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thankskenpenders · 8 months

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Amy's fortune cards

The Sonic fandom has long been the kind of fandom that takes minor details very seriously, for better or worse. On the one hand, this means fans will really dig for the diamonds in the rough, latching onto fun character interactions, animations, bits of background worldbuilding, and more in pieces of Sonic media that many would write off as "the bad ones." But it also feels like every week another needlessly hostile debate over Sonic minutia erupts on Twitter, whether it's over individual lines of dialogue, fanart that makes Tails' shoes blue, or the ideal length and volume for Sonic's quills.

So it was probably inevitable that a fandom-wide debate would erupt upon seeing Amy's new gameplay style in the DLC for Sonic Frontiers, which takes the once-obscure fact that she enjoys reading tarot and shines a spotlight on it like never before.

I mean:

The thing is, while I basically always try to tune out Sonic fandom bickering... for once, I kind of sympathize with the detractors? Don't get me wrong, I like Amy's tarot stuff, and people on all sides of the discussion are being overly nasty about their opinions, as usual. (Sonic Twitter remains my personal hell.) But when I set aside the hyperbole and zoom out, I do think I understand why some fans are put off by the sudden shift in focus for the character, even if I think it's cool.

It's complicated. Let me attempt to present the cases for and against Amy's fortune cards

For years, I was always one of those fans who thought it could be fun if they played with Amy's tarot reading, or even leaned into some kind of magic with her. Part of that is my own biases showing, but there's just something that makes sense there, especially when you look at Sonic, Tails, and Amy as a trio. (I would argue that's the real "Team Sonic" these days, especially in the comics where Knuckles is more likely to be stuck on Angel Island or otherwise doing his own thing.)

You could argue that Tails is all about logic, relying on science and technology and deductive reasoning to solve problems. But Amy is all about emotion. She wears her heart on her sleeve, is extremely empathetic, and is very prone to magical thinking - both figuratively and sometimes literally. Her origin story has always been that her tarot cards told her it was her destiny to meet Sonic on Little Planet. She's claimed to be able to "sense" peoples' presences - particularly Sonic's. She's the type to believe that The Power of Love is a literal magical force. So, on some level, it makes sense to mirror Tails's science by having Sonic's other best friend believe in magic. And then Sonic is somewhere in the middle, primarily following his own gut instincts but taking advice from both of them as needed. This isn't totally accurate to how their dynamics actually function in canon stories, but I think it's a mode that could work for them.

Going off of that, it's fun to lean all the way into Amy being a magical girl, or even a witch, using her fortune telling as a foundation. Take, for example, this version of Amy from Diana Skelly's old Sonic cast redesigns from before she freelanced for Archie and IDW. This is one of MANY such redesigns for Amy.

Fast forward to the 2020s, and Amy's tarot cards are, in fact, finally getting brought up again in canon. Which is fun! I like seeing that. I like all of the individual stories involving Amy's fortune cards. This is a fun character trait for Amy, a fun nod to old lore, AND a fun storytelling device, all in one. It's really cool that the Sonic universe has its own thematically appropriate arcana, and that the cards are getting made as physical merch. And sure enough, the official card backs and borders were designed by none other than Diana Skelly, in yet another cool example of an ascendant fan leaving their mark on the series.

BUT... when you step back and look at the big picture, I get why some fans find this shift in focus jarring. At the moment, it's starting to feel like every new story about Amy involves her fortune cards to some degree.

The most recent mainline comic arc to feature Amy as the lead character, 2021's Trial by Fire arc, prominently features a sequence where she reads fortunes while camping with the girls. The Origins version of Sonic CD now bookends the game with scenes of Amy and her tarot cards. Sonic randomly mentioned it in a scene in Frontiers. And now, just this week, we got the (very cute, gorgeously illustrated) Amy's 30th Anniversary comic with a story revolving around Amy's tarot cards, followed the very next day by the Frontiers DLC in which she gets a brand new tarot-based moveset. Even her base melee attack now has her throwing tarot cards instead of swinging her hammer. Again, I like all of these individual things, but after years of it almost never coming up at all, it's VERY noticeable that Amy's tarot cards are suddenly everywhere.

To be fair, I'm looking at this from the perspective of a superfan who's actively following ALL Sonic media. Casual fans - especially kids - aren't necessarily going to be reading the comics every month, buying the thousandth rerelease of the Genesis games, or playing the ultra-hard new alternate ending DLC for a game that came out last year. Each of these stories is going to be someone's introduction to the idea that Amy can read tarot, and that's probably part of the idea behind this unified push.

But to play devil's advocate, for my fellow superfans, I understand why it feels like a very minor footnote of Amy's character is suddenly becoming the entire focus of her personality. While Amy has always been said to enjoy fortune telling, that wasn't really a character trait in and of itself, but rather an example of her being a typical girl who hopes she'll be able to find true love one day. It's less that Amy can literally predict the future and more like her using a cootie catcher or going "he loves me, he loves me not" while picking the petals off of a flower. So I get not vibing with this stuff, or feeling like it's being pushed very hard out of nowhere.

What I don't agree with are comparisons like "it's like if they made Knuckles' moveset revolve around him liking grapes." Like, I get it. Ian Flynn loves shoehorning in his little winking references for us nerds, and mentions of Amy's tarot cards were previously on the same level as other random bullet points from old Japanese manuals. But a multifaceted hobby like fortune telling that opens up so many narrative and aesthetic possibilities is obviously very different from having a favorite food. It's ALWAYS been a part of her story, not just a random fact, and there's no reason why the fortune telling can't be elevated to something more.

And, hell, even if it wasn't an established character trait, there's nothing inherently wrong with injecting new ideas into a character. One of the best Amy stories in recent years, the Free Comic Book Day special "Amy's New Hobby" written by Gale Galligan, came up with the idea that Amy's secretly been drawing little comics about her and her friends. Is this based on Lore? No. But it's cute, and helps tell the story of a younger Amy who's still coming out of her shell as both a hero and a friend.

Certain fans are also looking at Amy's Frontiers moveset and using it as evidence that once again the Vile American Contributors like Ian are CORRUPTING Sonic Team's perfect vision of Sonic with their misinterpretations. And like. Come on. Ian does not control the gameplay. He's a freelance writer. The tarot stuff is clearly something that Sonic Team likes if they made it the basis of Amy's new moveset - and, you know, if they keep approving comics and animations about Amy's fortune telling. None of this gets made without their blessing, and lord knows how much they can micromanage shit and shoot down ideas over the most minor of details.

Like, yeah, Amy's fortune telling was probably conceived less as a sign that she Knows Magic and more as a pretty mundane hobby for a lovesick young Japanese girl to have. But you're gonna sit there and tell me that using Amy's tarot cards for more than that could only be the result of a cultural misunderstanding? That nobody in Japan uses tarot card theming and aesthetics (or the general idea of magical cards) for the cool factor? Stardust Crusaders? Persona? The Astrologian class in FFXIV? Cardcaptor Sakura?? Hello??? Do you think Capcom put Gambit in Marvel vs. Capcom ironically because they thought using magic to throw cards at people was stupid? There's tons of precedent for this! It's nothing like Knuckles throwing grapes at people, be for real.

Giving Amy a very magical girl-esque moveset also just makes a lot of sense. For decades her hammer attacks have literally made sparkly heart shapes appear around her. Leaning into both that and her tarot cards in her new moveset makes a lot of sense to me.

But, admittedly... I do think it's very odd that her hammer is treated as a secondary element here, rather than having her primarily use her hammer and adding the cards for extra flair. If hitting the attack button made her swing her hammer instead of throwing cards, I'm not sure we'd even be having this discussion right now.

But the tarot-cycle and Amy riding her hammer like a witch's broom are fucking SICK and I will not concede on this point

The thing is, this whole fortune card discourse is but a small piece of a bigger problem. Amy's been a character who needed some work for ages, but there's basically nothing you can do with her without pissing SOMEONE off.

Years of stories where Amy's crush was her primary motivator and Sonic went "Ew, cooties!" have lead many casual fans to believe that being Sonic's obsessive fangirl is Amy's entire personality. At best people might call her Sonic's Minnie Mouse. This isn't just a matter of Amy having haters within the fandom - venture outside of that bubble and you'll realize that this is how MOST video game playing people seem to see her to this day. I don't feel like this is a fair assessment of the character, but this idea didn't come from nowhere. No matter how much good deeply entrenched Sonic fans may see in their old dynamic where Amy perpetually chases Sonic, this is a very real problem that Sonic Team has to contend with for their leading girl. Of course all those games where the way-past-cool protagonist thought Amy was annoyingly clingy and tried to get away from her made people think less of her.

If new stories were to go back to emphasizing Amy's crush on Sonic a little more, they'd probably be taken as confirmation that Amy's just the girl with a crush on Sonic and that this is her entire personality. Conversely, when the crush is played down, you piss off the hardcore SonAmy fans who don't seem to understand that they're Charlie Brown and Sega is Lucy holding the football. You can't win.

And so here we are. In the absence of what was once her defining trait, now reduced to an occasional blush or wink in Sonic's direction, new stories are trying to mine Amy's past for additional material to work with. Having been a thing fans wanted to see for years, right now we're getting a lot of tarot, but we're also getting reminders of her compassionate nature and her desire to go out of her way to help the little guy. This is an ongoing process. I continue to hope that her bubbly, exuberant demeanor can shine more in future stories. Now, I also hope that the tarot stuff gets balanced out a little better with other traits of hers. But I don't want it to go away. I think it's fun.

This course correcting is far from exclusive to Amy. Knuckles is getting stories that remind us that he's a competent fighter, an experienced treasure hunter, and even a self-taught archaeologist after years of him being perceived as either the dumb one or just the guy who stands in front of the Master Emerald all day. And Tails has been getting some stories reminding folks that he's a capable hero in his own right and not just Sonic's timid kid sidekick.

But no supporting character will ever compete with the sheer number of new ideas Sega has tried with Sonic himself. Like Amy, his Frontiers moveset has also given him half a dozen new superpowers that he never had before, from the Cyloop to air-slicing projectile attacks to his own take on Shadow Clone Jutsu and beyond. He's also been a hoverboarder, a swordsman, a time traveler, an Olympic athlete, a racecar driver, cursed with a Flame of Judgment, imbued with alien power, a fucking Werehog with stretchy powers, and on and on and on.

If Sonic can do all that, Amy can try out using a tarot-cycle.

Anyway TL;DR the REAL problem with Amy's current characterization... is where the FUCK is Amy's bestie, Honey the Cat???????

#tkp post

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astraystayyh · 10 months

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The alternative

Brother's best friend changbin x reader. Fluff and slight angst. (Han is the brother).

Based on my interpretation of The Alternative by Lyn Lapid (if u can, play it after the •••)

You've diligently chased the idea of being with Changbin out of your mind. That is until he picks you up from a bad date, making your steadfast resolve unravel all around you.

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"Yn?" Changbin’s voice echoes clearly through the phone, and you startle, leaning away to check if you mistakenly dialed the wrong person. But there it is- Han's contact name illuminating your screen, confirming your intended call.

"Changbin? Where is Han?" you ask hesitantly, confused as to why your brother did not pick up his phone.

"He left his phone at home. I wasn't going to answer but I saw five missed calls from you, so I figured something might be wrong. Are you okay?" he asks, his voice softening at the last question.

His concern tugs at your heart, causing you to bite your lower lip forcefully. You've been sitting across from your date for the past two hours, and yet Changbin managed to pay more attention to you in the span of five seconds.

"I'm okay, don't worry about it," you reassure, trying your best to sound composed.

"Did you need something?"

"I just... I'm on a date right now and I wanted Han to come pick me up. But it's okay."

"Did they do something to you?" he asks, his voice carrying an edge to it that hadn't been present moments ago.

"No!" you quickly reassure. "I just... I don't know, it feels off but it's okay. I'm sorry for bothering you." The practiced apology rolls off your tongue effortlessly, without you having to think about uttering it.

You're accustomed to shrinking yourself, trying your hardest not take up space with your feelings. It has become second nature to you to bury your problems in a dusty box at the back of your mind, as soon as they threaten to affect those around you.

"Where are you?" he asks as you hear shuffling from his end, "I'm coming to pick you up."

"You don't have to," you murmur, regret already welling up inside you. You should've stopped calling your brother when he didn't pick up the first time.

"You are uncomfortable. That's reason enough for me."

You attempt to contradict him, but the words dissolve in your mouth, swallowed back down your throat. There's something about Changbin's unwavering voice that makes you pause. You don't have the strength to contradict him.

"Okay, thank you," you exhale a ragged breath in relief. "I'll text you the address."

You hang up, leaving the bathroom you were hiding in and sitting in front of your date once again. They resume talking, but you tune them out, your thoughts solely revolving around Changbin- the way the planets rotate unwaveringly around the sun. His concern made a pleasing warmth seep through your heart, like a sun ray piercing through clouds after a gloomy day.

You dig your fingers into your palm, desperately trying to banish thoughts of him- just as you’ve been doing for the past few months.

You met Changbin before you knew he was your brother’s best friend. In the campus café, where he almost spilled his drink on you. You thought he was adorable, apologizing profusely to you, a faint pink hue tinting his cheeks. And then he bought you a cookie, three to be exact, because he didn’t know which flavor you’d prefer. A token of his remorse as he explained to you. He was a year older, and you found talking to him as natural as being with yourself.

But for some reason, your brain didn’t register that this was the Changbin your brother told you about. Until you’ve visited Han’s dorm for the first time and there he was, opening the door for you. Changbin was never yours to begin with, a reminder you continually admonish yourself with, but you still felt as if you lost him that day.

You knew it wouldn't be wrong, per se, to date him. But the potential confrontations that would unfold from it made you recoil into your hiding. Loving Changbin holds within it numerous uncertainties, and you cannot venture into the unknown, regardless of how much you yearn for it. For him.

“Yn!” a loud voice startles you, and you snap your head towards the entrance of the restaurant where you find Changbin. He’s clad in grey sweatpants and a snug black t-shirt, standing out like a sore thumb in the high-end restaurant. He didn't take the time to change, you realize, his sole focus on reaching you as quickly as possible.

"We have to go!" he says, as soon as he's in front of your table, and your date glances at you curiously.

"You do?" they ask and you chuckle nervously. "We do?" You didn’t think of an excuse as to why you needed to leave so suddenly, and you hoped Changbin did.

"Yes, come on," he urges, outstretching his hand toward you. "There is an emergency… You know, with Han, very urgent."

"Who's this? And who's Han?"

"I already told you who Han is," you roll your eyes, grabbing Changbin’s hand and rising from your seat. "Maybe if you stopped talking about yourself for a second then you'd remember."

Changbin places a couple of bills on the table, a polite smile on his face. "For the dinner", he says, before pulling you outside with him.

"What was that?" you chuckle as soon as you're out. Changbin doesn't let go of your hand as you walk to his car, and you can't find it in you to drop it.

"What?" he giggles, "did you not like my acting skills?"

"Did you have to shout my name from across the restaurant?" you playfully punch his shoulder and he feigns a wince.

"I had to be convincing," he nods solemnly, opening the door for you. His hand rests on the top of the car, ensuring you don't bump your head while getting in.

"Here," Changbin hands you a pair of slippers from the backseat, and you furrow your brows in confusion. "I assumed you'd be wearing heels and your feet are probably tired, so I brought you this," he explains, and you are suddenly thankful for the dim lighting in the car that's hiding your crimson blush.

"So, tell me, what did they do? Do I need to beat them up?" Changbin asks once more and you groan, leaning your head against the car window.

"They're so... pretentious. The only thing they care about is themselves, their career and their achievements. They even tried to downplay mine so they'd feel better about themselves."

"It's their loss honestly, for wasting a date with someone like you."

"You're the only one who thinks so," you smile sadly, trailing your fingers across your knee.

"What do you mean?" he asks, turning his body around to give you his undivided attention.

"This is my fourth bad date in a row. I think I'm just destined for horrible relationships," you try to joke, but it did weigh heavily on you. Was there something wrong in you that prompted everyone to treat you so lowly?

"You are very smart and witty and interesting. I like talking to you, especially about things you are passionate about. It's their loss for not seeing it. Doesn't mean you are any less incredible," he says, his voice filled with genuine conviction.

A surge of emotion pulses through you, your heart beating wildly in your chest like a bird fluttering its wing to break free from its cage. You've always thought Changbin was all these things as well, but you never knew he held you with the same regard.

"Thank you," you beam at him, "for this and for coming to pick me up."

"Don’t mention it," he responds with a warm smile before sudden mischief dances in his eyes. "You know what? We should go on a date right now."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"A fake date," he clarifies and your heart chips a little more at your foolish hope. "So you'd see how well you deserve to be treated."

"You don't have to do that," you shake your head. 'You shouldn't do that', you wanted to add, 'it’s hard enough to forget about you'.

"I want to," he insists, his assurance evident in his smile. He leans in, reaching over to buckle your seatbelt, bringing his face mere inches from yours. His cologne envelops you, trapping you in a web carefully woven by him. It was unfair- for him to smell this nice and not be yours.

"You look pretty," he compliments, his penetrating gaze locked with yours as the seatbelt finally clicks into place.

"Is this how you start all your dates," you chuckle, in an attempt to calm your racing heart.

"No, I'm just saying the truth," he replies simply, starting the car and resting his hand on the back of your headrest.

"So, what are you craving?" he asks, and you sigh in defeat.

"Can we have fried chicken?"

"Of course, we can," he replies with a smile, shifting the car into reverse and leaving the parking lot.

•••••••••••

You hoped your time with Changbin would be horrible, you wished you’d feel bored or uncomfortable, just so it’d cement the idea that he wasn’t the one for you. But unsurprisingly, you had an amazing time. Your stomach ached from laughing so hard throughout the night, and there was a new found lightness in your steps as you walked around a picturesque garden.

You knew that you will revisit this night countless times, that you’d sift through every detail- every time your eyes met and every time you made him smile. That it’d keep you warm on cold nights when you’re all alone.

"Here," Changbin says, handing you a plucked rose. "You deserve a bouquet but I didn’t plan on this, I’m sorry," he smiles sheepishly and you giggle, taking it out of his hands.

"Thank you," you grin happily, before taking a step forward toward him. There, you tuck the rose behind his ear, smoothing down his hair in the process.

"I’m blushing, aren’t I?" he chuckles, bringing a hand to his flushed cheeks and you gleefully nod.

"You’re matching the rose," you point out and he shrugs happily. "Pink is my color."

You admired how Changbin didn’t shy away from his emotions, embracing them without reservation. It made you feel secure, in the sense where you’d never have to second guess his words and their truthfulness.

Changbin takes out his phone to play a soft melody, before putting it in his back pocket.

"Let's dance."

"Changbin..." you trail off. It feels bittersweet to get a taste of what you could have, of what you two could be. He'll move on, surely, going on real dates while you'd still be stuck on the way he makes you feel.

"It's part of the date package, come on."

You sigh, before grabbing his hand in yours. They fit so naturally together, and you think you can easily commit the sensation to memory- the coldness of his palm and the callouses on his finger pads. With a few more holds, you're certain you could recognize his touch among a thousand others.

Changbin raises your free hand and places it on his shoulder, before holding your waist gently, swaying you from left to right.

Being with him felt like pressing on a blueish bruise, a pleasurable pain you would willingly endure to have him by your side. You're already in his arms, you told yourself. Maybe you should tune out the thoughts in your head berating you, and finally follow what your heart wants.

You suck in a deep breath, before tentatively leaning your head on his chest. He immediately brings his hand to your hair, smoothing it down gently. His chest is broad, serving as a shield for the delicate emotions flowing within him. Because Changbin is gentle with everything he does and everyone he meets. And you'd settle for this, for being his fake date if it meant experiencing his gentleness for the rest of your life.

"Can I tell you something?" you say after a while.

"Sure."

"I think this is the nicest date I've ever been on. I wish all of them were like this."

"They could be if you want to."

"What do you mean?"

"I've always liked you, yn. From the moment I’ve met you,” he confesses easily, and his words feel like the hands of an expert violinist, tugging at your vulnerable heartstrings.

He likes you, you aren't alone in this feeling, and for a second, raw happiness courses through you at this thought. But it's fleeting, like the sugar rush you'd get when you eat too much sweets. And so it naturally wears off, as the consequences of his words dawn on you.

