#''its ok for something bad to happen to you because something WORSE has happened to someone else'' <- a weird mentality i see too much

[kil9]

probably my biggest killjoy moment is that i think 9/11 jokes can go way too far. i think people like to dunk on "america" as a vague concept, but i dont think a government being bad means that 2 buildings and 4 commercial flights of regular people deserved to die...

[infiniteglitterfall]

know someone who enjoys horror stories? share this one! it's true!

hahahahahahahahahaha aarrggghhhhhhhhhh 3,000,000 deaths due to COVID-19 last year. Globally. Three million. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. The reason people are still worried about COVID is because it has a way of quietly fucking up your body. And the risk is cumulative.

I'm going to say that again: the risk is cumulative.

It's not just that a lot of people get bad long-term effects from it. One in seven or so? Enough that it's kind of the Russian Roulette of diseases. It's also that the more times you get it, the higher that risk becomes. Like if each time you survived Russian Roulette, the empty chamber was removed from the gun entirely. The worst part is that, psychologically, we have the absolute opposite reaction. If we survive something with no ill effects, we assume it's pretty safe. It is really, really hard to override that sense of, "Ok, well, I got it and now I probably have a lot of immunity and also it wasn't that bad." It is not a respiratory disease. Airborne, yes. Respiratory disease, no: not a cold, not a flu, not RSV.

Like measles (or maybe chickenpox?), it starts with respiratory symptoms. And then it moves to other parts of your body. It seems to target the lungs, the digestive system, the heart, and the brain the most.

It also hits the immune system really hard - a lot of people are suddenly more susceptible to completely unrelated viruses. People get brain fog, migraines, forget things they used to know.

(I really, really hate that it can cross the blood-brain barrier. NOTHING SHOULD EVER CROSS THE BLOOD-BRAIN BARRIER IT IS THERE FOR A REASON.) Anecdotal examples of this shit are horrifying. I've seen people talk about coworkers who've had COVID five or more times, and now their work... just often doesn't make sense? They send emails that say things like, "Sorry, I didn't mean Los Angeles, I meant Los Angeles."

Or they insist they've never heard of some project that they were actually in charge of a year or two before.

Or their work is just kind of falling apart, and they don't seem to be aware of it.

People talk about how they don't want to get the person in trouble, so their team just works around it. Or they describe neighbors and relatives who had COVID repeatedly, were nearly hospitalized, talked about how incredibly sick they felt at the time... and now swear they've only had it once and it wasn't bad, they barely even noticed it.

(As someone who lived with severe dissociation for most of my life, this is a genuinely terrifying idea to me. I've already spent my whole life being like, "but what if I told them that already? but what if I did do that? what if that did happen to me and I just don't remember?") One of its known effects in the brain is to increase impulsivity and risk-taking, which is real fucking convenient honestly. What a fantastic fucking mutation. So happy for it on that one. Yes, please make it seem less important to wear a mask and get vaccinated. I'm not screaming internally at all now.

I saw a tweet from someone last year whose family hadn't had COVID yet, who were still masking in public, including school.

She said that her son was no kind of an athlete. Solidly bottom middle of the pack in gym.

And suddenly, this year, he was absolutely blowing past all the other kids who had to run the mile. He wasn't running any faster. His times weren't fantastic or anything. It's just that the rest of the kids were worse than him now. For some reason. I think about that a lot. (Like my incredibly active six-year-old getting a cold, and suddenly developing post-viral asthma that looked like pneumonia.

He went back to school the day before yesterday, after being home for a month and using preventative inhalers for almost week.

He told me that it was GREAT - except that he couldn't run as much at recess, because he immediately got really tired. Like how I went outside with him to do some yard work and felt like my body couldn't figure out how to increase breathing and heart rate.

I wasn't physically out of breath, but I felt like I was out of breath. That COVID feeling people describe, of "I'm not getting enough air." Except that I didn't have that problem when I had COVID.) Some people don't observe any long (or medium) term side effects after they have it.

But researchers have found viral reservoirs of COVID-19 in everyone they've studied who had it.

It just seems to hang out, dormant, for... well, longer than we've had an opportunity to observe it, so far.

(I definitely watched that literal horror movie. I think that's an entire genre. The alien dormant under ice in the Arctic.)

(oh hey I don't like that either!!!!!!!!!) All of which is to explain why we should still care about avoiding it, and how it manages to still cause excess deaths. Measuring excess deaths has been a standard tool in public health for a long time.

We know how many people usually die from all different causes, every year. So we can tell if, for example, deaths from heart disease have gone way up in the past three years, and look for reasons. Those are excess deaths: deaths that, four years ago, would not have happened. During the pandemic, excess death rates have been a really important tool. For all sorts of reasons. Like, sometimes people die from COVID without ever getting tested, and the official cause is listed as something else because nobody knows they had COVID. But also, people are dying from cardiovascular illness much younger now.

People are having strokes and heart attacks younger, and more often, than they did before the pandemic started. COVID causes a lot of problems. And some of those problems kill people. And some of them make it easier for other things to kill us. Lung damage from COVID leading to lungs collapsing, or to pneumonia, or to a pulmonary embolism, for example. The Economist built a machine-learning model with a 95% confidence interval that gauges excess death statistics around the world, to tell them what the true toll of the ongoing COVID pandemic has been so far.

Total excess deaths globally in 2023: Three million.

3,000,000.

Official COVID-19 deaths globally so far: Seven million. 7,000,000. Total excess deaths during COVID so far: Thirty-five point two million. 35,200,000.

Five times as many.

That's bad. I don't like that at all. I'm glad last year was less than a tenth of that. I'm not particularly confident about that continuing, though, because last year we started a period of really high COVID transmission. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. Here's their data, and charts you can play with, and links to detailed information on how they did all of this:

Here's a non-paywalled link to it:

https://archive.vn/2024.01.26-012536/https://www.economist.com/graphic-detail/coronavirus-excess-deaths-estimates

Oh: here's a link to where you can buy comfy, effective N95 masks in all sizes:

Those ones are about a buck each after shipping - about $30 for a box of 30. They also have sample packs for a dollar, so you can try a couple of different sizes and styles.

You can wear an N95 mask for about 40 total hours before the effectiveness really drops, so that's like a dollar for a week of wear.

They're also family-owned and have cat-shaped masks and I really love them. These ones are cuter and in a much wider range of colors, prints, and styles, but they're also more expensive; they range from $1.80 to $3 for a mask. ($18-$30 for a box of ten.)

[moonlesslights]

Two Idiots in Love

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

Warnings: Sex, P in V, choking, breeding kink, innuendos, Miguel it's fucking hard to talk to.

A/N: Hope you enjoy this, I haven't sleep well for three days trying to get it done, but it's finally here. Love y'all xoxox

━━━━━━✧❂✧━━━━━━

Ok, but what about you becoming an Spider just about a year ago?

You are managing just fine.

Things got nasty for a while, that’s true. Your uncle died, your new responsibilities caught up on you, you almost die fighting some bad guys on your first months… And now you just try to eat three times a day (sometimes it doesn’t happen), pray to get more than six hours of sleep and do good in college.

But then, out of fucking nowhere, just when you were making peace with what your life was now and who you are, your identity, your place in this big ass world where you were completely alone to bear this double life… This giant prick with sullen face and cheeks the size of the moon comes into your life to tell you you’re not alone, everyone here has experienced the same or worse, stop being so dramatic.

So, in a second, your protagonist moment turns to you finding out there were thousands like you out there. And your whole life goes upside down.

Because now you don’t have to protect and look out only for your Earth, your city; but everyone else’s too. You have to travel to the most craziest worlds you could’ve ever imagine and fight horrible creatures you couldn’t even conceive its existence. And to make things even worst, Mr. Wide Hindquarters took an special hold of you to help him out with anything he would be ‘to busy’ to do. Like inform new recruits about their missions, filling out reports, doing research either respecting to what he occupied in the laboratory or to some universe yet to be explored… Whatever he needed, you would be called in to do it.

Some Spiders told you you were lucky, not many could work that close to Miguel, let alone being in charge of so many things without screwing something up and getting ‘their head ripped’. Even Lyla tells you that you’re something special, specially on the hard days, that’s why Miguel trusts you so much. After that you would just smile tiredly at her, whispering it was okay. Then Lyla would go face Miguel and demand him with a raised eyebrow to give you a break.

You manage for a few months, surrendering yourself to this strange routine. And your even more strange companion.

Every day you walk in to his space, every day he is already there. You turn a personal mission to arrive before he does. You never make it. The man apparently didn’t sleep and you aren’t waking the fuck up at 3:00am to prove a point or find out. So you let it be as another mystery to be solved.

“Good morning.” You wave your hand at him, making your presence known with that. Sometimes between a yawn, sometimes still cleaning the sleepiness off of your eyes.

“Good morning…” He always adds your last name to his greetings. It makes you feel like you are being scolded. Most of the time he is at the tables, working through the screens; if he’s not there, he’s at the lab, measuring substances with the help of crystal clear instruments.

Without looking at you, he points with his chin to the steaming coffee under the express machine. Through the weeks he has learned exactly how you like it. The first ones he made you were exactly like his: Awful. That couldn’t be drinkable. But you thought it was nice of him to always have hot coffee for you, so you didn’t say anything. But the faces you made at every sip were worth a thousand words.

Now, as you drink today’s, you cannot avoid thinking how cute that big stoic man must look every morning pouring the exact amount of sugar and cream you like into the cup. Moving the liquid with a tiny spoon until is all mixed.

He doesn’t talk much.

No more than orders and “Go home” followed by a “Good night”. You let him be for the first weeks. Not your business. But after the first month you knew you would go crazy if you continued this way of living.

You needed to talk to him. You needed to make things less awkward. He was your only human contact sometimes for entire days, and you cannot stand the fact of barely talking to him.

You don’t have idea how does the term “coworkers” serves on his Earth, but in yours, Human Relationships are encouraged to happen for the sake of teamwork.

With that very idea well tangled on your mind, one of those long days, you take a deep breath, imagine him naked (which isn’t difficult to be honest), stare deep into the space and say:

“Sohowhaveyoubeen?” Squeaking as fast as you can.

Miguel stops whatever the hell he is doing and turns his head to the right, side eyeing you with a raised eyebrow. You don’t even look at him, continuing to fill the document in front of you with the most unstable smile he could have seen in his entire life. Then, he turns around again, coming back to typing into one of the screens. You almost think he has completely ignored you until he answers in another fast and neutral line:

“I’m good.”

You give him an acknowledging nod, smiling softly and returning to your duties.

You had never wished so much to be victim of a lost bullet. Like right now. Like right fucking now. Please.

For one more week you took another personal mission: making a question a day.

“How was your day?”, “Did you have breakfast?”, “How was yesterday’s mission?”… It would be a good day if you got more than a monosyllable for answer. It was embarrassing, really. And Lyla looking at you with a grimace made it ten times worst.

After that, you just came in the eighth day and remained silent, focused in finishing all your work as soon as possible rather than trying to make your prick boss to talk to you. You felt bad, actually. Maybe he just doesn't like to talk, maybe you were making him uncomfortable, maybe... Maybe he's just an arse. Yeah, that is probably the right...

"Hm? Uh, what... What is this?" You look up from your tablet, facing the broad of his back walking to the desk at the other side of the room. You raise an eyebrow at the small cardboard box in front of you, the one that Miguel just left there.

"Food." He says as answering the very question to the origin of the universe.

"For me?" You tilt your head and he looks at you like you were stupid. You frown. How were you supposed to know that, when he barely even looks at you?!

"I did too much." He explains. "... So I brought you some. You can throw it away if you don't want it."

You look down at the box again, watching it as the weirdest of things, and cannot help the little smile that creeps up to your lips. You knew Miguel didn't eat at the HQ cafeteria, since he owns an apartment close from here, so this was completely homemade. Hm, you never thought he was into cooking.

"Why can't I give it to someone else if I don't like it?" You respond with an easy smile, almost teasing him.

"Throw it." He sentences without even looking back at you.

You side eye Lyla at your left, who winks at you. This is a whole ass victory. And you and the little hologram girl knew internally Miguel did not like the day you decided to stop trying to talk to him.

"Thank you." You finally murmur. "I really appreciate it."

"It's just leftovers..."

You nod, pursing your lips and… Still smiling. Fuck it. It was obvious he was going to dismiss it with something like that.

None of you says anything else for the rest of the day, but you make the choice to keep trying on the small talk every day and Miguel, apparently, started to mess up the amount of ingredients for his meals and brings leftovers almost daily.

You continue with this new routine for another couple of weeks.

With the time passing, you gain more and more confidence to talk to the big guy. Most of the times he doesn’t engage in the conversation, it is just you saying your thoughts out loud and telling him everything about your life at college, 'till the point he has a personal beef with some of your classmates. I mean, he doesn’t say it but he surely grunts under his breath every time you mention their name.

Gwen did asked you at some point if he really listened to you or if he just... Left you. You wondered the same for exactly... two hours.

"... And I handed him my essay, right? And he looks at me and says: 'So are you going to tell me who is helping you with these or am I going to find out myself?' So I obviously told him nobody was helping me, I just like doing them. And he freaking threatened me saying that if he founds out he's going to fail me. Like... He doesn't even listens. Agh, he hates me..."

"Is the same one who got angry because you were late to his lecture about himself and his recently published book?" That was a week ago. And he remembered.

You nod, sighing. Miguel clicks his tongue, shaking his head with disapproval.

He might not be talkative (at least for now) but he listens to you. You have no doubt left about that. He may not say a single word while you drop a hundred for minute, but he would come the next day asking "How was the test?" or would know you have classes with that professor and add to his daily good night a soft "Good luck tomorrow." You even start catching him lifting the left corner of his lips when you drop a bad joke about all the things you need to get done by the end of the day or about something you heard on your way there.

You noticed it when certain Spider came in to a meeting, a Spider two days ago you and Miguel had gossiped about because you were told something by your friends on Wednesday, Miguel heard some more on Thursday and with a final comment you put the pieces together on Friday, looking at him with a wide proud open mouth as he shook his head with a soft chuckle. Talking to the Spider in question Miguel would turn to you with the most neutral and blank expression and you would still fight to hide your smile at the memory of everything you found out during the week. No one ever noticed and you liked it. Miguel liked it. It was like a private joke only the two of you could share.

"But what would happen?" This was the part Miguel didn't like. "Like, how would you know I would fuck up something?"

"You cannot give Noir a kaleidoscope." He sentences, giving you another raised eyebrow.

You were in the middle of the daily session of Instructive and Informative questions, according to Lyla and you. Miguel prefers to call them Destructive and Irritating.

After today's mission you had taken a particular soft spot fo the black and white Spider, to the misfortune of your boss. So the whole session has been about the long shot of taking special gifts from your dimension to him.

"But why? Really, what's the worst that could happen if I just give him a tiny little kaleidoscope?"

"Ay, Dios, dame paciencia... You already gave him a rainbow slinky spring toy, why do you keep insisting on gifting him more stuff?"

He fix his gaze on you as you lower your eyes down to your lap, fidgeting with your fingers. "... He just looks happy when he sees color."

Miguel sighs, pressing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger.

"I know, but every one of us needs to respect the natural order of our Earth. He shouldn't keep taking things with him that shouldn't be there, do you understand?"

"But..."

"No more 'but's'. I want those reports done by the end of the day." Miguel returns his eyes back to the screen in front of him, dismissing you just with that action. "Get to work instead of keep losing our time with this."

He hates the way you comply to his orders. Hates the way you leave the space beside him empty to go working at the other side of the room, where he can only see your back. He hates when you refuse him to see your face.

The human part in him hates the questioning sessions because they always end up with your heart too big for your own good, crushed a little bit more. The human part in him is what brings him closer to you after a few minutes, talking you through some trivial topics until he can convince you it is all not as bad a it seems, until you smile again when you insist it's okay, that you just needed a minute, that you understand. And he might o might not tell you can give Noir that fucking kaleidoscope if you want it so much.

But some deep and primal part in him whispers into his veins to walk up to you, take you by your jaw, forcing you to look up at him and order you you better not refuse your face to him one more single time again. That if he wishes to see your eyes, the curve of your nose or your lips, you better fucking show them to him... Every day. Every. Time. He. Wants. To.

He gets frustrated when he catches himself in the middle of those thoughts, of the drives. He has been able to control it magnificently 'till now. But he fears the day he won't.

For another while you enjoyed the 'leftovers' brought to you too. But it also came to happen the one day, they stopped being leftovers:

You yawn as you make your way to the exit of the lab, making sure your alarm for tomorrow is correctly scheduled, you can not afford another harsh look from your professors one more time. The building has fallen silent already; most of its ordinary inhabitants have already retired to their rooms or to their home worlds.

Miguel walks up to you from behind, watching you standing at the door. Neither of them managed to see even a ray of sun today. He didn't care, he had something much better to watch all day… But he can't help but sigh at the thought of taking it from you.

"Italian or Mexican?" You turn to look at him, barely catching what he said. Both of your brows furrow and he glares at you while adjusting the neck of his jacket on. "For tomorrow's lunch. You want me to bring Italian or Mexican?"

"Oh, uhm..." You widen your eyes, surprised by the consideration. Pursing your lips and squinting, you think about it for a second, but the only possible answer comes immediately after: "Mexican."

"Hm." He nods, fixing his eyes to the front again.

Both start walking now towards the exit of the building. You know you can open your portal to go back home now, but you refuse to do so. Miguel knows there's an exit on the other side of the lab that leads him to a closer path to his apartment, but he refuses to take it. Because you always take this one.

"It's getting chilly." You whisper, watching the first snowflakes of the season falling on the other side of the big windows in the lobby. Miguel hums in response. "I like it, though. The first month working with you I had to carry a fan with me everywhere. I am so sorry for the cost of the electricity bill back then."

Miguel tugs at one corner of his lips, but only that. You tilt your head, glaring at him for a second before you take two fast steps to put yourself in front of him. The poor man has to stick his feet to the floor to avoid knocking over you.

He frowns, confused, and you look up at him with those same eyes filled with determination you put on when you look at the cookies he always -purposely- leaves on top of the highest cupboard in his office. He could only describe it as the face of a master plan, because you would always come back with ideas to get them down without asking him for help. And he loved to play guess with what you would do this time.

"Smile for me." You ask as you were some kind of cameraman, and if he was confused before he's into a new level now.

"What?"

"Y'know..." You bring both of your index fingers to the opposite sides of your face and part your own lips into a simple smile, like showing him what he was supposed to do.

"I know what smiling is." He frowns. "Why do you want me to do it?"

You shrug. "I just... I would be really happy to see it."

Miguel's expression remains unfazed, but he prays to every God out there you can't listen how hard his heart jumped inside his chest when your words reached him.

He swallows. His eyes fix on you and he brings both of the corners of his mouth up, exposing bright teeth and two big fangs that brush on his lower lip in the most precious awkward smile you could have ever seen. His brows are drawn together and he looks like he's in pain, and you know that even if a fucking meteor crashed down in the city right now, you still wouldn't be able to look away.

You clear your throat and lament how his smile is gone as soon as it came. You brush your hand at the back at your neck, nervous, fucking ashamed of your imprudence. Miguel raises an eyebrow at your reaction.

