#I am so incredibly ticked off and I know why

[cultivating-wildflowers]

it’s too early but I’m gonna complain about staff real quick because I miss my friends’ avatars on desktop: purportedly this is to “save space” but we wouldn’t be needing to save horizontal space if they hadn’t moved all of the buttons to the left instead of leaving them at the top

[freedomfireflies]

Birthday Boy*

Summary: An extra for 404*

The one where Harry doesn't celebrate his birthday but he loves to celebrate you.

Word Count: 2.3k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, anal play, brief Daddy kink, breeding kink

“What the fuck am I doing here?”

You grin as you widen the door and motion him inside. “Just shut up and come in.”

“…why?”

“Harry.”

He huffs but does oblige, slipping the hood from his head while glancing around. “I thought you didn’t want me coming over here anymore.”

“I don’t,” you agree. “But this is a special circumstance.”

“Yeah? And why's that?”

You merely smile. “You’ll see. Sit.”

He glances at your sofa before nodding his chin toward the bedroom. “Here or there?”

“Here. You don’t deserve to go in there.”

“Funny.” He slumps down onto the cushions and tosses arms over the back of the couch. “Now what?”

Your hand disappears into your pocket as you approach him from behind. “We’re gonna play a game.”

“A game?”

“A game. I…am gonna blindfold you,” you tell him as you slip his glasses off and hover dark fabric over his head. “And you…are going to guess what I put in your hand.”

You wait a beat before settling it over his eyes, just to make sure he’s all right with your proposition.

And of course, he smirks. “Okay,” he agrees and you fasten the knot. “And what do I get if I guess correctly?"

“A prize.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” You walk back around the couch and stand in front of his knees. “And if you guess wrong, then I’ll be claiming the prize for myself. And you can just watch.”

His lips curl up into a wicked grin. “Deal.” He extends his hand. “Let’s go.”

This is where the game gets tricky. In order to give him the object, you have to retrieve it first. Which means stripping down completely.

So, you do. You peel off your shirt and your jeans and your scandalously tiny panties and toss them into a pile on the floor.

And then…you step closer.

You swing your leg over his hip, and then the other, and drop yourself onto his lap. He’s already grinning, likely having guessed that you removed your clothes, and he’s endlessly intrigued.

You take his hands and bring them to your chest. Allowing him to squeeze and grope the warm, sensitive flesh at his disposal as he bites back a larger grin and pretends to think.

“These…” he hums, “these are those beautiful fucking tits I love to suck on so much, aren’t they?”

“Mhm.” You move his hands down your stomach and place them on your waist.

“And these…” He kneads them gently. “These are those perfect hips I love to hold when I fuck into you.”

“Uh-huh.” You slide his large palms down to your thighs.

“Oh, these,” he nearly groans. “These are the fucking thighs I love to have squeezing my head when you sit on my face. When you cum all over my tongue and make a mess of me. A tasty fucking mess.”

You smirk and move him toward your ass now.

And he curses to himself before he’s taking hold of each cheek and tugging—hard. “And this…this is the ass that looks so pretty when it’s all red and tender from taking my punishment, yeah? The one that looks so fucking good in my hand? Bouncing on my cock?”

“Mhm…and one more guess,” you tell him before you take his hands and move them between the cheeks of your ass.

And that’s when he feels it.

You watch him swallow. Watch the way his jaw ticks and his lips part. The way he fights the urge to yank the covering from his eyes and see for himself.

“Tink…”

“Yes, Harry?”

“…is that a butt plug?”

You grin wildly as you move your lips to his ear. “Happy birthday.”

In seconds, he’s ripping off the blindfold and taking a proper look at you. He’s surprised and you feel proud. “How the fuck did you know?”

“What, you think you’re the only one who can hack into Prescott’s computer and read a file?” 

He blinks before he’s leaning back and allowing his eyes to travel down the length of your naked body still settled on his lap. “Well…fuck.”

“Yeah.” You laugh. “And what better way to celebrate, right? Go ahead. Admit it. I’m an incredible gift giver.”

For the first time since you’ve known him, he seems…stunned. Eerily quiet and it’s almost unnerving. He holds your body but not in the greedy way he was before. Now he’s…almost reverent. Confused.

“I…I don’t really celebrate my birthday,” he finally admits. “Anymore, I mean. I…you didn’t have to do this.”

Your chest aches but you wave him off. “It’s just anal, calm down. I’m not throwing you a fucking party or anything.”

He exhales a gentle chuckle. “Still, you didn’t…I mean, I didn’t expect anything.”

“Good. You shouldn’t.” You both smile. “Because this doesn’t change anything. I still hate you. I just…thought it would be a fun thing to do. So you wouldn’t have to be alone.”

Now he understands and the room suddenly feels so small. You figured he wouldn’t be celebrating his birthday this year. And you’d realized you’d never seen him celebrate before. And then…you figured out why.

Her. 

You didn’t want him to go back to his empty apartment and be alone. You didn’t want him to have to pretend like this was just another day or drown himself in the memory of her.

You wanted to distract him. Give him a reason to enjoy himself. Celebrate his birth. Even if it was with you.

He sighs now as he pulls you closer. Squeezing your ass again before kissing the space between your breasts. “Well…other than the fact that you disobeyed me, this is really thoughtful.”

“I’m sorry…what?”

He nods once and you recognize that sadistic gleam in his eye. “How did you get this pretty little plug in, hm?”

Oh. “I…I put it in.”

“Uh-huh. How?”

“How do you think?”

He spanks you. Firm. The sound is sharp and it echoes through your apartment as you jolt. “Don’t be fucking smart, Princess. When I ask you a question…you answer it. Is that understood?”

You bite your lip. “I touched myself and then I put it in.”

“Mm.” He kisses over your nipple and up to your shoulder. “And do you realize how that was disobeying me?”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. “In all fairness, it would have ruined the surprise if I fucking told you.”

He spanks you again. Harder this time. Painful. And your insides are on fire in the best possible way. “No. You won’t speak to me like that today. Will you?”

You shake your head. “No.”

“Good girl. What are you gonna do instead?”

“…I’m gonna give you your prize.”

He grins. “That’s fucking right. Turn around.”

You do. You stand from his lap and allow him to pull you apart until he can get a glimpse of the pretty toy inside.

And you can’t help but feel pleased with the way he exhales a tortured groan at the sight. “Fucking shit, Tinkerbell. Look at you…s’all for me, huh?”

You nod, even if he can’t really see you. “Yes.”

“Just wanted to be good to me, yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Wanted me to have a perfect present?”

You nod again and fight a shiver when you feel him run his finger over the tip. “Want you to have whatever you want.”

He makes another noise. “And you’re sure you could take it, baby? Sure you wouldn’t mind me playing with such a pretty little hole?”

“Please,” you breathe. “I can take it. I promise. Want to.”

He squeezes your hips. “And do you think you deserve it after disobeying me?”

“Yes…yes, please…please.”

“Hm. Maybe you do,” he admits. “Just this once. After being so sweet to me. Bet it’s killed you to have to be so nice, huh?”

You smile. “Kind of. You are the fucking worst.”

Another spank and you both make a desperate sound this time. He likes to watch the way your skin ripples beneath his hand. The way it reddens, the way it grows warm to the touch. And maybe you like it, too.

“We’ll start slow, yeah?” he says and gently begins to ease the toy out. “Just gonna give you my finger for now. Maybe next time we can do more—”

“Harry—”

His palm meets your ass again and you jump. “Tink, don’t argue with me. M’not gonna hurt you on my birthday. S’not fair very to me.”

Your eyes roll but you’re grinning. “Yeah, okay. But any other day you don’t mind?”

“Exactly.” 

“Mm.” You sneak a glance over your shoulder. “Harry?”

“Yeah, Princess?”

“…are we okay?”

The sneaky touches stop as he turns you a bit so he can see you clearly. “What? Why wouldn’t we be?”

“I don’t know. I mean…this doesn’t cross a line or anything?”

Instantly, he removes his hands from your body. “We don’t have to if you’re not comfortable—”

“No, not that,” you correct quickly. “I mean…I mean me inviting you here and doing all this for your birthday. I just…I know we have a rule about not getting too personal and this kind of breaks it, but—”

“Tink.” He holds you again but only to capture your attention and bring you to a stop. “Why do you think I’m here?”

“Because when I call, you come running?”

He smirks and smacks your thigh. “No. I’m here because I want to be here. We make our own rules. We decide what we’re comfortable with. Yeah, it’s a little more personal than it was before but that’s okay. Because I couldn’t very well fuck your ass in the office, now, could I?”

You laugh.

“We’re okay,” he assures you. “More than okay. Nothing is gonna change how much I hate you. I promise.”

And it’s the best thing you’ve ever heard.

So, you turn back around and allow his large hands to run up and down your body in appreciation. He soaks in every inch of your skin. Every curve and mark and scar. He truly holds you like a prize and when he finally kicks your feet apart and slips his finger up your cunt and toward your ass…you’re gone.

“Breathe,” he instructs, and you do. “And tell me if you want me to stop.”

“I will.”

With this assurance, he eases the tip of his finger in your tighter hole and it’s oddly more satisfying than you expected. Sure, the plug had somewhat prepared you but this…

“Shit,” you whisper and he stills. 

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s…I like it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s…it’s really good.”

You can’t see him but you can picture his smile. “Good. Keep breathing, yeah? And try to relax for me, baby. S’gonna hurt if you don’t.”

You exhale slowly and allow your muscles to unwind. Giving him room to push in a bit further while his other hand strokes your hip.

“Doing so good, Tink,” he says. “God, you really would take my cock, wouldn’t you? Look so fucking pretty, all stretched out and needy.”

The image and lewd way he speaks nearly makes your knees give out, but he keeps you upright.

“Bet it’d look so sweet…dripping with my cum,” he murmurs as he pumps his finger a bit faster. “Bet you’d let me cum anywhere I wanted, wouldn’t you? Let me fill this cute little belly with all my kids—”

“Shit,” you say again and he hums.

“You think about it, don’t you? Think about the way it’d feel. The way your body would look…holding me inside—"

“God…fuck, Harry—”

“S’what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it? Wanna see your pretty tits get fuller, see your tummy filled with my babies—”

Your chin drops to your chest and you’re moments from slipping away. “Ha…Harry—”

“I know.” He’s fucking into you faster now, and even though it’s only one finger, it feels like ecstasy. A fullness you never imagined. “I know, baby. Maybe for my next birthday, yeah? Get you pregnant then.”

The reemergence of the breeding kink isn’t one you anticipated and yet, it leaves you enthralled. Even if you know you’ll likely never act on it.

But just when you’re beginning to settle into it, he’s suddenly retracting his hand and spinning you back around. You’re tugged onto the sofa, back first, without a moment of reprieve before he’s slotting himself between your thighs. And this time when his fingers find you…there’s four. 

Two in your pussy…and two in your ass.

You arch from the couch and he’s relentless. Swallowing your gasps with greedy kisses and letting the sounds of your arousal echo through the room like an orchestra. 

It’s beautiful and he’s beautiful. Even without his glasses, he’s the aggravatingly attractive man you’ve come to tolerate. And he’s so incredibly good at fucking into you like this. Abusing you and treating you all with the same hand. 

And when you cum, you cum twice as hard.

This is his real present. This look on your face. The feel of your body clenching around him and he enjoys every fucking second of it.

He lets you throw an arm around his shoulders and tug him into your embrace. He lets you hold him and indulge in him and keep him in you for as long as possible.

“Shit,” you say for a third time and he laughs into your neck.

“Anal’s fun, right?”

“Fuck. Yeah. Maybe you were right.”

“I’m always right.”

“…wrong.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“You aren’t gonna argue with me on my birthday, are you? Cause me and my cock will go right home and leave you here, wet and desperate.”

Your nose scrunches but you laugh and lightly push him away. “God, you’re annoying. I forgot for a second with that post-orgasm bliss but thank god you’re consistent.”

He grins. Smug. “If you want me to fuck you, all you have to do is ask nicely.”

“Yeah…no.”

“Tink.”

“Daddy.”

The sadistic gleam returns. “Don’t test me, baby. I might have been nice, but I can think of plenty of other ways to have fun that won’t exactly be fun for you.”

And you want to test him, you do. 

But today is his day. So you decide that you might as well let him win…just this once.

“Fine,” you concede before offering him your most innocent pout. “Please, Daddy…will you fuck my ass?”

And the look on his face…makes it absolutely worth it.

“Turn around.”

HAPPY BIRTHDAY HARRY!! Thanks for always being so kind and such a beacon of hope and light for so many!!! 💞💞💞💞

~ Full 404 Masterlist

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[rose-in-blue]

"Any Time, Ma Chère"

Alastor x reader

Warnings/tags: fluff, Alastor being smarmy, afab reader, an aggressive amount of commas and parenthesis, deer kink(?), slightly suggestive, Alastor isn't repulsed by touch at least not from (Y/N), cursing, thoughts in italics, the hotel has a kitchen?

A/n: this is my first time posting fanfic, so please go easy on me, guys! let me know if I made any errors in the comments <3

1176 words

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I seriously can’t believe you, Alastor!” you shouted, for what seemed like the hundredth time. 

“I really don’t see the problem here, dear,” he said, slightly more passive aggressive than normal.

You two had been fighting for the last 10 minutes or so, standing in the small kitchen of the Hazbin Hotel. While your fight had started with a simple argument over a slight misunderstanding, soon the gates broke and the flood began— every single thing that Alastor had done that ticked you off just rushed out in a wave that you couldn't seem to stop.

“Argh, you’re just… the… the worst!!” you screamed into his face, lacking better words. 

Alastors eyes narrowed, shit-eating-grin strained slightly, ears flicking back for a brief moment. You barely caught the change in his eyes or smile, but your eyes darted up at the movement from his fluffy, red and black ears.

You’d never admit it, but ever since you’d arrived at the hotel, you’d had a bit of an obsession over the Radio Demon. He was aggravating and full of himself and bitchy and narcissistic, but something about him always seemed to make your heart beat a little faster. Especially his more… deer-like features.

Antlers, ears, (speculated) tail— you were fascinated by it all. All you wanted to do was run your hand up the back of his ears, tangling in his hair, while you lay, gasping, helpless beneath him, completely at his mercy…

You blinked, realizing that you’d been staring for a few moments too long. Alastor noticed, of course. Smiling wider, he decided to have some fun with it.

“Really, darling? In what ways am I…” he flicked his ears backwards, then forwards again, “the worst?”

You blushed, eyes never breaking from his ears. “Uh, well, I… for starters…” you trailed off.

