#who is clearly in a bad way for uh a lot of reasons

[altschmerzes]

That Aragorn and Faramir fic idea you mentioned sounds really interesting! There's so many layers involved in those two and those around them, and it sounds like a concept you would really have fun with!

THANK YOU it’s so clear in my mind honestly. this moment in that in-between space where aragorn either comes to find him or runs into him and has the chance to talk with him for the first time - say, you know, it’s an honour to meet you. your brother spoke of you with great pride.

like. the kind of person aragorn is would be really fascinating to watch faramir figure out how to handle tbh. this is Thee Literal King, and he’s also the type of person who looks at the people around him with warmth and appreciation at all turns, who puts himself on the line beside them, who is compassionate and interested in people and like. offers people his respect. pretty much regardless of who they are, until they prove they do not deserve it.

and for faramir, who has been. well. look at all he’s been doing in pursuit of his father’s respect, his father’s love, all entirely in vain. and what came of it. he’s just narrowly survived an attempted murder/suicide, after the first time he was sent to his death for the crime of being the wrong son didn’t quite get him all the way dead. just mostly there. so he’s been suffering and bleeding and dying for the good opinion of the central authority figure in his life to absolutely no avail. and here’s the king. the literal whole king. who’s never met him before, and is now seeing him in this sorry state. who offers his good opinion freely and without hesitation.

i SIMPLY think there’s so much potential in that dynamic and i want to poke at it SO bad tbh

[ninjagotohell]

I just read a whole wacky thread of people arguing which parent was bad Garmadon or Misako and I’m no longer scared of the Misako defenders

[deconstructthesoup]

One thing I absolutely adore about Dead Boy Detectives is the immaculate costume design. Specifically, how it perfectly encapsulates who the characters are, both as a whole and who they are in the moment.

From the very first scene of the show, we know immediately that Edwin is a bookish, somewhat stuffy guy from the Edwardian era who attended a boarding school, and Charles is a punk from the 1980's who's most likely the wildcard between the two of them, just going off of the way that they're dressed. Both of them have distinct color schemes and different styles, but the general shape of their outfits is actually relatively similar---both of them have collared shirts (Edwin's dress shirt, Charles's polo), something over those shirts (Edwin's vest, Charles's suspenders), a jacket of some kind (Edwin's suit jacket, Charles's flannel thing), a longer overcoat (Edwin's traveling coat, Charles's peacoat), something around the neck (Edwin's bowtie, Charles's necklace), slacks, and nice shoes. They're distinct, yet matching, two clearly defined separate characters yet part of a set.

Edwin's prim, proper, buttoned-up personality lends itself to the way he dresses throughout the season---in the first episode, he only dresses down when he's in the office with Charles, aka his safe place and his safe person, and he doesn't really dress down like that again for a good long while after getting stuck in Port Townsend (though, if my memory serves me correctly, he does take off the suit jacket while watching TV with Niko). But in episode six, he's changed up his usual look for a cozier, casual-looking sweater and a little bit of collarbone, and in episode seven... well, he's in his nightclothes, and he's about as open, raw, and vulnerable as you can get. Edwin's color scheme is also predominately blue, which lines up nicely with his logical and practical, yet deeply sad and closed off personality, and the only time he really wears anything other than his normal blue-and-brown outfit (willingly, that is) is when he's in that green sweater in episode six. And, uh... all I can say is that it's quite telling how blue and green---or, well, teal---are the main colors of the gay/mlm flag.

Charles, by contrast, dresses down a lot, and that makes a lot of sense when you consider the fact that unlike Edwin, he feels comfortable pretty much anywhere. On any given episode, he goes from wearing his peacoat to just wearing his flannel to ditching the flannel to not even wearing the freaking polo---though, again, the latter is something that only happens when he's in the office with Edwin. Safe space, safe person. And, well, plenty of people have analyzed Charles's polo shirt going from red to burgundy to black over the course of the series, and there being a little bit of red under the collar of his coat that's only visible when Edwin fixes it, and then it goes back to burgundy, and then it's red again when Edwin's out of Hell... for good reason! It's color symbolism at its finest! Not to mention, the red and black not only perfectly contrasts Edwin's color scheme, but it also lines up with Charles's personality---he's a rebel, he's hotheaded, he's bold and brash and loud... and yes, he's angry, but he's also so, so loving.

When we first meet Crystal after she loses her memories, her outfit choices feel very deliberate. They're stylish and vaguely trendy, they're arty and a little bit witchy---pretty fitting for a psychic who's also a showbiz kid, even if she doesn't know that last part. But all of her clothes appear thrifted, or at the very least vintage, and the patterns and the general vibe all feel natural and comforting. Her makeup's always fairly simple, her hair's either down or up in a couple of cute space buns... overall, this Crystal looks like the kind of person who'd make you tea when you're in a bad mood, who'll listen when you just need to vent, and who may not always know the right thing to say but will understand what you're going through. But when we see her in the flashbacks, her clothing's flashy and prioritizes high-end trends over comfort, she's either got her hair up or has it straightened, and she not only has dramatic makeup, but acrylics. This is a girl who talks shit about you behind your back, who's bitter and cynical and wants everyone to feel the same way, who makes up for the lack of love and stability in her life via material things. It's also worth noting that Crystal's color scheme has a lot of purple, which is a color that connects to wealth and luxury, but also creativity and magic---which, yeah, fits her two conflicting sides pretty damn well.

You cannot talk about Niko Sasaki without talking about her outfits, and the meaning behind each of them has already been talked about at length. However, one thing that really stands out to me is that the reason they're so iconic isn't just because of the monochrome color schemes, but because they're out there. They're weird, they're eclectic, they're a little mismatched in style sometimes, and they're so unapologetically her. Niko wears heart-shaped sunglasses, unironically. Everything about the way she dresses speaks to how, even though she's a recovering shut-in who initially doesn't want to be perceived, she's still very sure of who she is.

Jenny's design, like Charles and Edwin's, is a design that gives you the key information you need the minute she first appears onscreen. The dark makeup, the silver jewelry, the leather apron, and the hairstyle all point to a person who's tough, doesn't take anyone's shit, and has long since given up on caring what other people think---in other words, she's a badass. But the butterfly tattoo hints at a softer side, a side that we see time and time again throughout the series as she shows that she cares about Crystal and Niko, and even the boys... eventually. Also, Jenny's design is perhaps one of the most clearly queer-coded in the series, to the point where her being a confirmed lesbian is pretty much a no-brainer.

Esther's design oozes camp, from top to bottom. The fluffy coat, the bustier, the boots and the cane and the everything, speak to a woman who's kept with the times and yet has seen it all. There's really not a lot I can fully say about her design, other than what Charles has already said: "She looks like a witch... like, kind of a sexy witch, who smokes a lot." (Or maybe I'm just tired and running out of steam at this point, idk, I love Esther's design and I can't really put it into words.) It's also pretty fitting that her color scheme has a lot of yellow in it---after all, she's always striving for more, so what better color for her than the color of gold?

Everything about the Night Nurse's design speaks to a woman who follows rules and discipline above all else, from the pantsuit to the pinned-up hairstyles to the tie to the heels. She's also the most muted out of the main cast in terms of color, dressing mostly in browns, dull greens, and duller browns---and while I don't have a lot to go into detail about there, I feel like that's kind of a symbol of her narrow-minded and bureaucratic worldview.

And the animal characters... Jesus Christ, I fully forget that they're all being played by human actors. Tragic Mick dresses like a man who's always spent his life by the sea, layered denim and all, and it's never a stretch to see this sad, bushy-bearded, baggy-clothed fisherman and imagine him as a walrus lounging on a beach. Monty, at first glance, seems to only wear black, which would be perfectly fitting for a crow, but when he's in better lighting, you see that he dresses in layers of red and blue, calling to how he envies Charles and Edwin and clearly longs for something more---and this might just be me, but I think that even though his outfits seem fairly normal at first glance, they feel kind of like a costume for Monty more than anything else, like he's trying to emulate a teenager that he's seen on TV more than someone in real life.

The Cat King fits this just as well, with all of his outfits aligning perfectly with whatever his cat form is at the time---when he's a fluffy ginger, it's always sequins and fur coats and clothing pieces that are specifically designed to take up space and call attention, and when he's a black shorthair, it's sleek styles and shiny leather and pieces that are designed to cut an intimidating yet more subtle figure. And while I could go into detail about all of those, what really stands out to me is how clearly queer everything is---more than Jenny's alt lesbian attire, more than Esther's campy coat and corset. From the very first scene he's in, he's wearing a skirt, and it looks natural. Nothing about the way the Cat King presents himself is exaggerated, nothing about the way he dresses is played for laughs---he's flamboyant and feminine and flirty, and he looks so fucking hot while he does it. It's gorgeous.

So... yeah, uh, all the awards for the Dead Boy Detectives costume designers!

[evanpetersmybf]

Be mine?

Tate Langdon x female!reader

Summary: Meeting you was his destiny. He had to make you his so he could feel alive... It was meant to be.

Genre: Smut.

Word count: 3,172

Warnings: Virgin and inexperienced reader, mentions of bullying, self-harm (just once and is nothing detailed), obsessive and stalkish behavior, swearing, cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected p in v and cumshot.

A/N: English isn't my first language and this is my first time writing smut, so sorry if it sucks or if I have grammatical mistakes or something TT. Btw, also sorry if Tate's out of character. Anyways, hope you enjoy it!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ཐི ♡ ཋྀ

Tate had another bad day. It was the usual. Bullying, failed tests, the teacher humiliating him after he couldn’t solve a simple equation on the chalkboard, his mother scolding him. Nothing seemed new, and it seemed that nothing wasn’t going to change at any point.

He needed something, a reason to live, something to make him feel alive. Because he was dead. Dead in life, which in his own opinion, was even worse than being a rotten corpse.

He headed to the music store after secretly stealing some of his mom’s money, just a few bucks; the enough amount to buy a vinyl or some CD’s. Tate was sort of a music elitist, always believing that the artists nowadays just created pure, hollow, and trashy songs. In fact, he didn’t believe those could even be considered music.

Walking around the nearly empty store, rummaging through the shelves filled with Nirvana vinyl’s, someone bumped into him.

“Oh, sorry.” You spoke, after accidentally taking too many steps back and bumping into Tate’s behinds.

He frowned, somewhat annoyed at you for disturbing his moment of peace. The blonde turned around to look at who it was, scanning your body from head to toe, taking note of your appearance. Then, his dark eyes drifted to the sign that was on top the shelf, which indicated the musical genre of the records that were on that rack. Alternative pop. His gaze went to the album you were hugging to yourself.

“Cry Baby? What type of crap is that?”

“Huh, excuse me?”

“Never mind, you won’t understand.” Tate talked in such a volatile and rude manner, already feeling superior because of his likes.

You arched an eyebrow. What was his problem? You did nothing to him and yet he was here, judging your amazing music taste.

“Well, people’s free to like whatever they want to, hmm?”

“Uh, yeah, but what’s the point of that if everything is so generic?”

“Have you ever listened to Melanie Martinez at least once?”

He shook his head no, still scowling, now fidgeting with a ring that was on one of his fingers.

“Have you listened to Nirvana?”

“Just like… Two songs?”

“Don’t tell me. Smells Like Teen Spirit?”

“Guilty.”

Tate rolled his eyes. What was going on with this generation? What happened to good music, to the greatest artists? Why was everyone just listening to trash?

After sharing your names and a few more words, debating about who was right and who wasn’t, you placed one of your hands over his right shoulder, as an attempt to stop his rant of how superior he was. And indeed, it worked. The teen stopped venting and stared at you, all confused and a bit uncomfortable. You noticed it and quickly stepped back, apologizing for touching him without permission. He told you it was okay, that you just surprised him. But deep down, that simple yet complex touch meant a lot to Tate, even if it was absolutely nothing to you.

For the first time he felt something more than sorrow.

“So… What do you think of this? I’ll make you listen to some songs by Melanie and other artists, and I’ll listen to your beloved beautiful grunge music.” You said those last words in a mocking way.

Tate huffed, clearly offended by the way you referred to his taste. Nevertheless, in the end he agreed with you.

After paying the stuff you two picked, both of you went to Tate’s place. As you walked next to him, your fingers brushed his, making his cheeks turn a light shade of red and his heart flutter. He felt dizzy, not sure about what was going on.

In his house, he took you to his room. The boy didn’t want his mother to see you, otherwise she’d be too nosy and probably scare you and push you away from him, and that was the last thing he wanted.

“Get comfy.” He mused, extending his hand as if inviting you to take a seat wherever you feel to.

“Thanks.” You sat on the floor, using one of the sides of the bed as a support for your back. He did the same and sat right next to you.

He was nervous. So damn nervous and excited. He brought a pretty chick to his place. The Tate Langdon, the outcast, the bullied, that Tate Langdon was in the same room with a girl? He couldn’t believe it.

“Ladies first.” Tate pointed the record-player with his thumb, and you obeyed, placing the CD in it. The music started playing.

“We could’ve used Spotify, y’know?”

“Nah, I don’t like it. I prefer the old school.”

‘Cry Baby’ was the first track that was listened to.

He squinted his eyes and rubbed his chin, analyzing the sounds, the melody, the harmony and of course the lyrics.

Although it wasn’t his style, you definitely were. The way you looked, talked, walked. How you stood up for your beliefs and didn’t allow him to step on you (even if you just discussed about music). It was new for him. He craved your independence. He craved you.

That was the very moment when he realized that you were the thing he was looking for all his life. You were the one who was meant to be his, he was meant to be yours. It was destiny. Tate truly believed it was some kind of divine prophecy, and he wasn’t going to let you go.

He was so immersed in his mind that he didn’t pay attention to the song anymore. He was solely focused on you, remembering how warm and kind your touch was, how sweet your voice was. ‘Oh, she’s mine’, he thought.

“So… That was the first track. Its name’s Cry Baby. Did you like it?”

Tate snapped out of it and bit his bottom lip. He didn’t listen to your question.

“I’m sorry, what did you?—”

“Did you like the song?”

“Ah, yeah yeah. It’s quite… Innovative. I’ve never heard something like that.”

You smiled and clapped your hands. “Of course! She’s such a genius. Let’s finish the album, hm?”

He just nodded, as a little smirk appeared on his face.

The days flew by, and Tate asked you out on many friendly dates. Or at least that’s what you thought because you were so oblivious at the fact that he had a fat crush on you.

With every hang out, you noticed that Tate was lonely. Like, really lonely. Maybe that’s why he was so clingy with you.

He told you about his family, about how annoying Constance was, about his siblings and about how his father left him behind. He also mentioned the bullying he suffered and almost talked about the self-harm but stopped himself.

Both of you grew closer, as his obsession.

Since you went to a different school, he would skip class and infiltrate your campus just to see you. He couldn’t stand being away from you. And if he did, his mind was full of you, thinking of you all day, unable to focus on his homework and tests. Tate didn’t care anymore if he failed subjects, as long as you were next to him, he was happy and alive.

The void he once felt, was now fulfilled with your mere presence. You could step on him, and he would thank you. In his twisted little mind, you were free to have everything of him.

He was willing to do anything to keep you by his side. The thought of losing was so terrifying that it would make him throw up.

Tate learned every single detail about you. Your mannerisms, your likes and dislikes, your dreams, and your fears. Everything. And that includes your schedule since you wake up, and since you go to sleep.

That was his definition of love. No one ever taught him about how to express it, and he ended up being the way he was with you.

One day he invited you over to his place. The Langdon's house was empty, and he was going to take advantage of it. No doubt.

“Your mom isn’t home?” You questioned as you followed him behind, going upstairs straight to his bedroom. Little did you know this wasn’t going to be another afternoon of playing board games while listening to some music.

“Nah, dunno where she went but she won’t be back any time soon.” He shrugged and let you inside of his private space,

You went to lay down on bed, feeling relief in your aching back after a long day at school. “Damn, I need some rest!”

Tate chuckled softly and sat on the edge, looking at you as you closed your eyes and tried to relax. He was focused on your steady and calm breathing, on how your breasts went up and down with every inhalation and exhalation. His eyes stared at your lips, at how kissable they looked. He felt a sudden desire, the intense urge to make you his. Feeling conflicted, he shook his head and tried to distract himself, pretending to ignore how aroused he was getting.

He wasn’t going to say it out loud, but of course he already had some wet dreams of you. He imagined you beneath him, your precious body shivering and responding to his touch, to his kisses. Your cunt wet and ready for him, just how he wanted to.

“Y/N…” Tate cooed, unable to hold back any longer.

“Yeah?” You opened one of your eyes and spotted him, sitting on the bed with his fists clenched over his thighs, while his breathing looked kinda rapid. “You ‘kay?”

“No.”

“Uh? What’s wrong?” You reincorporated and sat straight beside his warm figure. Your right hand touched his left, rubbing it up and down with your thumb.

Tate shoved you to the bed, pinning your arms above your head and holding them tight.

His breathing pattern was no longer normal. It was a heavy one.

