#and actually making things you care about

[starmocha]

Pillow Talk [Caleb/Reader ★ 2008 words ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] “Why are you wearing my boxers?” A/N: 😔 Me the other day, actually… [Approximately 2 PM on a random week day] Me: *doing 2 PM work things, being a Good Employee™* My Brain: Wearing Caleb’s boxers to sleep Me: YES MA’AM ON IT 🫡🫡🫡 Tag list: @miudle @alfredosaws @nezukoo-channn @voidsylus @rose-tinted-kalopsia @valkyyriia @natimiles 【 request to be added 】

“Look at you…”

You felt the warmth of the bed cover pulled back, the sudden cool air made you shivered and curled up in bed. Still cold, you reluctantly opened your bleary eyes to find the cause of the sudden temperature change. You blinked your eyes a few times, allowing them to slowly adjust to the darkness that surrounded you. Although it took a few seconds for your vision to focus, you made out a familiar form in front of you.

“…Caleb?”

“Sorry, pipsqueak,” he said, his hair still dripping wet from his shower, the water droplets dampening the simple white t-shirt he wore along with a pair of navy-blue cotton pajama bottoms.

Caleb’s own eyes gazed at you, drifting down and lingering a few seconds appreciatively at the sight of the white lacy bralette you wore before he took notice of the familiar bottoms you had on. He huffed, feeling a strange mixture of emotions simultaneously, ranging from exasperation to amusement, but also with the faintest hint of arousal.

“They’re too big on you,” he said simply.

“I don’t care,” you responded defiantly, making Caleb chuckled in amusement at your cheek tone. He playfully poked your nose, your face scrunching up immediately in annoyance. You wriggled your nose at him, sighing exasperatedly, “Caleb…”

“Hm?”

You scooted over in bed, making room for him next to you. When he didn’t react, you batted your eyelashes playfully at him, his resolve weakened instantly as he gave in to your whims. Sighing, Caleb climbed into bed, settling comfortably on his side as he leaned over, his body just barely hovering above yours.

“So,” he drawled, his head tilted downwards and one of his hands already reaching for the waistband of your bottoms, “Why are you wearing my boxers?”

“Because I like them.”

“This girl…”

“I like everything of yours.”

“Clearly,” he said, tugging the boxers lower, his eyes gleaming at the intimate sight hidden beneath.

You stopped him. “Ca-Caleb…!”

“Hm?” He smiled at you in the darkness. Within seconds, he was gasping when you pushed him back, allowing him to sit fully upright with his back resting against the headboard, and he watched with intrigue as you climbed on top of him until you straddled him comfortably. He sighed again, “Your way then, pipsqueak?”

He breathed in sharply when he fully felt you over his pajama bottoms. “…you’re drenched,” he said, voice soft, his arousal becoming stronger. One hand cradled your chin, thumb brushing over your lips, and his eyes darkened with desire as he scrutinized your every feature. He appeared to struggle to remain composed, his voice a little hoarser than intended as he questioned you, “…what were you dreaming about?”

“You.”

“Me.”

“Uh huh.”

In Caleb’s mind, such brazen teasing meant that you were ready for anything he had in store. In seconds, you felt yourself instantly pulled closer to him, realizing belatedly that he had used his Evol to manipulate the gravity around you. There was no time to think or react, your lips suddenly crashed upon his, the intensity of his kisses stealing away your breath, your heart racing at lightning speed as you struggled to keep up with him.

“Tell me about your dream,” he mumbled lazily, the sounds and feel of his kisses were making you squirmed on top of him, and though his large calloused hands were on your hips, he didn’t appear to be too bothered enough to stop you from moving around. If anything, it felt like he was encouraging you.

“Mmm…” It took you a few seconds to register his words, your sleep-addled mind was barely alert, or at the very least, it was only able to focus on the feel of his member hardening beneath you. You instinctively grinded against it, making Caleb hissed in pleasure. His fingers dug into your flesh and you startled, realizing what was happening. Panting softly, you mumbled evasively, “…I don’t remember…”

“Liar,” he rebuked. He laughed off your pout. “You said it was about me…what was I doing in your dream?”

“Spending time with me.”

“Yeah? Like right now?” He humored you, clearly catching on quicker than you would have liked. It wasn’t surprising really, since it seemed Caleb always did know you better than even yourself.

You whimpered, feeling him just barely thrusting up, the thin cotton fabric not enough of a barrier to keep you from feeling him.

“Ca-Caleb…”

You guided his hands to the waistband of the boxers you wore—his, your brain mercilessly reminded you, fueling your steadily growing arousal—and with your silent permission, Caleb made quick work of pulling them down and discarding them off to the side of the bed.

“My boxers looked good on you,” he husked, his warm breath against your neck, your belly doing somersaults as you were more than acutely aware of his presence so close to you and also of his own desires mirroring yours. He continued in that same lazy tone, “But I think you look better without them—Just. Like. This.”

“Ah—!” You gasped, pitch higher than normal, into his neck, your hands gripping tightly his shoulders to ground yourself as you felt his fingers brushing against your sex. Instinctively, you rocked forward, wanting more of his touch against you—inside you—needing more friction than what he was giving you right now.

Your own fingers found their way to his pajama bottoms, tugging on the waistband impatiently. Laughing, he kissed your cheek as he helped you pulled his bottoms down enough to free himself. Eagerly, you rubbed yourself against him, his own aroused pants mingled with your soft moans.

“In-inside me…” you gasped, wanting to just sink down and take all of him in that moment.

That same, playful laughter of his resounded in your ears, piercing through the growing haze of lust that was clouding your mind. Your head was tilted upwards, pulled into another kiss as he happily swallowed all of those cute little needy whimpers you were making. “Not tonight,” he murmured to your frustration.

“Why not?” you demanded, annoyed.

“I kind of like seeing you all frustrated like this,” he admitted unashamedly.

Before you could even protest, he had you reduced to a helpless state, your mind unable to form a single coherent sentence, only able to focus in on the feeling of him suddenly rutting against you, every brush of his cock against your slicked lips had you trembling, begging and pleading for him to actually fuck you, but he ignored your helpless cries, delighting in seeing you fall apart, aching to have his cock fill your needy little pussy.

“Oh god, oh god, please, Caleb, please…!”

“That was a cute sound,” he mumbled in between kisses, his low groans making you craved him even more. “It’s just for me, right?”