“...Yes, dear? I’m listening.” His left ear flicked to the side.

“Oh, well, you know…” you desperately tried to gain control of the conversation, looking into his eyes again. “You’re incredibly full of yourself.”

“Oh, really, (Y/N)? And you’re so humble?” He grinned impossibly wider, ears flicking in every which way.

“Well, ya know, I…” Get a hold of yourself, (Y/N), you thought, eyes trying to focus on anything else but the demon in front of you. “I’m not an asshole about it.” Fuck, why did you say that?!

Alastor threw his head back and laughed, his ears finally stopping. You pouted, hating to be the butt of whatever sadistic joke you were to him. “Really? Is that what you think of me?” he asked, still laughing.

“I… I mean, I…” What did you mean? Sure, Alastor could be shitty at times, but he seemed to have a soft spot for you… at least, that’s what you thought. You didn’t really know anymore.

He bent at the waist, face drawing closer to yours, and it seemed as if he read your mind. “What did you mean, sweetheart? I’m listening.” His ears shifted back (purposefully, of course– he just loved to see you squirm). That was the final breaking point for you.

“Oh, fuck you, Alastor!” you turned your head away, suddenly very aware that your back was now firmly pressed against the kitchen counter.

“You’re welcome to try, dear.”

HE DID NOT JUST—

You blushed, and your eyes flashed to his instantly, because there was no way in hell that he just said that.

The smirk that played across his face told you that he had indeed just said that.

“I…I…I-I,” you stammered, not quite able to process it. His smirk grew, especially after his ears twitched to the front again and your eyes followed every movement and his eyes followed yours.

Changing the subject (thank Satan), his smile shifted to a kinder one, eyes looking up to where his ears stood, then back at you. "Would you like to touch them, darling?"

You were silent for a moment, taken aback. "What-- I'm sorry?"

You heard him, of course, and he knew that, so he continued. "As long as our little argument is over, that is." He reached down and took your hand, eyes never breaking away from yours. "As much as I love our friendly banter, it hurts me so much to see you so angry at me."

You didn't know what to say for once, so you just let him bring your hand to to the side of his temple, almost touching his hair.

"...I..." Honestly, you were surprised you got that much out.

Still smiling, his eyes stared into your soul. "Use your words, dear."

Well, there was no going back now. You threw all your embarrassment out the window and nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes, Alastor, I do."

Alastor smiled (you could swear there was kindness behind it), bowed his head, and pressed your hand to the base of his ear.

You almost gasped. The hair (hair? fur? hair-fur?) was soft, softer than you'd imagined. Your fingers gently danced up and down his ear, and then moved over to caress his antlers.

Meanwhile, hidden from you, Alastor's face was a mess of emotions. Every bone in his body screamed at his to leave, to vanish, to get away from the danger that physical contact might bring. His eyes flashed into radio dials, then back again. However, within only a few seconds, he relaxed into your touch, letting out a soft exhale.

You were enthralled with his ears and antlers, so much so that you brought your other hand up to the back of his head, unintentionally pulling him closer to you. Alastor stepped forward slightly, swallowed his pride, and trailed his hands up the sides of your thighs to your waist, while your fingers kept toying with his hair.

Alastor, head still lowered, shifted enough to where he could look up at you. Finally, finally you were able to stop looking at the top of his head (satiated for now), and stared deep into his crimson eyes. (Were his pupils more dilated than normal?)

Slowly, he stood up straight, eyes still fixated on you. Your hands fell from his ears to his hair, and then to his chest. You seemed even more aware of the counter behind you, especially as Alastor took another small step toward you, almost pressing into you, hands tightening on your waist.

"Thank you," you whispered, almost inaudibly, head reaching up slightly.

"Any time, ma chère," he whispered back, as his head lowered.

At that moment, Charlie burst into the kitchen. Immediately, you spun around to face the sink, while Alastor shadow-traveled a few yards away to the fridge. "Alright, you two! I hope you're ready for some group exercises!" she bubbled.

You cleared your throat, blushing (grateful that she didn't see the almost-kiss). "Of course, we'll be out in a minute!" you assured the princess.

"No, no, right now! Let's goooo!" she dragged you out of the kitchen.

Before you passed the now open doorway, you caught Alastor's eye.

He smiled at you.

You grinned.

"Any time, my dear," he whispered once more as you disappeared. "Any time."

[poeticpascal]

I've Got You (Dbf!Joel Miller x Reader)

Masterlist | Request here!

Summary: When a date set up by your father goes wrong, your secret boyfriend and Dad's best friend races to protect you.

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: smut, 18+, MDNI, attempted sexual assault, abusive language, reader's date is a tory prick, soft!dom!Joel, blowjob, unprotected sex, use of pet names.

A/n: So... this is my first time writing smut. I am super proud of this one, so please let me know what you think! Requests are open so for more Joel/Pedro action, you know where to find me x

Dating your Dad’s best friend is hard. And stupid. Really, you have no clue why either of you thought this'd be a good idea. But you were so far down this path now, so entangled in late night meet-ups and whispered phone calls and unspoken thoughts that sounded a lot like ‘I love you’, that it was too late to turn around and steer the sinking ship of this utter mess back to shore.

More than anything, you hate not having any normalcy with him. You can’t fall straight into his arms after a hard day. You can’t cuddle into his side with a bowl of popcorn watching crappy weeknight telly. You can’t go to the store together, holding hands and making him laugh as you insist on buying a flavour of ice cream that you know he’d love. And it sucks.

Because everyone said Joel would never be one to settle down. He’s too wild, too rough to fit into a polished little box like that. And you’d thought the same. Until you fucked him, then fucked him again, and kept going back until you could see the pain in his eyes each time you left. You could practically feel the heaviness settle in his stomach as you left his bed to sneak back home. It hurts him as much as it does you, and if you weren’t so incredibly in love with him, that would’ve been enough to make you run.

Despite how long you’d kept this going now, a good 6 months at least, it never got any easier. Especially when your Dad started talking about dating. He was protective, but more than anything he wanted to see you happy. So when you suddenly became distant, hiding in your room more often and going out on dates much less, he was concerned. Nowhere near as concerned as he’d be if he found out why you were acting that way, you thought, but concerned all the same.

So when he came home one day, beaming and shouting for you to come downstairs, you thought nothing of it. When he explained there was a new apprentice at his work that he thinks you’d like, you weren’t surprised. And when he told you he’d set up a blind date with said boy, you felt sick.

Because you really couldn’t get out of it. You tried.

“Dad, I just don’t feel like dating right now.”

“Oh come on, you used to have a new date every few weeks. I’m just worried about you. Matthew's really nice, and he likes the same shitty music you do-”

“It’s good music.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I just…” he paused, his worry painted on his face, and there's no way you could’ve said no to him. “Honey, I want you to be happy. I don’t know what’s gotten into you recently” - your best friend, you thought - “but I just need to know you’re okay. So give this a go, for me, alright? And if you have an awful time, that’s it, I’ll never set you up again.”

You sighed. He was right; it’s just one night, one date. One box you have to tick to relieve the pressure that comes from having an affair with your next door neighbour, the one more than twice your age, the one your Dad would call a brother. And besides, your Dad would be working an overnight job, so you’d be spending the night at Joel’s anyway. Something to look forward to.

“Okay, yeah. I’ll go. For you.”

He pulled you in for a hug, tight, and you hugged him right back because you really do hate having to keep this from him. He pulled away, smiling - “great! It’s tonight at 7. He’ll pick you up.”

“You already arranged it?!” You near enough shrieked, but he’d already sauntered off to the kitchen, giggling as he went. 

Typical.

So that’s how you ended up here, at 6:55pm, waiting by the front door for Marcus - or Michael, or something like that - to pick you up. Your phone buzzes, Joel’s name flashing on the screen, that alone making you feel that much calmer.

You’d text him as soon as you talked to your Dad, letting him know about the date. He understood, and you loved that about him; he was mature, compassionate, and he was more than secure in the fact that no matter who you talked to, who flirted with you on nights out, who you were set up with… you’d always come back to him. 

Don’t worry about tonight, baby. It’ll go quickly. I’ll leave the door unlocked for when you get back. Text me if you need picking up. J x

You smile at his initial at the end - it’s such a Dad thing to do, but it makes you happy, especially when he adds a little kiss. He only does that for you.

The sudden sound of a car door closing snaps you out of your thoughts, Joel’s text left on read as what you assume to be your date heads up the driveway. You take a deep, nervous breath, smoothing out your dress and heading to the door just in time for his knock.

You open the door, take a good look at your date, and he’s… okay. Not unattractive, per se. Though you’d come to accept a little while ago that being with Joel had soured your perception of pretty much every other guy. His dusty blonde hair is slicked back with gel, his teeth are way too white, and he’s dripped in designer clothing that just screams, “I have a trust fund.”

“Oh, hi! I’m Matthew.” Right. Matthew. “You must be (Y/N).” He leans in to peck your cheek, and all you can think about is how smooth his skin is as it grazes yours. Nothing like Joel’s coarse stubble that you love so much - especially when it leaves red patches on your cheeks, and your neck, and if you’re really lucky -

Matthew leans back a little, confused, and you’re brought out of your daydream. “Sorry, yeah, that’s me. (Y/N).” 

Well, that was awkward.

You just need to get through these next few hours, you think to yourself, smiling at the boy and letting him lead you out of the house and into his car. You can’t help but glance towards Joel’s place across the street; it looks quiet tonight, though his truck is in the driveway, and as soon as you look up you’re sure you catch the living room blinds suddenly draw shut. You smirk.

──────

The date was going… okay. About as okay as a date you don’t want to be on, with someone you have no interest in, and another man constantly on your mind could go. You could see why your Dad liked him; smart enough, well-polished. His father was a partner in the company, you learned - oh, he’s a ‘Daddy’s credit card’ type you’d thought - and by all intents and purposes he was the sort of guy any parent would hope to see their daughter end up with.

It’s never that easy though, is it?

Because he isn’t rough around the edges like Joel. He doesn’t have his stature, or carry himself with the same brute certitude. You can’t imagine him fucking you up against the wall, working himself up until he’s almost animalistic, somehow using you and worshipping you at the same time. And you can’t see him wrapping you up so tightly afterwards, holding you close and whispering how good you were for me, how proud of you I am.

No, only Joel could do that, and that’s how you like it.

The bill comes, Matthew suggests you split it. You don’t mind. He takes out his credit card, flashing it in front of you. “This is my Dad’s. I can use it as much as I want.” He’s smirking like he’s got something to be proud of, and you really had to fight the urge to roll your eyes. Instead you just smile, before paying your share and making small talk as you head out the door and towards his car.

“So, I thought we could head back to my place.”

You freeze. Yeah, no, not gonna happen. He’s got this shit-eating grin on his face, one you knew all too well from past college boyfriends - that’s a boy who thinks he’s getting some tonight. You shudder, wrapping your arms around your waist and trying to sound sincere as you reply, “this has been lovely, but I’ve got an appointment early in the morning” - not really a lie, if staying in bed with a man over twice your age getting fucked or cuddled or both counts as an appointment - “so I’d rather just head home.”

You reach for the passenger side door, but it’s locked. You try again, pulling on the handle, but it doesn’t budge. You realise then that he’s stepped closer, too close, crowding your vision as you turn to face him while keeping one hand on the door’s handle. He leans an arm against the roof of the car, right beside your head, staring you down. 

“Oh, come on, (Y/N). I’ve got the house to myself tonight, it’ll just be us. I know that’s what you want, don’t be shy.”

His free hand pinches your chin, his touch aggressive where Joel’s is rough but careful, and he tries to close the already too-small gap between you.

You dodge him quickly, slipping out from under his arm and backing up, away from the car, away from him. Matthew just watches you, incredulous, before laughing to himself and taking a step forward. “Look, baby, I know you want this. What is it, are you scared your daddy’s gonna find out?”

“What? No, I-” you splutter, but he interrupts.

“Get in the car, (Y/N). You don’t have to worry about anyone finding out. I can see the way you look at me, I bet you’re dying to fu-”

A heavy sickness has flooded your stomach, your nerves shot from the sudden escalation of what was supposed to be a quiet, albeit tedious, night. But his words hit you, and before you can even think, you’re shouting back at him. 

“You seriously think I want to fuck you? You can’t even pay your half of the bill with your own money. Fuck that. I’ll make my own way home.”

The smug look on his face is quickly washed away with anger, and you continue to slowly step backwards as Matthew follows you. A lick of fear sets in now as the pale streetlights cast shadows on his darkened expression, and you scold yourself for opening your mouth.

“The fuck did you just say to me? Do you know who my Dad is?” - this really isn’t a good time to roll your eyes - “You think you’re too good for me, you bitch? I’ll show you.”

He stalks you, and your eyes frantically dart back to the restaurant you’d just left, though you’d backtracked far enough to be almost at the door again.

People are dining and laughing, some just sitting and watching the world go by. You’re well within their view, and you turn back to see that Matthew’s gaze has followed your own and he’s connected the dots. He can’t do anything in front of them. He locks eyes with you again, scoffing, heading back to his car and loudly shouting something that sounded a lot like “fuckin’ bitch.” Nice.

He drives away; you’re safe, out of the situation, and as the relief floods you the adrenaline does too and tears prick at your eyes. You sit on a small bench just outside the restaurant, dotted with shrubbery and stains from spilt drinks you assume, and take out your phone.

Your last chat with Joel is already open, and you breathe slowly in an attempt to still your shaking hands as you type quickly,

Please come and get me. He was trying to get me to go back with him. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. He’s gone now but I have no ride home.

The text is marked as ‘read’ almost as soon as you send it, though you receive no reply. You didn’t expect to; Joel wasn’t much of a texter. Like, at all. He was slowly getting used to it, what with it being one of the only ways you could really talk when slipping over to his place was too risky. 

In this particular instance, you already knew he’d have read the text, dropped his phone without a second thought and hurried to his truck while muttering to himself what he’s gonna do to the kid, how he won’t see what’s comin’ to him.

Just how badly Joel might react worries you. He’s protective, incredibly so when it comes to you, and that combined with his white hot temper was surely a recipe for some sort of disaster.

Secretly, though, you loved it. And so as you sat on that little bench, frosty air nipping at your skin, you couldn’t help but revel in the warmth that pooled in your core at the thought of what sort of beast Joel would become tonight.

──────

It only takes him around 10 minutes to reach you, and you know for a fact he must’ve ran a red light or two because normally it’s a 20 minute drive at least into town. You stand, walking over to his truck, but before you can hop in he’s already storming out and wrapping you up in his arms, shielding you, eyes darting across the street.