His dark brown eyes locked with yours. Your orbs were wide, not understanding what the hell was going on. Or maybe you did but were in denial.

“Please. I want you.” He purred, seeing you with puppy eyes, the ones he knew you couldn’t resist.

“Hahah, you funny.”

He let out a frustrated whine, almost begging on his knees for you to get the hint.

“I’m not kidding. Pretty please. I need you.”

“Do you mean…?” You raised your head a few centimeters to look at his crotch in order to confirm your suspicions. Your cheeks had a cute blush as soon as you noticed Tate’s erection restrained by his jeans. It looked painful, and it actually was.

“Yes. I want to. Please, I truly need it. Please, please, please?” His voice was shaky and low, a needy desperate whisper. “Can I?”

This wasn’t what you expected for today. You saw Tate as a best friend, but you couldn’t deny he was handsome… And that he already provoked butterflies in your stomach before.

Hesitantly, you gave a shy nod with your head, giving him consent to continue. “But Tate… I’ve never done this before, I dunno what to do, I—” You trailed off, being cut off mid-sentence when Tate placed his lips over yours. The kiss was slow and tender, not rough at all. Your bottom lip was between his, as he nibbled it with extreme care to not hurt you.

After some seconds, he pulled apart and led his hand towards the side of your face, brushing some hairs away. “Don’t ya worry, princess. Leave it all to me, hm? I’ll be gentle. Unless you don’t want me to.” With that being said, he leaned into your neck, pressing his mouth on your sensitive flesh. He left sweet kisses, making you hum as you melted under him.

His lips continued to tease your skin, leaving some little bites between every kiss, trailing down to your collarbone. Tate stopped there and helped you get rid of your blouse, tossing it aside and continued his journey, this time kissing your sternum while his right hand cupped one of your breasts, kneading it gently over the fabric of your bra. He pulled down the straps and took off the piece of lingerie, setting your tits free.

The cold air hit you and your nipples perked up, looking ravishing and making him desire you even more.

He introduced one of the hardened buds into his warm mouth, sucking it greedily and making lewd wet sounds as he did so. His left rubbed the other nipple in circles, taking it with his thumb and index, pulling it and pinching it.

“Hmph… Huh…” You let out soft whimpers, slightly arching your back meanwhile he abused your breasts.

Tate stopped after some minutes, letting go of your nipple and looking at you, grabbing your chin and tilting your head to the side. He approached your ear and whispered, “You like this?”

“Yes…” You begged. Your voice was already ragged and shaky.

Instinctively, you pressed your thighs together, rubbing them as a pathetic try to feel some relief. Tate realized it and spread your legs with one of his hands. He took his digits right to your clothed pussy, eagerly rubbing the spot where your clit was.

“Someone’s already wet? Cute.” He giggled and took off his striped sweater, throwing it away. He positioned himself between your limbs and pulled down your pants, mesmerized as he saw your damp panties. Tate continued rubbing your bundle of nerves over the fabric of your underwear, still fascinated at how humid you were.

This was the moment he had been waiting for the past weeks. He wasn’t going to need to jerk off to your photos anymore, because now he would be able to jerk off to your tits in person.

Tate removed the last barrier that was stopping him from touching your womanhood directly. He pulled them down to your ankles and you helped him to get rid of it by shaking your feet.

He got closer to your cunt and placed your legs over his shoulder, spreading your folds with two of his large digits, blowing some air at the sensitive meat. Finally, he started sucking on your swollen clitoris, enjoying the feeling of your dampness against his face.

“Mmh…” He moaned, still toying with the nub. You grabbed him by the hair, not thinking about what you were doing. You just let yourself go and pulled him closer to your pussy, wanting to feel more. Your body twitched, unconsciously bucking your hips against his mouth that was currently making slurping sounds.

His attention changed and was now on your slit, teasing just the entrance with his hot tongue, while his nose rubbed against your clit. He lapped your pretty cunt, savoring your juices as if they were a delicacy.

Looking at your adorable face contorting in pleasure, he introduced his ring finger into your wet, tight hole. It was a slow and kind movement because the last thing he wanted was to hurt you. He slipped it deeper, pumping it in and out with care, increasing speed after a few seconds once he saw you comfortable. “Tell me if it hurts…”

“Mhm… It feels nice. Huh…” Your melodic whimpers and moans were just too much for him. He could listen to you for the rest of his days and never get tired of you.

Without further ado, he introduced his middle finger, now finger-fucking you with two. Tate’s thumb was also working wonders on your lil’ bundle of nerves in circular motion.

She was clenching around Tate’s large fingers, that he curled inside of her, hitting the right spot to make you squirm and feel a new and foreign sensation in your lower belly.

“Fuck it, I can’t wait anymore.”

He undid his belt, unzipped his pants and pulled down his boxers, quickly getting rid of them and letting them fall to the wooden floor.

You just stared in awe; it was the first time you saw one in real life.

Tate grabbed his hardened cock and stroked it a few times on top of you, finding amusing your silly reaction. The reddish tip was glistening with pre-cum, which he used as lube. He spat at your pussy and rubbed his slick saliva with two digits, before finally thrusting his dick.

He did it slowly, beginning with the head. Eventually, he pushed his entire length, hitting your cervix and stretching you out for the first time.

“Fuck, you’re so tight!” Even if he was taking the lead, he was a whiny mess, vocal and loud.

He continued pounding into you, his gaze never leaving your face. Tate loved how you rolled your eyes to the back of your head and how your little mouth was letting out such nasty sounds.

The room was filled with slapping and wet sounds, created by his skin slapping against yours, his balls always hitting you with every stab. Again, he placed your legs on his wide shoulders to have a better angle and pump into you deeper than before.

His big veiny hands were roaming all over your body, specifically your breasts. Within minutes, he developed an addiction to them. Probably because of his mommy issues? He grabbed them roughly, tweaking both of your nipples as he fucked you mercilessly.

Tate lolled his head as he felt your hole gripping him tight. Very tight.

He increased the pace and moaned your name, begging you to squeeze him tighter.

“Oh, please, please, please!” The blonde kept whining. He left one of his hands taking care of your nipples, while the other went back to torture your clit. He stroked it in circles, and then up and down, applying the enough amount of pressure to make you beg for more.

“Tate, I feel like I’m—”

“It’s okay, let it go, mhm?”

You couldn’t hold yourself any longer and squirted all over him, coating his lower body with your warm fluids.

“Oh, oh, oh, oh, gonna cum!” Tate pulled out from your cunt and pumped his cock with his hand finishing with a loud moan. His hot sticky white cum coated your breasts and abdomen, creating an incredible sight that he always imagined.

All spent, Tate threw himself next to you on the bed, pulling a blanket to cover both of you as he filled your pretty face in candy pecks.

“Did it hurt? First time usually does.” He looked at you, concerned for your wellbeing. “I was too rough?”

You laughed and shook your head no, caressing his messy locks with your fingers, tenderly scratching his scalp. “Don’t worry, I’m fine, really.”

Tate smiled at you and kissed you on the lips, “You’re so pretty, Y/N.”

You hugged him from behind, him being the little spoon this time. Your mind was going wild; you were still processing what happened and was about to drift to sleep when he whispered.

“Y/N…?”

“Mh, what is it, Tate?”

“I love you… Please be mine?”

[luveline]

hi love! i absolutely adore ur writing and u should be so so proud of it. anyway i was just thinking about coworker james when readers car wont start in the parking lot and he like takes a look at it and is under the hood and reader is just like "oh...😍" cause the muscles are OUT and shes down bad

ty lovely 💌 fem

“Oh,” you say, “of course.” 

You drop your face into your steering wheel and sigh. An annoyed burst of sound, not cute or feminine or fun, a grunt of defeat. This sucks. Work sucks, life sucks, your car not starting is the least of your worries and yet somehow the most prevalent. 

How am I gonna get home? you think to yourself, defeated.

“Hey!” someone calls. Jogging, the last person you want to see in the world right now stopping at your door. James frowns at you. “It’s not starting?” 

You pop your door, careful not to pop him at the same time. “How’d you know?” 

“I heard the engine turn over.”

“It’s making a clicking sound,” you say, twisting the key so he can hear it. 

“It’s dead, probably. Your battery.”

James has an odd way of talking occasionally, as though you’ve started a conversation and he’s adding onto it. Remus says it's ADHD. You like it no matter what it is and despite yourself —it’s getting harder to pretend you don’t like him. Like, you hate him, he’s annoying beyond explanation, but your more positive feelings for him are heavy and ever present. So, so heavy.

“I’ll pull my car up and we can give it a jumpstart,” he says. “Easy fix.” 

“You don’t have to go?” 

“What?” 

“You have rugby today.” 

“Oh, no, it's the off season now.” He smiles and you don’t get why. “Let me go get the car.” 

James jogs back to his car and brings it next to yours. Everybody who isn’t Human Resources or security has left already, leaving the car park practically empty, ample room for him to park beside you. He gets back out. 

“I don’t have, uh, cables,” you say.

James gives you a smile that is as patronising as it is attractive. “Don’t worry about it, beautiful. I have everything you need.” 

He feels along the edge of your hood, pops the seal, pushes it up into the air, and hooks the prop rod into place. He’s clearly done it before, and the whole while you’re watching his arm. His rolled sleeves draw attention to the tightness at his bicep, and the moving ligament and muscle of his tricep as he leans into the engine to look things over. “I’m no mechanic, but I do know everything, and I thought maybe things were a bit hot but your engine’s stone cold.” 

“So it’s definitely the battery?��� 

“Probably.” He scratches his jaw, peering curiously into the guts of it all. “When was the last time somebody looked in here?” he asks, squinting at you, unaware that he’s the finest thing you’ve ever seen. 

Your breath gets caught. 

“Have you ever had it looked at?” he asks, concerned. 

“I… maybe I did. I think so.” 

“You’re supposed to have it looked at every year? For MOT?” 

“I know, I thought you meant before that.” He’s distracting.

James looks you over. “It’s fine,” he says emphatically, “even if I can’t fix your battery, I can still drive you home. You’re panicking for no reason.” 

“Right.” Panicking! Yes, this is panic.

“Listen, can you get the jump leads from my boot? I have to open the hood.” He gestures for you to go. You do as he’s asked, wobbly, and struggle when you get there to actually open it. You slides your fingers under his car's emblem and flinch as it flies up past your face. 

His boot is surprisingly well organised. There’s a duffel bag to one side half-zipped that showcases a flash of red and white uniform, a pair of formal shoes, a dark jacket folded and hidden behind the bag. You want to be nosey and you don’t want him to think you’re stupid. You rush to grab the cables and almost clip yourself on the boot as you duck from under the boot and round the car. 

James smiles when he sees you. No indication that you’re an imposition, it’s sort of like you’re two friends. 

He pushes his sleeves farther up and digs in. It’s awful, what business does he have looking so sharply put together? You hadn’t thought you were preferential to muscle until right this moment watching James move around your engine like an expert. 

“What are your plans tonight?” 

Your palms are hot behind your back. “I was thinking I’d watch a new movie.” 

“That sounds fun.” He ducks away from the engine. “I don’t watch many movies.”

“What do you do with all your time?” 

“Argue with Sirius about who’s turn it is to wash the dishes.” 

You startle. “You and Sirius live together?” 

James laughs and pulls the leads to his own engine. “You didn’t know that?” 

“You come in different cars.” 

“I come in much earlier than he does. And after work he and Remus always have things to do. It’s weird, isn’t it, how couples are always busy? I feel like I never do anything.” James grins at you. “This is interesting, at least. My Friday night isn’t a total waste.” 

James gets into his car and you into yours. With some fiddling, pleading, and a strange noise, he manages to push life back into your car. His smile when it works is his worst one to date, elated and shockingly handsome. 

That Monday, against your better judgement, you bring him a little carrot cake in a tin. A thank you card felt like too much. 

To his credit, he doesn’t brag to anyone that he saved you. He says thank you for the cake with another real smile, and for some reason, despite the mild weather, he rolls his sleeves up at his desk. Almost like he noticed you…

Well, he couldn’t have. Right?

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

TERRITORIAL. | Pretty Baby

Who would've known that the big bad wolf isn't actually all that bad?

Tags/Warnings: Punk!Jungkook, Wolf!Jungkook, Good girl!Reader, Dom!Jungkook, Sub!Reader, Corruption kink, strangers to crushes to lovers, Fluff, Adult themes

Length: uuuh long idk

There is no taglist for this fic.

-> Masterlist

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Strawberry milk is your favorite.

It's always been a comfort thing for you- just like certain snacks or fabrics make you feel comforted, strawberry milk gives you that little bit of extra braveness at night after work has ended to finally make your way back home into the safety of your apartment.

But tonight, it's a bit different. Tonight, there's a group of vamps outside, clearly trying to agitate the wolves who've been ruling the streets for a while now.

It's not actual gang-behavior. They're not actively fighting or anything, there's never any guns or other violence involved- at least not on the surface. Underground, you're sure this must be a different story- but on the streets, the wolves play the tune everyone else dances to- the vamps only occasionally trying to provoke something, which never actually happens.

But that doesn't mean it won't tonight. Maybe tonight's the night it'll escalate.

And on nights like this, you sometimes feel like moving into the big city was a big mistake too, because this seems so normal to everyone else around you.

Back home in your little town, there wasn't anything like this at night. People would go to bed at reasonable times, you'd know every neighbor by name and house number, and you never had to fear going home alone. But here, things are different. Here, things are a lot more dangerous, especially as nothing but a human with no connection to either group.

You kind of want to stay neutral- even if, deep down, you feel more drawn towards the wolves with their more laid back approach to life.

Outside the small convenience store, you throw away the empty bottle of strawberry milk, before you reluctantly make a few steps- looks from a few vampires immediately making you retreat however, pulling out your phone to appear occupied. You can hear them snickering amongst each other already, laughing and talking, making comments about you.

You can't do this, fuck that.

You look around a little, when you notice someone from the nearby wolves looking back at you- a young man, golden eyes a tell-tale sign of what he is, as he sits on his bike that's perched up on it's kickstand. He's watching you, but not in an intimidating way- he's more so calculating it seems like, scanning the situation before he looks towards a friend nearby, who nods, some others nodding as well as they move closer.

He's got his hands in the pockets of his jacket, beanie hiding the slightly faded blue-ish strands of hair. Everyone of the tiny group appears relaxed and non-threatening. But there's a certain confidence in them that intimidates you a little as they walk closer.

That is, until he smiles at you-

and his black tail behind him wags, swaying from side to side.

"Alright guys, can we make some space here for the lady to pass through?" He asks towards the group of Vamps, who laugh, before they reluctantly make space for you to walk. The young man carefully moves to walk a little behind you, the other's shielding you just as much on the side that's turned towards the blood-dependent human variants. It just confirms to you that yeah, you're definitely more drawn towards wolves.

"There we go. Is your home far?" The young wolf asks, still keeping a respectful distance towards you.

"Uh.. no, not really." You deny, and he nods. "Thanks, by the way." You bow to him and his friends politely, everyone just waving it off- though you can see all their tails swaying a little. It's honestly.. cute, if they didn't all look like they could probably break your neck at a moment's notice.

But they don't. Instead, they all agree to your request to walk home now by yourself, and let you go-

though you can feel one person's eyes on you for a little longer, and when you turn around, he smiles that smile again.

A smile that's just.. genuine.

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You meet him again the day after at the convenience store, though he's sporting a fresh scratch on the top of his cheekbone. He doesn't seem to be in too much pain as he spots you however, having just bought your typical strawberry courage to go home tonight. "Do you always work this long?" He wonders, and you nod, sitting down next to him at the narrow table at the windows of the small store. He's been eating something, bowl now empty though, faint redness on his lips the last remnant of his meal.

"What happened?" You ask, pointing to your own cheek, when he seems surprised, touching his own before hissing at the sting. "No don't touch it-" You whine, before you look for something in your bag, opening another, smaller, makeup bag. "here- or... do you want me to help?" You wonder, making him nod and lean forward with a faint smile on his lips, hands holding onto the chair he's sitting on between his legs as he closes his eyes so you don't feel watched.

As you clean up the scratch and put a bandaid on, you kind of have to think about the fact that he seems awfully.. less threatening than you thought he'd be, considering he's a wolf from the big city. But maybe the one's you know from the smaller towns are just.. a little too full of themselves, pride getting the best of them.

"Oh-" You suddenly say, noticing the little cartoon fish on the bandaid you just placed on his cheek.

"What, 'oh'?" He wonders back, and you hold out another bandaid to him so he can take a look.

"I'm sorry, I didn't- I forgot I only have those…" You mumble a bit caught off guard by your own actions. But he just laughs, giving it back to you with a smile and shake of his head.

"It's fine- they're cute!" He simply shrugs, not bothered by it at all. "Thanks." He offers, tail swaying behind him. "So- can I ask what you work as?" He wonders, and you nod, putting your stuff back into your bag.

