#because the amount of times I’ve had to just try to push through entire days full of work while having a mental breakdown every other second

[fen-the-space-dragon]

Every passing day. My need for therapy grows. Exponentially. Yet every time I try to get it, something gets in the way. Isn’t that funny? Cuz I think that’s so fucking funny. Now my parents are trying to help me get on meds. I wonder what will get in the way of me getting help this time

[shaunasrabbit]

Late Night Visit | QZ!Joel x F!Reader

Explicit. Minors DNI. Part IV.

Summary: You and Joel go to Bill and Frank's.

Tags: No use of y/n, canon-divergence (Bill and Frank are alive because I'm not killing my gays during pride month), reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns (also wears a dress for like 2 seconds), some physical descriptions (has a bush because #bushnation and is curvy if you squint), age gap (reader is in her late 20s, Joel is in his 50s), alcohol consumption, bratty reader and mean!Joel, dom!Joel, verbal degradation, like one tiny little sexy smack, choking, spit, dirty talk, pussy pronouns, use of good girl and other pet names, oral (f!receiving), spit, light biting, finger sucking, unprotected piv, the pullout method (don't try this at home), f!masturbation, uhhhhh sexy use of duct tape lol and subsequent breath play, cum eating. If I missed any tags, please let me know!

Word count: ~9.7K

Read on AO3

A/N: I was having a fuck ton of fun writing this chapter and I didn't realize how long it was getting so I'm sorry or you're welcome idk. It felt necessary to dive into the reader's backstory a little as so many things were brought up for her at Bill and Frank's. I hope you enjoy getting to know her a little more. I definitely did. Also, a massive thank you to everyone who has been keeping up with the series and reblogging/commenting. I appreciate you so much. Lightly proofread this myself, so my apologies for any typos. All on me. As always, likes/reblogs/comments and feedback are welcome. Thank you for reading! Divider by @/saradika-graphics

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After sleeping on the cold, hard forest floor for a night, you’re thrilled when Joel says there’s an old Girl Scout camp to crash at.

The two of you have been trekking to an unknown location for a day or so and you’re ready to just get to wherever you’re going. Joel’s being reticent about sharing details of the run you’re on which is out of character. He’s generally open about the logistics of a job, but you’re not pushing it, too desperate for the work after being blacklisted by Wade. Plus, you get to escape the crowded, stressful QZ for more than a day or two. Any amount of time away is a real treat.

The sun is tucking itself behind the horizon by the time you get to the camp. Tiny, wooden cabins create a perfect circle around a firepit, filled with ash and a few charred animal bones. A pang of nostalgia hits you like a punch to the gut.

“You know, I used to be a Girl Scout,” you whisper as you do a perimeter check alongside Joel. Talking helps you not think about the chance of seeing infected. You passed through a small town a few hours ago and had a run in with two clickers, but both of you came out entirely unscathed. 

Joel hums before exhaling sharply through his nose. “Must not have been a real good one,” he retorts before putting his pistol back in its holster. “I’ve seen you tryna tie a knot.”

You roll your eyes, trudging up the steps to a cabin. With a soft grunt, he follows you up the short flight of stairs and you can hear his knees crack. It’s a miracle he can fuck you as hard as he does considering his age. Joel unlocks the door with a key that he fishes out of the inner pocket of his tan leather jacket. This must be a regular route for him and that calms any wariness you had about the job.

“Yeah, no. I kind of sucked,” you admit as you follow him inside. The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches and you wonder if it’s a hint of a smile. “I quit when I was like…eight, maybe? Nine? Worst Brownie in my troop. I barely had any badges.” 

“Doesn’t surprise me.” 

When he turns his back, you give him the middle finger and another eye roll. 

There’s a part of you that’s still pissed about what happened last week with Wade. Still embarrassed that Joel acted like your protector, like you couldn’t handle yourself, but there’s a bigger part of you that’s so turned on by the idea of Joel wanting to fight someone on your behalf, like he was telling Wade not to fuck with what’s his. You know you’re not his, not even sure you’d ever want to be, but each night for the last week, you’d play with your clit while thinking of Joel coming into your apartment with bloody fists and fucking you, smearing it all over you. Marking you. Your cheeks get hot just thinking about it.

Joel locks the door and shoves a rusty chair under the handle although it’d be useless considering the two massive windows in the cabin. At least the glass is intact so you’d hear someone, or something, coming. You scan the room. Two sets of dusty bunk beds, a wooden chest, a couch with torn upholstering, a dresser with peeling paint, a narrow nightstand adorned with two candles with crispy wicks. Joel lights the candles before heading to the dresser, pushing it to the side with great force and grit teeth. He reaches down and lifts the loose floorboard, pulling out a hunting rifle with a scope and a box of ammo. You watch as he loads the magazine, his face lit by the warm candlelight. 

“We’ll—”

“—sleep in shifts. I’ll take watch, you take watch. Yeah, yeah. I know,” you finish for him, irritated that he bothers explaining shit you already know.

Shooting you a dirty look, eyes narrowed and brows furrowed, Joel sits on the couch and spreads his legs wide. You think about crawling onto his lap, but restrain yourself, taking a seat next to him instead. 

“Was gonna say we’ll leave when the sun rises. We’re makin’ real good time. Less obstacles than I thought,” Joel says, eyes flickering over to you as you pull your legs up and tuck them under you. 

“Where are we headed anyway?”

“Bill and Frank’s.”

“That was really helpful. Great explanation, Joel,” you deadpan, giving him an exasperated look. You realize suddenly how tired you are. “Who are Bill and Frank, and where are we meeting them?”

Joel is visibly annoyed, sitting next to you with his jaw clenched and his arms crossed. 

“People I trade with. Meeting ‘em at their place in Lincoln.”

“Lincoln,” you mutter to yourself as you get up and head towards your pack, pulling out a map. Tracing your finger from Boston to Lincoln, you purse your lips. It’s only about fifteen miles from the QZ. “This is like…a six hour hike. Why were we walking for a whole day?”

“Now, why the fuck d’ya think we’ve been taking the long way?” he spits.

“Raiders, infected, rubble, people like us.” Your face is hot, embarrassment settling in your throat. 

Joel hums in response, giving a small nod as you walk back over to the couch, collapsing on it with a sigh. It can never just be easy. Nothing can. How nice would it be to be able to hop in a car? The drive would be what, forty minutes with traffic? Maybe less? You would be able to listen to music, stop for lunch at a diner, put your hand on Joel’s thigh while he drove. But you can’t do any of that. Not in times like this. Not when Joel is just a man you work with, a man you sometimes fuck. Nothing else.

“Get some shut eye,” he grumbles, standing up. Your eyes drift to the way his shoulders slump and his heavy eyelids. “I’ll take first watch.”

You shake your head and stand up, too. Joel spent the whole day guiding you with strict vigilance. Always alert, always on. You’re the same whenever traversing out of the QZ, but you feel like it weighs on Joel heavier for some reason. 

“No, it’s fine. You rest. I can watch,” you say. “I got it.” 

For a moment, you think he’ll protest, your eyes searching his face, but he doesn’t. He just nods and blows out the candles before lying down on one of the bottom bunks. Boots still on, pistol still strapped in its holster. Closing his eyes, he lets out a heavy sigh, giving in to his exhaustion.

“Get me up in four hours.” It's a demand, not a suggestion. 

“Mhm.”

Four hours go by quickly, but you can’t bring yourself to wake him up despite the lethargy that threatens you. 

To your surprise, Joel is fast asleep. You realize that you haven’t ever seen him sleep, generally back before the sunrises while working. The one time you spent the night together, he let you rest. Your chest tightens at the memory of the weight of Joel’s arm draped on you while you slept. 

Joel mumbles in his sleep. If it were anyone else, you’d probably find it annoying, but seeing this gruff, hardened man babble complete nonsense and twitch with his eyes closed is endearing. You wonder if he’s like this in his apartment in the QZ or if his nightly glass of whiskey knocks him out hard. 

While he rests, you keep a firm grip on the rifle, periodically scanning the outside through the windows, being sure to walk quietly across the weathered floorboards. They’re creaky, but you do your best not to wake Joel.

At some point, your mind wanders to the last time you fucked Joel. Maybe you’re bored, but you can’t stop thinking about Joel counting, only letting you come when he got to three. You think about being on your knees for him, the weight of his cock smacking your tongue before he came down your throat. Pressing your thighs together, you feel slick gather in your panties. 

You look over and see Joel’s body limp with sleep, and figure he won’t wake up for a while. Okay, you have time. Just go in the closet and get yourself off before he wakes up. Considering how turned on you are, it won’t be that hard, right?

Fuck it. 

Exercising extra caution, you get up, setting the rifle down on the couch. Your pistol is in your ankle holster, so you’re still armed. Slowly, you open the door to the closet, eyes closing tight and your lips curling inward when the hinges squeak. You slip in and carefully shut the door. With urgency, you unbutton your pants and shove them down along with your underwear, leaning against the wall.

Your middle finger slides down your slit and fuck, you are soaked. Holding back a whimper, you begin to rub your clit quickly, trying to make it fast. Shutting your eyes, you picture Joel’s hand instead, how it would feel for his calloused fingers to be playing with you instead.

He’d whisper things in your ear. He’d tell you it’s pathetic how wet you are for him, tell you to be a good girl, tell you that you look pretty while moaning for him. Right now, you do feel pathetic, getting yourself off while Joel is asleep in the next room. For some reason, that just gets you closer to your release. 

What if you went out there and woke him up by straddling his lap? You want to kiss down his sharp jawline, grind on his bulge, and ask him to fuck you. 

What you want the most, though, is for Joel to kiss you. It’s only happened twice during the same drunken night. Joel was wasted and so were you, practically falling into each other on the way to your apartment. It seemed like an accident when his lips met yours the first time. He hurriedly kissed you again like he was trying to figure out if it had actually happened. 

As he was leaving, once the two of you were dressed, you went to kiss him goodbye. He turned his head, your lips awkwardly meeting his cheek. You brushed it off even though you were humiliated. What else could you do, though? You acted like nothing happened. Joel did the same. 

Now, here you are, thinking of kissing Joel hungrily while riding him, watching his eyes shut as he groans and spills into you. It sends you falling over the edge. Your pussy spasms and you clamp your hand over your mouth as you come, trying to stifle your cries. You rest your head against the wall, panting with your eyes closed. If Joel had been the one giving you that orgasm, your legs would be trembling, but your own hand can’t compare. 

You pull up your pants, buttoning your jeans, and slip out of the closet. Returning to the couch, you sit down and move the rifle onto your lap. Joel groans in his sleep and you continue to fantasize about hearing him groan in your ear as his cock plunges in and out of you.

Before you know it, the sun begins to rise. Joel jolts awake, his hand instinctively going to his pistol. When he realizes all is well and that you’re wide awake, sitting on the couch, the tension dissipates from his body. 

“Good morning, sleepy head,” you tease, a playful smile on your lips. 

“Jesus.” Joel rubs his eyes. His voice is gravelly, heavy with sleep. “Why didn’t ya wake me up?” 

“You were out like a light. Didn’t want to wake Sleeping Beauty,” you reply. Your eyes shift down to the obvious bulge in his jeans. Raising an eyebrow, you smile and nod towards his pelvis. “Good dream?”

Joel glares at you and then rubs his eyes with his palms like he’s trying to get knead the night away. You find yourself a little enchanted by him like this, tousled hair, hard cock, prominent lines between his brows from his face being pulled tight all night. You want to drop to your knees in front of him and beg for him to fuck your mouth. 

“Jesus, it’s the ass crack of dawn. ‘Nough of that,” he scolds. “Y’should’ve gotten me up. What if you had fallen asleep and gotten us killed?” 

“Well, I didn’t fall asleep and I didn’t get us killed,” you answer simply, shrugging your shoulders.

“Now I gotta deal with you being tired and grumpy all day,” Joel grumbles and stands up, his joints cracking. He walks over and rips the rifle from your hand while you shoot him an amused look. He mutters, “Piss me the fuck off.”

“I think you’re projecting, Joel. You’re always the grumpy one,” you say, brushing off his last comment. Joel’s snide remarks don’t hurt your feelings anymore, not when you know how he praises you when he fucks you.

Good girl. Did so good. Look so good like that.

Darlin’. Baby. Sweetheart. Sugar.

Your thighs clench just thinking about Joel’s gruff voice in your ear.

“Just shut up and lay down. Thirty minutes and then we gotta get movin’,” he says, slinging the rifle over his shoulder before moving towards the door to take the chair out from under the handle. “Gonna do a perimeter check. Thirty minutes.”

You roll your eyes but do as he says, taking off your jacket and lying on your stomach where Joel had been sleeping. It’s still warm from his body heat. You bunch up your jacket and use it as a makeshift pillow. Sleep takes you gently away. 

“C’mon. Up.” Joel jostles you awake, earning a groan from you. Your eyes are narrow when you glance up at him. He’s much more awake now, pack already on and rifle slung over his shoulder. “Let’s go. You’ve already wasted our time.”

Rolling your eyes, you get up and stretch, shrugging your lightweight denim jacket on. Snagging your pack, you follow Joel out the door. Spring has arrived and the early mornings still have a bite to them, but when you step outside, the sun is higher than it should be if Joel had only let you sleep for thirty minutes. You let the warmth of its rays wash over you, smiling to yourself. Thirty minutes, my ass, you think before slowly jogging to catch up to Joel who has already started walking.

It takes you about two hours to get to your destination. The hike was fairly smooth, only stumbling upon a few stray infected. Nothing that you and Joel couldn’t handle. The two of you were quiet. Joel was annoyed with you, you could tell, and you were exhausted. It wasn’t too out of the ordinary.

You approach a small town, surrounded by a fence with barbed wire and a sign that reads DANGER HIGH VOLTAGE. Joel tells you to stay put as he walks toward the box with a keypad, typing in a code. As the fence opens, a burly man with maybe one of the biggest automatics you’ve ever seen comes barreling out of a gorgeous, white colonial style home with gray shutters and a large American flag above the porch. The man has shoulder length hair, a scruffy beard, and wide shoulders. He sports a scowl and his gun is pointed directly at you. For some reason, you don’t feel fear, just tension. Joel’s with you. You’re fine.

“S’me,” Joel calls out, waving a disarming hand in the air. 

The man lowers his weapon and you trail behind Joel, shutting the gate of the fence behind you. It clicks locked. You’re taken aback by the sight in front of you, mouth slightly ajar. Shops, although empty, with fresh paint, potted flowers, meticulously cut grass. It’s almost like stepping into the old world. If you closed your eyes, you’re sure you would hear children playing, inane chatter, life before it all went to shit. 

“Hey,” Joel barks, snapping his fingers at you. You didn’t realize you were in a trance. “Keep walkin’.” 

The man meets you by the picket fence in front of the house with his frown and weapon, giving Joel a nod and a handshake. You’re not listening to whatever they’re talking about, standing behind Joel with your eyes still roaming your surroundings, in total awe of whatever the hell this is. 

“Bill, this is—”

You cut Joel off and give Bill your name along with something that resembles a half smile. Bill nods. A man of many words, apparently. The three of you walk inside and the smell of apple pie lingers in the air, making your stomach quietly grumble. You realize you haven’t eaten yet today and apple pie, something you haven’t had in twenty years, smells divine.

“We freeze the apples,” a different man says as if he could read your mind. Frank, you presume, has walked in from the kitchen. His hands are on his hips, smiling, and his beard is well trimmed, a stark contrast from Bill. He steps towards you and takes your hand, “I’m Frank.”

You introduce yourself and smile, putting your other hand over Frank’s. Warmth radiates off of him and he reminds you of someone, but you can’t quite place who. You drop hands and Frank greets Joel, pulling him into a hug. You’ve never seen Joel hug someone before. You’re almost envious, wondering what it would be like to have Joel hold you outside of fucking you. 

“Well, come on in. I’ll give you a tour,” Frank says, putting a hand on the small of your back to guide you into the living room.

It feels like a home. A real home with decor and tchotchkes, paintings and collages, records and a piano. You’re not sure you said anything besides holy shit and wow the entire time Frank was showing you around. Back in the dining room, Joel and Bill are sitting at the table, both looking incredibly stern, but there’s no tension, no malice. It’s just serious. It’s business. They’re checking things off of a list on a notepad and drinking whiskey—neat and on the rocks. Just how Joel likes it. 

Putting your hands on your knees, you bend down to look at the various spirits on the brass bar cart. You can feel Joel’s eyes on your ass.

“Fuck, this place is incredible,” you gush. “You guys looking for a third?” 

“You know, you’re not quite our type,” Frank chuckles softly, leaning against the archway. 

You smirk at him and straighten your back. “Yeah, I figured.”

Joel’s looking at you from the table, pen idle in his hand. When you glance at him, you think you’re going to melt into those brown eyes of his. They look softer here, illuminated by the warm sun filtering in through the sheer curtains. What would it be like to sit across from Joel at a table like this and drink coffee in the morning? What would it be like to sleep beside him in the master bedroom with its canopy bed and venetian carpet? Is Joel wondering the same thing right now as he stares at you? You make yourself sick with these thoughts. 

You almost forget Bill and Frank are there until Frank breaks the silence. “I’m going to take you to the boutique down the road, then you two can shower and freshen up before dinner. Does that sound okay?”

Nodding, you follow him out the door. The town is quaint and somehow so well-kept. You walk in silence, taking it all in, while listening as Frank explains how he and Bill met and how they fixed up the town. It’s a love story. An apocalyptic one, but still one nonetheless. Until now, you didn’t think those existed anymore.

Frank opens the door to the boutique and your eyes widen at the sight. Racks and racks of women’s clothes, a wall of accessories, a case of jewelry, boxes of shoes, and makeup.

“Holy shit,” you say under your breath for the hundredth time today. 

“Take whatever you need, whatever you want. It’s free,” Frank offers with a wink, walking up behind you with his hand on his hips.

You turn to look at him, brows raised incredulously. 

“Are you serious?” you ask. He nods. “I don’t even…thank you.” 

Frank doesn’t say anything, just smiling as you start to look through the racks. The clothes are dusty and some of them have tiny holes from moths, sure, but they’re in good shape. Much better condition than anything you have back in the QZ. Plus, they’re actually cute. You were never old enough to go shopping at boutiques like this, your teenagehood soiled by the outbreak before you even got the chance. 

“So,” you start, rubbing a silk dress between your fingers, “how did you guys meet Joel anyway?”

“Well, I started talking to Tess on the radio,” he says and you stop moving altogether. Tess. “Bill hated that, as I’m sure you can guess. When we actually met Tess, along came Joel. You know how that is, wherever Tess is, there Joel is.”

Tess. You met Tess when you met Joel a few years ago. It had been a year or so after you started smuggling that you started working with their crew. Joel’s a damn good smuggler and you practically needed recommendations before he let you in on jobs. You were younger then, in your mid-twenties, and had to prove yourself to be an asset and you did. Tess recognized this, giving you credit where credit was due, but she was never particularly nice to you. Neither was Joel. Eventually, you started going on regular runs with Tess, Joel, Adam, and every now and then, a few others.

Adam was a few years older than you, but still much younger than Joel and Tess. The two of you stuck together if you ever needed to split up in pairs. So yeah, you get it. Wherever Tess went, Joel went. You could tell he was always particularly protective of her, but they had known each other for years. They trusted each other; it made sense. You never thought too much about it. 

About six months ago, Tess stopped coming around. Joel’s moods were worse than usual after that, but you didn’t say anything to him about it. You wouldn’t dream of it. Frankly, it was none of your business, but you were curious. When you brought up Tess’ absence to Adam, he said that there were logistical and financial disagreements among some of the group members. You didn’t believe it, but you let it go. As long as you were getting paid, what the hell did it matter?

Something sour bubbles in your belly at the thought of Tess and Joel. You ignore it, trying to focus on the clothes in front of you with their bright colors, patterns, and soft fabric. 

“I’m a little surprised Tess isn’t here with you two,” Frank says and you look up to meet his gaze, giving him a small shrug. He smiles and nods, dropping it altogether.

You pick out a few things to try on. Jeans, tank tops, t-shirts, a few blouses, new boots, even a dress and a pair of heels. You also snagged some new underwear and a lacy bra. In the dressing room with the emerald green, velvet curtain pulled shut, you strip. Trying on each of the pieces one by one, you admire the way they hug your waist and accentuate the curve of your hips and ass. When you get to the dress, your breath hitches. You haven’t worn a dress in years. The low, square neckline makes it hard not to stare at your own breasts. The black dress is short, landing above your mid-thigh and you notice how nice your plush curves look. You smile to yourself, thinking about how amazing it would be to have somewhere to actually wear this.

When you come out, Frank’s holding you a bag and you dump your findings in it. Before you leave, you stop and look at the makeup, grabbing mascara and blush. 

“Do you think I’m going to get an infection from how expired this shit is?” you ask.

“It’s possible. I guess you have to decide if it’s worth the risk.”

When you get back to the house, you can smell whatever Bill is cooking. Some sort of meat. Maybe duck? You aren’t entirely sure, but it’s divine and you’re reminded again of how hungry you are. Frank tells you that you can shower as Bill makes dinner, pulling a fluffy bath towel from the linen closet and showing you to the guest bedroom that you’ll be staying in.

“Unless you and Joel are sharing a room?” Frank asks, uncertainty clear in his voice. 

“Definitely not. Unless you want him to kill himself,” you reply with a short laugh and shake your head. The words tumble out of your mouth when you say, “Thanks for the clothes and the shower and for having me here.”

Frank just smiles, resting a hand on your shoulder and giving you a smile that says you’re welcome. 

You head into the bedroom, noting all of the decorations and the matching furniture set. Tears well up in your eyes as you look at the clean sheets, thinking about how you can’t wait to fall into the fluffy pillows tonight. 

In the shower, you cry and you cry hard. It’s just overwhelming, being in a place that feels incredibly normal and reminiscent of a time that’s so far away, so far gone now. You let yourself drown in the emotion as the shower pelts you with hot water. 