"Thank you. That was nice of you." You smile, avoiding his eyes and solely focusing on the snow awaiting for you. "I'm sorry if it was unpleasant for you. I didn't mean..."

Your words get caught up in your throat when you suddenly feel the texture of fabric coming around your neck. You turn back to look at the front again only to find Miguel tugging his scarf on you, with his fingers making sure it hugged every part of your skin your sweater couldn't.

"Miguel, no. It's even colder here than on my Earth. You need this more than I do." You frown with a worried expression washing over your features.

"You'll come back tomorrow pretty early. And it's going to be cold." You could try and argue about you having your own scarfs to bring tomorrow with you, but his eyes tell you he is not asking.

"... Thank you."

Miguel laments the moment your turn around, laments the moment you don't look at him anymore. He is sure the smile from a minute ago hadn't been anywhere near one of his best, and yet your eyes shone with the light of all the moons he's seen in all of the Earths he has visited.

And as you do a little wave when you start walking away before entering your portal, Miguel waves back, slowly and with only two unsure swings of his wrist. It was enough to make you smile anyway. It was enough to keep him standing there even after you were long gone wondering what the hell he was doing.

When Miguel began to bring food made specially to share, you began to bring desserts from your Earth for him to try.

You both started having lunch together after you told him how tired you were of eating while standing. Don't get me wrong, when you first told him he 'offered' you to go eat at the cafeteria if you wanted it so much. But when he dismisses you for the second time the next day with a 15 minute break to go find somewhere to sit, you, instead, sit down reluctantly at the very center of his work space, just a few meters behind him.

Miguel has to do a fucking double take to make sure he is seeing right before turning around at you calmly crossing your legs on the floor and unboxing today's meal with abrupt and resigned movements.

"Could you be so kind as to explain to me what you are doing?" He tilts his head with amusement when you take the first bite of your food.

"Eating."

"Sitting on the floor?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Sitting on the floor." You nod.

"Care to explain why?" He crosses his arms, pursing his lips when you refuse to raise your eyes at him.

"... Because of you." You murmur, taking another unnecessarily aggressive bite.

"Elaborate, please."

You keep on looking down, chewing the morsel in your mouth. Miguel awaits for you with well known experienced patience. By now, he recognizes when you are mad at him or the world, he sees how you fight to keep calm inside of all of this mess, that's why he always tries to encourage you to talk out the things that bother you, because he's there, he can listen; because he likes the way you smile after you let it all out.

And maybe...

"I don't care about eat sitting comfortably at the cafeteria. I want to eat with you. So if you want to stay here be my fucking guest. I'm staying here too."

Because you were the only one who could throw a tantrum at Miguel O'Hara without flinching.

You have earned that right. You didn't know when, because you insist you don't throw tantrums at him; you're a college student, basically an adult, you don't do tantrums. And still...

"Fine, spoiled girl..." He sighs, walking to get his own little box from the table and then coming to close the space between the two with a few long steps. He sits down right beside you, imitating the way you're crossing your legs. "If you want to eat on the floor, we can eat on the floor."

"I'm not spoiled." You hiss, giving him a deadly side eye that puts on a soft, almost unnoticeable grin on his face. Lyla had made fun of him a few days ago about him spoiling you, but instead of getting on his nerves he took a liking for the nickname. And now you suffer the consequences of it all. "And we wouldn't be eating on the floor if you decided to go to the cafeteria for once."

"... I hate talking to people."

You sigh, nodding. That's exactly why you never push him to do anything of that sort.

"I know." You turn to look at him out of the corner of your eye, noticing how he keeps his head low while eating. "Hey" You call for his attention, smiling. He blinks up to you, tilting his head. "It's okay." Your shoulder drops to his arm. "I like being here. I'm not stuck with you, you're stuck with me."

That makes his eyes catch a little bit more of light.

"Thank you." He whispers.

You stare at him for a second more and he fights to put all of the mess inside his head, his feelings, into his tongue... But he can't. You continue eating, and he knows you would never hold a grudge on him for it, and he's so thankful for that, for you being able to understand the way his actions speak when his words can't. But he still aches at the thought of never being able to tell you everything he wants.

The next morning you walk in to find out a new cleared space beside the screens with an elegant glass table and two chairs. It surely looked expensive, like everything he does and has, but for you, it's just the little corner where you can leave that particular cake from your Earth he seems to like so much, and then go to the laboratory to see the cake you seemed to like so much.

After two more weeks enjoying the day-to-day in the usual things in your life, you and Miguel got to a mission which revealed as the true calmness before the storm.

The anomaly you had fought was stronger than expected, more aggressive, more letal. Everyone had run lucky at least two times to escape from its claws, but you can still remember their closeness, the screams, the sirens at the distance. It all almost ends up with another canonic event altered.

"There's always a first time." Jessica had told you when you finally finished off the anomaly. She was worried about you, and you can't blame her. You haven't even registered how bad you were trembling until it was all over.

"Is there going to be a last time?" You replied, looking up at her with big eyes. And Miguel, only a few meters behind you, still trying to give some last orders to every Spider there, felt his heart breaking at the very sound of your words.

Nevertheless, thankfully, the universe remained perfectly fine and just a couple of hours later everyone was back home safely again. Most returned immediately to their Home Earths, but you, Miguel, Jessica, Lyla and a couple more had ten thousand things to do in the HQ before calling it a day.

"I thought I told you to go home an hour ago." Miguel points, coming from behind you.

You turn your head to look up at him and you can't not smile at the sight. The feeling of safeness that floods you when you see his huge figure entering any room hasn't wavered for a single second. He's still that solid ground you can always rest on when the world is to heavy to carry alone.

"I'm serious. What are you doing here?" He continues, grunting in pain when he drops his weight beside you. You turn to him, furrowing your brows in worry again. He had seen that expression in you so often today... And he hates it so much. "I'm okay. Just little scratches here and there."

You withdrawn your feet from the edge of the building where you had them hanging for an hour now and crawl your way to him, sitting down on your knees to try to be eye height with him.

Your right hand wanders to his bruised neck, there where the anomaly had left his horrible mark of the violence it brought within. You follow with your index the way the clotted blood draws on his skin, sending shivers down his spine.

"Does it hurt?" You ask.

"No." He responds in between goosebumps.

He loves the effect your touch has on him. He loves your little hands looking for him, tugging at his clothes to call for his attention, brushing against his when you pass him the tablet, documents, anything. He loves the busy days where he doesn't have time to eat, where he wouldn't eat if it wasn't for you sitting beside him as he works on the screens, you scrolling through your cellphone, taking little pieces of food with a spoon or a fork to bring them closer to his mouth so he could eat without even taking his eyes off the screen.

Ridiculous? Yeah. But he loved the intimacy within. The many forms your soft hands could soothe him.

But his? He hated them. He was scared of them. Their only use was to destruct, to tear flesh apart, not to...

"Show me." He asks, pointing with his chin at your left hand placed softly above your thigh.

"It's nothing."

"Let me see it." He insist and you carefully bring your arm up, placing your fingers against his when he holds out his hand for you. Your whole palm is bandaged, the work the doctor did on you was amazing, but he can still see dried blood on it.

He doesn't say anything when he finds your eyes on him, conflicted, hesitant. There is so much between both of you, so much unsaid, so much still to do. But he sees your doubt, he hates to be the cause of it. He stays still, but he wants to scream at you, to make your little head understand: "How can't you see?! Can't you see how much you mean to me?! You're the only thing in my mind when I'm fighting, because I know I have to win, I have to get out alive to see you again. Eres lo único por lo que mi corazón llama!... Can't you not hear it?"

Instead, the tips of his fingers brush on your skin, his eyes reflecting every single light of the city below.

"Come." It's only a whisper that leaves his mouth, and you need nothing more to jump into his embrace with a desperate sigh, immediately cuddling yourself up on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck, looking for his warm.

Hold.

He loves to hold you.

His hands serve to hold you.

To hold you against him, to protect you from anyone who wants to rip you away from his arms. To keep you warm, to keep you safe, to let you know you're home.

"Aquí estoy." He whispers.

"I know." You reply.

You breath into his scent for a couple of minutes more, until the screams and the sirens fell low to the sound of Miguel's chest going up and down in a soothing swing, his breathing, turning into the only thing you could listen to.

By the time you got your head out of his neck, he was already waiting for you with a soft smile, smile that puts your attention on the deep cut on his lower lip.

"What happened?" You ask, carefully pulling from his flesh to see the whole extension of the wound.

He sighs, closing his eyes with embarrassment. "I bit myself during the fight."

You smile, shaking your head. Your fingernail taps against the right fang in question, testing the edge by gently pressing the tip into your fingertip.

"I hate them." Miguel breaths out. His eyes are now so dim that you struggle to say where are they looking at in the middle of the night darkness.

"Why?" You whisper, taking your finger back at his lip.

"Because I fear of them. I fear they'll hurt you like they hurt me."

You purse your lips and then take his hand placed on your hip, looking back at him with raised eyebrows.

"Is the same with these?"

He nods.

"They are made to kill. I have done so many horrible things with, caused so much damage and pain, I..."

"Did you know I'm scared of heights?" His trail of words stop at your interruption. You smile, looking down from the edge, turning away form him just a little. "Ironic, for a Spider. But I still fight with it every single day. I always get so sticky when I'm on top of a building for too long it's embarrassing but..." You raise your hand in front of him, waving your fingers with a playful smile. "I'm not sticky now. And that it's because you're holding me." You cup his face. "Those things you're afraid of, are part of the person I love. And I wouldn't change a single thing."

"Mi cielo..."

"I knew what I was getting into when I decided to love you, Miguel, so don't get all soft now. I'm not going anywhere..." You whisper. "Make me bleed."

He would be lying if he said he haven't thought about it, that he haven't succumbed to his most animalistic urges when alone in the privacy of his room, pretending it was you around his cock and not his fist. He wanted to bite, he wanted to fill you. And he wanted to tear apart with his bare talons anyone and anything that got in his way.

A part of him might be scared to hurt you, yes.

But a bigger part of him was actually scared of what he would do to keep you safe. Of what he's capable of... to keep you his.

He feels sorry for you when you cuddle against his chest in your sleep as he stands up and starts walking back inside the building, covering you with his jacket to protect from the cold wind of the city for when he swings back to his apartment with you in his arms.

He feels sorry for the innocence in your love.

Like a beast, that's what he was. A beast who loved the softness in your touch, the kind in your words. But cannot return the same love. The beast is possessive, jealous of the very air that caresses your hair. And it may act vulnerable only to you, letting you get as close to slaughter him, but knowing you'll place a kiss instead. The beast would hold you as his own treasure, a creature that must not be hurt, not even for his own hands. He would cut them off before.

He would cut them off from anyone before they touch you. For no one should ever touch what he decided, that very morning you asked how he had been, would belong to him.

AND EVERYTHING WOULD HAVE CONTINUED ON GOING SO SMOOTHLY... BUT THE DAAAAAAAAMN FINALS, ah, made their entrance.

You barely have time to sleep, to eat, to fucking breathe. Your levels of anxiety are higher than the HQ damn building and your brain is so overworked you cannot do more than what you're asked to in autopilot. You know that you're only going to be like this for approximately another two weeks, but your poor lover has suffered the last four days thinking you're sick, or sad, or worse... Mad at him. No, not in that order.

"Arañita..." He calls for you. Your hand moving over your notebook at one hundred km per hour concerns him.

"The reports are done. Peter from -5266 and Hugh from -1993 are out right now. They should be getting back at any minute. Anomaly #125 was sent to its original universe this morning." You push the tablet to him with your free hand without even looking up or slowing down your writing.

"Thank you, but..." He tilts his head, furrowing his brows. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. I just need to get this done before four. By the way, can I leave early today? I need to study for tomorrow's test."

"Again? Didn't you have one yesterday?"

"Yes. We're on finals, Miguel. We tend to have a lot of them these days. That's why I'm losing my mind over here."

"Just for some tests?" You have to stop yourself to remind you it's not his fault to be smart. It's not his fault being more intelligent than almost every person you knew. It's not his fault he doesn't know what is to struggle on school. It's not his fault, It's not his fault, It's not his fault... "You haven't even touched your food." He says, looking at the little box he got you with the meal now cold.

"I... I know. I'm sorry, Mig." You sigh, looking up at him for the first time in the day. "I'm just really stressed out right now. But I promise I'll take it back home later, okay?"

This was also the fourth day you didn't stay at his place. My man doesn't want to be a burden, but he has attachment issues, ok?, and after the week you spent sleeping in his arms, it may or may not be that Miguel has been having trouble falling asleep without the weight of your body on his chest.

After watching you leave that day, Miguel found himself staying till unreasonable hours of the early morning working in the lab. There was no point on going back to his cold apartment anyway... And he had a lot of things to get done. He didn't have time to...

"Oh, it's you." Miguel jumps in his place at the sudden voice calling from behind. "I thought that poor girl had stayed here, with all the things she seems to be doing these days."

The man shakes his head, ignoring Jessica closing the distance behind him, leaning against the door frame. Miguel can almost make out the little smile on her lips without turning around, and that only infuriates him even more.

"And why do you look like a caged lion?" She mocks. "Trouble in paradise?"

Miguel's first instinct is snap back at her and ask her to leave him alone. He knows she would comply, what he doesn't know is how benefic that would be for his current situation.

"I don't know what's going out with her." He admits, letting his head fall in irritation. "She says she's having some tests right now, but she's just to... Stressed? I don't know. She's so smart I cannot conceive how bad this is affecting her." The laugh that emanates from Jessica's throat makes his ears go red. "What?"

"Oh, babe, when was the last time you went to college?" Jessica puts both of her hands on her waist, pursing the lips to avoid smiling again.

"Why is that important?"

"When, Miguel?" She demands.

"Ugh... I don't know. Like four-five years ago."

"When was the last time you failed a class?"

"Never." He immediately responds.

"When was the last time grades were important on your Earth?"

Miguel frowns. "I don't remember. The path for learning had changed long before I was born. I don't even think I ever had something like a grade. We were judged individually for our skills and our intelligence type. Not memorization."

"Exactly." She claps, pointing at him with a all-knowing finger. "Thanks to that you got the chance to develop your true abilities as a student, but our girl from 2023 it is not beneficiary of this privilege. She doesn't get the chance to strengthen in what she is good, she must memorize and memorize and memorize over and over again. Because the tests on her Earth aren't done with the purpose of just checking how is her knowledge progressing, they are done to see if she's worthy of continuing forward in her very career."

Miguel remains silent for a minute, swallowing all the new information by pieces. For someone so smart, Jessica has never see him seem so lost. The nuts in his brain begin to turn and turn until his eyes seem to light up with the clarity of the light of the new world.

"Hm." He nods. "Thank you."

The woman knows he doesn't need anything more when he turns around, typing into one of the screens something that escapes from her eyes.

During the rest of the two weeks of finals, Miguel tried to do his best to support you.

He even read all of the information about your education system, striving to understand everything in just a couple of nights.

He's a man on a mission: letting you know he's there, that you're strong and smart, and you can do it.

While you study in the lab, he leaves you be. He gets you coffee, or tea, or anything you prefer. He might even hiss at people entering his space (your space) making too much noise, pointing at you with his chin and threatening eyes.

"Hey, girl..." Peter B. comes in one morning, moving nervously under the scrutinizing gaze of your lover. "Don't be so harsh on yourself..." He gives you some awkward pats on the back, smiling. "You're doing great."

That was all it took.

"No, I'm not!" You weep, letting your head fall on the desk, shaking between sobs.

"Great. Ya la hiciste llorar." Miguel pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. "Here, give it to her." He calls for Peter's attention, handing him an specific chocolate.

Peter takes it with confused eyes, offering it to you, reaching out his arm as if he were to touch you, you'll explode.

"Here." He says. "Look what I got."

You raise your eyes, meeting the little packing. Then, when you look at him, Peter almost thinks he just made all worst.

"Oh, Peter... Thank you!" You take the chocolate, pulling from him to a big hug. "I love these so much, thank you! You're so kind!"

Peter lets you be, looking back at Miguel who just nods at him to let him know this wasn't his first rodeo. He pats your back, soothing you with some more nervous words until you're ready to let him go.

If you're really struggling, Miguel won't think twice to help you. He's smart, it takes him nothing more than a look to his old notes or a quick search on the internet (specially if you're studying something science related or an engineering, if you're on law or arts, oh boy, you're gonna make this man suffer) to know exactly what you need and make sure you're taking that fucking project tomorrow.

Some other days, he just catches you sleeping with your hands crossed above the table and your saliva drooling out to your notes. His jacket would then come over you, after, he would take your pending stuff and start solving problems and making notes for you to have it easier at the memorizing part of the study.

You always wake up to see the edges of your paper full of arrows, little equations and encircled key words. And, sometimes, a tired Miguel sleeping uncomfortably by your side, just waiting for you to tell him it's time to go.

The day, a Friday, where you're finally done with college (at least for a couple of months) Miguel felt it like the day his soul came back to his body.

You are smiling all day again, calling his name, doing a mess all over the whole building. And he can not be more happy about it.

He might never tell you, me might even justify himself saying he had been staying up late working in the lab every time you ask for the bags under his eyes. Because he's definitely not telling you there were nights where he couldn't even close his eyes 'cause you weren't there with him.

"Time to go home." You hum behind him, getting all of your stuff inside your backpack.

"Thank God" He rubs his neck, walking closer to you to give you a soft kiss on the forehead. "I'm dying."

You yawn, nodding. "Me too. These weeks drained me."

"Me too." He repeats, and you don't know how much he means it. "Let's just go to sleep, yeah? Hopefully tomorrow there won't be so much to do."

You smile, leaning into his embrace as you walk out the door, hearing the lights turning off as both come closer and closer to the exit.

"Yeah, that sounds good."

"Okay."

"Okay."

Miguel steadies your body by pressing down on your hips, keeping your ass on the bed. You try to push his face out of between your thighs but he refuses to pull apart.

"Miguel!" You cry out, tears rolling down your cheeks cause of the overstimulation he was putting you in. "Too much, too much..."

His fingers curl inside you one more time, and your arch your back, almost rolling your eyes at the feeling. His tongue flicks over your sensitive bud again, dragging choked moans out of you. You try to squirm away but his hands pull you from your ass back at him as soon as you start moving.

"Easy there, Arañita. I'm almost done." He smiles up at you, letting you see the lower half of his face completely covered in your arousal.

"Mig... Mi amor..." You breath out, trying to push him out again when his chuckle crashes against your folds.

"One more, love, and you'll be ready for me." He sucks on your clit as he speaks, moving his fingers with an slower pace now. "Uno más, mamita, dame uno más."

He pushes his face down on you, working his tongue all around your most needy spot with his digits burying now deep inside you, hitting that soft place between your walls that makes you want to cry. You're a mess of moans and whimpers by now, but when his teeth slowly press on your clit, it's over for you. Your eyes roll back, your thighs tremble around him, encaging him in his favorite prison as he guides you through it, moaning into your skin when he feels your pleasure dripping on him, motivating his hips to hump against the mattress as a fucking teenager would do.

After you get down from your high, you look up at him to find him positioning himself between your legs, dragging the tip of his cock up and down on your folds.

"Miguel, wait, I'm..."

