#this show ruins me over and over again every week why am i even doing this to myself

[hansoeii]

it’s okay, babygirl.

[heartsforhavik]

yandere kung lao I’m begginf,,,,

self aware! yandere kung lao x reader pt.1

warnings: mk1 story mode spoilers, obsessiveness, gender neutral reader, ooc kung lao, self aware kung lao

summary: kung lao is aware he is in a video game, and he just loves you so much. he just wishes he didn’t have to be behind a screen.

a/n: anon im so sorry it took me a bit to get to this, anyways i decided to mix it up and make kung lao self aware bc i thought my yandere hcs were getting too repetitive and i am also a diehard SAGAU fan. (also sorry for my mini break, finals week is crazy man.)

part 2

- kung lao *hated* being stuck behind a screen. behind a stupid wall. away from you.

- you were just a regular mortal kombat fan. when mortal kombat 1 was announced, you were just so excited to get your hands on the game.

- you watched playthroughs before you could buy the game, and you were so happy when you found out that you could play as kung lao in the first chapter of story mode.

- when you got your hands on the game, you noticed that every time he had a funny one-liner in the story mode, he would look at the camera and wink. that’s weird… he didn’t do that in the playthroughs you watched… but oh well, it’s probably nothing.

- in the final battle you even chose to play as kung lao out of all the fighters. he was surprisingly easy to use, and his moves seemed to hit even harder than usual and the fights would be over in a blink of an eye. maybe he was buffed just for the fights?

- and when you finished the story mode and checked out all the skins and rewards you got, you noticed that you somehow had all of kung lao’s stuff unlocked. all of his palettes, skins, brutalities, etc. everything. you owned all of it. even the ones that weren’t out yet.

- you thought it was just a glitch, so you shut your device down and restarted it. but when you opened it again, his stuff was still there.

- and it got even weirder. when you tried to practice, the game only let you use kung lao. for some reason, you couldn’t use any other fighter. you couldn’t even use any kameo other than kung lao.

- he was still your favorite character and all, but that was weird. you tried to exit out of the game and restart it again, but it wouldn’t shut down. the game stayed on. it was frozen on kung lao. and he seemed to just stare at you. as if he knew you were there.

- you were starting to get creeped out, so you completely powered off your device and decided to leave it disconnected overnight.

- but over that little period of time, even though it was only a few hours to you, it felt like an eternity for kung lao.

- he felt hurt. a bit betrayed, even. did you not like him anymore? was he not enough for you? he gave you everything he could. he did everything he could to show his love for you, since he cannot communicate any other way.

- without you playing the game, he felt nothing. he couldn’t feel your warmth. it was nothing but a cold, dark space. he needed you. he needed you to always be with him. even if he couldn’t communicate with you, he’d figure something out.

- that’s why he was changing the coding of the game. he had to always be on your screen, or at least give you hints that he was self aware. he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if you weren’t looking at him. if you weren’t using him all the time.

- what do you mean you want to main johnny cage? or raiden? or even syzoth? what do they have that kung lao doesn’t?

- you liked the powerful fighters? no worries, he can just nerf everyone else and completely manipulate the coding of the game so he has the best damage.

- you thought the other fighters were more attractive than him? he’ll change the game so their designs were ruined and less pleasing to your eye.

- he would mend himself to your liking. he just needed you to use him. please make him feel important and useful. make him feel worthy of being your main. your favorite.

- if anyone became your favorite instead of him, he would go ballistic. he would rethink his entire existence. he’s so strong, and funny, and easy to use. so why would you choose anyone else? what’s wrong with him? is he not enough for you?

- if kung lao found out you wanted to start using a different fighter, he would erase them from the game. they would be nowhere to be found. their image in the game would be warped into a bunch of blurry pixels.

- if he has to erase the entire kast of fighters, he will. he needs your love. he needs your attention. if he isn’t your favorite, then what is the point of his existence in the game?

- kung lao needs you. and you need him too. why can’t you see that? he’s done everything he could to gain your approval. he was already so great, but he changed himself for you. accept him. please.

- the last thing he would resort to is bringing you in the game with him. what better way to stay by your side, than force you into the world of mortal kombat?

- at first, he didn’t exactly like the thought of taking away your freedom, but the more he thought about it the more he craved your company. why stay behind your screen when he can just bring you with him? now, you don’t have to turn your device on and off! he’s not going anywhere. and you aren’t either.

[klausysworld]

Any chance of something With Klaus and reader, where reader is worried about how much time Klaus and Cami spend together, but Klaus plus everyone tells her not to worry. It their anniversary and reader is all ready for the night out that Klaus has planned but Klaus doesn’t show and comes home to find reader asleep on their bed still dressed in her gorgeous dress it then he remembers their anniversary.

You were with Cami

Pt 2

For weeks i had listened to the entire Mikaelson family had been persuading me that Klaus was loyal and would never do anything to harm me.

See he’d been spending the majority of his time with his new friend Camille, i’ve met her a few times and she’s so unbelievably nice. Like she’s polite, smiles, gives her perfect opinions and makes everything laugh. And just to top it off she likes me, decided we should be friends too. We even went out for lunch. She’s lovely. I would want her too. And i hate her for that.

It’s wrong to be mad at her but she must know that she’s some what harming mine and Klaus’s relationship. You can’t be giggling at every little thing he says with your hand on his bicep without knowing that you’re flirting.

One time she kissed his cheek right in front of me, she gave me such a kind smile i would have looked like a dick if i didn’t return it. When i brought it up to Klaus he told me i was being dramatic and needed to ‘calm down’

Somehow i’m not allowed to talk to a single being of the male community but if i get upset over him dancing with a gorgeous blond then i’m being jealous and pathetic. I thought at least Elijah would back me up being the ‘feminist’ he says he is but noooo “Niklaus loves you y/n, you’re imagining things. You’re hid redemption and you can’t be thinking silly things, it will ruin your relationship”

Well bet they weren’t prepared for me storming through the compound in a very expensive body con dress. One i had spent hours choosing so that my own boyfriend or whatever he was meant to be would notice me

See he had asked me to meet him at this restaurant and let me just say it was nice restaurant with a lot of snobs sat in it. Lets imagine the immense embarrassment i felt when i sat waiting at a table for over 4 hours. Thankfully the waiter was sympathetic and felt bad so he gave me some free drinks. I actually ended up having a pretty good chat with him, his fiancé had left him a week before their wedding, i think we both cried a little too much and the people in there did not like us.

Once the place closed i came back to the compound and the second i stepped foot inside it seemed to hit me again. He left me alone, no text, no call, no excuses. I was holding together until the other Mikaelsons came into view and Rebekah just had to mention him

“where’s Nik? i thought you two would’ve been back ages ago”

and i burst into tears. I saw the panic in all their faces as they quickly went to comfort me. Rebekah wrapped her arm around me and Kol took my hand but i shoved both of them off

“no! none of you get to pretend you care anymore, you all knew didn’t you? you knew he was with her, knew he wouldn’t come to be with me because why would he anymore!? And i swear if anyone of you says that i make him a better person i think i might just scream, i am not his redemption and i don’t mean anything to him anymore, your entire family is one big lie, you’re all liars and i hate all of you, i’m staying the night and that’s only because i have drank way too much to be driving but i don’t want any of you saying goodbye because i will be gone by the time you wake up and yes Elijah i know you get up fucking early” half of my words were definitely slurred but i think the message was clear regardless as i made my way upstairs and collapsed on Klaus and i’s bed. The bed that i thought we would both come back to, instead i was cold, alone and drunk.

———————————————————————

(third person)

Klaus had just got home to three nervous siblings. Elijah was pacing the length of the living area while Kol chugged his scotch and Rebekah chewed at her once perfectly manicured nails. Klaus narrowed his eyes as they all froze upon his arrival

“who did something stupid?” he asked with a sigh and Kol hesitantly raised his hand

“don’t dagger me but um i think you did…”

“what?”

“i’d check upstairs if i were you”

and so he did

Klaus turned the light on only to find his love curled up in a beautiful tight dress and a tear stained face. It took him a minute before he finally realised what had happened

“no no no no” he whispered as he lifted her passed out body, the smell of alcohol was strong as he held her in his arms

“oh my love, please forgive me” he uttered as he peppered her face with kisses

“i’m so sorry” he told her despite her unconscious state.

“you look so gorgeous sweetheart, you look like an angel” he whispered rocking her gently

“i’m going to make this all up to you when you wake up, i promise you y/n, i love you so so much” he carefully removed her dress and slipped one of his shirts onto her, he wiped her once flawless makeup off of her face

“i’m so sorry” he repeated continuously while getting her ready, slipping her heels from her feet and taking out her elegantly styled hair before brushing it through and plaiting it for her. He didn’t bother changing his clothes as he got into bed and held her as close to him as he could

“i’m so sorry i wasn’t with you”

“you were with Cami” she tiredly uttered, still pretty much unconscious though that didn’t stop the flow of tears in her sleep. His heart hurt as he heard her broken voice

“i��ll never speak to her again, i’ll never see her again” he promised both her and himself

“i love you” he muttered kissing her lips softly

[clockwayswrites]

Like Betta Fish Do - Part 14

Masterpost of ao3 link and all parts.

WC: 2650 (Ch 11 when on ao3) cw: post pit rage effects, talks of violence, blood, unreliable narrator

Jason came back to himself with dried blood on his knuckles and dread pooling in his stomach.

It was still sluggish to try and focus on the world around him. At least he was still in his apartment and the blood seemed contained to his hands and a smear on his shirt. Small blessings.

(His front door had seen better days.)

Stumbling, he dragged himself to his feet and out from the corner he had tucked himself into. It took him a moment to balance himself against the wall before he could stagger his way to slump onto the couch. Every part of him hurt— joints burned with a muted fire. Great, flair of his chronic pain on top of the Pit Rage. He must have missed a dose. Which made sense. It had gotten dark out. Or had gotten dark again. He wasn’t sure how long had passed. His body ached like it had been at least a day, but he had less fog than multiple days in the Rage would have brought.

The way his phone flashed missed notifications at him made him hesitate to check the time.

He had scared Danny. He had almost hit Danny. He hadn’t— he managed not to do that. No, he’d just threatened him by punching the door next to him.

Fuck, the other was never going to want to be near him again.

And he’d be right not to.

It was a fucking miracle that Jason’s family even tolerated him, after everything he had done to Tim and Dick and even Bruce. After everything he’d done to other people. He’d been dangerous.

He was dangerous.

So much for the ectoshot fixing anything. He’d had a few good weeks and now was back to this? Maybe it wasn’t about his infectious core. Maybe it was just him. Maybe he was rotten to the core with or without the Pit Madness.

Maybe there was no fixing him.

Jason’s hands shook so badly as he picked up his phone that he almost dropped it.

A meme from Dick that Jason didn’t understand. An invite to lunch with him and Tim in text and then a missed call. Eight texts from Danny.

Danny Thur 3:24 PM:

      I’m so sorry

What… what on earth was Danny sorry about?

Danny Thur 3:53 PM:

      I should have left when you told me to

      Let me know when you’re okay?

Danny 9:10 AM:

      I don’t know how long these last?

      Pls let me know when you’re alright.

      Just whenever you can.

Danny 2:38 PM:

      Jason?

Danny 2:39 PM:

      I’m sorry

Jason stared down at his phone, not comprehending Danny’s messages. Why was Danny sorry? All he had done was show up and try to help. Jason was the one who was a monster responded badly.

He cradled his phone, typing mangled messages with trembling fingers that he deleted again and again and again. Ignorant of his cheek hitting the send button, Jason pressed the heels of his palms hard against this eyes to try and keep the tears back. He wasn’t going to cry, damn it.

Except that he was.

Everything from all the the last few years had been building up and up and up and then finally— finally! There had been hope that maybe he wouldn’t have to fight back his own mind all the time. And he’d ruined it.

And he had hurt Danny.

Couldn’t he at least stop hurting people he cared about?

His phone range, suddenly and loud where it was pressed against his cheek. He fumbled it as he jerked it away from his sensitive ears.

A small voice, tinny in the phone’s speaker from where he held it as far away as possible, called out. “Jason?”

Fuck.

“Jason? Are… are you there?”

Jason opened his mouth to reply only for the words not to come out. He cleared his throat and tried again as he thumbed the phone onto speaker. It was easier than having that noise pressed up against his ear right then. “Danny.”

“Oh thank the Ancients,” Danny exhaled. “Are you okay? Shit, sorry, that’s probably a stupid question. Is there anything that I can do for you?”

“What?” Jason croaked.

“I— look, I promise not to come over without your permission or try to come inside if you don’t want me there, but I can, I don’t know… I can bring food? I can leave it outside your door. Are you hungry? Or do you need bandages or I don’t know, something comforting?” Danny asked. Danny pleaded. His voice sounded thick with emotions.

“What?” Jason was confused. He was trying to follow, but he just didn’t get it.

“Please, I’m sorry Jason. I just want to help you. And you can tell me to just fuck off! And I will. But if you need anything—”

“What… what are you apologizing for? I’m the one who…”

“Don’t, Jason—”

“I almost hit you!” Jason keened, his breath stuttering.

“But you didn’t Jason. You didn’t,” Danny said. Again, Danny pleaded. “You tried to get me to leave. I’m the one that fucked up. You knew you weren’t in control. You told me to leave and I didn’t. I was trying to be… your savior or something instead of being your friend, and I’m sorry. I know how annoying that is. There were times when I needed my sister and all I got was a therapist. I should have known better than to pull the same stuff. I should have left when you asked. You were just trying to protect me. It doesn’t matter that you wouldn’t have been able to hurt me, not long term.”

