#I know I've said this before but for all the talk of how fandom is 'revolutionary' and 'an escape' it does not feel like either of those

[ladykailitha]

Share With Me One Love, One Lifetime Part 1

Here we go. The final story in the Boy with a Bat trilogy. It's certainly come a long way from when I first started writing for this fandom. Two years ago on this day, I put out Can Anybody See Me? because there was serious lack of season 2 AUs were Hellfire had taken Steve under their wing. And then it grew from one story into two with Never Hold Back Your Step... and I promised I would get Steddie all the way through season 4 to come out alive on the other side.

The goal is to get all the story out before season 5 premiers. So far of what I've written, we're about 2/3 of the way through season 4. We'll get to the end and then we'll have a short epilogue.

Thank you to everyone who cheered me on to complete this trilogy. But especially @bookworm0690, @kultiras, and @dreamercec.

The title like the previous two stories before it (here and here) comes from a musical. In this case, The Phantom of the Opera. RIP Eddie. You would have loved that musical.

In this we have our boys caught between a rock and hard place, Steve watches Lucas's game, and Eddie gets into some trouble.

~

Steve was going to murder someone. He just hadn’t decided on who yet. Though at the moment it was starting to look like Lucas.

“And you’re sure you can’t move it to another night?” he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah,” Eddie murmured. “Mike leaves for California in the morning and most of the other guys have plans too. Then once spring break comes back...”

“You can’t use the drama room because the play is starting up,” Steve finished for him. “Shit. And I can’t have it here. My mom somehow found out about the movie nights and threatened to have my dad kick me out if it happened again.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, nervously chewing on his lip. “And you know I’m gonna want to support Lucas.”

Eddie let out a long sigh. “Yeah I know. Dustin told me. I just wish Lucas had come to me instead of the flying monkeys you know?”

“Me too,” Steve said, closing his eyes. “He just got in with the boys on the basketball team and I’m worried he’s going to alienate himself from his friends if he continues to hang out with them.”

“I’m worried about that too,” Eddie huffed. “And my speech was aimed at Carver by the way. In the heat of the moment I had forgotten Lucas was on it. Got reminded afterwards though.”

Steve opened his eyes and let out answering sigh. The little bell above the door twinkled, heralding the arrival of customers. “Look, I’ve got to go, I have to actually work.”

“Booo,” Eddie hissed. “I’ve got that deal with Chrissy after the game, so I’ll be by after that, okay?”

“Okay, Eds,” Steve said. “Be safe.”

“Yup!”

Steve hung up the phone with another sigh. He straightened up and put on his best customer service smile. “Welcome to Family Video, how can I help you today?”

The rest of the day flew by in a flash and too soon he was picking up Brenda for the game. She had come into the store earlier and was talking about how she really wanted to go to the game because her brother was on the team but her parents didn’t want to go.

So Steve offered to take her. He was pretty sure she thought it was a date, but Steve kept trying to steer here away from that sort of talk. He’s not sure he succeeded.

~

“It’d be funny if we won the championship game the year after you graduated,” Brenda said with a smile.

Oh hell no.

“I wasn’t on the team my senior year,” he said with a bitchy expression. “You would know that if you actually watched us play. I was out with a concussion.”

Brenda smirked. “You know what I mean. I just mean that you were King Steve, we didn’t win the championship once.”

“Yes,” Steve cocking his head forward, “but I’m the one that got us to the championship my junior year. I sunk that last shot with nothing but net that got us into the final game. The other team was better. You can still do everything right and have the other team just be better.”

Then it looked they were going to lose, so they let Lucas play. After all what was the harm of letting him play for the last minute of the game.

And then a miracle happened.

Lucas was at the three-point line and he let go of the ball just as the buzzer went off. Steve rose to his feet as the shot sailed into the air and hit the basket dead on.

Lucas had won the championship game for the Tigers.

Steve was jumping up and down and just screaming. “Yes! Yes! Yes!!!”

~

After the players came back out from the locker rooms, Steve put his arm around Lucas.

“Looks like our hard work paid off,” he said with a teasing grin.

Lucas rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Thank you, Steve.”

Steve gave him a tight one-armed hug and then whispered in his ear, “If you feel uncomfortable for any reason, just give me a call and I’ll be there in a heartbeat. And don’t let anyone pressure you into something you don’t want to, okay?”

Lucas nodded and then hurried to catch up to Jason and his friends.

Steve shook his head and turned to Brenda. “Hey do you need me to take you home?”

She shook her head. “My brother is going to drop me off before heading the celebration.”

“You got it,” Steve said with a thumbs up. He stopped for a moment. “Which one did you say was your brother again?”

“I didn’t,” Brenda sneered. It’s Andy Snyder, number forty-three.”

Dread pooled in Steve stomach. Andy was the new Tommy H. A bully and a brute, on and off the court.

“He played good tonight,” he said with a fake smile smile firmly in place.

Her returning smile was even less sincere and she walked away. Steve put his hands on his hips and looked up, pressing him lips together.

He was now certain she thought they were on a date, but with Steve paying more attention to Robin then her and rooting for Lucas without even asking who her brother was... yeah. According to her the date was a failure, according to Steve, he dodged that fucking bullet.

~

Steve had barely kicked off his shoes when the walkie talkie he kept next to the door crackled to life.

“Code Red!” Eddie hissed. “I have a fucking Code Red! Is anyone there? Please god, please!”

Steve was on the line faster then from one breath to the next. “Eddie, this is Steve. Repeat, this is Steve. What’s your status?”

“Chrissy is dead, man,” Eddie whined. “She–she rose up into the air, like a puppet on a string and oh god!”

“Shit, shit, shit!” he cursed. “You’ve got to get out of there, now! Stash the van and run for Rick’s. After the game there are going to be too many eyes on my place. You keep your head down, you hear?”

“Yeah,” Eddie breathed. “Yeah. Oh god, it was so bad, Stevie. Why her? She was so nice to me. Why her?”

“We’ll find out,” Steve breathed. “I just don’t know who would be around right now. Everyone is out scattered because of the game, Nancy and Mike are getting ready to take him to the airport for him to fly out to California and everyone is out celebrating the win.”

“What about Dustin?” Eddie murmured. He hated bringing a kid into this, but if that was who they had...”

“I don’t know where he is,” Steve said chewing on his thumb nail. He should have picked up before he did.

“Shit!”

Steve let out a shuddering breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ve got work tomorrow, but as soon as I can, I’ll bring you clothes and food enough for you hide out there, okay?”

He had a lot of Eddie’s clothes over at his place, it wouldn’t be hard for him to pack a bag.

“Yeah, okay,” Eddie sighed. “You’ve got a handle on this. Just don’t forget about me, okay?”

“I’d never.”

~

“Hey,” Robin said after Steve pretty much blew up at a customer for not know if her boyfriend liked scary movies or not. “Are you okay?”

Steve grimaced. He had tried to get people on the walkies this morning but he couldn’t get anyone on the line and he didn’t have a chance to talk to Robin, because she had been running full steam about Vickie all morning.

But before he could even open his mouth to answer Dustin came storming in, with Max hot on his heels. “Turn on the news now!”

Robin turned over to the news and sure enough the breaking news was of a girl being murdered at the Forest Hills Trailer Park and the investigation was ongoing.

“That’s Eddie’s trailer!” Dustin cried.

“I saw Chrissy go into his trailer last night,” Max admitted, “and then he came running out screaming.”

“Why you didn’t get anyone on the walkies?” Steve growled. “That would have been great to know last night!”

“My mom sold them for more booze,” she snapped back.

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily.

“We need to find him!” Dustin insisted. “He’s innocent! There is no way he did this! He couldn’t have!”

“Whoa!” Steve said sternly. “You think I don’t know that? I’m the one who introduced him to you do you forget!”

Dustin blinked at him for a moment and then nodded. “Sorry Steve, I freaked out when I found that my walkie talkie had been accidentally been turned to the wrong channel, but I couldn’t get him on it this morning and I was really worried.”

“Okay...” Robin said, raising an eyebrow, “and why are you here, specifically?”

“Oh, I was going to hack your system to find out where Eddie might have gone aground?” Dustin said with a grimace.

Steve buried his head in his hands. “Oh I am so getting fired.”

Max scoffed. “As if your peon bosses would be able to tell Dustin even touched it.”

Steve put his hands on his hips and rolled his eyes skyward. “No, that’s not why I’m getting fired.”

Everyone else looked at each other in confusion.

“Then why are you getting fired?” Dustin asked with one raised eyebrow.

“I’m guessing you’re going to want to hasten to Eddie’s rescue, yes?” he asked licking his bottom lip slowly.

Dustin rolled his eyes again. “Yes!”

“And how would you get there?” Steve pressed. “You bikes? Because that won’t draw attention to where Eddie might be hiding.”

“Well, no,” Max said, “we’d make you take us.”

“Which means I would be abandoning the job to go look for Eddie if we left now, yes?”

Dustin and Max eyes went wide and then they said together, “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Steve huffed, shaking his head. “You either wait until two when I’m off or I’m going to get fired.”

“Two, you said?” Max said with a wince.

“Mhmm.”

“That’s not too bad,” Dustin hedged. “After all it might take me that long to crack the system and find Eddie.”

He went to go leap over the counter when Steve grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.

“Oh hell no,” Steve snapped. “One I just sorted those tapes and I’m not doing it again, and two you don’t need to hack shit, because I know where he is without all the techno bullshit.”

“Techno is a genre a music,” Max supplied unhelpfully.

“And it’s not bullshit if it helps us find him!” Dustin growled.

“Did you even listen to the rest of Steve said?” Robin asked, knocking his hat off his head. “He knows where Eddie is.”

Dustin blinked at Steve for a moment. “How would you know that?”

Steve rolled his head and tilted his head back. “Because I was on the actual fucking walkie talkies you make us carry around everywhere we go and Eddie radioed the party last night. AND I was the only one who answered!”

Dustin and Max blinked at Steve’s outburst, shocked that he would yell at them. But with Eddie missing and a girl dead, it was forgivable.

“So where is he,” Dustin groused, picking up his hat and slamming it down on his head, “if you’re so smart?”

“Reefer Rick’s boathouse on Lover’s Lake?” Steve suggested with a half shrug.

Max folded her arms and glared at Steve. “And how would you know where that is?”

Steve threw his arms in the air with a huff of frustration. “We’d go there sometimes when my dad was being an ass, okay?” He looked down at his shoes and scuffed his shoe on the carpet. “It was a place no knew but us. Sometimes Rick would be there and we’d watch TV sometimes.”

Dustin looked at him disbelieving. “Yeah, sure...that’s all you did.”

“I hate to break it to you kid,” Steve said dryly, “but drug lords actually prefer that their dealers aren’t doing the drugs they’re selling. It’s bad for business.”

“Oh.”

~

Tag List: 10 SLOTS REMAINING

1- @itsall-taken @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @irregular-child @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

[angelltheninth]

Hi Angell, I was wondering what your Arcane ships were?

I think I'm super basic except for one, but I am a multishipper at heart so anything here goes.

Piltover's Finest/Caitvi - shipped them since high school where some of my friends introduced me to League, which I played once before I decided it was not for me, but safe to say I've been shipping them for a long time and couldn't be happier that they're canon

Meljay - love them so much, they're really soft around each other, I like how Jayce brings out Mel's more tender side and manages to get around the armor of the politician she made around herself, and I like how protective Mel gets of Jayce and comforts him when he needs it

Jayvik - always a sucker for a good co-workers to lovers dynamic, they compliment each other in a lot of ways and I think they have such devotion to each other, cause even if you look at them as completely platonic the affection and devotion is still there no matter what

Meljayvik - let Mel have her two nerds and love them, not to mention that Mel and Viktor are foils to each other in many ways, in terms of color and narrative, and Jayce holds them together with his big strong, buff arms, plus it feels like they would all feel the need to take care of each other when they get overworked

Skyvik - we all know Sky had a crush on Viktor for a long time but he was too much of a workaholic nerd to notice, that being said s2 gave me so much with them, and I don't think Viktor lied at at all when he said he was gonna miss Sky's company and talking with her

Timebomb - friends to lovers, childhood friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, doomed by the narrative, this ship has it all and is canon in a alternate reality, I will never not love the bond these two have and how they manage to pull each other up when they need it

Lightcannon - I was always a fan of Lux and Jinx, again since high school and they were the second ship I shipped in the fandom, they haven't met in the animated universe (yet) but they are best friends and classmates in the Magical Girl timeline, and there are implications that Jinx has a crush on Lux there

Piltover's Finest Spy - now is one I that took me by complete surprise but as someone who loves Maddie this is me being delusional, I'm not saying she still can't be evil, but this has potential for angst, redemption, and a hot threesome, what more do I need to say

[musical-chick-13]

I know this may sound petty, but I think you're the one who will be able to understand this frustration: how come any post about special characters is always titled 'special little guy' can't girls be special?

No, I literally complain about this all the time (mostly to myself, but. you know).

First of all, there are so many posts that don't mean "guy" in the sense of "hey you guys" as a general catch-all term. They specify "boy" or "man" or "him" or you can very clearly infer from context that they are talking specifically about men. And I just...you know that women can be these types of characters too, right. Women can be sympathetic villains or have Problems™ that inspire the "I can fix them" impulse or any of the other things people usually say about men. It's not hard to say like. "Character" or "Person" or "Blorbo" or even "guy (gender neutral)."

As always, this wouldn't bug me so much if there was a similar level of popular posts circulating about the women, but. There very much is not. (And also plenty of the posts that are exclusively about the women get overtaken by discussions of male characters.)

[fading-event-608]

Listen, I know, you all have been seeing fundraiser posts all day long. I've seen people complain that the tags for Palestine are "unusable" now because… genocide victims use it to find aid to survive.

Thing is, those posts will be here until Israel ceases it's aggression. And Palestinians will need your aid as far as they are left with no income and besieged. I've tried reaching out to other platforms, and Tumblr is still the best place for at least Falastin (Gazan who I spotlight for more than 2 months) to get donations; because here you don't need thousands of followers to get interactions. And at least we get one in ten response here; on other platforms both of us don't get any.

So yes, a dying website for fandom is her best bet to save her family right now. We don't speak of evacuation anymore (even though we hope for it), this is a battle for day-to-day survival. The prices in Gaza are increasing every hour, and they have no income and Falastin has gone into multiple debts to help them before starting the campaign in June. And yes, she receives more attention now but her family is still in starvation - she tries to support 26 people now, since her cousin was martyred and his 2 children joined 24 of her family in Al-Mawasy.

Yes, they should get free aid from all those countless non-profits that raise millions. But if they see something labelled as "aid" it is because they have bought it themselves. Yes, you can see (and maybe touch!) aid if you subject yourself to hours-long queues and/or humiliation of being a part of a photoshoot. They also said that the aid they get is stale at best and spoiled at worst; and that's again, if they get it.

Yes, there are grassroots organizations but they cannot reach everyone, because they are in small teams and they don't receive a lot of funds. And you can of course donate to them to try "fix" this; but please do not think that it means individual fundraisers are not worth supporting. I did not see any evidence of individual fundraisers "taking" money from others; on the contrary, when Falastin's fundraiser struggles, I see others struggle too. When we celebrate a good day of donations we celebrate it with others too.

And I could talk about Harris campaign get 1 billion in donations and still receiving them or how AO3 got 200k in a couple of days; but the post is getting too long.

Anyway. Please consider donating to Falastin's campaign; the money would buy food and water first, shelter and clothes for the winter second. There's a raffle for hand-made Palestinian thobe that Falastin's friend makes (LINK); and please follow her here.

Donate via Gofundme (in SEK! check rates below please): LINK

10$ = 108 SEK

25$ = 272 SEK

50$ = 544 SEK

100$ = 1,088 SEK

Donate via PayPal (in USD): LINK

Vetting info: #282 in El-Shab-Hussein and Nabulsi's spreadsheet [here], #957 in the Butterfly Project spreadsheet [here]

[lokischocolatefountain]

Warning || Men Like Me

Masterlist

Fandom: The Last of Us Pairing: Joel Miller x Virgin!Reader Rating: 18+ Warnings: girth age gap, virgin!reader, eventual loss of virginity (not in this chapter), gratuitous descriptions of Joel Miller's body, somewhat creepy!Joel, fetishization of youth, dom!Joel, breaking and entering, playboy magazine, objectification, fingering, sexual discoveries. Word count: 6.2k Summary: Joel's warnings about what men like him would do to girls like you only makes you want him more. A/N: Back in the depths of hell again, you guys. Now this isn't the most depraved thing I've written by any means but it's up there. Come say hi in my chat or inbox, I'd love to talk. Keep a look out for follow up parts and pleeeeease give me comments. I am very very desperate.

Joel Miller was a bad man. That much he knew. 

Even as he fixed taps and renovated houses that were falling apart, he could see the blood on his hands. The very hands that packed lunches for Ellie snapped necks, pistol whipped men, stole from a starving child so he could feed his grown brother. But there were lows even he didn’t stoop down to. 

Not that he didn’t have the opportunity. Men always did. And in this world, opportunities had only tripled. Even the Boston QZ, as strict as it was, had an underground brothel. He knew Tess to frequent it and never asked questions. Sometimes she needed to bury her face between a good pair of thighs and wrap her lips around a pretty pussy, and this wasn’t something he could give her. There was a lot he couldn’t give her.

Being in Jackson should’ve civilized him. It did in many ways. He’d reverted to the southern gentleman with table manners. ‘Yes, Ma’am’ spilled out of his lips effortlessly when he spoke to women. He held the door for anyone walking in after him. He even went to Church��� sorry, the multifaith house of worship–to help renovate. 

That was where his troubles began. 

There was no point in him going where people prayed. Being back in civilization did not erase his decades of disbelief in a cruel God who would take his baby and keep him on this accursed Earth. But he did because he was back to being a contractor and Tommy asked him to go fix up the pews instead of him. He didn’t have much time, being a new dad and all.

He was on his knees checking out the rotting wood and evaluating how much wood he’d need for building new ones when he was confronted by a pair of legs and a sweet voice. Yours. 

“Lemonade, Mister Miller?” 

He looked up, his eyes traveling up your legs, bare until he got to your knees where the hem of your flowery skirt sat. Pure, unblemished knees, never taken a fall, didn’t fucking creak, and never knelt before anyone but God. You looked down sweetly, eyes wide and innocent like a newborn cow. Everyone had a kind of darkness about them in this world. Everyone except the kids who didn’t know a world outside the insular walls of Jackson. And you, it turned out, even though you weren’t a kid.