"Changbin, we shouldn't," you shake your head vehemently and he frowns. "Why?"

"Because you're my brother's best friend." The excuse streams from your mouth instantly.

"But I'm still Changbin. Your Changbin if you'll have me," he adds softly.

"Han will find it weird, and if we don't work out then your friendship with him will become strained and-"

"Why are you thinking about everyone but yourself?" He interrupts. "Don’t you want this?"

A few silent beats pass by, and Changbin doesn't stop swaying you around, his gentle place lulling your heart to calmness, clearing the foggy thoughts in your mind.

"I do," you finally admit, and a smile lightens up his face instantly. It's so bright that it makes you second-guess the words you're about to say. "But I don't want to risk our friendship too."

"Love is a risk, I understand, I agree. But what's the alternative, yn? if it's not having you at all then I'd risk it," he drops your waist, his hands cradling your face tenderly. "You are worth the risk to me."

You’ve stopped dancing, the music long forgotten by you. "You really think so?"

"I know so."

"What if we things don't workout?"

"What if they do, hm? we can never really know until we try. And i want to try with you. Please, give us a chance?" he smiles at you, his vulnerability on full display. He's offering you his heart on a silver platter, not caring if you'll safely guard it or pierce it through, as long as it's yours.

You gaze into his warm brown eyes, before glancing at his tousled hair and the rose tucked behind his ear. And your fear doesn't matter anymore, not in the face of the man in front of you.

"You have amazing convincing skills. Have you ever considered being a diplomat?" you tease and his eyes widen slightly. "Is this a yes? are you saying yes?"

"I am," you giggle, an uncontrollable smile drawn on your lips. "And... I've always liked you too. I think Han might've suspected it because whenever I brought you up, he glared at me," you confess with a laugh, as Changbin presses a soft kiss on your wrist. Right where your pulse is. Beating wildly for him.

"He’ll have to deal with it. Now tell me, is tomorrow at 6 pm good for you?"

"What for?" you giggle, as he waltzes you around once more, a cheeky smile adorning his face.

"Our first real date, of course.”

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macfrog · 10 months

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state-of-the-art sex on fire chapter two

*chants* ceo joel ceo joel ceo joel

part 2 to you shook me all night long!!! massive credit to @whore-4-pedro again for the concept this is SO much fun. work trip coming soon babies!!! masterlist here, ao3 here 💓

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel’s had a rough week at work. you figure you know the perfect way to relieve some of his tension

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) more teasing and touching, oral (m receiving), getting handsy in public + fingering, unprotected semi-public piv sex, creampie, daddy kink, softdom!joel, age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), cursing, workplace relationship

word count: 6.6k

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The stretch is too much; he’s all the way in down to his knuckles, curling and then uncurling his fingers deep inside you. Your hips are slowly circling by instinct, rutting against his hand as it fucks you, sending fluttery waves of pleasure all over your body. You ball up your fist, nails digging half-moons into the skin of your palm, attempting to fight the tidal wave fast approaching as Joel’s fingers snap harder into you, a third beckoning your orgasm nearer and nearer. You’re there – right where he wants you, almost throwing your head back with the feeling he’s giving you. And then you make the mistake of looking at him, catching that ever so Joel smile when, shielded from the others by his hand, he breathes, “There’s my girl.”

The black mug. Not the one with the gold handle – that’s one of Martha’s. She doesn’t use it much – at least not as much as the one with her granddaughter’s face printed on it – but she once left you with a stack of paperwork to shred all by yourself just ‘cause you made yourself a tea in it.

No. Just plain black all over. No words, no pictures. Plain. Black.

Few spoonsful of coffee into the filter, hard granules sprinkling over the white paper. Close the lid, flick the switch, and then wait for it to brew. Once it’s done, fill the mug almost to the top – until the coffee kisses the bottom of that one chip in the ceramic. No sugar. No sweetener. No nothing.

Just plain black.

“Thanks, darlin’.” Joel takes the mug carefully from your hands as you wander over, then you perch yourself by his side on Martha’s desk. He takes a sip and nods like usual, confirming what you already know.

You make a damn good cup of coffee.

“You’re worth, what, a few hundred million? You can’t buy a better coffee machine?”

“’s wrong with that one?” he asks, mug on his bottom lip.

“Works like it’s from the eighties or something.”

Martha clears her throat behind you both. “I am gonna give you five seconds to explain what you mean by that.”

“I mean…it’s not exactly state-of-the-art, is it?”

Joel’s jaw drops dramatically. His head wobbles like it’s about to implode, hearing what you just said. “You hear that, Martha? We ain’t state-of-the-art anymore, you ‘n me. We’re older ‘n that coffee machine, you know.”

Martha’s shaking her head, clicking away at her computer.

Joel nudges your arm with a soft chuckle and you sigh, turning away to watch the four men in his office; stood an awkward distance apart, small talking, pacing, adjusting their suits. One of them is messing with some trinket on Joel’s bookshelf.

“You think they’re nervous?” you ask, and he laughs from behind you.

“I reckon they’ve a lot to be nervous about.”

“Was it that bad? On Monday?”

Joel had spent the better part of four hours locked in that conference room, right after you two – you know. He was late for lunch by the time he was ushering them out, collars loose, jackets slung over arms. It was probably a good thing you’d tired him out a little beforehand, or he’d have been way more unforgiving than he was.

Three departments in Joel’s company have gone over budget. It isn’t a huge deal. He has the money. Just, he wants the right people in charge of it, and right now…he clearly doesn’t have that. Honestly, you hate to admit it, but it makes sense. You’re kinda on Joel’s side.

He’d given them to the end of the week to come up with action plans, figure out how to undo the mess. This is the end of the week. This is supposed to be the big reveal.

Joel runs a hand through his hair, palm hooking around the back of his neck.

“Wasn’t great,” he mutters.

You knew that much. You’d asked what he wanted to eat as he passed your desk en route back to his office, and he’d waved his hand and told you to order whatever you wanted with his card. When his door closed, you glanced over to Martha, who shrugged, and went back to playing solitaire.

You figured he wasn’t down for more sex. He didn’t reappear until five o’clock, when he walked you down to the street, carrying your jacket for you, and helped you into your cab.

The elevator dings and the brass doors separate, revealing a figure behind.

George Mackley. Short. Stout. Obnoxiously bright red tie. Head of marketing.

He waddles in a hurry toward the three of you, nodding curtly to Joel as he passes. His shaking hand fumbles around the handle of the office door, which he pulls on instead of pushing, and gives an awkward chuckle before rushing inside.

“Fuckin’…finally,” Joel grunts, passing you his mug and standing up.

“Should I order my own lunch again?” you ask, looking up at the man stretching his arms out before you. Like he’s about to go in and punch sense into them all.

You’d probably love him to do that. It’d make for some great sex afterward.

“I’ll be takin’ a lunch break,” he replies, tapping your knee, “whether we’re done or not. Be out at one.”

You nod, and he stalks off to his office. His mug’s still warm in your lap. You’re still staring when he enters the room, watching how all five men immediately file into the couches across from his desk just at the sight of him. Watching how Joel’s lean figure sits back against his desk, his ankles crossed. His arms folded at his chest. His broad shoulders beneath that tight white shirt.

He has that way about him. Commanding, confident. Strong. It’s probably what convinced you to fold, if you’re honest. Sure, he’s kind, and he’s a good boss, all things considered. He’s funny. But he’s cool. It takes a lot to shake Joel.

This meeting? It’s not shaking him. He’s barely even giving these guys enough attention to sit up straight. He’s so damn breezy, so laidback that when he pushes off of his desk and stands up, you give a small gasp.

You lift his mug, drinking from the same spot his lips touched only minutes ago.

“Thought you hated black coffee,” Martha murmurs.

“Stress sipping,” you reply. “Fucking hell…”

Joel’s erratic. Waving his arms, pacing around the room. You swear the men cower as he approaches; shoulders hunched and heads low until he’s past them.

He looks…Yeah. Fuck it. He looks a little shaken.

Martha tuts. “Shouldn’t be idiots with his money.”

“He has money, though,” you offer. “Like, this ain’t that big a deal, is it? He can afford to go over budget sometimes.”

“Joel doesn’t like anyone messin’ with what’s his,” she tells you. “Doesn’t like other hands on his toys. It’s not the overspending he’s pissed about. It’s the crossin’ the line.”

Your eyebrow cocks. She can’t see your expression, and good thing, because it’d probably give you away. Doesn’t like other hands on his toys.

A flash of movement from Joel’s office drags your eyes from the dregs of his coffee back to the transparent wall between you. He’s whipping the shades closed one by one, putting a barrier between his office and the outside world.

It can’t mean anything good, right? It doesn’t look like they’re about to sit in a circle and braid each other’s hair. Sure as hell aren’t about to see Joel’s good side.

“I gotta go in,” you declare, lifting off of Martha’s desk like you’ve taken flight.

She calls your name, almost tired of your antics. “I don’t think that’s a good idea…”

But you’re already scooping up a notepad, slipping it under your arm and fishing a pen from your desk. Already walking over to the office door, hearing the dangerous hum of Joel’s voice through the wood.

Your knuckles rap three times. You don’t wait to be called inside. Just push the handle down and slip in.

He’s stood against the frame of one of the windows, hands in his pockets. When you materialize from behind the door, his face relaxes. Brows loosen, jaw slackens. Lips almost tug into a smile.

“Sorry I’m late.” You sidle over to his desk and sit down in his chair, biting on your bottom lip, casting an unsure glance around the room.

Five pale faces turned to you. George Mackley looks like he’s about to weep.

Joel thanks you and then steps forward. “So, Ken, we were at last month’s sales.”

“Uh, yeah…” Ken draws his gaze from you when Joel moves in front of the desk. As he waltzes by, he spins slowly, giving you a look as he passes.

Kill me, he mouths, rolling his eyes. You smile, looking down at your blank notebook. You’re not here to take the fucking minutes. You know that, Joel knows that. You’re only here so he has something to keep him from losing it. Something to sit and look pretty, and calm him down.

Also: you kinda want the gossip. What the fuck did these guys do with all of Joel’s money, right?

Almost two hours in, a dozen games of tic-tac-toe against yourself, and one very crude drawing of Monday morning’s activities, Joel startles you by slamming a file down onto his glass coffee table.

“And you think that’s a solution?” he spits, voice laced with fury.

“Joel, you gotta see it from my side. I’m managing thirty people down there, it’s–”

“’n I’m managing five idiots from up here. Mackley,” he turns to the face as red as the tie below it, “you got anythin’ else for me?”

George Mackley shakes his head. His hair’s unkempt; it was gelled flat to his head when he arrived, but his hands have been through it more times than Joel’s lapped the office.

“Alright. Y’know what,” Joel seethes, backing up and motioning for them to stand, “everyone out. Meeting’s over. Go.”

“Joel–” A tall man with blue eyes stands up.

“If you ain’t about to offer me somethin’ that can fuckin’ fix this mess, then shut your mouth and get out of my office. All of you.”

The men sheepishly collect their briefcases, their documents, themselves, and stand, filing out of the door one by one. You rise from Joel’s chair, taking your notepad between your fingers, and slowly wander around the desk.

He’s standing with his head in his hands, shoulders swelling with his breathing. Does he want you to leave, too? You don’t want to rile him more; certainly don’t want to be the first face his angry self sees. But you want to make sure he’s okay. Want to check on him.

Plus, he’s kind of hot when he’s pissed.

You’re tottering toward the door when Joel drops his hands from his face, notices you, and says, plain as the coffee in his mug, “Not you.”

You turn back, pushing the door closed behind you.

“Didn’t mean to yell.”

You don’t reply. Your hand lifts to find the lock blindly behind your hip, and you click it. Now there’s nobody, no one to disturb you both. No one to walk in, no one to see.

You approach him.

He’s still talking: “Didn’t want you to have to hear all that. I spoil your morning?”

Your head shakes and you mutely take his hands, leading him around to his chair and pushing him back into it.

“Baby, what–”

You part his legs with your own, his fingers still interlocked with yours. Then you think he gets it. Understands where you’re going.

You sink to your knees between his thighs.

“They were bein’ idiots,” you say, fingers undoing his belt. “’n you didn’t spoil my mornin’. You gave me a little bit of excitement.”

Joel’s breath shudders as he watches you tug his belt through the loops of his pants and drop it to the floor. Still, he laughs, and asks, “Is that so?”

“N– Oh, fuck. Not like that. Like–” You pause, breathing out a sigh.

Yeah, okay. Like that, if you want. I’m down if you are.

His pants are open, lying loose on his hips. The waistband of his boxers visible. You hook two fingers over it and peel it down a fraction, following Joel’s happy trail as it grows thicker and darker, when he puts a hand over yours and breathes your name.

“Relax,” you mutter back, nudging his hand off of yours. “Just let me take care of you.”

His head falls against the back of his chair and his shoulders sink into the leather. You pull on the elastic and take hold of the base of his cock, already stiff, slipping it out from beneath the black cotton.

Joel’s knees fall slack when you take a hold of him. Two hands, because he’s so fucking big. Your fists pump him a few times, feeling him harden in your grasp, warm skin rock solid in your hands. You lean forward on your knees, thick bead of saliva falling from your lips onto his head, dribbling down his smooth shaft.

Joel’s watching through hooded lids. Caressing your hair, petting you. Your fingers collect your spit and drag it up and down him, and you swear he almost fucking whines.

Almost isn’t enough. You want to really hear him. So you slacken your jaw, part your lips, and slide them down, tongue flat against the underside of his length as he fills your mouth. Joel’s fist tightens, pulls harshly on your hair for just a second, until he’s breathing out again in relief, body relaxing to the feel of your wet tongue around his hard cock.

“Don’t need to – do this, babygirl.”

“Mhm,” you mumble around him.

“Fuck…” he whispers.

Your elbows are hooked over his thighs, holding yourself up in place between his legs. He tastes salty; skin warm, smooth. Your tongue flickers over his head, collecting precum, and Joel groans.

You pull off of him and lick your lips.

“What you gonna do?” you ask, fingers squeezing and dragging saliva and Joel’s arousal up and down. “About the budget stuff?”

His chest is heaving, hips lifting out of the seat almost like he’s trying to put himself back where he belongs. “What…can I do?” he asks through desperate pants. “Can’t – fuck – can’t drum sense into ‘em.”

You wrap your puffy lips around his tip, kissing it, tongue playing with him again. Swirling around, gathering him on your tastebuds. “Why don’t you cut ‘em loose, then?”

Your head dips again, lips sucking around his shaft, tongue still darting around his swollen head.

He can barely fucking answer. His eyes close over and, with a groan either side of the sentence, he replies, “’s not that easy, baby. Fuck. Keep doin’ that.”

You loosen your lips enough to let your reply pass them. Your voice is muffled, thick. “Sounds easy to me.”

“Shut up,” he grunts. “Keep fuckin’ – usin’ your tongue.”

You obey, running your tongue up and down his length and coming to rest to pay more attention to his tip.

“Yeah, just like that. Good girl.”

You hollow your cheeks and let your lips trickle up and down for a bit before releasing him with a pop. Joel’s writhing underneath you, leaning almost horizontal in his chair.

“Gonna cum, daddy?”

He nods, eyes still screwed shut. “Yeah, pretty girl. You want it down your throat again?”

“Mhm.”

“Fuck – dirty girl.”

It’s all the encouragement you need. You widen your jaw, taking him in your mouth in full, until he’s choking you down to what feels like the bottom of your fucking neck. You fuck him with your throat, bobbing up and down, his fist in your hair pushing and pulling even though you don’t need him to. Your mouth meets the skin at the base of his cock over and over, dark hair brushing against your glossy lips.

Joel’s moaning each time, when his cock kisses the back of your throat, when you involuntarily choke around him, when your tongue drags along his length as he pulls you up and down. And soon his breathing loses rhythm, hips tense, and you know he’s there.

He cums, hard, at the back of your mouth. Warm release spilling out over your tongue, neatly running down your throat as you wait for him to still. His cock throbs with each shot of cum, swelling and jerking between your lips. When Joel sinks back into his chair again, you slip him out of your mouth and back under his boxershorts.

Your head lulls to the side, resting on his big thigh as you swallow him with a smile on your lips. His grip on your hair loosens, turns instead back to soft stroking, chest still panting as he comes back down. You watch him through glazed eyes; his shoulders rising and falling, breaths passing his lips like waves at the beach.

He’s twirling your hair gently around his finger, looking down at you like you’re made of twinkling gold dust.

Eventually, Joel takes a deep breath and sits up straight, beckoning you to do the same. He tucks his shirt back in, redoes his pants, then leans forward and hooks both hands under your arms, pulling you up to him.

You giggle as he lifts you onto his lap, straddling him with your knees either side of his waist. Your elbows rest on his shoulders, hands linking at the back of his neck.

His jaw turns upward, and you lower yours, your lips meeting in a soft embrace. You laugh against him, letting his tongue slip into your mouth, pushing yours into his.

“Better?” you ask once you part.

“Better, darlin’. Thank you.”

He kisses you again, a little more rushed, little less tender. Then his hands squeeze your ass and you squeal into his mouth, jumping up off of him.

You pass him his belt and lift the empty coffee mug off of his desk. “Refill?”

“Yeah. Sure. Thanks,” he says, slipping the leather through his belt loops. His shoulders are lifted, tummy sucked in as he feeds it through. He almost looks cute.

You smile and then turn on your heels, wiping the corners of your mouth as you emerge from the office.

—————

“Is he comin’, or what?”

“Huh?”

Martha jerks her head in the direction of Joel’s office. She’s stood at your desk, hands on her hips, bag over her shoulder.

“He’s…Yeah, he said he would be. Let me go check.”

You close over the budget report file you’d been reading through and shimmy out from behind your desk, trying to amble as casually as possible over to the shuttered blinds.

You turn the handle, poking your head around the door.

He’s stood at his desk, raking a hand through his hair, top button of his shirt undone. Tie sitting loose around his collar. He spots you and gives an apologetic smile.

You comin’? you mouth.

Joel points to his phone. Some panicked voice fills the silence between you both.

“…so I gave the two of ‘em a tellin’; they shouldn’t make any more purchase orders without my permission. Without your permission, Joel, I mean…And about last month’s sales, too…”

You step over to his desk, slow, suspicious. Mischief on your mind.

“Sorry, baby,” he whispers, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

You cock your head, brows furrowing. You’d been looking forward to lunch with Joel all day; something to take his mind off the meeting this morning.

Martha had called his favorite restaurant, they’d told her they had no space, she’d mentioned it was for Mr. Miller, and a table had magically opened up. Then you’d encouraged her to ask Deb, knowing she’d inevitably ask James, her admin assistant, and, before you knew it, your small lunch was a party of five.

Worked for you. You and Joel would probably be too caught up in each other’s company to notice the rest.

Except, the way things are looking, Joel isn’t getting off this call anytime soon. Soon meaning within the next thirty seconds, given the reservation is in ten minutes.

You’re growing desperate. Running out of time, knowing if you don’t do something to shut this guy the fuck up, your little daydream of sitting side by side with Joel, so close you can feel the heat off of him, feel his chest vibrate when he talks, maybe even feel his hand trailing up your thigh…won’t come true.

“What if you just…” Your fingers walk along Joel’s desktop, heading for his phone. “…lost…connection…?”

He doesn’t say a word, but the smirk that forms across his lips grants you all the permission you need. Your fingers clutch the receiver, lifting it barely an inch, then drop it back into its cradle. The panicked voice cuts.

“Oops.” You shrug, straightening up in front of Joel.

“Oops,” he repeats, wrapping his strong arms around your shoulders and pulling you into him again. You lift your jaw to kiss him only quickly, before you’re pushing yourself off of his chest and dragging him away from his desk.

“Sorry, Ken!” you call as Joel yanks the door open, the pair of you laughing like schoolkids.

You meet the others outside the building, huddled together at the bottom of the concrete steps. Deb puts her cigarette out on top of a trashcan when you both approach.

“Well, we thought you weren’t comin’,” she utters to Joel.

He lifts his eyebrows in response, hands slipping into his pockets, and glances around the group. “We goin’?”