You whimpered, practically sobbing, feeling overwhelmed by the desperate need to feel him pounding deeply inside you, but also well aware that the stimulation from him just humping against you was also enough to make you feel your climax quickly approaching.

“Please, Caleb, please, please, please…!”

He was breathing heavily, his control seeming to slip as he took in the sight of you so submissive to your pleasure, just begging him so cutely, he was ready to give in to you. Caleb inhaled sharply, his hands gripping your hips as you rubbed against him harder.

“Pl-please what…pipsqueak?” he asked, voice barely steady, “Want my cock inside you? Want me to fuck you that badly?”

“Ye-yes!”

“Why should I?” he asked, smirking as he continued to mess with you, your immediate whines the reaction he wanted. He grabbed your chin, making you locked eyes with him. His thumb pressed against your lips, his voice low and knowing, “Can’t even use your fucking words.”

“Caleb!” you cried into his shoulder. “Please…please…fuck me! Please fuck me! I need you so badly, Caleb! Please! I want your cock inside me! I need it inside me, Caleb!”

Caleb was panting heavily, his mind reeling in shock, not expecting you to actually beg him with such lewd words. “Damn it,” he groaned, his resolve broken completely in that moment as he felt you trembling on top of him, your desperate pleas unexpectantly turning him on more than he would have thought. He laughed hollowly, resigned, his hands grabbing your hips again. “Alright…you win…pipsqueak…”

You squealed as you felt him lifting you up and then guiding you down on his cock.

“So fucking wet,” he groaned, already setting a rapid pace, “you’re taking me…so well, pipsqueak…it’s like you were…made for me…”

Every thrust up was reaching you where you wanted and needed in that moment, your moans and cries mingled with Caleb’s heavy breathing and groans. He panted, “Your face…looks so erotic, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”

“D-don’t look at me like that—ah!”

As he bounced you on his cock, you were both lost in each other’s eyes, all words gone in that moment as you could only focus on the feel of him thrusting deeply into you, your walls squeezing him, every pulse had him groaning in pleasure, wanting to completely ruin you, make you completely his.

Your eyes squeezed shut, your moans growing in pitch as you felt your pleasure peaking, your cries coming out louder as Caleb started moving faster as he felt you nearing the edge, wanting to see you fall completely apart for him.

“Cum, cum on my cock,” he urged you, the feel of his fingers digging so painfully into your hips a sure sign that there would be bruise marks in the morning. He hissed and gasped, “That’s it…that’s it…good girl…cum...cum for me…”

“Caleb—! I’m…I’m…!”

As you rode out your pleasure, you could still feel Caleb driving himself into you faster and harder, showing no sign of stopping or slowing until his own climax was reached. You squealed as he used you, his hands groping along your body, his lips fumbled against yours and when he grazed his teeth over your shoulder, he finally released inside you, your name spilling from his lips in pure ecstasy.

You fell against him, weightless and spent, quietly sobbing into his chest, completely overstimulated, the lingering pleasure still wracking your body. His arms wrapped around, holding you close to him, safe and secured within his warmth.

“Oh, fuck, look at you,” he groaned, his eyes drifting to where you were both still connected, “So fucking…pretty…covered in my cum.”

You whined against his chest, and he laughed, his hands running up and down your back soothingly. When he pulled out of you, you could feel his release also flowing freely down your thighs.

“Hm, very pretty,” he murmured again, kissing your lips sweetly. He smiled when you responded the same. “So sweet and docile…”

He settled more comfortably in bed, dragging you to lay on top of him. Once again, you felt his familiar hand rubbing your back up and down, the soothing motion alongside his gentle voice quickly worked on lulling you back to sleep.

“Next time, I will spoil you, pipsqueak,” he promised, smiling as you lay against him.

You hummed into his chest happily.

“What do you want for breakfast in the morning?” he asked, his own eyes feeling heavy now as he began to nod off as well.

“Whatever,” you murmured into his chest sleepily.

“Whatever? Alright, I can make whatever,” he said, still able to joke with you. You giggled softly as he continued flippantly, “I can make you something Chinese, I can make you something English, I can make what…ever…”

He yawned in the middle of his sentence, his eyes no longer able to stay opened. As he let them drift close, he smiled again as he watched you fall asleep in his arms. His lips pressed to the top of your head, his mind slipping away into unconsciousness, and he joined you in a peaceful slumber, in a world where it was only just the two of you together—forever.

I can make you happy.

[hhmnya]

ㅤ 𓈒 𓈒　 WITH EASE, in which hyung line helps you with your kid.

( 형 ) fem ! r ㅤ ◦ ㅤ 1632wc fluff ㅤ──ㅤ w jake's reader has twins, sunghoon is a single dad, set kid names in jay and hoon's.

from anna. for fave @junislqve my biggest fan 💌 she gave me a lot of ideas for this ty

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ REBLOGS ´ ᯅ ` FEEDBACK.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ LEE HEESEUNG.

you walk into your apartment, dropping your keys onto the counter as you slip off your coat. your tired expression is replaced with a bright smile when you see heeseung watching tv on your couch. you sit down next to him, gaining just enough energy to ask if your son is asleep.

“yeah, he actually went to bed pretty early today,” he stands, “do you want something to eat? i saved some food for you, i just need to heat it up.”

you nod, watching him walk away before closing your eyes. the exhaustion of your job has finally caught up to you and you might’ve fallen asleep if not for heeseung’s updates about him and your son’s day.

lee heeseung is your own personal angel, you think. your neighbor turned babysitter turned weird situationship; at least in your perspective. he takes care of you almost as much as he takes care of your three year old son. he’s at your apartment more than he is his own (that’s mainly your fault) and you’ve grown used to coming home to him almost every day.

you hear him say your name and your eyes flutter open to see the sympathetic smile he has on his face and it’s so gorgeous, he might as well break your heart now before you fall for him any deeper.

“it’s okay if you sleep for a bit, you’re tired,” he says oh-so matter-of-factly, because he knows you now, “i’ll wake you up in an hour.”

it’s more than an hour later, when you feel heeseung’s hand on your cheek, rubbing under your eye. he notices you beginning to wake up and pulls his hand away, “you should go eat now, ‘kay? the food is on the counter. i’m gonna go ahead and go home."

you sit up, frowning, “sorry, but can you stay? just until i finish eating, i’m sorry.”

he stares at you, silent for what feels like hours, and it makes you regret opening your mouth. you blame it on your drowsiness—you know that if you were in your right mind you wouldn’t have asked him even if you really did want him to stay. to your surprise, however, he grins.

