#This is so minor and takes a second to fix either way which is probably why I'm getting disproportionately mad

[zoobus]

"Change the font of this doc to Times New Roman so it matches policy"

I checked our style guide and it says to use the sans serif font Calibri, which is accessible and 508 compliant, so no.

"??? Change it back to TNR, it needs to match policy so it's 508 compliant. "

Okay. I just looked up what "policy" you're referring to and this is an unpublished paper about cybersecurity, made by a different department in a different format. I'm not sure why you keep calling it "policy" but here's a direct link to Section 508 §402.4, "Characters on Display Screens," and an explanation for why serif font like TNR is considered inaccessible. Are you asking us to break the law or what

[no answer]

[The next day; little boss]: heeyyyy guuyyys, so the guy you were beefing with in the Word comments said while calibri may look cooler, policy follows [style guide that mentions accessible once and it's just to show you how to spell it], so change it back to TNR

[grippingbeskar]

small favours

— joel miller x fem!reader

— warnings: explicit content minors dni, smutttt, dirty talk, very minimal plot sorry not sorry, swearing, needles, mention of injuries/cuts

— a/n: happy tlou release week!! this is set in jackson between the first and second game, i wrote the first part before i saw the show but just imagine with me okay. and it’s literally just bc i saw joel in that denim shirt and went yeah… i wanna fuck him in that. lmao. also dedicated to @everybirdfellsilent because we have been waiting for this show for so long and it’s finally here and oaoxosoxosox. wow.

You hadn’t asked for much.

It was a simple fix, you were sure of it. Yes, you don’t know anything about how to fix hinges, nor do you have any clue about how you broke it in the first place. Either way, it’s just a few screws and a metal piece, so was it really that hard to find five minutes to fix it?

Leading another one of the horses into the stable, you pointedly step over the gate that now lays on the floor, too heavy for you to move it. The horse tramples it, of course, which is why you had asked for someone to come and fix it before the horses were brought back in from patrol. Clearly, no one gave a shit about your question, but you know they’d all be the first to complain if it was their horse that got out through a broken gate.

It was late now, anyways. Too late for you to get anyone out, and even with the safety of Jackson’s walls keeping you blocked off from the outside world, being out at night still freaked you. When you finally got the horse in your hand settled and fed, you promptly sat yourself on the floor of the stable. Without the front gate, it wasn’t safe to leave the horses alone. With your luck, they’d get spooked and run all the way through town, and the last thing you needed was more reason for the people in here to look at you.

It wasn’t that you weren’t liked— you just kept to yourself. This life was hard enough as it is, and you didn’t see the point in making friends when in five years this place would probably be full of strangers. People die every day out here, you knew that too well. You wanted to save yourself the heartache wherever you could.

All that anti social behaviour certainly didn’t win you any favours though— hence the still broken door. You loved it— you were good with horses, having lived in a farm before the outbreak, so you decided to volunteer to help in the stables, but it was hard work sometimes. It kept you busy enough, though, and horses never wanted to make conversation, so… win-win.

There was only one problem with working in here. Truthfully, it wasn’t so much as a problem and more of a chronic condition. At least, that’s the way it felt every time Joel Miller made some kind of appearance. Most people just left the horses tied up out front for you to take care of, but Joel seemed to enjoy the peace the stable provided— that and you never talked much, which seemed to work for him. On the days he’d come back from patrol, the two of you would share a few hushed conversations as you worked and he hid from the rest of Jackson, and then you’d fall into a comfortable silence, sometimes for hours at a time.

Weeks had passed like this, and every single day you got a little bit more interested in who the man really was, other than his clear infatuation with his horse. Right when he came in would be the time you talked the most, after about forty minutes it would get too busy and you’d work until the sun set. But those forty minutes started to stretch a little longer, and he seemed to gain interest in you, too. Maybe you were grasping at straws, but hearing Joel’s low voice rumble a few more words every time he spoke to you was doing wonders for your self esteem, and even you couldn’t deny the way your face warmed when he smiled at you.

“Hey, you still— damn. What happened here?” Joel calls from the gaping hole that is the stable door, and only because it’s his voice calling you do you look up.

“It’s been broken all day. I asked someone to fix it, but…” You shrug, sighing and leaning your head back on the small gate that was the only thing holding the horse behind you from leaping out down the main street. “I guess they had other shit to do. I can’t move it on my own.”

Joel considers you for a second, how your frame is backed against the gate, conveniently placed at the closest point to the open door. Then, he looks back to the door on the ground, and back up to you. He smirks.

“So you were plannin’ on sitting in here all night?” The weight of the day makes your shoulders slump forward, and for the first time you really consider your plan. “You gonna body check a horse when he makes a run for it?”

“Okay, it was a dumb plan. But, it’s that or let them all out and get stuck cleaning up the bar floor or something.” He smiles again, the setting sun behind him washing over his shoulders in a pretty orange colour. A tilt of his head in your direction has you standing up, taking the lead of his horse that he offers to you.

“You take him, I’ll go get my tools. Fix it up before sun down.” Before you can protest or tell him he doesn’t have to, he’s walking off to the right up the hill where his house sits.

You’d always been a bit jealous of the spot his house is. It’s far away enough from everyone that you get some real privacy, but close to the stables if you need a quick exit. He had a porch, too. One you spent a little too much of your time staring at during your work hours, when he spent his off days strumming a guitar right in your line of sight. He was just… peaceful to observe. He brought a calm to you that no one else seemed to be able to do, almost enough that you could forget about the world outside and just exist in that little bubble for a while.

You lead Joel’s horse inside, hearing it trample the door again, and hang up his saddle next to the stable. Joels horse is much like him— quiet unless provoked. You found it out the hard way when you first led it in with a routinely aggressive horse, thinking it’s demeanour would calm him down. The next morning you woke up to two very angry horses and a half bent gate of steel.

“Saved you your favourite spot.” You say to his horse, Old Beardy. You never asked how Joel picked the name, but for some reason it worked so well— at least, he was definitely older than most. “See? He’s right up there.”

The stable at the back was angled just right so that the small window at the height of a horses head pointed directly towards Joel’s porch. Not close enough to see anything other than the outside, but enough that you know it’s there. You don’t come in here often, Joel always taking his own horse in, but when you do you can’t help but notice the instant calming effect it has on Beardy— you might have more in common with this horse than half the people in Jackson.

When you find your way back to the front, Joel’s footsteps are trudging back down the hill. You’ll be fairly useless as anything other than company while he fixes the door, but you can’t seem to stop your heart from racing a million miles a minute as he gets closer and closer. Yes, he makes you forget about everything on the outside, but that’s mainly due to how insane he drives you. All those conversations in the stables and too long looks in town are just all too consuming, and now, when you see him come into sight, you have to put some physical difference between him and you.

“You don’t have to, Joel. Really, I’m sure someone’ll—“

“No, they won’t. Knowin’ the people around here, you’ll be sleepin’ on the floor till next year.” He bends down, and you drop yourself back to the floor and stare in some kind of mesmerised silence as he runs his hands over the broken hinges of the door.

In a few passing thoughts you’d never admit to yourself, you have an obsession with his hands. He was just so…capable. He could do so many things so easily— and some kind of backward wire in your brain fizzled with electricity at the sight of him in his element. He starts fiddling with tools, first starting to remove the broken hinge, muscles flexing as he tears off the old bolts.

“What happened?” He says, the words muffled by the screwdriver in his mouth.

“I have no clue. When I woke up this morning it was blown in. I spent a good hour trying to move it but it’s so—“ With one arm, he pulls it up to stand vertical, a fist wrapping around the edge of the gate. It doesn’t even look like he tried. “—heavy.”

“Come ‘ere and hold it straight.” He says, keeping one arm out in front of him, the other still holding the door up. “I won’t let it fall. Come on.”

“Like this?” You say, staring down at him as you finally reach the door and take a little bit of the weight. He flicks his eyes up, nodding and shifting on his knees to get a better angle on the door.

“Perfect.” He says softly, looking up at you for another split second before clearing his throat and screwing on a new hinge.

“You really didn’t have to do this, but thank-you.” Joel shakes his head, his fingers fiddling with a latch.

“Least I can do. Everyone should be up here helpin’ you anyways.” He stands up, and with only a barrier the width of a gated door, you can feel his body heat keeping you warm when he towers over you. “Keep holding it still.”

“Yeah.” You manage, eyes fluttering closed. “People help, though.”

“Oh, I bet.” He says, sarcasm dripping off his words as he laughs dryly.

“They do! Sometimes… I mean, it’s not their fault. I’m kind of a hermit up here. I don’t really make an effort, so I can’t blame them.” He stops working, his knuckles white over the railing of the gate, and looks to you.

“You’ve trained all these new horses to track better than those guys ever could. They’d die out there without ‘em. Carl doesn’t know his left from right— he got lost eight times last patrol. It’s cause of your horses he got back safe.” Joel’s face is more serious, his eyes sharp but still with a hint of softness that he often looks at you with. “Doesn’t matter if you ain’t makin’ friends. This ain’t middle school, and people should be helpin’ you no matter what. Least of all fixing a door.”

“That’s why I keep you around, Joel.” You smile lightly, his voice getting lower the angrier he gets.

“Good. You tell me next time, and I’ll come round and help. Avoid the whole town all together.” You hum, letting go of the gate as he hauls it up in the air and shuffled backward, setting it against the hinges. “How do you know so much about horses?”

“I lived on a farm, way back when. Besides, they’re easy to navigate once you get to know them.” Joel puts the screwdriver back in his mouth, and you can’t help but stare at him. The small scars on his face, peppered around his cheeks. Some are older, worn and faded, while the one across his nose is new. It’s not even scarred yet, still fresh

“You okay?” He says softly, tilting his head.

“Your face.” His eyebrows furrow, and you shake your head. “Sorry. You… did something happen on patrol? You have a cut—“

“Just a few clickers. Real old, hauled up in a caravan out west. Nothing we couldn’t handle.” The door drops into place, and he swings it out towards him. It sounds less squeaky than it usually did. “Good as new.”

“You should clean it.” You say, worry edging in your voice. “If it was clickers.”

“I’m fine.” He shrugs it off.

“Come on. It’s the least I can do. I have a first aid kit in the back, and then we can call it even.” He relents, locking the door behind him and stepping further into the stables. “Sit. I’ll get the kit.”

“Yes, ma’am.” You can hear a small smirk on his voice, and you roll your eyes, turning around to find the kit. “Why you got a first aid kit in here anyways?”

“You’re using it now, aren’t you?” You turn around, raising your eyebrows. “You’d be surprised how many people come here before going to medical. I started to stock up a little, do what I can. It’s not much, but I can clean it off and do some botched stitches until they see a real doctor.”

“And none of those guys came up to fix the god damn door?” He was getting angry again, and you tried to ignore the shiver that went up your spine when he spoke like that.

He was sitting on a small stool, putting him about waist height. When you stepped closer, shuffling your feet on the floor, he tilted his head up. His open legs invited you closer, nearly drawing you in with a magnetic field he was completely unaware of.

Armed with a cotton ball and disinfectant, your fingers were light enough to breeze along his jaw to hold him in place. He stares up at you, watching your eyes as they flit between the cut on his nose and his wandering gaze. His face is warm when you work up the courage to place your palm on his cheek, thumb gently smoothing over the salt and pepper flecks of his beard. He doesn’t flinch away when you press the cotton ball to his face, swiping across the bridge of his nose.

“Does it hurt?” You whisper, feeling the need to keep your voice low.

“No.” He does the same, the heat of his body making you shuffle slightly closer. His hands are in fists on his knees, like he’s straining to keep himself still. “Told you it was fine.”

“And I told you I wanted to help.” When you’re satisfied with the results, you take a fresh cotton pad and dry it up. “You might need stitches. It’s deep.”

“Go on.” He says, and you lean back, eyes wide.

“You want me to stitch your face together?”

“Good practise, and I trust you.” The simple words have your heart slamming against your rib cage, but instead of showing it you kneel in between his legs and search the contents of the kit for a needle.

“If I mess up your face, you knew what you signed up for.” When you find what you’re looking for, you straighten, Joel’s face is right in front of you. It takes you a second to realise just how close he is, and the position isn’t lost on him either. It’s probably the most emotive you’ve seen him, his jaw going tight from how hard he’s biting down.

“It’s already messed up. You’re fine.” He manages, his voice strained.

“Hold still.” Whispering the words, you lean closer and bring the needle to his skin. His eyes close, and it’s when you press the point into his nose that his hands shoot out in front of him, holding your hips gently.

“Sorry. Shit—“

“It’s fine. Are you okay?” He grunts in a way you think is affirming, so you keep threading the needle. You only need one stitch for a spot this small. “Your face isn’t messed up.”

“Huh?”

“It’s not. Messed up.” You feel his thumbs stroke along the bone of your hip just once before he stills again. You tie off the stitch, and his eyes open. “There. You’re pretty again.”

Your breathing was rapid even though you didn’t have a true reason for it, but neither of you moved. His hands— strong and so fucking capable, holding you still on your knees in front of him. His eyes were pools, inviting you in with a gleam of something shiny, and where you were nearly gasping he was calm and collected. In his element, like he was right where he should be.

The whole stable was a dull orange now, the colours dusting through the strands of Joel’s hair. It’s never really sitting right, wind whipping it out of control on patrol, but you have the urge to run your hands through it anyway. You let yourself explore one small piece of him, like he has to you, and your fingertips run back over the shell of his ear, tangling in his hair. He sucks in a short breath, leaning into the hold of your hand.

“Joel.” You say, voice so soft he would of never heard you if you weren’t so close, but you call for him and he leans closer. Your foreheads nearly touch, and his hands tighten their hold on you.

“Thank you, darlin’.” You sigh deeply, unable to keep yourself upright at the nickname. It rings through you, his accent strong and adding an entire other layer to why he’s so easy to fall into. You don’t even really notice how dark it’s gotten— you usually have sprinted home by now. But Joel’s here, and with him this close, you can’t think of anything else. He leans closer, and your eyes flutter closed.

“Can I kiss you?” He says, the brush of his lips against yours sending a tidal wave of need from your head to your feet.

“Only if you hurry up.” You answer helplessly, voice cracking, and he smiles against you and finally brings his mouth to yours.

It’s anything but calm. That peaceful energy of the stables is completely shattered and sorted into something electrical and sizzling. He yanks you forward, bodies pressing together as you use the leverage of your hand fisted in his hair to kiss him harder and deeper. It doesn’t take long before his tongue is swiping along your bottom lip, seeking permission.

You let him in— you’d let him do whatever he asked for if he kept pouring himself into you like this. He tasted good, which should be impossible but when you’ve been starved of something for this long it doesn’t matter what he does it’s just that he’s giving it to you. He moves his hands to the small of your back, pressing your hips right in the middle of his open legs, his other hand on the back of your head.

You feel him groan when you press together, the sound waking up parts of you that had been dormant for far too long. It was like he had access to each nerve in your body, and every little sound or touch had them blaring red and sparking.

“Fuck, darlin’. Come closer.” He groans into your mouth before kissing you again. You smile for a moment, not entirely sure how you could get any closer, and then it’s wiped off when he hauls you upward, hooking your legs around his waist on the stool. “Yeah. Right here.”

Your arms cling around his neck, his own searching up and down your body. Your shirt rides up with the movements and you moan every time he grazed along your skin. There’s something equally hard and soft about his hands— rough from years of work but soft with the way they hold you up, how they’re careful not to dip too low or high. You arch your back, giving him wordless permission, and he groans into your mouth again.

At some point you have to breath— both of you gasping for air in the quiet of the darkened stables. He brings his hands to your face, holding you against his forehead so he can look into your eyes. He was smiling too— like actually smiling, not that half smirk you’ve seen so often.

“What are we doin’?” He laughs, kissing you again.

“I don’t know, but can we keep going somewhere that doesn’t smell like horse shit?” You whisper and he laughs again. It’s sounds so good— like the sound of the beginning of your favourite song. It makes your heart sing, melting you into the tune. “Please, Joel. I really want…”

“Tell me, baby.” He moves, angles your head with swift moves of his fingers so he can kiss you lower. Under your jaw, and then he drags his mouth down, along your neck, teeth nipping softly… “Fuck knows I wanna hear you say it.”

“You. I really want you.” He hums against your skin, one arm hooking under your ass as he stands easily. You squeal, muffling the sound in the mop of hair on his head. As you walk outside, there’s only a few people still mulling around, and they turn their heads towards you when they hear your soft laughter mixed with Joel’s— two sounds that seem to alarm them more than clickers.

For the first time since you’d been here, you really don’t care if people are looking at you, or what they’re saying. When Joel locks the gate behind you and slides you down his chest to let your feet touch the floor, you are reminded once again of his ability to remove every single thought from your mind except him. Just him, and his hands on your hips, spinning you around and leading you up the hill towards his house. How every so often he’ll bend down, pressing his lips lightly to the back of your neck, and how you can feel his smile on your skin.

He guides you easily, your body on auto pilot to his small gestures, and when you finally rush up the few steps of his porch— one you’ve spent way too much time staring at from afar, you’re both attached to each others face like horny teenagers. He fumbles with the doors lock, jamming keys with aggressive force while his other hand stays soft and sweet on your waist, holding you against him. When the door gives out behind you he never lets you stumble, taking you in his stride with practised precision. You’ve seen the inside of his house, but never the layout, so as he guides you blindly through the hallway, your shut eyes and occupied mouth never see it coming when you fall backwards onto a bed.

“Let me take this off.” He mumbles against your lips, tugging at your shirt and jacket. In a tangle of limbs you both shove at the material, finally hooking it over your head. He presses you flat against the mattress again, hanging over you and running his hands up and down your sides in long, soothing strokes. “God damn gorgeous.”