“I don’t want to even hurt you for a moment, fish,” Jason admitted honestly, maybe too honestly. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the bloody spot on his door.

“I know. And this time, next time, any time going forward I’ll listen when you tell me to leave, Jason. I promise. I’ll let you keep me safe. But I… just, fuck, Jason. Let me keep you safe too?”

Jason bit down on his lip to keep in the whine that wanted to escape. His head felt like it was split in two and he just wanted… he just….

He just wanted Danny there.

He wanted Danny there with his cool touch and laughter and care.

“Promise,” Jason said, despite himself. “Promise again.”

“I promise Jason,” Danny answered instantly. “The instant you tell me to leave again, I’m gone. You can keep me safe. Just please—”

“Okay. Okay… I… you’d come over?”

“Already putting on my shoes. Do you want me to get food?”

“Something warm. Pho?”

“Pho I can do. I’ll get some Cha Gio too,” Danny said, as if it was just any other visit between them.

Maybe it could still be okay.

“Okay.”

“Okay. I’ll see you soon, Jason.”

“Sure, fish.” Jason said.

Please, Jason just wanted it to be okay.

-

He should get up and clean. Jason knew that. There were shards of a coffee cup scattered over his floor, tea long soaked into the rug. He felt the itch of dried blood and cuts on the bottom of his feet.

The dried blood on his knuckles flaked off as he rubbed at it.

He should get up and clean.

Instead, he let his head fall back against the back of his couch and focused on breathing.

Once it had come out— entirely against his will— that he would still have bouts of pain that lingered from his death, the family had insisted that Jason seek help. It hadn’t gone over well. He didn’t talk to them for almost a month.

It might have all been easier if he hadn’t blurted out the fact during yet another argument about his attitude. Damian had been picking at him again. And of course Dick had been nervously fretting off to the side, worrying over making the fight worse… or maybe just worrying over making Damian worse. And Bruce had been judging him for snapping back (he’s just a child, Jason) and Tim had all but disappeared to hide in the shadows where Cass was silently watching. Damian scoffed (and no one scoffed like Damian) that nothing had even gone wrong that night and Jason had just gone off.

He had shouted that nothing needed to go wrong when he could feel the aches in his bones from where the crowbar had shattered him. That he hadn’t even wanted to go on patrol that night— that he had said no. But then Dick had pried at him about needing to be there for the family so he had come. And the case was over why wouldn’t they just let him go home and stop with the stupid debrief. He hurt and he just wanted to go home.

And home wasn’t the manor.

As always, it was Dick that pulled him back to the family after giving him room to cool off. Conservation had been stilted and strained, Jason walking away from it more than once to flee the pitying looks of his family, but they’d finally gotten through talking and the piles of research that Tim had done (because of course he had). Bruce had even spoken about his own lingering pain from old injuries. All the effort by his family resulted in Jason speaking with a Justice League physician.

It didn’t give a lot of answers— not for someone revived from the dead and then dipped in Lazarus Pits— but he had medication to take, preventative and emergency, and techniques to help with the pain.

It was rarely enough, but it was something.

He had just finished pushing himself through gentle stretches of his arms when there was a knock at his door. Jason felt himself tense, undoing all the work he’d just done. It was effort to remember to breath.

Danny insisted on coming over. Danny didn’t hate him.

“Come in.”

In the reverse of the other night, Danny stepped through the door like it was nothing. He cradled a loaded plastic bag to his chest, almost curled around it, and a messenger bag hung off his back. He seemed to sag further when their eyes met.

“Oh Jason,” Danny breathed.

Jason wanted to say something, but he just couldn’t find the words. Instead, he watched helplessly as Danny skirted the shards of ceramic and made his way over. The food was abandoned on the coffee table as Danny sat down next to it.

Without a moment of hesitation, Danny reached out to brush Jason’s hair back, and Jason practically crumpled into the touch.

“I’m sorry—” Jason tried to say.

“Stop apologizing.”

“No. I tried to hit you.”

“You didn’t,” Danny insisted. He ran his hands through Jason’s hair again, making Jason shudder slightly. “We both know if you tried to hit me you would have actually hit me. You tried to scare me because I wasn’t listening to you and you were scared. You didn’t try to hit me, Jason. You didn’t hurt me and you didn’t try to hurt me. You’ve done worse when we were sparing. I’ve done worse when we were sparing, or have you forgotten I bit you?”

Jason let his eyes close at another brush through his hair. “Course not. It’s when I realized you were insane.”

“Really? Not until then? Damn, I would have thought my very first note would have gotten me there.”

He almost felt like laughing. Had he ever laughed to soon after a Pit episode? “Fine, correction: it’s when I realized you were feral.”

“That sounds more like it,” Danny agreed. He still hadn’t stopped running his fingers through Jason’s hair. They slid down a little to scratch lightly at Jason’s scalp.

Fuck that felt nice.

“So here’s what we’re going to do,” Danny said. “I’m going to check over your foot and hand, then you’re going to shower, then we’ll bandage up anything that needs it, and then we’ll eat. And we’re not going to apologize anymore. You’re sorry, I’m sorry, we’ve both said it. We’re just going to focus on getting you well. Got it?”

“Got it,” Jason rasped.

It turned out, Jason had ceramic shards stuck him his foot. That explained the itching at least. Danny was surprisingly competent and picking the chunks out with the tweezers before declaring that nothing needed stitches. By the time that Jason had run through the shower, dressed in the softest clothing he had, and taken both his regular and emergency medication, Danny had cleaned up the mess on the floor.

‘Pride and Prejudice’ was paused on the TV screen, Danny’s laptop set up close by to stream it.

The smell of lemon grass and broth was rich in the air.

“Sit so I can put the ointment on your cuts,” Danny said, motioning to the couch.

“They’ll be—”

“Sit.”

Jason sat.

Danny tucked a blanket around him that Jason was pretty certain wasn’t his, and grabbed a foot before Jason could protest again. Jason wisely kept his mouth shut and let Danny tend to the cuts and split knuckles. “Do you need anything for the pain.”

“Took something already,” Jason said. His voice was still an uncomfortable rasp.

Danny glanced at him, as if trying to see if that was true, before nodding. “Good. Do you have lap trays or anything to eat on?”

“Over behind the trunk under the windows.”

Danny nodded and got up to wash his hands. “I’m staying here tonight.”

“Danny—”

“If you really want me to leave, you tell me and I will. But otherwise I’m staying here tonight because I want to know you’re alright.”

Danny was worried. Now that he could think past himself, Jason could notice the tension in Danny’s thin frame. Jason swallowed thickly and gave a jerky nod. “Okay.”

“And when you’re up to it— tomorrow or the next day or later this week— we’re going to go somewhere and spar.

Jason felt confused. “We’ve spared.”

“We’ve tussled like humans. We’re going to spar and I’m going to show you that you don’t need to treat me like I’m breakable. That doesn’t change my promise. If next time this happens you tell me to go, I’ll still go, but you need to know that I’m capable of protecting myself from a lot worse than what you can do.”

“I’m dangerous.”

“You are,” Danny agreed easily as he grabbed the lap trays. “But with the powers I have in my ghost form, you’re no match for me.”

He set them down on the coffee table and paused. Jason could practically see Danny searching for the words to say. It took him until all the food had been placed on the two trays for Danny to find them.

“I know you’re strong, Jason. I’m going to assume you know how to use the weapons you’ve got on display too. When you get your core and your powers I’ve got no doubt you’ll be a powerhouse. Maybe you can rival me someday, who knows. Halfas are weird,” Danny said with a twitch of a shrug. “But I’ve been fighting ghosts and winning since I was fourteen. When I was sixteen my friend Tucker ran the numbers— he was pretty sure I could beat Superman. I’ve only gotten stronger.”

Something dark flashed across Danny’s face before it was gone again. “I’ll never be as strong as I could be, I refuse to take those steps, but I’m just going to get stronger as I my powers continue to grow. And they will— I’m still getting used to the ring and the crown. Which I guess it what it really comes down to. It always sorta fucking does these days.

“You’re not going to hurt me, not in any lasting way— not when I’m the ghost’s King.”

-----

AN: Danny you dramatic little fuck, that was NOT how this chapter was supposed to end! This was not the moment for your reveal. But noooooo. Sigh. The second half of this chapter took on a real life of its own. The pain talk wasn’t planned either. Oh boys. Guess next chapter they’ll have to talk about that bombshell!

Anywho. Recovery isn’t linear, and I wanted to show that with these last two chapters. Sorry(?) for the angst! Stay delightful, darlings.

Tag list of doom:

@fisticuffsatapplebees​  @thegatorsgoose​  @wolfeyedwitch​  @lazy-bouqet​  @confusedandghostly​  @glomsk​  @kailithiel​  @bahfev​  @d4ydr34min9​  @claudiashq​  @someonebored0100​  @pastalavistamf​  @samgirl98​  @angelheartgamer​  @lehana37​  @spiteismymiddlename​  @rosecinnamonbun​  @demon-cat-goes-woof​  @violet-catsarelife​  @avelnfear​  @undead-essence​  @basilf1res​  @amillionandonefandoms​  @stealingyourbones​  @sarcastic-yami​  @bun-fish​  @aconitewolfsbane​  @dontfightmecauseillcry​  @omgnectarina​  @vehan-tikkun-olam-and-stuff​  @the-blind-one-speaks​  @mimilikey​  @wolfe-marvin​  @learning-to-fly-on-my-own​  @multplelifes​  @yurijay​  @bae-graphomaniac​  @fan4rt1st​  @weirdestarrow​  @wolfjackle​  @allulily​  @onyxlightdragon​  @zotinha456​  @wwwwyamd​  @river9noble  @starscreamlover​  @michealawithana​  @robinmedea​  @spideypoolalways​  @jesus-camp-the-sequel​  @persephoneblackrose​  @f4nd0m-fun​  @mady-is-ace-trash​  @ascetic-orange​  @renwilson​  @ace-aro-as-shit​  @rangerhorsetug​  @thatrandomsarahchick​  @holygoldfish​  @mlpizza​  @chrysanthemum9484​  @justwannaseesomebrozawa​  @newgraywolf​  @crazylittlemunchkin​  @fire-glass​ @autumnrosnor​  @the-nerdy-fangirl​  @faithblob-says-things   @a-star-with-a-human-name  @winged-scaly-attic-dweller  @mistermetalmaker  @apersond  @mustachebatschaos  @joaniejustwokeup  @that-dumbass-on-a-horse  @plainly-colorful  @blackcatsandhaunteddolls  @booklover223  @alice-hazelwood  @answrs  @enbydemirainbowbigfoot  @felicityroth  @wanderingrutabaga  @seraphinedemort  @write-it-right-2  @my-mom-calls-me-rat  @01101010-01100001-01111001  @arc-777  @crystalice067  @phoenixdemonqueen  @icedbluesoul  @itsparadoxlacuna  @wisp-wishes  @spikedlynx  @redhoneysugarorange  @russetfur1128  @mutable-manifestation  @stargirl1331  @chaoticchange  @living-on-borrowed-time  @orshie  @britcision  @littlefeather345  @sunflowershine03  @aro-acedumbass  @thefanficcup  @shibanoh  @icefirecrystal  @thatonejumbledmess  @cy-ella  @kobol1  @metal-sporks  @tired-yet-awaken  @currant-owo  @firegirl108  @stupidlovepurplepeace  @drowningroane  @imagineshazamlokimight  @immakittybear  @justalittletotheleftofnormal @chrysanthemum9484  @kawaiikenna  @imaginationmademanifest  @a-salty-sal  @mentalcarebear  @mj-arts-n-stuff  @xysidhe  @cottonscrambles  @manapeer  @yjfk  @ryisc  @666deaddash999  @nutcase8691  @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit  @dr-syko-pharm-4  @i-have-opinions  @ballzfrog-blog  @mysoulspiralbound  @istillhavenosociallife-blog  @gin2212  @annabethchase0 @basementloser  @plotwholls  @minnowmarsh  @neverlandingbird  @rootsmudge  @fandom-reblog-central  @serasvictoria02  @mnemovoid  @taniaundertaleau  @kirineo-kiki  @ironicvixen  @violetfox2  @redhoneysugarorange  @phantom-dc @naluforever3  @horribly-lost-and-gay  @nutcase8691 @babblingbat  @frostedthroughghost  @kyrianclawraith  @caspertheloudassghost @the-forgotten-dragon-anankos @lyra689 @v-inari @terzatheunderscorerima @fallenangle67 @aarinisreading @job-ross-the-second​

[insxghtt]

(i am obsessed with this man.)

boyfriend!jack thurlow x reader

After everything that happened to him, he would be very insecure about meeting other people. so, when you first moved to the house next door, he wasn't the most friendly neighbor.

You heard some people from the neighborhood talking about him, saying that he was not the most stable person. That was a lie, Jack was doing so much better after being in a hospital for months. He was still depressed, but he was a normal person and he wished people could stop staring at him with pity all the time.

And, well, you did that. So when you went outside to smoke a cigarette and noticed him doing the same thing not so distant from you, you didn't turn away or acted weird. You just shook your head as a "hi", and gave him a soft smile.

Jack was mesmerized and he didn't even know why. Maybe he just forgot how it felt to be treated as a normal guy.

So he nodded back at you.

Even though he didn't retribute the smile, it was clear through his expressions that he was not bothered by your presence.

So a few weeks went by and that was all the interaction you had with him. It was weird, but nice. You would stand outside next to each other in silence as you smoked your cigarettes.

Finally, one day, he decided to say something.