“yeah, i can stay.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ PARK JONGSEONG.

you send jay a text, apologizing for the fifth time this month for backing out on your date. he’s probably becoming more annoyed with you each time you cancel, but it’s really not your fault.

for the past few days you haven’t been able to find a babysitter for your daughter. her usual one, jaehyun, was out of town, and your back up sitters all had plans or ended up canceling last minute due to personal problems.

you rise from your position on your couch, deciding you should get dinner started for the two of you. before you’re able to, however, you hear a set of soft knocks on your door. you go to open it without bothering to look out the peephole, figuring it was one of your neighbors coming to ask for something.

“hello—oh. jay?” your eyes widen when you process the fact that it’s your boyfriend at the door. he was probably the last person you expected.

“hey,” he gives you that smile that never ceases to make your heart almost stop.

“why’re you here? wait, nevermind. i’m really sorry about canceling last minute, the babysitter couldn’t come,” while you’re talking, you gesture for jay to come inside, shutting the door once he slips off his shoes.

“i’m not mad, these things happen,” he places a kiss on your forehead, lifting up a bag of groceries, “i figured we could still have dinner together, just with an extra person.”

“jay, you didn’t have to. i feel bad.”

and he really didn’t, but he did.

“i was going to buy dinner anyway. a home cooked meal is better, no?” he walks further into your apartment, setting down the bag on the small counter. “where’s gen at?”

“oh, she’s in—”

genevieve cuts you off, all but squealing as she runs out of her room with a toothy grin, “mommy, jj’s here?”

you don’t have time to scold her for running in the house because she immediately throws herself into jay’s arms, the man picking her up with ease, “woah. hey, sweet girl. what are up to, huh?”

you smile as they have a conversation, acting like best friends who haven’t seen each other in months. it melts your heart—genevieve liked jay from the day that she met him all those months ago and you know that jay loves genevieve like she’s his own. he’s definitely someone you want to keep around for as long as possible, if not for you but for your daughter as well.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ SIM JAEYUN.

your two kids run up to your best friend, fighting each other for a spot in his arms. they don’t fight for long because he easily lifts the two children up. he says hi to them and asks them about their day before stepping inside your apartment and kicking the door shut. once his conversation with the kids dies out, he looks at you with a smug smile on his face.

“they like me more than you,” he says instead of a normal greeting.

“that’s because you spoil them every time they see you.”

“they like me because i’m me,” he sticks his tongue out at you, “huh, guys, you love me, don’t you? your mommy’s just jealous.”

“you’re actually annoying,” you reach up, taking advantage of his occupied hands, flicking his forehead and quickly escaping to your kitchen before he can even think to retaliate against you.

he immediately sets the twins down, telling them to go play while he goes to help you with whatever you’re doing. he waits until he hears the faint sound of them pulling out their toys to go towards your makeshift hideout.

he creeps up behind you, being as quiet as possible. you’re popping a bag of popcorn, thankfully too focused on that than him and his whereabouts. he stifles a laugh, poking your side hard enough for you to curl in on yourself.

“oh my fu—jake, what the heck?” you scold him, hitting his shoulder.

he laughs, holding his hands up in surrender, “sorry! i had to get you back. i think you gave me a concussion.”

he assumes you notice the popping slowing down and you turn away from him, taking the bag out of the microwave. he can’t see your face but he knows you’re rolling your eyes when you speak, “please, i barely touched you.”

“that’s what you think.”

you don’t give him the pleasure of the response, ignoring him to instead pour the bag of popcorn into a bowl.

“thank you,” you say suddenly, turning around once more, “i was thinking and, you know, i don’t really say it enough.”

“you don’t–” he starts to say, but you interrupt him by grabbing his hand and lacing your fingers together.

“i do. you’ve been really helpful lately. so, thank you.”

“um”, he hesitates, “i love them and i love you. ‘course i’m gonna help.”

you smile, dropping jake’s hand and going back to preparing for your weekly movie night. he misses the warmth of your hand almost instantly, and he has to resist the urge to pull you back against him in a hug.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ PARK SUNGHOON.

he can’t help but think that this is too crazy to be a coincidence. you, the pretty mom he gained a mini-crush on at the park a couple months ago, now at his house with your son who just so happens to be his son’s new best friend. maybe whatever divine being that’s up there finally took pity on him and decided to give his bleak love life some color.

he slides over a glass of cold water to where you’re sitting and the smile of gratitude you give him could probably cause car crashes from how dazzling it is. sunghoon can see your lips moving, but can make out no sound. he’s too dazed from being in your presence to process anything other than the fact that you’re sitting in his house.

“...live with you.”

he comes back to reality, only catching the end of your sentence and blinks, “what? sorry, i spaced out."

obviously, he’s going to need more context because logically he knows you aren’t saying what he thinks you are—you’ve only known each other for a month—but he can’t think of anything else that would make sense.

“theo said he wanted to come live with you and yejun,” you say, amusement dancing across your face.

“oh,” he takes in your words, “really?”

“yeah, he was begging me earlier. so..” you pause to take a drink and he has to look away, “if you’re okay with it, can he spend the night?”

he agrees to it with a little too much enthusiasm. of course, this is mainly for yejun and theo—strengthening their friendship, helping them gain a lasting relationship or whatever—but it gives him an excuse to see you again tomorrow.

around twenty minutes later, sunghoon walks you out, his hands in his pockets. you told the boys about the sleepover, said bye to the both of them, told theo to be good and that you love him.

“i have a spare toothbrush and he can wear some of yejun’s pajamas, so don’t worry about coming back.”

“okay, perfect. um, i’ll see you tomorrow?”

“yeah, tomorrow,” he watches you walk to your car, waving as you drive off.

sunghoon knows for a fact that he’s fucked—he already wants to hear you say that all of the time; that you’ll see him tomorrow and the next day and the next. he feels like a teenager all over again, already thinking about what he’s going to wear and say tomorrow morning.

[gothicfied]

can you write a squid game fic or head cannons of other characters finding out the reader is struggling with self harm? If so, thank you and I understand it is a sensitive topics and may be uncomfortable to write.