“Your turn.” The blaze in his eyes dulls slightly at your comment, and he just bends to kiss you again. He links your hands in his own, pulling you away from where they were tugging at his shirt. “Joel.”

“Nothin’ there you wanna see, baby. Just let me look at you.” As sweet as his voice sounds, and as much as you want him to continue, you pull away from his greedy mouth.

“Please take your fucking shirt off.” You say harshly, biting at his bottom lip hard enough for his eyes to open again. He looks over you, taking in the sight of you under him with your arms pinned above your head, back arched towards him. He’s clearly contemplating how difficult it would be to ignore you, smirking a little when he looks up at your hands again.

“Or what? You gonna make me stop?” He kisses under your jaw, his free hand skating along your side, only stopping when his fingers reach the hem of your jeans. When he hears you gasp as his hand disappears under the fabric, he laughs. “Nah, you won’t make me stop. Want it just as bad as I do, don’t you?”

“But I want—“

“Shh, shh. I’ll give you what you want.” His mouth his dizzying— words and movements hot against your skin as his hand bypasses your underwear and drags slow circles against your clit, immediately drawing his name from your lips again. “There you go, darlin’. Feels good?”

“God— yeah, faster. Please.” Your chest was rising and falling so fast, trying to pull the air he was punching out of your lungs with every quick movement of his fingers. He hums at the praise, and you feel him shift above you, sitting up so he could slip one finger inside of you. “Fuck, Joel!”

“I know, baby.” He tilts his head up to kiss you again, tongue matching the fast and unpredictable pace of his hand. You can feel it building— pleasure rippling up your spine and fizzing low in your stomach, and your hands tug under Joel’s unrelenting grip.

He seems to forget he was meant to be holding you, his groans and concentration all focused on the way he was fucking you with his hand, so he lets you go, his hand going to hold your face. It makes you smile under him, but it quickly gets lost when you moan his name again, rolling your hips against him.

Now your hands are free, you have a moment of clarity when your eyes flutter open and see him staring at you; eyes flitting between your face and your chest. You want to have that— to see skin you’ve only thought about in the late hours of the night when you were alone, never admitting it to yourself when you woke the next day. You grab onto the hem of his shirt, ripping the denim up as far as you can, getting your hands on the bare skin of his back.

He doesn’t help you— too obsessed with the way you are writhing and moaning so loud the poeple down the street will know what your doing. Neither of you care about anything else than this, right here, and the fiery hot spark that’s lighting you up inside.

“Shirt, Joel.” You tug at the collar, then card your fingers through his hair and pull. He grumbles something, and then you whimper when his hand leaves you and he sits up on his knees. He was out of breath, towering over you and keeping you caged underneath him as he tore the shirt over his head and threw it behind him. When he leans back down, he doesn’t give you the time to admire him that you’d like, but you take what he gives you. He shoves your own jeans down, shaking them off you in one tug, and your eyes hardly have time to open before you feel the backs of your calves press against the flexing muscles of his bare shoulders.

“Perfect.” He says, speech almost slurred, and the look he gives you reminds you of the one he gave you in the barn. Before you can think enough on it, both of his hands hold your hips down and he gives you one last look before he buried his face in your pussy.

It doesn’t take much to have you screaming his name again, that sweet hot pleasure that was building so quickly comes rushing back with the wet heat of his mouth. He eats you out like he’s fucking hungry for it— pulling borderline shouts from deep in your chest, like something is bashing against your ribcage, only awoken by his complete and utter devotion. His tongue swirls and fingers curl, and you lose sense of direction, clawing at his hair and feeling his groan when you pull him into you.

There’s no where to go, stuck under his weight as he dives into your taste, at his mercy entirely. It was so different to see him undone— a sight you wouldn’t be able to forget next time he came into the stables all soft eyes and short words. No, here he was holding your eye contact, groaning your name as if you were the one doing this to him. He gave you no choice but to hurtle towards the edge of consciousness, knowing you wouldn’t be able to hold out under him much longer.

“Joel. Joel— fuck.” His lips wrap around your clit, sucking gently while his fingers curl inside you in a spot that has you seeing stars. “Oh, god—“

He doesn’t say anything when you cum, just groans into your pussy as he guides you through it. He sets pace and intensity, both of which are hard and almost unbearable, and he only drags himself away when you beg him to. Your legs shake, his hands smoothing over your thighs as his mouth presses wet kisses up your skin, over your stomach and chest, finally reaching your mouth with an overwhelming force.

You hum, tasting the combination of you and him together on his tongue, taking everything he needs to give you. He shuffles up, and you feel his cock pressing hard against your thigh, still straining in his jeans. You let him kiss you lazily, let him explore you this way while your hands busy themselves between your bodies, unzipping his jeans. When your palm brushes over his length still covered by his boxers, he hisses and his eyebrows furrow, like the pleasure is almost painful. You do it again and he shudders, pressing his forehead to yours.

“You’re so soft.” He murmurs past your ear when you slip your hand under the waistband. When your fingers wrap around him, you stay true to his word and stay light with your touch, not wanting him to finish just yet. You want to make it good for him— draw it out. Pay him back for everything he gave to you; not just tonight, but every night. “So fucking soft. Sweet.”

“You like that?” You ask innocently, stroking him again. Your thumb brushes over his tip and he shudders again, nearly shivering. “I can be gentle. Want you inside me, though.”

“Whatever you want. Fuck— anything you want to do to me. Please, baby. Not gonna last long if you keep doing that.” A single please was enough to grant him a thousand wishes, but you’ll settle for giving him just one.

He helps rid himself of the rest of his clothes, no insecurity in sight with the lower half of his body. There was no need to be… he was big. It made sense— he was a big guy, but it wasn’t just that. He was just… perfect.

“Eyes on me.” He says, pulling your gaze away from where your bodies are about to meet. “I want to see your face when I…”

He trails off when his tip lines up with your entrance. You bite your lip in anticipation, feeling the soaked pleasure coating him as he finally slides himself further and further. You both sigh, like a weight is being lifted from both of you. As if this was the way you were both meant to be.

He bottoms out, head buried in the crook of your neck as he chokes out your name. You feel full— the weight and stretch holding you to the bed, your arms strung lazily around his neck. Your fingers wander down his spine, keeping that soft lilt to your touch that he seems to thrive under. For all his hardness and strength, it’s the lightest touches that seem to crumble him the most.

“Fuck, baby. Feel so good around me.” Joel never speaks for the fun of it, but he says these things like he needs to. Strained and focused, like it’s a compulsion to tell you how good it feels. “Needed to fuck you for so long. You gonna let me make you feel good, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Joel. Please, I need— need you to move.” You whine like a spoilt child, and you are now that you’ve had a taste. He laughs once, a breathless sound, and then pulls out nearly all the way, only to slide back in with that same trained pace.

“Good girl.” He groans, and then picks up the pace.

It’s devastating. It’s the only way to describe it. He fucks you hard and slow, slowly etching himself into parts of your being you aren’t entirely sure he didn’t just create himself. Like he’s forged apart of you just for him, something low and hot, and he hits it with every, perfectly timed thrust. The bed rocks under him, but he doesn’t seem to care. Its creaks and groans are drowned out by his words and both of your moans.

You are incoherent— overcome by pleasure that shocks even the nerves in your fingers and toes, but it seems to have the opposite effect on Joel. He doesn’t fucking shut up— and it’s about the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced.

“So fucking tight around me.”

“God, you feel good.”

“You are so beautiful.”

“Gonna fuck you for days.” Is the last one you hear before his groans turn to borderline whimpers, his pace stuttering as you feel the coil in your stomach tighten and snap all at once. “Oh, fuck that’s it. Cum again for me. Jesus Christ—“

“Joel.” You can only whisper now— voice so strained that nothing could come out but his name. Your eyes roll back and you feel him fuck into you one or two more times, and then he pulls out and replaces himself with his hand. You ride out your pleasure on his skilled fingers, another wave of heat numbing you when you feel him spill onto your stomach, your back arching off the bed.

The room is suddenly dead quiet, nothing but panting breaths filling the silent house. He is still hanging over you, you can feel both of his forearms next to your head as he leans down to kiss you again. The warmth of his body is lifted just enough for him to use something soft to clean you off, and then he collapses beside you, tugging you onto his chest.

He runs his hand through your hair, stopping at your jaw to tilt you up. He kisses you again, the lack of oxygen making you giddy and dizzy, and you break the kiss only because your smiling so wide.

“What’s so funny?” He says, trying to be serious, but even in the dark you can see his matching grin.

“Just happy. Can I be happy?” It’s meant to be light hearted, but you feel him stop for a second, and then he tugs you a little closer.

“Yeah. Yeah, you can be.” He tucks you under his chin, sighing deeply as the rest of your body turns into him and tangles itself with him. “I am.”

You open your eyes a final time, seeing the pitch black dark outside. If it was light, you’d be able to see the stable from here, but it’s black out there. Usually it would make you uneasy, but tucked up under Joel’s safe arms, there’s nothing in the world that could make you feel more at peace.

[astaroth1357]

Devildom "Marriage/Proposal"

Again. Probably not too Christian-coded in Hell.

Contents: Satanic themes, possessive behavior mentioned

~♡♡♡~

First off, there's a big difference between a demon bonding with another demon vs. binding to a human. There's a lot more equal ground in the former, but the power dynamics are inherently different in the latter.

Traditionally, a demon "marrying" a human is usually used as the highest form of reward to an incredibly loyal follower. It's basically a way for a demon to point them out and make it clear, "This one is my favorite!"

Demons binding themselves to humans out a genuine connection is not unheard of, of course, but it's frightfully rare. Only handful may every do this at a time and not even Solomon has managed to pull it off despite the number of pacts under his belt.

It's this rare because to reform the new pact, the demon has to give up their grimoire (the books that more or less act as substitute for a demon's heart and soul) to their partner. It's like handing away the essence of their very being to another.

When demons bind with each other, the grimoire exchange is mutual. However, since humans don't have grimoire, binding to a human is seen as an act of extreme sacrifice and humility on the demon's part. It's truly the only kind of pact they have where the risks lie mostly with them.

Possessing a demon's grimoire is like literally owning the blueprint to their bodies. All of their powers, history, thoughts, and fears are detailed out within them. Every single weakness or spell to control them hides inside as well...

Because of this, demons take this decision very, VERY seriously. If your relationship falls apart, you don't want something that important left in the hands of your ex. A vast majority of demons never even show their grimoires, much less give them away.

A demon will only ever have one grimoire to share, so they can only ever be bound to one individual at a time. A human can technically be bound to multiple demons and having a binding pact does not erase lesser pacts, but again, it would be rare.

When an individual is in possession of a demon's grimoire, they will always be able to materialize it with just a slight flick of the wrist. Having it on their person will also be enough for them to summon the owner at will, barely a whisper necessary.

A demon will already show up stronger than usual if they're summoned by their grimoire, but using any added enchantments inside will only increase their power tenfold. A good caster can turn their partner into supercharged war machine with minimal effort.

There's a certain oneness between the pair that comes from binding that goes far beyond your average pact. The demon and their partner get the heightened ability to "read" each other. It's not full on telepathy, but they gain a preternatural sense for just how the other is feeling. An entire conversation can be held in the span of seconds with merely few glances and a shrug between them.

Demons are also EXTREMELY protective of their bound partners, which kind of makes sense considering what they're carrying around. They're not very good at hiding it either. We're talking full fangs out and deep, guttural growls at even the most minor of threats.

The offer of the grimoire is technically seen as the "proposal" and acceptance commences the "marriage." It's a big deal with when high-ranking demons decide to do this, so it's often celebrated by a public wedding ceremony.

The Grimores

Lucifer's grimoire has a real gothic flare to it. The whole thing is jet black leather with blood red rubies fixed to the spine and fine layer of gold leaf pressed into the corners. No matter where it's being kept, cover will always feel a bit cold to the touch... The pages are thick and textured, with every word inside written inside done in a careful, nearly mechanical hand. Perfectly legible. Technically flawless. Though certain pages are written with some hesitation, particularly the ones that go over his past...

Mammon's grimoire is, arguably, the most beautiful of the bunch. It's snow white with brilliant gold accents on the spine and along the edges. His personal sigil, painted in shimmering light, takes up most of the front cover and mesmerizes any eye that catches its shine. It's a little on the slim side, though, due in part to how thin pages are inside. Reading it can be a bit messy because the caster can always see whatever words have been scrawled out on the back of the page...

Leviathan's grimoire looks like something straight out of a sunken treasure chest. The brownish-violet leather used to bind it feels real, and it is, though it couldn't have come from any mortal creature on land. The edges are worn down and cracking from neglect, giving the whole thing a certain fragility over the rest... The pages are yellowed and hard from water damaged, yet the words inside still survive... even if parts of them are a tad smudged.

Satan's grimoire could probably pass for 18th century notebook. It too is leather bound, but it doesn’t have the same flare as his older brothers'. If anything, it has a very DIY feel to it, where the cover has a little glue in places it shouldn't and the rough-feeling pages don't all fit quite right. It feels more like a field journal than a demonic tome, perhaps adding to the distinct aura of rebellion radiating off of it... The script inside seems to change from page to page with some part written neatly and other parts apparently scrawled out in a rage. Legibility may vary.

Asmodeus' grimoire looks more like a decorative art piece than a book at times... The wine red cover is smooth and shiny with polished gems affixed like a spider's web on the front. Asmo's grimore is unique in that it is the only one that comes with a lock on it, one that can only be lifted by a spell only he knows. The penmanship inside is naturally beautiful, though sometimes the added flare of loops and flourishes gets in the way keeping everything readable.

Beelzebub's grimoire is deceptively simple looking compared to the others. It looks like your standard leather-bound book and aside from its surprising thickness, not much stands out about it. Even the engraving of his sigil on the cover doesn't have any extra color or shadow to it. But when it's open, the most gorgeous words lie inside as if penned by a master calligrapher. Every bit of space is used appropriately and each letter is clean, clear, and fluidly handled. It's not only legible, it's breathtaking and obviously done with a lot of time and care.

Belphegor's grimoire looks like a void in the space around it. It goes beyond the jet black of Lucifer's cover to an almost true black from cover to pages. You wouldn't even know that it's made of leather unless you felt it because it reflects no light and it betrays no design. Running a hand across it, though, does reveal the ridges of Belphie's sigil craved into the front and back cover. The black pages all have words are written in a bright, silvery, and iridescent ink. Parts of the pages also look seem to contain spilled stardust ready to fly off into the air. The penmanship is a little simple, compared to the rest, but nothing that can't be skimmed at a glance if need be.

Diavolo's grimoire could kill a man from its weight alone. The book is far too big for any shelf and thick with heavily textured, papyrus-like paper. No matter who has it, it will always feel as if a supernatural force is trying to pull it from their hands... Seeing much past its burgundy, black, and gold cover is more or less impossible but what's there truly befits royalty. Every aspect of the design is flawless, with polished onyx as black as night embedded in the spine and ancient symbols peppered between golden spindle-like filigree. One can only imagine what exactly is so forbidden on the inside though...

Barbatos' (true) grimoire is an honest to god mystery... No one has ever seen it and Solomon theorizes that he keeps it in a particularly empty timeline. If asked what it looks like, Barbatos will share that it's simply "a green book," but not elaborate much farther before changing the subject... One has to assume, though, it's probably as thick as a tree trunk with all the history within those pages and for the cover...? He's had all of the time in the world to make it something truly special.

[cannedbeefaroni]

The Bad Touch (Edward Nashton X Reader) (SMUT MDNI)

Part 2

Summary: You are a social worker at Arkham Asylum. The high profile criminal, The Riddler, is assigned as your patient after he's gone through many failed attempts of treatment. You devise a sinister plan to become the only therapist capable of treating Mr. Nashton.

Content: SMUT 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, MEDICAL MALPRACTISE, MANIPULATION, POWER IMBALANCE (for those reasons, i consider this fic to be DUBCON), Reader and Edward have a bit of a role reversed Harley Quinn and Joker dynamic, Edward is described to struggle with hypersexuality and paraphilias (based on how the reader is described, they also have those issues), handjob, oral sex, exhibitionism (public sex), physical restraints, degradation

Y/N is referred to in second person as you/yours and is written to be entirely gender neutral.

In order to survive in your line of work you have to be at least a little bit insane. Over the many years of being a therapist at Arkham Asylum you’ve felt yourself becoming a dull, emotionally detached person. It was ironic, considering you went into psychology with the goal of helping people. Despite this feeling, you acknowledged that you were probably the least jaded and cruel social worker in the asylum. Your coworkers thought your methods were ineffective and soft, and your bosses didn’t assign you patients as often as you’d hoped. You liked to think of yourself as an understanding and approachable person, but your qualities weren’t appreciated. Things started looking up, though, once you were assigned a patient for the first time in a while. He was the high profile public enemy, The Riddler, AKA Edward Nashton. He’d been institutionalized several months ago upon his arrest, and in that time he’d gone through countless therapists. They all said the same about him, that he was uncooperative and didn’t seem to want help. You were assigned to be his designated therapist as a last resort. You felt prideful despite knowing you weren’t even close to being the first option. You had never gotten to speak with any high profile criminals like Mr. Nashton, and you were excited about it. 

You expected to be somewhat intimidated by his presence, but he just seemed to be an incredibly depressed and lonely man. According to the others’ notes, you found out that everything he had done as The Riddler was for the sole purpose of validation and attention. He had been diagnosed with OCD and severe C-PTSD. You had no question as to why he’d become the way he is. He was broken by the world around him, and let it corrupt his mind past the point of return. Before speaking to him, you’d heard so much about him being completely insane and “in another world,” but it was as if you were the only one who truly understood him. During your sessions you couldn’t help but feel empathy for him, which was something you tried very hard not to do. You were able to speak to him, but trying to push his boundaries ever so slightly to talk about him being treated, he’d either go silent or push back hard. He kept saying that he didn’t believe anything in this world could fix him, and that he didn’t want to be “fixed.” 

