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scented-morker · 6 months ago

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DDA: dorm displays of affection

Being a famous idol means PDA is out of the question, but not dorm displays. Alternatively, ways the enha boys show you’re theirs while in the dorms with their other members 🤭

1.5k words, idol!enha x gf!reader, this is fem reader, about 200 words a piece… no warnings i think, flufff, some are more general than others, im sorry 😔

Heeseung

Always has you sat on his lap.

Literally does not matter where you are or what you’re doing, you are not allowed next to him

Even if it’s a movie night and EVERY SINGLE member is there so you think ‘surely I can sit by myself this time, it’d be so weird for us to be cuddled up like that in front of everyone’

WRONG 🚨🚨

As soon as you sit down next to him, he looks at you like you’ve lost your mind

The pout comes out

“What are you doing?” 🥺

Genuinely looks so confused that you’re sitting anywhere else

“Hee, all the boys are here.”

Looks at you like ‘and since when do I gaf??’

Grabs your waist with one hand and pulls you into his lap himself 🤭

None of the boys bat a single eye

“Everyone knows this is where you belong baby” he says, kissing your temple and wrapping his arms around your midsection

Ignores you literally combusting

Jay

The definition of princess treatment

You can literally just turn your brain off when you’re around Jay

You haven’t touched a single door since the two of you started dating

He opens the car door, the door to the dorm, even his bedroom door

( he has your location turned on so he gets a notification when you’re close and can be there to open the door for you as soon as you arrive at their dorm)

One of the first times he took you out, you opened the door for yourself and he slid across the car hood to close it again and re open it before you had time to get out 🙄

(He looked really silly but you tell him it was cool)

Pulls your chair out even when you’re just eating dinner with the guys

Cue the boys exchanging looks and whip cracking motions 🤪

If you’re walking best bet he’s on the outside of the sidewalk and his hand is on your lower back, guiding you

You didn’t realize how much you stopped thinking around him until once when he was guiding you through the hall and he literally had to stop you from running into Sunghoon

It’s not your fault, you’re just a girl 🎀

Jake

NICKNAMES GALORE

The boys actually didn’t know your name for like a solid six months bc he NEVER said it

“My girlfriend is coming over” he’d announce

“Your girlfriend that is…?”

“Pretty?” He has no idea what they’re talking about

As soon as you get there all they hear out of his mouth are ‘pretty girl’ and ‘sweet angel’

Like hello you have a name 🤨

“C’mere pretty girl” as soon as you open the door

“What do you think, princess?” He asks your input as the boys decide what to watch

😵‍💫😵‍💫 sike, you don’t even need a name, he can call you whatever he likes

The boys like to tease him when they need you two for something

“Yes Jake, can you and your pookie wookie bear please join us in the kitchen for a moment?”

“Hey Jake, does your schnookums like cream in her coffee?”

He really doesn’t call you those, but anything out of his mouth might as well be to the guys

“Yes my beautiful girlfriend who is an angel on earth does like cream thank you very much. Lots of it.”

He does not care at all, he thinks you’re the sweetest thing ever and deserve to be reminded of it every time he talks to you

Sunghoon

Bro CANNOT FOCUS when you’re around it’s actually so bad

The boys have probably seen you guys kiss like twice but the amount of times they’ve had to smack him upside the head bc he’s zoned out staring at you???

♾️

He has the biggest heart eyes, if it was possible to love you anymore he’d probably actually develop heart shaped retinas

“Hoon? Hoon?” Heeseung calls his name four times before following his line of sight and seeing you filling a glass of water

“You’re so embarrassing.”

The boys approach you with anything they have to tell him because the only way he snaps out of it is if someone else joins you

He’ll be in space for 20 minutes but the second one of the guys walks up to you he’s right there

“Why are you talking to my girlfriend?”

(Yes I’m thinking about that fansign where he said no to everything 🤫)

The managers were gonna let you come to filming one time but the boys said ABSOLUTELY NOT

Hoon could not be in a five mile radius of you without getting dating rumors he was down so bad

Sunoo

This man loves you so bad he does not care who sees

Greets you at the door with a bone crushing hug and kisses all over your face

(The boys make faces at each other while they listen to his loud ‘mwah’s from the living room)

You flush when you walk in and realize they all heard it, but Sunoo pays them no mind, leading you by the hand to where he has a bouquet of flowers and your favorite coffee on the table

He’ll take you into the living room where the rest of the guys are playing games just so he can sit there with his arm around you while you enjoy your drink

Even when he gets into a fight with Sunghoon and starts yelling with his hands they’re still attached to you

One time he accidentally poked you in the eye while gesturing and he felt so bad he almost cried

Kissed it to make it better only to have the guys start throwing pillows at him for being “gross in the communal area”

“Fine, I’ll go kiss my girlfriend in peace!”

Now you’re a blushing mess that they all know 🫠

“Don’t be embarrassed baby, they’re just mad I have the prettiest girlfriend ever”

Jungwon

He takes care of you SO BAD

The boys teased him the first time they saw him stop to tie your shoes for you, but never again

Will be cooking the most delicious smelling thing in the world and smack the boys hands when they try to steal it

“This is for yn” 😠

Braids your hair, zips your jacket, honestly just fawns over you like a grandma 😭

“It’s cold out. You should bring a jacket!”

“But wonnnn, I don’t want to” you’d whine but does he care?

His baby is not getting sick on his watch

Not only does he pick your jacket, but he also puts it on for you, zips it up, and puts on a matching hat

Imagine the boys reaction when the two of you go out one night and won comes back barefoot 😭

But your heels hurt and he wasn’t about to have that ‼️ so he gave you his shoes and carried your heels the rest of the way home

(The same heels that he insisted on clasping for you while you sat at his vanity)

‘Down astronomically bad’ Jay would cough as won leads you back to his room

Jungwon just thinks you should never have to do anything yourself 🤷‍♀️

“You just sit there and look pretty, I’ll get it” 🫣

Riki

Is quite literally always hanging off of you

Nonchalant my booty, when he’s in the comfort of his own home with the people who know him best… his facade goes down the drain

If you’re standing up at all— washing dishes, doing your hair, even standing in the living room having a conversation with one of his members

Without him??? I think not 🤨

Literally drapes himself across your back, hanging his arms over your shoulders and dropping his chin on top of your head

“Hi ki!” You chirp, turning around to see him staring, arms still locked around you

“Why are you doing that?” He asks

He doesn’t want you doing ANYTHING in his dorm.

Why are you even doing dishes? That’s his hyung’s job. Doing your hair??? For who? You will not be seen by anyone for the next 1-3 business days if it’s up to him

And if you’re talking to one of the members 🙄

He won’t say anything, but if you’ve kept talking for more than 2 minutes after he’s showed up, he’ll pinch your side and shoot daggers at whoever you’re talking to until the two of you give up

“No need to get moody, I’ll give you your girlfriend back,” Jake rolls his eyes

That’s what he was waiting for ‼️

Throws you over his shoulder and takes you right back to his room where you will never be heard from again!! (Until dinner time)

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kenyummy · 3 months ago

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✰ 01. the ballad of a bygone blight.

✰ ꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ platonic yandere batfam / spider! reader ꒱

✰ 01. sparkless life.

SYNOPSIS : being spidey isn't easy. being transported into an alternate universe where you're nothing but a shadow in your house, makes sneaking around a little easier... until you find yourself the apple of their eye... kind of.

note: guys i couldnt resist posting criesssss . also master is used as a gender neutral term!!!! couldn't be bothered to put master/mistress every time so

prev. ✰ masterlist. ✰ next.

When you wake up, your eyes are permeated by a hard light. Your eyes are squinted hard and you're having a difficult time getting your eyes to focus.

Your brain is fuzzy and feels like melted candy in your head. What was going on, again...? This bed... it's really comfy. It's like laying on a bed made of clouds, fairy dust, and your hopes and dreams.

(Nothing like your lumpy mattress back home... May told you it built character.)

You reach your hand up, to try and block out the harsh glare directed right into your retina. It dims in a second, and for a moment—you think you've finally developed mutant powers of telekinesis. You sit up—only to discover you were not actually the one who turned off said lights.

"Apologies, Master [name]." An older man with a distinct British accent stands in the door—a few feet away from the bed you're resting on. "I did not realise you had awoken already. I would've turned down the lights, if I was aware."

You blink, surveying the room around you. It's big. Unfamiliar, as well. Modern. Really big. Wait, did he just call you—

"Master [name]?" Your mouth moves faster than your mind, and your brows furrow deep. "What... where am I?"

The older man looks genuinely puzzled at how defensive your stance is. "Oh dear. Perhaps you did end up getting lead poisoning. Or a concussion. ... No matter. This recent amnesia is common within traumatic injuries."

He clears his throat with strict elegance and straightens his posture, "[name]. I believe you were attacked in an alleyway, when your brother found you. You were in the hospital for a few days, and brought back here—back home—this morning. You're currently in one of your father's guest rooms. The doctors said you were healing miraculously fast."

You hiss lowly. You really hope they hadn't gotten a blood sample—you haven't had the best of experiences with people getting your blood.

"You seem to be alright now. A bit..." He looks at your exposed, scarred shoulders. "Scuffed up—but better than when Master Jason had found you."

Your brother... Jason...? Who even...?

What's going on here?

Your heart seems to skip a beat as the calculations start going off in your head. A world you had never heard of... a place you'd never seen before—perhaps you weren't on a different world, and like you had suspected... it was definetly some multiverse shenanigans again.

You knew you should've made Jess take that mission instead of you. Damn. You and your dumb rivalry with Doc.

But you couldn't understand why this random man knows you. He speaks as if you've lived a life with him—like he's known you since...

You chew down on your bottom lip. "... This is... my home. I live here, don't I...?"

You play with words cautiously, speaking slow and methodical. It only serves to confuse the man even further.

"Yes, you... do? Master [name], perhaps you should go back to the hospital. You're sounding rather frazzled—"

You almost jump up, out of the sheets, "Uh—no! I... I'm fine. My head's just a bit... messed up right now. Sorry."

It's not—after that flashbang, you're feeling fine. Your shoulder only burns with a stretch whenever you put too much pressure on it—but you're completely okay otherwise. But you don't think you should let him know that just yet.

"If you insist, Master [name]." He bows his head. "Do you require any further assistance?"

You blink, considering your choices.

Eventually, you land on the safest option. Search your surroundings. Find out what's going on here before going all Spider-ham on them. For all you know—they're super skrulls waiting for the right moment to strike. You need to be smart about this.

"Yes... I would like to go to my room... could you... walk me there?" You don't meet his stern gaze. "I'm not sure I'm able to walk on my own two feet just yet. I'm sorry."

You don't see how his stare softens at your words. "Of course, Master [name]."

He walks over to the edge of the bed and steadies you with a hand on your shoulder as you shakily stumble out of the bed. It's bouncy enough to launch you forward slightly—and it takes every muscle in your body to stop your Spidey-instincts from taking over and jumping backwards.

He slips your arm within his and steadies you as you both slowly walk out of the large guest room. If this was a guest room—you wonder what your room looked like.

The hallways weren't anything to sneeze at, either. Decorated with contemporary art pieces—sleek and so shiny you could see your face in the tiles below your bare feet. You felt so out of place—the civilian clothes you sported since you got here still dressed your body, and it wasn't even close to fitting in.

As you stumble down the halls with a bit of overdramacy, a man suddenly appears from around a corner. Deep black hair and the brightest blue eyes you'd ever seen. His smile is wide and he waves enthusiastically, "Hey, Alfred! I got back from Blüdhaven after uh—I heard what happened."

"Hello, Master Dick. It's lovely to see you back home again." Alfred nods his head. The man in question—Dick, apparently, which makes the immature teen in you giggle—gives you a sorrowful expression.

But... doesn't say anything past that. He continues small talk with Alfred—and you're left propped up in the older man's arms with a lost expression.

Did he... just blow you off?

One—that was pretty rude. Two, did he not just say he came back after he heard what happened? Not to toot your own horn or anything—but you'd assume being shot kind of counts as a "what happened".

You press your lips firmly together. This was getting awkward for you, especially seeing how comfortable this huge Dick (yeah, you're taking it and running with it) seemed to be with leaving this sickly, wounded (maybe you're being a tad dramatic) person to stumble like a baby fawn, in silence.

Alfred, however—catches sight of your one-sided tension, and abruptly ends his conversation. "My apologies, Master Dick, but I must help [name] to their room. I would love to continue this conversation at a later date."

"Oh yeah, no sweat, Alfred." He gives the older man a gleeful thumbs up. Then, his eyes meet yours. "Get better soon, okay?"

You avert his stare and only nod in response. Well, at least he noticed you were there. You're still in mild shock, but you somehow manage to keep a pleasant expression. With one last small smile, Dick walks away—where, you don't really care about.

Alfred slowly helps you up a flight of stairs. He only breaks the silence after you find yourself standing in front of a room with a faded name on it. Your name. "... All these years, and only now, you've suddenly changed. I wonder..."

His words are cryptic, but his expression even more so. What was he talking about? "... Huh?"

A small smile fades on his face. "Ah... no. It's nothing. I was thinking out loud. Call me if you need anything else, Master [name]. I am at your service. And please... get better soon."

Somehow, it sounds nicer when he says it. You smile a little, and give him a nod.

"Thank you..." You test out his name on your tongue. It feels natural. "Alfred. I'll try my best."

He leaves with a curt nod and not another word. You finally slide the door open, and take a look around.

You step inside, and it's like you've entered a whole new world, again.

It's... small. Not by regular standards—it's almost double the size of your room at home—but compared to a guest bedroom in this overly massive home... it's rather small. Like a closet, more than a bedroom.

It's empty, too. Your room at home is decorated with posters and trinkets of your favourite shows, pictures of you with Harry and MJ (sometimes even the four), and memorable items you've collected with your friends and family over the years.

Memories. You had memories.

There is nothing here.

It's like you're standing in a blank slate—in a world where you are nothing and yet everything you've ever had. It sends a chill down your spine.

You walk barefoot across cold wood and take a seat on the bedsheets. Bare white with a childish print. Something a young child would use. It looks pretty scuffed up. Old. The mattress creaks under your weight and you wince.

There's a bookshelf just opposite to you. There's not much in it—in fact, it's smaller than small and is almost completely empty. There's nothing but school textbooks and thick novels. And...