Squid Game season 2 characters x reader who struggles with sh

Featuring: Thanos / Player 230, Se-mi / Player 380, Cho Hyun-ju / Player 120, Nam-gyu / Player 124, Kang Dae-ho / Player 388, Park Min-su / Player 125, Kim Jun-hee / Player 222

(Trigger) Warnings: Mention/Talk about sh, depression, and things of this nature, this is comfort/angst, not proof read (english isn't my first language)

Summary: Basically what the ask says

A/N: hey! I hope this is what you imagined, sorry if some of these are ooc😞🙏

Thanos / Player 230

જ⁀➴ Before he really knew, he'd constantly make your life a living hell, basically making fun of your shyness. He'd make certain comments to which he knew you wouldn't react to or would try to persuade you to vote in favor of the game containing.

જ⁀➴ You'd constantly tell him off and to leave you alone. It didn't really help, though. Thanos would just sit down next to you and talk your ear off about what he wanted to do with that prize money.

જ⁀➴ When you stood up to leave, rollung your eyes at him, he grabbed you by your wrist.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?" Thanos blurted out, giving you an offended glare. "You know, it's really rude to just leave a conversation like that." When you tried to get out of his grip, your sleeves rode up your arm, revealing scars you weren't proud of or wanted him to see. When you realized it, he did too, immediately letting go of you.

જ⁀➴ Since Thanos knew what it meant to struggle with mental health he did actually leave you alone for now. But, after the next game, he approached you again and sat down next to you. "I'm sorry about yesterday." he said, patting you on the back.

જ⁀➴ He related to you in a way, but didn't want to ask you about what went on in your private life. Now you just appreciated that he seemingly didn't overstep any boundaries anymore and even checked up from you every now and then.

Se-mi / Player 380

જ⁀➴ You and her had been a duo ever since she came up to you and complimented your looks. Even if you denied it or not, she'd repeat it multiple times, winning you over with her charm quickly.

જ⁀➴ You two had the same mindset on a lot of things, originally voting 'O', thinking you were able to survive one more lousy game. That game was a death scare. Nothing about it was funny anymore. You appreciated your life too much these days to die like this.

જ⁀➴ When the second favor didn't go your way, both Se-mi and you now voting 'X', you felt helpless. One night, the two of you were sitting on her bed, just talking about your past and how you got to this point in the first place. While Se-mi was more secluded, only telling you that 'there are so much worse things she had to face when she got out' you trusted her enough to tell her about a sensitive time in your life.

"I'm not really secretive about this anymore," you pushed your sleeves up, revealing faded scars along your forearm, "but yeah. It was all pretty fucked up. The whole debt thing didn't make it any better." Se-mi looked at you with raised eyebrows, her fingers tracing the lines on your wrists. "I knew you were strong. Don't worry, we'll get out of here."

જ⁀➴ She put in double the work to protect you — She just wanted you to start a better life with that money and be happy, free from debt and all of it.

Cho Hyun-ju / Player 120

જ⁀➴ Hyun-ju noticed from the start that you were more secluded, more prone to cry, panicked easily. It was clear to her that you were struggling with this situation, perhaps even more than that. She made it her task to help you as much as she could, comfort you and keep you close to her and her group.

જ⁀➴ You'd often rant to her and tell her what bothered you after she reassured her she'd take care of anything possible. Hyun-ju was the anker you needed in this shithole and you just appreciated her very much. Everything she did seemed to be out of genuine interest and not just to gain your trust and abuse it.

જ⁀➴ Accidentally, Hyun-ju did catch a glimpse of the scars you were so desperate to hide. She didn't mention it, feeling like it wasn't her place to comment on it. Her heart did break for you, though.

જ⁀➴ From then on, she made sure to speak softer to you and distract you from all the horror around you.

Hyun-ju hugged you tightly against her chest, her arms engulfing your figure. "Tonight things could get a bit scary," she mumbled into your hair while she rested her face against your head, "I just want you to know now rather than find out later. I'll keep you safe, you know that." You just nodded, reciprocating the hug after a few moments.

Nam-gyu / Player 124

જ⁀➴ When he found out, as you didn't make the effort to hide them or anything, he did refrain from provoking you in any way. Nam-gyu related, as he considered his drug use not to be the best thing he could do to his body.

જ⁀➴ Both of you hung around in the same group, since Thanos really wanted you on his team, constantly giving you compliments and flirting with you. It annoyed him to a degree, scoffing everytime Thanos tried to talk to him about how pretty you were, how much he wanted you, give you the world. In Nam-gyu's opinion, he didn't get you.. didn't get what you went through, at all.

જ⁀➴ One evening before lights out, the two of you were teasing each other about something and laughed together — something that rarely occured amongst the other players.

"Want me to show you something?" Nam-gyu asked you, leaning a bit closer. Chuckling, you replied with a 'mhm' and watched him pull up the sleeve of his jacket, revealing skin tracks along the inside of his elbow. You raised an eyebrow: "Oh?" You took his arm to get a closer look, tracing his skin with your fingertips. "Well, we all have our stories, huh?" The man nodded at your wrists, making you look at them too, like you didn't already know what he meant.

જ⁀➴ The both of you grew close to each other, much to his amuse. He was a junkie, you were depressed.. it's like a disaster in the making. But, you didn't care. He was sweet and weirdly kind to you — Not in the way Thanos was. You made sure to hug Nam-gyu a few times more after that, in case it could be the last timd you'd get to do that.

Kang Dae-ho / Player 388

જ⁀➴ You were glad to be on Gi-hun's team from the start, since Dae-ho and you got along really well. As a former Marine, which he was super proud of obviously, he declared he'd protect you immediately after you met, making you laugh.

જ⁀➴ He was kind, strong and funny, but maybe a bit oblivious at times.

During the six-legged pentathlon, you two sat next to each other, cheering the current active team on. Yelling and screaming filled the area as they crossed the finish lind just in time, making everyone erupt in cheers. Dae-ho immediately hugged you with joy, excited to see the five live another day, at least. After pulling back witha laugh, you gave him a small high five with your sleeve rolled back. When noticing scars along your wrist and forearm, the former marine gasped pretty loudly. "What?" you asked with genuine concerning, fearing something was wrong with you. "Oh, I'm so sorry," Dae-ho pulled your sleeve back over your arm. "Dude," he looked at you with wide eyes "it's fine." You needed to hold back a laugh.