He wiped his sweat off with the greasy rag he carried and looked up at you once again. You had a pitcher and an empty glass in your hands. A sweet smile on your lips and hair falling down your shoulders and reaching your breasts. A yellow ribbon sat in a bow where your neckline dipped between your breasts, adding to the innocence of your look.

“Yes please, Ma’am. Thank you,” he said, giving you a nod. Your pretty plush lips curled up, a giggle escaping them as you poured him a glass of lemonade. 

His hand brushed against yours as he accepted the glass, his hand too large to curl around it without making contact with you. You giggled again before retracting your hand and occupying it with adjusting your hair. 

“I’m younger than you, you know? Don’t have to call me Ma’am.” 

“Just being polite. Ma’am.” He took the glass to his lips, mindful to take only a small sip instead of downing it in desperation. Another adjustment to make when food was no longer a scarcity. Sweet, sour, and salty danced on his tongue before it glided down his throat. Just a sip refreshed him. And the sight of a nice girl didn’t hurt the cause either. 

It’d been so long since he had a nice refreshing glass of lemonade. Summers meant worse infestations of infected, not the barbecues, lemonades, and swimming of past. When surviving each hour was under threat, small luxuries like this became out of reach of even one’s dreams.

“Well, guess I should call you Sir then,” you said, leaning against the wall. You held the pitcher up to your chest and the tails of the ribbon on your chest dipped into it, the soft shiny yellow turning dark, tainted.

His mouth watered and fucking hell, it wasn’t the lemonade you just gave him. He took a sip of the drink and licked his lips, imagining how you’d taste if he wrapped his large hand around your neck and pressed his chapped lips to your plush ones. Better yet, if he held your legs apart and devoured you other pair of lips until you were leaking down his mouth. Would you call him Sir then? His cock twitched in his jeans as he pictured you bent over one of these pews, your skirt pushed up and his hand in your hair as he slid his cock in your hole. 

Jesus fucking Christ! What the fuck was wrong with him? 

“Made the lemonade yourself?” He asked,  groaning as he managed to get himself back up on his feet. His knees creaked like the floorboards of the houses he renovated, but ultimately supported him as he stood. He towered over you, making you appear smaller, more fragile. 

“Depends. Do you like it?” 

“It’s wonderful, of course. Hot summer day like this…I really needed it,” he said, raising the glass up a little before taking another sip. 

“Well then yes, I did make it.”

He chuckled, feeling himself pulled in by your easy charisma. It was nice to have normal conversations like this once again. No agenda, no need for establishing himself as someone who wouldn’t hesitate to beat someone up if even mildly threatened. It was just…normal. 

“It’s very sweet, Ma’am. Like you I assume,” he added, mentally dusting off the part of his brain where he stored skills for conversing with pretty girls.

You laughed, holding your free hand up to your mouth to cover your lips that widened and revealed your teeth. 

“Is that the southern charm that I hear our townspeople talk about?” 

“They talk about my charm? I didn’t hear.” 

“Oh yes, they do… Joel Miller, charming pants off of everyone in town.”

“Pants? Well that’s disappointing. I was hoping I’d charmed some pretty skirts off.” 

“Lots of experience with that, Mister Miller?” you asked, sliding your hand over the soft fabric of the skirt of your dress. Such delicate fabric. He could fist the hem and give it one tug and it’d rip right off.

“More ‘n what you got for sure,” he said, loath to hint at how infrequent his encounters had become in the recent past. Tess died, he did a cross country hike with an annoying kid, he needed to maintain a good reputation in his new town. One buried after the other. Enough to leave a man with nothing but his fist and his imagination. He would kill for a fucking Playboy magazine. Literally. He’d killed for less.

“What do you know about how experienced I am?” 

“Been experiencing longer than you’ve been alive, Ma’am.” 

“Oh well. Nothing I can’t learn.” 

He laughed nervously and stuck his hand in his jeans pocket. Surely you couldn’t be flirting… Why would a young thing like this flirt with him? He was in his late fifties looking like mid sixties and you were… He didn’t know. Young.

“If you could teach me, Mister Miller. Give a girl some experience?”

“I’m sure you can find someone else.” 

“Oh. Not your type, am I?” you asked, and he deluded himself thinking you sounded disappointed. No chance. 

He didn’t have a type. Long time since he thought of frivolous shit like that. But you shouldn’t be his type. 

“There’s much more eligible men in town is what I’m saying,” he said, suddenly hesitant to lie. Lying had never been an issue for him. The right thing was to lie, say you weren’t his type so he wouldn’t cross lines. It’d been a long time since he did the right thing.

“I’ll be the decider of that,” you said with a shrug of your shoulder before taking the empty glass from him. “Have a good rest of the work day, Mister Miller.”

Later that night, he wrapped his fist around his cock in the privacy of his room. His mind flooded with images of you spread out for him, sweet lips and a sweeter pussy milking him. He couldn’t even recall the last time he was with a woman. It was Tess, of course. Sometime before she got thrown in FEDRA jail for the last time. Too fucking long ago.

Surely it was only because it’d been a long time since he got his dick wet. He’d never, in his entire life, pictured a woman so much younger spreading her legs for him. Sucking his cock. Crying out his name. How old was she even? Not past mid twenties for sure.

It was wrong, he knew, as white hot spend spurted out of his cock and covered his hand. A sour tang took over his mouth as the fog of unadulterated lust cleared up to reveal the ugliness in his head. He shuddered, feeling like something had crawled under his flesh. He hadn’t felt guilt like this in so long. 

Wrong, wrong, wrong. 

You weren’t even as old as his kid would be had she been alive. 

He’d known men like that back in the day. Grays in their hair and skin like old leather, but pretty young things old enough to be their daughter hanging off their arm. It was obvious that none of them kept these girls around for love or for their personality. It was always sex and the feeling of self-importance when a sweet young thing paid attention to balding heads, beer bellies and limp dicks that needed a blue pill to get up. 

Fucking disgusting. 

He began avoiding you whenever you happened to be in the same space. At the house of worship, the town clinic where you interned, trading days when people exchanged what they had for what they wanted. His eyes never met yours and he always quickly looked away when they stared too long at your uh…feminine features– pretty legs, cute ass, round tits. Where the fuck did you get sundresses anyway? Who kept that shit around in this world? 

He didn’t know that when he avoided you, you took note of him. When he took glances of your features, you memorized his for later in the night when you buried your head in your pillow and pushed your fingers inside your pussy to simulate what it must be like to be with a man. 

He was older. That much you knew from his grey hair, sun-damaged skin, and gait that exuded bone-deep weariness. You knew Tommy had just turned fifty. Hard to miss occasions that meant a free slice of cake from the canteen. Joel had to be in his mid-fifties at the very least. At first glance, he wasn’t what you’d consider handsome. There were younger men in town. Fit and muscular. Didn’t groan and scrunch up their faces when they got up. Didn’t have lines on their foreheads. No bags under their eyes. 

Yet there was something about Joel that was more entrancing. 

After your first meeting when you offered him lemonade, you made sure to visit under the guise of worship. You didn’t know much about religion and were conflicted about embracing a god. The only faith you had rested in your medical instruments and the medicines the town’s chemist concocted. But it was a nice place to meet people, to check on healing patients.

The visits were worth it for a glimpse of Joel’s large hands wrapped around his carpentry tools. When the sun was the hottest, he sometimes stripped down to his tank top, giving you a show better than any film played in the community theater. His broad back looked masculine enough in his flannel shirts. But you didn’t know desire like the first time you saw him in a white tank, showing off his muscular arms as sweat dripped down his tan skin.

When you pleasured yourself in your room, it took time, imagination, your fingers, and a lot of effort to make slick pool in your pussy. That day, all it took was the sight of Joel Miller working. You sat with your thighs pressed together, rubbing them against each other in the most inconspicuous little movements. 

Could it be blasphemy if the God who was supposedly orchestrating everything made this man take his shirt off in front of you?

It made no fucking sense. Joel was old. He looked like he woke up on the wrong side of the bed every goddamn day. He had been chewed up and spat out by whatever the fuck was outside Jackson these days. Hardened expressions, graying patchy beard, hands calloused from carpentry and decades of using weaponry. Features that only indicated a long life lived, not attractiveness.

You were supposed to be attracted to the soft, sweet ones like the guys in the worn out copies of romance stories that the previous inhabitant of your house stashed in the basement. Even his little brother would be a more reasonable target for your lust. Younger, taller, softer, head full of dark, silky hair with few grays. But you wanted Joel Miller with his rough graying beard that would prick your skin were you to cup his cheek like the women on the novel covers. 

Something about him just screamed Man. Something that none of the other guys in town had. There was nothing wrong with any of the other Jackson men, but none of them made you want to take the plunge and lose your virginity. It wasn’t the lack of offers, per se. You’d gotten looks from many eligible Jackson bachelors. You had drinks with a few of them. Dinner with fewer and shared a kiss with more than one. Alright, two. But anything beyond that had you trembling in anxiety. 

It wasn’t anything precious to you, virginity. But you’d waited so long. Focused so long only on survival and then helping to build this town and now training to become a doctor. Whatever passed for doctor these days. With all your life dedicated to everything but your love life, you simply had no experience. What if you messed up and they laughed? You knew anatomy, but that didn’t translate to practical stuff. What if you couldn’t make them feel good? You’d have to see the guy all the damn time in the small town. There would be no escaping the awkwardness.

Sure it was counterintuitive to keep pushing away sexual encounters because you had no experience. But you didn’t know what else to do. You were too old already to not have done anything. But each day that passed with you rejecting perfectly nice men meant you were getting even older for your first time. 

You didn’t know where Joel fit into your need for exploring your sexuality, but it didn’t hurt to stare. God knew everyone else in Jackson did. 

So you stared. Work with his carpentry tools. Riding on horseback into Jackson after patrol. Helping with the fucking sheep. Walking around with Tommy. Carrying his nephew around town. It should be inappropriate to be fantasizing about a man when he was doing something as innocent as carrying a baby. But seeing his large hand cradling the baby’s little head made you want to scream into your pillow and kick your legs. 

“You alright, sweetheart?” 

Your heart fluttered and you let out a nervous laugh at being caught. You smoothed out the wrinkles on your clothes just to make it look like you were alright. Unfortunately you were wearing a pair of fucking jeans. You didn’t even want to know how awkward you looked. 

“‘m alright, Mister Miller.” 

“Joel’s fine,” he said, rocking his nephew in his arms.

Oh fuck, his fucking arms!

“Oh I don’t know,” you said, fidgeting with a belt loop on your jeans. “Wouldn’t want to be impolite addressing you by your first name like that.”

He smiled, recalling your conversation from the house of worship when you called him Sir and had him fucking himself in the shower to the memory. “Ah. ‘cause I’m an old man,” he said, more as a reminder to himself to fucking behave. 

“You’re not that old…” you trailed, looking him over in a way that set fire to every inch of skin that you laid eyes on.

Behave, Miller. You’re out with your nephew. 

“That so?” he asked, eyebrow raised. 

“Mhmm. You don’t look a day over seventy.” 

He snorted, making Miles stir in his arms just a little. That stung a little. It shouldn’t. Your estimation of his age, whether you were serious or not, was reminder enough that he was too old to be lusting after you.

“Thanks. I’m actually eighty-two.” 

You giggled your pretty little giggle, lowering your gaze to the ground and looking back up only when it had turned into a wide grin. “How old are you actually?”

“Old. Fifty six.” 

“Fifty-six isn’t that old…” you trailed as you brought a hand up to his bicep. Joel gulped, praying to the non-existent God that you would stop before praying to the same God that you would keep your hand right there. God answered his second prayer. You squeezed, licked your lips and looked up at him with your doe eyes.

“Checking if the hardware is still working, Doctor?” 

“I’m not a doctor yet.” 

“When do you become one then? Ain’t no Harvard handing out medical degrees in this town.”

“Howard?” you asked, squinting at him. Ah, of course you didn’t know. Harvard didn’t mean the same thing to you. Now it was just like every other building in Boston. Run over by infected. These ones were just the nerdy kind with glasses on.

“That was a thing, too. But I said Harvard. They were big universities back then.”

“Ah. Did you go there?” You asked, with no malice or bite. Oh, bless your heart. No one expected a dummy like him to have gone to university at all, much less Harvard. No one in his family had gone. Sarah was meant to be the first.

“Yeah. Traded some oxy and threw molotovs at clickers in the campus.” 

You rewarded him with a giggle and that was incentive enough for him to keep going. “Guys like me didn’t get into Harvard. Or Howard. Didn’t even go to community college. I finished high school and got a job in construction.” 

“You didn’t go to uh…construction college?” You asked, cocking your head and raising an eyebrow as though testing out the term.

“No such thing. Well, there were civil engineering programs, but I just learned on the job.” 

“Like me.” 

“Guess so. I see you reading from all those fat medical books. But there’s no need to study any books in construction. ‘cept if you wanna be an engineer or architect or something, which I’m not.” 

“Maybe you should write one. We could all do with some knowledge from before. It’s important to document it, pass it on to Ellie and little Miles over there.” 

“I ain’t writing books, sweetheart. Don’t think I even remember how to write much. I’ll just keep to fixing things up in this town. So, if you need some help with your place…I’m happy to help.” It was the least he could do. Maybe as some kind of penance for having impure thoughts about you. Or as a fucked up trade for starring in the mental images he conjured to jack off in the shower.

“There is something, actually. But I don’t have anything to trade for, so I’ll wait until I do,” you said, clasping your hands behind your back and swaying in place in an endearing manner.

“Nonsense. You patched me up just last week. You’ve done enough for the town’s health to not have to trade for anything ever again.” 

“Well, no. That’s not how it should be… It’s people’s health. Can’t put a price on that.”

“Believe it or not, health had a steep price back in the day. Cost four thousand something just to give birth. Double that if they had to cut you open.” And that was just how much it cost when Sarah was born. He was sure it had only gone up by 2003. If he hadn’t worked his ass off, there was no way he could’ve escaped debt. It helped that his Ma and his then wife’s parents helped with childcare. Would’ve been even more expensive without that.

“Damn. I don’t know how much that is, since…y’know we don’t have money now. But that sounds like a big number. It shouldn’t cost anything just to be born.” 

“Tell me about it,” he said, shaking his head. “But listen. Anything you want fixed, I’ll help out. You can give me something later if you’re worried. I know Ellie’s always on the look for new books to read and you seem to have a lot of them.” 

“Nothing Ellie would like. Not like the special limited edition of Savage Starlight or anything. Just medical textbooks and romance novels.” 

“We could trade for the lemonade from that afternoon,” he insisted, desperate to do something for you. Take care of you as you took care of everyone who walked into the clinic be it papercuts or a fucking knife in their abdomen. 

“Alright. Trade for the lemonade it is then,” you said, giving in to his pressure.

“Now tell me. What d’ya need fixed?” 

⌘⌘⌘

It had been a few days since Joel promised to fix your shower for you. Each time he came by and rang your doorbell, you hid somewhere away from your windows. When he caught sight of you in public, you quickly walked away or engaged in conversation with someone else. You didn’t need shit fixed. Everything in your house was perfectly alright. Tommy and his guys had given the place a complete makeover just a couple months before Joel and Ellie arrived. 

You were no paragon of honesty, but you didn’t make lying a habit. There were a few white lies here and there and this was meant to be one of them. It just didn’t fucking hit you that if you lied to a contractor that your shower was broken, he would eventually come over to fucking fix it. All your desperate sex starved brain wanted that day was for Joel Miller to come use his tools in your room and flex those muscles while at it.

So invested were you in that particular fantasy that as you unwound after a long shift at the clinic, it was with Joel’s beefy arms in mind. You stood in front of your mirror, taking in your reflection. One of the magazines you’d found in a box under your bed laid open on the dressing table. Playboy. Entertainment for Men. Each had a scantily clad woman on the cover. And many more inside. 

You made comparisons to yourself and the woman in the center page of the issue.

She stood in front of a dressing table too, but much different from how you stood. Her legs were on either side of her dressing table chair and her hands on the top of it. Between her arms were breasts, big and round and with smooth skin. They didn’t have any marks on them like yours. No moles, no stretch marks. Just plain. And she just stood there, soft brown hair down, tickling the top of her breasts and her lips parted as she gazed at you. No, at the men she was meant to entertain in this men’s entertainment magazine. All she had on was panties that went high up to her flat belly that connected to high transparent socks.

You reached behind your back and unclasped your bra, wishing that you had something nicer like the woman on the cover of another one of the magazines. Bright red and showing off her breasts wonderfully, but pulled down to reveal almost everything. What was the point of a bra then if it didn’t cover or support anything? Entertainment, you decided. Men seemed to be very entertained by breasts. 

Many a man had stared at yours even though you had them behind layers of fabric unlike the naked women of the magazines. Many had conversations with them instead of your face. Some brushed up against them ‘accidentally’. Joel thought he was being covert, but you felt his brown eyes rove all over them. You thought maybe that he too would brush up against it sometime, but he never did. Maybe entertainment stopped at just looking, as in the magazines. 

You wondered if Joel sought out men’s entertainment magazines like this. He was from before everything went to shit, so it was very possible that he did. Did he like the women in these pages, sticking their asses out and looking through the pages at him? Would he be entertained if he saw you like this? 

You didn’t know that if you turned your head to your bedroom door, you would have your answer. Joel’s cock strained against his already tight jeans as he stood awestruck by your figure. He swallowed as you held on to the top of the chair and lifted your knees, one after the other and placed them on the plush seat. You arched your back, a little too much at first before reducing the curve. Your ass stuck out enticingly and he didn’t know whether to grab, squeeze, slap, or spread your cheeks apart and fuck your ass. 

He should leave. 

It was stupid of him to walk into your house with a box of plumbing tools to fix your shower when you hadn’t yet given him a date or time for it. Plus you were avoiding him. Running away with your little friends and picking up stuff to hide your face from his view. He was plenty sure that when he’d rung your doorbell, you weren’t always away from home. 

He should leave. 

Fixing the shower could wait. He could confront you some other day. 

But you were putting on such a pretty little show in nothing but your panties and he was only a man. A bad one. 

