening from pleasure. How bad an idea that was isn’t lost on you, but it was worth it, even if now you have to pull your knickers up to hide the evidence. As you do, you see how filthy he is, mud coating his knees and you laugh.

Struggling to explain yourself through the shocked giggles you manage to state, “Your trousers are ruined.”

He looks down and sees why you’re so lost in laughter, he had weighed up his options though and tasting your sweet pussy was more than worth the dirt. William attempts to brush some away but it’s never going to happen, and so with a sigh he sniggers, “Am I old enough to have people believe I fell?”

You burst out laughing at that, unable to regain yourself for a while, he deserves that, you think. After some time you are lucid enough to say, “Maybe say tripped instead of fell.” Your cheeks are shiny with both the fit of giggles and the aftermath of your activity, you look so delectable he hardly minds the state of his clothes.

“Why don’t,” William begins, still smirking, and you give him as much of your attention as you can, “you show me your room? I’d like to see it in person.” He’s testing to see how much forgiveness he’s won, you know that, but the prospect of what’s to come is motivation enough to give him it.

“Okay.” You agree, the idea of it has your chest tight but your core knows better, “Should I be scared?” You’re joking, mostly, your room is a different beast, much more personal. Somehow more bare than what you’ve just done.

“Very.”

Walking through your house felt dangerous, like it’s written on your forehead that you’re doing something wrong. People are eating now though, too self-absorbed to notice the rabbit leading the fox to its burrow, which is for the best, all things considered.

He follows you obediently, mind half-focused on your retreating form, the other half pondering just what he’s going to do about this raging erection he’s afflicted with. You looked so sweet taking him in your mouth, so eager to please, malleable. But your perfect unbroken cunt would be just delightful to rut against. As much as he wants to, he won’t- can’t deflower you just yet, not with all these people around to hear the squeaking of bedsprings, hell, the squeaking of you. The idea makes his cock throb and he’s already palming himself before you reach the landing.

“This one.” You say, opening the door for him, your voice sounds much smaller than it did two minutes ago. You are scared, all jokes aside.

He moves past you inside, you’re the one to shut the door, sealing the two of you inside your bedroom. How out of place he looks, this huge hulking figure in your untainted room, the walls pastel, the sheets light and the curtain frilled.

“I could have told you your room looks like this.” His grin is wolfish, the imposition feels very metaphorical and he revels in it. He’s absent-mindedly touching things, a bottle of perfume on your drawers, then a teddy on your bed, you like how they look in his hands, delicate, breakable.

You find yourself speaking before the words are clear in your mind, “William…” He turns to you, still holding the fucking bear, visible overjoyed to be in your private space, piece by piece you’ve let him in here, first through a camera now this, it’s all very correct.

“Hm?”

You’re flummoxed for words, arms folded across your chest in some vain effort to keep yourself together, “I want to t-touch you. On th-the bed.” The request takes a part of your soul with it, it’s unveiled and glaringly obvious, but there’s no other way to say it, that is what you want. Well, some of it.

Chuckling, he throws the teddy aside, “That is the best thing anyone has ever asked me.” He means it, he could touch the peak now with just how pretty you’re talking to him.

He moves slightly and you interrupt him, the rest of your want raising its whiny head. “You’ll have to take t-that off.” You’re pointing at his trousers and he laughs, remembering the muck decorating his legs, but the laughter dies quickly and he fixes you with a quizzical look, eyes narrowed as he again reads you like a book.

“Because of the mud, or another reason?” He teases and you bite your lip, your answer wearing you, more than the other way around. Much like the way smugness is wearing him. “I know you like to see, you’re quite fascinated, aren’t you?” He grabs himself as he speaks, crude, garish and vulgar, and it prickles your sides.

“You like to see me.” You retort, trying not to feel the embarrassment your brain really wants you to.

“Very true.”

…

Fascinated is perhaps the right word, you are fascinated by him. It’s more than just that he’s handsome or you find him attractive, it’s curiosity, desire to understand. The broadness of his shoulders, the muscle on his arms, the hair on his chest, his legs, his cock; it is fascinating.

You start off sitting beside him on your duvet, enjoying the sight of him with his dick in your hand. Observing what your action is doing, how his breath changes for you, then a deep groan when you smear the precum beading on his tip. It’s driving you crazy and in a sudden realisation you need more. You want it all, want to know how his thickness is going to feel inside you, good, bad, dirty and ugly, you need it.