જ⁀➴ Dae-ho felt so bad to havs accidentally seen something you've been struggling with, that he couldn't help but apologize profusely. You repeated to him that it wasn't a big deal for you and that you were working on this problem, but he didn't stop nonetheless.

જ⁀➴ You thought it was cute how much he seemed to care for you and how often he came up to you just to tell you that he appreciated you. And Dae-ho did, he didn't just say that to make you feel better.

Park Min-su / Player 125

જ⁀➴ Min-su is just shy over all. When he noticed it, he wouldn't say a thing. He'd be dead silent, maybe even a bit scared to talk to you. He was just scared he'd make it awkward, somehow hinting that he knew about your scars. Min-su was just someone who overthought a lot and even you noticed it.

જ⁀➴ After a bit, it annoyed you — The sudden lack of his presence next to you, the fact that he wouldn't properly talk to you anymore, it was all just weird and confusing. So, you decided to ask him directly.

"Did I do something wrong?" your voice wasn't stern, but Min-su could tell that you were kind of upset. "Ah, no-" he quickly replied back, shaking his head, "it's really not you!" He looked at you with his typical innocent face, making it hard for you to keep pressing him about this matter. "Then what is it, seriously?"

જ⁀➴ He explained what he saw and said that he just felt so sorry. Well, at least he didn't speak to you because he didn't want to hurt or upset you, which was really thoughtful.

જ⁀➴ You'd expect that he would now be the one to comfort you or something, but no it was the complete opposite. Min-su seemed to worried about you and kept asking you how you were feeling or if anything bothered you. You had to keep reassuring him that those times were in the past and that he didn't have to be so worried.

જ⁀➴ It was really cute though, so you let it slide.

Kim Jun-hee / Player 222 (implied fem!reader)

જ⁀➴ Since Jun-hee and you were pretty close in age, you two had found each other right away. You kept telling her that she needed more protection, or at least an ally like you, on her side sincs she was pregnant. You weren't really serious about that, just chuckling when bringing it up, but ut definitely made Jun-hee trust you a lot more. It was a critical situation she was in and she was glad to have you by her side.

જ⁀➴ You even banged on the door in the middle of the night to make the guards take her to the bathroom when she was to shy to do it herself.

As ths pink guard brought you to the womens bathroom, Jun-hee held onto you, clearly being in pain. A few minutes later, you were washing your hands and tried to fix yourself up, looking a bit disgusted in the mirror. "What is it?" Jun-hee emerged from one of the stalls, chuckling. "Man, I look like a damn zombie. Look what this place has done to us." Instead of getting a reply, you noticed that she was staring at your arms, at your scars. You had taken your jacket off for convenience and kind of forgot about them. "Oh, I'm sor-" Jun-hee interrupted you, "No! No, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have stared like that!"

જ⁀➴ Obviously everyone had their struggles, but now her own kind of seemed insignificant next to yours. You were doing so much for her and she didn't even know that you were struggling. She should've thought of that.

જ⁀➴ When voicing that thought to you, you felt bad that you made her feel like that. With a hug, it was all sorted out. Jun-hee cared deeply for you and she could tell that you cared for her like that, too. It was nice to know that someone had your back in a place like this.

[ivhmavie]

think I need someone older

hwang in ho with a younger s/o

first of all, just a little advice that inglesh its not my first language! be kind

-you would be so spoiled by him

-like to finance trips to the most famous tourist attractions, take you to shows, restaurants that are the hyped ones on internet, everything he didn't have the opportunity to try when he was younger

-he’s not really connected on the social medias, so he doesnt get all the jokes you do or the slangs you use

“mamma, a girl behind you.. S/o, what does it mean?”

-wouldnt care to the looks people give you two in the places, most probably he would be proud of be showing you off, his beautiful and young girl

-would call you his wife

-this man wouldn't be ashamed of anything, he would most likely make you feel ashamed. Always having one hand on your thigh, even if it's under your dress or skirt.

-would like to watch the games with you. You both comfortably sitting on the sofa, your legs on his laps, while he pours drinks for you two

-during the games he would caress your legs, at the end you would be on his lap, you two kissing, his hands on your hips and with one of your hands on his face, the other passing through his hair

-I mean, theres no way to resist him. He’s all fine with his drink in his hand, a serious expression on his face. Raww, next question.

-sex with him would be a experience every time. He’s obviously a dom. He’s used to be in the control in every aspect of his life, this wouldnt be different.

-he has experience, so even if you dont, it wouldnt be a problem. He would be happy to teach you, for him that’s exciting

-has a size kink. Your age gap is also something that excites him. He like to think about how naive you are compared to him

-not jealous, but possessive

-like to spend most part of his time with you, even being the frontman he would always give his way to be with you. You would be with him while he fulfills his obligations

-he’s not demanding of you, would like if you spend your time doing things that you like. Whether it was studying something or taking care of yourself.

-wouldn't mind if you were vain, would like it actually. He think its adorable see you doing your hair, putting on makeup, painting your nails or reading a magazine. Everything you do, even if its not one of his customs because they are typical of youth, would delight him. He absolutely adore you

[cripplecharacters]

Writing Profoundly Intellectually Disabled Characters

[Plain Text: Writing Profoundly Intellectually Disabled Characters]

While there is a glaring lack of intellectually disabled characters - except maybe big, physically strong, white men who can’t “tell right from wrong” or have a personality - in all sorts of media, specifically profoundly intellectually disabled characters are next to non-existent, with the existing ones being used more often as plot devices rather than portrayed as human beings.

This does make a degree (and not more) of sense considering that 85% of ID people have it mild, 10% moderate, 3.5% severe and only 1.5% has profound ID, the larger group inevitably gets more representation (which doesn’t make it good, but it does exist). However, it hopefully doesn’t need explaining that minorities deserve to be represented too (...and represented well), so this is what this post will be about.

Please don’t treat this as your only source on writing a character like this (even though I’m willing to bet it’s the only one like this, at least on tumblr), do your research and always check other sources.

Also, for clarity: intellectual disability isn't an umberalla term for "mental/brain disability". It's a specific, singular diagnosis that used to be known as "mental [r slur]". It's not the same as brain damage, autism, dementia, dyslexia, and anything else that's not specifically "intellectual disability". It's something that you are either born with or acquire early in life.

How do I Include Them in the Story?