"Sorry, i don't think i ever asked your name", he said.

You looked at him and he felt scared for a second, wondering if he had frightened you.

"No, you didn't", you said. and finally, you told him your name.

He repeated it to himself and nodded, making sure that he wouldn't forget.

"That's a nice name", he smiled and there was silence for a few seconds. "I'm Jack."

"I know who you are, Jack."

Your words made him insecure. What if the neighbors told you about how weird and scary he was?

"Your friend is always yelling your name at the door because she always forgets the keys", you explained and Jack sighed in relief.

"Shanda…", he whispered.

His childhood best friend had the keys to his house because she wanted to check on him at least once a day since he got out of the hospital.

But Shanda didn't have the best memory, maybe because of all the weed she smoked.

Having a conversation with you was easy after that. Every day you would get to know him a little bit more.

When he told you about his story, he was surprised you didn't treat him differently.

"We all have our demons, don't we?". Jack smiled at your comment.

When he first asked you on a date, he was so nervous and felt like he was ruining your friendship. He had invited you to have dinner with him at his house, but he burned the food and had to order pizza instead.

You laughed about it and he felt an immediate relief.

You two talked for hours and hours and at the end of the night you asked him what you've been wanting to ask for a good while.

"So… are you going to kiss me or what?"

Jack stared at you for a second and then smiled at your confidence.

And he kissed you. After that, he kissed you again and again.

Until you two were basically living together but none of you called it a relationship.

 One day you were watching TV on your couch and he walked out of the bathroom after taking a shower with the towel wrapped around his waist.

You looked at him finally realizing that that became a routine.

"Hey Jack, are we like… boyfriend and girlfriend?", you asked.

Jack was suddenly frozen, the reality had finally hit him.

But surprisingly, he didn't feel scared. He liked it. It sounded natural and even beautiful to call you his girlfriend.

"I guess…", he looked at you afraid that you would leave him. "I mean, if that's okay with you. Is it okay?", he almost stuttered.

"Yes. I like that", you nodded.

And obviously, Jack kept you awake all night making sure to show you how happy he was to call you his girlfriend.

Jack was not very good at expressing his feelings. Sometimes, very rarely, you two had arguments. They were mostly about how hard it was for him to share his thoughts over anything.

Not that he was rude, but sometimes instead of telling you the things that bothered him he would just be quiet and it made you confused and anxious.

It happened every time you tried to drag him to a friend's birthday party, for example. He hated places filled with people, but he wouldn't say that to you. He was just weird all night.

"You have to talk to me, Jack! I can't read your fucking mind, what am i supposed to do?"

"Why do you want me to explain every fucking thing that i feel to you?", he snapped. 

But as soon as he saw the look on your face, he immediately regretted his words.

It was hard for him to say "I'm sorry", so he just sighed and held your hand, saying "i love you" instead.

You knew he was doing his best, but you needed words. You needed him to open up like you always did.

So, he hugged you and hid his face on the curve of your neck, finally whispering against your skin: "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, you're right."

He was genuine. Jack was not the type of guy to just say things without actually meaning it. He never once apologized just to calm you down or to just move on from the subject. He was actually genuine about everything. Sometimes, he was so honest that it would hurt, but at least you knew that he would never lie to you.

He really did his best to be with you. He wanted to make you feel good because he was aware of how precious you were. so, every week he would go to therapy to make sure that he was being the best version of himself, not only for you but also for him.

Jack wouldn't be the type of guy to propose to you on a fancy dinner. No, he would do that in the middle of the night, after you two were absolutely exhausted from work. He would just look at you, with no ring and no flowers, and decide that you were the one that he wanted to be with for the rest of his life.

"I wanna marry you", Jack said and you stared at him in shock.

"What?"

"I want to marry you", he repeated and you smiled.

"Alright", you whispered. "Well, that's really ironic because I actually wanna marry you too."

Jack kept staring at your eyes and then brought his attention back to your lips.

"Good", he nodded.

 "Alright, we can get married then", you opened a big, beautiful smile and he didn't say it, but he felt like he was in heaven.

Jack would never understand why you chose him. He was broken, imperfect and confusing. But he was glad that you did and he hoped that even with all his flaws, you'd continue to choose him.

[sunnynwanda]

Hi, how are you doing? I hope you’re finee❣️

Can you write a snippet with a huge fight scene and a lot of action (you can include some weapons or gadgets if you want!). Make the villain or hero very angry at their nemesis cause they feel too much tension between them. If you want, make it spicy. Ik it’s hard to put some suggestive things here but that’s exactly why i am curious to see how you will make it! No forcing tho, i would be happy with a fight only too

Two to Tango

Warnings: Suggestive. Slightly spicy. Language. Minors beware. P.S. 'Sternchen' means 'little star'.

They sense the weapon aimed at them, an imaginary red dot dancing over their strained back. Their body fails to match the speed of their gut feeling, causing them to turn with a seconds' delay. The electricity shocks their shoulder, piercing through their arm and shoulder blade. It hurts like a bitch, and with a loud hiss, Hero retreats behind a wall, cursing under their breath. Villain's triumphant cackle riches their ear a few moments later.

"Is our brave Hero scared of a little tickle?" Their tone is taunting, a smug smile undoubtedly tugging at their thin kissable lips. "And here I thought you could take it."

Hero grits their teeth in annoyance. "I'll show you a little tickle, bitch." It's a promise, not a threat. Hero doesn't know what they are going to do yet, but they intend to pay back tenfold for every single time Villain's weapon has fired today.

"Tsk tsk tsk," Villain sings, cocking their newest toy again. They were dying to test it for weeks now, and Hero seemed the best target to do so without actually killing someone. "Watch your language, Sternchen. We don't want to ruin your goody-two-shoes reputation now, do we?"

"This was the fifth fucking time you've zapped me tonight," Hero snaps. Villain came dangerously close to discovering their true personality this time, and - Hero was sure of that - Villain would live to regret provoking that revelation. "Fuck off already."

Today's patrol was meant to be a short round around the city. Hero was exhausted from the shit of a week they had and in desperate need of a break. They had intended to finish their round and spend the evening in bed, eating junk food and watching mindless rom-coms - a guilty pleasure of theirs. Yet here they were, hiding behind a wall with a half-numb arm while Villain closed in on them.

"And where's the fun in that?" Villain rounds the wall only to discover Hero long gone. They look around, confused and slightly on edge. Something tells them to avoid getting caught at all costs tonight. The shock effect from their gun didn't last all that long, but Hero's irritation sure did. Villain did not test their weapons to know for sure, especially not on themself. "Hiding from me, are you? It takes two to tango, darling. You're gonna have to come out."

When no reply follows, Villain pauses. They could bet they heard Hero's voice from this exact spot moments ago, yet they are nowhere to be seen. They scan the area, holding their breath to hear any shuffling of Hero's clothes.

Where the fuck did that fucker go? Villain thinks to themself, still too wary to lower their gun. They couldn't have just left, right? The floors sure look empty. Wait a second.

Villain fails to complete the thought when Hero lands behind their back with a loud thud, and before Villain can even register the situation, they are pushed face-first against the wall. Hero twists their arms harshly, pinning them near the small of their back and pressing one knee to the back of Villain's to effectively immobilize them. Their weapon clings on the concrete floor, sure to be scratched.

Villain should probably focus on what's gonna happen to them instead. Their cheek is flush against the cold stones, their chest heaving in sharp inhales from the discomfort of the position and suddenness of their capture. Shit, they were fucked.

"Hey, it's dusty here," they attempt to sound light-hearted but can feel the anger radiating off of Hero in raving heat waves. Definitely shouldn't have gotten caught. "You're gonna ruin my costume."

"Oh yeah?" Hero's voice is sheer venom that sends a chill down Villain's spine. They refuse to acknowledge the pleasure and anticipation it carries within. "Does it look like I fucking care?"

"You obviously don't," they bite back, earning a disgruntled huff from Hero, who steps on the handle of their gun with their toes, lifting it up into a position that allows them to grab it without releasing their hold on Villain. "You wouldn't dress like you do if you had any regard for fashion... or any damn taste, really?"

Okay, Villain knows they are in no position to be cocky at the moment, but they can't help their smart mouth. The fact that their comment earns a dark chuckle from Hero has nothing to do with the warm feeling in their stomach - it's pure satisfaction from a successful jab, nothing more.

Hero's breath fans over the shell of their ear in time to draw them back from the pointless argument with their mind.

"Want me to show you my taste then?" Hero purrs, but there is something sinister in the brush of their lips against Villain's jaw. They press their hips further against Villain's half-bent form and use a combat knife to rip a large cut through Villain's expensive leather suit.

"What the fuck?!" Villain's voice is incredulous. They look down in disbelief, trying to free their hands from Hero's grip in vain.

"Shut your mouth, or I'll keep going," the knife grazes against the exposed skin of their upper thigh, too light to cut but enough to send a shiver down Villain's leg. Hero was surprised at the rush of pleasure that shiver sent through their bloodstream, attributing it to the adrenaline from their battle.

You keep telling yourself that. Their inner voice is interrupted by Villain's actual one.

"Shit, fine," Villiain surrenders, as if there is any other choice at this point in their predicament. They definitely overdid it with the teasing today. It didn't help that Hero was in a mood, either. "Just stop."

"Good villain," Hero pats their cheek, withdrawing the knife from their thigh and going to release Villain's hands. It would have been all done because, honestly, Hero was exhausted and had no intention of retaliating today of all days.

It would have - had Villain had any control over their goddamn mouth, that is.

"Motherfucker," the word rolls past their lips before they can consider the consequences of voicing it. Hero's hold tightens around them almost instinctively, their leg returning to its position behind Villain's knees. If they thought they were fucked then, now they are fucking done for.

"You wanna repeat that?"The knife returns as well, only now it's against their throat, grazing their skin with a kiss of the cold metal. And Villain will be damned if they don't hear a rasp in Hero's voice. "I said repeat that."

"N-no," they breathe out, feeling a bead of sweat run down the side of their face and over their neck. They freeze when Hero kisses it, their tongue hot and wet against Villain's feverish skin.

They barely contain the whimper that threatens to spill past their lips when Hero drops the knife, instead wrapping their hand around Villain's throat. They squeeze harshly, choking a torn exhale out of Villain, and pull their back flush against their chest, another arm winding across their torso. It takes Villain a minute to register their hands are free of Hero's iron hold. Free yet entirely useless as they flex at the sensation Hero's tongue wrecks in its wake.

"It takes two to tango, darling," Hero whispers, nibbling on the sensitive spot beneath their ear. Villain's head drops against Hero's shoulders, exposing their neck to Hero's impatient mouth. They struggle with their mind, trying to come up with a response, but fail miserably upon contact with their own gun.

"Hero," they startle, twisting their head to look at their nemesis when a numbing pain pierces through their hip. "Fuck, fuck! That hurts!"

They jerk away, but Hero maintains their hold of them. Something tells Villain they would collapse to the floor had they not.

As if on cue, they let go of Villain's body, and Villain's knees buckled under them, muscles still numb from the shock of electricity. They lean against the wall, sitting down to collect themself. And that's one shot. How the fuck was Hero able to walk around after five?

Hero grabs their gun again, snapping it in half before discarding the pieces. Villain brings a hand to cover their watering eyes. They aren't sure what's causing them more distress - the pain imposed on them or the sensation ripped away from them. They expect Hero to leave and are determined to keep their eyes shut until they do, but when an arm snakes around their waist, their eyes fling open against their will. They perk up as Hero pushes another arm under their sensation-deprived legs, pulling them up in bridal carry.

"And here I thought you could take it," Hero murmurs, pressing another kiss to Villain's temple. Villain's irises are dilated, tears still pooling in the corners of their eyes. Their pettiness be damned.

"How are you fucking alive after those?" Villain questions, noting that Hero pauses, unsure where to take them - their apartment or Villain's lair. "I can't feel my legs."

"I'd much rather you said that for an entirely different reason," they mumble under their breath, but Villain hears.

"You wanna repeat that?" They let out an amused chuckle, staring at the thick blush creeping up Hero's neck.

"N-no," their voice is small. Villain finds it amusing after everything they took the liberty of doing to them. "I'll take you to my place in case you still need assistance. And to make it up to you."

"Uh-huh," Villain quirks an eyebrow but nods, a satisfied smirk finding its place on their face as Hero's blush intensifies. "Solely for that purpose."

Hi, love! I'm doing quite well, although busy - as indicated by my relative absense here. I hope you are fine too!

Can I just say I absolutely loved this request! It had my fingers itching to get to the keyboard from the moment I read it. I'm not quite sure if I've followed your idea but I still hope you'll like it. I sure had an absolute blast writing it... and I kinda love them. They felt exceptionally alive. Although, the hero/villain duos always do.

Thank you for the request and thank you to everyone for reading. Love you,

Sunny xo

Masterlist

Taglist: @marvellousdaisy @alltimelowing @lateuplight @surplus-of-sarcasm @betwist @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @enemies-to-idiots-to-lovers @miaowmelodie @thatonerandomauthor @hhabaddon @burningoutlikeicarus @daemonvatis @weepingcowboywolfbat @thelazywitchphotographer @kaiwewi @soul-of-a-local-bard @pigeonwhumps @aflyingsheepnamedrose  @thatneptune @ohwellthatslifesstuff @worldsfromhoney @thiefofthecrowns @crow-with-a-typewriter @qualityrabbitsoup @stargeode @villain-life @villainsblood

[pricesbeltbuckle]

Just found your blog and saw the ask post.