"You know your safe word, mamita, you can make me stop whenever you want." He places your legs on his shoulders and his hands on your hips, keeping you just as he wishes to. "I'm going in, and I want your eyes on me all the time I fuck you, ¿me entiendes, hermosa?"

You nod, watching the point where both of your bodies would join. He enters slowly, giving you time to adjust his size. But after the first hint of your hips trying to feel him even more, he pulls back and thrusts all the way in, making your head fall back as your back arches.

His right hand grabs you by the jaw, forcing you to open your eyes and observe how red his irises had turned.

"Eyes on me."

His pace speeds up, bottoming out with every thrust he makes. Your hands push at his lower abdomen, biting your lip to avoid crying out loud again.

"Too fast, Mig. Too much." You moan, your still overstimulated clit rips another whimper from you every time his happy trail and trimmed hair crashes against it. You were barely holding on, but your lover can't never get enough. His body reaches down, and as he places one hand around your neck, his other thumb toys at your clit in a excruciating pace. "Fuck! No, Miguel."

You tremble under him, wrapping your legs around his waist when you cannot think about anything more than cumming. Your nails bury on the skin of his back, dragging an out of breath grunt out of him.

"I'm, I'm cum-" You try to voice but nothing in your brain seems to work anymore.

"Do it, love. I got you." He keeps up his pace, almost kissing your cervix by now. "Cum for me, mi amor."

His hand squeezes a little bit harder on your neck and you need nothing else to see fucking white. Your mouth opens in a big O before your start trembling, shaking uncontrollably under his body, letting out the sweetest of sounds for him to hear.

He grunts, falling into the crock of your neck when you tighten your walls around him.

"I'm going to fucking fill you." He's out of breath and he curses something in Spanish you cannot make out. "I'm going to put a baby on your tummy, mamita..."

"Miguel..." You were on the verge of tears again, you cannot longer feel your legs but you surely can feel him deep inside you.

"Yes, love. Fuck... I'm cumming. I'm..." He bites down on your flesh, sinking his fangs into your skin when his hips stutter. His talons grow so big they dig into the headboard.

You moan at the feeling, hugging your body to his until he can breath normal again.

When he looks back at you his eyes have returned to that soft brown you're used too.

"Are you okay?" He asks, sending shivers down your spine when he caresses the sore skin.

"Yes." You smile and he traps your lips into a kiss. "And now I'm really fucking tired."

He chuckles, lifting his weight onto his forearms.

"Come here, amor. Let's take a shower so you can rest comfortably." He places another soft peck on your forehead. "I'll wash your hair."

You definitely know he will do more than that.

PD: Tbh with you guys, all I could think about while writing this was this tiktok:

[tobyisave]

acting lessons

this is for my chapter 5 au... I tried to compose a toxic doomed yaoi saiouma essay in the tags just now but it went over the tag limit (mortifying) so I'm just going to paste it under the cut!!

////cw for suicide of course. also heads up my version of saiouma is almost completely one sided ��🏼

#look.. in my mind there is no world where shuichi truly comes around on kokichi #but there is TOTALLY a world where he feels eternally fucked up and guilty about assisting in his suicide #and cant bring himself to hate anymore #cant bring himself to reject the casual but blatantly self-indulgent touches of the boy hes about to murder in the most excruciating way possible #just let him have his fun #let him squeeze your shoulder a little too long #its the least you can do when hes about to let his entire body be turned into an unrecognizable puddle of gore #you dont have to pretend you like it. he KNOWS you dont like it. just let it happen & soon enough itll be over and youll never have to see him again #youll never be *able* to see him again. nothing left of him to even call a body #fucking unidentifiable #god. #(to be clear i dont approve of that logic at all but i sure think shuichi would feel that way)

#its like oumota but worse because (to me) shuu has completely written him off by ch5 and doesnt even need the poison blackmailing to agree #its shuichis low point after all hes fully suicidal and thinks kokichi is the mastermind who destroyed humanity's last hope #he doesnt have time to recalculate his opinion before its too late #he agrees almost immediately #but the closer it gets the less he can justify it #like god this guy fills me with rage and we would never ever in a million years get along but hes also a warm breathing human being #and hes in love with me or something and i just agreed to kill him. EAGERLY! #to his FUCKING FACE #yes i openly hated him already. and yes he didnt even blink when i told him i could kill him #if anything he looked happy! #but god how could i just say that to someone? how did it get this bad? #and how is he still giving me finger hearts through the camera while we test out angles for his fucking DEATH VIDEO #maybe just maybe its because he really thinks this will save us. but maybe he just wants to die #and i dont even know if that makes a difference anymore #et cetera……..

#like i said im not a saiouma guy in the traditional sense but #i do like pathetic clingy kokichi x shuichi who hates himself for harboring genuine malice towards him #(justified malice) #but is too self doubting to take the reins and stop the horrible thing theyve already set in motion

#meeting the same fate as kaede because he THOUGHT he was agreeing to kill the mastermind #when in reality it was really just a cagey guy who was trying to do the EXACT same thing and made the mistake of going it alone #and now that guy who couldve been his ally is dead and he has to pretend hes ok and lie to his friends to derail this trial #for this stupid idiotic plan he let himself get blindly swept up in #that was never going to work in the first place #he knew it was full of holes he knew ouma was full of shit #he knew himself he knew he'd buckle under the pressure of the trial #but he didnt say a thing #it was so much easier to go with it. he just wanted it to be fucking over with #well its not over. the game continues and kokichi is dead and for what #didnt lift a fucking finger #fucking idiot coward bottom of the barrel piece of shit. GOD #i dont know man. it's just real kill yourself hours for shuichi after this one

[shelbgrey]

Ok but imagine this:

The allison and mark situation happens, so when derek finds out he tells reader (who is marks gf at the time) and they go to seattle amd fall in love and when allison and mark go there they see them being all in love.

This just spoke to me

Every rose has its thorn

Paring: Derek shepherd x Reader, Ex!Mark Sloan x Reader.

Summary: after Addison cheats on Derek and Mark cheats on the reader, both Derek and her go to Seattle. After they both got drunk and had sex one night the two relized the feeling they have for each other, by the time Mark and Addison come to Seattle Derek and the reader are dating and in love.

MasterList ML2

It sucks when your whole life gets turned upside down. A group of friends being torn apart because of an adulterous act. Derek had come home one night to see his wife Addison Montgomery in bed with his best friend Mark Sloan... Mark Sloan just happened to be the boyfriend of y/n L/n. Both Addison and Mark cheated on Derek and y/n. Ruining their relationships forever.

Y/n felt terrible, her heart ached. She felt like she should have seen it coming, she thought she should have seen the signals. She was mad and heartbroken when I found out Mark cheated on her with Addison. Most of all, she was angry at Addison for cheating on Derek. Derek was y/n’s best friend and seeing him that heartbroken hurt worse.

Derek hated both Addison and Mark. Not only did they ruin his relationship and marriage, but they also hurt y/n as well. Derek was so upset that he decided to leave town. He was tired of the lies from Addison and Mark. He just wanted to move on. He knew he couldn't if he stayed there. That's when he and y/n made the move to Seattle together.

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

They both got drunk the first night they were in Seattle. Derek and her went to this small bar that was across the street from the hospital. Y/n never got drunk, she didn't like drinking but that's just how the night went. And too bad it took them being drunk to realize there was something between them.

Once they got drunk Derek started noticing things about her he had never noticed before. He started to see her in a new light. It made him see how beautiful she was. His feelings for her grew the more drunk they got.

“God I hate him” y/n rambled about Mark. “I wish I never fell in love with him”

Derek listened to everything y/n had to say. He hated that she loved a man like Mark. She deserved so much better. Derek couldn't wait to show her how much better he was for her…

“I hate her too” y/n sighed then looked over at Derek, there was just something there she hadn't noticed before. They always had some kinda connection, but always played it off as being best friend

She noticed his smile, his blue eyes. She always considered him a platonic soulmate, but maybe... Just maybe there was something more. Derek looked over at y/n. Her lips looked so soft. Her hair was perfectly curled. She stood out like a diamond, She was beautiful. Derek had never thought he would feel this way towards her. But as the night went on he realized there was something inside of him that was growing for her. He realized that he was falling in love with her. He had never felt this way before for anyone.

They both sat there wondering what would have happened if they chose each other instead of Mark and Addison. Derek always wondered what it would be like if y/n chose him over Mark. If y/n had chosen him, Addison would never have broken his heart. Would they have settled down with each other and had children? Had a family? The thoughts were racing through Derek's mind while he continued to stare at y/n. He wanted to make his move.

“Why are you looking at me like That?” she chuckled drunkenly.

Derek didn't realize that his lustful gaze was showing. He felt his cheeks burn red from embarrassment. He cleared his throat. “because your beautiful”

She blushed and looked away. “your just saying that”

Derek wanted her to know she was beautiful and he wasn't just saying that. He moved closer to her. “no. I mean it. You're so beautiful. I've never told you that before. But I'm gonna tell you now. You're gorgeous…”

She don't know what possessed her, but she placed her hand on his jaw and pressed her lips to his. Derek was absolutely shocked when y/n pressed her lips to his, that she had initiated it first. He pulled away, staring into her eyes. “Mark is stupid for letting something as amazing as you go” Derek whispered, he had been wanting this for so long. Derek immediately placed his hands on her hips and pulled her close to him. He kissed her with all the emotion and longing that had built up inside of him. He wanted her and he was going to get her.

Her lips parted and gently brushed her tongue against his lips, running her fingers through his hair

He kept kissing her deeply as he ran his hands up her torso, towards her neck. Derek couldn't wait to explore every inch of her.

Y/n slowly pulled away, resting her forehead against his as she tried to catch her breath and tried to focus my drunken mind. Now all logic was throwing away, she inched her face closer to his again, nudging her nose against his, hovering her lips over his. She couldn't get enough of the intoxicating scent of his cologne. Her eyes were fixed downward,watching his hands roam the outline of her body.

Derek's hands wrapped around her waist as he pulled her closer to him. They were both losing reason and logic. They were caught up in the moment. Derek felt their warmth building between them and it was turning him on, He wanted more. His hands wandered up her back now and they slowly ran through her hair. The smell of lavender wafted up to his nose and he was lost in her.

Before things could get too far, y/n pressed her hands to his chest, stopping him. “you wanna get out of here?”

Derek quickly nodded. “yeah, let's get out of here”

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

As soon as they got back to the trailer, her lips were back on his, the kiss was messy and rushed. Y/n quickly pushed his jacket off his shoulders as he pushed her backwards towards the kitchen counter. She moaned against his lips, running her fingers through his hair. Getting them lost in his soft, perfect hair.

Derek was absolutely stunned by her boldness. This was the moment he had been longing for all this time. He was ecstatic that she was finally showing him this side of her. He threw his coat to the side with the rest of their stuff and began to kiss her with more passion. His hands roamed from her back down her body, giving her ass a squeeze. He was feeling her up the way he had wanted to since the moment he met her.

He couldn't help but want more. His hands squeezed her butt and his lips kept on exploring hers while he moved her back towards the bed. His body was pushed against hers and he leaned her back. There was no going back now. Y/n fell backwards on his bed, pulling him down with her. She moaned softly, tugging on his hair as his lips and the scruff on his jaw brushed against her neck.

Derek loved her reaction, the moans she let out were sending shivers down his spine. Her touch felt so good on him. Derek could feel her body pressing against his. He was enjoying her just as much as she was enjoying him. He wanted to kiss every inch of her. He finally had the chance to make her his and he wasn't going to let her slip away from him.

“D-derek” she moaned softly.

Derek loved how his name coming from her mouth sounded. Hearing her breathless voice gave him everything he needed to continue on with her. His hands ran up and down her body and his lips traveled across her neck and down to her shoulders. His mouth was finally exploring her body in ways that he had wished he could do for so long. His scruff was rough on her soft skin. His lips were gentle and tender. His touch was so hot and passionate. He loved the way she tasted and smelled, every inch of her was perfect to him.

They were running on nothing but alcohol, bottled up feelings, and passion. Their clothes were gone in seconds and they fell into each other's temptations.

--------(1st pov)--------

The next morning I woke up with a hangover, my head was pounding. I looked around and noticed I was in Derek's bed and not my own. I peaked under the covers and we were both naked. Derek was still asleep, I slowly sat up and grabbed his red shirt from last night and covered my bare chest with it. I sat there processing the whole night, I didn't feel regret or anything, but when something feels so good, how can it not be bad. “Derek, wake up” I said, nudging his naked shoulder.

Derek's eyes slowly opened and he sat up from the bed, stretching and yawning. He turned his head in my direction and he froze when he noticed his shirt covering my chest. His eyes grew wide, but there was a smirk on his face.

“So... Umm…” I looked down shyly. “we umm... Last night, didn't we?” I asked softly.

Derek laid on his back, smirking to himself. “yeah… Yeah we did”

I moved my messy hair out of my face. “we're no better than them,” I mumbled, thinking about Addison and Mark. They slept together, they were in the wrong, but what about us?.

Even if I was right or wrong, I couldn't help but feel a sense of relief from last night. The bond we formed last night was undeniable. I had wanted him for so long and we finally had our chance. Mark and Addison may have won the battle, but there was this feeling that we were gonna win the war.

I fell backwards in the bed, laying on my back next to him. I rubbed my face processing everything. I didn't regret it one bit, but I wished it happened at a different time. “God... I just had sex with a married man” I mumbled, covering my face.

He rolled over on his side, facing me. He kissed my shoulder with a smirk on his face. “Separated... I'm not with Addison anymore” he kissed my cheek then looked at me with those pretty blue eyes. “and I gotta say... That was the best sex I ever had…”

I uncovered my face and turned my head towards him, smiling. “Dito”

Derek smiled. “Do you... umm... regret what we did last night?”

“No... Do you?” I asked softly.

Derek shook his head in a no. “I wanted to do that for so long.” he leaned forward and brushed his lips against mine for a soft loving kiss.

Derek pulled me close, kissing me deeply with no regrets between us. My heart fluttered as he kissed me passionately. This feeling was so new to me, but definitely wanted. His hands grabbed my hips and pulled me against his chest. The scruff on his jaw hitting my chin and cheeks. I smirked against his lips and placed my hand on his jaw, feeling the scruff that peppered his jaw. I pulled away from the kiss and rested my forehead against his, I rubbed my thumb over his cheek gently. “like this...” I mumbled, referring to his scruff. When he was with Addison he was always clean shaved. She liked it that way, I didn't matter if he wanted to let it grow.

“You like it?” his eyebrow raised with a smirk on his face.

“Yeah... It's sexy”

When he was with Addison he definitely shaved daily. But he was trying keep his scruff now. He liked the way he looked with a little bit of scruff now. He kissed my cheek slowly. “I'll keep it for you then” he smirked again.

I smiled, pulling him down for another kiss and slowly ran my fingers through his hair. I pulled away from the kiss gently. “we need to get ready for work...”