[Plain Text: How do I include them in the story?]

A profoundly ID person will spend the majority of their time either at home or in some sort of care facility since they will require 24/7 help. The easiest role to put them in is probably a family member of another character. I've mentioned on this blog before that the "ID characters always end up as the annoying younger sibling" thing is overdone, but none of these necessarily have to be true for this suggestion to work (especially not the "annoying" part).

A non-ID character could have an intellectually disabled older sibling, twin, cousin, uncle/aunt, the sibling of a grandparent, etc. Seriously - a severely disabled person can be an adult, or even an elder. Just not as a parent, since a profoundly disabled person can't consent (a lot of ID people very much can, but this is the one disability where your level of functioning is baked into the exact diagnosis - profound ID comes with the inability to consent/understand the consequences enough to consent).

"They're a family member" is basically the easiest "excuse" to include a profoundly intellectually disabled in a story (and, as a bonus, you don't have to figure out how the other character would react to meeting them for the first time, since they probably knew each other for a long time already).

If your story isn't about the profoundly disabled character and instead just features them as a character, it would be much easier to not make the other character their primary caregiver. It's simply a ton of work and the character wouldn't have time for fighting dragons and whatnot - it'd be easier to have the abled character spend time with the disabled character at home (or care facility; you can very much visit someone in one) hanging out rather than actually doing the caregiving part.

Outside of a home and a care facility, there are also day care programs that some people might attend. This is the rarest solution out of the three mainly because of financial reasons, but also these resources aren’t as common for people who can’t walk, learn self-care, etc. Going to one takes time (the profoundly disabled person isn’t gonna walk there by themselves) and probably requires a specialized van (that you can bring a wheelchair in, which is incredibly expensive). Most day care programs are focused on people who are moderately or severely ID at most. One made for profoundly ID people would require 1:1 aides, which generally means the programs are much smaller for logistical reasons, but also even more expensive. For most people, too expensive without funding. Basically, this is an option, but you have to consider your character’s financial situation and/or what kind of financial support do disabled people get where they live.

Another way is having the disabled character in some sort of high position - in real life there were quite a few cases of profoundly and severely intellectually disabled royalty. Depending on the place and time there might have been pressure to not let the public see them, but this wasn't always the case. The biggest example of the latter was probably Emperor An of Jin (the first Jin, Eastern one) who was, as his title suggests, crowned at some point. He didn’t actually rule (his uncle did) but yes, you can have a severely disabled person as the head of a monarchy, it’s not without precedent.

In fiction you can do whatever you want anyway when it comes to ableism, you can have it be there, or you can have it not be there - and if it does exist then there are still different kinds of ableism you can portray that aren't the "literally killing-the-disabled-baby/hiding-them-in-some-dungeon level of eugenics" kind. Maybe a rich family who cares about their image would actually be unable to shut up about their kid to show how "saint-like" they are for caring for the disabled - it is unfortunately realistic, and can be a potential way to have the character exist in public, not ignore ableism, and also not go the aforementioned literally-just-murder route that writers usually do to show an ableist family.

Characterization

[Plain Text: Characterization]

Warning; the bar here is somewhere in the Earth's inner core. If your character has a single characteristic beyond aggressive/loud/unmanageable*, they're automatically at the top of most complex fictional representation of severely/profoundly ID characters. Congrats.

* - Some people are those things but, unsurprisingly, they're other things too. A lot of profoundly ID people can actually be completely quiet - you notice people who are loud because they're loud.

As with literally every character, you need to figure out what they like and not like. This can be quite literally anything, but try to think of the basic stuff. Do they have something they really enjoy eating (and conversely - something they refuse to eat)? Do they have some sort of comfort toy or object they don't want anyone touching (and maybe showing them playing with it with a different character could be a way to show how much they trust them)? In more modern settings, do they have a favorite show they always bug everyone to put on? Are they really clingy or do they hate physical contact (again, maybe they only enjoy it from a specific character)?

Another characterization could be comfort objects. A lot of profoundly ID people are autistic (which I'll touch on later) and will have an object that they bring everywhere the same way that non-ID autistic people might. There's nothing really specific here, just another layer of "this character is a Person". Maybe they have a blanket they really enjoy chewing because the texture feels good or some sort of plushie they like to throw around because it makes a sound they find funny. Lots of options. Maybe they have a personal “tell” to let others know they want their comfort object brought to them.

Keep in mind, you have to show this all in non-verbal manner. A profoundly ID person is probably not using any sort of AAC device (the most robust one I remember seeing right now was a low-tech one with "yes" and "no", but there are probably ones who operate on a larger amount of singular words). This is basically another opportunity for characterization - what do they do when they're happy - laugh, flap their arms, make sounds? - and when they're upset - scream, hit themselves, make different sounds? Obviously, you'd have to take other disabilities into account (e.g. many profoundly ID people won't move much, some might not be able to make much audible sound, etc.) but almost anything helps.

This brings us to…

Communication

[Plain Text: Communication]

An important thing (concept?) I'll throw here is "total communication", which can mean different things in different contexts, but here I'll use it to mean "using everything you can to communicate with someone who cannot do so in a ‘traditional’ way".

Communication can be categorized as having two sides; expressive and receptive. For most intellectually disabled people in general, receptive skills tend to be significantly higher than expressive ones, though there are specific disorders where it’s reversed or equal. As mentioned before, most profoundly ID people won’t speak orally, won’t use sign language, and won’t use AAC (though out of all three, AAC is the most likely one). Some might say single words, but that’s about it. It’s not a “physically mute but can write perfectly grammatically correct sentences” situation, it’s more of a “[single noun]” one, if anything. Receptive skills however are pretty decent (in comparison) and they would probably understand their name, the name/title of their carer(s), names of things they see every day, events they have some frame of reference to (e.g. if they grew up Christian, they would probably know what Christmas is), etc. Your other characters could (and should) talk to them like they can understand, even if they don’t catch everything or even most of it. I say a lot of “probably” there, but the people who can’t do so usually have other comorbidities, which I’ll mention later.