It catches your eye almost immediately. A little pink slip in the midst of deep black and brown colours. You stand up—ignoring the creak that follows—and walk over to the shelf.

You slip the book out, and immediately take in its cover. Pink, and with your name in wonky cursive. It's rather dusty, as if it hadn't even been touched in years.

You flip open the cover. Big bubble letters spelling out My diary flash you and you quickly flip the page before the glitter sears into your eyelids.

The first entry is there. Exactly seven years and two months ago. It's nothing like those entries you've seen on those corny 2000's TV shows for tweens—nor is it like those aesthetic journaling girls on Pwinterest.

It's something, familiarly, you. A short clunk of text about your day, on days that had some sort of exciting event going on—something you'd undoubtedly do. It almost makes you grimace.

This whole multiverse thing might be worse than you thought.

Two days ago I moved into a new house. My mom said she couldn't take care of me anymore, and I had to live with my dad. I've never seen him until today, but he's really busy, so we don't talk much. Alfred is nice to me, and his cooking is really yummy.

There's a little sketch of a baked dinner—and despite your pre-tween art skills, it does seem rather tasty looking.

You flip the page. The next entry is a week after the last.

I still haven't talked with dad yet. But I did meet two new people. Alfred said that they're my new brothers. Mom never wanted any more babies, so I was very excited to meet them! Jason is fun to play with. He's really bad at hide and go seek, though—I always win! Dick is fun too, but he's busy a lot, like dad. But he always makes time for me and Jason. I really like it here.

There's a small picture of three stick people holding hands. One is significantly short than the other two—labelled with your name above. The one on the left to you is Jason, with black curls and a wide grin. The one on the right is labelled Dickie, much taller than the other two and with shaggy black hair.

The drawing is innocent. Cute. Wholesome, if you will. There's even heart stickers pasted (and peeling, by now) between each of your heads.

You flip the page with a small, fond smile. The next entry is three days after that one.

Dad played with me, Jason, and Dickie today. He was really bad at hide and go seek too—but Dad and Jason chased each other all around the house before I caught both of them. I was so happy I won today! Dad took us all out for dinner, even Alfred. Alfred said he only came because I always look very happy when we're together. The dinner was really yummy!!!!

The drawing underneath is a picture of what looked like a smaller version of you, standing triumphantly with a little tiara on your head.

You flip the page. This time—there's a significant gap between the dates. This was a whole 5 months after you last wrote in your diary.

I don't know where Jason is. Dad and Dickie look really sad. They've been really busy for a long time, and we don't play much anymore. The only times I see Dad is at dinner. But we don't talk. Sometimes he doesn't eat dinner, either. Alfred still puts my drawings on the fridge, and he says that Dad and Dickie are just sad now, and they'll be better soon. I miss Jason. I want him back home.

There's no silly-looking drawing to go underneath this entry. This Jason—apparently the man who saved you—seemed rather fun-loving, despite whatever happened to him. You wonder what it was.

You flip the page, again. This entry was 3 months after the last.

I miss Dad, and Dickie. Dickie told me he had to go away for a bit, because he has something important to do somewhere else. Dad is busy all the time. I haven't seen him in 4 days. I don't play with anyone but Alfred now, but he's not that fun to play with, because he's so serious all the time. Dad tells me to go on my iPad and not bother Alfred when I'm bored, but I miss them.

Next one is 2 days after.

I met a new boy today. Dad told me he's my new brother. I was pretty excited because he's my age. But he didn't want to talk to me. He said he was too caught up in important stuff, and that I should just come back later. But he looked real annoyed when saying it—so I didn't come back. He didn't say anything, so I don't think he cared.

A week later.

My dad is Batman, and my new brother is Robin. I'm freaking out. He never told me—I saw them sneaking out one day and I got really mad. Why didn't he tell me? Did Dickie and Jason know? Was I the only one who didn't? Tim got mad at me when I started yelling. I felt really sad so I hid in my room to get away from them. I've been here since. Alfred brought me dinner, but I'm not hungry.

So... this Batman who you saw before, is actually your dad? In this world, this is your father? You almost drop the diary in shock, but you can't tear your eyes away. You can't stop reading.

The next few entries don't catch your eye—it's all teen angst about how you're sick of how busy your dad is, how annoying Tim can be, how Dick won't even visit your room anymore—until something else catches your eye.

3 years later.

Jason is back. He's back home. I don't know why, but he's back. I was so excited to see him again—everyone else has become so busy and won't even talk to me. Nobody else has time for me, but Jason did. But he looked different. He's way older than me, now. He won't even look at me. I tried to hug him but he just put a mask on and walked away. Why is everyone doing this to me? What did I do? It's not fair.

Your writing grows into chicken scratch near the end—as if conveying your frustration. You skim through a few more entries. More teen angst. More about how you can't even hold a conversation with your siblings anymore.

Some were sweet, like how you met some people, unnamed, and treasured their friendship so deeply, but they were few and far between.

I met a girl today. She's my sister now. Her name is Cassandra, and she has very pretty eyes. I tried to talk to her, but dad got pretty mad at me because apparently she doesn't like to talk much. How was I supposed to know that? She didn't even look at me as dad pulled her away. Who even is she? Why does my dad like her better than me? Why does he like them all better than me? It's not fair.

You're bitter. You're upset, and so, so bitter. It's so abundantly clear that as time went on, you became progressively more and more spiteful. It was rather sad to watch.

This stupid little kid tried to kill me. Claimed I was unworthy. I couldn't give less of a shit what he thinks—but my family couldn't give less of a shit about me. They said he's troubled, that he needs patience.

The new few words were less than family friendly. Unkind? Definitely. Deserved? Possibly.

I can't believe this. I'm so sick of this. I want to get out. I can't take this anymore. Jason kills people now, but Bruce still loves him. Even Steph and Babs get more love from Bruce than me. They're not even in the family, but they're better. Because they're superheroes, they're better. Maybe I'll be a hero myself. Maybe then, they'll see me.

You flip the page. That's the last entry. The last page of the book—but behind it, there's a page made of sticky notes on the back cover. Your eyes widen in shock at what you see.

It's all...

"Spidey," you read out the name atop this pasted page in a low whisper.

Your fingertips trace over the detailed drawings. Your costume. Though not made of nanotech—the suit was intricately designed with spider patterns falling all around your arms and legs, with a large spider torso. It looked somewhat like Silk's suit.

Web shooters, with thorough calculations on how much you'd have to bulk up to swing without taking your arm off (which, by what you're reading, was humanly impossible for a regular you), and detailed explanations on what the web fluid was made out of.

More environmentally sustainable than your ones. You'd have to take these notes back home.

It wasn't like your family would go looking—you can't help but think, chewing on your cheek. This was incredible. You must've been a real genius to figure all this out.

Back home, you had Reed and Tony help you with all your spider stuff. Sure, you were the one who came up with all the base ideas and constructed it all yourself—but they helped out a lot with all the technicalities. But to come up with something like, from what you can tell, all on your own...

It was nothing short of incredible. And your family had no idea.

You snap the book shut, eyes narrowing down at the ground. Your Aunt May never would've treated you like this—and if you were correct, this other you must be with your aunt right now.

Good for them, you think. Maybe they'd be happier there, anyway.

A sudden knock at your door brings you out of your stupor. You slip the book away quickly as Alfred opens the door, bowing his head slightly. "Master [name], dinner is ready. If you're feeling better, please come down."

The prospect of a family dinner leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, especially after all you've read from this diary. No matter. You don't know how this you behaved before, but you have bigger issues to deal with than becoming a copy of this sad child.

But despite everything... Alfred really did seem to care for them—for you. You nod, smoothing out your cami. "Thanks. Let's go."

You and he both head down the stairs, and you finally come face to face with the family you've heard so much about.

They're all grinning from ear-to-ear, laughing about something that "happened on patrol" as you take a seat at the end of the table—beside a blonde girl who you think was called Stephanie—chewing on the food.

It was good. Really good. Almost as good as Aunt May's meatloaf. The thought makes you feel a little homesick, but you persevere. The hard glare given to you across the table by this small kid (definitely Damian) isn't helping, though.

Dick catches the look and follows his little brothers gaze to you. He doesn't say anything about it—only ruffles the boy's hair, chuckling, and asks why he seems so glum. The child hisses and starts trying to stab the man with a steak knife, to no avail—of course.

That was the last time you were even glanced at for the rest of the dinner. You almost can't believe it. How could somebody really fade into the background like that? How could such a family let it happen?

How could they be so ignorant? You lose your appetite soon enough, and stand up. The chatter dies down for a second. Stephanie—being the closest toward you, gives you an uncomfortable smile, "Are you not going to finish? You were out for a while... you need energy to get back up and do..."

Whatever it is you do at home, you guess that's probably what she was thinking. Who said you hadn't gotten a telepathic mutation?

She doesn't finish her sentence. You'd just met these people and already you were sick of this. Seriously, you don't think you could get any more uncomfortable if somebody strapped you to a chair and tossed you down a dark well.

You miss the most fantastic of fours you know. They'd never do this to you. Sue was far too sweet.

You shake your head, plate held tight in your hand. "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. There's much more important things out there in Gotham, isn't there? Besides—I have more than enough time to heal. Not like I'm doing any hero stuff, huh?"

Your laugh lacks any kind of humour, and you walk out in your typical Spidey fashion. The chatter doesn't spike up for a good ten minutes until after you leave.

You meet Alfred in the kitchen, and he's doing countless dishes alone. There's a stack of plates almost as tall as he is. You roll up your sleeves.

He gives you a confused look. "Master [name]? I have told you before, you—"

"I don't care what you told me." You say, suddenly—but you backtrack when you realise how flat your tone was. Cheeks flushed, you correct yourself, "Ah—sorry. I meant... I don't care what you told me, because it doesn't matter if you don't want help... I'll offer it anyway, you know? I can't help it. It's how I am."

It's why I'm Spidey. Not because I have powers. Not because I'm good at swinging around. Not even because the costume is awesome.

It's because you can't help but help others. You have the power to do so—now it's your responsibility.

You take a sponge, and douse it in dishwashing liquid. You scrub down a porcelain plate beside Alfred in silence.

The pensive look on his face was now replaced by a small, fond smile.

we getting into the typical diary entry stuff okokokkkk but. love interests next chapter. smirks let me cook!!!@

taglist: @hello-bina @cosmosluckycharms @1abi @yhin-gg @insideoutjulie @bluepanda08 @omnivirgo @vanessa-boo @dind1n @welpthisisboring @lunaetiicsaystuff @marsmabe @atanukileaf @findingjaxx @4mrplumi

if you asked to be on the taglist but aren't there, your account couldn't be tagged for whatever reason. im not too sure how tumblr works, but if you manage to fix it, ask me again!!!

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ms-demeanor · 4 months ago

Note

You may have posted about this before, but im very curious about you saying "email was a mistake" because it's such a cemented part of online communication. Is it the technology?

Email became infrastructural in a way that it was never intended to be and wasn't designed for.

There is too much momentum toward email being the primary means of business communication that unless there is a massive technology shift we're unlikely to see wide adoption of an alternative and email takes up so much space in the IT space that it's hard to say what the alternative would be.

Much of what used to be email now happens in company chat apps, which I think is an improvement in many ways, but you chat with your coworkers in a way that you're unlikely to chat with a client or send a quote to a prospect.

A huge amount of effort goes into making email better, and making email systems talk to each other, and making email secure because it is so ubiquitous that you can't realistically ask people not to use it.

But it's fucking terrible and we're asking too much of a set of protocols that was supposed to send small, not-very-private, communications between academics.

Why can't you send big files via email? Because that's not what email is for.

Why is it a pain in the ass to send encrypted emails? Because that's not what email is for.

Why aren't your emails portable, and easy to move from one service to another? Because that's not what email is for.

Why are emails so easy to spoof? Because they were never meant to be used the way we use them so there was no reason to safeguard against that fifty years ago

It's like how social security cards were never meant to be used as one of your major super serious government IDs where all of your activity through all of your life is tracked, because if they knew they needed a system for that they probably would have built a better one in the first place.

Nobody who sat down and developed email looked more than half a century into the future and went "so people are going to be using this system to create identities to access banking and medical records and grocery shopping and school records so we'd better make sure that it's robust enough to handle all of that" because instead they were thinking "Neat! I can send a digital message to someone on a different computer network than the one that I am literally in the same building as."

We think of email as, like, a piece of certified mail that is hand delivered in tamperproof packaging to only the intended recipient who signs for it with their thumbprint and a retina scan when it is, instead, basically a postcard.

It would be absurd to try to do the things people do with email with postcards, and it's *nearly* as absurd to try to do them via email.

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lewismcqueen · 3 months ago

Text

work husband.

lh44 x black!reader

02 wc: 1,942 summary: Lewis is one of your closest co-workers, but how close is he, exactly? a/n: hiii i came up with this drabble really quickly because i wanted to put smth out in between fics hope that's alright! cheesy fluff with a sprinkling of angst :) psst - my requests are open! got a request but can't think of anything? send me a prompt from this list + a genre! check pinned for guidelines.

You massaged your temples in an attempt to soothe the slowly-developing headache induced by staring at Excel sheets all day.

Finally, you tore your eyes away from your laptop screen, leaving a white rectangle burned into your retinas when you screwed your eyes shut.

“Uh-oh, are we slacking on the job now? That's unlike you, Y/N.”

“Fuck off, Lewis,” you replied, but a smile creeping across your lips gave you away.

“That's no way to speak to an esteemed co-worker,” came the same light, cheery voice but from above this time. “Might have to take that one to HR.”

Your eyes snapped open, revealing the face of the co-worker in question—Lewis—staring down at you with a teasing grin. His braids were tied back today, and he had gotten yet another tie. It was a dark forest green with a yellow plaid print. Every Monday morning, you'd try to guess in your head what kind of gaudy pattern he would introduce to your dreary white office cubicles that week. This time, you were right on the money.

“You wouldn't, Forehead. Nice tie.”

You rose from your seat to grab a small plastic cup from the water cooler that had just been stationed nearby next to a sad-looking potted plant.

“Thanks Kerry Washington,” Lewis parried back.

The comment was in reference to your own fashion choices during your first week on the job: head-to-toe matching pantsuits in various bright colors. You explained that they “lifted your mood” when you first met, but he never let you live it down.

You lifted the little lever above the spout and waited for your cup to fill about three quarters of the way before flipping it back down and taking a sip.