When you get out and wipe the condensation off of the mirror, you examine yourself, grateful that your eyes aren’t puffy. You attempt to dry your hair with your towel and put on a coat of mascara. That small touch makes all the difference and you realize that you haven’t felt this pretty in a long time. Sure, you know you’re desirable. You would fuck you, but this feels foreign. It feels luxurious. 

You get dressed and pull on a new pair of jeans that hug your ass perfectly, pairing them with a tight, black long sleeve. It has three buttons by your breasts that you leave undone to accentuate your cleavage. You tie it all together with new boots and a dainty necklace. Stepping back, you take in your reflection. Again, you’d fuck you. 

Stepping into the hallway, you see Joel leave his bedroom at the same time. Your pussy pulses and your chest tightens when you see him. His beard is trimmed and wet curls are falling on his forehead. The clean flannel he’s wearing hugs his biceps and you want to sink your teeth into them. He looks less rugged, more domestic in a way that makes your heart hurt a little.

Joel’s eyes travel down your body, lingering on your breasts for a moment and finally, he meets your gaze. Both of you stand there, just staring at each other before he clears his throat.

“Y’look, uh…clean,” he says, voice low, and he runs his tongue over his teeth. 

“Yeah, you too. For once,” you tease although your tone is flat.

He motions towards the stairs. “We should—”

“Yeah.”

The two of you head downstairs and see Frank carrying dishes to the dining room table. It’s set with frilly placemats, wine glasses, and two long candles dripping red wax onto glass holders. Your eyes are wide when you see the food laid out in front of you. It’s duck, as you suspected, with mashed potatoes, gravy, and asparagus. Plus, an unopened bottle of Beaujolais. 

“Ready?” Bill asks, uncorking the bottle and pouring everyone a glass. 

You nod and approach the table, but before you can pull out your chair, Joel does it for you. Raising an eyebrow and glancing at him, you take a seat.

“Such a gentleman, Joel. On good behavior today?” you whisper so only he can hear. 

“Will you shut it?” he hisses back, passing you a glass. 

“There we go,” you say back, smiling more to yourself than to him. “That’s more like it.” 

The four of you settle and Frank picks up his glass, raising it to initiate a toast. You’ve never even toasted to anything before and though you’re almost thirty, you feel like a child sitting at the adult table during Christmas dinner. 

“To new friends,” Frank begins, nodding towards you before looking at Joel, “and old friends.” 

Your face gets hot as the four of you clink your glasses together and mumble cheers. The first taste of wine you have is more of a gulp than a sip and if it weren’t incredibly rude, you would’ve finished the whole glass in one go. It’s better than any alcohol you’ve consumed in the QZ and while you could smuggle better shit in, you have other priorities like the medication for Susan. After tasting this though, you think you’ll ask Frank if there’s something you could trade for a bottle. Maybe two.

Frank, Bill, and Joel chat about supplies while you sort of listen, focusing mainly on the delectable food in front of you. Again, this meal is better than anything you’ve had in the QZ and truthfully, maybe even better than anything you’ve had in your whole life. You have to consciously pace yourself so you don’t scarf it all down in under five minutes.

At some point, Joel kicks your shin from under the table, grabbing your attention. When you give him a look that says what the actual fuck, he nods over towards Frank. You realize then, totally fucking embarrassed, that he asked you a question and you didn’t even register it.

“I asked where you’re from?” Frank smiles, patient and warm. When your eyes dart over to Joel, he’s biting back a smile while chewing and looking down at his food.

Asshole. 

“Sorry,” you mumble. You take a sip of wine, your glass nearly empty. “I’m from Portland. Maine, not Oregon.”

As you speak, Joel’s eyes flicker to you and he stops chewing to listen to you. It’s the first time you’ve ever shared any personal information with Joel and even now, he didn’t ask, you’re just answering someone else’s question. Something about Joel knowing anything about you makes you uneasy. You figure it’s because all you’ve learned about him has been through other people.

“Beautiful place to grow up,” Frank says, pouring more wine into your glass. You smile to say thank you, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Did you spend a lot of time on the water?”

“Yeah, my dad was a fisherman.”

Bill nods in your direction. With his mouth full he says, “Great skill to have in times like these.”

It comes in flashes. The feeling of cold sunscreen on your back, the gentle sloshing of the boat that rocked you to sleep like a baby, lobster shells cracking like ribs. You think about your dad with his toothy grin. The scent of fish that lingers. You start to feel sick.

Maybe it shows on your face, the way you’re solemnly reminiscing, because Joel’s boot meets your leg and strokes it lightly, like he’s patting you on the back. When you glance over at him, he’s looking down at his plate. It was probably just an accident, you tell yourself.

You take another sip of wine like it’ll wash away your thoughts. It pools in your stomach, that deep warm feeling you’ve come to appreciate during times of discomfort. 

“You think that until you eat so much fish that you’re pretty sure you’re going to get mercury poisoning,” you attempt to joke, but you know your tone isn’t convincing. It comes out more sad than anything.

“Guess there are worse ways to die,” Joel mumbles. 

You laugh. You don’t mean to, but it just comes out. Frank joins you while Bill and Joel are silent, staring at each other like you and Frank have lost it altogether. When the laughter dies down, Frank changes the subject like he knows you’d rather not talk about yourself anymore. You mentally thank him for it.

Three bottles of wine later, dinner ends and you feel fatigue overtake you. After helping Frank with the dishes, you excuse yourself and head upstairs to the room you’re staying in. You strip off your clothes, only clad in your new matching bra and panties, before collapsing in the bed. You tell yourself that you can take your makeup off tomorrow. 

Snuggling into the sheets, you take a deep breath. You hadn’t expected the day to exhaust you quite like this. Working as a smuggler usually meant life or death situations and risk. Here, you feel safe, but you feel like you’ve expended more energy than ever before. The entire experience of being in a place like this, a place so resonant of a life you could’ve had, has weakened you. Each step you took in this sanctuary weighed a hundred pounds. Your limbs feel heavy and you’re thankful for a few hours of uninterrupted rest.

The wine from dinner hit you so hard that you don’t hear him come in. It isn’t until the bed sinks in next to you that you realize you’re not alone. Waking from your slumber, you instinctively turn to reach for the pistol in your pack that you’ve strategically placed next to your bed. Even if this is the safest you’ve felt in years, you’re still on edge. Force of habit. A firm hand grabs your wrist to stop you.

“Stop,” he demands. Joel loosens his grip on you and says, softer now, “Just me.”

As you register his presence as safe, your heartbeat slows. Your arm drops and you sigh deeply. 

“Fuck you—you scared the fuck out of me, Joel,” you hiss, closing your eyes. “What do you want?”

When the blanket is pulled from your upper body, your eyes open again, the same startled look from before. Joel’s hands land on your breasts, thumbs tracing the lines of the lacy fabric of your bra, eventually making their way down your sides. He digs his fingers into the plush of your hips. Your breath hitches, knowing damn well that you’re already getting wet. 

“Pretty,” he whispers, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of your panties, hiking them up further. “You wear these just for me?”

“No.” You roll your eyes and let your head loll to the side. “I wore them for Frank.” 

Joel grabs your chin and forces you to look up at him. It’s dark, so damn dark, but you can see a sliver of his face lit up by the moonlight that’s creeping in through the sheer curtains. His eyes carry that lustful darkness that you know so well. Joel wants something from you and he’s going to get it. You want to give it to him. Whatever he wants, it’s his and you don’t need to say it aloud. Joel knows.

“What do you want?” you ask, voice quiet and unintentionally sultry.

“You playin’ dumb tonight? I think ya know what I want.”

“Then take it,” you reply, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. The look in Joel’s eyes makes your clit throb in anticipation.

“Wasn’t askin’ permission, sweetheart. I know you’ll gimme what I want,” Joel rasps, leaning down to kiss and nip at your pulse point.

He’s right and you almost hate it. Joel’s a smug bastard, always has been. He knows that whatever fight you put up, it’s all show. He knows you like the verbal sparring, the way he grabs you, the way he fucks you harder when you piss him off; you think he likes it, too, since he keeps coming back for more. Maybe it’s as much for him as it is for you.

You let out something between a dry laugh and a groan. “You’re such a fucking asshole.”

“Y’real mouthy tonight.”

“Maybe something big in my mouth would shut me up.”

“I got other plans for you,” he mumbles, pulling your earlobe into his mouth and biting lightly. 

You inhale sharply. “Hope they’re good considering you woke me up.”

“That how you talk to someone who’s about to fuck you good?” Joel’s breath is hot against your neck. 

Your pussy throbs at the thought of having Joel deep inside of you. Eyelids fluttering closed, you think you mumble something like please or sorry or both. If you weren’t so aroused, you’d probably be mad at yourself for essentially giving in already. You orgasmed less than twenty four hours ago. What happened to your self control? If you’re being honest, you’ve never had it when it comes to Joel.

One of Joel’s hands leaves your hips to paw at your breast, flicking your nipple with his thumb and feeling it pebble under his touch. You bite back a moan, but your breathing is shallow and gives you away. Joel hums against you before sucking on the tender skin where your neck meets your shoulder. The thought crosses your mind that he’s being forceful enough to leave marks and that there’s a chance Bill and Frank will notice tomorrow, but your mind quickly moves on from the topic when Joel tugs at your nipple. You let out a small squeak at the sensation. 

“Think I didn’t notice the way these tits were hangin’ out a dinner?” he asks, breathless, although it’s not really a question. Joel pulls away to admire your chest and yanks your bra down, letting your breasts hang over the fabric. “And in front of strangers, too. Shameless little whore, huh?” 

“You don’t have anything to worry about. You heard Frank, I’m not their type,” you deadpan.

“I didn’t say anything about bein’ worried. Wouldn’t be anyway,” Joel says, sliding one hand down to your clothed pussy and cupping you. “Y’know who this pussy belongs to.”

You can’t help but think, yours, yours, yours. All yours Joel. 

Squirming under his touch, you rut your hips into his hand to chase any hint of pleasure. Your brows are furrowed as you look up at him. He smirks, satisfied with himself, and rubs a torturously light circle on the soaked center of your panties with two of his fingers.

“Feel how wet she is for me, baby?” 

Baby. You almost whine at the pet name. Joel calls you pet names all the time, but tonight it’s hitting you differently. You’ve been emotional, maybe that’s it. 

Nodding, you sit up on your elbows and grind into his hand. It’s not enough and Joel knows it, but he doesn’t give you more than this. For now. It’s easy to tell he’s enjoying watching you like this, all desperate and needy for him. You still won’t give in and moan, so you just breathe heavily and chew on your lip as you take in the dull pleasure of his thick palm on your hot core. 

“Play with yourself,” he instructs, removing his hand from you and standing up.

Your previously heavy lidded eyes are now wild as you stare at him and you make no move to touch yourself. He just stands there, looking at you with a raised eyebrow. 

“C’mon, play with yourself,” he demands, voice low and laced with annoyance. “Y’look real dumb just starin’ at me like that. Haven’t even fucked you stupid yet.”

Cheeks heating up and pussy throbbing, you go to slide your hand under your ruined panties when Joel tuts at you.

“Over ‘em.”

“Joel, are you fucking serious?” you whine, almost sounding like a bratty child.

“Do I look like I’m playin’ games with you?”

You roll your eyes, but acquiesce and begin to play with your clit over your panties. It’s painful how muted the pleasure is. All you want is Joel’s fingers or his tongue or his cock. Really anything besides this. Looking up at Joel, you hope you can give him puppy dog eyes to convince him to fuck you, but you’re distracted by the way he’s palming his cock through his jeans. The hardened length is prominent even in the dark of the bedroom. 

“Is this what you did the other night while I was sleepin’?” Joel asks as he undoes his belt. 

Your lips part, your eyes widen, and your chest gets hot. Embarrassment spreads over you like wildfire. “I-I,” you stammer, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Joel laughs quietly and takes his t-shirt off, revealing the salt and pepper chest hair that covers scars across his chest. Your eyes are glued to his abdomen, taking all of him in. He shucks off the sweatpants he borrowed for the night, stepping toward the bed.

“I-I-I,” he mocks you cruelly. His teasing goes right to your pussy, making you clench around nothing. “Please, darlin’. I heard you tryna muffle those pretty sounds a’yours.”

A small moan slips from your lips as you frantically rub yourself through your underwear. Your fingers are getting wet through the barrier of the fabric that’s thoroughly soaked by your juices. 

“What were you thinkin’ about?” he asks, pulling the covers back and slipping in beside you. Heat radiates off of him and you feel yourself getting sweaty from arousal, embarrassment, and him.

You don’t respond aloud, but you tug at the waistband of his boxers, wanting nothing more than to see his cock. Joel shakes his head. 

“Use your words. Y’love to run that mouth, so let’s hear it.”

“You, Joel,” you admit, whimpering. “Your tongue, your cock.”

He hums, pleased by your answer. Joel leans in and kisses below your ear before whispering, “S’what I thought.”

Joel slides his boxers down and kicks them off, his hardened length finally there for you to see. Your lips part as you stare while he strokes himself once and then twice, exposing the red, swollen head of his cock. You pick up the pace of your fingers as if it’ll relieve any ache at all. 

“Alright, sweetheart.” He slides down the bed, positioning himself between your legs and pulling your damp panties off. “Since you need it so bad.”

When Joel places a sloppy kiss to your clit, you finally let yourself moan earnestly. 

“Love hearin’ those pretty noises,” he mumbles against your cunt between licks.

Relief floods through you as Joel begins to flick your clit with his tongue. Light and fast. Just how you like it. Each movement is precisely what you want. Joel just knows your body at this point. You tangle a hand in his hair to push him closer, to encourage him.

The sounds he’s making as he eats your cunt are utterly obscene and you try not to contribute to the noise by biting your index finger, well aware that you’re in someone else’s house. Two people that were very kind to you and are letting you stay in their home. The least you can do is not moan and wake them up. 

Joel makes it hard for you to keep quiet when he slips two fingers in your cunt and curls them upwards, hitting the spot inside of you that makes your toes curl. A strangled sound claws its way out of you as you try to hold back your cries of pleasure. When a moan that’s a little too loud slips out, Joel digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your inner thighs and you get the message. Shut. Up.

You look down at Joel. His graying curls are a mess from you pulling on them, his pupils are blown lecherously, and he’s rutting his hips into the bed. The sight of him hurdles you toward your orgasm. Joel can feel you start to clench around his fingers. Knowing that you’re close, the hand that’s not inside of you shoots up and he shoves two fingers into your open mouth. You suck on his fingers as they move in tandem with the ones inside of you, hitting the back of your throat a few times, making you gag. 

All the sensations at once are overwhelming when your release hits you. Thighs trembling and closing in around Joel’s head, you moan around Joel’s fingers and tears well up in your eyes, ultimately slipping down your temples and into your hairline.

Joel pulls his fingers from your mouth and your pussy at the same time before lightly smacking the inside of your thigh, conscientious of the volume of the impact. His tongue is still circling your clit and you can’t take it anymore, wriggling away from his touch. Finally, Joel relents, looking up at you with slick, swollen lips. He looks absolutely fucked. His thumb rubs a soothing circle atop of the hair on your mound, sticky and wet from your arousal and Joel’s spit.

You’re panting when he hovers over you, looking down at the sheen of sweat covering you from your orgasm. His cock rests on the soft part of your lower belly.

“C’mere, taste yourself,” he husks.

This is it, you think. He’s finally going to slip his tongue in your mouth and kiss you. You’ve been itching for it since the first time you kissed him and you feel excitement flutter in your stomach. Looking up at him expectantly, you hold your breath, but you’re surprised when Joel’s thumb meets your bottom lip and pries your mouth open. You stick your tongue out without even thinking about it, and Joel spits directly into your mouth. His warm salvia pools on your tongue and you close your mouth, swallowing the taste of both of you. 

You can’t help but feel disappointed yet you try to remind yourself that Joel just made you come on his tongue and fuck, it was good. The aftershocks are still reverberating in your core. 

“Good girl,” he praises, voice flat and gravelly. “S’that what you wanted?”

Inhaling shakily, you nod. Joel’s forearm rests by the side of your head, your chests pressed together, while he drags his cock through your slick. Every time the head brushes against your clit, you shudder, still so sensitive from your orgasm. 

“What else did you say you were thinkin’ about?” he asks, still teasing your slit with his cock.

“Your—”

Joel sinks in without warning and his hand flies to your mouth in an attempt to quiet you before you wake Bill and Frank. It works, mostly. Despite your orgasm and his fingers, his cock still stretches you out. It amazes you that no matter how many times you take him, you still feel him work you open. 

Once Joel bottoms out in you and stills, you finish your sentence through exasperated breaths. “Cock. Your cock.”

He groans at this as he begins to thrust into you, shallow yet fast strokes, his cock nearly pulling fully out each time. He’s fucking teasing you. Your moans are hiccupy little noises, not entirely satisfied with the fucking you’re getting. You know if you tell him this, he’ll stop entirely. Just to fuck with you. You also know how to get him going. Just start talking. 

“I know you’ve brought other girls here. Is this what you do, Joel? Bring girls you like here?” His brow furrows at your question, still not fucking you quite how you’d like. You’re surprised that your words are coming out so smoothly. “Wine them and dine them, then make them come?” 

Joel laughs darkly at this and picks up the pace, earning a quiet moan from you. You feel satisfied with yourself, knowing that you’re getting to him. Part of you wonders if he would’ve reacted differently if you mentioned Tess by name. 

“Who said I like you?” 

“I-I think—fuck,” you exhale as he starts to fuck you harder, kissing your cervix with the head of his cock. You close your eyes, telling yourself to pull it together long enough to finish your sentence. “You like me. Enough to be in my bed when you’ve got your own.”

Shaking his head, he buries himself deep inside of you and ceases any movement. You almost whine out of frustration, but you hold back. Joel uses his free hand, the one that’s not supporting him, to wrap tightly around your throat. You choke out a moan and clench around him. 

“I like you when you shut the fuck up,” he says through grit teeth. 

You smile and try to laugh, but it sounds more like a cough than anything. Joel loosens his grip ever so slightly as he starts moving his hips again, fast and deep. Just what you wanted. 

“R-Really? Thought you liked hearing my pretty little noises?” you manage to get out with his clutch lighter than before.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Joel groans, shaking his head. He stops moving and this time, you actually do whine. “Can’t keep that fuckin’ mouth shut.”

Joel releases your throat and leans over, still buried inside of you, to reach for your pack. 

“What’re you—”

He pulls out a roll of duct tape you keep in the front pocket just in case the soles of your boots start to go. Your eyes widen and you swallow hard to try to get rid of the lump in your throat. Anxiety or excitement? You can’t tell.

“Fleshlights don’t talk,” he mutters before ripping a piece of tape off with his teeth, “and that’s all y’are to me.”

Before you get the chance to even think about something to say, Joel slaps the duct tape across your mouth. It’s primal—the way your breathing becomes heavy and frantic through your nose and your chest heaves, like prey being caught by a predator. At the same time, your cunt tightens around him and you feel arousal leak from you. You think that there has to be something wrong with you. This shouldn’t turn you on this much, right?

Joel doesn’t resume fucking you yet, still and sheathed all the way inside of you. His dark, blown out eyes search your face.

“Breathe, breathe,” he orders, but his voice is almost soft now, stripped of the edge it carried before. A hand comes up to cup your jaw and his thumb brushes the tape. “Breathe for me, baby.”

You close your eyes and focus on your breath and the gentle caress of Joel’s rough hands. Eventually, your breathing becomes normal again, consistent. When you open your eyes, Joel’s looking at you and you think you see a flash of concern cross his face.

“Y’okay?” he asks, waiting for your go ahead.

Nodding a little too excitedly with wide eyes, you lift your hips up and your hands fly to his lower back, trying to press him even close to you. Joel’s hand drops from your face and he wears a smug smile as he throws your legs over his shoulders, now impossibly deep inside of you. You moan, muffled pathetically by the tape.

“Good, ‘cause I gotta keep my word and fuck you real nice.”

Joel grabs a good handful of your thighs, digging his fingers into you, and starts pistoning in and out of your cunt. Your hands fist the sheets, trying to ground yourself as he fucks into you brutally, hitting that sweet, spongey spot deep inside of you. If the duct tape weren’t there to stifle your cries, you’re sure you’d wake up Bill and Frank. 

“Much better,” he grunts. “Now I can focus on how fuckin’ nice and tight this cunt is.”

You whimper at his filthy words. Joel has such a mouth on him and you never, ever want him to shut up. Every time he talks to you in bed, you make sure to pay attention, commit it to memory so you can replay it over and over again when you touch yourself.

The tempo he’s set is merciless, his cock slamming into you relentlessly. Your cunt spasms around him and you close your eyes tightly, already feeling that familiar pressure building in your lower belly. Joel notices and he smiles. It’s crooked, smug and exposes his canines. He shifts his angle slightly and rolls his hips into you, groaning quietly. The change earns a wanton moan from you and you arch your back, trying to feel him as deep as possible.

“So damn needy,” he growls. “You were really thinkin’ about this all day, huh?

Joel spreads your legs into a wide V and begins to fuck you slower. You whine, brows pulled tightly as you feel your impending orgasm slip away. His eyes are trained on where his body meets yours, watching his cock, completely coated in your juices, slide in and out of your puffy lips. 

“Fuck, sugar.” He exhales. “Look at that. She takes me so well.” 

You nod, but you don’t look because you can’t pull your eyes away from Joel. He’s covered in a sheen of sweat, broad chest glowing in the moonlight, and you wish you could lean forward and lick the perspiration off of the protruding vein on his neck. Joel’s fucking beautiful. 

With your legs spread wide, you feel exposed, but you’re not self conscious. The way Joel’s looking at you, like he could devour you whole, is electric. 

He’s still staring at your pussy, enamored, when he gathers his spit in his mouth and lets it fall from his lips, landing directly on your clit. You moan at the sensation, tilting your head back. One of his hands drops to your sensitive bud and he begins smearing the wetness around. The way he rubs your clit with intention is fucking divine and when he starts to fuck you again, you feel that white hot pleasure return.