And you tell him.

�� The view of William above you is insane, the dark greying hair trailing down his chest leading your gaze down to the sight of him stroking his cock, positioned above your cunt. He presses against you occasionally, your hot slick beckons for him and he thrusts himself through it, restraint a heavy weight on his shoulders. It’s maddening.

“Please…” You whine, any trace of dignity you had is long gone, you’re corroded, worn down to your bare minimum and you need him to feel the same way.

He takes his eyes off your glistening cunt to flash you a devastating smirk, “Please, what?” The teasing makes you shift underneath him, desperate for more, that’s just how he wants you. As he watches you he pleasures himself, it’s bloody stupid how weak your pretty hole has got him.

The lewd words burn in your throat, there’s no debate in saying them, not anymore, “Fuck me… please.” You manage to choke out, but it still fails to convey your need to be filled. His fingers had made you see stars, but you’re greedy for more, you want him to come undone inside you. You want to drive him mad.

Well, he didn’t expect you to say that. You want him to take your innocence right now? Right on your lacy fucking bed sheets? With your parents downstairs? Clearly you’re not thinking straight, you’re too fucked up and that is just delicious. Your plea makes his cock twitch in his hand, he wants nothing more than to stretch your sweet pussy around him but you could hardly handle his fingers. You hardly know what you’re begging for.

“You want me inside?” As he speaks he rubs his cock over your pussy lips, there’s an almost sinister quality to his voice that makes your core tighten.

You nod, squirming away from the teasing of your aching bundle of nerves; that’s exactly what you want.

William sniggers, “I can’t, sweetheart. Not with everyone downstairs to hear.” You hardly notice the noises you make, but you’re vocal as anything, whining from the tiniest touch, he has no doubt his cock would make you scream. The reasoning falls on deaf ears, you don’t care because his power over you is too strong. You just want his cock inside you so he becomes as pathetic as you are.

“Please.” You try again, this time shifting your body to roll your hips against his cock to show you’re serious, but your thighs quiver at the stimulation.

In a sudden movement he seizes your jaw, forcing your gaze away from his cock on your swollen pussy to the dark look in his eyes. The restraint is visible, a clear crack in his in-control facade. He can’t help it, your begging is making him leak again, impatient precum oozing from his tip, begging alongside you for stimulation. How’s he supposed to hold himself back from this perfect untouched cunt right here asking him to deflower it?

“Do you even know what you’re asking for?” He speaks slow, a singsong tone to the words that’s a little sharper than intended due to the continued rolling of your hips. “It’s not to be taken lightly.”

You watch him wide-eyed, understanding his words is a conscious effort. “It’s not just a quick fuck, sweetheart. It’s me breaking this little pussy. Taking your innocence.” He punctuated the filthy point by lining his cock up with your entrance, eliciting a terrified pang of excitement in your core. “Stretching you open. You know what that means?”

He pauses but you don’t have the speech to answer, he thought as much, “Means it’s all mine. My little toy to use whenever I want. Break it over and over.” At this moment it doesn’t occur to you that this is the real William, not just slimy but the honest William who knows he’s bad, creepy, gross whatever you want to call it. The man who’s blatantly moulding you into something he can use, using your sexual naivety against you and playing your mind and body like a fiddle.

You swallow, his words go straight to your cunt making you impossibly wetter. He looks down at you and his control slips from his fingertips, he knows you’re going to feel so fucking good around him, how tight and wet and fucking warm.

“That what you want?” He blatantly asks, the intention thick in the air.

“Y-yes.” You start, your back arching a little, “I want it to be yours.” You know the words are dangerous, but you have no agency to prevent them from leaving your lips. “I want you to t-take it. Please.”

He lets go of your jaw, a particularly mean expression possessing his face. “God, you are fucking stupid.” He speaks quietly but you hear, it stings and you’re unable to tell if he’s kidding or not. He wasn’t, you are stupid to let him get this far, and he’s stupid for going along with your begging.

His cock is still notched tight against your entrance and he holds you squirming still with a hand on your hip. “You’re going to be quiet for me, alright? I’m giving you what you want.” His voice is thick but you hardly notice he even spoke, your heart is pounding and your whole body tense with anticipation.