“You're never gonna let that one go, are you?”

“Not for as long as I live.”

As you made your way back to your respective desks, he asked, “Say, you were at Friday's Zoom meeting, right?”

You gave him an unimpressed look.

“You literally waved at me on camera.”

Lewis leaned on the divider separating the two cubicles and crossed his arms, revealing the outline of toned muscle beneath his black shirt.

“One: not the point. Two: I was waving at everyone, because I am a pleasant and upstanding fellow.”

“And is that why you're about to ask for my notes from a meeting that you were definitely paying attention to? Again?”

“Will you let me see them if I ask nicely? Do I have to beg?”

You tapped your chin, fake-thinking.

“Hmmm. I'll consider.”

In his usual theatrical fashion, the man got up off the divider and sank to his haunches next to your swivel chair, hands clasped together.

“Please? I'll buy you so many drinks tonight.”

You tilted your head in amusement as Lewis poked out his bottom lip in a pout. Combined with clear dark eyes that sparkled beneath the fluorescent office lighting, you almost told him he was cute out loud. You sighed dramatically.

“Fine. I'll pull them up, but I won't forget about that promise.”

He shot back up to his feet.

“You're a life-saver.”

That evening found you and a few other close co-workers at the local bar. It was a relatively clean spot with cutesy bright neon signs on the wall that made it look “Instagrammable”, as you had once remarked to Lewis. They cast a pink glow onto the right side of his face as he sat across from you at your designated booth, watching you enjoy your free beverage.

“You've nearly finished your third glass,” he remarked with a laugh, looking partially impressed. “I know I said it was on me, but you're draining my wallet here.”

Your other co-worker, a tall woman named Naomi, chimed in with a smirk.

“Hold up, you've been paying for her drinks this whole time? Why not all of us? What'd we do to you?”

“He only buys them for his lover, right?” added Lewis’ friend Charles.

He rolled his eyes as the Frenchman elbowed him with a wink.

“Guys, he's married,” you tried to clarify, the alcohol beginning to make you slur a couple of words. “And he promised me free drinks if I showed him my notes from last week. He owes me.”

You turned to Lewis for confirmation, who furrowed his brows in confusion.

“Well you've gotten the second bit right. Who told you I was married?”

Your eyes widened as Naomi and Charles burst into laughter as if you had just told them a ridiculous conspiracy theory.

“But you have a ring on the ‘I'm Married’ finger.”

Lewis looked down at the small silver band on his ring finger.

“See? I told you that it makes it look like you are taken!” Charles remarked.

Lewis chuckled and shook his head.

“Nah, I'm still on the market. I just can't walk around the office with my usual pieces, much as I'd like to.”

You gazed at his fingers, trying to imagine larger, more fashionable jewelry on them. They'd match his elaborate hand tattoos—not that you'd ever seen him outside of work to ever know for sure. Your teeth caught on your bottom lip for a second before Naomi’s voice snapped you out of your reverie.

“You're such a fashion nerd, talking about some ‘pieces’. I bet you wear, like, Rick Owens or some shit just to go grocery shopping.”

“What's wrong with Rick Owens? I think their garments are pretty well-constructed.”

“See?”

The table erupted into laughter so loud that it got the attention from nearby booths. You downed the rest of your drink at an impressive speed, clearing your throat right after. Lewis snorted as he watched.

“You should really slow down, seriously.”

You gave him a half-smile.

“Chill out, dude, you're not my husband. You don't have to watch me.”

"He's kinda your work husband though, right?”

You hummed thoughtfully. “My…work husband?”

Lewis had always alerted you whenever management came lurking around the office so that you didn't get caught slacking. Every Valentine's Day saw him leaving chocolates at your desk, and he asked about you whenever you called in sick.

“I guess you could say that.”

Naomi and Charles eventually left, bidding the both of you good night. You ordered just one more glass before stopping for the night; you weren't trying to get too hammered.

Peering over the rim, you noticed Lewis studying you with an unreadable expression on his face. His nose and cheeks were slightly reddened after he'd ordered his own drinks.

“What?” You grinned, setting the glass down in front of you with your arms folded on the table.

A smile—no, a smirk?—tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Nothing.”

“C'mon, it can't be nothing. You're staring at me somethin’ fierce right now.”

He laughed at your bluntness, his lips parting to reveal his signature gap-toothed smile. The sight made your stomach flip. Cutting yourself off at four glasses was a good call.

He gestured in your direction. “Can I not look at you?”

“You can, but there's gotta be a reason.”

Lewis tilted his head, his expression settling into something thoughtful.

“Have you ever…thought about bringing back the fun pantsuits?”

You gave him a weird look.

“What does that have to do with—”

“You looked really pretty in them. Happier, too.”

His observation was correct; you were happier as a fresh recruit that no longer needed to desperately search for a job or internship. Then the work piled up, the days began to feel like an endless time loop, and suddenly you didn't see the point in all the crazy colors anymore…

Wait.

“Pretty?”

You blinked, only now registering what was said. You wished Lewis wouldn't smile at you like that a second time.

“I'm being honest. Y’know, as your ‘work husband’,” he added air quotes as he spoke.

You stared at him for a few moments, saying nothing. Then:

“We're both a little drunk at this point. I think I'm gonna call an Uber.”

Lewis nodded, awkwardly glancing elsewhere. “Probably right.”

After he paid the bill (and winced while doing so), you followed him outside, where the two of you stood by the curb in front of the bar. At some point, you found yourself shivering as the brisk evening air nipped at you through your thin white blouse. Lewis had had the foresight to at least bring a brown leather bomber jacket with him to go over his blazer. It made him look like a handsome pilot when he zipped it up all the way, but you'd never tell him that.

He caught you looking and asked, “You cold?”

You almost refused out of some vague sense of pride, but it'd be good twenty minutes before your Uber arrived. So you just nodded.

Just as expected, Lewis unzipped his jacket and draped it over your shoulders. Like in the movies, you scoffed internally.

“You can borrow it until we get dropped off.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“What about you?”

He shrugged, “I run hot. I'll survive.”

The ride home was mostly silent, save for the soft jazz music that your driver had (thankfully) decided to turn on.

You've had to deal with far worse music taste than this.

Lewis snuck glances at you the entire time, thinking you wouldn't notice until he accidentally caught your eye. He broke the silence first.

“Can I ask you something?”

You gave him a tiny smile.

“You're already asking me something.”

“Walked right into that one,” he replied. “Look, did I make things…awkward back there?”

You messed with the zipper on his jacket for a bit before answering.

“What makes you say that?”

“I dunno,” he tugged at his earlobe, where he had gotten a pair of silver piercings ever since he found out that they were allowed at work. “You just…you kinda looked at me weird, so I thought maybe I'd crossed a line.”

When you looked up and met his eyes, his features were tense with concern, eyes just slightly glazed over from all the alcohol. You felt a pang in your chest.

“I was just a little caught off-guard,” you reassured him, trying to keep your tone casual. “You're good.”

This answer seemed to satisfy him, and he relaxed, leaning back into his seat with a sigh.

“Good.”

Your address was the first stop, and you reached for the car door handle before stopping short.

“Almost took your jacket,” you smiled back at Lewis as you unzipped and handed it over to him. “See you Tuesday?”

His fingers brushed against yours as he took it gingerly, looking as if he didn't want to have to take it back.

“...Yeah. Goodnight.”

“ ‘Night.”

Luckily, the car had stopped right in front of your door, so you only had to rub your arms for a few seconds before rummaging through your purse for your keys. You flipped on the light switch as the warmth of your own home relieved you. The lavender scent packets you had scattered around the house seemed to be doing their job, the scent of which made you drowsy.

As you kicked off your heels, another smell caught your attention. It seemed to be wafting off of your clothes. You lifted your collar to your nose to identify the scent: something woody and spicy that you recognized.

Cologne.

Lewis’ cologne must've transferred from his jacket, and now your work clothes were going to smell of it for the next few days until you did your laundry. But you were too tired to even remove them, and your lids were getting heavier by the second.

You ended up falling asleep on your couch, smelling like him.

#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x black!reader #lewis hamilton x black reader #f1 fanfic #lightning writes

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dobbie-doo · 6 months ago

Text

˗ˏˋ ꒰ BURN FOR ME꒱ ˎˊ˗ arlecchino

You are a ballerina. In the age of advanced technologies that develop faster and more realistically every day, you are afraid of becoming just a shadow of these technologies..

✧ warnings — NSFW. hurt/comfort, fem ! ballerina ! reader , gentle sex, romance, Arlecchino my husband. ✧ minors & non nb/wlw do not interact. !! ✧ a/n — I thought about the backstory of the fic for a long time, because I didn't want to write nsfw just like that lol, this is the first time I'm writing to a girl on my account, I mostly only wrote to boys..😅😅 (Arlecchino step on me)

You are standing on a small stage. You are wearing a white ballet skirt. A little fluffy, covered in detailed patterns, a little sparkling in the dark, gloomy little performance hall.

There are people sitting in the chairs, all dressed in the latest fashion, and somewhere above, a couple of important Fontaine officials are sitting, looking down on you like hawks at their next victim. And you dance, dance and dance like a white swan on the lake, your movements as precise as they are elegant.

And you are scared. Sweat runs down your back, making the fabric of your dress unpleasantly sticky and wet. It is stuffy, your head is spinning from the music, and if you look into the distance, it seems as if the whole space is shimmering.

.. And the music ends.. You hear applause.

You breathe heavily, trying to hide it. You stand up straighter, arching your back almost to the point of crunching, and bow. But when you straighten up, you understand that people are not looking at you. And opposite you, there, on the other side of the stage, is a robot. Without heavy clothes, without makeup that hides almost all the flaws of the face. Without ballet shoes shoes..

..Without a face that needs to be constantly controlled. Without eyes that can look into the abyss of feelings, if only you look into them in response..Without a heart.

The robot opposite you is singing a melody for your own performance. People surround this robot, looking at the miracle of mechanics with delight and childish spontaneous curiosity. They applaud, praise the creator of the robot and Fontaine's new policy regarding technological progress.

And you stand right in front of this crowd on a huge stage, in a belle skirt and ballet shoes. You see these people. Who applaud some robot, they listen to a mechanical repetition of how someone sang in the past. A repetition devoid of feelings and sincerity. A repetition set by some algorithm of numbers of a simple code - "one" - "zero" - "one" And so on - to infinity

And you Dance, stand. Dance, stand. And so on - to infinity.

You remember how a few years ago everything was different. Children loved to watch your performance, and people in the big theater did not take their eyes off you and looked at you with delight. You try not to look in the direction where the robot is standing and there are people who with trepidation and admiration surround this insensitive and heartless robot. When all the people left the hall, leaving you alone in this space..

You shudder.

You hear the only sound of applause very close, you turn your head to the side. A woman is looking at you and applauding, it seems, at you, and not at all at the robot. She is looking you straight in the eyes. Her smile is sincere. The woman's eyes are two strokes of scarlet, which are permanently burned into your retina.

She is tall, slightly taller than you. Slender, her waist is very thin. The woman is completely covered by some strange, but elegant clothes

of an alien style. Black-white-red. Three constants in her clothes.

You are silent. Over the past two years, you have forgotten how to perceive recognition. You bowed again, you smiled at her. You curtsied and the woman let out a chuckle.

The woman suddenly comes closer to you. There is something in her movements that you involuntarily take a small step back, still standing on your toes and in that damn ballet skirt, and it seems that you are still shorter than her.

The woman moves so close to you that you feel the air around you change with her breath. You feel the warmth, not of a machine, not of a monster.

Warmth. A little burning, unfamiliar, but inviting.

The warmth of a human body.

"Good performance. And a good mask on the face," the woman whispers in your ear, sending goosebumps through your body.

The woman barely noticeably runs the fingers of her right hand along your shoulder. You feel how sharp her nails are, but you don't feel pain, only unnatural warmth.

The woman's hand suddenly moves away, and you feel something cold in your hands.

The moment of warmth disappears as quickly as it appeared. The woman moves away from you and with the same smirk on her thin, even lips, goes somewhere, passing by the switched off robot where people were looking a couple of minutes ago. And you stand, looking after her as if amazed. Like the statues of the Archons, who are eternally motionless and which nothing can revive - not even the prayer of a desperate mortal.

You suddenly realize that you have barely breathed all this time and have heard nothing but a low, hoarse female whisper.

You blink, look around, but it is too late - the woman has already managed to leave the hall, haha, and you did not even hear the slamming door.

You automatically look at your palm and find several large mora coins.

You swallow as you gradually return to reality and begin to see and hear everything perfectly. You look at several mora coins in your hand. The mask on the face always needs mora so that it continues to be beautiful and perfect.

But the heart burning in the darkness - no.

Your routine is simple. Put on makeup, put on a ballet skirt, bandage your chest so that it does not stick out, and put on ballet shoes. Lace up the corset. Repeat the dance that you have rehearsed countless times before. Inhale - exhale. Count to ten, put a smile on your face - and go out on stage. Lately, you are rarely invited to participate in solo performances in the theater. You look like a robot among artists, although in fact you are an artist and there are only mechanical iron things around you.

You stand up, long accustomed to the blinding spotlights in the first seconds of the performance. A couple of young magicians performed in front of you, you met them before, nice guys, they helped you once… but you don’t really care about it.

And it’s your turn, you start dancing, spinning, doing pirouettes and complex movements. All this is a continuous performance, and all life is a theater, you all need to play your roles on time. But isn’t there passion and tragedy in the theater at the same time?

You close your eyes and remember that very warmth. So human and inhuman at the same time. You remember the hot breath and inspiration that washed over you the moment you saw that streak of scarlet in that strange woman's eyes. If the heart could burn with a living flame, all your clothes would have burned away long ago, charred, and you would be dancing naked on this stage. But haven't you been naked for a long time? Doesn't inspiration burn away a person's outer self and set fire to his inner self?

You know that this woman is in the audience; sitting among the few spectators who still enjoy a living human performance, despite all the technological progress in Fontaine.

You don't wonder about her reaction, you don't think about the smirk on her perfect marble face. You don't imagine her words that would send a pleasant, euphoric shiver down your body.

You stop your dance with a bow as the music fades. You've already torn your heart out of your chest, it's burning - so why prefaces and afterwords? You open your eyes, the spotlights, as usual, blind you a little. But they seem like shadows compared to what's burning inside you. You look ahead. Someone is applauding you, but you're looking at that woman whose eyes are piercing your entire body like needles.