“Where the fuck is he?”

“Joel, I-”

“(Y/N) where the fuck is he? I’m gonna kill that little bastard. Fucking-”

His body is tense, far more so than usual, and anger pours from him in buckets. You pull away to look up at him, his eyes still searching for the boy long gone, and you sigh. “He’s gone, Joel. He left.”

He finally meets your eyes, a cold frown etched on his face, and he somehow looks even angrier than usual. “Did he touch you?” His hands roam your body, searching for you didn’t know what, but you let him do whatever he needed to relax. To know you were safe.

“No, Joely, he didn’t. I’m fine, I promise.”

It usually softens him right up, your little nickname for him. Joely. The first few times you used it, he’d just scoff or roll his eyes, but the small smirk that crept onto his face each time let you know he loved it. Quite how much he loved it was a different story; you hadn’t got together then, though the both of you wanted it, and as your relationship blossomed you became the only one he ever let call him anything other than Joel.

It doesn’t work this time, though, and he remains stern, finally letting you go and searching your eyes for even a hint of anxiety or fear. “What happened?”

“He tried it on, I said no. He tried again, I backed up and made sure there were people watching,” you nod towards the restaurant, still bustling with life. “And he left.”

Joel nods. “You tell him to fuck off?”

“‘Course i did.” 

It seems as if he finally lets up then, giving you a proper hug, one arm around your neck and the other around your waist. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, hard, and the tension leaves him. “That’s my girl.”

You squeeze him tight, burrowing into his shirt and inhaling the scent of him that you loved so much. With one arm around your shoulders, he guides you back to his truck, opening the door for you and helping you. He does it everytime, but it still makes you blush, and you’re sure his lips smirk slightly as your cheeks turn red. Worth it.

The ride back to home is quiet, only the sound of his radio and passing traffic echoing between you. He keeps a hand on your knee, always protective, and every now and then you rub your palm over it to let him know you appreciate it. To say thank you.

Joel was never good with words, and you’d learned over the last few months just how much he relies on touch to express himself. To show love. You’d picked up on his habits, his little signs, his way of telling you his deepest thoughts without having to speak a word.

And when you reciprocated, when you wrapped your hand around his, or brushed his side at the neighbours’ BBQ, or kissed his shoulder in the kitchen, you knew just what it meant to him.

Your driveway is empty as Joel turns onto your street - your Dad must have set off for work already. You sigh in relief; you didn’t have the energy to explain all this to him, and certainly not the energy to try and sneak into Joel’s without him seeing.

Joel steps out first, taking a quick look around to make sure no nosey neighbours were watching, a precaution you were both used to by now. He grabs the door for you again, holding your hand and helping you out, holding you close to his side as he unlocks the door and you both slip inside.

“What do you want to drink?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

He pauses, looking at you, concerned. ”No. You need somethin’ to drink. You need to- to lie down, or somethin’.”

You follow him into the kitchen as he stalks past you, not giving you time to answer and filling a glass with water and ice. “Drink,” he hands it to you.

You take it, thanking him and sipping as he watches. It’s sweet; he cares about you, so much, and when he looks at you like this you can’t help but feel butterflies swirl in your stomach.

“I’m sorry.” It’s almost a whisper, so quiet you wouldn’t have heard if it weren’t so still already in his house.

“Hm?” You look at him, confused.

“I’m sorry he did that to you. S’not - s’not right. I mean, shit, what if you couldn’t get away?” He was spiralling.

“Hey, hey. Joel, it’s okay. I’m okay.” You set down the glass and take him in your arms. He calms, instantly, holding you tightly against him and cupping the back of your head with his hand.

“You shouldn’t have had to go through that.”

“I know.”

He sighs. “I just wanna protect you, honey.”

“I know.”

He pulls back to look at you, framing your face with his hands and running his thumbs along the edge of your cheekbones.  You lean in, letting his lips capture yours in that sweet but desperate way that only Joel can, and moan into his mouth. He slips his tongue against yours, letting one arm fall to your waist as his hand lingers around the hem of your jeans.

The kiss becomes desperate and you reach for his belt, your arousal becoming unbearable as the memory of him so full of anger and protectiveness spins in your mind like a carousel. He breaks the kiss and you groan, chasing his swollen lips with yours.

“We don’t have to do this.” His southern drawl is slick with need, his eyes closed as he rests his forehead against yours. The moment is so sweet, so intimate, that any thoughts of what had happened today were long gone and your mind was full with sweepings of him.

“I want to.”

He grunts, pushing himself further into you so his nose brushes yours like a cat. So much so, you almost purr into him, and it makes you giggle. You curse yourself as he pulls back, cocking an eyebrow and giving you that stare you’d come to know all too well; you’re a pain in my ass, it says. But the corners of his lips turn upwards, and you step forward so you’re once again pressed right up against him, pressing gentle kisses to his jaw.

“You’ve had a big shock today, sweetheart,” he sighs.

You know he’s given up. You know he needs this as much as you do. But you humour him, and tip his head down so you can kiss his lips again. 

“So make me forget.”

It snaps something within him, and you shriek as Joel sweeps you up in his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist in instinct and your head burying itself in his neck. He laughs at the sound you make, something you’d always known to be so rare for him, but that he does far more often now he has you. 

He carries you upstairs, gripping your thighs with his large hands, and the way he holds you so easily just turns you on more. He kicks his bedroom door open, all but throwing you on the bed and watching as you bounced softly on the sheets, undoing his belt that was already half-opened by your shaky hands.

“On your back. Lay your head towards me.”

You did as he said immediately, though your movements were slow, languid. He let you take your time; a part of you thinks he likes to watch you move for him, the way you put on a show, keeping your eyes locked on his and your lips slightly parted and puffy from his kiss. 

You lie on your back, your head dangling off the edge, looking up at him upside down. The hard outline of his cock is just centimetres above you, swollen already, and your desperation to taste it must’ve shown on your face because Joel groans out a soft, strangled “fuck.”

“You need this cock, baby? Need your throat fucked?” You just nod rapidly, desperate for him to do something other than just stand there and watch you, your arousal becoming unbearable. Joel seems to break, too, pulling down his jeans and boxers and gripping his hard length in his hands. 

It’s big at the best of times, but from this angle, his balls level with your eyes and his cock the only thing you can see when you look up at him, it’s painful how bad you need him.

You’d only discovered this position recently, on a night you’d spent at his place while your Dad was away with work, not unlike tonight. Joel had been floored, consumed with pleasure as the stretch of your spine made it so easy for him to slide himself through your mouth and down your throat, the muscles tensing around him and drawing his release much sooner than he’d have liked. 

He slides the head of his cock over your lips, painting them in his precum. You whine, lapping at his taste, desperate but you know better than to lift your hands off the bed. No, you give him control, and he lavishes it.

“Open up, babygirl.”

You comply, parting your lips and moaning as Joel pushes inside, giving you no time to breathe. You try to control yourself, inhaling through your nose and letting your muscles relax before he bottoms out, his groin almost entirely covering your face and your throat full of his thickness. 

It’s filthy, degrading, resigns you to nothing but his to fuck and use as he wants. 

You love it.

“Such a good girl, baby. So good for me, ain’t ya?” You can hardly even nod as your tongue flicks along a particularly swollen vein. He begins to move, pulling out almost entirely before slamming his cock back into your mouth. You moan again, and it hurts, in that delectable way that’ll spend the next few days reminding you of this moment.

Joel’s got one hand on the wooden foot of the bed, keeping himself steady. The other finds its way to your neck, and he stalls as he feels his cock beneath your skin, rapidly pushing in and out. He moans your name, his hips rocking into you harder and harder, chasing a release you knew he wouldn’t let himself have just yet. 

You’re completely at his mercy now, too consumed by his scent and his touch to think, and you hardly register him reaching for your hand and taking it in his own. He starts to mumble, and you only catch a few words - “my good girl. My girl. So- so fuckin’ pretty for me.”

He swells, your tongue working faster against him, his hand squeezing yours and his legs faltering when he suddenly pulls out and stands back with a whimper. Your eyes are glazed over, your sore throat misses him, and your pink swollen lips are trying to say something but you’re not sure what. It feels like his name.

“Come on, pretty girl, come here.” He sits beside you on the edge of the bed, wrapping his big arms around your back and guiding you into his lap. 

His fingers dance over your entrance, collecting the slick that soaked your thighs before pushing a single finger inside, revelling in your arousal. He admires you as you squirm, rolling your hips against his hand, desperate for more and moaning against his lips. 

It’s almost embarrassing how easy you unravel for him, and if it weren’t for your utter infatuation for the man, you’d have hidden your pleasure and at least tried to hold onto some sense of dignity. But you were obsessed, addicted to him, and he knew it. Because god, was he addicted to you, too.

He kisses you, letting another finger slip inside and catching your hiss with his mouth. “So fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, opening his eyes to look at you, his cock twitching against your thigh. 

“Tell me what you need, angel.”

“Y- you, Joel. I need you. Please.” You hardly register yourself saying the words, but they do the trick, as Joel removes his fingers and instead lines the tip of his cock with your soaking wet entrance. 

“Please, please, fuck me. Fuck-” 

He snaps his hips upwards, driving his cock into your cunt and you gasp as he stretches you. You grip at his shoulders, sure to leave marks, but you know he loves it. 

He sets the pace, guiding you to bounce on his cock as his hips snap upwards again and again, fucking you so hard you can almost see stars. 

His head is buried in your neck, kissing and nipping at the delicate skin, and you try to regain some autonomy and roll your hips side to side making him mewl. 

“So - oh, fuck - so good baby, keep doin’ that.” He spurs you on as your breathless moans and the heavy slap of skin on skin fills the room, lewd but addictive.

The pace is brutal, unforgiving as your thighs tremble and you wonder if he’s feeling the burn of his movements. If he does, he doesn’t show it, just ramming into you and moaning your name against your ear. 

His hand falls from your waist and finds its way to your clit, making you gasp as he circles his thumb around the spot. The near pornographic moan that falls from his lips as you roll into his touch is nearly enough to make you cum right there, but you know better than to cum before he tells you to.

Instead he hoists you further up, giving him better control of your hips, and angles his cock so it hits that perfectly raw spot deep inside you that has tears in your eyes.

“I- I’m gonna-” 

“I know, baby. Just hold on for me. I’ve got you.” You cry at his denial, though it’s quickly forgotten as he flips you over onto your back, his head still tucked under the crook of your neck, his cock still buried inside you. He resumes his fast pace, reaching even deeper inside you with your legs locked around his waist, and you moan so loudly you worry someone’s going to hear you.

Joel doesn’t seem to care as he pulls back to look at you, marvelling at how utterly fucked-out you look for him. His pace starts to falter, each thrust more desperate than the last, and he frantically pushes his tongue into your mouth as you moan in unison.

���Cum for me baby, cum all over my cock, that’s it.” You release on command, crying out as waves of pleasure spread like fire through your body, and the uncontrollable spasms of your orgasm make Joel groan as he spills inside you, still rocking into you and carrying both of your highs.

He doesn’t let his cock slip out of you as he wraps an arm under your back and rolls onto his side, holding you close as he brushes the matted hair away from your forehead and replaces it with a soft kiss. You hum, snuggling into him and trying not to gasp at the feeling of his cock inside you while you were still so sensitive. He can see you flinch and smiles, though he just wants you to rest for now.

“You okay, babygirl?” You just hum again, but he taps your chin and you look up. 

“Answer me, angel.”

“I’m good. Tired.”

Joel nods, running his hand through your hair and agreeing, “me too.” 

You’re quiet for a moment, almost dozing off as the heat that radiates from him lulls you gently to seep, when he breaks the silence again. “What’s his name?”

“Hm?” You reply, too fucked-out to really understand what he was saying.

“That little asshole. What’s his name?”

He’s looking down at you, brows knitted together, and you just sigh. “It doesn’t matter, Joel. He doesn’t matter. I promise.”

“But-“

You cut him off with a kiss, and the tension that built in his shoulders is quickly dissipated. “No ‘but’s. Get some sleep.”

“Aright,” he resigns. “I love you.”

It slips out, sudden, and he freezes before he realises the joy that’s spread across your face from his words. It’s the first time either of you have said it, and the way your eyes light up are enough to let him die a happy man. You nuzzle his nose, your hand gently lay on his chest, your eyes falling shut again. “I love you too, Joel.” He wraps you up tighter, grinning, happy. In love.. “And no asking my Dad, either.”

He scoffs, “I wasn’t going to!” You just cock a brow, eyes still shut, and though you can’t see him you know he’s rolling his eyes. “Let me get you cleaned up, sweetheart.” 

He pulls out of you slowly, making you wince at the loss, and sits up on the bed. When you can still feel his weight beside you, you crack an eye open to see him quickly typing something on his phone, and you frown. “Joel?”

He startles and drops his phone, turning to you and kissing the top of your head. “Sorry, baby, I’m going - just gimme a sec to get you a warm cloth.”

As he leaves for the bathroom you snatch his phone, already knowing what he’d done. Your Dad’s name is at the top of the screen, the chat from just moments ago still open:

What’s the name of that kid (Y/N) went out with?

Matthew Wicks, he’s the new apprentice at work. Why?

Just wondered.

You’re weird, man.

Joel creeps out of the bathroom, frozen as he sees you lock his phone. He offers a small, guilty smile, quickly wiped away as you grab his pillow and playfully launch it at his chest. 

“JOEL!”

──────

Thank you so much for reading! As ever, comments and weblogs are so appreciated, and please let me know if you'd like to be tagged in my future fics!

[princessbrunette]

imagine rafe trying to teach you a little bit of self defense but you just get turned on by him manhandling you and he’s just tsking at you underneath him with your hands pinned above your head lowly whispering “you gotta pay attention kid, there’s bad men out there… gotta know how’t stop em from from thinking they can do whatever they want” and she’d get all blushy and squirming just looking at him all doe eyed like “You can do what ever you want 🥺🥺🩷” He loves how submissive you are !!!!

i love this idea sm but when i started writing it kinda turned into something else ??? kinda dubcon but that’s just how he plays sometimes. reader is clearly wanting it !