“Waiting for your driver, Mr. CEO.” Martha winks.

“Aha,” Joel replies, face unmoving, “funny.”

“It’s, like, two blocks, we can walk,” you say, setting off down the street. Joel’s quick to follow, strolling at your side, but there’s a chorus of groans from the rest of your party. “Come on!” you yell over your shoulder.

“We’re supposed to be dining with the head of the fuckin’ company!” Martha cries, and Deb cackles.

“I gotta live like the rest of y’all sometimes,” Joel shrugs, walking backward, “keeps my feet rooted, doesn’t it?”

“I hate you,” you mutter, and he knocks into your shoulder with his own.

The Courtyard is bright, modern, and…beige. It’s only Joel’s favorite because it was a buddy of his from grad school who opened it, but you’re the only person he’s entrusted with that information. It’s decent food – they do a great chicken risotto – and it is always busy, so Drew must be doing alright with it.

You walk under a fake ivy plant covering the entrance, past twinkling fairy lights and to a rustic wooden reception area. Some hyper server comes bounding over and introduces himself as Jake, before Martha gives the name of the reservation and he batters it into a keyboard.

“Lopez?” you ask Martha, screwing your face up.

“Yeah. Comma Jennifer. I like to make it exciting.”

“If you wanted exciting, go for Beyoncé, or something. Lopez?”

“You really think Beyoncé is gonna come eat here?”

“You really think Jennifer Lopez is?”

She bats you away, turning her attention to Deb, who finds the JLo joke hilarious. When Jake springs off, beckoning you all to follow him, Joel leans in close to you.

“She used to use Pamela Anderson. Glad she’s evolved a little.”

You snort and follow Jake toward the same table Joel always sits at: the very back of the restaurant, quieter, separated by screens of more fake greenery. Windows looking out over the busy streets. Bare lightbulbs hanging from unnecessarily long wires over the tables.

Joel pulls your chair out for you and slots in beside you, on your right. Martha, Deb, and James – who hasn’t said or done much more than chortle at anything Joel’s said – sit opposite. Jake borderline frisbees the menus at you guys and tells you to give him a shout when you’re ready to order.

You turn to Joel who shakes his head, hand cupping his chin.

The five of you scan down the menus – at least, you, Joel and Martha pretend to. You’ve been coming here regularly enough for long enough that you know what you’ll inevitably end up ordering. James is asking Deb if the steak might fill him up too much before his squash practice later on tonight when you feel a familiar heat on your leg, and look past your menu to see Joel’s hand curving around your thigh.

You hold back a smile, pretending to be really into the laminated sheet in your hands. So long as he keeps it PG, and James keeps rabbiting on about squash being good for your hand-eye co-ordination, this is fine. This is…enjoyable.

This is exactly what you fucking wanted, when you organized lunch.

But when Jake returns to collect the menus under his arm then scurries back off, and Martha and Deb start discussing some TV show they’re both hooked on, Joel’s hand begins to rake higher. Taking the hem of your skirt with it. You suck in a deep breath, pretending to watch the two women and trying your best to listen to the words they’re saying, but he’s getting dangerously close to your–

“You ever try squash, Joel?”

“Huh?” Joel’s hand halts instantly. You exhale.

James is sitting forward, elbows on the table, nodding with a perfectly innocent smile on his face. “Squash. Yeah. I play every Friday evening, straight after work. It’s fantastic for shakin’ off that week-long stress, y’know? Not that workin’ here is a stress, but sometimes it can build up, sometimes you just need something to…” He balls his fists and jerks them, gritting his teeth.

You choke on a laugh and play it off as a cough.

Joel shifts a little in his seat, his palm still clamped around the top of your thigh. “Never played squash. More of a golfing guy.”

“That what you’re gonna do this weekend? Burn off all that stress you’ve had with a round of golf?” you ask Joel, lips almost trembling with the effort it’s taking you not to burst out laughing.

“Not what I had in mind, naw,” he almost spits back.

“Well, if you ever wanna try it, you know who to call. Squash, I mean. I mean – sorry, I don’t mean call squash. I mean call me. To try squash. You won’t find a better stress reliever.”

“Thanks, James,” Joel mutters, fingers fumbling with the cutlery on the table in front of him.

You could fucking burst. No better stress reliever than squash, right Joel? Nothing like it. Not even the one sitting next to you, her thigh under your grasp. Nope.

You’re thankful when Martha calls your name and averts your attention.

“You have got to watch it. I reckon she’d really love it, right?”

Deb nods eagerly.

“What’s that?” you ask.

They both start chirping away, describing the plot of some mystery thriller. It’s hard to keep up, what with them both speaking over one another, deciding which parts are safe to tell you and No, we can’t tell her that, that’s a spoiler, which actors are in it and how many episodes it took for them to really get into it.

Not to mention Joel’s hand, which has resumed its climb up your leg.

“There are three seasons,” Martha says, finger drawing shapes on her placemat, “and do not go lookin’ online for anything, because at the end of season two, there’s a massive death, and…”

Your thighs are bare again, skirt rolled up and held at the top of your legs by Joel’s wrist. He’s squeezing as he goes, massaging, driving you fucking insane as he adds more and more pressure. Still, your legs part for him the higher he goes.

“W-what– where can I watch it?” you ask, your eyes closing over as Joel’s fingers loosen their grip.

Deb says something, but it’s muffled. Drowned out by the ringing in your ears. Joel’s right hand sits under his chin, elbow propped on the table as if he’s musing over the weather or considering what to do with his weekend.

His left moves swiftly over to run along the elastic of your panties. Sift his thumb down below them. Fingers drop to cup you over the lace fabric. Suddenly, you’re sitting upright, your arms propping on the table, then falling to your lap, then one elbow up, then both down again.

What the fuck– how the fuck do you make this look casual? Being touched by your boss at lunch, with three colleagues sat opposite you?

Joel seems to be enjoying watching you squirm. You hear him breathe a laugh into his hand, and then his fingers begin to travel even further south, moving your panties to the side to sift through your folds.

Which are, regrettably, fucking soaked.

“Hm,” you hear Joel hum, and you can’t look at him. Knowing he’s found exactly what he was looking for. Knowing he’s achieved exactly what he set out to do.

You sit stunned, staying completely still for fear you might draw attention from your company. But then he’s dipping a finger in, pushing deep inside you, and your jaw falls loose, a silent moan escaping in the form of a sigh.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Martha addresses you and Joel, “as requested, flights organized. You leave for Paris next Friday morning, fly home Monday afternoon.”

“Yep,” you reply, shuddering slightly. “Sounds good.”

You’re not fucking listening to a word she’s saying.

“Thanks, Martha,” Joel says, as casual as if he were telling her the time. Almost bored.

You drop your hand and it clamps around Joel’s wrist; you’re sure you’re scratching him, but you don’t care. Not only does he deserve it, but it’s all you can do to stop yourself from screaming out when he inserts a second finger.

You ball up your fist, nails digging half-moons into the skin of your palm, attempting to fight the tidal wave fast approaching as Joel’s fingers snap harder into you, a third beckoning your orgasm nearer and nearer.

You’re there – right where he wants you, almost throwing your head back with the feeling he’s giving you. And then you make the mistake of looking at him, catching that ever so Joel smile when, shielded from the others by his hand, he breathes, “There’s my girl.”

It’s the last push. The last fucking shove.

Your walls clamp around his fist, your entire body screams, a scream that forcibly dies out in your throat as you lean forward and –

You slam your fist down on the tabletop, the sudden jolt of cutlery and glass making the three opposite you jump.

“Are you– what’s wrong?” Martha asks, leaning closer.

“Cr– fuck– cramp,” you mumble, eyes screwed shut, hand still gripping Joel’s wrist. He slowly drags his soaked fingers out of your tight cunt, casually maneuvering his arm back where it belongs whilst the table’s attention is still on your head and shoulders.

“Cramp?”

“My – fucking – leg. I’ll be – right back.” You’re almost hyperventilating as you shakily stand, shoving your chair back with your legs only for it to be caught by the hand Joel had inside you seconds before.

You waddle off to the front of the restaurant, nearly breaking out into a run when you reach the hallway leading to the restrooms. The door to the ladies room bursts open and you throw yourself against a sink, gripping onto the ceramic, chest heaving, shoulders hunched. Your cunt is still throbbing, waves of your orgasm slowly losing power and retreating.

You wave your hand under the faucet and cold water automatically flows, filling your cupped hands, cooling your blood, cooling your skin when you dab it onto your cheeks. You sigh with relief, leaning against the sink, catching pathetic glimpses of yourself in the mirror.

And then, the door pushes open. And his silhouette sneaks inside. He leans back against the wall, hands in his pockets. Face with a smirk you want to slap off of him.

“How’s the cramp?”

“Are you fucking–” You flick your hands toward him, splashing him with water as he throws an arm up to dodge it, laughing. That fucking laugh.

He wanders around you, looking your shaking body up and down, and comes to a halt with his chest against your back. His chin leans into your shoulder, and you look at each other in the mirror.

It takes everything in you to fight the smile growing on your lips, but when Joel mirrors it, you can’t help it.

“Fucker,” you whisper, and he kisses your shoulder. You lean back into him, ass pressing against him, feeling something you already suspected would be there.

“Feel what you did to me?” he asks, voice muffled into the cotton of your shirt.

“Mhm,” you reply, and you drop your hand to take the outline of him through his pants.

“You wanna fix it for me?”

Your head rolls back against his shoulder, smutty grin melting across your face. “Yeah, daddy.”

“Good girl,” he tells you, lips dragging across your neck, hands at his belt.

Your fingers clutch your skirt, still hiked halfway up your thighs, and pull it further. Joel’s hands replace yours on your hips and he shoves his pants apart, lining his bulge up with your core. Then his palm is at the bottom of your back, pushing you forward into position. Your knuckles whiten around the ceramic sink.

“Fuck,” you whisper when you feel his tip at your entrance. You’re already soaked through, no need for him to take his time. Not that you have time, anyway, with three coworkers out front waiting for the two of you.

Joel thrusts forward, entering you in one go, filling you up so fast you nearly double over. He keeps a tight grip on your hips, dragging you up and down the top of his cock a few times before slamming all the way into you again, eliciting a cry from your lips.

“Quiet, babygirl,” he says, low, dangerous. “Just gettin’ you warmed up.”

“Your hand wasn’t enough of a warmup?” you throw over your shoulder, and he takes your arms and pulls you flush against him.

“You gonna run that pretty mouth the entire time we’re in here, or you gonna let me fuck you?” he breathes around the shell of your ear.

“Both.”

You bite back a whimper when his hips buck into you painfully. A telling: don’t start.

Joel establishes a pace quick enough, both of you aware you can’t take too long in here. His grunts match the rate his body snaps against yours, your panting matches the rate you bounce up and down on him.

You’re watching the sight reflected in the mirror: Joel hooked around your shoulder, lips against your ear, whispering praises and filth, and you, leaning back against him, rutting on his hard cock with a thick smile on your lips.

“Daddy…” you whine, and Joel’s vice grip tightens even more.

“Good girl,” he pants, “so fuckin’ good for me.”

It’s not long before that heat is swirling around your core again, sparks of lightning jolting through the whirlwind of pleasure Joel’s hips create between yours. You take a hold of his arms for stability as you begin to feel your orgasm crest the horizon, knowing by the sounds he’s making in your ear that Joel isn’t far off, either.

“Cum in me,” you whimper, watching for his reaction in the mirror.

He pulls a face that’s almost…defeated. Groans like you’ve given him an impossible problem to solve.

You plead with your eyes. “Cum – in – me.”

It’s like you’re pressing on the weakest part of a porcelain vase; daring it to break. Daring it to fall apart. Joel knows he shouldn’t, knows it’s more sensible not to. But the way you look, body against his, whining and whimpering and fucking smiling right back at him – the way you feel, so warm and wet, squeezing him so tight he’s surprised he’s even lasted this long…

He can’t fucking help himself.

He moans and his hands clamp on your waist, forcing you forward as he ruts into you once, twice, three times before he’s twitching deep inside, warm seed spilling out and coating your walls. Your release floods over you, then, too, your head falling forward as your legs give for a few seconds, Joel’s grip the only thing keeping you upright.

Stars in your eyes, you pull the strength to lift your head and look at your reflection; Joel behind you, face to the ceiling as he slowly stills between your legs.

Your cunt throbs, and you move your hips back and forth gently, drawing a noise from Joel that you wish you could never stop hearing.

“Baby,” he lulls, looking down to watch as your dripping cunt rocks back and forth, taking him all and then letting him go again.

It’s a minute or so before you both return to reality. Bodies still connected, Joel places a steady kiss to your cheek. You lean into him, turning to place your lips against his. You’re both hot, sweaty, it’s probably pretty noticeable you just fucked.

And you don’t care.

Joel slips out of you and backs up, letting you fix yourself in the mirror as he stuffs himself back into his pants.

“You think you can walk back to the office?” he asks, smirking.

“Call Rand,” you reply, and his head tips back in a laugh.

He nods toward the door and the pair of you slip out discreetly, you first to check the coast is clear, and Joel right behind. You walk along the hallway, heels clicking, like you’ve just come across each other right outside the restrooms.

“Hey, Joel,” a voice says from behind you both as you wander past the bar.

“Drew,” Joel replies, and shakes the hand of a tall blonde guy in all black. His t-shirt’s so tight you can make out his pecs underneath it.

“How’s it goin’? You been in long?”

“Just waitin’ for our food,” Joel says, “it’s probably out by now.” He glances over at you and your legs clench subconsciously. He introduces you then, says, “My assistant. Best assistant I could ask for,” and your lungs close up.

Drew shakes your hand and then turns back to Joel. “Don’t go without catchin’ me, ain’t lettin’ you pay a thing. How’s business?”

Joel nods. “Good, good. We’re, uh, we’re heading out to Europe next week, so.”

“Jean-Marc?”

“Yep.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah. Place is lookin’ good, same as always.” Joel glances around, pointing randomly to the light fixture above your heads.

Drew does that thing men do when trapped in a dry conversation: folds his arms, looks to the floor, and nods some more. Waiting for Joel to say —

“Alright, well. Great seein’ you again. Thanks for lunch.”

He puts an arm around your back and guides you off back to the table.

“Nice meetin’ you.” You smile at Drew as you pass and he returns it, turning back to the bar.

Once you’re out of earshot, you look over to Joel.

“Something going on there?”

“Huh?”

You scoff. “You two couldn’t wait to be away from each other. Why’d you always come here if it’s so awkward?”

“Well, if I see ‘im, I get free food.”

You slap his arm as he pulls your chair back out for you.

“Feelin’ better?” Deb asks, pushing French fries around her plate.

You nod, pulling your seat in beside Joel, who’s still laughing at himself. As you settle, you feel the warmth he left behind spill out of you a little, pooling in your underwear. And Joel seems to notice, whether from some sexual sixth sense he has when it comes to you, or just the way you awkwardly shift in your seat. He hands you a smug smirk, nudging you with his elbow.

You narrow your eyes at him and turn back to Martha.

“So, you were saying you fixed the flights for Paris?”

----------

taglist: @regalwhovianbrowncoat774 @casa-boiardi @earthtogrogu @sexygaypalpatine @serenaxpedro @brittmb115 @pascalpvnk @jediknightjana @mrsquill @uncassettodiricordi (lmk if i’ve missed you out & check my taglist info for how to be added!)

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #ceo!joel miller #ceo!joel #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal joel miller #joel miller x you #the last of us hbo #tlou hbo #softdom!joel miller #softdom!joel

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sometimesanalice · 1 year

Text

Like I Can (Part 1)

Summary: After yet another bad date and tired of swiping on apps, the Dagger Squad steps in to help you out by setting you up on a series of blind dates. Much to Rooster’s dismay.

Warnings: fuff, slight angst. Minors DNI

Length: 3.2K

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw X Female Reader

Part 2

(We’re kicking of Valentine’s Day a bit early❣️ Enjoy!)

“I’m all for growing the sport, but Brady buying an MLP team is ruining the integrity of the league. He may be the GOAT of football, but he has nothing on Ben John’s world-class pickleball game,” your date Max passionately states from his spot across from you at the Italian place he had recommended.

Or was his name Mac?

He’d already told you all about the CRBN paddle drama. At this point, you wouldn’t be surprised if he had already prepared a PowerPoint presentation on the topic complete with transitions and color-coded charts. He seems the type.

And he had yet to ask you a single question about yourself all evening.

You can tell he is gearing up for the next part of his rant, when your phone lights up on the table, the ringer on higher than you realized.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I thought I had this on silent. It’s my mom, I should probably take this,” you apologize to him, your phone already halfway raised to your ear.

“Hey, kid, how’s it going?”

“Hi Mom, I’m with someone right now. Is everything ok?” You let a little worry tinge the tone of your voice.

“Seriously?” Rooster drolly rasps on the other end of the line, “Are we actually doing this?”

“Oh no! Is she alright?” You wouldn’t consider yourself actress, but you think you’re really selling the performance with the way you widen your eyes and how you make your voice go a little tighter and higher.

“Yup, seems like we’re really doing this. What’s it this time, kid? Did grandma slip on a banana peel and then get run over by a reindeer?” You can practically feel his eyes rolling as he begrudgingly goes along with you.

“Oh my goodness, that sounds serious! How would that even happen?” you ask, shaking your head in in faux shock determined to really sell the act.

“Is everything ok?” Max-Mac whispers to you from across the table.

His profile didn’t raise any red flags when you’d swiped on him. If anything, he’d seemed a bit more of the beige flag type. Your chats had been fine, he seemed fine, so why not meet up for a date?

What you didn’t realize until it was too late was that “Sports Enthusiast” actually translated to “Pickleball Fanatic”.

“Hold on, Mom,” you hear Rooster scoff as you pull the phone away from your ear. “I’m so sorry, there’s been a family emergency. It’s my grandmother. I really need to go,” you announce to Mac-Max grabbing your purse from the back of the chair. “Thank you so much for understanding. And good luck at your pickleball tournament!” you call back to him as you hustle towards the front door.

“I take it you’ve made your escape?” You can hear the humor in his voice, your antics are nothing new to him.

“Oh my god, was that seriously only thirty minutes? He wouldn’t stop talking about pickleball, Rooster. Anytime I tried to change the subject, he found a way to circle right back to it!” You tell him as you attempt to dig your keys out from where they were buried in your bag. “And then, he pulled up the leg of his jeans and said, I kid you not: ‘Don’t worry, this isn’t an ankle monitor, I’m just wearing my ankle weights.’ Who does that?”

“Just come to the Hard Deck. You should have canceled like I told you to in the first place. Bob and Coyote got back the other day, so everyone’s here. Well, almost everyone,” he says pointedly. “We’re more fun anyways. And Hangman has been harassing me about you, something about your fluke of a win?”

You’d kicked Jake’s ass the last time you played darts with him. Although in his defense, he had been pretty drunk that night and it was a less than fair game since Phoenix would distract him while Fanboy moved your darts on the board.

You wouldn’t be challenging him to a rematch anytime soon. Not unless the odds were in your favor, it was better to keep him on his toes and his ego in check.

Thankful for the princess parking you managed to snag when you first arrived, you unlock your car and toss your bag into the passenger seat before climbing in. Breathing out a sigh of relief to be done with Mac-Max once inside.

“You back in your car yet?” Rooster asked. He was such a worrier, but you can’t say it bothered you. You liked knowing he cared.

“Yeah, just got in.”

“Ok good, see you in a few. Drive safe, kid.”

Thirty minutes later Natasha was sliding a cold, frothy pint in front of you with a sympathetic look.

It wasn’t too busy at the Hard Deck yet, but it was still early in the evening. You knew it would pick up soon, and before long Penny would be ringing her bell on some rowdy unsuspecting customer.

“Ankle weights?” She asked, trying and failing to keep from laughing at your expense.

“Seriously, Rooster?” you shoot a glare in his direction, “Where’s the loyalty?”

“What? She was right there when I called you. A request that was your idea, if you remember,” he said as he walked up to you, squeezing your shoulder before sliding his arm around you in greeting. “Plus, it’s not like you don’t already tell Phoenix about all your escapades. You really know how to pick ‘em, kid.”