"Just data management. It's pretty boring." You shrug to yourself. "But I can work by myself and I like that." You explain, zipping your bag shut before you look at him again. "Although.. I might have to get myself maybe a dog, when I go home at night. A big, scary looking one you know? But they've got to be nice so I can bring them into the office with me.." You mumble, drinking the last of your milk as he turns his body to face more openly to you again, a playful smirk on his lips.

"How about I'll be your big bad dog then, huh?" He flirts, tail swinging side to side behind him. "Though I'm probably not allowed in the office.." He laughs, especially when you roll your eyes and still smile at his joking attempt at flirting. It was a joke.. right?

"Ha-ha." You say because of that, though he just widens his eyes, feigning innocence.

"Hey I'm serious!" He offers, leaning a bit closer. "I could take you home every night- and if I can't, someone of my pack could do the job instead."

"I- I'm probably not even gonna stay in the city for too long." You sigh, playing with the fluffy pom-pom ball attached to your bag. "I don't like it here very much.. it's too.. I don't know. I don't belong here.." You mumble.

"Maybe you've simply not seen the good parts of the city." He shrugs. "I could show you some."

"And by some you mean your bedroom?" You sigh, looking at him with a bit of an attitude- and he can't help but be intrigued by that little hint of spice you seem to have, underneath your pretty visuals and rather introverted appearance.

"If you'd like to visit, the door's always open for a pretty girl like you." he purrs, and at that, you clearly turn shy. "..And I don't ever open that door for anyone but myself, typically." He adds on, and at that, you look back at him, searching for the deeper meaning of that statement-

and you seem to find it, in the warmth of his eyes and the slight redness to his ears.

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"Have you ever been a backpack before?" Jungkook asks, as he waits outside of your apartment, one helmet on his bike and the other in his hand.

"Uh.. no-" you say, honestly never having heard the phrase.

"Would you like to try?" He asks, motioning towards his bike, holding out the helmet. "Got this one from a packmate. Should fit you." He says, black and grey tail wagging as you take it somewhat reluctantly. "And I'll drive extra careful too." He says, helping you put on the helmet properly before his hands adjust the strap under your chin.

"What if I fall off?" You worry, but he just laughs, putting on his own helmet. You notice that his hair seems freshly dyed- nor black.

"Not if you hold on to me." He explains, sitting on the bike after putting up the kickstand. "Hop on- I'll keep it stable." He reassures you, as you somewhat awkwardly climb onto the back of his bike. Only when his hands pull yours around his middle do you notice he's only really keeping you both and the bike stable with his feet alone.

And it makes you wonder how strong he might be.

"There we go. You'll figure things out as we go, trust me." He chuckles, small speakers in his head connected to his own too so you can talk properly. "Good to go?" Be asks, and you nod-

That is until his bike roars to life, and you instinctively cling onto him for dear life as he turns to drive off onto the main road.

He laughs. You're not sure what's so funny.

"Oh look at Jungkookies new passenger princess!" Someone jokes suddenly over the speaker, and you look around just to find three people on bikes as well at the same red light.

"Nervous?" Another voice asks, and Jungkook growls a little in front of you.

"You're making her nervous, hyung!" He complains, making the stranger's laugh. "Don't worry, they just want to mess with me.." he mumbles towards you, hand squeezing yours for a little in comfort.

"Yeah of course, after all Jungkook's finally all grown up!" The first voice laughs. "Finally up for an actual relationship now, fuckboy?" He asks, and at that, you grow a bit nervous.

Fuckboy? Relationship?

Just who is Jungkook really? You've got no idea. Sure, you've texted over the past few days, but you basically know nothing about him. He could just try and get into your pants, maybe that's his whole thing- maybe he likes them innocent and stupid to have a quick fuck and then drop them again. With looks like his that must be easy.

You're easy.

"Please don't listen to them, they're just assholes-" He tries to explain as the light finally turns green, but you're quiet, and Jungkook has a feeling that something's wrong. "You okay?" He asks occasionally, but you just nod and move on, not really up for talking anymore. He just wants to screw you anyways. Maybe he really is just a big city wolf down the line.

The scenery is nice, but you don't really feel like enjoying it too much as you just want to go home right away again. It's something you do- you hide from things, because confrontation just ends in you being at fault all the time. And maybe, this time, you are at fault.

You shouldn't just trust someone like that. You both barely know each other.

He parks at a gas station, turning off his bike in a more secluded parking area, before he takes off his helmet, and helps you take off yours too.

"What's wrong?" He asks, hair a bit wild, but eyes serious as they look at you, reflecting the light from the neon signs a little like mirrors.

"Nothing." You shrug, avoiding eye contact.

"He was just messing with me. They're always like that-" he tries to explain, and as you sigh, he knows that that's exactly what must've set you off. "Listen, I won't stand here and tell you I'm a church-going virgin because I'm not. Yeah, I fucked around, because sex is fun to me." He shrugs, and you're caught off guard at how boldly he says that. "But that doesn't mean I can't take things seriously." He offers, finally catching your gaze again. "And I want to take.. you seriously." He offers you, but you're not sure.

"...why?" You wonder. "Cause I'm pretty and innocent?" You jab at him. "Cause I'm the small town girl you can corrupt and then drop after you finally got into my pants?" You accuse. "Sucks to be you, I'm not a virgin anymore. I've had sex already, and for me it's not fun." You deny, crossing your arms almost defensively, though you quickly move your hands back on the bike as it moves slightly the moment he sits on it again, facing you however.

"I don't care about that." He tells you. "I won't lie that the corruption part isn't something appealing to me-" he chuckles, as he tests the waters, hands on your thighs not moving, just resting on the tops of them. "-But I'm not dropping you, if you ever let me have you." He purrs.

"What if I'm not ever letting you have me?" You respond, trying to act tough so he won't think you're easy.

"Then that's your choice." He nods.

"So if I say no right now, you'll leave me alone?" You ask.

"Depends on what you say no to." He shrugs leaning back a little, your legs feeling cold without his hands on them. "No to sex? Alright, we won't fuck then." He explains. "No to being with me? Cool, we'll just stay friends then." He goes on.

"No to me entirely?" He offers, eyes unreadable. "I'll accept that, and back off."

"That easy?" You ask a little caught off guard, and he nods. "So you're.. huh." You mumble to yourself, defeated. So he's not even up to put any effort in you. That's slightly disappointing, and honestly makes you feel a little ashamed even.

"So what is it?" He asks, and you shrug.

"I don't know." You answer honestly.

"Then how about I'll work for it?" He smirks, and you look at him now. "Let me take you out. Let's go on dates, I can take you to pack meet-up's so you can get to know those assholes better, hell, I'll even have you meet my mom if you want!" He excitedly proposes to you, tail wagging, hitting his bike occasionally. "Just- you seem really cool. Exactly what I've been searching for." He explains a bit softer now. "Let's try.. okay?" He asks.

"... okay." You answer, and at that his lips turn, part in a happy grin, before he gets up from the bike and punches the air once in his excitement before he returns.

"Okay!" He giggles to himself, helping you back into your helmet. "I know an awesome place to get some food-" he instantly rambles, kicking up the stand for his bike again before he drives off with you-

Eager to show you that he's the one for you.

[zoropookie]

HOW HATERS ARE BORN (HHAB)

♡ chapter twenty-three — friends? (💋)

"Hey, if any reason we don't make it out without anyone seeing us, I just want to say that," You paused to look at him while you two were walking. "I think I’d rather be in a dating scandal with an insulin pen than you."

The corners of his lips twitched. "Wow." He said sarcastically, attention mainly on where he was going. "I never knew you were capable of thinking."

"My brain power’s not for free, just so you know," You immediately responded. "I changed my mind what I said earlier. I want at least three Twitter apologies and a lifetime supply of Jason Derulo concert tickets."

Scaramouche's eyebrows furrowed, giving you the nastiest side-eye that you could have ever imagined from him. "I'd rather take my chances with the scandal, thanks.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him lightly with your elbow. You couldn't help but look at him a lot more than usual today. The allure that rang true put him in a different light, despite the light not being your cup of tea whenever he opens his mouth.

It was almost like the gravity of the situation didn't matter anymore. Still, you remained high and mighty. "I guess I'd want to be around me too."

"You're very sure of yourself for someone who's annoying every other day of the week."

"I’ll take it. It's why I exposed you so bad, and you flailed." You smiled, which caused Scaramouche to grunt in frustration. "You got burned, and you knew it too. Despite all odds, I kind of won."

"You did? Is that why you went AWOL for two weeks when I responded?" There was a split moment of silence between them as they stood there, and Scaramouche chuckled. The sound was low and throaty in the dimly lit alleyway. "All the considering, and this is very painful to say, but you were better with words than I was."

"Is that... another COMPLIMENT I HEAR COMING FROM YOUR-? I forgot it’s three in the morning." You sighed, shoulders dropping. "I'm satisfied with being the cunning wordsmith."

“You’re also just pretty fucking unfortunate to be around, but we can stroke your ego.”

“I love that you’re taking the diplomatic approach here.” You teased, feeling your heart warm up from his staring. Both of you looked at each other, uncertain to say anything, but hesitant to break the eye contact.

“Hey— uh.” You continued, stammering on your words. “If this all blows over? You wanna…go out?”

The amount of silence that was between them should have been enough of an indication to you, but you definitely knew it was solidified once he looked at you with a blank stare. “No.”

“Yeah, no. I started feeling like I was going to vomit when I said that anyway.” You quickly recovered, turning your body away to bite at your hand. Your eyes squeezed tight in embarrassment, hoping that you melt by some galactic beam in the next two seconds.

Amongst their chatter, and the alleyway that hid both of your figures, a distant rumble slowly became louder as the sound echoed off the walls. A pair of headlights pierced the darkness, and the beams of them against the worn down pavement on the curb assured them that it was definitely the group.

"Come on, come on!" Hu Tao shouted from the window, making you and Scaramouche cringe. She clearly found joy from this, because for some reason, the smile plastered on her face spoke volumes.

You both shared a fleeting glance, a silent exchange of words before entering the car.

"Well, well, well. If I would have known that Scaramouche himself would be in my car, I would have put 3/4th's water in my gas tank." Heizou raised an eyebrow, his tone dripping with amusement and mirth.

"Oh, be nice." You pursed your lips, squinting. "Like you made an effort to help me out in the past. Now you're on your high horse?"

"Um, that's alleged."

"Really? Is it? How's that case against (Y/N)'s hater going, Officer Shikanoin? Found any way to protect them?" Lumine spoke up, her arms crossed stubbornly. "Well?"

"Listen! I was given a very narrow band of things that I can do with that! Aaaand, my hands were tied with a lot of other things." Heizou defended.

"Yeah, I'm sure your hands were tied with all the Cheetos you were picking up, the ones you spilled in some sawdust." Yanfei chimed in with a wry grin. "But I suppose I can't blame you for your...preferences."

"You knew that was an accident."

"Oh Heizou, I never saw it as an accident."

The two of them were arguing so much with input from the others in the car, that you and Scaramouche could only look at each other again and back at the scene. This was the only way the two of you were getting home safe from social media.

"You wasted 2 hours picking up every single one-"

"I don't see how this is relevant to where we're going right now!" Heizou immediately interrupted her before she could finish. "Directions, anyone? Before I hit a dead end?"

Yanfei immediately started tapping on her phone screen, pulling up the GPS navigation app she used. "So you turn left, but the rest of it is all you." She said, shoving her phone towards Heizou who snatched it out of her hand.

"Where are we going anyway?" Hu Tao asked, too enamored in Yanfei to say anything substantial until now.

"Ei has a vacation lodge, it's pretty cool, and it has way too many guest rooms. We're going there, I assume you have a key to it, Scaramouche?"

Scaramouche couldn't even respond properly, only offering a yard long stare. "How do you know she has a vacation lodge?"

"Did you forget that you're an influencer?" Another mysterious voice, almost similar to a child’s, appeared suddenly.

Nahida’s head popped up from the back seat, next to Lumine. It was less surprising knowing that all of them were clashing groups, anyway. But Aether’s eyes narrowed to the front seat.

“Officer Shikanoin…” Aether said in almost a disgusted tone. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“It’s definitely NOT what you’re thinking right now—” Heizou took his hands off the wheel, causing the car to swerve for a split second. “DEAL WITH IT, okay. I’ll explain when we get there.”

previous ♡ masterlist ♡ next

YOU ARE on your way to being one of the hottest streamer in your nation at the moment, racking a monthly average of 10 million viewers, but something specific bothers you about it. you know that a lot of people hate you, but there's this one account. one account that's been following you since the early days of your career. they leave a flood of rude comments in your stream, your moderators banned each account they made, but they keep making more. you are at the end of your tether. but you are yet to find out that this persistent cockroach is none other than your friend's friend (and the only other streamer that's bigger than you), scaramouche.

taglist ♡ @thystarsshine @veekoko @gumickajolli @simonisferal @kamiboo

@justpeachyteastea @feiherp @pinkismyfavcolor @aether-darling @kunisnaomi

@keiiqq @mine-lu @featuredtofu @danhenglovebot @k4zushi

@kyon-cherri @b4tm4nn @iiinaurate @quacking-simp @auroratumbles

@kookiibun @ulquiorraswife @amvpk01 @simplysm1le @h3xi2g0n3

@alatusorrow @scaranthropy @mellowberrie @magica-ren @vernith

@kabukipookie @bananasquash @suqarlaced @dellalyra @lightyagamifan

@yourfavoritefreakyhan @heartsforseo @yomishen @pwushizz @swivy123

@strxwberryfetish @ibyobi @ashfrommars4 @chemiru @ainnofinway

@agaygothicmushroom @levianamor @dragontammerz @wth121 @lylovw

@morgyyyyyyy @lovemari @suniika @melpomenelurks @yumejo89 (bold users means i'm having trouble tagging you)

[from-the-clouds]

bad liars (savior complex ii) - joel miller x f!reader

part one | masterlist | song inspo |

Baby, you're a vampire You want blood and I promised...

summary: It's been a month since Joel has last seen you, fully healed since your last interaction. But you haven't spoken...at all. Your radio silence becomes cause for concern when he hears about an outbreak of Infected at the hospital where you work. There's enough explanation in this part that you could read it on it's own, probably, but I'd highly recommend reading part one first to get the full experience. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 7.9k warnings: SMUT - 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. (porn w/ plot, unprotected sex, oral, rough sex, dirty talk, praise kink, age gap. dom/sub dynamics.) Heavy angst, multiple POVs, implied drug abuse, alcohol use, canon-typical suffering! Blood mention. Both reader/Joel are insanely emotionally unavailable, and love to lie to themselves and each other! (please dm for specifics if you have any questions). a/n: Ya'll loved savior complex and I'm so happy! Literally don't think I've had a fic get that many notes before, i had so many requests for a part two and because it felt like i left things open-ended enough, this came to me pretty easily! It might be the horniest thing I've ever written and also very angsty (what's new?)....but I think you'll like the ending <3 Special to @ay0nha for letting me yell at you about my writing and to @zbeez-outlet for the wonderful idea.

Joel exhales and runs his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair – the tips of which were frozen together from standing outside for so long. It had gotten cold out. Very cold. Boston always did this time of year, and because of it, people stayed in, and crime in the QZ dropped, making it a safer place - though that wasn’t saying much. 

Of course, the cold didn’t stop him from dealing. It did make his job a hell of a lot more difficult, since FEDRA was bored, out looking for trouble, and didn’t have more pressing matters to attend to. Although today, he must’ve been in luck, because the only sign of FEDRA had been helicopters and tanks that were clearly on a mission, driving to the opposite side of the QZ. Good, he had thought. A distraction. 

Joel leans back against the brick wall of the alleyway, pulling the hood of his jacket up over his ears, stares at the ice in the cracks of the pavement. When he hears the crunch of gravel underfoot, he straightens.

The man approaching looks nervously over his shoulder, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his flimsy sweatshirt. Dave, a customer of his for some time. 

“You’re late,” Joel doesn’t bother with a proper greeting.

“I know, I know, I got held up on my way here,” Dave answers, immediately beginning his excuse. “They cleared out the hospital because of an outbreak, that whole area was locked down so I had to take the long way.”

“Outbreak?” Joel tilts his head.

“Infected. I guess a bunch of hospital staff got bit. FEDRA had to go in and put them all down.” 

Joel feels a distant pang of concern somewhere in the back of his head. “How many?”

Dave shrugs, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t know, man, that’s all I know. It’s not like they’ll ever tell anyone what actually happened.”

Joel can’t help but think of you. He knows a couple people who work at the hospital, most of them through smuggling, but you’re the only one who he’s really able to bring to mind at the moment.

“So, can we, uh…”

Joel pulls the plastic baggie out from his pockets, fishing out the pills. On his end, Dave produces a wad of credits, his shoulders sagging in relief once they’ve made the trade and the drugs are in his hand. He takes one immediately, shoves the rest in his pocket. “Thanks man, I’ll see you next week?”

Leaning back against the wall, he nods, and watches his customer disappear down the alleyway. 