�� 🍨 ‧ ˚ 🎀 ⊹˚. ♡

rafe was in one of his moods. the odd moods he gets in where he’s suddenly motivated to fix things, handle business, be ‘proactive’ as he puts it. there was no business to handle that day, so he turned his attention to you — deciding now of all times was the time to teach you how to defend yourself.

the idea had sprung to him when he walked into the room and stared you down, coming to the harrowing realisation that you hadn’t even noticed his presence, too engrossed in the book in your grasp. he creeps closer, and you don’t even blink. he edges behind you, and notes the way he could grab you into a headlock if he wanted, or cover your mouth, hell — he could snap your neck. you’d never see it coming.

of course, he didn’t want to ever hurt you — which is why he decided to stage an impromptu lesson. that gets you to where you end up, pinned to the ground beneath him.

“ow, rafe.” you frown wiggling your wrist from his grip until he lets it free with a shake of his head. you weren’t too happy about him stealing you away from your time of relaxation with your book — but you would never give up the opportunity to have your boyfriends hands on you. you thought things would have played out a little more… fun.

“see, you — you did it again. if i put my hand here, what are you gonna do, huh? what’d i tell you?” he raises his eyebrows, prompting a response.

“uhh, bite it?” you giggle, making him sit up on his knees, jaw ticking in frustration.

“you know i’m tryna save your life here, kid. someone comes up to you and grabs you, you’re screwed, ‘cos you don’t know how to protect yourself. i’m not always gonna be around to fight people off okay?”

“why not?” you whine, pressing a socked foot against his chest from where you lay. he wraps a hand gently around your ankle and brings it down, expression displaying his frustration.

“because i am not with you 24 hours a day, alright? m’not playing around here. you gonna listen?” he nudges your thigh with his own and you huff, head moving with a noncommittal nod. “okay.” he brings his body down onto yours, pinning you down with it. he had to be doing this on purpose. “alright, flip me on my back. go.”

you can’t help yourself, you wrap your legs around his waist and bring his crotch flush against yours with a little giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck. he presses his lips together, staring at you blankly from his incredibly close proximity and stays silent until your childish laughs die down. you think he’s going to remove himself, lecture you and walk off for a little while— but he continues to stare, even when you wriggle beneath him, legs split around his body — mound of your cunt pressing up against his bulge.

“you think this is some kinda joke huh?” he asks quietly, and the smile starts to melt off your face. “like — like i’m just doin’ this shit for fun.” he glares, and now your hearts pounding because you only wanted to be close to him!

“no…” you mewl, brows knitted but it’s too late. he pushes himself up on his knees again, looking down on you.

“you know i’m real nice to you. there’s bad men out there that’ll really rough you up. maybe… maybe i should give you a taste of that, huh? show you what i’m protecting you from.”

you go to argue, tell him you’ll listen — but he slides a leg under yours and in one movement flips you so you’re suddenly laying on your front, ass a little raised. he leans over you, collecting your wrists with one hand and pins them down. “nah, go ahead. try and fight me off baby. see if you can.” he speaks eerily calmly and you wriggle, realising you’re totally pinned beneath his weight with no escape. “yeah, that shits scary huh? can’t get out.” he nods and you let out a little cry.

“okay, rafe c’mon!”

“nah, you think this is a game so i’m gonna show you just how fuckin’ real this is a’ight?” he tucks his free hand into your pyjama shorts and begins to yank them down. you hate how your heart feels like it’s in your throat and yet your cunt throbs and your back arches from muscle memory. “better wise up, sweetheart— ‘cos i don’t think you’re getting out of this.” he gives your ass cheek a firm smack, watching the fat of it recoil beneath the touch and you whine.

“teach me! rafe you can teach me, please!” you pout, craning round to look at him. his lip is curled into a malicious smirk, head shaking in disapproval.

“yeah, you know you’re just too late. gonna have to learn your lesson now, alright? remember this shit.”

ೀ 🍨 ‧ ˚ 🎀 ⊹˚. ♡

[inkspiredwriting]

Love, Hate, and Everything in Between

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Warnings: none

Y/N and Five had the kind of relationship that was equal parts fiery arguments and undeniable chemistry. They bickered over everything, from the best way to handle temporal anomalies to whose turn it was to make coffee. But beneath the constant banter, there was a deep connection that neither of them could ignore.

One particularly intense day, after a mission that had gone sideways due to Five's impulsiveness and Y/N's stubbornness, they found themselves alone in the Umbrella Academy mansion. The argument that ensued was explosive, with both of them yelling and gesturing wildly.

"Why can't you ever just listen to me?" Y/N shouted, her face flushed with frustration.

"Because your plans are always overly complicated!" Five shot back, his eyes blazing.

They stood there, breathing heavily, the tension between them palpable. Then, without thinking, Five stepped forward and kissed her. It was as if all the anger and frustration melted away in that moment, replaced by an intense, undeniable passion.

What followed was an incredible night filled with laughter, whispered confessions, and the kind of intimacy that transcended their usual love-hate dynamic. For once, they let their guards down completely, and it was magical.

The next morning, however, brought a new challenge. Klaus, ever the nosy sibling, had noticed the change in the atmosphere. As Y/N and Five tried to navigate their way through breakfast without making eye contact, Klaus sauntered into the kitchen, a knowing smirk on his face.

"Well, well, well," Klaus drawled, leaning against the counter. "What do we have here? Did our favorite bickering duo finally decide to make up?"

Five rolled his eyes, desperately trying to keep a straight face. "Klaus, mind your own business."

Y/N, blushing furiously, tried to focus on her coffee. "Yeah, Klaus. Can't you find someone else to bother?"

Klaus chuckled, clearly enjoying their discomfort. "Oh, but this is so much more fun. You two were like a ticking time bomb, and I, for one, am thrilled to see it finally go off."

Throughout the day, Klaus continued to drop hints and make suggestive comments, much to the annoyance of Five and Y/N. During a meeting, he winked at them, causing Luther and Diego to exchange puzzled glances.

"What's with you today, Klaus?" Diego asked, narrowing his eyes.

Klaus grinned. "Oh, nothing. Just appreciating the beauty of love in unexpected places."

Five groaned, rubbing his temples. "Can we please focus on the task at hand?"

Y/N shot Klaus a warning look, but he just winked at her. "Oh, come on, Y/N. Lighten up. It's all in good fun."

As the day wore on, Five and Y/N found themselves constantly bumping into each other, their usual bickering now tinged with a new, playful energy. Despite Klaus's relentless teasing, they couldn't help but steal glances and share secret smiles.

Later that evening, after everyone had retired to their rooms, Five found Y/N on the rooftop, staring out at the city. He approached quietly, slipping his hand into hers.

"Sorry about Klaus," he said softly. "He's impossible."

Y/N laughed, leaning her head against his shoulder. "It's okay. He's actually kind of right. We were a ticking time bomb."

Five smiled, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Yeah, but maybe that's not such a bad thing."

As they stood there together, wrapped in the warmth of the moment, they realized that their love-hate relationship had only made their bond stronger.

And if dealing with Klaus's teasing was the price they had to pay, it was a small one. Because for the first time, they knew that they were exactly where they were meant to be—side by side, ready to face whatever came next.

[let-us-cultivate-our-garden]

What do you think of season 2 of arcane? i've seen quite... a contrasting reaction from the public when compared to the reaction that s1 got

[cracks knuckles] ok, first some context: I was, and still am, largely unfamiliar with the League of Legends video games, which probably colors my perception of Arcane as a whole. The first season was incredible. 10/10 no notes. It's a masterpiece of animation hands down. One of its many strengths is that it sticks to a self-contained story that does not require lore knowledge or even knowledge of who the characters from the games are. It's a character drama wrapped in a steampunk/sci-fi/fantasy aesthetic. It tells a grounded story that follows its characters as their arcs play out all the way through to the end. I love it and habitually rewatched it while waiting for season 2.

...And then season 2 came and it kinda went. I enjoyed the season. The animation, music, voice acting, all incredible and it's what makes the season a joyride. But that's pretty much what it is. A joyride. That grounded story and character drama was largely dropped for bigger stakes and it feels like the season lost the plot. You were invested in the Zaun/Piltover conflict? Let's have Jayce give a half-assed speech about working together to defeat a common enemy and give Sevika a token seat at the councillors' table. You wanted to see how Jinx and Vi's relationship developed after the bombing? Well, Vi says "my sister is gone." Until Vander/Warwick shows up. But they don't really talk about their relationship or how much they've both changed. They're just cool with each other know.

Did you want to see how Jinx deals with the fallout of killing her father figure and embracing the role of the Mad Bomber? Well, she kinda mopes for a bit. Finds a street urchin that magically cures her of her mental instability. oops, street urchin is dead. Jinx is depressed now. fun. It's not like the marketing lead us to believe that Jinx was going to be an actual antagonist, right?

right?

Now, I know trailers and posters can be misleading but come on. Season 1 ended with her fully becoming Jinx and I feel like she was more Jinx-like there than in season 2.

We got less of the sisters than in the first season despite being the emotional core of the story. Part of that is the escalating conflict and having far too many antagonists. We have Ambessa, Viktor, and the Black Rose and they all take up too much screen time (this last one was a huge ??? for me as a noob to the games. Actually, Mel's whole arc in season 2 was so divorced from season 1 that it feels like they just gave her magic powers just so she could participate in the fight). The other part is that when the sisters are together, they don't really say or do anything meaningful. The dialogue is rather boilerplate and there's no emotional weight to their scenes. It's just there.

That's really my problem with season 2 as a whole, it just feels like it's ticking off boxes to get to the big action sequences, and even some of those felt superfluous (did we really need a fight scene with Smeech? Smeech? Who the fuck is he and why should we care?). The funny thing is that, there are a lot of good ideas here. Jinx feeling conflicted about suddenly being seen as a symbol of the people? Awesome! Caitlyn falling under the sway of Ambessa as she mourns her mother and gasses innocent civilians in her mad pursuit of Jinx? Great! Viktor slowly losing his humanity and becoming the Machine Herald while Jayce struggles to right what they have wronged and get his friend back? Excellent! The problem is that they're all crammed together and don't get room to breathe, so everything is rushed and unsatisfactory.

When your first season ends with four people at a dinner table that explores their character dynamics and your second season's climax looks like a Marvel movie, there's a problem.

(also, side tangent: Silco and Vander's backstory was shoddy and contradictory. Making them BFFs with Vi and Jinx's mom was a bad idea. It cheapens Vander's decision to leave behind a life of violence and adopt two orphans. It introduces a plot hole that Silco wasn't around for the kids' childhood and makes that moment when he tries to kill Powder extra weird. PLUS, we have the ever lovely trope of fridging a woman and making her the catalyst of conflict between two male characters 😒

although this season did make me ship these two, so there's that👍)

(another mini tangent: I'm not fond of making a time traveling Viktor the one who gave baby Jayce the rune stone. That scene was one of my favorites from season 1 and the mage actually being Viktor just makes the world feel smaller and less enigmatic YMMV).

So there you have it. An overall okay season but one that pales in comparison to its predecessor.

[moonlight-prose]

the build a fic prompt list is so fun! for eddie:

dialogue: "i say this with all the love in my heart, but you look like shit."

emotion: fondness

place: at work, far later than you should be

petals on the moon

a/n: the new york boyfriend is back! honestly i can't think of anyone better to have adventures in new york with. i tried to stick with it being singularly at the workplace, but he's a menace and it's incredibly self indulgent. besides the song petals on the moon is the biggest inspiration. so i stuck with that vibe. i hope you enjoy it babes!

summary: the night hours at work were hours of the steady clack of his keyboard, the scent of burnt coffee from lunch, and yellowed lamps that needed an upgrade. you were the ghost that haunted halls of chipped paint and to do lists scrawled on extra pieces of paper. it might just take a miracle to bring you back to life, but thankfully eddie alden had a bit of magic on his side.

word count: 3.5k+

pairing: eddie alden x reader

warnings: fluff, romance, yearning + pining, eddie alden has a massive crush and is a dork about it, late night adventures, early 2000s romcom vibes, alcohol consumption, smoking, deep philosophical thoughts, smattering of angst.

Monotonous. Boring. Hours of wasted time, minutes of paperwork that dragged, seconds of stale air and ballpoint pens that always seemed to run out of ink.

Work was the last place you wanted to spend your free time—an endless loop of empty hallways you paced and rooms you haunted. Somehow at the end of each day you agreed to complete others tasks without hesitation. Others would claim that made you an idiot, you liked to say it made you the first in line for a promotion.

Really you did this to yourself. Cut off from the city beyond these cracked walls. Away from the possibility of adventures, from groups of strangers that could become your friends and allies. Isolation shouldn’t have crept up behind you, yet within moments you were trapped in its trap. Strung along webs of duties and responsibilities not of your own making.

Shuffling the stack of papers off your desk, you tried to lose yourself in the structure. This was your dream position, in a city you longed to remain in. A path you built with intent written in each brick.

So why were you so unhappy?

A notebook hit the floor with a bang, the noise filling the empty space of your office with ease. You flinched, reaching for the black moleskin with a sigh. The clock ticked above you, mocking the time you spent glued to a desk chair that held barely any support to keep you upright. Although you knew that in two hours time you would once again find yourself asleep against scratched wood and crinkled papers.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were a ghost.”

Surprise once etched your features at the sight of the office playboy staying late, but as the months went by you saw him for what he was. A man who valued his job more than anything else. He worked twice as hard for the same fucking pay. And a part of you wanted to hate him for it…if you weren’t exactly the same way.

“I am,” you said, balancing the journal atop an already precarious stack. “I died three years ago and apparently my unfinished business is still fucking paperwork.”

His laugh flipped a switch at the back of your mind, flooding the dormant body you’d grown used to with light. He woke you up like a shot of perfectly brewed espresso.

“Seems you got the shitty end of the deal in purgatory.”

“And yet here you are visiting me,” you retorted, biting back a smile large enough to ache. “So what kind of shitty deal did they offer you?”

Arms with a trail of veins you tried to ignore found a spot of clean space on your desk to rest on—his long body folding to collapse in your extra chair. “I was stupid enough to help create a new prime time segment.”

“Ah. Your first mistake was taking on more work. Even I could have told you that.”

He grinned, slightly overgrown hair curling towards his forehead. “Next time I’ll ask you. That is…if you’re still alive.”

“You know something I don’t Alden?”

“That’s classified.”

“Dick,” you scoffed.

“There is something I can say. Which I say this with all the love in my heart, but you look like shit."

Weeks spent alone in the office together gave you enough time to grow accustomed to his humor. The snide remarks and quips that held a reverence when said in the rasp of his voice. He shouted half the day, corralling people, fixing mistakes, but at night the glow of his brown eyes were lit with fondness. The low light of your office shadowed his face, drawing lines that weren’t there in his boyish charm. But you supposed that was the trick.