He parts your walls, pressing in slightly, just the head and your eyes ping wide. You’re wet, drenched even, ready for it but it still hurts. A noise escaped you, wounded, doubling when he presses just that little bit further. “Shh, fuck.” His curse is very telling, you’re strangling him already in the most perfect way, if he’s not careful he’s going to crack his own jaw with how tight it is in restraint. “I told you.” The words are harsher than he meant them, but seeing the tears already welling in your eyes he knows he was right.

His hand comes over your clit, drawing a circle over the bundle and it works, a blaze of pleasure drapes over the invasion but it doesn’t distract you when he moves, forcing himself a lot further in your cunt. You cry out and in a sharp movement he covers your mouth, grunting at how you tense due to the sudden action. “Ah-You’re going to do it, sweet thing. Just relax, you’re tight as a fucking vice.”

You try, blinking through tears, and focus on his rhythm on your clit, it’s better, easing. He moves, slowly pulling out then back in and you see it. The need for him inside, shaping your walls around him, your body squeezes him eager for him to continue.

Your mouth is open behind his hand, muffled sounds leaving your lips, whining, mewling, hooked on the promise of overcoming the ache and snapping the coil inside you more than ever before. If your mouth was free maybe you’d say his name, or kiss him, or curse him, you don’t really know. His movement becomes better, you can take him, he knows you can. So he thrusts deep, making you accept him, your yelp is stifled and your teeth dig into the palm of his hand, it's unnoticed, overshadowed by the perfect feeling of you cunt swallowing him completely.

“God,” He scowls.

The pain dies again, settling back to the muted ache, you’re reeling, full more than should be possible, breathing frantically through your nose. He’s slow, pushing in and out of your hole considerately, as he’d be sure to tell you. And you quickly realise with a startling joy how he digs just right into a spot deep inside you. It’s almost blinding, engulfing you in a doubly quick need to end.

Your cunt throbs and he flicks his eyes back to your face, what a good girl you are. He can feel the change in you, the rise of pleasure over pain, the way you panic at the growth of your end, your eyes say it all fearful of what’s going to happen. You’re close to an end, body burning and falling rigid underneath him. It hits you like a train, each time he shoves himself deep is electric, it's intense and you whiteknuckle just to take the pace he keeps as you cum around him.

“Fuck, baby.” His words are edged with his own ruin, the rhythm of his pace growing brave, selfish, you’re taking it so well. And he loses it, no sense in him to pull out, he doesn’t care, your perfect cunt wants it. He’s biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself quiet as his warmth spills inside you, thrusts sloppy to push his cum deep inside you. You whimper, it's a dirty feeling, but a right one and seeing the look on his face you realise that you were right, he looks as pathetic as you feel.

He removes his hand from your mouth, your skin red under his grip, freeing you to moan pitifully. You’re wrecked, somehow exhausted and exhilarated at the same time. You don't know how you feel, your climax was like something unreal and when he slowly pulls out of you, you feel empty. William was right, you’re changed.

He sits beside your form still laid exactly as he left you, your pretty pussy flushed and shining. “You alright?”

You blink, like you somehow forgot he was a person able to speak, “Yeah, I think so.” Your voice is hoarse as fragile as the rest of you and it makes him grin.

He looks down at you, and just laughs, at you, at him, at the situation, “What the fuck are we supposed to do now then?”

It makes you chuckle and you run your hand over your face. Yeah, what exactly should you do now?

#fnaf #william afton #william afton x reader #william afton smut #fnaf smut #william afton x you #fnaf william afton #william afton x female reader

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nanowrimo · 8 months

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How to Set Realistic NaNoWriMo Goals

Every year, we’re lucky to have great sponsors for our nonprofit events. Dabble, a 2023 NaNoWriMo sponsor, is a tool specifically designed for fiction novelists. Today, Dabbler Robert Smith shares a few tips to help you set daily writing goals that will work for you:

November looms, and with it the thrilling, harrowing, and sometimes carb-loaded journey of National Novel Writing Month. As we tie our writer's capes and ready ourselves for a month of intense creation, there's a small matter we need to address: our writing goals.

The Weight of 50,000 Words

Setting goals for NaNoWriMo is like setting a pace for a marathon. You wouldn't expect to sprint a marathon. The same goes for writing. If you try to sprint through, chances are you'll burn out faster than a candle in a windstorm.