Joel’s breathing is ragged and you can tell he’s trying not to make too much noise. At this point, you’re not sure if it matters. The bed is faintly creaking, the sound of skin slapping is unmistakable, and although your moans and cries are dampened, you can still hear them. 

“Squeezin’ me tight,” he says with a sigh. “Gonna give me another, sugar? C’mon, gimme one more.”

The circling on your clit doesn’t stop for even one second and his hips rocking into you don’t falter—your eyes roll back as you come. Your cunt throbs around Joel’s cock and he groans in response, fucking you erratically through it. The high-pitched cries that pour out of you are softened, but not entirely squashed by the tape. As you come down from your high, Joel pulls out of you abruptly.

Fisting his cock, he mutters your name, sandwiched by expletives that you can’t quite distinguish as your ears are ringing from the aftershocks of your orgasm. You manage to sit up on your elbows to look at Joel and the swollen head of his cock, glistening from your cum. With a final groan, he spills his warm, sticky spend on your lower belly and the hair on your mound. 

Joel’s panting as he rolls over next to you, hands coming up to rest on his forehead as he shuts his eyes. You sit there and let him catch his breath, just watching the way his chest rises and falls. Once his breathing decelerates, he opens his eyes and looks over at you—lying there with your mouth taped, covered in his cum. 

Turning on his side to face you, he lets out a short, dry laugh that could easily be mistaken as a scoff. In one quick motion, Joel rips the duct tape off.

“Ow—fuck,” you curse under your breath. Your hand comes up to rub the soft yet irritated skin in an attempt to soothe the sting. “That fucking hurt.” 

“You’ll live.”

You roll your eyes and go to get up so that you can clean Joel’s mess off of you, but he stops you with a firm grip on your forearm. Annoyed and exhausted, you don’t bother fighting it, letting your head drop back onto the pillow. 

Joel’s middle and index finger swipe a long stripe down from your belly to your clit, gathering his cum on his fingers. 

“Open,” he instructs. 

Without a second thought, your lips part and you let your jaw hang open. Joel sticks his fingers in your mouth and you close around them, eyes fluttering shut as you moan and take in the heady, salty taste of his cum.

“Suck.” You do.

“Swallow.” You do.

Fingers popping out of your mouth lewdly, you feel your cheeks get hot with arousal and a hint of embarrassment. Joel knows how much you liked that and you’re sure he’ll hold it over your head at some point. 

“That’s my good girl,” he practically coos. You feel sheepish from the praise, forcing yourself to look away. 

Joel reaches over and grabs the shirt he discarded earlier from the floor. Tenderly, or as tenderly as Joel seems to be capable of, he wipes the remainder of his spend off of you. His gaze meets yours and the moment feels charged. Your mouth is slightly agape and you notice his eyes flit to your lips. If there were ever a time for the two of you to kiss, it’s now. A few moments pass, and it doesn’t come.

“Such a gentleman,” you mumble, breaking the silence. “Guess you are on good behavior.”

Whatever trance Joel was caught in is broken and he snaps his eyes away from you. He runs a hand through his sweaty curls. 

“Oh, fuck off,” he grumbles.

You smile and roll your eyes, adjusting your bra so it’s back in its proper place, covering your nipples that are still hard. For the first time all day, your mind is blank, too exhausted to think. So you let yourself melt into the bedsheets, pulling the blanket up to cover your mostly bare body. Joel doesn’t move. Joel doesn’t say anything.

The only thing you two can hear as you lie on your backs is the sound of each other’s breathing. At some point, you drift off to sleep.

When you wake in the morning to the birds chirping, Joel is gone. You swear you felt him place a gentle kiss on your temple before leaving a few hours ago, but you might have been dreaming.

[gingerteafairy]

abductor hacker machine (dave lizewski x reader)

You’re Dave’s gym crush. He’s never skipping leg day again.

tags n warnings: college!dave, language, highly suggestive, mentions of handjob, flirting, gym terms. word count: 2.3k masterlist

Dave had arrived at the gym early, excitement buzzing through him because it was back and arms day. The gym wasn’t too crowded, and Todd was just coming in—it felt like the perfect day for an upper-body workout.

“Hey, man. Feeling good today,” Todd greeted him with a quick high five before heading over to stretch.

“Yeah…” Dave nodded, walking to the pull-up bar. He grabbed it, letting his body hang as he stretched his spine, easing into a light isometric hold.

“Dude, I don’t know how you even manage pull-ups. That’s the hardest thing I’ve ever tried,” Todd said, his voice tinged with genuine admiration as Dave began the exercise with surprising finesse. His muscles flexed and tightened with each smooth motion, displaying a control that came from dedication.

That’s the sight you walked into when you entered the gym. The hot nerd was effortlessly pulling himself up on the bar, his form flawless, his focus unshakable. You couldn’t look away, watching until he finally finished, wiping sweat off his brow with the hem of his shirt. When your eyes met, Dave froze for a moment, then followed you with his gaze as you walked toward the squat rack. It was leg day for you.

He didn’t have a choice—he had to say something to his gym crush.

“Dude, where are you going?” Todd asked, puzzled.

“Uhm…leg press,” Dave replied quickly, his tone distracted as his focus stayed locked on you.

“Someone's not skipping leg day for once,” he shook his head, handing a dumbbell.

He watched you doing your exercise, trying to figure out the best thing to do or say. The best option was to go over to you, so he walked toward you with determined steps—but by the time he got there, you had already finished. Awkwardly, he turned around and headed for the calf machine instead. That was the next best option. Pretending nothing happened, however, was a mistake.

“You're such a loser, Dave Lizewski,” he muttered under his breath, grabbing any random weight to load onto the machine.

“Hi, excuse me.”

Dave could barely believe it when he turned around and saw you standing there. He almost dropped the weight and had to lean on the machine to strike a casual pose. Oh my God, she came over. She’s talking to me. She’s actually here.

“I didn’t catch that. What did you say?” he lied, removing one earbud. Of course, he had heard you. He just wanted to make sure this was real.

“I said hi,” you repeated, pulling out one of your own earbuds.

“Uh… hi. I’m great, and you?” he stammered awkwardly, noticing the slight confusion flicker across your face at his strange response.

“I’m glad you’re good…” you laughed softly, resting your hands on your hips. “Um… how much longer are you going to be on this machine?”

Idiot, idiot, idiot. Of course, it’s about the machine.

“I just started, but… d’you wanna share?” he asked hopefully. However, when you glanced at the amount of weight loaded onto the machine, you immediately decided against it. How on earth is this guy pushing all that weight with his calves?

“No, it’s fine… I’ll wait,” you replied, heading to a corner to check your phone while you waited.

Dave closed his eyes, cursing himself for how poorly the entire interaction had gone. He wiped the sweat from his face, which had only increased after talking to you, and rushed through the exercise with poor form, desperate to finish quickly. Without looking back, he walked away, leaving the machine free for you.

“Fucking idiot, i wanna die” Dave muttered as he walked over to Todd, who was finishing his shoulder workout.

“Hey, dude. Did you talk to her?” Todd asked, grunting as he set his weights down.

“I did, but now I’m gonna have to do every single posterior chain exercise known to man so she doesn’t think i’m a total loser,” Dave blurted, running his hand through his hair. His eyes wandered to you across the gym, finishing your set. “Fuck. I’m never coming back to this gym ever again.”

“Relax, man. She’s probably not even thinking about it,” Todd tried to calm him down, noticing Dave rubbing his forehead and checking his pulse.

“She is. She is, Todd. She's so fucking perfect and I just said do you wanna share like a total moron.” He whimpered, scratching his head.

“So, what’s the plan now? Glutes?” Todd chuckled, but Dave’s eyes lit up.“No… don’t tell me—are you serious?”

“I’m doing everything. It’s important for testosterone production,” Dave mumbled, walking over to the hip abduction machine and staring at it like it was some alien contraption. “Shit… I have no idea how this thing works.”

He sat down, looking around desperately for help—any help—praying for someone to rescue him. “Hey, God. I know i haven't been the best dude on earth, but please. I really need help, i need to do it. Send someone. Anyone. Just don't send a scary dude, please.”

Unfortunately for him, it was you who got there first.

“Just starting?” you inquired, placing your water bottle on the holder.

“Uh… yeah, I… uh, wanna try?” he murmured, blinking in slight panic as he stood up from the machine to let you take over. You smiled, taking the opportunity and settling in to begin your exercise.

And God, Dave had to muster every ounce of self-control not to stare at your legs or the muscles working with precision, he didn't even want to mention the word glutes because it seemed so fucking wrong in this moment. He turned to face the wall instead.

“These atoms are… amazing. Science is really evolving these days!” he blurted to the man next to him, pointing at the wall. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Is it some kind of new cement?”

“It’s plaster,” the guy replied, frowning in confusion before returning to his workout. “Weirdo.”

Dave turned back toward you, forcing himself to focus on your face. But then he saw you finishing and standing to the side. He had no choice now but to actually use the machine. Swallowing hard, he sat down.

“This can’t be that hard,” he whispered to himself, loading the machine with the maximum weight. He tried to open his legs, but the machine didn’t budge an inch.

“Wow, this machine is different, I know it. Heavier than I expected,” he chuckled nervously. You bit your lip to suppress a laugh of your own—it was pretty clear to you that this guy had never touched this machine before.

“Here, lemme help,” you offered, moving closer to him. He froze but nodded, letting you adjust his position.

“Sit back a little and tilt your torso forward,” you instructed, placing your hand lightly on the machine. “Set it to 30. Then, open your legs as wide as you can. You’ll feel better if you keep your glutes really really up, okay?”

“Okay,” he muttered, adjusting the settings. He tried again but barely moved the machine, the faintest clinking sound coming from the weights. She’s going to think I’m so weak. I'm dead. Dead, buried and dusted.

“Want me to show you?” you asked, and before he could think, he nodded. He jumped up, letting you take his place, but instantly regretted it the moment you sat down.

“No… uh, no need to worry about it…” he stuttered, flushing red as you adjusted the weight and got into position.

“I don’t mind helping,” you replied with a small smile, demonstrating the movement with flawless form. “Like this—glutes up and open as wide as possible.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dave squeaked, covering his face to hide his embarrassment and to resist the urge to glance back at you.

“So, you’ll want to do this fifteen times. Watch carefully, so you don’t mess it up,” you explained, your voice teasing, aware of the effect you were having on him. It was clear he was trying his best not to lose his composure, and you couldn’t deny he was adorable.

“Got it. I understand. Amazing. Perfect,” he blurted quickly, stuffing his hand in his pocket as if to shield himself from… whatever was happening internally. And this whatever was his cock awakening every single time you opened your legs and he could see your thighs and especially, the thing between them.

“Great. Want to give it a try?” you asked, standing up and stepping closer to him—closer than strangers typically stood.

“Uh… I, uh…” He took a deep breath, catching the faint scent of your perfume and noticing the sheen of sweat on your forehead. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom. Thank you for everything, the instructions and everything, all. Good… good workout!” And with that, he bolted.

You watched him rush to the locker room, nearly bumping into everyone in his path. He was so adorable. If only you knew his name. As you tried to figure out a way to ask him without it seeming weird, Dave locked himself in a bathroom stall, sitting on the toilet and contemplating his situation. And, to be honest, it wasn’t looking great.

“Shit,” he muttered, glancing around, straining his ears to confirm no one else was in the bathroom, downing his shorts and boxers.

He took a deep breath, touching his erection, whimpering in the exact moment he thought about you and your hands with adorable little calluses from the workout routine, rubbing on his length. His cum spread on your gym top and sweaty face from bouncing on him like a fucking squat session.

“No, I can’t do this.” he murmured, dressing himself once again, sparing the thoughts away.

He left the stall, splashing water on his face and waiting for his body to calm down. Then, he looked at the paper glued to the bathroom mirror with a comic sans writing.

Hey, champ.

Please don't masturbate in the bathroom. It might clog the toilet. Thanks and good exercise!

- beast mode gym support

“you must be kidding me…” He cursed, splashing water to his face once again and looking at the mirror. One guy gave him a once-over, chuckling at his bulge. Embarrassed, Dave frowned and hurried out of the bathroom, only to come face-to-face with you.

“Oh, hi,” you greeted, breaking the silence first and meeting his eyes.

“Hey…” he replied, swallowing hard. “It’s super crowded in there—the men’s room.”

“Yeah…” you agreed, keeping your gaze on him. You wanted an opportunity, and here it was. “Hey… what’s your name? I mean, I taught you earlier, but I never asked.”

“Dave. Dave Lizewski,” he replied, grinning like an idiot, relieved to finally have a normal conversation. When you said your name, it was like a little piece of heaven to him. Beautiful, just like you. It fits you perfectly.

“It’s easier for me because of college. I think we always come around the same time,” you added, stepping away from the bathroom entrance and into the hallway.

“I’m in college too,” he blurted out quickly. “Uh… engineering. I used to draw a lot, and ended up liking it. Also because my friend Todd decided on it, and I’m terrible at making decisions.”

“That’s really cool. And tough,” you laughed, and for the first time all day, he didn’t feel like a total idiot. “If you ever need help, I’m here.”

“Of course… I mean, thanks for the help earlier with the… glutes,” he chuckled nervously, joining in when you laughed too. Please, smile more. Smile at me again.

“Sure,” you replied, taking note of how much more handsome he was up close. “So… see you tomorrow?”

“Yes, tomorrow. Definitely,” he said quickly, his eyes lighting up. “But tomorrow I’m not doing glutes… it’s back day.”

“Great. That way you can help me,” you said without thinking, surprised at your own boldness.

Dave nodded, his heart pounding harder than any cardio session could ever manage. “Yeah, of course. I won’t embarrass myself with that one.”

“You didn’t embarrass yourself,” you replied with a laugh, tilting your head slightly. God, this guy is so handsome.

“Oh, come on, now you’re just lying,” he joked, and you opened your mouth in mock disbelief.

“Careful, Lizewski. I might do heavy glute exercises on you,” you teased, though the playful threat only made Dave’s face turn as red as his gym shorts. “I mean… glute exercises with you. Uh, you know… something intense.”

“You can throw whatever you want at me,” he blurted out, biting his lip. “I mean weights. I can handle a lot of weight… like, a lot of weight…” he breathed, glancing at your thighs, imagining his hands lifting them up to his waist.

“That’s… good to know,” you replied, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. You blinked, realizing how bold you were being, flirting with a guy in the middle of the gym hallway, probably with half the room overhearing. “Uh, so… Dave…”

“Do you have a number?” he asked suddenly, his hand forming a fist as he mentally kicked himself for such a clumsy question. “I mean, of course, you have a number. Everyone does. I just… wanted to know if you’d share it, you know… so we could talk about, um, workouts?”

“Workouts, right,” you said, trying not to laugh as you swallowed the lump in your throat. You recited your number, and Dave immediately pulled out his phone to save it, as if it were the most valuable treasure in the world.

“Thank you,” he murmured, grinning as he slid his phone into his pocket, treating it like a priceless artifact.

“No problem. See you tomorrow,” you mentioned, finally retreating, your face flushed with both nerves and excitement.

“Yeah, tomorrow…” he murmured, lifting a hand in a small wave.

“Close your mouth, man. You look like an idiot,” Todd teased as he approached. Dave nudged him lightly, but Todd only laughed harder. “You got the girl. Congrats.”

“Not yet,” Dave replied, watching as you finally walked out the door. “But I will. Even if I have to do the hip abductor every fucking day.”

“Alright, Nicki Minaj. Let's eat some protein,” Todd quipped, earning an eye-roll from Dave, who grabbed his backpack and followed Todd out. As they left, Dave’s mind was entirely consumed with thoughts of you—and he mentally reviewed every back exercise to make sure he’d never mess up in front of you again.

[pinkolve]

Temptation-A Kurapika Kurta Fic

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Summary: You share a hotel room with Kurapika and take it as your chance to try and seduce him.

Genre: Fluff, SMUTTT

CW: fem!reader, features aren’t really described, reader is a little thick, second person point of view, SMUT SMUT SMUT, creamp!e, unprotected seggs, first time for both Kurapika and reader, shy Kurapika because that man is NOT a dom, hate all the fics that make him all cocky and dominant, he’s a nerdy virgin, that being said possible ooc Kurapika

Word Count: 2.5k

A\N: Kurapika smut because I need him biblically!!! The amount of fics for him on this app is not NEARLY enough. I’m still not great at writing smut, but I think it came out pretty good!!!

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

You were staying in a hotel room with Kurapika, only one room available. It had one bed so you were forced to share, but that worked perfectly for your plan. You’ve wanted him since the day you met him, though you never liked to admit it at first. You pushed the feelings down, having too much to help him with.

But the more you were around him, the more you couldn’t hold yourself back. Tonight you were determined to find out whether or not he wanted you too. You look over your features once more, taking out your ponytail. Your hair cascades down your shoulders, the visual feeling so unusual. You rarely ever wear your hair down.

You push open the door to the bathroom, finding Kurapika already in the bed. He held a book near his face, getting lost in the words. You sighed when he didn’t look up, too engrossed in the story. You walked to your side of the bed and placed your old clothes on the floor. Kurapika finished his chapter, looking up just as you stood back to your full height.

His eyes are wide as his gaze rakes down your figure. His mouth falls open the longer he looks, his eyes lingering on your thighs and your chest. You notice his staring, your cheeks growing hot.

“Kurapika.” You call out, making him look back up at your face. He shakes his head and any dirty thoughts away. He tries desperately to ignore the tightness in his sleep pants.

“Y-yes?” He asks, gulping loudly. There was a heavy lump in his throat and a fire burning up through his entire body.

“Are you…okay?” You avoid his eyes, worried you’ve made a horrible mistake. You’re afraid you’ve scared him off, made him uncomfortable, disgusted him. The second was true, only because the hardness of his length was growing painfully uncomfortable.

“Yes!” He answers far too quickly, pulling his eyes from you and placing his book on the end table. “Perfectly fine.” He lied horribly, his teeth gritting. He hated lying to you, but what else was he supposed to say? “I’m harder than I’ve ever been in my life.” “I haven’t felt this worked up since I was twelve, and found an inappropriate magazine in my friends room.” “I want to tear that tiny, godforsaken dress off of you and-“

“Alright…If you’re sure.” You whisper, rubbing your fingers across the lace at the bottom of your dress. “I can just sleep on the floor if you want.” The embarrassment starts to creep up on you, and all confidence flies away. You start to wonder why in god's name you thought this was a good idea.

“No, it’s quite alright.” He answers, swallowing again. “I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“I already am.” You say without thinking, laughing a little. Kurapika looks at you again, his eyes falling and frown taking up his face.

“I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to stare before.” You meet his eyes, seeing nothing but guilt.

“No! No, I’m not uncomfortable because of you! I just…I wore this on purpose and very quickly started to regret it, because I assumed it was making you uncomfortable.” You look away again, covering your chest with your arms.

“On purpose?” He asks softly.

“I was trying to…Seduce you, I guess.” You shut your eyes tight at the confession. Kurapika goes silent, just staring at you as he processes your words.

“You succeeded.” He whispers. You look back up at him quickly, the moonlight pouring through the window and dancing across his face.

“I did?” You ask. Kurapika nods slowly, trying to keep his eyes on your face. Your eyes are locked on each other, gaze unwavering. You nod to yourself, thinking about what you’re supposed to do next. “What do we do now?” Kurapika looks away again, cheeks turning pink at the thought.

“Whatever you want to do.” He responds simply. You nod again, trying to build your previous confidence back up. You slowly pull your arms away from yourself, and walk over to his side of the bed. He looks up at you, still seated on the mattress. You look down at him and carefully place each hand on either side of his face.

“Would it be okay if I kissed you?” You ask, stroking one of his cheeks with your thumb. He mindlessly nods at your question, waiting for you to lean down and connect your lips. You slowly lean in, still giving him the chance to pull away. He leans up too, pushing your lips to his. His eyes flutter closed in quiet bliss. You pull away, his face following yours. He wants you to keep kissing him forever, now that he’s had a taste he never wants to part from it.

“Again.” He begs, staring up at you with puppy eyes. You smile lightly and lean in again, touching your lips. Kurapika places his hands on your waist, pulling you closer so your lips push together more firmly. You start to move your mouth against his own and he’s quick to follow the action. He sighs happily when your tongue darts across his own. You start to kiss him faster, moving your lips against his at a more heated pace.

Kurapika pulls you onto the bed, making you straddle him. You pull away at the movement, a surprised squeak falling past your lips. You look at his face once you situate your position. His eyes are glowing that bright red, it almost looks pink.

“Kurapika.” You whisper, swiping your thumb right under his eye as you stare.

“What is it?” He asks, nerves building up.

“Your eyes are scarlet.” You smile, and it grows wider when he blushes at the realization.

“Oh.” Is all he responds with, trying to look away from your hungry gaze. You grab his face again, forcing him to look up at you.

“There have been so many times where I wished I could tell you how beautiful you are.” Kurapika doesn’t say a word, he simply connects your lips again. That same desperate pace continues, your lips and tongues pushing and pulling against each other with eagerness.

Kurapika’s hands trail down from your hips to squeeze your thighs. You softly whine at the feeling, making him do it again. He pushes his hands up and past the edge of your nightdress. He grabs the flesh of your upper thighs, groaning at the softness. He pulls away to take a much needed breath, feeling overwhelmed by your body.

“You feel so good…And you look so pretty.” He sighs, staring down at your large thighs caging in his own legs.

“Kurapika…Have you done any of this before?” You ask, watching his hands fondle you. His movements stop suddenly at your question.

“No.” He replies. He looks up at you, afraid that his answer will scare you off.

“Me neither.” You confess. His gaze softens, a small smile forming on his face. You smile back before leaning in to kiss him again. You feel confidence build up again, so you reach out. You push your hands under the bottom of his shirt, your cold hands making contact with his abdomen. He shivers at the touch, sparks shooting up from where you're touching him to the top of his head.

He pulls away to look down at your hands, whimpering softly at the sight.