You realized what's hindering his ability to move past all this was crippling loneliness. He had absolutely no family, friends, or acquaintances. You became frustrated knowing that as a therapist, there was no way to help him in that department. Sure, you could encourage him to be more social but beyond that there’s nothing. You had a sinking feeling that in another universe under different circumstances, you could be that person he could lean on. It was wrong to feel that way, and you knew you should’ve passed his case onto a new therapist for that, but you didn’t want to. You needed to prove yourself as capable. You wanted to be the one to get Mr. Nashton to the point of accepting treatment. Medical malpractice was common at Arkham, so you didn’t feel guilty about doing anything it takes to reach your goal. 

You’d remember the times he’d lament about how he felt truly unlovable. You paid extra close attention whenever he discussed his past relationships. He only ever had sex once as a young adult, and afterward he became hypersexual, obsessing over the idea of having sex again. He found it impossible to find another partner once that relationship had ended. In order to combat that loneliness, he became voyeuristic, developing obsessions with people, stalking them, and even sometimes going as far as performing sexual acts on himself in public areas. He grew bashful over discussing those feelings, which you knew were natural, but deep in your mind you thought it was cute, but you were too professional to let those feelings surface in your mind. You could tell that him lacking any romantic or sexual partner for so long was one of the significant factors in his depression. 

Ever since the topic of sex was brought up in your sessions, you had an idea creeping in your mind. At first it disgusted you, but after much contemplation, you decided that it might just be the only thing that will truly get to him. On the day you decided to carry out your idea, you had already perfectly planned the session out in your mind. It would be efficient and practical, you just needed to make sure no one suspected a thing. You collected an arrangement of items you’d need and concealed them in your pockets. You knew no one else would understand, but you had faith in yourself. 

You greeted him in the plain, empty white room you’d become accustomed to. Unlike a typical room used for therapy, there was a table between the two of you, creating a distance. You both sat on quite uncomfortable wooden chairs, and his hands were cuffed behind his back for your safety. There was a tape recorder on the table, which you were sure to be useless, knowing there were much more efficient mics wired throughout the room to record sessions. It was a tool used to either intimidate or comfort patients by either turning it on or turning it off. You never bothered with it. Mr. Nashton sat slumped over as per usual, hanging his head. You looked up at you pensively, as if at this point you’d worn him down to become subservient. You picked up your chair and moved it closer to his, placing yourself in proximity to him in order to connect with him better. You were closer than usual, making him tense. 

“So tell me, how are you feeling today, Edward?” you asked in a blank, professional tone. 

“I, uh,” he mumbled, voice hoarse as if this was the first time he’d spoken in days. “I guess it’s as good as it gets for me.” 

“Which would be bad or good?” 

“Probably bad, but I’m not feeling as terrible as usual.” Edward never really looked you in the eyes when talking, but you didn’t take it personally. 

“Why do you think that is?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m relieved that I have a better therapist now,” he says quietly as if he was hoping you wouldn’t hear him. 

“I’m glad you’re satisfied with our sessions, Edward. I can tell you’ve been opening up more,” you smile, but in a way that looks and feels empty, as if you’re a robot with the sole purpose to act in the correct way. 

“I wouldn’t say I’m satisfied,” he grumbles, trying not to sound gracious. “You just aren’t annoying or pushy like the others. And you’re actually nice to me, unlike those other shitty therapists.” 

“What can I do to make you satisfied?” your choice of words shock you as you spit them out mechanically. You feel perverted, despite what you just said being quite innocent. 

“Nothing, probably.”

You sigh, “look, if you let me, I can try and figure out what works for you. Not everyone needs the same type of care. I’ve been meaning to try out a different approach with you, and I need you to tell me if you want to move forward with it.” 

“What is it, exactly?” He raises an eyebrow, clearly apprehensive. 

“It’s quite… unorthodox, but if you trust me with this, I really think it’ll be of benefit to you,” you say as you perfectly mask all feelings of embarrassment behind a neutral expression. 

“Uhuh,” he says, utterly confused. 

“Do you trust that I don’t want to do anything that’ll make you uncomfortable?” you ask.

“I suppose. Yeah.” his voice gets small and quiet. 

You take your clipboard, and begin writing. Edward tries to look over at the paper, but before he can get a peak, you already turn it to let him read it. 

“You can’t make a sound for this. They can hear us. I’m going to partially undress you. Nod if you want me to do it”

Edward’s eyes widen before he glares up at you. He swallows thickly. For the first time this session, he looks you in the eyes. He sits motionless before slowly nodding his head. Red tints his face as he begins to sweat. 

You position your chair so that you’re facing him directly. Your hands begin unbuttoning his jumpsuit swiftly, and you notice his chest rising and falling with his breath rapidly. You can see a bit of his pale, bare torso and underwear underneath. Without wasting any time, you pull down his underwear, exposing his penis. It’s already half erect, and you can’t stop yourself from wondering if he always gets aroused around you. You reach into your pocket and retrieve a small bottle of lubricant, and you squeeze some on your hand before gently placing it on his crotch. Your fingers wrap around the shaft, and he gasps. You shush him, before moving your hand in a jerking motion. You don’t dare to look at his face while doing this, because you don’t want any sort of personal attachment linked to it. You just stare at his erection growing in your hand. His body writhes in his seat, arms squirming in their constraints. You hear him whimper softly, which surprises you. He sounds so unexpectedly sweet. Your other hand goes over his mouth, muffling his noises. 

“I need you to take a deep breath.” Your hand stops moving, gripping his hard cock. He’d been breathing so heavily that his glasses were fogging up. He whines against your hand as his body twitches. He relaxes his body a little, calming down. 

“Please, please, please-“ he begs in whispers. This process is torturous. Him being so pent up, it’s impossible to stay quiet. His dick twitches as precum leaks from the tip. You feel almost guilty, but you know it’ll be worth it in the long run. 

“Do you want to stop?”

“Don’t stop, please,” he whines behind your hand. You really hadn’t considered the possibility of him being this vocal. Not only did it put you at risk of being found out, it was causing you to get needlessly sexually excited. You ignored how uncomfortable your soiled underwear had become, you needed to finish the job. 

You tightly held your hand against his mouth as you jerked him off faster. His hips bucked, fucking himself into your fist. So much precum was leaking that it was getting messy. You worried about leaving evidence behind, so you got on your knees in front of him, pushing his legs open, and slipped his dick into your mouth. You lifted your head for a second to whisper, “stay quiet, or I won’t let you finish.” 

He wants to cry as he watches you take him so deep in your throat. He bites his lip tightly, holding back any moans. Your head bobs in perfect rhythm, and your tongue wraps around his shaft. You shamefully bring your hand to your crotch, rubbing yourself over your pants as you greedily suck his cock. What would everyone else think? They’d say I’m a desperate whore. Maybe I am. But I’m helping him. I’m the only one who can. He needs me. Your self degradation doesn’t help your case in this being purely “professional.” It’s not your fault he sounds so cute and pathetic while fucking your throat, or that his huge cock is filling your mouth so much that you can barely take it. You forget about your own voice as his tip hits the back of your throat. His hips begin rutting into you rapidly, and suddenly he’s cumming down your throat. You hear the clanking of his handcuffs as his arms strain against them behind his back. You shove him in as deep as possible, swallowing everything he’s got. You can’t help but finish in your pants, as your other hand has been over stimulating your body. You stay in that position for a minute, letting his dick sit in your mouth. You carefully get up and grab tissues from your pocket to clean him up, as well as wipe your mouth. Carefully, you dress him back up, and place your seat on the opposite side of the table, sitting as if nothing happened. 

“How was that?” you ask, returning to a robotic voice. 

“I wanna do it again,” he says hoarsely, eyes still wide in disbelief.

Part 2

[angelkhi]

mirrorball - j.m

pairing: bodyguard!joel miller x f!reader (3rd person)

summary: a gala isn’t your thing, dress shopping isn’t Joel’s. It’s a shame no one can get their way.

warnings: 18+ (minors DNI), smut in future parts, mentions of alcohol, references to being roofied, language, sexual themes (no actual sex), mentions of blood, joel is a massive dick. let me know if i missed anything!word count: 2.8k

a little note: it’s here! (kinda). ive been kinda busy (i graduated!) but also wanted to take my time with this, and maybe explore some aspects of writing that i usually skim over (my bad). i estimate that this will be maybe 3 parts? i hope i do it justice either way, this fic was born out of this hc, but mostly your encouraging responses. thank you for being so kind 🩷

series masterlist part two>>

For a price tag of almost three grand, her dress is itchy. Sure it's beautiful enough that the slimy little daddy's boys will fawn over her, and each superficial gold digger will give her one syllable compliments in an overly saturated tone, but it fucking itches. She hikes the material further up her thigh for the third time since the short car ride began, trying to scratch at her skin. Maybe it's an allergic reaction. She hopes so, that way she can avoid the event all together. She's half way to pulling her sleeve away from her shoulder, ready to scratch the irritated skin, but a firm grip around her wrist prevents her from that sweet sweet relief.

"Stop fidgeting." Joel's tone is clipped, the usual hint of strain pulling across his words. She swears she's never seen him relax, not since he became her live-in bodyguard anyway. She cuts her eye at him but of course he's not looking. The only time she ever really has his attention is if her life is in danger, other than that its pure nonchalance and ignorant glances. She can admire his desire to fulfil the position, what with the pay and free accommodation, hell if she had a real job she'd probably be just as uptight as him. But there's only so much a person can take.

"It's itchy." Of course she sounds like a whiny little brat. It's fine, that's all he thinks of her anyway, she's sure of it.

"Should've picked the other one then."

She almost laughs.

She had walked him around the store at least four times, each trip resulting in the same two dresses. She couldn't decide between the colours, then the length, and then the sleeves. In the end he forced her into the changing room, mumbling she either picks one of those or goes in nothing. They both know that's not an option. Both dresses felt nice, as nice as a constricting piece of fabric could feel, they both looked as nice as they could in the dreary washed out lighting. In the end she had asked Joel, who sat just the other side of the door, arms folded, shoulders tense, scowl mastered.

Joel isn't one for verbal communication, unless it's telling her to 'go here' or 'stay there' or his most frequented phrase, 'shut up'.

But his eyes say it all.

Sometimes it's a simple twitch, letting her know he's not as irritated as he lets on, others it's a slight squint. That's her personal favourite. That's when she knows she's got him right on the edge.

His eyes fix on her, moving slow and calculated over the second dress. The way the fabric moulds to each divot and curve of her body, lingering on her chest, on the slightly too high slit exposing her thigh. It's a clear winner.

His levels of exasperation had clearly spiked in the time it took for her to change again, his constant glaring, huffing and puffing dialled up to 100. His wide steps only seem to grow wider on the way to the checkout, his whole demeanour screaming get me the fuck out of here. Which is why she doubles back on herself, not needing to check if he's following, she knows he will.

She stops, a wide array of underwear in front of her. She takes her time, making sure to show each and every barely there pair to him, watching that eye twitch with a perfect mix of irritation and lightly tethered resolve.

He'd dragged her out of there in the end, though not after she held up the skimpiest pair of panties she could find. His hand wraps tight around her arm, not enough to hurt her, she knows he'd never do that. But enough to tell her she's officially pushed his buttons a little too much.

Soon enough the car rolls to a slow stop in front of a grand building. Stone columns tower over her when Joel leads her from the car. She likes to pretend it's not in his job description, that instead he's simply just an emotionally constipated gentleman, but she's not stupid enough to believe it. Still, when his hand finds the small of her back, when he guides her up the steps and into the vast museum-turned-ballroom, it's hard to believe that his behaviour is entirely obligatory.

The event is just as grand as she expected. Her father certainly has no trouble with throwing his wealth around, even less so when it presents the opportunity to show just how wealthy he is. An ornate chandelier hangs from the ceiling, casting a warm twinkling light over the guests. An sizeable portion of an orchestra plays dreary classical music from the back of the room, and the guests are filling the space, drinking overpriced champagne and nibbling on bite sized canapés.

She waltzes through the sea of false affluence, painting on her best smile, choosing her most pleasant tone, saying all of the right words. She embraces her father heartily, pushing down the small piece of resistance when he pulls her close. She puts on a good, exhausting show. The only thing that keeps her grounded is Joel, hot on her 5-inch heels, anticipating her every move, being ten steps ahead of her.

She's seated with a handful of the elite from the gathering, laughing when they relay the same stories as always, gasping and feigning surprise when they compliment her. She eats the bland food with a sweet smile and laughs off propositions from parents who just know their son would be a perfect match for her.

In between convoluted speeches, she listens to them drone on about their latest investments, or how well their darling daughters are performing in their ballet classes. She smiles, she drinks. she laughs. She's the perfect daughter. The luckiest girl in the room, with the richest daddy and all the luxuries life could offer. But sat at that table, choking down specs of gold in the dry champagne, she feels more akin to the age old scrolls and scriptures.

A caged artefact, another one of her father's prized possessions, on display to be gasped at. She'd give anything for the glass to shatter, for tiny shards to rain down on each and every person in here. She'd marvel in their horror as they learn they bleed the same as everyone else on this planet. That they're not special, and neither is she.

From the corner of her eye, she spots Joel hiding in the shadows, standing to attention. His eyes constantly scan the room and every few seconds, they're on her. She almost feels bad for practically ogling him whilst he's doing his very best to keep her alive. But his black suit fits his form so well it'd be a sin not to look. She watches as he readjusts his cufflinks for the third time, the material catching around his biceps, the single button clipped across his stomach almost straining with every moment.

Yes, Joel is an insufferable bastard, but he's an unfathomably good looking one. His stoic behaviour is almost forgiven on that basis alone.

A round of applause pulls her from her Joel induced trance. She fixes her smile and joins in, nodding jovially with those around her. Not soon enough, she's free to leave the table, thanking them for their company, and heads straight for the bar. She feels Joel's presence before she sees him, perching a few seats down, eyes still wondering.

She doesn't pay much attention to the man next to her. His suit probably cost more than what most people make in a year, and his charming smile is more snake-like. She smiles when he pays for her drink, laughs and touches his arm, letting him think he has a chance. He's been talking about his most recent investment in overseas stocks for ten minutes, and all she wants is to go home and take off these fucking uncomfortable heels. To be able to breathe without the rigid dress digging into her skin. She wants to be alone, or as alone she can be with her human shadow.

"... and profits are at an all time high. My old man reckons I'll be taking over from him soon enough" The man, Matt? Mike? Manny, speaks. She flashes him a smile.

"Wow. That's amazing." Or at least she hopes it is, he could be talking about his dead childhood pet for all she knows.

"Let me buy you another drink?" He asks. Though it's more of a demand, he's already flagged down the bartender, ordering something sweet and fruity her, and a "real man's" drink for himself.

"You got the last round. I'll get these." She pretends to root around in her too-small purse knowing he'll decline, they always do. Men like him take any chance to throw their money around, wave it in peoples faces, impress the men and woo the ladies.

By the time she's ended the facade, he's waving his amex at her dismissively, nudging the drink towards her. Once again she smiles. She doesn't even want the drink, certainly not in his company.

His beady eyes watch her, a hint of something beneath the thick layer of painted on charm. That snake-like nature increases tenfold and it takes everything in her not to tip the drink down the front of his Givenchy shirt. The glass is barely in her hands when it's ripped from her hands, the familiar scent of Joel invading her space.

His face is taught, that scowl he loves so dearly gone, in its place pure rage. His eyes are dangerously dark, and she's sure if she looked hard enough, there would be smoke blowing from his ears.

It all happens so quickly. The sloshing drink flies from the glass straight into Manny's face, dripping down onto his clothes, turning his sickly white suit into a damp shade of pink. Then Joel is moving, slamming the empty glass onto the bar and gripping the terrified man by his collar.

She can feel the eyes of almost everyone at the gala trained solely on them, she almost expects the music to come to a screeching halt.

She can barely make out Joel's enraged words, despite the silent crowd. She's barely aware of his hand gripping her arm, pulling her through the parting guests. A sea of shocked faces, some sympathetic others purely confused. She stumbles on the top step, her stupid heels and Joel's insane pace working against her. The world turns upside down, and her hands reach out to brace herself, hitting his sturdy back. Even with a layer of clothing between them, she swears she can feel his bare hands across the back of her thighs, the tight muscle of his shoulder pressing against her stomach.

He's thrown her over his shoulder. Like a damned child. And now he's shoving her into the back of the car, as though she's the one that threw a tantrum and caused a scene. He rounds the car and slips in beside her, and they're speeding off back towards her apartment.

The last few minutes slowly slip from a hazy blur to a sharp reality, and she can't help but stare at him. Confusion and pure embarrassment hit her first, then comes the anger. He speaks to the driver for a second, and then the partition is rolling up again.

The car feels ten times smaller and itching of her dress is long forgotten. She wants to ask him what happened, why he dragged her out of there like an insubordinate child, but he's busy typing on his phone, making hushed calls as though a whisper wouldn't travel the few feet of space between them. His chest heaves, small tufts of hair peaking through the now open buttons of his shirt, the once neat tie hanging loosely from his collar.

He barely looks at her the whole time. Even as he helps her out of the car, or guides her into the elevator, or pushes open her front door, bolting it behind them. She throws off the heels the moment she steps into the large living room, knocking an ornament sideways. Not even that gets his attention.