His boots stayed put on your hardwood floors as you enjoyed yourself in front of the mirror. You spread your knees and let your fingers between your thighs, eyes closed, lips parted and low whines escaping your lips in just a few minutes. He palmed his growing erection over his jeans, consequences of being caught be damned. He was a foul beast already. What bad was another sin on the list? Besides, you were the one who’d left the fucking door open. 

Your soft whimpers grew into moans as you brought yourself closer and he forced his feet to stay put despite their urge to walk up to you and give you something to really moan about. 

“Fuu– mmm Joel, pleeease.”

He let out a gasp, all his restraint flying out the window as soon as he heard his name from your lips. You couldn’t actually be doing this… There had to be another Joel in town. Younger, better looking, smarter.

Your voice grew needy and the pitch higher as you kept at it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Gimme it, Sir.” 

No, it couldn’t be anyone else. 

Joel toed his boots off and took quiet steps towards you, emboldened by the filth that spilled from your lips. If this old man was what you wanted, he wouldn’t stop himself from reaping the benefits. He wasn’t a goddamn saint. Never was. 

He stopped in front of you, surprised you still hadn’t sensed his presence. As though the universe heard his thoughts, it had you open your eyes. You gasped as soon as you saw him and buckled off the chair, but Joel caught you. You shuddered, unable to cope with the sudden touch. 

“J-Joel?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he said, touching your cheek with the back of his hand. You whined, your body molding itself against his chest. You brought a hand to his arm, feeling the rock hard muscles underneath his sleeves and your other hand worked between your legs.  

Your fingers no longer felt adequate as you felt his large fingers on your cheek. “Want you, please,” you whined, desperate to return to the edge where you had been right before you saw him. 

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me…” he spoke dangerously, soft brown eyes clouded with a kind of desire you had longed to see in him for weeks. 

“Want you…want you to be with me,” you repeated stupidly, your desperation clouding your senses too much for you to say anything else. While in the past you only wanted to get rid of your virginity, your goals had become more specific with his arrival. You wanted him. You wanted his big hands and broad shoulders, to hold on to them as you rode him. To watch his grumpy expressions turn to ecstasy under you. 

“Tell me not to touch you,” he said, his tone low and almost threatening. Any other threat from him, you would’ve heeded. But not this one. 

“Touch me!” 

It was as though something in him snapped at your words. While darkness only loomed over him before, it now completely took over.The hand that previously only caressed your cheek now wrapped itself around your neck. Before you could completely process the move, his other hand slapped yours away. He replaced two of your puny fingers with his middle finger, eliciting a strained moan from you. 

“Touching yourself to a Playboy magazine, huh?” 

You only nodded, unable to form words now that a fantasy of yours had finally come to life.

“Dirty little thing…Thought you were a nice girl and all. Helpin’ out at the clinic, head buried in books all the time. Turns out you actually got your head in dirty magazines.” 

You whined, your pussy clenching and gushing around his finger at the way he was speaking to you. The same man who insisted on calling you Ma’am despite your protests was calling you a dirty girl now. The veil of respectability seemed to have floated away at the sight of you naked and pleasuring yourself. Had you known that this was all you needed to get Joel Miller to touch you, you would’ve done it much sooner.

He added another finger, the girth of him enough to stretch you more than you had done for yourself. You brought a hand up to his shoulder and fisted his shirt, needing something to anchor yourself to. 

“You ever been taken by a man, sweetheart?” He asked, his tone too cool and casual for what he was doing to you. You shuddered, partly from his phrasing– taken, he said. Taken. Like you were a thing. Like the women in the magazines positioned so uncomfortably just so their breasts could look a certain way for the picture. Printed on the cover page with the words Entertainment for Men written on top. You shook your head, feeling small as you confessed it for the first time. 

“Any man?” 

“N-no,” you managed to breathe out, whimpering at the way the bulge beneath his jeans twitched at your simple answer. He took a step to position himself behind you, letting you lean your back against his chest. The angle at which he touched your pussy changed, opening your world up to a wonderful new kind of pleasure. 

“A virgin. Pretty young things like you ain’t for men like me,” he whispered in your neck, making you shiver. His thumb roamed between your legs as far as they could reach, caressed you gently, his softness with you contradicting his warning about men like him. The hand around your neck slithered down your torso, cold air forcing you to face your new desire of having your breath kept hostage. 

He took your left breast in hand, squeezing the flesh like someone starved would hold on to a piece of bread. It felt more like a punctuation to the warning he issued than a part of sex. Just then, his thumb between your legs stopped its search, stopping a little above the fingers inside you.

A moan you didn’t recognize as yours at first filled the room and you buckled forward. Blunt nails sunk into the flesh of your breast as he saved you before you could fall. He hauled you back up, making you collide against his chest. 

You gasped and quickly grabbed the hand between your legs, the sensation too intense for you to know what to do with. His thumb kept on, rolling over something there that set your person on fire. 

“Fuuuck! Joel– I– I– hnnng–”

“I know, sweetheart,” he crooned, keeping at whatever the hell he was doing to make you feel this way. 

“Please… I don’t– what was that?” 

You felt his chest rumble before you heard his laughter. Heat rose to your face and your throat felt strained though there was no hand around it anymore. 

“Never touched your clit? Do you even know what that is?” He mocked, the cruelty somehow not repelling you from him. He forced you to look up at him. Your heart lurched at how close you were to his face. You could see every gray hair, every minute blemish and line.

“Don’t know your own fucking body but you want a man? You don’t know what you’re handing me on a silver platter. I ain’t like the other guys in town. I walked across the fucking country and lemme tell ya, there’s no pretty things like you out there. I’m starved.” 

“Take me, then,” you begged, using his own words from earlier. “Please. Whatever you– a-aaah!” 

He ramped up the pressure on that spot– your clit– and with it, took your ability to speak coherently. It was as though he’d done it on purpose. You hated it. To be so bereft of control. To be a puppet in someone’s hand. For someone to acquaint themselves with parts of you that you didn’t know of. But it was too much to fight, so you let go. Let him play with you. Take you. Like a thing.

You renounced control of your lips too, his name slipping out effortlessly like it did when he caught you. Then you renounced what was left of your dignity and began begging relentlessly. For what, you didn’t know. In his hand, you’d gone from woman to pupper, your strings pulled by a man, your voice now his. Sounds that would be indiscernible from that of a wounded animal emanated from somewhere deep within you. 

Perhaps none of this was real. Why else did your own voice grow so distant from you? Why did your vision become blurry? Your thighs shook uncontrollably and your heart felt like it was beating out of your chest. Your eyes clenched shut, depriving you of your blurred vision. Your toes curled. You wanted to shrink into yourself, shrink away from all this goodness. You went higher and higher, soaring like a bird. Every nerve ending in your body felt electrified, awoken like one switch turned on every light on last winter’s Christmas tree. 

You let out a loud cry, the soaring bird in you reaching its peak before beginning its fall to the ground. You could hear your breaths again, labored but doing everything to stabilize itself. Your thighs still shook. Your chest rose and fell. A hand caressed your hand. Behind you, something strong supported your back. Kept you from falling backward. 

“Joel…” 

“I know, I know…” he whispered into your head. You opened your eyes and looked up at him, surprised to see a softer visage. He picked you up off the chair like you’d seen him lift giant logs before. With ease. You didn’t protest as he carried you. Didn’t protest when he laid you out on your bed. 

He bent down and picked something up. No questions, no instructions. He simply spread your leg away from the other. Cold air touched the gushing mess dripping out of you and you shivered, feeling a sudden need to cover yourself but unable to defy him. His hand was on your pussy again. His hardened, calloused fingers behind a soft fabric this time. He wiped upwards, collecting the mess he made out of you. When he lifted the fabric up, you realized it was your panties. 

He tucked it into the pocket of his jeans and then looked back at your face, the intensity of his gaze making you want to run. Problem was your weak legs wouldn’t take you anywhere. You didn’t screw your eyes shut. You didn’t pull your blanket to conceal yourself. You looked back at him, defiant. Like you were trying to prove something. I can handle a man like you. 

“Be a good girl from now.” 

That and a condescending pat on your pussy and he was gone.

⌘

Part 2

[tpwk-formula1]

Kinktober Day 1 - Hickeys - LN4

It is day one of my first Kinktober! I have been wanting to do one for years on different accounts and in different fandoms but I have finally started earlier enough to actually pump out an imagine a day!

All posts will be made at 12 PST according to the day

Lando Norris X Reader

TW - Hickeys, use of word whore, jealous sex, shower sex, unprotected sex, creampie

WC - 1400+

Y/N POV

"We're leaving," Lando said while pulling me away from the conversation I was currently having with Max.

"Lando! Stop, I'm trying to have a conversation, stop being rude," I said while pulling my arm out of his grip and trying to make my way back to Max.

"You've had enough conversation with him to last a lifetime! I've watched you giggling with Verstappen for the past 10 minutes. He cannot be that fucking funny! We are leaving now," Lando said while taking ahold of my hand and pulling me towards the exit.

Once we got outside and the loud blare of the noisy club behind us I can finally talk to Lando without having to shout.

"Lando, what the actual fuck was that?" I questioned him while we were waiting for our car to arrive from Vallet.

"I have barely seen you tonight and when I finally located you, you're practically on top of Max!" Lando replies back clearly mad about the situation.

"Lando Norris... Are you fucking kidding me right now? You're jealous of Max!" I reply back trying to hold my laugh back. Lando and I had been together since his rookie season so watching him get jealous over someone I had never once shown an interest in was quite funny.

"I'm not jealous of him, Y/N. But you don't need to all over him in a public setting like that!" Lando replies back before grabbing the keys from the young man who just returned the Porsche to the front of the club.

Once we got into the car it was fairly silent other than the noise of our breathing.

"You're ridiculous" I break the silence making Lando scuff.

"You're the ridiculous one! I don't understand how you aren't seeing the problem! You're over there flirting with my closest rival on the grid while you're in a very public relationship! You know how the media can be," Lando replies back. I just roll my eyes at how ridiculous his behavior has gotten.

"Lando you know damn well I would never even LOOK at Max like that! I have never once been interested in him, and I NEVER will be! You have never once had a problem with me being friends with the grid, do not start acting like this now because you are in a championship battle with him," I tell him while we pull into the garage of his Monaco appartment.

When I get out of the car I slam the door and make my way to the elevator trying to avoid Lando as much as possible.

The ride up to Lando's apartment was silent and awkward, both of us reflecting on the actions of the night.

When we finally get into the apartment I make my way into the bathroom before stripping down and getting in the shower knowing I need to clear my head before Lando and I can have a mature conversation.

I'm not even halfway through my shower before I hear the bathroom door open making me turn around and find Lando coming in shirtless and starting to unbutton his pants. Once he is stripped down he climbs into the shower with me.

I roll my eyes at him before turning my back towards him.

This was Lando's final straw because the next thing I know I am pushed up against the shower wall with Lando's chest pushed against my back.

"Drop the fucking attitude! I wasn't the one whoring myself out," Lando seethes out into my ear. When I don't respond to him he starts kissing behind my ear and down my neck.

Once he finds my sweet spot it leaves me gasping in shock before I feel his teeth sink into my neck and start sucking.

"Lando," I moan out. Once Lando pulls away from me I turn my head slightly to watch him observe the mark that is inevitably starting to darken on the side of my neck.

Without words, Lando takes my hips into his hands before aggressively spinning me around so we are face-to-face.

When I look into Lando's eyes I can see the lust swimming through them.

I grip onto Lando's neck pulling him down for an aggressive make-out session. It's not long before Lando is pulling back and trailing kisses down my jaw and neck again.

The feeling of Lando's teeth sinking into my warm skin has my knees growing weaker. Once Lando makes it to my tits I feel myself give out to the pleasure and if Lando wasn't holding me up I definitely would have been on my knees from the pleasure.

"Fuck," I gasp out when Lando takes my nipple between his teeth and biting down softly.

When I glance down at Lando all I see is his wet curls and little purple marks trailing down from my neck to my tits. I can't remember the last time Lando had given me a hickey let alone a whole collection of them.

"Lan please," I whine out trying to push him lower.

I get no response from Lando but he does start making his way lower down my body. All I feel is Lando continuing his trail of hickeys down my stomach leading his way to my soaked pussy.

When he finally reaches the spot I wanted him most instead of diving right in like he normally does he starts leaving hickeys all over my thighs. He has one of my legs in his hand giving him the perfect space to continue to tease me.

With the death I have on his hair I try to pull him close to my dripping core but instead, he makes his way to my other thigh but not before leaving a long lick from my dripping hole to my throbbing clit. This has me gasping for air thinking I was finally going to get what I wanted but Lando had other plans.

"Please, Lan," I whine out not knowing how much more of this teasing I can handle.

"Patience," All Lando says before starting his trail of hickeys again.

It feels like forever before I can feel Lando slowing making his way back to my soaking pussy. When he finally gets to the spot I needed him the most I let out a loud shrink when I feel Lando's teeth sinking down softly on my throbbing clit, before releasing it with his teeth and starting to suck on it.

"Fuck Lando," I moan out knowing I won't be lasting long if he continues this assault on my overly sensitive clit.

"I'm close," I moan out. This had Lando pulling away making me whine out from the loss of contact.

Lando doesn't say anything before he flips me back around so my chest is pressed against the shower wall.

It doesn't take long before I can feel Lando teasing my entrance with his hard tip. When he finally pushed in I let out a loud moan not knowing how to handle the overwhelming pleasure of being so full.

Lando starts thrusting in and out at a quick and rough pace. It doesn't take me long before I can feel my orgasm building again.

"Fucking, cum," Lando aggressively moans out making me explode all over Lando's cock.

"Fuck," I moan out feeling the early signs of overstimulation start to take course.

"Lan, fuck, please," I moan out not really knowing what I want.

"You're going to cum again," Lando grunts out making up my mind for me. I can already feel my second orgasm start to build when Lando reached around and started rubbing my clit which threw me over the edge again. This orgasm was stronger than the first leaving me shaking all over Lando's cock.

"I'm gonna cum in you," Lando whispers in my ear before I felt him slow his pace down but continue with the strong thrusts. When he finally spills into my still throbbing pussy I can feel how much cum he is pumping deep into me.

"Fuck," Lando groans out before slowly slipping out and allowing some of the cum to drip out of my pussy.

When we finally came down from our strong orgasms we finish our shower together before getting out. Lando gets out first and wraps his towel around his waist before grabbing the second towel and wrapping it around my body before helping me out.

When I finally get a good look in the mirror I can see just how much damage Lando had done to my skin. Just from my neck to chest I can see at least 8 hickeys ranging from small light purple marks to bigger deeper purple marks.

When I make eye contact with Lando in the mirror I see the smug look he is giving me.

"Well now he knows you're mine," Lando says with a small shrug before walking out of the bathroom, leaving me shaking my head at his petty jealousy.

[docholligay]

Do you think authors sometimes don't realize how their, uh, interests creep into their writing? I'm talking about stuff like Robert Jordan's obvious femdom kink, or Anne Rice's preoccupation with inc*st and p*dophilia. Did their editors ever gently ask them if they've ever actually read what they've written?

Firstly, a reminder: This is not tiktok and we just say the words incest and pedophilia here.

Secondly, I don't know if I would call them 'interests' so much as fixations or even concerns. There are monstrous things that people think about, and I think writing is a place to engage with those monstrous things. It doesn't bother me that people engage with those things. I exist somewhere within the whump scale, and I would hope no one would think less of me just because sooner or later I like to rough a good character up a bit, you know? It's fun to torture characters, as a treat!

But, anyway, assuming this question isn't, "Do writers know they're gross when I think they are gross" which I'm going to take the kind road and assume it isn't, but is instead, "Do you think authors are aware of the things they constantly come back to?"

Sometimes. It can be jarring to read your own writing and realize that there are things you CLEARLY are preoccupied with. (mm, I like that word more than concerns). There are things you think about over and over, your run your mind over them and they keep working their way back in. I think this is true of most authors, when you read enough of them. Where you almost want to ask, "So...what's up with that?" or sometimes I read enough of someone's work that I have a PRETTY good idea what's up with that.

I've never read Robert Jordan and I don't intend to start (I think it would bore me this is not a moral stance) and I've really never read Rice's erotica. In erotica especially I think you have all the right in the world to get fucking weird about it! But so, when I was young I read the whole Vampire Chronicles series. I don't remember it perfectly, but there's plenty in it to reveal VERY plainly that Anne Rice has issues with God but deeply believes in God, and Anne Rice has a preoccupation with the idea of what should stay dead, and what it means to become. So, when i found out her daughter died at the age of six, before Rice wrote all of this, and she grew up very very Catholic' I said, 'yeah, that fucking checks out'.

Was Rice herself aware of how those things formed her writing? I think at a certain point probably yes. The character of Claudia is in every way too on the nose for her not to have SOME idea unless she was REAL REAL dense about her own inner workings. But, sometimes I know where something I write about comes from, that doesn't mean I'm interested in sharing it with the class. I would never ever fucking say, 'The reasons I seem to write so much of x as y is that z happened to me years ago' ahaha FUCK THAT NOISE. NYET. RIDE ON, COWBOY.

But I've known some people in fandom works who clearly have something going on and don't seem to realize it. Or they're very good at hiding it. Based on the people I'm talking about I would say it's more a lack of self-knowledge, and I don't even mean that unkindly. I have, in many ways, taken myself down to the studs and rebuilt it all, so I unfortunately am very aware of why I do and write the things I do most of the time. It's extremely annoying not to be able to blame something. I imagine it must be very freeing. But it ain't me, babe.

Anyway, a lot of words to say: Maybe! But that might not stop them from writing it, it might be a useful thing for them to engage with, and you can always just not read it.

Also, we don't censor words here.

[newobsessionweekly]

Puppy

Main masterlist | The Rookie masterlist

Tim Bradford x fem!reader Fandom: The Rookie

Summary: While you visit Tim at the station, you are too nice to a teenager he just arrested. To your boyfriend's exasperation, you pay the bail for the kid and cook him a warm dinner.

Warnings: don't think so, pure fluff, not proofread yet

Fluff Requested: Yes Words: 2.5k

GIF not mine, credits to the owner.

"So," Lucy began tentatively, stealing a glance at the sergeant. "I saw you the other day. Looking at those rings."

"Chen." Tim warned his aide.

"Are you proposing to Y/N?" she pressed, her excitement bubbling over.

"That's not your business."

But Lucy wasn't about to let it go. "Look," she said eagerly, "If you need help picking the ring, I can help. I can – I don't know, have a little talk, find out what kind of ring she wants."