“Mind if I take it off?” You ask, tilting your head and biting your bottom lip. Kurapika stares at you in awe, the sight of your moonlit face stunning him. He shakes his head, eyes never leaving yours. You smile shyly at his staring, pulling his long-sleeve shirt over his head. It’s your turn to stare now, eyeing his pale skin. You run your hands up and down the exposed area, reveling in the feeling of his warm skin.

All words have started to fail him, so Kurapika grips the end of your dress, making you look back at him. He lifts it up slightly in a silent question. Your turn? You smile and giggle at the look on his face, nodding a little and nudging his hands away. You pull the dress over your head, leaving you in nothing but a pair of small panties.

Kurapika’s gaze lingers on the exact spot you expected it to. His grip on your waist tightens the longer he stares, fighting the urge to reach up and grab your breasts. You shake your head to yourself, chuckling at his restraint. You grab his hands in your own and pull them up, placing them over your chest.

He stares at his hands as he starts to squeeze and squish your boobs. His thumb brushes over your nipple making you whine. He hears the sound and does it again, harsher this time. You whine louder, shutting your eyes.

Kurapika watches your face twist in pleasure, and he can’t help but want to see it more. He moves his fingers to gently pull on both your nipples, making you moan for the first time that night. You keep your eyes shut tight, head tilting back. You place your hands over his, begging him not to stop. He does it again, and again, until you’re a moaning mess.

On instinct, you roll your hips down in pleasure. Your eyes fly open at the feeling and the sound of Kurapika’s groan. Everything stops for a moment, both of you going still. Kurapika’s eyes are glowing again, so you take an educated guess.

You roll your hips down again, harder this time making you both moan.

“Do you…Want to?” You hope he understands exactly what you mean.

“Yes.” Kurapika answers quickly. You pull his hands away from your chest and reach down to tug at the hem of his pants. You glance up at him for confirmation, and he nods frantically. You pull his pants down, along with his underwear. He kicks both of them off the rest of the way.

You stare down at him, jaw slack. He’s so long and thick, you never expected him to be hiding something like this.

“Is something wrong?” He whispers. You look up quickly, shaking your head.

“No! Not at all, you’re just…” You look down again, trailing your hand down his thigh. “Really pretty.” He shudders at your touch. You look up at him with pleading eyes. “Can I…?” You trail off, reaching for him.

“Y-yeah.” He nods. You smile and grab him gently. His hisses at the feeling, already feeling overwhelmed. You run your thumb over his slit, dragging his pre-come down the rest of his length. You start stroking him slowly, twisting your hand a little when you reach the top before pulling back down again.

Kurapika becomes a whining mess in seconds, begging you to keep going.

“Please…Don’t stop.” He sighs, voice breaking. But you don’t abide by his wishes, stopping soon after. He looks at you with teary eyes.

“I don’t want you to finish before you’re inside me.” You answer simply, smirking at his shy face. You pull your underwear to the side, lining yourself up with his length. “Is this still okay?” You ask again.

“Yes, more than okay.” You both nod and you lower yourself down onto him. His head breaches your entrance making you whimper. Kurapika holds onto your waist, letting you do most of the work. You push yourself further down on his dick, taking nearly half of him. His grip tightens, leaving light imprints on your skin. He silently pleads with himself to not finish on the spot.

You close your eyes, trying to get used to his size. As your body starts to relax you push yourself all the way down, whimpering loudly. He’s fucking huge, you think to yourself.

You can feel his tip kissing your cervix, and you resist the urge to scream. You lift yourself up and then down, slowly. You roll your hips forward and back as you pull up. Kurapika forces back his groans and whines, swallowing them down.

Your pace stays constant, which was far too slow for Kurapika. You try to go faster but it makes your thighs cramp, Kurapika takes notice of your struggle. He tries to push his hips up to meet your movements, but it isn’t effective. He groans before sitting up and turning you both over.

Your back hits the mattress, making you squeal in surprise. Kurapika keeps himself buried inside of you, moving his hips in this new position. You bite your lips, holding back whines and moans.

“K-Kurapika!” You moan, dragging the word out as you practically scream.

“You f-feel so perfect.” He moans, touching his forehead to your own. He pushes your legs up against your stomach, shoving himself even further into your warm pussy.

“So do you.” You cry out, a tear trailing down your cheek. Kurapika drives his hips harder against you, his hips hitting your ass. You stop your moans long enough to beg him, “Let me see your eyes, please.” You grab his face in your hands, his eyes opening to meet yours. The deep scarlet glows bright, almost blinding.

“You look so beautiful.” He sighs, breathing heavy. “I’m not…I’m going to…” He cuts himself off with a dragged out whimper.

“Me too.” You stare in his eyes, feeling that familiar tension in your gut. Kurapika reaches down, fingers trailing over your slit. He pulls his fingers up until he feels your throbbing bud. He rubs fast circles around it, making you howl.

“Kurapika!” You scream, scratching down his back as you feel your body light on fire. All you can see is white as you squeeze your eyes shut and let your orgasm wash over you entirely.

“Where…Where should I..?” He moans against your ear, delaying his release until you can answer.

“Inside,” is all you can say, your voice rough. Kurapika accepts your answer and bites your shoulder as he groans, filling you up completely. He whimpers and whines, coming down from his own high. You can feel his seed slowly leak out and fall down your thighs.

Kurapika steadies his breathing before speaking again. “I think I’m in love with you.” He smiles softly, listening to your giggle. He can’t help but think it’s the prettiest sound he’s ever heard.

“I know I’m in love with you.” You sigh, looking at his scarlet eyes again. “And your gorgeous eyes.” You rub his cheeks with your thumbs, drowning in his loving gaze.

[dxxdhood]

show off

pairing: dick grayson x gn!reader

summary: after dick tries his hardest to get your attention, you finally give it to him.

tags: smut (18+), sub!dick grayson, dom!reader, teasing, dirty talk, praise kink, fingering (m receiving), oral (m receiving), light bondage, hair pulling, body worship

wc: 2.2k

a/n: hey! sorry for disappearing! i don't have an ao3-author-almost-dying-excuse but i hope this fic makes up for it!

What made Dick Grayson so hot was that he knew he was hot. He was always walking around with an annoying amount of confidence that he managed to pull off anyway. Blame it on him being the poster child for a Good Samaritan or his relentless integrity– the guy was impossible to hate no matter how big his head got.

Luckily, you’ve lucked out as his official, number one supporter. Ever since becoming partners, you’ve gotten to spend more little moments together, even when life would ordinarily tear you apart. And of course it’s great! Dick’s arms around you as you try to catch up on some reading in the morning, forehead kisses even as you’re running out the door late for work– everything’s been adorable. But lately, you can’t shake the feeling that something’s off. 

Dick’s been stressed out, you can tell it in the set of his shoulders even if he’s been trying to hide it. The thing was, you’ve been super busy lately. Work and personal stuff kept piling up, and although you’re ashamed of it, you’ve ended up prioritizing other things instead of your relationship.

You told Dick that you were swamped with work and – as usual – he was nothing but understanding. But if dating Dick has taught you anything, it’s that he believes that being understanding means completely ignoring all his own wants. It’s very endearing, but you also feel like a giant asshole, especially as things finally start clearing up and he still keeps his distance.

Or well, at least it seems like he’s trying to keep his distance. That doesn’t explain him showing off for you.

Because that’s what he’s been doing! It started off when you came back from work one night to Dick, on his day off from patrols, cooking you an entire candlelit dinner. He was wearing a black button up with the top two buttons undone and the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His hair was also loose, messy like he’d just been on a run. Oh, and he must not have shaved that morning, because he has the slightest amount of stubble– he was trying to kill you was what he was doing. 

Okay, he may have had plausible deniability during that night’s dinner, but that time you walked in on him working out was not subtle. As soon as you walked into the living room he switched to doing squats, the thin material of his gym shorts straining against his muscled thighs. After a couple seconds of you watching in awe, he had the nerve to turn around and smile at you all innocently, asking you how your day went. 

And then there was what happened yesterday. Once again you walk into your living room (clearly a trigger for these events) and you’re met with Dick on the couch, shirtless, wearing only gray sweatpants as he snores softly. His head was leaning against his shoulder at an uncomfortable angle, so you grab a small pillow and maneuver it under his neck to stop him from getting sore. Even asleep, you feel how strong he is as your hands trace the outline of his neck and shoulder muscles. You can spot so many moles littering his arms and chest. It’s a shame they’re usually covered.

It’s not like Dick doesn’t usually lounge around the house shirtless, but wearing nothing – and you’re sure it’s really nothing – but gray sweatpants all stretched out on the couch? At this point he’s not asking for you to do something, he’s begging for it.

So, today you text him to “get ready for a surprise tonight!” while he’s out on patrol. He responds back something like “????😍🥳😘!!!!!” while you start getting ready. 

“Hey, I’m home!” he calls as he walks through your front door. “So what’s this big surprise I’ve been hearing about?”

“Welcome back,” you say, rushing from your bedroom to give him a kiss. He’s ready to break it off almost instantly, but you hold on for longer, placing your hands on his shoulders. Dick muffles a sound of surprise but he doesn’t pull away. After a second of not knowing what to do with his hands, he rests them around your waist and melts into the kiss.

You eventually pull back and Dick starts talking again, “Well, that was a nice surprise! Guess I’ll just–”

“Shut up!” You shout through a giggle. “Just wait a second, it’s in here.”

You grab his hand and lead him to your bedroom, which you’ve lit with scented candles. Also – and this may have been going a little far – you bought roses to adorn your bedside table (and to sprinkle petals on your bed, of course). On top of the freshly washed sheets, through the dim lighting, Dick spots some suspiciously red rope. 

“Alright, I mean it this time, this is a nice surprise,” he says as he tries to fight against a smile. “But are you sure you’re okay to do this tonight? I don’t wanna worry you, and if you don’t have the time for–”

You grab both of his hands and pull him down so you’re both sitting on the side of the bed.

“Dick… It’s not my fault I’ve been busy lately, and I know that,” you take a deep breath. “But I’m so sorry I haven’t been spending enough time with you. I should’ve tried harder, you know, I should’ve done what you always do– find a way to pull through it.”

He raises one of his hands from where yours were covering his and is about to protest before you stop him, “Please don’t defend me, just let me say I’m an asshole for once.”

He exhales and relaxes back, placing his hands in yours again.

“So, let me make it up to you?” you ask, almost timidly in comparison to how solid the rest of your apology went.

As a response, Dick leans forward and hugs you so tight you think you may have crushed ribs (and you know Dick definitely has the strength to do it). 

“Of course I’m not going to say no to that,” he chuckles, breaking the hug so he can stand up and start uncoiling the rope.

“Hold on,” you say as you come up behind him and place a hand on his shoulder. He turns his head toward you, confusion clear on his face. “I was thinking that tonight I’d do the tying.”

And you’re infinitely grateful that Dick turned around, because now you can see his cute raised eyebrows and the sweet way he tries to look towards the floor. He lets out a small cough and politely hands you the rope.

“Sounds- sounds good.”

“Great!” you nestle a hand in his tousled hair and scratch at the back of his scalp. “Go take a shower, alright? When you’re back, I’ll be here and we’ll get started, okay?”

He nods, and you give a gentle tug of his hair, “Speak, baby.”

“Right, yeah! Good! It sounds really good,” He manages, walking to the bathroom quickly and wasting no time to get the shower started.

You giggle as you watch him exit. Dick was usually so suave and self-assured, it always threw you to see how nervous he got when he was under your thumb. 

Preparing the last few things you needed, you lay on the bed, resting your head on your bent arm to watch Dick as he steps out of the bathroom. He didn’t even bother bringing a towel out with him, and you can see the drops of water run down his chest and abs before reaching his cock. 

You give him less of a smirk and more of a fond smile as you walk up to him, reaching to cup the back of his neck and bring his face close to yours.

“Even now, when I already told you you’re going to get what you want, you’re still showing off for me.”

“What?” He shakes his head, eyes gleaming.

“Lay down for me, okay? You say, and even though he wants to hear you finish, he follows immediately.

Rope in hand, you crawl on the bed so you’re straddling him. The sight of him, all lean muscles and thick thighs, laid out for you makes your face heat up. You take a deep breath as you gesture for him to move his hands up, and you tie him to the headboard.

“You’ve been craving my attention so badly, haven’t you? Just wanted me to drop what I was doing and show you how much I love you?”

“What, no, I–”

You move your hands from his tied up wrists to grip his jaw so he faces you, “Don’t keep anything from me now. Just tell me the truth, I want to hear it.”

After fighting past a blush, Dick lets out a shuddering breath, “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“I– I wanted you to notice me.”

“How couldn’t I, baby?” You say as you move down his body, nipping at his neck and the strong muscles of his shoulders. “You always look so sexy, you always want me to look.”

You lick at one of his nipples and you can feel his body twitch.

“You know you’re so handsome, right? You’re so hot, sometimes I think about you at work and get so distracted I can’t get anything done.”

He lets out a sigh as you scratch your nails down his side, leaving lines of red before you grip at his raised biceps.

“You’re so kind, too,” You whisper before kissing him deeply, biting at his bottom lip. Your other hand leaves to get the lube and begins spreading some around his hole. Dick’s breathing grows more and more uneven, but you kiss along his jaw and let him relax before you slip your finger in.

He squirms a bit at first, and you run your other hand through his hair to comfort him as you prep him using your finger. 

“You’re always so good, even when you don’t have to be– even when you have no reason to be. You see someone hurt, alone, and you help them– like it’s the most obvious thing to do.” You add another finger and Dick bites his lip at the stretch, trying not to breathe too heavily.

He starts gasping at every little thrust, sweat glistening at his brow and you angle your hand to reach that spot every time. Dick lets out a long groan, dipping his head to his collarbone before you pull him back up to look you in the eyes..

“You’re incredible, Dick. Such a gorgeous person inside and out.”

“Babe!” he cries, hiding his face in the crook between his neck and shoulder, and you gently cup his face to coax him out of it.

“It’s true, sweetheart, and you don’t get to hear it enough. You’re so good, you’re my good boy.”

He moans at that, higher than usual and you add another finger while he’s distracted. His voice breaks in the middle of the sound, and you can feel his chest working double time to try and keep up with your thrusts.

“Shit– shit, holy shit!” He cries, and you card your hand through his hair one last time before you run it down the side of his neck and across his chest. You never stop your hand movements as you kiss down the column of his neck and his pecs, following each spot your hand touches with your mouth.

You lick down his abs and Dick whines, trying to hide his face again while also keeping one eye focused on you, not wanting to miss a second of what you’re doing to him. The hand tracing down his body reaches his hard cock, and you run a finger across the length of it, rubbing in the bead of precum.

You take a second to make sure you’re keeping your thrusts consistent with your fingers before you take his entire length in your mouth. Dick rocks his entire body back and forth, trying to stay calm for you, and you breathe through your nose for a moment, letting him rest on your tongue as you get ready to move.

You slide on his cock at the same time your fingers hit his prostate, trying your best to line up the two so his tip hits the back of your throat when your fingers thrust against him. Clearly, it’s working, because Dick moves constantly, blinking back tears or trying in vain to hold back sounds as you work him even quicker.

His breathing becomes labored, so you move a hand to work his cock as you slide up his body, kissing him and sliding your tongue in his mouth. As soon as he tastes himself on you, you can feel the vibrations of a moan. His cum coats your hand as you work him through his orgasm.

Once you break your mouth away from his, his voice comes out all airy, “Oh my God, Fuck! Where were you hiding all of that?”

“The mouth?” You choke out, talking about how you just sucked him off, “Or the… mouth?” You mean the dirty talk.

“The–” He shakes his head, having trouble with the motion while still being tied up. “Yeah!”

The two of you giggle as you untie him, and you both cuddle for a while before hopping in the bath. 

[heartyluv]

hii i saw your recent post about reader w pots, and i was wondering if you could do one of the lads guys (doesnt matter who) with reader who has chronic fatigue syndrome, as someone who has it :))

no pressure tho <3

Note: Thank you for trusting me with this, luv. Again, I did as much research as I could to make sure that I portrayed Chronic Fatigue Syndrome as best as possible, so I hope that I’ve done that successfully. I felt like Xavier was absolutely perfect for this. You’re so strong, my heart. I hope you know that. ♡

Creds to @/cafekitsune for the divider!

Warning: Not sure if this needs any, but please proceed to read with caution!

Xavier/Reader

Today has been one of the hardest days you’ve had in a long time. When you woke up this morning, you felt as if you haven’t touched a bed. The amount of fatigue and exhaustion that coursed through your body made it seem as if you’ve never known what it’s like to rest in your entire life.

Trying to get out of the bed to prepare for work felt even worse. The nausea was undeniably terrible, immediate dizziness and the need to vomit because of it, suffocating your throat. Xavier was awfully concerned, unable to keep his eyes off of you as you attempted to assure him that you could handle everything on your own.

Of course he didn’t listen to that.

“Please focus on getting ready. I’ll be driving you to work and I’ll make you something to eat so you can have it on the way. Don’t fight me on this. Just let me take care of you, okay?”

He had gotten up with you at six in the morning when he didn’t need to be up for another two hours. You were so thankful for him that you could cry, but you physically didn’t even have the energy for it.

You were diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome a little over a year ago and while it was a relief to have a name for the experience you’ve been suffering from, the feeling of defeat from not having a definite solution was always saddening. But with Xavier right there to make sure you knew you weren’t going to deal with any of it by yourself, you knew that even on your worst day, you would survive it because of him and his love.

He was there for the days you couldn’t get up, when you had to stop your walks that you took with him because it was leaving you bedridden for more than a day—even when your sex life had slowed down. Not once did Xavier blame you or expect anything. All that mattered to your boyfriend was that you were taken care of and healthy. You had a whole life together to do everything anyways, in his eyes.

Getting through the day was a chore, most of the time. But when you walked into your building today, each step felt like there were weights on your ankles and dumbbells on your eyelids. Even though you were being strong for yourself, you were especially being strong for Xavier because his belief in and care for you was something so fueling that you wish you could inject it into your veins whenever it got difficult.

At almost eight o’clock, you felt like you could do nothing, but pushing through it, shaking it off as best as possible, and remembering the way Xavier kissed you goodbye, had you ready for your meeting by 9:30.

To everyone else, you were your regular self. Typing all your notes and engaging when expected. On the inside, you were in pain and suffering in a way that you would never wish on another individual.

Despite your perseverance, you had to give it your all to make it on the bus and were thankful that it was already outside when you stepped out of work. After the day ended and you got through your door, the first thing you did was strip yourself from your work clothes and laid down. You couldn’t eat, couldn’t shower. You couldn’t do anything. Just not right now.

Although you wished your sweet boyfriend was here to hold you and kiss away the mental and physical pain, you weren’t able to stay up longer than five minutes to even attempt to wait.

When he got home and saw you in bed with your things everywhere, he had no issue cleaning up for you. Typically, you at least did that, but he knew how hard of a day it’s been the moment you woke up. He cooked you a nutritious meal with one of your favorite little cakes on the side as a dessert.

Gently rocking you awake and calling your name, your eyes fluttered open to see him in one of his long sleeve sleep shirts and pants, looking warm and comfortable. The food you were smelling, as well as his soft scent, always reminded you of home.

“I know you’re tired, but I can’t let you sleep without something on your stomach. You’ll wake up feeling even worse,” he said softly as your eyes rested on him. “Eat and I’ll handle everything else. I can feed you, if you’d like. It’s not a problem.”

“I’m okay,” you say with a raspy voice, your throat dry from the nap. He points to the water at your bedside, already knowing you’d need it. That makes you smile. “Thank you, bub. I’m so sorry about today. I don’t mean to be so messy and out of it.”

He studied you, placing your food down on your lap when you sat up. “Please don’t apologize. Nothing is your fault.” He took your hand in his to press a kiss on top. “Times like these are expected and we work together to get through it.”

The kiss to your forehead feels like the cure to all your problems. “When you’re done, I’ll help you in the shower. I know how much you like to be clean when you go to bed.”

You slowly brought the food into your mouth, groaning at how tasty it was. “I can’t let you do that.” You cover your mouth as you chew, shaking your head.

“It’s a good thing it’s something that I want to do, isn’t it?” he smiles slyly. “And here, you’ve been forgetting to take your vitamins lately.” He pulled out the row of vitamins that you try to have prepared every week and you see how you’ve missed the last three days. The brain fog and forgetfulness has increased dramatically. “I’ll be sure to start helping to make sure you remember again.”

“I can’t believe you do all of this for me. Even though you don’t have to, I never have to ask…I know you say not to be sorry, but I can’t help it. I feel it. You do so much and I don’t think there’s ever enough that I can do to repay you for such patience, Xav.”

He places his hand over yours to stop you from fiddling with your food on your plate. His other warm hand cups your jaw to make you look up from the dish and your sleepy eyes look up into his mesmerizing ones.

“I will never look at you and blame or make you feel responsible for something you have no control over. I do what I do because not only do you deserve to be taken care of, but what kind of boyfriend would I be to let my girlfriend carry all the weight on her back alone?”

You nod, but he wants you to really hear him. So he leans in, kissing your nose before pulling back to let his breath graze against your lips. “Life is supposed to be easier when the person you love is in it. So let me make it easy and don’t feel bad when I do it. Not only do I have to, but it makes me feel good when you do. You’re my other half, you always will be.”

“I don’t deserve you,” you frown, but he runs his thumb across your bottom lip to make you smile. You don’t know why it does, but he rather enjoys doing it when he found out that little tidbit.

“You do. You deserve normalcy and fulfillment. That’s exactly what I intend to give.”

For the rest of the night, Xavier tended to your every need without you having to say anything. He did it all in comfortable silence because he knew how much talking could also aggravate your symptoms and add to your tiredness. One day I’ll be able to show him my gratefulness, you think as he helps lotion your body after your shower.

With that goal in your heart, you can’t help but hold him tight when you’re in bed for the night. And he holds you equally as close, knowing that in his heart, you being exactly how you are is all the repayment he’ll ever need.