She's clapping too, and on her face is the same smile-smirk.

The spotlights disappear. The red curtain closes. And you exhale, carrying within you, somewhere deep in your body, that very spark. And the fire that started from that spark and turned that same spark into nothing.

---

You gasp for air and grip the edge of the dressing room vanity table with your hands. Someone else's lips on your neck are like tongues of flame and cold, sharp peaks at the same time. Thin, dark fingers with long nails gently brush your hair back. A bouquet of blood flowers that this woman gave you is lying around somewhere in the dressing room after the show. The dim light from the lamps dances bizarrely across the woman's face, making her look like something unnatural, illusory.

You swallow and exhale again, pressing your back against the tabletop. You reach for the human warmth and put your arms around the woman's back, running your hands over her bare, thin, slender waist.

"What is your name?"

You ask hoarsely between deep, shuddering breaths. The woman grins. She runs her hot, long tongue down your neck, leaving a thin trail of saliva. She looks up at you with her eyes, a thin scarlet streak. Then she straightens up a little and whispers in your ear, "Arlecchino"

Her answers are always like that - short and laconic. Always appropriate, even though you've only heard her answers a few times in your life.

Arlecchino spreads your legs with her knee, then smoothly lifts you by the waist and makes you sit on the countertop, pressing your back against the vanity mirror. The woman's hot hands fall on your hips and stroke them through the layers of your dress. You swallow and reach for another wet kiss, smearing the lipstick on Arlecchino's lips, mixing your lipstick with hers. Her tongue touches yours, and you shiver, feeling how wet you are becoming. Her hot, slender hands slide under your dress and touch your naked skin.

You break the kiss and throw your head back in pleasure, you painfully hit the cold mirror behind you with the top of your head, and Arlecchino removes one of her hands on your hips, and pulls this hand to your head, to the back of your head, to protect you from the unpleasant, cold pain.

You moan softly when someone else's lips touch your neck again. A hot tongue slides along your skin down to your collarbones. Arlecchino removes her hand from your hip and begins to feverishly quickly pull down the top of your dress, exposing your chest. When her hot mouth and hot tongue touch one of your nipples, you arch your back, breathing heavily and moaning with pleasure. If Harlequin hadn't protected the back of your head with her hand, you would have definitely broken the mirror.

The woman looks up at you, although she bends over because of her height. Her eyes burn with desire and anticipation when she sucks your nipple into her mouth again with her lips and makes a loud smack. You shudder again. You gently squeeze the other's breast, and your hand rests on her thigh.

The woman suddenly touches your breast in a certain place and hoarsely says: "What I like, I do not give. And if from this my hands become even more charred, then I will only enjoy it."

You suddenly understand where exactly this woman's hand is on your naked chest. Her hand is near the place where your flaming heart beats greedily. A crooked smile creeps onto your lips as you tremble with desire. You whisper with heat in your voice, looking at the blood-red streaks in the eyes of the woman in front of you:

"Well, then burn. Burn for me. Arlecchino.."

She thin lips opposite stretch into a hungry smile. You are kissed again, the tongue penetrating deep into your mouth. You respond to the kiss, clinging with your hands to the shoulders of Arlecchino.

You never really cared about the politics of other regions of Teyvat, too busy with your own problems. So you had no idea that this strange name "Arlecchino" had its own meaning, but you had a feeling that she was somehow connected with the fatui..

You were just thinking about how interesting this name was.

You will definitely understand everything much later: who this woman in front of you is, what she does, why her hands are so black, as if they were really charred. But maybe it's even for the best. Why prefaces and afterwords when the spark has already become a flame?

@anantaru @hitomisuzuya @lavandulawrites @himasgod @neuvigroove @quimichi @rsventhesecondd @anemoswirlsmyheart @nil4everheartz @kujiba @genshingorlsrevengeance @shyentsfoundherink @lavandulawrites @ashyashylee @s4nguiine

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin inpact #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino #arleccino genshin

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stellaspectral · 11 days ago

Note

you like horror, you like 2003 mikey and he's a horror expert (according to season 6!) soo could you do 2003 mikey x reader where they're having a movie night (horror ofc) and reader gets scared so mikey comforts them? a lil'teasing is okay too. thanks if you do it! 🧡

A/N: Oh~ *rubs hands together* Something up my alley! I love horror, so I think Mikey and I would get along quite well here. But unfortunately for the reader, they’re a bit of a scaredy-cat. At least they have Mikey to comfort them during the scary parts? 😄

Enjoy! 💖

Creature Feature Comforts (fluff)

🧡 2003 Michelangelo/Gender Neutral Reader 🧡

CWs: Fluff, horror movie themes (specifically slashers), jump scares, descriptions of intense fear/panic, and some teasing. All characters are aged-up.

You regret everything the moment the creepy music starts.

The glow of the old CRT television paints the lair’s common room in flickering, eerie hues. You’re tucked into the corner of the worn-out sofa, a fuzzy blanket pulled up to your chin, a massive bowl of popcorn resting precariously between you and Mikey. He, of course, is sprawled out, completely unfazed.

It had seemed like such a fun idea at the time: movie night with your boyfriend. You don’t know exactly how you let him talk you into this, but he had made such a convincing argument. What would be so bad about snuggling on the couch, eating junk food, and watching some flicks?

Everything, apparently.

Now, here you are. The lights are off. The only glow comes from the TV and the flickering of candle-like lamps Mikey insisted on using for ambience. You’re wrapped in a blanket burrito, your eyes flitting nervously from the screen to the shadows dancing on the walls.

“Okay, okay, this is the part!” he whisper-shouts, jabbing a finger towards the screen where a lone figure is creeping down a hallway before stopping at a door. “The killer’s definitely in the closet. Classic setup. She’s gonna open it, and BAM!” He mimes a slashing motion with a grin.

You try for a nonchalant hum, but your fingers are gripping the edge of the blanket so tightly, your knuckles are white. The movie is some obscure horror flick from the 80s. “You’re such a know-it-all,” you mutter, snaking out a hand to grab some popcorn—more for something to do with your trembling hands rather than hunger.

“Hey, when you’ve seen as many slasher flicks as I have, you develop a sixth sense,” he says, puffing out his chest slightly.

On screen, the terrified protagonist reaches for the ajar closet door. The soundtrack has dwindled to a single, high-pitched violin note that scrapes at your nerves. You hold your breath, eyes wide, as she slowly—agonizingly slowly—pulls the door open. It creaks open to reveal … an empty storage closet. A couple of mops, some cleaning supplies. Nothing else. The protagonist lets out a shaky sigh of relief.

You exhale too. “You were wrong, Mr. Horror Expert.”

Just as you finish speaking, the protagonist turns away from the closet—and a grotesque masked figure lunges at her from behind, weapon raised high.

A shriek tears from your throat before you can stop it, and you instinctively fling yourself sideways, burying your face into the closest available thing. Which is Mikey’s shoulder. The blanket gets tangled around you both, and the popcorn bowl goes flying, scattering kernels across the floor.

Mikey yelps, more from your actions than the movie. His arms flail for a second before instinctively coming up to steady you. The remote clatters to the floor, and he fumbles, eventually hitting the pause button. “Whoa, whoa, hey.”

You’re still pressed against him, trembling slightly, the image of the killer burned into your retinas. Your hand presses against his plastron for comfort. “You … you said … the closet,” you gasp out, voice muffled and shaky.

A chuckle rumbles through his chest. “That was a superb fake-out, right?” His arms, which had come up in surprise, now settle around you, one hand rubbing your back in a soothing rhythm. “Sneaky!”

You’re still mostly burrowed into him, your face hot with a mixture of fear and embarrassment. “It’s not funny,” you mutter. He laughs again, and you lift your head, glaring at him. “Why are you laughing? That was terrifying!”

His usual goofy grin softens a little as he sees your genuinely rattled expression. “Hey, c’mon. It’s just special effects and a dude in a rubber mask.” He continues rubbing circles on your back. “You okay? You’re shaking like a leaf.”

“My heart’s trying to escape my chest,” you admit, letting out a long, shuddering breath and trying to regain some composure. “And I think I aged ten years in ten seconds.”

“Well, we can’t have that.” He shifts, nudging you so you’re leaning more comfortably against him. “Want me to turn it off? We can watch something else. I don’t mind.”

He says it so easily, and with that lopsided little smile that makes your stomach flutter even when your nerves are shot to pieces. His offer hangs in the air, a tempting escape route. You glance at the paused screen, the mask of the killer still imprinted into your vision even though it’s just a static image.

“I … I don’t know,” you say, your voice still a bit wobbly. Part of you—the part that loves a challenge and hates admitting defeat—wants to see it through. The other, much larger part wants to curl up and watch cartoons until sunrise. “I was trying to act all tough, you know? Thought I could handle it.”

He lets out a playful snort. “You did handle it—by launching yourself at me like a facehugger from Alien.” His eyes sparkle mischievously. “Ten outta ten form. Olympic-level dive. I’m flattered, really.”

You groan, burying your face in his shoulder again. “You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?”

“Ohhh, no way,” he says with mock solemnity, pulling the blanket tighter around you both. “This is going down in the Official Mikey Memory Vault, right between the time Donnie screamed during that ghost episode of Creep Files and when Raph cried at the end of that cheesy romance flick. Legendary stuff.”

You huff a laugh, but it’s weak, mostly an exhausted exhale. “You’re such a brat.” You give his arm a light, playful punch. “Leave your brothers out of this.”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “A charming brat.” Then his voice lowers a notch, warm and reassuring, as he puts his arm around your shoulder. “Hey. Seriously though. You’re good, yeah? Safe and sound in the lair. Nothing’s gonna get you here, promise. Not with me around.” He taps his chest twice like some kind of superhero tough guy. “I’m basically your personal mutant security blanket.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t move away from him. If anything, you snuggle closer, hiding the way your hands are still shaking. “Some security blanket. You’re the one who picked this nightmare fuel.”

“Ahem, cult classic,” he corrects with faux indignation. “There’s a difference.” Then his tone shifts again, dropping into something softer. “But if it’s too much … really. We can ditch it. I won’t even tease you.”

You blink at him. “Really?”

A beat of silence passes.

“Well, okay, maybe just a little teasing. But like, affectionate teasing.”

You let out a laugh despite yourself. The comforting weight of him, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, and that constant, Mikey-brand warmth—it’s grounding in the best way. The killer on screen feels like a distant shadow in the presence of this absolute goofball, who somehow knows exactly when to joke and when to just be here.

“You’re kind of the worst,” you murmur, though the smile in your voice betrays you.

“And yet, you’re still wrapped around me like a scarf,” he replies, smug.

Rolling your eyes, you shift so you’re sitting more upright, though you don’t move away from him. “Maybe horror movie night wasn’t completely awful. I mean, bonus cuddles, so …”

Mikey beams. “Now you’re seeing the big picture!” He gives you a victorious grin, all teeth. “See, this is why I knew horror night was the right call. You get heart-pounding thrills, unforgettable jump scares, and,” he gestures grandly between the two of you, “premium snuggle content.”

You snort. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

His eyes widen in mock innocence. “Me? Manipulate a movie night just for cuddles?” He gasps. “How dare you.”

You give him a look, one eyebrow raised. “You literally just called yourself a ‘mutant security blanket.’”

“And a very soft one, thank you.” He puffs up a bit, giving a proud little bounce of his shoulders. “Comes with built-in snark, ninja reflexes, and an encyclopedic knowledge of horror movies. I’m basically the ultimate boyfriend bundle.”

You shake your head, but you can’t stop smiling. Your heart is finally settling. Still, you glance at the remote. “Okay, so let’s say—hypothetically—I’m brave enough to keep going. Hypothetically. Would you, uh …” You hesitate, suddenly sheepish. “Would you stay close?”

He doesn’t even miss a beat. “Babe, I’m not moving from this spot unless Splinter himself drags me away. Even then, I might ninja-roll back.”

You giggle and lean back into him, letting your head rest against his shoulder. “Good. ‘Cause I might need your sixth sense if there’s another fake-out.”

“I told you, closet jump scares are the gateway drug,” he says solemnly. “Next, it’s mirrors. Then, showers. And before you know it, you’re never safe again.”

“That’s … not remotely reassuring.”

He grins down at you. “But you’ve got me. And I’ve seen this one, like, six times. I’ll warn you for real before the next big scare. Promise.”

You narrow your eyes. “You better not mess with me, Mikey.”

He raises a hand dramatically. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout.”

“Details.”

You sigh—because really, you know you’re probably going to scream again before the credits roll—but you still reach for the remote and press play. As the grainy picture flickers back to life, you burrow under the blanket again, Mikey’s arm still looped protectively around your shoulders. His thumb rubs absentmindedly along your arm.

“Okay, here comes the mirror fake-out … aaand—yup, there it is.”

You jump anyway.

But you don’t let go of him.

And when the next scream-worthy moment hits and you squeal again, he just laughs softly, tugging you closer like he knew it was coming—which, of course, he did.

Later, long after the credits roll and the killer is vanquished (for now), Mikey nudges you with a smug grin.

“Told you horror night would be unforgettable.”

You elbow him lightly. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He gasps. “Are you saying you’d let me traumatize you with scary movies just because I’m adorable?”

You smirk. “Maybe.”

He wraps both arms around you then, pulling you into a big bear-turtle hug. “Best. Compliment. Ever.”

And despite the nightmares that are almost definitely waiting for you later, right now, in Mikey’s arms—

It doesn’t feel scary at all.

#my writing #filled requests #tmnt 2003 #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt mikey #tmnt x reader #tmnt 2003 x reader #2003 michelangelo #2003 mikey #2003 michelangelo x reader #2003 mikey x reader #michelangelo x reader #mikey x reader #tmnt michelangelo x reader #tmnt mikey x reader #tmnt requests #not posted on ao3 #scheduled post

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slowdrawl · 5 days ago

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|Joel Miller X f!reader |

~Everybody Loves Contractors~ |AU NO OUTBREAK|

Fluff? ✔️ Slow burn? ✔️ Age gap? ✔️ Competence kink? ✔️ flirty!contractor!joel! ✔️

"“If I’m twenty-eight and a woman, and you’re forty-three and a man? Equivalent. Our maturity levels are tragically aligned.”" a/n today we weedwhack, take a half-naked phone call, deal with a mouse, and bully joel into being emotionally available. there is also iced coffee and minor character development!