"Sunshine secured." He speaks into his wrist, a small undetectable microphone hidden in one of the cufflinks. Sunshine. She remembers it like yesterday, the first time he'd called her that. She'd stumbled into the kitchen after a late night, barely acknowledging the hulking man sat at the island. She remembers the exact moment his eyes met hers with that all consuming gaze and the slight quirk of his lips as he studied her from head to toe, then in that deep texas drawl, uttered morning sunshine.

She had quickly come to learn it was not as endearing as it seemed. Joel doesn't do endearing.

There's a growing urge to throw something, at a wall or at him is still undecided, so she crosses her arms across her chest instead. She calls out his name, though it falls on deaf ears, his nose buried in that stupid phone of his. She tries again, and again until throwing something doesn't seem like such a bad idea anymore. Finally, he grants her the privilege of his attention and she considers for a moment, if that's all she wanted. Not answers, just his acknowledgement. He raises an eyebrow, his nonchalance pushing her over the edge.

"What was that?" It comes out as a high pitched shout, rather than the calm and controlled manner she had hoped.

Once again, he quirks his brow saying nothing any everything . This doesn't concern you, or are you really that stupid?

"Joel, you just threw a drink on someone and dragged me out of a room filled with hundreds of people. You would think that warrants an explanation!"

He has the nerve to huff and shake his head, shoving the buzzing phone in his pocket and takes a step towards her.

"You want an explanation." He eyes her again, focusing on the slow curve of her dress. "There was a threat. I eliminated it."

She scoffs, "You were being a dick."

"I was doing my job."

"Oh that's what it was! Your little tantrum was you doing your job?" She's aware that she's now the one throwing a tantrum, not that she cares when he's acting so high and mighty, as though the status of his role outweighs her own peace of mind.

"Go to bed." His phone buzzes again, he ignores it. "It's been a long night and I have a bunch of shit to deal with."

"Are you being serious right now? You just humiliated me in front of everyone. Was carrying me down the steps really that necessary?" If she was itching to throw something a few minutes ago, she's desperate now. Maybe her shoe, right in his face.

"He would've done a lot worse Sunshine, now go to bed." For fucks sakes.

"No! Not until you tell me what is going on."

He sighs, pinching the small bump along the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes for a moment. He does this a lot, when he's trying not to yell at her or even better still, quit his job. He shoots her a pointed look.

"If you weren't so busy flirting with your little boyfriend, you would've noticed him slipping something in your drink." His words are met with a long silence, and the space between them seems to stret even further.

The dress feels tighter, and she wobbles a little, though this time she can't blame it on the shoes. She was wrong. He hasn't humiliated her in front of everyone, he'd done it in her own home.

"Unzip me." Her voice is clipped. She's not sure if she wants to scream or cry. Maybe both. He hesitates for a moment, but then he's there right behind her pulling the zip down so torturously slowly, the soft brush of his knuckles on her skin threatening her with a shiver. She almost hates herself for it.

He steps back, but she doesn't face him. The dress slides off easily, leaving her in barely anything not that she cares. She's already humiliated herself enough, what's another notch in the belt? She gathers up the crumpled fabric, wanting nothing more than to throw it in the bin, and walks down the hall pausing at her door. She turns to him. She refuses to let him have the last word, he doesn't deserve it, not tonight. With tears already threatening her voice and Joel's beyond sour mood she's not sure she cares much either. Making sure to look directly into his eyes, she bares herself, lets him see the hurt he has caused.

"Fuck you."

She makes sure the door slams behind her, leaving him alone in the dark.

[everlasting-rainfall]

So for a request what about a Imu and Gorosei (together or separate) in the Fiction into Reality AU or Time travel AU, I think it would be a intresting concept and with the way you write I know it would be awesome, also I hope you get better l

Hey, thank you so much for this ask! Honestly oddly enough, the Gorosei are kind of comfort characters for me which probably sounds weird, but that makes me really happy to receive this request!

I don’t think anything will ever surpass Figarland Garling in terms of romantic comfort character though. The only one who’s close enough to surpassing him is probably Joyboy honestly.

Anywho, I’m starting to ramble, but I genuinely do want to thank you for sending this in so thanks a bunch! And thank you so very much for the compliment as well!

Now let’s get into it, shall we?

!-MINORS DO NOT INTERACT AT ALL-!

!-POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNINGS-!

Celestial Dragon Bullshit, Removal of Rights, Implied Mass Death, Being Accused of Cheating, Reality Changing around You, Gorosei being the Gorosei, Time Travel Stuff, Rainfall Probably Sucking at Time Travel, Forced DNA Test, Becoming Someone Else Against Your Will, Fusion

!-POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNINGS-!

!-MINORS DO NOT INTERACT AT ALL-!

I HAVE NEVER, AND WILL NEVER CONDONE THE ACTIONS OF ANY CELESTIAL DRAGON

📜-Gorosei (Fiction into Reality)-📜

Genuinely I’d like you to imagine for a second, the five Gorosei of all people coming out of the One Piece world into the real one. Imagine how absolutely horrifying that would be.

Like imagine that you were like reading the latest chapters of the manga, or watching the latest episodes. You’re pretty tired so you decide to pause it, and leave it for tomorrow.

You go to bed, and in the middle of the night, you wake up to sound. Of course you probably assume burglars, so you pick up the nearest object to use as a weapon and peek out of your room. There are five well dressed men in your living room.

They’re all absolutely gigantic too like if you don’t have high ceilings, they probably have to bend over a bit or a lot. Let’s not forget how big these old men are… Seriously… Rob Lucci is 6’11, and only comes up to Shepherd’s waist…

Anywho they’re more than likely talking about where they are, and what happened as they don’t know how they got here. I feel like the first one to notice you would probably be Ethanbaron, he spots you and points you out to the others.

Saturn probably demands you come out. If you do refuse, and lock yourself in your room out of panic then I hope you have five seconds of peace of mind. That’s how long it will take for them to get in. What door? You had a door? There’s no door anymore…

Proceed to being dragged to the living room, and now you’re being questioned by the Gorosei themselves. I feel like either Marcus or Warcury would be the ones asking most of the questions. Once everything is all figured out, and they realize that they can’t get back on their own plus you can’t send them back. Your home becomes their base of operations while they work on finding a way back to their world.

Living with the five of them definitely isn’t the best thing… They’ve completely taken over your home like Warcury straight up tells you one that all decisions about the household are to be run by him, if not all of them before they’re made…

You might think that means like “Oh the window broke? I need to talk to Warcury before I have it fixed”, and that would be ideal. But nope. You need to ask before you do literally anything…

Need to go to the store? Talk to Ethanbaron so he can set a budget, and tell you what to get. Heading to work? Talk to Warcury so he can tell you what you can’t tell your boss. Going on a walk? Talk to Marcus so he can tell you where you’re allowed to be. Gonna go for a drive? Talk to Saturn so he can join you for research about your world. Need some alone time? Talk to Shepherd so he can decide if you can have it.

Really the only things that you can do without talking to them about it first are housework, and basic human functions. It’s honestly exhausting, and you wish they would find the way home already…

It’s already bad enough that they’ve taken over your bedroom, and anytime that they demand to come with you when you go outside. You get stared at because of how tall they are, and how they won’t let you get too far away.

Like seriously, you took Shepherd shopping with you once and while he was looking at something. You wandered off thinking he was following you, the man proceeded to hunt you down and threatened to put you on a leash if you ever tried to leave him like that again.

That threat became a reality when you got too far ahead of Marcus while on a walk… The next day, you were wearing a makeshift collar with a leash attached to it…

Trying to explain that you couldn’t go out in public like this didn’t do any good. The only thing that they allowed was that you could cover it because it could be seen as very sexual.

It’s safe enough to say that living with them is an absolute nightmare half of the time. The other half is migraine inducing, but as time goes on. They almost seem to start rewarding you.

You get your bedroom back, you get the privilege of having an hour of uninterrupted alone time, Ethanbaron allows you to buy one or two things that he didn’t tell you to get.

Now this might not seem like much, but considering what you’ve been putting up with? These little rewards might as well be a dream come true…

Continue on with this life for a good long while, and you might even notice that the five of them might be trying to court you in their own subtle ways. It definitely doesn’t seem like much though.

It’s things like holding the door open for you, offering you an arm while you’re walking in public together, joining you whenever you’re indulging in something that you enjoy like a show or book or game, and listening when you talk.

It might not seem like much, but they are interested in you… For them, they can’t figure out why you aren’t noticing their advances… They’re doing things they don’t normally do…

Eventually the five of them will start to become frustrated, and even trying to show far more of this behavior in hopes that you’ll notice.

Honestly as well, they have found a way home by now… They just refuse to leave you, and are giving you a chance to come willingly…

Of course you don’t, and simply continue on with what you’re doing. Maybe even talking to someone over the internet in a romantic sense.

None of them have any idea how your phone works beyond that you use it to talk to people, and this thing called the internet. So you might be able to hide it from them for a good while.

How they’d find out? I can imagine that would go one of two ways…

One is that Ethanbaron tracks you down when you’re gone longer than allowed from the home which causes to be caught. I’d hope that you aren’t kissing the other person either… Immediate death…

Or the other is Saturn reads your messages on the screen while sitting next to you. All he needs to see is one hint of romance, and you’ve got a pissed off Ushi Oni who is demanding you explain…

Either way though, a meeting is called and you feel like you’re being interrogated for a horrific crime. They’re demanding every single detail about this person.

You can try to lie, but I don’t think it’d work in all honesty… You’d have an easier time achieving world peace than lying to the Gorosei…

Once they have sufficient information, one of them will remain behind. I can imagine it might be Warcury to ensure that you go absolutely nowhere. Meanwhile the other four leave the home.

Proceed to a breaking news broadcast about the four others wreaking absolute havoc on the area where you claimed the person lived. They’re describing it as a real life Godzilla or Cloverfield movie as they show no mercy.

You can try to plead with Warcury to get the others to stop, but he isn’t listening. Telling you that you’ve brought this on yourself for committing adultery, now you must watch.

”Adultery? We aren’t married!” “Enough of this nonsense… Yes, we are… Nothing you say can change that…”

So you’re forced to watch this news broadcast, Warcury might attempt to provide comfort if you begin to cry. But it’s probably just a hand on your shoulder, or forcing you onto his lap.

Either way, you’re still forced to watch until it’s all over. The four leave, and return home now that they’re sure they got the person.

The television will be turned off, and they’ll probably talk for a bit before it’s time to go. You’ll be dragged through the television with them into the One Piece world. Your body changing, and warping to fit the One Piece art style.

There’s no way back now, and as you sit in the room of authority with your partners. You’ll watch as the One Piece world changes things to make you fit in, your outfit changes and five different rings appear on your finger.

None of them will come off, no matter how hard you try. And you’ll soon notice as well that each of the five has a matching ring to go with one of the rings on your finger.

For example. If a ring has gemstones formed to look like a wing pointing right, Marcus has the same ring but the gemstones are a different color and the wing is pointing left.

The five of them will be pleased as they know that there’s likely no chance for you to escape. They were just in the room of authority doing average everyday things for them when they got transported.

So unless the same thing happens to you which they honestly doubt it will. You’ll be here forever, and there’s nothing that these old men like more…

I’d honestly recommend that instead of thinking of a way to escape, you should start bracing yourself…. With the way they’re looking at you, it’s safe enough to say that punishment is imminent for your “adultery”…

🖤-Imu (Time Travel AU)-🖤

So there is actually a good few ways that Time Travel AU can go, as I play around with it quite a bit in my head. You travel back to the actual One Piece world, you travel back to some kind of warped caveman or some other warped time period version of the One Piece world, or the first one but the character follows you back to the future and won’t leave.

For conveniences sake, let’s say it’s the first one. Now let’s get into it for real.

So let’s say that you’re someone who’s been working on building an actual real life Time Machine. You finish it, you test it with like a random object or something, it works! Now why not try it out yourself?

When you do, you wind up in Marie Geoise. You’ve never read anything about this sort of thing in the history books, so you start looking around at everything and documenting what you can.

Maybe you run into a problem with a few Celestial Dragons who think that you’re someone’s slave. Proceed to what’s probably the biggest headache of your life dealing with these guys…

Celestial Dragons being Celestial Dragons will probably try to punish and/or kill you for disrespect. And of course, it’s very much an “Oh fuck…” moment with you trying to reach for your return to the present device.

Don’t worry though! Because before anything can happen, you’re suddenly being arrested… These people are far from gentle with you as they drag you off.

Proceed to having all of your items confiscated especially whatever item you could have used to return to present day. Once you’ve been sufficiently searched, the interrogation begins.

Who are you? Where did you come from? How did you get here? How long have you been here? What was your intention in coming here? All sorts of stuff like that…

But then there are the weirder questions… Are you a natural (hair color)? Do you wear contacts, or have modified your eyes in some way? Do you have a birthmark in this specific shape? Do you enjoy wearing clothes of this style? If I say butterfly, what do you think of?

You might feel like you’re being watched during this interrogation as well, and not by the people with you. Trying to ask if they feel the same thing gets you nowhere as you’re simply told to quiet down, and answer the questions.

Once the questions have finally ended, they take a few things from you… They cut your hair, they make you fill a tube with saliva, they take some blood from you, they even have you bite something to leave an imprint of your teeth…

And then you’re left alone in the interrogation room for an incredibly long amount of time… They do feed and water you, but that’s really it.

You might think that this is a prison sentence, but you’re just being held while they check your DNA… If it doesn’t have the results they’re looking for, they’ll dispose of you.

But when it does result in you having a match with the other person. That’s when they’ll come back to you, they’ll haul you off somewhere but much gentler this time.

You’re brought to a restricted area, and you’re left in a room with a lot of greenery. There are a few butterflies going about, and some flowers. Alongside a sword in the floor.

What you don’t notice at first is the dark shadowy figure watching your every move. Bright red eyes watching how you do every single little thing from sneezing to just turning your head.

This is Imu, and they’re conducting their own personal test to see you’re really who they think you are… So far, you’re passing…

You’ll start to feel that same feeling of being watched so you’ll look, and finally spot Imu. Of course, you have the only normal reaction to seeing Imu… Fear…

And honestly the way that you react to them is all that Imu needs to see to know that it’s you. They’ll come close to you, and reach out a covered hand to almost lovingly caress the side of your face.

They’ll touch their forehead to yours in contentment, and welcome you home in their own scary Imu way.

Proceed to living with Imu, and them refusing to let you out of their sight for even a moment… It’s downright unnerving especially when they watch you do simple mundane tasks like you’re a movie or television show…

Imu blames your behavior towards them on memory loss so they’ll do their best to remind you. Recreating moments the two of you shared, allowing their skin to touch yours in hopes that’ll bring some memories, occasionally speaking to you.

They’re honestly doing more right now than they ever have when it comes to you. Imu believes that they’ve already lost you, and they’re not intending to have lost you for even a moment longer. They intend to do whatever it takes to remind you of who you are.

From telling you about “yourself” to far more extreme things. Did Imu have an island wiped from existence before they seemingly lost things? Imu will find a reason to wipe out another to hopefully click something in your head…

The entire time that this is going on, you’re likely trying to find a way back to your own time. You can try to ask Imu for your things back, but I’m unsure if Imu will let you have them.

Can you use them to leave them? What are they for? Why do you want them so bad?

Your relationship did start off quite rocky in the beginning with you being terrified of Imu until Stockholm Syndrome set in… “They could use these items to leave me forever this time” is what Imu tells themselves… So no… You can’t have your things back…

And just for good measure! Imu has them destroyed!

So now that your way back to the present no longer works, time is all out of whack for you… You’ll become sick as time destabilizes for you, and it tries to figure out what to do with you…

You’ll look and feel like you’re at deaths door until time figures things out, you won’t die but Imu will be convinced that you are going to.

Imu will probably pull Saturn away from his duties as a member of the Gorosei to identify what’s wrong with you, and hopefully fix you. Of course, he can’t figure it out.

This is the most stressed that Imu has ever been, and it shows… Saturn’s inability to fix you is stressing, and angering them… If Saturn wasn’t so useful, and also your one chance at survival then Imu might off him out of sheer frustration…

Imu doesn’t leave your side for even a minute during this either. Does Imu need to sit on the throne, and address the Gorosei? Not now… They can wait, and if it’s really important then they can come here…

Imagine the visual of that scene where the Gorosei bow to Imu as they sit on the throne, but instead Imu is sitting on a bed with you.

Eventually though, your illness passes when time finally figures out what to do with you. You rapidly recover, and Imu is so happy that they could kiss Saturn. They won’t, but they could…

As you can probably guess, the reason that you’re recovering is because time has decided what to do with you. It’s decided to completely cement you into this time, and turn you into the person Imu thinks you are.

Where Imu is so happy to see you picking up old habits of yours, you couldn’t feel more horrified as everything is changing. You can’t stop it either.

Imu simply thinks that you’re recovering from your memory loss finally.

They watch in absolute joy at how you’re picking up mannerisms that they claim you used to have, you start to want dress in the clothes that you apparently used to wear, all that sort of stuff.

If you realize as well what’s going on with you, there’s probably only way to fix it which is going back to your own time. Which can only be achieved by telling this terrifying being the truth.

So you work up the courage, ask Imu to talk, and once you’re sitting down with them. You’ll try to explain everything.

It’s definitely no surprise that Imu likely doesn’t believe you…

But if they do? I can imagine that Imu reaches for you, takes your hands, and looks directly into your eyes. You can probably feel your soul getting sucked out the more that they stare until they speak…

“You may not be them… But with your explanation, you will be soon… And I shall have them back…”

Imu doesn’t care at all as if time is truly cementing you here, and turning you into their partner. That’s just a blessing in Imu’s opinion.

