#I will have a tag you can block if you don’t want me flooding your dash lol:

[niko-jpeg]

Heavy breathing. 6 days to go. You are NOT ready for the Big Bang going boom.

[almostempty]

Kick and Scream

Self Esteem Part 3

Pairing: fuckboy!Joel x f!reader

Summary: Joel catches you on a date and communicates how he feels about it (the only way he knows how).

Warnings: fuckboy!Joel, dub con, smut, pwp, unprotected piv sex, fingering, creampie, dirty talk, public sex, blow job, reader is still sippin' on some dumb bitch juice for Joel (me), jealous!joel, possessive!joel, emotionally manipulative but sexually proficient Joel, toxic breadcrumbing Joel fucks, smash and dash, no use of y/n, AU no outbreak, special guest appearance by date night dave, OOC Dave bc I don’t know that man so I made him single, rich, hot, and pervy idc idc idc, more i might be forgetting rn,  

Notes: please leave feedback! open to constructive criticism or delusional inspiration

Thanks: to EVERYONE who read part 1 and 2, but ESPECIALLY  @auteurdelabre for inspiring, I hope you enjoy it bb. I'll try to tag those who specifically asked for more brb, and @strangergraphics

WC: 9.3K (idk it got long and horny heheh) 

AO3: HERE | Masterlist: Here

Part 1: Self Esteem

Part 2: Want You Bad

Part 4: The more you suffer

You stare down at the hand that just landed on your thigh, cocking your head in assessment. You can feel the scowl tugging at the corners of your mouth. As you work out what expression you should paste onto your face instead, the man sitting next to you seems unbothered. Maybe even encouraged? He continues his lecture about the benefits of indoor rock climbing. You sigh, staring across the park as he continues without pausing to breathe. 

You watch the couples milling around the park, wondering if that’s what you look like with this guy's hand on your leg. You stare back down at it, his long fingers shifting slightly as he continues his animated speech. Sweat beads at the back of your neck, and you feel fidgety. Trapped under the weight of his limp hand. He doesn’t seem to notice when you squirm and readjust. He’s circled back to his earlier lecture about how you just have to learn to play an instrument. If he’d let you get a word in, you could verify that you already do, but he seems to prefer the sound of his own voice. 

This guy should get a podcast. The kind where a guy with a microphone talks to himself for three hours about whatever he wants. He’d crush it. You laugh to yourself, unintentionally encouraging him with your smile. He’s not not good-looking. But you’d prefer someone interested in asking you at least one question. 

You stifle a laugh at the intrusive thought of taking him home and stripping his clothes off while he prattles on about amateur bird-watching, sorry–birding, or unicycling. 

Eventually, you extricate yourself from the disappointing date, accept an awkward hug, and turn down dinner. You haven’t left the parking lot yet when your phone buzzes. 

Unsaved number: had a great time with u

Unsaved number: would love to see u again :) 

It’s not that your skin crawls, but it is a full-body no. 

You: thanks, I’m glad I got to know you more 

It’s not technically a lie. You’re glad you learned he’s not a fit for you. You feel okay about leaving it at that for now. You watch the sunset from your parking spot. The park is filled with couples laying on blankets being romantic. You roll your eyes at them and then at yourself for being bitter. Your phone buzzes again, and you wince, hoping it’s not your long-winded date again. It’s not. 

Joel: what you doing?

Fucking Miller. You scoff aloud in the private space of your front seat. By now, he should be on your blocked list, but the quick hit of euphoria that floods through your bloodstream, warming your cheeks, keeps you hooked. He’s a filthy drug that blinds you from logic or survival instincts. Your eyes dart to the pedestrians in the parking lot. Worried. As if the milling strangers know what you’re up to and are about to shame you. A little voice reminds you that if you feel guilty about something, you shouldn’t be doing it. You ignore that voice. Nobody in the parking lot catches on, coast clear, and you let yourself grin wide as a fool when you type your response. 

Later that night, you’re grinning again. Sprawled across your couch, sweaty skin plastered to the faux leather cushions. Sated. Bought and sold on your own lie, you tell the little voice that you didn’t want Joel to stay anyway. You convince yourself some form of compromise is happening, however twisted, when he shows up and leaves you wrecked. He comes to you. You don’t have to get to know each other to make each other feel good. Whatever puts you at ease. 

Sometimes it works. Some days, you feel hollow and anxious. Obsessively tapping your phone to see if he’s responded when you reach out first. Pacing around your home, stressing over whether you should stay up just in case and even in bed, you can’t help but stay alert for a knock at the door. 

The cycle leaves you with dark circles under your eyes most days. But, on the mornings after Joel shows up, you have a bright twinkle in your eyes and a knowing smirk that greets you in the bathroom mirror. Katie noticed the smirk one day and called you out. She demanded an explanation for the mystery dick fairy. 

You wouldn’t admit his identity to her, afraid of getting too involved with someone in her boyfriend's network. But you did admit to the toxic cycle, and your friend was not as amused as you when you tried to pass it off as a joke. She tried to convince you to look for someone to date, but you argued that wasn’t what you wanted anyway. She suggested at least someone who could commit to a plan or send a text back. You knew it didn’t sound great out loud. 

As the days of summer crawl along, you wonder if she’s right. At least, it was worth considering. It’s a feeble attempt to smother your spiraling thoughts about Joel. Still, when you start getting messages from the dating app Katie chose for you, it gives you something to interrupt your racing thoughts. At first. Somehow, it starts to feel even worse. Ignoring the sinking feeling you get when it isn’t Joel’s name in your notifications gets more challenging. 

You had accepted that it was a lost cause to plan anything with him, but you still can’t find the self-respect to turn him away when he shows up at your door. Sometimes, he sends you a grammatically inconsiderate text. You wonder if he somehow has a cell phone plan that still charges him by the message with the way he uses as few words as possible. 

He never stays. Never invites you to his. He evades any predictable behavior. Maybe he’s worried someone ordered a hit on him. Maybe that’s all it is, you muse. Not a contracted kill. The unpredictability. Chaos. That’s what makes him addictive. The brightness of the highs makes you temporarily forget the darkest lows exist. That, and the dirty little thoughts that pour from his mouth and drip into your psyche. That stupid, sexy voice burning into your memory, yeah, that’s definitely addictive. You snort at that. I am unwell, you think. As you pick up your phone again, you see a message from someone new. 

\\\///

Heat radiates off your face as you fling another shirt across the room. You’ve tried on the same three outfits over and over again. Ripping them over your head and tossing them into the pile of laundry purgatory. Maybe sweating and mouth-breathing is a turn-on for your date; if so, you’re gonna nail the first impression. You sigh and commit to option two: the little black dress. A classic, right? 

“Shit,” you curse at yourself when you stumble while attempting to pull your shoes on as you walk down the hall. This is what you get for agreeing to a late evening date on a weeknight; you feel like a mess. Scrambling to play it cool and classy, you pause to recalibrate before opening the door. What was his name? You can’t remember. He didn’t look like your usual type, but Katie had convinced you to branch out a little. More specifically, she told you it was a green flag already if he wasn’t your type. 

You swing the door open, hoping he introduces himself first. He looks expensive. The dark-washed denim, the boots, the jacket, and the watch. Like he walked out of an ad campaign for a brand out of your budget. Dave. He does introduce himself, thankfully. He’s more clean-cut than your usual type, but he speaks confidently and gives off an air of put-togetherness that intrigues you. His voice definitely stirs the butterflies in your stomach. 

Oh. You realize you’ve definitely been busy staring at him and have no idea what he actually said with his sultry bedroom voice. Your eyes widen a little. You don’t wanna fuck this up and embarrass yourself. Luckily, he seems unbothered. He tilts his head with a seductive half-smile. He’s enjoying the way you assess him. That definitely does it for you. Stupid, smug men making you weak in the knees. 

“You ready?” he asks, voice all smoky for no good reason. 

“Yeah,” you manage to say as you recall how to speak and act human. Until you see his luxury car waiting for you. He clocks your beat of hesitance. 

“Good.” 

His authoritative voice flips the right switch in you, and you let him lead. When he opens the door for you, it’s like the final component of his spell. You are bewitched. Under a thick veil, you didn’t even notice the truck that rolled by as you sank into the leather seat. You didn’t notice when the truck pulled over up the block, idling noisily on the quiet street. No, you were busy, focused on manually breathing and taking in what you’d describe as the interior of a spaceship. 

The good news is that Dave is charming. He is easy to talk to as he drives. Flirty and quick-witted. He asks you questions and pauses to consider your responses. You aren’t sure you have much in common, but you like his self-assured demeanor. 

When you walk into the club he’s brought you to, you hesitate once again, feeling underdressed. The club is split with a lounge on one side of the bar–full of intimate booths and plush chairs surrounding tiny tables and trendy mood lighting. Kind of like a swanky hotel lobby, you decide. On the other side of the bar is a dance floor, dimly lit with loud music blasting. Women in bodycon dresses and heels fill the room. You feel plain in comparison. 

“I didn’t know there was a dress code,” you mutter. 

“There isn’t,” Dave asserts, “besides, you look good in this.” He accentuates his statement by running his hand down your spine. It settles some of your nerves and lights up others. He ushers you, hand on your lower back, towards a small booth. And as you settle in, he’s undeniably charismatic. Dave doesn’t reveal much about himself but keeps you laughing and seems genuinely interested in you.  

Despite the loud music and people noise, it’s easy to feel like the room is only for you and him. You sip your drink and warm up to his affection. You’re quick to smile, and despite how serious he seems, he has a playful edge that has you on your toes. 

You can taste the chemistry between you, bright and sparkling. He spurs your confidence with his dark eyes when he not so subtly lets his gaze linger on your body. You stop shying away from attention and try to bask in it instead. It boosts your ego and stirs up your desire. 

When you let yourself look, really look, you decide Dave is handsome. His strong features, broad shoulders, and impeccable grooming work for him. He seems meticulous but not too uptight to have fun. A dark sense of humor flirts behind his twinkling dark eyes. You decide to let him know that you’ve determined he is a handsome man. He gives you a look. Like he already knew you thought that. Your cheeks warm slightly at that. Were you obvious? 

It’s not until he peels away from you to refill your drinks that you notice how close you have been sitting. You mourn the loss of his body heat as he walks away. You had low expectations after your last few dates, but tonight, this feels different. Your eyes trail along his path to the bar, and you lazily rest your chin in your palm before your breath hitches, and you freeze.  

You feel like you’ve swallowed a bowling ball. It’s lodged in your throat first, then constricting your chest, until finally, it sinks. A heavy, solid weight flipping your stomach. You’re locked on a different set of dark eyes. They’re glowering at you through lowered brows from across the room. Seated at the same bar where Dave ordered your drinks. 

Joel stares at you over his drink. He downs the glass without taking his eyes off of you. One quirked brow, asking really? 

Really what? Is he judging you? For what, being on a date? 

Another glass replaces his empty tumbler, but he doesn’t acknowledge the bartender or the rest of the world.

This fucking guy. 

The bowling ball in your gut mutates into something fiery. But, you have nothing to be guilty about. It’s not your fault he’s alone, bitter, and drinking at a bar full of people having more fun than him. In fact, you could say it’s his fault that you’re both here. 

A scowl forms on Joel’s face when Dave slides back into the booth beside you. Good. You hope he suffers. You hope he sees how easy it is for someone to treat you well. And how happy you look. 

You don’t hesitate to lean your body against Dave, giving in to your urges. You squeeze his arm when he makes you laugh, and your touch lingers. He preens under your admiration when you comment on his firm biceps. He is quick to match your advances. Finding excuses to brush your hair behind your ear and settling a heavy palm on your knee. His hand creeps a little higher up your thigh but doesn’t graze the hem of your dress. Respectful. That’s different. 

You don’t need to look again to feel Joel’s eyes burning into you. It incites you that he has the audacity. The gall to make faces at you for showing up on a date. You decide you’ll give Joel something to scowl about, feeling emboldened by your date’s touch.  

You slide Dave’s hand further up your leg, letting go when he gets the idea. You reach for your drink, feigning nonchalance, but your breath catches, and your hand trembles when he traces his fingertips around the crease of your thigh. He skirts beneath the hem of your underwear, drawing lines over your hip and back towards your center. 

The soft touch tickles deliciously, and you feel the anticipation building in your core. He watches your expression, hawklike, noting the tiniest details in the features of your face. He notes when your breath stutters or your eyelids flutter softly. 

“This what you wanted?” he husks, still watching intently. Yes, yes, yes! 

“Almost,” you toy. Something about having both men’s eyes on you has your skin itching with desire and your blood running hot. 

Dave scoffs softly, repeating your word choice and shaking his head. Almost. 

“You looking for more?” he taunts as he wedges his large hand fully between your legs to cup and tease your cunt. 

You can’t help the breathlessness of the yes that slips out of you. You roll into his palm, and your mouth parts at the friction and his boldness. He smiles wolfishly, flashing his teeth, when he feels you twist and rock against him. His look encourages you. And you tilt your hips and shift your legs to give him better access. 

“Dirty little thing, aren’t you?” he asks, still locked on your face. You swell at this. His eyes lower to your glossy lips before he sips casually from his drink, so composed. 

Your cheeks warm at his words, but he has his answer when he slips a finger beneath the damp lace between your legs and drags it through the pool of arousal gathering at your entrance. Your lips part at the contact, chest heaving, and you give him a nod and coy smile in response to his question. You’ll be his dirty little thing tonight. 

“That’s good,” he declares, pressing a kiss just below your ear before adding, “I’d like to do dirty things to you.” 

His husky voice and declaration stir an urgent need to be touched within you. He continues to agitate your nerves as his hand massages over your swollen sex. Your skin feels tight and prickly, tensing, ready to feel more. You’re unconcerned with the debased nature of being fingered in public. 

When your eyes are instinctually drawn back towards Joel, you shudder. You can feel the twitching of your clit as your cunt floods over Dave’s fingers. The depravity that another man’s glare eases the slip of your date’s teasing touch is not lost on you. Instead, it turns you on even more. Joel’s homicidal stare has you squirming. You’ve seen darkness in his eyes before, but not like this. There’s no twinkle of mocking, and it’s not cruel in a hot way. If looks could kill, then this room would look like the club scene from Blade. 

Dave murmurs something filthy in your ear that makes you gasp. Your hand flies to his thigh, gripping tightly to keep you from melting onto the floor. 

“Don’t be shy, dirty girl,” he croons darkly, “you can touch.” 

“Fuck,” you groan under your breath when you move your hand to find his hard cock straining against his well-fitted jeans. 

He chuckles lowly at the way your eyes widen in response before he plunges two fingers inside of you, and you stifle a throaty sound. Your mind still wanders to Joel, and you wonder if he can see your perverse display below the table. Judging by his clenched fists on the bar, you’d say whatever he can see is enough to fill in the blanks. The sick part of you that feels more turned on by his agony expands within you.  

“Oh god,” you whisper as you suck in air. 