However, only doing the minimum can leave you in a precarious position. Because if something comes up—and something always comes up—you’re suddenly behind on your goal, and that can really hurt morale.

So here are some goal setting tips to crush NaNoWriMo this year:

1. Start off strong, so you can end strong.

There is a simple fact about motivation. It starts strong and wanes with time.

Now to be honest, you won’t be able to write a book with motivation alone. It requires a lot of discipline, and you’ll have to write even when you don’t feel like it.

But a great way to get the most out of that early motivation is to channel it into higher early output.

We all know that 50,000 words split over 30 days is 1667 words a day. But authors who win NaNoWriMo often don’t start there. They shoot for 2,500-3,000 words a day in the first week. That way they build up a buffer for the later weeks where motivation isn’t as high.

Plus, it gives them great forward momentum on their project. So consider setting higher goals early and taking advantage of your early NaNo fervor.

2. Account for daily life.

Even if you've cleared your calendar for November, life has a knack for throwing curveballs.

Kids get sick. Work projects pop up. You know what I mean. If your word count goal is teetering on the edge of feasibility, any small disturbance can throw it off.

To combat this, make plans and backup plans. Schedule your writing time around family gatherings. Plan what happens if you miss a day. Set yourself up for success before those situations arise.

3. Use the buddy system.

Find a writing buddy to be accountable to. It could be a friend participating in NaNoWriMo, or even someone you connect with in the NaNo community.

Check in with each other daily. Celebrate your wins, commiserate over the tricky bits, and hold each other accountable.

Sometimes, knowing someone else is in the trenches with you can be incredibly motivating.

4. Have weekly check-ins.

Instead of focusing solely on daily targets, also have a weekly goal. This gives you a broader view and allows for some flexibility. If you have a slower day, you can make up for it later in the week without feeling like you've thrown the entire month off course.

5. Actually track your goals.

Obviously, you need to track your goals, but there are multiple ways to do it.

Dabble integrates with NaNoWriMo, so you don’t have to manually submit your word count. And if you fall behind a bit, Dabble will automatically adjust your daily goal accordingly to keep you on track.

But even if you’re just marking off your goals on a napkin at your desk, tracking your progress will help you stay the course to victory.

Now go forth, share your stories, and remember: it's not all about the word count; it's about the words that count.

All NaNoWriMo participants can use the discount code NANOWRI2023 for 20% off 1 year of Dabble! Offer expires January 31, 2024.

Robert Smith is a Dabbling Writer, and a Writing Dabbler. He likes playing board games with his wife, and deconstructing plots from movies in his spare time.

Top Photo by Isaac Smith on Unsplash.

#nanowrimo #writing #writing goals #writing advice #by nano sponsor #dabble #robert smith

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dc-marvel-crossovers · 2 months

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The DC/Marvel Crossover server is proud to present our summer Pool Noodle Party! Celebrating the rarest crossover pairs, both platonic and romantic.

Please come paddle around the shallow end of the pool with us and commiserate!

Courtesy of this post about ships that are too small to count as ships:

For our purposes, a “pool noodle” is a relationship tag that comes up with less than 30 hits on Ao3. Platonic (&) relationships count!

We have six themes. Each theme will have a week for posting creations (prompt lists coming soon) and a week for celebrating — giving feedback and leaving comments. We’ll share everything that was created the previous week and try to spread the love, but also post rec lists of our favorite older fics that fit the theme.

May 25 - June 7: “the big three,” aliens, androids archers, & (tech) wizards

June 8 - June 21: Who run the world? (Girls!)

June 22 - July 5: To hell (or Hell’s Kitchen) and back

July 6 - July 19: Supers (-heroes, -villains, -boys, -girls, and/or soldiers)

July 20 - August 2: Mercs & murder husbands

August 3 - August 16: We’re all in this together (poly ships and/or found families)

Any and all DC/Marvel crossover relationships with less than 30 fics on Ao3 are welcome.

Participants are strongly encouraged to get involved in feedback week and not only creation week! The unfortunate truth of the pool noodle is that it can feel like a very lonely way to float; crossovers are more likely to slip through the cracks of Ao3 searches, and they frequently don’t get the love they deserve. The best way to encourage more of them is to comment and let writers know that there’s an audience out there.