“yeah... First day” Derek chuckled and kissed my nose before climed out of bed.

~~~~~~~~(few months later)~~~~~~~~

I had to admit Seattle was just a better place to be than new York. No one knew us except Richard Webber, he still didn't know about our relationship and that was okay. As the months went by it was made clear that our firsr night here ment everything. We just fit too well together, even if that sounded cheesy. Being beat friends in the past nothing much changed except we were now kissing, cuddling, and having quickies in the shower.

Mark had tried to call me numerous of times, I hadn't awnsered once. I wasn't ready to talk to him, but I think I was ready to forgive him. I had moved on and was happy with Derek, so there was no reason to hate him. Addison is a different story. I couldn't believe it when she showed up in Seattle.

“Addison... what are you doing here?” Derek asked.

I couldn’t even looked Addison in the eyes. I kept my head down and my anger bottled up.

“you would have know if you had botherd to return any one of my phone calls” Addison turned to me. “or awnsered the phone when Mark calls”

“I have nothing to say to him” I said bitterly.

“of course not, your too busy screwing my husband” Addison shot back.

“that's rich” I snapped back. “you were too busy screwing my boyfriend”

Derek grabed my arm, rubbing it affectionately. He stared at Addison with betrayal and anger. “is there something you need? What are you doing here?”

Addison had a smug look on her face as she looked Derek up and down. I couldn't help but feel territorial, but at the same time insucre. I always thought Addison was prettier than me.

“your hair is different” Addison said, dodging the subject. She went to reach for his hair, but I pushed her hand away. Derek smirked slightly, but it disappeared and he turned back to Addison. “a lot of things are different”

“it's longer” Addison continued. “what's your problem?” I asked annoyed.

“what are you doing here?” Derek asked again.

“Relax, guys, I'm here for work. I'm helming the T.T.T.S. case you guys admitted last week. And after Richard's briefing...” Addison said, rolling her eyes.

“bullshit” I said. I didn't believe a word that came out of this woman's mouth. “I swear to God, if you brought Mark with you...”

“it's cute...” Addison started sarcastically. “That whole wide-eyed "ooh, he's a brain surgeon" act you have going on... It's sweet. Which is what you were going for, right? The anti-Addison”

I shook my head, staring daggers into her. She smirked like she had the upper hand now. I didn't know it was possible to love and hate someone so much. Addison was always like an older sister to me, I looked up to her and wanted to be like her. Not now she betrayed me... But in a sences I betrayed her too.

“let's go” Derek said in a hard tone and grabed my hand. I looked into Addison's eyes and showed her nothing but hurt as Derek pulled me away.

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

“why is she back!?” I yelled at Derek.

“I don't know! Why are you yelling at me?” Derek snapped back as he paced back and forth in his trailer. I don't know why we were taking this out on each other, it hurt we resorted to this.

“I don't know!” I sighed and sat down on his bed, rubbing my face in frustration. I think we weren't yelling at each other, just yelling in general. We were both frustrated.

Derek sighed and gave me a gental expression. “you know her coming here means nothing, right?”

I looked up at him, I trusted him but I just had to ask. “nothing between us changes?”

His blue eyes stared into my soul. I loved his eyes, I could just drown in them. “nothing changes... Hell, I'll devorce her”

He held his hand out to me and I took it. “I promise” he said softly and knelt infront me where I was setting so we were eye level. “we're not gonna lose each other... Not again”

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

Then Mark came back...

Unlike when Addison showed up, I was just hurt to see him. I hadn't thought about him since me and derek started dating, but when I saw his face all that hurt and betrayal came rushing back.

The first time he visited Seattle he was on the ground and thanks to Derek I was the one that had to stich him him up. Richard sent me and Mark to the ER and Richard was chewing Derek out for the punch. That's when Richard found out about Addison and Mark's affair.

“you look amazing” Mark said as I got out the supplies to stich up his cheek. I ignored him as I tried to keep my anger and disappointment bottled up.

I cleared my throat and placed a towel on his shoulder and tried to get a decent angle to stich his cheek.

“here” Mark mumbled and to my dismay he pulled me in between by my hips so I could be closer. “thats better” he smirked.

I sighed and dropped the tweezers. “you think your funny?”

“I think I'm adorable” he smirked. I rolled my eyes and stiched up the gash. I sighed using the technique mark taught me long ago.

“I missed you... I really do” he said as I placed a bandaged on. I tried to stay silent but Mark wasn't having it. “will you please say something?”

I slammed the tweezers on the tray with a loud clink then turned towrds Mark. “What do you want me to say? I don't want you here and and sure as hell don't want Addison here”

Mark looked down staying silent. “I'm sorry”

I rolled my eyes tired of his sorrys. I did miss him and hell I unfortunately still cared for him, but every time I looked at him all I can think of is him in bed with Addison.

I gulped and looked at him as I felt the tears form. “I'll see ya around Mark”

“bye...” he said barly above a whisper.

--------(3rd pov)--------

Mark and Addison from a far, confused on what they were seeing. They just couldn't understand how fast y/n and derek fell for each other. Addison scolded herself for not seeing the signs earlier, but when she looks back she could see the way Derek looked at y/n.

“Derek never looked at me the way he looks at here” Addison said in a monotone voice.

Mark crossed his arms, staring at the new couple. He feeling so many different things it confused him. He wanted to fix his friendship with Derek, but everytime he saw his arm around y/n he just wanted to break it. Then on the other hand his heart broke seeing y/n smile and derek and not him, but he loved her enough to feel some sorta relief he didn't totally break her and she was happy.

“y/n looked at me like that... Every day we we're together” Mark said. “and I screwed it up big time”

Addison glanced at him, part of her felt fear Mark regreted being with her. It ment she lost two men she loved. She felt selfish for feeling like that, not only did she lose a husband she lost her closest female friend. This whole situation was a mess and she knew it.

Mark glanced at her, his blue eyes showing nothing but pain. “if I could turn back time I would in a heart beat”

Mark still loved her, but he loved her enough to let her go. At least he knew he could trust Derek not to hurt her. “let go of your pride addie, if you think Derek will leave n/n your crazy”

Addison raised an eyebrow at him, like she thought he was some kinda hypocrite. “well, y/n isn't leaving Derek for you”

“yeah... And I just need to learn to deal with that” Mark sighed, giving y/n and derek one last glance before leaving.

[leaky-bunny]

on vacation right now and i can't stop thinking about how incredibly sexy beach omo with a controlling dom would be. so i wrote a little fic about it. :)

picture it: me sitting in the sand by my dom's side as they're reclined on a nice chair, soaking up sun. it's hot, so i'm guzzling water to stay hydrated and watching the waves ripple and crash against the shore. eventually, i feel my bladder pang, and i stand up to go find a bathroom, only for them to grab my hand and hold me back.

"if you're trying to do what i think you're trying to do, don't. you sit back down, sweetheart."

i agree, shifting in the sand, this time with my legs pressed a little closer together.

time passes and the need gets much much worse. the ocean does nothing to help me, its sounds only driving me closer to the edge. i tug on my dom's arm, voice now a lot more urgent as i tell them i'm going to go in the water, hoping i can secretly let go once my bottom half is fully submerged and hidden. their eyebrow raises, obviously not impressed by my weak attempt at beating the system, but nevertheless they agree and stand up as well. the change in position sends me whimpering, but i try to cover it best i can with a cough (not very successfully though because they clearly hear and smirk). we stroll towards the water, my bladder contracting as i fight the urge to hold myself. despite the beach being calm, it's certainly not empty, and our fellow vacationers probably wouldn't appreciate such a show. the second my feet touch the waves, however, i gasp as a leak forces it's was out of me, soaking into my bikini as my dom pauses by my side.

"what's wrong sweetie, i though you wanted to go in?"

i flinch as another wave laps at my feet, legs firmly pressed together. "nghh, g-gonna pee...."

their eyes turn hard as they scowl, grabbing my hand and dragging my back to our spot in the sand. "no the fuck you're not, i gave you one rule. you are keeping all that piss inside you until you burst, understood?"

i wanna beg, wanna do something to relieve the arousal now coursing through my veins, but i just nod weakly and focus on not letting any more out.

it only takes another 10 minutes for me to leak again, enough to make a tiny wet patch in the sand beneath me. this time, i do moan, eyes glazed with the desire to let go, but my dom looks over and knows immediately what happened. they smile and reach over, pretending to adjust the bottom of my bikini, but instead pressing on the bulge of my bladder, hard and achingly full. another leak sprays out, even bigger than the next one, and with that my last shred of composure breaks.

"please- fuuuck, let me pee master, i have to go so bad and i've been so good, trying my best to hold it in just like you asked me to-"

they shush me, looking around, but finding no one has overhead or seems to care. "alright baby, calm down, i know you've done well for me. dig a little hole in the sand, ok? that'll be your potty."

i nod rapidly, too excited about the concept of finally peeing to be embarrassed by their word choice. my hands work quickly, scooping at the sand next to me until there's a hole large enough to sit over, positioned so my cunt is right above it. i stare up at my dom, eyes pleading, and they smile wickedly. "open your legs baby, show master how wet you are." i do, the dampness on my crotch extremely evident, and they shake their head in disappointment. "i would punish you for leaking, but here is not the place for that. i'm feeling very gracious, so you have permission to pee now. let it out bunny, i wanna see every drop."

the sentence is barely out of their mouth before i let go, the gushing sound filling the air as i piss a torrent. at first, the sand soaks it up almost instantly, but after a while, when the entire hole is soaked, a puddle begins to froth beneath me just like the ocean. i pant and shiver, eyes rolled back into my skull, not even noticing that my dom is staring at me as if they're going to eat me whole.

"good bunny, making a mess in public for me. bet that feels good, hm? i can't wait to show you how fucking horny you make me when we get back to the hotel. master's gonna make you cum so many times your brain will turn as fuzzy as that ocean foam."

[anjelicawrites]

Scrapes at the borders of your life

“The giraffe has its heart far away from its thoughts. It has fallen in love yesterday and doesn’t know it yet.”

― Stefano Benni, Ballate

Paring: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x trauma surgeon!reader

Synopsis: Simon has fallen for the trauma surgeon attached to the 141 and believes he has no chances with them, resigning himself in the role of friend and guarding devil, until the truth comes out.

Warnings: angst, stalking (Simon doesn't mean to), medical talk, surgery talk, reference to depression meds, reference to weapons, reference to Simon’s abuse as a child, reference to violence, talk of scars, insecurity, someone gets slapped (reader but not from Simon), someone gets headbutted (not reader, not Simon), Johnny tries to be a wingman, Simon simps a lot, Simon’s fear of not managing a full intercourse, Simon's hit and miss libido, premature ejaculation, kissing, oral (f receiving), fail sex, good sex, P in V sex (protected and unprotected), fingering, overstimulation, cuddling.

A/N: reader is AFAB, they/them pronouns used when needed. They're referred as "ma'am" a couple of times.

Word count: 10.293

You check your phone, you’re not late but you need to be out of the locker room in ten minutes, if you want to arrive on time for your date, the one you don’t really want to go to.

You’re still rummaging through your bag as you exit the lockers, when you hear Soap’s Scottish accent and Ghost’s quiet hum of answer: those two are like black and white, yet are joined at the hip like twins.

NSFW and 18+ only please!

The locker room of the male military personnel has recently been moved next to the one used by the civilians working on base, something that most of the men had made crude jokes about; thankfully the task force you’re attached to, the 141, abstained from any remarks. You didn’t know that Simon had rained his irritation on the men who had the gall to repeat the jokes to his face, in the form of exhausting training and fatigue duties, during the next few days, it was something he kept for himself, the same way he did all his thoughts about you.

“So, Johnny, what do you think?

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, doc! Aren’t they not, Lt.?”

The behemoth of a man glances at you, without saying a word.

“If the guy doesn’t beg for a second date, he’s an idiot, doc!”

“That’s not what I need to happen.” You pout. “Mother is hellbent in finding me a partner, I have told her this is the last time I’m going out with someone. I need this date to go bad, so she will stop pestering me when I tell her that I’d rather die alone with forty cats, than with someone I’m not truly interested in.”

“Do you have everything with you?”

You stare at Simon’s masked face, his brown eyes unreadable.

“Simon, really…”

“Do you have it?”

He’s not standing in front of you, blocking your path, but he’s trying to pin you with his stare.

“You’re insufferable!” You rummage in your bag. “See? Pepper spray, teaser and the knife!”

“That’s enough stuff to make any bloke run for his life.” Soap says, eyeing the array of weapons.

“I hope so! This chap is the son of someone mum knows. I have to make sure he runs for the hills the next time he hears my name!”

You walk towards the door, blind to Soap’s grinning, and to the way Simon’s hands have curled into fists.

“See you next week, boys!”

“What?”

You turn around and look at the Scot.

“I’m on annual leave. Try not to go save the word when I am not here to patch you four up, OK?”

The door closes behind you, cutting Soap’s laughter.

“What do you say, Lt.?” He asks, showing him the pictures of what appears to be a Tuscan villa. “You, the doc, and a spring wedding?”

“Fuck you, Johnny.”

Simon keeps telling himself he isn’t truly stalking you. He doesn’t have a tracking device installed in your car, or your phone, because that would be creepy, but he’s well aware of the statistics, how high the numbers are for assaults or, worse, rape and murder, or how those figures sky rocket when it comes to dating.

Simon knows you’re bright, brighter than most, but that doesn’t protect you if one asshole decides he doesn’t like your smart mouth, and bleeding Nora you have opinions and you’re not afraid to voice them! He still remembers the first time he’s met you.

You had emerged from the OR after a five hours long emergency surgery on Gaz. You were still wearing your scrubs and one of the colorful caps you use when you’re operating (it was the pink one with the dogs, Simon would gift you one with skulls and bones after the first routine checkup you did on him).

None of them had ever seen you, you had started at the base while the 141 was deployed; when the pararescue had entrusted Gaz to Dr. Rutherford, you were just one of the medics running to the OR, you were but a scrub, a body among many others, listening to the quick handover and shouting orders as the gurney was speeding down the pale green walls of the military hospital.

“What?”

You had looked at the three of them with weary eyes and furrowed brows, surprised that the soldiers had encircled you and were staring expectantly.

The man you’ll learn to know as Captain Price had asked you about Gaz’s prognosis, the other men crowding around you.

“Hasn’t Dr. Rutherford talked to you?”

“No, ma’am.”

He had sounded tired, he looked like he had been through hell and back. Those three men hadn’t probably hit the showers yet, too worried for their friend.

“Oh bleeding hell!” You had burst out, the peak of adrenaline that had carried you through out the surgery having abated, leaving you sluggish. “OK, gather around children, mother goose is gonna tell you everything.”

You had marched to the closest row of chairs and climbed on top of one: those men were so tall and buff you felt like you couldn’t breathe, nor be heard with them standing around you.

“We’re positive he’s going to be fine.” You had smiled at the collective sigh of relief. “He’s in the recovery room, the nurses there are checking on his vitals, before he gets transferred to the ICU. He’s going to be intubated and sedated for a couple of days, to help his body deal with the pain. His wounds were pretty gnarly, and his appendix was ready to burst. Did he tell any of you if he felt abdominal pain, or nauseous?”

There was a collective shake of heads and surprised stares, even the eyes of the one with the skull mask had widened.

“All things considered, it would have been worse if the appendix had actually burst while you were out. That would have been another bag of cats to handle.”

You had elected not to say anything about the way the small organ had almost exploded as soon as you had gently poked it, or that the sergeant would have had high risks of dying of peritonitis out in the field.

“I’ll tell the nurses to give you all a shout when the sergeant is transferred. You can sit with him outside his room, if you want.”

You had expected them to visit their friend, not to find them sitting on the uncomfortably plastic chairs, still wearing their whole gear, when you had popped by the ICU.

“Doc?”

It was the one you’ll learn to know as Soap that had stared at you, one eye swollen and in dire need of ice: another battle for another day, you had mused.

“I’m not in the habit of abandoning my patients after surgery.”

You had marched to the two chairs right in front of the window into Gaz’s room, and kicked Ghost’s foot out of the way, he was manspreading so much he was occupying two seats (honest to God! Why men need to always do that?). At the time you weren’t aware of his reputation, and even if you were, you wouldn’t have cared, too tired and angry.

“You junk wouldn’t scare death away, soldier.” You had sat next to him. “And we’re not going to open another cycle on my watch tonight.”

You had pulled out your headphones and started blasting music to keep yourself awake, ignoring the surprised stares of the men.

Next to you Ghost was staring at you, wondering if you had a death wish, or if you believed that looking at the little numbers on Gaz’s monitor, as if they owed you money, was the right way to fight death. You were listening to your music with a volume so high he could hear it himself: pop songs from the early 2000s: would that be enough to scare death away, he had wondered.

None of you knew how much time had passed, the minutes bleeding into hours, weariness setting in your bones, the music not helping fight the siren’s song of sleep: you were so tired, the azure number of Gaz’s oxygen saturation, and the constant curves on the monitor were truly hypnotizing you, your eyes were growing heavy and unfocused.

You head had snapped to the right side as soon as you had seen Dr. Rutherford walking down the corridor.

“I’ll be back in a moment.”

You had popped your pink headphones on the uncomfortable chair, the men around you not clocking on the clacking sound of plastic on plastic, but the angry way you were marching towards your colleague, your hands closed in twin fists.

The conversation was carried out in hushed tones, Dr. Rutherford was standing still, his mouth a thin, white line of anger, and you were constantly in his space, a snarl on your face as you growled your words at him.

It was well known that Dr. Rutherford wasn’t liked and that he had the reputation of someone who would pull his rank to cover up his bullying, and his mistakes. He was feared, having managed to ruin other physicians’ careers over the years.

In retrospect Simon had realized this was the moment when he had started to notice you: when he was wondering about your lack of self preservation. To tell the truth, it was what you did seconds after that stole his heart, unbeknownst to him, when Dr. Rutherford had slapped you in the face.

Time could have stopped, for all you knew. You couldn’t hear the surprised shouts of the nurses, nor the scuffing of the men’s boots hitting the ground, only the roar of blood in your ears and the knot of rage exploding in your belly. Seconds, only seconds had passed when your body had decided to act on its own, your forehead crashing on the older man’s nose, Captain John Price’s burly body between yours and Rutherford’s a moment too late.

“Oh crap! I think I have broken my nose. Oh shit!”

You were too busy tenderly touching your face to mind the chaos around you.

“I’ll have you in front of the court martial!” Rutherford had screamed at you.

“I’m a civilian, you buffoon! Your loser grades mean nothing to me!”

Through the pain you had felt a bulky arm curl around your middle to stop you from attacking the other surgeon.

“That’s enough, doc.” The low thunder of Ghost’s voice had rumbled against your back. “Stand down.”

Your vision was blurry, the soldiers tasked with security were tackling Dr. Rutherford, with the help of Soap: the older man was still trying to get to you, he was hurling insults, his voice booming in the crowded corridor.

“I’m not done with you! Did you hear me well? You’ll be fired! You’ll never work in this country ever again!”

“The one who’s never going to work in this country for the rest of his life is you, Rutherford.”

Amidst the chaos, Price was calm, furious but calm, his voice was cutting through Rutherford’s threats and the security men’s shouts.

“I am a major, captain! I can have you transferred in an hour!”

“You can try, major. Hitting a civilian, in front of witnesses?”

“Leaving the OR mid surgery to do God knows what, since I had to talk to these gentlemen about their friend.” You had snarled, the arm around your middle had tensed again. “You manage to fire me? I’ll go back working with Doctors without Borders, but I’ll make sure you’ll lose your license, Rutherford.”

When Ghost’s arm had released you, you had let yourself slide against the wall, after Rutherford had been carried away, your legs having finally given up supporting you. You had needed a minute before letting the nurses do a check up.

“Are you OK over there, doc?”

It had been Soap asking.

“I have been through worse. Jesus Christ what way to present myself!” The men had looked at you puzzled. “I’m the new trauma surgeon attached to the 141. Hi! Usually I am not this violent, or chaotic, I’m sorry you had to see all of that.”

You didn’t fault the men for not knowing: they had been out in the field for months, your predecessor had decided to step down after some serious family issues right after they have left base.

“You should all go home, I’m on call, I’m going to stay with the sergeant. And I’m going to see one lieutenant Riley on Monday? For the routine check up?”

The man with the over the top mask had sighed: lieutenant Riley found!

“If anything comes up, I will contact you all, it’s a promise.”