So here I am, asking for some smutty Smut-Smut for my darling husband Simon. 😛😛

A very confident and outspoken fem!reader meets Lieutenant Simon 'stares at you like he's gonna eat you alive' Riley.

So I was thinking maybe she works for Laswell and starts working for TF141. A certain tall, blonde and broody lieutenant takes a liking for her, thinks day and night about how he's gonna make her his, how he's gonna ruin her for other men but he's also a bit reserved thinking she isn't into him.

Turns out she's very much into him and makes a first move, but as we all know Riley isn't one to shy away from a good opportunity.

He shows her who exactly own her and her sweet little pussy.

😍😍😍😍

Office - Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Fem! Outspoken/confident reader

Warnings: Smut, P in V no condom, Dirty talk, Degradation?, Breeding kink !! MDNI

Now don’t get me wrong I love my job but when I met 141, for the first time I think that’s when I actually reconsidered my position. 

Laswell put me into the 141 around 2 weeks ago and my god do I regret saying yes to this position. Yeah maybe it came with my own office but it also came with recruits hitting on me 24/7 365. 

“I think someone must have stolen the stars and put them in your eyes.” Was one of the MANY pickup lines I've heard this week. I respond the same to every single one though, “Hm, you Google that on your way over here?” And usually, that shuts them up so I can walk away back to my office.

But there is 1 man who I’m intrigued about.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, is a 6’4 broad man with a ghost mask. He seems to never take that damn thing off and I can’t help but wonder what he looks like under there. We have small talk from time to time, mostly he stops by my office and asks how my day is going or how he should punish the three recruits that hit on me that day.

“Hey, you payin’ attention?” I was quickly snapped out of my thoughts by his low voice. “Huh-Oh yeah sorry just thinking..What were we talking about?” I responded as nonchalantly as I could so he wouldn’t question what exactly had my thoughts all over the place.

“Right..Anyway, we were talking about the recruit? He hit on you on your way in here…Again.” He was looking me in the eyes as he sat across from my desk on a chair and I looked back at him directly in his eyes..I wonder what he's thinking about.

“Listen I told you it’s fine there hasn’t got to be any disciplinary actions taken against him. He does this every week. Let's just leave it at that, yeah?” I spoke softly but affirmatively and he nodded at me and started to head for the door but then I stopped him.

“Hey, Ghost can I ask you-” “Simon. Call me Simon and yeah go ahead.” He interrupted my sentence shortly after I spoke “Don’t interrupt me next time, thank you. I was gonna say why the mask?” 

“Oh? To hide my face.” He responded. I rolled my eyes at him standing up and walking in front of him as I raised my head to look him in his eyes.

“Well duh...I’m asking if you ever take it off?” I lifted my hands to cup his face in a way to take off his mask as he broke eye contact and moved my hands as he raised his own hands to his mask. “Never thought you’d try n make a first move on me love.” He then finally pulled his mask off and I saw his face. I admired every inch of him.

“Wow…You really aren’t ugly.” I joked at him as I stood on my tippy toes to cup his face and run my fingers along all the scars. “Haha, very funny.” He then inched his face closer to mine. I couldn’t hold back anymore and just kissed him passionately. He returned the kiss not even a minute after as he basically forced his tongue into my mouth he backed me up into my own desk and I hopped on top of it.

“Aren’t you an eager little one?” He pulled away from the kiss to press his forehead against mine and look me directly in the eye as we caught our breath. “Can’t you just be quiet and fuck me already..?” I pressed my lips back against his as he cupped my ass while his other hand trailed into my jeans finding my already-soaked cunt. “Calm down my little slut, I’ve barely even touched you and you’re already soaked for me.” He spoke in between kisses as he toyed with my clothed clit dragging his fingers lightly up and down just grazing over all the right places. I moaned lightly at his touches as he smirked directly into another kiss he gave me.

“Simon…Please..” I can’t take him anymore, just lightly touching me isn’t enough doesn’t he know that? And then I saw that stupid smirk on his beautiful dumb face. “Shh sweetheart be patient..” He whispered and giggled at me, almost mocking me in a way. I rocked my hips looking for any kind of friction I could get but I got little to nothing. 

“Stay still f’me.” He almost growled at me as he pinned my hips down with his hand that wasn’t currently in my pants. And that exact moment, I got a good look at him. His blonde short hair his little stubble on his face and his deep brown eyes I could almost get lost in.

“You just gonna stare at me, pretty girl?” He looked directly at me as he finally ripped my pants off of me along with my panties before I could even respond he bent me over my desk. “SimonSimonSimon…” I had nothing else to say but his name. I was acting so pathetic.

“Mhm, I haven’t even shoved a finger in you and you’re moaning my name. Honestly Love I didn’t even think you were into me.” He said to me as he shoved a finger into my tight hole. “Simon…Be gentle please.” He shot me a look shortly after I said that in between pants 

He didn’t listen, in fact, he did the exact opposite and shoved two more fingers stretching my tight hole out. “You can take it, I know you can, you're my strong girl.” He gritted through his teeth as I felt the tent in his pants rub against my thigh. I knew exactly what to say. “Mmm Simon gimme it, please. I promise I can take it please..!” 

“Yeah, sweetheart? Really?” He sounded like he doubted me. “Mhm mhm! I promise, please.” I kept begging him until eventually, he gave in as I heard his cargos unzip and him pulling off his boxers as he spat on his hand and rubbed it on me as a make-shift lube.

“Brace yourself, baby.” As he lined himself up to my entrance and shoved himself inch by inch I winced and whined but he let me adjust. “Jesus-You’re so big mmph..” I whined as I adjusted and he started to pull on my hair just enough so my head was thrown back as his other hand held my waist as he thrusts in and out slowly.

“Yeah? I am gonna ruin this little cunt and make it mine f’me and only me, you want that don’t you?” His question actually had me flustered but I was so cock-drunk all I could do was nod my head yes for him. And then I felt that knot in my stomach and I knew I was close.

“Simon m’close..!” He sped up his thrusts “M’gonna cum in you sweetheart gonna fill up this sweet pussy.” He said that to me as we both became undone at the same time as my walls clenched around his throbbing cock.

I shortly after could barely walk so I fell over onto the small sofa in the corner of my office Simon covered me in a blanket he knelt next to me and placed a small kiss on my forehead. “I’ll be back to get you later, yeah?” I just nodded at him and shut my eyes for some rest as he walked out of my office and shut the door behind him. He noticed Gaz about to walk in.

“I wouldn’t go in there quite yet mate, she's swamped with work.” Gaz looked at him confused but just walked away as Simon followed after him. Nobody could see you in such a vulnerable state besides him. He’d make sure of it, You’re his now.

OMGGGGG THIS TOOK ME 2 DAYS HELP.

[crooked-wasteland]

Hazbin Hotel LiveBlog: Scrambled Eggs

So I’m watching Hazbin with my partner who has already seen the entire series. It took us 5 minutes just to get this episode to play from the beginning because it would just skip to episode 4 while the credits where playing before i could pause or rewind. That has nothing to do with the show, it just made me unbelievably enraged, so we ain’t going into this episode happy.

What is with the cat?

It’s been a week since the last episode and every ounce of progress Sir Pentious made last episode is just thrown out as an excuse to introduce yet another character in Carmella. Was there not another way to do this? Like I get Sir Pentious wouldn’t be reformed, but just having him be suddenly paranoid with no reason isn’t founded. Even just a background detail of Angel Dust watching him from a doorway would have been enough to found that suspicion. Especially when Pentious wasn’t shown to be paranoid as a trait. I get this is narrative utilitarianism, but it’s just weak and changing one character’s personality to establish a new one is poor writing.

Sir Pentious to his eggs just feels like fandom

“That’s a lot less hot” That feels out of character

So Trust exercises to tone down the sudden change in Sir Pentious’ character and also to give Vaggie a leading role. Got it. Very utilitarian, very disjointed from the previous episode.

Sidebar, I googled who wrote this episode and it wasn’t Vivienne, however I never would have known because the last episode was equally full of contradictions that it also felt like someone else wrote it. Now maybe that was because Adam had a hand in thing, but The fact I have to google this stuff to know for sure is a joke kin its own right.

I am so conflicted about Niffty. She feels less childlike here and I like find her demented fun, but last episode she was literally written as being child-like so the pain fetish going on is repulsive, despite it not being this writer’s fault. If I want to enjoy anything about this show, I really have to just see every episode as one singular complete entity without calling back on previous ones, however this is a series and thus needs to expand itself through subsequent episodes. To not do so is a failure of concept because this series is very serialized. So in a bubble I really enjoy Niffty. In the series she is a very uncomfortable character to give violent fetishes to and make them so overt. Vivienne ruined that for you all, don’t blame me. Someone should have said how this should have been scrapped before we got this far.

Zestial is suggesting that Alastor may have died at Heaven’s hand. Alastor looks away while laughing. So there is a connection between Heaven and Alastor.

Egg Bois are cute.

Carmella has a bad case of Character Design does not match vocal performance.

Velvette, please never speak again.

Velvette is now 5 inches tall

The yellow blood looks like piss

Can someone tell Lilli Cooper that a lot of British singers don’t have such strong accents when singing. Just please, it’s a great time top drop that bad accent.

James, hi, your singing voice lost the character

The kink shaming be real.

Even Charlie infantalizes Niffty. Geez

This scene in the Turf war was peak Angel Dust. I laughed.

I have to ask, was the music written before or after the singing, because for one, Carmella sounds like she is trying to be heard over it, and second the beat of the music is either lacking or there was an issue with the audio mixing because it just sounds wrong. Like there are melodies and harmonies to a score and one of those is missing. OR, the music is just out of sync entirely with the performer.

Again, just don’t have Vaggie sing. You directed the actor to perform out of her vocal range for her modal voice. Don’t do this to her.

They are not at all harmonized, this is the worst duet I ever heard. Don’t you usually have singers record duets together so they can harmonize their voices? Why didn’t that happen here.

So this big conflict for Vaggie was never a conflict. Best resolution ever.

I like Carmella’s concept. Her character design is kinda trash and the songs were terrible. There was a good idea somewhere in this episode, but from beginning to end every aspect was contrived to just make the story work for the greater plot, the dynamics between the characters be damned. There is a sense of someone wanting to have fun with it while Medrano’s stood behind them with a chokehold on the narrative. It’s disappointing and I feel the writing suffers from Medrano’s obsessive and frantic need for control. This writing feels so insecure and I can only imagine that comes from having a very narrow box to fill.

2/10

I’m taking a break.

[prolix-yuy]

Chapter 3: That Was the First Time I Lost Her

Pairing: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x F!Reader “Sugar”

Summary: It only takes a little digging.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: More angst, insinuations of creep behavior, making shit up about Westworld, a million questions and no answers, will be E in later chapters so full series is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: Sugar's got some soul-searching to do, and there are very few people who can help her with that. Where Cognitive Dissonance had a lot more Westworld characters in it, this series is gonna have a few cameos from Kingsman characters and you better believe this is one of my favorites. Enjoy!

Cross-posted on AO3

Decoherence Masterlist   ||   Whiskey & Westworld Masterlist

It takes you three weeks before you say anything about Jack to anyone. Three weeks of going back and forth from your job, sitting in front of the large glass screen your work is projected on. Three weeks of seeing the world you live in - advanced far beyond Sweetwater’s rustic charm - in a new light, knowing there’s someone living in it that feels so out of place. Now, you feel out of place too. 

In that time you argue with yourself back and forth over what happened that fateful morning.

He’s a delusional man who violated your trust.

But he didn’t act delusional. Didn’t try to push you to come with him, didn’t try to get your number or find out where you live. He gave you a way to contact him, but didn’t press when you didn’t promise to.

But how did he find you?

That thought twists your stomach. Had he used some database to scour personal records for you? Had he been trailing you and you never even noticed? It clearly didn’t go to plan for him, but what had he planned? 

He wants to “explain.”

The most you would do is call him. Only to tell him to be prepared for a lawsuit. Maybe to scream at him a little more about how violated you felt. Definitely not because you want to know what he could possibly say to make this make sense.

Why are you entertaining this?

This is where you always come to a halt. You can reason around most of your internal arguments, make good decisions that would make your parents proud, but it’s when you get to this question - why are you still thinking about this? - that you falter. 

Because his plea - let me explain - and the furtive way he looked at you - I am a host - tug at something you hid away for the year since you saw him. That there was something more to Jack, but not this obvious of a betrayal. 

I didn’t get to tell you something that night. Something important. 

He tried to tell you something that day on the train platform. What was it?

I was a coward, and I wanted you more than anything Sugar. 

He was going to tell you he loved you. And it was going to shatter your heart to hear it, so you showed him the photograph. Because it would hurt less to prove him a fantasy. You forced him to reveal the machine behind the man, because he was going to tell you he loved you.

Right?

But if this is the last moment I get to say it before you leave my sight, I have to. 

I need you to know.

Was this it?

It’s Dina that helps you gain some clarity, though not in a way you imagined.

“I had my trip to Westworld refunded, ruined my whole vacation,” she says nonchalantly over lunch. The “cool bridesmaids” actually stuck together after the bachelorette, and you see Dina every few months for a boisterous lunch and catch-up. This particular revelation, two weeks after Jack sauntered into your life and left you with a handful of mirror shards for memories, makes you choke on your drink. 

“You were going back?” you finally ask once you can breathe again. Dina smiles knowingly, swirling her iced matcha latte loudly in her glass. 

“I’ll admit, it’s pretty fun. Only went once since the party, it’s damn expensive, but I was really looking forward to my third visit. Sounds like there’s some operational issues.” You listen with as much nonchalance as you can muster, but Dina smiles coyly at your ruse. “Didn’t see your man there last time. Maybe he was just for you.” 