"I've got this, thanks," his voice was tinged with a hint of annoyance.

"We both know you don't." Lucy leaned back, "An engagement ring is not just any jewelry she can hide in a closet if she doesn't like it."

"I think I know what she wants."

"Remember her birthday present?" she reminded him, earning an accusing glance from Tim. "Just saying. Please, at least consider it, for Y/N."

Lucy opened her mouth to say more, but Tim's eyes caught something up ahead. His expression shifted to one of relief, a welcome distraction from Lucy's insistence.

"Hold that thought."

She followed his gaze and saw a young boy attempting to break into a parked car. The kid couldn't have been more than fifteen, his hands fumbling nervously with the lock. Tim pulled the shop to a stop and got out, Lucy following closely behind.

"Dispatch, this is Sergeant Bradford. We've got a possible 459 in progress at the corner of 4th and Main."

"Hey! Step away from the car!" Tim called out, his voice authoritative.

The boy froze, his eyes wide with fear. He turned to run, but Lucy was already moving, cutting off his escape route. "It's okay," she said gently, her demeanor softening. "We're not here to hurt you."

Tim approached, his expression softening just a bit."What do you think you're doing?"

The boy stammered, "I—I wasn't going to steal it, I swear. I just... I need some money. My mom's sick, and we can't afford the meds."

The boy looked down at his feet and Lucy sighed, recognising the familiar signs of desperation. "Look, we can help you. But breaking into cars isn't the way to go."

"You need to come with us and tell us everything. We'll figure something out."

The shop was quiet except for the hum of the engine and the sound of Lucy's fingers tapping on her phone. Tim glanced over at her, his focus shifting between the road and his aide's ever-present curiosity.

"TouristPlanet says that Hawaii is number one for proposals," Lucy broke the silence, her eyes never leaving the phone.

"Chen, I don't need help. I've done it before, I know how it works," Tim replied, exasperated but with a hint of amusement.

Lucy ignored his brush-off. "Oh, but I love Y/N! I just want everything to be perfect for her. I mean, it's huge."

Tim sighed, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. "And you don't think I love her enough to make this special?"

"I didn't say that," Lucy replied quickly. "You've done it before, it's not a big deal for you. But it's her first proposal and she loves you."

"It is a big deal," Tim admitted, his voice softer now. "I think I love her even more than I loved Isabel back then. So it's more complicated now."

Lucy’s eyes widened in surprise, a soft smile spreading across her face. "You have a heart after all."

"Chen. Shut up." he shot her a warning sideways glance, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Yes, sir."

As you step into the bustling station, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sugary donuts fills the air, mingling with the sound of urgent radio chatter and shuffling footsteps. You clutch the cardboard tray tighter, a smile playing on your lips as you navigate through the familiar chaos, scanning the faces for Tim's unmistakable handsomeness.

Not finding him among the desks, you make your way to Grey's office, offering a cheery wave before stepping inside.

"Morning, Sarge."

Grey glances up from his paperwork, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Y/N. Always a pleasure to have you around," he responds welcoming.

With a graceful motion, you offer him a cup of steaming coffee and gesture towards the assortment of donuts nestled in the box. The sergeant chuckles softly, accepting the offering with a nod of appreciation.

"Please do come more often," he jests, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"I'll keep that in mind," you reply playfully but your attention is elsewhere, your gaze still searching the room for that familiar figure. "You know where I can find Tim?"

With a knowing nod, Grey gestures for you to follow him as he leads the way towards the processing room. As you step inside, the atmosphere shifts from bustling activity to a more subdued intensity.

"Bradford. You have a visitor," Grey announces, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.

Tim looks up from his paperwork, his gaze meeting yours, and a soft smile tugs at the corners of his lips. His gaze lifts, his expression softening at the sight of you standing there, a welcome interruption to the monotony of his day.

"Hey," he greets you, a flicker of surprise in his voice. "What are you doing here?"

You set the tray of treats down on a nearby table and close the distance between you, wrapping your arms around him in a tight embrace. "Hey handsome," you reply, your voice muffled against his chest. "You left early and I thought you could use some coffee."

Tim’s strong arms pulled you closer, the familiar scent of his cologne mingles with the coffee and donuts, grounding you in the moment. You feel his strong, warm body melting in your arms and the steady beat of his heart, a gentle reminders of how much you love him.

Pulling back slightly, you look up into his eyes, which are now filled with a gentle warmth that belies his grumpiness.Tim’s hand finds yours, giving it a gentle squeeze before he releases you.

"You’re a lifesaver."

Lucy wander into the room, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the treats. "Y/N, you spoil us," she teases, reaching for a donut.

Your eyes drift across the room, settling on a teenage boy obediently following an officer's commands, his shoulders slumped and eyes downcast. Concern wells up inside you.

"Tim," you ask softly, nodding towards the boy, "what's with the kid? What's he doing here?"

He glances over at the kid, his expression hardening. "Kid tried to break into a car. Said he needed the money to pay for his mom's meds."

Your heart aches at the sight of the innocent boy, his face etched with fear and worry. "What's going to happen to him?" you ask, your voice soft with concern.

Tim sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "He'll probably get away with bail. First offense, and the circumstances are... mitigating."

Moved by the boy’s plight, you make a decision. “Tim, can I have your card?” you ask, reaching out your hand.

Your boyfriend eyes you warily, his brow furrowing. "Why?"

"Just trust me."

He frowns but doesn't question your request further. He fishes a card from his pocket and hands it to you. As you reach for the box of donuts, his frown deepens.

"Y/N, what are you doing?" he asks, his voice rising with annoyance.

You stop to meet his gaze, "Trust me, please."

Tim watches you walk over to the boy and kneel down, his jaw tightening. "This is ridiculous," he mutters under his breath, his grumpiness evident as he crosses his arms over his chest.

"Can I have a minute with him?" you ask Lucy, who is in the midst of processing the boy.

Lucy looks over at Tim, seeking his approval. His eyes narrow, but he gives a curt nod, though his frustration is palpable. Lucy steps aside, joining your boyfriend as they watch you with a mix of curiosity and concern.

"Hi, there." you say softly, your voice kind and shooting, "I'm Y/N. What's your name?"

"Charlie."

"Well, Charlie, Sergeant Bradford told me you're in some kind of trouble." you say gently, your heart breaking at his situation.

The boy looks up at you, tears welling in his eyes. "I didn't mean to do anything wrong. I– I just want to help mom."

"I know, sweetheart. You hungry?" you ask, offering him a comforting smile.

Charlie nods, and you hand him the box full of donuts. His eyes widen in surprise and gratitude as he takes it.

You write your name and number on Tim's card and hand it to him. "It's gonna be okay for now. But if you have any other problems, please give us a call. If you don't want to talk to Bradford, you can call me, okay?"

"Thanks. I– I will," Charlie says, clutching the card like a lifeline.

"Where's your mom?" you ask, wanting to understand more about his situation.

"In hospital. She– uh, she has cancer and treatment is expensive."

"You stay with her at the hospital?" you ask gently, your mind already made up to help him.

Charlie nods, tears brimming in his eyes. Determined to do more, you know you'll pay his bail and offer any support you can.

Tim strides over, his expression a mix of annoyance and concern. His grumpiness, which had momentarily melted away, returns in full force. "Alright, that's enough," he says, his voice firm and edged with frustration. "We need to get things moving."

You stand up, giving Charlie one last reassuring smile. "Remember, call me if you need anything," you say before turning to Tim.

He looks at you, his irritation clear. "Y/N, you can't save everyone," he mutters, shaking his head. "This isn't your job."

You meet his gaze, "I know. But I can try to help one," you reply softly.

"You really shouldn't get involved like that," he says, his voice softer now, filled with concern.

"I know."

He sighs, reaching to take your hand into his. "But I love that about you. Just...promise me you'll be careful. For my sake."

You squeeze his hand, smiling warmly. "I promise."

The end of the shift greets Tim and Lucy walking towards their cars, the sky darkening with the onset of evening. The station is quieter now, the earlier hustle and bustle giving way to the calm of a winding-down day. He's itching to get home, to feel the warmth and comfort of your presence, to escape the relentless grind of the day.

"Hey, Tim," Lucy starts, glancing at him curiously. "Did you pay the bail for that Charlie boy we arrested this morning?"

Tim raises an eyebrow, surprised. "No, why?"

"Because someone did," Lucy explains, frowning. "I checked, and he doesn’t have any other family besides his mom. I can't figure out who would have done it."

His eyes narrow, and then it hits him. "I think I know who."

The drive home is a blur as he processes the day's events. When he finally steps through the front door, he’s greeted by the comforting aroma of dinner cooking and the sound of upbeat song playing in the background.

"Sweetheart, I'm home," he calls out, his voice echoing through the house.

You turn around, a bright smile on your face. "Hey, babe. Come, come. Dinner's almost ready."

Tim steps into the kitchen, and his eyes widen in pure shock as he spots Charlie sitting at the island, a plate of snacks in front of him.

"Y/N, a word," Tim says, his voice tight.

"Make yourself at home, Charlie. We'll be right back."

You give the kid a big smile while Tim forces a very strained one, then you follow him to the bedroom. He closes the door behind you with more force than necessary, his frustration evident.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Tim demands, his voice rising in anger.

"I know, I'm sorry. I should've talked to you. But I couldn't let him stay in jail. He's been sleeping in a hospital chair, Babe. God knows when it was the last time he had a proper, warm meal. There's no one to look after him."

Tim runs a hand through his hair, his anger barely contained. "I can't believe you did that. You’ve got ourselves a puppy," he mutters, his tone sharp.

"What?" you ask, confused.

"Nothing."

You place a gentle hand on his arm, your eyes pleading. "Tim, listen to me. This kid needs help. He's scared and alone. I couldn't just walk away."

You step even closer, wrapping your arms around his waist, feeling the tension in his muscles.

"You can't just bring home a stray. This is serious, Y/N. We're not a shelter."

"Charlie is not a stray, he needs help. His mom is in the hospital with cancer, and he's been trying to fend for himself," you explain, "We have the means to help him, at least for one night."

"This isn't just about money or means, Y/N. It's about safety and boundaries. We can't take in every kid with a sob story."

"I get that, but this isn't just any kid. You saw him today, baby. He's not a criminal; he's just a boy trying to help his mom," you argue, stepping closer to him. "We can't turn our backs on him."

Tim's frustration is simmering beneath the surface. "Damn it, Y/N. This is exactly why I worry about you. You have a big heart, and I don't want to see you get hurt."

You rested your head on his chest. "I know. But I can't just turn my back when someone needs help. I get involved because I care," you say softly, meeting his eyes, "And you care too, whether you want to admit it or not."

"I can't say no to you, can I?" he mutters, his voice a mix of exasperation and affection.

You smile up at him, standing on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

Tim looks at you, his grumpiness warring with his love for you. "I can't believe I'm agreeing to this," he sighs again, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you even closer, "Just one night," he says, "And then we figure out what to do next."

You nod, relief flooding through you. "I promise. Just one night."

Pressing a kiss to your forehead, his grumpiness is melting away, "You're impossible, you know that?" a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

"I know," you reply, smiling back at him. "But you love me anyway."

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. "Yeah, I do," he admits, his voice tender. "Now let's go see how our guest is doing."

[lxkeee]

HEAVEN AND BACK!

—PART TWO

Pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x Alastor's Mom! Angel! Reader

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Genre: Romance, love at first sight.

Warnings: none.

Notes: this one is comparably shorter than chapter one.

PART ONE | PART THREE

Lucifer was absolutely baffled, so many things happened in one day. First, a very gorgeous and tall seraphim angel decided to come and stay at the hotel to oversee its progress and on top of all that, the said angel is that damn radio demon's mother.

Lucifer watches as the angel, who he learned that goes by the name [y/n] is still currently scolding her son. Him, Charlie, Vaggie, Angel Dust, and Husk are at the bar area just watching it unfold.

Alastor sitting on the couch, head hung low in shame but there's still a smile on his face.

“So... You killed your father and many more? And also ate them....?” [y/n] asked, disappointed in her voice. Alastor's deer ears lay flat as he remained seated as he listened to his mother.

“Oh god, my son is a cannibal!” [y/n] cries, Niffty wiping away her tears as [y/n] carried the smaller girl in her arms—how did it happen? She just somehow was raising her arms for uppies while the taller woman was scolding her boss and the older woman just did so without thinking and carried her and then resumed to scolding Alastor.

“But they deserved it, mother! He deserved it for—” Alastor tried to defend himself, his smile strained.

[Y/n]'s own smile widened, eye twitching, “Who said you could speak? My own son is talking back to me!” she cries, smiling through the tears, her wings puffed up in anger and Alastor shuts up his mouth immediately.

“Where did I go wrong in raising you? I didn't raise you like this.” [y/n] sobs, Niffty handing her a handkerchief where the taller woman accepted and used it to blow her nose.

“Yikes.” Lucifer muttered in amusement as he sipped his dry martini while watching the angelic woman continuing to scold Alastor. Now that's my kind of woman. He thought before almost choking his drink. Hold up. What is wrong with him today? He barely knew the woman and he is already thinking like this.

“You okay there pal? I'm pretty sure you almost choked on your drink.” Angel Dust laughs and Lucifer just glares at him.

Charlie giggles beside him excitedly, “Isn't it amazing? Alastor reunited with his mom! And heaven finally decided to help us!” Charlie squeals and Vaggie hums in agreement.

“Well... It surely isn't a happy one as smile's is getting scolded even more.” Angel Dusts laughs and Husk chuckles behind the counter.

Back to the mother and son, Alastor is finally done with seeing his mother cry. He hugged her in which the older woman was weakly hitting his chest while she sniffled. Niffty being pressed in-between the two. She's just glad to be there.

“I am sorry, mother. I'm still your son.“ Alastor says softly and [y/n] sniffled against her son's embrace.

“I'm still mad at you.” she says, and Alastor's smile widens every slightly, “I know.” he says with a grin before getting his forehead flicked once more by his mother, making him winced in pain. [Y/n] gently lowering Niffty down to the floor. Lucifer and Husk snickering at the bar area.

[Y/n] pouted as she finally left her son's embrace, “And here I was waiting in heaven for so long wondering what's taking you so long and only for you to be here in hell? My goodness...” [y/n] sighs, pinching her own nose, her other hand on her hip.

“My bad.” Alastor says with a grin and [y/n] sighs, wiping the tears away from her eyes then clapping her hands together and a smile is back on her face as she turns around to look at the other hotel crew.

“Well, I suppose that is over. I am sorry for the scene I've caused, this young man right here is to blame.” [y/n] deadpans, pointing her arms towards Alastor who was lounging on the couch, he just gave a thumbs up.

[Y/n] sighs, shaking her head. “Back to business, I myself am not really sure why Sera decided to change her mind but she's my boss so... I don't really have a choice.” [y/n] says with a shrug, smoothly lying to them and the others just look at her with a slight deadpanned expression.

“I will be staying here for the time being, Sera didn't exactly say for how long...” She says before her eyes widened, Sera really didn't tell her how long she'll be here.

“I am starting to wonder if I accidentally got myself kicked out of heaven.” She muttered and Lucifer snickered slightly, looking at her with an amused smile on his face.

“Well if that's the case, there's a space made just for you in hell.” Lucifer says smoothly and [y/n] smirked, “My... Special treatment for lil' ol' me by the king of hell himself? It would be an honor.” she says with a small smirk, approaching the bar area and standing in front of the sitting man, looking down on him.

“I feel like they're each other's types.” Angel Dust whispers to Vaggie in which he gets elbowed to the side by the fallen exorcist.

Alastor's eye twitched in annoyance as he watched the scene unfold, not my mother. Speed walking to the two, Alastor held his mother's shoulders protectively and slid her away from the king of hell.

“Alastor, dear... I can handle myself.” [y/n] chuckles and Alastor just smiled, though his smile strained a little bit. Clearly annoyed how the king of hell is getting smooth with his mother.

“I'll be showing my mother around and show her to her room. Please excuse us.” Alastor says as he gently drags [y/n] with him upstairs with Niffty following the two.

The others just watched in amusement, still hearing the two's slowly muffling voices as they left the room.

“Mama please, he's the king of hell. Why are you already getting so chummy with him?” Alastor's muffled voice can be heard as they walk away.

“Have you seen him, Alastor? Heaven's scrolls didn't do him any justice, he's gorgeous!” [y/n] says with a laugh and a followed groan from Alastor. Their voices can no longer be heard as they were getting farther and farther away.

Angel Dust nudges Lucifer and wiggles his eyebrows at the short king, the arachnid teasing the man as he can really see Lucifer's flustered cheeks.

“You two looked nice together, you better shoot your shot.” Angel Dust says with a smirk which prompted Lucifer to stammer.

“Huh? What? I just met her for God's sake!” Lucifer says, pulling his collar away from his throat as he awkwardly chuckles.

“Please... Everyone can see you were eyeing her like a piece of candy.” Husk says gruffly behind the counter, scoffing.

Lucifer blushed, nervous that he wasn't slicked at all.

“Can't blame him to be honest.” Charlie says with a chuckle as she sipped her wine. Vaggie just rolls her eyes playfully, “Still, she's suspicious.” she says and Angel Dust scoffs, “Please, when are you not? Besides, if you ever end up right, I'm sure short king over here can handle her.” He says with a shrug before smirking at Lucifer, “Just admit you were admiring the sexy angel lady, couldn't blame ya toots!” he giggles.

“I wasn't... You guys are just seeing things.” he deadpans, his ears tinted pink. His daughter, Maggie, Angel Dust, and Husk just gave him a raised eyebrow. Clearly not believing him in the slightest.

“Whatever you say, short king.” Angel Dust says in amusement.

TAGLIST:

@adaizel @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @thedarkkitten @selvyyr @froggybich @brithedemonspawn @kottenox @totallymitya @many-fandoms-lover @dou-dou @mezzyb0nb0n @n1chxyaaenthusiast @cherry-4200 @koirb @galaxyj3lly @crystalplays28 @luleck @scootinonyourmom @rory-cakes @mixplara @crescent-z @bitchyzombienacho @kalisha2004 @altervex @nehy019 @napbatata @kouyoumarryme @sxgacxbe @kooidoom @yukichan67 @apple-pop @akiralovespenguins @storydays @kaurochika @amphiroxx @lil-writer-523 @punching-pentagrams @moonlovers34 @h3110kitty0 @bethleeham @hcneyiced @ashleygryffindor @ghostdoodlen @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @cupidsgift @shilladodo

[amysteryspot]

A Woman's Worth - Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: Anthony tries to salvage what's left of his marriage and discovers what his wife is truly worth. (Part one)

Fandom: Bridgerton (TV Show)

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Female Reader

Warnings: mentions of miscarriage, cheating and lots of angst. English is not my first language and this wasn’t proofread.