[its-all-papaya]

The “not champion mentality” is honestly one of the worst to me.

Bc if we break this down, this is people saying that if you struggle with self confidence, self doubt, mental health or anxiety then you’re not capable of achieving success.

It’s such a dangerous and toxic message that people don’t realize is hurting a lot more people than just Lando. (Bc lets be so fr these aren’t opinions, these are comments meant to hurt and hate)

And as a Rosberg fan back in the day, I KNOW how bad that man’s mental health was when he won his WDC. He pushed through that self doubt, anxiety, mental health issues and he still won. He’s living proof that there is no perfect/specific “champion mentality.”

I absolutely understand your struggle with the F1 community/people online rn. I’ve felt the same way today. (And many other days). I’ve been a fan since I was a kid, it’s been rough watching fans become nothing more than a herd mentality of hate and toxicity. It’s exhausting honestly and I’ve been so close to stopping watching the sport entirely bc it felt so miserable at times.

But I’m grateful for people like you bc you make it a positive place to be. You don’t contribute to hate, you don’t trash teams or drivers you don’t like, instead you support your team, write fics and create a positive environment for so many people. You have no idea how much of an impact that can make. It’s rough out there but I’m glad we got good ones like you.

(You absolutely can ignore this, Ik you were hoping to move on/forget about this negative online stuff, your post just had me thinking and ranting so I thought I’d give my own input lol)

(I really am incapable of sending a normal sized message aren’t I?) -og

yeah, no, i mean the reason i crash out about lando is because i identify with him so much in moments of failure/non-perfection. like the WHOLE original inspo for anybody, nowhere were his comments after silverstone, as i've said before, but more specifically the horrible mental place that i'm familiar with where you're trying SO HARD to figure out where to assign blame, and it feels like a knife's edge between "all me" or "all others." and no matter what lando says, it's the wrong amount of one or the other for people. if he says the car's difficult it's "if i was in woking i'd hate him" and if he says it's himself making mistakes it's "not a champion mentality." and in moments of high stress and intense emotions, like straight after a botched qualifying, it's nearly impossible to remove yourself from a situation enough to make sound determinations about what went wrong where and who's to "blame" for it (which. whatever on that word but.) and so i am IN HIS WALLS in those moments where it feels easiest, optically, to blame yourself entirely. because then the worst thing people can say about you is "he's too hard on himself" and not "he won't accept his own faults" or "he's making excuses," which both feel morally worse.

the other irritating thing to me about it all is that self-confidence is not usually something you can just pull out of fucking nowhere, especially if you're already struggling with it. like if you're told to be more confident and then picked apart and smeared at every turn, how the fuck are you going to do that? like sure, therapy, your loved ones, etc, but it's the people saying you're not confident originally who you're trying to "prove" yourself to, and they're the ones making it impossible. as you say, it's the narrative that if you don't handle negative emotion in the "right" way, it's a moral or competitive failing. you're lesser, you're a burden, you're "stealing" resources or a seat or a "rocket ship" from someone who "deserves it more" just because they're a more outwardly confident person. and by the way, if you let any of that shit that people are implying or outright saying get to you - if you even acknowledge it - that's your fault, too. basically, it's really hard to perform under the pressure of everybody hoping you'll fail, and it's even harder never to reveal outwardly how that's affecting you as a person.

i think i suffer a lot from projecting on lando and then internalizing things people say about him because of that, but i also don't think i'm alone in that, as you say. "mental health" is such a buzzword to everybody that it literally means nothing to most people in practice.

at the end of the day, i know lando's got a really, really good and solid support system and i know he'll be fine and it's early in the season. but it's so hard to watch people i know and i'm friends with make jokes about this to me because it's like what are you saying about me to other people, then? because nothing lando's said today or ever after a disappointing result is remarkably different than things i've said about my own job and my own self over the last ten months. just demoralizing.

anyway, i appreciate you saying that last bit, because a lot of the time i don't FEEL like i'm being very positive here. and to be clear, when i'm frustrated about f1 fans, it's very, very rarely a tumblr issue. as much as rpf is funny and fake and a game for us, i do think it does work to humanize drivers in a lot of ways. i like interacting with fans of all drivers, i just can't stand how every one of lando's mistakes feels quadrupled to me because i know there are people (on twitter mainly, as well as my irl friends) who are going to make it into more than it is to feed their narratives.

sometimes a man is suffering with a car just because he is. if it ended with that, i'd be handling this way better.

[sugarpasteltmnt]

Hi, I'm someone who's interested in making a long-fic but just been struggling to do so. Alot of it just cause I really I'm not confident in my ability to write it well or that people will read it. Even though Neon Void was your first fic (I think) you managed to not only reach so many, but tell a story so deep and personal and moving that every time I re-read a snippet I find myself wanting to read a whole chapter.....and then the entire series.

If I can be so bold to ask, how did you do it? How did you take Neon Void and make it? What kept you from giving into the voices within and without that tell you to give up? How did you make sure the story was the best it could be. If you could go back, what would you do differently? What strategies would be best for someone who also wants to do a longfic?

Sorry if it's alot.

First, thank you so so much. It makes me super happy to hear that you thought it was moving and enjoy reading it!!

and don’t be sorry!! I’m super flattered that you wanted to ask me such a cool and thought provoking question!! Gunna hide most of this answer under a read-more as I get a little autobiographical, but in short:

You must be your own biggest fan

I’ll be honest— I had NO idea so many people would read my fic. The amount of positive feedback has blown me away and I couldn’t be more thankful for how nice the TMNT fandom has been to me (and my sister!!)

And you’re right! Neon Void WAS my first fic I ever published!! But I’ve been writing every day since I was a tween. I just love to write. But even then, I was nervous to post. No one except my closest friend had EVER read my writing before. I wasn’t sure if anyone would read it, or even like it since it was kind of a wacky premise.

But also in a way, it was okay if no one else read it, because I liked it. And that’s kind of the secret sauce to it all.

I have never, ever written anything this long before. Originally, TNV was going to be like, ten chapters max. I have no idea it would evolve into a nearly 30 chapter fic. And i think there were several factors that contributed to that.

First, I was utterly and totally obsessed with my own AU. When i started daydreaming about certain scenes over and over, i knew i had to write it. Being so invested in my own story was the biggest factor in actually finishing it. Which sounds so obvious, but the thing is I have a tendency to think of new AUs constantly. (Sometimes even daily.) The fact I kept revisiting this one was a sign that if i wanted to write it, now was the time.

Second, and this is piggybacking off of that last confession of always daydreaming new AUs, i knew i was on a personal timer. If i was going to do this, I had to make sure I did it. So i gave myself a goal of trying to post on a rough schedule to keep myself accountable.

(But remember!!!! It's just fanfiction!!! you never, ever have to put that kind of expectation on yourself! You don't need a posting schedule. You don't even need to finish. I personally pushed myself so hard to see it through because for years I told myself that if i was ever going to post fanfiction, i HAD to finish. It's okay if you don't!! I would never ask a writer or an artist to slog through something that doesn't bring them joy anymore. Because at the end of the day, fanfiction is meant to be fun!!)

BUT

Here's a bit of a confession. I didn't want to give up on it because it brought me a lot of joy during a rough year. I found myself sneaking on my phone at work to write a paragraph or two whenever I had the chance. I would think about it 24/7. I was in love with the story I was making up and looking forward to writing helped get through some not so Cowabunga times. I know posting your work is super intimidating-- and you might be tempted to stop-- but remember, if it makes you happy-- even for a while-- it's worth it. TNV was making my days a bit brighter even before I started posting it.

Which leads to my next confession-- and this is probably the biggest reason I was able to actually pull it off with a posting schedule:

I had already written 50%-60% of TNV before I even posted chapter 1.

And that was on purpose for several reasons. One, I was having so much fun planning easter eggs and planning long-term foreshadowing bits. Second, it was a test to see if this AU was really rotting my brain enough that I wanted to spend a lot of time writing it. By the time I had a lot written and scenes I was super eager to get to, I knew I wanted to post it. But having a bulk of it already written was a huge reassurance in trying to maintain my posting schedule. (But again, that was just my style! You can hit the ground running if you'd like, start and then pause for a while to figure things out-- whatever works best for you!!)

But even when i was insanely obsessed with my own AU, it still took a lot of time and energy to write. There will be times you will find yourself trudging through bridging scenes to get to the scenes you actually wanna write and it's sooooooooo haaaaaaaaard. BUT!!! It's worth it!!! Getting through it and seeing how it sets up the exciting part just right is soooooooo satisfying.

As for making sure the story was the best it could be??? I'm not sure!! Because there were definitely times I went whining to my sister and best friend about certain plot points or scenes, worried it wasn't good enough. There were a LOT of times a scene or idea just didn't feel right. Heck, a lot of chapters ended up in a different order than when I originally started writing!! The lesson I learned throughout the whole thing is that the original idea doesn't have to be absolute. Sometimes rearranging the scenes is just what you need!

But when i was REALLY struggling, I'd find myself referring back to the original source. It was what inspired a fanfic after all! Sometimes taking a step back and reevaluating each character's personality helped me shape the scene into something that felt better. Other times I had to step back and remind myself about what was actually important to the story. (Example: originally, I had no idea how to get Donnie to the hidden city by himself. At first I tried to think of some lore on the mask to give Donnie a reason to go investigating Void... but it didn't feel right. The mask wasn't important. Not even Void was the most important thing to Donnie at the time. Leo was. And that helped me sort of get rid of the loosey-goosey idea of giving a complicated back story to the mask that made the story feel muddled.)

But even then, I wasn't sure if certain moves were the best they could be! I was always worried (and continue to be) that I poured too much into descriptions, or spent too much time talking about emotions with too little action. Or that I overuse phrases. But so long as each chapter made me happy, I figured readers would enjoy them too.

If I could go back and do something different... I wouldn't have goofed with Leo's kraang parasite adaptation in Mad Dog Part 2: Prom. I was trying to make his parasite enter an obvious 'stage 2 boss battle' look, but later I realized I didn't like how I described it lol.

But!!! I will confess, I'm no saint-- when i started getting lovely comments, it helped pour gas on the fire to keep going. And that's why I'm so thankful for every comment or doodle or ask sent my way. You guys are amazing and helped me get the fire under my ass to keep going, even when things were really hard.

I know it sounds so corny and like a cop-out answer, but ultimately, it's YOUR personal investment in YOUR story that is the secret sauce!!! So long as your interested in it, it won't feel so impossible to write a long fic. There will be challenges (like there is with any project) but honestly?? If you're head over heels for your own story, it will be fun and fulfilling. Even if you don't finish-- so long as it made you happy, that's what matters the most. (Again, that's so cheesy... but just like Master Leonardo tells Leo, 'cheesiness makes the best pizza pies in life'.)

Thank you again so much for this fun ask-- and I believe in you! You've got this. Have fun, enjoy writing, and have confidence in your work, because it makes YOU happy, and that's the greatest thing a story could be.

[lukesantlers]

If I have to suffer through one more person mischaracterizing Viktor I’m actually going to flip my lid, so let me speak on this‼️🗣️

First thing I’ve seen today is someone claiming Viktor is a facist, right-minded, all powerful dictator who does not care about anyone but his own interests. WHAT?!

I can say with almost all certainty that this is NOT the case at all, if anything, it’s the farthest from. “But- but he practiced eugenics!” Do you seriously think he would have done so if his life was different? When we’re presented with Viktor as a child, we see how deep his hatred for harmful mutation and evolution is. He does not think pushing a living vessel past its limits is humane. HE STILL agrees with it, to an extent. When Viktor is presented with the proposition to supersede his current situation by using Vander’s blood, he denies it. WHY does he deny it? Because it would strip away Vander’s humanity. He had a sense of morality regardless of his “cult.”

The only reason Viktor turned to such drastic measures is because he was pushed beyond his limits. This man lost his autonomy MULTIPLE times through only a few days. That is beyond dehumanizing. If you were dead, and all you wanted to do was die, don’t you think being brought to life would destroy you a bit? I imagine you’d be upset being forced to prosper despite all your efforts to give in. Viktor quite literally clung to life throughout the entirety of season 2, and I’m tired of acting like what Jayce did was completely justifiable.

“If your best friend was dead, you’d try to save him!” Of course I would, but I would also take into consideration his mental and physical state. Viktor was dead, Jayce knew this, and resurrected him regardless. (this isn’t Jayce slander btw, I do acknowledge his side I’m just not speaking about him atm)

Viktor was never given a chance to succeed, he was always left in the shadows even as an adult in Piltover. Because of his overwhelming fear of being forgotten, and his life amounting to nothing, he took a more drastic route to be known. In the end, of course, this all proves useless—however, how can we paint him as the villain entirely? Those in charge are the people that truly failed him. As a child growing up in Zaun to his most recent affairs, nobody gave him a grain of salt when it came to ANYTHING. Not even Mel was able to respect him enough to even hold eye-contact with him for longer than a second.

No, I am not saying that what Vik did is 100% correct, but it also astonishes me how often people are quick to jump the gun and say he was an idiot, or wrong. It’s such a close minded way to go about his character, about Arcane as a show in general! A show that quite literally bases its political points on real world issues.

Ty for coming to my ted talk 🙏

[generalllimaginesss]

I would like to apologize for the amount of time this took to write lmao. I couldn’t find a good stopping point and got overwhelmed with how I would finish this part, but at least there will be a part 4 in the foreseeable future. I’m working on some headcannons for Hattie so we can get to know her a bit more!

Thanks for reading!!

1

2

No Expectations

“Jack, I need your moral support. Please come here now,” Hatton’s hands threatened to begin sweating with the amount of anxiety that was coursing through her body. She had her MacBook out, the cursor hovering above the attachment that Trevor had sent her. She didn’t know why she was so nervous, but she knew that Jack would bring her back to earth.

“Sure, Hattie. Let me drop everything I’m doing and come at your beckon call. There’s literally nothing more in the entire world that I would want to do right now,” Sarcasm laced Jack’s words.

“Attitude Mister. Check it now,” Hatton quickly brought it to his attention.

“Sorry, I’m just trying to make sure I have everything packed to go back to Jersey. Luke is coming over tonight and I want to check his stuff and make sure he’s ready to go. When do I need to come over?” Jack was rustling through some papers as he held his phone to his ear with his shoulder.

“Now?” Hatton put her innocent voice on, knowing Jack could never say no to her.

“Hattie, you better be glad that you’re my best friend in the world,” Jack sighed as he laid the papers down.

“Thank you, Jacky boy,” Hatton smiled.

About 20 minutes passed when she heard the front door open and close, followed by footsteps that skipped up the stairs. Jack pushed open Hatton’s door and plopped down beside her on the bed.

“What’s up,” he asked, pulling out his phone to keep him occupied.

“Trevor sent me a PowerPoint on why he would be a good boyfriend. I don’t know why I’m nervous, but I am and I need your company here,” Hatton explained as she fiddled with the rings on her hand.

“You couldn’t just FaceTime me with this?” Jack groaned. This whole ordeal gave Jack flashbacks of their middle school days of romance.

“Jack, this is my future we’re talking about. What if he’s the one? What if I say yes to be his girlfriend? What if we get married and have kids and finally get a happily ever after?” Hatton was serious, but Jack was trying not to laugh.

“You realize, like, 2 months ago you didn’t like him…” Jack smirked, but was met with an unamused look from Hatton.

“3, 2, 1,” Hatton took a deep breath and clicked the attachment. She clicked the ‘present’ button and began to read the slides.

“Ok, I actually want to see these,” Jack admitted as he scooted closer to Hatton and read the slides.

“I will buy you flowers when you least expect it,” Hatton laughed, “Because that’s boyfriend material.”

“I have a dog?” Hatton was getting upset. She wanted him to take this seriously, but he’s giving her these lame reasons? Actually, the dog isn’t lame, but basing an entire relationship on one is.

“Uh oh, here’s the mushy ones,” Jack announced as he clicked to the next slide.

Hatton’s eyes scanned the slide.

“Every time I look at you it gets harder to breathe. You’re quite literally breathtaking and I’ll remind you that every single day,” Hatton could feel the heat in her cheeks rise.

“That’s gross,” Jack fake gagged, but stopped when Hatton gave him a look.

“Every time your name pops up on my phone (which isn’t much, but still…) my heart races a little,” Hatton began sporting a smile.

“I know that Jack Hughes will always be by your side (hi buddy) and that would be the closest I could get to be his brother. I’ve already asked Quinn to marry me and he told me to fuck off,” The slide caused a rupture of laughter that filled the entire room.

“He’s got a point,” Jack chuckled.

“Every time I picture my future, at least for the last 3 years until now, I always picture you in it. I’d like you to be more than a friend, and I’d love for you to give me a chance to prove that I can love you the way you deserve,” Hatton couldn’t shake the smile off of her face even if she wanted to.

“I would’ve bullied him in high school for this,” Jack shook his head and leaned back into the pillows, pulling his phone out to go through his Snapchat.

A link on the last slide caught Hatton’s attention, but she managed to read the text that sat above it.

“Here’s a plane ticket. If I convinced you to allow me to be your boyfriend, I’d love to see you and keep explaining how I can be your boyfriend while being thousands of miles away,” Jack squealed as he watched Hatton open the link to the plane tickets.

Sure enough, there was a ticket for first class from Detroit to Anaheim that was a week away.

Jack kept glancing between the ticket and Hatton while she just sat there staring at the computer screen.

“It’s not going to disappear if you look away you know,” Jack poked her in her side, resulting in an elbow to his stomach.

“I don’t know what to do. I mean, I guess I could skip school for the week. I could do my assignments online,” Hatton wasn’t talking to Jack in particular, but more so thinking out loud. Jack didn’t seem to pick up on that memo though.

“I’m no genius by any means, but it sounds like you do know what to do,” Jack raised his eyebrows at the girl sitting beside him. She couldn’t be annoyed with Jack because he was right. She wanted to jump on that flight. Hell, she’d probably jump on a flight sooner if possible, but she didn’t want to begin this relationship with being so spontaneous.

“When do you leave for Jersey?” Hatton turned to face Jack, quickly changing the subject, but eager to know the answer.

“Um, 6 in the morning,” He scratched the back of his neck, preparing for a lecture of why he should’ve told her he was leaving sooner.

“Jack Hughes, what the hell?!” She pushed at him, hoping to push him off the bed, but he barely budged.

“I probably would’ve told you sooner….actually I shouldn’t lie I probably wouldn’t have. In my defense, I did tell you I was busy before I got here,” he pointed out, but it didn’t fix Hatton’s frustration.

“Yeah, but you failed to mention that you’ll be leaving in less than 24 hours, dumbass,” she thumped him on his ears, eliciting a wince from him.

“I was going to come over tonight to tell you bye,” he grumbled, but Hatton just rolled her eyes.

“I’m FaceTiming you when I get there,” Hatton announced.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” he patted her leg as he began to stand up.

“Wanna come help me finish packing?” He knew she wouldn’t say no to his request.

“I guess I could,” Hatton played as if it was even a thought that she wouldn’t.

Because he was leaving in the morning, they took separate vehicles back to his house, so Hatton just planned on spending the night, wanting to spend as much time with her best friend as possible before hockey stole him back.

….

The next week passed painfully slow as Hatton had said goodbye to all of her boys. She had friends that were girls, but none that she trusted as much as Jack, Turcs, Cole, or Quinn. Maybe Trevor, too.

The boys just made life interesting. They weren’t full of drama, and everyday was some sort of adventure. She missed them a lot when they were gone, so to think that she would get to see Trevor, and possibly Alex, gave her something to look forward to.

She appreciated the gesture of the plane ticket from Trevor, but what the hell was he thinking with a 7:00 am flight? There was an hour drive from her to the airport, and she had to be there at least 2 hours prior so that she wouldn’t be an anxious mess. And that leads her to now, lugging her bag from her room to her car and making the drive to Detroit.

The drive wasn’t terrible, but Hatton had to stop for coffee so that she wouldn’t fall asleep behind the wheel. The traffic was steadily getting worse as she made her way to the airport parking, though. She went through TSA and checked her bag groggily, the sleep not too distant from the night before.

Once Hatton was awake enough to be aware of her surroundings, she knew she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, even if the flight was four and a half hours. A shaken espresso from Starbucks would do the trick to give her enough energy to get through the travel day without catching an attitude with somebody.

After grabbing her coffee and finding a corner to read one of her books, the intercom finally came on, announcing that her flight was boarding first class. She grabbed her backpack and book and made her way to her seat next to the window.

The book she was reading seemed to speed up the flight, the one and only time she glanced at her watch and there was only an hour left until they landed. She spent the last hour watching outside of the window, taking a few pictures, and just thinking about what this next week could lead to.

That was great, until she thought about the fact that she hadn’t even talked to Trevor to let him know she was coming. She couldn’t text him, so she just had to wait until the plane landed, mentally kicking herself for forgetting such a major detail for the day.

The plane landed and everybody deboarded. Hatton quickly grabbed her suitcase from the baggage claim and tried to find a place outside to make a quick call to Trevor.

As she pressed his number to call him, she heard a phone ringing behind her. Confusion swept over her as she turned around to see the tan skinned, wind-swept hair that Trevor wore so well. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes and smile when he smirked at her.

“Let me guess…Jack?” She knew that Jack couldn’t keep his fat mouth shut even if he wanted to, but for once it turned out in her favor.

“Did you really think he wouldn’t tell me that you were coming? Which brings me to my next question, why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” He grabbed the suitcase from her and walked her to where his car was parked, all the while taking in how she could possibly be as beautiful as she was right now after traveling all day.

“I’ll be honest, I completely forgot to. I don’t really have a good excuse,” She admitted. She placed her backpack into his backseat, but Trevor wouldn’t let her grab the door to get into the front because he had to.

“Thank you,” Hatton smiled up at him and waited for him to get in so they could drive away.

The drive wasn’t long, mostly filled with a few road rage moments for Trevor along with small talk to fill the silence. They pulled up to the house that Trevor called home. He wished that Hatton had come a year ago, that way she could’ve experienced life with him and Jamie, but he was sure his friend would make an appearance at some point while Hatton was here.