All the love for this story breathes life into me, your comments make me kick my feet and twirl my hair. i love u guys <3 - Liv

| Warnings | Explicit language, little bit of angst, eventual smut, emotional instability, unresolved trauma, PTSD-related behavior, references to past DV, Joel being Joel, emotional avoidance, spiraling inner monologue, moderate age gap, critters.

Everything hurts, you’re hungover as hell, and the sun is burning your retinas through the curtains. I swear, alcohol has a problem with me. Not the other way around.

You pick up the phone half asleep, throat drier than the fuckin’ Sahara. In a state of regret so deep it’s hitting bone, we’re talking marrow level regret. Jenelle's tone isn’t doing much to help your headache either. “Good morning sunshine! How are you today?” “I’m alive, how are you?” . “I’m fine, just finished setting up a schedule for you here,” she says, too sweet, too fake. “Great,” you mumble back, “What's the plan?” “Joel told me you’re having a bit of a plumbing issue.” As soon as the words leave her mouth, you get nauseous. Yeah…a real fucking issue with plumbing.

“So, we’re going to send him and Tommy out there on Monday morning to get some more measurements, build a plan, that sorta thing. Then the plumber should be by that afternoon to take a look at the shower line.” “Thank God,” you sigh, “I never thought I’d be so excited to see a plumber.” “I’m gonna pass your number along to Tommy if that’s alright, he can be a bit better to communicate with, I’ll give you his too. Makes everyone's lives easier.” “Sounds good to me, I appreciate it.” Jenelle says goodbye, and the line clicks dead. Your brain feels like there are bees in it, your muscles ache like you ran a half marathon, and—

what the fuck?

You pull your hand away from where you were rubbing your temple, and it’s sticky. Why is it sticky???

You drag yourself out of bed and shuffle toward the flimsy full-length mirror you bought at Marshalls the other day. You make a few observations.

One. You look rough, haggard even. Two. There is key lime pie filling on the side of your face. It’s in your hair. It’s in my fucking hair. I’m so over this shit. Why am I like this?I’m not crying in a Planet Fitness shower two days in a row. No. Nope. Can’t do it.

You rummage through your toiletry bag and grab your shampoo and conditioner before heading to the kitchen, cursing under your breath. Before you know it, your head is upside down in the kitchen sink, you’re scrubbing your scalp like it did this to you. There's soap narrowly missing your eyes. The phone buzzes. You yell out to the house. “I’m a little busy right now.” Shampoo gets into your mouth. “Hey Siri—go fuck yourself.” You manage to rinse, no repeating.

Moving on to conditioner. You massage more than necessary into your ends, hoping that having soft hair will help take the edge off the morning.

You’re trying not to think about the SUV or the phone calls.

Trying not to think about the fact that you’re still tangled up inside from a single fuckin’ conversation with a man who probably builds walls better than he knows how to take them down. Buzzes again. And again. You groan into the sink, eyes squeezed shut, fingers clawing through your hair. Conditioner is everywhere—up your arms, on your shirt, probably in your damn lungs at this point. Bzzz Bzz Ring ring“Oh my god,” you hiss, smacking the faucet down with a wet slap. “Give me five fuckin’ minutes of peace. Please, I’m begging you.” You didn’t grab a damn towel. Idiot.

You rip your t-shirt over your shoulders and tie it around your head. Now you’re half naked in the kitchen, hair dripping off the cotton and down your bare back. Your feet are skidding across the conditioner-slick floor, water trailing behind you like some tragic, pissed-off cartoon bog woman. You snatch the phone off the counter mid-ring, and it nearly slips out of your hands. “What?” There's a pause. Then a warm, vaguely familiar chuckle, “Damn. Good mornin’ to you too.” You blink, disoriented, water dripping over your eyebrow and into your mouth. “Tommy?” “Yes, ma’am, unless you got another handsome devil saved under my name.” You sigh, a bit relieved, a bit mortified. “Sorry, I was… de-escalating a crisis.” Another laugh. “That so? You alright” You peel a strand of hair off the side of your face, still trailing water all over the floor. “Define, alright.”

“Well. You sound like you’re about ready to kill someone,” he says, light and easy. “Jenelle gave me your number—figured I’d give you a call, see how you’re doin’. Double check we’re still good to come take a look on Monday.” You pinch the bridge of your nose.

Tommy is a sweet man, really. You’d probably have no problem chatting with him for a while, but you’re already panicking about the bacne flare you’re going to get from the silicone seeping into your skin. “Yeah. I’m fine. Monday works well for me. Thanks, Tommy. Sorry, I’m just…yeah” “You uh… need me to let Joel know you survived?” he teases. You swallow hard, your throat a little bit tighter than you’d like. You close your eyes and tilt your head back, “Not necessary.” Tommy’s tone softens a bit. “Alright. Well, I’ll see you Monday. Lookin’ forward to seein’ the place. If there's anything you need before then—” he pauses for a second. “Just let me know, okay? I’m only about 10 minutes out.” Tommy is looking like the better brother more and more every fuckin’ day.

“I will. Take care, see you Monday.” You hang up the phone. The kitchen’s a mess floor now a full-fledged slipping hazard of your own making. But your hair is thoroughly deep-conditioned. And for the first time all morning, you manage a genuine smile. Unfortunately…it’s short-lived. Because, in typical fashion. Before you know it, you’re sitting on the kitchen floor eating a bowl of cereal. Hair still drip-drying. Spiraling. You dumbass. You told him not to come. You could have had him here. He probably would’ve stayed. Wait. No. That would’ve been reckless. You would’ve crawled into his lap. You would’ve done something dumb and you know it

.For a while, you let yourself sit in it, the dread, the regret. Let all of the weird emotions wash over you for a few minutes. //

Tommy hung up the phone and shoved it into his pocket, already halfway out of his truck.

He walked up to the house and spotted Sarah sitting on the couch through the living room window, sprawled out, watching TV. He waved at her through the glass, and she hopped up to unlock the front door.

“Hey, Uncle Tommy,” she said, rolling her shoulders back and stretching her arms out. “What’s up?”

“Not a helluva lot. Got some stuff to talk to your dad about. Opengate reno girl's job starts Monday.”

She hummed. “Ahhh. I see. Maybe that’s why he’s been weird the last few days.”

Tommy raised a brow. “Weird? Weirder than normal?” he asked.

Sarah shrugged. “Been extra brooding. He’s in the back.”

Tommy nodded at her and turned toward the patio door.

“Hey, big brother.”

Joel was outside hosing off the patio furniture, barefoot on the concrete, T-shirt drenched—half water, half sweat.

He turned to face him. “And what do I owe the pleasure of havin’ you here when you should be watchin’ over the guys in Bouldin?”

“Crew was draggin’. Nobody worth a damn past noon in this heat. Thought I’d just let ’em leave early.”

Joel huffed. “You’re nicer than me,” he said, turning back to the furniture.

“I know,” Tommy said, grinning.

“Just talked to Jenelle about Opengate girl.”

Joel stopped. Turned the hose off and looked at him.

“Yeah? About what? She call the job off?”

“No.” Tommy scrunched his face, shaking his head, confused. “Why would she do that?”

“I dunno…seemed worried ’bout cash.”

Tommy looked at him. Really looked at him.

“What did yo—”

“I slept with her.” Joel cut him off. Straight to the point, like it was nothing at all. Turned back on the hose and everything.

Tommy stopped. Eyes wide. Stunned.

“Oh. Shit.”

“Yeah,” Joel murmured. “Didn’t mean to. Just… happened.” Tommy rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, still watching him. “Damn. That bad?” Joel exhaled slow through his nose. “Could’ve been worse,” he paused for a minute, thinking. “Could’ve handled it a lot better.” Tommy leaned against the railing, arms crossed. “You gonna talk to her about it? Or just…keep hidin’ out here, washin’ lawn chairs like that’s gonna make it go away?” Joel sighed, jaw tight. “Ain’t that simple.” Tommy shrugged. “Never said it was. But you think ignorin’ her’s gonna help? We still gotta job to do, Joel.” They’re both quiet for a second. Then, Joel glanced at him, voice rough, quieter. “When you two had coffee…” Tommy raised his brow, waiting. Joel’s gaze dropped. “She ask about me?” Tommy studied him for a second, surprised that he was being so vulnerable, soft. So he told a little white lie. “Yeah.” He nodded once. “She did.” Joel went still, chest rising slowly. Hands flexed on the hose. Tommy pushed himself off the railing. “Don’t be a coward about it. Go talk to her.” He smacked Joel once on the shoulder and headed back toward the house. Leaving him there. Joel stood alone for a minute on the patio, letting the water hit the pavement, chest aching like something was lodged behind his ribs. The heat pressed down heavy. The kind that didn’t let up easy. Kinda like the regret. He wiped a hand down his face, looked out toward the fence. He’s gonna have to do something about it. One way or another. The question is, face her now? Or wait till Monday.

By lunchtime, you manage to pull yourself together. Mostly.

You are no longer half-naked. Changed into an old pair of cutoffs and one of your dad's tees. No bra, because fuck that. It’s too damn hot out and you don’t care anymore. If you’re going to have men in Carhartts and tool-belts in this hellscape, you have to at least look like you’ve been trying to be productive.

So you head out to the yard to get rid of some more blackberry bushes.

You know what sounds better than sitting in here thinking about that guy? Violence. Good ol’ fashioned yard violence.

It is oppressively hot outside; it’s like Texas is trying to kill you.

There's still an entire corner of the yard being taken over by blackberries. You laugh to yourself, thinking about how funny it is that the only thing thriving here is an invasive species.

Poetic. A metaphor. Story of your fuckin’ life.

You made a mental note to save some of the berries this time. The pie you will inevitably bake out of them will taste so much sweeter after you destroy the patch. You fill a bucket in record time and set it by the back door.

Then you head to the shed and pull out the weedwhacker, rooting through old cans until you find a bit of gasoline left by the previous owners. Wipe a stray cobweb on the side of your shorts, because who cares.

You pause, suddenly unsure if the scraping behind the shed is a critter or something else. Something watching.

You shake it off.

Not today. No more spiraling today. Just violence. You take a deep breath and pull the cord once. Twice. Three times. Fuck. I swear to god…I will make it work. If it doesn’t, I will simply fistfight it into submission.

You pump the little primer button like your dad taught you, muttering curses under your breath. One more rip— It miraculously roars to life. The first swipe through the bushes sends thorns flying everywhere, into your shins, your knuckles, dangerously close to your eyes. You just flick your sunglasses down and keep going. Gloves and pants be damned. We are raw-dogging it today, apparently. The whacker sputters every few minutes. You need to keep starting it back up, but you’re determined. The wire needs changing every damn second. Little green pieces of plastic are filling your pockets. You’re drenched in sweat, hair plastered to your neck. Shirt sticking to you, and not in a sexy way. Why did I even bother washing my hair?

At least the physical excursion feels good. Cathartic destruction. Tackling something that can barely fight back. Something you can win against. “COCKSUCKER!” One particularly large vine snaps back and hits you across the thigh, tearing the skin, leaving a visible welt. Men are like fuckin’ vines. They look managable—until they wrap themselves around your damn thighs.

After a solid 15 minutes, you shut the weedwhacker off and toss it onto the ground. You stand there with your hands on your hips, proud. Finally managed to clear most of the bushes despite them trying to injure you. Little cuts streak your arms, dirt cakes under your fingernails, blackberry juice splattered across your clothes. You’re reveling in it, patting yourself on the back for finally making it through an entire task. Getting ready to go inside for a well-deserved iced coffee, maybe another piece of trauma pie, when you hear the gate open. Gravel crunches. Who? Your heart skips, scared to death for a moment. Dirty, sweaty, and afraid. When you gather the courage to look toward the noise, a flood of panic and relief hits you at the same time. There he is—the king of showing up when you look like hell. Joel Fucking Miller. Hat in hand, literally. Lookin’ like a country song. Neither of you say a word at first. The silence speaks plenty. You just look at him sideways and he looks at the fucking weedwhacker.

Then you, then the pile of branches and vines. Back to the weedwhacker.

“How the fuck did you manage to get that done?” he asks.

You stare back at him, face blank.

“So nice to see you too! Come right in, I’d love the company.” Your voice drips with as much sarcasm as your body drips with sweat. “I was expecting you, dressed up and everything.” You add, gesturing to your filthy outfit.

He doesn’t even reply. Just keeps looking between the bushes and whacker as he crosses the yard.

He picks it up, yanks on the green plastic cord, and holds it up to the sky, squinting like he’s eyeing something precious.

“Seriously? You managed to get that much done with this bullshit?” He huffs out a laugh, “Y’know this is meant for grass right? With the amount of this shit that you went through—“ he holds the spool toward you, shaking it. “coulda’ got you a proper blade for the same price.”

“Wow. Thanks. I’ll remember that for when I never fucking do this again.” Your heart is racing. He sets the tool down carefully.

You nod toward the back gate. “If you’re here to fix the emotional plumbing, I suggest you knock first next time.” He flinches, visibly. Serves him right. “I was just—” “Nope,” you cut him off. Holding a hand up. “Let me just save us both the time.” You step in closer to him, sweat rolling down your spine, voice flat and clear. “I like you—I think. Wanted you. Still do, kind of shockingly, even after that dramatic Irish exit. Even after that weird jealous shit you pulled yesterday.” you pause, just to catch your breath from talking so fast, “But—I’m not doing the hot-and-cold, broody, man-child, self-sabotaging thing. I don’t have the time, Joel.” He looks like he’s about to argue. Maybe even explain. You raise your brows. “You gonna tell me you came by to check the sink? Ask if Monday works for me?” “...maybe,” he mutters. “Cool,” you say. “Sink’s fine. Monday works. You are free to go.” He hesitates. Looks like he’s about to crack in half. Men have no idea what to do with a woman who doesn’t just get roped into their fucking games. “I didn’t wanna fuck it up,” he says, finally. Quiet. Raw. “I didn’t wanna do what I always do.” You look at him. “And what do you always do?” “Push too hard, take too much, then run.” You sigh, wipe some sweat off your forehead with the hem of your t-shirt. “Okay,” you say. “Then don’t.” It’s not a challenge. It’s a choice. Simple. Brutal. His throat bobs. You can see the moment he breaks—when it clicks that you’re not going to save him, but you’re not running either. “You wanna go inside and talk about it like regular emotionally stunted adults?” you say, already headed toward the door. He nods and follows you inside like he’s waiting for you to change your mind. You don’t. The house still smells like lime and your conditioner. You walk toward the kitchen, grab two mason jars. Real cups are for losers and the 5%

You fill them up with cold brew, slide one across the island. Black. You don’t ask if he takes it black or if he wants it. You don’t care, you’re not in a coffee-offer mood. He’ll drink it or he won’t. Joel hovers near the doorway for a second, like fully stepping into your kitchen might cause the ceiling to collapse. He’s tracking mud on your freshly mopped floor, and you almost mention it. Just to stay in your power. You decide against it. He looks like he’s been hit by a truck full of guilt anyway. He clears his throat, speaks first. “I don’t want this to be weird.” He braces his forearms against the island. “Man, that really sucks,” you reply. “‘Cause I was actually lookin’ forward to this being super fuckin’ weird.”