To go back to expressive communication, eye pointing can be used to figure out what the character wants. A change in breathing can be used to tell that a character got stressed. Throwing an object can be used as a hint that the character wants to play. Maybe them reaching towards person A means they want to eat, but reaching towards person B means they want them to sing a song for them. Maybe them making a particular face means they just had a seizure and need to be comforted. Whatever their "tells" like this might be, other characters who know them would probably be able to tell more-or-less what's going on - you don't have to go really in-depth, especially if it's a minor character, but figuring out the ways your character communicates with others will make it feel more like a person and not a Disabled Lamp (“if you can replace a disabled character with a lamp or a sick dog, they’re not a character”).

If you read some of these and go "that's a thing that a child would do" then you're not necessarily wrong. A profoundly ID adult might enjoy activities that primarily kids partake in. This is, I can't stress this enough, not the same as "mentally being a child". Otherwise, a whole bunch of adults on this very website would be "mental middle schoolers" based on the shows that they watch - but they're obviously not. A profoundly ID adult doesn't have the "mind of a baby" if their favorite game is throwing a toy, they have the mind of a profoundly intellectually disabled adult. Sometimes people assume that since ID people aren't mentally [incorrect age], they always "act their [actual] age" and essentially end up downplaying how much some people's ID affects them, when the point is that no matter what you do, you are your age. An ID character who is 26 years, incontinent, constantly puts their hand in their mouth, can't speak, whatever, is mentally 26 years old the same way that they would be if they had a wife and a mortgage.

For the last thing from this section I'll circle back to the assumption that all severely/profoundly ID people are loud, aggressive, etc. - as I said, some of them are (just like abled people). The thing is, this is not always an unreasonable response to being unable to communicate with the people who are caring for you. If you had a pressure sore but couldn't explain it to anyone you'd be pissed off and screaming too. That's an extreme example, but still applies. If someone is severely stressed out (for an abled person, this might be inheriting a ton of debt, for a profoundly ID person it can be a change in daily routine), they can lash out. It's an unpleasant but very much human reaction to have, even if what's behind the ID person's behavior is significantly different from what an average abled person might consider "a good reason".

So I guess my advice is, try to show some empathy to the character, even if they genuinely are loud and/or aggressive. Intellectually disabled people - including the profoundly disabled ones - aren't some alien species that is just mean and hates their caregivers for no reason, some just can't process their feelings the way an abled person might because of their disability. That's not to say that caregivers aren't allowed to feel frustrated - because they are - but that very severely disabled people aren't purposefully evil. As mentioned in the earlier parts, all behavior has a cause, just like for literally everyone. So if the character is being "unmanageable": maybe they aren't some cursed burden, maybe they're just stressed out of their mind and now someone they don't know that well is trying to do *something* to them, which they can't figure out because of their disability affecting their receptive language skills.

Resources and What to Keep in Mind

[Plain Text: Resources and What to Keep in Mind]

Some resources you might read about ID can be potentially misleading. Even if you specifically look for causes of the profound severity of intellectual disability, you will get results for mild ID. That's mainly because people with mild ID make up >85% of intellectually disabled people and those with profound ID make like 1%, so they're a minority in a minority.

Basically:

Down syndrome is a very unlikely cause. It's always listed as the main genetic cause of ID, but that's only true for mild and moderate severities. If you choose any of the common causes of ID make sure it actually has the symptoms you're looking for.

Most profoundly ID people will have either severe brain damage early in life (and this can come with cerebral palsy), cephalic disorders (e.g. microcephaly), genetic conditions that you've never heard of (e.g. Pallister-Killian or Emanuel syndromes, 3p deletion), genetic conditions that you've never heard of for a very understandable reason (e.g. X-linked intellectual disability-limb spasticity-retinal dystrophy-arginine vasopressin deficiency… there are hundreds named in this way), or just have it without a known cause. The last one happens much more often than people tend to assume.

For a reason I'll probably discover at some point, most disorders and syndromes that come with ID are said to have "autistic-like features" rather than being "comorbid with autism". In practice, it's the same thing. Your character is probably autistic.

In the same way, a lot of practical resources will assume that ID = moderate ID (since most mildly affected need no or minimal support, and severely/profoundly disabled ones are a small minority) so pay attention if you're looking at the right things. If it's talking about having a job, travelling alone, etc., then you got clickbaited.

Another subsection here will be comorbidities because there are a lot of them. I’ll mention the biggest ones.

Brain damage is the most common one (except autism) and can vary a lot. There is barely anything I can say about this one, it’s an enormous spectrum that for some people causes disability and for others barely affects their symptoms. Cerebral palsy, especially quadriplegic, is seen a lot and might affect the character’s mobility a lot. Some people might be unable to breathe or swallow and need a breathing or feeding tube.

Deafness and blindness are comorbid with a surprising amount of causes of ID. The thing is, you could take advice for deaf/blind characters as-in for a character that has both (e.g.) glaucoma and mild ID and not change much, but this doesn’t really work for a character who’s profoundly disabled like this. The situation that can happen here is that it’s not actually known if the person is or isn’t deaf or blind because they can’t tell you. As mentioned earlier, some people will have absent receptive communication skills. How do you verify if they’re deaf or just not reactive to language? Some people won’t react to even extremely loud sounds, even if they can hear them perfectly well (besides, a lot of deaf people can still hear some). Same for verifying if they are blind - obviously, sometimes there’s something visual going on, but often there isn’t. Especially since the main causes of both blindness and deafness will be brain-based, not ear- or eye-based. Another character not being sure if the disabled character is blind or just very uninterested in visual stimuli is a possibility, especially with less advanced medicine.  This is also why you might see those weird statistics of "between 5-90% of people with [condition] are deaf" kind.

Mobility is almost always severely affected. Some are fully mobile, but that’s simply not common. The average person will be unable to walk independently. It’s not always a muscle or nerve problem (though it absolutely can be), it’s mostly an issue of coordination. Because of this (and understanding physical space), operating a wheelchair (...successfully) might be impossible. This doesn’t mean you should just drop your character in a hospital wheelchair for them to get wheeled around because they will probably need a wheelchair that will actually support them - a headrest, ability to tilt, a harness, all that. This could be done with a powerchair (they can have controls on the back for a second person to operate), a manual wheelchair, or an adaptive stroller.

Now for resources;

One good resource I can recommend is SBSK (which I shared before), to my knowledge this is the only place that interviews severely and profoundly ID people (+their families) and the interviewer is great at actually interacting with many of them. 

Most resources on the practical things only ever talk about caregivers (who are very important) but completely ignore the actual person being cared for which IMO kinda defeats the point.