“Wow, you’re house is really pretty,” Hatton commented while unbuckling and grabbing her backpack from the backseat. Trevor grabbed her suitcase and they made their way inside.

Trevor smiled, a blush rising onto his cheeks, as he shrugged his shoulders.

“I have a couple of extra rooms that you can choose from. You could always just room with me, though,” he smirked and threw her a wink.

“And there’s the Trevor I know,” Hatton chuckled as Trevor began to show her around the house. A part of her wanted to just stay in the same room as Trevor, but she’d be here for a week, so they would have plenty of time to make rooming changes if need be.

Trevor let Hatton unpack by herself, giving her some time to decompress on her own from traveling all day. He had planned for the first day to be less action packed so that the two would be rested for his game day tomorrow.

“Okay, I think I’m unpacked,” Hatton breathed a sigh of relief and plopped down on his couch, momentarily closing her eyes as she was realizing that it would just be him and her sleeping here for the entire week. It was never just the two of them, there was always somebody else with them, even if it was just Jack.

“So, I have some pretty cool things planned for the week, but I figured we take it easy today…that ok?” Trevor plopped down in a recliner beside the couch.

“Yeah, sounds good,” Hatton kicked her shoes off and tucked her feet beneath her, making herself more comfortable.

“Um, I know this conversation is just going to be awkward no matter when we have it, but seeing as you’re hear you saw my reasons why I think we could work out,” Trevor watched as Hatton nodded her head, urging him to continue with the conversation.

“Yeah, speaking of, where’s your dog?”

“He’s getting a bath. We can go pick him up in a little while. Back to what I was saying....I just feel like I need to say some things in person so we can just completely clear the air about how we feel about each other,” Trevor was just going to rip the bandaid off and get everything out of his system. He's had ample time to think about what to say to Hatton, but none of it sounded good enough now that she was sitting so close to him, just the two of them. He let his heart go on autopilot, deciding that may be the best way to go about this.

“You obviously know I like you. Like a lot. But, um," Trevor stuttered as he rubbed his arm, subconciously trying to ease the anxiety that seemed to peak when he tried to take about his feelings. That was something about Trevor that only a select few knew; Trevor loved attention, but he avoided showing his true feelings at all costs. He would rather just make everybody around him smile or laugh than let them in on how he feels.

"Hattie, you mean the world to me. You meant the world to me when I knew you couldn't stand me, and you mean the world to me now that you've traveled this far and you're sitting right here," The words were flowing from his mouth, reaching Hatton and wrapping around her heart like a ribbon on a gift.

Hatton could feel her cheeks go rosy, not caring if Trevor noticed or not. She listened to each word that left his lips as if they were a raft that could save her from drowning from confusion. Because that's what Hatton felt most of the time: confused. Why did he feel like this towards her? Could she really let herself be in a relationship with him? Let him see the most vulnerable parts of her that very few were lucky enough to know about?

"You told me I needed to figure out how to make a long distance relationship work, so that's what I've been doing. I've talked to some buddies that have been in a long distance relationship and they gave me some words of advice. Long distance can't, and won't, work if we both don't work on it. I can tell you when I'm free from practice and games so that we could FaceTime or text or something. I'm willing to pay for your travel when you come here, and I swear I will make time each month to come see you as well. Even if it's for short periods of time. I really want this with you. More than anything, more than the fucking Stanley Cup, Hatton," Trevor chuckled, but he was completely serious. If hockey didn't pay his bills, then he'd drop everything to be with her.

"You must want me lot," Hatton grinned, teasing him.

"You have no idea," Trevor sighed, returning her grin.

"Ok. You have to ask me to be your girlfriend, though," Hatton's upside down smile was plastered on her face as she watched Zegras process what she just said.

"Wha- so that's a yes?" He could hardly form words because of the excitement that was running rampant in his head. His heart was working overtime.

"Did you ask me?" Hatton raised her eyebrows inquisitively, waiting for him to ask her the question that would start their future.

"Hatton Carlisle, would you do the absolute honor of being my beautiful, loving, caring girlfriend," Trevor was being a bit dramatic, but he didn't care because it made Hatton giggle.

"I would love to, Trevor Zegras," Hatton smiled.

Trevor got up from the recliner he was in and walked the two steps it took to get to Hatton. He cupped her face in his hands, taking a few seconds to take in her features, and placed a passionate kiss on her lips. The kiss saying everything that Trevor might have left out when previously discussing his feelings for Hattie. Hatton's fingers immediately grasped for his hair, slightly pulling him closer to deepen the kiss. Trevor took this as an opportunity to place himself between her legs, supporting his weight by placing one hand on the arm of the couch while the other was still cupping her cheek, his thumb caressing her smooth, rosy pink cheek.

Before things went too far, Trevor broke the kiss.

"We've got all week to show each other how much we like each other. We've got about 30 minutes to go pick up Louis," He chuckled, tucking a piece of Hatton's hair behind her ear.

The two loaded up into Trevor's car to go pick up Louis.

All that Hatton could think about was that Trevor wasn't just the annoying third wheel of her's and Jack's friendship anymore. He wasn't the one that pushed her buttons constantly, or made her question her sanity. He was her boyfriend.

Her phone ringing interrupted the comfortable silence in the car. Of course it was Jack.

"Bitch, did you not tell me you would call me when you got to Anaheim? I can't exactly help you when your literally on the other side of the country from me," Jack was yelling from somewhere off screen, but there was no way Trevor and Hatton couldn't hear him. His voice echoed all throughout his apartment.

"Sorry, bud. We've got some exciting news though," Hatton smiled.

As soon as she said that, Jack's face popped up on the phone, "Is my boyfriend there?"

"You mean my boyfriend?" Hatton smiled, knowing that Jack would have something to say about her statement.

"No fucking way..." Jack wore a grin as big as the sky, giving the Cheshire Cat a run for his money, "Let me see our boyfriend!"

"Jacky! My man, what's going on?" Trevor glanced at the phone before returning his attention on the road.

"It's about time. I'm telling Cole and Alex," And with that he hung up.

The two laughed, Trevor interlocking their hands. He couldn't believe that she actually agreed to be his girlfriend. It felt surreal, 3 years of pining after her and it all paid off.

"I'm glad you're here, Hatton," Trevor smiled.

"I'm glad I'm here too, Z," She gave his hand a squeeze. This week just might be one of the best weeks of their lives so far.

----

That night Hatton decided to sleep in a bed by herself, not quite comfortable with being completely vulnerable with Trevor quite yet. She tossed and turned all night long, replaying the day in her head over and over again. The sudden feelings she had developed for Trevor scared her, quite honestly. If she was capable of falling that hard that quickly, how much more control over her could Trevor have?

Before she knew it, the sun was peeking through a tiny sliver of the blackout curtains in her room. Like usual, there was no way she would be able to go back to sleep now. Her natural timer prohibited it. It made her feel a little better though when she heard a door open and the pitter patter of paws, followed along with what had to be Trevor's footsteps. She could hear him disarm the alarm system and open the back door.

Hatton decided that it would probably be rude of her to stay in bed all morning, so she stretched, tossing the covers off of her in the process. She put on a bra and brushed her teeth, but didn't bother doing anything else this early in the morning. If Trevor, for some odd reason, expected her to look like a model, he could suck it.

She put on a pair of slippers and made her way to the living room, quickly spotting Trevor sitting in one of the Adirondack chairs that circled a fire pit on the back porch, playing on his phone as Louis inspected the perimeter of the yard.

Before Hatton could even open the door, Louis somehow spotted her and began barking. Trevor quickly apologized as he picked him up and opened the back door for her.

"He's not aggressive, but he'll let me know when someone's here," Trevor chuckled as he scratched the dog behind the ears.

"No worries! When you're as cute as him you can get away with anything," Hatton gave the dog a pat on the head as she made herself comfortable on the couch that sat across from the chair that Trevor had previously been sitting in.

"Do you happen to have a coffee maker?" Hatton desperately needed caffeine. Now that she thought about it, she might have a caffeine addiction.

"I do not, actually. Jamie took it in the divorce," Trevor managed to say with a straight face, but furrowed eyebrows from Hatton gave away her confusion.

"Divorce?"

"Yeah, he moved out and had the balls to move down the street. He can be a bitch, but he's no threat to you," Trevor said so nonchalantly that Hatton couldn't tell if it was a joke or not.

"That's nice to know..." Hatton trailed off. The two sat enjoying the peace that the early morning exuded, watching Louis be Louis and occasionally mentioning something insignificant. A chill washed over Hatton, goosebumps quickly rising.

"So, I have a preseason game tonight, as you probably know. The game isn't until 5, but I do have a practice this morning if you want to tag along...," Trevor explained, hoping Hatton would want to come to the stadium.

"And what's in it for me?" Hatton was obviously going to support Trevor, but was it really Hatton if she didn't make him work for it?

"Well, that depends on what you're thinking of...if you want to go out to eat, there's plenty of places that will be open after the game. If you want to do something, Disney is literally like 5 minutes away and I have an off day tomorrow. If you're thinking a little alone time..." Trevor wiggled his eyebrows, but he was completely joking, unless Hatton wasn't. In that case he would definitely keep the offer on the table.

"Z, what if I actually said yes to the last option. What would you do?" Hatton chuckled as she spoke.

"Probably think somebody kidnapped the real Hattie and replaced her with whatever is sitting right here," Trevor rubbed the bottom of his chin, pretending to think about what he was saying.

"Disney tomorrow would be amazing," Hatton didn't even have to think about it. She adored Disney, the smell, the rides, it was one of her favorite things. She couldn't wait.

The two made their way inside to get dressed for the day, but not before a knock at Trevor's front door elicited a howl from Louis.

"I got it," Trevor announced, leaving Hatton alone in the kitchen while she poured a bowl of Lucky Charms.

She could hear somebody come through the front door, heading to the kitchen. Hattie could tell that Trevor was quietly chewing out whoever it was that he let in, but she couldn't quite make out what he was saying exactly.

"Trevor shut the fuck up. You never used this damn Keurig, anyway," A dark-haired, fair-skinned guy sat a black Keurig down on the counter adjacent to Hatton, not noticing there was a girl right next to him.

"Why do you even need-" As soon as the guy turned and caught a glimpse of Hatton, he knew exactly why Trevor blew his phone up asking about the stupid coffee maker.

"I think I might know who you are," Jamie sent an innocent smirk to the girl across from him.

"I think I might know who you are as well," Hatton giggled, connecting the dots as to the whole "divorce" thing that Trevor had mentioned.

"You must be the infamous Hattie. Trevor hasn't shut up about you for as long as I've known him," Jamie winked, chuckling when he saw Trevor giving him a death glare.

"You must be Trevor's ex in...some capacity. You didn't have to bring the coffee maker back. I could've run through Starbucks or Dunkin," Hatton rolled her eyes as she made eye contact with Trevor. He, in turn, shrugged his shoulders.

"It's no problem, I'll just make my morning coffee here and then we can carpool," Jamie popped in a coffee pod and started it for you.

"So how did Trevor mange to get you here? I thought you didn't like him..." Jamie waited patiently as the coffee poured into the mug he had placed underneath.

"She's my girlfriend now," Trevor interjected, immediately sending Hattie the biggest grin he could manage. He would never get tired of telling people that. He had worked hard to earn that title.

"Willingly? I don't normally judge people, but I'm judging a little bit," Jamie widened his eyes jokingly, causing Hatton to chuckle. He passed her the cup of coffee and began to make his.

"You know, I kinda feel the same way. He's a weirdo, but he's very convincing," Hatton could feel Trevor staring at her, but she just watched Jamie as he smiled.

"Yeah…you know I'm right here?" Trevor spoke up.

"Yeah, we know," Jamie nonchalantly said as he sipped his coffee.

Trevor rolled his eyes as he walked away towards his room to change into his outfit for the day, Hatton filing to her room shortly after to do the same.

As she ruffled through the articles of clothing that hung in the closet, she smiled. She was going into this week with an open mind and heart. No expectations, just experiences.

She was eager to see it all unfold.

[sanderssidesthehouse]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62454829

Link is being weird RIP. This is my submission for janus week day 2 @darksideweeks prompt: shedding.

The scales had not been his idea. That one belonged to Creativity and Morality. Not that they’d done it on purpose, of course, and neither of them would have dreamed of inflicting the pain they’d caused when they sprouted, but still, if you were looking for a source, that was where you’d have to look.

That being said, Janus rather liked his scales. They were smooth and pretty and really helped his whole aesthetic. He wouldn’t trade them even if he could. Still, he could do without the shedding. It was itchy and messy and uncomfortable. It wasn’t really fair that he was the only side with permanent animal features. Honestly, it was very rude of Thomas to not have associated any of the others so strongly. Logan could do with some feathers, and no one would mind if Patton was a bit froggy all of the time.

But there he was, on his favorite flat rock under his heat lamp, currently the only source of light in the room, trying desperately not to itch his scales off. It unequivocally sucked. Just his luck to hear a knock at his door. Following the knock was a loud energetic voice. Speak of the devil and he shall appear, Janus mused.

“What do you want?” Janus hissed through the crack he had opened the door.

“Shit, that time already?” Remus responded in lieu of a proper answer.

“What do you want, Remus?”

“Let me in, I’ll help.”

“You just want to eat it.”

“Just a little! Or maybe a lot.”

“Just go play with someone else.” Janus tried to push the door closed only to find Remus had shoved his foot in the crack, and no amount of pushing, pleading, or pain would get him to move it. He knew this from experience.

“Unsupervised?”

“I’m not your keeper.”

“Hmm… Actually I think I’d rather stay here.”

“Remus-”

“So,” Remus pushed the door open, sending Janus stumbling back, “what do we do?”

“I’ve never let you help before, what makes you think I’ll start now?”

“Because I made LoLo tell me all about snake shedding and now I’m an expert. Plus I’m stronger than you.”

“If I want you out, you know I can force you.”

“And yet you haven’t!” Remus plastered his signature shit eating grin onto his face.

“Ugh, fine. Just be quiet.”

“It’ll be like I’m not even here.”

“I sincerely doubt that.”

To his credit, Remus did keep the noise level down, though down for him and down for the average side was an entirely different metric. Still it was an impressive feat for Intrusive Thoughts to tone down the Intrusiveness.

After some time Janus relented and allowed Remus to fetch him some water. If he wanted to be helpful for once, Janus would let him. Though that wasn’t really fair. Remus always wanted to be helpful, it’s just that most of the time no one wanted his help.

“I know you don’t eat much when this happens, so I thought about making you a smoothie, but I remember last time I oh, so graciously made you a smoothie-”

“It was lamb’s blood, pickles, and pig intestines.”

“-and you didn’t really appreciate that so I told Virgil to make a smoothie that doesn’t suck because he actually knows what you like, and he told me to do some things Patton surely wouldn’t approve of, so one might pop up at some point, you know how he likes to be a tsundere.”

“... But you brought some water? Normal water?”

“I milked the stalactites myself!”

“... Remus…”

“Just kidding! I got it out of the tap. But I would milk stalactites if you asked me to. Or even if you didn’t.”

“I’m aware. Feel free to do that on your own time, but if you fall from any significant height or onto stalagmites, do make sure to fix yourself up before you pop back into the living room, hmm? I hate having to replace the furniture.”

“Aw, what’s a little blood on the everything? It adds character!”

“... We can discuss this later-”

“Which means we won’t.”

“-but for now, I would like to drink my normal water and go back to laying peacefully on my rock.”

“Oh, right!” Remus whisper yelled. “I’ll be quiet.”

“Much appreciated.”

Janus artificially sunned himself for about half an hour more before he noticed a smoothie pop into existence on his bedside table. They may not be talking since then, but this was enough for now. Enough to make him smile fondly despite the discomfort, and enough to show that not all was lost.

“Remus?”

“Mhm?”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome! What are you thanking me for?”

Janus chuckled. “Never change, hm?”

“Didn’t plan on it!”

[colouredbyd]

I’ve always admired the way you write and how you can make people feel so much just through words. You somehow always find the right way to say things, and it never feels repetitive or forced. Even though you’re only seventeen, you write with so much emotion and honesty—it’s really inspiring.

Honestly, sometimes I get scared to even share my writing. I start overthinking everything—like, is it good enough? Are people going to feel anything when they read it, or just scroll past it? I see how you write, how you just seem to get it right every time, and I wonder if I’m even close to that. I get stuck using the same words over and over again, and it feels like I’m just circling around what I want to say but never actually getting there.

Sometimes I’ll write something and just stare at it, trying to decide if it’s worth sharing. Other times, I don’t even want to start because I’m already convinced it won’t turn out the way I want. I guess what I’m trying to say is—how do you push past that? How do you keep finding the right words without getting caught up in all the doubt? You are amazing Dalia :)

-🪩

thank you so much for saying that, it genuinely means everything to me🌷💗

i think there’s something so beautiful about writing—about putting pieces of your heart into words and watching them grow into something real, something that reaches people. to know that you feel that through my writing is genuinely everything.

and honestly, i get it. that fear of sharing your writing? it’s so, so real. i’ve been there, and sometimes, i’m still there!

writing has been part of my life for as long as i can remember. it all started when i was around 9 (fully blaming my parents for giving me way too much media access ). i discovered wattpad, and i would just get completely lost in those stories for hours. i remember thinking it was pure magic—how just words on a screen could make me feel so much. i think that’s when i knew: i wanted to do that too.

from there, i started reading so many books, anything i could get my hands on. i was obsessed with the idea of stories, how they could build entire worlds out of nothing. eventually, that obsession turned into me wanting to create my own. i started writing random little things, mostly just for me

when i was around 14, i fell into this massive Draco x y/n phase and even tried to shift (the dedication i had back then) i would write for hours, just pouring everything onto the page, but the idea of posting it? terrifying. it felt like exposing the softest, most fragile part of myself.

at some point, i realized i had over 160 fics just sitting in my drafts, untouched. all these stories and characters trapped behind a screen because i was too afraid to set them free. i kept telling myself “one day” but that day just never came. then this year, i don’t know what changed, but i finally decided to just… do it

fun fact: my first-ever post was on april 12, literally just a month ago—crazy, right? i posted two fics, honestly just for fun, and the amount of love and support i got? it was surreal. it gave me the courage to start freeing my drafts, one by one

and it’s wild because if you go back and read that first post from april 12 and then read something i’ve posted more recently, you’d definitely notice quite a difference. that first fic was actually written sometime in 2023 or early 2024, and you can just see the growth. i truly believe that the more you write, the more you naturally improve without even realizing it. your voice sharpens, your phrasing becomes smoother, and things start to click into place

if you’re ever looking for a little help with finding the right words, there’s this website called WordHippo that I swear by. you can type in any word or phrase, and it’ll give you synonyms, alternatives, even phrases that match. it’s a lifesaver, especially when you’re trying to avoid repetition or just want to make your writing feel more vivid

but as for the fear of sharing:

i want to dedicate this to every soul out there who holds stories in their hearts like fragile secrets, who has pages and pages tucked away in journals and documents, too afraid to let them see the light. to the ones who stare at their screens, fingers hovering over the “post” button, hearts racing with the ache of what if it’s not good enough? to the souls who write and rewrite, who bury their words in the safety of drafts because the idea of exposing them feels too raw, too real

i want you to know that there is nothing more beautiful than a story set free. that fear you feel? it means you care. it means your heart is in your hands, trembling but alive. the act of sharing your writing isn’t just about bravery; it’s about faith. faith that your words are worth hearing, that someone out there will feel them the way you felt them

i think sometimes we glamorize writing like it’s this untouchable art, like you have to be perfect to be heard, but that’s not true. the most moving stories are often the ones that are real, that are messy, that stumble over their own heartbeat.

the fear of being seen is only as strong as your desire to be heard. when that desire to be heard—to reach someone, anyone—outgrows the fear, you realize that even if it’s messy, even if it’s imperfect, it’s yours. and that’s enough

if you don’t set your stories free, they will haunt you with the weight of what could have been. you don’t want that ghost lingering in your chest, whispering what if every time you close your eyes

your words are seeds; let them grow

that’s actually why i named my blog The Secret Garden. it’s a place for those hidden seeds, those fragile stories waiting to bloom. i think every piece of writing is like that—a tiny piece of magic just waiting for its moment. you don’t always get to decide how or where it blooms, but you can decide to plant it. that’s the first step, and it’s the one that matters the most

and just remember, gardens aren’t made in a day. sometimes, you plant seeds that take a while to sprout. sometimes, the soil isn’t ready, and sometimes, neither are you! but if you keep planting, keep tending to the words you bury in ink and hope, one day, you’ll look up and find an entire world in bloom

whoever you are, anon, if you ever decide to post something, please tag me!! i would be so honored to read it and cheer you on. because your voice deserves to be heard, and your stories deserve to exist outside of your drafts. you are braver than you think, and your words are worth everything <3

[karkatbug]

🦀🕶️🫂

A tight, hot sensation works its way along Dave’s arms and sits at the pads of his fingers, which he taps restlessly against the cool, waxed wood table of their local coffee shop. He continues the motion despite his classmate’s evident irritation, hoping the contact would somehow encourage the feeling to pass through his fingers and onto the table via osmosis. It’s a familiar tension after enduring copious amounts of stress. Assignments, exams, working part-time. His social life, hobbies and habits. College had a knack for narrowing time and forcing life into a bottleneck. If you’re lucky enough to come out the other side alive, you’re left an exhausted shell of yourself, stiffly trying to relax your shoulders and convincing yourself that’s all you need and are totally fine now. Booking a back massage was pussy shit. No way in hell was he ever gonna let some man rub oil on him and get all touchy feely with his nude bod, no the fuck thanks.

Not to mention things were good. He’s quite literally in a better place. There was no reason to be rigid with stress now when he wasn’t going through anything like back then. Sadly logic did little to work out the knots in his shoulders. 

“Mind over matter my ass,” Dave mumbles to himself.