The second Dave is out of sight, Joel’s chest tightens, and he takes a deep breath. There’s no reason why news of Infected at the hospital should concern him. If FEDRA had been called in – they would’ve gunned down anything that moved until it was under control. He knew, better than anyone, that they would do unspeakable things in the name of keeping order. Innocent people probably died, but the dead can’t get infected.

It had been about a month since Joel had last seen you, after he’d gotten beaten within an inch of his life and ended up on your doorstep, and you were the only person that could help. It hadn’t gone at all how he expected it would – at the end of the day, he had been surprised by your tenderness. 

Still, despite that you’d let him take you on the edge of your bed, legs wrapped around him, bouncing on his cock, he wouldn’t really say that it changed anything about your relationship. He had actually been kind of afraid that it would, that your attitude towards him would shift to something more amicable.

But you hadn’t spoken to him in a month. Joel had told you he owed you one after you stitched him up, and had anticipated that you’d take him up on his offer pretty quickly. There were so many things he could do for you to make your situation better. Maybe you’d need credits…. Medicine…. Food…. Booze… Pills, something, but you haven’t reached out. You could just be biding your time until you really need the favor.

Still, the radio silence takes him aback. He should be relieved that you aren’t talking to him. But nothing? Even if it’s not about a favor…he wants some kind of confirmation that you’d both made a mistake. After all that, did you really expect nothing from him?

It dawns on him there’s now a chance you’ll never speak to him again, because you’re one of the ones that FEDRA killed. Or worse….you had gotten bit. 

Joel passes by the hospital, taking the long way home. Everything is locked down, taped off. There’s a crowd around the place – family members, he assumes, pleading with FEDRA agents for information and getting nothing in return.

“Go home. I’m sure they’ll turn up,” he hears one of them say to a weeping woman. It’s useless to ask for an honest answer, for one of them to actually care. 

Joel could go home. He could crush a couple pills, snort them, and quell the burn with a couple drinks. He could fall into restless sleep and wake up the next day as he always did, go about his business as usual. Survive. One day at a time. 

Would he ever get confirmation that you’re alive? Because at this rate, he’s not sure he’ll ever know either way. 

The feeling is going to linger. He hates it. Were you gone? If you are, he can handle knowing. Its somehow worse not to. 

He tries to justify it to himself. You’re one of his solid connections to the hospital, you’d traded with him for medical supplies before. This is business, really, if he thinks about it that way. If you’re dead, he and Tess need to find someone else to work with. 

Joel decides to take a detour on the way back to his place.

It’s past curfew when he arrives at your apartment, the sun has long since dipped below the horizon and with that comes an even harsher cold. Boston winters, he thinks to himself. If he is capable of missing anything, he’d say he missed Texas. Before all this, the last place he’d be caught dead was on the East Coast. 

Joel raps on your front door. He forgets how shitty your building is, that you sleep here alone every night, listening to your neighbors arguing through the thin walls, shady characters slinking out of shadows in the dimly-lit hallway,

A few seconds pass. When he hears nothing behind your door, he knocks again, a little louder. 

More time passes. He knocks again, louder. Maybe you didn’t hear him. 

Nothing. He does it again. Could you be asleep? His jaw clenches.

Still nothing, and Joel knocks even louder. Maybe you’re not even here, and you work nights, and he’s just missed you as you head out for another shift. But he knows that’s unlikely. Since he’s known you, you’ve never worked nights. So where the fuck were you?

Joel’s pounds on your door, yells your name into its chipping paint. He listens for something, anything, on the other side, and there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, but he keeps going The side of his fist starts to hurt, but he can’t stop himself. He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until he hears one of your neighbors yelling from the end of the hallway. 

‘Shut the fuck up!’

Joel doesn’t hear exactly where the voice comes from, but it’s enough to snap him out of it. He halts his movements, his forehead falling against hollow wood, and in the silence, hears his heart pounding in his ears. 

“Fuck!” he kicks the wall just outside the frame of your door so hard the drywall gives, leaving a hole behind. “Fuck.”

He stares at the result of his outburst for an undetermined amount of time. You were all alone. To his knowledge, you had no immediate family to inform. Who would be around to remember you? He’d never really know for sure what had happened. 

“Joel?”

He looks up, his hands still clenched tightly into fists. When he sees that it’s you, standing at the end of the hallway, they loosen. 

You look horrible - haggard, tired, your hair tangled and matted. As you move closer to him, he doesn’t miss the way your shoulders are hunched underneath the weight of your backpack. But once you’re standing in front of him, you straighten, lift your chin. 

“What is this?” you ask. “What are you doing here?”

There’s no animosity in your tone, he thinks. You might be trying to put some in there, but you don’t have the energy to do so, so it just comes out sounding very flat.

Joel realizes, suddenly, that he doesn’t have a reason. A real reason that wouldn’t….give him away. He puts his hands on his hips, thinks desperately. You do nothing to help.

When he settles in silence, offers you nothing, you just sigh and shake your head. Your teeth are chattering, lips cracked from the cold, and you seem desperate to get into shelter, twisting your key into your lock and opening the front door. Once you step inside, you flick on the lights. He follows you, closes the door behind you both, and locks it.

“Oh, yeah, come on in, I guess,” you say over your shoulder. 

Joel crosses his arms, standing in your kitchen. 

“What, am I in trouble or something?” you ask. “Because if I am, you’re gonna have to wait until I’ve showered.”

“It can wait,” Joel says, and sits at one of your kitchen chairs. 

You shrug off of your backpack and leave it on a chair, then unbutton your coat, tossing it on top. Joel swallows hard when he sees the damage it’s been hiding. Your scrubs are dirty, tattered in some places, one of the sleeves hanging, partially ripped off. And they’re covered in dried blood. It’s smeared on your arms, on the back of your neck. Not yours, he hopes. 

What the fuck happened to you? You don’t turn to see his reaction, don’t look over your shoulder to see if he’s going to ask about it. It’s almost like he’s not even there, and you clearly wish he isn’t. 

He realizes then, that he has the confirmation he’s looking for. You made it out alive. He doesn’t actually need anything else from you. And you’ve given him a perfect out. He can leave while you’re in the shower. 

But he doesn’t. Not when he hears the shower start, or the screech of the curtain across the metal rod, the sound of water hitting the basin. He stays there, motionless, until you duck out of the bathroom with your arms wrapped around yourself, wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants, hair damp and teeth chattering. 

You pad with bare feet onto the tiled area of the kitchen, brushing past him. 

“What the fuck happened to you?” he asks. 

You finally look at him, like you’re surprised he spoke up, or even asked the question. A choked, bitter laugh leaves you, and you shift your attention away from him, reaching into your cabinet for a bottle of bourbon. “Pass.”

You pour yourself a whiskey, and Joel watches you throw it back in one go, your nose scrunching up, your hand clasping into a fist as you take the shot. The taste doesn’t stop you from pouring another drink and gulping that one down, too, without as much of a reaction as the first. It’s only when you start pouring the third that he intervenes, standing and crossing the room to cover the glass with his hand before you can grab it. 

“Slow down,” he says.

“I know you’re not telling me what to do in my own home.” Your mouth opens as you look up at him, incredulous. 

Joel looks past you, shakes his head. He supposes your right, but it doesn’t make it any easier to watch the self-destructive behavior, which is funny considering how often he engages in it himself. He gives in, removes his hand from your glass. “At least…pour me one. You shouldn’t drink alone.”

Your expression softens slightly, and he’s able to see all the pain you’re hiding, just for a flash, before you turn to retrieve a second glass from your cabinet. 

Once you hand him the whiskey, he sits in the middle of the tiny loveseat you’ve got in your front room, expecting you to sit in the armchair across from it. Instead, you approach with your own drink, nudge his knee with your own, and Joel slides over to make room so you can fall onto the couch beside him. Much closer than he’d expected. 

It’s surprisingly good bourbon, and he wonders how many times you’d wasted it by downing it like you just had, instead of taking your time, savoring. He waits for you to get settled before he speaks again.

“What happened to you?” he tries once more, a little softer this time. 

There’s some contemplation on your end, you look at him for a moment, then at your glass, then back up at him again. He can almost see you trying to figure out how much you’re going to share, but he wants to know everything.

“There was an accident at the hospital,” you answer, finally. 

Joel slings his arm over the back of the couch, angles his body towards where you’re curled up, legs tucked underneath you. I’m listening.

Your voice stays even, blase. “A guard at the border broke protocol…and someone who was infected was brought in. By the time we realized, it was too late….”

“Were you hurt?” 

“Almost.” you say. “I mean, yes, actually, I’m a little scratched up, but…it’s not as bad as it could’ve been.”

Your teeth start chattering again. Joel wonders if it’s because of the cold, or your nerves. Figures it’s probably both.

“My coworker turned and I uhm….I had to…” you say into your glass, your free hand flexing like it’s trying to shake off some unpleasant muscle memory. “I had no choice.”

“I understand,” For whatever reason, he spares you from telling the story. To him, taking down Infected was nothing. But to you…“What else?” he presses.

You shrug, avoiding his eyes, one of your arms coming to grip at your opposite shoulder. “I can’t really remember. A bunch of people died. FEDRA came in and just started gunning everything down….” you shook your head, and straightened up.

“I heard about that,” Joel offers.

“Wait…you knew about this?”

“Yeah.”

“So then why are you here, asking m-” the rest of your sentence drops off, your lips parted slightly. The look on your face shifts, slowly. Your eyes narrow. Remorse turns into something more neutral, then into curiosity. “Oh my god….you were worried about me.”

“No.”

“Yes, you fucking were,” your lips curl slightly, it’s not quite a smile, but it’s something close to amusement. 

“No,” Joel defends himself. “I wanted to hear what happened from someone–”

“No you didn’t,” you interject, but he raises his voice to finish his thought.

“–who actually works there, not FEDRA’s propaganda.”

“No you did not. You’re checking up on me. You came over here after curfew to see if I was–”

“Enough,” Joel growls with enough conviction that it shuts you up, and he’s grateful, but its not enough to wipe the self-satisfied look on your face, because it doesn’t.

“What are we, like, friends now?”

He doesn’t answer, and slugs back the rest of his whiskey.

“Or would that be too much for you?” You don’t wait long for him to give you an answer, probably because you know he won’t respond. “I mean, if we’re both being honest–” He definitely wasn’t being honest. “–Today was really fucked up.”

You’re leaning forward now, some of the space between you is gone. And though you’re trying to give the impression that you’re unphased by everything, your hand is clenched tightly around your glass, and you avoid his eyes. It’s painful to watch you resist the urge to trust him. Not that he’s ever given you a good enough reason to – he knows he doesn’t deserve it, but he wants it anyways.

“It’s funny…” you say after a while. “I remember thinking that I didn’t want to die. At least… not like that. I’ve never felt that before…That’s something, isn’t it?” you ask him. 

Joel looks at you, and is surprised at the vulnerability in your expression, sees you looking for some kind of validation from him. “....It is.” 

You finish off your drink, and put the empty glass on the coffee table, shift closer to him.

“It looks like you healed up okay,” you say, after a spell. “How’s your shoulder?”

“A little sore, nothing I can’t handle.”

“Did you take those antibiotics?”

“Yes.”

“Good. And I can’t even tell you had a black eye.”

“I’m fine,” Joel asserts. 

Another shiver wracks your body, and he can tell this one is actually from the chill – your apartment is cold as fuck, it even is starting to bother him. 

“Don’t you have a heater?”

“Kinda,” you glance over at the radiator in the corner. “Sometimes it works.”

“What do you do when it’s colder than this?” It was only November, things would only get worse. 

You shrug. “I don’t know….just be colder, I guess.”

Joel imagines you curled up in your bed alone, wrapped in a thin comforter, shaking in front of him like you are now. He winces. 

“How long are you going to stay?” you ask, changing the subject.

“I should probably go now.”

You nod, scoot closer. “But maybe…” you trail off, contemplating. 

Joel sits up straighter, prompting you when you don’t speak again. “Maybe what?”

“Maybe you could stick around for a little while longer.” There’s a warm hand, yours, that lands on his thigh, and he recoils like you’ve touched him with a fire iron. He rises to his feet. 

“Hey,” you stand along with him, step in front of him to block the pathway to the door. He could easily get past you, obviously, but it’s not as simple as that. 

Of course he’s fucking thought about what happened the last time he was here – his arms around your waist, his mouth on your neck, your chest, your hands on his shoulders, whining his name. A freak accident, a glitch in the matrix, a statistically improbable thing. 

“What?” he asks as you step forward, the fingers on your free hand sliding into the belt loops of his pants. He feels blood rush to his cheeks, to other places. And you’re still fucking shivering. You look so fucking miserable, he wants to yell at you to put on a coat, to wrap yourself in a blanket, in his arms. 

“Joel,” you say his name softly, tilting your head up, leaning close. And then your hand is on the side of his face, and he realizes you’re fucking pleading with him. He knows what you want, but he has a feeling this isn’t just about sex. You’re looking for comfort, as if he’s capable of giving it. 

“We made a mistake…once,” he tells you. “We’re not going to make it again.”

He says it to hurt you, but it doesn’t work. It’s like you knew it was coming all along. “I knew what I was doing,” you answer, earnest. “Didn’t you?”

Yes. You glance down at his hands, which are squeezed into fists so tightly, his knuckles are white. If he’s not rigid, he’s not sure how he’ll be able to resist. He wants you. God, he wants you. He never thought he’d be able to have you again. 

“I could help you loosen up.”

Joel’s walking on the edge of a one-thousand foot cliff and hoping his foot slips. He wants to surrender. The only thing he thinks might save him is to say the meanest thing he can. Maybe you’d get turned off.

“Listen to yourself,” he says, finding the strength to meet your eyes. “You want me so bad, you sound pathetic.”

“Asshole,” you step closer, your mouth twitches, your lips are inches apart. “Do you think I care what you think about me?”

Joel realizes his plan has backfired. But he really only has himself to blame, he should’ve known better. With you, he’s never in as much control as he wants to be, and deep down, he likes it. 

“Go lie down on the bed.”

It’s the only thing that seems to shock you. “What?” 

“I won’t ask you again,” Joel steps backwards, crosses his arms. “Go lie down.” 

──────

If you told yourself a couple months ago that one day you’d find yourself pinned down by Joel Miller, you’d think it’d be because he was about to kill you. Maybe because you cheated him out of something, maybe because you did something else to piss him off – it didn’t really matter. Regardless of how fucked up it was, that idea would seem more dignified than what was happening now. 

Your back is being pressed deeper into the lumpy old mattress, and he’s on you. His mouth is warm, hot, wet, and dragging down your neck, nipping, sucking, licking. Your hands are itching to reach out, to skate down his torso, trace along his jawline, tug at his hair, but you can’t because he’s got them pinned above you with only one of his own. Anytime you try to fight him, his grip only grows stronger. 

It was shameful, really, but you had asked for this – begged for it, basically. There were a number of reasons why – one of which was to blow off some steam after a near death experience, the other because you’d fucked him before and it had been good, much to your dismay. There was also a third reason that you weren’t interested in acknowledging now. 

After the night Joel had gotten jumped, and you’d taken care of him, everything has changed. It’s a cliche, but true. You’d known what you were doing when it happened, and had no regrets. But it was probably not supposed to happen again, and you tried to keep it that way, more for his sake than anyone else’s. But….he was the one who showed up tonight after he’d heard what had happened. It wasn’t nothing.

Joel pulls away from you so abruptly that you gasp, shivering in the wake of his impossible warmth. 

“Sit up,” he instructs, and you turn to find him at the end of the bed, arms crossed. 

You obey, mostly just for the view. You hope to admire him, fresh from kissing you – flush skin, wet lips, tousled hair. Only he’s frustratingly stoic, unsullied – like he hadn’t been touching you at all. 

“Look at me,” he says, and you do. 

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

“It’s nothing,” you agree. 

“I won’t be gentle.”

“I don’t want you to be gentle.”

“Good,” you watch his shoulders loosen, just a little, and he takes one step backwards, his eyes tracing down your body and then back up. “Strip for me….” 

You aren’t dressed sexy at all, you remember, a sweatshirt and sweatpants. If you had thought this through a little more, you might’ve tried to make it nicer for him. “....Okay.”

“Start with your shirt,” he says, and you grab at the hem, but he snaps at you. “Ah-ah….slower.”

You swallow, nod, and carefully lift the fabric, dragging it up over your stomach, over the swell of your breasts, revealing your tight, thin white tank top. 

“That’s it, nice and slow.” 

Joel’s voice is soft but stern, a low rasp that makes your cunt clench around nothing, and he’s not even touching you. The sweatshirt is pulled over your head, falling somewhere on the crumpled bedspread. 

Languidly, you lean back, shifting your weight to get off the mattress, and Joel palms himself through his jeans. You can see where he’s straining against the denim, and you find it hard to tear your gaze away as you go to pull off your sweatpants. Joel stops you again. 

“Turn around.”

You do, and you’re sure he has a nice view of your ass as you slide them over your hips, bending over to let the fleece pool around your ankles. Slowly, you rise back up, looking at him over your shoulder for approval. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs. Your stomach flips. A month ago, you would’ve done anything to get him to stay away from you, and now, you’re terrified to disappoint him. 