You’ve known Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw since before you had braces back when you were still wearing your hair in two braids. Your moms had been on the school PTA together at the time and had hit it off immediately.

He hadn’t been too happy about being forced to hang out with the kid who was couple years younger than him, especially one who was so clearly enamored with the cute older boy. While you’d outgrown that phase, for the most part, somethings stuck- like the nickname.

And over the years you’d formed your own bond outside of the forced proximity of your mothers’ friendship.

He’d taught you how to throw a punch, the different ways to pitch a baseball, and to drive a stick shift. You’d taught him how to whistle with his fingers, to play Nerts, and to tie a tie (after asking your dad to teach you).

The give and take was easy with him, you both showed up for the other.

You were there the night he drunkenly fell through the glass patio door at Jason Cameron’s homecoming party. As one of the only sober people there since he wouldn’t let you drink, or let anyone else give you alcohol for that matter, you were the one to take him to the ER. “Don’t worry, kid,” he had slurred, pressing the Washington High t-shirt that you’d found in your trunk to his face to stop the bleeding, “Looks s’worse than it feels.” And you were the one to stay with him as he was stitched up. The evidence of that night still unmistakable on his face.

He was there for you when your parents had sat you down and told you they were getting a divorce. A hurricane of angst and grief, you hadn’t left your room for anything other than school for over a week when he’d let himself in your room one afternoon. Rubbing small circles on your back as he’d let you cry for a bit, he didn’t even tease you about the stains you’d left behind on his shirt. And then he’d herded you into his crappy car and drove you to the slightly sketchy amusement park an hour away with the Tilt-A-Whirl and the giant corndogs. And when he’d told you “It’s going to be ok, kid” on the ride back home, you believed him.

You had been there for him when his mom passed, and all during that dark period after when he was set on self-destruction after his fallout with Maverick. While he had tried to push everyone away, you were always the type to hold on tightly to the people that mattered.

And then life had sent you on different directions. First when he went to college and then when you did. Next for him the Navy, and then you with your own career, both of you always in motion. You two shared a connection the way people with a long history do, the kind where you could go months without talking but knowing the other person is always right there if you need them. Your camaraderie sustained by texts, email, and the occasional FaceTime.

A long-distance friendship for over a decade.

So when your boss had approached you about a promotion that was dependent on you relocating to the West Coast, you thanked whatever kismet in the universe had you packing for San Diego where he was permanently stationed.

The break up with your boyfriend at the time was entirely too amicable considering how long you had been together. He was nice, the sex was nice, your life together was nice. You had all but signed the paperwork for your promotion when you told him, but he didn’t see himself as a west-coaster and you couldn’t envision yourself as anything but. Whether you had stayed together all that time out of convenience or complacency, you still couldn’t say.

It was easy to fall back into the comfort of your friendship with Rooster. Although the lanky teen you had known was replaced with a mustache sporting well-built man courtesy of the Navy. One that had left you feeling confusingly flustered on more than one occasion, and forced to cycle through your mental highlight reel of embarrassing teen Rooster moments to keep from your mind from wandering.

He’d helped you find your apartment, taught you about avoiding the 15 Northbound, and showed you where the best place in town to get tacos was. The transition was made easy with him by your side as he introduced you to his team members who quickly folded you into their group as one of their own.

That was a little over a year ago. You liked this new life of yours in San Diego.

And while the dating pool of men you could swipe through was much larger, well, some things never changed.

“You don’t get it, Rooster. You’re surrounded by absurdly hot Naval eye candy all day,” you complained gesturing to Natasha, she raised her beer to you as thanks in response. “While you’re getting women throwing themselves at you because of the gold wings, I’m fighting for my life on these stupid apps where all the men on there are posing with fish. It’s brutal!”

You’d need to officially call things off with Max-Mac later, thinking to yourself how glad you were that you never gave him your real number, and instead signing up for a Google voice number. You were just not cut out for the competitive pickleball lifestyle.

“Bradshaw, why don’t you set her up? It’s not like we don’t know enough people who would be better options than these fish men,” Natasha asked, like it was the most logical thing in the world, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, Bradshaw. Tell Nat your super logical reasons for leaving your longtime friend to fend for herself.” You knew where this was heading, so you took a long swig of the beer Phoenix had brought you.

“Seriously, not this again.” His arm that was around you was removed in favor for pinching the bridge of his nose and looking up to the ceiling like it would spare him from the conversation.

“You started it, now tell her.”

“I need another damn drink if we’re going to do this,” Rooster mumbled.

“Me too,” chimed Natasha, clearly reveling in his misery.

“Make that three. I need to catch up.” You hadn’t even stuck around long enough to get a drink at the restaurant, and now you were ready to let loose a bit.

He grunts out some unintelligible thing and then stalks off to the bar shaking his head.

“I’m an upstanding citizen, I pay my taxes, I make a mean peanut butter brownie, and I always drive him around when the Bronco is in the shop for a tune up. It’s literally the least he could do,” you say to Phoenix as you watch him chat with Penny as she works to grab the fresh bottles.

“Oh, so this is thing,” Natasha says decidedly when she eyes the six beers he’s carrying back to the table, three bottles held by the neck in each of his large hands. His classic Hawaiian shirt fluttering with every step, your eyes briefly drifting down to his defined waist.

“Sure is,” you confirm, drawing out the word. Downing the rest of the beer from your pint glass before reaching for one of the new bottles Rooster was divvying out amongst your trio, “I’ve never asked him for anything-”

“That is a boldfaced lie. And you know it,” he cuts in, as he hands you a granola bar from his pocket, that he must have snagged from Penny. “You definitely asked me to set you up with Kyle Cooke from my baseball team in high school. I didn’t do it then, and I’m not doing it now,” he declared, pointing at you with an accusatory finger to further drive the statement home.

“Reasons being?” Natasha wheedled, a mischievous smirk on her face. You could tell she was eating this up, there were two things Natasha Trace loved most in this world: juicy gossip and giving Rooster a hard time.

Ever the showman, he dramatically lifts up a finger, “First of all, everyone I know is an asshole.”

“I am offended on Bob’s behalf,” you countered, unwrapping the bar and taking a bite, annoyed. Hangman might fit the description, but certainly not Bob.

“Two,” he continues on, raising a second finger, and ignoring you completely as if you hadn’t just made a very valid point, “Let’s say I set you with a friend and then you end up hating them. Then you’ll judge me for being friends with them, we’ll argue, and eventually we won’t be friends anymore. Or even worse, I set you up with someone, you hit it off and date for a while. What happens when you break up? I’m left having to pick sides and walk on eggshells around you guys about the other person.”

“God, you’re such a overthinker. That all sounds totally rational, you drama queen,” you look to Phoenix for agreement, but she’s busy typing out a text message on her phone.

“And three, it’s messy as fuck. And I don’t need to hear about your trophy of a one-night stand.”

Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes, “That was one time! It wasn’t a trophy it was a gold medal.”

“Wait, what?” Confusion coloring Natasha’s features.

“One time this guy gave me one of those plastic gold medal things on a lanyard, kind of like the ones they give out at kids soccer games, after we hooked up. I mean, kicked him out right away, but I did keep the medal. It was a good confidence boost,” you shrug. It wasn’t exactly a high point moment for you.

After that encounter you’d definitely started scrutinizing every profile a bit harder before swiping right, or at least you thought you had been. In your defense, at least Max-Mac’s profile didn’t have a fish photo, but the bar was still clearly on the ground.

“I knew you when you wore those shirts with that big mouthed monkey on them. And that’s the kind of shit I don’t need to know about. I don’t wanna be involved. Not gonna happen, kid,” his declaration resolute.

“Well, that sure is something, Bradshaw,” Natasha states, giving him a curious look.

“What are y’all over here discussing so intently,” Hangman questions as he saddles up to your little group, tucking his phone into his pocket.

“We were just getting into the finer details of the kid’s dating life and how I am going to fix it by setting her up with this great guy I know,” she pronounces, looking all too pleased with herself. A truly self-satisfied grin gracing her face.

Natasha Trace was probably the most bad ass person you’ve ever met, so the idea of her setting you up with someone had you sitting up straighter on the stool you were seated on, “Really?”

“Who?” Rooster demands, frowning at her.

“Yeah, I mean Bradshaw clearly has his convictions, and I respect that. However, I’m an excellent wing-woman. Seriously, I don’t know why I haven’t thought about introducing you guys before. You two would be perfect together.”

Hangman never one to miss an opportunity to rile up Rooster is quick to jump in, “Just because you fly in a two-seater doesn’t make you a good wing-woman, Phoenix. However, now that you mention it, I have a buddy who might knock your socks off. Unless you’d rather just knock boots, I’m sure he’d be up for whatever you wanted,” he shooting you a wink. “I think I’ll toss my name in the ring here too. After all, I’m very good.”

“You want to make it a bet, Bagman?” Her accent always got a little more pronounced when she went toe to toe with him.

“What’re you thinkin’, Darlin’?” he drawls suggestively with a sharp smile. That ever-present toothpick being rolled in his mouth from side to side.

“You guys are not going to be making bets around the kid’s love life,” Rooster snaps.

“The big dogs are talking, Bradshaw,” Hangman taunts as he waves him off.

“$50 entry? The dates happen here and at the end the kid picks which date was the best. Winner takes all?” You can see the competitive gleam in her eye.

“Alright, alright. Works for me, Phoenix. I can’t wait to take your money.”

“The hell you are,” Rooster barks, still trying to regain control of the quickly spiraling situation.

Well, this had certainly taken a turn.

You find yourself reaching for your third beer of the night.

And you’re even more surprised when Hangman hollers for the rest of the team to join, and before you know it your dating life takes centerstage as the subject of the bet between the group of competitive naval aviators. Many of the others deciding to join in, never ones to shy away from a bit of rivalry.

“What do you say? You up for it?” Natasha asks, wanting to make sure you were still on board now that her original offer had taken on a life of its own.

You look over and see Rooster looking at you like you’d be crazy to get involved in their kind of chaos. You know he can already tell what your answer will be.

“Why not?” you agree cheerily as he groans into his beer.

At least you would be spared from swiping for a while. It’s what you deserve, you are an upstanding citizen after all.

Get ready for some dates! Part 2

Written as part of @roosterforme’s #Love Is In The Air TGM Fic Challenge!

Song Inspiration Sam Smith’s “Like I Can”.

Thank you Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) for letting me bounce ideas off of you!

Edit: I’ve started a tag list for Part 2! Just let me know if you’d like to be added!

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #rooster x reader #rooster x female reader #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #love is in the air tgm #like i can tgm

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sim0nril3y · 6 months

Text

Clumsy

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Scenario: All the ways that you are extremely clusmy and all the ways that Simon cares for you. Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), established relationship, smut, p in v, shower sex, dirty talk, edging, mention of oral (female receiving), gerneral clumsiness, hitting head, stubbing toe, burning hand, canon-typical swearing.

“Oh! Bloody! Bugger!” A series of yelps came from the bedroom, Simon had assumed that his relaxing Sunday afternoon wasn’t going to last for long, not with the way you had been flitting around him trying to find something. It was no surprise you couldn’t find anything with the clutter that you lived in.

Glancing over his shoulder Simon rose up and stepped through the flat to find you crouched to the ground beside the bed, holding your foot in pain. “What happened?” There was a tired tone to his voice as he crouched down beside you to inspect, looking at your pretty pouted face Simon had to fight a smile as you muttered coldly. “Kicked the bloody bed.” Then slapping your hand angrily against the wooden frame. “It really bloody hurt.”

To say that you were clumsy would be a might understatement, it wasn’t in that cute ditzy way that you wished it could be but rather in a way that made Simon fear for your safety at any moment.

“Alright.” He soothed his hand over your calf gently, rubbing it as he placed your foot back down on the ground and helped you to stand up again. “Need to start watching where you’re walking, love.” This comment only earned a hard glare from you, making him smirk as you muttered little comments under your breath, slipping past him and almost out the room before smacking your elbow on the doorway, earning a low groan as you continued on your very frustrated way. Simon winced at the connection you’d made on the sensitive part of your body, but still teasingly he called out after you. “Did that hurt?”

These little accidents would extend into the bedroom too. There were countless times where you would smack a table or a bedpost, causing a muffled groan before continuing in the throes of passion. Sometimes at the end of particularly bad weeks Simon would like to spend time just inspecting your body, wanting to check the damage that had been inflicted. These little bruises and scrapes that littered your body were not by his own hand and he despised them deeply.

Each time he’d find a new bruise or whatever else he’d simply tut, press a few tiny kisses to it and then bite it sharply. It always caused a physical reaction from you, squeaking as you looked down into his eyes apologetically as Simon would command firmly. “Be more careful with this body…” He kissed at little parts of your skin that made you whimper and whine, ending up between your legs hungrily eating your pretty pussy. “It’s precious…” He whispers. “Needs to be treated better…” All while you withered and whined beneath him. “Only one allowed to leave marks on it is me.”

There had been one time Simon had you trapped against the tiled wall of the shower, cramping legs wrapped around his taut waist as warm water cascaded down soothingly over body of your worn bodies. Apparently, he was attempting to prevent your orgasm for as long as possible, fucking into your sweet cunt wildly until he felt it building and then stopping dead causing you to whine and bed, clutching at any part of his body that your hungry hands could reach.

Pulling away from a languid kiss Simon’s hips fucked slowly into your own, feeling the way your walls began to flutter and smirking to himself, picking up the pace causing your impending orgasm to rise. “Fuck, darling.” Simon growled, beneath the spray of water, pressing his head into the crook of your throat and pressing little kisses against the sensitive skin there. “Fuck… your walls… squeezing me so fuckin’ tight…” His voice was strained as he fucked into you harder, digging deeper and hitting the spots that only he could reach, searching for something that drove you insane.

Just when you were about to teeter over the edge Simon’s cock slipped from inside your walls, a strained whine fell from your lips, just so desperately needy and wanting your release. In frustration, you threw your head back and not sensing how close you were to the tiled wall it smacked into it hard. It was hard enough for Simon to hear the connection, looking up with concern deep in his eyes to see that fuzzy hazed look on your face. “Fuckin’ hell.” He hissed, turning off the tap and looking at your face. “You still with me, love?”

The moment was over, both your orgasms long lost and Simon ended up holding frozen back of peas to the back of your head instead of a passionate night of love making moving from one room to the other. Even with you semi-concussed it didn’t stop Simon from saying. “You know, when I said I wanted you to see stars this wasn’t what I meant…”

The clumsiness didn’t stop there too. No, it extended into the kitchen too. You didn’t cook, not that you couldn’t but Simon liked to do it. “I like feeding you.” He mentioned as he turned off the bubbling pans on the hob. A delicate giggle came from where you were sat at the table, feet pulled up onto a chair opposite watching his broad body moving about the kitchen. “Si, are you trying to tell me you have a feeder kink or something?” You snorted, throwing your head back.

“A what? A feeder kink?” He chuckled, looking over his shoulders at you. “You know, those people who like to feed and feed their partners ‘cause it turns them on if they gain weight.” There was such confusion pulled across his face before he let out a sudden laugh, you could never get tired of that noise. “You what? I’ve never heard of that before…”

You giggled, narrowing your eyes as if suspicious and saying. “Suuuuure~” He continued laughing as he pulled the vegetables into a strainer, about to place the empty pan down but another was in his way and with full hands he couldn’t move it. Rushing over to help, you said. “Oh, let me help-” “That’s hot!” It was too late, your fingers curled around the pan and yelped as you quickly released the searing hot pan.

“C’mere, c’mere…” Dropping everything he was holding without any care, Simon grabbed you and quickly ran the cold tap to put your blistering hand under the water. “Bloody hell.” He whispered brushing away your little tears that fell and held you into his chest, keeping your hand firmly under the water. “Babe, fuck…” He whispered and pressed a couple kisses to your hairline. “Fuckin’ scared the shit out of me.” He muttered and you sniffled into the warm expanse of his chest, feeling the way his strong heart hammered.

The only thing that filled the room then was the sound of the gushing tap and your quieting sobs. “Love, I need you to start being more careful.” He whispered then, arms tightening around you. “I need you to try, please.” Simon added, there was pain to his voice then. “I can’t stand hearing you hurt like that. I can’t stand seeing you like this. So please try…” Whispering as he gazed down into your sad eyes and his own pleading pair. “Please, for me.”

Masterlist | Ask | 19-11-2023

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plush-rabbit · 2 months

Text

A/N: I can't come up with a title so,,,, yeah!! Anyways, I've had this saved in my drafts and I miss writing and even with spring break!! my professor still gives us homework. So, here I am. this is just a thing where like reader is an angel and falls and like it was gonna be a short series, but like,,, i never finish my series (except for ciays)

Word Count: 3.1K

You sit with a pit in your stomach. Your legs are causing the items on the table to shake, and you can't stop the dread that is looming over you, cold and heavy. There's a shift beside you, and a hand cups over your thigh, a feeble attempt to get you to stop moving. You can only flinch in response.

“Can you just- I don’t know, fucking chill or something?” His hand gives you a squeeze, before pulling back and crossing his arms. “They aren’t gonna do shit to you.”

“Lucifer fell because he asked too many questions,” you counter, gasping for breath. The room feels too tight, too full and empty all at once.

Beside you, he scoffs. “Love to break it to ya babe, but you aren’t him. You’ll be fine.”

“Exactly,” you hiss, hiding your face in your hands. “I’m not him. I’m- I’m a low ranking Angel. I- Oh Father, I don’t hold any type of status. I’m going to fall,” you voice breaks and tears are in your eyes, horror and fear making you pale.

“You’re not.” He’s harsher this time, and pulls you to look at him. His name is on your tongue, and he interrupts you. “I’m vouching for you. And so are the rest of my girls. You’ll be fine.” He loosens his grip on you, and smooths a hand down your hair. “Chillax, babe. I know you’re a little goody-two-shoes, but this is nothing. You’ll probably just get demoted or some shit.”

“Adam.” Your hands grasps onto his, and you want to believe that he’s right. “But what if-”

The door opens, and you both whip your head around, watching as Seraphim walks in, her head held high and face lack of expression. The pit in your stomach swallows more of you.

Your rise from your seat, and Adam begrudgingly follows. “Sera-” you clear your throat- “I uh- Seraphim. Good evening. I- I thought we were not allowed to meet before the trial,” you look around the room, and for a moment, you have hope. She wouldn’t go against orders, so perhaps she’s here with good news. You give her a tense smile, and she walks to the desk, her wings taut and folded behind her.

She sits at the chair with her arms folded over the desk. “I wanted to be the one to deliver the verdict.”

Your brows furrow, and sit back down, your ankles crossed over one another, and your body leaning towards Adam’s. His hands reach over the space between the chairs and you grasp onto him, nails digging into the clothed covered skin.

“The verdict?” You ask in a whisper. “But I hadn’t- What about my trial?”

“It was decided that you would not have a trial.” Her voice is like stone, unwavering, strong, and heavy.

“Decided by who?” A chill runs down your spine, and it’s as if you can feel a presence around you.

“If there’s no trial then how do fuck do you all even have a verdict?” Adam, as always, is crude, and it only furthers the sickness deep in you.

“Adam,” you say in a high pitched voice.

He turns to you, and squeezes your hands. “Well? What is it? Community service? A demotion in rank? Paperwork?”

“Sera,” your chest is tight, your bones pricing into the tender flesh, “why didn’t I have a trial?”

“Look, the demotion can’t be that bad, right? I’ll look after them. Make them my assistant or something. I got shitload to do anyways, they’ll keep me on it.”

“Sera,” you plead, “I was promised a trial. I was told that it would be fair.”

“No trial is good, right? Means it was easy to consider your fate.” You flinch. “You get to be my assistant. Don’t worry babe-” he tugs on your hands for your attention, but you’re fixated on Seraphim and that way that they look at you with somber eyes- “I won’t work you too hard.” The playful tinged words make you sick.

“Sera,” you croak, leaning away from Adam- “my trial. It was promised.”

She calls your name, it’s whispered like a prayer, uttered like a curse and laced in sorrow. You know your outcome, before she can even say it. “I’m terribly sorry.” Your body goes cold. “It has been decided that your punishment for questioning the beliefs and practices of Heaven will be the taking of your wings and The Fall to Hell.”