“What’s with you?” Karkat demands. “You’ve been fidgeting all fucking day. All week, actually! Usually I let your human quirks slide but at this point I’m starting to get worried.”

Dave winces at the other’s raised voice.

“I’m fine, dude,” he says quietly, hoping to lead Karkat by example. “Finish your thingy.”

“Our thingy,” Karkat corrects. Dave huffs and glances back down at his laptop screen. A word document is open, and Karkat’s cursor flashes where he stopped typing. “And I’m not writing another word until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong, man.” Dave forces himself back into his quiet facade—fixing his calm along with his posture. They work some more. He grits his teeth when a leg begins to bounce. God how he’d love to crawl out of his skin right now. Instead, he sits up straight, grabs the side of the table and twists one way, repeating the motion as he does the other. His back pops both times. He lets out a satisfied sigh. 

It’s still not enough. 

“That’s the third time you’ve done that,” Karkat notes. His eyes are fiery despite the lack of red. Dave is one of the few who know about his blood color. He knows they’ll kick in a few years from now, and yet sometimes Dave can feel the color on him. Or maybe he’s projecting. It is his favorite, after all. The color. Not the troll.

Karkat pushes the screen of his laptop down as he points an accusatory finger at the restless human sitting across from him. “You’ve also rubbed your neck twenty seven separate occasions in this past hour. You’ve kicked me in the shin twelve times trying to stretch those freakishly long appendages you call legs. I’ve heard your back pop more times than Egbert’s fucking “grandma” and I lived with them for an entire year!”

“Why did you put quotations around grandma?”

“My point is what the fuck is happening to you? Are you about to molt? You’re acting like your frail skin is about to rip open.”

“Your inexplicable obsession with me is duly noted, and flattered as I may be that you watch me like a hawk—sorry, a talonscreecher— you can park those observations back at the Target parking lot you were at just this morning along with that awful thing on your wrist that you bought from there.”

Karkat tugs his long sleeve over his wristwatch with a scowl and flips Dave off.

“I usually exercise,” Dave explains, figuring he was one more digression away from Karkat finally deciding to kick him back for all the times earlier, most of which were definitely intentional points of contact on his end. “And I haven’t been able to for almost two weeks now because of—” he gestures to his laptop, the cafe they’re in and the campus visible outside the window they’re sitting by. “Our muscles get stiff and shit if we don’t move. It’s kind of unbearable for me.”

“Well, go! Go run a lap and come back!”

“What did we say about asking people to fulfill your furry kinks? I know our recently established friendship is cool and all but I’m not moirailling with you, dude. Next thing I know you’re going to ask me to get on my knees and bark—” Dave sucks in his breath and clenches his teeth, fighting the instinct to yelp following the sharp pain in his shin.

“Fuck off, Strider! Suffer in that meatsack for all I care.”

“I jog at ass in the morning or in the middle of the night, there is no in between.”

“Those are our peak cram hours.”

“I know! That's why I haven't been able to go!” Dave exclaims. “I hate feeling watched while I workout.” That’s not incriminating to admit, right? Most people hate the gym for the very same reason. There’s no way Karkat’s tragic-past detector would go off.

“‘Cause of your Bro?”

Dammit.

“No,” Dave utters stubbornly while raising his knee for easier access to rub his throbbing leg. “Can’t a guy be a little self-conscious when asked to run around his school in tight jeans and a baggy hoodie at peak hours? Can’t a troll accept that nothing will fix me right now besides getting on my stomach, spreading my legs and praying some forklift certified fuck accidentally gets in a steamroller and runs me over?”

“Jesus, Dave. If it’s that bad… just let me sit on you!”

Dave’s mind is pulled in so many different directions that for once in his life, he’s at a loss for words. The imagery, one he’ll never admit to having, even if burnt at the stake, takes hold. It’s so vivid in his mind that he closes his laptop with an abrupt snap and shoves it into his backpack.

“I think we’re done here.”

“Humans do it all the time!” Karkat continues. “You lie on the couch and your friend sits on your back, right? John and Jade fucked with me like this all the time but they’d make me do it back. They said it feels good.”

“You have got to remember that those two are outliers when it comes to what is considered ‘normal’ by human standards.”

“Right, because you’re a sensible being and should be considered the standard life form for your race.”

“You’re not convincing me to let you sit on my back, dude.”

“Fine, but where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

“Home?” Dave shifts out of the booth and shoulders his backpack. 

“No the fuck you’re not! We’re not even halfway done with this paper!”

“I’ll bullshit something tonight.”

Karkat follows him, protesting the entire time. Dave tries and fails to shake him off. The sticky heat of the summer has yet to take hold of the city. Accustomed as he may be, Dave never looks forward to it, and the dread along with his current bodily aches makes him clench his teeth and curl his fists. He snapped at Karkat once, two years ago, in the summer. He was in a bad mood. Sweat-slicked hair framed his features. The humidity sat heavy in the air and made his clothes cling to the small of his back. He was tired, his brain had reached capacity after back-to-back lectures. The sun drained what little energy he had left, so when Karkat tried to lecture him about his romantic life, embarrassing him in front of their friends, he was genuinely mad. They weren’t close then, but were in each other’s circle. Dave had regretted it instantly. Karkat was a good dude. Sensitive in a way that made Dave cringe, sure, and outright obnoxious at times, but it was from a place of caring. He was fooled at first, with the way the other talked and typed. Karkat Vantas came off aggressive, loud and arrogant, but in actuality was all bark no bite (though his throbbing shin would argue otherwise). When he apologized, Karkat hugged him tight and everything seemed to magically get better after that. 

Dave’s pace slows to a stop once they round the corner, officially off campus and away from the crowds of students. 

“Sorry,” he blurts when the other stumbles to a stop to avoid crashing into him. “For getting all pissy.”

Karkat raises a brow and tilts his head to the side.

Dave uncurls his fists and tries to relax his shoulders. He doesn’t want to be uncool like back then, two years ago. Not to the troll he now knows well. Someone he genuinely likes despite pretending otherwise.

“It’s not anything you said or did.” Why was communicating so hard? And so fucking awkward? Why did he have to explain his feelings instead of relying on the people around him to telepathically understand what was going on in his head?

“Yeah, I know,” Karkat snorts. “You just need to book a fucking massage.”

“Phrasing,” Dave smirks.

“No, Dave. I know what I said.”

Dave flushes at the other’s nonchalance. He hates when Karkat has the drop on him. 

“I hear you can request a happy ending from some plac—mph.”

Dave gets him into a headlock with one arm, the other going over his mouth. There’s a familiarity to the action. “Be glad there’s no table to suplex you over,” Dave threatens. He releases Karkat the moment he detects the other open his mouth to bite him. Yet another familiar action. 

They tussle for a while longer until they’re giggling as they pull away. The distance between them lasts only a brief moment. On a whim, Dave reaches out and pulls Karkat back in, this time for an embrace. Karkat squeezes him tight. It knocks the air out of Dave in the best way possible. Karkat pops his back and nearly lifts him off his tippy toes. God he loved this fucker’s hugs.

“Did that help?” Karkat asks with a small smile, sharp teeth peeking shyly over his lips.

“I’m not sure,” Dave lies, chest tightening at the sight. Shit. “Can you do that again?”

Karkat embraces him with all he’s got. Shit, shit, shit. Dave fights back the groan. He’d never hear the end of it if he made a single sound in front of Karkat. But he can’t lie, this shit felt good. He wraps his arms around Karkat and hugs back. It becomes a competition. They embrace each other until Dave is certain one of them is going to pass out from lack of oxygen.

They release each other with dizzied laughs and crash back into each other, initiating another round. This time Dave reaches around Karkat’s waist, leading the other to lock his arms around Dave’s shoulders. Karkat squeezes the tension right out of those muscles. Dave strengthens his grip until that tight, hot sensation that had wormed its way along his arms and to the pads of his fingers dissipates completely. 

They stumble apart with dopey grins, wordlessly resuming their walk home with nothing to fill the air between them but the sound of passing cars and chirping birds. He should have known. All it took was Karkat hugging him tight. Everything always seemed to magically get better after that. 

[mmoonlightbunny]

GENYA x MODERN!AU

_____________________

G E N Y A S H I N A Z U G A W A

TRAINING DIVISION / ‘You… You cannot speak for what I’ve been through.’

• Genya who, over the years, had learned to both bottle and channel his emotions to fuel his survival instinct, because simply wishing for change isn’t enough.

• Genya who would purposely soil the fresh bandages to redo them himself, an ever present need to proof he was self-sufficient to all around them.

• Genya who couldn’t find a mentor because of who he was and his precedent reputation, almost forced to figure it all out on his own from very young. Well, that wasn’t new in his eyes.

• Genya who liked walking alone at night across the Districts, relishing on the drastic difference of worlds for other boys his age. Overhearing their biggest problems, situations, goals and oversights… It was endearing and very much distracting.

• Genya who towered over most around him, and avoiding stealth assignments in fear he could be easily spotted, yet he never was.

• Genya who kept a secret for months to the person who was closest to him, letting the silence eat slowly at his insides while coming up with a way to tell him the truth.

• Genya who grudgingly trained for years, polishing his one skill to perfection, only to discover that it wasn’t as fulfilling anymore.

• Genya who wouldn’t sleep at night and intently listened to the soft purring of the cat placed in his lap.

• Genya who after talking about it with a stranger, came to terms on how to face his truth, and the impersonation of it.

• Genya who cried for hours and was unable to speak for days without muttering apologies and rivers of tears. He had bottled it for too long this time.

• Genya who, out of nowhere, had a new train ticket and a packed up bag. The bag with a folder containing all his accomplishments and certificates, even if some of them weren’t entirely legitimate.

• Genya who had faced worst and gut-churning assignments before, but stepping into the new district seemed atrociously worse.

• Genya who learned he liked the feeling of orange fizzy drinks just as much as his new peers did, and that school subjects could be boring and sports weren’t as interesting. But others were, and it was refreshing.

• Genya who had to stick to a tailored profile of what he wished for his average life to be instead of what he had truly grown up into.

• Genya who was the new exchange student and certain rules wouldn’t apply to him. This made him interesting to others, and everyone would gravitate towards him to soak up on the mystery.

• Genya who always blushed around one girl in particular, his ears turning bright red and forehead slick with sweat. The midnight phone calls will tease him endlessly about it.

• Genya who now stayed up late while flipping through pages and not overseeing a crosshair in a green lens, actively trying to stay awake for another 18 hours.

• Genya who seemed to be more confused by trivialities and customs than over types of ramen, sometimes being overwhelmed by the amount of choices he had.

• Genya who excelled at his finals with modesty, keeping his success to himself. Until he arrived to a surprise party, organised by who he once thought would be against his new path. He was his biggest supporter.

• Genya who was overly talkative after his first sips of alcohol and confessed his fear of frogs, his crush’s name and admitted that he had always been right to push him away from their past, words he would never repeat until much older.

• Genya who was gifted a handwritten letter and a small wolf made out of felt on Valentine’s day by his crush. Her pink eyes were filled with joy when she did this and he would see them at night before going to sleep.

• Genya who had an alarm set up at midnight, because he made a habit of checking in with him, even if it was a series of grunts on the phone.

• Genya who had realised he was happier now, and it was bittersweet he couldn’t convince him to do the same, to walk away and start over.

genzuko is real and you can’t change my mind about it.

i’ve been working on modern!sanemi and will be posting sometime soon to complete the hashira headcanons.

bunny

[dancingthrustars]

Two steps forward one step back, but in a good way, promise. Give me five minutes to talk?

I’m writing this with the knowledge I might not post it, I might get embarrassed about it and I might delete it but. I want to try.

Let’s be a little frank about what this blog’s been, as a whole.

It’s been a place for me to write, yes, but it’s also been, full honesty, an escape, a panicked and grieved one, away from all I was before. I grabbed my funny little Star Wars OCs and my loose concept for a Mars story and I ran out the door. I made a blog that for years had a header title specifically referencing that it was somewhere new. Somewhere different. Hell the name of the blog itself was that too. I didn’t want to lose all I worked on but I couldn’t bear to be in the same place as it anymore.

I still, frankly, can’t be. The part of me that craves validation and misses all that old feedback, even when I can acknowledge to myself that I wasn’t getting any of that anyways, really. Not towards the end. The peak of the glory days of the Achievement Hunter fiction community had, admittedly, passed a while before I closed up shop. It was nice having what I personally considered a Big Follower Number, but I’d watched plenty of people move on over the years. I’d made several posts half-joking about it in the year leading up to the Big Move alone but it was happening before that too. It wasn’t fun, I got really genuinely upset over the fact that in the middle of all the things I’d cared about writing, the quick brainworm things I slammed out in two hours were the only things that really got traction, but it wasn’t unexpected. It happens, people grow into and out of fandoms and followings and the beginning of the end for AH in the state it had been felt looming on the horizon well before…everything that happened. And everything since.

I don’t mean to dredge old wounds. It’s dramatic to say but I still find mine plenty raw, four years down the line. It aches at me that I can acknowledge, objectively, just how Mine everything was towards the end, how little I’d even really been watching videos and being influenced by them, and still be unable to even brush the edges of character descriptions, much less names. For a very long time I couldn’t even go back to look at my old work, though that particular aspect has gone away through slow and steady effort.

Anyways.

My tenure on satansprettyprose ran a little over five years. It had a huge impact on my life, with reverberations I still feel, and then it was over.

I left a lot of stuff behind when I moved here. A lot of things I loved, a lot of things that filled me with joy. Concepts of ideas, plans I had, conversations I wanted to continue and people I wanted to hold close. Not every attempt to bring any of those back to life has succeeded. Some have failed to such an extent I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to even shape the edges of them again without feeling it in my chest. Some things I might never be able to use again.

To be entirely transparent, the reason I pushed so hard last year to write once a month is that I felt myself drifting away from writing at all. I felt like no matter what I wrote it didn’t matter, it wasn’t what people wanted to see, it wasn’t what I’d done before, what I couldn’t go back to. Writing gives me such joy and I was losing my grasp on it because it felt like it was just me and the big dark shadow of the Before, even while I was actively running away from it. I don’t even talk about writing outside of here and my friend group and that was happening less and less. So I figured I’d give myself one last shot and see if I could even still do good consistent writing anymore. And I’ll be honest, I think I’m a worse writer now than I was. I’ve let the muscle atrophy.

But this last year I wrote some damn good chapters of Orbit in Decay and got us at least lined up for the real meat of the story to get going. I wrote Neighbors, a good amount of it, and got to play with different styles I’d been nervous to touch again, on top of having a lot of real genuine fun with opposing viewpoints. I wrote proper Star Wars things, pieces I’d been holding back on for years because I couldn’t get myself over the hurdle of my own self-conscious hurdles.

But more than all of that, I started working on things like what I’d loved. I started writing the still-unnamed fae stuff, which was and is a blatant rip of the ELR longform spy rewrite I’d been working on, just with supernatural elements and different characters. I started working on some old-fashioned tolsmol stuff, one of which went out last week. Another, which involves some mushrooms and star-void, is still rather piecemeal but has had some space to grow anyways.

And then last month. Last month I made Jay and Obie. Last month I broached the writing topic I was terrified to come back to the most. I wrote criminals. More than that, I wrote a lot of criminals. I’ve still been writing a lot of criminals. And it makes me so so happy to do.

I’ve written so much this last year I’ve had to start sorting it aggressively so that I don’t lose everything.

Here’s the point.

It’s been four years here. I’m older, I’m more tired, my health is worse and it’s harder to want to keep the ball rolling. I’m rarely on here, and I’m aware of that. There were some months this last year where it was all I could do to kick out something short at the very end of the month for the sake of checking that box and very little else. I’ll never match the person I was, but ultimately I think that’s what happens with time anyways. So, what then?

The answer is that I’m going to try. Like I’ve been but also more than that. I’m going to stop living in the shadow of it all. I want to write what I want to write and I want to create what I want to create. No more clinging to the idea that I can’t even acknowledge all I did because of all the guilt and rage and grief. No more forever reminding myself that I can’t because it was something else. I miss writing things, so I’m going to write them.

It won’t be the same, obviously. See the fae stuff, see Jay and Obie, hell see the clone lesbians I’ve been toying with. I don’t know if I’ll ever find a way to write a revenge story I won’t find utterly lacking and I know with a certainty that tears at me that I won’t ever be writing a massive longform polyamorous corruption arc again. No matter how much I miss it.

But we’re going to find rhymes, going to make new suspiciously similar OCs, going to write new and weird things, and some old and weird things too. And I’m really hoping it’ll make some people smile like it used to because I know it’s done that for me.

If this is published, if you’ve read this far, thanks so much. I hope this rambling thing made sense to you, since I’m getting too emotional to read it back. And I hope you enjoy what’s coming next.

[hotcryptidsinyourarea]

Falling for the Frogman of Loveland, Ohio

story synopsis: Molly is a 30-something cookbook editor who has decided to move from New York to Loveland, Ohio after a bad breakup and a desire for a fresh start. She is instantly attracted to her neighbor Jeremiah's midwestern charms, but this local guy is much more than meets the eye...

human (she/her) + interdimensional humanoid frogman (he/him)

cw: social anxiety, negative self-talk, hetero heavy petting, terror, loss of consciousness

Chapter 4

I sleep in a bit late the next morning. The exhaustion from moving is catching up with me, but with the storage pod on the way, I need to start the day restored. And fueled. I’m thinking cheesy motherfuckin’ eggs and potatoes. And since I need to stay in the house in case the storage pod shows up, I’ll be making my own coffee this morning. So the first thing I do is grab the silver canister of pre-ground beans and set the moka pot up on the stove. Then I preheat the oven, set up my cast iron skillet on a burner, and start chopping the potatoes.

I have just popped the skillet with the sauteed potatoes, eggs, and cheese into the oven to bake when I get an alert on my phone letting me know the pod should be in my driveway in the next hour or so. While I appreciate the expediency, I still feel pretty low on energy and I am not looking forward to unloading the rest of my earthly belongings by myself. My only hope is that the holy trinity of carbs, protein, and fat in my breakfast give me the fuel to push through. And perhaps more coffee. I start the moka pot again before I even finish my first cup. 

The delivery and unloading of the pod itself is easy enough. I sign for it and confirm the scheduled time for its pickup. Once he’s gone, I unlock the padlock and pull up on the door to open it. Well, I try to. The space between the bottom of the door and the ground only grows by a few inches before it’s stuck. I bend at the knees to get my body weight as under it as possible and push up, but it doesn’t budge. 

Fuck. 

I struggle with it some more, but the thing must be off its track or bent because I cannot get the pod open. Maybe I should’ve asked the delivery guy to stay until I had it open in case of something like this. I didn’t even think about it. I keep trying to get it to budge, shaking it as hard as I can in hopes of bumping something back into its place, but my efforts are in vain. I am breaking out in a sweat and getting winded from the exertion. Worse of all, I’m beginning to feel frustrated, angry, and dangerously on the verge of tears. 

“Need any help with that?” a familiar voice says. Jeremiah looks even better today than he did yesterday, if that’s even possible. He’s wearing black sweatpants, a black tank top, and what looks like a very well-loved pair of black sneakers. It’s so unfair how little effort hot guys need in order to look good. I bet he uses 3-in-1 shampoo/conditioner/body wash and still looks this good. Meanwhile, I’m a sweaty and flustered mess who can’t open a storage pod. Time to play into the damsel-in-distress archetype, I guess. 

“It couldn’t hurt if you tried,” I say. “I’ve been failing for a while now.” 

“Let me see what I can do,” he says. Jeremiah crouches down on the ground and kind of shakes the door from the bottom. After getting a feel for the amount of stuck the door is, he gets in a squat position all the way to the ground. He looks over his shoulder and winks at me. 

“You’re going to want to stand clear.” 

Jeremiah takes a deep breath and then in a swift, powerful motion uses all of his considerable lower body strength to spring his entire body weight up and into the door. It slides up into the open position like it was never stuck in the first place. I’m embarrassed, honestly, and make a mental note to sign up for a gym as soon as possible. I had no idea I was so weak. Or maybe Jeremiah is just freakishly strong…?

No. I’m definitely the problem here. 

“Thank you so much. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do if I couldn’t get it up. I MEAN– OPEN!” I correct myself on the unintended innuendo but feel a hot flush crawl across my skin. “I don’t know what I would do if I couldn’t get it open. Sorry. I mean, thank you. Again.” 

Jeremiah has a shit eating grin on his face, clearly enjoying watching me squirm. “Don’t worry about it. Getting it up comes pretty easily for me.” 

I want to melt into the pavement. A pink blush spreads across my face. “Well you certainly made it look easy. Thank you, again.” I make a move into the pod and pick up the first liftable box to take it inside. There’s a dolly in here somewhere, but I’m frazzled to the point of needing the simplest task to accomplish at the moment. But my accomplishment is cut short before it’s made as Jeremiah takes the box out of my arms. 

“Let me help you with that.” 

“Oh, no. I mean, thank you, but this is my junk and I should unload it. I can unload it. I have a dolly in here somewhere for the heavier boxes.” 

“I’m certain you can unload them all on your own. But you don’t have to because I am here to help.” Jeremiah turns and heads inside the house with the box in hands. It’s hard to argue with that. 

With Jeremiah’s assistance, I get the pod unloaded in a third of the time. Not only is the man crazy strong, but he apparently also has super stamina that enables him to haul boxes twice as fast as it takes me to load them on a dolly and roll them inside. I’d feel bad about working him so hard if he didn’t seem so happy to do it. 

“Thank you– again– so much for your help,” I tell him after slamming the door to the empty pod shut. “You made my day so much easier. The least I can do is offer you a beer. I picked up a six pack of some local stuff that’s waiting in my fridge. Would you like one?” 

“Absolutely. I’d love a beer.” 

We head inside the kitchen and I grab a couple cans of beer from the refrigerator. I hand Jeremiah his. “The can design caught my eye, but the name is what sold me. ‘Beer for Humans.’ By Rhinegeist. Local stuff, love that.” 