He shoots you a look. “I’m serious.” “Sorry,” you hum. “Why does it have to be so serious, though? Can’t it just be fun?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know what that looks like.”

“Well, for starters,” you say, gesturing between you both, “not this.”

He makes a noise, something close to a laugh. “You know,” you say, “I think one of the weirdest parts of the human condition is how often we deny ourselves real connection. Like, we’re just so scared of being hurt or judged that we just shut it down.”

Joel glances at you. Staying quiet, being careful. “What are you afraid of?” you ask him.

“Hurtin’ people,” he responds, simply.

You blink. “Are you going to beat the shit out of me?” “What? No—never.”

“Okay. But what if I want you—” You stop yourself. Shake your head. “Never mind.” Girl this is so not the time, turn the horny off for fuck sake.

He just looks at you, unreadable.

“You know what hurts?” you offer.

“What.”

“When someone gives you the best dicking down of your life and then acts like it ruined theirs.”

His eyes widen, a mix of emotions flash over his face, before his jaw tightens. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Just…be better.”

There’s a pause. A shift in the air.

“Do you regret it?” you ask.

“No,” he says immediately. “I just—I wanted it to be different.”

“What do you mean?”

He lowers his voice, “I’m not that kinda’ guy.” he sighs, “I didn’t want it to be fuckin’ meaningless one night stand bullshit. I’m too old for that.”

You blink. Let that sink in.

“So let me get this straight,” you say slowly. “You didn’t want me to think it was meaningless…so you ran out of here like it meant absolutely nothing.”

Joel winces. “I’m not good at this shit.”

“I know.” you say. “Would it have been better if we lit some candles first?”

That gets a real laugh out of him, right from his belly.

“I was thinkin’ maybe it would’ve been better if I’d taken you out first.”

You open your mouth—he cuts you off before you can get the joke out.

“Not to fuckin’ IKEA.”

“Well there goes my dream date...”

He rolls his eyes, smiling despite himself.

“Okay,” you say. “You want a mulligan?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, deal. Unfortunately, I cannot pretend that the sex we had wasn’t life-altering—that okay?” “Understood. Don’t think I could either,” he says.

There’s a long pause. Almost comfortable.

“Are we good?” you ask.

Joel nods once. “I wasn’t gonna run forever, you know? I just needed…a minute.” You tilt your head. “And what’s this visit then? A practice lap?” Joel exhales, leans on the opposite side of the island. “Well, I was hopin’ you’d still let me show up on Monday. For the job.” You hum, “That depends.” “On?” “On whether or not you're gonna make things weird every time I look at you like I still want you.” His eyes darken instantly, making your heart jump a little bit. Of course I still want you, dumbass. You want me too. You’re just being a baby about it.

He stays silent. You nod. “Cool. So still weird, then.” “I don’t want it to be.” He says quickly, earnest now. You shrug again. “Then grow up.” There's another minute of silence, then he runs his hands through his hair. “You’re not makin’ this easy,” he mutters. You grin, unapologetic. “Good, I usually don’t. Get used to it.” Joel leans back, you can see him clearly searching for some version of himself that knows how to fix this without making it worse. You sip your coffee again, it’s bitter, you don’t care. “Look,” you say. “I know I'm younger than you. What—15 years?” “Somethin’ like that.” “Honestly, that practically makes us the same age.” Joel squints. “What?” “I mean emotionally,” you say, point blank. “If I'm twenty-eight and a woman, and you're forty-three and a man? Equivalent. Our maturity levels are tragically aligned.” He actually laughs, low and maybe reluctant, but it’s real. “That’s not funny.” “I think it’s a little funny.” Joel shakes his head, fighting a smile. “You don’t know me.” “Nope,” you agree. “And you don’t know me. But you still ran out of here the other day like I was going to ask you to meet my parents and hold hands at the state fair.” His face sobers again, brow furrowing. “It wasn’t about you.” “Oh, I know that. That’s why I’m not crying into my coffee right now. But you can’t kiss someone like that and act like it doesn’t mean anything. Not if you wan—” SNAP You both freeze. A sharp crack echoes from somewhere down the hall. “What the fuck was that?” Joel asks The fucking mouse.

Your hand flies to your mouth. Eyes wide. “WE GOT THE BASTARD!” Joel's staring back at you, confused as hell. “What are you talking about?” he asks. “Joel, that was the mousetrap.” “Serious?” You’re already walking toward the hallway, triumphant. Joel just stays planted as you disappear to the laundry room, you’re muttering under your breath about revenge and pestilence. You hear him sigh, followed by the slow shuffle of his boots on the hardwood. When he appears behind you in the doorway, his expression is equal parts annoyed and bewildered. He looks at the trap. Then at you. Then back at the trap. “God damn,” he mutters. “That thing’s the size of a newborn.” You cock your head to the side. “You gonna do something about it? Or are you gonna make me deal with the carnage?” He shoots you back a look, then grabs a rag off the dryer, crouching down with a groan. If I thought that was hot—is it a competency kink? Daddy issues? Or just mental illness? Maybe it’s Maybelline.

You jump up and sit on the washer, arms crossed, watching him like it's prime time TV. “You know, this feels very patriarchal of me.” Joel grunts. “Don’t start.” “Just saying. Big, strong contractor. Came all the way here to kill my enemies.” He stands, trap in hand, body angled in a way so you don’t have to see anything grotesque. “Where do you want it?” he asks. “Preferably anywhere that isn’t in here… maybe leave it outside, let his friends find him?” you snort, “Instill fear.” You stay on the washer while he walks out of the room. Your arms are still folded, and you can’t help the little grin pulling at the corners of your mouth. A minute later, he’s back, wiping his hands, looking mildly traumatized. “You good?” you ask, innocently. “Fine,” he mumbles. “Okay, now back to my tangent—”

He cuts you off.

“Did you mean that?”

“What?”

He takes a step toward you. Just a few feet between you now.

His voice drops lower, rougher. “When you said you still wanted me.”

You look at him, long and hard. Then lift your hand, just one finger curling in silent invitation.

He listens. Closes the distance. Plants his palms on top of the washer, bracketing you in.

“Joel,” you say, leaning in close until your mouth brushes his ear. You whisper, slow as molasses, “I would let you rearrange my guts right now if you pinky promised not to throw yourself out my front door like you did the other night.”

He chokes.

Not dramatically. Just a sharp catch in his throat. His dumb brown eyes widen, ears flushing red as he coughs into his elbow, trying to recover like it didn’t happen.

You grin, shit-eating and smug. “You alright there?”

He waves you off, voice ragged. “Jesus Christ.”

“Don’t bring him into this.” You lean back on the machine, still smiling. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

You stretch your arms behind you, “I should probably mention I have a psych degree.”

He blinks. Processing.

“I diagnose attachment issues for fun,” you add. “Do with that info what you will.”

Joel gives you a long look. Like he wants to say something. Like he might not trust himself to do it.

“Go home, cowboy,” you say softly. “Before you combust... or do something dumb.”

He leans in a little, like he might anyway. Shakes his head. And then, reluctantly. Finally…he listens.

He turns. “Hey, Miller,” you call out as he hits the hallway, jumping up to follow him.

He pauses, glancing back. “Yeah?”

You lean on the doorframe. “Do you like key lime pie?”

His brow furrows. “I like pie…of every variety. Who doesn’t?”

You lift your chin toward the kitchen. “Fridge.”

He hesitates. “You offerin’?”

You shrug, lips twitching. “Depends. You still on the verge of an emotional episode? Or can you manage five minutes of dessert without spiraling or takin’ your clothes off?”

Joel huffs out a laugh. “I think I can manage.”

You’re already grabbing plates.

He sits at the counter again like it’s no big deal, like this is normal. Like it could be.

You cut two uneven slices and hand him the bigger one without comment.

He takes a bite, groans. Low from his throat, he fuckin’ groans. And you try your very best not to let it show how much that does to you. I hate this fuckin’ guy so much. I’m so down bad.

“God damn,” he mutters, mouth still half full, “You made this?”

You nod. “Stress baking. It’s kinda been my thing lately.”

He takes another bite. “You gonna tell me what I gotta do to get another one of these?”

You lean on your elbows across the counter. “Take me on a real date.”

Joel’s chewing slows. His eyes flick up to meet yours.

You smile, all sweet and dangerous. “I’m serious. A proper one, with chairs and menus, and a bill you pay for.” You wink at him, “Then you ask if you can drive me home. And I invite you in here…or I don’t”

He swallows. Sets the fork down. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, alright.”

“Good answer.”

He grins, soft around the edges. “Have you always been this bossy?”

“Only when I need to be.” He doesn’t argue, doesn't give you a hard time. He just keeps smiling, and so do you.

The silence stretches. But for once, it doesn’t feel heavy. You just…look at each other. Let it hang there.

TAG LIST: @pedritotito @anitraivx @mynameisbaby9 @my-malachai-stilinski @yslgreen @silksepia @madisonred88

ps. if you like this fic please tell me because your comments are what keeps me writing

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #tlou fanfiction #joel miller #tlou smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller angst #everybodylovescontractors

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bestanimal · 6 months ago

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Round 2 - Mollusca - Cephalopoda

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

The class Cephalopoda includes the orders Nautilida (Nautiluses), Vampyromorphida (Vampire Squid), Octopoda (Octopuses), Myopsida (Coastal Squids), Oegopsida (Neritic Squids), Bathyteuthida (Bathyteuthid Squids), Idiosepida (Pygmy Squids), Sepiolida (Bobtail Squids), Spirulida (Ram's Horn Squid), and Sepiida (Cuttlefish).

Cephalopods are exclusively marine animals characterized by bilateral body symmetry, a prominent head, and a set of arms or tentacles modified from the more primitive molluscan foot. They are split into two subclasses: the more primitive Nautiloids (represented today by the genera Nautilus and Allonautilus), and the Coleoids (everything else.) Nautiloids retain their external molluscan shell, while coleoids either have an internal shell or have lost it secondarily. Cephalopods are widely regarded as the most intelligent invertebrates and have well-developed senses, large brains, and a complex nervous system. Their brain is protected by a cartilaginous cranium. Nautiloids do not have good vision, and likely perceive their world more through a sense of smell. However, even though coleoid eyes lack a cornea and have an everted retina, they have very acute vision, akin to that of sharks. They can detect polarized light, but most cephalopods are color blind. Despite their color blindness, coleoids are known as masters of disguise, changing color, shape, and texture in milliseconds, and also using colors, patterns, and flashing to communicate with each other! They do this through nervous control of their chromatophores, as well as cells such as iridophores and leucophores reflecting light from the environment. Some squids can even send one message via color patterns to a squid on their right, while they send another message to a squid on their left, splitting their color pattern lengthwise down their body. They may do this by sensing light levels directly through their skin, rather than their eyes, utilizing photosensitive molecules called opsins. They may also be able to utilize chromatic aberration through their oddly shaped pupils.

Cephalopods exchange gases with seawater by forcing water through their internal gills. Water enters the mantle cavity on the outside of the gills, and the entrance of the mantle cavity closes. When the mantle contracts, water is forced through the gills, which lie between the mantle cavity and the funnel. The water's expulsion through the funnel can be used to power jet propulsion. Most cephalopods move via jet propulsion, though this is a very energy-consuming way of travel. Squids, due to their shape and stiff mantles, are able to travel long distances, while octopuses tend to travel slowly along the seafloor relying more on their arms to pull them from place to place. Aside from nautiloids and some octopuses, all known cephalopods have an ink sac, which can be used to expel a cloud of dark ink to confuse predators. The inksac is an extension of the hindgut, opening into the anus, from which the ink can be squirted into the path of the animal’s funnel, allowing the ink to eject further with jet propulsion. This ink is almost pure melanin, which is mixed with mucus upon expulsion, resulting in visual (and possibly chemosensory) impairment of the predator, like a smokescreen. Some cephalopods even release a cloud with greater mucus content so that the ink takes the shape of the cephalopod, while the real one jets away!

Cephalopods hunt via grabbing food with their arms or tentacles, drawing it in to their two-part beak. Most have a radula within their beak. They have a mixture of toxic digestive juices, some of which are supplied by symbiotic algae, which they eject from their salivary glands onto the captured prey. These juices separate the flesh of their prey from the bone or shell. The salivary gland has a small tooth at its end which can be poked into an organism to digest it from within. Cephalopods can be found in all of Earth’s oceans, at all depths, even found within oceanic trenches, though they are most diverse near the equator.

Cephalopods evolved in the Late Cambrian, with the more primitive nautiloids dominating the Ordovician seas, and the more modern coleoids arising in the Lower Devonian. Many groups of cephalopods have been lost to time and are famous for their fossils, including the Ammonoids and Belemnoids. The living Chambered Nautilus (Nautilus pompilius) is also known from Early Pleistocene fossils.

Propaganda under the cut:

The study of cephalopods is called teuthology.

Though superficially similar, ammonoids were more closely related to living coleoids than they were to the shelled nautiloids!

The smallest living cephalopod is the 10mm (0.3 in) long Thai Pygmy Squid (Idiosepius thailandicus).

The largest living cephalopod, and largest living invertebrate is the 700 kilogram (1,500 lb) Colossal Squid (Mesonychoteuthis hamiltoni).

The Atlantic Brief Squid (Lolliguncula brevis) is the only cephalopod known to tolerate brackish water, venturing into the Chesapeake Bay.