You scoff, a clammy sweat on the back of your neck sending goosebumps down your arms.

“They probably rotate them,” you say weakly, thumb smearing away a drip of coffee from the lip of your cup. 

“Listen, baby, maybe this isn’t my business, but if Jack still gets you this fired up, it might be worth talking to someone about it,” she says gently. Your heart leaps into your throat, worrying that your face has given it all away.

“What, like a therapist?” you laugh, trying to put on a bright smile but you’re practically thrumming now. Dina scoffs instead.

“Hell no, my girl Ginger. She used to work for Delos, doing…programming or something. One conversation with her will definitely ruin the magic for you. Like seeing Mickey without his head on in Disneyland.” You both giggle at the image, trying to school yourself into a calm that won’t betray how close to the truth she is.

“She left on bad terms, so she’ll tell you the truth about shit. Doesn’t care about her NDA, or much else for that matter. She’s a badass,” Dina says, scrolling through her phone and typing quickly. “Ask her your questions, get your dreams dashed, and move the fuck on.” Dina means well, but the worry gnawing in your stomach draws much of your attention away.

Former Delos staff could definitely tell her if Jack was a host, or a fucked-up guest, or a host based off a guest that is now playing a terrifying game of switcheroo. 

“Promise she won’t think it’s weird?”

“She loves to dish about it, you’ll be making her week.”

Ginger doesn’t want to meet in a public place - I’ve seen a little too much of what can be done to risk it - so she invites you to her condo instead. You almost back out, shame and nerves getting to you, but the need to know grows at a greater pace. So, bringing two coffees and pastries (not from the shop where you saw Jack, you don’t think you could go back there), you climb her third floor walkup.

She’s business chic with a dazzling smile, a collared shirt under a sweater with dark-washed jeans. Her hair is spiked through with honeyed highlights that compliment her brown skin. A pair of serious horn-rimmed glasses frame her face, but look fresher on her than any academic. 

“Hi, I’m Dina’s friend,” you start as Ginger leads you into her home. Dina mentioned she was a programmer, and her design aesthetic screams “I care more about my processor chips than artwork.” Stacks of hard drives on tables, large manuals of computer code on shelves, all neat and tidy in a controlled chaos way. She brings plates for the croissants as you sit at her table, rolling your opening remarks in your mind as she settles across.

I had a strange experience in Westworld that made me question everything. Can you tell me if I’m crazy or not?

Before you get the chance Ginger speaks. 

“Dina told me a bit about your situation,” she says simply, regarding you with rapt attention and sparking intelligence. The confusion must have slapped across your face, because Ginger barks out a laugh just shy of impolite. “I made her spill the beans, I’m too suspicious otherwise.” 

You sigh audibly, covering your face with your hands.

“Great, now I’m just pitiful,” you bemoan, joining in on the laughter. Slouching back in your chair, you share a look that radiates I guess we’re here now.

“So, you had questions about hosts. Maybe one in particular. I haven’t worked for Delos in a few years, but I’ll do my best to help. God knows those assholes keep their mouths shut tighter than their assholes,” Ginger says, waiting for you to lay out your questions. So many bubble up, but you let the most important come to the forefront:

“How can you tell a host is a host?”

Ginger’s smile turns conspiratorial, cocking her head to one side.

“One really got to you, huh? Made you think he - or she - was real?” 

You twist your hands in your lap, shoulders tensing for laughter.

“It’s silly, right? A host is a host and a person is…completely different.”

Ginger talks as she darts around the room, gathering items - a laptop from a desk, a silver and orange hard drive, a handful of cords. She gestures with her hands while she speaks, face softening with the passion that shines through,

“It’s a testament to how well we programmed them. They’re supposed to trick you, keep you in the illusion. I was more in design and aesthetics, moved into expressive programming before they culled my team.” When she catches your eye, the first etchings of confusion on your face, she backtracks. “I designed the exteriors - faces, bodies, you know - before I moved into writing code for their facial expressions and body language. Cram years of what we as humans would observe and develop over a lifetime into a little computer chip. They learn too, just not the same sorts of things. They’re designed to interpret our body language, give us what we need before we think we need it.”

What had Jack read from your body?

Ginger plops down at the table, fingers moving quickly over the keys and eyes trained on the glowing screen. 

“But Delos axed my team, said something about ‘new coding avenues,’ the assholes. Just didn’t want to pay us if they could automate us. But!” She hits the last key and folds her arms, finally looking at your nervous posture. “They didn’t pay me well enough for my IP, so I took everything I could get my hands on. Most of it’s too outdated for them to care about, but I’m pretty goddamn proud of it.”

She motions for you to sit on the same side of the table as her, waiting until you’re settled to drag a window onto the screen. It looks like tiny image thumbnails all neatly stacked, face after face scrolling by.

“So who is it?”

You steel yourself for whatever answer may come next.

“Jack Daniels.”

Waiting for a confused noise, for a bad search return, for some reason to hate the man who came back to you, instead you get a knowing laugh.

“Ah, I’m pretty proud of that one,” she says, typing in Jack’s name and pulling up a profile. “I was going through a very dashing cowboy phase, wanted something a little Burt Reynolds, a little Robert Conrad, flirtatious but a disaster at it, smooth talker.” As she talks she tabs through sketches, achingly beautiful pencil drawings of his hawkish nose, the pout of his lower lip, the tilt of his head up to look at something. 

“Then fucking Sizemore dumped him in that shitty Golden Circle timeline, which was a goddamn waste. Gave him a terribly written, cliched backstory and half-assed his motivation to make a shockingly underthought double cross villain arc seem edgy.” Ginger pauses on a dystopic photo, Jack standing in a glass and concrete cube, hand on his jutted hip and a smile you’ve been in the path of aimed right into the camera. You can almost hear his voice.

You can have all the Whiskey you want.

“Our cowboy deserved better than that,” she sighs. Managing to break from your reverie, you try not to stumble too badly through the most important questions.

“And he’s not…based on anyone else? There’s no Jack lookalike wandering the streets?” You try to make it airy, joking, unsure of your success. Thankfully Ginger skims right over the tremor in your voice, tapping into a file that details every scar and freckle over the expanse of his skin.

“If only. Unfortunately, the best men are designed by women. I’ve never met someone quite like Jack.”

Neither have you, and the implication settles heavy in your chest. 

You spent an hour more with Ginger, peeking into the secret workings of Delos and picking at flaky pastries without appetite. It’s more out of politeness than interest. Half of the things she shows you flow right through your consciousness and into the ether. 

Jack is a host. 

From the mouth of his…creator? Herself?

Maybe that combination of features could find its way in nature, but not his story, or the intimate details you both know in very different contexts. The groove she drew in his lower lip pulled softly across your stomach. The graphite glint in his eyes lifting to capture yours. The thick strokes that built a hand you’d felt hold your face so gently. 

Ginger knew him as well as you did, certainly more so, and there was no better explanation for what this means. 

He’s not a man. So what is he doing here? How is he here, in a world you never thought he could enter? 

Thanking Ginger for her hospitality and her patience, you take the longest way home possible. The rhythmic beat of your feet on concrete lets you ruminate. The air is warm across your cheeks, errant breezes dancing around your aimless path. The “park” has never been your favorite place to soul search, the lack of trees and tightly governed shrubs clashing against what you consider wilderness. Today, however, it’s so stark and blank as to clear your mind.

If not a host in a world built for pleasure, what is Jack? How can he survive in this world without a narrative, a directive, a fucking charging port for his battery? Does he run on batteries or did they slap a solar panel in that gorgeous head of hair?

Dropping onto a bench you bury your face in your hands, fighting the urge to laugh madly. You've seen under the facade and now you’re left with even more questions, and there’s only one person who can answer those. 

“Jack Daniels.”

“Hi. It’s…”

“Hey. It’s…it’s you.”

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner.”

“I didn’t know if you would at all, after all that.”

“I wasn’t sure either.”

There’s a pause while you gather courage, but Jack jumps in first.

“Listen, I just wanted to say I’m sorry about last time. I saw you and I meant to sneak out before you saw me, but…it was just a perfect mess, huh?”

Right to the meat of it then. Somehow that makes it easier.

“Did you know I would be there?”

Another silence, but you wait for this one to end. Jack sighs heavily, and your body aches.

“I knew you could be there.”

“And you were…what? Waiting to get up the courage to talk to me?”

“Something like that.” Jack sucks in a breath. “I had some questions of my own. I wasn’t sure I wanted the answers.”

This admission dazes you. All Jack knew of you in Westworld was a lie. The footing feels more even knowing he’s just as trepidatious as you. 

You sigh deeply, pressing the palm of your hand against your forehead.

“I think I should let you explain.”

A softer sigh tickles your ear.

“I’d really like to do that, Sugar.”

You scoff.

“You still call me that.”

“Sweetest thing I’ve…”

“Please, Jack. Don’t. Not right now.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s not…I’m not sure how I feel about everything yet. This is all frankly terrifying to me, and I need some time to understand it.”

“I understand. I had a feeling this wasn’t going to be the same rodeo as before.”

Lips curling up, you warm to his words. Same old west charm. Same teasing lilt. 

Same old Jack, but maybe more than you thought.

“Can I see you Friday?”

PREVIOUS NEXT

[jerefishvr]

light sub xavier thorpe x wolf!reader who's in heat 🤭🤭

beggin' you ! 🧷 ָ࣪ 𓏲⋆.

⨳ 𓏲˖ 🪩 ˖ ࣪

xavier thorpe x reader ִֶָ ꒱𓂃✦៹

WARNINGS : SMUT !! scratching , fingering ( masturbation ) , mentions of hair pulling , biting kink if you squint

summary : in which, xavier's gf is ignoring him as to not hurt him cause she's going through her first cycle of heat, while he doesn't know why until a pink haired werewolf spits out the truth 🕯️୨♡୧  ִ° ⋆

Days passed, weeks passed. Each day getting longer and longer for Xavier. Seconds turned into minutes, minutes into hours, and hours into days. Time passed by so slowly when you weren't next to him.

Your sweet and lovely boyfriend, Xavier Thorpe who you oh, loved so much and had no choice but to ignore him as you were going through your heat. You loved that boy with your whole heart and you wouldn't dare to hurt him in any way possible, even if it meant not seeing him for literally weeks.

Today he finally decided he had enough. He was confused on why you were ignoring him and barely showing up to any classes, so he tooks the matters into his own hands and went to ask Enid if it was a werewolf thing, and surely, she did give him a whole lecture about what "heat" was,so he went to your dorm in case you needed any medicine..

You, laying there, with your pussy stuffed of your fingers and your tits hanging out of the pink sweater Xavier gifted you on your birthday last year. Juices flowing down your thighs and your eyes seal closed while your mouth was hang open.

You didn't notice until you heard his whine, looking at him with your legs spread open, your pussy on display as you desperately searched for the cover.

"What are you doing here?! Leave!" You yelled in concern ( and also embarrassment ). You could almost feel yourself about to cry, your orgasm ruined and your mood changing every minute passing by.

"I-i- just came here to check up on you- Enid explained to me what a "heat" is and i wanted to see if you needed any medicine" Xavier said slowly, careful not to make you angrier. Your head fell down and now, hot tears were streaming down your face.

"Im sorry, i really am. It's just been difficult for me, i didn't know it'd happen here" You explained while looking him in the eyes. He took small steps towards you while caressing your face and wiping your tears.

"It's okay angel, don't worry. Do you need help with continuing what you were doing?" An angelic smile plastered on his face, while his words were quite the opposite. You nodded and immediately grabbed his belt so you could take off his pants.

He smirked and looked down at you, thinking you were gonna wrap your lips around his cock, only to be met by your cold and demanding gaze that was instructing him to sit on the bed.

He sat down, unsure of where your sudden personality change came from, but when he felt his dick getting enveloped by your pussy's warmth, he forgot everything that was previously on his mind.

You rocked your hips against his own, grinding on his lap and moaning as he brushed against your g-spot.

You took a handful of Xavier's hair and watched him as he whined all over again, begging for you to go faster. Instead, you slowed down and grabbed his jaw, while still making sure he was balls deep inside you.

He cried out and grabbed your hips trying to make you move again, but instead you just smirked and laughed at his pathetic tries.

"Beg for it" You demanded, waiting for him to talk only to be met by his pleading eyes and his red, plump lips.

"Please mommy move, i need it so bad just ugh- im begging you, let me cum please" His pathetic begs were heard throughout the whole room and that did more than just satisfy you as you began bouncing once again on his dick.

His dick was covered with your juices, the sound of your pussy squealing only bringing him closer to the edge.

Your clit rubbed against his waist as you fucked him,the intense pleasure making you bite his neck while accidentally scratching his back while trying to steady yourself.

The loud whimper that left his mouth gave you the permission to suck harder on his neck, feeling him moan louder, knowing he was closer.

"Come for mommy, fill me up with your cum, fuck give me all your cum" You screamed while continuing to ruin him with all the strength you had in your body.

He came, shooting his load into you with a loud gasp as he felt you clench around him and came with him. He pulled out of you with a groan, already missing your cunt's sweet warmth.

He fell on the bed and looked at you with sleepy eyes. "Feel any better now?" He asked with a concern laced voice as his eyes traveled to your peaceful face with a smile.

"Yeah, much better. Thank you" You laughed and kissed his rozy lips. An "I love you" fell from your lips along with a "goodnight" and a sweet kiss on the forehead as he smiled at your gentle actions.

He laid his head on your chest while you played with his hair in your half awake half asleep state.

"I love you too" He whispered before drifting off to a deep sleep.