Simon hates when he has to tail you so close to the city center, there are too many people around and his baklava would stir up too much curiosity, the surgical mask on his face, his baseball cap under the black hood of his hoodie don’t offer enough cover for his face, he feels exposed, even though he’s hiding in the shadows of an alley where he can keep an eye on you.

Your date has picked a table at the window; Simon hates that the prick thinks he can put you on display like that. If he were a different man, he’d bring you to somewhere cozier, smaller, and he wouldn’t show you around like a prize he’s won.

He knows you’re hating every minute you have to spend with the anonymous man who’s boring you with whatever topic he’s prattling about, Simon sees it in the way you are looking outside, or in how many times you grab your phone; from this distance he can’t see your eyes, yet he knows they hold that distant look he’s seen too many times when you have to deal with paperwork. He wonders how long before one of your friends will call you to save you from this dreadful date, or if you’ll suffer through it to make your mother happy; if his circumstances had been different, he wouldn’t bore you to death, you wouldn’t have to use help to finish this date earlier. But Simon knows you’re way out of his league, too much of everything he has never had the chance to be, to ever hope to be. He can only be your patient and, something akin to a friend.

He had knocked at the door of your office on the dot, hating that he had to go through this bullshit check up, but preferring to be done with it as fast as possible.

He had expected the usual flurry of nurses coming and going, making the experience ten times more unpleasant; you were alone, instead. Your cheek was still swollen from the slap and you were sporting a bump on your forehead, right where you had headbutted that prick Rutherford; he half expected you to wear a colorful T-shirt, like the one you wore after Gaz’s surgery: obnoxious pink, the Barbie inspired font composing the phrase ‘Bitch, please’, which should have told him already everything he needed to know about you.

He was almost disappointed by the white button down shirt and black trousers.

He knew he was trying to distract himself from the knot of anxiety churning his stomach: how he hated to be here!

“Lieutenant.” You had looked up at him with the more open expression you could muster. “I will need you to remove your baklava. I have to examine your face.”

“Negative, ma’am.”

He couldn’t let you look at himself and, based on his records, you understood why.

You had tried to transmit him calmness by relaxing your body as much as possible: face open to his scrutiny and slightly pulled to the side to show your neck, your hands palms up.

“Lieutenant. I know this is unpleasant and that I am a stranger to you, but I can’t sign off the paperwork, if you don’t allow me to do my job. I can’t let you out in the field.”

You knew he was observing you, those brown eyes scanning you like he would an enemy, and you let him, you were in no hurry and this man deserved to make up his mind.

The way you had addressed him, the respect you had shown him, had convinced him to unmask himself: you weren’t doing this with ill intent, the matter of fact way you had used, as if you were telling him a known fact ‘Water is wet’, ‘ The sky is blue’, ‘If I can’t do my job, you wouldn’t be able to do yours’ had convinced him: you were one of the few people who weren’t curious about his face. He has encountered too many people who wouldn’t take a no for an answer, who didn’t care about why he wished the mask was his face, instead of seeing his father’s face staring back at him in every mirror, they just wanted to solve the mystery. You were doing your job, with all the sharps edges that it entailed, just like he did his, and that was something he had to respect.

You had been as fast and clinical as possible, the scars didn’t horrify you; based on his paperwork, you could list off all of his injuries as you saw them on his face and, later, his body. What you couldn’t find in his file, it had been easy to infer based on all the x-rays and MRIs, some old injuries impossible for a child to have without some external causes.

“You can put your baklava back on, lieutenant.”

Simon would never be able to put into words how grateful he was that you had kept your examination of his naked face as fast as possible, and that you didn’t force him through the hell that was small talk for the whole ordeal. If you had noticed the way he was staring at you, you didn’t say a single thing, something he was also grateful for, it had helped him bearing with the whole process, than anything else ever did.

On Friday a small packet and a steaming mug of tea were waiting for you on your desk. Carefully folded in the bright paper, an OR cap, black with neon skulls and bones design. On a whim you had told the nurse working with you to hold the fort for a minute, you had forgotten you had to run a little errand.

Said errand was standing in the field, covered in head to toe in black, busy overseeing what you believed was some sort of drill with the younger recruits.

“Thank you for the cap, you didn’t have to, lieutenant.” You couldn’t hide the smile in your voice, you didn’t want to. “How did you manage to discover how I love to take my tea?”

Simon was standing next to you, massive arms crossed on his solid chest, his face slightly turned towards you.

“If I were to tell you, doc, then I would have to kill you.”

Someone else would have been petrified by his words and the deadpan expression in his eyes, you had simply chuckled and had taken a sip from the mug, your personal mug, the one you had brought to use in the kitchen for the medical staff.

“We can’t have that, can we? Now I have to discover how you prefer your tea.”

“Do you like challenges, doc?”

He had turned to look at you and you had fancied you could see amusement in the rich brown of his eyes.

“I live for those, lieutenant.” You had taken a couple of steps towards the medical buildings. “Have a nice day!”

You were already halfway through, when Soap had approached Simon.

“Spring wedding, Lt.?”

“I need a sparring partner, and you just volunteered.”

You were always catching his attention without doing so. You were always at the corner of his eyes, busy working, or chatting with the civilian personnel at the base. He’d be running drills with the new recruits and he’d know you were walking somewhere nearby, he’d be at the canteen and you’d be either leaving the premises, or entering them. You’d pop by the military rec room because “You boys get the better tasting tea!” and he’d be snickering to himself in the shadows.

Unconsciously, he had started using the route passing by your office, to go to his (that he had to enter the medical building and then exiting it was something he actively didn’t want to think about), his eyes taking quick peaks at you through the window, whenever you kept the blinds open; you’d be slaving by your desk, elbow deep in paperwork, brows furrowed in concentration, or typing away at your PC. He’s seen you, during night shift, either working or reading with your legs propped up the desk, munching on something sweet, trying to keep yourself awake, or asleep on your couch, curled under a thick blanket; he had felt something warm unfurl in his chest, you looked so small and defenseless he felt the strange urge to stop and keep guarding your door until you’d wake up.

It had been you who had watched over him after a gnarly injury. He had woken up in a hospital bed, oxygen mask on his face, drips in his arm and too many surgical drains poking him. He was still high on the anesthetic and pain killers, his eyes barely focusing on your face that he had thought he was hallucinating you.

“How are you feeling, lieutenant?”

He had needed a moment to speak, his mouth felt like cement.

“Thirsty.” He had managed to say, ashamed that you were seeing him so weak.

“We’re giving you fluids but you’re not clear for food or water, yet. Squeeze my hand if you understand.”

Your small fingers had wounded around his coarse palm, their dainty touch had grounded him: you were real.

“I managed to remove the bullets from your gut. You have a lovely spleen and gall-bladder.”

Even high as a kite, in that precise moment, Simon’s brain had catch up with his heart and had realized he was in love with you, irrevocably, and that he had zero chances with you.

It wasn’t because you were a genius and he was an idiot, Simon knew well that he had the brains to match his ruthlessness, the issue laid in the fact that you two had less to nothing in common. He had seen you read thick tomes he has never heard of and talk with Gaz about movies he didn’t know ever existed; when he had checked any of the titles out he had realized how wildly your tastes forked: what he liked, you would hate, what you loved, made him fall asleep in ten minutes, like that subtitled movie he had tried to watch during leave, he had conked out five minutes in, and awoke when the end credits were rolling.

In his head he could see how a movie date would end up: he asleep and you wondering why he had asked you to come with him to the movie theater. What did he have to say to you that would interest you in his ugly mug? He was a highly trained killer whose hands were dripping blood, he came with a baggage that would put you in danger, what good could he add to your life? Yet, he was attracted to you like a moth to a flame. Even if he wanted, he wouldn’t be able to stop looking for you at the base, or shadow you when you went home.

It wasn’t a matter of stalking you, Simon fully knew where he stood, and that the only thing he could do for you, was keeping you safe; he would hide in the shadows and follow you home, leaving only when he had seen you safe in the quiet of your apartment. He had gifted you weapons, his heart beating a tad too fast when you didn’t run for the hills when he had given you the knife for your birthday, then the pepper spray and then the teaser. He had scared away a persistent date, a guy who simply didn’t want to understand that you weren’t interested: being your guardian devil was all he could offer you.

Soap didn’t help. He kept trying to push him towards you, trying to make sure his lieutenant was alone with you. One night shift he had gone as far as buying takeout, gave it to Simon when you were passing by with a cheeky “You must be famished doc!” and left Simon standing like a log with too many bags in his hands (he was going to use Johnny for target practice, if he ever survived this ordeal). You had stared at him with a smile, so lovely on your face, that he had wanted to bolt, food and all: you scared him in a way no promise of violence ever could. “You shouldn’t have, Simon!” and he had found himself sitting awkwardly on the too small couch in your office, all the plastic dishes neatly organized on the short table in front of him; you had removed your shoes and were sitting on the armrest, a container and a fork in your hand. Of course you were wearing ridiculous eraser yellow socks with tiny bunnies sketched on the cotton.

“Are you hungry, Simon?”

The way you pronounced his name! The way your voice modulated each and every syllable sent a shiver down his spine.

“Yes.” He had lied, his stomach was a knot.

He had been through hell, he knew you could tell by the scars littering his body. He has had too many close brushes with death than what he cared to count, yet he was petrified by your vicinity, by the fact that he had never been ‘Ghost’ to you, you had progressed from ‘Lieutenant’ to ‘Simon’ effortlessly, that you seemed to be able to read him in ways no one ever could. Were you be able to tell that the silence clothing you two was too deafening to him, the man who was the Reaper for his enemies?

What was he supposed to talk about with you? Why couldn’t he find some inane topic that would make you smile? Even the youngest recruit would be able to simply chat with you, why couldn’t he?

“What’s a cycle?” He had blurted out

“What?” You had started at him, quizzically, mouth around a forkful of food.

Yes, his mind provided, way to pass off as an idiot. He couldn’t possible stay silent, he had to press on even though he could only taste bile, not the food he was trying to chew.

“With Gaz. You said you didn’t want to open another cycle.”

“Oh, that!” You had put the fork in the empty container and stared at him. “It’s one of our superstitions.”

You had gently put the container on the table and grabbed your Coke.

“We actually have many, us who work in hospital, that is. It’s all nonsensical, no actual basis but the mind’s strife to put order in the chaos of life.” You had giggled, staring at him. “Don’t make that face!”

Simon was positive he wasn’t making any face whatsoever, it was well known he was a stone and what could you see? He had lifted his mask over his nose to eat, you couldn’t observe a single thing!

“You have very expressive eyes. And I’m going to tell you, after the shift is over, I’m as superstitious as they come!”

You did tell him, when the sun was grazing the horizon and he was having a smoke, dreading that he had to go home, if his sparse apartment could have been called that.

You were standing next to him, your own cigarette between your fingers, a colorful T-shirt half hidden under your hoodie and leather jacket. He had come to realize you only wore your more professional clothes during the day; when you had to work nights, you preferred more casual stuff, that made you look younger than your years. He hated that he could notice that, and that this information made his black heart swell a little.

“There are a handful of superstitions any hospital worker will tell you are true. The first one, the golden rule, is that you never say that a shift is quiet, not while you’re working, or literal hell will break loose. Second one is the cycle: death comes in clusters of three in a ward. It makes no sense and it’s truly pareidolia at its best, but it’s true: ask anyone working at the hospital on base and they’ll tell you that three people will die in a row, perhaps in a span of a few days, but it will happen, all in the same ward.”

You had puffed a cloud of smoke, staring at the sky.

“The others?” He had heard himself ask.

“Oh, the new moon.” You had smiled at him. “Pregnant people tend to give birth more during that time span. It’s utter and complete crap, on a scientific level, but it’s all true. Also, when you’re walking a deserted ward at night and you hear your name being called? No you don’t. You keep walking and ignore the ghosts.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“It is, but we believe in it religiously or the most of us do.”

You two had finished your cigarettes in silence, then you had bid him a good day of sleep; he had wondered if he should follow you home just to see you in your apartment, drinking your tea before trying to get some shut eye.

He had done this countless times, after particularly grueling missions, after you had gave all of them a clean bill of health, scolded Gaz (“Fallen off a chopper again? Is this the Darwin Awards sergeant?”) and Soap (“I swear to God MacTavish, you have fun at getting hit in the head!”) for their bumps and scrapes and asked him if he was sure he didn’t need anything to help him sleep.

He was well aware you had clearance to read his medical files, the list of prescriptions he was under, even the stuff the psychiatrist on base had given him to help him navigate his life; he didn’t want any of that, he only needed to see you safe home, to find the strength to go back to his own, so barren compared to yours.

He hadn’t gone to his hole immediately. He had followed you and hid to watch you brew your morning tea and eat a couple of biscuits. The sky had become overcast, yet to him you were still bathed in sunlight, your cozy apartment filled him with a longing he wasn’t capable to bear: would you let him sleep on your small couch? He wouldn’t do anything else but curl there under one of your quaint blankets (he had a preference for the crochet one, but he would have taken anything, really, a rescued dog would accept any scrap of love it was given), lulled to sleep by your presence.

What a loser, right?

It’s raining by the time your date ends.

Simon can’t hear what the douchebag is telling you, but he can’t help the satisfied smile on his face when he sees the guy leave with his tail between his legs: whatever that is, it didn’t work with you and never will.

He tails you from afar, your obnoxious umbrella dotted with pink hearts is the beacon that helps him spot you amidst all the people running from the rain; he doesn’t care that he’s drenched, he’s been through worse.

He stops and ducks in the alleyway he uses to keep an eye on your apartment, waiting for the right moment to hop on to the small balcony where all your plants live.

He doesn’t usually lets himself get so close to you, tonight he can’t help himself: he’s going to listen to you get ready for bed and then go, he’s become hungrier and hungrier for your presence, looking from afar it’s not cutting it anymore. And he’s not going to see you for a whole week, he needs in his bones to absorb whatever little scrapes of your life he possibly can, until you’re back to the base.

He listens as you walk around the apartment barefoot, your clothes hitting the bathroom floor, the whisper of the clothes you wear at home, when you unfold it from its place on the dresser (once he had almost ogled you when you were changing clothes; he had managed to turn around before he could have seen more than he should have, yet the image of your bare back had hunted him for days), some inane documentary on the telly keeping you company as you remove your makeup. It’s all so familiar, so homely, a routine he knows by heart and that is never going to be his, and that relaxes him: if he were yours he would brush his teeth side by side with you, maybe poke at you with his elbow just to make you laugh, he’d carry you to bed bridal style and keep watch until you fall asleep all curled up in his arms. If he were yours, but he’s never going to belong to you.

“Simon?” Your voice comes from the French doors.

His training doesn’t make him jump in surprise, on the inside his heart is hammering like crazy against his ribs.

He stands still, he doesn’t move a single muscle as he hears you exit the warmth of your apartment to join him where the storm is raging.

You stand next to where he is, the two of you sheltered by the worse of the water by the balcony over yours. With the corner of your eyes you see how drenched he is and you have to fight the instinct to scold him from courting pneumonia.

“I have to admit it has taken me a little to notice what you were doing. I thought I was going mad but then I stumbled upon that guy who didn’t understand I wasn’t interested in him: he was petrified and had begged me not to tell ‘my big friend with the skull mask’ that I had met him by chance while queuing at Costa.”

You stare at his hood, still stubbornly covering his face.

You don’t try to uncover his head, you understand that he needs his space and this silence, broken by the rumbling of a thunder.

You’re not mad at him, puzzled yes, but not angry.

“Is it always going to be like this, Simon? You hiding where the borders of my life begin? What if I meet the right person, what then?”

Your words break the spell that keeps him rooted where he is, he scoffs and turns his head to stare at you; you see something dangle from his face, one of the straps of the surgical mask has broken and now he’s naked in front of you, the darkness of the night his only cover.

You’re so close to him he can make out the soft angles of your face, the warm light in your eyes: you should be screaming at him, call the cops on him, yet you’re staring not precisely at the mangled thing he calls his face. He’s the one who has been hiding in the shadows, yet you’re still giving him his space.

“Would you keep on doing this?” You ask.

You’re so close, closer than he’s ever let most of the people be, so close that he can smell your perfume and your face cream.

“What would you do if I told you to stop?”

“I would.”

Those words cut him like knives: it would kill him to stop hunting for the scraps you had, unintentionally, given him, but he would, for your happiness.

“What if I tell you to come inside?”

“You can’t ask me that.”

His voice trembles and he’s a child again, defenseless in the snares of his father.

“Why?”

You’re fully in his space now, you can feel his warmth and he yours. The cotton of your tracksuit drenched with the raindrops falling from his leather jacket.

“Answer me, Simon.”

Your eyes are still avoiding his face, you’re still granting him this sliver of respect when you shouldn’t.

“Talk to me Simon, please.”

You’re on your tip toes now and he can smell the mint of your toothpaste.

He can’t speak, he can’t breathe.

His hands shoot out to grab your arms, his lips find yours in a kiss that’s almost a bite.

When your taste hits him, it’s like a floodgate is being ripped open by the violence of a flood.

Under his your lips part and your tongue seeks his, snuffing out his groans of pleasure, your arms escape his hold and grab his hair under his drenched hood and cap, your body pulls him forward, guiding him inside the sanctuary of your home.

You almost fall and his hands grab your hips to steady you, his tongue shyly plays with yours, as if he’s still insecure of what you’d do, he submits to you when you pull at his hair so that you have free access to his lax mouth: cigarettes and tea, that’s what you taste, his moans rumble against your chest, until you let go, desperate for air.

The darkness of your apartment is broken by the small light by the sofa, not bright enough to show you completely his face.

“Look at me.”

His gravelly voice makes you shiver, yet your eyes stubbornly land somewhere on his chest.

“Look at me.” He repeats, your name like a prayer on his lips.

You lift your gaze and he moves the two of you where you can see him: all of his scars barren to you, his eyes blazing with his own need.

You can feel his hands tremble on your arms, his teeth chatter and it’s not the cold from his drenched clothes.

“We don’t have to do anything, Simon, you know that.”

And by God you’re not lying. You’d be happy to lay on the couch and talk for the rest of the night, you don’t want him to give you something if he’s not ready.

One of his gloved hands finds your soft cheek and cups your face, his expression has softened, he’s so unguarded and scared now.

“I know.”

He’s not sure his body is up for the task, not with the medication he needs to take daily killing his libido most of the times, but that doesn’t really matter in his book, he doesn’t care if he can’t take pleasure from you, as long as he’s making you feel good.

He feels something warm in his guts stirring awake, but he’s not sure he’s going to manage to go on with it fully. Would you hate him for that?

“Simon?”

Your hand is so soft against the scarred skin of his cheek; he knows you use loads of hand cream to fight against the normal dryness that comes with having surgical gloves on every day, the soft scent hits his nostrils and his desire becomes more solid, it slithers from his belly to his cock, stirring it alive.

“Let me take care of you.”

He’ll live his life for you simply following those words: he’d shelter you from any storm, he’d kill for you, if only you asked. He’d go to hell for you, if that meant that you’d be safe and sound.

You see something shift in his eyes; there’s still insecurity there, but it’s fighting against another emotion, desire maybe?

Under another circumstances you’d tell him that you want to look after him as well, that this thing isn’t only about you, but you think that he needs this, to show you his devotion, if you hope to give him a safe space. Despite the blood on his hands, this man is a nurturer, who doesn’t know how to express himself.

“Yes.”

You’re not surprised that he knows the layout of your apartment, that he doesn’t need to turn on the lights to guide you where your bed is.

You kiss him again when you feel his fingers tremble as they hook the hem of your hoodie to lift it up your body, you murmur soft praises as he divests you and you’re standing naked in front of him.

“May I take your clothes off?”