That’s the problem. You’d spent most of the day fighting for your life — literally. But even after standing behind a barricade of heavily-armed FEDRA soldiers outside the hospital, you didn’t feel as safe as you did when you saw Joel at your door. You need him. For now, at least.

“Now the shirt,” he tilts his head towards the mattress, nodding encouragingly.

You get back on the bed, sitting back on your heels, and begin to pull the tank top up. It’s your last layer up top, you’re not wearing a bra, and you’re feeling a little vulnerable with him just watching you, fully clothed and composed, your gaze falling down to look at the threadbare linens. 

“Eyes up,” he instructs. “Look at me.”

Taking in a shaky inhale, you do. It’s not easy. Everything about him looks dark, animalistic. A coiled ball of energy, waiting to pounce.

But, even when you’re bare before him, he doesn’t. 

“Lie back, close your eyes.”

Of course, you don’t refuse, settling your head against the pillows. 

There’s a sound of a belt – his belt, unbuckling, the snap of a button, the dip of the bed where he kneels when he comes to hover over you. Two hands land on top of your thighs, pressing the backs against his denim-clad knees, thumbs pushing your legs further apart. 

And then…nothing. He’s still. He’s still for so long, that you actually think that something’s wrong. When you open your eyes, you’re met with a view of the underside of his jaw. You can just make out the pinched expression he’s wearing as he looks down upon you. Disdain, maybe…but it’s not meant for you, it’s for someone else….him.

“Joel,” you murmur. Instinctually, you reach for his hand.

The second it makes contact, he smacks your hand away so hard your whole body jolts. “I told you to close your eyes.”

“Sorry,” you mumble quickly, closing them again. 

You are well aware that he’s actively working through shit, probably doing some kind of mental gymnastics to rationalize why it’s okay to fuck you again, which, when you really think about it is kind of….pathetic. It’s the only thing that makes you feel any sort of power in a situation where you’ll surrender everything else. It’s a fair exchange. 

Maybe, on a different day, you would want it softer. You’d like to think he’s capable of that, even though he seems determined he isn’t. Luckily, you don’t want it softer. After today, you want to be so far gone you can’t think. 

Joel answers by leaning down and catching you in a bruising kiss. Finally. You press yourself against him cause you’re freezing and he’s so warm, and you frantically begin to unbutton the flannel he’s wearing, making it about halfway down before he pins your hands above you again.

“Slow down.”

You whine, a little frustrated because all you want to do is touch him. The fingers on his free hand hook around the elastic of your underwear, and he starts to drag them over the curve of your ass. 

He’s got to be joking with how deliberately he’s moving, anticipation only building underneath his featherlight touches.

When he’s got your panties around your ankles, you slide your legs together so he can pull them off entirely, keeping them closed as his weight shifts, and your thighs are pulled back apart.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he doesn’t need to feel you to see it clear as day, with you spread open in front of him. “So fucking desperate.”

He’s all-but glaring at you, like you’ve done something wrong, and for a minute, your eyes flick away, just for a second of relief from the tension.

“What, are you embarrassed?” he asks. 

“N-no,” you stammer, though it was supposed to sound confident. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t press you, his head dipping down to press his lips to your knee, then an inch higher, then an inch higher, then higher – keeping his eyes locked on yours the whole time, an arm winding around your thigh.

“I wanted to do this last time.” A confession. 

“Yeah?” you sigh, trembling. It’s maybe the nicest thing he’s said to you, but you can’t even acknowledge it, because you’re buzzing.

He turns his face, his beard scraping along sensitive skin. “Mhm,” his deep rasp vibrates directly to your cunt, and when his head dips down, you close your eyes – it might just be better to focus on only one sensation at a time, you’re not sure you can handle seeing what he’s about to do.

Joel’s mouth is on you the second you do, and you gasp. He licks up the seam of your lips, mouth latching around your clit, swirling with his tongue, and back down – firm, determined, practiced. You try to buck up, but he has an arm locked around your hips. 

He removes himself from you just enough to utter two words. “Stay still.”

You want to protest, but you realize that he’s let go of your hands, and it gives you the opportunity to thread your fingers into his hair, while you dig your heels into the broad expanse of his back, and he groans, tongue curling into you. 

“I’ve thought about this,” you gasp, answering his earlier admission.

“When?”

“At night. More than once.”

“Fuck,” Joel growls, and you wheeze when he works one finger into you, forcing you to take it along with his next words. “You know how fuckin’ bad that is? Dreamin’ about a man nearly twice your age?”

“I d-don’t care, I want you anyway. Y-you can do whatever you want to me,” It’s too early to be past the point of speaking coherently, it really is, but you’re already there. 

“F-fuck,” Joel repeats himself, and pushes another finger inside you next to the first, the stretch almost uncomfortable, but quickly fading to pleasure. “I’m going to.”

You’re not the going to tell him, though, that he’s the first man whose ever gone down on you, because you’re a little fucking scared for some reason. It’s intimate, very intimate, more than you expected. 

The truth is, you weren’t actually very experienced at all. You could count on one hand the number of partners you’d had, and still not use all of your fingers. While some of them were good enough, they all paled in comparison to Joel. There had never been anyone like Joel. 

His fingers curl as his tongue swirls around your clit and you cry out, inhale sharply. Minute by minute, you’re getting wetter and wetter – can hear yourself with each twist of his fingers inside you, bearing down on him. 

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he grunts, and your eyes flutter open just for a second, just to see his forehead, dark eyes staring back at you, and his hips dipping, rutting against the mattress. God he’s getting himself off to this. As hot as it is, the thought of not getting to feel him inside you causes a rush of anger. 

“F-feels so good,” you’re right there, already, and it’s pitiful.

“I know, baby, I know,” he says. “You’re already so close, aren’t you?”

Instead of answering, you just nod, gasping. Joel works you right up to the precipice, hands tightening in his hair, hips lifting off the bed – and then he slows a little –  just enough – to pull you back off the edge, and you let out a humiliating sob.

“Shhh!” he hisses with his mouth still on you, resuming the steady pace he had going. A little sigh of relief when you feel your release approaching again. He just lost his rhythm for a moment, it was nothing.

Again, he’s got you right there, you’re so close, hips jerking, breathing in short, sharp pants, something molten working its way up your spine. “Joel, that’s it, please I-”

He falters again – just enough. And it’s gone again.

You realize, with dismay, that he knows exactly what he’s doing. He hadn’t lost his rhythm. He’s doing this on purpose. 

If someone asked – not that anyone would – you wouldn’t be able to recall how long he keeps you in that state, being dragged and dangled, but denied the privilege of falling. It’s torture. 

And at first, you try to be patient. You figure he’ll grow tired, desperate, and eventually want to move on. But apparently, he doesn’t want to move on. He’s content to keep you this way for as long as he sees fit, and you can’t handle it any longer. It’s starting to hurt.

“Please, Joel, let me-” you gasp.

“Let you what?” he pulls back from you, frustratingly too soon, once again.

“Let me come, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, please, please-”

“Just a little longer,” he dismisses you.

All you can do is pant and writhe, completely at his mercy. He keeps going like that, and you’ve stopped trying to filter yourself, the sounds he makes as he laves at you are obscene, you can see yourself glistening on his chin, and can feel the sheets damp beneath you. At this point, he’s enjoying this more than you are.

“Joel,” you plead with him again. “It’s too much, I c-can’t. Just, please I really need-”

“You wanna come for me, baby?” he asks. You nod ferociously. 

“Yes, please, please,” 

“You’re so fucking sweet when you beg, you know that? ” he murmurs. “Wish you were like this all the time.”

“Fuck off,” you manage, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. You should do this to me more often. 

Joel chuckles, and it vibrates just right, his fingers curling again and you moan, hands tightening in his hair. He’s focused now, you can tell because the constant stream of filth he’s been whispering has finally stopped. He’s persistent.

You’re unable to stay quiet, continuing to whimper just like that and please don’t stop over and over. And then all at once, every muscle in your body grows tense and you cry out, cunt pulsing around him so tightly that his fingers slow. “There you go, pretty girl, that’s it.” 

You whisper his name as he continues to fuck his fingers into you, riding you through your orgasm and licking up the mess you’ve made. 

At some point in the aftermath, Joel withdraws from you, and you hear the sting of his zipper. It takes a moment, but you’re able to see him through heavily lidded eyes, kneeling in front of you with his shirt unbuttoned all the way, pants around his ankles, jerking himself slowly in his hand. God he’s fucking huge, how had you forgotten about that? He’s a vision, beard still wet with you, looking down, watching your chest rise and fall. In that moment you realize two things. One, even though you’ve already come, you somehow want him even more than you had before, and two, you’ve never wanted to suck a dick so bad in your life. 

So you sit up, crawl towards him, and reach out with one hand to take him in your palm. He lets you, sighing, closing down his eyes. First, you have to kiss him, so you rise to your knees, and he pulls you into his arms, one of them winding around your waist, the other coming to rest at the small of your back. “You take such good care of me,” you whisper. 

He grimaces at the words like they’re an insult. You expect him to retaliate, to tell you that you shouldn’t say that sort of thing, but he never does. So you kiss him, gently, bringing your free hand to the side of his face. Once again, he lets you, and you taste yourself when his tongue presses into you mouth. You run your thumb over the head of his cock, and he hums against your touch, almost contentedly.

You’re doing whatever you want to him, and you’re shocked he hasn’t put a stop to it. It could be satisfying enough, you think, just to keep kissing him like this. Still, you sink back towards the bed to test things further. You’re about to wrap your mouth around him, but he pulls you off by your hair, so quickly, so hard that you yelp.

“No.” he says firmly. “Lie back.”

“But I just wanted to-”  

“No.” 

You consider trying to reason with him, but decide it won’t be worth whatever he’d do if you continue to argue.

Joel braces himself with one hand above your shoulder, the other wrapped around his cock, slowly teasing you by rubbing himself up and down a few times, before he gives in, finally pushing into you.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp at the stretch, reaching out grasp at his bicep, arching your back. He’d prepped you, and it was still too much. 

“You can take it,” he says, pressing deeper into you. His hips are all the way flush with yours, he’s to the hilt, and he still snaps them even further, once, holding you there, so deep, you feel like you’re choking on him. “See? There you go.”

It seems like you can’t quite catch your breath, and you squirm underneath him for some kind of friction, some kind of relief from how intense it all is. You can feel him throbbing inside you, feel how badly his own body is begging him to move, but he doesn’t. 

“Joel,” you cradle the back of his head, look him in the eyes. “Move, please.”

He doesn’t answer, he just brings his hand to grip your jaw, his thumb and forefinger pressing into the soft flesh of your cheeks. 

“Please?” you murmur again, and his thumb slips into your mouth, silencing you. You suck on it obediently, and after you do, he finally gives you what you want.

──────

Joel told you he wouldn’t be gentle, and he isn’t. 

He hadn’t been able to do this last time. Taste you, spread you open, fuck you properly. His hips snap against yours – ferociously, unrelenting, over and over. You’ve been going at it for awhile now, and he actually wants you to break. He wants you to tell him to slow down, to be a little more tender, not press into you so deep, so hard, so that if he listens, it wouldn’t mean he’s breaking his own promise. He’s got to be rough with you, because he’s afraid of what could happen if he’s not.

But you don’t break. You fucking take it, take him, each time, again and again, your nails digging into arms, your legs locked around his hips. Each time he delves into you, you’re getting wetter and wetter, and yet, you’re still so fucking tight. He doesn’t understand it. It’s been a long fucking time since he’s been with a woman like you – and you might be the best he’s ever had. 

You’re not even making any noise – you’re just panting, gasping in Joel’s ear as you cling to him, and that’s all. He can’t even look you in the eyes. If he does, he knows you’ll see everything that’s wrong with him, and still beg for him to give you more. 

Two hands land on either side of his face, turning his head so you can kiss him. Despite how he’s treating you, you keep trying to connect, to ground yourself. For as much as he wants to refuse, it feels too cruel to deny you. He lets you lock your lips with his own, feels your cunt clutch him even tighter. It’s impossible for you to kiss for more than a few seconds at a time without it getting broken up by a whimper here and there. You’re getting close again, he’s started to get better at recognizing it.

“You’re fucking so perfect on me, baby, you feel that?” he asks, and you nod, breathless. “Taking me so well, such a good fucking girl-”

A gasp from you cuts him off, your eyes squeezing shut as you are taken over by your climax. Joel groans and does everything he can not to come when you start pulsing around him, holding him closer, since there’s nothing else to do. It’s way too intimate…because it’s missionary, and he should’ve known better than to start off like this. 

Pulling out of you is the hardest thing he’s had to do in a while, and he ignores your noises of protest now that he’s left you empty. Then, he flips you onto your stomach. He takes a moment to admire the curve of your ass, how it dips into your waist….to him, your body is perfect, and you’re young, your skin still supple and smooth. There are still places he hasn’t gotten his mouth on, and it’s a shame, he thinks, but tonight his patience is wearing thin. Joel pulls you back until you’re on your knees, and slides back inside. There’s a little resistance, you whimper, but it’s easier than the first time. He wraps an arm around your waist, the other across your chest, and starts to jerk his hips upwards, into you. 

“Oh fuck, Joel,” you sigh in relief.

“I know, I know.”

You drop your head back until it falls against his shoulder, winding your arm back so you can pull at his hair, which kind of fucking hurts, but he likes it. 

Ultimately, you’re pretty easy to please, and it’s not long before he feels the telltale flutter of your walls as you drip down over him, soaking his lap. 

“You’re making a fucking mess, baby. You gonna come for me again?”

All you can do is plead with him. “I can’t, Joel. I can’t do it again, please just-”

“Yes, you can,” he interjects. “I know you can, baby, don’t worry…I’ll help you.”

“O-okay.’ 

He slows the roll of his hips just a little, focuses on deeper, longer strokes, and lets the hand that’s currently squeezing one of your tits fall to where your bodies are joined, finding your clit immediately.

You whine, arching back against him, the swell of your ass packed against his lower stomach. He sees a single tear leaking from the corner of your eye and feels a little guilty for what he’s doing to you. Only a little, though. 

Without any warning, for the third time, you’re coming around him – easier than the last time, like always – and he uses the feeling of you throbbing around him to chase his own release, his hand clapping over your mouth to muffle your moans as he becomes increasingly frantic. 

He turns his head, rakes his teeth along your exposed neck, and sinks them into your pulse point with a groan. Your breath is hot against him when you whimper in response. 

“Just a little more, honey.” He’s so close. You bob your head, though you’ve nearly gone limp in his arms.

Like last time, Joel knows it’s a bad idea, but he’s not going to pull out. The thought of deliberately coming inside you is actually what sends him over the edge, and he’s cursing and moaning your name. You whine at the feeling of him pulsing inside of you, arching back for more, even though he can tell you’re exhausted. 

It’s fucking freezing in your apartment, and yet, his skin is damp with sweat when he finally regains some awareness of his surroundings. He’s panting, you’re sniffling, a weak smile on your face as you catch your breath. Before he can stop himself, he presses his lips to your cheek. 

Joel tilts you both forward – very tentatively, keeping an arm wrapped around your waist. At some point, your hand settled over top of his, and you threaded your fingers between his own, holding his hand across your stomach. You keep it there, even after you’ve settled onto the bed.  

It takes a few minutes before either of you move, but it’s you who gives in first, wriggling out from where he’s got you trapped partially underneath him. 

You retreat to the bathroom, like you did last time. Somewhere during your coupling the linens have slid down the bed, and Joel settles back against the pillows, throwing an arm behind his head.  Now that he’s stopped sweating, he’s just cold, and he reaches to pull the bedspread over him. He should leave, he thinks, before you come out and ask him to. Beat you to the punch. Maybe while you’re still in the bathroom. 

A few minutes later, and you return from the bathroom, dressed again in sweats. He hears you pour yourself a glass of water, gulping it down. You flick off the lamp on your bedside table, and fall into bed next to him, lying rigidly on your back. He should reach out, pull you against him, let you settle in his arms. Instead, Joel rolls over on his side. 

It’s terrible how beautiful you are, he thinks, watching you stare up at the ceiling, hugging yourself. So beautiful, and fucking smart. You’re strong, too, but not as strong as he wishes you were. Of course, no one could ever be that strong.

He whispers your name. You turn your head, pupils still blown wide with lingering lust.

“You need to learn to defend yourself, to shoot a gun, to fight,” he says. “After today.”

“What?” you roll to face him. 

“You said you didn’t want to die,” Joel continues. “So you need to learn. ‘Case something like that happens again.”

“Oh yeah? Lemme guess, you’re gonna teach me?” your voice is a little hoarse after what he’d done to you, and you smirk at him.

“Yes.” It sobers you up, that he’s not fucking with you, or giving you a hard time. “I owe you, remember?” 

“You do.” 

“So…. I’ll teach you.” 

“....Okay.” 

“Alright.”

Joel rolls over to his opposite side, and you’re left staring at his back. Arms wrapped around 

himself in a tight hug, he waits for you to tell him to go.