Captive octopuses have been known to climb out of their tanks, maneuver across the floor, enter another aquarium to feed on captive crabs, and then return to their own aquarium before their keepers return.

Captive octopuses have also been known to recognize, respond positively to, and even play with their keepers.

The Firefly Squid (Watasenia scintillans) is one of the only cephalopods known to have color vision.

Some cephalopods are able to fly through the air for distances of up to 50 metres (160 ft)! They can achieve these ranges by jet-propulsion, squirting water from their funnel even while in the air. They then spread their fins and tentacles to form wings and actively control lift force with their body posture. The Japanese Flying Squid (Todarodes pacificus) has been observed spreading its tentacles in a flat fan shape and utilizing a mucus film between the individual tentacles. The Caribbean Reef Squid (Sepioteuthis sepioidea) has been observed spreading its tentacles out in a circle to guide its flight. This behavior is presumably for avoiding predators and/or for saving energy during migrations.

Humboldt Squid (Dosidicus gigas) are large, agile pack hunters, flashing red and white to communicate with each other and coordinate attacks on shoals of fish. They are particularly known for being aggressive towards humans, though this aggression may be well founded, as they are the most popular squids to be hunted for food, with around 10 million killed every year. In circumstances where these animals are not feeding or being hunted, they usually exhibit curious and intelligent behavior.

The Vampire Squid (Vampyroteuthis infernalis) is the only living species in the order Vampyromorphida. Despite its name, it is closer related to octopuses. Living in the deep sea, they are small, 30 cm (1 ft) long, and range from jet black to pale red, have spiked arms connected by a webbing of skin, and have the largest proportional eyes in the animal kingdom at 2.5 cm (1 in) in diameter. It is the only cephalopod able to live its entire life cycle in the minimum zone, at oxygen saturations as low as 3%. They lack ink sacs, instead releasing a sticky cloud of bioluminescent mucus containing orbs of blue light from their arm tips. Despite their scary name, spooky appearance, and dazzling wizard spells, these animals mainly feed on detritus as it floats down to the depths.

The genus Hapalochlaena (Blue-ringed Octopuses) consists of four extremely venomous species of octopus that are found in tide pools and coral reefs in the Pacific and Indian oceans, from Japan to Australia. Despite their small size (12 to 20 cm [5 to 8 in]) they carry enough neurotoxic venom to kill 26 adult humans within minutes. The venom can result in nausea, respiratory arrest, heart failure, severe and sometimes total paralysis, blindness, and can lead to death within minutes if not treated. Death is usually from suffocation due to paralysis of the diaphragm. Despite this, blue-ringed octopuses are relatively docile and will only bite if actively harassed, instead choosing to flee or display their warning colors: bright yellow with blue flashing rings. Very few deaths have been recorded.

#i could write soooo much more but this is already so long it took me two hours to write and idek if anyone even reads them rip #round 2 #mollusca #animal polls #cephalopoda

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covid-safer-hotties · 7 months ago

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Also preserved in our archive

From May 2024

The virus that causes COVID-19 can breach the protective blood-retinal barrier, leading to potential long-term consequences in the eye, new research shows.

The blood-retinal barrier is designed to protect our vision from infections by preventing microbial pathogens from reaching the retina where they could trigger an inflammatory response with potential vision loss.

Pawan Kumar Singh, an assistant professor of ophthalmology at the University of Missouri, leads a team researching new ways to prevent and treat ocular infectious diseases.

Using a humanized ACE2 mice model, the team found that SARS-CoV-2, the virus that causes COVID-19, can infect the inside of the eyes even when the virus doesn’t enter the body through the surface of the eyes.

Instead, they found that when viruses enter the body through inhalation, it not only infects organs like lungs, but also reaches highly protected organs like eyes through the blood-retinal barrier by infecting the cells lining this barrier.

“This finding is important as we increase our understanding of the long-term effects of SARS-CoV-2 infection,” says Singh. “Earlier, researchers were primarily focused on the ocular surface exposure of the virus.

“However, our findings reveal that SARS-CoV-2 not only reaches the eye during systemic infection but induces a hyperinflammatory response in the retina and causes cell death in the blood-retinal barrier. The longer viral remnants remain in the eye, the risk of damage to the retina and visual function increases.”

Singh also discovered that extended presence of SARS-CoV-2 spike antigen can cause retinal microaneurysm, retinal artery and vein occlusion, and vascular leakage.

“For those who have been diagnosed with COVID-19, we recommend you ask your ophthalmologist to check for signs of pathological changes to the retina,” Singh says. “Even those who were asymptomatic could suffer from damage in the eyes over time because of COVID-19 associated complications.”

While viruses and bacteria have been found to breach the blood-retinal-barrier in immunocompromised people, this research is the first to suggest that the virus that causes COVID-19 could breach the barrier even in otherwise healthy individuals, leading to an infection that manifests inside the eye itself.

Immunocompromised patients or those with hypertension or diabetes may experience worse outcomes if they remain undiagnosed for COVID-19 associated ocular symptoms.

“Now that we know the risk of COVID-19 to the retina, our goal is to better understand the cellular and molecular mechanisms of how this virus breaches the blood-retinal barrier and associated pathological consequences in hopes of informing development of therapies to prevent and treat COVID-19 induced eye complications before a patient’s vision is compromised,” Singh says.

The study appears in the journal PLOS Pathogens.

The National Institutes of Health/National Eye Institute and the University of Missouri funded the work.

Study link: journals.plos.org/plospathogens/article?id=10.1371/journal.ppat.1012156

#mask up #public health #wear a mask #pandemic #covid #wear a respirator #covid 19 #still coviding #coronavirus #sars cov 2 #long covid #covid is airborne #covid is not over #covid conscious

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heartschampion · 9 months ago

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september 30th — ethan landry

PAIRING. ethan landry x fem!reader

SUMMARY. in which you make a bet with your boyfriend, ethan, the night before the start of october. thirty-one days of sex.

CONTENT. no ghostface!au, ethan bailey is canon!!, established relationship, fluff, bantering, a little suggestive, no smut, basically a prologue chapter, no beta, not proofread.

WORD COUNT. 1.9k

previous. masterlist. next.

11:49 PM.

It’s times like this where I find myself thinking — really thinking — deeper into life and its meaning. The closer I look, the more I start to realize how glorified life is. I follow the same routine day-in and day-out. Wake up, get ready, go to class, go home, and get ready for the same thing tomorrow. It’s like the only time I get to have a reprise is in moments late into the night, all snuggled up and ready to sleep. A sliver of freedom in a meticulously bland and boring way of life.

Not to be melodramatic or anything. Ethan often told me I have a knack for that.

The blinding light of my laptop screen hits my retinas with a harsh glare despite having set the brightness to its dimmest setting. Still, beggars can’t be choosers, so I tough it out. I scroll aimlessly through my Tumblr dashboard, skimming past posts until one catches my attention just enough for me to stop and actually read.

‘Mattheo Riddle x Reader, Niccolo Govender x Reader, Jack Ch—’

“Ugh,” a small groan sounds from beside me on the bed. With a quirk of a smile, I glance beside me at my boyfriend, Ethan Bailey, who is laid there in all his glory. He has his arm draped over his eyes, covering them from the light emitting from my laptop. For a split second, I feel bad for disturbing his sleep. Ethan lets out another groan before throwing his arm off to the side, his eyes flickering over to my figure. “Angel, can we please go to bed?”

I sigh as I hear the pleading tone of his voice and shoot him an apologetic look.

“Just a few more minutes, Eth. Promise.”

Ethan simply gives me a blank stare, not believing my words for a second. He rolls over onto his side, now fully facing me with a sulky little pout on his lips. As cute as he is, I can’t fall for his tricks and forget about the task I had assigned myself. Ethan raises his head from the pillow, craning his neck to peek at my screen. Curious, he asks, “What are you doing anyways?”

A soft smile crosses my face at his question, both amused by the innocence behind it and touched by his curiosity. I reach over to pet his messed up curls, a habit that I had developed ever since the two of us moved in together for the new semester. Immediately, Ethan melts into my touch, visibly relaxing at the contact shared between the two of us.

“Just waiting for all the October context to start being posted.”

“Why October specifically?” He asks while furrowing his brows in confusion, completely and blissfully unaware of what I was talking about at all. It was kind of cute that he didn’t know, especially considering Richie of all people ran an active and thriving blog. It was literally the worst kept secret ever. Even Quinn knew. “Something special happening?”

“Mmm, something like that…” I giggle, causing Ethan to raise his furrowed brow at me in question. Unable to keep a straight face at the overly serious expression that he’s giving me, I burst out in laughter, deciding to finally enlighten him to the world of Kinktober. After a few moments, I calm myself down, taking a few deep breaths, letting out some final snickers. On the flip side, Ethan just stares at me blankly, unamused. With a roll of my eyes, I softly scratch at his scalp, confessing the ‘dirty secret’ I had been keeping for so long. “It’s Kinktober. Y’know, when writers just shit out a bunch of written porn?”

“Kink…tober?” Ethan repeats back, his expression contorting into one of confusion. He repeats the word a few more times, looking deep in contemplation while processing the information I had just dumped on him. Without even trying to hide it, I coo at him like an owner would at their pet. Blinking, he deadpans, “So you’re up at midnight just to read porn?”

“Smut.”

“Right. Smut.” He corrects himself, but not without a dramatic show of rolling his eyes in faux annoyance. It’s now my turn to roll my eyes, removing my hand from his hair and flicking his forehead in retaliation. Immediately, Ethan swats my hand away from anywhere near his face and rubs his forehead, grumbling to himself as he gives me a proper stinkeye. In return, I simply give him a cheeky smile and stick out my tongue, albeit a bit childishly.

It doesn’t take much long though until he forgets about the whole ordeal and goes back to the topic at hand. He clicks his tongue, eyes brightening with an idea that I know could be no good and smirks at me. With a lazy drawl, he asks smugly, “Why read about sex when you have me?”

Not expecting that of all things to come out of his mouth, I’m taken by surprise. A snort escapes my lips at the suggestive implication in his words. Placing my laptop beside me, I prop myself up on my elbow and lean down to Ethan, squinting at him. “What’re you trying to say, Bailey?”

Like a predator stalking his prey, he gazes up at me, a tinge of seduction behind those innocent looking brown eyes. He eyes me with temptation, luring me in before he can swallow me whole. His larger hand stalks around my hip, caressing at my skin as he travels across its smooth surface. Suddenly, I’m pulled in, now on top of him and straddling his hips where I can feel him start to harden.

“There’s no way some dumb words could ever be better than…me.”

He’s right and we both know it, but a bigger part of me wants to challenge him on that. Maybe it’s his cockiness in his tone, or the fact that his growing boner is directly pressing against my clothed core as he grinds his hips. Either way, I raise my eyebrow, looking down at him from above. “Really, huh? Big words coming from someone who came within the first three minutes last time.”

At the reminder of the last time we had sex, his eyes widened and his face flushed in embarrassment. “That was an accident!” He vehemently exclaims, defending himself for his early ejaculation.

If I were to be completely honest, I was kind of turned on from how easily he came from just being inside of me, not even fully engulfed. The idea was lewder than the circumstances surrounding it, but the prospect of him almost coming inside of me — Even though we were protected — was as enticing as it was terrifying.

“Besides, you know how good I can make you feel.” Ethan then attempts to wink, his eyelids not cooperating, leading to him blinking instead. Realizing that he messed up his attempt to be smooth, he shakes his head and instead smiles sheepishly.

I giggle at his silliness, brushing aside the curls near his eyes with a level of fondness I once never would have known to exist. He really was perfect for me. Pinching his cheeks, I keep poking at him and his cocky attitude. “You think you can keep up?”

“Babe, I know I can.” He states as confident as ever, a smirk playing on his face. Without another word, he starts to run his hands up my thighs, my skin prickling up at his electric touch. Reaching my hips, he starts to rub circles around my hip dips, fondling my inner thighs. I let out a deep sigh, both relaxing at his intimate touch, and tensing as his boner pokes into me. Unable to help myself, I grind my pulsating core against him, satisfying the need.

“So cute...”

I whine at his words, embarrassed at just how badly I needed him at this moment. He was the one who started it in the first place, yet I was the one here left to look like a mess instead of him. It was unfair. Continuing to grind against him, he suddenly stops his movements. I hiss out, “Eth, you annoying fuck…”

Out of nowhere, he flips the two of us around, the lower half of his body pressed against me as he looks down on me. I’m caged in his arms, each one placed beside me, trapping me as his prisoner. Ethan cocks his head to the side, an innocent look on his face. He speaks in a sickeningly sweet voice, “What’s the matter, angel?”

“You know what’s wrong.”

“Do I?” He asks, pretending to think about it.

“Eth!” I hiss, squirming underneath him. He’s so close, the only thing separating us being the clothes we have on. Never have I ever wanted to not have any on more than I do right now. I needed to feel him, all of him. Not just his warmth, but skin against skin to truly prove that he was right there with me.

Ethan lets out a chuckle, grinning at how needy I was being. I bet he really got off on that, huh? Knowing that he was in control, having me wrapped around his finger. Fuck, I needed him in me whether it was his fingers or his dick. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head at me like he was reprimanding me. “Thirty-one days, angel. You can wait a few hours.”

Just like that, Ethan shifts off of me and back to his side of the bed with a satisfied smile on his face. The sudden switch from before to now was jarring and it took me a few moments before I completely processed what just happened. I scoff, propping myself up on my elbows and looking over at him.

“Are you serious?” “Super.” The pain in the ass called my boyfriend responds, closing his eyes, ready to fall asleep.

“You’re literally cockblocking yourself!” I sputter out in disbelief. Ethan Bailey, the boy who couldn’t keep his hands off of me. The same boy who literally cried the first time we had sex — I did too. The same boy who was now laying in our bed with a rock-hard boner, yet doing nothing about it when he had the more than eager opportunity to. What a fucking idiot.

“Mmm,” he hummed, thinking over his words carefully. “I can handle it.”

I let out an overdramatic huff as I collapsed onto the bed. Looking over, I peer at Ethan’s ‘sleeping’ face. A few moments passed of me just staring at him with a blank expression before he opened one eye and looked at me with a questioning expression. “Can’t sleep, love?”

“Don’t even.” I warned, glaring at him and his feigned nonchalance.