Prompt lists will also include a list of fics within the theme whose writers are open to podfic, art, etc, in case you’d like to do an “inspired by” work.

Themes are relatively loose, so your ship might fit multiple themes — that’s fine! Entirely up to you when you post.

#dc marvel crossover #pool noodle party #dc #marvel #crossover #event #dcu #mcu #dcu x mcu #dc comics #fandom event #rarepair #rare pair

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belovedjeju · 5 months

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Hi there Bunny~

It's finally nice to see another writer who writes for SWF2 🥹. May I ask for a Fluffy Tatter X Fem reader imagine? Maybe something like reader gets into a minor accident? (If it's not too much to ask)

And Tatter take cares of you, just pretty much babies you.

-awisespirit 🍵

Omg hiii! I had a lot of fun with this one so thanks for the request bunny🫶🏿🫶🏿. I didn’t know what kinda accident you were referring to so I just took some creative liberties on that part 😁😁

Word count:~2.1k

Tw: Fluff, slightly suggestive but nothing you need to tilt your nose up at

Note: Any relation to any real person or place is purely coincidental and is not indicative of any real person’s personality or life.

You should get the award for the clumsiest bitch on Earth.

You’re currently laying on the floor, commiserating in your own misery. Why, you ask? Well, when you’re having the worst day of your life, laying on the floor is really the best thing to do.

First, you had prepared to go to campus to take your final exam for your least favorite class, Math, with your least favorite teacher, Kim Eun Soo, only to find out that it had started thirty minutes earlier, and you only had two hours left to take a 200 question exam.

Then, you get called in by your boss to come in to the shop at the last minute, because one of your coworkers quit and there was no one else to pick up the shift. On the way there, you wasted hot coffee all over your lap, and had to use one of the pants in the store, which is definitely “coming out of your paycheck”, according to your lovely boss. You then proceed to be berated by a customer for not having the size of pants she wanted, because you had taken the last pair just five minutes prior.

As you bowed in apology, your coworker was coming by with the grabber used to get clothes off of the higher racks, and it hit you in the back of the head when you were standing up, causing you to smack your head on the counter in front of you.

So, you proceeded to spend the rest of your shift with a raging headache and once that was done, you had to drive all the way back home with your dirty jeans that were making your car smell like old coffee.

You were so ready to lay down in bed and decompose silently, but of course, luck just wasn’t on your side, because as you entered your kitchen to fix yourself some water, the kitchen sink didn’t want to work.

You would turn it on and off, but nothing would come out, which was worrying because you didn’t feel like spending money to get it fixed, thirstiness be damned. Just when you were about to give up and go about your business, the spout suddenly burst, shooting water right in your face. You screamed as water rushed out, spilling all over the counter, the floor, and of course, you.

Thankfully, you were able to shut it off quickly, but as you were wiping off the counters, you ended up slipping, foot caving in and falling to the floor.

Which is how you got here, entire body hurting and just about the end of your rope.

“Should I just die,” you say, deadpan, as you stare up at the ceiling. Maybe this could be your new career, a stay-on-the-floor girlfriend while your partner goes out and makes money for the both of you.

You could just mold into the floor and Taeyoung can use you as a decoration piece for the living room or something.

That’s it! That’s what you’ll do instead of moving. Taeyoung would understand. Of course she will. If she loves you she will.

You faintly hear the sound of the door opening, and your girlfriend’s lovely voice as it rings throughout the air. Her voice is almost enough to make all of the pain of today go away. Almost.

“(Y/n), are you home?” She calls out, and you can hear the jingle of her keys as she sets them down.

“In here,” you answer, and you hear her footsteps as they get closer.

“Babe, where are you?” Her confused tone of voice makes you giggle a bit.

“Down here,” her head immediately comes around the corner as she spots you. “Careful, floor’s wet,” you warn as she cautiously steps closer.

Tatter takes in the wet floor and your disheveled state, bewilderment clear on her face. You’re completely soaked, hair in shambles and tired look in your eyes.

“What are you… what happened,” Taeyoung says, blonde hair framing her face as she looks down at you with furrowed eyebrows.

“This is my new job. I’m going to become one with the floor so you can use me as a decoration piece for the living room,” you close your eyes and continue to lay there. “Human life isn’t for me, y’know? I wasn’t meant to be a part of actual society, so you’re just gonna have to take care of me from now on.” You say, body deflating even more.