You never do. 

Instead, he feels the heat of your body as you curl up against him, slotting one of your legs between his own. Your hand grazes up his ribs, over his bicep – a gentle, quick massage – before you tuck your arm underneath his own, your palm flat against his heart. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, frozen at how tender the embrace is. It’s a foreign feeling, he can’t remember the last time someone touched him like this. 

The tip of your nose hits the nape of his neck, and he can feel your shuddery exhale.

“I’m cold,” you say, like it’s obvious, lips brushing featherlight against his skin. “And if you’re staying, you might as well make yourself useful.”

He can’t roll over and wrap his arms around you. He can’t kiss your forehead or play with your hair or murmur into your ear. He can’t offer you anything in return. Joel decides, though, if he’s going to accept comfort from anyone, it’s going to be from you.

──────

taglist (basically if you asked for a pt 2 on the last part i tagged you): @bbyanarchist @dlwrish @imaginewrites24 @captain-yellow-96 @daisyintheskyewithdiamonds @sludgec0r33 @c0wb0ym3nace

[dyns33]

The Scar

Another Miguel O Hara x female reader, with suspense !

Miguel had been acting weird for several weeks.

Ever since he had returned early from his seminar. In the middle of the night, he'd slipped into bed and kissed her like he hadn't seen her in forever.

It didn't bother Y/N. It had been a while since Miguel really touched her, according to him too tired from his work.

He had apologized that night, saying that he missed her, that he had asked to change his hours to spend more time with her, before repeating again and again that he loved her.

It was adorable, but it was also a bit weird.

There was something different about him, and Y/N couldn't figure out what.

The idea that he was cheating on her came quickly. Miguel was acting like a man who clearly had something to be ashamed of. Something bad.

Of course, all women would have been delighted to have their husbands look at them as he looked at her now. That their husbands come home early to cook dinner, give them a massage, listen to how their day went, kiss them passionately while whispering words of love in Spanish.

But it was really not in Miguel's habits.

Even at the start of their relationship, he had never really been romantic. Y/N remembered him telling her that it made sense for them to be together when they graduated, since they were both brilliant.

She liked to believe that he had loved her, at one point, then the routine had set in, and they had stayed together because it was easier.

All these gifts and kisses, it was really not normal.

It didn't take Y/N long to suspect that Miguel was having an affair with his colleague, Doctor Daniels. They had worked on a lot of projects, he talked about her often, and they went on business trips together.

She was beautiful, young and intelligent. Y/N didn't stand a chance against her.

Despite his promise to be here more often, there were always late nights when he came home. She imagined quickly that he was not always in the office, which she checked very quickly.

One evening, she woke up while he was getting dressed. He seemed embarrassed to see her in the hallway.

"Mi amor. Did I wake you up ? Forgive me, there was a problem in the office, a toxin leak, I have to go."

He kissed her so tenderly that Y/N wanted to cry watching him close the door.

A phone call to Alchemax was enough to know that there was no problem, and that nobody had called Miguel. Quickly checking, many of the dates and times were inconsistent with his schedule.

After pain and sorrow came anger. Knowing her husband well, Y/N knew there was no reason to stay and try to talk to him. So she took her things and went to stay in a hotel for the night.

She still wasn't asleep when someone knocked the next morning, and it was a surprise to see Miguel. Not only did he have no way of knowing where she was, she hadn't even thought he would be looking for her.

Visibly distraught, he took her in his arms as soon as she opened the door.

"Y/N ! Are you okay ? I came home and you were gone ! I was so scared, I thought… Why are you here ? Was there a problem Someone came to the house ? You…"

"There was no toxin leak."

"… What ?"

"There was no toxin leak in your office. Miguel, I know you're lying to me. I know you… I know you're cheating on me."

"What ?" he repeated again, looking as much annoyed as hurt. "No. Never ! I would never cheat on you, I love you ! I only love you."

"Please… I'm not stupid. You tell me you're going to work, and your office tells me you're not there. So where are you, uh ? What are you doing ? It's Why you've been so nice lately, so I don't get suspicious ? Because you're remorseful ? Because you're…"

"I'm Spiderman."

Y/N had heard of Spiderman, like everyone in Nueva York. A hero who could walk on the ceiling, and who fought crime.

Her first reaction was to laugh, then Miguel squirted a web from his handle that stuck a lamp to the wall and she agreed to listen.

He promised her that he had never cheated on her. He loved her more than anything, he would die for her, and he would never hurt her. The nights he was out and not working, he was saving lives. He hadn't told her, because he didn't want to worry her, or for her to take him for a monster.

"Okay, it's a bit special that you can pull stuff out of your arms and swing from building to building, but it's nothing monstrous."

"Actually… My DNA was altered on multiple levels, resulting in multiple physical changes."

"Is that why you look taller and more muscular ?"

"No. Yes ! I mean, a bit, but I'm not talking about that. It's… My teeth. My eyes, my hands, my legs…"

"I don't see anything weird with your eyes or your hands."

Since the beginning of their conversation, Miguel seemed really uncomfortable, but this moment was really the most complicated for him. His eyes were filled with fear as they turned red, he showed Y/N his sharp canines, and his fingernails turned into claws.

"…Wow. You look like a big cat."

"Amor, I don't look like a big cat." mumbled Miguel, blushing, lunging at her to tickle her when she tried to scratch his ear.

It could have ended there. Y/N would give everything for things to end there, because it was a very good explanation, Miguel loved her, he had promised her that there would be no more lies, and everything was fine.

A party organized by Alchemax and several glasses of champagne changed that, when Doctor Daniels approached with a strange smile, while Miguel had gone to the toilet.

"You and your husband look very happy."

"We are, thank you."

"Yeah. He didn't say that. We were happy too, you know ? The best years of my life. A real beast in bed, caliente. Then one day, nothing. He dumped me like trash. I guess he's found someone better. I thought it was nice to let you know."

"Mi amor ?"

Miguel watched her run away, not glancing at Doctor Daniels. He followed her easily, catching up with her in an alley and hugging her to calm her down, leaving her to hit him sobbing and screaming.

He hadn't heard what Doctor Daniels had said to put her in such a state, and when she repeated it to him, he seemed to go mad with rage. Because his honor was touched, but also because he couldn't bear to see Y/N cry.

"I'm going to kill her ! I've never had an affair with this woman, ever ! She's lying, she's crazy !"

"Don't lie to me." Y/N cried, still clinging to him.

"I swear to you, mi amor. Never. Not with her, not with anyone else."

In the following days, there were several elements that indicated that Miguel was telling the truth. First, there was no message exchanged between him and Doctor Daniels, despite the incessant assertions of the latter, who did not understand why she could not find them. No photo or video of them either.

At the office, no one thought they were more than co-workers who got along well. Miguel O Hara had the reputation of being a serious man, a little angry, selfish and focusing mainly on his research.

The only moment captured by Alchemax's surveillance cameras was when Doctor Daniels approached Miguel to ask him why they were no longer together, and if there was any chance they could see each other again.

Miguel remained cold, distant, politely asking her to leave him alone, repeating to her that there had never been anything between them, and that there never would be anything, because he only loved his wife.

This made Doctor Daniels laugh, who touched his arm, before trying to kiss him.

Jumping up from his chair, Miguel looked at her in disgust, forbidding her to approach him.

The incident trickled down to the bosses, which brought all the previous research and proved that Dr. Daniels had a little problem with her obsession with her colleague, who was not at all interested. She was fired.

This did not please her at all, and since she could not get her lover back, and had lost her job, Doctor Daniels insisted on destroying the married couple.

She called Y/N, texted her, followed her to work and home, telling her over and over that she'd shared Miguel's bed for years.

Maybe he never really liked her, because this guy was obviously not able to love anyone but himself, and he was too afraid for his reputation to admit it, but it was the truth.

"I can prove it !" cried Dr. Daniels hysterically, banging on Y/N's car window. "I know what he likes to eat ! I've driven his car before ! He told me about his brother."

"That's not evidence. Please leave me." Y/N begged her as she tried to start.

"He's got a scar on his back ! How do I know that, huh ? Miguel hates bathing, he doesn't undress in public, it's tiny because it was just a little fall from a horse when he was a kid. How do I know that ?!"

Y/N felt her heart race, as she tried to breathe normally, because indeed, Miguel had a scar, and hardly anyone knew about it. It was in the middle of his back, you could feel it by running your hand over his skin.

She then thought of two things.

Dr. Daniels wasn't lying.

And since his early return from his seminar and his change in behavior, she had passed her hand several times on her husband's back, without feeling this tiny scar.

In the middle of Miguel's back, there was nothing. Nothing at all.

Repeating this to herself, Y/N invited Dr. Daniels to come with her to the house, where Miguel was cooking dinner.

He was surprised to see them, and even more surprised when she calmly asked him to take off his shirt and show his back, while Daniels was screaming hysterically, ordering him to show them his scar and then confess.

He didn't look at the doctor once, his eyes fixed on Y/N, who was only looking at him as well. In his eyes, she could see that he understood why, why Daniels was asking this, but more importantly why Y/N was asking this. He knew that she knew.

Without saying anything, he obeyed and turned around. Dr. Daniels then stopped screaming, freezing.

The back was perfect, tall, muscular. In addition to the noticeable lack of a scar, Y/N noted that he was much taller and more muscular than before, before all of this.

"Well…" Miguel muttered as he got dressed. "Happy ? Excuse me, but I'm only showing the rest to my wife. If you could leave us now."

"I… I don't understand. You had a scar."

"I never had a scar. I never had a relationship with you."

"It's not… You… I think I need to sleep. Excuse me." stammered Doctor Daniels before quickly leaving, leaving them alone.

They stayed like that for a long time, face to face in the kitchen, neither moving nor speaking. Then Miguel sighed, visibly tired and sorry.

He hadn't lied. Not even once. He had simply omitted to say that he wasn't really Miguel, or at least not her Miguel, and that he wasn't the Spiderman of this universe, but of another.

He had seen an opportunity to be happy, after losing his Y/N, and now that her Miguel was gone. Her horrible Miguel, as he called him, who didn't see how lucky he was, who had never known how to treat her right, and who didn't deserve her.

"But I know." he whispered as he approached, shyly taking her hand. "I know I'm lucky to be with you. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, the only one. I can't live without you. I thought… Maybe you'd be happier without him, that it would be a relief to hear of his passing. But I also thought I could give you all the things he should have given you. I can leave if you want. I love you."

For several weeks, Y/N had been very happy, showered with love and kisses. She had been afraid of being cheated on, but that was no longer the case, not with this Miguel, who loved her.

So she forgot that there had always been a small scar on her husband's back, and she kissed him, telling him that she loved him too.

[writerscall]

Enemies to lovers with spider hazel

author's note/s: 3.6k words. spider!hazel and fellow superhero/vigilante!reader, more of a one-sided annoyances to lovers, really. think kind of supergirl-esque for reader's powers (at least in the flying and strength aspect) and to help visualize reader's mask, click here for reference.

“So that’s, what, five bad guys down for me this week now and three for you? Maybe I’ll sit back and relax tomorrow so you can catch up.”

You can’t see the face behind that mask but you’re sure there’s a shit-eating grin on it. You roll your eyes at the quip. “Oh, fuck off. It’s not a competition.”

Not that that ever changed how annoyed you got whenever the tally was higher in her favor, though. But the webslinger’s count wasn’t what really got you riled up; wasn’t even how smug she could get about it. It was the way she executed the crime fighting skills that you assumed she was learning and making up as she went. Spiderwoman was messy and, ironically, uncoordinated half the time, but the worst part was that she drew too much attention.

You knew attracting the attention of the police and the papers was inevitable, but at least you had the good sense to not make a whole show of being a vigilante. Spiderwoman, on the other hand, just loved to stay and chat.

“Hey, come on, don’t be like that. You know I’m just messing around.” There’s a drop in her tone, clearly making an attempt to ease the tension. “You’re a lot faster than I am with rounding up criminals, so you get extra points for that.”

At that, you allow yourself to smile the tiniest bit. She can’t see it behind your own mask but if she was as observant as she claimed to be, she might see however little of it reached your eyes.

She clears her throat, bringing a hand to scratch at the back of her neck as she says, “So uh, I know it’s getting late and all, but I’ve got my backpack stashed somewhere not far from here and my lunch sandwich is still intact. It’s a pretty big one so you know, if you wanted a post-crime fighting snack…” 

It’s a harmless, friendly gesture so you hold back a scoff and snide comment. You get it — the business you were in was best done alone but it could get lonely after doing it for some time. Besides, masked heroes like the two of you wore masks for a reason: nobody could know who they were, and even fellow vigilantes weren’t an exception to the rule. But you supposed it would be nice to have a friend with the shared experiences.

Just… maybe not her. Or just maybe not yet. This wasn’t like making friends in school, after all.

“Not hungry,” you tell her shortly before lifting yourself off the ground, signaling that your conversation was over and you were leaving.

You hear her say something as you take off, but you can’t be bothered to look back.

Despite it being the last day of the week, you found Fridays particularly hard to get through. Mostly because you were itching for the weekend to come but because the bad guys in the city always seemed to act up during that day. The feeling in your stomach about what your evening patrol might turn out like was a mixture of both fear and excitement, but you tried your best to push it down for the time being. It was only the second period.

“You and Miss Callahan, partners,” your teacher says with a tap to your table as she strides by, listing off other pairs. You look over to Hazel who apparently is already looking at you, her eyes wide with… shock? A hint of nervousness in them too.

Weird. You were sort-of friends through the cheerleaders she was surprisingly close with, Isabel and Brittany, but you’ve never really spoken much to each other. Maybe she was worried you guys wouldn’t click without the other girls around.

You cast her a smile as she gets nearer, sliding the worksheet to the midpoint of the table. “The total number of questions is an even number, 12, so we can each get a half. But we can help each other too, of course.”

Hazel mutters something that sounds like an ‘okay,’ but she mumbles something else under her breath that you can’t quite make out.

Overall, the class goes fine. The osmosis experiment wasn’t too hard to do and the questions were manageable. It was just how Hazel acted throughout the whole hour that threw you off a little. You knew she could be as awkward as she could get excited, and sometimes she talked too much and didn’t pick up on social cues easily, but the whole time she just seemed… uncomfortable, if that was the right word. Like she really wanted to say something or do something but she couldn’t for whatever reason.

Once you’re both done cleaning up, she wastes no time in removing her laboratory coat and shoving it into her bag, but you don’t want to let her get away that easily. Gently, you place a hand on her forearm to stop her. “Hey, Hazel?”

She pauses, eyeing your hand for a second too long before looking at you. Properly looking at you. She could barely do it throughout the experiment.

“I just wanted to ask if everything’s okay?” You bring your hand back and begin to slip off your own coat. “It could be none of my business, so feel free to tell me off if you want, but you just seem a bit out of it.”

Hazel opens her mouth to speak, but her gaze quickly moves from your face to something beside you. Rather, on you; your shirt was pulled to the side while taking off the coat and it exposed the bruise at the juncture of your shoulder and collarbone. Shit.

“Oh, that’s— don’t worry about that. I just tripped and fell hard in P.E. the other day,” you say with a dismissive wave of your hand, pulling your shirt back in place. God, you hoped nothing in your voice or face was giving you away. You doubt her first assumption would be that you were one of the masked vigilantes featured on the news, but she couldn’t be thinking of anything good either if she didn’t buy your excuse.

And she didn’t. “That doesn’t look too good,” Hazel says with a frown.

“It’s fine—”

“Come with me to the locker room? I’ve got something that can probably help with that. I mean, it’s not in the locker room, it’s in my actual locker and I’ll have to go get it from there first before going to the benches, but uh… um, yeah. I-I’ve got something.”

Her ramble ends with a sigh and you can’t help but smile at how she stumbled out all those words. Funny how you were the one all concerned about her just a minute ago and now the tables were turned. You didn’t want anybody seeing your cuts and bruises, or at least didn’t want anybody asking about them, but you didn’t get to ice the one she saw just yet. You’d take whatever ointment or cream she might have stashed away in her locker if it would help.

So you nod your head and walk with her towards the door. “Alright, yeah. I’m sure you know a thing or two about treating bruises, what with all that fighting you do.”

You almost bump into her when she stops and whips her head at you sharply, that wide-eyed look back on her face. What was with her today?

“Your fight club? With Isabel and Brittany and all those other girls?”

Hazel visibly deflates and lets out a half nervous, half relieved-sounding noise at that. “Yeah, yeah! Always gotta be prepared.”

You say nothing in return and follow along to her locker, deciding not to overthink it. Hazel could just be a little odd and there was nothing wrong with that.

“Ah—”

“Sorry, sorry,” she says, being even more careful than earlier with moving your shirt and bra strap to the side to expose the bruise more.

“It’s okay, just… I think it would be easier if I took my top off for this?”

Hazel actually makes a sound when she gulps. You’re quick to add, “Only if you’re comfortable with that, no pressure at all. It’s just that the bruise kinda trails off to the back too, so…”

“Yeah, no, it’s fine. Whatever you’re more comfortable with. I’ll just…” she trails off, turning away so you can take your shirt off.