[penwieldingdreamer]

The 2nd time around

I'm sorry, this took me ages to write but it's finally here. Let me know what you think about this. I’m going to update my taglist, so if you want to join just click on the link in my BIO and you’ll be able to tag yourself

Summary: Jake takes you on a 2nd date and invites you to the Navy Ball [2.4k, smut, 18+, Minors DNI, PiV, cursing, unprotected sex]

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part

(gif by @unicornships)

“I’m still sorry about ruining our date.” 

They were sitting in a ranch style restaurant overlooking a flock of sheep that reminded Jake of his home back in Texas.

You leaned your head on your hands, elbows on the table in a secluded corner of the porch part with a smile. “That why you brought me here to dine on fancy food? You’re feeling guilty?”

“Fucking hell, you always have to kick a guy when he’s down? I already have to live down my loopy side, nurse Clara told me all about that episode, how she thought I was really sweet when I’m on drugs.”

"Don't forget the cast." Giggling as you thought back to that episode, you watched his eyebrows furrow. “Also, you were really sweet. And stop apologizing for last time, I'm just messing with you. It was an accident… I do hope there won't be a repeat of that, I couldn't live that down."

Reaching out, Jake held out his hand for you to hold on. “I can’t make that promise but I will try my damndest to get back to you. Every time, no matter what."

"I'll hold you to that, Lieutenant." You told him, trying to sound serious yet you felt your throat constrict at the thought of never seeing him again. "It would be an awfully long time being alone. After all, you told Coyote you'd marry me."

Groaning, he grabbed your hand and gave it a light squeeze. “Next time I see Javy I’m gonna kick his ass. He was supposed to keep his mouth shut.” He knew it was only a matter of time before he had told her himself but he would have liked to do it himself instead of his friend telling it to the world. “Also, on a different topic: Can you dance?”

“I, well I think I can dance, why?”

Jake sent you a soft smile, his thumb absentmindedly running over the back of your hand. “Will you be my date to the next Navy Ball?”

“What about your leg? It's still healing." 

He had been grounded for a few weeks now, the fracture in his leg - albeit a clean break - was healing slowly. Too slow for him and the only upside besides getting out for physical therapy was having more time with you when pushing papers. “The cast is going to come off next week, the ball is in three. So until then I’ll be able to sweep you off your feet on the dance floor.”

“What am I going to wear? I don’t even have a formal dress.” 

Three weeks later you found yourself fidgeting in your hotel room. The Navy Birthday Ball took place in Washington and Jake had booked two rooms for them, insisting, even though you had officially started dating and had been on a few dates already, he was going to be a gentleman and take it slow with you.

You felt yourself conflicted: you wanted him to be a gentleman, wanted to take it slow. But then he sent you messages with pictures in his flightsuit or nightouts with Javy in their khakis and you wondered how long you could keep your hands to yourself before Jake stopped being the gentleman his mom raised him to be. Or before you forgot yourself and just gave in to your primal urges.

A knock on your door pulled you out of your thoughts. Walking over, you opened the door to find Jake dressed up in his Service Dress Blues. He swallowed seeing your navy blue midi dress accentuating your curves and going well with his own formal uniform. "Ma dear, our carriage awaits."

He held out his arm for you to take. Smiling softly, you put on your jacket -the weather in D.C. definitely colder than California in October- grabbed your purse and the key card. Placing your hand in the crook of his arm, you felt the muscles twitch underneath the layers of clothing. "You ready to get this show on the road?"

"Honestly, I'd much rather enjoy a date night at home with you where it's warm instead of freezing here and having to listen to all of those speeches." Jake leaned over and kissed your temple, a smile on his lips.

Giggling, you leaned your head on his upper arm, making your way out of the hotel and into the cab. Your fingers worked their way between his own, his large hands keeping yours warm, even when you were walking inside the Ronald Reagan Building and International Trade Center where the ball was held. Even during all the speeches and introductions. 

You had read up on the etiquette of how to act at the gala - the last thing you wanted to do was embarrassing Jake while he was talking to his commanding officers and admirals that attended as well. The rules were simple to follow and nothing that was too out of the way of a normal human interaction: Don't talk during the speeches and listen attentively, don't overindulge at the buffet or the bar, don't dress slutty, wear sensible heels so you can stay on your feet without them hurting and most of all - don't make it about yourself when introduced to officers of higher ranks.

Jake had kept you close to him. With Javy being deployed, you were the only thing grounding him when he wanted to do nothing more than leave.

"Ah, Lieutenant Seresin, finally we get to talk some more." Turning around you were greeted with the sight of Admiral Kazansky you had met some time earlier.

Jake straightened, saluting him. "Sir!"

A smile tugged at the older man's lips, clapping his hand on his shoulder. "At ease, son. You'll be back to this soon enough with the upcoming deployment."

You could see him stiffen, turning to you with a guilty expression. Deployment? His leg was just about healed, now he was going to be gone for who knows how long. In potential danger. Reaching out, Jake clasped your hand. Giving it a light squeeze he turned back to the admiral. "Are you prepared to get back to flying in three weeks?"

"Definitely, sir. I started training a few days ago, so I'll be up and ready to fly."

Nodding his head, Tom Kazansky turned to you. He could read the anxiety on your face like an open book. "You seem familiar, have we met before?"

"No, sir." You shook your head. "I don't believe we have. This is the first time I'm enjoying a night such as this."

He frowned, his fingers lightly running along his chin as if he was deep in thought. "I could have sworn…never mind, I do hope I'll see you more often with the Lieutenant. I'd like to know what makes you special that the Lieutenant finally brought someone that wasn't his wingman."

Putting your free hand on Jake’s arm, squeezing his hand that was holding onto yours, you nodded with confidence. "I think this won't be the last time you'll see me at a gala like this."

There. You kept it simple and didn't make it about you, only telling him what he wanted to hear. 

You stayed until all formal parts of the gala were over with some dancing before Jake said good-bye to his COs and the admirals attending the ball. He grabbed your coat and helped you put it on before leading you out into the cold night.

“When were you going to tell me you are leaving.”

Jake sucked in a deep breath, his hand squeezing yours as he led you down the stairs to the sidewalk, hoping to catch a cab back to the hotel. “I got the papers a few days ago. I…I was going to tell you darlin’.”

Biting your lip, you stopped him. "Are you going to be in a lot of danger?" 

"I'll be gone overseas, Afghanistan for about thirty days but that's all I can tell you." He reached up, brushing his fingers along your cheek and along your jaw. "I'm coming back. I told you, I will be marrying you."

Standing on your tiptoes you leaned up and closed the gap, your lips covering his own. All thoughts about Jake being a gentleman and taking it slow were thrown out the window. Your need to feel him and have him close to you, overwhelming your senses. No matter how easy the mission or how confident he was in his abilities, there was always a speck of danger sitting on his shoulders, a part of your brain telling you that he wasn't going to come home to you.

"Take me to bed, Lieutenant." You spoke softly, your warm breath brushing over the shell of his ear making him shiver and close his eyes.

His tongue darted out, wetting his suddenly dry lips. He could taste the wine you had with dinner and something that was just you. Swallowing, he grabbed your hand without another word and hailed a cab - thankfully one was just on the way over or he couldn't have guaranteed that he'd still be a gentleman and dragged you back inside to the bathroom.

Your head thrown back against the pillows, Jake let his lips caress the skin of your neck leaving love bites along the column of your throat, down to your breasts. His hand found its way into your hair holding tightly, like he wanted to anchor himself and make sure that you wouldn’t vanish underneath him. Wanting to take something with him before he left. 

Breathing harshly with each movement of his hips against your own, the pilot looked into your face, your expressions an open book to him. “I love you.” He whispered, his lips finding yours in a heated kiss.

Your lids fluttered closed in pleasure, arching your back to give him access to your body. Jake leaned down and kissed the side of your neck, eliciting another moan from you, while his fingers played with your hard nipples.

Turning over, he pulled you on top of him, straddling his legs with his cock still buried deep inside. His hands held onto your hips, moving them back and forth with the rhythm you had established. Jake trailed his hands from your waist to your neck, pulling your head down to his face, sealing your lips with his, the muscles in your thighs trembling from the exertion. “Your pussy is so hot, baby. I’m goin’ to miss it while I’m gone.” he growled, putting his hands in your hair and pulling at the strands. 

“Fuck, uh, Jake!” you cried, leaning your forehead against his, feeling the coil in your belly tighten, along with your muscles, squeezing his dick. “Don’t stop.”

One hand moved down where your bodies met, brushing his thumb against your clit, causing you to cry out again. “I want you to come, baby.” he breathed, pushing his pelvis against you. 

Goosebumps broke out all over your skin, the sweat cooling on your heated body as you felt the flutter in your belly, the knot tightening, before you cried out, throwing your head back, using your hands on his broad chest as leverage. “Fuck!” Your hips still moving, trying to chase that feeling again, as Jake tightened his grip, his fingers digging into your skin. 

Chest heaving, he watched you bounce on top of him, filled with pleasure and love. His cock pulsed, his orgasm finding him with full force, shooting his seed inside your cavern and coating your walls with a loud cry. He put his hands back to your neck, pulling you down to his mouth and sealing your lips with his.

Trying to get your breathing back to normal, you looked down into his sea green eyes, seeing everything you needed to know. The trust, the passion and most of all the unconditional love he gave you ever since you met. “I love you so much, baby.” you whispered against his lips, his stubble lightly scratching your skin as you felt your racing heart slow down again. 

"I'll see you in a month." His words pulled you out of your thoughts from the night before. 

Humming, you leaned into Jake’s embrace.

He chuckled, pulling you tighter into his arms. “Where’s your head at?”

“Hm, last night. The upcoming weeks. Don’t really know, it’s too early.”

Jake leaned down, laying a kiss on your temple and breathing in the scent of your body wash and perfume. When he had packed, you smuggled one of your shirts in his bag just so he’d have something of yours just like you grabbed one of his before he got them all in his duffle. 

“Last night was incredible, I’ll be missing it once I’m overseas.”

“Maybe you’ll find a few minutes for yourself on the carrier, I’ll send you something to help you along.” You joked, but your arms tightened, not wanting to let him go.

“You little minx.” He grinned, his hand squeezing your ass at the thought of you completely naked. It was going to be long thirty days if you were sending him dirty pics every day.

A horn blasted across the pier signaling the call to board the carrier. “I need to go, darlin’.”

“I don’t want you to go. I tried to be strong but right now I really hate it.” Your eyes turned glossy at the thought of having to let him go, sleeping alone again after he had spent most of his off days with you. “I know it’s your job and I’m so fucking proud, but it sucks.”

Jake brushed his hands along your cheeks, catching a stray tear that had escaped your eyes with his thumb. “I’ll be back before you know it and then I’ll be on leave for a few weeks. We could visit my folks back in Texas.”

Nodding your head you leaned on your tiptoes and sealed your lips with his one last time until he really had to leave. One last call and he was grabbing his duffel, making his way to the gangway. “I’ll meet you here in a month, Lieutenant!” You earned a few sympathetic looks from the other military spouses crowding the pier and sending their loved ones off.

“See ya in a month, darlin’!” He called back, blowing you a kiss and saluting you before he disappeared inside the ship. Your heart aching at the thought of not waking up next to him, making love or enjoying a night in front of the TV, you commenting on the game he watched and Jake stating his opinion on the movie that was playing.

Hell, it was going to be a month. You’d survive this and the next one as well, it would just help you grow stronger together.

Divider © by @top-hhun

@potato-girl99981 @novagreen04 @fortheloveoffanfic @emorychase @emma8895eb

[laney-rockin]

OKAY OKAY OKAY.

I know I haven't made a whole "my thoughts on -insert star trek episode here- for a while [I've been so busy and surprisingly to me doing a sport for two weeks straight will murder any energy I have]

BUT THIS WEEK WAS THE SNW SEASON 2 FINALE AND I COULDN'T NOT TALK ABOUT IT.

FIRSTLY. Chapel, babes. GET THE FUCK OVER SPOCK HOLY FUCK. Spock, babygirl, GET THE FUCK OVER CHAPEL. You two are not soulmates, you will never be soulmates. I am tired of watching you two hold hands and look in each other's eyes while you could be GOING BACK TO THE SHIP HOLY FUCK MOVE.

SECONDLY. WHAT THE FUCK?!?! The Gorn are shown to be a highly advanced society capable of fucking WARP. What the actual fuck is SNW doing trying to push a "they're monsters that eat humans and babies" narrative. YOU MURDERED A CHILD. NO FUCKING WONDER THE GORN HATE YOU.

THIRDLY. Batel and Pike are kinda cute together I can see how they're meant to be together. Kinda weak making Batel get bitten by a Gorn but go off SNW- make some decisions. Would've been way fucking cooler to have Batel get into more action without getting bitten just so Pike can have some sad man moments. But what do I know? I'm not even out of high school, I cannot possibly fathom what is going on in these people's minds.

SPEAKING OF WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON IN THESE PEOPLE'S MINDS- WHAT THE ACTUAL FLIPPITY FLAPPING FUCKING HELL ARE Y'ALL DOING ON A COVERT MISSION WITH SEVENTEEN MILLION LIGHTS ON YOU. THE COLONY IS BURNING AROUND Y'ALL- THAT'S ENOUGH LIGHT HOLY FUCKING SHIT IF YOU DON'T WANNA BE SEEN BY THE LIZARDS WHO YOU DECIDED ARE CANONICALLY SENSITIVE TO LIGHT DON'T WEAR FUCKING LIGHTS.