“Okay…?” Is the only thing Taeyoung can say back to you, not knowing what to make out of this. “Do you want to tell me why, maybe?”

You only stay silent, feeling like if you talk about it then you’ll just end up crying.

“Do you want to maybe get off the floor, then?” You shake your head, staying where you are. Your girlfriend wasn’t having it though.

“Alright, get up,” Tatter says, grabbing your arm and pulling you up, only for you to hiss in pain.

Your body does actually hurt, all jokes aside. Taeyoung immediately drops you after hearing you protest, only for your body to hit the floor again, which is just… perfect.

“Oh shit, babe I’m so sorry,” Tatter panics, crouching down but not knowing where to touch you. “Fuck, is your head ok? Where does it hurt–”

Tatter cuts herself off when you start to sniffle, tears forming in your eyes.

“Shit, baby, I really didn’t mean it, ok! I was only trying to get you off the floor and,” Tatter rambles as she helps you sit up, and you immediately push your face into her chest, tears flowing freely as it all becomes too much.

You wrap your arms around Tatter, who immediately reciprocates the affection.

“Come on, baby, let’s get you cleaned up, ok?” You say nothing, letting her try and move you, only for you to wince when you put pressure on your ankle. Tater notices immediately. “Is it your ankle, hun?” You just nod, only for you to gasp as Tatter picks you up with ease, carrying you to the bedroom as you look down at her in shock. “What,” she says, smiling cheekily at you, “why do you think I hit the gym so hard? It’s so I can carry you like a princess!” She bounces you in her arms, and loves the way you laugh, burying your face in her neck as it begins to heat up.

Tatter enters the bathroom and sits you on the edge of the tub, turning on the water after plugging it in. As you watch it fill up, Tatter adds soap to the water and swirls it around with her hand.

She puts your hair in a high bun and then proceeds to peel off your wet clothes, chucking them in a corner with a faux disgusted look on her face.

“There,” she says once all of them are removed, “Now you can relax properly.” She kisses you on the cheek and holds you hand as you get in the tub, warm water immediately soothing your sore skin. She turns off the tub, grabbing a rag to wash you off with. She runs the rag over your shoulders, your chest, your back, and your legs with care and tenderness, and it makes you want to cry. You let it all happen, body feeling heavier and heavier with each passing moment.

Tatter admires you as your eyes flutter shut. She admires your long neck as you tip your head back, the way your chest moves slowly up and down as you breathe so steadily. She admires the way the water glides over you, making your skin glisten in the light. She runs her hands from your shoulders to your chest, giving you a small kiss on your neck as well.

“My baby’s so pretty like this,” another kiss on your cheek, “so peaceful and relaxed,” her lips meet yours, slow and steady. She starts kneading your shoulders, eyes furrowed at the tension there. “Oh, this day must’ve been awful for you. You’re so stressed out…” Tatter watches you nod, leaning into her every touch. Her fingers meet the back of your neck, rubbing her thumbs into it gently. You sigh, craning your head forward.

“Taeyoung,” you whimper, hand reaching up to clasp hers. Your girlfriend grabs your hand and places a kiss on your palm, feeling your pulse beat through your wrist.

“My lovely girl,” she rubs your back in circles, kissing up your arm and on your shoulder. Her hands reach down, rubbing your waist and back up again. “You need a break,” she states, wiping off the soap from your body.

“Can you join me, please?” You ask, looking up at her with hazy eyes.

Taeyoung smiles, never one to deny you much. She strips in front of you, knowing that your eyes will never leave her body. Your hand reaches out to grab onto her hip, planting a kiss on her thigh. You scoot up to let her fit into the tub, and allow her to wrap her arms around you and pull you close to her. Tatter plants a bunch of kisses on your neck and shoulders, squeezing your sides again. You rub your hands up and down her thighs, humming softly.

Tatter tilts your head up, lips meeting yours in sweet bliss. The only sound that fills the bathroom is the sound of lips smacking against each other and the sound of bodies moving in the water, and it’s music to both of your ears.

You start panting into her mouth as Tatter’s hands roam your body, but Tatter pulls away all too soon. She nuzzles her nose into your cheek, cooing at you.

“Let’s just relax for now, ok? We’ll have time for that later,” she whispers into your lips, giving you one last peck before she starts to wash herself off, you helping a bit too.