You can taste the bile. It burns, the acid fills your mouth, and it makes your eyes burn with hot tears.

“What the fuck!” Adam shouts, your hands are let go, and you stare into her eyes. You can hear the chair squeak as it’s pushed away and it nearly topples over. Adam goes to you, short strides to grasp his hands over your shoulders. “That isn’t fucking fair! They were promised a trial, so where the fuck is it?” He’s furious, and the hands around you bring you no comfort.

“I’m terribly sorry.” Seraphim looks at you as she speaks. “For the both of you.” Her eyes dart between you and Adam.

“I didn't mean to,” you whisper, your nails digging into your clothes. “I promise that I-”

“Come on Sera! I've done worse shit than them. Can't we just look the other way?”

“Adam, I need to speak to them alone.”

“Like fuck I’ll-”

“Adam,” you breathe out. He looks at you, moving to kneel in front of you and you look at the demonic mask, and you want to retch. “Let us speak in private, please. I’ll meet you outside.”

He looks at you, through the golden eyes of the mask. “Fine,” he huffs. He stands, and presses a kiss to the top of your temple. You wish that you could return the gesture- that you could look up and kiss him back without worry. “Yell if you need me,” he whispers to you. You nod, unable to mutter a word to him.

The door clicks behind him, and you’re left alone with Seraphim- something that you’ve never had the opportunity to experience. Perhaps if circumstances were different, you’d be more ecstatic.

They call your name, and she holds her hands out to you. Like a trained dog, you place your hands in hers, and you let the tears fall.

“Why am I falling?” You ask, gaining no comfort from her hands.

“Emily- one of the younger Seraphim- has begun to question certain aspects of Heaven. I fear that the questions won't settle.”

“So this is- I’m meant to scare her? To remind her of her place?”

Seraphim sighs, and she lifts a hand, tracing a delicate finger along the back of your hand. You hate the ways he says your name- like she still cares for you. Like your name is sweet as honey. As if she has the right to speak to you with care and love. “You must understand that Emily is still so young.”

“And a higher ranking than I am.” You turn away from her, but you can’t pry your hands away. You want comfort, even if it's given by your judge and even if the hands that hold yours are going to be stained in gold. They say nothing to your comment, and you hold their hand tighter. “When?” You croak out.You dig your nails into their skin- it’s cold, and as much as you want to hurt them, you cannot.

“By the end of the week.” Their words are spoken without wavering. “You’ll be confined in one of our holding rooms for incoming souls for the time being. You’ll still be allowed visitors. The spectacle will be watched by only those that you allow, and by the high-ranking angels.” You let out a sob, and bow your head. “It will be quick. With the ranking unbeknownst to the rest, it will be an Exterminator who will remove your wings. They’ll be wearing one of the ceremonial robes. After the removal of your wings, you’ll be-” she pauses and you can already feel the emptiness.

“I’ll be cast out.” You look up and she nods, her hands squeezing yours.

“Understand that if I could will it any other way, I would.”

You look at the hands holding onto yours, and you think about how someone will have to clean your blood. How they’ll get on their knees and wipe the ichor from the floor, how the rags will drip in riches and stain their hands in sin. Your wings flitter in response.

“You said an Exterminator?”

“Lute has been tasked with your severance.”

“Why not Adam?”

Seraphim looks shocked. “I- I would not wish for him to be the one to remove your wings. If it were any other, I believe he would do an excellent job, but since it’s you,” she trails off. “I do not believe he would be able to commit.”

“But Lute can,” you say.

“Yes. She is able to put her feelings aside, and do her job.” Seraphim pauses, their eyes are trained on you, and a few look at you in pity. “However, if you wish for it to be Adam-”

“No,” you interrupt. “No, you’re right. He wouldn’t be able to.” Your wings feel heavy. “Sera?” She hums in response. “How soon will I be cast out after my wings are removed?”

“Effective immediately.”

You lay in your new bed- the mattress new and solid underneath you. It’s nothing like the one back home. You can’t seem to get comfortable, all that you can do is lay there wrapped in Adam’s arms, pulled close to his body where your breath tickles at his skin. “You can run,” he says quietly into your ear. “I’ll leave the door unlocked, and you can run.” His act of defiance brings tears to your eyes.

“Adam,” your voice breaks.

“The Exterminators will be the ones tasked with chasing you down.” You feel the way his hands grip your skin, clawing and desperate to keep you beside him. “They won’t get you. They’re loyal to me. They’ll listen. You can live on Earth.”

When you close your eyes, tears trace down the curve of your face. “Lute is the one performing the severance of my wings,” you tell him a hoarse whisper, unable to keep the horror out of it. Even speaking about it is enough to send a pain down your spine and at the base of your wings. His nails pierce into your skin, pinching into the softness of your stomach. His wings flutter, and they are heavy above your body. “She’ll do a good job,” you comfort. “A clean cut that will make it easy to heal.” There’s bile burning in your throat. “Please don’t be upset with her after the event.” His arms wrap tighter around you, and his wings hide you from the outside, curving over your body, cupping you and holding you. Your hands hold onto him, at the nape of his neck, trying not to look at him, but commit his touch to memory. “I don’t think you should be there.”

“Like fuck I won’t,” he seethes, the venom in his words are unable to hide the tremor.

“Adam,” you murmur, “I’m serious. I- You shouldn’t see me like that. I- I know that I would look for you after it happened. I- I can’t ask for you to see me so broken.”

“I’m going,” he tells you in a tight voice, his breaths coming out in gasps.

You nod, and swallow the pit lodged in your throat. “Please don’t stop it.” He whispers your name, and lets you go, coming up to a sitting position. His wings still stretched, touching you so gently. You look up at him, tear stains glistening on your cheeks. “This is my fault. I’ve accepted it. I know I’m going to plead and cry for mercy, but ignore me, Adam.” Your hands find his, and you hold onto him desperately. “Don’t fight for me. Let it happen.”

“You should run away,” he tells you again. “We can run together.” Tears glisten in his eyes, and you don’t recall ever seeing him so upset.

You smile, but it trembles and falls, and tears spill out. “Where would we go?” You ask in a quiet voice.

“Earth.” His jaw tightens, and you don’t comment when his voice cracks. “We’d take a bunch of gems from here and sell them there. We’d be rich.” You try not to let the quaking in your chest show, the soft stuttering that threatens to release a storm. “We’d sing in some dingy ass club, and I’d use my blessing to make us famous.”

You laugh, and it’s clouded by tears. “I thought we were in hiding?”

“We’d be in disguise,” he counters, a hand prying away from your grip to wipe away the tears. “We’d settle after a few years, get a nice house in a big city. Gamble, drink, fuck. Maybe have a few kids in like a hundred years.” He smiles when you turn your head to kiss his palm, your other hand going to curve over his. “We’d have a nice life.” He lays over you, hiding his face into the crook of your neck, and presses his lips to the warmth of your skin when your hands tangle themselves into his hair. “It’s a nice plan, right?”

“Of course,” you say through tears. “You always come up with good plans.”

You stand in a stadium, dressed in white, your back exposed and your wings fluttering about no matter how much you will them to still. No one fears that you are going to run. Not when there are archers lined, and not when the Angels are watching you. You see Adam, and he wears his mask, standing with his arms held behind him.

You wish you told Seraphim that he wasn’t allowed.

Chains bind your ankles and wrists. The iron pinching your skin and irritating the flesh. You’d take this pain a thousand times over than what’s about to happen.

“For questioning Heaven’s beliefs and practices,” the voice echoes around, “we sentence you,” your name sounds empty, and you can’t breathe, “to have your wings removed and to be banished from Heaven.” You do a stupid thing and glance at Adam and he looks away at your glance. You feel a tinge of pain, but it’s better this way. “You will now have your wings removed.”

You turn your head, and see Lute. She’s shrouded in white robes with gold accents. Her hair is tied, and her wings are pinned behind her. She does not cast you on any type of look and you're grateful for that.

Her gaze is steeled. You know her. She knows you. She’s seen you at your worst, and you’ve seen her at her best. You’ve shared meals with her- broken bread and drank wine together. She’s been in your home. Her smile has always been sharp, and there are moments where it’s tender, vulnerable and saved for those closest to her.

She does not smile at you. She keeps her gaze focused on you, and you can’t help but tremble, the iron of the chains clinking together. You look away, and you’re grateful you had nothing to eat the morning of. You were grateful you were not given the choice of a last meal.

“On your knees,” Lute tells you in a strained voice.

You hope Adam won’t be mad at her. You hope that if he is, that she can take it.

You flinch at the chill touch of the sword. Your wings flutter, and you bite your tongue. You should make your case once more. You shouldn’t be here. You only asked a simple question. This shouldn’t be happening. You shouldn’t be here. There’s a point against your back. You look up and find Adam. You need him to save you. You can run away with him. You’ll live the life he wanted. You’d do anything. You’d be his. You yelp as something sharp cuts into you. You’d never disobey Heaven again. You’ll never ask again. You’ll be content. Please, Father, you’ll be good.

“Stay still,” she says, breathing out the last word in a plea, and when you cannot, she’s forced to continue.

The tearing is a sharp pain. One that makes you writhe and scream, your throat raw and the sounds unbearably loud. Every twist and turn only further aggravates the wound, skin pulling and muscles bare for the Angels to see. Warmth runs down your back, caressing the small part of your back and spilling onto your legs and thighs. Your hands slam into the ground, clawing at the porcelain floor. Through tears, you can liquid gold, shining and shimmering.

The cool air is agony against your open wounds. You’re warm, and wet, and the final strip of skin is pulled away from you. The heaviness of your wings are gone from you, and crane your neck to see them land with a heavy ‘thud’ away from you. The base of the ivory feathers are drenched in gold, and you can only think about the misery you’re in, and you reach for them. You need them back, you want them back. You’d sew them onto yourself if you could, but you can’t leave them here.

Your eyes glance around, wide and horrified, searching the crowd, and you roll onto your back, screaming once more, and calling for Father, your eyes landing on Adam. Legs block your view, and heavy hands lift you, pulling on your arm, and stretching the raw muscle.

You can hear someone, but your own screams overpower the other, and for a moment, you’re in the air, lifted and unable to breathe, until gravity pulls you down.

It’s a searing pain. It burns your skin and the whips of air slash against your back and body. You’re beaten and battered, carried by the air of Hell, and your screams only echo around you. The ground is unforgiving, a crater forming around you as you land. Gravel and sticks push against your skin. Your body lays crumpled on the floor, limbs twisted around each other, and your body is a mix of gold and dirt.

Weeds twist into your hair, and the stench of Hell makes you retch. You cry on the ground, alone and numb. There is no Father here; there is no warmth for you here. In a shay breath, with your hands clawing at the dirt, you wish for death. You wish for the demons to pry you apart and for your body to never recover.

And far away, tucked away in his castle, eyes looking up at the heavens, Lucifer sees a shooting star streak across the sky, and his heart drops.

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addicted-to-dc · 1 year

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Spider-Man 2099/Miguel O’Hara X Spider!Reader - Twice Bitten

I just saw Across the Spider-Verse and I NEEDED to write for Miguel. Just DAMN it was so nice to see my fav spider grace the screen.

This will most likely be a series, maybe friends to lovers, but we’ll just see where this story takes us.

(Part 2 out now!)

Warnings: Descriptions of pain, fighting, angst. typical spider stuff. Slight spoilers for the movie?? Nothing plot related.

1,400 word count. Enjoy!!

Okay, maybe you’ve introduced yourself one too many times, but this time couldn’t hurt.

You’re (Y/N) (Y/L/N), the one and only Spider-Woman who thwips and quips all over New York, protecting innocents from bad guys. It’s a rough job, you’ve lost more people than you can count, but you always get back up. Being good, and doing good is in your DNA. You can’t stop now, not even when your body refuses to listen to you.

It comes out of nowhere as you swing towards a reported disturbance, your spider-sense warning you too late when something hard slams into your chest. Your web disconnects, sending you crashing into the nearest rooftop.

You force yourself to recover, lifting your hand to see black ooze spreading all over your body. Your eyes widen, recognizing the symbiote instantly. It spreads all over your body, seeping into you as your body seizes. Your body meets the ground once again, your screams morphing into something monstrous. The roof below you cracks under the pressure of your strength, even more so as you feel pain shock your entire body. It feels like you’re glitching, your atoms falling apart and being put back together in a matter of seconds.

Forcing yourself up, you grab onto the symbiote, uselessly attempting to rip the creature off of you. With another scream, you feel a final snap. Your body freezes, your mind at a standstill as you feel something invade your mind.

You’re not my spider, but you’ll do.

You gasp as the symbiote bonds even further to you but stops when you resist. The glitch happens again, making you fall to the ground once again. Something is wrong, extremely wrong.

“Get. Off. Of. ME!” you scream, finally getting a grasp on the symbiote and pulling. It feels like you’re pulling a piece of yourself with it. You stop, groaning when the pain subsides. Your hot breath in your mask nearly makes you pass out, but you’re able to stand once again.

Adrenaline pumps through your veins, your thoughts run wild as the symbiote nestles itself further into you. It can’t be your symbiote, no, that one is locked away for good.

You can feel the symbiote react to your thoughts, but you have no time to recover when you suddenly slam into the ground. You take the hit like a champ, opening your eyes to see someone in a red and blue suit. His claws dig deep into your chest as he roughly places a device onto you.

A high-pitched noise emits from the device, causing the symbiote to scream. Despite the device, it remains bonded to you. You writhe in pain until you manage to rip the device off, accidentally sending your attacker flying off the roof. Your legs nearly give out on you as you stand, but you remain strong. You always get back up.

The figure returns, swinging back onto the roof with a neon red web. You raise your fists. Another wannabe spider? You feel your emotions blow up, your mind clouded as you try to figure out what is going on.

“I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here for the symbiote,” he says with raised hands. “Let me help you.”

He’s not going to help you. He’ll rip us apart.

Anger floods your system as you lunge forward, attacking him blindly as he narrowly avoids your attacks. He plants another device on you, then another. They both go off at the same time, briefly separating you from the creature. It gives you enough willpower to stop fighting, but your body doesn’t let up.

“I c-can’t stop,” you whimper, trying to hold yourself back as your fist meets his face. “Please, end this.”

He lands a punch in the center of your chest, sending you flying. Another device goes off, but it still doesn’t work. This symbiote won’t let you go.

It takes everything in you to stop moving, your muscles straining against themselves as you grasp onto your head. The symbiote urges you to give in, to let them take over until you finally feel a hand on your shoulder.

You move to push him away but feel a sharp sting in your neck. Gasping, your hand moves to find purchase on him, but your arms limply fall to your sides. The symbiote finally detaches from you, glitching until it moved into one of the traps he set on the ground. It pops up, trapping the creature.

The pressure lifts, only for you to realize that it was his teeth that just did that. You weakly turn your head to look at him, your blood on his lips as he pulls away. Your body aches in more ways than one, feeling yourself slowly begin to burn. Soreness seeps into you, making it difficult to even move a finger. You haven’t been like this since you were first bitten by that spider all those years ago.

You stare into his red eyes, unable to read them as he lifts you up. He removes your mask, finally allowing you to breathe the fresh air. You flinch as soon as a bright light flashes, a portal of sorts opening in front of you. The symbiote goes in first, then the two of you.

Your eyes close and your body goes slack. As soon as his feet meet solid ground he’s running. His movements jostle you awake. You must be hallucinating because you see hundreds of… you? Different spider suits flash around you until you’re set down on a cold table.

Your neck burns even more, forcing you to roll to your side as you curl into a ball. You feel the heat spread through your body, your muscles so tense you think you’ll snap them. That’s when you feel it.

Your muscles growing in size. Your teeth expand to sharp canines. Just as someone goes to restrain your arms, your hand slams into the table and claws cut through the metal like butter. When one of your arms were finally free, you shoot a web and pull yourself away from the group. One of them goes to move forward, but the blue and red one stops them.

You greedily suck in air, sticking to the highest point in the room as you recollect yourself. The red and blue one dismisses everyone, keeping his eyes on you as everyone filters out. You finally catch your breath, confusion clouding your mind.

“What did you do to me?” you ask, shuddering when your new fangs made speaking awkward.

He removes his mask, letting you see those red eyes again. They’re hypnotizing, reassuring you that he means no harm. He crawls up the wall slowly, closing the distance as he gently examines his bite mark. He’s lost in thought, running through different possible explanations that could shed light on why the hell his venom… changed you?

“I don’t know,” he replies, dragging his fingers along the bite. “It’s nearly healed already.”

You hiss when his fingers trace over a sensitive spot, your hand instinctually grasping his wrist. He doesn’t say a word as he opens your fingers, comparing your new claws to his. He removes your gloves. You don’t protest, especially when your new talons have ripped them to shreds.

His claws retract back into his hand and he begins to gently trace his fingers in your palm, “They go away when you’re relaxed.”

“Kind of hard to do that when I’m freaking the fuck out,” you quip.

Your body betrays you, taking in his immense warmth as he gently brushes against your claws. They finally disappear as if nothing was even there in the first place. Your fangs do not change.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, holding your hand tightly. “It was the only way to-”

“All a part of the job,” you chuckle, your fangs on full display as you flash him a gentle smile.

His eyes immediately hone in on them, his index finger lightly tracing the point, “You’re just like me? My venom has never done this before.”

“Maybe I’m just that special,” you mumble tiredly. “Didn’t expect to get bitten twice by a spider.”

A small, tense laugh escapes from his lips. He watches as you doze off, nearly falling off the wall until he gently guides you to the ground.

“What’s your name?” you mumble out, sighing when you feel a soft bed against your back.

“Miguel,” he responds, placing a blanket over you.

“You owe me dinner,” you mutter before letting your exhaustion finally win.

You always get up, but you’ll do that after a quick nap.

#miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara x spider!reader #spiderman x spider!reader #across the spiderverse fanfic

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lonelym00n · 1 year

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The Road to Recovery

An epilogue for The Devil Likes the Pirate Series

Tara Carpenter x Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: Is it worth the effort to repair your relationships, or should you just let your friends go?

Warnings: Talk about injuries, nothing super gory

A/N: The epilogue is here (finally)! I hope it wraps up the series nicely. Thank you all so much for reading <3

The road to recovery, as it’s often said to be, is going to be a long one. You are confined to your hospital bed for a minimum of two weeks, set to undergo observation and a multitude of x-rays until your body has recovered enough for a laparoscopy to ensure that your wounded organs have properly healed.

You internally groan when the nurse informs you of your long stay. The next two weeks are going to be extremely boring, especially because you've been instructed not to move unless you’re being visited by your physical therapist or it is absolutely necessary to do so.

If it’s not bad enough that you can’t move, as with every other hospital, your only form of entertainment is watching the crappy TV shows provided by the hospital’s very limited cable subscription.

As much as you want to grumble and complain, all the effort that it’s going to take for you to heal is worth it because it means that you’re still alive. If your traumatic near death experience has taught you anything, it’s that you have to be thankful for life and its hardships even when you are desperately wishing for things to be easier.

In an effort to uplift your mood, you switch on the TV, dig into a cup of jello, and carefully shift into a comfortable position.

***

The two cups of jello that you ate must’ve had the same effects on you as a Thanksgiving feast, because your eyes droop shut during the second episode of Property Brothers.

It’s darker when you awake, and after blinking away the sleep in your eyes, you notice that you have a visitor.

“Kirby?”

The FBI Agent turns her head in your direction with a grin, “Hey kid!”

You both take a second to scan the other’s injuries. There’s an array of bandages on her face and you can just barely make out the thick gauze hiding underneath her loose shirt.

Kirby’s lips curve into a frown at your pale and weak form, “He really did a number on you huh?”

You nod, “But the doctors say I’ll be okay.”

She shuffles over to stand right beside your bed, “I’m glad.”

There’s so much you want to say to Kirby that it takes a good few moments to gather your thoughts together. Ever since Tara told you that Kirby had survived, you haven’t stopped thinking about how grateful you are for the older woman. She trusted you when no one else did.

“Kirby, I- I really can’t even begin to say how much I appreciate you having my back. I don’t think I would be here if it weren’t for you.”

She shakes her head, “I only did what was right, no need to thank me.”

Tears prick your eyes, “But I do need to thank you. You didn’t even know me but you were still there for me. None of my friends can say the same.”