Word Count: 4648

A/N: After so long, this piece is finally here. Thanks for patiently waiting and thanks @cevansgoodgirl for the help.

There is a mix of a scene with Laurie and Amy in Little Women and another one with Benedict and Tessa (the model/painter in 02x05), just so you know.

He remembers the first time he saw her—really saw her.

The (Y/L/N)s were guests in Aubrey House, and (Y/N) was in the balcony with Benedict while both their mothers and most of their siblings were in the lawn.

Anthony is not even sure what drew his attention when he was passing by, he did not have a habit of eavesdropping, but he got himself held back when his brother commented on (Y/N)’s painting.

"I declare that's rather good." Benedict said making (Y/N) huff.

“We both know that good is not enough, Ben.” She said with a hint of sadness in her voice.

Anthony could understand what his brother was talking about. The painting was a rendition of the scene unfolding before them—their siblings playing around while their mothers watched over them. It was rather good, indeed.

"It doesn’t matter, there's no place for me to do art."

Benedict frowned. "That's quite the statement to make at twenty. If you don't think you're good enough you have plenty of time to try some more, do better." He pauses, poking her. "You say that to me all the time."

"Then perhaps inform the academy.” She says, sarcasm dripping in every word. “Although two of the founding members are women, we are still not allowed to enter the classroom. It doesn't matter how much money we do or do not have."

"At least not while clothed." He comments, making (Y/N) throw the rag she was holding at him, which Benedict swiftly catches, changing the subject. "Well, now that you’ve given up all your artistic hopes, what are you going to do with your life?”

“Polish up my other talents and be an ornament to society.”

It was as if Anthony was seeing his sister speak.

“You sound like Eloise.” Benedict took the words out of Anthony’s mouth.

“Maybe she has been rubbing up on me.” (Y/N) smiled.

“You are searching for a husband, then?” Benedict asks, helping her pack her things.

“Yes.” She replies sheepishly.

“That's where Mr Scott comes in, I suppose.”

Anthony had noticed how Mr Scott had taken an interest in (Y/N), he never thought she felt the same.

Benedict continued. “You’ll accept him if he comes down properly on one knee?”

“Most likely, yes.” She said, pausing to look ahead for a moment. “He’s rich, respectable.”

When Benedict stifles a laugh, she lightly slaps his arm and Anthony has to fight back a smile. “Don’t make fun.” (Y/N) reprimands him.

"I’m not, I’m not, I promise.” He pauses. “It does sound odd coming from you.”

"I've always known that I would marry rich. Why should I be ashamed of that?"

"There is nothing to be ashamed of, as long as you love him." Benedict answers in a more serious tone.

Once upon a time Anthony would have easily seen himself at his brother's place, talking about love, but not anymore.

"Well, I believe we have some power over who we love, it isn't something that just happens to a person." (Y/N) says, closing the trunk with her paints, pencils and brushes inside.

"I think the poets might disagree." Benedict offers softly.

"Well, I'm not a poet, I'm just a woman.” She reminds him. “And as a woman I have no way to make money, not enough to earn a living and support my family. Even if I had my own money, which I don't, it would belong to my husband the minute we were married. If we had children they would belong to him not me. They would be his property. So don't stand there and tell me that marriage isn't an economic proposition, because it is. It may not be for you but it certainly is for me."

For the first time since he stopped to hear the conversation, hiding himself between the curtains, Anthony felt like he had overstepped a boundary, so he made quick work of fleeing the scene, her words echoing inside his head.

Anthony remembers Benedict joking about how him and (Y/N) would make a good match. He listens as his brother tells him about the conversation he had with her and Anthony feigns ignorance to the subject, despite having heard the entire interaction. Benedict’s voice turns into white noise in the background as Anthony is transported back to a conversation he had with Daphne last season.

At the time he didn’t understand his sister’s words—perhaps, he never would. Daphne and (Y/N) shared the same struggles, but his sister had been set in marrying for love, (Y/N), on the other hand, had already resigned herself about having to marry for convenience.

It was then that Anthony recognized that the both of them were, indeed, a good match. (Y/N) was beautiful, well mannered, educated and very good at charming people. She came from a not very rich but respectable family. Anthony knew he was one of the most eligible bachelors of the season, despite his fame as a rake. It wouldn’t be a sacrifice to marry (Y/N), which made making the decision so much easier.

Anthony visited her the next day, explaining his proposal to her.

“You listened to us?” She blinked a couple of times, trying to digest the information.

“Yes,” he confessed, “and I’m terribly sorry for it, but we have to recognize that this might have been for the best.”

He observed as she took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling, a little frown on her face. She was beautiful this way. Even more than when she was charming half of the ton in the many social events he had seen her.

“If you don’t mind me asking, my lord, why marry now?”

Anthony sighed. “My mom has been forcing my hand since Daphne married. Even before that, if I’m being honest. It’s time to find a good wife, settle down, and fulfill my duties.”

“Don’t take my question as an offense, but why me?”

She seemed unable to quite grasp his words. Anthony wondered if she still hoped, deep down, to marry for love and that her conversation with his brother had been only a fickle attempt to protect herself.

“You’re intelligent, (Y/N),” He kneeled in front of her. “You are beautiful and your family is respectable. If you are serious about your words to my brother, we both want the same thing from such a union.” He paused. “Would it be so bad to be married to me?”

(Y/N) bit her lip and Anthony caught himself observing the action with a little more intent than he should.

“No, my lord, I believe it wouldn’t,” she said.

“Then why not make the best we can from a predicament we can’t escape?”

She averted his gaze, looking out to the balcony where her maid was sitting and reading a book, while watching over them.

Anthony took the opportunity to look at her—hair carefully brushed and pinned up, the way the light contrasted with her silhouette, making it easier to see her nose, her lips, the  curve of her neck…

“If I were to accept your proposition, would you be committed to this relationship?”

He frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“I know that for our society standards maybe that’s too much to ask, but if I can’t be loved I’d wish to at least be respected.” She looked straight into his eyes and then Anthony understood what she was asking of him.

“You have my word that once we are engaged the only woman in my life will be you.”

Anthony asked her father for permission to court her in the same day, then he got properly down on one knee a second time to ask for her hand in marriage, the two of them married within months. Benedict had been shocked by the whole ordeal, but all he cared about was seeing his brother and his friend at least a little bit happy.

The process of knowing each other had been smooth, a lot easier than what Anthony first anticipated. (Y/N) took her duties as the lady of the house seriously, making a point of listening to Violet quite often. His siblings seemed to adore her even more than they liked him, and although inexperienced, as he knew she was, (Y/N) had proved herself to be a good lover. For all of those reasons, Anthony thought that keeping his promise wouldn’t be such an impossible task.

Then he discovered that Sienna had never left town and Anthony, who always prided himself in being a man of his word, proved himself to be as bad as the rest of the men he was surrounded by.

He fell back into the sheets with Sienna, and not long after that his relationship with (Y/N) became purely a show. At first, Anthony thought his wife was oblivious to his escapades, but he had clearly underestimated (Y/N)’s intelligence.

They never shared a bedroom, but there was no disguising how his visits to her chambers happened less and less, as there was no denying the gossip of the house staff that could only lead her to his broken promises.

Anthony expected a fight, things being thrown at him, screams and hits, but they never came, and that was somewhat worse.

One night when he got home after meeting Sienna, (Y/N) was sitting in the dressing room between their chambers, knitting. She lifted her eyes from her work to bid him good night. It didn’t go unnoticed to him how her smile fell from her face as she took in his disheveled state. Anthony felt ashamed for the first time in years.

(Y/N) didn’t give him time to explain himself for being so late—maybe it was for the best because he honestly didn’t know if he could find a suitable excuse for that—she just got up, leaving her unfinished work resting in the loveseat, and marched to her room.

Anthony sighed, throwing his coat away carelessly. The force knocked out (Y/N)’s knitting to the ground and Anthony groaned before bending down to take it. He furrowed his brow when he recognized the pattern—an onesie.

Maybe Daphne was pregnant again? She would’ve told him, right? Simon would, for sure. Then it hit him. Holding the unfinished piece between his fingers, Anthony realized that that was the reason why (Y/N) had stayed awake waiting for him until that hour—she was pregnant and wanted to tell him the news. Instead of the happiness she must have expected, she only received the sight of an unfaithful husband and a broken marriage.

(Y/N) never mentioned it to him and Anthony pretended as if he didn’t know, waiting for her to make the first move, tell him at her own time. (Y/N) never said it though, but he couldn’t ignore the knowledge, and the more time he passed observing her, the more evident it became to him that his wife was, in fact, expecting their first child.

In no time she distanced herself from him and all came to the point of no return in the night where she had gone through the loss of their child alone while he was rolling in the sheets with Sienna.

Anthony tried to reach out to her, succeeding only one time, a week after that fateful night, but in the following weeks, there hadn’t been much talking between them. (Y/N) would barely answer his greetings or the occasional question he threw her way trying to start a conversation. They had a few events to attend and these were the only occasions where she would grant him more than a couple of words. Anthony knew that that was all pretend for the sake of their reputation.

She refused every attempt he made to apologize or explain himself—not that there was much to explain. He couldn’t blame her, even if he wanted her forgiveness. It was her right to hate him and not want him around after he broke his promise to her.

They had never talked about it. Not until today.

(Y/N) was holding Augie, smiling down at the baby that smiled back at her, barely blinking with a look of pure adoration in his eyes.

“This one seems really enchanted by you,” Daphne comments, caressing her son’s little fingers.

“He’s just getting used to me,” (Y/N) answered,  smiling at his sister.

“Well, it’s good training, since I guess you and Anthony will probably have one of your own soon.”

Is as if Anthony’s blood turns to ice. He looks at his wife whose expression turns into shock and then sadness in the blink of an eye. He recognizes the tears pooling in her eyes as she gives the baby back to Daphne and excuses herself, leaving the drawing room too quick not to draw attention.

He hurries back after her. Simon gives him an apologetic look to which Anthony answers with an equally sad smile. It doesn’t take him long to find her, bend down in the windowsill of one of the windows of the library, one hand covering her mouth to muffle her sobbing while the other rested on her belly.

(Y/N) doesn’t hear his approach, but when he touches her as if she was expecting him too. She jumps as far away from him as she can get as if his touch burned her.

“Don’t touch me! Don’t…” she doesn’t finish the sentence but Anthony could hear it loud and clear in his head.

Don’t touch me with the same hands you’ve touched her just a week ago.

“Okay, it’s okay,” Anthony reassures her, raising his hands so she can see them. “I won’t touch you if you don’t want me too, but I want to help you.”

“Nobody can help me,” she sobs, hands clutching tightly at her dress.

The sight breaks his heart. Anthony wants nothing more than to take her pain away and make it his, even though he is mourning the loss of their child with her. He knew her pain was fairly worse than his, she did not only lose a child but she had been losing her husband too.

“Why, Anthony? Why us? There are so many couples that don’t love each other and still have children, why can’t we?”

Anthony takes a step forward, then two, and then he’s bringing her into his arms, wrapping her tightly against his chest, his chin resting at the top of her head. She struggles against his touch a little, but she’s so worn out that it doesn’t take much for her to relax into him.

(Y/N) fists the lapels of his waistcoat, resting her forehead against his chest, letting herself cry.

“I wanted them so bad, Anthony,” she whispers between sobs, “so bad.”

Me too, he wants to answer. Me too.

They stay in the library, in silence, for a while. When (Y/N) finally stops crying, exhausted, Anthony takes her home without even saying goodbye to his family, sending a maid to let them know his wife was not feeling well.

Their relationship shifts after that day. (Y/N) appears so exhausted by the recent events that slowly, she starts to let her guard down again. Anthony is careful when dealing with her, his wife is fragile and the sadness in her runs so deep that he is always afraid to say or do something that will put her through more pain.

“You don’t have to worry so much, you know.” She says, making him look up from his papers to see her already staring back at him.

“I always worry.”

“I won’t break if we talk about it,” she guarantees. “We have to talk about it.”

Anthony is not sure if she’s talking about their baby or Sienna. Either way it wasn’t exactly a conversation he was eager to have.

“How are you?” He asks before he can contain himself. Anthony wanted to ask that for a while but never found the opportunity.

“Healing,” she answers, “or trying to.”

He nods, nervously picking at his nails.

“When did you discover?” She asks.

“The onesie.” He looks up at her.

“The onesie,” she scoffs.

“You were… waiting for me?” His question is almost inaudible, full of regret and shame, but Anthony knows that she heard him.

“Yes,” she answers, “I was.” There’s a pause, and then the blow to his face. “Obviously you were occupied with more important matters, my lord.”

“(Y/N)—”

“I know about her,” she confesses. “I’ve always known, just didn’t want to acknowledge it and have to face the fact that my husband, the one that promised to respect me, at least, had so quickly forgotten his own word.”

“It’s not your fault.” He tries to explain but it seems like (Y/N) has had enough of silence.

“Oh, I know, my lord. This is entirely your fault.” She paused. “And hers. Not that it will matter for anyone, I’ll be the one to blame, after all.”

Her words cut through him the same way they did the week after her miscarriage: it’s always the woman’s fault. Hers or Sienna’s, it didn’t matter. Anthony would never understand the full extent of the pain it was to be a woman in their society, he would never fully understand how much he put her through and yet, would never be blamed for it.

There’s no answer to her words, no explanation for his behavior or broken promises. All he can do is watch her swallow the tears that were threatening to fall and take a deep breath. Anthony opens his mouth to speak but she beats him to it.

“That night,” she says, “the night I… lost our child. You were with her.”

It wasn’t a question, but Anthony felt the need to answer it anyway, his voice low with shame.

“Yes.”

“I see,” she hums.

“If I could go back—”

“The outcome would have been the same.” She says.

“It doesn’t change the fact that I should have been there for you.”

“Yes, you should have.”

Anthony always knew that, since the moment he put foot inside their house and heard her screams, but hearing her say it had another weight.

“Are you still seeing her?” She asks, looking at him.

“No, it won’t happen again.”

(Y/N) scoffs. “Forgive me if I have trouble believing in it, my lord.”

“I know I haven’t been a good husband. God, I have been barely a good man since we married, but I promise you, I’ll learn from my mistakes and I’ll do better by you. I’ll be a better man, a better husband, one that you deserve and maybe, just maybe, I’ll get close to deserve you.”

The following days, they start to talk more during meals, and the silence that falls between them when they’re both at the drawing room—Anthony working and (Y/N) reading—is not uncomfortable anymore. Each day that passes makes Anthony believe that they can fall back into the friendship they had right after they married.

He doesn’t see Sienna again. Anthony sends her a letter telling her that they should stop seeing each other because he doesn’t want to hurt his wife anymore. Which is the truth. Every time he thinks about the last time he met Sienna, his wife’s cries of pain and sorrow plague his mind and he just can’t see himself hurting her even more than he already had without even realizing it.

Anthony watches her playing with Gregory and Hyacinth in the garden. His younger siblings are fighting for her attention but she doesn’t seem to mind, going back and forth in between the two of them with ease. Then she looks at him, a huge smile on her face that made him smile too. Her attention was quickly snatched from him to his siblings again and Anthony felt a pang of jealousy in his chest—he didn’t want to share her attention.

In the past few weeks, Anthony discovered that his wife was more than the character of the perfect wife that she played for the ton. She was very much real and very much a woman with desires and ambitions. Everything that happened between then made her more bold, she didn’t take his poor excuses anymore, she talked openly about all sorts of things and Anthony caught himself wanting to listen.

“Hum, did you finally realize that you got a diamond in your hands, then?”

Anthony turned his head to look at Benedict, who had a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

His relationship with Benedict was stranded since his brother discovered about Sienna. Anthony didn’t blame Benedict, he was friend’s with his wife since they were kids. He only had himself to blame for being so foolish.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Anthony answered, not bothering to pretend he wasn’t observing their siblings with (Y/N).

“Keep lying to yourself then,” Benedict smirked, turning away to leave.

Anthony called after him. “Will you ever forgive me?”

Benedict sighed. “I’m not the one who has to forgive you. I just expected more from my brother.”

“I know,” he agrees. Benedict makes a move to go out the door, and then comes back, pulling Anthony into a hug.

“Look, I could say a thousand things to you, but nothing will undo what’s done.” Benedict says when they part, a hand resting on Anthony’s shoulder. “Just… learn from your mistakes and do better. You’re my brother and I love you, but trust me when I say that you don't deserve (Y/N). Can you imagine what mother would have done to our father if they ever found themselves in the same situation?”

“They loved each other,” Anthony protested to prevent his mind from wandering.

“You are truly oblivious, brother of mine.” Benedict scoffed.

His brother’s word haunted him for the rest of the day and all the way back to their home. Always perceptive, his change in behavior didn’t go unnoticed by (Y/N).

“What happened,” she asked when they were alone in the dressing room.

Anthony hummed, turning around to look at her and trying not to get distracted by her beauty as she braided her own hair after taking off the jewelry.

“Nothing.”

Her reflection raises a brow at him.

“Do better,” she warns, getting up and walking up to him, face softening as she stands in front of him. “You know you can tell me anything, don’t you?”

He nods, taking one of her hands and bringing it to his face. Anthony’s eyes close.

“Is it about her?”

The question gets him off guard. His eyes open instantly to look at her and he drops (Y/N)’ hand instantly.

“No,” he answers, “no,” he adds firmly, cradling her face in between his hands. “There is no one else in my life but you. There won’t be no one else in my life but you.”

“Anthony…” She breaths, closing her eyes as her delicate hands take hold of his wrists.

He wants nothing more than to kiss her, but refrains. It’s not the time for that. They’re both healing and he doesn’t want to taint whatever it is they’re creating by getting ahead of himself. Instead, Anthony presses his lips to her hair, inhaling her scent.

“Stay with me tonight,” he pleads, not sure where the urge to stay close to her came from. Anthony expects her to put up a fight, but (Y/N) only nods, murmuring an okay, before guiding him to her room.

It’s the first time since that fateful night that the both of them sleep through it, getting up later than usual the other day.