You wouldn’t mind being the only one naked here, if that helped him feel safer; you two can discuss and explore his hard limits later, now you need to tread carefully.

“Keep the lights off?”

“Anything you need, Simon.”

Outside the storm rages, inside you keep asking him if he’s all right as you slowly peel his clothes off, until he’s barren his scarred body to your touch.

You know how he looks on the inside, what those scars left behind under layers of muscle and bones, you can probably recite all of his wounds alphabetically as you kiss them; he’s so beautiful to you, hard planes of muscles you want to caress and explore, dirty blond hairs on his chest you hope you’ll rub your face against, that thick happy trail guiding your eyes to his half hard cock; you want to caress all of him, make him feel good.

He stops you before you can follow the newest scar on his pectoral with the tip of your finger: you have stitched this one close, managed to pull together the mangled sides of the wound nicely.

“Go lay on the bed.” He tells you, his voice more secure.

He helps you with the ridiculous amount of pillows scattered on the bedding. Lovingly he chooses the ones he thinks will be the best to lift your hips up and to rest your head: he wants you comfortable, and happy with the way he’s treating you.

His eyes drink your lax body open for him. There’s a little light coming from the sky outside, enough for him to make out the soft curves of your body and the patch of hairs at your center. He likes a good bush, when he was younger and his libido not so skewed, he would get it going just because his partner wasn’t completely barren and now he feels his cock stir a little more.

“Like what you see?” You ask, arching your back to entice him.

“Yes.” His head goes up and down dumbly.

“Kiss me?”

He lays on you, his body solid on yours, his weight stealing your breath from you, his rough skin heaven against yours.

You let him take control of the kiss, his tongue less shy as it plays with yours, his moans fuller against your mouth: you have no idea how much he loves your taste.

He maps your body with his lips, in his head he takes notice of the way you keen and arch when he nibbles on your throat or sucks on your nipples. His tongue follows the fat drops of perspiration on your skin, his mouth leaves bruising kisses on your tummy when your hands wind up in his hair to push him to go faster: he’s going to savor you, commit you to his memory.

“Simon please!” You beg, but he’s not deterred. “Need… ah!”

He nibbles your trembling tights, his stubble will leave a rushes on the soft skin and a twisted part of him is proud that you will carry his mark around. His hips kick when your nails scratch his nape: please, yes, brand him as yours, even if you don’t want to keep him, leave the proof of you needing him, even if it is for one time.

You’re already wet when his fingers open your lower lips to his eyes, you’re not drenched yet and he hopes his ministration will get you there so that he can drown in your scent.

The first kiss on your clit is fleeting, shy almost, your body responds by kicking your hips up, needy for more contact and he can’t believe this is happening: he must be dead and landed in heaven, somehow.

“Need you, Simon.” You whimper under his scrutiny.

“I’m here, love.”

His voice is lower, gruff against your folds and you keen, the vibrations torture against your nerves.

Reverent he hoists your legs up his shoulders to open you up properly, his big hands splay on your tummy, your fingers finding his to anchor yourself.

He’s shy at first, exploring your folds with his tongue, playing with your clit slowly, mapping out your response and thank God he’s holding you down because you hips kick up immediately, as soon as his lips wound around your nub to suck softly, your legs clamping around his head and if he’s not dead he wishes you’d snap his neck while he’s eating you out: there’s no better death in his book.

You’re trashing under him, your body arching, feet trying to find purchase on the slick skin of his back, to move away, to gain advantage, you don’t know, your brain is fried, your body a knot of overstimulated nerves, and it’s not because you haven’t had sex in so long. It’s Simon’s mouth on your cunt, it’s his tongue playing with you until you come all over his face, again. It’s his moans of pleasure when your honey hits his taste buds, his wicked fingers exploring your depths, bullying that hidden part of yourself that makes you see stars. It’s his hushed words of praise, his grunts when his cock slaps against his belly with every instinctual kick of his hips against nothing.

You’ve lost your words a couple of orgasms ago, your lungs are too busy trying to pull air in and out to be of any use, your eyes can barely focus on his, dark with hunger, when he looks at you from between your legs.

He needs you ready, wet and loose for him, if his body can keep it up for him to have a full intercourse with you and, if he can’t, he wants you satisfied with what he can give you.

He groans against you when your fingers manage to find purchase on his short hair. He lets you pull his body up to yours, until he’s laying fully on you, your lips seeking his in a hungry kiss that has you keen when you taste yourself on him.

You hiccup his name, cunt rubbing against his erection hastily when his engorged tip slides against your clit.

“Wait!” He chokes out, lifting himself from your body.

Even full of endorphins are you are, alarm bells start ringing in your head at the preoccupation in his tone: did you do something wrong?

In his head Simon is trying to list off the entire armory back at the base, desperate to reel his orgasm in: it has been too bloody long and he feels like he’s sixteen again, popping his cherry with the cashier girl at the news stand at the end of his street.

He’s not sure his body can manage a second round, he doesn’t want to lose this one opportunity to sink inside of you.

“Simon?”

You try to keep the agitation from your voice. If, for whatever reason, he needs to stop, you need to make sure he’s not feeling like he’s leaving you unsatisfied.

Over you, Simon fists the sheets and closes his eyes, head bent so that you can’t see his labored expression. He bullies himself into breathing slowly and steadily, focusing his attention of what his senses tell him: the soft cotton of your bed sheets, your rugged breathing and the sounds of the city spilling in your shared sanctuary.

He needs to control the reactions of his body, center himself on every muscle, every nerve, the same way he does when he’s ready to snipe out an enemy.

“Love.” He groans.

“Do you need to stop?”

His head snaps up, the concern and the affection he sees on your face break him: he shouldn’t make you feel so anxious for him.

“No.” He groans, his body still trying to fight his iron will.

“Simon.” You touch his cheek. “I’m happy if you’re OK, you know that, right?”

Oh Christ he’s going to come untouched if you keep being so gentle with him: he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve you!

“Tell me you have condoms.”

His need for you is a knot of pain sitting in his lower belly, his body is reluctantly following his orders, but his cock aches for you, every breathe he takes is a stab in his gut.

“The lower drawer.”

He stops you from moving. Gritting his teeth he reaches for the knob of the bedside table and fishes in the odds and ends, a light of hope burning wild when he touches the plastic wrapper and grabs it hastily.

He gently moves your hands away when you try to help him roll the condom on his aching erection: he will come if you touch him.

You help him maneuver your legs around his hips, your hamstrings protesting at the angle he has to position you, your cunt flutters when he, slowly, rubs himself against your wetness: he’s prepared you well to take him, you’re drenching him, the wet sounds like music.

He blacks out as soon as he bottoms out, when your cunt clenches around him, stealing his pleasure from him.

The cold wakes you up. Outside the storm is still raging and the bedside lamp is out of commission, it forces you to feel around until you find Simon’s T-shirt, still discarded where you have thrown it. On trembling legs you stand up and wear it, before you paddle to the living room; you’re pleasantly sore, the kind of sweet pain you cherish because it means you’ve been loved well.

“Simon?”

The sound of a glass being deposited on the table makes you turn towards the kitchen: he’s there, his massive form blacker than the night itself.

“You’re out of power.” He rumbles.

He’s dressed back in his jeans and hoodie, the hood back up over his head.

“It’s the power grid of the entire block. Weather like this plunges us back to the Middle Ages.” You try to defuse the tension in the air with your lame joke. “Come back to bed? It’s awfully cold without you.”

You stand in front of him, his body ramrod straight in front of yours.

“You want me there?”

You hate his tone, so clipped and collected. He breaks your heart.

“Why wouldn’t I want you there?”

The way his head turns makes sure you can’t look at his expression, and you can’t have that.

The anxious way he had stared at you after his peak had made all your alarm bells ring in your head. You had hugged him, making sure his face was hidden in the curve of your neck, you had caressed his tensed back until he had relaxed in your embrace, your voice warm with praise for the way he had made you come, repeatedly, on his face.

“I didn’t…” You don’t make him finish.

Boldly you enter his space again, one hand sneaking under his hoodie to find his warm skin; you need to risk it all, if you want to keep whatever link you have with him.

“You didn’t hear me complain, let me finish. You have no idea how hot it was to see you lose control like that, for little old me. You managed what no partner hell! Even my own vibrator ever could, Simon. I lost count of how many times you made me come for you, my maximum is two times in a row, and I needed a moment in between those. It’s not what happened with you.”

His hand snatches yours in a lax hold, you know full well he could break all your bones if only he wanted.

“Don’t lie to me.”

You don’t let the low growl deter you. Slowly, you move your trapped hand, and his, up to your face; you know he’s letting you maneuver him, man his size you wouldn’t be able to otherwise. You’re not sure how much he can see, yet you telegraph your movements anyway, your teeth biting the tip of his gloved middle finger to pull the garment away: if he wants, he can stop you any time.

You let it fall on the floor and guide his scarred hand between your legs.

“Can you feel how wet I still am for you, Simon?” He hiccups on a breathe. “Answer me.”

You can feel his full body shudder at your command, and God isn’t it the hottest thing ever?

“I do.”

His fingers start to explore your folds and you have to steel yourself or you’ll lose your thread.

“Am I lying to you? Is my cunt lying to you?”

“No.”

He’s breathless and, if you’d feel for his heart, you’d hear it thumping wildly against his chest. He needs to remove his fingers from the warm cradle of your cunt, yet his brain is stubbornly refusing to send the information to his hand.

“I don’t care whether or not you rearrange my guts with your cock, Simon. Sex is great, orgasms are amazing, but all of it pales compared to all the time we spent together just talking. Tell me you understand.”

His fingers clench inside of you and you moan.

“I understand.”

“Then, explain to me like I’m stupid, why I wouldn’t want to wake up wrapped around you. Why I wouldn’t want to explore every inch of your skin until you’re too out of it to even beg. You make me come on your cock? That’s a plus. You make me laugh and chat with me during night shift? You, somehow, know how I drink my tea? That’s what I value. You make sure I am home safe? That’s the kind of dedication I have never found in anybody else.”

His free hand grabs your hip to steady you, his fingers, still deep inside of you, haven’t stopped moving, plunging into you inch by inch.

“I wouldn’t mind sitting on your face until you tap out, but I’d be as happy to lay on the sofa and watch this awful storm for the rest of the night.”

There’s another storm wrecking war inside of him, two sides pulling him in two different directions: one that’s screaming that he needs to leave, now, before he embarrasses himself even further, the other is fueling liquid fire in his guts, all his blood tumbling, again, to his cock.

“I don’t need to tap out, I can bench press your weight.”

You don’t have the time to whine at the loss of his fingers, not when he hauls you up and against the nearest wall, knocking your breath out of your lungs.

Simon is fueled by desperation, one hand under your arse to keep you where you should be, the other fishing for his zipper, knuckles knocking against yours in your dual haste: he hasn’t felt like this in ages and, this time, he’s actually in control of his own desire.

“Please!” You beg. “Now Simon!”

“Need to make sure…”

You snap your teeth near his ear, you don’t care if you’re ready or not, the drag of his cock against your folds is driving you mad.

“I swear to God if you don’t put it in immediately I will murder you in your sleep!”

He moans when he breaches you again. Despite his need, he pushes slowly in and out, helping your body accept his intrusion, his mouth overs yours, drinking your shaky breaths.

A juicy curse slips his lips once he’s bottomed out, your cunt trapping him in your depths, warm and silky around his cock.

Your forehead knocks against his, your breaths coming out in harsh puffs as you try to relax your quivering muscles around him and God you wish you could see his face.

“So… warm, ah!” He moans.

You call his name, drunk on the feeling of fullness, of being owned, on his hands grappling the cotton of the T shirt to reach your skin, shredding it to taste you on his tongue again. He’s burning up, he feels too hot and your trembling hands on the hem of his hoodie are a blessing, trying to free him, his scarred torso now crashing against yours, his lips locking with yours as he moves, desperate in and out of you, groaning when you sheath him again in your warmth.

“I can’t! I can’t!” You scream when his rough fingers find your clit again.

He needs you to come all around him the same way he needs air, he’s teetering his own end, those warm flames licking at the edge of his consciousness but he doesn’t want to be selfish, to use you again for his own pleasure.

“Need you.” He keens, broken when the high pitched scream of his name becomes a long wail and your body tries to squirm away from his hold, his fingers grabbing your hip so tightly he knows he’s going to leave bruises on the soft skin.

“Simon! Simon!”

You push with the heels of your feet against his tailbone, desperate to evade his hold, your brutalized clit firing and firing, the pleasure burning through you, his body pulling you closer, his cock pistoning wildly in your warmth, the squelching of your shared pleasure spurring him on, your nails scratching his skin careening him into his own pleasure.

You come, your cunt wounding so tightly around him that he spills with a shout that you don’t hear: you’ve already blacked out.

It’s Wednesday and you haven’t left your apartment. You’ve barely made out of bed to try and sort out the mess the storm has left on the balcony, on Monday, when he had left only to come back with a duffel filled with black, identical clothes (you’ve lost this bet with the nurses at the hospital, indeed he owns the same outfit, go figure!).

He had taken a long look at you, marched to where you were trying to save one of the potted plants smashed on the floor, had manhandled you inside your bedroom (and you were giggling the whole time like a teenager), removed your home clothes looking at them as if they personally offended him and bullied you into one of his black T shirts; only then he had looked at you and growled “That’s better”. And now you’re laying on the bed, cuddled with your head on his shoulder, while you’re browsing on your phone, in the hope to find an online store that isn’t Amazon, to find some surgical masks with sturdier straps than the one he’s currently using.

He’s black mass on the colorful bedding, dressed head to toe in his black clothes, skull baklava to protect his face. Only his hands are free of his gloves and he makes you feel like a Victorian gentleman staring at a naked ankle, your eyes wandering from your phone to his long fingers curled around an e-book reader.

It’s domestic, and all you ever wanted from life, despite being so different from what anyone you know would deem normal.

You two have talked about his whole demeanor of the past years, he’s worshiped your body until you had to beg him to stop, that it was too much; in the dark you have made good on your promise to map out his skin until he was choking on his on breathe, too far gone to even moan.

He hasn’t let you see his body during night time and that’s OK, you don’t expect him to overcome years of life in the span of a couple of days; the fact that he’s lounging with you, that he’s accepting the amount of physical contact that comes with you hugging him and using him as your personal body pillow, it’s a miracle to you. Last night, when you were trying to watch a movie, he had let you follow the paths of his sleeve tattoo, ending up falling asleep, his big body lax in your hold.

“We should go on a date.” You say, turning your head to look at his masked face.

“We have been on dates.”

“Eating take out food Soap has bullied you into buying is not a date.”

You can see his lips break out in a smile under the baklava.

“How is he still alive?”

“He’s a fast bastard.”

“You should thank him.”

“His head would grow ten times the size, you wouldn’t like that, love.”

“We should still go.”

There’s a part of him that still can’t believe this is happening, that you haven’t cussed him out in the rain, that you want to be seen around next to him, skull mask and all. That you’re so accepting of his hit and miss libido: he’s made up in Heaven, somehow, this can’t be his life.

Using your own distraction against you, he rolls you under his body: you look so right wearing his T-shirt and nothing else, it’s a travesty to dress you up in something that doesn’t smell like him.

“And where would you bring me?”

You beam up to him, your hands caressing his sides slowly over the material of his hoodie.

“Wherever you’d like.”

Even if it’s eating out on the balcony, you’d be happy, as long as he’s living his life with you, not hunting for scraps: you want to give him all.

[mleemwyvern]

ok so ive been following the dream situation and trying to give the green man the benefit of the doubt but now im snapping and posting about it. every single thing i see makes him look worse. i came in here with very little context, watched his entire 3 hour response stream while keeping my biases in mind, and i came out disgusted by his actions. i truly do believe dream is an awful human being, and although tommy and tubbo aren't perfect either, they are SIGNIFICANTLY more in the right than dream. many of the arguments from both him and his fans feel manipulative. there seems to be some conspiracy theory about tommy being a master manipulator who's leading a smear campaign to make everyone hate dream. i dont think its that deep. i think people dislike dream because he acts like an asshole.

ive seen dream fans claiming tommy is being abusive by shit talking dream in his videos and by denying him contact. this is my absolute least favourite argument so far. i don't think any of that is abuse. tommy has not been seeking out dream to harass him. and refusing to talk to someone is NOT ABUSE, and it is NOT MANIPULATION. going no contact is a perfectly valid response when someone upsets you so much that you don't want to talk to them. blocking people is NORMAL AND GOOD. whatever else may be happening, it is clear that dream and tommy do not get along, and so tommy is perfectly within his rights to block him. communication is, in fact, a privilege. insisting that you are owed communication with someone you hurt is a manipulation tactic.

i don't like when people demonize either side in this. tommy and tubbo are people. dream is a shitty person, but he is still a person. nobody should be harassing them or sending hate to fans or doxxing.

i dont hold any hate towards those who believe dream. just concern. i feel that many of them are in an echo chamber, and falling for the DARVO manipulation tactic he uses. if any of you are reading this, and change your minds on him, ill be here to support you. you're not a bad person for liking someone who turns out to be an asshole. as a hermitcraft fan, ive been through something similar with iskall.

this drama is a trainwreck that i cannot stop watching. can we finally stop the party

[clouisluvr]

i need a part 3 of sean diaz hc IM STARVEDDD‼️

ask and (11 months later) you shall receive!

- deep conversations always happen whilst laying on the floor. he’ll lay on his back with an arm propped under his head and listen intently to everything you have to say

- hangs on to your every word if youre talking about something important like .. his eyes will go kinda big because he’s so focused on you he kinda forgets to blink LOL

- grabs onto your hands when hes nervous, like just clutches onto them and squeezes. likes when you rub the back of his hand with ur thumb for extra reassurance

- sean sees the world so artistically and beautifully so a feature of yours you’ve never noticed before is accentuated in his art. a beauty spot you didnt notice, a dimple you never knew about. he loves every little detail about you

- faye webster enjoyer! indie pop lover in general tbh. loves listening to music with you (earbud user because he hates how headphones feel on his head) and will always think of you when he listens to certain songs

- i think if you told him you like his hair long he’d let it GROWWW. like so long he can tie it into a bun, but it would annoy him after a while and he’d cut it to like ep1 length. will let you and daniel put his hair in pigtails with bows (he’ll joke about being coquette)

- loves going on drives with you. sometimes daniel tags along but he prefers when its just the two of you. definitely likes listening to frank ocean whilst the sun sets (it reminds him of gta😭)

- has a bad habit of putting on this cynical teen front (like his journal entry about trump winning LOL) and you give him an outlet to be sincere and sensitive which leads to him opening up about his mom

- sean feels a weird sense of guilt when he criticises karen in front of daniel because he knows he’s too young to really remember and feel upset about it. but he feels even worse doing it in front of his dad because he feels like his emotions take up too much space. like it overshadows the betrayal his dad must feel.

- so instead he adopts a mostly indifferent, partially angry attitude towards his mom leaving to disguise the genuine sadness and resentment. the inability to understand how she could just up and leave. when you give sean the space to actually .. feel everything, he breaks down. it deepens the bond he has with you, he feels theres no judgement to be cruel, selfish, or upset around you.

- seans newfound sensitivity from dating you also lets him be unashamedly happy about the holiday season. he is done pretending to be over christmas, bring out the ugly jumpers and candy canes!!

- esteban is in SHOCK. sean is up early during his winter break to *checks notes* decorate?? convinced it must be crack.

- not sure what the american equivalent of winter wonderland is, but he saves up money from his part time job to take you, his dad and daniel to a winter festival! he kinda breaks the bank but has no regrets!! gets you hot chocolates and treats, also spends an embarrassing amount on game tickets trying to win you a prize😭 you tell him its ok but he will keep trying until he gets you SOMETHING!

- at some point he’ll sneak off with you to give you the sweetest kiss ever. will hold your chin in his hand and tilt your head up to kiss you. he’s not huge on pda (especially with his dad in the vicinity) BUT he’s in such a good mood he cant pass up the chance. starts smiling through the kiss because he’s so happy