Dave works his fingers lazily into you. You feel intoxicated by the attention of both men. A concern flashes through you that someone else in the club could catch on or see more than you’d like to show. But a feeling in your gut tells you that it doesn’t matter. Dave seems strikingly confident with a lethal attention to detail. And the ferocity on Joel’s face only eggs you on. 

When you think of humbling Joel, a sinister smile pulls at the corners of your mouth. He’s the one that unleashed the horny, risk-taking monster within you and then disappeared. Fuck moping about him. You’re getting yours, you decide. 

You shoot Joel a wink. Pouring gasoline on the fire, hoping it pisses him off. 

You lean into the salaciously tempting energy radiating off of Dave. Reaching to hold his jaw as your lips lock and you let him control your mouth. Kissing him riles you up more. You palm at his erection over his jeans, delighting in the noises that roil deep in his chest. You hold back whimpers as the pressure of his fingers curling inside of you finds the perfect spot. 

He pulls back from your kiss and looks down to watch your hand groping at him. You like watching him watch you. 

“You gonna take it out?” Oh. Fuck, you want to. It feels like more of a risk than you’ve taken so far. 

“Here?” you ask him softly.  

A wrinkle appears between your brows. Dave watches your swollen lips again just as your pink tongue darts out to wet them. He raises a brow at you, eyes dropping to where his arm disappears under your dress. 

“Oh, are you feeling bashful now?” he goads. His fingers curl against that sensitive spot inside of you as his palm presses firmly into your swollen clit. He makes it hard for you to answer. You try to pout at him, but the reflexive rise in your brows at the pleasure betrays you.  He chuckles again. “No? Just distracted, hm?” 

“Fuck,” is all you can mouth. It is distracting. Not the fingers inside you, well, not completely, but the urge. The craving to leverage your lewd new lover’s lack of regard for appropriate behavior into emotional revenge. The thought of Joel growing mad with jealousy as he watches you come overtakes your critical thinking. 

Eat your heart out, Joel Miller! You dare him across the room, letting your jaw fall slack and your brows knit in obvious pleasure. 

“Are you going to come for me?” Dave asks, “Here in this booth? Where anyone could see?” he tuts like he’s disappointed, and it works. The danger of it all does something to heighten your senses. It’s blinding. The bass from the music blaring from the dance floor rattling in your ribs, Dave’s designer cologne filling your nose, the sheen of sweat collecting on your chest, and the daggers in Joel’s eyes when you glance to confirm he’s still watching. All the sensations clash and shove you towards your release. 

“Yes,” you hiss quietly, “yes.” Your eyes slam shut as you try to remain composed while riding his fingers under the table. You flicker in and out of reality as your climax rolls through you. You’re drunk on the reversal of power when your eyes peel open, and you see the hardened expression on Joel’s face glowering at you. You wonder if his dick is just as hard in his pants, and the thought has you contracting again around Dave’s fingers.

“That’s a good girl.” Dave’s voice is somehow even deeper. It sends another ripple of pleasure to swirl low in your abdomen. You’d like to hear that again. 

With a touch more clarity after the violent edge of your arousal is dulled, your hand works at his belt, desperate to feel the heat of his cock in your palm. He assists, lifting his hips when you unbuckle his belt and pop the button on his pants so you can slide your hand beneath his underwear. His tension and urgency further stoke your power trip, and you feel overcome with the need to know how badly he wants you. When you wrap your fingers around him, hear the groan he makes, and feel the mindless buck of his hips, you have a more than good enough answer. He’s yours. 

Dave watches the way your eyes glaze over when your thumb smears the precome dripping from his head down his length. His hand stills distractedly between your legs, and his chin drops as he watches where your hand disappears under his dark boxer briefs. You’re constricted by the elastic waistband, but your grip is tight. Almost as tight as when he fucks his own fist. He’s mesmerized by the way you jerk his cock just right. 

You feel yourself salivating with the need to taste him. You’re getting frustrated with the limited space and want to see him in your hand. You sigh, wishing you could, until you realize you can, and grin. 

You pull your hand back out of his pants, and he snaps out of his stupor. Before he can comment, you cut him off. 

“Keep your pants on and take me to the bathroom so I can suck your cock right.” 

Your voice comes out lower than you thought it would. His eyes flare before he matches your devious look and obeys, spewing filthy thoughts you can’t make out under his breath as he does. He’s ushering you down the hall in seconds, and then you’re locking the door and dropping to your knees. Dave doesn’t wait a second longer, wrenching his belt open and dropping his jeans just enough for his cock to spring free. 

You don’t tease or start slow. He admires how you waste no time like you’re desperate to taste him. And you are. Only pausing for a moment to admire the way he looks, stiff and leaking for you, before you eagerly wrap your lips around him. You slide your tongue everywhere and bob up and down with vigor. Salty and vaguely sweet, precome teases your palette. You want more. The best you can do to express that is swallow around him and suck until he’s moaning and cursing above you. 

You let your saliva pool and spill from your lips so you can slide your hand down the rest of his length while you revel at the weight of him on your tongue. You find the moves that have his fists clenching and thighs straining and repeat them. You hum around him as pride blooms in your chest over how his composure cracks. 

You wonder if Joel has smashed through the bar with his fists yet. At least he didn’t break down the bathroom door before you could get on your knees. Would he strangle Dave first if he saw the two of you? Or would he drag you home and gag you on his angry cock instead? You moan obscenely as your imagination runs wild. You look up at Dave. He watches you with fierce eyes. You wouldn’t mind if they shared you, you consider, but that would take a miracle. 

You continue messily and enthusiastically until your knees ache, and you decide he has to come for you. You try to beg for it while he’s still in your mouth before you have the brains to pull off of him and tell him what you want. He’s endeared by your unrefined hedonism.

He grips your jaw in his palm when you get the words out. 

“You want to swallow my come?” he asks. 

“Yes,” you plead impatiently on your knees with a hoarse voice. You’re a pornographic sight on the tile floor with your wet lashes, swollen lips, and saliva glistening on your chin. You open your mouth for him and hold out your tongue. 

“Oh,” he strokes his thumb along your cheek, smiling down at you, “that’s a good girl.” 

Your eyes close at that, feeling the praise warm your skin before he slides back into your wet mouth. 

Guiding you faster and a little rougher, Dave doesn’t take long to come. Spilling onto your tongue as you groan around him until he stops pulsing in your mouth. You swallow, glowing for him with glassy eyes. He helps you to stand before tucking his softening cock back into his jeans and fastening his belt. You’re adjusting your dress and reaching for your bag on the counter. 

“What do you need?” He asks a little softer than you expected, causing you to pause. 

“Take me home,” you smile at him dopily before pausing and wincing at yourself in the mirror. You look like a freshly face-fucked mess. 

“Uh, actually, give me a few minutes to freshen up first, and I’ll meet you out front?” 

He nods, “I’ll pull the car up.”

“I’d like that.” You reply and lock the door behind him after he slips out. 

Once you feel more presentable, you pull your phone from your bag and tap the screen to check the time before opening the door. 

Seeing Joel’s name makes your stomach flip. You open the text. 

Joel: Miss me? 

It snaps something in you. Something that enrages you. He has to be certifiably insane, you think. It came through a little while ago, but you aren’t sure how long you’ve been in the bathroom. You begin to spiral, debating if you should march to the bar and throw a drink in his face or pretend like he doesn’t even exist. You feel your face burning hot, and the bathroom is suddenly suffocating. You need some air before you get into the car with Dave. Just long enough to breathe normally and look less like you want to break something. 

Leaving the bathroom you find an employee exit further down the hall. A faded sign on the door warns that an alarm will sound, but the rock wedged in the door jam holding it open a crack begs to differ, and you slip into the dark. 

A lanky, pale kid in a black apron sits atop a picnic table in the alley. 

“Oh, sorry,” you feel a little guilty interrupting his break, “just wanted some air.” 

“All good,” he responds before sliding off the makeshift seating. “Last call for the kitchen anyway. Have my seat,” he waves at the table like he’s offering a throne. You accept. Exceedingly grateful to have the air and the privacy to regulate. Just some slow, deep breaths. Then, you can walk out the front door and let Dave take you home. 

The door swings open again, and you tense, ready to hop off the table and find another space. 

“Sorry,” you start your apology, but it’s cut off. 

“You should be,” Joel accuses harshly. He’s in your space with two of his long strides. Rushing at you like you’re caught in a snare trap, and he’s starving. You briefly look the part with your eyes wide in the moonlight, shocked by his sudden appearance, until your barely dampened rage rips from your throat.

“Joel, what the fuck?” you spit out in disbelief, but he interrupts you– 

“I thought I already told you what happens if you’re gonna be a filthy tease?” his voice lowers as he ignores your question and paces in front of you with a dark, wicked stare. 

“What are you doing here?” you press, ignoring his threat. 

“What are you doing here?” he demands. Like he has some certificate of entitlement to your whereabouts. He towers over you. Your eyes narrow to slits. If you could shoot lasers out of them, you’d do it now. 

You laugh. Loudly. You’re still laughing when he grabs you and pivots your frame so your legs dangle off of the end of the table towards him. Closer. He gets even closer, standing between your knees. You tilt your face to look up at him. 

“You on a date?” it’s a growl carved from stone. You choose to remain ignorant to the shiver it sends through you that has nothing to do with the temperature. How dare he charge up on you like a territorial werewolf in the night? And how dare he look so fucking good with that snarly expression? No. You laugh again. Wild-eyed. Words start coming up before you even hear yourself.

“What is wrong with you, Joel? Why were you watching me? You looking for a show?” you jab. Gnashing at him with your words. He snorts dismissively at you, and a barbaric smile creeps onto his face. Like he’s in on some joke you don’t know about. He irks you so bad your skin crawls. 

“S’that what you call it?” he asks, “A show?” Continuing to ignore your other questions. He is so close to you that it burns your skin. 

“No, Joel. You were right the first time. I am on a date. A real date. You know what that is, right? Like, he asked me out, picked me up on time, bought me a drink,” you’re tallying on your fingers, “answered my–”

“And then what, you fuck him in the bathroom and hide out here? Alone in the alley?” 

It clicks. He knows exactly why you’re flustered. The asshole must’ve sent his text for his own slimy experiment. Trying to rattle you. What fucking game is he playing? Is he trying to win you? Like you’re Dave’s possession to lose? 

You scoff at his interjection, “No, Joel, I’m not alone. You followed me out here to make sure of it, right?” 

“Right,” he rumbles. His dark eyes glint even in the shadows of the alley. He leans lower and closer to you until you tip back, palms on the table behind you, then elbows. Exposing your cleavage to the moonlight. He pauses, eyes raking down your face, neck, and chest. How does he make you feel raw and vulnerable even when fully dressed? 

“You haven’t answered me,” you huff. Irritated and arched beneath him. 

“I asked you first,” he argues. A childish rebuttal for a grown man. You’re pretty sure you’ve asked why he’s here a hundred times, but of course, that doesn’t matter. He’s insufferable with his attitude and inability to communicate. Everything about you is taut, and you feel frayed. 

Joel dips his head and his lips brush your ear, tickling you, before he rasps, “I asked if you miss me, baby, and you haven’t answered.” 

A tremor runs through your body. 

It’s criminal. Your mind converts his voice directly into a hot coil of arousal. The throbbing between your legs causes you to wriggle beneath him.

“I need to know,” he croons, begging you to give in. 

His arm slides under your back, lowering you onto the table. Your restraint collapses terribly quickly for him. His voice. His touch. He knows all of your buttons. 

Laid on your back, your legs instinctively wrap around him as he bends to meet you. 

Soft puffs of air shakily flow between your lips as you struggle to concentrate. On what? You aren’t sure. Not good. You squeeze your eyes shut like maybe he’ll disappear. 

“I mean it, baby,” he continues purring with a sharp edge, “you tell me when you miss me.” 

You know it wouldn’t matter even if you did. If you texted him. If you called. It wouldn’t matter. It would probably make you feel worse. But when he says it, you feel your heart doing flips anyway. 

He slides his hands over your body, and you feel the last of your logic escaping as you tug him towards you. You’re grinding against him stupidly without a single thought. Just having him this close to you had you feeling desperate and needy. You could come again right now just by dry-humping like horny teenagers. 

The craving for him is so intense that you’ll surely die if he doesn’t keep moving. You lose any shred of composure that you were still clinging to and let out a needy whine for him. And when your fingers twist and tug at his shirt, it’s like a green light to Joel. 

He closes any and all gaps between you. His hand skates roughly under your dress, bunching up the fabric. He presses open-mouthed kisses against your neck and grazes his teeth enticingly along your jaw. 

Groping, grinding, grunting. All his movements dance a line between deliberate and frantic. 

You have tunnel vision, lost from time and space. When his low moan vibrates through you, your hand shoots to his belt. He rasps into your ear again, “That’s it, baby, I’m right here if you miss me, don’t need some jerkoff tryin’ to waste your time.” Your fingers fumble. What– “Oh, shit!” a voice yells. You freeze. “Don’t mind me!” The drunk guy slurs as he stumbles out the backdoor and sways down the alley towards the street. 

Your situation hits you like a bucket of cold water. Joel seems unfazed, still curled over you. You push at him and sit up. 

“What did you just say, Joel?” 

“Hmm?” he murmurs at you. 

“Joel, I’m serious. What the fuck?” 

He’s not listening. His hands are still searching your body. The scent of his faded deodorant is so familiar in your nose. The words are coming up again. Before he casts his trance on you. 

“No. I said I’m serious,” you repeat, “I’m not playing your games. Done with your weird shit.” Your body feels rigid, and your mind is clearing through the fog of lust. “Just because I have no self-esteem and I fuck you anytime you show up on my doorstep doesn’t mean you have any claim to me.” 

He blinks at you, finally registering your tone, expression shifting. “I actually tried, you know? I wanted to get to know you. You just bail. I keep suffering for it. Like an idiot. I keep thinking it would show I care.” 

“Baby–” 

“And now what? You see me on a date and decide it would be fun to ruin it? Ruin a chance at something better than waiting around wondering if you’ll show up looking to score?” You’re on your feet now. Livid. Ablaze in the dark. “No, you don’t even care enough to think about that,” you realize aloud. 

His features harden. Your head shakes slowly, exasperated with your burgeoning understanding. All you can hear is the white noise buzzing in your skull. Your next words are quieter and lower, forcing him to pay close attention. 

“You just wanted to prove something, right? Thought you’d fuck me on this table and run like you always do? For what, to prove you could?” 

His nostrils flare, and you don’t miss how he grits his teeth.

You don’t falter; he doesn’t scare you. You press on with your accusations prickly on your tongue. You back him against the wall next to the door as you continue. 

“You don’t like hearing it?” you cock your head at him, amused with his discomfort. “Were you going to leave me here in the alley full of your come like I’m some pathetic whore for you? Would you walk me back to my date after that? Was that your plan?” 