Their first kiss after everything that threatened to push them apart for good, happens so suddenly that none of them expects it.

(Y/N) had received the news that one of her younger sisters was going to marry the man she loves, her happiness made her throw herself at him and before either of them could realize, they were kissing each other.

It was just a chaste peck on the lips at the beginning. When they realized what had just happened they parted, his wife didn’t bother to step away from him to escape his embrace. They just stared at each other, eyes flicking between their eyes and their lips and then she placed a hand at the back of his neck, bringing him close to seal their lips again.

Anthony responded in kind, his hands on her waist, traveling up her back as he tasted her. It was like he was kissing her for the first time. They were discovering each other again, learning what each other felt like.

Desperately, Anthony wanted to discover what the strange feeling at the pit of his stomach was. Since before they married (Y/N) made him feel different, something he couldn’t put a finger on. He pushed it down to the depths of his mind—the last thing he needed was feeling something other than respect and partnership for his wife.

He protested when (Y/N) parted her lips from his and it took him a second to notice Benedict standing at the door, a smirk on his lips.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, I just wanted to let you know that our mother is waiting for (Y/N) downstairs. Something about the charity?”

“Oh,” his wife exclaimed, “I had forgotten about it,” she said, wriggling herself away from his arms, making Anthony growl in frustration.

If she noticed, (Y/N) made a good job at ignoring it. The same couldn’t be said about his brother.

“I figured,” Benedict smirked.

“Not a word,” (Y/N) warned as she passed him by, slapping his arm playfully.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Anthony watched as she turned around, stealing one last glance at him before disappearing and taking his breath away with her.

“Huh,” Benedict hummed, “I see.”

Rolling his eyes, Anthony asked, “And what do you see, dear brother?”

“You love her.”

“Nonsense,” he protested, “we’re just good partners.”

“Good partners don’t kiss like that.”

The ride home was silent, but Anthony’s heart fluttered in his chest when (Y/N) searched for his hand. Could Benedict be right? Did he really fall in love with his wife? He frowned while looking out of the window of the carriage and (Y/N) might have noticed it, because she made a move to take her hand away from him. Anthony didn’t let her.

“What’s going on in your mind?”

“Something Benedict said to me.”

“If it is about the kiss, don’t mind him. It won’t happen again.”

Anthony looked at her exasperated.

“I surely hope you’re not serious about that.”

“Anthony…”

“How can I live without your kisses again is unknown to me.”

“You lived quite well without them all your life,” she smiles, shyly.

“But now that I know them, I can’t anymore.”

Painfully slowly, she moves closer, giving him the chance to meet her halfway and bring their lips together again.

It’s like a breath of fresh air on a hot summer day and Anthony can’t seem to get enough of her. They get so distracted that they don’t even realise the carriage has stopped in front of the house until the door is open.

Recomposing themselves, he observes as (Y/N) giggles at the situation and feels his heart flutter at the image.

As they prepare to retire for the night, Anthony stops for a minute before following her into her room—he has been doing that for quite a few nights.

When she notices that he hasn’t entered the bedroom, (Y/N) looks back at him with a frown.

“Anything’s wrong?”

Anthony smiles, “No, nothing’s wrong,” he answers, as she extends her hand for him to take, and they retire for the night.

[scarletemeterio]

hii, saw u wanted arcane requests. from what ive seen on tiktok, apparently jinx was able to escape after the explosion in the very last episode and survived and ran away on that blimp thing, so could u please write a jinx x fem reader where after the explosion, jinx comes to get reader and they run away together happily to another region to have a fresh start and have a quiet, peaceful life. 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼 pls and thank you.

A Fresh Start (Jinx x Gn!reader)

Warnings: mentions of death, use of (Y/N) once

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Fandom: Arcane

Summary: see request

Word Count: 1.6k

No set pronouns for reader

•••

You still remembered every detail, every word said, replaying the moment in your head. You'd had a fight with Jinx, nothing serious you'd thought, but when she and Ekko found you, you could see the pain in her eyes. She came running to you, wrapping her arms around your neck.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean all those things I said,” she apologized, her voice breaking. “You've always been there for me, and I've been ungrateful about that.”

You hugged her tightly, with your arms surrounding her waist, hiding your face in her shoulder.

“It's okay, it doesn't matter now,” you mumbled. “Are you okay?” You asked, breaking apart and caressing her face.

She simply nodded, but you could read her like an open book, and you knew that there was something she wasn't telling you.

Before you could keep questioning her, Ekko decided to speak.

“I hate to interrupt the sweet moment and everything, but we have to hurry if we wanna survive,” he said. You gave him a confused look, slowly breaking your embrace with Jinx.

“Yeah, the world is basically about to end,” the girl said. And both she and the boy tried their best to give you all the information you needed, trying to come up with a plan.

When you were almost finished with the globe, Jinx pulled you apart for a moment, wanting to talk to you.

“I really am sorry about before," she started saying, “I just couldn't think straight at the moment and I took it out on you.”

“Hey, I said it was okay and I meant it,” you comforted her, grabbing her hand.

“I just don't want us to be on bad terms, we don't know what could happen out there,” she whispered, trying to hold back her tears.

“We're not on bad terms, okay? Don't worry about that, my love,” you answered, not wanting to think about the worst case scenario.

“Thank you for not giving up on me, (Y/N), I'm so lucky to have met you. You mean the world to me, and I love you so much.” Tears were already falling down her cheeks, making it hard to contain yours too.

“I love you, too, baby.” You pressed your foreheads together, closing your eyes to better savour the moment. “Don't worry, we're gonna be okay,” you tried to reassure her. “I'm not saying today will be easy, but we'll make it, and soon this will all be just a dark moment from the past.”

She wrapped her arms around your neck once again, not being able to control her sobs anymore. You were taken aback from the sudden action and her reaction. Her embrace was tight and almost filled with dread, almost as if she was certain something bad would happen. You decided to get those thoughts out of your head. Danger was knocking at the door, and you couldn't ignore it anymore; the moment to fight had come.

When you got to the fight scene, Vi quickly joined you, and so did Vander. Ekko took control of the globe, making it crash into the building, knocking the air out of your lungs. When you finally got back on your feet, you quickly went to help Vi and Jinx against Vander, but a hard blow at you was the last thing you remembered before losing consciousness.

You had no idea how long you were out of it. Ekko's figure was the first thing you saw when you woke up, and he helped you sit down slowly.

“Hey, easy there,” he said. “You got hit pretty badly.”

“I'm fine,” you groaned. “Where’s Jinx?” He ignored your eyes, tilting his head. “Ekko?”

He only had to look at you, and you could instantly feel the world crumble around you. Tears quickly flooded your eyes, still looking at the boy in front of you.

“Tell me it's not what I'm thinking,” you pleaded.

“She sacrificed herself to save Vi.”

You closed your eyes, letting the tears roll down your cheeks. You wanted it to be some sick joke, for her to get into the room and tell you that it wasn't true, that she was fine and you didn't have to worry about anything. But you knew her, and you knew something felt off about her in that last conversation you had. Turns out something bad did end up happening.

•••

Not many days had passed, the pain still fresh. You were lost in your thoughts, staring at the city in front of you. You were in the spot Ekko had shown you not long ago, trying to find a bit of peace in contrast to the mess in your head.

Life in Zaun was very unpredictable, which made it difficult to make long-term plans, but also made it easy to not get attached to anything nor anyone. But Jinx was the exception. You just couldn’t stop yourself from getting attached to her, and now you were suffering the consequences.

To be honest you wouldn’t really change anything, not even the pain you were feeling right now. Changing things would mean not even getting to know her, and you were grateful to have met her, to share your life with her. You were simply paying life’s price for love.

You suddenly felt a presence behind you, but you kept your gaze to the front.

“I'd really like to be alone, Ekko,” you said, assuming that the boy had come to check on you.

“I'm not Ekko.”

You froze in place. You had to be hallucinating, it had to be the only explanation. She was gone, and nothing would change that. You shook your head in disbelief, looking up at the sky.

“I'm even hearing her voice now,” you said. You could feel that presence even closer now, and you quickly grew frustrated with what you thought was your own mind. “Leave me alone!” You screamed, turning to the presence behind you and freezing once again when you finally saw her.

“Hey, it's me,” she whispered.

You quickly got up, never breaking eye contact.

“But- You- How?” It was all you could say, barely whispering, still not truly believing what you were seeing. She was right there.

“I guess being injected with crazy amounts of shimmer to keep me from dying had its perks,” she explained almost jokingly, trying to lighten up the mood. “I managed to escape the explosion.”

“But I don't understand. Why didn't you come back right away? Why let us believe you were dead?” You had a million questions in your head, and you could feel your heart beating like crazy.

“I needed everyone to believe it, to have a fresh start. Vi would never give up on me if she knew I was still alive; she'd follow me to the end of the world.”

You still kept your distance from her, it all seemed unreal. A few minutes ago you were grieving her, and now she was right in front of you, as beautiful as ever. But you felt anger inside you as well. She could've told you, she could've saved you from that horrible pain of thinking she was actually gone for good.

“You knew you were gonna fake it all along, didn't you?” You realized, thinking about that last conversation you two had. “That's why you were so emotional, so shaken and distressed.”

“Baby, I-.”

“You knew, right?” You interrupted her, voice cracking with your words.

“I did.”

You closed your eyes. You didn't really know when you'd started crying, but the tears kept falling down your face.

“You let me believe you were dead, Jinx! Dead!” You didn't even try to hide how emotionally distressed you were. You needed to let everything out. The blue-haired girl broke the distance between you two, holding you in her arms while you sobbed into her chest, quickly collapsing to the ground.

“I'm so sorry, baby. I made a mistake and I should've told you,” she said while running her hand through your hair. You could tell by her voice that she was also crying, filled with guilt. “I'm sorry, please forgive me.”

“I get why you did it,” you told her after a while. “I don't blame you for wanting peace, but you have no idea how much it hurt me to think that I'd lost you.”

She cupped your face and made eye contact with you before pressing your foreheads together. “I'm sorry,” she repeated, feeling like she could never say it enough times to express just how much she regretted not letting you know before.

“I'm just glad you're actually okay, love.” You leaned in to her touch, savouring the moment after such turmoil.

She gave you a kiss on your forehead before speaking.

“I want you to come with me,” she uttered.

“Come where?” You questioned.

“I don't know, away from here,” she replied. “I really want that fresh start, but I know that trying to live without you would be absolute hell. I've had many uncertainties in my life, but you just feel right. If there's something I'm sure of is that I love you, with every part of me.”

“I love you, too,” you told her. “And I'd also follow you to the end of the world.” You let out a hopeful smile, and so did she before cupping your face to kiss you.

Her lips against yours felt absolutely right, like it was just the way it had to be, forever and ever. You belonged together, and there was nothing you wanted more than to build a future with her, away from all the ghosts from the past. You knew it wouldn't be easy, both of you had a lot to let go of but with her by your side everything felt a bit easier, and for the first time in a long time, you felt hopeful.

•••

i absolutely loved this request, thank you anon! i'm a sucker for angst

also i'm 100% sure she's still alive

[sophietv]

Everything you need to know : Failed Coming Out 2019

This is an answer to an anon I've received.

I typed it all and Tumblr said there was an error when I went and tried to published it. So I had to type it all again but lost the anon....

Here's the question: could you tell me more about her wanting to come out in 2019? sorry for asking again I'm new on the fandom!

Hi!

It will be my pleasure! This is such an important part of the Gaylor Lore to know and understand, especially when you are new in the fandom.

This theory has been confirmed, but we'll get to it in a minute.

Also, I'm so sorry because learning about what went down during Lover Era is a transformative experiece in the Gaylor fandom, in a very heartbreaking way.

So back in 2019 Taylor wanted to come out with the Lover Era.

June 30th during the New York City Pride wich was also the Stonewall's 50th anniversary, was supposed to be the day it happened.

This date might be familiar to you, because it's the date we learned at the same time as Taylor about her masters being sold to Scooter Braun.

So let's start at the begining of all of this. I won't go through ALL the details because my post will never end. But I'll cover the most important ones.

Right at the begining of the year, insiders were already talking about the fact that Taylor was planing to come out that year in podcasts and blind items.

Then in March 6th (Karlie and Taylor's anniversary)

Taylor does a post hinting at this new era. The very first lyrics we get (We got hints at ME back in February):

Daylight the song is about Karlie. But this line specifically means coming out.

Stepping into the daylight, and letting everyone see the real you.

(Also worth noting the lesbian filter)

Taylor started being really loud in the posts she made from now on. Flagging rainbow, lesbian and bi colors every chances she got.

And flagging Butterflies. Wich is very important thematically in Lover and coming out.

Side note on the Butterfly meaning:

Remembre how in reputation, snake was a really important theme?

And how in Lover it switched to butterflies?

More specifically it switched to Snakes transforming into butterflies?

There's a species of butterflies, that when they are in the chrysalid phase of their transformation into a butterfly, can look like a snake if they feel unsafe or attacked in order to protect themselves.

Then, after the average 13 days waiting period, they transforms into a beautiful butterfly.

Basically what Taylor was doing, protecting herself during reputation with that "personna" like she described.

And now, she was ready to finally transforms and have a new beginning.

Here's a description of what butterflies means:

A powerful beacon of growth and new beginnings, the butterfly signifies the power of transformation and the incredible feats we can achieve when we trust ourselves. We all have the ability to listen to our innate wisdom, guide ourselves through difficult times, and emerge better and stronger than before.

The ME! of it all:

Ok back into the Lover Era timeline!

So all those rainbow posts were leading up to the first single: ME!

Even Taylor Nation was pretty loud about this (number of rainbows = number of days leading to ME! release):

3 days before ME! release, Taylor performs at the Time 100 Gala and it's the first and only time she switched so very clearly pronouns in the song, multiple times:

She sings repeatedly : I want HER midnights

And she even seems to be getting more and more confortable as the song goes on and singing it louder and louder.

She also looks at the crowd while singing it.

Then she releases ME!

That was really the first part of her coming out.

And honnestly, she shouldn't have had to do more than this.

ME! was released on April 26th.

April 26th in 2019 was Lesbian Visibility Day.

And she captionned the release with: ME! Out Now!

A song about how she is unique as a Lover...

That is without mentioning the amount of rainbows everywhere in that MV as well as other references.

Worth noting that in 2019 Lil NasX came out in a MV with the rainbow tower and was annoyed that people didn't get it?

Taylor also probably deadass thought that she made it obvious:

May & June 2019 leading up to the big coming out:

Taylor continues to be as loud as she can.

She makes a very generous donation to GLAAD:

She sings ME! every chances she gets, while flagging the Lesbian Flag.

Taylor Nation also keeps on being really loud:

And releases a song and music video about homophobia and includes herself front and centered in the LGBTQ+ community (represented by the Trailer park, note how Ryan Reynolds, the only straight person in the MV is outside of this park, not in it like Taylor).

With a bi flag wig...

So yeah, she was trying really hard to make people see her.

Christian Siriano and the dress...

Back in April, we learned that Christian Siriano (a fashion designer) was working on a project for Taylor:

In June, he started teasing us about a mistery rainbow dress for an unnknown person:

It was heavily rumored that it would be the dress used by Taylor to come out at the end of Pride Month.

He kind of confirmed it with this post:

Then. June 30th.

The New York City Pride.

Taylor planned to come out at the event.

Employees on site, starts to be warned about this (you can find some comments online).

Taylor learns at the same time as us that her masters were sold to Scooter Braun.

She never makes it to Pride.

And Billy Porter ends up wearing the dress:

But. You can see that the dress was not meant to be worn by him. It doesn't fit well and the "nude" parts shows that it was meant to be worn by a white person.

In 2022, Christian confirmed it by dueting a TikTok talking specifically about this.

He deleted it right after but you can still find it on TikTok: (X)

Last minutes changes to Lover:

We now know that Taylor scrapped two songs from Lover: All Of The Girls You Loved Before and Need.

All Of The Girls is really loud and very clearly talks about a girl. Wich Taylor couldn't afford if she didn't want to/couldn't come out.

London Boy was actually written and added really last minute to the album.

Really interesting, because this is her loudest song about her loving boyfriend. Wich is a brilliant thing to do if you want to limit the public speculation after all the flagging that you did...

We know it was last minute, because Taylor sampled it on Cold War from Cautious Clay. (X)

He was called in the middle of the night and had to approve the sample right away.

Interesting fact: Cold War was featured in Book Smart, a movie Taylor promoted that year.

The song plays during a lesbian sex scene...

The intro to London Boy is actually Idris Elba in a interview where he was talking about a charity where he sold a date with him.

You know, people paid to date him...

The shift in the Lover Era:

After this, you can start to see a shift. Where it was colorful sequin and rainbows everywhere with colorful choreography.

She now dresses in black, is incredibly sad and sings mostly accousting song.

Like her BBC 1 performance or Lover In Paris:

Miss Americana:

Miss Americana was supposed to be her coming out documentary.

It has been confirmed by the director of the project that a lot of footage has been scrapped.

Also, the documentary was supposed to be called : Is It Cool That I Said All That?

This is why the documentary sometimes feels like something is missing and some parts are rushed.

They tried to switch her coming out approach by making it her political activism era.

Taylor confirms it in Anti-Hero MV:

She's pierced through the heart by The Archer.

Her queerness starts showing (she's bleeding lavender glitters).

She tries to cover it up by taking the table cloth.

Her wanting to cover it spoils the dinner for everyone and they leave her.

And while she sings : "Did you hear my covert narcissism I disguise as altruism, Like some kind of congressman?"

She covers her queerness with a sticker : Vote For Me, For Everything

Confirming that the political activism during Lover Era and mostly Miss Americana was in fact really to cover the fact that she was already one foot out of the closet when they had to backtrack.

With this. Take a look at the closing scene of Miss Americana. When The Archer is playing in the background.

It's a montage of Taylor talking to someone and Taylor on the release night of Lover.

Look at what Taylor says...

Queerbaiting Backlash:

This might be the worse part in my opinion.

Since she was flagging so hard to come out.

Sadly, most people didn't get that that was exactly what she was trying to do.

And medias massively accused her of queerbaiting.

And using the queer community.

I'm still so mad and heartbroken about this....

reusing an old Twitter post...

Even queer fans...:

Frankly, speculating about her sexuality would have been way less damaging than this...

Songs about this event:

Taylor wrote a lot about this failed coming out.

The Archer, was her song about her anxiety about coming out. And begging her fans to stay.