He gave the office—the world—what they yearned to see. A man who wrote off attachment. Alone in a world that seemed determined to breed solitude in beings who craved kinship.

Your brow raised, teeth finding a space on your cheek to mar. “Is this you being kind?”

The sigh lingered in the air—thick with worry and stress and the cynical words of a man who could barely fathom their taste. “This is me making you an offer.”

“Hopefully better than the crap they tried to sell me in purgatory.”

He laughed; your heart skipped. “Do you want to get outta here?”

“And go where?” you exclaimed. “This paperwork isn’t doing itself Alden.”

His groan rumbled from the bottom of his chest, his form hunched and brows knit. “Fuck the paperwork. We do enough for this shit hole anyways. They won’t care if we take one night off.” The desk shook as he surged to his feet, hand stretched—-eyes glimmering with something akin to hope. “Come with me.”

“Eddie I can’t just leave.”

“Come. With. Me.”

The paper would remain there haphazardly organized on a desk that shrunk by the day. What little space you had left vanished the longer you sat there hunched over meaningless periods and commas stuck in the wrong spot. Day by day you grew transparent to the eyes of your coworkers. A myth that roamed the halls, half a person in the eyes of those who got the chance to live.

What harm would there be in taking a night off?

“If I do this…”

“You won’t regret it,” he pressed. “I promise.”

His hand was warm, calloused beneath a thumb and forefinger that held pens far too tight and gripped equipment with the severity of a job that called for too much. A scar lined the side of his palm. Jagged and lined with a bump you could feel beneath your fingertips.

Scattered along every portion of his body existed pieces of his history. You longed to ask him about each mark. Each wound that once healed on the youthful body of a boy that still lingered underneath the outline of the man you knew.

In the harsh lights of an empty office that wouldn’t see life until dawn, you caught glimpses of that young twenty year old. The teenager who ran through his neighborhood with friends. The college kid dancing at frat parties he helped set up out of the kindness of his own heart (and free beer).

Eddie dragged you behind him with a boisterous laugh you could hear echo down empty hallways and vacant offices of your colleagues. “Are we going to roam the city?”

“Better,” he tossed over his shoulder. “You have yet to see the best view in the city.”

“I’ve been to the Empire State Building Eddie.”

He scoffed. “That’s a tourist spot.”

“And it was beautiful.”

“Sure if you’re a tourist.”

“I was a tourist-”

Whirling around you nearly slammed into his chest, his lips curled tight enough to crinkle the eyes that glowed even in the dim fluorescents of a stairwell. “That explains your lack of adventure.”

“Fuck you Alden.”

His teeth—that were far too straight and much too white—dug into his bottom lip, his cheek rounding. “I mean…we’ve got time.”

The swing of your fist thumped lazy and muted against his arm as he snorted laughed. His cheeks turned red, your body warmed beneath his gaze, and the definition of tonight changed thirty times in your head. Whether this was born out of friendship or tension you couldn’t discern, you enjoyed it nonetheless. Maybe you didn’t need to define this.

Maybe this would remain a silent memory shared between two lone souls both in need of connection.

“So what’s this supposed best view?” you asked, pushing the topic beyond what it would inevitably land on.

“You ever been to the roof?”

“The roof?” Your face dropped, humor dwindling as he unlatched the metal door you avoided on the daily. “That’s where we’re going on our grand adventure?”

He sighed, kicking it open with his boot. “Would you trust me?”

“You’re asking a lot of me tonight Alden. I might have to start taking note of all this trust.”

The groan you were rewarded with felt like victory in your eyes. “Just shut up and follow me.”

Following the command with ease, you clambered the last few stairs that entered to a dingy roof you’d only seen once before. During the daytime smog coated the sky, the sun glowed harsh and bruising along your long sleeved button down, and the scent of stale cigarettes had your nose scrunching before you could dart back inside.

At night the lights of New York flared to life with the brilliance of a New Years Eve display. Ordinary people living ordinary lives. Yet from a distance they resembled fireflies in the country—filling a darkened sky with hope and endless dreams you could practically hear shouted in the air. The scent of smoke dimmed with the view of humanity on display with all its wonders.

“Seven wonders forgot to include this,” he said with a smile, awe spilling past a grin you filed in the back of your mind.

“Is that…”

“You’re so called best view the Empire State?”

The towering building—the north star of the city—glowed with the light of all you came to this place for. “Holy shit. This is…incredible.”

“One thing about being at the Empire State is that you don’t get to see it in the view. That’s the whole point. Getting to see that beauty in the night sky.” He shuffled back, tugging something free from within a metal box that you knew belonged to the building’s super. “I swiped some wine from someone’s office earlier.”

“Eddie you can’t take shit-”

“Relax dove,” he cut in. “You’ll still make it to heaven.”

“I’m not religious.”

His head cocked to the right and for a moment you couldn’t rid yourself of the image of a puppy just learning to view their own reflection. “Well guess you learn somethin’ new everyday. Wine?”

There were no cups, no fancy acts of a rooftop meal that might inherently be viewed as romance, but you’d never been one for silly displays. He pulled the cork out with a shitty wine opener—using his teeth halfway through with a grunt of frustration—and passed you the bottle with a smile. Two souls lost to the depths of a late night job. To dedications that asked for far too much from people who deserved more than they were ever given.

You weren’t friends. You weren’t strangers.

But something tied the both of you together, looping around beating hearts and knotting in between rib-cages.

“I hate to say it. But you’re right Eddie.”

His head whipped to the side, lips pulling up high enough to blind you with his spectacular Eddie Alden smile. No wonder women fell so hard for his tricks. “Oh…say it again. Please.”

“Sorry. That’s a one time only deal,” you laughed, gulping down enough wine to burn the back of your throat. It filled your stomach with warmth, countering the chill that washed across bare arms and fresh faces.

“Mind if I smoke?” he asked, a cigarette already finding a home between his lips—his body leaning against the brick edging.

“Your territory. By all means.”

The snort echoed in your chest, ricocheting with intent. “My territory huh dove?”

“I figure you bring everyone you romance up here.”

“Is that what we’re doing here?” His brow quirked, lips still curled in that infuriating crooked shape of glee you could practically see a mile away. “Am I romancing you?”

You sipped at the bottle—avoidance tainting the moment. In the hopes that if you let him linger on the question a bit more he’d realize the absurd nature of his words. You weren’t his person. The other half of what seemed to be an overly filled soul. You were you and he was himself and there was no balance in that. No equilibrium within the chaos that was your lives.

Tonight was always bound to happen. Two people trapped with nowhere to go.

So where else was there to go but up?

You found the question leaving your mouth before it filtered through your mind. “Are you from here?”

“No,” he replied quickly. “Grew up in a smaller area than this.”

“Midwest?”

“East coast.”

“Learn something new every day,” you hummed.

Wine flowed with ease as you settled atop a stack of heavy boxes left out as storage. The city a backdrop you were already used to—drinking it down with each sip of that red liquid you felt wash down your throat.

Eddie leaned back with a trail of smoke curling around his head, eyes drooped with the buzz of a night spent in good company. “What about you? Why’d you come to New York?”

With a shrug, you took a gulp that nearly choked you—the burn of cool alcohol sliding down your throat. “Same reason most people come here. I had a dream to be working in films and L.A. felt too pretentious.”

“And this city isn’t?” The deadpan echo of his tone wasn’t lost on you even through the haze of alcohol.

“This city is whole. Do you know what I mean? It’s got different blocks that vary wildly in differences, but that’s the fun of it. You don’t know what’s coming, even if you’ve prepared for it.”

“The city of dreamers,” he mumbled, too fixated on the skyline to see how you trailed your gaze along his face. The curve of his jaw that lights played off, the curl of his lips wrapped around the butt of his half smoked cigarette.

You weren’t sure how it happened. Where two strangers suddenly found themselves in the territory of friendship, but half a bottle of wine and three cigarettes later you held loose tongues willing to spill just about anything. He handed over the cigarette without question, hazel eyes drinking in the way you sucked in the smoke with relief. As if you’d been waiting all day for someone to find this missing piece you didn’t know could exist.

“Alright I’ll go.” The cigarette tasted like him, the curve of his mouth and tip of his tongue. “What makes you cry? And just answer off the top of your head.”

He huffed. “Billy Joel’s song Piano Man.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m really not. It’s the first song I heard after I got the news I’d get to work here. Heard it in a bar where I grew up and even though the actual piano man was fucked up on scotch. He played it perfectly.”

“I guess that’s the power of Billy Joel.”

Eddie laughed, swallowing enough wine to spill past his lips, staining his throat with a red line you tracked breathlessly. “Maybe he possessed the guy.”

“Meh. I wouldn’t put it past Billy.”

“Yeah? You know somethin’ I don’t dove?”

“Wouldn’t you love to know Alden.”

Another puff and he stole it back, his fingers dragging along your chapped lips with a grin. “I guess it’s my turn. Alright…hm…if you could choose falling in love and you were guaranteed a lifetime of joy or the perfect career. Which would you go with?”

The answer surged to the forefront of your mind long before he finished the question. You knew what life had in store for you—a career, success beyond your wildest imagination. But the words stuck to the back of your throat. Sliding like acid along the soft tissue of your esophagus. You knew what you wanted. What you deserved. Yet dreams always found a way of making themselves known; a truth not even you were prepared for.

So it jarred you when you found yourself whispering love.

His eyebrows raised, cigarette poised along parted lips as if he couldn’t believe you would admit something like that. An unwritten rule of all New Yorkers who moved for their career. That allowing something else to interfere was a sin. The highest treason of dreamers who clawed their way to the top.

Suddenly meeting his eyes stirred something unknown in your stomach. A roiling storm that thundered in the base of your heart.

“I don’t know why,” you muttered.

“I do.”

Scoffing, you yanked a new cigarette from his pack and lit it with a shaky click. “Oh do enlighten me Eddie.”

“You want to be happy. And a career might satisfy that…competitive streak in your body, but it wouldn’t give you what you really want.” A shaky breath dragged your gaze back to the man who dug far too deep into your mind, yanking the thread of hopes and dreams out before you could beg him to stop. “You want what everyone hopes to have dove. A pathetic passionate love that has the chance to rip you a part.”

“Speaking from experience?”

He huffed, lips twisted into a wry grin. “At one point I would have thought so, but now… Listen you’re not the first to want love. You won’t be the last. Ain’t that what this whole thing is about?”

“What?”

“This.” He gestured to the city, the flickering lights that sparked with life. “Humanity wouldn’t have gotten this far if not for love.”

You wanted to kiss him. It wasn’t an entirely new revelation, nor a thought you never had before. You supposed everyone in the office thought about kissing Eddie Alden at some point, but few got the chance to grab his attention. But there he sat a few inches away, smoking lazily as if he hadn’t begun to rip you open with an unwarranted autopsy. You didn’t just want to kiss him—somewhere in the back of your mind you understood this would happen.

How long could strangers go on in the permanence of the unknown?

“Why did you invite me up here tonight Eddie?”

He paused, exhaling enough smoke to cloud his face for a brief second. “I like you dove. You’re…different.”

“Aw shucks I bet you say that to all the girls in the office.”

“They aren’t much for conversations at midnight.”

“Is it really midnight?”

“It’s really midnight,” he said with such simplicity.

Silence perforated the space between you, giving you a chance to breathe before he was shifting his long body closer. His cigarette was stamped out on the metal box, leaving a mark alongside hundreds more exactly like it. A fluid movement of second nature you longed to see again. When he cupped your chin you didn’t say anything, opting to find his gaze in the darkness of the roof—a place permanently etched with the memory of strangers becoming something more.

“Is it cliche to say let’s pretend it’s New Years?”

You smiled, fingers finally tangling in the hair at the base of his skull. “I don’t mind the cliches.”

“Hm,” he grinned. “You learn something new every day.”

“Are you gonna talk or are you actually going to kiss me-”

The taste of wine and menthol became an addiction off his tongue, his lips just as chapped as yours. Eddie didn’t kiss with overwhelming lust. Though he was capable—this you were sure of—he kissed you with a sigh. The release of all he ached for now spreading up and into the back of your throat. His lips molded over yours, tongue sliding deep, and you grew dizzy with it.

His taste, his touch. They dragged you through a dance your own dreams couldn’t imagine.

Maybe this was it. That lingering ache you searched high and low for all throughout New York. Maybe all you had to do was finally give yourself over to the man you least expected to want you. Eddie moaned into your mouth, a wet broken sound you burned into the back of your mind. You’d replay it over and over on the way home.

Licking into his mouth, you pulled him close enough to nearly tip over the edge of the boxes. The clatter of the wine bottle falling forced you to break away for a gasp of cold air. Only for his mouth to find a home at the base of your jaw.

“Happy New Year,” you smiled, shivering at the heat of his breath along your cold skin.

“Got a few months to go dove,” he mumbled, nipping hard enough to draw a yelp.

“Well…then we’ve got time to practice.”

He laughed, hands latching onto your hips to keep you from falling; you never wanted to go back downstairs again. “Practice huh?”

“I hear it makes things perfect.”

“Insufferable,” he groaned. “If only I’d have known.”

“Then you would have picked someone else?”

The brush of his lips silenced killed the humor at the back of your throat—a needy ache spreading down to the tips of your fingers. “Wouldn’t dream of it baby.”

Noise echoed in the background as he drew you into another round, but everything shone just a bit brighter in the hue of his love. You didn’t need the career, the success. Shit you barely even needed to find joy in this job. You were always searching for the one thing Eddie couldn’t bring himself to admit—someone to confess your dreams to.

The words were there, unspoken yet loud enough to ring in your ears. The truth of finally getting what you wanted.

You needed a dreamer like him, just as he did.

[jolapeno]

MY LOVE I AM SO SORRY YOU'RE HAVING A DAY. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH.

okay, let's talk about javier when you're having a bad day.

if you are sick or having a cry-on-the-couch kind of day, he stumbles awkwardly over a "uh, that, uh, sucks?" not really sure what to say, then bolts out of your apartment. you sit there totally lost, maybe thinking you've scared him off, but he's actually driving at break-neck speed to the store to get you things. except, you know, he's a little lost there? and doesn't really know what you need, or is worried he doesn't know what you like, and so ends up coming back with a mountain of supplies. if sick: every kind of cold medicine (and some allergy meds? like... javi... you ok?). three different flavors of gatorade/lucozade/similar electrolyte drink. a 10 pack of tissue boxes because IT WAS A GOOD DEAL, OK? THEY WERE ON SALE. a random box of crackers that raises an eyebrow but they were the ones his ma used to get him when he was sick as a kid. (not that he explains that to you). or if sad: four different ice cream pints. so many snacks. magazines from the drug store (probably none of them make any sense, but maybe you wanted something to read? he doesn't know.). this little plushy that's definitely for kids. he doesn't know why. he panicked.

and frankie?