- that definitely inspires art of you looking flushed with slightly swollen lips but a look of warmth in your eyes. probably gives it to you as a christmas gift! tells you its one of the many many moments he felt himself falling even more in love with you

- he hates the cold but loves the excuse to cling to you constantly. “sean.. i need to pee.” “pretty sure if i let go of you i’ll instantly get frostbite soo..”

- nervous and geeky when you guys first start dating, but gets SUPERRR suave as time goes on it kinda makes you weak in the knees. will cup your cheek mid conversation and stroke your cheek with his thumb. will backhug you and kiss your neck. will kiss the back of your hand if hes feeling VERY romantic… whore activity tbh!

- hickey enthusiast omg its BAD hes an addict. but god forbid you give him one because he will freak about lyla seeing and giving him grief over it. has a thing for marking you and knowing you like how it feels

- loves when you wrap your arms around his neck!! gives him this super strong sense of security, he’ll always wraps his arms around your waist.

- HATES when people talk at the movies. you, sean and daniel all went to see fnaf and daniel would not stop turning to both of you to explain the lore incase you were confused😭 not even whispering mind you! infuriates sean but its him telling you and daniel to stop talking that gets the reaction of an angry parent asking him to “be quiet or leave!” his eye twitches when you and daniel start laughing at him LOLL

- ushanka hat bandit. will wear them even during SUMMER! always paired with a tank top and jeans or a striped hoodie. i think sean has slutty hips so u love the tank top x low rise jeans combo he wears in summer LMAOO :P

- likes to cuddle with your back facing him so he can kiss your shoulder.

- likes to post discreet pictures of you on his main ig but his spam account is like 90% you LMAO. posts photodumps filled with dumb text messages between you both and candid pictures of you

- gets overprotective of you in a similar way to how he is with daniel, sometimes you have to remind him you’re there to protect him too

- will lay his head on your shoulder when hes in need of comfort. also a subtle way of asking you to play with his hair (he will melt)

- likes if you put your hands in his jacket pocket when it’s cold so he can hold it in there!!

- goes through phases where he ALWAYS wants to be on the phone with you. like you could be on the way over and he’ll stay on call until you’re in his house

- has a bad habit of getting into petty arguments with you that start off playful, like debating over what the best chocolate bar is but he’ll end up taking it too far and getting legit mad LMAO. you both end up cackling about managing to argue over chocolate

- plans his future with you in it. knows he always wants to be in close proximity to you, daniel and his dad no matter what! he can’t imagine life without you and tbh he doesnt want to.

not sure what hits me at like midnight that makes me wanna write hcs but as always im too sleepy to proofread so ignore any mistakes! also sorry if you dont celebrate christmas, i was projecting a little LOL

hope u all enjoy!💗

[codenamethebird]

Ok here's a little (not really) analysis/theory post about Hades 2, because I'm obsessed. Its consumed all my thoughts. And I need to talk about a theme I think will (hopefully) be addressed as the game progresses.

Here's some examples of dialogue that starts to touch on this conflict between mortals and the gods. What exactly do mortals deserve? We also have literal Icarus "flew too close to the sun" here too (and probably Pandora). Chronos was able to sway many to his side with a promise of a golden age without the gods, which is presented by the narrative as a foolish venture. And not saying it isn't, or that Chronos is the secret good guy here, but I believe Chronos is taking advantage of a very real hurt that exists for mortals.

This line from Nemesis really stood out to me, because it implies that while mortals have a concept of evil, the gods don't. Which sounds ridiculous but the more you think about it makes total sense. The gods in Hades (and just greek myth in general), are kind of the worst. They are petty and selfish, they literally attack you if their boon isn't picked first, and most vitally in this context, often utterly disregard mortals.

For example, one of the things that drove me a little crazy in Hades 1, was how chill everyone was with Demeter's never ending winter. Demeter was killing possibly millions upon millions of mortals and everyone else just sort of let it happen. Maybe complained a bit because it was annoying to them, but just stood by. And that's just one example. Mortal's have a very valid reason to hate the gods.

And considering we have more areas of the surface to explore that aren't out yet, I have a feeling Melinoë is going to be meeting some of these discontent mortals. And my hope is they are going to be nuanced characters, that will challenge Melinoë not just in a fight, but her very ideals.

Because Melinoë is very deferential to the gods, waaaaaay more that Zag ever was. Unlike Zag, who was more like a bro to them and was willing to suck up to them for personal gain, Melinoë seems to genuinely mean all the respect she gives them. She praises them, defends them when they are insulted, and just generally very polite to them.

In a smaller scale, she describes Hypnos as having a wisdom about him and can somehow sense her intensions while asleep. Which as Nem implies, the version in Melinoë's head doesn't exactly line up with reality (though sidebar, I am a believer in Chekov's Hypnos and that he's going to somehow save the day and put Chronos in a never ending sleep or something, but that's beside the point haha).

Melinoë's reverence to the gods makes total sense of course. She was denied her family and a happy childhood, and because of that has glorified them all in her head. The Olympians are sending her vital aid on her holy mission for vengeance and to save her family, even as their own home is being attacked, how honorable of them!

And I think part of Melinoë's arc is that perfect picture of them breaking into pieces. Yes, they are the better of the two options between them and Chronos, but that doesn't mean they aren't also kind of the worst. That mortals deserve better than frivolous gods that can decide on a whim their fates for better or worse (love u Moros but I'm still fucked up over you and your sisters giving mortals horrible doom endings when you were bored. At least he feels bad now but still. Perfect example of gods even when not intending to having horrific consequences for mortals). And maybe like how Zag healed relations with his family, Melinoë can start repairing relations between the Gods and Mortals.

[ccswife]

Oh No..

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part 3: drunk words, sober thoughts

previous next

***song has designated playing time. will be in big red font.

pairing๛: kate martin x iowau!reader

synopsis๛: kate catches you watching your saved edits of her

warnings: sexual content, mentions of drinking

not proofread again smh sorry

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Its been about 3 days since deciding to distance yourself from kate. and trust me, its been incredibly hard; not only do you miss her desperately, but you have to be around her constantly due to your training duties. you try your very hardest to ignore her at practices, only communicating when absolutely necessary. an example being when she gets knocked over, hard, during a pick and roll gone wrong. she smacked her head pretty badly, and you had to carry out concussion protocol. or, when they are in the weight room for lifts, she almost always needs direction for 1-3 exercises. this instance is arguably way worse than the other, considering you have to touch her and guide her into the right form. whenever you have no choice but to talk to her, she gives you these big puppy eyes. you love them, but again, stubborn ol’ you wont actually fix anything right now.

one day after practice, when you had just finished explaining stretches to jada for her hamstrings, caitlin and gabbie come over. gabbie looks worried and caitlin has a very serious look on her face, the one she only wears before giving the team a pre-game talk.

“y/n, we need to speak to you” caitlin starts. "yea, its nothing bad so please dont make that face!!" gabbie sees the worried expression you hold. looking around the gym, you slowly nod and look between the two taller girls. "alright...go ahead..."

"we have noticed-" caitlin pauses and looks at gabbie for reassurance, gabbie in turn nods her head and caitlin turns back at you. "you and kate have been rather, distant! and that is very weird for you too."

"usually you two are inseparable, and you seem like youre ignoring her, whats up?" gabbie continues.

mouth wide open, you start to move it but no words come out. the fact that they said something and noticed the ignoring was on purpose threw you off enough, and now you have to tell them why. 3 things go through your head. 1) lie to their faces. 2) tell them the truth and get yelled at. and 3) turn and run as fast as you possibly can. gabbie looks at caitlin and they turn and whisper for a second, you still standing there, trying to form a coherent sentence. caitlin turns and says "you dont have to tell us right this second, but we are here for you, so feel free to come to us whenever you need, ok?" she puts her hand on your shoulder, rubbing it in a small circle. your eyes dart back amd forth between them, and you peep out a little 'ok thanks' before turning and walking away. usually people didnt pick up on the things you did, kate did though. shit, even when you try to hate her its so damn hard because she knows you like a calculator knows math. you felt like your life was slowly falling apart, like a broken pot thats been trying to stay together, but crumbles as time goes. you needed to add some glue.

ever since caitlin and gabbie came up to you after practice, they talk to you way more throughout lifts and practices. to be honest, its more caitlin than gabbie. in fact, youve noticed that caitlin has been touchier and more flirtatious. from an arm circling around your neck, a touch to the waist when she slides by, a wink in between drills, or suggestive jokes only between you too. you cant tell if its on purpose or not, but you kind of .... like it? maybe you like it, or maybe you like the fact that you can see kate in the corner of your eye everytime, staring the two of you down. when these interactions happen, its like she teleports so youre in her eyeshot. almost every single time you talk to caitlin, flirtatious or not, she turns and talks to hannah. this leaves you thinking, what could she possibly be saying? of course your whole being hopes that its her being jealous, but the devil on your shoulder tells you shes talking shit about you, calling you a whore and that youre only using caitlin to get popular. sometimes the angel on your shoulder talks too, though. kate has been consistently texting you, asking if you can meet up and talk, or if she can call you to resolve whatever it is that's happening. you respond with 'no thanks' or 'im busy rn.' to every single text. you feel like she owes you something, but you dont know what. your heart aches, wanting so badly to respond nicely and to be in her arms again, back to how it was always meant to be.

࿎

࿎

࿎

its saturday night, and you get a text in the team groupchat.

hawks🦅💛🖤

caitlin clark: hey guyysssssss so since we got the huge W (😜😜) i think we should all go out to the cluerrbbbbb

gabbie marshall: oh fuck yes what time should we meet and where

kate martin: im down if everyone else is

you roll your eyes at her text, only because its her.

(jada, kylie, and 5 others liked kate martins message.)

you look up at the time, seeing its 10 and use it as an excuse. you did not want to see kate in a club setting right now, let alone get ready. getting drunk did seem pretty nice though.....

you: ill pass, thanks thoooo

immediately, caitlin and gabbie respond, insisting you to go out with them. after 4 minutes of arguing with them, you give up and get off the couch.

now its time to get ready!!!!

pulling out your speaker, you blast your getting ready playlist. you slap on a stunning layer of makeup, drawing on eyeliner to emphasize your eye color, as well as 2 layers of mascara on your curled lashes. a little concealer here and there, some blush, highlighter and a layer of setting powder to make sure it stays intact while you are shitfaced. the dress of choice is a tight black, mini strapless dress, and to feel a little alive you throw a lacey pair of undies on underneath. its not like you were gonna get laid anyways. you did your hair in an updo, to accentuate the muscles in your back. you slip a small pair of heels onto your feet, then finally spray your signature perfume and some glitter. galncing at the clock, you see its 10:45, and that you have to get going. if we are being honest, walking out to meet everyone... you felt like a billion dollars. you dont know what it was, but something was making you so, so confident right now. the sway of your hips while you walked was hypnotizing, and getting a whiff of your perfume as you passed by put the cherry on the cake.

arriving at the club, the team stood outside waiting for the rest to get there. it seemed that you were the last one, so the girls filed in one by one. upon entering the club, it was hot and humid, bodys everywhere and the music blasting. not seeing where everyone else went , you made your way over to the bar to order shots.

"two shots of tequila please" you smile nicely at the bartender, grabbing the shots after he poured them, saying a quick thank you before downing both of them. you hoped that they would quickly take the edge off, and to make you stop thinking about kate. she was right in your eye sight, which didnt help too much. especially since she looked so fucking delicious. she sat next to jada, legs man-spread, wearing a green button down, top buttons open- showing her chest; and a classic pair of balck jeans on her botoom half. her hair was pulled back into a messy bun, and she stared across the room at you, sipping out of a solo cup. you turn back to the bartender and order some more shots, hoping they actually work some magic on your poor little brain.

after youre 4 shots and 1 drink in, gabbie comes and pays you a visit at the bar. " how ya doing over here girl?" she places her cold hand on your leg, standing and looking down at you. " im s'greatttttt. d'gyou kno that i loveee someone ? yesssaaaaa i dooooooo" you make a heart shape with your fingers and raise your eyebrows repeatedly. her eyes widen as you continue to slur some more words at her. " her— shes righttt over there next to shjada ! she looks so sexy fuck me bro" you put your head in your hands, and gabbie sits down next to you, picking up your chin. " babe i think its time to sweat some of this alcohol out, get out there and dance your little butt off." looking back at her, you crookedly smile and get up, hearing that your favorite club song just came on.

now playing 'Up Down (Do this all day)' by T-Pain, B.o.B.

making your way to the dance floor, you can feel kate watching you like a hawk. you pick a spot right in front of her and start to move your body. mindlessly moving, you back up little by little, and crash into a chest. looking up, you see its a basketball girl from another school. you dont remember her name— being that youre drunk, but her face rings a bell. "you dancing all alone baby?" her hand sits on your hip, other one creeping to your ass. looking up, you nod and put both hands around her neck. "lets change that then, m'kay?" as soon as those words came out of her mouth, you turned around, pushing back into her, slightly grinding your hips. you purposely turned around, wanting to see kate's face while you grinded on some random basketball girl. you watch her fist shut, squeezing the empty solo cup she held. you keep eye contact, moving your hands up and down your body, while the girls hands stayed on your hips, face in the crevice of your neck. this continues for a while until suddenly, kate gets up and leaves the room, clearly angry. it was sexy on her.

seeing that she went into the bathroom, you follow her in a couple seconds behind. you decide to wash your hands, as that girl on the dance floor was actually really sweaty. kate comes out of a stall, and she stares at you through the mirror. leaning against the wall, your first words with her outside of practice are exchanged.

"you gonna tell me what the fuck that was out there?" you turn around and look at her with a confused face.

"what was what? i was just dancing." her lip curls and she turns away her face. " y/n, i am— i dont like that. you shouldnt be grinding on someone you dont know." a smile grows on your face and you tilt your head. "oh, so i should be grinding on people i know? regardless of feelings?" her head whips back at you, wearing a confused but intrigued look. you walk closer to her and trace your finger across her jaw. "so i guess that means you want me to grind on you, right martin?" her last name comes out of your mouth with a little slur, both of you still being drunk. unexpectedly, kate grabs your face and waist, kissing you deeply. she turns the two of you around, the cold tile making contact with your exposed back. she lifts your leg up to her waist, and you tangle your hands in her messy hair. never in your life have you kissed someone so passionately before, and her hands roaming and groping your ass just make it 10x better. she kisses you like youre oxygen and shes the lungs. in between kisses, she speaks.

"i hate"

"that youre ig— noring me-"

" i jus- wanna love you— and make you mine- for ever- baby."

"please- i need yoh— im sor- ry for"

"whatever i did"

after the last blurb of words, she moves down to your neck, kissing all around, and sucking behind your ear. you let out a groan and grasp her a little harder. inside youre silently praying you remember this in the morning. but then what she said registers in your head. although you didnt want to, you pull away from her soft lips.

"wait."

she looks at you with her sweet puppy eyes, intensely waiting for you to keep talking. her hands still on your ass.

"why? why are you saying this now? and not before" she looks at you a little confused, stepping back a bit. you continue speaking.

"kate, baby. how'd we get here? how'd we get like this?"

she stares back and you and fails to answer again, now playing with the bracelets on her wrist. angry that she didnt say anything- ESPECIALLY after she just kissed the fuck out of you, you turn and storm out. kate follows you out, scared of what you'll do and also that you might find that girl again. gabbie sees the state you two are in, and lets the girls know shes calling an uber. not protesting, you galdly go home. the ride was completely silent, windows open letting cool air in. the chill helped you sober up a little, and thankfully you safely made it uo to your apartment. after showering and cleaning tbe rest of the makeup off your face, you climb into bed and think about the nights events.

a thousand questions fly through your head. why would kate say that right then? why did you do what you did? did she mean those things? although it confused you, one thing kept you content enough to close your eyes and fall asleep.

drunk words are sober thoughts, arent they?



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A/Nq(❂‿❂)p: i hope i wasnt being dramatic when i said i had a good chapter coming! i was gonna make this longer but i decided to save some stuff for the next chapter. i hope you guys like this one teheh PLEASE LET ME KNOW!!! I WANNA IMPROVE AND MAKE THIS A GOOD STORY THAT YOU GUYS ENJOY! anyways.. toodles my munchkins😜

[foundfamily-connoisseur]

Cramps are krampusing so uhhh my thoughts on these dudes as romantic partners and additional explanation cuz why not

Explanation in order of chart

Doc Louis:

have you seen how much he cares for his boy? Absolutely doting and will always find a way to make time for you. Honestly the only thing you'd need to talk to him with is balancing time together as partners and his own time as Macs dad i mean coach

Piston Hondo:

super respectful and he seems very communicative and willing to talk about whatever issues you two may have in a relationship(although i doubt you'd have many). He's not as obsessed with his position in boxing as some of the other folks, which means of course he'll make time for you and would enjoy doing things you'd like to do(even if it isn't his personal cup of tea)

Don Flamenco:

He's a Spaniard. Love and romance is his whole thing if he sucks at that literally what is he here for. I think if there was an issue it'd be how petty he can be(less with you and more on personal vendettas/grudges with other folks), nothing serious tho

Bald Bull:

Ok ik he has anger issues and maybe it's the biases talking but he literally only gets mad when ppl are all up in his face. Only difference between him and me is I just start bawling when that happens lmao.

I think he's the only one with bigger problems in the "good partner" section but he gets higher up because if he isn't bombarded with the paparazzi he's literally chill. Nice sweet and domestic scene me thinks

Bear Hugger:

He would prolly rank higher but I feel he's the type to be a bit dense. Nothing enough to be a major problem but you gotta spell out some things to him sometimes lol. Maybe a bit more rowdy/"dirty" than preferred, but outside of that he's a 10/10

Disco Kid:

Just nothing remarkable tbh. For sure sweet and attentive but he might be coming home late from a party (and it really will just be him losing track of time but sometimes you gotta go 🤨 😒 and give him an earful). Only fault would be his overt friendliness that might lead to others thinking he's flirting and he doesn't get it till you pull him aside and tell him and he's like OHHHHHHHH my bad lol

Glass Joe:

I probs should've ranked him higher lmao idk why he's there. I think the only thing I could fault him on is his innate stubbornness cuz no way is that only staying in the ring. It isn't that he'll fight with you on everything but he has a few select things that are his way or the high way and it just he like that.

Von Kaiser:

Look at him. He is filled to the brim with issues. I feel like his PTSD or whatever we want to assume he has gets to him a fair bit. Again I doubt it'll ever escalate to violence but there are times where it really does affect his ability to communicate or do things. Its assuredly a talk you two need to have and something you need to understand getting into the relationship. Also please get him into therapy I think that'll help but he's 42 I don't think he believes in that.

Mr. Sandman:

he'd be a fine boyfriend for sure, maybe a bit stoic in public with the occasional discrete smile here or there, but his anger issues are so much worse chat. Like he clearly values his position as world champion that when he lost it he wrecked a BUILDING!!!!

Im not going to say anyone here would be violent towards you but that man might punch walls or some shit. More than likely just absolutely obliterate his punching bag. His obsession might cause issues in your relationship that could lead to neglect on his behalf. You are for sure fighting with him on talking it out but he's sweet outside of that. If I had to move him he might teeter onto the rank below but the others are just worse so he gets saved there i suppose.

Great Tiger:

He just seems full of himself. Not as bad as SMM but enough that you'd argue with him from time to time. I feel like he'd use his clones to play silly pranks and they're fine until one day he does it when you're super tense and you end up yelling at him. His biggest sin is just not understanding what's funny to him could be annoying to you. It might take an outburst to set him straight than a one to one talk, though

Super Macho Man:

Does he treat the women he's with well? Yeah of course! At least when it comes to spending dough on them. He doesn't seem like the type to want a relationship in the first place, and if he does it's very brief since he's always looking for someone hotter than the last(or whoever is the most eager). If there is a genuine relationship, he thinks that gifts can supplement any other aspect to a relationship beyond showing you off, and would get mad that you ask him for a little quality time once in a while(like shut up he literally bought you a Porsche what more could you want????)

Also I'm going to be so real here if he doesn't think you're up to snuff looks wise he's going to be a bit of an ass. Mostly it's just him being more willing to push you aside for events and stuff because he considers you to be "lucky" that he's even sparing a minute of his time with you. Then surprised Pikachu face when you leave

Aran Ryan:

Who started this list I'm sorry chat but his ass is NOT ready for a relationship. What you get from this man is an emotionally stunted mess who can't process his own emotions beyond anger, much less yours. He either is dismissive of you at best or if he loves you completely still sucks because he doesn't know how to deal with those kinds of feelings.

He'd be possessive but not in the cute way; someone can look at you for a moment too long and he's bashing their skull in. Like it can even get to the point where he's iffy about any male friendships as a result.

Additionally that man can't process emotions for the life of him. I just feel like if he's sad he's the type to suppress it and ignore it via boxing or literally anything else until it catches up with him years later. As a result, you can literally tell him your grandpa died and he'd be like "damn" and go on with his day. Of course he feels absolutely fucking horrible for you but he assumes that his way of dealing with his problems is the way you should do it since ignoring problems = problems don't exist anymore.

Obviously, this does not work and you just end up fighting/crying. Genuinely he just doesn't seem ready for any kind of relationship and I don't think he thinks therapy is real or is the type to say it's for sissys or something.

On that note he's got a bit of misogyny to him(his quotes are not slay girlbosses) that are only not worse because his sister beats him straight.

Would he cheat? Eh. If it started off as a hook up or something than I just think he'd forget he's even in a relationship tbh. If he's actually in love absolutely not he's got standards sometimes

Soda Popinski:

I flip back and forth on where I'd place him because he seems fine overall, but of course it's his vice that does him in. It's more of a matter on how much you think his soda vice impacts his life, especially with Title Defense mode where he's super serumed with it. He's absolutely coming back home every day sloshed and you can only put up with that for so long. It's a balance act of his good character outside of his vice and the vice itself.

Donkey Kong: that is a gorilla. Ideally no one wants to date said gorilla.

Little Mac: he's aromantic to me chat he signed it to me himself.

I JUST REALIZED I DIDNT PUT KING HIPPO SHIT:

yeah nothing remarkable to him. At most yall are going to argue about how much money he spends on food but tbf you knew what to expect in this relationship idk why you're so surprised.

[jumexju]

SUGGESTION

Pairing !! : Carl Grimes / Fem Reader

Fic Type !! : Headcanons, Fluff, Comfort

CW !! : canon typical mentions of violence/death, gn reader unless i specify otherwise, trauma/sa mentions

Summary !! : Just some fluff hcs about carl cuz i miss him

Notes !! : feeding carl fans after I finished the series like a year ago (bcs i rewatched it) (I love that white boy) enjoy lololol :3

✦ MASTERLIST

ᰔ if youre a melomaniac, carl would def be stuffing vinyls into his bag while out on runs just in case you happen to like the music (he gets happy when u get happy)

ᰔ carl n you def sit in his room just to listen to music (lowk parallel play)

ᰔ speaking of parellel play, hes a sucker for it !! you dont gotta be doing something together, even if the two of you are doing your own thing, he prefers having you near him while doing it

ex : he's reading comics while youre drawing/writing/etc

ᰔ carl likes hearing abt your hobbies and if you got the random knowledge flavor of the tism, he loves hearing the random knowledge you bestow upon him at the strangest times

ex : "carl" "yeah?" "did you know that playing instruments can make you smarter?" ".. how?" *proceeds to explain how the brain works*

ᰔ if you play an instrument, carl loves hearing you play songs you know or have even written yourself (hes your number one fan!!!!!

ᰔ if you wear glasses, you probably lost them/cant use them anymore since the prescription has to be updated. SO : carl would do his best to help you with that

ᰔ he'd read to you if your eyes get tired and describe sights to you if your eye sight's that bad (he finds you squinting adorable, but he wont tell you that)

ᰔ he rarely ever takes off his sheriffs hat but he finds it endearing when you take it off his head and put it on yourself (he thinks u look cute chat)

ᰔ if you love to read, carls bringing you books he found on runs and likes to have you read to him, esp if you have a good reading voice

ᰔ carl sometimes struggles with his self esteem which just got worse with the loss of his eye, because of this he feels real warm when you tell him he's pretty and cup his cheek like he's your treasure

ᰔ imo carl's a pretty shy guy so he doesn't really like any pda unless its like hand holding n stuff (love this guy fr)

ᰔ he does like cheek n mouth kisses but like not in public chat sorry but that boy has like a 6/10 rizz (teenage loser rizz fr)

ᰔ michonne teases him about his affections towards you and he gets all red n sheepish (i love you michonne), he also lowk rants about u to her

ᰔ he likes locking arms with u bcs it helps him walk straight n not bump into you (due to his eye screwing with his depth perception and coordination), but also cuz he likes feeling close to u

ᰔ he escapes to the forest with you to read or just explore outside sometimes

ᰔ basic but he lets you trim his hair if youre experienced in cutting hair (i.e : if you cut your own hair)

ᰔ carl sometimes doesnt like when people touch him bcs of what happened to him (s4 2nd to last episode) and he doesnt open up abt it, but if u ask him he'll tell u

ᰔ during those moments, he prefers to just lay his head on your shoulder and just be there with you thinking about nothing

ᰔ carl would listen to descendents so bad guys trust me

ᰔ stargazing with him is a dream

ᰔ if you have trauma from sa he makes an effort to understand you and tried to get you to be open and honest with him bcs it helps him better understand your situation

---- ok now for my alt readers ----

ᰔ if youre a metalhead, he finds it so cute when he sees you get all dark n immersed in the song youre listening to and if you sing it dramatically? he's filled with a tenderness for you

ᰔ if youre a music nerd he loves it when you tell him about the bands youre into and the lore !!

ex : "yeah Ozzy bit an actual bat once cuz he thought it was a prop, he had to go to the hospital after," "im sorry- he bit a bat??"

ᰔ yes its the zombie apocalypse but that doesnt mean you cant raid hot topic/thrift stores/abandoned shop for clothes slay !!! if you're goth, he wears your studded bracelets (they remind him of you)

ᰔ he also finds the music you listen to romantic and lowk endearing (joy division listeners wya???), probably makes you playlists in cassette form so you can both listen to them

ᰔ he'd let you paint his nails black sorry its the truth and he slays with it

ok im going to sleep

bye chat

[alyakthedorklord]

I’m having dramatic thoughts about Damian being born to Fem!Bruce ok I’m having THOUGHTS

(TW for alluding to Damian’s conception being nonconsensual)

Okay so set the stage of our Drama- Fem!Bruce (or just AFAB idc) is out on patrol or something and League Parent (Either Talia as in canon, or Ra’s if we’re feeling the creepy old man tonight) drops Damian off with “Hey, watch our son that you birthed and then I stole and let you think was dead for ten years, there’s some infighting in the league.”

(If we’re using Ra’s as dad then Talia is absolutely trying to kill Damian for the position of heir)

Bryce is, understandably, shocked. Her other children? Even more so. Because what do you mean you had a biological child? How did we not know about this?!

Damian isn’t old enough to be pre-robin unless he was cryogenically frozen. Did Bryce really hide a whole fucking pregnancy from them?

Dick is screaming, Jason shows up because he has to see this shit for himself, Bryce is standing in silence, staring at the results of every single test she can think of to confirm that yes, this is her son, this is her Damian, all the info matches up…

Tim tries to speak up, but Jason just turns on him, asking if he’s ready to be replaced too. Bryce didn’t even have to go looking this time!

Tim looks him dead in the eye and points out the birthdate(and death date) on file for Damian Wayne.

It’s exactly eight days before Jason was taken in.

How did Dick and Jason not know about this?

Because they weren’t there.

In the short period of time when Dick was striking out on his own, and before Bryce picked up Jason, League Baby Daddy of your choosing shows up and takes advantage. A simple greeting, a spiked drink, a blurry night, and a pregnancy test later…

Bruce is, as always, in any universe, is terrible at communication. But honestly she can be excused in this case. How exactly do you tell your wayward son ward that, after chasing him off because he was “being reckless” and “putting himself in danger,” you’ve gone and gotten taken advantage of, trusted someone that you had absolutely ZERO business trusting, and now you’re pregnant with an Al Ghul baby? And you’ve decided to keep it? That this isn’t you replacing him or demanding he return, because you understand his need for space, but also you desperately want him back with you because you’re scared but you can never admit it?

How do you do that in a text? Because Dick is not answering the phone.

You don’t. Thats a conversation you have face to face. So the messages Bryce leaves are all “there are some changes and i’d like to talk to you” “there may be a new member of the family soon” “please answer me chum”

Dick doesn’t answer.

Meanwhile, Gotham crime is being weird because “hey robins gone! Dynamic duo is out!” And Bryce is being careful because of her belly and sometimes she has to take breaks and hormones are bullying her and nothing is going her way right now.

And them she goes into labor too soon.

And something goes wrong (League Baby Daddy happens) and she’s told her baby is dead, and now she’s lost two children.

She recovers, and goes back out onto the streets, taking her rage and pain out on the criminals that got a little too bold with her in a hospital bed…

And then there’s a street rat jacking the tires off the Batmobile.

The fucking audacity. The guts. The challenge in his bright blue eyes, the sneer on his lips, the shaggy black hair. Skin just a bit darker than hers, not quite an Al Ghul’s deep olive but somewhere in the middle.

Is this what her Damian would have looked like? Is this what her son would have grown up to be?

Maybe its the hormones, maybe she’s projecting. She knows its a bad idea, but Bryce takes the kid home. Alfred gives her a knowing and slightly disapproving look, but accepts the new child with open arms, because there’s worse things. Jason fits in easily, and soon enough, Batman has a Robin again, and Bryce is smiling again, and begins to heal from the pain of losing Damian.

But Dick? Dick is PISSED.

Upon seeing news of a new Robin/Wayne, he finally looks though his messages, and comes to the wrong conclusion that Bryce was looking for a kid to replace him this whole time. She might have tried to get his input, but had eventually made a decision like this without him. And so he’s back, and he’s angry, and Bryce gets defensive because Jason is a good kid and she can’t use her dead baby to win an argument, not when the wound is so fresh.

So life continues. Jason dies, comes back, is angry because he listened in on a few arguments and now ALSO thinks Bryce actively hunted him down to be Robin, and now she’s done the same with Tim.

Bryce keeps quiet, because how is she supposed to explain after all these years? Jason is right to be angry. She let her emotions get the better of her and dragged a sweet boy into her life. The loss of all three if her children was her own fault, because she put him into the line of fire. There’s no excuse for that.

So years pass. Tempers settle somewhat, Bryce holds her grief close to her chest because she can’t do that to her children, but… then Damian is back. And it all explodes.

The story comes out in bits and pieces. Tim figures out a timeline based on the rest of the info in the file, and Bryce and Alfred slowly fill it in.

And like- they’re all still angry, and it is justified, because what the fuck, Bryce. But also…

Dick is horrified. He had been so angry, so so angry, reading those messages that he now knows, with this new information, were a cry for help. Bryce had been desperate and scared and wanted nothing more than to just talk to him after their fight, and when he had come back after something like this had happened he had immediately started another fight.

Jason isn’t sure how to feel. He hadn’t been taken in to be a replacement soldier, he had been taken in to be a replacement son. What is he supposed to do with that? Knowing that Bryce had seen him at his worst, and taken him in and shoved down her grief to help him?

Tim is wondering if every time Bryce backed away with an unreadable expression, it hadn’t been keeping herself emotionally distant, it was grief for the sons she had lost.

Steph is realizing that Bruce wasn’t lying, when Steph had to give her own baby up and Bryce had hugged her and said “I understand.”

Damian is sitting in a corner wondering what the ever-loving FUCK is going on. Why is everyone crying this is pathetic. Father take him home he prefers the threat of imminent death.

[luimagines]

Can I request the chains or readers reaction to a massage please??

Sure thing! I had a debate on whether this should be scenario of headcanon, but I figured since I've mentioned this in headcanons before, I'll write it out. :D

Masterlist

Part 1 will include Twilight, Wild and Four.

Content under the cut!

Twilight

You watched as Twilight hauled another heavy pack onto Epona. You saw him wince and rub his neck, trying to get to his upper back.

Your heart ached for him at the sight. He looked pained but kept it silent.

You stood up and walked over to him with a frown on your face. You wanted to count your lucky stars that it was morning so he wasn't wearing his armor or layers. Then again- that didn't really help him now, did it? The day has literally just started and he's already in pain? Unacceptable.

You put a hand on his shoulder. He jumps at the contact, not having heard you coming. He relaxes when he sees you and smiles, putting his hand down as if everything is fine. "Good morning. Did you need something?"

"Are you ok?" You say quietly, not wanting to attract any attention to yourselves. "That looked like it hurt."

Twilight pauses and flushes slightly. "N-no, that's not it. I think I pulled something in my sleep. Nothing too bad, I just-"

"Do you want help with that?" You offer. Because really, it would be hard for him to move if he's got a muscle locked up. If you were attacked later today it would be worse for him. You can't even begin to imagine what would happen to him in that state if he was Wolfie. You don't want to think about it.

Twilight flushes a dark color. "...H..How?"

You also begin to blush but move behind him. "Don't make it weird. How else am I going to do it?"

You press your thumbs into his back and begin to knead behind his shoulder blade. You can actually feel the knot behind it. Poor Twilight. It must really hurt.

Twilight lets out a choked sound as the other half of him tenses up. You run your hand over the spot again and he strangles a moan to stay where it belongs.

You giggle and keep at it. Twilight has to fight to keep the sounds at bay. You poke his ear from behind with your free hand. "Feel good?"

"Yes, thank you." He says quietly, horrified but what he just did. "It feels a lot better."

"Good."

Wild

"Oh for the love of-!" Wild nearly curses, dropping the arrow he had knocked onto his bow.

Your attention snaps to him in an instant. "Everything good?"

Wild doesn't hear you. He doesn't even bother to pick up his arrow. His attention is solely on his forearm. Wild presses harshly onto a spot and makes a pained face.

You stand up and make your way over to him. "Pull something?"

"I don't know how." He hisses, running his thumb along the length of his forearm. He struggles for a moment but takes off his layers in frustration, throwing them to the ground non to gently.

"Easy." You take his hand and pull his arm towards you. "No need to get upset. Does it hurt that bad?"

You press your fingers along the side of the spot he was paying attention to, ease the area softly.

Wild winces but lets you do as you please. His other hand lands on his hip. "I don't know how I did it. I just woke up and it hurt to move."

"I don't remember you doing anything yesterday that would have caused this." You say softly, trying to diffuse his energy.

Wild flinches when you pass over the sore spot once more. You begin to move up his arm, going as high as his shirt will allow. Wild bites at his lip, but eventually his other hand drops as well. He takes a breath and his shoulders sag. "...Its been a few days actually."

You pause and give him a deadpanned look.

He flinch, but not from your touch. "I know, I know. I thought it would go away but it only got worse. Now I can't even shoot my bow straight."

"What on earth am I going to do with you?" You shake your head and click your tongue. You don't say anything else, opting to keep massaging his forearm, eventually moving to his bicep to help ease the tension in his arm.

Wild also falls silent, letting you work for a while. He doesn't fight you, he doesn't try to stop you. Neither of you know why you simply started doing this, but you don't feel like stopping and it's helping Wild more than he wants to admit.

Eventually you stop, moving his sleeve down and patting his shoulder. You're done. "Feel better?"

"Yes." He whispers, bending to pick up the gauntlets he had thrown down earlier. "Thank you."

"Anytime."

Four

Four rolled his shoulders for what to be the nth time this hour. He winces and pulled his arms back. Sure it puffed up his chest but you were certain that wasn't his actual intention.

You walked over to him and poked his arm, sitting next to him. "You've done that like ten times already. Everything alright?"

Four winces and shakes his head. "I think I pulled something earlier today. But for the life of me, I can't figure out what I did. It just hurts."

"Do you want help with that?" You offer, sitting beside him. "Does this happen often?"

Four shakes his head again. "I'm pretty good at keeping up with my stretches and forge work doesn't leave much to be desired when I have to switch over to the whole hero thing- which leaves me only more confused."

"Maybe you slept wrong?"

"Maybe." Four rolls his shoulders again. "Man, this sucks. What on earth did I do?"

"Let me help." You poke his arm again. "Turn around."

"I don't see how you're going to help me. There's only so much you can do." Four does as you say anything, not thinking twice about it.

You put your hands on his shoulders and begin to knead. Gently at first. Four hisses and you can see him flinch from behind but he doesn't voice any complaints. "If I'm too rough, you have to tell me ok?

"I doubt you would even be able to- mmm!!" Four hisses again and you can feel him arch with the way you press your thumb behind his shoulder blade. "There. You found it. Right there."

You chuckle and focus on putting the nerves and muscles back into place. "You were saying?"

Four tilts his head. "What was I say? I already forgot."

"Then don't expect me to remind you." You grin, happy that he's finding some relief after all this time.

"That is.. perfectly fine by me." Four sighs, relaxing under your touch. "You're pretty good at this."

"Thank you." You keep at it a little while longer before you pull back and pat his shoulder. "Did that help?"

"Tremendously."

"Great!"

Part 2

[the-cornuthaum]

Man, the shift in tone between Originium Dust and Lucent Arrowhead is pretty fucking wild, and I think it's best characterised by the emotional catharsis of the protagonists of either event - Ash and Ela.

I'm going to elaborate below the cutoff in case someone sees this and hasn't finished reading Lucent Arrowhead yet.

Originium Dust is much beloved for the insight into the life of the Infected, the little and least wanted people on Terra, and especially how they die and why Infection is so feared. It is not a happy story, not even remotely. It is not funny and is as straight as a lance at the end of which is taped the message "NOTHING, NOT EVEN ROCK CANCER, JUSTIFIES BRUTALITY AND ABUSE AGAINST THOSE WHO CANNOT DEFEND THEMSELVES".

It is an isekai story where a bunch of serious, professional military operators from their world's most distinguished pan-national special forces coalition are displaced in space and time and must reckon with life in a new world where much of the mores they took for granted are cast aside in the name of expediency (because goddamn Terrans treat the Infected so much worse than the world treats people with chronic and terminal illness and disability).

Lucent Arrowhead, in comparison, is much more of a fun story. It has jokes, like the way Mateo is a completely incompetent buffoon, Doc having a breakdown at people mispronouncing croissant, or - particularly - the NFT scene. It is still about how shitty people are to the infected, but it lacks that singular focus of Originium Dust.

And this really is best exemplified by the conclusion to the arcs of the two protagonists, Ash and Ela.

At the end of Operation Lucent Arrowhead, Ela finally gives in to what she wants to do and delivers a correctional beating to a goddamn idiot and selfish jackass to instill proper morals. She's pretty calm, collected and knows exactly why she's doing this - she's offended at Reynell's selfish stupidity, and wants him to reconsider his life choices.

You can see it in the art. This is the face of someone for whom giving someone a morals-improving beating is not too far out of the ordinary, someone who is making a deliberate, conscious choice. Someone whose story did not push her anywhere near a breaking point.

You can probably guess where I'm going.

Because the counterpoint to that CG - which is clearly and delibeately evoking the comparison to what happened at the end of Originium Dust - is Ash's breakdown.

Every single bit of this CG is drawn to make it clear that this is someone at wit's end, someone who hit their breaking point and whose reaction to witnessing personally and upfront some of the vilest, most horrible cruelty towards the least deserving man she has met in this new world was to start punching and keep going until literally pulled off of her target by her friends. The blood, the facial expression, the glasses, everything is meant to make it clear that this is someone thrown completely off balance, and it works.

Because Originium Dust isn't trying to be funny, it's not trying to make jokes, it's simply making abundantly clear what happens to the least and weakest. Originium Dust released (on CN) in March 2021, height of the lockdowns, half a year after Chapter 8, back when this game was still about the plight of the Infected rather than the latest iteration of Something Is Bad In Victoria. It wanted to make an important point and didn't let anything - levity or otherwise - intrude on that.

I think Lucent Arrowhead is an OK event. But Originium Dust was better, in significant part because it pushed its cast so much harder into Terra and its horrible no good very bad realities, because it made its protagonist lose her cool at the crushing injustice of it all.