Whatever took Imu’s S/O in the first place is being wiped away by time as it does what it thinks is best. It’s making it so that you become Imu’s S/O.

Was there some sort of memorial, or wanted poster out there for Imu’s S/O? There isn’t now… It completely disappears…

With you being turned into said S/O, there’s no reason for that to exist. And if the S/O is still out there somewhere? Time might just fuse you together, and let you melt completely into one person.

Freaky, I know. But it’s the only explanation I have.

During this time as well, your memories might even start to be altered as well. The present will become harder and harder to remember as they’re all replaced with memories of your time with Imu.

A memory about relaxing on the couch, and watching a movie? Now it’s a memory about lounging on the couch with your head in Imu’s lap as they play with your hair.

Imu will watch as you try to fight these changing memories, and remind yourself of who you truly are. If you make any reminders then Imu will personally dispose of them.

They probably wont be too aggressive with you during this time honestly… They know that you’ll be “back to normal” soon, and everything will be exactly how it should be…

Imu gets their sweet dear S/O back. All they have to do is comfort you, and prevent you from making this take any longer than it needs to.

All will be well soon… At least in Imu’s opinion…

[unhonestlymirror]

This scene genuinely left me speechless. Imagine that your mom was murdered before your eyes, and now you have to live with a step-sister who's doing her best at making you happier and protecting you even from her own mom. Yes, your step-mom is a bit of a heartless bitch, although I believe there were plenty of ways to make her stand on your side if I were Lisa, it just required a little bit of talking and simple psychology, although Lisa is good in neither of them. Lisa is also not very close to her father either, at least, through her eyes, we see him as a completely careless and passive person (although he's actually not like this).

However, Lisa is relatively close to Taffy.

How can she throw Taffy's mom's corpse like this and look at it like this and don't have Taffy's face before her eyes? How can she smile like this when she herself lost her mom, who was murdered?

Even if Taffy's mom was a complete monster (although my mom, when she's really angry, can say even more horrible things, and then apologise for that later because "she was not herself", so idk, angry moms often say one thing and do another, you shouldn't take it close to the heart.) Although, Taffy's mom wasn't a complete monster, objectively. I really appreciate how the movie makes us see her as a villainness that deserves to be punished - but, in fact, she's not. Asking a teen who broke a mirror on purpose being drunk af to clean the bathroom - how is that a punishment? In my family, cleaning after yourself is a normal thing to do. In my family, my dad whom I love very much and who never raised a hand on me, would actually slap me in the face several times if I came back home high and drunk. I guess it's a normal thing to feel when your child comes back home high, drunk and probably raped.

Those words about Lisa's job were truly heartless (although we still don't know the full context and the rules within this family, e.g., they may pay for all the life-studies needs of Lisa but for everything else, like unnecessary stuff, Lisa may pay all by herself, which is also objectively not a bad thing.)

The Taffy's mom & Lisa interactions are based on complete misunderstandings and the lack of desire to talk with each other and listen to each other - which eventually led to the tragedy. But still, about the Creature - who the fuck do you think you are to believe you can fix this family's problems with murder of their fucking mom? who is clearly not in her mind while having a severe mental breakdown and yelling those horrible things? Arguments like that are being solved through calming down -> some tea -> talking - NOT FUCKING VIOLENCE AND MURDER. Taffy's mom would be a monster if she never come to Lisa's room but just straight up went to the phone and called for the orderlies from the mental hospital. Although, I don't think in the US a minor can be placed there without the agreement of both parents at least???

Any family, even the healthiest one, still requires a lot of effort put in it. Families which are being sewed together due to someone's death require even more effort. It is always a long way of tears, screams, hurtful words, neglect and misunderstandings - but it's worth it. And it never, NEVER becomes better if you apply more violence, it only makes things worse.

And when Lisa didn't seem even a little upset after Creature cut off Taffy's mom's ear - it made me so disappointed. It's like if Taffy never existed before. It's like if Taffy never had any place in Lisa's heart. I believe a human with a heart would have never reacted like Lisa did. Moreover, Lisa doesn't think at all about what her dad will feel after losing his second wife due to murder.

I turned off the movie for a while after this, and I've cried a lot. I don't understand it. As a Ukrainian refugee who saw death - I don't understand it. I don't even want to understand it, this is so heartless and inhuman. When you experience death - even the death of people whom you really hate puts you into grief - because those terrible people still had a chance to become better - but now they never will. They never will! Cause they were murdered! They are dead!! Do you even understand what death means?!

And then Lisa sees Taffy, who just lost her mom, with that guy - and she still doesn't have any regrets in her mind. Honestly, fuck this shit. Lisa is a bitch who doesn't give a single fuck about her close ones, and Creature is a good match for her.

[disabled-dragoon]

You don't have to answer this ask if you don't want to but I kinda need advice and I do not know where to start.

This is going to be a long vent I am so sorry.

I'm a minor and I have chronic pain. When I was young I was always told I had hyper mobility because my dad has it (that was a lie). I was also told that it was untreatable, incurable and I could do nothing but live my life in pain (again a lie).

A few years ago I started spiraling down disability/mobility aid youtube, because I was in so much pain and I could barely walk. Which made me have to stop ballet, and that made some of it better.

Anyways, a few months ago I went to my physiotherapist and mentioned my hyper mobility. She said I didn't have it, and did the exam on me. She also said that my chronic pain came from not sporting enough (i stopped sporting because of my pain.)

Either way that kinda broke me, because there was no explanation for anything and I was still in pain. So I went to my local doctor and she said I probably have fibromyalgia and she said I should go to a special physiotherapy (I have school and exams and I said I'll do it after I finish high school, she thought that was a good plan).

But yeah, I am still in pain right now. And I kinda want mobility aids because there are days I can barely walk. I discussed this with my mum, and she kinda doesn't know what to do with it. I just want to go to the doctor and ask them, but I don't know how to convince her.

My dad is apparently anti-mobility aids, and he also said he lied about being hyper mobile. He says he has this unnamed thing going on, and that I should do the thing his physiotherapist told him to do, like 30 years ago. For a disorder that didn't exist back then and he doesn't know anything about. As in, he doesn't even know -what- condition he has.

Oh his advice btw was to not try to find external help, but fixing it myself because that's the only way to get rid of the pain.

I'm so pissed off about it, but I know talking to him wouldn't help (he's kinda bad dad like that).

I just feel sick because of the pain and I don't know what to do. It really sucks it really really sucks.

I don't know if you can give any advice or anything at all, but anything would be appreciated.

- 💚

I don't know if there is much advice that I can give you in this situation, unfortunately. My fear is possibly making the situation worse for you, and I do not wish to do that.

I'm so sorry you've had to go through all of this. It sounds awful, but it's good to see that you are trying to take steps to make things better, however difficult they may be at the moment.

That first physiotherapist was ridiculous, good on you for getting a second opinion. Waiting for physiotherapy isn't ideal, but I'm glad you have the option for the future and I really hope it helps you. You should never do exercise beyond your comfort levels, however, if you want to look into some light physio-like exercises while you're waiting to see if helps at all, I have some links here that may be useful to check out:

Justin Agustin: A fitness influencer who does a lot of videos on "beginner workouts" and gentle exercises to help with mobility. Actually, all of the exercises in this video are exercises that I have done in my own physio at some point.

Alycia Klein: This woman has the same condition that I do- Hereditary Spastic Paraplegia- and posts videos about exercises and stretches to help with muscle spasticity and pain. I know it is not the same, but it could be of some use to browse. She is actually mentioned on the official Spastic Paraplegia Foundation website as a reputable resource.

Gentle Chair Yoga: Yes we're all sick of the "have you tried yoga" comments, but hear me out on this! Chair exercise can be incredibly beneficial for those of us who simply cannot stand long enough for much else. And this video, though 9 years old, is created by the Canadian LEAP service.

None of these resources are substitutes for actual medical advice, of course, and you should never try and push yourself beyond your limits if you do try them, but I am putting them here in case you decide to look into them.

In terms of mobility aids, other than sitting your mother down and discussing it with her, I do not have much advice here. I would recommend doing some research into exactly what type of mobility aid may be best for you, and, if possible, having a trusted adult and/or acquaintance in the room with you while you talk to her. It can make the discussion easier, should you choose to do it. Also, sometimes it can be easier if a professional- such as a teacher- brings the issue up with them first so you don't have to be the one to broach the subject first.

You're going through a difficult time and it's easy to start to feel like no one is listening to you. But that's not true, and you always have a space here to vent or seek advice if you ever need it.

Take care, anon.

[hedgehogsaretheultimatelifeform]

Kinktober 2022

Day Twelve: Exhibitionism

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Gary ‘Roach’ Sanderson x John ‘Soap’ McTavish x John Price

This is NSFW, Minors DNI.

Thank you.

The meeting was supposed to have started half an hour ago. Ghost and Roach had arrived on time, but after ten minutes decided to make use of the spare time the lateness was causing. Within what felt like seconds on him agreeing to it, Roach had been stripped down and shoved back onto the table, which was just at the right height for Ghost to fuck his ass.

Roach’s hands were grabbing at Ghost’s wrists uselessly; Ghost’s grip on Roach’s hips was as tight as ever and staying that way until he chose to move it, grabbing one of Roach’s legs and lifting it up, pushing it towards Roach’s chest, making Roach scream. His cock was twitching, precum beading at the tip, when Ghost started fucking him hard again. Each thrust pushed Roach closer to the edge, closer to him pleading, as it got harder and harder to not beg for release. When Ghost groaned over him, panting heavily, Roach thought he’d stuck it out, and Ghost was going to wrap his hand around Roach’s cock, make him cum and then make himself cum in Roach’s ass. Then, the door opened, and Soap walked in.

“Ghost.”

“Hey Soap.” Ghost’s thrusts slowed to a more leisurely pace, certainly good, but not enough to get Roach to cum, making him whine as Ghost rubbed soothing circles over his hip.

“Roach.” Soap was looking down at him now, carefully setting his files aside.

“Hey.” Roach squeezed his ass around Ghost’s dick, earning him a rough grip on his thigh.

“You could at least let him come, Ghost.”

“But he takes being edged so well.”

“I know, but we still need to get on. Don’t we Roach?” Soap leaned over Roach, searching his face for an answer.

“Yes sir.” Roach’s gaze went back to Ghost, who nodded, pinned Roach’s hips to the table and started fucking him harder again.

Roach groaned, his back arching up despite Ghost’s restraint. He was struggling to keep his eyes open as his previous view of an unremarkable office ceiling was now disrupted by Soap’s face, who’s eyes were taking in every piece of Roach’s body, even as he continued talking to Ghost, something about the intel from Amsterdam. Roach was too far gone to give a fuck, especially when Ghost’s hand went around his cock, the few strokes being all Roach needed to cry out, his cum spreading from his chest all down his body, and covering Ghost’s hand.

“I’m here.”

“Hey Price.” Ghost and Soap answered at the same time, neither looking away from Roach as Ghost thrust a few more times into Roach’s begging ass, coming inside with a heavy groan.

Price joined Soap in Roach’s view, gazing over his body as he set his tea aside. “You enjoying yourself there?”

Roach nodded.

Price tilted his head slightly. “What was that, lad?”

“Yes, sir.” Roach swallowed.

“Good.” Price glanced up to Ghost and Soap. “Are we getting started or delaying for him?”

“I think we’re good to start.” Ghost pulled his dick out of Roach, who whimpered, then yelped as Ghost dragged him off the table, leaning against it himself as he put Roach on his knees. “Clean me off.”

Roach obliged, licking Ghost’s cum off his dick, swallowing the salty taste as Price and Soap walked around to be facing Ghost.

“So? What fuck up are we fixing?”

“Should be simple. We’re sending a light squad, clear the place, secure the intel for our American friends, they give us a ride out.” Price was holding something out, probably a photo, it was out of Roach’s sight as he took Ghost’s dick in his mouth.

“Right, because the Americans do simple operations.” Soap muttered.

“Most of it is classified, so we aren’t going to know anything. Just, go and get.”

“Why can’t they do it themselves?” Ghost brushed his hand over Roach’s head, settling it on the back of his neck.

“Host nation isn’t exactly friendly with the US.”

“Hardly friendly with us either.” Ghost’s voice was getting low again, because he was getting hard in Roach’s mouth. Roach cupped Ghost’s balls, only thinking about getting Ghost to cum in his mouth this time.

“But we won’t get caught, because we’re actually fucking competent. Right?” Soap sighed.

“Something like that.” Price glanced down. “You think he’s getting any of this?”

Ghost pushed Roach’s head back, another whine leaving Roach’s mouth. “Nope. I’ll catch him up later.”

“Good.” Price nodded. “Soap?”

“All sounds simple enough. May we?” Soap glanced at Ghost, who chuckled.

“Roach.” Ghost tilted his head back again. “You want Price and Soap to have a turn with you?”

Roach nodded eagerly.

“He’s all yours.” Ghost stroked the back of Roach’s neck one last time, then stepped away from him as Price and Soap each grabbed one of Roach’s arms. They pulled him up onto the table again, this time on his front, his cum sticky between his skin and the wood.

“Fucking hell, look at that,” Soap whistled, pushing Roach’s ass open to watch Ghost’s cum drip out of his asshole. “So full he’s leaking.”

Price chuckled, turning Roach’s head to one side, leaning over him. “His mouth isn’t.”

Soap laughed, and both men’s touch disappeared from Roach’s body as they went to strip, Ghost leaning into his vision instead.

“I’m going to sit just here, right? You keep your eyes on me, got it?”

“Got it.” Roach mumbled, meeting Ghost’s eyes as he sat down, fully hard again, ready to enjoy the show in front of him.

[kai-and-their-mess]

Please Don't Go

Astronaut Mafuyu x Angel Mizuki

warnings for: heavy angst, character death, tragedy, ambigous endings cuz wow im bad at conclusions, and probably poor grammar. this is beta read but not edited to fix anything my beta pointed out to me.

intro: transfem Mizuki, transmasc Mafuyu. Fuyu and Yuki mostly used as names for Mafuyu. transmasc Shiho cuz cmon, have you seen? shiho? ever? thats a boy. prompt taken from @probably-not-niigo Link to the original post found here. the last time i wrote for public consumption was years ago so if POV is sloppy or nothing is capitalized or some of the sentence structure is strange: no it isnt 💕

THIS HAS TWO ENDINGS. neither of which are strictly happy, but one is bittersweet cuz i couldnt finish this until i came up with a "happier" ending.

There wasn't a single doubt in his mind that this was dangerous, sadly past trauma meant that Yuki was the only one 'brave' enough to do this. as the crew flew around in their ship, they had gotten a notification that there some damage to the exterior. Fuyu, who isn't at all the engineer, was on his way to see the damage. the actual engineer, some dude named Shiho, refused to fix the issue unless he knew more about what was wrong.

Fuyu understood his hesitation. they were passing by an asteroid storm right now. but they didn't know how bad the damage was, and they couldn't see it on any of the cameras either. the crew had no clue how bad it was and that's why they were sending Yuki out. if it was minor, they would wait until it was safer to fix it, if it was major, Shiho would take the tools he needed and fix it as fast as he could.

But they wouldn't know unless someone went to look. so Fuyu put on his spacesuit, double and triple checked the oxygen tank and once the necessary safety gear was attached, he was ready to head out. "Again, be fast but be safe, we'll be able to communicate through the walkie installed in the suit, if anything goes wrong, we'll pull you in fast as we can. just…. stay safe, be aware of your surroundings" Shiho rambles to Yuki, worry in his voice as Yuki silently nods along.

"I'll be quick, don't worry." Fuyu speaks aloud to reassure Shiho but also for himself. something in his gut just told him he shouldn't go out there, but he didn't really have much of a choice. resolve firmed Yuki steps forward into the airlock. the first door closing behind him as he does. he feels what he can only assume is a wave of anxiety wash over him as he stares at the second door, the vastness of space behind it.

when Fuyu first became an astronaut, it was because of his fascination with the stars, the way that it was so empty yet so full of life, energy. it was, literally, as far away from his mom as he could possibly be. but it was also so fulfilling, so fun. so why then was all that magic and joy missing? why was there anxiety in his gut? where was that usual excitement? Yuki found himself suddenly…unwilling.

he shakes his head. it's just a quick trip to check the hull and then right back inside. not giving himself more room to procrastinate he presses the airlock button and the door in front of him slowly starts to open. one hand firmly on his tether he works his way outside, maneuvering carefully to the area that's damaged. it wasn't super bad outside. the asteroids weren't too close to him, it felt safe this close to the ship but still he made sure to keep an eye out just in case.

meanwhile, out of sight a young angel watches, brows furrowed with concern, stress. she had hoped and done her best to send warnings but still Yuki had left the ship. Mizuki was beside herself. she had been put in charge of Yuki, she considered herself his guardian angel despite her having yet to pass the test to officially become a guardian. she was an observer right now. her job was to just watch, not intervene.

but she had… "borrowed" Yuki's book from his real guardian angel and knowing what she knew, how could she just watch? Yuki was going to die. it said so in the book. the book described every event from Yuki's life right down to when and how he brushed his teeth, there was a few possibilities for each choice he could make. but there was no avoiding this. there was no possibility of Yuki surviving this. once he stepped out his fate was as good as sealed.

but Mizuki couldn't accept that. she tried everything. even going as far as to try and influence his feelings. it didn't stop him, but it did alter the book. she groaned, watching closely as Yuki floated. part of her still hoped it wouldn't happen, but she knew that wasn't the case. helpless, she watched the young man, putting all her hopes into her heart Mizuki found herself passively wishing that she'd birth a miracle, right here, right now as she wandered off. things to do, places to see.

for Yuki, nothing had felt different, he was focused on his task, and almost to the damaged spot too. after a few more moments it comes into view. an asteroid had struck, not a big one, it seemed, but it had exposed some wiring on the side of the ship. Yuki presses a button on his collar and speaks "hey. I'm at the damage site. a small asteroid must have hit us, there's a panel missing, and some wiring exposed." there's a pause before Shiho's voice filters through the walkie.