I'm not gonna do a full lyrics analysis because this post is already a novel.

But read those lyrics with that in mind and you'll see how loud it is, and heartbreaking.

"I've got a hundred thrown out speeches I almost said to you"

Also. Worth noting that after Lover was released and she was not able to come out, she switched one lyric in that song.

Instead of "Combat, I'm ready for combat" singular (coming out was the combat she was ready to face)

She now sings every time "Combats, I'm ready for Combats", because coming out has turned into multiple battles that she has to face now...

Hoax:

Noticed how she says that all of her heroes die all alone in The Archer?

Her fear that if she comes out, all her fans would leave.

In Hoax she says: "You know the hero died so what's the point of keeping score movie for?"

Because with her Master Heist and everything, she was not able to be one of those heroes herself... The hero that she wanted to be died in that moment because she was unable to come out.

Edit: I messed up the lyrics. But it's even more telling. Because the movie she's talking about is Miss Americana, once she was unable to come out.

Evermore:

This song is litteraly her looking back at what happened and how she managed to process everything and ultimatly heal even though it felt at the start like she would never be able to.

"I've been down since July" - June 30th = failed coming out

"Motion capture, put me in a bad light" - Queerbaiting allegations. And Miss Americana being rebranded.

"Writting letters, adressed to the fire" - Her hundred thrown out speeches that she almost said.

"I rewind the tape, but all it does is pause, on the very moment all was lost" - June 30th...

"Sending signals, to be double crossed" - Her flagging strongly on her way to come out, only to be accused of queerbaiting.

Right Where You Left Me:

The restaurant is a metaphor for the closet.

"Sitting in a corner I haunt, cross legged in the dim light"

Doesn't really feel like a restaurant, but her hiding in the closet.

"I swear, you could hear a hairpin drop. Right when I felt the moment stopped"

Droping hairpins is giving hints that you are gay.

She was doing this very loudly right before she was kept from coming out.

"Dust collected on my pinned up hair"

Her hair are still pinned up because she was not able to come out. And dust collected over time that she spent forced in the closet.

Anti-Hero:

AH is really The Archer 2.0, and talks about the same fear of coming out and being abandonned.

The fact that she decided to depict herself as the Anti-Hero is both really interesting and heartbreaking.

Because to her, the hero was the version of herself that was able to come out...

Listen to Change in the perspective of being able to come out and change the face of the industry:

"Tonight we'll stand, get off our knees

Fight for what we've worked for all these years

And the battle was long, it's the fight of our lives

But we'll stand up champions tonight"

They were the Champions.

Side note: she sang this song at the ACMA in 2010, two weeks before Chely Wright's coming out.

When we know that she has knowed and worked with Chely since about 2007.

Then Taylor wrote Long Live one month after Chely Wright's coming out.

Listen to the song with the same perspective as Change now.

"You held your head like a hero, on a history book page"

Chely Wright came out in May 2010. Taylor wrote Long Live in June 2010.

Look at the parallels of both songs.

And now, look at her choice to name that song Anti-Hero after everything that hapenned....

She also wrote Long Story Short and The Great War about that event, but this is for another post and it's about how this event affected her relationship with Karlie.

How she thought she was betrayed but ultimately found out it was not the case.

And how they both made it through.

Ok, I'm exhausted lol.

Sorry for writting a novel.

But this is such an important part of Taylor's history and I really wanted to do it justice (hope I was able to).

If you are still reading...Thank you for your question!

[cherryxbooo]

We are a team

Summary: Y/N and Jungkook’s secret three-year relationship is exposed by Dispatch, leading to a wave of hate toward Y/N. Overwhelmed, she distances herself and spirals into self-doubt, but Jungkook’s unwavering love and public defense bring her back.

Note: First time writing for Jungkook even though I've been in the fandom for ages (ikr it's a shame). I tried giving it my own spin, so let me know what you think! Have a nice reading time cherries!

Reader x Jeon Jungkook

Genre: fluff/angst

I always knew my life was different, but I never really understood the full extent of how different it was until I started dating Jeon Jungkook.

Jungkook wasn’t just any person; he was an idol, an icon. One of the seven members of BTS, the global sensation that had taken the world by storm.

He was everything anyone could dream of. Beautiful, talented, and charismatic beyond measure. And somehow, against all odds, I ended up with him. The truth is, it still doesn’t feel real sometimes.

But before all of the glitz and glamour, before the screaming fans and flashing cameras, there was just him and me.

It started like any other relationship, but it quickly turned into something that felt different from all the others.

The quiet dinners, the stolen moments at his apartment or mine, long talks about our dreams, our fears, and everything in between. We shared the same kind of energy, an unspoken understanding that didn’t need to be explained.

He could say so much with just one look, and I could do the same. It was a beautiful dance of balance—where I didn’t need the world to know us, where our love didn’t need to be validated by anyone.

For the first year, it was perfect. We kept our relationship private, just the way we wanted it.

His fame was an overwhelming beast, and my life, simple as it was, didn’t need the attention of the public.

Our love existed in these hidden pockets of time, these quiet, beautiful moments where only we mattered.

We could escape from the world and just be. And I loved it.

I had never expected to fall in love with someone like Jungkook. He wasn’t just a celebrity; he was kind, grounded, and so incredibly caring.

He was the type of person who would send me a message in the middle of a busy day just to ask how I was.

Or send me a random picture of something he thought I’d like, just because he knew it would make me smile.

I remember the first time he told me he loved me. It wasn’t a grand gesture or an elaborate confession.

It was on a rainy evening, curled up on the couch after a long day of practice. He looked at me with those deep, dark eyes, and said softly, “I love you, you know.”

I smiled, squeezing his hand in mine. “I know. I love you, too.”

It felt so simple, yet in that moment, it felt like the most important thing in the world. And that’s how it always was with him. Everything was simple, but it was everything.

But things change, even in the quietest of lives. The world has a funny way of pushing itself into places where it doesn’t belong.

It was the end of the year, a time when the media and Dispatch were notorious for revealing celebrity relationships.

Every year, they’d release the identities of new couples, always making headlines. I knew it was coming.

The pressure was mounting. People were starting to whisper. I had seen articles, blogs, and even fan accounts speculating about my relationship with Jungkook.

But none of it felt real. They didn’t know. No one did.

Then came that one fateful day. It was just like any other morning until I got the message.

I had just finished breakfast, my phone buzzing on the kitchen counter. I reached for it, not expecting anything out of the ordinary.

But there it was.

A picture of Jungkook and me, a candid shot from one of our rare outings in public. We had gone to a quiet café to grab some coffee, and somehow, someone had managed to snap the photo.

And just like that, Dispatch had their story. They had their moment.

It was one of those things that hit me like a freight train, a hard, cold reality. As soon as I saw the post, I felt the room spin. The caption was simple, yet it felt like a wrecking ball:

BTS’s Jeon Jungkook and his mystery girlfriend revealed!

dispatch

Liked by kpopteagiver, jungkookupdates, and 1,232,458 others

dispatch BTS’s Jeon Jungkook and his mystery girlfriend, revealed! Here's what we know: Jeon Jungkook member of BTS has been spotted several times with the same girl. Our sources confirmed the two to be a couple. The girls identity is also revealed, she's a normal university student that goes by the name of y/n. The pair has been together for 3 years apparently. Why Jungkook chose a regular girl instead of an idol is still a big mystery.

View all comments

jjk97lvrrr Ew what the hell?! Who is that. 🤢

bangtan4rver Jungkook can do so much better 🙄

boraaajk1 💔🤮

btsmylovly7 I can't believe this my babyyy jk 😭😢

jkfancam2019 Yesss fandom cleanse 🤭

hobixtaetae7 Some of you need to grow up smh he isn’t going to notice you so sit down damn 💀

chimschubbycheeks1 Nah fr, I mean we all saw it coming these fine men can't be single forever besides she seems nice

jinnymytime77 I agree, the ones that act like that are such a shame to our fandom.

The comments flooded in almost immediately.

“She’s so basic, why is he with her?”

“Doesn’t she know she’s just using him for fame?”

“I’m so disappointed in him. He deserves better.”

I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t even notice the tears that had started streaming down my face until I felt them drop onto my phone screen. It was like the world was collapsing around me.

I threw my phone onto the couch and buried my face in my hands. It wasn’t just the hate; it was the fact that the world now knew.

My private, peaceful life with Jungkook was no longer private.

The silence that had once surrounded us had been shattered.

The days that followed were a blur. Jungkook tried reaching out to me, sending me texts, calling me—but I couldn’t bring myself to answer him. I couldn’t find the words to tell him how broken I was.

I tried to ignore it. I tried to push it all down. But it was hard, so hard to ignore the flood of comments, the constant reminders of the hate and judgment that had suddenly filled my world.

I didn’t leave my apartment much. I spent most of my time locked in my room, scrolling through the endless comments that tore at me piece by piece.

It wasn’t just the hate from strangers, though. It was the pressure, the weight of it all. Jungkook had always been in the public eye.

He was used to it. But me? I was just a regular person, living a normal life. The spotlight that had never once been on me now seemed like a blinding floodlight, burning away every bit of my peace.

I distanced myself from everyone, even from Jungkook. I didn’t want him to see how weak I had become, how much the hate was getting to me.

I didn’t want him to feel guilty. I didn’t want to burden him with my pain.

But Jungkook wasn’t about to let me do that.

I was lying in bed one evening when I heard a soft knock on the door. I didn’t even have to guess who it was.

“Y/N,” Jungkook’s voice was quiet, almost hesitant. “Can we talk?”

I wanted to say no. I wanted to lock myself away and pretend everything was fine. But I couldn’t do that anymore. Not with him.

I stood up slowly and opened the door, and there he was—his face drawn, worried, but still, unmistakably, the same Jungkook. My Jungkook.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, his gaze never leaving me. I could see the worry in his eyes.

“Y/N, why are you doing this? I’ve been trying to reach you. You can’t just shut me out like this.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice cracking.

“I just... I can’t handle it, Jungkook. I can’t handle the hate, the comments, the constant pressure. I feel like I’m suffocating. I’m not strong enough for this. I don’t know how to handle the spotlight. It’s too much.”

Jungkook’s eyes softened, and he reached out to gently cup my face. “You don’t have to handle it alone. I’m here, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

“But it’s not just about us,” I said, looking away. “It’s about you too. You’ve worked so hard for everything, and I’m just... messing it all up.”

He shook his head, his fingers brushing away the tears from my cheek.

“No, you’re not. Don’t you ever think that. You mean the world to me. The hate... It doesn’t matter. What matters is that we’re together. That’s all that matters.”

I felt the weight of his words in my chest, and slowly, I let myself lean into him, resting my head on his chest.

“I’m so scared, Kook. I’m scared of losing you, of ruining everything for you.”

Jungkook held me tighter, his voice soft but firm. “You won’t lose me. Never. I won’t let the media or anyone else get between us.”

I looked up at him, the tears still falling. “But what if it’s too much? What if I can’t do this?”

“You can,” he whispered, his hand gently stroking my hair.

“You can, because we’re a team. And I’ll be right here beside you, every step of the way.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, I allowed myself to believe that everything would be okay.

That maybe, just maybe, we could get through this together.

Jungkook and I spent the next few hours sitting together, his presence a balm to the sharp pain in my chest.

He didn’t try to force words out of me or ask for any promises. Instead, he sat beside me, patiently waiting, letting me gather the strength to speak.

We didn’t need words to communicate. It was as if he knew exactly what I was feeling.

His hand, warm and reassuring, held mine, grounding me in the chaos of my emotions.

But even though he was here, with me, I still felt the weight of the world pressing down.

The constant barrage of notifications, the insults, the assumptions. All of it was suffocating.

I had always tried to live a quiet, unassuming life, away from the public eye.

I hadn’t signed up for this level of scrutiny. Yet here I was, caught in a storm I had no control over.

The following days were no easier. Despite Jungkook’s gentle reassurances and attempts to keep me grounded, I felt more alone than ever.

He would send me messages, voice notes, and even pop by my apartment when he could, but the pressure of it all was too much.

I couldn’t bring myself to face the outside world.

One day, I woke up to an overwhelming sense of exhaustion. The weight of the previous weeks had drained me, physically and emotionally.

The constant tension in my body had made it hard to sleep, and my mind felt like it was on a never-ending loop of worst-case scenarios.

I could hear the voices in my head telling me that maybe I wasn’t cut out for this life, that I was never meant to be a part of his world.

I looked at my phone. The notifications were still there—more comments, more articles, more people voicing their opinions. Some were kind, but many were filled with venom.

I read one comment that stood out:

“She doesn’t deserve him. She’s just another girl trying to ride his coattails. When is she going to leave him?”

I wanted to throw my phone across the room. The hurt was unbearable, and no matter how many times Jungkook reassured me, I couldn’t escape it.

The world was so quick to judge me, and I felt as if every part of my life was under a microscope. Every action, every word, every gesture was scrutinized.

I felt like I was drowning, and the shore was so far away.

But then, Jungkook did something unexpected. Something that, in that moment, I never knew I needed.

It was late in the evening, and I was once again buried under a mountain of blankets on the couch, staring at my phone.

The silence in my apartment felt suffocating, the glow of the screen the only thing that kept me company.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed. I saw Jungkook’s name on the screen.

“I’m coming over. We need to talk.”

I knew he could sense my distance. He had been trying so hard to break through my walls, and for the most part, I had been shutting him out.

But this time, I couldn’t ignore him. My heart ached just at the thought of his face. I needed to see him.

I threw the blankets aside, quickly running my fingers through my hair, trying to make myself presentable.

By the time the doorbell rang, I was standing in the entryway, a mixture of relief and dread swirling inside me.

“Jungkook,” I whispered as I opened the door. He stood there, looking at me with a mixture of worry and determination.

His expression softened as soon as he saw me, and he immediately pulled me into a hug. His arms enveloped me, warm and familiar.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I should’ve noticed sooner. I never should have let you go through this alone.”

I could feel his heart pounding against my chest, and in that moment, I knew he was just as scared as I was. We were in this together.

No matter what the world said, we were a team, we are a team.

“Jungkook, I—” I started to speak, but my voice caught in my throat. The tears I had been holding back for days finally began to spill over.

My body shook with the force of my sobs, and I clung to him like he was the only thing keeping me tethered to reality.

“I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to handle all this hate. It feels like I’m losing myself.”

He pulled back just enough to look into my eyes. His fingers gently wiped away my tears.

“You don’t have to do it alone. I’m here. Always.”

His words didn’t magically make the pain go away, but they made me feel something I hadn’t in days—hope.

A small glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, I could get through this with him by my side.

“I don’t want to lose you, Kook,” I whispered.

“I don’t want to be the one who drags you down. You’ve worked so hard for everything. I don’t want to be the reason your career is affected.”

Jungkook’s expression darkened, a fierce protectiveness overtaking him.

“Don’t you dare say that. We talked about this already. I don’t care about any of that. You are my priority, Y/N. Always. What they say... what they think... it doesn’t matter to me. What matters is that we’re okay. That you’re okay.”

His voice was firm, unwavering, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I felt a sense of calm wash over me.

He was right. The world could say whatever they wanted, but as long as we were in this together, nothing else mattered.

The following weeks were a battle. I tried to keep a low profile, but the world seemed determined to keep me in the spotlight.

The media, the fans—everyone had an opinion. The comments never stopped, and the hate continued to pour in.

But Jungkook refused to let me face it alone. He was by my side every step of the way.

He would show up at my apartment, bring me food, hold me when the weight of it all became too much. He knew when I needed comfort, and he never hesitated to offer it.

There were nights when we would just lay together, talking about everything and nothing, trying to distract ourselves from the world outside.

He kept reassuring me, telling me that this was just a phase.

“People will come around,” he would say, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

“They’ll see the real you, Y/N. And when they do, they’ll love you as much as I do.”

And slowly, over time, I began to believe him.

A turning point came when I received a message from one of my close friends, who had been keeping an eye on my social media accounts.

She told me that there was a shift happening. People were starting to see me for who I was—not just as Jungkook’s girlfriend, but as a person.

The comments started to change. There was more positivity, more support.

“I don’t know how this happened, Y/N,” she said, “but you’ve become something of an icon. People are really starting to love you. Your personality shines through. Keep being yourself. That’s all you need to do.”

It was a revelation that hit me like a ton of bricks. In the midst of all the hate, there was love.

There were people who saw beyond the headlines, beyond the rumors. They saw me. And that made all the difference.

As time went on, the media’s obsession with me began to fade. People who once tore me apart started to support me, praising my strength, my resilience.

The negativity was still there, but it no longer consumed me.

Jungkook, too, seemed to find peace in the shift. As he saw the public warming to me, he grew more relaxed, even a little playful.

He would tease me, jokingly asking if I had become the “queen of social media” now that everyone loved me.

“Don’t get too big-headed now,” he would say with a grin, pretending to be jealous of all the attention I was getting.

I would laugh, playfully nudging him. “Maybe I should start charging for autographs.”

“You’re already stealing the spotlight from me,” he would joke, but there was always a warmth in his eyes. “I’m the jealous one now.”

And in those moments, everything felt right again. I knew we had weathered the storm, and no matter what the world threw our way, we would face it together.

The day finally came when I stood in front of the mirror, ready to face the world again.

The pain, the heartbreak, the endless nights of crying—everything felt like it had been worth it.

I had fought, and I had come out stronger. The world had tried to break me, but I wasn’t going anywhere.

And Jungkook? He was right beside me, as always. Together, we had survived.

Months passed, and life seemed to return to some semblance of normalcy.

The media had moved on to other scandals, other stories to report. The spotlight on Jungkook and me had dimmed, but the consequences of the past still lingered like a shadow that refused to fade completely.

Jungkook and I had become experts at navigating the delicate balance between public attention and private moments. We’d learned to take the good with the bad.

On days when the media tried to spin stories that were less than flattering, we laughed it off, knowing we had each other.

On days when the weight of the world felt unbearable, we leaned on one another and found comfort in our shared silence.

It wasn’t always easy. There were still days when I would scroll through my social media and see a comment that hurt—something cruel, something unnecessary.

The pain would flare up, and the temptation to retreat back into myself would always be there.

But Jungkook’s words echoed in my mind: “We’re a team. Together, we can handle anything.” And with him by my side, I slowly began to believe it.

One afternoon, we sat together in our favorite café, a quiet little spot hidden in the heart of Seoul.