He chuckles, and I can feel him shift in the bed. Soon, arms wrap around me and pull me into a tight embrace. My face is gently placed against Ethan’s nape where I often laid on nights like this. Without a word, I wrap my arms and legs around him like a koala with a tree, seeking any contact with him. I bury my face into his nape, taking in his cinnamon scent.

“Sorry.” Despite his words, Ethan lets out another chuckle, the vibrations of it throughout his body a soothing feeling against my tense body.

I grumble, “You’re not sorry.”

He huffs in amusement at my sulkiness, petting my hair. Pecks and kisses litter my face in a frenzy as a way of him trying to make me feel better. To his credit, it does work despite my attempts to not let it. How could I ever resist his kisses? Peering down at me, Ethan smiles softly before kissing my lips. Cinnamon chapstick and lemonade citrus.

“Happy…uh…Kinktober, angel.”

#( hearts fics ★ )#( we fell in love in october )#scream #scream vi #scream 6 #ethan landry #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry x reader #kinktober

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i-cant-sing · 2 years ago

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Yandere Dabi accidentally made reader blind

*sighs* it's time for another fic idea:

Imagine Dabi terrorising the city and doing evil shenanigans, the usual stuff, and while he's welding his fire quirk, you- an innocent civilian gets hurt in the process. Now look, a lot of other civilians got hurt too, but what made you stand out was the fact that you locked eyes with him, saw his face right before your retinas were burned by the blast of fire aimed at a hero past you.

You were taken to the hospital, where you got the news that you'd be blind for the rest of your life now and Dabi had begun stalking you from the moment you woke up from surgery, only because he thought you'd spill his identity to the police or whatever. But you didn't, probably because you forgot his face, but "probably" isn't good enough for him. He needs to be sure you won't rat him out to the authorities, so he continues to stalk you and eventually develops yandere tendencies for you.

Of course, as he falls in love, he also begins to feel guilty as he sees you struggling with your daily chores because of your new disability. I mean, you worked at a school, volunteered at orphanages and nursing homes, fed strays, the perfect daughter, friend, employee.

You are the nicest human ever and Dabi made you blind😭

He sees that you can't continue working at the school, and he sees its harder to volunteer when you haven't learned how to deal with life without the ability to see. And his chest hurts when he sees you break down at nights, in your apartment alone because you don't know how you'll be able to take care of your aging parents as their only child, when you can't even walk in traffic without help.

That's when Dabi decides to step in. Sure, you may have seen his face, but you haven't heard his voice, right?

He makes the first meeting seem like a chance encounter, bumping into you and catching you before you fell. Faking concern when you apologise for being blind, he takes you to a nearby cafe and offers to buy you a coffee for the one he made you spill.

And eventually, he asks you out and now you're two dating. You think he's the sweetest guy, always helping you but never patronising. And sure, deep down Dabi's heart jumps whenever he catches you in a danger, but he knows he shouldn't be coddling you. How else will you navigate?

Then again, the deeper Dabi falls in love with you and the more yandere he becomes, the more he wants you to become dependent on him for everything. But he has to be smart; he doesn't want to drive you away just because he wants to wrap you up in bubble wrap.

He helps you use you walking stick, gets you Braille, and with your permission, he babyproofs the house a bit (mainly because he saw the bruises on your leg from the sharp corners you bumped into).

And since you two are not living together just yet, he worries what would happen to you if he's not there. So he stays a while longer, hiding in the background just until you fall asleep, making sure you have your mobile (with his number on speed dial) near you.

But Dabi can't always be there to watch you. He's still pursuing his successful career as a villain, so without your knowledge, he installs cameras in your house, purely out of concern and not because he's a creep. Yes, even the ones in your bathroom are just in case you slipped and hit your head.

After some time, you two do end up moving in together. He of course modifies his house so that its more safe for you, like rounding off sharp edges, installing devices that let you know when youre near stairs, etc. And Dabi just absolutely adores spending time with you. Be it cooking, he's right there with you as you tell him all the steps to your favourite recipes and taste test food (he blows on your hot food), dance slowly in the kitchen while the pizza bakes in the oven, straddle you and tickle you until youre near tears, or cuddling on the couch as you enjoy each others silence. You're so nice, so kind to him. He won't ever say it outloud but you being blind is a huge positive for him because he doesn't get insecure with the way he looks. Plus, he can smile as much as he wants without feeling like its tarnishing his "villain image" (he has absolutely melted when you said you adored the way he laughed. Stfu bitch, hes never laughing again😭💖🫶) And you're great at matching his vibe too. He can see the way he's rubbed off on you, how you joke about your disability, the two of you surprising people with your dark sense of humor.

He can be intimate with you, because you feel perfect against his charred skin. When you touched his staples and his burned skin, his breath hitching when you pulled your hand away, your brows frowning. Did you find him ugly now that you knew he didnt have smooth, pristine skin?

When you didn't say anything for a few seconds, he asked if you'd like to know what happened to him.

You shrugged. "Only if you want to tell me. I just want to know if it hurts when I touch your skin." Hes so glad you can't see because my man had tears falling down his face. Why are you so concerned for his well being??? Why are you so sweet? Why Why Why Why-

Not to mention the way your parents absolutely ADORE him???? Like, the first time he met them, they immediately welcomed him into their homes and into their hearts. Dabi is like so overwhelmed because he's never felt so accepted and loved. Your parents never once looked at him differently because of his scars, and Dabi knows he looks like a criminal for sure, but your parents???? They don't care. Hell, they've already begun telling him all your embarrassing childhood stories and are inviting him to family gatherings and have already decided what clothes he's gonna wear for the family Christmas picture. And Dabi has realised that both you and your parents are way too naive and trusting and so so so so precious, he's adopting all of yall😭😭😭 (like fr, your parents just saved themselves from being killed and/or thrown into a nursing home).

Anyways, years pass by, Dabi had left the crime life the day you got hurt in his house and he wasnt around to help you. Now he works from his home office and you work at the school for visually impaired. Your relationship has reached it peak and Dabi pops the marriage question and you say yes. But before you guys can get married, someone (maybe an ex, or a cousin or friend) reveals to you who he really is and how he's the reason you're blind, and Dabi is eavesdropping because he needs the prefect opportunity to both kill the guy who spilled his secret and catch you before you run off.

"I know."

"You know?"

"I know. Always have. And I'd appreciate it if you don't bring it up ever again. Also, you're not invited to the wedding." You said before having the guy leave the room.

"You can come out now, Dabi." You called him inside.

"How did you know I was here?" He asked standing in front of you.

"I'm smart like that." You chuckled.

"Y/n- you knew?" He asked quietly, wanting to confirm what he'd just heard. You nodded. "How? Why didn't you say anything?"

You sighed. "You're not the only one keeping secrets, Dabi." You sat down, patting the seat next to you for him. "I have a quirk like you do. I have a heightened sense of smell. So, I pretty much recognised you from the moment you bumped into me."

"Huh? How could you recognise me? We never met before that." You shook your head. "We didn't meet before, but I noticed you the day of my accident." Dabi's mind couldn't stop at how you chose to refer his attack as an "accident", which is exactly what it was. You were never his target. Honestly, you're the best human being, an actual angel-

"I only noticed you because you smelled like charred barbecue."

"WHAT?!"

"Hey, no yelling!" You scolded. "That day, I was walking home when I was suddenly hit with this intense smell of grilled barbecue and I was superrrr hungry that day, so I was like I gotta get me some of that and then I looked up and I saw you."

Dabi listened to your explanation, and he honestly wouldn't have believed you if he hadn't spent so much time with you to know how your brain works. "If you knew who I was, then you knew you lost your eyes because of me. So, why did you..." He couldn't complete his question, afraid of you admitting to leading him on just so that you could take revenge and hurt him by pretending to be in love.

You cupped cheek. "It wasn't your fault. You weren't aiming for me. Besides, you and I both know that I would've been dead that same day if you wanted me to."

"Still... I am a bad person-"

"No, Dabi. You're not." You cut him off, not wanting him to taint himsslf with such foul thoughts. "No one is born good or bad. People just do good things or bad things, as circumstances force them to. The world isn't so black and white, Dabi. Everyone's got a grey area."

A tear fell down his cheek, and Dabi pulled you in for a deep kiss. "God- You're just- perfect." He whispered against your lips. You smiled and pecked him once more before settling on the couch, your head on chest.

"So... I smell like charred barbecue?" Dabi asked, playing with your hair. You hummed. "And it doesn't bother you?"

"Nope!"

"Why not?"

"I love charred barbecue. They're the best pieces!"

Ah, if you keep saying things like that, Dabi will need to buy you bigger diamonds.

Fuck it, he thought pulling out his phone.

He's already ordering one online.

Now imagine someone hurts Dabi's baby, and she dies. That'd suck, huh?

#yandere dabi #yandere dabi x reader #yandere bnha #bnha headcanons #yandere mha #bnha imagines #dabi imagine #dabi todoroki #dabi bnha #dabi x reader #bnha dabi #dabi

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bethanythebogwitch · 9 months ago

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Wet Beast Wednesday: box jellyfish

Jellyfish are curious things, but some are curiouser than others. Most jellyfish are members of the class Scyphozoa, which is a very diverse clade with plenty of jellies to choose from. But then there are the Cubozoa, a separate class of jellyfish that have a lot of interesting and unique features, such as being some of the most venomous animals in the world. Try not to get stung.

(Image: a box jellyfish. It is a mostly translucent jellyfish with a box-shaped bell. From the corners of the bell hand four tentacles that are a striped white and orange. End ID)

Like the Scyphozoa, the approximately 50 known species of box jellyfish have a body plan consisting of a bell and trailing tentacles. While the Scyphozoa have round bells, box jellyfish have cuboid bells, which give them their name. At each lower corner of the bell is a stalk that leads into one or more tentacles. The interior of the bell is divided into four regions by structures called septa. In each region is a gastric pocket that helps direct food into the central stomach and has structures that help water flow into and out of the animal. Each septa is lined with digestive filaments and two of the jellyfish's eight gonads. In the center of the bell is a flexible, trunk-like appendage called the manubrium which contains the mouth and stomach. When thebox jellyfish eats, it draws prey into the one of the septa where the digestive filaments begin digestion. The manubrium then maneuvers the mouth over to the prey and eats it. Prey is captured with the tentacles, which are lined with stinging cells called cnidocytes which contain structures called nematocysts that inject venom into prey and threats. The tentacles then help move the food into the bell. While Scyphozoa come in a variety of colors, box jellyfish are almost always translucent.

(Image: a box jellyfish, this one having a squatter bell and multiple tentacles at each corner. The manubrium is visible through the bell as a curving, trunk-like structure. End ID)

Box jellyfish have a developed nervous system consisting of two portions: the nerve ring and the rhopalia. The ring nerve stretches around the base of the bell and controls how it moves. The rhopalia is a system of nerves that controls sensory structures. In particular, it controls a sense of gravity and the eyes. While some Scyphozoa have simple light-sensing eyes, the box jellyfish have true eyes with retinas, corneas, and lenses. Like the bell, the rhopalium is divided int four segments. Each segment has two true eyes as well as two simple pit eyes for detecting light levels and two simple slit eyes that likely detect movement. The true eyes can be oriented in different directions and they always appear to keep one pair pointing up. Thanks to their good eyesight and the shape of the bell allowing for rapid bursts of speed, the box jellyfish can actively hunt its prey instead of just drifting and waiting for food to come to them. What's more impressive is their ability to actively navigate their environment and learn to avoid certain threats. It was long thought that animals without brains would not be able to truly learn, but multiple types of cnidarians have shown learning behavior, with the box jellyfish seeming to be the most advanced.

(Image: a scientific diagram showing pictures of a box jellyfish eye and a drawing of its anatomy. End ID. Source)

Box jellyfish reproduce every year and are semelparous, meaning they only mate once before dying. However, there is some inconclusive evidence that the species Chiropsalmus quadrumanus may be able to mate multiple times. Reproduction can be both internal and external depending on species. In external reproduction, the male and female release gametes into the water. In internal reproduction, the pair will maneuver themselves so the openings of their bells face each other and the male will pass a packet of sperm to the female. In these species, the female retains the eggs internally until they hatch. The juveniles hatch as a type of swimming larva called a planua. The planua will eventually settle and become fixed to a hard surface, metamorphosing into a polyp. The polyp is a non-swimming stage found in all members of the clade Medusuzoa, of which the box jellyfish are a member. Polyps will grow for months to years and during this period, they can reproduce asexually by budding off clones of themselves. Eventually, the polyps will metamorphose into the adult medusa stage

(Image: photos of a box jellyfish at different stages of its life cycle. It starts as a bean-shaped planula, progresses to a worm-like creeping polyp, then to an anemone-like sedentary polyp, then to a newly released medusa, which looks like a tentacle-less box jellyfish. The medusa them matures to a small juvenile and finally a mature adult. end ID)

Box jellyfish are found worldwide in tropical waters, though most known species are from the Indo-Pacific. It is likely that many species ave been overlooked as their transparency and frequently small size makes it easy to miss them. New studies using e-DNA, DNA that is shed and collected through the environment, may help identify nee species and populations. Box jellyfish are known to most people as being some of the most venomous animals in the world, but only a few species are dangerous to humans. The species Chironex fleckeri is the most dangerous to humans. Its venom causes extreme pain and can lead to death within 2-5 minutes if enough venom enters the system. C. fleckeri has caused over 60 recorded deaths in Australia (because where else would it live?) and while there is now an antidote to the venom, getting it to the victim fast enough can be challenging. A singe C. fleckeri is often said to carry enough venom to kill 60 people. Most reported cases of stings have not ended in death as not enough venom was introduced to the system. Also from Australia (of course) are the Irukandji, a group of about 16 similar box jellyfish that can also be lethal, but while C. fleckeri at least has the decency to be big, the Irukandji jellyfish are all tiny. Their venom causes a reaction called Irukandji syndrome that is delayed for up to 2 hours after the sting and can lead to cardiac arrest if not treated. Jellyfish nets are common sights on Australian beaches. They enclose parts of the water with nets that have mesh small enough to keep most jellyfish out. Application of vinegar to the sting is the current recommended treatment and many beaches in Australia are required to stock it, though some research has indicated that vinegar may actually make the sting worse.

(Gif: footage of the rare spotted box jellyfish. It has a large bell with stripes and rings on it and the tentacles are thick and reddish. It is swimming, showing off the movement of the bell in how it propels itself. End ID)