Joel snaps, manhandling you in a split second. Pinned against the brick wall, you can hear your heart pounding. It’s a paper-thin line between anger and lust, and you can’t tell which has your blood pumping. You can’t tell if he’s about to yell at you or fuck you. You hate that you can’t tell which you’d prefer.

His eyes are locked onto yours. Not revealing anything. You shift, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. He doesn’t keep you waiting. Joel shoves his hand into your panties, fingers slipping immediately into the fresh pool of arousal between your thighs. A shaky exhale comes out of you, but he doesn’t seem to need to blink or breathe anymore. 

He brings his glossy fingers to your mouth. Silent. He taps at your lip until you open and suck, tasting yourself. His mask slips a little. One brow twitches as he studies the scene of your lips wrapped around both of his fingers. But his eyes flick to yours when he pulls them out of your mouth and drags them down your bottom lip, smearing spit against your chin. 

“Tell me,” he says in a whisper that scrapes across your skin, “does it taste like you miss me?” 

You swallow tightly. A lump forms in your throat now, about as large as a civilization-ending asteroid. 

You can hear your phone buzzing. Forgotten on the table. Panic streaks over your eyes as you wonder how long you’ve been out here. You duck under his arm, dashing for your phone. You don’t look at him. You can’t. As you sprint down the hallway, you swing the door open, kicking the rock in the door jam, hopefully locking Joel outside. Cursing at yourself for almost letting Joel fuck you in the alley across from a dumpster.  

Dave sits in his car, idling along the curb near the front of the club. You’re surprised he didn’t leave. You hope it hasn’t been long. You don’t dare check your phone. Maybe it was only a few minutes, or it could have been an hour. You don’t think time functions normally when you’re around Joel. 

Dave is frighteningly observant, slinking out of his car to open the door for you before you get close enough to reach for the handle. 

“I was just starting to wonder if you’d snuck out the back door,” he chides. 

You feel the blood rushing to the surface of your skin. Hot with embarrassment over your behavior and his on-the-nose word choice. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, “I did step out for some air. Wanted to cool down.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” he assures you, tilting your chin towards his face with his thumb and forefinger. Your eyes dart around his face, wondering what he sees on yours. “Was it too much, dirty girl?” he coos. 

“What, this?” you lilt mockingly as you palm over his bulge, “I don’t think so.” 

“Good,” he snorts softly. “Get in the car.” He adds as he opens the door for you. 

He pauses before pulling away from the curb once seated in the driver’s side. 

“Is your boyfriend going to be following us home?” 

“My what?” you feel the blood drain from your face. 

“The one from the bar,” he continues, measured and eerily calm, “the one who followed us here?” Your head starts spinning at that, but Dave carries on, unbothered. “I assumed he likes to watch. You should’ve told me. It would’ve been easier than wondering if he’s a deranged stalker or–” 

“No.” You cut him off and struggle to continue for multiple reasons. “It’s not like that. I thought it was a coincidence,” you feel a confusing mix of emotions. 

“Followed us?” you’re curious. 

“When I picked you up. In the truck?”

“Oh god. No. He’s,” you pause, searching for the right words. 

“An ex?” 

“Not even that. Jesus Christ, I can’t believe he’d follow me.” 

“So he is dangerous?” 

“No.” Only to my self-respect. 

“You want me to take care of him?” 

“No.” You reply before putting any thought behind what that means. “No. He’s just an asshole with a staring problem.” 

You withdraw. You hadn’t thought about why Joel was here. How ridiculous it sounds to imagine Joel voluntarily sitting at the bar in a club like this alone. You feel the blood rushing to your ears. Stupid little butterflies flap their wings in your stomach before they’re reduced to ashes, and you begin to see red again tonight. How is Joel ruining your night without saying a word this time? 

“Take me home,” you say firmly.

He does. Dave walks you to your door. You invite him in, but he’s observant, noticing the clouds in your expression. He declines your invite but assures you he would be very interested in seeing you again. He gives you a chaste kiss that makes you laugh, considering how bold you both have been tonight. It lightens your mood. 

He lingers for a moment before he pulls out his wallet. 

“It was on the house this time,” you snark. Curious about what he’s doing. 

He hands you a sleek business card. A business card? Is this guy Patrick Bateman? 

Your face wrinkles in confusion. 

“I already have your number,” you flip the card over in case you’re missing something. It doesn’t say anything, just has a phone number. 

“I meant what I said, that I’d be interested in seeing you again for pleasure,” he smirks, “but if you change your mind, at least keep this.” 

You don’t understand why you’d need his work phone number but try to play it cool and nod. 

“If your stalker becomes a problem, you call me.” 

You’re still confused about what that means when he drives away. As you shut your door, you realize you have no idea what he does. 

You’re still in the middle of composing a text to Katie about how her green flag date included a bathroom blowjob and a business card when you hear a knock at your door. You swing it open, assuming foolishly that it would be Dave. 

Before you can blink, Joel kicks the door shut and backs you down the hallway. He looks like a man possessed as he hurtles towards you. It sends a chill down your spine that you think would trigger your fight or flight response, but yours seems to be reprogrammed to fight or fuck. Staggering backward, you yelp when the backs of your knees hit your mattress. 

“Can I fucking help you?” you snap at him as you realign with reality. “Jesus Christ, Joel, were you waiting outside the window or something?” 

You glare into his eyes, but a toxic part of you only wants to focus on his lips. And how close they are to yours. You also can’t deny the even more debauched part of you that flutters at the possessive look in Joel’s eyes. 

He laughs darkly, “Nah baby, I knew you’d send him on his way.” 

You roll your eyes at that. Cocky bastard. 

And he is. He emits a frenzied energy as he takes you in. Looking you up and down like a prize. Like he’s considering where to write his name on your skin. 

You roll your shoulders. Trying to shake off the idea that you’d like to be possessed by him, but it thrums persistently inside of you. 

“You didn’t know shit, Miller,” you accuse sardonically. 

Joel reaches for you. You think he’s going to tell you off. But his hands glide over the tops of your shoulders and up the column of your neck until he’s cupping your jaw in both hands. It feels jarring and vulnerable to be held by him this way. To feel like he just wants to look at you and to know you can’t look away. You wonder what’s going on behind his dark eyes. What he sees when he looks at you What he thinks. 

The longer he looks at you, the more the tension builds (of course, because it’s Joel). You start to itch, fingers twitching with the need to grab him and pull his full weight on top of you. Despite your building desire, he’s still quietly reading your face. Joel Miller, the enigma, you muse. 

Before you can flip him any shit, his mouth is on yours, and his hands drop to your hips to hold you firmly against his body. You want him to keep holding you there, but closer. You need him even closer. 

He groans into your mouth, and you kiss him back hungrily. Your bodies slot together in a twisted fate. You couldn’t care less about the date you just had at this moment. You can hear Joel’s words from previous encounters that have burrowed into your consciousness, and you’re starving for more.  

A selfish and greedy satisfaction warms in your chest at him being in your bedroom. He pulls your lower lip between his teeth before breaking away to tease bites along your neck and shoulder. You shiver. Your fingers dig into his shirt, pulling him closer and closer until your knees buckle, and fall into the bed with him on top of you. He doesn’t stop trying to taste you everywhere, trying to feel every part of you. You breathe out single-syllable praise as your thoughts become hazy.  

You still feel needy. You writhe and strain as you attempt to work his shirt up his broad frame. You’re insistent on feeling the blistering heat of his skin against yours. He leans back up, out of your grip, causing you to sigh in exasperation. Of course, it couldn’t be this easy. What does he have to say now?

“You want me to leave?” 

“What? Why?” you growl out. He is not about to body slam you into a bed and then walk away. 

“Thought you were done with my ‘weird shit’ or whatever you called it,” he taunts. 

“I am,” you huff.

“Tell me to stop.” You can’t. 

“Take your clothes off,” you answer instead. 

He does. Then, he’s pulling your clothes off and climbing over you. You aren’t sure you’ve ever both been fully naked like this. Definitely not while in a bed, at least. It’s more intimate than your relationship calls for. It makes time feel syrupy, but your other senses feel sharply tuned. Joel’s breath fans hot over your ear as he tucks his face into the corner of your neck and shoulder. 

“So,” he sucks at your delicate skin before continuing in his smoky tone, “your date couldn’t satisfy you?” 

“Shut up,” you snarl at him, uninterested in playing games. You’re too lost in the intensity of his physical presence. You need him inside of you, and you tug at his body, trying to pull him closer. It’s useless. His strong arms are braced like two stone pillars on either side of you. 

He’s such a pest. His mouth quirks, and he looks all too pleased with himself. You roll your eyes again. You know what he’s getting at. What he wants to hear you say. But, you’re reluctant to stroke his ego. He’s going to be unbearable if. The thorn of it that hurts the most, though, is that it’s not a lie. It’s an admission. A confirmation. 

He makes you feel so good in ways nobody else ever could, but the pain of knowing he’ll never be yours eats at you. It feels like exposing your beating heart in your chest to confess you want him so badly. You ache to hear him tell you he only wants you again. Even if it’s not real, you lie to yourself, you just need to hear it.  

While you wrestle with finding the words, he begins to torment you. The heat and arousal weigh heavily between your naked bodies. He lowers closer and closer to where you need him most but refuses to alleviate your painful want. Wickedly, he exploits your neediness. Teasing at your skin with his tongue, teeth, and breath. 

“Tell me, baby. Just let me hear it,” he says. But you can’t. 

When he blows air over your strained nipples, and you arch under him seeking contact, he darts down to kiss at your stomach and inner thighs instead. When he gets closer and closer to the apex of your thighs, grazing his nose over your mound, you could snap. 

You reach to dig your fingers into his hair and direct his mouth to your throbbing clit, but he’s stronger than you. Devilish man. He crawls back up to hover over your face. You know he’s enjoying it. Wondering how quickly you’ll break. It makes you want to kick and scream.

“Tell me it’s not true then,” it’s a challenge directed at you, but it feels like he’s also challenging himself. 

He drags the head of his cock over the slick lips of your cunt without precision or direction. You are so convinced he’s torturing you, but he looks like he’s in pain from restraining himself as well. It makes you crazy. You try to reach down to line him up with your entrance yourself, but he’s faster. He grabs your hand and pins it above your head. 

“Fine,” you grit out. Frustrated. You aim to smother your fear with sarcasm and puff your chest, hoping it works. 

“You’re right, Joel. It’s true.” He doesn’t move, waiting to hear more. 

“I missed your filthy mouth and your big fat cock.” You mock with an exaggerated whine. You keep going before you lose courage. “And my date couldn’t satisfy me.” You pause, steeling yourself. The corner of his mouth twitches.

“Because even when I had his cock down my throat,” you force yourself to look in his eyes, “all I could think about was you.” 

You tried to keep the snarky, biting tone in that last part, but your voice betrayed you when you met his eyes. It came out sounding as vulnerable as it felt to say. His expression flickers. You feel too honest. You should take it back. You want to curl up. He grins above you. 

“I know, baby,” he coos. You hold your breath. Of course he’s going to be a condescending ass about it, you start to bemoan internally–but when he finally sinks into you, it shuts off your inner monologue and slows down time. “All I can fuckin’ think about,” he says as he fills you as deeply as possible, letting a satisfied sigh fall from his lips. 

All I can fuckin’ think about. 

The words rattle around in your mind. Joel begins to rock into you, deliberately grinding his pelvis against you. All he can think about is you, too? Or fucking you? Or how he’s ruined you for other men? 

All I can fuckin’ think about. 

It echoes in your head as he picks up his pace, splitting you open with heavy, mind-altering thrusts. Suffocatingly intimate. Face to face. Skin to skin. Soul to soul. His voice isn’t just echoing in your mind; he’s also running his mouth about something. Muttering about how he knew you’d be waiting for him, how he’s going to fuck you until you forget your date's name, how nobody else can satisfy your needy cunt. 

Oh. 

He’s not wrong. You want to hear more. 

“Yes,” You can stoke this fire. You don’t mind finding out what happens if you rile him up while he’s inside you. “Only you,” you pant, “nobody else fucks me like you do.” 

He makes a throaty noise in agreement and shifts. Large hands wrap around the back of your knees and press them towards your chest, tilting your hips up. You choke and sputter as he slams into you with force. The new angle creates a blissful intensity. 

“That’s right,” he says, “nobody else.” 

He pounds into you like he could fuck you through the mattress, maybe even through the floor. The lewd sound of his thighs slapping against your ass fill the room. You tuck your chin to your chest to watch the way each thrust makes your breasts bounce. You notice that he’s mesmerized by the same sight, and you take the opportunity to shift your gaze, studying the look on his face. 

It’s more sensual than anything you’ve done together before. You can see the sweat beading on his chest from exertion. You’re nearly folded in half and unable to stop your soft cries and moans. It’s raw, sticky, and vulnerable. You feel warmed at the thought but also fragile. Breakable. Hypersensitive emotionally and physically. It’s all too bright and hot. 

You let his voice push you over the edge, and your climax rips fiercely through your body. You faintly hear him groan as your tight walls contract around him, but his voice is drowned out by the pleasure. Your legs tremble, still balanced over his shoulders. 

Your core muscles spasm as he keeps sawing into you until your hips are jerking at the sensitivity of your come down. He slows, breathing heavily over you. You can see the animalistic edge in his eyes. You have to push it. Play it out. 

“Make me yours,” you incite. 

You definitely just meant to imply, ‘fuck me hard and come inside me, please,��� but you worry he’s interpreted it differently when he drops your legs. Wrong. He turns you over, laying you flat on your stomach, pulling your arms behind your back, and pinning you to the bed.  He straddles your closed legs. Your shoulders strain a little as he leans into you. His heavy body compresses your prone form, and his cock weighs heavy against the curve of your ass; it feels right. A perverted comfort blanket, stealing your breath. 

“Repeat it,” he tells the back of your neck. 

“Make me yours.” You turn your head to the side. You can’t see his face, but you can hear the string of curses he chants when he lines up and wedges himself into you. The added constriction of your position unravels you both. 

“Mine,” he grunts. You muffle your own noises into the sheets, along for the ride. He doesn’t last much longer before you feel him still overtop of you. You close your eyes, focusing on the sensation of the pulsing and throbbing of his cock inside you as he fills you up. Breathing deep, your back rises against his chest before he slides off of you.

You roll onto your side. Facing each other, you still at the sight of him. Another breath shared between you, chests expanding towards each other. For the briefest moment, you think he might stay. You can see the soft edge of relaxation in his features. Your hand drifts toward him, an instinct based on nothing rational, just wanting to feel him. You feel the stupid, dreamy expression settling on your face. Before you can speak or figure out what you were reaching for, he’s snapped out of the bubble of tranquility. His walls are up. 

He’s dressed and leaving, walking towards the door as you can only sigh into your dirty sheets. 

He doesn’t even leave with a snide last word. Just the door closing. 

if you'd like to be on a taglist please let me know !