"Got it. we can fix that once we're out of this asteroid storm. return to us." Yuki nods, though no one's around to see it and starts to follow the tether back. when he's about halfway there the ship shakes violently, bumping into Yuki, who stayed close to the hull, and sending him away from the ship. Yuki closes his eyes when the ship first shakes, gripping onto the tether the whole time. he slowly opens his eyes to see darkness.

the ship seems almost impossibly far. Yuki tugs on his tether and it goes taunt. whatever hit the ship sent him to the limits of his tether, he'd have to be careful. he pushes the button on his collar again "hey, what happened? are you guys okay? is the ship okay?" it takes a few moments for anyone to answer so while he waits Fuyu starts carefully guiding himself back to the other end of the tether.

to his relief the speaker on the walkie talkie sparks to life and a voice is heard "Yuki? good to hear your voice. the ship was hit by an asteroid, it knocked us off course but we're all safe. there's major damage to the hull now though… I'm going to have to try and fix that if we want to make it to our destination safely." Shiho's voice is hard to hear over the alarm in the background, there's others talking in the background. everyone must be worried.

"I'm on my way back" Yuki responds simply. "Stay safe" Shiho's response is short but it feels warm. sighing, Yuki starts on his way again, the ship growing closer as he moves. it feels like quicksand today, almost like space doesn't want to let him go. he does his best to move fast but it's hard to do so when you have no means of propelling yourself forward. Yuki isn't sure how long it takes before he's close to the ship but it feels like an hour.

it's probably been closer to 20 minutes. all of a sudden something out of the corner of his eye makes him freeze. eyes wide, heart stopped. slowly, his hand comes up to his collar and he presses the button "Shiho…. I... I don't think I can get back" it was moving too fast. the asteroid. He knew that if it was this close, there wasn't a thing he could do to avoid it. he hears Shiho respond. kind of. he definitely heard Shiho's voice, but the words were lost on him.

fear gripping his heart Yuki closes his eyes. he's never felt so scared so suddenly. he feels the asteroid more than anything, a perverse feeling of heat and cold consumes Fuyu. if this is what death is like at least its fast. after what feels like a lifetime the feeling leaves him. he slowly opens his eyes and is greeted by the darkness of space. distant stars shine in somewhere far off, but instead of relief at being alive all Yuki can process is dread.

the tether is cut. the tether is cut, and among all those stars, glittering and sparkling in this distance, is his ship. too far to reach, especially at the full mercy of space. not knowing what else to do. he laughs. it's a pain-stricken sound, gasping, sobbing, heart wrenching. all those times he thought 'I want to die' all those times he thought 'I want to disappear' he never could have imagined it would end like this.

he doesn't know how long he cries for, or how much time passed between his last contact. but like a fever dream, Shiho's voice is heard. panic and worry clear in the man's tone. "Yuki, Yuki! respond! fuck, say something!!! shit!" another laugh bubbles up, it's just so. funny. taking a breath, he steadies his breathing as much as he can before radioing in. "I'm… still here" a loud sigh is heard, and Yuki does his best to ground himself.

he'll need to be able to think if he wants to try and make it back. "I'm…sorry Yuki. we can't turn to come get you until I fix the hull. you should have about an hour of oxygen in the tank. I'm already on my way to fix it." Yuki chuckles, against his will. "No… I won't… the tether broke. you guys won't be able to find me." the line goes silent before Shiho responds again. It almost sounds like he's crying. "I'm…. really, really sorry, Yuki." Fuyu nods, it's no one's fault.

"One last request. Shiho... can you say to me; 'Mafuyu, you did a good job here.' and then…. can you disconnect my walkie from our closed circuit..?" It had been years since he so much as thought of his deadname, but he needed this. there's a long sigh from the other end of the line, but Shiho reluctantly complies. "Mafuyu, you did a good job here." there's a small pause as Shiho inhales, having more to say. "Thank you for your bravery, for everything you've done during this voyage. you'll be remembered with the highest honors…. captain and engineer Shiho Hinomori signing off" Fuyu whispers a small barely audible 'thank you' as the line goes dead for the last time.

it may have seemed cold or callused to just disconnect like that, but Shiho was the only other realist on the crew. he wouldn't try and comfort Yuki with false empty promises and reassurances. they both knew the odds of being able to get back the ship was really low, there was no point trying to deny that. but at lease he could have a bit of comfort as he accepts his fate. not having anything else today he 'lays down'.

letting himself just float in the nothingness of space. his face still wet with tears, unable to dry because of the space suit. Yuki finds himself wondering if, somehow, his mom knew something like this would happen. it makes him laugh a little, it's a dry, melancholy sound. his headaches a little. he's not sure if it's from the fit of hysterics or from lack of oxygen.

the stars become too painful after a few moments, their freedom and ability to thrive in this situation feeling almost mocking. he closes his eyes, waiting. for what? he's not sure. but maybe, for once, he'd be able to imagine. just an alternate world where things went right, where he didn't get lost in space. where he found happiness and love and just lived a boring life in a house he owned.

that's when he hears it. a voice as sweet as kittens, singing with power and intensity to rival the gets used to get him into space. the song is soothing, though he has no clue what language it is. it's comforting, warmth blooms slowly in his gut and creeps through his body. taking a deep breath, he opens his eyes. floating there, inches from his face was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on.

the sight of her alone was enough to steal his breath away, mesmerized by her. she had long pink hair that, to him, seemed to trail off into infinity, her body glowed with a soft light. she wore this milky pink colored dress that hugged her torso and ended with a frilly skirt. from her back sprouted a pair of huge wings, seeming to have glitter woven into the white feathers. Yuki didn't dare move, what if she was just a hallucination? what if interacting with her meant doom for him? not wanting to be alone again he stayed still and listened to her sing.

when her song was finished, she opened her eyes to reveal pink, glittering orbs that bore into him with a look of affection? or maybe admiration? "it's such a pleasure to meet you" the girl speaks, startling Fuyu out of his stupor. "My name is Mizuki, I'm... here to keep you company." for a while, Yuki says nothing. he only speaks when the smile starts to slip of Mizukis face, for some reason, he doesn't want her to be sad.

"Am…I going to die out here?" the question surprises even him. Mizuki hesitates for a long while, her voice tinged with sadness as she speaks.

"that's… what's fated, yes. but! I'm an angel!" she states this fact proudly, and for a moment Yuki feels a bit of hope. but. there's no way she's real. it's just a comforting hallucination in his last moments. there's no way angels could possibly be real. but he would humor this hallucination.

"So, you're going to save me?" Mizuki knew deep down that she shouldn't. she couldn't. not without offering up something in exchange. but the price would be so steep. she couldn't waste too much time, though. the longer she took the less time they had. but what could she do to save him? what could she give that would be enough to repay her disobedience?

"I…." her voice is hesitant. she has about less than 30 minutes. "I… yes. I'm here to save you" she smiles, her voice becoming more sure as she speaks- "I'm here to save you, Yuki. don't worry. help will come. until then, I'll sit with you." Mafuyu stares at her, not sure if she was being honest or not.

hell, he wasn't even sure if she was fucking real. this whole thing- it was insane. but hey, it was the end of his world. so, what the hell? letting out a soft sigh he reaches out to grasp at her hand. "Please don't go" he speaks. not sure if she can even hear him through his space suit. regardless, she grabs his hand and holds it tightly in both of hers. he watches as Mizuki closes her eyes again, singing another song. warmth envelopes Yuki once more and he smiles.

(Here is where the ending splits!!! You can stop here if youd prefer for this to be the canon ending. as for the actual endings themselves you can find ending one here and ending two here hope you enjoy!)

[valeriefauxnom]

Ah, Doomsday Getaway. Probably quite a few people's favorite events, for the combination of music, story, etc, even if the freebie ultimately ended up a wash for quality.

But amid all the things going on, I just found this exchange a little bit funny even if what's being discussed isn't.

Everyone else has largely been crossing their arms and going 'nu-uh' to Carmen's claim and refusing to play the game.

Elisanne, though, quickly decides to start playing for the worst-case scenario that Carmen's words are 100% true, and then starts eyeing to try and set up a mass-murder/suicide scheme with Ranzal to force the game to end up with Euden as 'winner' since, well, it's pretty obvious Euden wouldn't play the game if his life depended on it (literally). As an aside, Elisanne definitely chose her prospective partner-in-crime well, as among the main 5, Ranzal as the more gritty, realistic, 'willing to get dirty for the boss' is probably the most likely to agree to do such a thing.

Ironically, even if they did team up to do this and pulled it off, Euden would then likely be the only one to die or otherwise suffer a horrible fate with the whole 'psyche, would-be winner, d'ya want to bite the bullet to resurrect all your pals' twist thrown in last minute. Funnily enough, though, this is probably like the singular time Euden expresses any hesitation at the notion of sacrificing himself for everyone:

However, I'll throw in a bit of a wrinkle to that initial scene. While that first scene ends with Ranzal's comment and is only implied what Elisanne was proposing it does return for a brief part in the next scene in more explicit terms.

...However (part 2), this scene turns around into this:

...which quickly is simply revealed to be just a nightmare Euden was having.

This is a minor conspiracy theory, but if Euden was dreaming that last part, was maybe the first part ALSO a dream?

Was Euden maybe fearing somewhere deep in his mind, that his friends were secretly starting to plot the murders of everyone besides him given their protectiveness? I might also point to the fact that Dream!Amane being able to guess so accurately what had happened the night before without actually knowing what they were discussing.

It just feels a bit too convenient, especially combined with Dream!Euden immediately being able to start 'taking action' and gaining a presence in the dream right after it seems like it might be too late, the kind of 'helpless nightmares' that a lot of people have. It also seems like the kind of nightmare he would have, as between actual events like Fractured Futures where he's helpless and forced to watch a Zethia die, to his overall character of 'having to save everyone/do everything' tendencies, I'm thinking Euden really doesn't like being caught feeling helpless to fix things.

Admittedly, I don't really have evidence either way, nor is it very important to the broader story. It's entirely possible that the first initial conversation with Ranzal actually happened, Euden overheard somehow, and then had nightmares of the second. The one piece of evidence to suggest part one happened is this tidbit, which implicates there was at least one time where the two of them were talking alone about something:

Even then, they might have had a private conversation wherein the trusting curse was triggered (since what we saw of that conversation, it wasn't triggered) that Euden saw but didn't hear, later had a nightmare imagining what was going on and then had Nightmare the Sequel later with Amane and Elisanne, trying to re-contextualize the nightmare with Ranzal dead instead of everyone else around them dropping.

So yeah, minor, inconsequential food for thought. With the cliffhanger at the end, though, I do wonder if they were plotting a sequel-style event or other followup later on. Wonder what that would've been like!

[moodymisty]

« How does one tempt a Marshall Commander? »

Author's Note: This was stuck in stasis for so long I almost dumped it. I hope it was worth the effort lol

Summary: What would it take for Cody to stop being such a stickler for the rules?

Relationships: Commander Cody/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Lingerie, Oral(Female receiving), Teasing, A bit of a strip tease, Foreplay, Biting, Hickies

Word count: 7056

Ao3 Link

You almost never get to see Cody.

And in the rare times you do it feels like a split second; Rushed and frantic trying to get as much as you could before he was torn away from you again.

You'd just hauled him in here for a kiss, which had turned from being a sweet peck to reddened and swollen lips.

You brush your hair from your face, giving a breathy laugh as Cody leaves a trail of soft kisses up your neck. The room was small, just enough room for some desks and the both of you; The air sticky and stuffy. The cooling unit for this one must be turned off, since no ones seemed to have used it for a decent while. You remember something he’d said and bring it up once more, as his lips tease your skin.

"You’re really not able to?"

You could feel his head shake against your neck. He’s already scolding himself for doing this, he can’t slack off anymore. His hands are trailing up and down your spine just underneath your top and it almost makes you shiver; The way his gloves feel against your skin.

"They changed my orders. There's new squads that need training and I'm in charge of it all."

Maybe it was a bit presumptuous of you to think you’d be able to sneak another moment of his time, but you couldn't help it. You just wish they wouldn't constantly work him to the bone and when he finished it, pile on more until you feared his back would break under it all. Though it wasn't like he would ever complain, he almost seemed to enjoy it; Taking it in stride.

When he hears you groan, Cody has to resist rolling his eyes.

"I can’t shirk my duties. Though I’m sure you could convince one of my men to.” He sighs as if disappointed. “They all like you too much." He wasn't wrong; It was cute, how Ghost Company had just adopted you in not long after meeting Cody, now treating you as a close friend and attempting to defend you from even minor inconveniences. Quickly the shinies had learned to back off, when they see a clone in orange painted armor close to you.

Especially, if that clone was Commander Cody.

"They like me because I help them avoid getting into trouble with you when they do dumb stuff." Cody's hands tighten around your waist, drifting downwards until they rest comfortably against the tops of your hips.

"They like you because I do. You might as well be part of 212th with them." He gives one more kiss to your cheek before pulling away, hands slipping from underneath your top. You adjust it after, watching a corner of his mouth crook upward just a tad.

"What exactly did you mean by 'dumb stuff'?" The sound of you smacking his shoulder echoes in the small room, as Cody looses his smile and straightens back up. He’s already getting ready to leave, you can tell.

"I have to get back. I'm sure they're already wondering where I am."

Knowing it was true, you still can’t help but sigh. It was more than lucky you'd even gotten this moment but greed is insatiable. You needed to get back too, before your own messes started piling up even higher. Managing to steal one more kiss from him before he pulls his body fully away from yours, Cody adjusts any bit of armor that seems even minutely out of place and fixes his hair.

Back to clean cut, by the books Commander Cody.

He quickly leaves the room you'd hauled him into and knows exactly where he was needed, even if he didn’t want to leave you either. You stay in here by yourself for a moment to adjust your own clothes, before leaving as well. He was probably halfway across the base by now; Always walking like he was right next to a fire. You have to make the same path, through bland grey colored hallways.

It wasn't an excited walk to say the least, blowing a disgruntled raspberry.

You felt almost like a small child, asking for just five more minutes. You don’t even want to begin to think about what you’d do if he gets stationed on another planet, and you couldn’t follow.

You didn't encounter many people on the way back, trying to slip back into where you should actually be without anyone noticing you were late. Only one person did, though thankfully they didn't comment other than raising their eyebrows at how quickly you were scurrying around. It wasn't like they'd have any incentive to do so anyways.

The few non-clones on the base were hires or volunteers, and going through the lengthy process of writing someone up and getting them disciplined was far to much trouble than it was worth most of the time; Unless they were really being a pest or you just really hated them.

But even as you were waist deep in your own thoughts the computer screen almost started blurring your vision, with absolutely nothing of interest happening.

You were almost wishing for technical errors or injuries to at least distract you, and keep you from almost sinking into the ground. Then again catching a moment with Cody somewhere always seemed to do this; You’d get a taste of the good stuff and then it would be torn away from you, mulling over everything you wished you’d had time to do.

It felt like years before the torture was over, and you could lament over the fact that you swore you could still feel his touch on your lower back at home instead. Finally this day was over. At least you could leave this place, the clones had to stay.

Even with the mess hall serving food it was a struggle yet to get through the halls, having to pass through group after group of soldiers. But you tug your coat tighter, only after what felt like miles of walking manage to get out of the clone base and out into the city. It was just on the borders, stationed just close enough by that it was easy for supply drops and moving large amounts of troops. Surely from a trooper's point of view it was nice to have the city and it's bars close by, but that was never the reasoning for the base when it'd first been built.

This time of night most taxis would be busy and you weren't in the mood to take a dirty one home, even if it was just a short trip. You'd just walk, staying close to the side and out of the way of speeders and larger groups of people.

You wondered what Cody was doing at this hour; Because he surely wasn't resting.

You swore he wouldn't sleep for days at times, mulling over a million different things at once. His dedication was admirable, but it can only get you so far. Even so it was a deeply ingrained part of him; You just wished he'd take care of himself a little more.

Tugging the edges of your coat tighter the night is surprisingly cold this time, and you'd neglected to bundle up. Though that didn't stop the leagues of friends bar hopping or hanging around, as the street was packed with late night crowds. Many were already drunk and stumbling around looking for the next bar or a cab home, having to step to the side to avoid slamming right into someone.

You might've been tempted to get a drink as well, if you had someone with you. It was never as much fun to drink alone, and you'd become quite partial to the clone bars anyway.

Passing by another restaurant they began to fade away into shops instead, though most were closed. These were nice ones as well, filled with more and more expensive goods.

You didn't have much interest in shopping at first, passing by multiple stores that would more than likely be far out of your own price range. But just as you perished the idea and continued your path home however, hands deep in your pockets, you noticed something through the transparent door of a random store.

The color was what had caught the corner of your eye first, and it felt like no time at all before you'd pushed open the door and rushed in, almost instantly scurrying to stand in front of what you'd spotted. It was almost to nerve-wracking to touch it, as if it would disappear if you did so.

This was it!

You'd been searching for something like this for ages; In the exact shade of 212th orange.

A lingerie set made almost entirely of delicate lace; With an incredibly deep neckline and garter straps for holding up a matching pair of stockings. It was almost exactly what you'd been hoping to find, but never quite been able to. They were always the wrong shade, wrong size, or just all in all didn't work out. Unsurprisingly when you’re looking for something so incredibly specific, it’s quite a bit harder to find. It also didn’t help that there was a few times you’d thought maybe he wouldn’t like it, and you’d almost given up.