Kirby sighs and gently grabs your hand. “I’m sorry. Have you talked to any of them about it yet?”

A shakily exhale leaves your chest. Though you’d seen Tara a few times, the two of you still hadn’t talked things through. You were terrified that it would break the honeymoon phase you and she were living in if you approached the topic, so you refused to bring it up. You knew from Tara that Mindy had been released from the hospital, but the Meeks-Martin girl had still made no effort to come see you. You tried your best not to hold it against her, but deep down it made you even more sad to know she was avoiding you all together.

A few tears trail down your cheeks, “No. Mindy’s treating me like I’m the plague and I’m too scared to talk to Tara about it.”

The agent squeezes your hand in an attempt to bring you comfort. “Mindy will come around, to be honest I’m betting that she just feels really bad. And Tara, well, I’ve heard the way that girl talks about you. It’ll make both of you feel better to talk things through and get that extra weight off your chests.”

“You’re right,” your heart feels heavy in your chest. You’ve been doing your best to avoid thinking about your time spent treated like a suspect, the hurt that it brings you is too overwhelming when coupled with the burning stab wounds littered around your abdomen. But now that it’s been breached, you know your feelings are going to come flying out like the contents of Pandora’s Box.

“God Kirby, it just hurts so much to think that no one even gave me a chance. There was nothing I could say or do. How am I ever supposed to trust them again when they so clearly didn’t trust me?”

A deep frown stretches across Kirby’s face and she moves to carefully wrap her arms around your shoulders in a hug. “You don’t have to trust them. You don’t owe any of them a single thing.” She pulls back to get a better view of your face, “But, I know you still care about your friends even though they hurt you. Just talk to them, and after that, make them earn your trust back. Your relationships are damaged but with time, they’ll heal.”

“Okay,” you nod and lean back in the bed. “That sounds good, thank you Kirby.”

“Anytime. I’m here for you from here on out kid.”

***

Tara comes by two days later, with yet another bouquet of flowers. She’s accompanied by Sam, the older girl refusing to let Tara leave her side.

Under normal circumstances Tara would throw a fit but since they had almost died just last week, she lets her sister’s behavior slide.

The younger girl greets you with a kiss on the forehead and moves to replace the old flowers with the new ones. Sam offers you a smile and a wave before making her way towards the empty bed next to your own.

You scooch yourself over to make room for Tara on the bed with you. Your abdomen screams at you for the small movements, but feeling Tara’s warmth next to you will more than make up for it.

When she’s finished with the flowers, she slides into your bed. Her hands instantly start sweeping across your form, a new habit she picked up to reassure herself that you were still alive and breathing. You melt into the contact, occasionally humming in content.

You let yourself enjoy the peace for a moment. It’s nice being cared for by Tara, letting her fiddle with your blankets and your hair as she quietly fusses over you.

But as much as you want to continue living in this heaven with her, the gnaw of leftover hurt and dejection in your chest has grown incessant since your talk with Kirby. You’ve been avoiding rehashing the nightmarish events with Tara because you’re terrified to lose her again, like you have every other time the two of you have had emotional talks.

Hesitantly, you grab one of her hands to stop its movement and draw her attention to you. Those big brown eyes of hers immediately look up at you, her long eyelashes fluttering slightly. The sight of her has you nervous and bumbling. Whatever you were going to say to approach the topic is stuck in your throat in favor of admiring her.

She tilts her head cutely and entangles the fingers of her trapped hand in yours. “Is everything okay?”

You close your eyes for a second and take a deep breath. When you reopen them, Tara’s eyes are filled with concern.

You swallow thickly, “We um,” you pause briefly, working up the courage, “We need to talk Tara.”

She freezes for a second but quickly finds herself again, “Okay. Yeah, yeah we can talk.”

Sam slides out of her place on the other bed swiftly. She squeezes Tara's uninjured shoulder as she passes by, “I’ll be just outside if you need me.”

The younger Carpenter nods to her sister in thanks. Sam sees the apprehension in Tara’s eyes and offers the girl a small reassuring smile.

The tension in the room increases when the door closes behind Sam. You and Tara blink at each other for a few long seconds.

You shift your gaze to your waist and pick at the thin scratchy blanket. When you start worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, Tara reaches up with her free hand to cup your check.

“Hey, it’s okay, you can talk to me.”

You look up to meet her eyes and see nothing but care and reassurance. It gives you the push you need to open up to her. “Well, I wanted to talk about everything from last week, and uh, how it made me feel.”

Her eyes widen a bit but she nods quickly, “Okay. I’m listening, go ahead.”

“When I saw you in the police station, god I felt so betrayed Tara. I know that since I was the only one who hadn’t stayed over it made me look bad, but no one even gave me a chance to explain myself. I get why you might’ve given them my name, but it still hurt to know it was you because it meant that you didn’t trust me enough to talk to me yourself.”

Her eyes shine with unshed tears and she slowly trails her thumb down your cheek, “I’m so sorry, about that and about everything. Me and Sam were just so scared and shaken up, and Detective Bailey was asking for everyone’s alibis, and Sam mentioned that you hadn’t stayed over. I tried to tell her not to, but she had to tell him. He was the one who decided to bring you in for questioning, not either of us. I know that doesn’t make anything better, but maybe it helps you to know.”

It did make you feel slightly better. It’s not like she threw him your name and told him to question you. “It does help. When I got to the park, I just felt so judged and alone, like I was some sort of outsider. And then Mindy said all that stuff and it just broke me. It upset me so much that she called me out like that and turned everything I told her in private into a stupid motive.”

The memory of Mindy’s words is particularly painful for you to relive. You’d never felt so exposed and let down. Quietly, a few tears begin to slip down your face.

Tara’s bottom lip trembles with the effort it takes to hold back her own tears, “I hate that we made you feel like that. We’re your friends and that’s never how you should feel around us. And Mindy, god, I was so mad at her for what she said to you. I tried to chase after you when you left but Sam wouldn’t let me.”

The timid look that you give her nearly breaks her heart. “You did?”

A tear escapes her eyes, “Yeah. I didn’t want you to be alone, not when you looked so upset.”

“I was so scared that you were going to hate me, or reject me, and that you thought I was the killer. I had to get away.”

“I could never hate you. And I wouldn’t have rejected you, I really really like you. When I told you I only wanted to be friends, it’s because everything that happened with Amber hurt me so much. I was scared that I could get hurt again, so I pushed my feelings away. And that pushed you away, and I’m so fucking sorry. All the Ghostface stuff happened so fast, and I never got a chance to apologize or to explain myself.”

You’re both crying now. You tug Tara closer to you and she positions herself so her head lays on your shoulder, moving carefully so as not to jostle you or lay on top of any wires.

She looks up at you from her position, “I didn’t think it was you, Y/N. I was just trying to be cautious about trusting anyone. The only person I was sure it wasn’t was Sam. When Wayne had you, I hesitated because of everything Ethan and Quinn were saying. And I was so, so scared that all the Amber stuff was happening again, but I believed what you said. You’re nothing like Amber, you wouldn’t have done something like that. I’m sorry it took me that long to be sure of it.”

You wrap your free arm around her waist and bury your teary face in her hair. You feel infinitely lighter having gotten your feelings out into the open. Part of you has healed from hearing things from her perspective.

“It makes me feel so much better knowing all of that, thank you Tara.”

“Of course, I’m sorry about how I made you feel.” She looks down at your wrapped abdomen, “And I hate that you got so hurt because of me.”

You tighten your grip on her, “It’s okay.” Then, a bit playfully you add, “And don’t blame yourself, it wasn’t you who stabbed me 17 different times.”

She lifts her head and slaps your shoulder lightly, gasping. “Stop that you know what I mean.”

You laugh heartily and Tara swears she could stay here with you forever. She traces her eyes along your features and finds herself in awe of your soft beauty, as she is everytime she looks at you.

Her hand reaches up to cup your chin and her fingers splay out across your jaw. You’re utterly lovestruck as you stare into her pretty eyes.

She leans forward and gently captures your lips with hers, sighing softly into the kiss. When she pulls back, she smiles sweetly up at you.

“I feel the same way, you know. I really love you too.”

***

Tara, and by extension Sam, visit you practically everyday after that. The younger sister brings her laptop with her so that you three actually have a good selection of movies to watch.

One night after Tara fell asleep, tucked into your side, Sam offered you an apology too. You forgave her immediately, though she hadn’t really done anything other than be her usual protective self, you appreciate the sentiment all the same.

It’s a quiet day when Mindy finally walks into your room. Sam had to sort out some work stuff, so the two sisters would be heading over a bit later.

“Hey,” she offers shyly.

“Hi Mindy.”

“Is it okay if I come in and sit?”

“Of course yeah, sit anywhere you like.”

Seeing her here is shocking, but not unwelcome. Tara had informed you that she was trying to convince Mindy to come visit you so that she and you could talk. According to Tara, the short-haired girl was entirely sure that you hated her and would never want to speak to her again.

Mindy shifts around a little and her leg hasn’t stopped bouncing since she’s sat down.

Deciding to reprieve her from her fidgeting, you give her a small smile. “I don’t hate you Mindy.”

Her eyes are wide and they snap up to meet yours, “You don’t?”

“I don’t.”

She breathes out a sigh of relief, but still looks a little apprehensive. “I’m surprised you don’t. I would hate me if I were you.

You had thought long and hard about how you felt about Mindy, and while you were deeply hurt by her words, you could never bring yourself to hate her. You considered her your best friend for a brief moment in time and she was the only person that was there to comfort and support you when you were wallowing in your feelings for Tara.

“I thought about hating you, but I really care about you, Mins. I know that you feel some pressure to follow in your uncle’s footsteps. I just wish that you listened to me, and that you didn’t go so deep on the motive stuff.”

She cringes at the reminder, “I feel, so so stupid about that.” Her hands come up to cover her face for a moment as she groans. “I’m sorry, it was extremely shitty of me.”

“It was pretty shitty of you,” you chuckle, “but it’s okay. I’d probably be more mad if things didn’t end up working out between me and Tara.”

She smiles, “I’m happy for you both.” Her face turns more serious and she leans forward to softly place her hand on your thigh. “Genuinely though, I feel terrible. I was just so sure it was you and I guess it kind of scared me. I’m sorry, I know that’s no excuse. Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

You ponder it for a minute. Bingo. Your face twists into a smirk, “I have an idea.”

***

It’s a few hours later when Sam and Tara arrive. They’re wrapped up in a conversation as they enter, so they don’t notice the current state of your room.

Sam notices first, “What the-”

“Surprise!” you cheer.

Your hospital room has been completely rearranged. The two beds have been pushed together to form a makeshift couch, and the chairs are positioned beside each bed. Fairy lights have been strung around the room and a white sheet hangs across from the sitting area, placed perfectly in the center.

You, Mindy, and Chad (who’d been wheeled in by his sister) grin at the dumbfounded Carpenter sisters.

Sam, ever the mom of the group, raises a singular eyebrow, “What did you three do?”

Your smile stretches even wider. “We’re recreating movie night! Hope you Carpenters don’t mind not hosting for once.”

Sam rolls her eyes good naturedly at your comment.

Tara walks over and hops up on the bed next to you. You greet her with a kiss to her cheek and she beams at you, pleased. “Baby this is such a nice surprise. But how’d you manage to put all this together?”

You share a secret little glance with Mindy, “I called in a favor from a friend.”

After a good few minutes of cheerful banter, the group settles in to watch the movie. You and Tara are pressed so close together that she’s practically sitting on your lap.

After a week full of misery, things finally feel right. Your wounds are steadily repairing themselves and your relationships have been mended. Slowly but surely, you are healing.

Tara, the girl who started it all, who stole your heart away with her teasing smiles alone, leans over to whisper in your ear, “When you’re finally out of this hospital, I’m taking you on a date. Just me and you.”

Your eyes shine with the same love that you see reflected in hers. “I’d love nothing more.”

“It’s a date.” She kisses you chastly and quickly pulls back. Her hand reaches towards your face and when she boops your nose softly, you know you’ll be in love with Tara Carpenter for the rest of your life.

Taglist: @thenextdawn @dreifhraniquo29 @fanboy7794 @thelonewriter247 @cartierdreamx @btay3115 @friedryes @bananasplits-world @alexkolax @ordelixx @adaydreamaway08 @youralphawolf72

Note: The last installment for the series will be the alternate ending, which I hope to have finished by the end of this week. I won't be including the series taglist, so leave a comment or send in an ask if you want to be tagged in the alternate ending! Thanks for reading, the angst awaits!

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x y/n #tara carpenter #devil likes the pirate series #lonelym00n fic

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canmom · 4 months

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Wait is ratfic not fiction about rats???

I can talk about fiction about rats too! Let's talk about some British childrens' book series! And one American comic book.

The four relevant works for our discussion would be the Redwall series by Brian Jacques, the Welkin Weasels series by Garry Kilworth, the Deptford Mice series by Robin Jarvis, and the Mouse Guard series by David Petersen. All these works portray a world inhabited by semi-anthropomorphic animals that are at the scale of real world animals. And indeed all of them include rats, albeit mostly as antagonists.

Redwall is perhaps the one that has most penetrated internet pop culture, thanks to articles like this one on SomethingAwful which mocked some of the series's recurring elements while painting Brian Jacques as a bit of a nazi. I ate those books up as a kid, but in retrospect I truthfully can remember only snatches: the shrews' battle cry of 'logalogalogalog!', the pages of elaborate descriptions of feasts.

Redwall is a big sufferer from the 'evil races' problem. A certain arbitrary set of species (e.g. rats, stoats, weasels, ferrets) are ontologically evil, and various other species are standins for various stereotypical British social classes (e.g. iirc moles are always working class). As unfortunately tends to be the case, it even makes the strange decision to double down on this - I believe in one of the books, a member of one of the evil species is raised in the Abbey, but inevitably his evil nature comes out when the good rodents and mustelids are once again threatened by an army of bad rodents and mustelids.

Nevertheless, as repetitive and ethically dubious as these books are, they do conjour a very specific flavour which makes them memorable. The author's enthusiasm for food as child of the Blitz shines through, as does his evident love for the idyllic Redwall Abbey. There's a lot of really charming elements like the 'logalogalog' thing. Having these read out to me as kid was great, it had a bit of a panto feel, where I could join in with the expected beats.

The first Redwall book implies that humans exist in this world, but this is subsequently quietly retconned to an only-animals fantasy world.

The Welkin Weasels series is a lot shorter at six books, and you may well bounce off the author's enthusiasm to insert puns and references all over the place (I recall one book managing to set up "badgers? we don't need no stinkin' badgers"), but from what I remember of them they benefit from having more explicit horror elements which makes the stakes much more engaging. I recall the weasels trying to weasel their way into a crypt full of horrible pitfalls and finding it very tense as a kid.

There is once again a sympathetic-unsympathetic species divide - weasels are our plucky heroes, while stoats tend to be aristocratic and cruel. However, it does play out a little differently: the first three books are in a medieval fantasy setting with explicit magic, but over the course of the novels, the mustelids manage to rediscover humans, leading to a timeskip forward into a more steampunk setting where the animals and humans have built a joint society together.

Honestly, I would quite like to reread these books! They may well not hold up today, but it would be fun to revisit them.

The Deptford Mice series by Robin Jarvis - author of Deathscent, a highly memorable novel in which Elizabethans have been transported by aliens into a space archipelago where all the animals are robots which run on the four humours - is a pretty fun one, although my memory is very foggy. It's set in our world, in London, and as I recall the first book involves an evil cat wizard attempting to resurrect the Bubonic Plague from the plague pits. I recall a scene in which rats dig up the plague pit and have their paws melted by the lime coating it. Beyond that I can recall very little but I definitely think it merits inclusion in this list of rat fic.

Once again we have the good rodent/evil rodent problem. Mice and rats are almost identical creatures, so it's weird that the sympathetic/unsympathetic divide falls so consistently.

Mouse Guard is an American comic series about mice with little cloaks and swords. Making it be a comic is kind of a great idea because you get to see how cute they are at every turn. The mouse guard are responsible for defending the other mice from threats such as snakes. They have a pretty high mortality rate.

I'm... actually not super familiar with the comics, but they inspired a roleplaying game by the creators of Burning Wheel, using similar mechanics - e.g. its beliefs system, the simultaneous-resolution combat system. That got a lot of buzz around the late 2010s. So if you want a game to play as an rat at the tabletop, it's probably a good one to check out!

We might also at this juncture mention the wildly popular novel Watership Down, which imagines an elaborate rabbit society complete with a substantially fleshed out rabbit religion. I wrote about the animated film for Animation Night a couple years back - it's quite a memorable one.

Sadly, this is mostly mousefic (with a bit of weaselfic). I don't know of any true ratfic - centred on rats as protagonists. Perhaps this is an opportunity for someone out there to write ratfic ratfic to correct this imbalance.

edit: omfg i forgot the rats of NIMH. thanks to both the people who reminded me of that one

#fiction #novels

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highvern · 5 months

Note

Slay you deserve a million followers for teach me series. Can I request DK or MG kabedon? 🥹 humor or serious or against all odds angst would make my dreams come true you’re amazing

NGL I had to look up what that was and I can only imagine humor but this ended up super fluffy too im sorry for no angst anon 😔

Please accept this as my apology!!!

Pairing: Lee Dokyeom x fem!reader

Genre: humor, suggestive, fluff

Warnings: reader loves a boozy brunch, and they have a dachshund named Mango,

Note: Mayhaps be read as a long long long away epilogue of Teach Me couple

“Damn, you shit with that ass?” You drunkly smile at your boyfriend attempting to shuffle you inside your shared apartment.

When you swat at the curve of plump flesh, Dokyeom rolls his eyes with a groan. He can’t help but smile despite his exasperation with your antics. Bold comments from you has a special way of turning him into a blushing stuttering mess despite years of dating. Something about the brazen way you declare your interest after so much time together sends his heart into orbit, millions of butterflies filling his chest until he is convinced it’ll explode.

But the hallway of your apartment complex at two in the afternoon on a Sunday is not high on Dokyeom’s list of places to be felt up by his girlfriend. Coupled with the knowledge he only has so much time to get you horizontal before you refuse to move yourself, Dokyeom is too stressed to enjoy the usual banter you supply after too many mimosas at brunch with your friends.

The chilled metal door gives way under your combined weight, throwing Dokyeom forward as his feet fail to find their grounding — a firm thud ricocheting through the space under the bounce of his shoulders against the plaster wall.

A smack! echoes in response under your hand landing above his shoulder, pinning a wide eyed Dokyeom underneath your hips as you’re dragged forward by momentum.

“So…do you come here often?”

“To our house?” Dokyeom responds, eyebrows furrowing in amusement.

Crowding into the limit spacefurther, you watch him through your lashes— failing to realize your attempt at coyish allure leaves you resembling a round eyed calf.

Your slow blinks force a guffaw from his lips, shaking your stomach where it touches his own as the crown of Dokyeom’s skull meets the wall behind him.

Pouting as he works through the last of his giggles, you twirl with a huff; nose in the air as you trudge towards the living room.

Mango doesn’t rise from her sprawl across the couch, belly up as she basks in the sun flooding from the glass doors leading to the balcony. Her long golden hair spills onto the couch beneath her oblong body as she watches her parents with little interest.

Tangling your arms around her, you hold her tightly to your chest. “My baby!”

A sharp bark of displeasure answers, followed by your boyfriend gently setting her back on the couch as you sigh forlornly.

“No one in this house loves me.” You wail, stomping your foot while the familiar heat of Dokyeom’s arms curl around your waist once more.

“C’mon babe, let’s go lay down.”

Digging your heels into the ground, you turn to face him. “You love me, right?”

“Always.” Dokyeom smiles, a sweet kiss between your wrinkled brows signing his confession.

“Ew, I have a boyfriend!” You gasp, failing to wiggle out of his grip.

Distracting you in an effort to coral you into the bedroom, Dokyeom plays along. “Oh?”

“Yeah, and he’ll kick your butt!”

“Will he now?” Dokyeom nods, managing to work you out of the living room and down the hall.

“Yeah! And he’s all big and buff.”

“Oh, really? And he’ll fight me for you?”

You sigh once more, “No, he’s too nice.”

“Too bad.”