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

compos mentis 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, chronic health issues, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After a long court case, your mother stays attached to her lawyer, bringing even more contention into your life.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note:Double does of Andricus.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“My lawyer will hear about this!” Your mother snarls and you shy away. 

She always has to make a scene. You don’t even understand why she’s doing this. All they did was forget to put a fork in the bag. The poor employee behind the counter looks ready to snap as they wipe their sweaty hands on their apron. 

“My daughter is sick and you can’t remember a fork! It’s so much for her to come back in here!” She snarls. 

“Mom, I could wait in the car--” 

“Be quiet. Oh yes, I want corporate’s number, right now. I will be certain my attorney gives them a call about you...” she squints at the girl’s name tag, “Tina!” 

“Mom, please,” you pout. 

“Oh honey,” she turns and pets your head dramatically, then look at the worker as she cradles your face and adjusts the tube under your nose, “look at her. Look what you’re doing to her.” 

You hold back the flood of tears. You hate when she does this. You just want to be invisible but she always has to make you front and centre. She always has to tell everyone how sick and helpless you are. 

“Mom,” you moan. 

“Ugh, whatever,” she tears away and snaps her fingers, “give me the fork. And I expect a complimentary salad as well.” 

“Ma’am, we can’t do that,” Tina says dully. 

“What do you mean you can’t do that?” 

“Here,” Tina reaches under the counter and pulls out a card, “that’s the number for head office. I’ll grab you a fork.” 

She turns and takes out one of the bamboo forks. Your mother snarls and squeezes the card until it folds. She snatches the fork and throws it back at the worker. 

“Are you kidding? She can’t eat with this! She’ll get splinters.” 

“I want to go, mom,” you whine. 

She shrugs off your touch on her arm, “Mr. Barber, DA, will hear about this!” 

She stomps and spins. You turn slowly to follow as she’s already halfway to the door. You're already forgotten. You roll your tank with you as you curl your shoulders and awkwardly angle it through the door. 

Your mom’s a bluffer. Andy isn’t the DA. Not yet. He’s only the assistant. And he isn’t her lawyer. Not anymore. Once she won the lawsuit against the hospital, he traded in that title for boyfriend. And now she has a ring on her finger which means he’s soon be stepdad. You don’t think you can ever call him that.  

You avoid him as much as you can. Not because you dislike him, because you don’t know him. Aside from him coaching you to take the stand, you didn’t know much about him. You don’t have the energy to know more. Besides, he isn’t there for you. You’re just the unfortunate burden left for your mother to care for. 

You get to the car, heart racing, and shake as you struggle to get the door open. Your mother has the engine rumbling already and you can barely move around as you’re too dizzy to set your feet. You fall into the seat and strain to drag the oxygen tank between your legs. You really should have more space. 

You wiggle your chafed nose. Your mouth and nostrils are always painfully dry. You get your belt on and reach into the belt bag you keep on you at all times. You santize your hands from the mini bottle then take out the vaseline to apply to your dry skin. 

You lurch back as your mother veers out of the lot. You jostle with the movement and struggle to put the cap back on the tin. You tuck it away at last as her bluetooth dials out. 

“Andrew,” your mother greets the Assistant DA before he can speak. He sighs. You’ve heard him tell her over and over not to call him that. “You won’t believe what just happened. The way they gawk at us when we’re just trying to live like normal people!” 

She squawks on in one of her rants and you can only sit there and listen along with the man at the other end of the call. In the background, you make out the shuffle of paper and typing of keys. You shift as your mother cranks the real and you hear something rustle. You look back and groan. 

“Mom, the food spilled,” you utter. 

“Andrew!” She ignores you as she grips the steering wheel tighter, “are you even listening?” 

“Yeah, I heard. The food spilled. Why don’t you come by the office? I’m just finishing up. I’ll just take you ladies out.” He offers. 

You really don’t want that. You don’t like to go out. You only went to the wrap shop because your mom insisted after your last appointment. You’re always exhausted after all the tests. 

“Oh, gosh, that would be lovely,” she trills, “how about it, honey?” She doesn’t wait for your answer. “I’ll head over there right now. I hope you don’t mind, I won’t have time to change. We had a long day with the doctor.” 

“That’s fine. I just need to send these notes over and I’ll be all done,” he explains. “How about you, sweetheart? Feeling up to some linguine?” 

You don’t realise he’s talking to you until he says your name clearly. You gulp, “yes, sir.” 

“Oh, silly,” your mom reaches over to swat you, “she still calls you that.” 

He chuckles from the other end, “big changes. We’re all adjusting. Anyway, see you shortly. I got someone at my door.” 

“Bye, sweetie,” she sings and the line dies. 

She huffs and rolls her eyes. Her smile falls away. “I bet it’s that damned legal aid. Have you seen the way she dresses? Oh, how she flutters her eyes at my fiance?” 

You just grumble and nod. As usual, she isn’t looking for two-sided conversation. She tells, she doesn’t talk. 

“This will be nice. A family dinner. All of us. Honey, you really do need to loosen up with him. The wedding will be here before we know it.” 

You shrug, “I know. I’m not... I’m trying.” 

“I know, I know. The case was so much and then to think, it brought us all together. But this is the best we can hope for. The settlement is great but taking care of you, it’s so much. It’ll be nice to have help,” she chatters on. 

You zone out her usual gripes. She has a way of complaining about you without really saying it outright. You know you’ve made her life harder. Always sick, always helpless. You asked her to hire you a nurse with the settlement but she convinced you to put the money in a trust. It will be worth much more in ten years, honey... 

She pulls around the building with its staunch white pillars. The sight of them casts a wave of deja vu over you. You thought once all was said and done in court, you’d never have to come there again. It’s humiliating enough to be gawked at in public but to be put in front of an audience like that... 

You’re just sensitive. That’s what your mom says. She’s right. You wouldn’t know. You’ve never had to be on your own. She’s always been the one doing everything. 

She parks and gets out and you carefully lift your tank out of the car, not wanting to touch the cold shell. You stand and lean on it, rolling it ahead of you. You follow her inside as she hardly misses a beat. You can hardly keep up. 

She steps onto the elevator and tuts at you to hurry up. You get on and she hits the buttons impatiently. You get off on a floor, letting her lead you as you keep your head down. Her clicking heels keep you in line. 

“Danica,” Andy greets your mom by name, “just in time.” 

“Mm, there you are,” her response is curt.  

You look up at Andy as he leans on the desk of his aide. She’s a pretty blond woman named Gwen with shiny nails. She smiles as he stands on his own weight. 

“How are you?” Andy offers a one-armed hug. 

“Good,” she wraps him up and plants a kiss on his cheek as he dodges her lips. “How are you, sweetie?” 

“Tired, long day,” he replies stiffly. He looks at you, “hey, you look beat.” 

“A little,” you mutter. 

“You sure you’re up to it? We can just order in,” he offers. 

“I’m okay,” you say as your mother looks at you sharply. Better to just do what she wants. 

“I don’t mind,” he insists. 

“Oh, but sweetie, you said we’d go out. Don’t you want to have a nice dinner with your fiancee?” She smirks at Gwen. 

You want to turn into dust. This is torturous. You’re light-headed and uncomfortable. Andy keeps his arm around your mom, “see ya, Gwen. You get going. I don’t want people thinking I’m a tryant.” 

He struts towards you and puts his hand on your arm to turn you around. You walk beside him and his touch falls to your lower back. You want to pull away but you can’t. The wheels on your tank squeak with each step. 

You’re happy to detach from Andy as the elevator doors open. You wait and your mom steps on first by Andy doesn’t. He waves you in ahead of him and grunts. He doesn’t rsay anything to your mom but you can sense tension. 

“How about I drive? You can come with me in the morning and get your car,” Andy suggests, “save some mileage.” 

“Oh, that would be so nice. I’d love some chardonnay with dinner,” she bubbles. 

He steps between you and taps the button. His sleeve brushes you as you hunch lower. Your head is really bugging you. You just want to sleep. Or maybe you’re just hungry. 

“Looks like it hurt,” Andy points to your bandaged hand. You peek at it and shake your head. 

“IV. Just bruised,” you answer. 

“Ah, no fun,” he remarks. “Well, now you don’t have to worry about the hospital bills, huh? Got you all tucked away.” 

“It’s so wonderful,” your mom latches onto his arm. “You take such good care of us, baby.” 

“Mm, doing my best. Can’t be easy with a sick kid.” 

“No, no, not easy. But oh, you helped so much. I mean, how dare that hospital just dismiss us like that. They could’ve killed her. Malpractice if I ever saw it, and you would know, being a lawyer and all,” she says tritely. 

You stay silent. You don’t like talking about it. It’s over, so why do you have to keep reliving it? She seemed to bask in the attention it got her while you hated every minute of it. 

As you stare at the bottom of the doors, you feel a tickle on your hand. You wince but don’t pull away. You think, at first, it’s a stray hair. You glance over and find Andy rubbing his finger against your hand. You grip the handle of your tank tighter and swallow. What is he doing? 

He stands with his head straight, his shoulders high, as if he’s doing nothing at all. Maybe he doesn’t realise. You don’t move. You’re frozen in indecision. You don’t want to pull away in case you embarrass him. 

Surely, it’s unintentional. You’re just some sick woman still living with her mother. You’re frail and helpless and you can’t even breathe on your own. 

No, it’s just a mistake. A mix-up. He’s probably lost in thought, the way he gets. When he sits and stares at you but sees nothing at all. 

The elevator opens and he rescinds his touch. He waves you through first, and you shuffle ahead of him. Your mom follows and he brings up the rear. You need to sit down soon. 

You go outside into the cool evening air and make your way to his car. Your mother stomps ahead in her heels but he stays at a pace with you. You can never keep up. As you reach his SUV, you hesitate. You forget how much bigger his car is. So high up. 

“Can I help?” He offers as he follows you to the back door. He opens it for you as you spin your tank around. 

“I’m... okay,” you lift the tank first and he quickly scoops his hand under the wheels to help. You grab onto the door to haul yourself up. His hand brushes your hip as you do and you swing into the seat. “Thanks.” 

“Not at all, sweetheart,” he lays his hand on your knee and gives a quick squeeze. “You sure you don’t need anything?” 

You shake your head and close your eyes. You’re completely worn out. You need to save what little you have left for dinner. 

“Alright,” he lets go and shuts the door.  

He gets in the front as your mother hums, “let’s go. I’m starving.” 

[abbyshands]

i so badly want to be nice to everybody but some of you guys are going to drive me crazy publishing your fuckass fics during a media blackout or complaining about people “flooding” the tlou or ellie & abby tags in content about palestine. yeah, we are, because that seems to be the only way some of the dense people on here are going to see it. do you even understand how privileged you are to be able to complain about that at all? sitting in the comfort of your own home and not having to worry and wonder if tomorrow is you or your family’s last day? you guys make me so fucking sick. i can’t understand how anyone can see all that’s going on and just scroll away and not give a fuck. how can you not feel sadness in your heart for these innocent people who are being cleansed before your fucking eyes? i swear to fuck i want to be nice, but i’m this close to calling out a few people i’ve seen who clearly know there’s a media blackout, but are publishing and reblogging content that doesn’t have shit to do with it. we don’t fucking care about your dumbass smut that can very much wait a fucking week. my god.

i’m going to keep “flooding” the tags all i want, and i encourage people to do the same. i hope anyone who’s genuinely annoyed by that has some fucking sense knocked into them, & for the people going in my ask box or saying dumb shit in my replies, please just block me. i don’t care about you and i don’t want to speak to you fr. i saw a post saying that this is the first time a genocide has been recorded as it is happening in social media, being updated DAILY, & the fact that, considering that, some of you aren’t using your account, big or small, to post about it, is fucking crazy and cruel to me. do better, & FREE PALESTINE.

PALESTINE LINKS | CLICK HERE TO HELP PALESTINE

[gayaristocrat]

There are a ton of fem reader fics/blogs flooding my feed page even though I’ve blocked countless tags and x fem reader blogs. It’s even more saddening because I’ve even started unfollowing people that once wrote male reader fics but now have stopped to only write fem reader fics. I’m not sure if people are abandoning male reader content or are just taking interest in only writing female reader content but it just sucks that I’ve had to unfollow many blogs I’ve interacted and loved for so long. Not to mention the increase in bullying and harassment male reader blogs are getting from fem reader blogs they flood our inboxes with. I’ve even noticed male!reader blogs have even started leaving tumblr all together because of this, and sometimes I’ve thought about doing the same. Im not sure if this is why I’ve lost interest in writing, but it just feels like the community is dying. I try to come back and write full length fanfiction from time to time, but seeing the direction tumblr seems to be heading towards makes it very difficult. Please know that if I unfollow you, it isn’t anything personal, I’m really trying to get my fyp back in the direction it once was.

And I also wanted to mention as well that you can write whatever you want, wether it be fem!reader, male!reader, or even both. It’s your blog and I can’t tell you what to do or how to run your blog. I’m just speaking on the experiences I’ve had and what I’ve observed from other male!reader blogs. I just don’t really have any other solutions that will work for me.

[fairysluna]

let the light in.

Modern!AU — Disaster was the word that described your past relationship with Aemond, but once you meet again after a year it's impossible for you not to come back to him.

MASTERLIST

PAIRING - Aemond Targaryen x Reader.

TAGS/TW - angst, slight fluff, cheating, love affairs, mentions of a toxic relationships. if something is missing let me know!

NOTE - this is not the best thing in the world at all, but I've been struggling to write and this came out of the blue and now I'm posting it bc why not. hope this will be the thing that finally ends my writer's block. On the other hand, I made a side blog ( @by-fairysluna ) exclusvely to repost my fics, so you can follow me there and activate the notifications🤍

WORD COUNT - 1.5k

He was sitting right under the dim light of a malfunctioning bulb inside the coffee shop that you both always went to. His long platinum hair, shiny as always, was falling graciously down his back as making a contrast against the black leather of the jacket you once gave him. You checked the time on your watch; quarter to three - you had fifteen minutes to regret this, to turn around and disappear from his life like you did a year ago. 

You knew this was a terrible idea. His mere presence was enough to make you fold like a piece of paper, to make you fall for him all over again. It was a vicious circle from which you could not escape. Though you knew you did not want to escape it either. 

The feeling in your gut was making you sweat as your hands were constantly trying to find comfort in the bag strap hanging from your shoulder, the memories of how things ended last time flooded your mind. You noticed how he was moving his leg up and down. Perhaps he was as anxious as you, perhaps he was just being impatient as usual; whatever the reason was, you could not help but to feel this invisible string pulling you towards him like a huge magnet. You tried to ignore it, to cut the string and ran away in the cowardly act of weakness, but your legs were not eager to respond to what your brain was commanding them to do, finding failure in an activity so easy as just walking. 

When you finally found the courage to escape what could become an awkward situation, a person walked right beside you and opened the door in front of you. The doorbell sounded, carrying all the attention of the clients towards you standing behind the crystal clear glass that did nothing to hide your presence from Aemond’s eye.