Though you’d persisted, and its finally paid off.

Snatching your newfound prize you'd deal with the price when you got there; Even forgoing so much fresh street food to cover the expense, paying while you pursed your lips.

They even put it in a little box, which was absolutely perfect for what you had in mind for it. After leaving you'd never rushed home so fast, trying to hold back the smile on your face as you held it close to your chest. It stayed there the entire way until you were safely back in your apartment, and you sat it on the kitchen table where you knew it wouldn’t get forgotten. Given how much you'd been looking for the final piece in this scenario it was the last thing you'd want to do, even writing a note on your hand so you remembered.

After doing so you decided to get ready for bed, going through the same ritual as every night. It was later than usual, and you'd end up getting an hour or so less sleep; But given what you'd managed to get, you'd judge it all worthwhile.

The feeling of sinking into the bed wasn't something you'd take for granted however even if you'd get a bit less of it. You just wished Cody was here with you. He didn't often get to, though you'd count your blessing considering not too long ago, he didn't even have the ability to leave the clone bases at all.

After rolling around for a bit you end up falling to sleep while thinking about how he'd react to everything, hoping it would be as good as you expected it to be.

The next day, after a long bunch of hours staring at a screen and getting largely zilch done you hold the ‘gift’ in your hands, fingers absentmindedly feeling the corners. You’d brought it with you in hopes of giving it to him, but hadn’t managed to yet.

Cody was always in a different location, so your hopes of tracking him down wasn't incredibly high. The barracks would be your best bet. You wanted him to have something to look forward to; And even if it took awhile, he'd have this as a bit of a 'come back soon' gift.

Sure, maybe you also got a bit of devious enjoyment from the idea of teasing him so blatantly when he’s stuck commanding various squads, but who wouldn't.

Not having the place drawn in memory you walked through hallway after hallway before managing to find it; The 212th barracks. You didn't have the code for it, so you knocked hoping one of them was inside. Someone was, as the door slid open almost instantly.

"Fancy seeing you here."

It was Waxer, leaning against the wall looking at you. You decide to not beat around the bush and just ask outright.

"Is Commander Cody here?" He shook his head, pulling off his helmet and tucking it in the crook of his elbow.

"No. He's at a briefing for the next hour or so." You pulled the small box from your bag and held it outward, deciding to entrust it to one of Cody's men. The likelihood of you managing to catch Cody somewhere was slim, and he'd be more likely to end up crossing one of his men.

"Can you give something to him when he comes back then?" He hesitates for a moment, before taking it from your hands and looking over it curiously. It’s quite light he notices, shifting it around in his hand. His face changes into a more curious one, with raised eyebrows and looking at you as the small box gets tossed around in the air.

"What's inside?" You smile and shake your head.

"Not telling." Waxer groans, his shoulders raising as he pleaded with you. "Well now I really wanna know!" You shake your head again, adjusting the collar of your top. You should’ve expected he would be curious about it the second you said not to look.

"Well, you'll just have to live with that now, now won't you?" Waxer looked about to speak up but you knew what he was about to stay and pointed a finger at him, cutting him off before he had the chance to do so.

"And if Cody tells me it was already opened, you all won't go unpunished." He over-dramatically rolls his eyes. Of course you’d use being Cody’s ‘favorite’ as he puts it, against him. He relents, but you can hazard a good guess that the matter is far from over. But you still leave it with him anyways; It’s not as if you have the ability to run around the base for hours or have any idea on where to start. You walk off and decide to head home, already tired from today’s chaos.

Waxer watches you leave, before instantly deciding to go on a headhunt. He knows this particular base like the back of his hand, and Cody was surely around somewhere; He always was. It would just be a matter of catching him before he was already racing to the next thing he needed to do.

Which was exactly what Waxer caught him doing; Moving down the hall with that same authoritative, determined walk.

The only thing that stopped him was a small item getting shoved directly in his line of sight, as one of his men comes to start walking beside him. He stops walking and turns to look at Waxer, confused. His helmet is off and tucked in the crook of his elbow.

"A box?" Cody seems a little confused, and Waxer tilts his head.

"Oh you know, me and the boys really apprec-" Cody sighs and shuts the fake speech down before it gets too out of hand.

"She couldn't find you, said to give it to you once I had the chance. She really didn't want anyone but you to look inside." He holds out a hand and gestures towards himself once he knows it’s from you, Waxer putting the box in his hands. Cody glances down at it, before back to him. His face is that same stern look, with just a hint of curiosity.

"Did you?" Waxer gives a contemplative look before shaking his head.

"Considered x-raying it; Decided not to." Cody has to resist rolling his eyes. He thanks Waxer for delivering your gift to him 'un-tampered', before shooing the soldier back to whatever duties he should actually be doing. Meanwhile, Cody decides that since no one at the moment is instantly demanding his presence, that he could take this back to his barracks. Curiosity was an insatiable beast; One that lead him to sitting on his temporary bunk, he never thought he’d end up missing the ones on Kamino, and opening it.

Instantly Cody notices its cloth; Softly bunched up with even a little note on top. He decides to look at it first, almost having to squint to read it with how bad the light in the barracks is.

'Come back soon, Commander.'

He's confused for a moment, until he pulls on the cloth just enough that it begins to show its shape and he realizes.

He knows what type of clothing this is, the context of it.

Cody ended up almost cursing you, before quickly shoving the box under his bunk's mattress. You'd absolutely done this on purpose; Wanting to distract him. It works of course, as he's instantly picturing what it would look like on you, while you had the satisfied smirk of someone who knew their plan had worked. He wonders if you’d already put it on, or if you’d just known him well enough to know that this would get him to stop thinking with his brain.

Cody ends up storming out of his barracks almost angry, and every soldier in sight knows to get out of his way.

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

It's a week and two days days later that Cody manages enough free time to end up at your apartment; Knocking on the door holding the edge of his helmet in his left hand. You open the door and see him standing there, stepping to the side to let him in before closing the door behind him.

He’s stiff, shoulders squared as he comes inside.

"Waxer gave me your gift."

When you glance down at his other hand you see he's holding it; Decently tight in his grip. Any tighter and the box might crumple.

"And did you like it?" You smile while watching Cody come further into the apartment. He turns to you and his eyes are stern, and now you know your idea worked.

"So now you don't even wait until we're in the same room to start teasing me now?"

Cody loosened his grip and let his helmet fall onto the chair, it bouncing once before laying still visor side up. You walk closer to him while he's turned around, ignoring the way he says your name with a disapproving tone as you chuckle and move in.

“Is it so wrong to have a little fun?” Cody hums when he feels your chest press against his back, fingers reaching for the buckles keeping his chestplate tight. Attempting to undo them once you find them, Cody turns around to face you. His face is stern and looking almost as if he’s going to reprimand you, hand wrapping around your bicep tight stopping the way your hands attempt to snake up his chest and into the hair at the nape of his neck.

They feel good; And he wants to let himself relax but he's on a mission now, looking at you.

“It is when you’re trying to keep a GAR Commander from doing his job.”

You pull his face closer, trying to bring him to your level. His lips are so close, just barely dusting across your own while you speak. You’d been a little nervous wondering if he’d enjoy it, pursing your lips as you look at him.

“I was just trying to give you a gift.” Cody's nose presses against yours, his eyes darting around your face. He tugs you even closer at your response, while he stares you down. His hands are tight, holding you firmly in place.

“I know you’re lying. I had to have this on my mind through briefings and four different training drills. I could barely keep everything straight because you had to be a naughty little tease.”

He never had much spare time, and the moment he'd gotten leave, the commander's required work was finished and he was gone within seconds. It wasn't something he normally did; Many times he'd neglected leave and worked day through night, training and battle plans and supply line routing. You were the first thing that had managed to make him think of something else. He’d spent more than a few of those recent nights thinking of you, and fuming over the way his bodyglove would get so tight and he’d have to do something about it.

"Should I apologize, then?" His face moved so he could brush his lips against your own.

“I know you won’t actually mean it.”

He’s not wrong; You’re more than pleased at the way he seems irritated that you’d gotten so deep under his skin.

"Then what do you want?" Cody's hand tightens around your arm. It’s firm, keeping you in place even though you had no intentions of moving away.

"What I want, is for you to put on my gift. Now." He's still holding it in his other hand, before moving to shove it into your own.

"Ok, Commander."

Cody lets out a disapproving hum.

"You're already playing with fire girl, don't push it."

Slowly peeling away from him he reluctantly lets go, and you take the opened box from his hand before turning to leave. But he follows you, all the way into your bedroom and stands with the back of his legs against the side of your bed. You can feel the way his eyes trail down your body in a way that makes you nervous again, having him stare like this. He’s peeling off pieces of plastoid armor until he’s only in his flightsuit, meanwhile you’re still just standing there. When he looks at you expectantly, you can’t help but say something.

"Quit being so impatient." You dare to say, and Cody lets out a scoff as you nervously fiddle with the hem of your top.

"You decide to be a naughty little slut and tease me with something like that, then expect me to be patient? You’re lucky I’m waiting for you and didn’t just throw you over the table."

The mental image that sentence conjures sends a jolt straight to your cunt, before you finally gather the gusto to pull your shirt fully off.

Piece by piece you peel your clothes away slowly while Cody watches, in a way that you could only describe as hungry.

That hunger only grows stronger as you slowly slip on the orange lace you paid so much for, and you barely have it fully over your shoulders before he’s walking towards you. His eyes graze over your body as he corrals you inward towards the bed, your legs hitting the side.

“Lay down.”

When you don’t listen instantly he presses a hand against your shoulder and pushes; Making you tumble and fall backward onto the mattress.

Shortly thereafter Cody follows, one knee slipping between your thighs as he kneels onto the bed. It’s just barely away from your cunt, and you try to subtly move closer to it. He moves it back away form you, noticing your attempt, and gives you one small smack against the side of your ass. The little yelp you let out sends a jolt straight down to his cock, seeing you writhe underneath him. One hand supports himself by your shoulder, while the other bushes against the lace laying on your side. He won’t satisfy your greediness just yet, not after you’d tortured him with this for so long.

"I didn't think it'd be over a week till you could come by,"

You say, it the first excuse in your head. Not that you needed one, as he leans down and steals a firm kiss. His nose presses against your own, skin feeling almost boiling hot. He groans as you nip at his bottom lip, tightening your arms around his neck as his tongue slips into your mouth. He pulls back and a firm hand pulls your hips closer to him, knee finally pressing against your cunt. It makes you let out a sudden breathy gasp as he speaks with that stern, on duty voice while he feels your wet pussy grind against his leg.

“That wasn’t part of your little plan the whole time? I find it hard to believe.”

There's a hand sliding up your side, rough skin against patches of skin not covered by burnt orange lingerie. It stays against your ribcage for a moment, feeling your breath underneath his palm. But soon his fingertips move upward, slipping underneath the lace to wrap around your breast; Firm but not too rough. He kneads it as you wiggle underneath him, nipple against his rough palm legs kicking nothing but air. His lips only pull away from yours so he can pull you fully onto the bed, while he takes the moment to peel the top of his body glove off.

“You talk like I’m constantly teasing you.” He slaps your ass again.

“You do.”

The bed dips under his weight as he crawls over you, caging your body as his lips press against your jaw. Once again slips to wrap against your breast, rubbing and gripping sensitive skin. Gasping as he kissed and nipped at the skin just under your jaw he’s surely leaving little bite marks and hickies; Your fingers scratching against his shoulders. His hand is partly obscured by orange lace, sliding around underneath it as your nipple hardens underneath his palm. One of your hands moves to the fabric on your shoulder, considering being rid of it. After all it’s served it’s purpose, you think.

"Do you want me to take it off?"

Cody however, seems to have a completely different thought on it. His lips are pressed against your neck, and he can barely manage to pull away enough to mumble:

"No. Keep it on. You wanted me to see it so badly, you can wear it while I fuck you."

The way he says that sends a massive jolt right down to your cunt, feeling the way you throb surely leaking against your lingerie. His lips move downward; Over your collarbone, between your breasts, down between the deep V-neck to where the lace just begins to finally cover your stomach. Every bit he halts just long enough to leave small bites against your hot skin, glancing up over your body.

He loves this view, seeing you look down at him from between your thighs. Even if you’ve decided to be a little tease.

The way his brown eyes look so full of fire almost make you stop breathing entirely. Your body tenses as he moves downward even more, watching as his hands drift over your knees. His fingers feel warm against your skin, firm as they slide over seemingly every little part of your thighs. Once they reach the thickest part, he grabs tight and yanks you closer in one quick, hard jerk.

His touch keeps lingering as are his eyes and when completely stills for a moment you giggle, biting your lip.

"Frozen?" Cody lets his hands trail across your skin again and drifts a hand over your stomach. He adjusts his own posture until he's laying on the bed now, unable to see his erection straining against his flightsuit. When his hand trails over the soft lace, you speak up when there’s a fear he’s going to get rough with it.

"Don’t ruin it; I want to wear it again."

You whisper as his mouth leaves little bites that trail down your inner thigh, feeling the first beginnings of stubble against his jaw. But in the early morning it would be gone again, as Cody was ever the picture of military excellence. Though now could be an exception, as you feel his hot breath on your skin. He hand pulls back and lightly smacks at your pussy, watching you gasp and writhe.

"Don't go getting anymore ideas. You’re already in trouble for this."

He almost moans just from the feeling of your thighs parting wider underneath his hands, lips brushing over the lace barely covering your cunt. He wastes little time in hooking a finger around it and pulling it to the side, intentionally slipping between your folds for a moment in the process. It makes your knees twitch inward, but his hands keep them spread wide while watching his mouth press against your cunt.

“Doesn’t feel like I am,”

Your voice is breathless, even more so when he softly bites one or your outer lips just to remind you that you’re still on shaky ground.

The response is instant; Your hips twitch upward even as he holds you firmly in place, trying to keep you from wiggling away from his mouth.

His tongue slips between your folds and drifts upward until it grazes against your clit, following as you writhe underneath his tongue. With each suck and nip and lick he teases while you bite your bottom lip, desperately not trying to cry out leaning up on one forearm.

“Maker, Cody; Don’t stop,”

He didn’t have any plans to, even if it was tempting to tease you and leave you struggling underneath him. As punishment for teasing him, though he’ll never get over the way he’s weaker for the sounds of you praising him when he pleases you so well. The knots in your lower stomach and psudo-heartbeat in your cunt only get worse while he sucks on your folds; Stomach tensed, the blankets bunch below you as your body leans forward.

Your hands dig into his hair like it's a lifeline, forming what was a neat military cut into a curly, frazzled mess.

The way Cody was moving felt almost like he was a man starved; Feeding off the sounds your wet pussy makes. Even if he was never a very talkative sort he was largely silent, to busy sucking and biting and licking while his fingers leave red little marks on your thighs. His face must be soaked, with the way he’s pressing it against you with no hesitation; Your juices and his spit dripping from his chin to your ass and to the blankets.

“Right there, I- Fuck, Cody!”

He hears you sing his name so many times it mushes together into an almost incomprehensible plea. His firm grip is the only thing keeping your body against the bed, hips twitching as that hot tightness in your stomach finally gives way.

He only decides to slow his tongue against your clit when he feels you cum, body laying limp against the blankets as he feels your pussy twitch against his mouth. Giving a few more licks and instantly relishing in the way your body instantly reacts in over-sensitivity, he pulls back wipes his face with the back of his hand, while your chest is still heaving.

His hands now only dare to leave your body to pull away the only piece of clothing he has on; The bottom half of his black flight suit. In largely the same fashion he'd done to the top it gets peeled away and thrown to the side, revealing his hard, weeping cock. He’s been on the verge of cumming for awhile now, just from the way you were like putty underneath him as he now lays over your body.

You swear you can almost taste yourself on his lips as he leans down to kiss you, chest almost against your own as his hand slips to cradle the back of your neck.

His cock is rubbing against you, sliding between your folds and quickly becoming slick; Before a hand slips between your bodies and adjusts himself to slowly press into you. It's a dull, consistent stretch that has you grasping at his shoulder, while another hand grasps at your own chest. When your legs press against his hips keeping him close he moves faster, hips slapping against your thighs. It's salacious; The noise. The way it drowns out everything else in the room, part from your heated breathes and mumbles.

"Fuck, Cody you feel so good,"

He'll never get tired of hearing his name on your lips, no matter what way you're saying it. You mumble it again, nipping at his bottom lip and feeling your tongue brush against his own.

He only dares to pull away when he wants to see it again; His colors against your skin.

It makes you whine as he pulls away and leans back, hands moving from beside your shoulders to grasp at your waist. He keeps pulling you to him, feeling your effort to do the same. You want him closer, skin touching skin.

Looking down on you he saw the way the two main parts of lace against your chest, separated by a large v cut, slid to the sides unable to stay in the right spots. It only gets worse as he thrusts into you, body pushing against the blankets as you moan and grasp them.

It was his favorite sight; To see you undone like this, hair messy and body laid out underneath him.

His hand brushes over your breast and the displaced lace, moving it correctly over your chest again.

'What a gift', he thinks; Part of him wonders what else you could find that would make him this irrational. You seemed to have developed a knack for it, and no matter how much he ‘punishes’ you, you always come back for more. Your hands grip the blankets wrinkled underneath you, as your head leans back and exposes your neck.

"Someone likes it,"

Your laugh is breathy and hot, eyes hooded and threatening to close as his fingers brush over your nipple. Teeth scraping softly across your own bottom lip his eyes drift over you, any attempts of staying put together completely undone.