“Haze, you don’t have to do that,” you say with a chuckle. But it was instinct as it was for everyone when somebody was changing in their presence, and you knew there was an extra kick to it now for her.

Brittany and Isabel were always just poking fun, but you knew they teased Hazel about you sometimes. Both girls even asked you about your possible interest in her more than once. Hazel was cute and you did want to get to know her more, especially see how she was in that fight club because they always said she was different in that element. But considering your own after-school activities, dating was just out of the question.

Silently, Hazel turns back, cap off the tub of gel in her waiting hands. It was obvious that she was trying very hard to look nowhere else but your face and the area of the bruise, so you reach out and smile at her reassuringly. “Nothing to worry about. I know you’ve seen boobs before.”

“Well, not your boobs.”

She says it so casually that you’re both taken aback, but you just laugh. Thankfully, Hazel laughs along with you too.

You lean against the sink and she comes closer, stopping once her knees knock against yours. “Tell me if I’m pressing hard, okay?”

You smile at her again, softer this time. “Okay.”

It’s comfortably silent as she applies the gel on your bruise. High in vitamin C, she tells you at some point, cause it apparently helps bruises heal faster. Hopefully you didn’t get hit there again tonight so you could actually see if the science behind the gel worked or not.

When you turn around so she can work on the bruise’s extension on your back, you say, “That gel looks like it’s barely used. Do you have a stock of those at your fight club or do you guys just tough it out when someone gets a hit in?”

“This is my personal one, but most of us prefer to use the traditional ice packs. And unlike the rest of them, I heal pretty quickly.” Hazel smiles at your reflection in the mirror and you immediately smile back. You didn’t think it was possible for her to ever have a hint of cockiness in her tone. You kind of liked it.

“Like a regular superhero then, huh?”

She looks away, her smile dropping slightly. “Nothing like that. Um, you’re all good now.”

Hazel reaches for your shirt before you can even ask her to. You thank her with another smile and she moves away so you can put it back on.

As you walk alongside her to the exit, you stop her for a moment before pushing the doors open. “Thank you again. I’m pretty sure the gel is working already.”

Her gaze falls to the ground and once again she’s all fidgety and bashful. You hesitate for a second, but before you can talk yourself out of it, you lean forward to kiss her on the cheek. Just a light, friendly peck, even though ‘friendly’ might’ve been teetering over the edge at that point. Something shifted and you weren’t so sure you’d just laugh it off the next time Brittany or Isabel asked you about Hazel again.

You walk out of the locker room together, shyly glancing and smiling at one another until you have to part ways for your next classes.

Christ on a cross, you were really fucking tired. The city had been quiet since you started surveying it at around five o’clock and you were highly considering calling it a day at around half past seven, leave whatever happened in the later hours to the other crime fighters your city had one too many of. Hell, even to whatever cops who might be able to do their job properly for a change.

But a trio of snatchers caught your eye as soon as the thought occurred to you. So much for an earlier end to the week.

And you had them subdued with ease. Two of them were clearly new to the life of crime or just greatly inexperienced, and the other one was yelling at them half the time. Despite your skill and inhuman qualities, however, they were all relatively bigger than you so knocking them all out still took some time. You were two down with one to go when you heard a thwipping sound by your ear, and in the next split second, the snatcher was webbed to the wall.

Then you heard that voice. “Looked like you needed a hand.”

You look over your shoulder, groaning. “I didn’t, actually.”

“Well, I wanted to help you anyway. You’re welcome!”

“I’m not thanking you!”

The blare of police sirens comes not long after and you and Spiderwoman flee the scene before any of the cars come to a stop. Flying got you ahead of her since she relied on buildings to swing off from, but she caught up to you in no time. In just a few minutes, you were both back on the rooftop you left her at earlier in the week.

“You know, you’re right for making sure to never have to talk to the cops after putting the bad guys down. I should do that more. Those people really don’t like us.”

“I think you just talk a little too much for their liking.”

It’s not meant to be funny, but she laughs at you anyway. You might’ve put your guard down and decided to not be so irritated if it weren’t for the throbbing pain near your shoulder. You were sure the bruise there got bigger and worse after one of the snatchers got a good punch in that area.

“Yeah, well, I’m calling it a night. The city’s been quiet enough except for that one incident today, so I’m going home.” You sigh, moving to walk past her. “You should, too.”

“Hold on, I…”

You stop, waiting like she asked. If she was gonna ask you to hang out and share a sandwich again, she still wasn’t getting the answer she wanted.

She’s in a silent debate with herself for too long and you really, really wanted to go, so you say goodbye and start walking again. But just as you come shoulder to shoulder with her, she reaches out to touch yours and you wince back in pain. It just had to be the bruised one.

“Oh god, sorry.” She says as she takes her hand away. “Are you okay?”

“Obviously not, but I’ll be fine the next time we unfortunately cross paths again.”

“Wait, I just—”

“Look, Spidey, I really don’t have time—”

“Just take the tub of gel home then, if you don’t want me to take a look at it.”

What the hell was she talking about?

Then it hits you, and you freeze in place even before she says your name. Your actual name, written on your birth certificate and school records, written on that worksheet you shared just a couple of hours before.

Slowly, she begins to take off her mask. You almost want to tell her to stop but that wouldn’t change anything. Even if she didn’t show you her face now, you’d see it in two days time on Monday. Maybe even earlier if you happened to bump into her on the weekend.

Your greatest annoyance was the same person you thought you might’ve been developing a bit of a crush on earlier. You could not deal with any of that right now.

So you don’t.

“I know you’re probably freaked out by now, but I promise I haven’t—”

“I need to go.”

A crease forms between her brows. She starts to say something again but you’re quick to cut her off. “I need to go, okay? Just leave me alone.”

Hazel lets out a resigned sigh, looking to the floor as she nods. You fly faster than you ever have to get back home.

Your luck doesn’t get any better over the weekend when you get a fever on Sunday evening, making you miss class for the next three days. A paracetamol usually did the trick after a day, but the fatigue and exhaustion of your secret life was probably getting to you, too. But even with the ugly feeling of a fever, it was actually really nice to just stay in bed and drink soup for a change. It feels like you haven’t properly rested in weeks.

Your mind, however, was still restless. You tried not to look at the news too much in case there was some criminal that got away and it would just make you feel awful for not being able to catch them. But you tried even harder not to message Hazel to talk.

“Hey kiddo, your friend from school is here. Says she has the notes and homework you’ve missed since Monday.” Your dad pops his head in as he speaks. You can’t see who’s behind him, but it was probably Isabel. She’s been checking in on you constantly.

“Yeah, just let Isabel in, dad.”

“Not Isabel,” says a different voice as the door shuts behind her. Speak of the devil. “But I do have Isabel’s notes because they’re way neater than mine,” Hazel adds, a sheepish look on her face.

You don’t say anything as you watch her cross the room, shrugging off her backpack and gently placing it on the seat by your study table. Then she turns to you, and you’re surprised to see the tears welling up in her eyes. “Hazel, what—”

“Sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just…” She shakes her head, angrily rubbing at her eyes. “I thought something really bad happened to you.”

“It was just a fever,” you tell her as you sit up straighter against your headboard.

“You know what I mean.”

You did. You reach out and pat the space beside you on the bed. “Come on, come here.”

Hazel does as she’s asked. Her gaze was focused on your carpet but you could see that her eyes weren’t glistening with unshed tears anymore, although they were rimmed red. “I’m fine, I promise. The fever’s gone now and I’ve been cleared to go back to school tomorrow.”

She nods but she’s still not looking at you, so you take one of her hands in between both of yours in an attempt to make her. “I’m sorry for the way I reacted on Friday night. I just didn’t know what to say and it was… it was a lot to take in at the moment. I was so sure that nobody knew who I was. I panicked.”

“I haven’t told anyone, I swear.” Hazel looks at you then, holding your gaze like her life depended on it. “I know I talk too much but I would never do that to you. Never.”

You can’t tell if she’s quoting you from your last conversation or not on that last part, but you believe her. “I know. I’d never tell anyone about you either, Hazel.”

She looks down at your hands when you rub your thumb across the side of hers and, after a moment, she laces her fingers with yours. There was a burst of warmth in your chest and you could tell there was one in Hazel’s too. So much for your one rule of not dating anyone because of the dangerous part of your life.

Not that you thought the two of you were dating, though.

“So… now what?”

“Well, life goes on as it did before, I guess.” You scoot closer to her, smiling as you add, “But I guess we can hold hands every now and then, if you like.”

“Oh, I like. I very much like,” Hazel replies enthusiastically, a matching smile on her face. She holds on to your hand tighter. “Can I kiss you every now and then too?”

“You haven’t kissed me yet.”

But that’s changed in a heartbeat, both of you leaning forward at the same time. You tug her closer, unlacing your hands so you can bury one in her hair as the other holds on to the side of her face. Hazel kisses you slowly, but there was an urgency to it as well; like something could happen the next day that would ensure she would never be able to do it again — but all things considered, that was an unfortunate thing that very well could happen. You kiss her back just the same, savoring the moment and praying to every god out there that your mom or dad wouldn’t come barging in any time soon.

She pushes you down onto the bed and pulls away with a grin, planting kisses across your cheek and down to your neck. You hold back from verbally reacting to that and the feeling of her hands on your hips, her thumbs gently caressing the skin there. It takes too much energy for you to manage to say, “Hazel, Haze… my parents are home.”

Hazel brings her face back up to yours. Instead of looking disappointed, she just looks pleased. “I know, sorry. Got carried away — I have been fantasizing about this for a while now, though, so cut me a little slack.”

You giggle out an ‘okay’, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Also, if there’s any of that fever bacteria still in me, I apologize in advance if you get sick in a day or two.”

“Don’t even worry about me,” Hazel says with a shake of her head, leaning down to kiss you soundly once more. “I heal fast.”

[doe-eyed-fool]

Fallen {Chapter Three}

Alastor x (fem)Reader

Warning: Very ooc Lucifer (I made the first few chapters before the series came out)

"Redemption?" I wonder aloud. "Yes! This is my hotel, and here, me and my staff help sinners better themselves for a chance of being redeemed!" Charlie says enthusiastically. But it didn't make much sense to me. Why would sinners care about being redeemed? Could they even be redeemed?

That sounded impossible, unheard of even. But held my tongue, clearly this was a passion project of hers. I wouldn't want to spit on her dreams.

"How...nice." I say with a smile. "But may I ask why you would do all this?" Charlie's eyes lit up at the thought of me being interested in knowing more.

"I believe that everyone deserves a second chance to be good. Everyone has good in them, even if they don't believe they do. And I think, with a little help, we can shape them into the best versions of themselves as they can be. Then they can get into heaven after all their hard work on improving."

I almost couldn't believe the words coming from her. She seemed so kind, so, not demon-ish at all! I couldn't help but wish her luck. She really believed that the sinners and demons of hell could be better people. In some ways, I agreed. I do believe people can change and be better. But, a lot of those creatures out there were here for a reason.

"So, are you here to check in?" Charlie asks me. "Uh, I-" I was cut off by Alastor. "Why yes, she is!" I shot a concerned glance at him. "Wonderful!" Charlie claps excitedly. "Come on, I'll give you a tour and introduce you to everyone!" Before I could protest, Charlie grabbed my hand and began walking.

Before she left with me she turned to Alastor. "I'll be back to help. We mainly just need to fix the place up from our last extermination." Alastor nods his head. "Of course my dear. Take your time." Charlie gives him a thumbs up before walking me away.

What was Alastor up to? Charlie showed me different areas of the hotel, and even introduced me to the staff and guests. First I met Vaggie, who turned out to be Charlie's girlfriend. She was pretty abrasive, but Charlie told me it wasn't anything personal towards me. Other than that, she was a fine demon and she clearly loved and cared about Charlie.

Next I met Angel Dust, a spider demon, he was uh...Something else. Smug too. I tried to keep my eyes on his and not his skimpy clothing. Apparently he was a porn star. I felt bad for him. Mainly because I was concerned for his safety. But he looked like he could handle himself, hopefully.

Then there was Nifty. She was nice, and very hyper. Excited to meet me and become friends, her singular eye looking me up and down frantically.

Before I could finish talking with her and move on to the next person, she picked some lint off of my dress. A clean freak I suppose. I said my goodbye before meeting the last person on Charlie's list. His name was Husk, a cat demon. And a rather rude demon at that.

He had no interest in meeting me or even spare a glance my way. Charlie apologized for his behavior before leading me back to the lobby.

"We can work on getting you a room shortly. I just have to make sure everything is all set first. Things got a little out of hand after the extermination. Then we had some demon attack us right after, thankfully Alastor got rid of him. In quite the horrifying way..." She laughs weakly before clearing her throat. "Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy your stay with us."

I only offered a false smile and nod. "So, I've been meaning to ask." Charlie begins. "How do you know Alastor? I mean, everyone knows him, but you seemed to actually be friends with him." My mind blanked for a moment as I tried to think of a explanation. "Uh well, Alastor kind of helped me out a bad spot." That seemed to have caught Charlie's attention.

"Really? What happened? If you don't mind me asking." She asks. Darn. "Well, he...Uh, I was lost. Yeah, I got lost and, he helped me. I'm sure you know how hell is. So...dangerous and and all that." Charlie nods. "Trust me, I know." She chuckles. "Being the princess of hell, I'm aware of a lot of things that go down on a regular basis. But not everything, my dad knows way more than me." My eyes go wide for a second.

Did she just say princess of hell? Does...does that mean her father is...

There was a knock on the front doors of the hotel. "I'll get it! Excuse me for a moment Y/n." Charlie says before heading for the front door. She straightens out her suit before opening the doors. "Welcome to...Oh, hey dad." Standing before Charlie, was a demon.

But not just any demon. This demon was known by all, in heaven, hell, and earth alike.

This demon, was none other than Lucifer himself. But could that really be him? He looked nothing like how I thought he would. For one thing, he was much...shorter, than I picture him to be.

Charlie's takes after her father's looks, as he had the same pale white skin, blonde hair, and rosy cheeks to bring it all together. They even shared the same eyes. When he spoke, it only sent more surprise and confusion through me. "Charlotte! How have you been?" His voice was a higher pitch than I imagined.

Not deep and masculine, but not feminine either. Somewhere right in between. "I'm fine." Charlie says with a weak smile. "What uh, what are you doing here?" She asks carefully. "I just wanted to check on my daughter. This year's extermination was no joke! The angels were relentless, I haven't seen so much carriage in a while." Lucifer walks past her into the hotel lobby, he looked around. "So, this is the hotel you've been working on."

Charlie follows after her dad, nervously fidgeting with her hands. "Yep." Lucifer chuckles. "Adorable." He says with a shake of his head. Suddenly his gaze fell onto me and I froze in place. "A new guest of yours?" Lucifer glances at his daughter for a moment. When she nods he looks back to me before approaching me. My breath was caught in my throat, my hands began to tremble.

He was but a step away from me, he looked at me with a grin. "What might your name be, little demon?" He asks. I couldn't bring myself to speak, my cowardice only seemed to have amused Lucifer. "Well? Are you going to tell me?" He smirks.

I glance over at Charlie, I don't know why, but I was hoping she could help me somehow. But she only kept her gaze on the floor, holding her arm close to her side with a nervous expression. I turn my attention back to Lucifer, who was still waiting for me to give him my name.

Finally I swallowed the large lump in my throat and speak. "Y-Y/n." I murmur. "Y/n." Lucifer repeats leaning in closer to me. His eyes bore into mine, his grin dropping slightly. "Strange..." He narrows his eyes. Suddenly Alastor's voice caught our attention.

"Lucifer, my good fellow! I had no idea you would be stopping by!" Lucifer looks over his shoulder before his grin returns to his face. "Alastor. Always a pleasure." He thankfully moves away from me and towards Alastor.

I could finally breath normally again, my heart wouldn't calm down as it thumped harshly against my chest. "I thought I might pay this place a visit. After all, it means so much to my daughter." He was far shorter than Alastor. Though, Alastor kept his same respectful demeanor when talking to Lucifer.

"Of course." Alastor nods. "It's quite the hotel. Very...Unique." Lucifer laughs at that. "You're right about that my good man."

Lucifer glances back at me as still talks with Alastor. "I thought this place would be in shambles after that extermination. Turns out my daughter can fend for herself after all." Charlie's expression fell at his words. "Anyhow. I should be on my way. Lots of work to be done, and business to attend to." He walks past Alastor and back towards the hotel entrance. "Oh, I almost forgot." He stops just before the door.

"Alastor? You haven't seen anything out of the ordinary lately have you? I ask because I know how attentive you are when it comes to anything new and unusual."

"Hm. Afraid not. Why? Has something occurred that I should know about?" Alastor asks. Lucifer shrugs. "I can't be sure. But I could have sworn I saw something quite strange fall from the sky early this morning." I noticed that Alastor's smile tightened slightly. "A new sinner?" He asks.