“Shit,” you murmured, keeping yourself together as you forced yourself to enter the place now that you have been busted by the same eye that you were trying to ignore. He immediately stood up; a moment so sudden that the coffee cups on the table were spilled on the white tablecloth beneath them. He did not seem to care enough to clean right away, he just gave it a quick glance before his attention was all over your slowly walk towards the table. 

He wrapped his arms around you as soon as he was close enough to do so, his face burying in your neck as if he was meeting with some old dear friend instead of the girl whose heart he broke. The awkwardness was not easy to hide as you doubted to return the gesture, trying so hard not to breathe in his scent, for you knew that would be your perdition.

“Is good to see you,” he said as a greeting as he pulled out from the hug and looked at your face with a soft smile that brought thousands of flashbacks to your mind. “Hope you don’t mind I ordered something for you,” he pointed at the table, two cups and two pieces of a strawberry pie. “Tea, two of sugar right?”

You knew you had no reason to get excited for the gesture and for the fact that he remembered how you liked your tea, but it was impossible for you to keep it together after such a sweet gesture. You almost sighed as you sat down.

“You remembered it,” you said, trying to hide your smile. 

“Of course,” he simply replied, as if that gesture was nothing more than an act of politeness. It killed you.

There was a silence, not necessarily uncomfortable but it left you with the feeling that something was missing. Perhaps you missed his voice; how softly it sounded whenever he mentioned your name, or those sweet words that would make you forget all about his bad temper. The kind of sweetness that he only reserved for you, the one that made you feel unique between his comforting arms. As if you were the only one in his heart.

“How you’ve been?” You asked, trying to break the ice, indulging a tedious small talk that neither of them was interested to have.

He went straight to the point.

“I’ve missed you terribly,” he murmured, a low and trembling whisper that could have been  easily mistaken as a cough. A slight shame was present on his voice as he confessed his heart’s wishes without even looking at your eyes. “I’ve been miserable without you.”

He seemed to be embarrassed about them, but it was impossible for you not to feel your heart beating fast as his words had taken you by surprise. You pressed your lips in a thin line, looking at his hand and feeling all your excitement fading away as the golden band was still wrapped around his finger just to prove that he still belonged to someone else. But, as your mind was screaming to look away and leave, your heart begged you to grab his hand and take him back. 

“I’ve missed you too,” you replied, covering his hand with yours, as if it was a desperate attempt to hide the truth of your relationship with him. “I hate trying to convince myself to hate you.”

A small smile was seen on his face, covering the guilt behind his eye. He knew this was wrong, he knew that putting you in this situation a second time was a death sentence after being witness to how things ended, but he couldn’t help it. No matter the consequences, he needed you back. He needed the sense of freedom only you could provide him. Call it selfishness, or greediness; you didn't even care as long as you gained his love again. 

Aemond finally glanced at you, and you felt like everything was worth it. The tears, the heartaches, the shame, the turmoils; you could endure all of it just to have a taste of his lips. Suddenly, all you could think of was the paradise in which he coaxed you, and all your doubts and fears left as soon as you felt your heart beat again because of him.

“I’m sorry for how things ended, you didn’t deserve any of that,” he apologized, the sincerity reflected in the way he spoke. His eye traced a path between your eyes and your lips.

“The past is past,” you said in an attempt to console his anguish, “and, to be honest, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“You brought the light into my life,” he confessed, and you felt your heart swollen with emotion. “And I didn’t know it until you left.”

A smile appeared on your face, enlightening the darkness of a rainy day, causing shivers down his back as his eyes shined with the glow of fondness. 

“I would hate to leave you in the dark,” you replied at his words, stealing a soft chuckle from those lips that you wished to kiss once more. “I can’t hate you, Aemond,” she confessed, “not when loving you feels so good.”

He sighed, “You still love me after everything?” His voice came out as insecure, as if it was hard for him to find truth in her words.

She thought about it for a second, trying to think about their bad times as if she was forcing herself to back up and avoid all the pain that she knew they would bring to each other, but all she could think of was those quiet evenings at her apartment. A soft Beatles’ tune playing in the background as they talked about their day while soft touches were felt in her bare skin. Heaven on Earth; their own version of oasis. 

“How couldn’t I?” She simply responded.

They knew their lowest points were hell, but they refused to think about them as they found each other’s touch again. They convinced themselves that it was worth it to try it again.

“Let me come in again, Aemond,” she whispered, leaning closer to him. “I know you need me as much as I do. I know you want me too.”

He pretended to hesitate, but he knew what his intentions were as soon as he sent you that text which brought you back to him. Your pleading eyes were all he needed to see to be completely convinced.

“I want you,” he said, bringing her hand to his lips, leaving a soft kiss in the back of it, smiling as he noticed the spark in your pretty eyes, clouded by devotion. 

That was all you needed to feel whole again. 

As the evening approached between gentle touches and soft kisses, you came to realize that the part of your heart that you thought was missing has returned to you in the shape of the man you hopelessly loved. The only one who could make you feel alive again.

And you wouldn’t want it any other way.

[fiyaa-xoxo]

Hello~ I apologize to flooding your ask box.

I just found out that according to Trey, he said Heartslabyul students are allowed to ask for anything for their birthday... It i's one of the Queen of Hearts' laws after all ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

So, can I request a scenario/headcanons that the reader/mc/Yuu ask to borrow Heartslabyul students out for a date or sthg for their birthday... What kind of things they will do and how will they react to such request and such...

Thank you and apologies if this request is hard to write 😅 Hope you'll have a lovely day 💕

Law No. 538 of the Queen of Hearts: The one with the birthday are allowed to ask anything for their birthday. Yuu's request to have a date with the Heartslabyul boys!! How will they react and what will they do in their date? PT.1 (Riddle Rosehearts, Cater Diamond, & Trey clover)

Hello you mustn't worry about flooding my ask box because you'r the only who has requested some writing from me. I'll do my very best to write your request, i truly hope you enjoy what i've written. Its not the best since i didn’t know what to write for some of them.And i’m teribly sorry that this request is long due i’ve been having writers block.

Riddle Rosehearts

✧˚ · . Red, Riddles face even redder than his hair. At first you thought that he was mad at you but he was just flustered. You two decided to have a private tea party in the middle of the rose maze. Riddle asked trey to bake your favorite sweets! And if your not super into sweets trey made some other foods fit for your taste. Everything was prepared just for you though some parts of the tea party were against the Rules Riddle did his best not the change anything since it was how you liked it. 

✧˚ · .When you two finished eating the food trey prepared Riddle handed you something “My Dearest Rose, since today is a special day your birthday i made sure that everything is perfect even my gift. I do wish you will enjoy what i have bought for you” After Riddle said that you opened the elegantly wrapt red and black box inside held a Stunning Rose Ring.  “Riddle.. Its beautiful thank you so much” 

“ Im glad you liked it i do wish you wear it someday My rose.This ring shows how much i love you.” By the end of the day Riddle dropped you off at Ramshakel And pulled you into a kiss and bid you a goodnight. When you closed the door you were a blushing and smiling mess.After that day you swore to yourself you’d always wear and keep the ring safe.

Cater Diamond 

✧˚ · .When cater heard what you said he was over the moon! “Aww our Y/nie wants to spend their birthday with me!! Don’t worry Y/n i’ll make sure you’// enjoy our little date 😉” You two decided to café hop everything you two bought will be payed by Cater so don’t you worry about losing money! Cater kept on taking pictures of you and the food. He couldn't help it you just looked so pretty. When you offered to feed Cater some of your Sandwich he made sure to take pics of it. 

✧˚ ·After you guys left the Café it was around sunset. Cater lead you to a park when you got to the park the tree’s were filled with lights and there was a fountain in the middle it looked so magical! Cater brought you near the fountain and handed you a orange paper bag. “Happy birthday Y/n i hope you like the gift!!” When you removed the wrapping paper that was on top of the bag it showed a painting of you and cater “Riddle nagged me to do some painting to get off my phone so. I made this for you!” “Hope you like it” “Cater i don’t like it..... I love it!! thank you!!!” “nice to hear Y/niee, i have one more gift too” After Cater said that he pulled you into a long kiss. Cater dropped you back to your dorm and gave u another peck on the lips.

✧˚ · When you got changed into something more comfortable your phone had lot of notifications from Magicam. You were tagged in a post with a lot of pictures from today even a pic of you and cater kissings!! but you remembered Cater didn’t take any pictures when you two got in to the park. Little did you know Cater used his unique magic and made the other caters hide behind bush's and climbed tree’s just to get pictures.Oh and the picture cater gifted you is safely placed on top of your nightstand.

Trey Clover

✧˚ · .Trey was quite shocked when you said you wanted to go on a date with him for your birthday.But he was also touched that you wanted to spend time with him. You decided to take a cooking class. Since trey is mostly good at baking you thought why not also enhance his cooking skills. The two of you arrived at the cooking class located in a restaurant near the plaza of the town. " Welcome, Welcome!!" said the hostess in the front " Are you two love birds here for the cooking class?" both you and trey blushed when the hostess addressed you two as "love birds" "a-ah.. yes we're here for the cooking class.. but we arnt a couple yet.. haha" said trey. "Ah my apologies i thought u two were with how cute you both look together.But moving on please enter this room, this is where the cooking class will be held." said the hostess with a smile.

✧˚ · You can trey entered the room which held a kitchen in. You both go seated and the class begun. "Hello everybody i am chef Andre, for today we will be learning how to makespaghetti and meatballs from scratch." The chef explained and demonstrated how to make the noodles and sauce and now he let you and the other attendee's start making on your own. Trey started off by making the pasta and kneading flour and eggs. "This is just like making dough in baking" said trey. You couldnt help yourself from staring at Trey. He has his sleeves rolled up exposing his forearm. Trey was well built himself. As you stared at him u didnt see that he threw a bit of flour at you "finally i have your attention again" he said chuckling "a-ah sorry about that.." u said

✧˚ · "Dont worry about it im just about done with the pasta and the sauce is done too" TIME SKIP You and trey finally finished cooking and was now cleaning off the flour he threw you. "sorry about that" trey said as he held your chin cleaning off the flour from your face

as he smirked. "Its fine" you said blushing. The pasta you both made was being packaged for you two to take back home. You both left the restaurant and walked back to the dorm. When u made it back to your dorm trey was walking with you towards the front door before he suddenly stopped "Ah wait before i forget here my gift for you y/n" he said smiling. He gave you a green colored big box. As you opened it held your favorite dessert. "I made it myself. It took me multiple tries to get it perfect just for you...Ah one more thing..." he took out a pair of van cleef black clover earrings . "I hope you like them" he said looking at you. "Trey... i love them thank you!!" u then went closer to try and kissed him. "Thank you for making today even more special" you said smiling ear to ear. "Its my pleasure y/n. Now go head inside i'll see you again tomorrow" he then winked. "Ah and dont forge to brush your teeth after eating the dessert" He gave u a kiss on your cheek then waved goodbye.

Requests are open!! ^^

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──

[connorsjorts]

cyberlife putting magnets in connors feet is canon to me now. i left the fandom some time ago, now im back, so i can enjoy all the fanworks that came out while my brainrot was dormant. but im so shocked at how widespread the notion that hankcon is problematic now is. it was the main ship a couple of years ago? and now the main tag is flooded with negativity. and idk if my claims hold any water, but i feel like the dynamics that were quite commonly used for hank x connor now are used for reed900? when did this fandom decide that two characters which 1) appear rarely and only to be an asshole and 2) doesn't even have any lines are a better ship than those two bastards who are literally insane about each other? (none of their interactions are normal, but its so in character for both of them, i love it) anyway, i hope you didnt have to experience any of said negativity and are doing well, cause i loved your fanfics <3

Honestly I forget that Connor’s magnet feet aren’t canon—how that clumsy-ass android who botched a barrel-roll into a first story window managed to keep his feet planted on a moving train is the biggest plot hole in all of DBH.

Welcome back to the fandom! Sometimes I wish I had been here from the very beginning, because even when I showed up in 2020 it was like this. I remember wandering into the ship tag, naive and desperate for conktent, and finding nothing but “hankcon shippers are perverts” and literal comparisons between a thirty year old man and a six year old boy 🥲 I pretty much avoided tumblr entirely because of it and stayed exclusively on twitter the first couple years! (RIP.) I feel like tumblr has actually gotten better since then? That said, in the four years I’ve been here I’ve somehow managed to avoid any direct hate, probably partially through luck and partially because I’m not afraid to use the block button. It’s never personal, it’s just that I am here for one thing and one thing only and that is old man yaoi. I would also advise staying off of ig and tiktok for fandom content because good god, people are MEAN over there.

As for reed900, the ship doesn’t really do much for me personally, but one thing that I really love about it is that it’s basically fanfiction of fanfiction. Like, fans basically created that ship and even their characters out of next to nothing, and made something so compelling that it’s now the fandom’s most popular ship on ao3! That is so cool! As someone who doesn’t care about the DBH canon like, at all, and is way more into the fans’ creations and creativity, I have a deep appreciation for reed900 shippers even if I don’t subscribe to their newsletter. 