LISTEN. before he had a kid, that man was a microwave meal or leftovers king. he could make the basics, definitely a fan of the grill or easy cooking on the camp stove when off camping, but he wasn't a cook. then his kid was born, and that just won't do. so all the time the kid spends off at their mom's, frankie spends his free time teaching himself to cook. he's got his mom on the phone (crushed between his shoulder and ear while he works over the stove) walking him through all the recipes of hers that he loved most when he was a kid. it's a disaster. for a long time. he burns so much shit, or everything's undercooked. but by the time the kids waddling around and a little older, he's good. comfort food for days. has that slow cooker going all day. so when you're having a shit day, he tells you to come over and when you do the house smells incredible. he's got this goofy apron on that the guys bought him in jest when he started cooking that says KISS THE COOK and it absolutely makes him blush every time someone catches him in it, but he's so focused on ushering you in and settling you on the couch that he doesn't remember to take it off. you bundle up in the throw blanket and throw on whatever TV looks good and/or trashy, and he brings you over the best homecooked meal you've had in... who knows how long. he sits on the other side of the couch with his brow all low and frowny as he watches you eat, trying to decide if it's good or terrible based on your expression, and when you roll your eyes it's so good he gets that boyish half-smile that drives you crazy and only then digs into his own plate. thank you and goodnight.

ily pal <3

BABE, how did I never see this! I love all of this so much. I love the idea of kiss the cook btw, like so much, and both of them would let me watch so much trashy tv that it’s astounding 😏 we love men who just get it.

also javi basically taking one of everything is such a mood to me. but also a gift for you:

I also like to think that javi would take you on a drive, no goal in sight just letting the road sorta take the two of you with the volume on low, so it’s just background noise, watching as you stare off into the unknown, brain ticking away until you announce that you’ve just seen a cow or do you think that cloud looks like a penis? and while it doesn’t, he can see how you got there, and it makes him smirk, head resting on a hand as the other holds the wheel, and god, he can’t believe how lucky he is to have you, even when you’re feeling a bit blue.

[kathlare]

clock is ticking

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: With her best friend Minnie challenging her to face the truth, Amelie confronts the depth of her insecurities and the weight of her past.

Wordcount: 3.3| k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

August 5th, 2020 - Maui, Hawaii

Amelie stood in front of the bathroom mirror, adjusting her outfit for the night. The sheer white dress she’d chosen clung to her curves in all the right ways, making her feel simultaneously confident and nervous. The last few days of filming for The White Lotus had been incredible, and now, she was about to attend the wrap party, but her mind kept drifting back to something much more complicated: Lando.

She turned the blow dryer off and ran a hand through her hair, the breeze from the fan drying it quickly. The warm Maui air hung heavy with a mixture of tropical scents from outside her hotel room, but the stillness inside the room only amplified the tension she felt. The silence was broken when her phone buzzed from the bedside table.

Minnie, lounging on the bed with her legs spread out in every direction like a cat, reached for the phone before Amelie could even react. She let out a little huff of disapproval.

—Why are you ignoring Lando?— Minnie asked casually, her voice tinged with curiosity.

Amelie froze for a moment, her heart skipping a beat. She turned around quickly, panic rising in her chest, and tried to snatch the phone away from Minnie’s hands.

—Give me that!— Amelie lunged, her fingers brushing the edges of the phone, but Minnie was too quick, holding the device just out of her reach. Minnie tilted the phone toward herself, eyes scanning the screen with a playful grin.

Minnie’s eyes widened mid-scroll, the smile on her face dropping like a brick.

—YOU KISSED HIM?— she screeched, louder than necessary.

—Shut up! Shut the fuck up— Amelie hissed, launching herself onto the bed and straight on top of Minnie. Her legs tangled with the comforter as she wrestled for the phone, but Minnie held it high above her head, completely unfazed.

—YOU. KISSED. LANDO— Minnie repeated, like she was trying to process it in real time, stretching each word like a rubber band ready to snap. —You said you were just friends! Like a million times! What the hell, Amelie?!—

Amelie collapsed face-first into the mattress, groaning. —Because we are! Kind of. Ugh. It’s not what you think.—

Minnie blinked at her. —So explain to me what exactly I am supposed to think when my best friend is playing tonsil hockey with a Formula One driver and ghosting him.—

Amelie finally sat up, her hair now a frizzy halo around her flushed face. She crossed her legs and yanked a pillow into her lap, holding it like a shield.

—Okay, first of all, I’m not ghosting him— Amelie muttered, voice defensive but soft. —I’m just… not talking to him right now.—

Minnie raised both eyebrows and flopped back against the pillows. —Right. Because that’s not the literal definition of ghosting.—

Amelie sighed, tugging the pillow tighter against her chest like it could somehow block out Minnie’s judgmental glare. —It’s complicated, okay?— she mumbled. —Everything with you and Lando is complicated,— Minnie shot back. —But this? You kissed him multiple times, apparently, and now you’re ignoring his texts? That’s a dick move, babe.— Amelie winced, guilt crawling up her throat like bile. She dropped her head against the pillow, muffling her next words. —He stayed after the guys left. Charles, George, Alex… they went back to Europe. And he stayed. Just for me.— Minnie narrowed her eyes. —Yeah, because he likes you. Literally everyone sees it but you.— Amelie didn’t say anything right away. Her fingers traced the edge of the pillow, a nervous tic she hadn’t shaken since she was a kid. Finally, she whispered: —I kissed him first.— Minnie sat up like she’d been electrocuted. —Wait, what?— —I kissed him. More than once. It was… I don’t know. It felt like everything I’d been avoiding just exploded. We were alone for two days, and it was perfect. It felt so easy and right and... God, Minnie.—

—So why the fuck are you hiding in Hawaii like a coward?— Minnie asked, not unkindly, but blunt enough to make Amelie wince again. —Because… I don’t want to hurt him.— Minnie stared at her, confused. —Babe, I’m gonna need you to explain that like I’m five.— Amelie looked down at her lap. Her voice, when it came, was small. Fragile. —I’ve hurt people before. I didn’t mean to, but I did. After Cam...— her throat caught, and Minnie’s face softened immediately. —I didn’t think I’d ever be okay again. And then there was Shawn, and that was so messy. Then Cam and I… finally got it right. And then he was just gone.— Minnie reached for her hand, squeezing gently. —I didn’t think I’d ever feel anything again. And then Lando just… showed up. Like this loud, sweet, annoying British boy who somehow made me laugh again. I thought maybe it was Cam, sending him. I still do sometimes.— —So you’re punishing him for showing up?— Minnie asked gently. Amelie shook her head. —I’m scared. I can’t mess him up, Min. I can’t be messed up. Not with the food stuff coming back again, and filming every damn day, and being halfway across the world while he’s risking his life going 300 km/h every weekend.

Minnie stayed quiet for a beat, her fingers tightening slightly around Amelie’s hand. The hotel room buzzed with the faint hum of the air conditioner and the muffled laughter of people already heading to the party downstairs. But inside, it felt like the rest of the world had gone quiet.

—You’re not messed up,— Minnie said softly. —You’re scared. That’s different.—

Amelie blinked fast, her lashes fluttering against her cheek as she tried to keep herself together.

—What if I ruin him?— she whispered. —What if he wakes up one day and realizes he deserves someone easier? Someone who doesn’t shut down or flinch when he touches her stomach, or who doesn’t freak out over dumb things like not answering a text?—

Minnie leaned back against the headboard, sighing like she’d been through this war before. —Then he’s not the guy we all think he is. But honestly? I don’t think that’s Lando. You know that, too. Or you wouldn’t have kissed him.—

Amelie chewed her lip, the silence dragging out long enough to feel like it was wrapping around her throat.

—I didn’t plan it,— she admitted finally, her voice barely above a whisper. —We were just… watching the sunset. And he looked at me, like really looked at me. Not like I was this actress or this… fragile girl who needed fixing. Just me. And before I could think, I was kissing him. And then I kept doing it. Again. And again. And he didn’t stop me. He kissed me back like he’d been waiting for it forever.—

Minnie let out a long, low whistle. —Jesus. That boy’s in deep, huh?—

Amelie nodded, eyes distant, lips pressed together like she was trying to trap the memory behind them. —Yeah,— she whispered. —He looked so happy. Like he couldn’t believe it was happening. And for those two days, I let myself believe it too.—

Minnie groaned and let her head fall back dramatically onto the headboard. —You’re giving me a migraine. You kissed the boy. You like the boy. He clearly likes you. What the fuck is the problem?—

Amelie pulled her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on them. —Because the second it gets real, I panic. And he… he’s so good, Minnie. He’s soft with me. He listens. He never pushes, even when I know he wants to. And I keep thinking about how if I let myself fall all the way, I’m gonna crash so fucking hard.—

Minnie stared at her, exasperated. —You're already falling, babe. You’re just clawing at the edge trying to stop it. And for what? To protect him? To protect you? Because let’s be honest, you’re both already in it. You’re just the only one pretending you're not.—

Amelie’s phone buzzed again. Another message. Lando. She didn’t even need to look to know.

Minnie reached for it, but this time Amelie didn’t lunge. She just closed her eyes.

—He asked if I was coming to Silverstone,— she said quietly. —I told him I couldn’t because of filming. But I could have gone. I cancelled the trip the night after he left Maui. I didn’t even tell him I’d changed my mind.—

Minnie’s mouth parted, stunned. —You lied?—

—I freaked out,— Amelie said, voice thin. —He was leaving and he hugged me and I felt like if I said the wrong thing, I’d ruin everything. And then I saw the way he looked at me like he didn’t want to leave. And instead of saying something honest, I ghosted him. I didn’t know how to be normal after that.—

Minnie slowly passed her the phone, her voice softer now. —Do you think he’s mad?—

—I think he’s hurt,— Amelie said. —And confused. Because I made him feel like it meant something. And it did. But I left him with silence. And I hate myself for it.—

She turned the phone face down on the bed, staring at the white sheets.

Minnie sat up straighter, folding her legs under herself. —Okay. Real talk. You’re not the only person in the world scared of getting hurt. But you don’t get to kiss someone, give them hope, and then hide behind your trauma like a shield. You have to deal with your shit and stop making it his job to guess what’s going on in your head.—

Amelie opened her mouth to argue, but Minnie raised a hand.

—No. Let me finish. You think you’re protecting him, but what you’re really doing is making choices for him. You’re not giving him the chance to choose you, flaws and all. And that’s not fair.—

The silence stretched. Outside the balcony doors, the sound of the ocean whispered against the shore. Amelie swallowed hard.

She twisted the edge of the sheet in her fingers, her voice barely audible.

—But what if he chooses wrong? What if choosing me ruins him? I ruin everything I touch, Min. You know that.—

Minnie shook her head, her tone calm but firm. —That’s not true. You didn’t ruin Cam. You didn’t ruin Shawn. Life happened. And you sure as hell didn’t ruin Lando. He’s still texting you, isn’t he? Still waiting for you to say something. That doesn’t sound like a guy who's ruined. That sounds like someone who gives a shit.—

Amelie bit the inside of her cheek, tears beginning to sting behind her eyes.

—I keep thinking about what Callum would say if he knew. He’d fucking lose it. And Stella? She already thinks I’m a walking disaster. I don’t want to drag him into my mess. I don’t want him to regret knowing me.—

Minnie scoffed. —First of all, fuck what Callum and Stella would say. This isn’t about them. It’s about you and Lando. And second… babe, you don’t get to decide if someone regrets knowing you. That’s their choice. You don’t get to push him away just because you’re scared you’re not enough. He already thinks you are.—

Amelie stood suddenly, moving toward the mirror again. She couldn’t look at her reflection—only at her hands, trembling as they toyed with the zipper of her dress.

—I don’t know how to be in something real anymore,— she whispered. —Not without fucking it up.—

Minnie stood, coming up behind her. Their eyes met in the mirror.

—Then tell him that,— she said softly. —Be honest. Be messy. Be scared. But be real with him. You don’t have to promise forever. Just don’t keep lying to yourself like you’re doing him a favor. He deserves better than silence. Hell, you both do.—

Amelie turned back around, her voice cracking on the words.

—I can’t be the reason he breaks. He’s got this bright future, this whole world ahead of him. And I’m... barely keeping myself together most days. If he falls for me, really falls, and I fall apart again, I don’t know if I’ll survive being the thing that hurts him.—

Minnie stepped closer, wrapping her arms around her.

—Then maybe don’t fall apart. Or maybe do, and let him help you pick up the pieces. But stop running like love is a goddamn plague. You think you’re too broken, but babe... everyone’s broken. That’s not what makes you unlovable. It just makes you human.—

The tears broke through this time. Silent, hot, and fast down Amelie’s cheeks.

She pulled away, wiping at her face with the edge of her sleeve.

—No. I’ve made my decision.— Her voice was shaky but certain. —I’m going to friendzone him. For real this time. He deserves more. He deserves someone whole. Someone easy. Not someone who forgets to eat when she’s anxious, or someone who kisses him and then disappears across the ocean.—

Minnie blinked. —Wait, what?—

—I’m doing it,— Amelie said, trying to convince herself now more than Minnie. —I’ll tell him we can’t be anything more. That I panicked. That I didn’t mean it.—

Minnie grabbed her wrist. —You did mean it.—

Amelie looked away. —But it doesn’t matter. He deserves better. He deserves someone who doesn’t bring their dead boyfriend’s ghost into the room every time she tries to love someone new. He deserves someone who doesn't turn cold every time he touches her stomach because all she can think about is how ugly she feels inside her own body. He deserves someone… who isn’t me.—

The room went still again.

Minnie didn’t say anything. She just looked at her best friend—the girl she’d watched grow up, fall apart, heal, and fall apart again—and realized that nothing she said was going to change her mind tonight.

So instead, she said quietly, —Okay. If that’s what you need to do… I’ll be here. But I hope one day you let someone love you the way you deserve to be loved. Even if it’s not Lando.—

Amelie nodded, her chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths.

She picked up her phone, turned it on, and stared at the screen.

Lan: Hope your shoot’s going well. Silverstone isn’t the same without you. Let me know if you’re okay.

She didn’t reply.

Instead, she turned off the phone, set it face-down on the nightstand, and said—

—Let’s go to the party.—

But even as she walked toward the door, Minnie noticed the slight tremble in her hands… and the heartbreak buried in her eyes.