"Perhaps. Though, I've yet to see a sinner with such unordinary wings." Lucifer said lowly. My heart dropped down to the pit of my stomach. "But then again, I am so very overworked." He sighs. "Must have been my imagination."

"Maybe so." Alastor says calmly. Lucifer's smile turned sinister. "I'll be seeing you around, Alastor." He says before stepping out and closing the door behind him. I stare at the door unblinking, my hands trembling.

I look over at Alastor, despite his smile, I could tell he was upset. I would have asked if he was alright, but Charlie walked over to me and placed a hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry about that." She sighs. "I didn't know my dad would ever come here. He's never been interested in my project, I guess I shouldn't have let my guard down. Are you alright?" She asks me.

I nod my head. "I-I'm ok." Charlie offers me a small smile before taking my hand. "Let's get you to your room. You can relax for a bit."

[harrywavycurly]

Sarah does Eddie come back? I need to know if he comes back for us😭😭

Hiii lovey!! So I’m in a good mood so I’ll give you the answer, it’s yes. Eddie does come back for you and here is the conversation y’all have when he gets there, enjoy!💖

-find all things One Night Stand Eddie here✨

*Eddie has come to tell you the three words you never thought you’d ever hear come out of his mouth*

“Please don’t be asleep already…please don’t be asleep…plea-” “Are you talking to yourself? That’s a new level of weird….” “Jesus! What the fuck are you doing down here?” “Waiting for the elevator.” “You’ve been waiting for the elevator this whole time?” “Well…no…I kinda forgot to uhm push the button when…you left.” “Uh…have you pushed it yet because….the light isn’t on.” “Oh fuck…there yes..I have pushed the button.” “Will you…just let me walk you upstairs…please?” “Eddie it’s almost one in the morning can you just go home and we can finish this whole pointless argument tomorrow?” “I don’t want to argue with you…I know why you were with Steve and I’m sorry I reacted the way that I did..” “Did you know Dustin can skate backwards? It’s pretty impressive.” “Are you ignoring the fact I said I was sorry?” “No…I’m just waiting on you to elaborate on why you’re sorry…you know since there’s so many reasons you could be apologizing to me right now.” “I’m an asshole.” “While I’m so happy you’ve come to terms with that…I thought you were apologizing not just stating facts?” “I’m sorry I was an asshole to you about being with Steve…I just…I feel this…need to know what you’re doing all the time and I’m sorry.” “I get it Eddie…I’m carrying your daughter and you feel protective of her and I understand but you have to realize I’m an adult and there’s going to be times I go do things without telling you because I don’t have to let you know where I’m at and who I’m with all the time.” “It’s not just her I feel…protective over it’s..it’s you too…I know you’re going to do things and hang out with people without me knowing and it’s fine I’m going to try…to be more understanding about it…” “why do you feel you need to protect me?” “Because you’re new in town and…you don’t know a lot of people here and I don’t want you to get hurt.” “You don’t want me to get hurt?” “Yeah by the fucking jackasses in this town…I know you don’t trust easy and clearly you’ve had some…shitty men in your life and I’m just…I’m trying not to be added to that list.” “You’re not doing a very good job…” “I know and I’m sorry…will you please let me walk you to your door?” “I would but…honestly my feet hurt so bad I don’t think I can walk at this moment in time so I’ll just take the elevator.” “What? No just…sit down on the step and uhm…I can…rub them for you? Maybe that’ll help and then we can…take the elevator together just in case you…get sick.” “This is the second time you’ve mentioned rubbing my feet tonight…are you into feet or something?” “No no…I just wanna help you feel better.” “I’m kidding…yeah sure you…can rub my feet..that would be fine.” “Okay here give me your hand…that’s it okay now just sit…down…good job…uhm…so Dustin can really skate backwards?” “Yes it was so cool and Lucas and Will can dance on skates…next time you need to come.” “Yeah sounds like I missed quite the party…how’s that feel?” “Like I could fall asleep right here on these concrete steps….thank you.” “For what?” “Coming back…I’d still probably be standing there having not pushed the damn button for the elevator…” “Next time I won’t leave.” “Promise?” “Yeah….I promise.” “Good because I was ten seconds away from calling Wayne…”

[exeggcute]

well it's been almost six months which I think is long enough to break my posting embargo, so, uh: guess what! I got liposuction lol. specifically hip/thigh lipo to quell some pretty wicked dysphoria that stemmed from having such a feminine silhouette… and I have to say I'm really, really pleased with the results.

tbh my initial plan was to keep things under wraps for good which is why I haven't said anything about it yet (and even as I'm typing this up I keep debating whether to post it or trash it)—partly because I was/am worried people might Act Weird about it and partly because I get a little embarrassed talking about bodygendershit in general. but here we are. one reason I do feel compelled to finally share, other than being super happy about how everything went, is that I haven't encountered a lot of discussions about body sculpting as a possible avenue of gender-affirming care (although, to be fair, maybe I just haven't been looking in the right places) and I figured at least one person out there would be interested to learn about what I did and where I've ended up so far.

anyway. pics/details under the cut—nothing even remotely risqué (or yucky), I just know that body image stuff is fraught + not everyone is eager to hear surgery talk.

to be precise: I got tumescent liposuction of the inner and outer thigh, plus this ultrasound thing to help the skin shrink. a different surgeon who I consulted (but ultimately did not go with for a number of reasons) said that even if I got the results I wanted from lipo, which he claimed was unlikely, the affected skin would look loose/baggy/weird forever... and that surgeon was wrong on both counts lol. my elasticity was great bitch!!!!

they didn't take out that much fat overall, only eight pounds or so, but it's way more about the Where than the How Much. my actual surgeon (who kicks ass btw) said lipo isn't that great for weight loss per se, and what it's really good for is sculpting targeted areas—so basically exactly what I did. six months post-op I actually weigh about the same as what I did pre-op, but the distribution has held steady; more weight goes to my stomach now and less, proportionally, goes to my hips since there are fewer fat cells in that area now. so my silhouette retains its new shape!

the overall change is admittedly on the subtle side, since I'm pretty short and have wide hip bones (and you can't change your literal skeleton) but it's still gone a looooooong way. the main thing I requested from my surgeon was "I want to fit in men's pants" and boy did he deliver.

also a good place to note that if you're in the las vegas area looking for a plastic and/or cosmetic surgeon—this guy is board-certified in both btw—then I absolutely have the guy for you. feel free to DM me for details. lipo is clearly his specialty (and it shows!) but he also does a lot of breast revisions/mastopexy (i.e., fixing implants that other surgeons did a bad job putting in), regular implants, and face work (particularly facial feminization surgery). one thing that sold me on this guy was an enthusiastic yelp review from a local stripper who said he hid the incisions for her breast lift in her armpits so none of her clients would notice that she'd had work done... a true master of his craft

okay you've scrolled enough so I'll give you what you're here for lol. I don't have many pre-op pics because I was obviously unhappy with how I looked and was not taking full-body selfies on a regular basis, but here's a few I took ~2 weeks beforehand:

these super thin men's joggers were my go-to dysphoria pants, to the point where I bought five pairs in different colors, but now they're so baggy on me that they have the opposite effect and make it look like I have wider hips than I do. so I retired them from my wardrobe...

...except not immediately because I had to wear compression garments 24/7 for the first three months post-op and these joggers were just loose enough to comfortably wear a medical girdle underneath them at all times, 110° degree temperatures be damned. (not that I was going out much for the first month since I was soooooooooooo fucking bruised and sore lol.) here's a few post-op pics in the same style pants:

(first pic is less than 24 hours post-op, about to go to my follow-up appointment, looking greasy as fuck because I wasn't allowed to shower yet; second pic two days post-op and also post-shower, thankfully; third pic is about a month post-op.)

so, like, CLEAR improvement already. I will not be posting pictures of my black-and-blue-and-swollen-all-over legs but considering how puffy I was from getting internally pummeled with a cannula it's wild that I still saw improvement literally as soon as I came home.

recovery was obviously not a blast in the moment but I got off easy, all things considered. I was supposed to get drains put in and was Not looking forward to that at all lol. the first thing I asked when I woke up after surgery was "how many drains?" because they weren't sure if I'd end up needing two or four, but it turned out the answer was zero. no drains!!!

I did have to lie with my feet elevated for the first two weeks straight, and had major bruising that receded over the first month (you could barely see my regular skin underneath all the mottled spots), but little to no nerve pain, no weird complications, and I was more or less back to normal after six weeks. also noelle took very very good care of me and was brave about injecting me with blood thinners so I wouldn't get clots and die :)

when I went into it I was fully expecting to get huge vertical scars up and down the sides of my legs (and had made peace with it!) but instead I wound up with four tiny incisions like this, each less than two inches long:

what's totally crazy is that the scars are basically Gone now. like even when I'm trying to find them I struggle to locate the ones in the front. I joked to noelle that if someone did an autopsy on me they might not figure out that I'd had cosmetic surgery, especially since the skin on my thighs is back to its normal color and texture. (in this scenario I like to imagine that it's dana scully giving me the autopsy and I'm in an x-files plot where instead of regular lipo I got alien lipo and mulder figures it out purely by accident.)

with lipo it can take up to a year to see the full results but I already feel so much fucking better in my body that seeing old pre-op pics throws me for a loop. and I can absolutely wear men's pants now—pants for short and stocky men, to be fair, but actual regular men's pants and not exclusively Pants For Men With Huge Butts And Legs. which is the only style I could even hope to fit in before. and even then it was a stretch.

big pic dump of shitty mirror selfies taken over the last few months:

:)

(also I really debated sharing this one but I already included it in the yelp review I left my surgeon so fuck it: here's a tasteful before-and-after in my undies where you can see my bare legs for easier comparison. left pic is one week pre-op, right pic is about five months post-op. including it as a link instead of embedding it in the post in case your boss happens to be reading over your shoulder at this very moment. also this is the one and only time you will ever see me stripped down on tumblr dot com so don't get used to it lol.)

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

(Genshin Impact) Jean, Eula, and Rosaria's S/O being terrible at handling kids

ENOUGH ABOUT CHILDREN'S RIGHTS, IT'S TIME TO TALK ABOUT CHILDREN'S WRONGS Okay before you kill me, that's a joke. This is in regards to a lot of posts of reader usually dealing with kids in a great way like a good dad/mom. So this is for me the folks who have no idea how to interact with kids. Like, I'm talking THIS kinda level of bad with dealing with kids:

Jean has always known how to speak to kids thanks to growing up with Barbara. Though she is usually a bit more formal than she needs to be, every one of the kids thinks she's the nicest lady in Mondstadt.

It warms her heart.

S/O on the other hand always had raspberries blown their way by the kids, even when she's with them.

She's gotten reports of S/O accidentally making kids cry by trying to help. Specifically, there was one child named "Timmie", who S/O accidentally made angry by scaring his pigeons away.

S/O tried to make things better by feeding ducks, but apparently something went terribly wrong which resulted in duck casualties.

Though nothing will top the moment when she was enjoying a date with S/O and had a kid walk up to her and ask:

(Child) "Miss Jean, why are you dating a jerk like S/O?"

Which made her choke on her drink.

She has always thought about having kids herself when things settled down, but clearly S/O needed to learn how to not provoke them.

Even if it was accidental.

Despite the adults disliking Eula, many children adored her. Something she was surprised by herself.

That being said, many approved of her but not S/O.

Apparently they just didn't like S/O...That was it. Not really a reason beyond that. Well, at least she could understand that feeling.

She can't help but feel bad for S/O everytime she witnesses it.

(Child) "We dropped our ball!"

(Eula) "Ah, one moment-"

S/O picked up the ball and was prepared to throw it back to them.

(S/O) "Here you go!"

(Child) "...Uh, that's okay. You can keep it Miss Eula. Come on, let's go!"

The kids looked disgusted by S/O's presence and quickly ran off, making Eula look sympathetically at them.

(Eula) "...I suppose we do need to balance each other out since we're both hated by one half of Mondstadt..."

Rosaria wasn't great with kids herself. Her resting face was enough to make them flee in terror.

That's probably for the best, considering her true line of work. Besides, there was much better sisters to talk to the little tykes anyway.

That being said, she finds it hilarious how much kids seem to hate S/O. They always seem to scowl at them whenever they pass by and are called things like "poopybutt".

Rosaria finds it doubly hilarious whenever S/O attempts to calm them, they end up making them even more upset by having them stomp off and getting glares from nearby sisters.

Best of all, she didn't even have the reputation S/O does among the kids of Mondstadt.

(Rosaria) "Jeez, what'd you do to piss them off?"

[revvethasmythh]

Some aspects of Laudna's behavior from the most recent ep have really started to stand out to me re: her backstory. We're told basically that after leaving Whitestone she roamed to different cities and was subsequently run out of many places by the townsfolk for being...well, a creepy undead witch. This is really all we know of thirty years of her life, we have nothing more detailed than that until Gelvaan, which is also not very detailed on what exactly she was doing there. And it's interesting because this backstory feels like it's meant to elicit a lot of sympathy on Laudna's behalf--i.e. she is being wrongly chased out of places for the crime of being/looking different. But something about the way she approached Imahara Joe's establishment--sending in the creepy whispers, specifically making a bunch of terrifying "rattling noises", and responding with a smile and saying "It works every time" when they heard a noise in response--really has me like. okay. Laudna, did you get chased out of places because you were terrorizing people in those places? because it sounds like you've done this before, potentially many times, and what's "fun scary" to one person can so very easily be "scary scary" to the people on the other end of the schtick.

Laudna clearly loves people, but I do have to wonder if she experiences a certain amount of dissonance about the effects that her actions cause. She very much has this Manic Demon Nightmare Girl persona thing going on, and that delighted, manic energy mixed with her penchant for the macabre, often directed at other people where she enjoys their freaked out reactions? I think, perhaps, there were reasons she kept getting run out of places that we have not, uh, unpacked as of yet.

To go deeper with this, Laudna is a character who rarely feels like she's in charge of her own destiny. Some of this is intentional, like the repeated puppet imagery re: Delilah. But I wonder if, perhaps, Laudna is someone who has had so many things--bad things, terrible things--happen to her that she had learned to erase her own role in her life. There was nothing she could do when the Briarwoods took over Whitestone, there was nothing she could do when she was murdered by Delilah, and there was nothing she could do when she was resurrected as the undead creachure that she is today. But there are thing she could have done in the intervening thirty years to change her situation. She could have pursued threads about getting rid of Delilah for thirty years, long before meeting Imogen. She could have (somewhat) altered her behavior so she wasn't freaking people out wherever she went and maybe she could have stayed somewhere. She could have been proactive in making changes and pursuing things in her life and I just wonder if she has forgotten that she can do that for herself and that the things she does do have consequences. In ep 49, she told Imogen, "The gods have never kept us from our ability to have a choice." But she only says this to Imogen. When does Laudna finally make an active choice? When does she realized that her behavior and the consequences of the behavior are in her control? When does Laudna decide that it's time to stop being a spectator in her own story, a person that things happen to? Soon, I hope. She should be the main character of her own story, and right now she simply isn't

[self-winding]

One of my Twitter moots from a previous fandom has gone full TERF.

For some reason they’re still following me even though I tweet about trans stuff, and I’m still following them because I’m morbidly fascinated by their unhinged takes and the takes of people in their orbit.

Like, there’s some tweet from a trans woman about how she carries tampons in her purse because some of her trans masc friends might need one and they don’t usually carry tampons, and the reaction from Terftown is “this is manipulative and predatory male behavior because men want to feel powerful by rescuing damsels in distress.”

Or like, there’s a news story about a masculine nonbinary (presumably afab) person who now gets mistaken for a man after a double mastectomy and has been confronted when they try to use the women’s toilet, and the reaction is “Clearly this person is actually a secret man.  They look male to me.  Men can get breast cancer too!  They say they found the lump when they were playing with their own breast?  No REAL WOMAN would do that!” (uh, what?) 

It’s a rabbit hole of paranoia and anger and seeing deception and predation everywhere.  But the thing is, a lot of it doesn’t sound that different from the unhinged takes I hear from trans-friendly “normal” feminists.  It’s just that "normal” feminists (the more extreme ones, anyway) direct this anger and paranoia exclusively toward cis men.  The disagreement between them and TERFs is merely who does or doesn’t count as a man.  The core attitude of “this group is out to get us and we must be constantly vigilant against them” is the same, and results in the same kind of moon-logic where every innocuous gesture or individual action from a bad actor becomes a sinister psyop of the collective.

If you believe that men as a class are constantly scheming ways to control and subjugate women and invade their spaces and make them doubt their own perceptions of reality, it makes total sense that some men would pretend to be women in order to do this.  In a way, TERFs are more consistent about this than other radfems.  But they’re consistently wrong because the premise is flawed to begin with.

And yeah, I’ve also seen plenty of this stuff directed toward women in the more toxic MRA and redpill circles.  I’m just more familiar with the feminist manifestations of this attitude.

Seeing an entire gender or entire sex as an oppressor/enemy class is the mindkiller.