After the tub is drained, Tatter sits you on the edge of the tub and dries you off first, drying each part of you individually. She wraps you in the towel, lets your hair down, and grabs a towel for herself as well.

“How’s your ankle, love?” She bends down and takes your right foot in her hand, thumb rubbing over your slightly swollen ankle. You huff at the contact.

“I’m sure it’ll be better in the morning. Just a little accident, that’s all,” you say, voice wavering. “Sink attacked me earlier.”

Tatter chuckles, placing a kiss to your ankle and lifting you into her arms once more. “Attacked you? How so?”

“Wouldn’t work when I tried to get something to drink earlier, sprayed me with water when I gave up,” she sets you down on the bed softly. “Then I proceeded to fall on the floor and hit my head for the second time today,” you watch as Tatter goes to grab some clothes for you both, two oversized shirts and underwear.

“What was the first?” Tatter says, walking back over to you.

“Coworker hit me in the head with a pole and I ended up hitting my head on the counter at work,” Tatter winces in response, imagining the scenario now. “No underwear for me?” You ask as she sits you up, putting your shirt on.

“Easier access for later,” she says cheekily, giving you a small wink. Your face heats up and you look away.

Tatter dresses herself, climbing into bed afterwards.

“And not to mention that my boss called me in at the last minute, and so I had to speed from my final –which I was late to–, and I wasted coffee on myself,” you rub at your thighs, happy you didn’t get any burns on you. Your poor jeans, though.

Tatter sighs, hugging you from the side. “Oh, my poor baby, the world had it out for you, I swear.” She kisses you on the cheek, hoping it’ll brighten your mood, which it does.

“I swear, Taeyoung, I must’ve had terrible karma in my past life. Simply terrible,” you pout, curling into her.

“Well, let’s hope you do enough good in this one to not be so unlucky next time,” she gives you a mischievous grin as she places more kisses on your cheeks and neck. “I know I can get a lot of good karma tonight,” she declares, playing with the hem of your shirt.

“Oh,” you quirk an eyebrow at her, wrapping your arms around her neck once she leans over you. “And how do you plan on doing that?”

“By making you call for God all night long, of course,” she kisses you as you both giggle, you playfully tapping her on her shoulder.

“You’re so corny, baby,” you say through your giggles.

“I tell nothing but the truth. Now lay down and let me make you feel better, ok?” She says impatiently, and you do as you’re told, letting your girlfriend take care of you for the rest of the night.

#tatter x reader #swf2 x fem reader #swf2 x reader #swf2 #team Bebe #tatter x fem reader #tatter Bebe #team Bebe tatter #tatter team Bebe #kim taeyoung #question from the bunnies #babies first request omg!!!

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zoe-oneesama · 1 year

Note

So what are your thoughts (and salt) on your research re-watch on Queen Wasp?

This episode is annoying because it tries to play both sides - it is very much NOT a redemption arc episode but at the same time tries to make you feel sorry for Chloe after she fucks shit up, which has tricked some into believing this actually WAS part of Chloe's redemption arc.

As @hypexion laid out in a full essay, there never was a Chloe redemption arc because Chloe never thought she did anything wrong and never thought she had to change. In "Queen Wasp", she refuses to return the Miraculous on the grounds "finders keepers, losers weepers", deliberately causes a crisis in order to try and FAIL to save the day just to show off, and when confronted with her deeds only has this to say:

See, I didn't pull Scarlet Lady's complete disregard for human life out of my ass, it was canon all along! 😈

"Who cares"?! "Who CARES"?! Putting aside that "WE" did not save them, Ladybug and Chat Noir saved them from YOU, I'm pretty sure the people's who's LIVES you endangered "cares"!

Thing is, if you just watch this episode and put the entire idea of "redemption" or "hero Chloe" out of your mind, this is 3/4ths of a good episode. Pretty fun, actually, with Chloe just...being Chloe. And getting to hit Chloe in the face with a trash can ❤️.

So what's with all the audience emotional manipulation at the end?