The world outside was bustling, but inside, it felt like we were in our own little bubble, away from the chaos.

Jungkook leaned over the table, his gaze soft and tender as he reached for my hand.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, his voice serious yet filled with a hint of playfulness.

“We should go somewhere. Just the two of us. No cameras, no distractions. Somewhere where we can be ourselves, without all the noise.”

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Where?”

He smiled, that mischievous smile that always made my heart flutter. “It’s a surprise. But I promise it’ll be perfect.”

I didn’t need to ask any more questions. I trusted him completely. Jungkook had always been someone who knew how to make me feel special, even in the most ordinary moments.

It was one of the reasons I fell for him in the first place—his ability to turn every moment into something meaningful.

Days later, we found ourselves on a private jet, heading to a secluded beach on a small island far from the hustle and bustle of the city.

It was just the two of us, free to be whoever we wanted to be without the weight of public expectations hanging over us.

The air was warm, the sky a perfect shade of blue, and the ocean stretched out before us in a shimmering expanse.

It felt like we were the only two people in the world.

Jungkook took my hand as we walked along the shoreline, the sound of the waves crashing against the sand filling the air.

“This is it,” he said, his voice filled with awe. “Just us. No one else.”

I looked at him, a sense of peace washing over me. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could breathe freely again.

The media, the hate, the drama—none of it mattered in this moment. All that mattered was that we were together.

“You’re right,” I said softly. “This is perfect.”

Jungkook stopped walking and turned to face me, his expression soft and earnest.

“I know it’s been hard, Y/N. I know I can’t take away all the pain you’ve been feeling, but I hope you know that I’m always here for you. Through everything.”

My heart swelled with emotion as I looked into his eyes.

“I know, Kook. And I’ll never take that for granted. You’ve been my rock, even when everything seemed impossible.”

He smiled, pulling me into a tight hug. “You’re stronger than you think. And you don’t have to face anything alone. I’ve got you, always.”

We stood there for what felt like an eternity, wrapped in each other’s arms, surrounded only by the sound of the waves and the soft rustling of the breeze.

It was a moment of pure tranquility, a brief respite from the chaos that had ruled our lives for so long.

The following days were filled with laughter, adventure, and a sense of freedom I hadn’t felt in months.

We explored the island, tried new foods, and spent hours simply enjoying each other’s company.

There were no cameras, no headlines—just us, living in the moment.

On the last night of our trip, we sat on the beach, watching the sun set over the horizon.

The sky was painted in shades of pink and orange, and the air was thick with the scent of saltwater and sand.

“I wish we could stay here forever,” I murmured, leaning my head on Jungkook’s shoulder.

He chuckled softly, wrapping his arm around me. “Maybe not forever. But I’d like to come back here with you someday. Just the two of us.”

I smiled, the warmth of his words filling me with happiness. “I’d like that too.”

We sat in comfortable silence, watching as the stars began to twinkle in the night sky. For once, the weight of the world felt light. It was just us, and that was enough.

When we returned to Seoul, the world seemed to have shifted. The media had, for the most part, stopped hounding me.

I was no longer just Jungkook’s girlfriend. Slowly but surely, I had carved out my own space in the public eye, not as a reflection of him, but as my own person.

People began to recognize me not just as an idol’s partner, but as someone who had her own strengths, her own dreams, and her own voice.

It wasn’t easy. There were still days when the negativity would creep in. But now, I was able to handle it with more confidence.

I had Jungkook to thank for that. His unwavering support, his belief in me, and his constant encouragement had helped me rediscover myself.

One day, as we were walking down the street, hand in hand, a group of fans approached us.

They were excited, but this time, instead of shying away, I smiled and waved. They returned the gesture, some of them even shouting how much they loved me.

It was a surreal feeling—a far cry from the hate and venom I had experienced not long ago.

Jungkook squeezed my hand, his grin wide. “Look at you. You’re practically a star now.”

I rolled my eyes, playfully shoving him. “Stop being dramatic. I’m just me.”

But in that moment, I realized something. I had become more than just “Jungkook’s girlfriend.”

I had become my own person—someone people admired, someone they saw for who I truly was.

Jungkook chuckled, leaning in to whisper in my ear. “Well, I’ll admit it. I’m a little jealous of how many people adore you now.”

I turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Jealous? You? The Jeon Jungkook is jealous?”

He smirked. “What can I say? You’re a hot treasure.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re the only one who matters, Kook. Don’t forget that.”

As time passed, our relationship continued to thrive. The media, while still watching us closely, began to accept us.

People no longer saw me as an outsider, but as a part of Jungkook’s world, and in many ways, a part of the K-pop community.

I wasn’t just his girlfriend—I was Y/N, a woman who had fought through adversity and come out stronger on the other side.

And through it all, Jungkook remained my rock. He never wavered in his love for me, and I never wavered in mine for him.

We had weathered the storm together, and we knew that, no matter what came next, we would face it hand in hand.

One evening, as we sat together, watching the sunset from our apartment, Jungkook turned to me with a thoughtful expression.

“You know,” he said, his voice soft,

“I don’t think I could’ve made it through all of this without you. You’ve taught me a lot. You’ve shown me that love isn’t just about the good times. It’s about sticking together when things get tough.”

I smiled, resting my head on his shoulder. “I think we’ve both learned that. And we’ll keep learning, together.”

He kissed the top of my head, his lips lingering for a moment. “I love you, Y/N. More than you’ll ever know.”

“I love you too, Kook,” I whispered back. “And I always will.”

"You're such a sap when being emotional."

"Shut up y/n, you love it."

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yourusername Little last months photo dumb 🫶

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j.m Did my invite get lost in the mail?

thv Seems like mine got lost too

jjk97 As if 😬

j.m @jjk97 🤨

jimjimtae7 She's so prettyyy

euphoriajk7 She's living the life purr 💅

jungkookstan7 Ew disgusting 🤢

stan7frv Jealous much 🙄

minyyoongs You wish that was you huh 🤪

joonieslicenses7 Get your negativity out of here 🤦‍♀️Jungkook isn't going to pick you 💀

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jjk97 Work & relaxation

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jin Relaxation 🤨? Get back to work.

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uarmyhope Hard working jungkookieee

The end

[atalana]

more things i've noticed on rewatching tale of two stans with all the recent context

this was not at all notable when the episode first came out, but hey we all know that computer now! love that stan must have kept it all that time, for it to exist in ford's lab in the present day

empty fish tank (one day frilliam will return)

this one isn't actually new to book of bill, but since this fandom resurgence is the first time i've listened to the episode commentaries - i definitely recommend the grunkle stan commentary on land before swine if you haven't listened to it yet, alex hirsch does the entire commentary as stan, where he talks about how their dad was never the type to play games with them, so he tries to invent the footbot to do it for him (with limited success)

and was cool to see the shoutout to yet another reason why their dad is the source of at least half of these guys' mental issues!

so i knew alex hirsch has said several times that he found it really funny if mcgucket was destined to be the steve jobs of that universe, but ford came along and wrecked the whole thing

but this is the first time i've noticed the strawberry (and the "ponder alternately" in the same vein as apple's "think different")

hey

hey bill

why are the stairs broken

[lgbtlunaverse]

Fandom is so nice to Jiang Cheng's inferiority complex because in reality every single thing he gets accused of is something Wei Wuxian is better at than him.

Jiang Cheng killed Wei Wuxian? Nope. Didn't even get close. Wei Wuxian's own spirits tore him apart before jc could even get there. wwx:1 jc:0

Jiang Cheng tortures people? We get two and a half rumours and a mention from jin ling that jc has 'captured' demonic cultivators before, but who is also apparently confident that just letting wwx run off will kill the issue even though those earlier rumours said ~no one who sandu shengshou captured was ever seen again~

The word jiang cheng uses when he tries to talk big game about 'beating the truth' out of Wei Wuxian's is a word that carries the context of pestering someone to do their homework. Doesn't exactly strike fear into my heart.

Wei Wuxian? Excellent at torture. A prodigy. Did you fucking see what he did to Wen Chao? Dude didn't have fingers anymore because wei wuxian made him eat them. He ripped out his hair, burned his skin off, and then stalked him for several days just to prolong the pain. He forced Wang Lingjiao to bite Wen Chao's dick off and then made her shove a stool leg down her own throat! 10/10, no notes. Absolutely horrifying.

Meanwhile Jiang Cheng's idea of torture is getting a dog to bark at Wei Wuxian for a few seconds. Weak, unoriginal, I bet fairy was literally wagging her tail the whole time. 2-0

Jiang Cheng made the entire cultivation world believe Wei Wuxian was up to no good on the burial mounds and ultimately orchestrated his downfall? lol. lmao, even

It's a big thing in certain corners of the fandom to really zoom in one one particular phrase at the end of chapter 73, where after wwx and jc have their staged duel to make the world believe they hate each other jiang cheng tells everyone wwx has defected and become "a public enemy'' or "an enemy to the cultivation world" or whatever the translation you're familiar with decided upon.

(As an aside, something I really like about this line is that the last half of it is almost exactly the same, like verbatim, as what wwx told him to say. like, the chapter is really hammering home just how much jc is speaking from a script here. wwx tells jc to say "今后魏无羡无论做出什么事，都与云梦江氏无关." and jc says "今后无论此人有何动作，一概与云梦江氏无关" the only meaningful difference is that he says 'this person' instead of wwx's name)

I've seen it said that this bit, the use of 'enemy' was said without wei wuxian's approval, that jc deviated from the script just to hurt his ex-shixiong for leaving him. And that this is what caused all the other clans to turn against wei wuxian. Regardless of if this is what jc and wwx discussed, or if jc had malicious motivations for it (considering my conclusions above, you can guess where i fall) it doesn't really matter, because the novel tells us when the clans completely freak out and become convinced wei wuxian is out to get them (though of course they've been wringing their hands about it since the literal day wwx ran off with the wen, months before jiang cheng visited) very neatly in chapter 75!

It's when they find out about Wen Ning.

And how do they find out about Wen Ning?

Because Wei Wuxian took him on nighthunts! And they kicked ass!

...Wei Wuxian, my man, why are you on nighthunts??? Why are you showing off your incredibly cool sentient fierce corpse buddy, who is way better and stronger than all the other fierce corpses, in front of the whole cultivation world??

Whatever his motivations (extra money, maybe?? they were strapped for crash) I can only draw the conclusion wwx had already given up on appearing calm or non-threatening and didn't care if the clans thought he was a threat, because they'd believe whatever they wanted anyway. Which he seems to clearly be aware of the whole time.

Regardless, we know that this is what created the myth of the Yiling patriarch. It's literally when the title first shows up!

Even if you really believe jc was secretly plotting against wwx in chapter 73, he's clearly doing a shit job of it because nothing he said made anywhere near as big an impact as this. Flopped!

The other point people use to argue Jiang Cheng caused wei wuxian's downfall is Jin Guangyao's speech in Guanyin temple about how jiang cheng could have saved wei wuxian if only he stood by him. Setting aside that jin guangyao is trying to get into jiang cheng's head here, and isn't necessarily saying what he really believes (though it very well might be! who knows with a character like jgy. assuming he's always lying is just as misleading as assuming he's always saying the truth) the fact is, if you read the speech closely, what he's talking about is not the 'public enemy' line, he's talking about the bond between them. The fact that people wanted wei wuxian out of yunmeng jiang, because the two were too powerful together.

He's talking about that one time Jiang Cheng very publically kicked wei wuxian out of the sect!

Which, unbeknownst to Jin Guangyao, was in fact Wei Wuxian's idea the whole time.

final score: 3 for you wei wuxian, you go wei wuxian! And nothing for Jiang Cheng bye.

[olderthannetfic]

hi, as someone who is tragically gen Z and only ever read AO3, can I ask: what was so great about LiveJournal? Like, I know that there were fics posted there (and I've even read about the "purge", so I get why it isn't used anymore) and that it was sort of a forum-type thing. But what I don't understand, wouldn't Tumblr fill in the latter function? How was that site any different? I see a lot of people reminiscing about it and I'm confused

--

A big factor in LJ's greatness is timing and nostalgia.

It was genuinely great, but it wasn't quite as great as all of the Lo, shall the Golden Age ne'er come again? posts suggest.

LJ arrived at a pivotal time in the development of the internet both in terms of technical stuff and how many people had access. Many fans who are now in their thirties to fifties first discovered fandom through LJ and many were at a time in their lives when they were feeling energetic and up to making lots of new friends—and to figuring out how to make a site work for them.

I got on LJ in 2002 when it required invites. Fandom arrived in droves in 2003, first via coordinated campaigns to get invites to key people and then when LJ opened up free account creation to everyone. Back then, LJ's features sucked. It was impossible to search properly, among other things. At its height (2005-7, let's say), there was a reasonable site search, and fans had developed all sorts of community resources for finding each other.

People often remember this phase but not the early days of suckitude.

This development parallels how Tumblr used to not have that private chat feature and how a lot of fuckyeah[whatever] type tumblrs have helped curate the site and make it much more usable for fans. Fandom draining away from LJ after strikethrough also parallels people draining away from Tumblr after the purge.

There are people who talk about Tumblr the way my cohort talks about LJ...

And to the shock of no one, they are people who came of age on Tumblr, who found fandom via Tumblr, who were on Tumblr during pivotal times in their lives and ones when they had energy to make friends and figure out how a site worked.

Those same Tumblrites are now making all the same geriatric-sounding posts we LJers do about how other sites lack the required features to be good for fandom while missing that 90% of tumblr's "features" at its height (2012-2016, let's say) were actually fan-created and were basically the same as any fandom newsletter or links page or all the versions of this kind of personal curation stretching back to long before the internet existed.

What life phase you hit a site at matters.

--

With all of that said, no, LJ was not a forum. It was a blogging site with threaded comments.

The key point to understand is that conversation was always happening in a specific person's space. Unlike on a true forum, people were in the comments on a particular post in a journal owned by another fan. (On a forum, there's the first post in a thread, but it's still more of a communal space with less of a hierarchy.)

Overall, the LJ format can have a feeling a bit like you're over at someone's house for tea. There's more of a sense of intimacy and also behaving yourself in front of community members.

Tumblr being obscure and impossible to find anything in does give it some of the same vibe relative to Twitter, but it's still part of modern social media that tries to shove every rando into the face of every other rando.

But it wasn't just vibes: LJ also had robust privacy features where you could lock a post to this or that group of friends. You could moderate your comments section properly. Tumblr has far fewer controls to force people to behave or leave on a technical level.

--

The biggest thing many people miss about LJ is the threaded comments. At least by late LJ and on Dreamwidth, you can expand and collapse threads, making it far easier to deal with a massive comments section. But more than that, things are properly threaded with multiple levels of hierarchy that are all easily visible in the same place.

On Tumblr, it used to be extremely difficult to find all of the actual commentary on a post. Nowadays, it's far easier, but you still have to scroll chronologically, and multiple versions of a post with a long chain of commentary may be much more divorced from each other than what would happen in a LJ comments section.

--

But could we use Tumblr pretty much how we used LJ?

We could.

I do.

--

The key things that people tend to miss about LJ, aside from the younger and more excited version of themselves or the friends they've lost since then, are:

Heavily text-based

It may sound odd on the modern internet, but there are a lot of people whose brains don't like or handle an image-heavy site well. They were everywhere in SF book fandom. They were everywhere on the early internet. Today, they're hanging out on Dreamwidth and still going to their SF cons. They're usually not on Tumblr.

You could follow the discussion

Threaded comments help, but a lot of it is about having some place you can check for updates. It wasn't actually that easy to follow big LJ discussions unless you were subscribed to comments and reading along as things were happening instead of coming along after the entire mass of comments had been left.

The tone of the discussion is intellectual and one's enemies are "idiots", not "problematic"

All this requires is a penchant for longwindedness and an itchy blocking finger to remove anyone slinging ad hominems from the comments section.

On tumblr, it's as simple as conversations happening in the replies on a popular account and that person not tolerating suibaiting and threats.

(And make no mistake, a lot of LJ discussion was in the comments on popular accounts, not spread equally between everyone's.)

It does require that multiple people like that tone and want to engage in that way, but lots of people do want to.

--

These days, I interact with tumblr by checking my askbox and reading my activity page. The vast, vast majority of my posts are ones where I'm the OP, so if I block someone, they're booted from the discussion entirely.

For me... yeah, Tumblr functions almost exactly like LJ.

Also like LJ, while I'm hosting the conversation, if you hang around, you'll see the same people again and again in the comments. They may or may not also host that kind of conversation in their space, and there's a larger pool of lurkers who have some notion of which people count as regulars. Other people are watching from the shadows, enjoying or deriding the takes of the usual crowd.

People presumably do like reading my lengthy commentary or they wouldn't be here, but my tumblr wouldn't be popular like this without a healthy pool of other people who chime in regularly. It's not just that there are more people: it's that you see the same people over time. There's a bit more sense of place and community than on some parts of the internet.

--

So, in my opinion, the failure to just recreate LJ fandom on Tumblr was a skill issue.

Threaded comments were great, but LJ culture came from mailing lists, and mailing lists had the same issue as tumblr with the diverging threads.

We solved that back then by clipping out only the parts we wanted to respond to (you'd write "snip" around the quotation to show it was incomplete). We solved the smaller LJ issue by linking to other posts we were referencing and doing discussion link roundups. We solve it on tumblr by, again, linking to what we're talking about and even quoting multiple reblog chains in our own reblog of just one chain.

--

Tumblr's technical features and even general crap-ness aren't really the problem. 90s and early 00s sites regularly went down for periods of time unthinkable today.

The missing piece is people.

When one is in an active fandom with others who curate or with friends who let one know what's up, a site with imperfect features is easy to figure out and retrofit for fandom's needs. When one already feels out of touch and is between fannish passions—or at least fannish passions anyone else cares about—seeing the potential in a new site is hard.

--

Threaded comments are different and better.

LJ's built-in way to see everyone's blog in your own style was better. The automatic timestamps and the ease of seeing a paginated archive of an entire blog was better than tumblr's endless scroll and lack of clear date labeling. But some of that can be fixed with xkit or knowing your way around tumblr well.

A lot of it is nostalgia for the lj era and a refusal to take the time to figure out how to use tumblr in an oldschool internet way.

--

So by all means, people, weigh in about what made LJ great or how the culture felt at the time...

But if I see one more god damn response going "You can't have a conversation on tumblr!" in reply to my tumblr, which contains nothing but conversation, I am coming for you.