“I know, he’s really hot when he’s angry.”

Dokyeom fills that tidbit of information away for later, focusing on slipping the tight denim stretched across your hips down so you can sleep comfortably.

“What else do you like about your boyfriend?” He prompts, lifting each leg to free you from the offending garment before gently pushing you to sit on the bed while he works off your shirt.

Arms raised over your head, you eagerly list of the things you love about your boyfriend; a goofy faraway grin brightening your face.

“He’s the best! He’s funny and he’s really sweet and,”

Continuing to prattle on, you don’t notice the way your boyfriend falters under the praise you so eagerly throw his way.

“And Dokyeom is like perfect with kids especially my nieces! I can’t wait until we have kids.”

Kids.

You want kids. With him.

It wasn’t as if it had never been a topic of discussion. You both had been clear from the start that it was a something you’d wanted. But kids and marriage were always a distant goal for you two, nothing to consider for a least a few more years.

But you think about having kids with him. And suddenly he wonders what it’d be like.

Images of babies fill his head; ones with your eyes and his nose, smart like their mom but with their dad’s sense of humor. Bald and perfectly chubby in that cute way only babies are. Then it’s two little girls filling his ears with shrill giggles as he chases them around the living room with your own laughter chiming in from the couch.

Oh boy.

“But we have to get married first. And you can’t tell him I told you but," Comically looking left and right, eyes impossibly round, you drop into a whisper. "I found a ring in the dresser so I think he’ll ask me soon.”

You rock back and forth, feet kicking just above the shag rug as Dokyeom digs up an old shirt from the very dresser he’s had a certain ring hidden in for the past few months.

Finding his voice, albeit shakily, Dokyeom pries for more information.

“If he asks, what would you say?”

A brilliant smile lights your face — blinding in joy, putting all the wonders of the world to shame. You practically glow as you look up at him with so much emotion Dokyeom thinks he might pass out.

“That I’d love to marry you.”

#svthub #lee dokyeom #lee seokmin x reader #lee seokmin #svt seokmin #seokmin fluff #seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #svt fluff #seventeen fluff #dokyeom x reader #svt x reader #dokyeom fluff #🫡 highvern #answered ask #anon ask #svt

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itsnothingofinterest · 2 months

Text

You know I'm seeing some people try and say Tomura is becoming like Kotaro after those panels last chapter and now again in 417, like he's become the very thing he hates, and...I'm sorry, but that's some bullshit. They may both be 'bad men' but they are distinct in their personal badness as Overhaul and Redestro, maybe moreso actually.

And the claims towards what their similarities are just seem almost silly to me.

'They're both spreading misery' well sure in a really vague way that could also apply to All Might, Deku, and literally every hero and villain in this series and a lot of the rest of the cast, I guess that's a similarity they share. But I personally feel comparing authoritative domestic abuse and anarchistic super-villainy is a bit of a stretch; it’s why we always considered AFO and Overhaul to be distinct from (and usually worse than) the League proper.

'Tomura's getting Tenko hurt just like Korato by not letting Deku save him' …No? This is a memory guys; Tenko was hurt by Kotaro. It looks to me like Tomura simply doesn't want Deku interfering with his mind (or maybe even attacking his innermost self, as the vestiges have suggested a few times now) but that might just be my read. Because like; Deku came here to figure out his past, here it is being shown to him. Something I find pretty fitting; this whole time Deku's been acting like he's gotta fight so hard to figure out his deal but Tomura's never been shy about sharing his motivations. What more could Deku want seeing this, and is that 'more' not inevitably overstepping and an attempt to alter Tomura's mind? It's not like Tomura has reason to trust this hero's good intentions, so I think it only makes sense for him to let Deku look but not touch. But yeah, If these images are upsetting to see happen; well Deku went digging for them for exactly that reason.

I mean I have even seen it suggested that Tomura is to blame for putting inner Tenko through like this because he's playing his suffering on loop in his mind and...weird Tenko vs Tomura framing aside...what proof is there that a) this is happening all the time in his head rather than this memory replaying because Deku dug for it, and b) if it is on loop; that it is unique for that? Do we have solid reason to believe Deku's memory of being told he can't be a hero isn't on loop in his own heart as well? Maybe every memory is on loop, or maybe this and every other memory is only replayed when it’s remembered; either way we’ve to proof this memory is unique for any of this. It's just such a weird argument I've seen made to suggest Tomura is uniquely wrong for being motivated by his past. In a series that can feel like it loves flashbacks almost as much as Naruto.

Anyway my point is; just because Tomura's a villain who isn't playing ball with Deku's attempts at messing with his core, that doesn't make him his father the domestic abuser. Tenko & Kotaro kind of have their dislike of heroes for their irresponsibility in common (Tomura even famously borrowed his dad's line on that) but that's pretty much it I think, and even then Tomura's hate is broader. I know the typical trope is for the well-intentioned-extremist-type villains to become the very thing they hate; but I just can't see much of that here.

#bnha #bnha 416 #bnha 417 #shigaraki tomura #shimura tenko #paranormal liberation front #PLF #league of villains #lov #kotaro shimura #midoriya izuku #all for one #all might

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traincat · 3 months

Note

got the sudden urge to re-read 'work song' this weekend after years of not really being into spideytorch anymore. the fic is still incredible, it's reminding me why i used to love them, but it got me wondering -- was there ever any canon fallout from sue, reed, and the kids being gone like that? i had already stopped reading the comics at that point.

It's funny, I've been thinking of Work Song recently too. I obviously like to get into the guts of canon in a lot of my fic, but Work Song was really an exercise in getting into the emotional fallout that comics tend not to deal with -- for both good and bad reasons. (I think the modern lack of dealing with pretty much any emotional fallout is bad, but also if you have a serial story you have to keep a certain amount of action going. Idk, complicated thoughts about pacing and sacrifices made for genre standards and the shifting of those standards from decade to decade, etc., etc.)

And the answer to whether the fallout is ever addressed in 616 canon is... kind of no? I think there were attempts made -- both Zdarsky in his Two-in-One series and Bendis, somewhat, in Infamous Iron Man were sort of digging into things, albeit notably before Reed and Sue were actually back. (Both of those series deal HEAVILY with their absence, though.) But both of those series were also cut short, and they have finales I'm not quite satisfied with, which in this case is the fault of neither author. I think Zdarsky tried with his final two issues of Two-in-One especially, especially the one that focuses on Johnny and Sue, but just didn't have the space to address the issue of Reed and Sue essentially leaving Johnny and Ben with the gravitas and nuance that it deserved. And given that Johnny is, you know, flat out suicidal over this issue in the first ten issues of Two-in-One, that's a problem. (IIM also has a disappointing final two issues, but it focuses much more on Ben and Doom than on Johnny. Hell of a setup, wish it didn't feature the biggest copout resolution of all time.) And again I don't think this is either writer's fault -- they were both clearly trying to do something interesting and emotional, and 2n1 had a really good set up and character work. It just wasn't given the space to stick any kind of landing before everything had to be wrapped up in a tidy little bow so Slott could write some mystifyingly bad stories. (I don't believe Slott ever seriously addresses the fallout, but I could be wrong. I skimmed the back half of that run hard.)

And also I think this was something of a foundational problem that sprung from Reed and Sue and the kids going missing not as an actual story point but as a hissy fit over film rights. There was never any solid plan in action for where they were or what they were doing or what Ben and Johnny fought over that caused Ben to leave for space and Johnny to spiral out of control -- it was all just "this is happening now because we canceled the Fantastic Four comic because we want the film rights." It's very hard to build a story on shaky ground like that when you've got multiple writers, all who seemed to have slightly different takes, and apparently no one on an editorial level actually managing all of that to make sure there was a cohesive story in place. Even if the reader doesn't have that information, there should be some kind of established story for the writers to follow, and it kind of seemed like there just wasn't. (I say "kind of seemed" because obviously I wasn't there and I don't know for sure, but also like, we know for sure that there wasn't. By reading the comics it was very clear that there wasn't.) It's frustrating to think about it now because it could have been some really great storytelling, and instead it was addressed just barely and then kind of rushed along. And I feel similarly about Superior Spider-Man's fallout, except they keep resurrecting that concept every two years and kicking it around like it has anything interesting left in it.

#*replies #traincat talks comics

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triflesandparsnips · 9 months

Text

Good Omens Book Club

So I have, in other fandoms, talked about the importance of what an audience can actually see on the screen. Specifically: When a constrained format (like, say, between 45 to 56 minutes of a single visual/audio input) is telling a constrained story (like, say, something that must start, climax, and resolve within some kind of structure), it's useful for the audience to pay attention to what gets given the valuable real estate of camera/story time.

So when time is given and effort made to show the actual titles of actual books... well.

Figure 1. Local bookshelf weighted down by an over-abundance of literary allusions.

This is a screenshot from episode 3 of Good Omens's second season, as Jim is reshelving all the books in Aziraphale's book shop by the first letter of their first sentences. He's about to shelve Jane Austens's Pride and Prejudice ("It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.") and the red sideways book, that he is about to pick up, is Good Omens itself ("It was a nice day.").

But, unusually, we can see the title of almost every other book on the shelf. Several of them appeared in the advertising poster, too, as I outlined previously (if you click that link, be advised that I am very proud of several bits of that essay and also let's not talk about how my go-to for musical references is Middle English folk rather than, say, Buddy Holly). Anyway-- with this in mind, and the understanding that time, effort, and celluloid have been spent on getting this shot to the audience, it would behoove us, I think, to actually look at these books.

Figure 2. A pair of showrunners providing not-so-subtle ancillary notation suggesting the same thing, so really, this is a no-brainer in terms of meta fodder.

Okay, Trifles, so what about the book club

Technically, this isn't my idea. It's Neil's and Douglas's, so jot that down.

What I figure is, I can provide a list of the books shown, their first lines, and a VERY brief summary of each. Those are below. And as I rewatch the show, I may reblog this post with additions, but also...

I've read some of these, but not all of them, and not recently -- with at least one of them, though, I remember enough to know that the first line and summary do nothing to showcase the heartrending possibilities the book may be alluding to for the overall Good Omens narrative.

And further-- as I collected these summaries and first lines, I started noticing some compelling commonalities. Which I, for one, would like to confirm and dig into more deeply.

So while I'm going to start reading these, it might be a Nice Idea for other folks to do so as well. The more write-ups we can get, the greater the concordance of Interesting Insights might be available. (And if you tag me in your write up, or otherwise draw my attention, I will gladly link your essay up here for the edification of others omfg.)

ANYWAY

The "Jim Shelving" Book List

From right to left (which feels odd, but it's the actual alphabetical-by-letter arrangement), and summaries from various internet sources:

Herzog, by Saul Bellows

"If I am out of my mind, it's all right with me, thought Moses Herzog."

"Herzog is a 1964 novel by Saul Bellow, composed in part of letters from the protagonist [...] The novel follows five days in the life of Moses E. Herzog who, at the age of forty-seven, is having a midlife crisis following his second divorce."

A Series of Unfortunate Events, (series) by Lemony Snicket

"If you are interested in happy endings, you would be better off reading some other book."

The first book in the series, The Bad Beginning, "tells the story of three children, Violet, Klaus, and Sunny Baudelaire, who become orphans following a fire and are sent to live with Count Olaf, who attempts to steal their inheritance."

The Catcher in the Rye, by J. D. Salinger

"If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don’t feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth."

"The novel details two days in the life of 16-year-old Holden Caulfield after he has been expelled from prep school. [...] From what is implied to be a sanatorium, Holden, the narrator and protagonist, tells the story of his adventures before the previous Christmas."

The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald

"In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since."

"Set in the Jazz Age on Long Island, near New York City, the novel depicts first-person narrator Nick Carraway's interactions with mysterious millionaire Jay Gatsby and Gatsby's obsession to reunite with his former lover, Daisy Buchanan."

The Bible, (anthology) by God et al.

"In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth."

"25 And the Lord spake unto the Angel that guarded the eastern gate, saying 'Where is the flaming sword that was given unto thee?'

26 And the Angel said, 'I had it here only a moment ago, I must have put it down some where, forget my own head next.'

27 And the Lord did not ask him again."

The Big Sleep, by Raymond Chandler

"It was about eleven o’clock in the morning, mid October, with the sun not shining and a look of hard wet rain in the clearness of the foothills."

"Private investigator Philip Marlowe is hired by wealthy General Sternwood to stop a blackmailer. Marlowe suspects that the old General is merely testing his caliber before trusting him with a bigger job, one involving Sternwood's two amoral daughters."

Nineteen Eighty-Four, by George Orwell

"It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen."

"In George Orwell's iconic and prophetic masterpiece, 1984, a haunting vision of a dystopian future unfolds. Set in a world dominated by the all-seeing eye of Big Brother, the story follows Winston Smith, a lowly Party member whose very thoughts are scrutinized. As the Party manipulates history and suppresses truth, Winston's yearning for individuality and connection pushes him into a daring dance on the edge of rebellion."

[A title I cannot, unfortunately, read-- if anyone who HAPPENS to be familiar with the show and HAPPENS to perhaps also be on tumblr just HAPPENS to say what this book might be, that would be Very Much Appreciated]

"????"

[WOW I WISH I WAS A SUMMARY OH WELL]

Catch-22, by Joseph Heller

"It was love at first sight."

"Set in the closing months of World War II in an American bomber squadron off the coast of Italy, Catch-22 is the story of a bombardier named Yossarian who is frantic and furious because thousands of people he has never even met keep trying to kill him. Joseph Heller's bestselling novel is a hilarious and tragic satire on military madness, and the tale of one man's efforts to survive it."

Love in the Time of Cholera, by Gabriel García Márquez

"It was inevitable: the scent of bitter almonds always reminded him of the fate of unrequited love."

"The story, which treats the themes of love, aging, and death, takes place between the late 1870s and the early 1930s in a South American community troubled by wars and outbreaks of cholera. It is a tale of two lovers, artistic Florentino Ariza and wealthy Fermina Daza, who reunite after a lifetime apart."

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, by Mark Haddon

"It was seven minutes after midnight."

"The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time is a 2003 mystery novel by British writer Mark Haddon. [...] The novel is narrated in the first-person perspective by Christopher John Francis Boone, a 15-year-old boy who is described as "a mathematician with some behavioural difficulties" living in Swindon, Wiltshire. [...] Christopher sets out to solve the murder [of a neighbor's dog] in the style of his favourite (logical) detective, Sherlock Holmes."

The Crow Road, by Iain Banks

"It was the day my grandmother exploded."

A Scottish family drama about a perfect murder against the backdrop of the 1990s Gulf War. "This Bildungsroman is set in the fictional Argyll town of Gallanach, the real village of Lochgair, and in Glasgow, where the adult Prentice McHoan lives. Prentice's uncle Rory disappeared eight years previously while writing a book called The Crow Road. Prentice becomes obsessed with papers his uncle left behind and sets out to solve the mystery. Along the way he must cope with estrangement from his father, unrequited love, sibling rivalry, and failure at his studies."

No Woman No Cry: My Life with Bob Marley, by Rita Marley with Hettie James

"I was an ambitious girl child."

"Fans of reggae legend Bob Marley will welcome this no-nonsense biography from his wife, Rita, who was also his band member, business partner, musical collaborator and the only person to have witnessed firsthand his development from local Jamaican singer to international superstar."

I Capture the Castle, by Dodie Smith

"I write this sitting in the kitchen sink."

"I Capture the Castle tells the story of seventeen-year-old Cassandra and her family, who live in not-so-genteel poverty in a ramshackle old English castle. Here she strives, over six turbulent months, to hone her writing skills. She fills three notebooks with sharply funny yet poignant entries. Her journals candidly chronicle the great changes that take place within the castle's walls, and her own first descent into love."

...and because I happen to know and love this book, I'm aware of the devastating last lines...

"Only the margin left to write on now. I love you, I love you, I love you."

#good omens #good omens s2 #good omens book club

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renaiswriting · 9 months

Text

Shadows of Desire (part 10)

Pairing: Yoon Jeonghan/Reader

Summary:

You always thought the only romance you would experiment with in your life was the one between pages under the flames at midnight. That was until you found him, because the feel of his fangs digging into your neck was more than addictive.

Word count: +5.4k words

Warnings: Mentions of death, mentions of blood.

If you want to be tagged, please fill out the tag list form.

Author's note: shout-out to my Shadows of Desire playlist because it really helped me find inspiration to write this part lol

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"Are we running out of garlic again— Hey! Wow, why are you so jumpy?"

You looked in and shook at Luke as he lifted the mess you had made without missing the swearing coming from his mouth.

You apologized, but your shoulders were still tense.

"I don't know," you replied, noticing that Luke was still expecting an answer. "I just had a bad dream, I guess."

The memories and the well-lived sensations came back to your mind once again, and the ghost of a person you thought you knew made an appearance in your mind.

"You've been locked in your room way too much lately," Luke clicked his tongue, and I don't think it's doing you any favors. Maybe you should go outside for a while. Why don't you go and pick some blueberries? Mark told me there are barely any left. God knows when we will have some jam if we don't use it now."

"I don't know..." Luke frowned, sitting down on your bed and looking at your current state.

"Why not? It was never an issue before. Want me to go with you?"

"You hate going there." You shook your head. "I'll think about it, alright?" You offered, but your poor attempt to fool Luke was in vain.

"I'll go and get Mark if you want to go with someone; maybe that friend of yours could tag alone as well?"

You froze on your spot.

Your heartbeat quickly started picking up, and your hands suddenly felt way too cold.

"No."

Luke looked at you weirdly.

"I don't want to see him."

"What happened?" Luke asked. "Did he do something?"

You stared at Luke.

What could you answer to that question?

You were still pretty confused yourself.

Technically, it was a bad dream.

Like the one you had years ago where you stole Susan's sheep and made a meal with them.

It wasn't real.

But the feeling was so real that it did make you feel like you were the most horrible monster ever.

And even though you could still tell it was a dream, you weren't so sure this time.

It had felt so real.

You could remember every single thing that had happened in front of your eyes.

Every single thing

And that made your head feel dizzy.

The lines that differentiated between what was real and what was a product of your mind were blurry.

"No." You finally spoke. "I just think it would be for the best for me to stay away from him. At least just for some time."

"Keep him from taking you the wrong way." Luke nodded. "Why don't you go and have tea with Susan? A woman can only be truly understood by another woman."

"Yeah, maybe." You nodded, and Luke thankfully took it. That was the best he would get anyway.

"Mark is going tonight." Luke informed me, cleaning his throat, not knowing where to look. You wanted to laugh; he was usually really awkward whenever he tried to comfort you.

"I'll bake a pie then." You promised. Your words had the effect you were expecting, taking some of the worry off Luke's face.

"If you want to." He shrugged, but there was a pleasing smile on his face. You could tell he was already looking forward to the dessert. "We're running out of fruits, though." He mentioned it on his way out of your room. "You might want to go and buy some before it's too late."

You wanted to slap yourself.

Of fucking course you were running out of fruits; you have been eating them every day as if it were your last meal.

And not just fruits.

You have been doing everything as if it were your last.

You weren't sure if it was because you have always loved fruits and the eating part helped you calm down from all your nervousness and anxiety or if your body was genuinely making you devour everything that was in front of you because there was a thin chance of it being your last.

"Luke I don't want to go alone." You cried, jumping from your bed to rush towards the front door where Luke was standing, putting his biggest jacket over his shoulders.

"I'm sorry, but I cannot go with you. I still own them some money; if I go there, they will not let me live." Luke replied, taking his favorite hat from the chair.

"Are you going to Mark's?" You asked hopefully.

"Yeah, but only to bring back my beer. I bought a lot in the bar last night, and I was so drunk that he fooled me into giving it to him. He's not going to be back until it's dinner time."

"Can't you really not go on your own?" Luke sighed frustratedly, trying to free himself from your hold on his arm.

"I will try." You mumbled, the pout in your face not really doing anything to make Luke change his mind.

"It will only take ten minutes." He reassured you, "Are you sure you want to go in your pajamas?"

It was dark.

Not peach-dark.

But dark nonetheless.

The sky was slowly turning from pink to purple, dark blue, and finally black.

And the birds making sudden noises were making your heart beat as if you were in a race.

You hated the way you had the urge to turn your head with every step you took.