“Haha,” his laugh is short and seems artificial. “Well, it’s certainly for me, then. What with my being human.” He opens his can and takes a long drink. I do the same, but from the corner of my eye I take in the long lines of his neck as he swallows. I want to lick it. I hope he doesn’t notice me staring. 

“Honestly, I owe you a lot more than a beer,” I tell him. “Can I buy you lunch? Or if you have someplace to be, maybe dinner at another time?” 

He gives me a half grin and runs his fingers through his hair and down to the nape of his neck where he rubs it sheepishly.  “Oh… I don’t know. I don’t think I can let you pay for our first meal together.” 

What the fuck does THAT mean? Oh, girl, you know what that means.  No I don’t. He could be an asshole with masculinity so fragile he can’t accept a woman being able to pay for a meal.  Does he really seem like that? You know he doesn’t. And even if he is kind of old fashioned, there is still the implication that he wants a date. That’s what he’s trying for.  I don’t know that! GIRL WHERE IS YOUR SELF-ESTEEM? DID YOU LOSE IT? DID IT GET MISPLACED DURING THE MOVE? 

Wait… how long have I been silent? Must say something. 

“Jeremiah, are you hitting on me?” The words fly out of my mouth. 

Well. That’s certainly something. 

Jeremiah’s face blooms red and his eyes go wide. He’s embarrassed. It’s cute. 

“I was going for ‘flirting’ more than ‘hitting on.’ Moreso cute and endearing than aggressive. Fuck, did I mess it up?”

No, but I might have. 

“I’m so sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to imply anything. You are being very kind. But I’ve been experiencing a bit of a culture shock here and I’m not confident in my interpretation skills.” 

“You’re telling me that men in New York don’t offer to buy dinner for lovely women such as yourself?” 

“Um…” I stall. “I mean, some men do. I’m sure. But I don’t think I’m the kind of woman those guys are looking for. They’re more interested in women who are looking to be taken care of.” 

“And you don’t need to be taken care of?” 

I’m suddenly feeling very exposed. “Yeah, I don’t know. I guess… not really. I’ve always had my shit together. There’s not much a guy can do for me that I can’t adequately do for myself.” 

“So what exactly do you get out of being with one?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. Companionship, I suppose. Someone to go with me to work functions and birthday parties. Maybe run errands together.”

“That’s it?” 

“I mean, I’m not asking anyone to do more than that.” 

“You shouldn’t have to ask. They should want to take care of you. Did you take care of them?” 

“Sure, guys always need a little help softening the rough edges in their lives. But I don’t mind being there for someone I care about. I never did anything I didn’t want to do” 

“So let me get this straight,” he says. “These guys– these boyfriends of your past– got to have a beautiful woman on their arm who put in the effort to make their lives easier and more comfortable just because you cared and in return they were just… there? That is a one-sided deal.” 

“Well, when you put it that way, I sound pretty stupid.” 

“No,” he says, dropping his tone to emphasize that he’s being serious. “You are not stupid for being giving and loving. They are stupid for not treating you with the same care and love. And they’re stupid for letting you get away.” Now it’s my turn to blush. I seem to be doing that a lot lately. “But, personally,” he continues, “I’m glad they were so stupid. Maybe if they were smarter, you wouldn’t have ended up here. In Loveland. Having a beer with me.” 

I do not know what to do with a man being so forthright and vulnerable. After so long in the city, I think I might be jaded to the possibilities of the world. You get stuck in a microcosm and forget that there’s so much more out there than the minutiae of that which is familiar. But Jeremiah’s openness feels so different than the emotionally guarded people I’m used to, it’s almost inhuman. Or maybe he’s actually the most human and all of us cynical assholes are the ones missing something essential. 

“So tell me, Molly,” he continues, unfazed. “What’s a guy like me gotta do to get a chance to take care of you?” 

I am– as is the parlance of our times– gagged. I must look like a fish with my mouth hung open wide. Or maybe not a fish, considering the way Jeremiah looks at my open mouth and ever-so-slightly bites his lip at the sight. 

“I’ll make you a deal,” he goes on. “Let me take you to dinner and I’ll help you learn how to be taken care of.” 

I bark out a quick laugh. “Who’s entering into one-sided deals, now?” 

“You giving me a chance is not one-sided. I promise you. Let me take you to dinner.” 

“Okay. It’s a deal. A date. It’s a deal and a date. I’d love to get dinner with you.” 

Jeremiah’s smile beams. “Great! Let’s say I pick you up at seven. Does that work?” 

“I’ll be here ready for you,” I answer, but I have to avert my gaze away from him. When I’m feeling shy, eye contact can be difficult. 

“Awesome,” he puts a finger under my chin and gently touches it, prompting me to look him in the eye again. It’s encouraging, not antagonistic. “Don’t worry about dressing up. The place we’re going to is casual, so wear what’s comfortable.” 

Damn. I didn’t even have to ask about the dress code. I think this is the first time a guy has ever thought about that little aspect of going out before I had the chance. Is Jeremiah for real? 

Well, his touch on my chin feels real And the shoulder muscles that his tank top is gracing look real. And all those boxes from storage are really in my house right now. All in all, things are seemingly real enough. Let’s see if he really shows up this evening. 

____________________________________________________________________________

“He’s hiding something.” My friend Haoyu, who is back in New York, is talking to me on speakerphone while I get ready for dinner. Back in the city, he has a few hours before he’ll even venture out the door for his nighttime diversions. Meanwhile, I’m leaning over the bathroom vanity smudging kohl around my eyes. “No guy is that perfect without a catch,” he says. 

“I don’t disagree, in principle,” I say with my mouth stretched open because that, for some reason, makes it easier to do my eyeliner. “But I haven’t witnessed any glaring red flags just yet, so it’s unfair to assume he’s outright deceptive.” 

“I bet he’s a Republican. Wait, no– a LIBERTARIAN. Oh no, I’ve got it: HE. LISTENS. TO. JOE. ROGAN.” 

I shudder. These things could very well be true. I am in Ohio. These midwestern men have that reputation. 

“I’m sure whatever’s wrong with him will come out during dinner. Then at the end of the night, I can thank him for his warm welcome and moving help, then go home by myself. No harm, no foul.” 

“Yeah, until he murders you and buries your bodies in the middle of kicker-shit Ohio because you bruised his fragile male ego by rejecting him.”

“HAOYU! Don’t put that kind of curse on me. Take that back!” 

“What? That’s what happens in places like that. They try to act like it’s some innocent idyllic heartland, but in actuality it’s a façade covering up a dark, seedy, sinister underbelly.”

“This from the guy who went to five different dungeon parties in the Hamptons last summer.”

“Shut up, you bitch. I can’t believe you left me to move to fucking Ohio. This city isn’t the same without you.”

“The city is exactly the same without me. The clubs you eventually make it to tonight will still be loud and the guys there will still be horny for your cute ass. And I will be having a quiet night in, just like I would when I was there. Only now I’m here.” 

“In stank ass Ohio.” 

“Yes, Hao, in Ohio. Where you are more than welcome to visit me anytime you wish.”

“Bitch, what the FUCK am I going to do in Ohio?” 

“Watch shitty reality television with me and drink wine til we pass out?” 

Haoyu sighs, “That does have its appeal. But I still miss you here and now.” 

“Darling,” I say, “I miss you even when we’re right next to each other.”

“Oh I love you, Molly. Never change.”

“Literally never.” 

“You know, you can’t keep me from worrying about you.  I mean, if you’re murdered by some buckeye boytoy, who do I have left? Troian? They don’t know a Kelly from a Birkin.” 

“You don’t have a Kelly or a Birkin.” 

“You know what? I hope the motherfucker does kill you now.” 

“You just said you love me!”

“More than life, bitch. Share your location with me before you go out with this stranger?”

“That I can do for you. And if you get a call from the cops tomorrow: he says his name is Jeremiah and he lives on my street.” 

“A strong lead for any missing person’s case.”

“I live for the convenience of others.”

“Girl, I can’t with you. BYYYYEEE!” and the line is cut. That’s my best friend! Wouldn’t be here without him. 

I finish my makeup and go ahead and do the Share My Location thing with Haoyu before I forget. Jeremiah said to dress casual, but I realize that “casual” might mean something different in Ohio versus Manhattan. I end up choosing a black maxi dress– one of those special items of clothing that can look just as appropriate at a burger joint as it is in a steakhouse. Hopefully wherever we’re going tonight doesn’t fall outside of that spectrum in either way. 

I’m still a bit dizzy by the way my day is unfolding. I woke up this morning assuming I would spend it sweating my ass off unloading boxes then finishing it with a dinner of one of those skillet pasta-for-two meals for one (me.) 

But now, I am preening in the mirror to get ready for a date with a hot guy who may or may not murder me. And here I was worried that life outside of New York would be boring. I don’t remember the last time a guy simply offered to buy me dinner because he wanted a chance with me. When Mark and I first started dating, we’d meet at the bar and split tabs. 

Jeremiah rings the doorbell at 7:02. On time, but not overly eager. He’s good. 

I open the door and there he is, looking great in fitted brown chinos, a white t-shirt, and an unbuttoned plaid flannel with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He puts his hand over the left side of his chest, pretending to clutch at his heart. 

“Molly, wow. You look beautiful,” he smiles warmly. “Are you hungry?” 

“I am! Nothing like unpacking every item you own to build up an appetite.” 

“Perfect. This place is about 20 minutes away, but I can get us there in 15 if the wind’s good.” 

He has such a sweet sense of humor. Being around him puts a genuine smile on my face. Damn. I am not looking forward to finding out what is wrong with this guy. 

Jeremiah offers me his arm and walks me to his hybrid SUV. The fact that he’s driving a hybrid does not go unnoticed– probably not a red hat kind of guy with a fuel efficient vehicle, right? I have no idea if I’m really honest with myself. Some people in this world are so far from my social orbit, they might as well be aliens.

Jeremiah opens the car door for me. He is really committed to this gentleman bit. As I settle into the passenger seat, he climbs into his side and starts the car. I brace myself for Dude Talk radio or top 40 hits, but instead the familiar sounds of The Clash flow from the speakers. 

Okay, Molly, maybe cool it on assuming the worst for a bit. He’s effortlessly proving you wrong at every turn, so it’s wasted energy. 

After a short drive, we pull up to the restaurant. It’s an unassuming little Korean barbeque joint nestled in a shopping center with an Asian market and what looks to be a Tai Chi spa. 

“Do you like Korean?” Jeremiah asks me. 

“Absolutely! Do you?” 

Jeremiah feigns offense. “What? You think because I’m some provincial schmuck from Ohio, I don’t know the finer points of international cuisine?” 

I laugh. “I know you’re not some provincial schmuck because no provincial schmuck would ever say ‘provincial schmuck.’”

“Fair enough! Either way, this place is amazing. Even the reddest of necks can enjoy it.” 

“Well, by all means lead the way.” 

____________________________________________________________________________

Jeremiah was right about the restaurant. Dinner was spectacular. We got tteokbokki and pajeon to start and then split grilled short ribs and buttered scallops at the table. We drank beer and soju and spent the entire evening laughing. Jeremiah has plenty of stories to tell about the rag tag band of misfits he calls friends. 

“Most of them live in Cincinnati, so I will drive in to hang out,” he tells me. “But every once and a while they’ll come out to the ‘burbs to see me. Especially if I bribe them with BBQ.” 

“You have to bribe them?” 

“I know, I know. But don’t get them wrong–they’re great people. They just hate driving anywhere more than a five mile radius from their places. I don’t take offense to it. You get into your 30s and you really start to enjoy the beauty of staying the fuck in. They’re always trying to talk me into moving closer to the city– then I wouldn’t have to bribe them with smoked meats to hang out. But I don’t want to move. I like the neighborhood. And as of late, neighbor, it’s gotten even better.” He gives me the subtlest wink and takes a swig of beer. 

Damn. He is good. 

After Jeremiah pays the bill to the joyous woman working the register at the back of the restaurant, we head back home. I am thoroughly impressed at this point. I don’t think I’ve had this much fun on a good old fashioned date since I was a teenager. If Jeremiah is secretly a murderer fattening me up for the slaughter, then I might as well moo. With a full stomach and the warm haze of soju relaxing me, I’m less inclined to pick him apart looking for whatever’s wrong with him. In fact, I’m feeling more inclined to take care of him once we get back to my place after an evening of him taking care of me. 

We pull up to my place, but he doesn’t cut his engine off before he hops out to open my door for me. We walk to my front porch and I turn to him. 

“Thank you for dinner. I had a really great time.” I look up at him from behind heavy, hooded eyes. I hope they look seductive and not just sleepy. I silently will him to close the distance between us and kiss me. 

I guess someone, somewhere hears my prayers because Jeremiah weaves his fingers through the hair at the nape of my neck and gently pulls me towards him as he bends into me. His kiss is fucking amazing. He’s commanding without being overly controlling, letting me ease into him while providing a sturdy base to hold us. He’s enthusiastic, but not aggressive. I feel flames through my body and I begin aching with need in a way long forgotten by me. 

“Would you like to come in?” I ask. My voice is hushed and breathy to the point I almost don’t recognize it as my own. 

Jeremiah lets out a frustrated groan. “Fuuuuck, Molly. I do. I really do. But I can’t. Not tonight.” 

“Oh. Okay. That’s fine,” I lie. “I just thought…” He stops me with another kiss. 

“No, Molly,” he punctuates each point with a new kiss, a new spot each time. “You have… no idea… how bad… I want to…” Jeremiah lingers, kissing my mouth on that one. I feel his left hand tracing the curves of my body, memorizing them by touch. His lips travel to the crook of my neck and I lean into the door to give him better access. 

“Not tonight,” he says. “I want to, but I can’t tonight. Don’t count me out, though,” he looks me in the eyes. “I want you, Molly. But I have to do this right.” 

I nod my head in understanding, even if my head and my body are in complete disagreement here. 

“Yeah, I understand. It’s okay. Really. We have nothing but time, right?” 

He takes my face in his hands and kisses me long and deep. When he breaks it off and stares me in the eye, I see a quiet anguish in them, like he’s struggling with his own internal battle between his better sense and the possibilities of what may lie on the other side of my front door. He kisses me again, firm but perfunctory, and groans against my mouth. I wonder what kind of groans I could elicit from him with my mouth around his cock, relaxing gradually until he breaches the back of my throat and I slide the complete length of him inside me. Fuck, I want to do that to him so bad. 

“Tonight when you get in your bed and under your sheets, know that I’ll be in mine thinking of you, Molly. I’ll be thinking about this,” his hands smooth over and down my body, “every second until I fall asleep. And then some more in my dreams.” He turns to leave and takes a step before doing a heel turn to face me again, pinning me against the door again for another blistering kiss. This time, he gently grabs my wrist and guides it to his leg, prompting me to run my fingers over the rock hard length of him pressing against his chinos. 

Jesus. Fucking. Christ. Even under the clothes I can tell it’s an amazing cock. I want it. If not tonight, then fucking soon. I’m grateful that he took the initiative to show he wants me too. I’d probably go crazy wondering if he didn’t. 

“And if you find yourself tonight thinking about me,” Jeremiah whispers in my ear, “don’t be afraid to let me know.” He gently nips at my earlobe with his incisors and plants a final kiss on my forehead before he does an awkward little jog back to his car. He hops in and waves goodbye before he pulls out of my driveway and back into the night. I head inside and lock the front door behind me, booking it straight to my bedroom. I have to relieve the ridiculous excess of tension this man has wound up inside me. 

____________________________________________________________________________

Between the soju and the intense orgasm I gave myself thinking about all the things I want to do to Jeremiah, I am pretty relaxed. But the need he’s riled within simply refuses to be sated. All this dude had to do is act like a gentleman to me and it’s made me hornier than I’ve been in years. It makes you wonder why more men don’t try this. Do guys know what a powerful aphrodisiac respect is? Are they cognizant of all the dirty, decidedly unladylike things we want to do after being treated like a lady in the first place? They probably don’t care. 

I’m in the middle of one such unladylike dream– something along the lines of Jeremiah bending me over a counter and fucking me from behind so hard I can feel it in my throat– when a loud crash completely wakes me up. Once I get my bearings, I look to the window where bright flashes pierce the dark of night. I hear the wind rustle violently and the sharp thuds of heavy raindrops pelt the roof above me. Damn. Storms out here hit differently than they do in the city. There’s a violence to them. 

I pry myself from bed and go to the kitchen to get a drink. It’s not unusual for me to wake up with a dry mouth after having Korean barbeque. Something about soy sauce and soju leaves me dehydrated as hell. I make myself a glass of ice water and lean against the kitchen counter while listening to the rain outside grow heavier and wilder. I open my laptop to look at the forecasts and do a quick search for “tornadoes southern Ohio.” From what I can deduce, I’m relatively safe for the night, if only disrupted by the cacophony of the storm. 

Then as if time with a particularly strong gust, my power goes out. My laptop still lights up but my internet is out. The lights on my appliances go dark and the hall light I turned on between my bedroom and the kitchen is off. I’m still in the middle of unpacking some of my things. I wouldn’t know the first place to look for my flashlight even if I had light to look for it with. I feel my way back to my bedroom and blindly grab at my mattress until I find my phone laying on it. I was an idiot and didn’t plug it in before I fell asleep and now it’s down to 31% power. Great. I plug it in to my bedside charger and hope the power will be back on before I wake up. 

____________________________________________________________________________

It’s 7 am when I awake and the rain is relentless. It’s dreary, dark, and gray outside. The power still seems to be out. My phone is drained to 24%. Good morning to me. 

I use the restroom and brush my teeth in the dark. There’s just enough morning light that I’m not bumping into things, but considering this place is still pretty new to me, I won’t beat myself up for having to run my hands across the walls to navigate my way into the kitchen. I fumble around in the drawers until I find the heavy duty pair of scissors I use to open boxes. I might as well start unpacking what I can in hopes that I stumble upon my flashlight or maybe even some candles. 

After about five or six boxes, I begin to wonder if I ever owned a flashlight in the first place because I am simply not finding one. I’m pretty certain I spent money on a heavy duty one back  in the city, but maybe I left it there in my old apartment. Maybe Mark took it with him when he left me. Or perhaps I put it in a box that was sucked into another dimension. It has to be one of those options– definitely no room for anything else. 

Okay, I’m obviously going crazy here. 

All search and no find makes Molly a daffy bitch. 

Maybe it’s time to ask for some help. Didn’t Jeremiah say I could come to him if I needed anything? If he didn’t say it, it definitely seems like something he would say. I bet he has flashlights abound. He may even know how to get my power back on. Or he may have power at his house and will let me hang out until mine comes back on. 

God, how ridiculously sad would it be for me to show up at his door sopping wet and helpless in the face of my first midwestern storm? Pretty sad. Or possibly… hot? He does seem like the type of guy who loves to play White Knight. Would it be so bad for me to lean into the Damsel-in-Distress role? 

Only one way to find out. 

I change into an oversized hoodie and sweatpants that may not keep me dry, but are better than any other clothing options I have on hand. I pocket my phone and keys. There’s an umbrella in my car, so I make sure to grab it before I brave the rain. 

I open the door and it’s not letting up one bit. I step into the open air and the rhythm of the drops on my umbrella is deafening. I stick to the sidewalk and head in the direction I saw Jeremiah drive off towards the night before. I see his SUV in the driveway that looks a lot like my house but flipped on the vertical axis, just like he said it was. As I scurry to his front porch, It is obvious there isn’t any light on inside. It looks like nobody is home. That makes sense. It’s the middle of the day, he could be out running errands or seeing friends. Most people have lives that a little rain can’t keep them from living. I ring the doorbell anyways, just in case. But, alas, there is no answer. 

My plan firmly defeated, I start to head back home. But then a SMACK noise nearby catches my attention. Jeremiah’s fence has blown open, leaving his backyard exposed. I decide to be a good neighbor and close it– surely the gate being open, door banging against the posts behind it and flapping in the wind could damage something. I’m new to this homeowners thing, but it seems to me that one would prefer the gate to be closed in such an instance. I pull the handle of the door as it scrapes mud from the ground beneath it. But before I close it completely, something in Jeremiah’s backyard catches my eye. Or rather, someone. 

My heart drops as my brain registers what I’m seeing. That’s a body laying prostrate in the middle of Jeremiah’s yard. At first glance, it looks like they could be unconscious. 

Oh god. It’s Jeremiah. 

He could be dead. He could have fallen out here and hit his head. Lightning could have struck him. 

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

I sprint as fast as I can towards Jeremiah’s still form. A million alarms are going off in my head. At some point, I dropped the umbrella and I can feel the rain soak through my clothes. 

Please don’t be dead. 

Please don’t be dead. 

Please don’t be dead. 

I reach him and it dawns on me: Jeremiah is naked. Also– this man doesn’t quite look like Jeremiah because this man is… blue? Or green. Definitely a blue-green. And his skin is mottled, like it’s covered in goosebumps a shade darker than the general teal of his pallor. Do corpses turn teal? I’m pretty sure that’s not the question I should be asking because from what I can see, this body is alive. Unless dead bodies pulse in and out like they’re breathing. I’m pretty sure that’s more of a live body thing. 

I have no idea who– or what– this is. Fear spreads from my gut to my limbs and I freeze. Then, as if awakened by my change in emotion, the body’s eyes open. Gone are the smiling, kind eyes I stared into across the table at Korean barbeque. In their place are oversized reptilian orbs with elliptical pupils. They go wide at the sight of me, their darkness reflecting the storm clouds above us. 

Someone is screaming. 

Oh shit, it’s me. I’m the one screaming. And I’m not stopping. Even as Jeremiah leaps up from the ground and pulls me into him with one giant, webbed hand while putting the other over my still screaming mouth. It muffles the sound, sure, but I feel the power of the reverberations. That’s the thing about screams of terror, I am now learning: they’re not just some loud noise. They’re the pure power of fear surging through your body. Another thing about terror screams: they are consuming. I feel my energy levels drop even as my screaming refuses to let up. As I lose power, a darkness begins to build around the periphery of my vision. It creeps in slowly until I am no longer present.