I do agree that it’s very similar to the hankcon dynamic, which, who can blame them? It’s a great dynamic. And I don’t begrudge anyone for not wanting to ship Hank and Connor. But when it comes to people who ship reed900 but actively hate hankcon, those who call hankcon disgusting and cry about having to see it while never seeming to take any actual steps to avoid it? I dunno, I smell ageism in their hearts, and to them I say—old people are hot, and it’s not our fault if you have bad taste in men 😌

Thank you so much for your kind words about my fics 💖

[smallandalmosthonest]

several stuff sunday aka catching up on tags from the week

i've had the craziest week of my liiiiiife and missed out on one thousand tag games and i'm catching up NOW with a bunch of snippets from alllllllll my wips!!!

thanks for tagging me all week my loves @tizniz @devirnis @sibylsleaves @rainbow-nerdss @dangerpronebuddie @diazsdimples and @theotherbuckley

from his canine teeth in the side of my neck aka the vampire!eddie au:

“Yeah, get outta here – and put a leash on that little bloodbag slut – " Eddie didn’t even have time to think about it – he’d shoved Buck behind him and slammed the guy against the wall, hand on his trachea, before humans could blink.  “Say one more word,” Eddie crooned, fangs descending, vision crystallizing as his eyes shifted black. “Go on. Say one. More. Word.”  He could barely feel the man’s nails scrambling at his wrist; could barely smell the acrid scent of piss as the man soaked his pants; could barely hear the man’s trembling pleas for mercy. Adrenaline was coursing through this pig’s veins, souring his blood as glutamate flooded his hypothalamus, but even the putrid stench of him made something sing within Eddie. He was a predator. This man was prey.  “Eddie.”  Buck. “Eddie, we have to go – you have to let him go, come on – ” He could smell him – soft and metallic and decadent – but soured, too. Eddie’s hands twitched, his gaze still locked on the wide-eyes of the assailant.  Buck was afraid.  Eddie was scaring him. 

from the currently untitled teen wolf/911 crossover:

Now it was the kid’s turn to give Eddie an appraising once-over, shifting his weight from leg to leg the way Buck did when he was waiting on the go-ahead to sprint into a burning building. “Yeah, that’s not gonna work, actually. Look, I know you can hear me, Derek, so why don’t you get your furry behind over here so we can – ” Eddie opened his mouth to tell the kid Derek couldn’t hear him because they were the only ones in the engine bay, when Derek’s voice growled out from behind him. “Stiles.”  The kid stilled, his eyes locking on something just over Eddie’s shoulder. A humourless smile crossed his face. “Long time no see, Sourwolf.”  Eddie glanced over his shoulder, wondering how Derek managed to sneak up on him.  Derek was standing with preternatural stillness, a look on his face that sent a chill down Eddie’s spine. His gaze was locked on the kid, and even though Derek was his… something, and the kid seemed cocky and was clearly unwelcome, something in that look made Eddie want to get between them, get the kid behind him, not take his eyes off the threat.  Eddie blinked. Derek wasn’t a threat.  It seemed like someone forgot to tell his gut that, though.  The squeaky sound of wet sneakers echoed through the bay. “Hey, someone’s sick Jeep is blocking the – ”  Buck jogged around the ambulance, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder, and stopped when he saw the tableau before him: Derek, half a step behind Eddie, looking ready to maul the scrawny kid in the hoodie, who was staring at the firefighters with a too-knowing look. Buck turned to Eddie instantly, blue eyes wide and brow furrowed in question. “Uh, Derek? Who’s your friend?”  The kid blinked and turned to Buck, with an easy smile, sticking out his hand. “Special Agent Stiles Stilinski, FBI. Old pal of Derek’s.” 

and from The Bottle Episode:

That was how Tommy found them. Buck glanced up and saw him striding through the ambulance bay, eyebrows raised, carrying two laden drink trays with ease.  Buck leaped out of the front seat with a grin. “You brought me a smoothie?”  “I brought all of A-shift a smoothie,” Tommy corrected.  “Yeah, but mostly me, right?” Buck wheedled, reaching out for him.  Tommy side-stepped his grabby hands. “Yours is the green one, in the middle,” he said, nodding towards it. As if it wasn’t obvious. The things had really grown on Buck during the weeks he was waiting on his sperm donation, and it was the only kelly green concoction in a sea of pale pinks. “Everyone else, I went with the classics.”  “But you got mine special,” Buck teased, tucking the straw between his teeth, “because I’m your favourite.”  Tommy shook his head wryly. “I don’t know. Eddie’s never asked me to drive all over town like an errand boy.”  “And I never will,” Eddie’s voice chimed in from over Buck’s shoulder. “Strawberry banana?”

under the cut there's a snippet from what i'm cooking for five alarm fest (not telling you which one yet hehehe) and i'm tagging back everyone who tagged me this week ilu!!!!!!!

“O-okay,” Evan breathed, his hands tightening on Tommy’s thighs, his hole twitching around the base of Tommy’s cock. “Y-you – you can take the blindfold off.” Tommy squeezed Evan’s hips one more time before lifting one hand to rip the satin from his eyes, ready to dive forward and get his mouth on that spot on the back of Evan’s neck that made him whine, eager to take in the sight of – Tommy’s breath caught in his throat.  There was the broad expanse of Evan’s solid, muscular back, speckled with scars; a little trail of sweat was dripping from his hairline down between his shoulder blades; and just above where his tight little ass was vice-like around Tommy cock was…

[typingfool]

𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀 / 𝐏𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐌𝐀 ;; wednesday addams

Pairing ;; Wednesday Addams x gn!winged!Reader

outline —; Confessing to Wednesday Addams is... something else.

word count —: 2.3k

WARNINGS —: cursing, SUGGESTIVE, LIKE VERY.

themes / tags —: reader is gender-neutral. divina is non-binary.

A/N: reblogs and comments are appreciated. there are some other fics i wanted to write for wednesday. have some gender-neutral divina and reader as dorm mates! and some wings too, may i add. enjoy :)

There is no number or word that can describe love. The only way to describe it is to feel it. To be in it. Similarly, love isn’t a never ending circle, going around and saying the same thing. For centuries, science has explained it too – the love for friends, the love for lovers, the love for parents, the love for certain objects. 

In history, the Greeks have words for love. Sitting in history lessons in one of the many rooms in Nevermore, your wings folded, your eyes staring directly at the board, as the teacher spoke. A school mate, similar to you with wings of down feathers, smiled in your direction, staring intently. 

Some didn’t seem to care about the knowledge they’re learning, some were confused (one of them being you, though, you were just ecstatic that all these people were learning that love isn’t just love). Some were guilty – you knew because you felt them, you felt that they never ‘love’ the way it is expected. 

“Ludus is the playful form of love. This may describe your type of romance; teasing, flirting, and teenage love.” The teacher explained, dragging her tone through the room, the class is quiet, accepting the new form of knowledge into their minds. 

The first period class really had you smiling. A swelled understandment filled your stomach as if it was thirsty for affection and attention. Who knew the Greeks could understand you? In ways more than one. Besides its occasional tales of myths and legends (that you personally indulge in, though too embarrassed to say anything about it), you were surprised that this knowledge is never passed down unto society. 

Only ‘friendship’ and ‘love’ were understood. If the normies altogether had a voice they would probably say; What else is there to it? 

The thought made you snicker. Hours passed; preoccupied students were busy shuffling the hallways, getting ready for the falling night. You watched through the infirmary window as the courtyard emptied out. “You bird!” The nurse called, looking at you with wide eyes. This did not surprise you but it did make you jump in your chair, your feathers in alert mode as you felt ants seeping through your skin. “I told you, this girl, here,” She pointed to Yoko, who snickered in response, hiding her laughter. “She is okay! No need to crowd this place! Look at your wings- Giant!” She reached her hand out, pinching a feather, making you hiss in staggerment. 

“Okay! Okay! I’m just worried about my friend.” You said, cowering out of the door, waving Yoko a goodbye before she could touch the ends of your feathers too. You huffed, wings fluttering in a shiver. The thumping of your own boots thundered in your ears, silencing any form of thoughts that raced through your mind. Silencing the outside world for a while, walking to your dorm subconsciously. 

For a moment, you ceased in a quiet hallway, contemplating whether to comfort Enid in her time of distress. Pending for a second that your wings enclosed in a relaxed position, folding itself. I don’t need to think about this situation, you mentally facepalmed. 

You headed to your dorm, waving a slight hello to Divina. They didn’t let you pass the window though, blocking your view of the outside world before you could fly out. Worry flooded their eyes as they frantically blurted out a word. “The nurse wouldn’t let me-”

You intercepted, putting a hand on their shoulder. “Let you see her? Me too but I’ve seen, Tanaka is fine, it’s just an allergic reaction.” You calmly stated, your wings subconsciously wrapping around them into a hug. They wrapped their arms around your shoulders too, unable to decide whether to hold your waist or back. “She’ll be out before you know it.” You pulled away, smiling. 

Divina nodded, stepping out of the window. “Tell me how your confession goes.” They teased, opening their closet and picking out a jacket. They headed to the bathroom. 

You opened the window, searching for Ophelia Hall in the many buildings until your eyes landed on the half-rainbow cobwebbed window. “Not yours to know,” You yelled in a responsive tone, hands on the railing, keeping your body balanced, poking your head out of the cold air. Making sure that no one is watching, you search left to right as if you were checking a road before crossing. “Nightshades again?” You asked, pushing your head in, grabbing a jacket of your own. 

Divina fixed their hair, responding with a nod. “At least look decent, who are you meeting? Enid or Addams?” They blindly asked. 

Disbelief left your mouth as a laugh. You loudly shut your closet, running up to the window, shutting it down as if anyone could hear from your own dorm. “Do you think Wednesday would care what I wear?” You emphasized clearly on her name, grabbing a hair brush. You rubbed the back of your neck before remembering the reason for your arrival at their dorm. “And anyway, I wanted to see Enid, she’s upset because of…” Your voice trailed, realizing that Divina is the person you’re talking to. You didn’t want to upset her any further, though luckily, she was busy adjusting her necklace to even listen to you. 

Divina smiled playfully. “Well, people say she’s allergic to color. But honestly, she’s pulling off the black and white outfits.” They replied, shrugging. The sneakers they wore dragged a rushed sound. Though it stopped when they turned on their heel to face you again. “Yet, here you are, putting no effort into your fits.” 

You huffed, rolling your eyes, as you leaned into the mirror. “I’m pretty decent, if you ask me. Or Wednesday.” You happily affirmed. 

Divina shrugged in defeat, waving you off. “Just make sure to be there, Bianca hates you.” 

Shaking your head, you opened the window again, jumping up the railing, spreading your wings. “Tell her the feeling is mutual.” With that, you leaped out, snickering at the response ‘that’s jackshit, Xavier hates you too’, spreading your wings to bring yourself up to the window once more, satisfied that Divina took in the words you most definitely meant. You carefully pulled down the window, leaving a big enough gap for your hands to fit in. 

You flew higher, the cold air reaching your whole body. Jacket or not, the cold bothered you. Though, post-autumn has finally worn out. The start of cold winds were scaring you for the snow. And god, were you thankful that you didn’t have to shovel it all? Yes, of course, you were. 

Your feet landed on the cold ground, as wind slightly pushed you back. You flap your wings in the process, creating a whirlwind that nearly knocked out the musical note stand. Thankfully, you weren’t too far to not catch it and disrupt a loud bang. Cold seeped through your footwarmers, each step you took warmed up your body eventually. Since, you couldn’t fit through the window (credits to the wings you carried), instead, you knocked, poking your head in. 

“Enid!” You called on excitedly, only to find her bed empty, neatly arranged. Your head turned to her roommate’s bed. Next to it is a dissatisfied Wednesday, her hands briefly above the typewriter. “Where is she?” You asked, emphasizing your question even more as you raised a brow. 

Wednesday sighed, standing up from her chair. “Sulking and complaining to Ajax or Divina,” She explained, leading you out of the window by giving your forehead a gentle flick. You mouthed an ‘oh’ shape, knowing where that would lead to. Your mind wandered if Ajax could comfort Enid in such a way, because, knowing him — it would be an easy yet ineffective display, mostly because of his tiny, little serpents. 

The scent of Wednesday Addams attained your senses, though, the spinning of the glass window in front of you distracted it. You can see a new addition to the dorm; a giant detective board, with pictures of disgusting pieces of body parts, it almost made you drop and vomit. Almost, not until Wednesday inquired with a furrowed brow (you could tell); “Why is it your concern?” 

You turned, glancing to the back of her head. Walking up to her was easy, taking mental note not to stand too far nor too close, figuring that Wednesday didn’t like close and intimate proximities. “She was upset that Yoko got an allergic reaction again.” You answered truthfully. You saw her shake gently. A swift chance of courage shook your presence. “I also came here to talk to you actually.” 

Wednesday’s mouth dropped into a firm line, almost frowning. Her solemn face returned, however, when she looked at you. “Make it quick.” She commanded. 

You beamed, wings fluttering in excitement, and Wednesday knew it was going to be a long talk, or night, if you made your move. You propped yourself up at the balcony, sitting comfortably, your eyes straightforward. “Don’t you admire your parent’s love for each other?” 

Wednesday is right, she mentally prepared herself for her own upcoming answer, a tiny voice in her throat buried itself until she gave it full thought. “I do, why?” 

You bit your inner cheeks, nodding to your side, as you cleared your throat. “Their love is called Pragma; long standing love.” Shifting your sentences to something less obvious isn’t something you had me mind. “They might’ve had a friendship too, which is Philia.” 

Wednesday raised her brows, an inquiry isn’t something she’ll speak out in these conversations. But then again, she is an Addams, her opinions most likely matter because of the pressure that she instills on them. “Friendship? Before marriage, there’s… friendship?” She tried not to show the hesitant tone that concluded her sentence, a rushed tone dragged the tension. 

You shook your head in a ‘no’, pushing your hair behind your ear. “Not just before marriage, no. It’s something you have before any type of romance.” Without the knowledge of whose dropping these words but you, yourself, obliged you to speak more. Wednesday seemed confounded in your knowledge, conflict reached blood, as it ran cold. 

The thought of you having experienced a friendship that turned into… whatever her parents had, or, as you called it; Philia and Pragma. She had to admit, bearing that sight is a nightmare. 

Grabbing your wrists, Wednesday stood in front of you, holding your waist as you involuntarily yelped without the support of your hand on the cold marble. Her fingers dug into your side, into your jacket, as her eyes trailed in confusion. The girl in front of you blinked, a stricken flick of anger visible in her expressions. “Have you ever loved someone like that?” Wednesday inquired, glancing up at you, she held your gaze, before averting her own. 

The pacing of your heart quickened, lup-dup, lup-dub, lup-dub, lup-dub, lup-dub. Without the huffed breaths, you would’ve fallen in peace. You were certain Wednesday couldn’t catch you, so you managed to stay alive. Taking a breath and moving closer, inch to inch with Wednesday Addams; nose nuzzled, minty breath of yours, mixed with the scent of… coffee? Something of the sort, you couldn’t tell due to your proximity. “You.” 

Surprisingly, Wednesday didn’t back away when you stepped in closer, she only closed the gap that accompanied the two of you. Catching your lips into hers, moving in sync with your own. Her other hand accompanied your lower back, rubbing it in circles. Your hands found freedom in her jaw, cold fingers against it, underlining the perfect structure. 

Wednesday pulled away, catching her breath, forehead against yours. She gave your lips another peck, which you reciprocated. Your eyes gently shut, recalling the last of what you could see was Wednesday’s half-shut eyes. A flooding warm of heat pulled your stomach down as she deepened the kiss. 

Ecstasy engulfed you and (hopefully) Wednesday. 

Forgetting that breathing existed is something you would’ve never forgotten, afterall, not after this. You needed air although worry didn’t cross your mind, not once, when this is happening. Nothing could be processed actually. The only thoughts that occupy your mind is Wednesday, Wednesday, Wednesday, Wednesday. 

You pulled away, chest heaving up and down for breaths, a still laugh erupting from your throat. “Who taught you how to kiss like that?” You asked, cockiness reached your lips, quirking upwards into a smile. You were pulled up with a jerk of her shoulders, diminishing the cruelty that settled on your lips, which were puffy and pink now. 

Wednesday settled in a firm hug, burying her face into your jacket. A quiet sniffle of laughter carefully rolled out of your tongue. She wrinkled her nose, bringing her chin to your shoulders. She responded, bringing her head up. “My parents, they always kiss in front me and my brother.” 