Also Chapel uselessly looking out the window to stare at the Enterprise was so fucking stupid. I get her flashlight didn't work but also like- she had an HOUR until she ran out of oxygen/life support. Where is the hustle? Personally I would be having an actual legit panic attack as I searched for a spacesuit and extra flashlight instead of just staring at the Enterprise and calling Spock's name.

ALSO [In my opinion that means nothing] THE "TO BE CONTINUED" SCREEN FUCKING SUCKED. The ending was not satisfying at all in an "I wanna see more!" kinda way. It was more of a "LET THIS "ADVENTURE" FUCKING END" kinda way.

In my opinion the only thing that saved this episode was Scotty, my role model and the biggest reason why I wanna do aerospace engineering. That man was amazing and stole the show for me, every single time we had to cut away to see Spock and Chapel be annoying I just wished I could see Scotty again. He was so fucking cool and so fucking nerdy and just the coolest man ever.

Speaking of introducing legacy characters: next season they have to bring in Bones McCoy. And I guarantee it's gonna be top-tier because SNW seems hellbent on just ruining Spock and Chapel atm. But if they touch the grumpy country doctor and don't give him and Spock the stupidest yet so in character reason for them to just start bickering like two old woman at the bazaar I will riot.

All in all- a "what the fuck was that" episode. Loved Uhura, Pelia, Scotty and everyone else but Spock and Chapel. Their actors I have no ill will towards [I think they're both super cool and I'd love to meet them someday] but I just cannot actually stand their characters in scenes together. That's just me tho!!

[thefloorisbalaclava]

hot and cold

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader 

Words: 2,155 

Warnings: some angst, Javi likes you but doesn't know how to express that. SMUT - unprotected sex, clothed sex, fingering, spitting, spanking, dirty talk. 

Summary: Your relationship with Javi runs hot then cold with no in-between.

[Javier masterlist]

When you first met Javier Peña, he seemed like the typical man though he was more handsome than most. His good looks were overshadowed by his nonchalant attitude about who he slept with, seemingly never wanting to settle down.

You stayed away for as long as possible, telling yourself you would never fall for that Peña charm. But those big brown eyes dragged you in, and you found yourself in his bed more often than expected. You couldn’t blame drinks or him. It was all on you. He wasn’t as easy to resist as you first thought.

Your ‘relationship’ with him was complicated. The morning after you first had sex with him, he treated you strangely at work. You had floated into work on cloud nine, but by the middle of the day, you were in Hell. Your flirty words didn’t seem to work on him, and he talked to you as if you were just another notch in his bedpost. So, that was how you took it. No feelings, no strings. You were a quick fuck like all the others.

When he called, you ignored it. You openly flirted with other men. You even let him see you leaving the bar with another man one night. Your phone rang off the hook that night.

The next day, he pulled you into one of the empty offices and paced the floor before finally speaking.

“Who was that guy?” he asked, and you laughed bitterly.

“That’s none of your fucking business,” you snapped.

“So, that’s what you do now?” He stopped pacing and put his hands on his hips.

“What’s wrong, Javi? Don’t like the taste of your own medicine?” When he didn’t respond, you shrugged and left him in the empty office alone.

--

You had put in for some vacation time without letting anyone in the office know, so when you didn’t show up, it left Javi wondering if something had happened to you.

Once again, every time he called, you ignored it. You weren’t going to let him ruin your time off.

A week into your vacation, you finally decided to answer his call. Before you could even say hello, he cut in harshly.

“Where the fuck have you been?” He was probably pacing the floor the way he always did when feeling hot-headed.

“On vacation,” you said casually, looking at your nails.

“And you couldn’t tell me that?”

“Why do I have to tell you?” you wondered. You had stumped him. He stayed silent for a time. “You forget, Javi, I am not yours. I don’t have to tell you where I am, who I’m fucking, or anything else.”

“I don’t understand,” he scoffed.

“I’m playing your game, baby.”

“I’m coming over,” he told you.

“No, you’re not.” You hung up and snuggled down into your sheets.

--

You tried your best to ignore the knock on your door. You knew who it was and what would happen if you opened that door. A problem stood on the other side of that door—a man you let bewitch you with his words and coffee brown eyes. Out there stood a man you knew the reputation of, yet you still let him have you just like all of those other women.

Out there was a man that would never have feelings for you—at least not the same ones you had for him.

Cold. Very cold.

The heat between you two had cooled to the point of freezing.

He knocked again, and it startled you for some reason. Maybe if you were quiet enough, he would go away.

“I know you’re there,” he said through the door. You walked to the door and immediately grew warmer as if you could feel his body heat through the barrier. “I just wanna talk to you.”

No. You wouldn’t fall for that again. The only talking he wanted to do was pillow talk or the talking he did as he rushed to get dressed and escape after getting what he wanted from you.

You pressed your forehead against the door and sighed. Why couldn’t you tell him to fuck off?

“I’ve been…worried about you,” he said, and it suddenly felt a bit warmer like on those winter days when you get that bit of sun that shines down on you, offering its warmth even through the bitter cold.

“Liar,” you said.

“You know I don’t lie to you.” He paused for a moment. “Come on, let me in. Your neighbors are starting to look at me weird.”

“Then leave,” you told him.

“No.”

“Fine. Stay, but you are not coming in here.” You backed away from the door and hugged yourself.

Freezing.

--

About an hour later, you tiptoed to the door and looked out the peephole. He wasn’t there. He had finally given up. Good. You were starving and didn’t have anything in your apartment to eat, so you were going to walk down to your favorite little café and grab something.

You opened the door only to be startled by the man sitting beside your door holding a paper bag with two drinks on the floor between his legs.

“Had a feeling you hadn’t eaten,” Javier said as he stood with a groan. He winced as he bent his knees and stretched his back. “An hour. I’m too old for that.”

“No one told you to wait…or sit there,” you said.

“I know.”

“So don’t complain.” He held the bag out to you, and you just stared at it. “What is it?”

“What do you think it is? The same damn thing you always get for lunch. Take the bag so I can get the drinks.”

You rolled your eyes, snatched the bag from him, and watched as he bent to pick up the drinks.

“You gonna let me in?” he asked. He looked into your eyes, and you almost had to look away.

You sighed and walked into your apartment, holding the door open for him. It felt warm for the first time today.

--

“What’s your problem with me?” he asked as he sipped at the beer you offered him after he finished the drink from the café.

“What’s your problem with me?” you rebutted. He looked as if he had no idea what you were talking about. You were going to have to be straightforward then.

“You fucked me then pretended I didn’t even exist,” you snapped, and his eyebrows shot up.

“I didn’t—” he began.

“Oh, fuck you, Peña. Yes, you did! If you wanted me to be a fling, you should’ve told me that. I can deal with not being the only one,” you lied.

“Can you?” he asked, and you bit the inside of your cheek in anger.

“I think you should go.” You stood and walked to the door.

“You’re one the toughest…most stubborn women I know, you know that?” You heard the chair creak as he stood up. The sound of his footsteps grew closer as you kept your back to him. “I like that about you.”

“Obviously, you don’t.” You wouldn’t even look at him. You couldn’t because of how close he was to you right now. “Just tell me I'm nothing to you…that the sex meant nothing to you, and I can stop hoping that you’ll ever see me as more than one of your playthings.”

“I don’t wanna do this…” he sighed, and finally, you turned to him.

“Why Javier?!” you shouted. “Why can’t you? I am tired of following after you like some hurt, lost puppy. Just tell me that whatever is between us is no different than any of your other situations.” You couldn’t think of a better word for it.

“I’m not gonna do that,” he said in a normal tone. “You already know that I never lie to you, and if I tell you that you’re nothing to me or just another fling, that would be the first lie I’ve ever told you.” He looked at you, waiting for it to click.

You bounced his words around in your head, pulling the meaning out of every single one. He doesn’t want to lie to you, so that means…

“Don’t make me lie to you.” He moved closer—so close that you could smell his cigarettes and soap. You caught yourself checking his neck for any hickeys and his shirt collar for any lipstick. Nothing.

“Javier…” You shook your head. “What am I gonna do?” you cried, covering your face. “I don’t want to have feelings for you. Why can’t you make this easy for me?”

“You know I can never make things easy for anyone.” He shrugged and smirked. “I wanna see how this goes even if it isn’t easy.”

You moved your hands away from your eyes and looked at him. “See how what goes?”

He pointed at you, then back at himself. “Us.”

You shook your head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” You hugged yourself tighter.

“Look, I know you don’t trust me, and I don’t blame you, but I want to prove that I can change…”

“Javi, I can’t let you fuck around with my feelings. I can’t.” Tears filled your eyes, and Javi approached you, bringing his hands up to cup your cheeks. “I should fucking hate you.”

He just looked at you, wiping your tears away. You closed your eyes and took in his warmth. The room’s coolness was fading into heat only Javier Peña brought with him.

“I wouldn’t blame you for hating me, but I know you don’t,” he said.

“You are so fucking cocky, Peña,” you scoffed. “If we’re gonna do this, you gotta be mine and mine only. That means this…” You reached down and cupped his dick through his tight jeans. “…belongs to me.”

He grunted and swallowed hard. “Didn’t know you could…hm…could be so feisty.”

“I’m waiting for an answer,” you said, and he looked down at your hand before placing his hand over yours and pushing into it.

“It’s yours.” He looked up at you again. “Is it hot in here?” he asked, and you nodded.

Then you were kissing him, pushing him back to the sofa until the backs of his knees hit it, and he fell onto it.

“Wanna see feisty?” you asked as you pulled off your shirt, revealing that you weren’t wearing a thing under it.

“Well…fuck…,” he said in shock. You straddled and kissed him again as his hand snaked between your legs and found your wet cunt. “That for me?” he asked.

“You tell me,” you teased.

“Being angry at me turns you on?” he asked. “I gotta make you angry more often.”

“Don’t you fucking dare, Peña,” you warned. He slipped two fingers into you, and you gasped.

“What’s my name?” He pumped his fingers slowly.

“P-Peña…”

“Wrong answer.” He stopped moving his fingers. “What’s my name?” He pressed his thumb to your clit.

“Javi! Fuck, Javi!”

“That’s better.” He continued finger fucking you as you unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. It was a bit of a struggle getting his stiff cock out of the confines of his tight jeans, but you finally did with a bit of help from him.

“Can’t have til you cum,” he told you, pumping his fingers faster and rubbing your clit firmly. “All over my fucking fingers.”

“Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!” you cried, coming undone with just a few flicks of his wrist.

“Good girl. Now you can have your dick.”

You glared at him before looking down and grabbing his dick. You spat on it and stroked him as you sat on your knees to line him up. You sank on him slowly.

“Fucking…tight…” he said through his teeth.

You rode him slowly, loving the feeling of his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass.

“If you thought I was going anywhere after getting pussy this good, you were wrong.” He kissed along your chin as you whimpered at his words. “Is it mine?” he asked in your ear before biting the lobe.

“Yeah,” you moaned. Somehow you knew that it had always been. “But you better not break my fucking heart,” you told him before running your fingers through his thick hair and pulling. He hissed and thrust up into you hard.

“Never. I swear,” he breathed before kissing you deeply. He pulled away to groan loudly. “Gonna cum.”

“Do it, Javi. For me.”

He spanked your ass; you rode him harder. He grunted with each thrust, then held you against him as he moaned your name. You could feel him fill you. He was lost in the moment—eyes half-lidded, kissing and nibbling along your jaw, whispering sweet nothings.

Hot. So hot.

“Always wanted you,” he said in a husky tone.

You pulled back and looked at him. “You mean that?”

“Yeah.” He smiled lazily. God, he was so handsome. And he was yours.

Yours.

[thebrightestwitchofherage]

Am I really privileged?

First of all, I'm not going to stop using my platform here, despite all of the death threats and antisemitic slurs you send my way. Why am I posting more about the conflict now? A few comments and anons I got said I'm only posting about this since "I lost my privilege" and are mocking me for complaining.

wanting to live peacefully without the fear of being murdered isn't me being privileged. People I know are dead. My city is under rocket fire. How is this being privileged? You're telling me this safely from your house in the US or Europe. Have some self-awareness, please.

Here are some official numbers in case you forgot:

*More than 8500 rockers were fired, on Israeli civilians, from Gaza during the past month.

*Over 1400 of my people were massacred on October 7th, most of them were civilians.

*There are currently 240+ hostages held by Hamas, in Gaza. Again, most of them are civilians and 38 of them are children.

For a full week, people debated if Hamas beheaded Israeli babies or just peacefully burned them alive. Yet, it took you exactly 1 minute to spread the lie that Israel bombed a hospital in Gaza when all the evidence showed they didn't. What can you do?

Even if you don't agree with anything I wrote here, please do the following: *Report antisemitic users and posts. *Think before you reblog a port: a lot of the diagrams and maps shown in popular posts here are false. *Contact @staff - who are currently ignoring the rising antisemitism harassment Jewish & Israeli users face here.

Stop gaslighting Israeli and Jewish people - the October 7th massacre happened. Hamas' terrorists literally used body cams and live-streamed their attacks. Stop asking for proof!

Almost every Israeli \ Jewish person you harass knows a person who was either killed or kidnapped. These are our families.

Israeli and Jewish users on Tumblr deserve to feel safe, and not harrassed constantly for who they are. We do not control what is happening, nor do we represent our government. In fact, many of us are actively protesting against the current Israeli government.

READ MORE. You don't have a full grasp of the conflict just because you read one article or watched a TikTok. It's been going on for over 100 years. and is more complex than "and then at '48 the Jews came along and started ruining things".

We've been here before, and we're not going anywhere.