-------------

liked by minniemills, landonorris, and others

ameliedayman: maui on film

View all 91,012 comments

elysiadayman: you forgot to post the one where you nearly fell off the paddleboard 😭💀 → ameliedayman: @elysiadayman because you took it at the worst moment??? rude.

alexwolffofficial: give the camera to someone else next time, I beg → ameliedayman: @alexwolffofficial ur just mad I cropped you out xx

lanmelieupdates: LANDO LIKED WITHIN 10 SECONDS IM SHAKING → mclarenfemme: @lanmelieupdates he’s on notifications don’t play → gridgossipqueen: @lanmelieupdates the way he didn’t comment tho… weird behavior

f1fangirlz: why is no one talking about pic 3... the bikini one... HE SAW THAT → charleslemonade: @f1fangirlz lando took that. idc there’s no proof but i know → f1.sluttycorner: @f1fangirlz you can see her smiling at someone off camera. i’m sick

daymanangel: she’s glowing like she’s in love. don’t ask me for sources. → paddocktea: @paddocktea source is my delusion → softboilan: @paddocktea delusion or not, i agree

joshrichards: drop the real film roll coward → ameliedayman: @joshrichards u mean the ones of u throwing up off the boat? → joshrichards: @ameliedayman … fair.

georgerussell63: nice pics. who’s the mystery photographer tho 👀 → ameliedayman: @georgerussell63 pls stop stirring

ameliesangelz: you just KNOW he was the one who took that third pic → landoslaugh: @ameliesangelz and made her pose for like 20 mins straight 💀

f1.sluttycorner: lando liking but not commenting is crazy like sir??? you used to write poems about her on cod

-------------

The elevator dinged softly as it reached Amelie’s floor, and she stumbled out, heels in one hand, her white dress slightly rumpled and her curls a little looser than they’d been when she left. The wrap party had been fun. Loud, glittering, and full of celebration. She’d danced too much, drank too much, laughed until her cheeks ached. It should have been the perfect distraction.

But Lando was still there. Not at the party — in her head.

Amelie pushed open the door to her hotel room and sighed into the quiet. The faint hum of the AC, the rustle of the palm trees outside, the whisper of the ocean. All of it wrapped around her like a reminder of what she’d been trying to outrun.

She dropped her shoes by the door, pulled her hair tie loose, and flopped face-first onto the bed with a dramatic groan. Her phone buzzed again. She didn’t have to look to know who it was.

Lando.

With a tipsy groan, she rolled onto her side and blindly reached for the phone, squinting against the screen’s glow as it lit up her face in the dark.

Lan: Hope the wrap party went well. You looked amazing.

She hadn’t posted anything. He must’ve seen a tagged photo.

Lan: Let me know when you’re free. I’d really like to talk.

She sucked in a breath and opened the thread fully, fingers trembling slightly as she scrolled.

Message after message. Some short. Some long. Some teasing. Some gentle.

Lan: How was your day today? Lan: I know you’re probably exhausted but I just wanted to say I miss you already. Lan: Hope today went okay. Don’t forget to eat. Lan: Is everything alright? You’ve gone quiet. Lan: I didn’t say anything wrong, did I? If I did, just tell me. Please. Lan: I get it if you’re not ready. I just… wish you’d talk to me.

The screen blurred slightly. Her lashes fluttered against damp cheeks. She didn’t remember starting to cry.

She blinked hard, sniffled once, then propped herself up enough to grab a pillow and hug it tightly to her chest. The ache in her throat was sharp. Familiar.

She tapped into the message bar, typed quickly.

Ames: Lando, I—

Deleted.

Started again.

Ames: Hey. I think we should talk.

Deleted.

Ames: I’m sorry for kissing you.

Deleted.

Ames: It was a mistake.

Delete. Delete. Delete.

She stared at the blinking cursor, willing the right words to come. Willing her heart to shut up.

Instead, she typed—

Ames: You’re important to me. But maybe this shouldn’t

She pressed her thumb to the screen. Hovered over “Send.” But her hand wouldn’t move. Her whole body rebelled.

The thought of pressing it, of watching those dots pop up and disappear, of hurting him even more than she already had—it made her stomach twist.

—I can’t do this over text,— she muttered aloud to no one.

The alcohol hadn’t worn off yet. Just enough left to make her bold. Reckless. Human.

Before she could overthink it, Amelie rolled off the bed, staggered a little, then dragged her MacBook out of her tote bag.

Her fingers flew across the keyboard, heart pounding louder with every click.

Los Angeles (LAX) → Barcelona (BCN) One-way Departure: August 10th, 2020

She hesitated for one long breath.

Then she hit Purchase.

The confirmation email hit her inbox before she even closed the tab.

She exhaled, slow and shaky, and stared at her reflection in the dark window across the room. Her curls were a mess. Her mascara smudged. Her mouth pressed into a tired, uncertain line.

She wasn’t ready to face him. Not really.

But she was going to. In person. Like she should have weeks ago.

Not tonight. Tonight she could still pretend. Still hide.

But the clock was ticking now.

And somewhere on the other side of the ocean, Lando was still waiting.

She shut the laptop, curled into the pillow, and whispered into the dark.

—Please don’t hate me.—

Then, finally, she slept.

[enoe-of-noen]

Back?

Part 1

Mc laid in their bed, curled up in their demon form as their blanket was cast aside. They squinted their eyes, glaring into their newly formed claws. Clenching. It pierced their skin. It hurt. “Ow..” they mumbled, holding their tummy, curling into themselves further.

The clocked ticked. Seconds. Minutes.

Footsteps.

Knocking was heard, Mc gritting their teeth. “Mc..?” His voice softly spoke, that damn old man. “…may I please come in?”

He stood at the door for what felt like forever, until he heard a grunt of confirmation. He sighed, slowly opening the door, cringing as it creaked. “Mc?” He spoke again, desperate for a response. A spoken response. He needed to hear their voice.

“Please?” He practically begged, he felt incredibly vulnerable in his current position. Standing at the end of Mc’s bed, hands clammy and kept close to his chest. His throat felt dry and, for the first time in…a while, he could feel tears starting to form. “Mc please…I..”

“Do…” Solomon perked up at their voice, listening attentively. “…do we have to go back?”

Chills ran up the wizard’s spine. “W-what?” Mc sat up, still holding their tummy as they raised their head. Their eyes cold and melancholic. “Do we have to go back?” They repeated. Solomon furrowed his brows angrily, simmering.

“Why would you ask that Mc? Don’t you want to go back to when these brothers knew you? Don’t you want their familiarity? The familiarity you worked so hard for? The life you worked so hard for that made you the most respected human in the Devildom?! Here, you’re just another demon!”

“Another demon that is allowed to be by your side! Do you want me to go back to spending all of my time with the brothers, not able to even see you for days?! Maybe even weeks?! Here, I can be respected without fighting for it. Here, I can walk knowing I have the power to protect myself. Here, I can be with you!”

“I don’t want to go back to a life where I died! You were there for me this time..I knew what to expect…I knew…” Mc shakily exhaled. Solomon grit his teeth, clenching his fists.

“Mc—“

“I’m alive, Solomon. I…I didn’t have to feel the pain. The agony, the blood in my throat, the desperation.”

The two heaved, Solomon leaning on his back foot as Mc’s head hung from their position. Solomon swallowed, still glaring at his apprentice. “You have all of this because of the life you came from. Without your prior experience, you wouldn’t have the confidence you’re taking advantage of!”

“That—”

“And yet you decide that it’s better to stay in the timeline where you are known as the demon attendant that looks after the seven demon brothers and lives with some immortal sorcerer. Where your existence means close to nothing to these demons. Rather than the one where your life actually mattered to them.”

Mc was at a loss for words, clutching their shirt in silence. It made Solomon seethe.

“And what about your family?”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Are you as able to go to the human world to greet them? To spend your time with them?”

“Bastard,” Mc scowled.

“You have become exactly like those demons, losing your connection with humans like you!”

“You have no room to speak! Everybody thinks you’re worse off than them!”

“Perhaps I am! But I came in here to comfort you, to apologize. But you’re too hardheaded and stubborn to listen to me! You’re the reason I’ve felt so human, felt that warmth of another, felt..like myself. Without the facade. Without my power. Without feeling inadequate.”

“…”

“And here you are, sulking that being human was never enough for you!” His voice shook the house. The anger that had built up finally releasing. The sounds of the pair’s breathing filling the room.

“I’m sorry, Solo.” Mc sighed, breaking the tension.

“Huh?” He blinked, his posture relaxing. “I-I mean, I’m sorry too, Mc.” He walked over to their side, sitting on their bed. Mc hummed, leaning their head on Solomon’s shoulder.

“Life is hard. It was weird to adapt, it was odd being brought back so far. But, I managed. We managed. I am grateful. For you, for them. Including for what I learned. I wouldn’t be who I am now if it wasn’t for that.”

“Mm, and I shouldn’t have brought up such sensitive topics. I know you shared that with me wholeheartedly, and I shamed you for it. I am terribly sorry.”

“It…helped.” Mc cuddled closer, making Solomon slightly chuckle. “But for future notice, please don’t.”

“I promise.” They shared a soft smile.

“Thank you.”

Idk how I got here but yay

[jeonscatalyst]

https://x.com/my2seaotters/status/1893034109129081002?s=46

what can of stupid reasoning is this? 😭 he could have just not sat down if that was the case. I hate jikookers accusing tae of fs when jk is out there doing that lol like if what tae is doing is wrong/fs then what is jk doing?

Do you know who I blame?

I blame the people arguing that Jungkook sitting on a member’s lap is fanservice (you).

I blame the people arguing that Jungkook sitting on a member’s lap is a “moment” (the cult).

I blame the people coming up with stupid excuses as to why Jungkook sat on a member’s lap (that Joker).

And I blame myself for dignifying this ask with a response.

You could have easily made your point without trying to imply that Jungkook sitting on Taehyung’s lap was fanservice or that it meant anything more than him just wanting to sit there. There is nothing I hate more than people who are incapable of seeing the members being physically affectionate with each other without linking it to fanservice. That is incredibly insulting to the members and the genuine bond they all have with each other.

I am not here to police anybody on their perception of things and I am not mummy you should run crying to when someone says something you don’t like so next time, anon, send this ask to that Joker who made the post…not my blog. Especially if you’re going to imply that Jungkook is doing something wrong or engaging in fanservice just because he sat on a member’s lap.

No, Taehyung wasn’t doing fanservice just because he wanted Jungkook to give him a bottle of water.

And no, Jungkook wasn’t doing fanservice when he sat on Taehyung’s legs.

And just in case you’re wondering why all this went from 0 to 100 so fast….this is the part of your ask that ticked me off:

“I hate Jikookers accusing Tae of FS when JK is out there doing that lol.”

What do you mean by “when JK is out there doing that?”

What exactly is Jungkook doing, Anon?

[harveyguillensource]

Harvey's full feature and photoshoot with Robert Ascroft for IRK Magazine has been published, including a fantastic interview ranging from fashion to Shadows to 'letting in' and wishes come true. Some excerpts below:

On Letting In and identity as a home:

Remember that there's no ticking time bomb. Especially with what's been happening lately where a lot of actors who are portraying certain characters and their sexuality might be questioned, and they are outed, or they are forced to come out before, um, they are comfortable doing so. Everyone's sexuality, actors, everyone included, is their business. It's no one's business. It's their business. For people to want to know or to negate us, why don't you tell us? Why are you not telling us? Why are you hiding it? Why can't you just tell us? Tell us right now.

Forcing someone to come out... And I hate that term, too, COMING OUT. Because we know what we are, it's not the first thing they woke up that day and realized, oh, my gosh, I'm gonna tell everyone today. Everyone who knows that they are gay or that they are queer has been thinking about it. Believe me, it has been on their mind. They have thought about it. They have talked about it to themselves in the mirror. It is not new to them. And so for the idea for someone to come out is always kind of, kind of, uh, a little upsetting to me. I don't think it should be coming out. It should be called LETTING YOU IN. Because I already know who I am at that point when I share this information. They already know who they are when they share this information with you. Coming out is never really for the person. It's for the people who are surrounding them. Coming out is always for the person who wants to know. [...]

Coming out is always for the parent who is questioning you and just wants to have peace of mind. Coming out was for you to feel that you are still loved in this phase of your life or this new revelation. And it should not be called coming out. It should be called letting you in. And what you do with that information is up to the par- eh, the person who just discovered. That they let you in, and what you do once... It's like welcoming someone to someone's home: please don't destroy my home. I opened the door, and I stepped right, and you stepped right in. And it's up to the person who's my guest to either wipe their shoes, be cautious of the frames, or be careful of the furniture. Please don't, you know, jump around and destroy the home I had made. It's usually... What happens is you may let people into your homes that they trusted, and it turns out these people have no respect for your home, and they make a mess out of it.

[...] I knew that I was different and that people knew I was different. But also, as a child, that makes you go back in. It goes back into your home, closing that door and looking out the window. Cautiously, I look through the curtain, ensuring no one notices the vibrant colors inside. And no one's seeing that you put up wallpaper and that you're considering changing the tapestry, but always looking out the window. Cautiously looking out the window, ensuring no one's ever too close to the door. Eventually, you get comfortable enough to open that door and let people in.

On the evolution of Guillermo's fashion:

I do fall into the character when I am dressed for the part of Guillermo. Our fantastic costume designer, Laura Montgomery, who won the Emmy for our show's costume design, is incredible at her job. We sit down and talk about the season's arc and where we want this character to go. Guillermo wears these 1980s oversized sweaters that you can find at a thrift store. But the character is obviously more layered than that. The detail in the costume is so specific. Have you noticed his outfits from season one, where his collared shirt is buttoned up to the top, and then he puts a sweater over, and it's a long sleeve? [...]

He started off not showing any skin. Dressed a little bit frumpy and a little bit oversized on him. He wears khaki pants or brown pants and comfortable shoes. He does his hair to a specific look that he's trying to emulate because he thinks that's what a person of his position should look like. It's always what he thinks people expect from him. And it's not until he finds his own inner self of who he really is, so the essence of who Guillermo is, where he finds out that Van Helsing blood runs through his veins, that he starts getting a little comfortable in his skin, and we start seeing a little more of a fitted look. We see him with the fitted blue vest when he finds that out. He wears a thin, pinstriped white shirt that he unbuttons the top, so the collars are a little looser. He rolls up the sleeves, but he wears some brown gloves for grip to get those wooden stakes quickly.