You nodded in understanding, a hum vibrating your chest in response. You closed your eyes in the warmth of her body near you, feeling a tug of your jacket with her fingers. The exposure of your warm, clothed skin to the wind did not make you please. Not until Wednesday’s mouth found closure in your skin, her warm tongue and soft lips sucking on it carefully. 

This made your eyes open in shock, a kept groan couldn’t contain itself, leaving your mouth with no permission. “Addams,” You meekly called, averting your eyes to the side, though, your head jerked up; giving her more skin to attack. “Someone- someone will notice.” You warned, fingers circling her back as an attempt to call after her. 

Wednesday obliged. Though, she smirked at it, noticing the bruise, pulling your jacket back to its place in your neck. A glimpse of visible purple marks accompanied it. An audible groan left your mouth, hiding your face to the side, as your wings wrapped the two of you. “What?” She asked, closely inspecting the wrapped wings that shook slightly. “Be thankful it’s not your lips, it would’ve been far worse.” She concluded. 

Goosebumps overtook your body. Jumping down from your spot, cautious as to not step on Wednesday. You hugged her closely. “What are we now?” 

Wednesday raised a brow, you were sure a tender smile attended her features. “Pragma and Philia, as you said.” 

♡ PLEASE LIKE AND REBLOG TO SUPPORT ME.

[arialerendeair]

Dreamling Week is here!

For those of you who don’t know what that means? I have approximately 980 posts scheduled for the next 7 days, starting in… two hours.

The tags on every single post, if you wish to avoid them, are as follows:

#Dreamling

#Dreamling Week

#Dreamling Week 2024

One of those are what you’re going to want to block if you do not want your dash flooded with Dreamling content.

I will be reblogging more throughout the week, and can pretty much guarantee I will hit post limit on a day or two, spread out throughout the day. I will continue using the same tags to the best of my ability.

Love you all, and for those of you following me for Dreamling? Get ready for the most glorious onslaught you have ever faced. Minimum of 6 posts, every hour, for the next 7 days.

(And I’m not the only one!!)

Happy Dreamling Week everyone!!

(Want to participate? More info over on the @mr-sadman blog!!)

[unremarkablehouse]

Respite

PG |MSR URST| WC 1183| AO3

Tagging: @today-in-fic

Summary: Set during S2 Little Green Men, Scully takes Mulder to a motel in Miami to recuperate after they flee Puerto Rico. Once he’s recovered from the dehydration she has some questions regarding his mysterious lunch date.

The air conditioner buzzed in the dark hotel room, blocking out the Miami heat but blowing the blinds just enough to let slithers of light in. He should be sleeping, between the dehydration and the state he was in when Scully found him, a hospital stay with some fluids would have been the smarter choice. Then again, if Mulder had made smarter decisions he wouldn’t be lying in a budget motel with his favorite redhead using his chest as her own personal body pillow and taped evidence of UFOs.

“You’re not sleeping? Are you feeling nauseous again? Drink your fluids.”

Mumbled from his chest Scully blindly reached for his Gatorade concoction on the bedside table and pushed it on him. With a slight chuckle, Mulder obediently drank, he knew not to argue with a sleepy Dr Scully, especially seeing she had just saved his life and risked herself for no other reason than to help him.

“I’m okay Scully, the sunlight just woke me up I think. Go back to sleep.”

Putting the empty bottle on the bedside table, Mulder gently stroked Scully’s hair and let out a yawn. ‘Why did she come?’ His brain was now fixated on that question and he couldn’t stop churning it over in his mind. They were no longer Partners and he had not been a particularly good friend to her since The X Files was shut down.

“Mulder, what’s wrong? You’re tensing up, are you feeling nauseous?”

Sitting up to look at him, Scully inspected his pupils, gently running her hands through his hair more than was medically necessary.

“Why are you here Scully?”

Scully’s eyes crinkled in confusion and a frown formed on her lips.

“I was worried about you. I didn’t know what trouble you got yourself into- I just thought you might need me.”

Grabbing her hand with his Mulder slowly made eye contact with Scully, letting her see the vulnerability in his eyes without the usual mask of deflection he normally wore as a defense mechanism.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had a friend like you- if ever. Scully, I’m sorry I’ve been an ass, I didn’t want to risk something happening to you. It was stupid, thank you for being here.”

Nestling back down on Mulder’s chest, Scully made herself comfortable as she replied.

“You’re welcome Mulder, but no more clandestine outings in D.C ok?”

“Fine.”

“Your heart rate has slowed down and your breathing is a lot less labored now, I think the hydration solution is working.”

With a smile Mulder scoffed.

“No, I think it’s just having you here. For the first time in months I feel this overarching sense that things are going to be okay. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I also have this strange urge to protect you.”

With her eyes still closed, a feint smile was the only hint that gave her amusement away.

“That’s not surprising Mulder, studies have shown that our bodies are wired to respond to physical contact after a traumatic event, the autonomic nervous system floods the body with hormones to help deactivate the flight or fight reflexes. As for the impulse to protect me, I assume that’s just a latent Neanderthal complex.”

Mulder’s body vibrated with a chuckle, holding Scully closer to him as he replied.

“Keep talking like that Scully and I won’t be clubbing you and bringing you back to my cave.”

“Don’t worry Mulder, if someone breaks in here you can flail at them with your club while I grab my gun and shoot them.”

“My protector!”

A silence fell over the room and Mulder marveled at how much he missed this playful banter with Scully. Her sharp wit always kept him on his toes he mused, as he brushed an errant strain of hair off her face.

“Speaking of potential threats Mulder, you got a call from a woman while I was at your apartment. She seemed pretty mad; you stood her up for your lunch date?”

Scully was proud that her voice had managed to make her inquiry sound casual, but she was very interested in the details. Mulder tried to fein obliviousness for a moment but the moment he looked into Scully’s sharp eyes he knew she wasn’t buying it and crumbled.

“Oh, that was Becky from forensic accounting.”

This got Scully’s attention and she bolted upright.

“Wait, you asked Becky out?! You know she stole my lunch Mulder!”

Trying to hide his amusement at Scully’s reaction, Mulder held his hands up in defense.

“It was just yogurt-”

“It had my name on it and she ate it in front of me! What kind of person does that? Seriously, of all the people at the FBI, I can’t believe you asked her out.”

Scully punctuated her rant with a hard shove on Mulder’s shoulder, and moved away from him on the bed. With a glare she violently grabbed the pillow under his head and took it for herself as she turned her back to him. With a hard thud Mulder’s head hit the bed, and he couldn’t help but be amused by Scully’s reaction, he liked that this bothered her. Rolling over to invade Scully’s space, Mulder tried to gently touch Scully’s arm but she pulled away dramatically.

“It’s not like that Scully. I needed a cover for my trip, so I asked her to lunch to throw anyone off the trail because she's not discreet and would tell half the Hoover building we had plans.”

Mulder rolled back, lying flat on the bed and letting his words sink in.

“Wait, you asked her out to lunch knowing you were going to stand her up?”

“Well, you told me she stole your yogurt- ”

“Mulder! She sounded really pissed, what are you going to say when you see her?”

“I’ll say ‘sorry’, and if that doesn’t work maybe you can shoot her?”

“Deal.”

With a chuckle Scully handed Mulder back the pillow and resumed her position of lying on his chest. It took only seconds for her to start feeling the sweet pull of sleep calling her.

“Hey Scully-“

Knowing he wouldn’t stop unless she acknowledged him Scully uttered a reply.

“Yeah…”

“I love you.”

“Thanks Mulder. Maybe, I’d love you more if you shut up so we could get some sleep.”

With a snort Mulder acknowledged her request but she could feel he wasn’t finished yet.

“Can you get me the 2inch player from Quantico Monday? I want you to be there when I play you back what I heard, it was crazy!”

“Yes Mulder, but don’t get your hopes up, there was a lot of electrical discharge in the room. We don’t know if the recording was ok or what we can even do with it.”

“I know, I just want you to hear it.”

“Mulder. Sleep.”

“Fine. At least I know not to eat your yogurt.”

“Don’t make me shoot you.”

And with that they both fell into a heavy sleep, their bodies strung out on adrenaline, needing to fuel up for whatever awaited them at home.

[cottoncandyswirl828]

Zuma Appreciation Week: Day 6 - Favorite Vehicle

I honestly never gave much thought to which vehicle was my favorite, so this is another one I had to think about for a minute. Ultimately, the title of favorite Zuma vehicle has to go to the Adventure City Hovercraft. A hovercraft is just a super cool vehicle in my opinion, and the Adventure City version can separate into a submarine and a life raft, which is just such a clever and unique upgrade to the hovercraft’s original submarine mode that really makes the Adventure City hovercraft stand out against the rest of Zuma’s vehicles. That means that for today’s prompt, we’re headed to the big city!

“Hey guys! Great to have you all back in Adventure City!”

“Great to be back, Liberty.” Ryder replied, “Skye’s been looking forward to this trip for awhile now.”

“Hey girl!” Skye called as she practically bounced out of the Paw Patroller, “You ready to hit the town? I heard there’s this big arcade that just opened downtown.”

“Heck yeah! I’ve been dying to go there! They say it’s the biggest arcade in the city!”

“Would you girls mind if I tag along?” Zuma asked, “It sounds like a ton of fun.”

“Sure! From what Skye has told me, you’ve got quite the competitive streak. I don’t mean to brag. But I do hold the high score in every game at the old arcade restaurant by the park.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Maybe…”

So, Liberty brought Skye and Zuma to the brand-new Adventure City Mega Arcade, and boy was it mega. A two story building decked out in enough neon lights to been seen from space, with a food-court, laser-tag arena, and according to the advertisements ‘Over five hundred games for countless hours of fun!’ Zuma had half a mind to try and count all the games in the arcade to see if that statement was actually true.

Skye was immediately drawn to the Pup Pup Boogie machine: Pup Pup Boogielution, while Liberty and Zuma made a beeline for every competitive game they could find.

“I’m gonna crush you AND these Wack-a-Moles, Zuma!”

“Oh, racing games are my JAM! Prepare to eat my dust, Liberty!

“That No.1 highscore slot is mine!”

“I’ll wipe out these aliens before you even get the chance to reload!”

“How you like them apples, water pup?”

“Get owned, wiener dog!”

The two pups were racking up tickets so fast they could probably sell out the prize shop if they wanted to, but the amount of tickets they were winning was the last thing on either of their minds.

However, a beep from their pup-tags stopped both the pups in their tracks.

“Paw Patrol, to the Pup Tower!” Ryder’s voice called from their communicators, so Liberty, Zuma, and Skye raced out of the arcade and met up with the other pups in the Tower’s elevator, where Marshall crashed into the others with his usual clumsy flair.

“Talk about a metro-fall-a-ton!”

The pups laughed as they rode the elevator to the observatory, where Ryder was waiting.

“Alright, pups, we’ve got a big mission on our hands. The waterway connecting Adventure City’s river to the ocean has been blocked, causing the river to flood. We need to clear the waterway before it causes any more flooding. Zuma, I’ll need you and your submarine to clear whatever may be blocking the water flow, we’ll also need your rescue raft to help anyone who’s been swept away in the river.”

“Let’s dive in!”

“Marshall, you’ll be in Zuma’s rescue raft to search for anyone caught up in the floodwaters and administer first-aid if necessary.”

“I’m ready for a ruff-ruff rescue!”

“And Chase, I need you to secure the perimeter of the flood zone and handle crowd control.”

“Chase in on the case!”

“Everyone else, stand by in case we need more help. Paw Patrol is on a roll!”

The three pups followed Ryder to the deployment room, howling with delight as they were launched down the ramp and onto the streets. Zuma would never admit it out loud, but a part of him was always really happy whenever they got a mission in Adventure City, he loved the excitement and thrill of getting launched at roughly 50 miles an hour. It was moments like that that made him love his job all the more.

It wasn’t long before they got to the flooded river. The water had already risen past the banks of the canal, spilling water onto the nearby streets, so Chase immediately got to work closing off the roads and redirecting traffic.

Zuma drove his hovercraft off the edge of the river, separating it into his submarine and rescue raft as he dove into the water with Marshall right behind him to man the raft.

As Marshall scanned the water for civilians, Zuma headed downstream to locate the blockade. If Zuma remembered correctly, the river was connected to the ocean via the sewer system, which was probably where the blockage was. Fortunately, the river entrance to the sewer was pretty big, so Zuma had no trouble getting inside.

The sewers were completely flooded, and the first thing Zuma noticed as he entered was the large amount of garbage and debris floating around. There had been a lot of rain in the city recently, so it was likely the garbage was washed into the sewers from the storm drains. He’ll have to talk with Rocky later about improving the city’s waste management, maybe a system to catch the garbage as it fell into the storm drains, but that was a problem they could tackle later, right now he needed to focus on the task at hand.

Zuma’s eyes widened as he turned a corner, slamming on the breaks to avoid hitting the literal wall of trash in front of him.

“So this is what’s blocking the water. Yeesh, this city sure makes a lot of trash. I’m gonna need some back-up.” Zuma reached for his pup-tag, “Ryder, I’ve found what’s blocking the waterway. A bunch of trash got clumped together and got stuck inside the sewer. I’m gonna need some type of net or something to collect all the trash in.”

“Great work, Zuma. I’ll have Chase meet you at the sewer entrance with one of his nets, do you think that’ll work?”

“That should do the trick.”

After meeting up with Chase and getting the net he needed, Zuma dove back into the sewer and used his submarine’s claw arms to start collecting the trash. It was a long and tedious process due to the sheer amount of garbage, but after awhile of chipping away at the trash wall, he managed to break through to the other side, creating a swift current that pulled him along through the sewers.

“Woah! Ryder, I’ve cleared the garbage. The water is rushing pretty fast, so make sure everyone is out of the river.”

“Got it. You okay, Zuma?”

“Yeah, I’m good, just going for a little joyride in the rapids. I’ll meet you on the other side.”

It was a pretty rough ride as he was carried through the sewers, but Zuma had plenty of experience with rough waters and was able to keep his sub under control until he was spat out into the ocean, along with the rest of the trash.

“Whew, talk about a wild ride.”

Zuma made his way to the Adventure City beach, where Ryder and Rocky were waiting for him.

“Great job, Zuma,” Ryder applauded, “Rocky can take your sub to clean up the rest of the trash while you get your rescue raft from Marshall.”

“Thanks Ryder, though, are you sure Rocky knows how to drive my sub?”

Rocky just shrugged, “Eh, how hard can it be?”

Zuma went silent.

“… Rocky, so help me, if you crash my sub, you’re gonna be washing my pup-pack for a month. And believe me, that thing is a pain in the tail to clean.”

[sunnygirl27]

I just wanted to let you know your feelings are 100% valid and your observations about the fan are entirely correct. I will say the way I have avoided her photos (bc I too have gotten sick of the tag and my feed being full of her) is my filtering out her name as a tag. It’s reduced her occurrence on showing up on my feed 99% and if it does show up it blocks it out and warns me that her tag is mentioned. Hopefully that helps you!!