The rising rates of antisemitism, including some of the posts here, only prove that Israelis have no other safe place. We have nowhere else to go.

[barbiewritesstuff]

The Playboy And The Coffees

-- I know I need to upload part 3 of the Hotch series but I’m still writing it so here’s something else :) Playboy Hotch lives in my mind rent free.

Before I start… do y’all know how long I had to search to find Hotch’s handwriting??? Outrageous. Also yes, I know graphology is heavily critiques, but this is fanfic, let me pretend. 

Thank you to @lgg5989 :) and @ravensmadreads :) for beta reading and inspo!!!!

TW. Mentions of sex, violence and concussions and that’s it I think, Ope, no, also TW. for super out of character Hotch :) –

You don’t know much about your neighbour. You know his last name, because it’s on the post box. You know he has a monthly subscription to psychology today, and you know he sees his sons on weekends. And you know that because A. Hotchner, as his letterbox says, has a revolving door of women on all other days of the week.

And it’s starting to piss you off.

No, scratch that. You have just gone through a week and a half of gruelling shifts at the hospital. You have been scratched, bitten, attacked with a bedpan and called every bad name under the sun, and now the fucker next door, whom you share a bedroom wall with, is having sex loud enough that you could probably recognise the woman by voice alone. 

You are beyond furious. 

Furious enough, in fact, to march down to his flat and hit and kick his door until he opens it. He stands there shirtless, having hastily put on his underwear and with an angry frown on his face that disappears as soon as he sees you. You know you look like you’ve been through hell, and in your mind, you might as well have. Your hair is dishevelled, your scrubs are torn and one of your sleeves is hanging off limply, three large scratches red and swollen showing in the bit of uncovered skin. You look like you’ve walked away from a bear attack and you can see the thought cross his mind.

He opens his mouth to say something but you launch into a tirade before he can. You whisper-shout it, because you’re a decent person and you don’t want to wake anyone up, “It’s three am. I have come back from a twenty-four hour shift thinking I’d be able to have a good night of sleep, only to find out my dick of a neighbour is having a woman over -- and I’m not even going to call it having sex with her, because with the noise she’s making, I don’t know if she’s having fun -- do you realise I can hear everything? Every stupid thing you say? How you’re going to ruin her? How you’re going to make sure she can never walk again? How you love how dumb she gets for your dick? Buddy, no dick has that power, she’s just stupid. Which is why she’s sleeping with you. Either you keep quiet or I swear I am calling the police to report a fucking murder. And you best hope it’s not yours.”

Feeling slightly better, as though unleashing on your shitty neighbour has relieved you from the pressures of the day, you turn on your heels and walk to your own door, slamming the door as quietly as possible. Seconds later, you hear his door click shut and then their activities resume, punctuated every so often by him shushing her and telling her to be quiet. You draw yourself a bath, bubbles and all, and begin a cycle on the washing machine, ready to unwind before bed. It works a little too well and you wake up an hour later, shrivelled like a prune, with just enough energy to make it onto your bed before you crash again.

At seven, there’s a knock on your door and you go to open it, feeling frustrated. A. Hotchner stands in front of you, a little boy holding his right hand, his left one occupied by a coffee. 

“To apologise,” he says, extending the coffee towards you.

“Can I pet your cat?” the little boy says, “I know you have one. He’s black and white and he meows funny.”

You smile at the boy, “I do have a cat, but maybe you can pet him another day. I came home from work not that long ago and I’m very tired,” you explain to the child, before turning to your neighbour, “Usually when someone comes home at three in the morning, they don’t take well to being woken up at seven” you say, you grab the coffee and turn away, closing the door as quickly as you could, hoping that the wind slapped him in the face, something you really wish you could have done yourself. 

Inside, you take one curious sip of the coffee and immediately annoy yourself further. It’s good coffee. Probably from that upscale place in town that charges nearly ten dollars a small cup because their organic coffee is ground on site, which, you want to tell your sister whenever she gushes about their seven dollar espressos, you’re pretty sure all coffee places do. 

A. Hotchner also somehow managed to get the order just right, and even though it doesn’t take a genius to figure out you like caramel lattes since your recycling box is made up largely of your starbucks cups, you wonder how he managed to get that right and still forget that there were only four hours between three am and seven am. 

Luckily, you manage to sleep through the rest of the morning and wake up in better spirits than before. You have the rest of the very good coffee, which still manages to taste okay after being microwaved, forgotten and then microwaved again and set about studying for your postgrad exam. You resurface again just in time for dinner, like a bear coming out of hibernation, your mind so used to focussing that it’s hard doing normal things. 

The next day, the first Sunday you spend at home in about four weeks, is spent pretty much the same way, save for a good night of quiet sleep and no morning time interruption. Then, much to your dismay, Monday arrives and with it, a day shift.

The day is quiet and goes by fast. You haven’t been hurt, so this is one of the best days you’ve had in the past month and you’re in a very good mood, so good, in fact that when A. Hotchner, whose first name you still don’t know, starts his weeknight ritual of keeping you awake with his revolving door of women, you’re only a little annoyed. 

Then, at ten, right when you are about to go to bed, your phone rings with a work emergency. The girl he has over next door is screaming so hard that your colleague on the other side of the line asks if you’re okay, and then, embarrassingly, if you are safe and you have to explain that yes, you’re fine. You just live in a cheap apartment where the walls are made of cardboard, which sends you back into a near homicidal rage. You agree to come in, but only for a couple of hours, until the nurse that was supposed to come in can be located. Once you get there, a couple of hours turns into eight, and by the time you’re out you have an hour before your shift starts. You have to go home to feed your cat but petty as you are, and wanting to make someone pay, you buy a cup of cheap mcdonalds coffee and stick a post-it to it, depositing it at your neighbours door.

Vinnie, your cat, is happy to see you. Or as happy as a cat can be, meaning that he follows you around but acts offended whenever you try to pet him. Eventually, you abandon the search for affection and drop some kibble into his bowl before promptly leaving again. The cup is still on his doormat, so you turn the cup so the message (“She was faking it”) will immediately be visible when he opens the door and knock loudly. You disappear down the stairs before he can catch you, trying to psych yourself up for what you feel will be yet another shitty shift. 

By the time you come home again, the cup is gone, and a new one awaits on your doormat. A message is written on the cardboard band around it but you don’t read it until you’re inside. You open the door to Vinnie, your only friend by now, meowing at you like he’s asking where you’ve been.

“To work,” you reply, “Someone needs to pay for the rent. And the high end kitty kibble you demand, you freeloader.”

He meows at you again. It’s short and deep, and makes him sound like a 1940s mafia man, which is why you’ve called him Vinnie and why he gets dressed in a little suit and tie with a fake cigar for every Halloween since the day you adopted him. Or he adopted you, because you were only at the shelter to accompany your sister, and Vinnie, the spry young kitten, climbed your leg like a tree and took shelter in your coat refusing to be removed. He screamed so loud and for so long that his vocal cords were damaged. 

You think it’s sweet that he wanted to be taken home so badly, but you can’t help but wonder if he’s not regretting it now. Your apartment is shit, you get paid peanuts and you’re barely ever home. Maybe he’s lonely. Adopting another cat isn’t really viable, because you can’t afford the vet bills, or the insurance. Maybe getting A. Hotchner’s (okay, you really need to ask his name) kid to come by isn’t such a bad idea.

Speaking of, you remember your coffee. It’s from the nice place again and you savour it, not willing to stop for a second to read the message, so you twist the band off and read it like that. 

“You’re just jealous.” 

You smirk. As much as he annoys you, you’re happy he’s humouring you. And the fact that he keeps getting you good coffee when you got him a terrible mcdonald’s one isn’t entirely lost on you. Either he’s got money to spare -- he probably hasn’t. He lives in the same, shitty apartment building you do -- or he wants you to have the good coffee. 

You need to study, and try to push the thoughts of A (seriously, you need to ask. There aren’t that many possibilities… Alexander? Anthony? Andrew? Adrian? Aaron? Austin? Adam? You’re not sure, but the rest of the names google suggested when you typed in ‘boy names starting in A’ seems too modern. He really doesn’t look like an Ace… Or does he? No, definitely not. With his brown eyes, black hair and handsome face, he looks more like an Andrew or an Alexander. Andrew Hotchner sounds good too…) out of your mind, but it fails spectacularly. 

That little voice in your head, the one you don’t want to listen to because it likes to remind you of attractive boys and of the fact that you could be married by now, pipes up and reminds you that in your search for the correct A name, you described him as handsome. It also tells you that you’ve been staring at the cardboard band for nearly an hour now, with your search engine open to a tab on graphology -- and you learn that he’s a relatively calm but anchored person with good perception and memory skills (medium pressure on the pen), but also a fast and energetic writer, who is usually assertive and confident (right slant), and is overall a fairly extroverted and outgoing person (large size of the handwriting), who, at the time of writing the message anyway, is in a happy or pleasant mood (upwards tilt) -- you’re also unable to take in anything that’s written in your syllabus because you’re too busy pushing the voice down in your head to a place where you can’t hear it, all the while the rational part of the brain is telling you that maybe it has a point, you do have a crush.

You’ve met him twice, and considered strangling him both times. Is it sad to have a crush?

You don’t hear him come home that night and you sleep like a brick. Then, it’s the same for the night after that, and the night after that. You’re starting to worry, so like any normal person who’s trying to distract herself from a crush, you request an extra shift. It’s not pleasant but it works, and when you come home, A’s shower is going and you feel suspiciously relieved.

You don’t retaliate with the coffee, not wanting to stoke the fires of your crush but he doesn’t let them die. You nearly knock the coffee over as you step out to go to work. 

“Still alive?” the message says (the tilt is down now, which means he’s sad and you wish you’d never even learnt about graphology) and your heart soars. Before you take a sip, you notice something else in smaller print, “Usual place is closed, new place didn’t have caramel. You’re a girl under the age of thirty, I assumed you’d like pumpkin spice lattes.” 

The audacity of this man. You stand in front of your door in shock for a second and a half longer than Vinnie is willing to put up with so he kicks the door closed, kool-aid man style and brings you back to the real world. There’s nothing truly offensive about the message, you’re just annoyed with him as a base emotion and even more so because he’s 100% correct, you love pumpkin spice lattes. They’re actually your favourite and the only reason you don’t have them as often as caramel lattes is because coffee shops are always out. 

You stop by starbucks on your way home to get A the best coffee you can afford, and write him another post-it, “Missed my performance ratings?” you write and in small print, “The cat is called Vinnie, your kid can come by on Saturday. Also What’s your name?”

You drop it off that evening and wait for him to come home. He doesn’t. You sit on your sofa until past midnight, watching tv. They’ve interrupted the broadcast of the game show you were watching to air a press conference, headed by an FBI agent. She’s good, clear, concise and she stresses the importance of staying safe, especially for hospital personnel. If any of them experiences an attack from one of their patients, they need to report it at the number flashing on the screen. 

The group chat you set up with a few of your colleagues is going nuts, crying from laughter emojis are being sent by the dozen and you have to admit it’s amusing. They’re all counting down the injuries they’ve had on the job in the past month, and you have plenty to add. Someone offers to compile them a spreadsheet. 

You fall asleep on the sofa and wake up sore in the morning. He’s still not back by then.

----

“I assume you saw the broadcast?” another nurse asks as you sit down to have your lunch. You nod at her, “Do they think we meander through fields of roses or something?”

“I don’t think it’s a well known part of the job,” you reply between mouthfuls of instant noodles, “People think it’s easy to be a nurse, that doctors do the brunt of the work.”

“I beg to differ,” she says, unpacking her own lunchbox and diving into a muffin like a starved man on a buffet, “I had to stop Dr. Atkinson --”

“Girls, we have a code violet in the ER, all hands on deck,” Dave, the only male nurse you know by name, tells you when he pops his head through the door. 

You groan. Code violet means someone is fighting back, which likely means you’ll be sore in the morning. You’ve been attacked before, and it’s never been that bad, but when you get there, you see why the other nurses are having problems. 

It’s a young man, probably about your age with a backpack and an absolutely deranged look on his face. A bunch of staff are already littering the floor when you get there. He’s throwing punches and anything he can get his hands on at anyone who moves. Dave gets a stack of magazines in the eye and your colleague with the muffin gets slapped across the face so hard that she looks dazed for a moment. You’re the unlucky one though, because the man takes off his backpack and swings it at your head, you collide with it and it feels a little like someone’s thrown you at a wall. 

You collapse and lose consciousness almost immediately. When you come to, with Dave calling your name and holding an ice pack to your head, things have gone quiet again. The fighter has been carted off by police, and the only people left on the scenes are the patients you need to care for and half a dozen FBI agents wearing kevlar, supervising the situation. 

Dave helps you up to a nearby chair, where he instructs you to keep your head between your knees while he goes looking for a bucket. You look green, he says, and yeah, you feel it too. It feels like your entire brain’s been rearranged or scrambled in the worst way possible. Seconds later, someone silently takes the seat next to you and bumps your elbow.

“Apparently coffees aren’t good for concussions,” the person says, you look up, recognising the voice as soon as it leaves A. Hotchner’s mouth. He hands you the cup of tepid water and you take a sip, taking in his appearance. He’s wearing kevlar too, and underneath that a magically uncreased shirt, tie and slacks. All that paired with his gorgeous face, and you’re sure you’re never going to get rid of that crush. 

One of his kevlar wearing friends comes to fetch him.  A stands up, shooting you a wink and a grin as he leaves. Out of habit, you look at the cup for his handwriting. 

“Apparently, it’s not good to be alone when you have a concussion… Dinner at mine?”