So all those things are thought out, even the tucking in of the green cargo pants into his boots to make it easier and not to get tangled in anything in a quick escape. That trench coat that flares out so beautifully, we talked to Laura about that, that he needs to feel that he could easily take several weapons out of there without anyone questioning it because you never see it. The coat flares out with an excellent movement to it. You'll see it in the "The Night Market" episode where he fights other familiars. His coat is beautifully flared out, making him such a badass. Then, when he finally takes that off, he's a badass himself. That look was more fitted to my body, making the character look more fit and in shape. In some ways, whatever size you are, fitted clothes always look better on everyone. [...]

In season four, we see Guillermo be the best man to Nandor and help him choose wives that come back to life as the right wife for him to marry and stick to her. And after doing that and being the best man at his wedding, he wears a different outfit than we usually see him. He wears, like, this cream turtleneck with a moss green tailored suit, uh, that's really nice and compliments my skin tone. And that was Laura and I talking and looking at sketches and the materials and what's soft on Guillermo and what would be another, wink of wow, he has a little bit of fashion sense there. It's just that he's never felt comfortable in his own skin.

Sometimes, I think people are too scared and timid to risk wearing something that they might say, "I liked wearing that." But they don't take the risk, and so they're like, "Nah, that's fine. I'll just stick to the norm everyone knows me to wear." It's great for people to experiment with fashion.

On fashion, accessibility, and taking risks:

[...] I mean, for so long, you know, people always ask me, "Who's your stylist?" Or "Who dresses you?" For the longest time, for a majority of events and stuff, I dress myself. Uh, because for a long time, nobody wanted to, or not that they didn't want to. I feel they didn't know where to start to dress a person of size. Designers carry sample sizes.

For people of size, it's easy to feel that fashion is not for them, but that's not true, fashion is for everyone. It should be made and accessible to everyone. Especially when you look at the body and shape and sizes of most people worldwide, specifically in America, it makes sense to be represented in Fashion Week. And when it's not, it's a little upsetting because it's like they're no different than someone who is a size zero, size four, size... It doesn't matter. They're the same. You know, the same money. The same person who likes fashion could be of any size. [...]

I don't think anyone's gonna be on their deathbed saying, "You know what I wish? I wish I would have taken less risk in this life." Said no one ever. You know (laughs)?

I'd instead look back and say, "Oh, my gosh. Do you believe I wore that?" You know what? Yeah, I do. Sometimes, we're amazed at the things that have happened in fashion. It becomes part of history. And so when you look at stuff, it's not the embarrassment of a fashion faux pas that maybe you have done. But for the most part, you were in a time, and it was captured. That is everything down from your hair to your shoes, outfit, or even makeup if you're wearing makeup. It was like a time capsule, and it was captured in that moment. And so if you don't take a risk, you're not living in the moment. You're trying to fit into a time that has already passed or is already lived by someone else. So why not live in the moment so it's captured as a capsule for yourself and a moment in time.

On channeling his success into charity:

[...] In high school, I was looking for all these grants and scholarships for low-income Latino students in the arts and whatnot. I've been creating something where we can be of help to lower-income communities with kids who have an interest in the arts. Because that's the first thing we know: when budgets get cut in schools, especially in public schools, the first thing that gets cut is the art (not sports) but the arts. These kids have no other outlets. So there needs to be an outlet then how is there a possibility for a career or a life in the entertainment industry. Even if it's, you know, the first-ever scholarship, or like the Harvey Guillén-like scholarship, for young up-and-coming artists. Something that would help because I know that going through college was such a burden of thinking, "I don't have a trust fund.

[jellyfishsthings]

Warnings: not my usual work but I was in the feels, really funny James, some suggestive content but not smut

navigation

The loud, booming music from downstairs rattles the walls. Gryffindor in celebration of winning this year's tournament decided to throw a school-wide party, organized by yours truly James Potter and Sirius Black. Even after many hours, the party was still in full swing. My eyes roam the room once again and my eyes fall at him. He looks incredibly handsome in that long lazy buttoned shirt and dark trousers. His eyes shine full of mischief as he catches me staring. I don't shy away from his gaze.

He smirks as he brings his cup, surely filled with Butterbeer, to his lips and throws me a wink. His fingers move clockwise three times, our signal. He moves from his spot against the wall, saying something to Peter as he walks off towards the staircase that leads to the boys' dormitory. I wait one, two, three long minutes until I follow him as sneakily as possible. He doesn't wait for me, she knows that I will find my way to him, all the secret hiding of our relationship has given me great knowledge of the Gryffindor House. I close the door quietly behind me as I enter the room and I am engulfed by his scent.

"You look-" he starts.

"No time for that." I cut him off and slammed my lips to his. He lifts me effortlessly and throws me to his bed. He crawls towards me and positions himself on top of me. I grab his face and kiss him again as my hands fly to his shirt, trying to get rid of it as quickly as possible. My dress follows his shirt across the room and he unclasps my bra, as his lips trail a fiery path of kisses and bites down my neck, across my collar bones and onto my chest. I am lost at the feel of him, at the feel of his lips on my body, of his greedy hands as they grab me harshly. Logic flying out of my head.

A quiet moan leaves my lips and he smiles victoriously until….

A knock is shortly followed by "Mate open up I have the girl out here."

"Well I have a girl in here." Remus fires back angrily as I cover myself and he throws his head but into his pillow while groaning, as James's muffled voice sounds.

"No you don't."

I smack his chest as he pulls up his pants and hastily puts his shirt on. "We are hanging out in here."

"Which one is going to have sex in here , me or you?" Remus's face drops at that, his eyes dramatically rolling, ticking his jaw, hitting his head to the door while zipping up his pants and I giggle at his antics.

"Well I suppose I would have to say, you." He practically growls and fires me a sharp look. I simply smile at him as I slowly let go of his duvet and dress myself up. "What if we were watching a movie in here?"

"Which movie?" I chuckle at James's reply and stalk towards Remus. He pouts at me and places his hands on my ass squeezing lightly.

"I will kill him, I swear. Give me a reason not to do it." He whispers.

"Well you won't be having this in prison." I answer as I wiggle my ass while it's still in his hold and reach my face to his to rub our noses, like an Eskimo kiss.

"You are so right, why didn't I think of that." He is still annoyed but humor colors his words.

"Moony?"

"We are watching Dead Poets Society." Remus answers calmly as he sways into an imaginary beat.

"Really? I fucking love that movie."

"Of course you do." Remus says darkly, causing a small laugh from me.

"Potter let them be." Lily's voice says and both me and Remus stop moving. To say we are shocked would be an understatement.

"It's okay, Lils, we will go somewhere else." I say before Remus tries to stop me. We check ourselves in the mirror before we exit the dorm, smiling at our friends and their shocked reaction as we head outside.

"How long have you not been… whatever you were?" Lily's quiet voice says.

"What are you talking about? "

"You can't stand each other."

"Yes but since you are all dating we are each other's only option for a decent conversation." I tell her.

"Yes I would really much prefer it if she just couldn't talk." Remus says and the last thing they see is a very smug Remus Lupin and me with fiery cheeks as I remember how exactly he can shut me up.

[eilwen]

And they say romance is dead.

Joking aside, Vol. 8 further solidifies my appreciation for Meryl.

Hopefully I can put my long-winded thoughts into concise words when it comes to writing women/female characters and why I loved Meryl in the manga even when she's absent for a chunk it from Vol. 7 onward.

Good 'women/female writing', to me, is not just having more lines, more screen presence or more visibility because you can easily write a character that ticks all of those boxes and still be a shell, still be poorly written, still be misused and still fall into numerous stereotypes. Though we are seeing more female characters onscreen/on paper these days, there are still traps of 'women written by men usually for men or what they think a woman wants' with some variations (and of course some women can also find difficulty in writing women). Then there are times when women characters who are so incredible or powerful, they come off as unbelievable, as if writing a woman character is sometimes treated similarly to handling glass. Some writers are afraid to write women well, believing that it’s 'safer' to have the character be amazing and flawless than forgotten or absent (which can be problematic in a different way).

I love manga-Meryl because I know Meryl's arc, faults, growth, struggles etc.... Nightow really puts her through the ringer. We don't see her much in the later volumes once things get heavy since she's not the series' protagonist, but we learn that she has a full journey post-Colnago. Eventually she, as a person who is not super-powered in the way other characters are, assists Vash in the best way she can.

Vash is a plant, the Humanoid Typhoon, all these other labels, but he calls himself a simple gunman. So, when Meryl is the one to make sure that he has a gun despite everything she had experienced... ah, I had a lot of feelings.

Vol. 8, Ch. 3. ... God damn.

One of the best things Nightow did in Trimax was to write Meryl with doubt and fear and break her away from Vash in Vol. 6, because having a woman follow and care for a man blindly is frankly boring and adds little depth to a friendship or a relationship.

(This praise also extends to how Nightow writes Luida - but those are thoughts for some other time.)

I am also considering Meryl as one representation for humanity in Trigun Maximum's narrative. She is the ordinary person who has been unwillingly forced to witness devastation, destruction, loss etc. and is expected to continue after that. That is a difficult thing to overcome... and then to grapple with the idea of assisting that same force... I imagine that this is a very difficult responsibility. There are war films (good and bad films, from a range of nations) that touch on this theme of responsibility.

I'd like to think that real courage is understanding and overcoming a fear instead of having none.

And then in Vol. 8, Meryl does a small act. She asks someone else to help - something that Marlon later tells Vash to do (let his friends help him, I mean). Without grandeur. Kind of anti-epic. However, this small act is extraordinarily powerful because without that gun, Vash is unable to proceed.

We sometimes view power in such a black and white way when power can be asking someone else for help, trusting someone else, and not have it be about you.

Vol. 8, Ch. 5. A Marlon panel is always a good panel.

I love how Nightow illustrates this. In these panels, Vash is hearing Marlon talk about a 'guest'. Marlon never mentions Meryl's name. We know it's Meryl because we know what the back of Meryl's head looks like (and her legs, haha) but Vash is not seeing what we are seeing.

And yet, Vash knows.

[kamisama1kiss]

Just read your Descendants Lloyd AU, honestly props to the person who came up with it cause I love it so incredibly much!

Can you please do one where it comes out that Lloyd and Reader are a couple and everyone is all confused and surprised that the Garmadon boy has a soft spot for someone, causing weirded out looks, which makes him a little insecure.

Reader pries out of him what’s wrong and when he admits it, she reassures him that it’s all fine and than accidentally drops the L word and he’s so surprised and confused because THIS IS NEW

The way I just didn't want to stop writing on this idea, it was too cute 😭🙏 whoever you are has blessed my soul, istg! Didn't proofread, so be careful 😝

{!Gender neutral! With use of They/Them/Their}

~~~

Lloyd Garmadon Descendents Au { Nervous lover boy }

{Words counted: 570+}

Walking next to him as they held up books for the next classes for the evening, “Hey, Lloyd?” they spoke out of the blue, looking up at him over their shoulder, seeing him already having his deep amethyst eyes gazed on their frame. "Yeah." simple answer from his side, seemingly he had been a tad distant more the last few days.

"If you're free today, could you maybe help me with an essay later today?” lifting a brow of curiosity with a tiny grin creeping up their features. Almost a hesitant of an answer, he looked around himself, checking for others listening ears and daggers of disgusted gaze.

“Yeah, I don't mind.” Finally, he answered, leaving them a tad confused, with the hesitation that lingers in his tone and actions. Even now, avoiding eye contact with them even, which felt odd coming from him out of all people. Their eyes looked around but quickly saw the glares alongside mumbling and pointing fingers at the duo.

It clicked now for them why he seemed more inverted than usual, at least to them, that is. “Why haven’t you -" but Lloyd silenced them before their words could continue. “How about we talk more later, yeah?” He spoke quietly yet fast before turning on the heel and walking the other way, leaving them behind.

Their expression falters as they watch him fade away into the crowd, head down, hands in pockets. They felt uneasy to say it simple. Looking back at their peers as they shushed between themselves while trying to hold back laughter.

This is a topic of discussion even if he wished for it or not. Sticking to their defeat this time around, gripping the books, thier eye turned down as a blanket of gloss filled the brim. Shaking it off for now as they continued on their next destination, class.

~~~

They sat on his bed with book in hand and the boy himself next to them helping with reading, luckly Carlos, Dude and Jay had gone out with Mal and Evie. Giving the two of them the time and space, which is what they both had asked for.

Clock was ticking louder as their ears rang, lost focus minutes ago, breathing heavy heartedly. “Lloyd, we need to talk…” They started while removing their eyes from the filled pages, “..what was this morning?”

"Nothing, just remembered that Carlos wanted to chat with me about... the team" Shrugged his shoulders, never removing the focus on many of the words in the book. "You can be honest with me. I hope you know that." Placing a hand on top of his to show comfort.

Eye contact was almost immediately received from his side, "I do, just.. dont worry, kay?" Tilting his head to the side with his hair falling after him, almost looking like a puppy. "I saw them, the pointing, laughing, and the glares..." took a deep breath "I am not oblivious."

Lloyd procrastinated with answering before shaking his head, having his head fallen down. "No, you're right." Looking ahead as to maintain eye contact with them. "They are well looking down at me... for another reason than being me." They nodded lightly, signalling to their ears being open.

"It's because I am in a relationship. I am known for a lot but being soft? Isn't one of them." His ears showed a soft redish pink being embarrassed of having to come to terms with admiting it. "It's dumb. I should have told you, but... maybe you'd think the same once you heard what they said."

From a shocked to a saddened experience, they shook their hand, placing the other hand on top of his as well. "I would never stop loving you." Gliding their thumb up and down the back of his palm, "They're just a bunch of snobs anyhow. Don't let it get to you."

With even noticing their usage of words, his eyes softened, having focused on one word specifically. "You love me?" He whispered, wanting to make sure he heard correctly.

"Well.. yes, I do." Recreating a warm sensation on their features, "..and I have for a while." Chuckling softly with a drop of nervousness could be easily picked up. "I didn't think you saw me like that, especially with.. my family history." Squeezing their hands in his own grip.

"That's ridiculous. You are your own person." They started. "You're different from your father." Lifting his hand up to kiss the back of his palm before leaning in his hand. "You're amazing, Lloyd." They whispered, looking into his glossy eyes. "Thank you, sweetheart."

"Don't thank me, thank yourself for being you." Smiling gently at him showing only that their actions ment pure and true affection. "You're so cheesy." Softly laughing before leaning forwards for a peck on their cheek, "Still."