Thank you very much love ❤️

For most of the time, it helps to filter her out by blocking her tag. But whenever he has a surge of new content like yesterday, people don’t tag her and any Chris evans tag is flooded with her. At least it seems that way to me in the spaces I’m in but I can understand others might have different perspectives. But I appreciate you and your suggestions!

[dearestsilhouette]

Hey hey! [Intro post number. I don’t even know at this point lmao]

Hihi! The name’s uh. many things, but I mostly go by Silhouette, Koi or Star(dust(ed))! You can see more things (which includes pronouns, other names / nicknames, honorifics and more) here if you want. Not required, but it’d be appreciated if you at least checked it out!

/\/\/\☆/\/\/\

I do NOT accept donation / advertisement asks. I am very, very much afraid of answering an ask and it being scam. Now, I’ll never straight up block you for sending asks unless you’re doing it repetitively and purposefully, I’ll just remove the ask and leave it be, but just keep this in mind.

/\/\/\☆/\/\/\

To get it over with quick, here’s a DNI, Thin Ice and BYI list.

DNI: - If you’re on any basic DNI list - If your blog is 18+, NSFW / NSFT, minors DNI, etc - If your blog is centered around any kind of discourse - If you enforce or heavily pressure your religion onto others - If you actively support something or someone that is inherently wrong - If you support AI art - If I blocked you (I blocked you for a reason. <3) - Selfcest shippers (Selfcest makes me EXTREMELY uncomfortable.) [Note that this may change overtime, and that I do NOT support Blushcrunch (Creators of Dandy’s World) or Groink (Creator of AIB) for their actions. I simply like what they have created and interact with content made by other fans.]

THIN ICE: - If you ship mirrormystery / Rodger x Glisten (I personally hc them as siblings and dislike this ship heavily. I don’t care if you do ship it, just don’t bring it up around me, please.) - If you ship host x contestant (It generally makes me uncomfy for some reason I can’t describe well. I don’t mind if you ship anything of the sort as long as it ain’t problematic, just don’t bring it up to me pls.) [This may be updated in the future. This is all I have for now.]

BYI / NOTES: - I am a minor! This is extremely important. Don’t be weird or you’re getting blocked, especially if you’re an adult. - I most likely have anger / emotional issues and I can get extremely emotional and pissed off pretty quick. I’m sorry if I cause anything bad to happen because my emotions are extremely chaotic and basically control how I act n stuff. - I am a huuuge mess, and a ping pong ball is constantly bouncing around in my brain - I probably have adhd, more specifically hyperactive impulsive adhd. I am not diagnosed (though I really want to get diagnosed), but I have done a decent amount of research to assume this, so please keep that in mind. - Tone tags are essentially my life support. Please use them or some other indicator for tone, since I can’t understand it unless it’s very blatantly being shoved in my face. - Anything I hyperfixate on something, you’re 100% going to notice by my reblogs. I will flood your page lol - I will like and mass reblog posts a lot!! If you don’t like this, please let me know. - At times, I will randomly condense my speech. If you can’t understand, I’ll fix that! - I refer to characters I really like or relate to a lot as “me”, especially Pitchfork from AIB and Razzle and Dazzle from Dandy’s World. If you ever have a problem with this, PLEASE let me know. I myself am not a fictionkin, fictive or anything of the sort, so if this ever becomes a problem to you I’ll change it asap. - I can’t read things right sometimes. Be patient with me I’ll get it eventually lmao

/\/\/\☆/\/\/\

I use my own personal tags when making posts every once in a while! These tags will be listed below.

-.River’s shenanigans (Kind of a shitposting tag. Basically just dumb or silly things I post.) - River’s art (My art tag! NOT TO BE USED BY AI.) - River’s ask responses (My responses to things I get in my inbox!) - River’s thoughts (Kind of a vent tag atp, originally and sometimes used as a marker to indicate that I’m posting about things on my mind. Not used often.) - River’s writing (My writing! Read TWs on posts if needed.)

/\/\/\☆/\/\/\

Fandoms, interests and hyperfixations! I’m in quite a few communities in the moment. Some of these are:

-.Object shows (more specifically AIB) - Dandy’s World - Just Shapes n Beats - The Pink Corruption (I consider them two different things. If you don’t like this, don’t fight me over it; just DNI and move on, please.) - Pikuniku (Is there even a Pikuniku fandom-?) - Bugbo - Sprunki - Pressure - Blocktales - The Robloxia: Until Dawn

/\/\/\☆/\/\/\

Lastly, here’s a few funky lil userboxes. Thank you for reading! [Credits to the userboxes in order: 1 (me!), 2, 3, 4, 5, 6]

/\/\/\☆/\/\/\

Preferably like / interact with this post if you’ve read it, but I’m not forcin ya.

[idolatrybarbie]

pairing: marcus pike x alex dozie (fem!OC)

word count & rating: 1.9k | mature

summary: meet marcus. err, i mean—congressman pike.

tags: angst, takes place in 2024, background american politics, lovers to exes to uh?, angst, heavy petting but no smut, previous relationship, alex ice bitch moments (but it's justified and i will fight to the death for her).

tags & notes: @atinylittlepain @amanitacowboy | this is a scheduled post - I'm still away. Please enjoy this pithy little bitch in my absence.

Rain. It’s been raining in D.C. for the past eight days with no end in sight. Homes flooded, whole blocks evacuated as basements fill with rainwater all around the city. The leading story of this twenty-four hour news cycle is if a bulging spot in the White House’s East Wing ceiling will break and flood the office of the First Lady.

The town car, sleek with water droplets, pulls up to the cubic brick building. When the vehicle halts next to the sidewalk, Marcus nods at his driver.

“Thanks, Hal,” he says.

“Would you like me to pull around back, sir?”

“No need. Take the rest of the day off.”

“Sir?”

“I’ll be a while,” Marcus says. “Don’t worry about it.”

He gets out of the car without another word. Oxfords don’t take too well to the rain. He makes his way through puddles gathered on the granite and marble walkway quickly. The guard at the door nods at him, shoulders dry beneath the building’s overhang when he opens the door for Marcus. Sorry, Congressman Pike.

Inside, the walls are mostly wood paneled. Stuffy and dated. Glancing around the place through her eyes as he makes his way, he knows that must be all she can see.

She’d want glass, Marcus thinks. Windows, disregarding the safety concerns.

She would say something like, “This is an office for the people. Why is it hidden from them?”

That’s what Marcus loves about her.

When he reaches the office he’s searching for, he stops at the receptionist’s desk. The man sat behind it is undeniably pretty, teeth perfectly white in the polite smile he flashes. 

He asks, “Here to see Ms. Dozie, sir?”

Marcus nods, giving him a yes.

“You must be Congressman Pike.” He holds out his hand. Not shocking the kid knows him generally—he is a public figure—but surprising that he knows him and works for her.

Maybe she talks about me.

“Marcus is fine,” Marcus tells the man, shaking it.

“Cameron Temple,” he returns. “She’s through the second door that way.”

Marcus heads in the direction that Cameron points him to, squaring his shoulders when the first door closes behind him. He doesn’t have to knock on the second, wide open already. Alex sits behind a desk—grand and sturdy, dark European oak. She’s pouring over documents with a pen, scribbling in different places every few seconds. Silently, Marcus walks to the doorway and leans against the jamb.

She looks different. An image refined. Marcus observes the simple blazer draped over the back of her chair, the loose neckline of her blouse. She’s grown into herself since leaving the campaign. Since leaving him.

“Your hair’s different,” Marcus finally says.

Eyes still on the page she’s annotating, Alex says, “We’re going to ignore that that’s the first thing you’ve decided to say to a Black woman and pretend you just said hi.”

When she looks up at him, dark braids frame the sides of her face. Marcus remembers her straight bangs, or the flowing pin curls she wore to his swearing in ceremony. A different life. A different woman. And yet they’re both Alex Dozie all the same.

“Alex,” he says, stepping over the threshold of her office.

“Marcus,” she returns. Then she corrects herself. “Congressman. What brings you to the Capitol?”

Is it too straightforward to tell her that it’s her? Well, maybe not entirely. He’s been appointed to a congressional committee. His introductory hearing is tomorrow. But Marcus came here first. That has to count for something.

“Here for the energy and commerce meeting. Thought I’d stop by,” Marcus says.

“Well thanks for saying hi,” Alex says.

“Alex…”

“What?”

Glancing back at the door, Marcus pushes at it. They both watch as it closes. Clicking shut, he says, “It’s good to see you.”

“Sure it is,” Alex says. “What do you want Marcus?”

“To talk to you. Catch up. You never called.”

“I left.”

“I’m aware,” Marcus says. “You just—you disappeared.”

“I didn’t disappear. You won the election and I found a new job,” Alex says.

“Before resigning your old one.”

“I gave you my letter.”

“Through an aide,” Marcus counters. “You told some twenty-something intern to leave it on my desk.”

“And you knowing that means you got it. Good, great. Glad we could clear that up.”

“Why are you being like this?”

“Being like what, Marcus?” Alex asks. “You won. You are one of the one hundred and eighteen people to ever represent the state of Vermont in the United States House of Congress. You got what you wanted. Somewhere along the way, I played a small part to make that happen. What else do you want from me?”

Alex had been his press secretary, quick-thinking with undeniable charm hiding behind that Howard law degree. She was more than that, though. Lonely evenings at the campaign office turned into late night drinks with a new friend, and then something more. Marcus was in love; stupidly, wildly. He had hoped that she was too. And then she left, and there was no hope left for him to wonder. 

“I need to know why,” he says. “Why you left.”

Alex takes in a breath, brows raising as her nose scrunches. Marcus has seen her do that a million times, making that face whenever a reporter threw her a particularly stupid question. They aren’t a team anymore. He’s on the outside looking in. Marcus has been reduced to the level of everyone else.

“It doesn’t matter why I left. You didn’t need me anymore,” Alex says.

“That’s not true. You know that's not true,” Marcus says. “We could have found you a job somewhere. You could’ve kept your old one!”

“Maybe I just got tired. The sneaking around, sex in dark corners. Hiding in the backseat of your car when someone parked theirs in the garage. What is that? What was that supposed to mean for me?”

“You’re telling me that you couldn’t see into our future?” Marcus asks.

“What future? The one where I’m your smart, but not too smart, pretty-for-a-Black-girl trophy wife? You’re lauded in the press for marrying a woman of colour and I get to sit outside the door while the big boys plot your path to the Governor’s mansion. Is that it? Do you think that’s what I want, Marcus?”

“I thought you wanted me. Us,” he says. Marcus’ eyes are soft circles now, sorrow plain on his face. A wounded animal waiting for the killing blow.

“Things don’t work like that,” Alex says, eyes glued to the floor. She’s trying to keep the tears at bay, pursing her lips hard in the way Marcus remembers. She hates crying in front of other people. Said it feels like dying inside. “It doesn’t matter what I wanted. I have to work twice as hard—”

“For half of what I have,” Marcus says. “I know.”

“Then why are you here?” Alex asks again, barely a whisper.

“Does it matter that I loved you? That I always did?” he asks.

Eyes watering, she fixes her gaze to the ceiling. Anywhere but on him. “Please stop.”

Marcus takes three steps closer to her. The closest he’s been in fourteen months, not that he’s keeping count. “Alex—”

“Please.”

A tear slips and falls, rolling down her cheek. Marcus wipes it away on instinct, thumb grazing her skin. It takes a moment for her to flinch away from his touch, walking back around the desk to put space between them. He doesn’t follow, respecting the physical boundary.

“I’m sorry to ambush you here. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Phone call. Letter, hell, telegram?” Alex options. “It’s been a year. You should have moved on.”

“Have you?”

The question is loaded; a pistol full of bullets that he’s openly handing her. Alex looks at it, weighing her options. Her answer really just might kill him.

“No,” she says quietly. “Everything has been so busy and…” Alex starts talking, reorganizing a stack of files at the corner of her desk. She doesn’t seem to notice Marcus rounding the corner of it and walking over to her side until she turns and he’s right there in front of her.

They’ve been in this exact position before. She’s swapped the pencil skirts for dress pants and the suits he can afford to wear these days are much nicer. This close, her breath icy against his lips from the gum she chews to focus, Marcus can sense that nothing has truly changed. Everything else is mere set dressing. Whatever is between them is still what it says on the tin.

“I’d like to kiss you,” Marcus says. He falters a half-step, giving Alex the chance to slip away. An out.

All she does is nod, says, “Okay.”

The kiss is hard. Teeth and spit clash and mix as Marcus gently sits her down at the very edge of her desk. The thought of her desk does something to him, cock stirring in his expensive pants. Assistant District Attorney in the office of the nation’s capital. A powerful woman, Alex is finally getting what she deserves. He kind of likes the idea of her telling him what to do, too.

She breaks up the kiss with a gentle hand to his chest. “We can’t do this here.”

Marcus takes a moment to scold his disappointment, keeping his face neutral. “Right,” he blinks. “Right, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Alex says. He sees a flash of the woman he used to know when she speaks. “I just—it’s my office. Cameron’s right outside.”

Slowly, Marcus backs away from her. Alex rearranges her top, putting it back in place. She looks gorgeous. More comfortable in her own skin than Marcus has ever seen her. The shyness she’d shown everyone when they first met is what drew him to her, but discovering the bold woman behind the meek facade is what had him tripping over himself.

“Your secretary is kind of hot,” Marcus says, trying to slice through any tension.

Alex lets out a big laugh, face splitting into a smile as she sucks in a harsh breath. “He’s the receptionist,” she says. “He’s a good kid. Does his job, makes sure I don’t look like an idiot in court.”

“You could never look like an idiot,” Marcus says.

“You need to stop that,” but there’s no force in her tone. Alex’s words are playful, the finger pointing at him more teasing than accusatory.

Something kicks in—an instinct or a sudden thought. The smile falls from her face, hands at her sides as Alex clears her throat. It’s like her brain has enacted the disciplinary protocols to shut down any experience of joy. Marcus watches it all play out on her face in an instant.

He beats her to the punch. “I should go.”

“You should,” she agrees.

“It was…good to see you, Alex,” Marcus says.

“Likewise, Congressman Pike.”

The wall is up again. That glimpse of the woman he knew was only that.

She’s right. Things have changed. Alex has changed. It’s been a year. Marcus should have moved on.

Without another word, he opens the door and leaves. Cameron is on the phone when he passes by, walking quickly through the building. A race into the rain. Surprisingly, the car Marcus arrived in is still parked at the curb when he gets outside. With the harsh beat in his chest, Marcus can’t find it in him to get even a little bit annoyed that he wasn’t listened to.

He pulls the back passenger door open himself, shielding his face from the rain with the sleeve of his suit jacket.

“You’re still here,” Marcus says.

“I figured you would still need a ride, sir,” Hal tells him. There's a tell in his tone, a knowing that Marcus can't shake.

“Right,” Marcus nods. “Well, thank you. We can go back to the hotel now.”