Why is Chat Noir making soft face and using soft voice at Chloe at the end, commiserating that she STOLE a Miraculous (because once she decided not to return it when asked, yes, that's theft at that point), crashed a train, and ran away from the consequences just to ImPrEsS hEr MoThEr? Guess that makes it alright then, right Adrien? 🙃

(If it was just meant to be an Adrien Character Moment, they would've had Ladybug counter him by point out that her motivation doesn't make what she did okay, but instead they have Ladybug ALSO commiserate with Chloe)

As a character beat, I get that Adrien is channeling his daddy issues through Chloe's mommy issues, but I mean for the audience: why are they having Ladybug admit to "making mistakes" and Chat Noir comfort Chloe when SHE MESSED UP THIS BADLY except to manipulate the viewer into feeling sorry for her?! Her mother didn't ASK her to do any of those things, she did them all on her own, so why are the heroes giving her a pass, ie. why are the writers wanting the audience to give Chloe a pass???

No pass! She sucked! And she deserved her classmates ripping on her in "Malediktator", but then the story had the balls to try and make the audience feel bad for Chloe for that too!

Speaking of that, it's really weird that they ended "Queen Wasp" with Ladybug being so soft on Chloe at the end, only for Marinette to turn around at the beginning of "Malediktator" and go back to being really annoyed with her. Especially after she went out of her way to reconcile things between Chloe and Audrey.

Even the way they did it - equating Ladybug accidentally dropping the Miraculous in the middle of the battle and then relying on the Miraculous Cure to return the Miraculous to Fu, (something she'd have no reason to believe shouldn't happen), to Chloe deliberately causing a disaster in order to fail to impress her mom and refusing to return the Miraculous that she Was Not Given? Those are not the same! An honest error that Ladybug fully intended to rectify vs. Chloe disregarding other's safety and the right and wrong of keeping something that never belonged to her are not on equal footing.

Oh and then there's this gem:

Giving back an item that never belonged to you to the rightful owner isn't "exceptional", it's basic human decency. Good Lord Chloe is not "exceptional" for finally adhering to the code of conduct the rest of us learned in Kindergarden.

All this pushing the viewer to feel some type of way and it's all for nothing. Feeling sorry for Chloe just leads Ladybug to giving her another chance in "Malediktator", giving Chloe entitlement to the Bee Miraculous, facing the issues of the enemy knowing her identity in "Miraculer", having to flat out retract Chloe's access to the Bee Miraculous which Chloe responds to with a full on tantrum in "Miracle Queen", leading to Fu giving Guardianship over to Ladybug.

Woooow, real glad we were told over and over again by the narrative to go easy on Chloe, sHe JuSt NeEdS a GoOd InFluEnCe and a SeCoNd ChAnce. That sure ended well for everyone.

Also this is just me being a nitpicky asshole, but if Chloe didn't out herself right in front of everyone (ie. GABRIEL), the Hawkmoth era of the series would've been over. After Style Queen failed, Gabriel had completely given up since his "Masterpiece" failed. If Chloe hadn't revealed herself, Gabriel wouldn't have been inspired to akumatize a Miraculous Holder and might've gone into retirement long enough to return the Miraculous in secret or reveal Emilie to the public in search of other methods before he could've been "inspired" by something else.

The villain defeated by lack of motivation, lmao.

(Also also obviously this could've been doubly avoided by Ladybug not losing the Bee Miraculous or taking the Bee Miraculous out in the first place, but we could've had Anti-Hero Bee Chloe with an actual secret identity paired with a new antagonist to go into a new era of Miraculous, so I would've considered that a win)

MY main gripe with the three Chloe centric episodes "Style Queen", "Queen Wasp", and "Malediktator" is all the pointless, blatant audience manipulation. They went so far out their way to make the audience side with Chloe against Ladybug and feel bad for her only to turn around and call us stupid for doing so. I want my time back and I never even believed in the Redemption Arc. I can't imagine how much worse it was for someone who actually believed what they were selling.

And obviously it was terrible for the thing that brought Chloe and Audrey together is how they're horrible people who torment the working class, but maybe we should've taken that as a sign as to where this was going. Way to immediately resolve Chloe's mommy issues as soon as they were brought up.

Wait...is that why they made the problem in "Malediktator" Chloe's usefulness?

#damn these episodes and their buzzwords!#'exceptional' 'useless'#try 'menace to society' and defend that!#queen wasp salt #chloe salt #writing salt #adrien salt #just a pinch just a sprinkle #my opinion #just to save myself I am writing Audrey with like 5% of a heart

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