But even it's a beautiful sight he leans down anyways, pressing his lips to your for a quick kiss before your lips press against his neck, legs wrapped tight around his hips almost slowing him down.

“You, are going to be the death of me.” He mumbles under his breath.

His teeth grit to try and stop a moan as you suck against the skin of his neck, little nips against the skin just below his ear.

Your hands are wrapped in his hair, tugging at the nape of his neck before one moves away. It slips down between your bodies to touch yourself, for a second feeling the way he slips out only to bury himself in you again. It makes the air around you hot, stuffy as you suck on the bruised skin of his neck. You know he likes those marks, even if he always grumbles at you over having to cover them up. You catch his eyes for a moment, own fingers brushing against your clit and before you know it your cumming around him; Thighs pressing against him as your arms tighten around him.

Your body is tight around him like a vice forcing him to slowly, your nails digging into the skin of his shoulders. It hurts and it feels incredible to him and Cody's face is hot against your ear, barely holding on.

"Where," Knowing it would affect him your nails drag further up his shoulders and even against his neck, teetering into pain.

"Inside. Don't want to ruin your gift."

Part of him did. Wanted to see what you'd look like with strings of cum along your chest and stomach. But you'd almost trapped him against you, your legs around his hips as he falters, cumming inside you. His forehead against your temple he can barely stop the way his moan almost shakes, hips slow before he finally stills.

Your cunt feels soaked, thighs and his cock wet even more as he slowly pulls from you and his cum leaks from you and trails downward.

While you'd expected him to be a little riled after so long and your honestly cruel tease, part of you hadn't really been prepared for how tired you'd be after the fact.

A thumb brushes across your lips when he barely pulls away from you, that stern expression he’d originally worn when he’d arrived having long since been thrown away.

"Do you need anything?" He kisses the little marks he'd left on your neck, a palm brushing over your forehead.

"Just need to clean up. And to put this away so I don't ruin it." You gesture to the lingerie against your stomach. After all it was expensive, and you'd like to at least get a few more uses out of it before it somehow gets ruined. You have more plans for it, and surely one would end up with him ripping it to some degree; Either on purpose or accident.

Legs limp and your chest finally not heaving the room feels a more normal temp, smiling as you feel him pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You don't want to get up; You want to bask in an afterglow while Cody is right here with you, for the first time in days. In weeks, if you don't count tiny interactions in hallways and empty rooms.

But eventually you do tear yourself away, feeling his hand drop from your side as you slip from the bed and walk across the floor. The lingerie almost has to be peeled from you with the soft sheen of sweat on your skin, and you feel far less sexy than you had putting it on. It gets folded and you make a note to wash it with whatever special needs it requires, sitting it on the counter to do tomorrow. Or whenever you remember to do so, more likely.

You return from the refresher and Cody is in the same place, his hair hilariously frazzled compared to how neat it usually is. Walking over you flop on the bed and try and pull yourself underneath the covers as he walks to where you'd returned from, managing to find the bottoms of his bodyglove somewhere on the floor.

When he's slipping into the bed behind you he has those bottoms back on though only halfway, while he tugs you closer so you rest against him. You're laying partly on your side, while Cody lays on his stomach fully spread out. The bed is huge, compared to the bunks he was used to. Raking the hair from his face you looked over him, before up at the bathroom door.

"You can use my shower if you want," Cody leans up and over, party shadowing your body.

"Trying to imply something?" You shook your head and dragged your hand against the side of his head.

"No, just want to make sure you to feel at home."

Cody tries to pull you even closer, as if he wants every inch of his body touching yours. He mumbles that he loves you into the pillow, feeling your hand against his bare back. You say it back, fingers trailing over the knocks of his spine.

Cody shoves his face deeper into the pillow and sighs, tightening his arm around your waist. He swore he'd never felt so comfortable and at peace in his entire life, and almost instantly fell dead asleep soon after.

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

A gloved hand picking at a small piece of chipped paint, Boil laments that he'd have to touch up his armor soon. He glances up at the door again. It was still closed, pursing his lips under his helmet.

"He's late?"

Mumbling to himself and getting another clone's casual 'guess so' hum in response, Boil looked at the time; And it hadn't changed since the last time he'd looked.

07:21.

The briefing was supposed to start and 07:00 exactly, as Cody would always demand impeccable timing.

As he himself was never late; Cody would always be the first one, crossing his arms and waiting for the rest as they slowly trickled in. If you were even a minute late, you were reprimanded. Ten minutes late, you were written up.

But now everyone’s all here and waiting, with the commander nowhere in sight. The clone that had responded to his original query leaned into his side and whispered, looking around the room and seeing other clones also visibly confused.

"Want to go hit the mess hall? Since this is a bu-"

Everyone suddenly jolted upright having been promptly startled out of their wits as the door suddenly opened, sounding like it could've damaged something in the process. Every soldier in the room turns to the doorway and in stomps Commander Cody, helmet tucked in his arm as he tries to subtly buckle the side of his belt.

"Alright men, to start w-" Cody could barely even finish his sentence, having only just gotten to the holotable before one of the clones dares to speak up.

"Sleep in late Commander?"

In response that clone gets a glare that could cut durasteel, while Boil notices that one shoulder strap of Cody’s chestplate was tighter than the other.

"Cut the chatter, soldier." The clone listens, though everyone could see the satisfied look on his face. Cody places his helmet on the edge of the holotable, while also taking the movement to try and quickly adjust a piece of armor on his thigh.

"Boil. Come up here and help." Quickly Boil comes to round the holotable, while Cody starts pulling up the map and pinning siege points. Boil takes the moment to lean inward, into the Commander's personal space and speaking low enough that hopefully no one else could hear over soft chatter and the rattling of the cooling unit for the room. He’d just noticed something.

"You might want to cover up your neck, Commander." Cody looks up from the map and turns to him, brow furrowed.

"Why would I-" Boil had his lips pursed as tight as possible, but he still couldn't avoid cracking slightly.

"Everyone can see why you were late."

Boil swore he saw Cody loose three shades to his skin almost instantly, before he tugged the neck of his flightsuit up higher. He harshly swallowed and instantly started the briefing, one hand trying to slick his hair back and make sure it’s neat. When he turns at the waist he has to resist his face twinging; As the back of his chestplate presses against his sore, scratched shoulderblades.

You weren’t going to hear the end of this from him, no doubt about it.

[burberrycanary]

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[bmodiwrites]

Hi friends! I'm dabbling in tomgreg, again. Don't worry, though - I'll be back steddieing very soon (there are like... four WIPS on the way!) I thought it'd be fun to dabble with sugar daddy esque Tom. Here's hoping you guys enjoy! Catch a sneak peek of the fic below, then head over to AO3 to read the rest. It's spicy, so minors DNI!

It becomes Tom’s sole responsibility in that moment to fix this glaringly obvious problem.

There’s a little work that goes into the whole thing – while Tom understands himself and his own sense of style, he’s still getting to know Greg. Tall isn’t a measurement that can be used to make someone a custom shirt. Which means there’s no way around being a little creepy to find out Greg’s size.

Of course, the odd touching and weird comments that make Greg bend over enough to see down the back of his shirt give Tom an opportunity to indulge the unchecked crush blossoming further by the day. Their weird connection upon first meeting (that Tom absolutely ruins in his hasty to overcome nerves and the funny feeling of love at first sight) lit something in Tom that’s refusing to putter out into the snuffed out thing it already is. Or, well, should be.

So, Tom indulges himself while collecting the needed data to fulfill his task. After he gets the numerical information, Tom does nothing to stop himself from continuing the arm grazes and long looks. He’s so used to it by now that it’s too big of a burden to even consider. It’s not like Greg does anything about it, anyway. In fact, Tom is almost positive that Greg moves into his touch. Or maybe that’s just the wishful thinking Tom can’t allow himself to put to rest.

Either way, the indulging does not stop.

When the shirt eventually comes in, Tom thanks his tailor for the last minute addition – his usual order is pristine as always, earning Leon a nice tip. Tom can’t wait until he’s home to take a peek at his commission and isn’t disappointed with the result.

The black of the shirt is deep and dark, beautiful because of its shadowlike nature. Tom’s thumb stopped on the example tab while flipping through the palette book thoughtlessly, like the thought of black enhancing the paleness of Greg’s creamy skin is an everyday thing. Sadly, it probably is.

Either way, Tom is happy to note the buttons are thick and durable, even at the cuff. Greg is a clumsy nuisance who’s like Bambi on ice at his best. Providing him with a garment that’s both pretty and made to last is Tom’s way of showing care. He hopes to see the soft, obviously high quality fabric of this shirt for a long time to come.

He’s meticulous in the way he packs it later that night. It came in a nondescript black box but Tom is hoping to impress. He buys a fancy gift box and folds it like he’s seen his own shirts a billion times before. It looks professional and classy – just like the man Tom wants Greg to be.

Despite being stoked about researching for and buying the gift, Tom can’t stand the thought of being there when Greg opens it up. He’s got this stealth plan that frees him from having to experience Greg’s reaction first hand. It’s so good, the plan that is, that Tom is cheery and upbeat throughout the entire day. People give him a wide birth but that’s just as well – not having to mop up other people’s bullshit adds a yummy cherry on top to a pretty good day.

After waiting until he’s almost certain everyone is gone, Tom sets things in motion. He sends a text to Greg about getting him a coffee for the road. When he hears the squeak of Greg retreating to do Tom’s bidding (just like the very good boy that he is,) Tom pulls out the box and makes quick work of putting it on Greg’s desk.

He’s seconds away from being in the clear when the intoxicating sent of tobacco infiltrates Tom’s senses. Greg is back and Tom is still there, lingering around Greg’s desk. The perfect day is quickly flying downhill at a terrifying speed. There’s nothing he can do to salvage the situation, so Tom does his best asshole impression, instead.

“Took you long enough, Gregory,” Tom says, turning around to snatch a nonexistent coffee cup from Greg’s hands. “What happened? Where’s my coffee?” The exasperation in his voice is real, though it’s not Greg’s fault.

It is a convenient excuse, however.

Greg looks flabbergasted, stuck between staring at Tom, his empty hand, and the obviously out of place box amongst his things. Tom, because he’s close to a breakdown already, is having a hard time not laughing it all. Karma is speaking loudly to him now, heckling Tom ruthlessly for his attempt at being a good person.

Thankfully, Greg’s broken up speech brings Tom back from the edge of a very embarrassing spiral.

“I uh – what’s that?” Greg asks, bypassing all of Tom’s questions in favor of honing in on something shiny and new. It’s the exact reaction that Tom wants, though there’s mixed feelings churning in his gut because he’s here to see it. His imaginings aren’t nearly as good as the real thing – that spells trouble for Tom, he can already tell. Being here, seeing this – Tom’s not sure he can recover.

Read the rest on AO3!

[anxietywithfloof]

Warning: This is a long post that i need to make for my own mental health, so if you don't want to look at this all, then I recommend going to the tl;dr section at the end, but if you do read, thank you.

Also, no names will be put because I DON'T want anyone to be dragged into this shit either. Don't go looking for them either, as I will refuse to give names of anyone. Thank you.

I don't care if you like, share, reblog, whatever. I'm not doing this for fame or to call out anyone. I just want to rid this of myself and to move on and to forgive those that I'm potentially leaving.

With all that out of the way, let's begin:

I have an announcement.

I'm taking a break from the commewnity. For a while. Idk when I'll be back, if at all. I might still talk to a few members of the commewnity, but don't expect anymore OCs from me if i decide to leave it forever. Everyone has proven they don't like them anyway. I'm angry, had multiple breakdowns, and a counselor told me this was my best bet to have my mental health be better.

Let me tell my POV.

I want to put this to rest, never to be a problem ever again.

All from the moment this shitstorm started.

My second ever reference sheet.

It was terrible, to be frank. I didn't know how to draw a Mewtwo at ALL, as well as how to execute my ideas in a drawing format or how to make a skeleton for drawing poses and such. Hell, I deleted it off of my Tumblr AND my phone because I hated it that much later on. All I knew is that I wanted one that represented me. My anxiety, my imperfections that I see in myself, my creativity. I made it and wasn't sure of the looks. It looked weird and I wasn't sure. My boyfriends and all my friends told me they loved it, however, so I went with it, nervous as hell.

This is the start of a mistake I made.

At this point, I had a couple of friends in the commewnity and I was doing decent. At least...I thought.

I wanted to join a Mew and Mewtwo server that was VERY popular, with some amazing, incredible artists and members in it, so I asked to get in.

I never got in. Still haven't.

They said they were "weary/wary" of me, which at the time, didn't make sense and...after a while...I lost, losing a friend in the process...

This was a while ago and I no longer wish to be in. It won't happen regardless, so why should I care anymore.

But the thing is...all the mods were too. From the old and bad ref that, at THAT time, I had changed and it was a bit better.

Informed it was because of my character, I tried to fix it. And, after a couple of iterations, is how you see them today. Marla. And I probably will rework them more in the future because they're a really interesting character that I want to make lore and deep characterization for.

I deleted all the old ones and that became what she looked like. Everything good, right?

Except it wasn't.

I found out other members talked about me, never even letting me KNOW about it, all behind my back saying they were uncomfortable about me, always pulling up that same damn old ref sheet that I deleted long ago and I HATED. They started saying it was a fetish character, a kink character, an NSFW character.

Marla. Is. Not. NSFW.

She's never been one and never WILL be one. NONE of my characters are, in fact. I'm a minor! I'm 16! Why the HELL would I make a character intended to be an NSFW character and post them out in the open?! What's worse?? Even though I cleared that up, they STILL think that no matter WHAT I say AND they still are holding onto that old damned ref that I didn't have confidence for in the first place.

Then they started saying they were wary because of other things, like accounts that were recommended (to which I do NOT know why they were bad for a small amount of time. Only thing I can think of is maybe because of the controversy. Maybe I accidentally followed an account that was 18+ that didn't state they were on the front. Idk. I still don't 100% know, but I think it's been fixed), to my desperation at the time to be in the server, which I get, but you have to understand that I came from a school that bullied me relentlessly and made me feel alone 24/7, so this felt like a chance at finally being heard or seen, to even my fucking ARTSTYLE and OUTCOME, to which, I need to say this. I have no control of my artstyle. My artstyle is the result of COUNTLESS practice and finding different tutorials to borrowing techniques of my favorite shows, so I'm sorry if the artstyle makes you wary of me. I can't control my own artstyle. I'm trying to IMPROVE and make it more refined, but I can't outright get rid of my artstyle. And I ALSO hate the outcome of my art sometimes. I'm not the best at angles and that feeling of "ugh. This looks off...even though I made it" happens to ANYONE that draws as a hobby. I've deleted FAR more artworks than I've posted because it looked off or I thought it could do better. So, I'm sorry my efforts also weren't enough. I really am. Like, genuine.

It's gotten to the point where I don't feel comfortable posting ANYTHING because I'm worried mods and others in the server or in the commewnity will hate me MORE for it for even MORE misconceptions and false reasons I don't know of yet. I've felt alone. Shunned. Bitter. Felt like I wasn't good enough for a chance at redemption. I've asked multiple times if i could do anything to be even in any way I could, but nothing.

If I wanted to feel like this again, I would've stayed at my old school. It's gotten to the point it feels like bullying or gatekeeping or just outright shunning me from others because of all this.

So I'm taking a break.

To those people, I've forgiven you. I've forgiven you for all this.

If you want to talk about it and work anything out...I'll be on Tumblr... and I hope we CAN work things out. But for now, I won't be giving attention to the commewnity for a while.

I love the community and I love the creativity hosted in it, but I need to do this for my mental health. I'm sorry to everyone who considers me a friend in the commewnity and I hope this whole thing can finally be solved and this whole thing can finally pass, being able to actually talk to creators and not be shunned for honest mistakes and misconceptions.

Thank you for listening and I hope everyone's daycare be a bit brighter. Mine included.

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TL;DR, an old ref I don't like because I didn't know what I was doing with the design is being hanged over my head as well as misconceptions of my characters, especially Marla, causing me to be isolated and I need a break from it.

If you want to speak, private chat me on Tumblr or Discord. You might need to wait until after I get home from school, bit I'm willing to chat or clear things up.

Thank you.

I'm sorry.

[bandedbulbussnarfblat]

y'all i got some theories about how they'll use Fareed in the show, but it may end up being long af.

my first theory is that he is/has been working on some sort of serum (idk if that would be the right word, but let's roll with it) that allows vampires to walk in the sun. like the way the ancient ones can do in the books--if they want to die via sunlight, they gotta try real hard.

though i think age would still have a factor in it. like it would work better the older the vampire already is, like sorta strengthen their growing ability to stand sunlight.

which may be like, why Armand is all 'what is a mediocre star to a 514 year old vampire'. like, he and Louis clearly know Fareed. maybe Fareed gave some of the juice to Armand so he could pass for mortal for the time Daniel was there for the interview. (Louis is either too young for it to work on, or too full of angst to try it)

my second theory: I also suspect there was something added to Daniel's treatment. Like I'm not sure what, but we know vampire blood has some healing capacity, shown via Lestat smearing his blood over Louis' bite marks to heal them. Maybe he's trying to find some way to take the healing part of vampire blood and extract it and use it to help cure people of their ailments. And Louis and Armand were like, 'hey, our human is dying, can you fix him?'

(also i totally think that 'mediocre star' bit was also a barb at Daniel. Because he's had a pretty solid journalism career, and is probably a minor celebrity figure in certain circles, though his career does seem to be flagging. So I think Armand was totally like, calling Daniel a mediocre star as well as the sun.)

I now have to leave to go to an appointment, but imma reblog this later and add on all my really crazy/crack shit