You saw a girl walking in front of you, and that somewhat made you feel safer.

At least you weren't completely alone.

You forced yourself to take a deep breath and stop walking.

Breathe, you reminded yourself.

And for the next ten minutes, as you wandered deeper into the darkness of the tall trees that covered what was left of the light, you kicked at a rock you had found on the ground.

Somehow, it helped.

It was not a person.

Or an animal.

But you felt somewhat accompanied.

Less lonely.

Oh, Jiji, you lamented that the poor thing was probably still in a lot of pain from the snakebite she had come up with earlier that morning.

That's what she gets for wandering around at night, you thought, shaking your head.

Luke had made you swear that you would let Jiji sleep outside one night because every morning he woke up with the living room full of the remains of Jiji's needs.

The poor dog had almost no outlet to do any of her business at night.

But you couldn't help it; you were afraid something bad would happen to her.

This time it was a snake bite, but next time it might be a bite from a...

No.

Nothing like that

Stop it.

But obviously, it was easier said than done.

All those memories, all those sensations... Your heart was still aching against your chest, beating so fast whenever you caught yourself wandering around that nightmare.

It was like your lungs suddenly had trouble holding in air because no matter how much you tried to breathe, the air was never enough.

It was difficult to correctly classify all the emotions you experienced when you couldn't help but think about them.

Were those images simply a figment of your mind, a twisted fantasy that your subconscious was trying to prove?

You had never experienced anything similar; all your dreams, no matter how beautiful or terrifying they had been, were always a blur.

When you woke up, you could remember, on a good day, at least a quarter of what you had actually dreamed.

If anyone asked you, there were only a handful of dreams that you could actually remember, and even these had not been as sharp as those of that night.

Jeonghan... You had come to consider him a friend.

He had earned a soft spot in your heart.

You felt like a stupid young girl.

Had it all been a game to him?

What was it?

All this time, all the shared moments? All the nights you'd asked him to stay with you while you were falling asleep, so vulnerable, you'd left it up to him to do whatever he wanted.

You swallowed the saliva that had accumulated in you dryly; the knot in your stomach didn't seem to go away.

Your fists clenched, and you kicked the rock as hard as you could in the direction of the nearest tree.

Maybe all those times Luke and Mike teased you, telling you that you weren't ready for the real world, they were right.

Walking in the direction where the poor rock that had accompanied you up to that moment had fallen, you let yourself fall beside it.

You drew your legs up to your chest, allowing your elbows to jab against your knees.

Your hands covered your face as a frustrated sigh escaped through your fingers.

You hated it. The way your heart was still beating fast as, with your free hands, you pulled the dagger out of your back that Jeonghan had plunged into you

You had trusted him so much.

Maybe his friend sensed it.

Maybe he hadn't been the true villain you had believed him to be.

The nausea suddenly became more noticeable as the realization formed in your mind.

His friends.

Fuck.

They were probably part of it.

Monsters.

All of them.

The ones who hated you

The ones who didn't want Jeonghan to hang out with you

Those who didn't even want to see you a kilometer closer to Jeonghan.

Alarm bells began to ring in your brain, and your body was, once again, at the beginning of a crisis.

Even with the big gulps of air you were trying to inhale, the feeling that you were suffocating didn't stop.

The palms of your hands made contact with the ground, with different branches, sharp rocks, and wet grass tearing at your skin on contact.

Your eyes were wide open like two saucers, and tears were starting to fall down your cheeks without your permission.

Were you about to die?

You had never had such a near-death experience, but you were sure you were half a foot away from passing to the other side.

The memory of that dream popped into your mind, almost as if mockingly asking you, "Are you sure you were never about to die before?"

A cold hand landed on the center of your back; his body invaded the ground, glued to yours, while with his other hand he tried to move his face to the ground.

You screamed.

Or so you thought, because you felt a heartbreaking burning sensation in your throat.

Your hands moved quickly from the floor, where they had been supporting your weight, to try to fight whoever was there.

But now that your body was still leaning on the ground without your hands to help distribute the weight, you lost your balance, making you shut your eyes, ready for the impact of your face hitting the ground.

Your heart skipped a beat when the words careful hit your ear.

Jeonghan was holding you close to his chest.

Your hearing was trying to sharpen as much as possible so you could catch a hint of a heartbeat.

But all you could hear was your own heart thudding against your ear.

"Shhh." Jeonghan spoke low, his voice entering your ears like a spell. "Breathe," he instructed. "Take five deep breaths in through your nose and out through your mouth. Can you do that? Can you do that for me?"

"You... You came to—you're going to kill me." You replied, your voice almost impossible to understand because of your gasping breath. Your eyes wouldn't stop leaking tears, your eyes were red and puffy, and your nose was running.

"Breathe." Jeonghan replied, trying to bring your altered mind back to his simple instructions. "Copy the way I'm breathing."

His cold hands were holding you as close to him as possible without actually hurting you.

But instead of calming you, his presence was having the opposite effect.

You started kicking and slapping his arms and hands away from you.

The slapping on his hands shocked him enough to let you go, and as soon as you were out of his hold, you moved as far from him as possible without standing up.

His eyes were on your face, studying your every move. Both of his hands were raised, facing you, so you could see his movements.

"(Y/n). Please breathe; you're going to hyperventilate." He sat down in a much more comfortable position, but that slight change in posture was enough to send you into panic mode once again. "I won't move, alright? Look at me. I'm here. I won't move closer." He stated this, even moving a few centimeters back.

"You're going to hurt me; you came here to finish what you attempted to start, god knows when." You shook your head in disbelief. Your words were slowly becoming more understanding as you were starting to accept your fate. "Did you invite them? Are they around?"

"Them? Who are you talking about? It's just me. Jeonghan." He replied, looking confused enough. His right hand was where his heart, if he were still a human and alive, should be beating.

"Your friends." You replied. Your eyes were still red, and old tears were still on your cheeks. Your eyes were looking at him, but they were emotionless. All the previous crying had somehow drained you of any other feeling.

This was it. You thought. There's no going back now. There's not a single chance to get away with this, not alive at least.

I hope I taste awful. The thought came to your mind, and a wave of angriness started to build inside of you. I hope they all get poison from my blood. I hope they remember me for being the worst they have ever tasted.

"I'm not with them." Jeonghan replied, looking defeated. His eyes traveled from your face to the ground, and a frown was visibly on his forehead. It felt out of place. His face didn't match those expressions.

"So you came here to have me all to yourself?" you laughed. The lack of grace in your laughter was more than evident.

"No." Jeonghan replied, backing away a few steps as if the very question was physically hurting him. As if your words were daggers stabbing him. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"But you tried to."

"(Y/n)..." Jeonghan stood up, walking five steps closer to you.

"You did. Back off. Now. I don't want you near me."

"I'm not here to hurt you; I'm here to protect you. I want to talk with you." Jeonghan replied, his voice sounding like a plea.

"And if I say no, then what will happen? Will you play with my mind, with my memories, the way you have been doing all this time?" You replied angrily. "I don't know what games you're playing, but I'm out. I won't take part in it any longer."

"You played with my memories; do you have any idea of how fuck up that is? Do you even know how fucked up it is to wake up not sure of what's real and what's not?" You added. "No, you have no idea." You replied to yourself before Jeonghan even got a chance to reply.

"I didn't mean for you to get this scared of me."

"Well, it's a little bit too late for that."

"I only ever meant to protect you. I swear. I never tried to hurt you."

"Shut up. I don't want to listen to you. I don't want to see you. Just go and leave me alone. You and all the others that are just like you."

Jeonghan frowned once again. "It just doesn't make sense. I don't understand what could have possibly happened for you to get so—what did you see?"

"And now you're going to play dumb?" You were sick of it. I'm sick of the situation and of Jeonghan. You stood up, starting once again on your way to the place where you should already be.

You wondered if Luke was already back.

Did he realize you were not home yet?

"(Y/n)! Wait." Jeonghan ran to walk next to you. "Please, I think there's something wrong."

"Besides what you did?" You asked sarcastically.

Jeonghan holds you by your wrist, making it impossible for you to escape from his grip.

"Don't touch me." You spoke with a much braver voice than you really felt.

In reality, you wished for nothing else but for Jeonghan to tell you it had been just a bad dream.

A nightmare.

"You were lying down. In the ground. There was blood. Lots of blood. I tried to help you, but you stood up and tried to kill me." Your eyes naturally moved to his half-open mouth, his shinny teeth, and his sharp fangs, which only now were a little bit too sharp for them to be considered... Normal.

His eyebrows drew so close together that they almost seemed to form a unibrow. If there had been any more color in his face at that moment, it would have been gone.

The cold night breeze did nothing to stop the shivers and shivering that ran through your body. Your feet and hands were already frozen, and you didn't need to see your reflection to know that both your cheeks and nose were red.

The breeze blowing through the dampness that had left such a cry helped keep you grounded in reality.

What Jeonghan had already done, you had no way to change.

As much as you wanted to beg and wish it were otherwise, what was done was done.

"No, that's not—those are not the memories that I hide from you; that doesn't—listen. That's not what happened that night; it wasn't me that did that. It was someone else." Jeonghan spoke quickly, his words barely making sense as he started a new sentence before finishing the one he started before. You could almost physically feel the way his brain was working overtime in such a short time.

"That night I was hunting near your house. When I heard a scream. Your scream. I don't usually get involved, especially when I know it's another one of ours—another vampire, hunting. But this area is usually my clan's. We try not to hunt humans, so our diet is mostly animal. Sheep, in my preference. So I was alarmed. When I got to where I heard that scream, I saw you with another vampire. A vampire who unfortunately seems to be more involved in your life than you think. The only memories of that night I erased were of myself when I started fighting that vampire."

"Am I supposed to believe you?" you asked incredulously. But the truth was, you didn't know what to believe anymore. "I'm sure about the people in my life. And not one, not one person in that small circle, would be able to hurt me."

"(Y/n), I need you to trust me on this one. Please. I really think you're in danger right now. I don't know what to do—maybe Seungcheol might know; he's the oldest of my clan." Jeonghan started thinking out loud, talking to himself while holding your wrist tightly while he started walking deep into the woods, making you follow him clumsily behind.

Your heels dug into the ground as best you could, trying with all your might to avoid being dragged to wherever Jeonghan was trying to take you.

His hand was gripping your wrist so tightly that his fingers were already beginning to mark your skin.

"I'm not going anywhere with you; let go of me!"

Jeonghan turned, glaring at you. "I regret to inform you that on this occasion you don't have much of a choice. You are in danger."

You began to struggle again to get him to let go, but a wave of peace and tranquility washed over you, making your brain feel funny and a little dizzy.

You didn't quite remember why you had been so upset.

What had happened?

You smiled.

You had no idea.

"Better?" Jeonghan asked you again, this time holding you more gently. You nodded, still a little confused but unable to help the oeaueueueque chuckle that escaped your lips. Jeonghan smiled back, switching hands to hold your wrist with his left hand and your back with his right. "I'm glad. Now we'll go to my place; I need to check that everything is okay before I return you home, okay?"

"Okay."

Slowly that dizzy, tingling feeling in your head began to disappear. It was like you had a cloud in front of your eyes, and with each step, you could see more clearly.

Jeonghan was walking briskly, but he seemed to remember that you needed to move slower, especially with so much darkness.

"Where—?"

"We're almost there." Jeonghan replied gently, but his gaze was on the ground, still too busy with his own thoughts.

You didn't try to fight your way out.

It was in vain.

You couldn't even see the ground; there was no way to escape and run away from there without being discovered.

You walked in silence for about another five minutes. Five minutes that made you think about every single possibility, every possible scenario

Five minutes in which Jeonghan was constantly turning backwards and sideways, sharpening his ears to their maximum capabilities

Five minutes to say goodbye.

Jeonghan had told you he didn't plan to hurt you.

But they were on their way to the house he shared with those who hated you so much.

You closed your eyes, talking to your mother for a few moments.

When your eyes opened again, you found yourself in front of two lanterns and a large black gate, which protected a huge house that looked like something out of those old stories you loved to read.

Both the gate and the house at the back of the road were black. Some lights were on, and you could have sworn you saw two shadows moving behind the white curtains of one of the second-floor windows.

If you weren't so terrified, you would have found it very pretty.

It was like a castle.

Jeonghan opened the gate, letting you walk first before closing it again behind himself.

"They won't hurt you." Jeonghan mentioned noticing your tense shoulders. You didn't bother to reply at all, giving him the cold shoulder instead.

The door opened, and a strong smell of lavender invaded your senses.

It did kind of help to calm your nervousness and anxiety a little bit.

The floor was made of a shiny material that made the colors white and black shine as if they were made of glass.

They felt nice on your now-barefoot feet.

There was some really low music coming from one of the rooms.

And at the end of the hall, there were big, pretty intimidating stairs.

One man, with fair skin and ash blonde hair, walked down from the second floor, his shoulders bouncing up and down with each step he took.

He walked so relaxed that you really wanted him to make you believe he meant no harm.

"Hey." He greeted you as he walked past both of you, entering another room from the first floor.

"Have you seen Seungcheol?" Jeonghan asked him, his hand pushing you softly from your back towards the room the guy had just entered.

He shook his head, pouring himself a red drink in a glass. Your stomach suddenly felt sick once you realized what he was drinking.

Blood.

He took a bug-glup of it, sighing happily once the blood hit the back of his throat.

"I haven't seen him for the whole night." He spoke again, his teeth now looking quite red as well.

"I'm just waking up anyway; maybe ask Wonwoo?"

"Thanks, Vernon." Jeonghan replied, grabbing himself by the wrist and entering a spacious living room.

The place was huge. There were multiple armchairs. They were all white, and their cushions were red.

In the center of the room, there was a black piano and many paintings on the walls.

Your eyes instinctively moved to the large library that took up an entire wall.

Wonwoo, as you guessed, was a tall, slender young man with big shoulders and a small waist.

His hair was black, and his eyes were perusing the words of a book that must be at least a thousand pages long.

His eyes reminded you very much of the eyes of a cat.

"What do you need?" He spoke. His voice was deep and clear.

"Have you seen Seungcheol?" Jeonghan asked again.

"No. He probably went to the village. As far as I know, he had some business to take care of there." His eyes didn't move from his book, but the next question did take you by surprise. "What is she doing here?"

"Please, let me know when Seungcheol's back." Jeonghan replied instead, taking you to one of the rooms upstairs.

The bedroom was small—bigger than yours but way smaller than the two other rooms you have been to in that house. It had a big bed that could easily fit three people comfortably, maybe even four.

There were some plants here and there, but most of them were already too dry to bring back to life, and a big closet

There was nothing really personal there.

Nothing that screamed Jeonghan

So it did make you second-guess if that was actually his room.

"You can take a seat." Jeonghan offered, pointing at the small sofa under the window.

"I'm alright." You replied.

"It might take a while before he comes back; I really suggest you take a seat." He repeated himself. "Are you hungry? I can go downstairs and make you something to eat."

"No, I would rather go back home."

"Look, I know you're mad at me. I know that. I understand that. But I really did all that for your own good. There are things that you can never know happened—things that your brain removed for your own good. And if it were in my power—if it were up to me—I'd be telling you by now. All of them. In great detail. But I can't. Not without knowing how dangerous it is. So please trust me. I'm asking a lot, I know. But please let me do some research. Let me find out what's within my reach before I start talking and put us both in danger."

You remained silent but sat down on the couch, as Jeonghan had indicated.

Jeonghan breathed a sigh of relief, taking off the coat he had been wearing and putting it away in the closet.

"Would you like a sandwich? I'm sorry that's the best I can offer you, but as you must have discovered, our diet isn't the most diverse on the planet." Jeonghan offered with a small smile.

"Okay." You accepted, and your stomach was seconds away from starting to growl hungrily. "But not too big; my brother had promised me to cook dinner tonight."

It was an obvious hint you had thrown at him, and Jeonghan seemed to pick up on it just as quickly.

"I'll try to get everything done quickly so you don't have to miss your dinner." Jeonghan promised. "But I'm not sure how late Seungcheol will be."

You nodded, allowing Jeonghan to go and bring you something from the kitchen.

You could hear some noises here and there, but you purposely ignored them and distracted yourself with the view of the outside you had from Jeonghan's room.

The moon looked very beautiful that night.

"Thank you." You thanked Jeonghan, accepting the plate he was handing you. His cold fingers brushed against your fingers accidentally, and you wanted to think.

"I hope it tastes good."

"It does," you replied, taking a second bite.

Jeonghan watched you eat with a smile on his face. He seemed too happy with the outcome of his sandwich.

"You're not going to eat?"

"I can't." Jeonghan shook his head. "Anything other than...you know, it goes bad for my stomach."

"What if you eat human food, then?" you asked curiously.

"I throw up." Jeonghan replied calmly. "It's involuntary; I like to smell food." He added. "It reminds me of when I could eat it. But no matter how many times I try to eat it, it tastes bad to me."

"And how do you know when you have to...?"

Jeonghan chuckled softly. "I can sense when I need to hunt." He replied. "You can feel it in the back of my throat—the need to drink blood. My body gets cold."

Your eyes widened, remembering how Jeonghan's body temperature felt compared to yours.

"Don't worry, I'm not on the verge of having to go hunting yet or drink blood. My hands are the first to get cold."

"So you can't drink that until you feel it in your throat?" You tried to ask for help to calm your own erratic heart.

"Oh, no. I can drink whenever I want."

"Then why not drinking now? Don't you have blood downstairs?"

"Yes." Jeonghan took a deep breath, his eyes moving to yours. "But I don't want to scare you any more than you already are."

"I'm more terrified to know that you're in the same room as me with the slightest feeling of hunger." You confessed to him.

Jeonghan looked at you for a few seconds, contemplating your words and his options.

"Would you feel more comfortable with me drinking here or in the kitchen?"

"Here." You replied confidently. "I need to know if it's just as scary as in my dream."

You needed to start being able to distinguish what was true and what wasn't.

For your own sake.

Jeonghan nodded. "Very well, then."

He came back to the room with a bottle that, fortunately, made it impossible to see what it had in its interior.

He took one last look at you. "Are you sure you want to see this?" He asked.

"Yeah."

He nodded, taking a deep breath before his lips met the bottle. As the liquid started filling his mouth, his shoulders started being so tense, his eyes shut tight, and his forehead frowned as he took more and more of the blood.

His breath became more erratic, sounding as if he were fighting to fill his lungs with air.

He opened his eyes; they were full of red. His pupils were so dilated that you couldn't see where they started or where they ended.

A shiver ran through your body, not knowing what to make of his gaze on you.

It frightened you.

But it intrigued you.

You were unable to break eye contact.

With shaky legs, you stood up, walking closer to where he was.

He followed your every move, and as you got closer, the sound of the blood traveling down his throat became louder.

Your hands slowly approached the bottle, holding it on your own.

Jeonghan's eyes opened wide, but he freed the bottle from his own hand, letting you do whatever you wanted to do.

You held it intact for a few minutes until it was fully empty.

You sit down next to him, taking a quick look at the bottle and at his red lips.

"What does it taste like?" You asked him, trying to fill the awkward silence that had fallen on you both.

"Like chocolate." He joked. His eyes were still fully dilated. He looked drunk with blood. "Less sweet, though. Since it isn't fresh blood."

You nodded, looking away.

"So?" Jeonghan asked after some minutes, and you looked at him confused. "Was it like in your dream?"

"Oh," you replied, "no. I don't know. It wasn't really from a bottle there."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Alright." He added, looking everywhere but you.

"Can you try it?" You asked him at the same time he was saying, "I should better bring that downstairs."

"What?" He asked, alarmed.

"Can you try it?" You repeated yourself, bringing your arm closer to him and uncovering your skin from the fabric that was covering it.

"No." He shook his head. Looking seriously at you. "Why would I ever do that?"

"I need it." You looked at him straight in the eyes. "I don't know what's real and what's not, and this is the only way. You were the one in the dream; I need to see if it is like that."

"You almost had a panic attack today when you saw me; do you think this is really the best idea? What if it is like your dream? How could that be of any help? I need you to trust me and understand that it wasn't me."

"Please."

"No."

"Just for one second." You tried again. "Please."

"Maybe another day. It was definitely a lot for a single day."

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