Good luck writing!

mod Sasza

[pommedepersephone]

I loved Harry Potter as a kid. It was the first series my younger brother got really into, and it was something we shared. And even then, some things bothered me - the treatment of the house elves always felt ick. But I missed the blatant transphobia in the way all her female villains were masculine because, well, if you were around in 1997, you know villains being LGBTQ+ coded was pretty par for the course.

But now I have kids, and they love Harry Potter. And you know what, we just tackle the problematic shit head on. We TALK about how fucked up the descriptions of villains are, how the goblins and house elves aren't being given any control over their own narratives, and how that might be influencing how they are represented. We talk about the real world history of antisemitism, transphobia, racism and slavery, and how it shows up in this fantasy world. And we talk about other stories that are less problematic, and those that are problematic in different ways.

Honestly, this is part of making them critical thinkers, savvy media lovers, and more compassionate humans. They are going to look back at things that were new and amazing from their childhood that in hindsight are kind of ick because as our society evolves we actually DO get better at this whole loving and caring for one another thing. Let the way your perception of art changes remind you that it gets better.

hey do you think you could expand a bit on separating the art from the artist? clearly you’ve done it with jk rowling but what are your thoughts on it as a general idea?

okay, but you’re not going to like the answer.

here’s the truth: you can’t separate the art from the artist. not entirely. HP Lovecraft was an incredibly talented, but much more incredibly racist man. It would nice to say you don’t agree with his views but you can enjoy his works without that leaking in but…. well, I’m afraid that would be misunderstanding his books entirely.

Consider, for a second, that Lovecraft’s works were horror stories about extradimensional alien monsters having mutant children with humans, they were about invasions from distant monsters, they were about the purity of quaint European towns being tainted. Consider how this may have all been inflicted by the fact that he just simply despised anybody who wasn’t white. Consider how is opinions on “mixing the races” might fight into this; consider why being unable to maintain the “purity” of white Europe was the scariest thing of all to him.

This extends to Rowling too.

I would love to say we can just acknowledge that she is an awful, racist, antisemitic, transphobic person and then say “but at least her books are good,” because, well, they are, aren’t they? I would say so, for sure. But to suggest that one can separate her from them is…. ridiculous.

Consider why an antisemitic woman wrote about a species of goblins who live among us, but who for the most part keep to themselvesand are maybe a little bit oppressed by the institution, but also hold all the cards, all the money, run the banks.

Consider why a racist woman would write about a species of slaves who loved being enslaved, who enjoyed working for no pay, and cleaning up after humans, with the only small caveat of that they didn’t want to be beaten. Imagine that only the most radical of their species wanted to be free, and he still spent the rest of his life working for no pay and helping out a little white boy and his friends wherever he could. Consider why the only person in the story who thought they should be free, that they should have rights, was treated as an overzealous joke, who was acting against the wishes of those slaves who really LOVE being enslaved. Consider that Rowling went on to say that she kind of considers that girl to be black, now.

Consider why JK Rowling, an open and proud transphobe, wrote Rita Skeeter as having a large square jaw, thick “manly” hands, and dressing incredibly gaudily with the most obvious fake nails and fake teeth and fake hair and fake everything. Consider why a woman who tweets about how trans women are “foxes pretending to be hens to get in the hen house” might write this Rita Skeeter to then illegally transform her body in order to spy on children.

Harry Potter is full of Rowling’s bigotry, start to finish. Not even tangentially, like, “oh the goblins are bad, Rita Skeeter is bad, the house elves are bad, but most of it’s good!” because the deeper you dig and the longer you think the more you realise the entire story is based on her prejudices.

Harry Potter pretends to be an aracial story about found family, but if that were true, why are Harry’s distant ancestors important to who he is today even in the seventh book? Why does Harry have to live with his cousin and aunt and uncle? Because magic inherently prefers blood ties. Whilst Rowling was writing a story that seemed to say, “your heritage is not that important and doesn’t make you better than others” she was still writing a story about a boy who got all of his money through his bloodline, who was protected by living with his bloodline, no matter how evil, who was uniquely able to stop Voldemort because his bloodline passed down the invisibility cloak for generations and generations. Any step Harry takes he is compared to his perfect parents who were exactly like him — he looks just like his father, but he has his mother’s eyes, you know! — consider WHY a woman who is racist might’ve written a story like this. A story that on its surface, condemns a blood caste, but still in every step it takes, validates the idea that blood is thicker than water, and your geneological origin is what makes you special.

You can enjoy Harry Pottwr, of course you can. There are fantastic parts. I love a small group of teenagers deciding to become anarchies rebels and train to fight against fascism in secret. I love the murder mystery plots, I love how the series tells kids that it’s a good thing to be brave, and a good thing to fight injustice, and a good thing to challenge the government. But I cannot separate it from its author because it is such a product of its author. All of the structures of the world, the way things work in the universe, and drenched in Rowling’s beliefs, her bigotries. Of course they are: she made them.

Again. This doesn’t mean you cannot enjoy it. But I think we are past the day where we can pretend that disavowing a bigoted author is enough, and that that somehow separates the text from its bigotry. I think we are past the day where we can pretend that Harry Potter isn’t a deeply, inherently bigoted piece of media. Even the bits we love. I think we are beyond the day where we can truthfully pretend to separate it from her, because she is present through all of it. We MUST recognise its flaws. We MUST admit that she is in every part of it.

[angelltheninth]

Arcane Characters Hand Headcanons

Pairing: Jinx, Vi, Caitlyn, Maddie, Ekko, Vander, Silco, Sevika, Viktor, Jayce, Mel x Reader

Tags: fluff, size difference, hand-holding, scars, bruises, hand comparison, cuddles

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: I remember there was a post where an artist drew the hands and made some headcanons in their drawings but I don't remember who the artist was. But that was my inspiration for this.

JINX

Long and skinny fingers

Lots of calluses from tinkering with her weapons

A strong grip because of the Shimmer

If looking at her hands in the dark you can see Shimmer running through her veins

Has to constantly be told to be careful when working because she has no concept of safety and has come close to losing more fingers

VI

Her hands are really rough all over

bruises on her knuckles that never seem to heal because she's always fighting

A few bones have been broken over the years and healed haphazardly

Gets he biggest puppy-dog eyes if you take her hands and kiss each finger paying special attention to the bruises

You're the only one she trusts to help her wrap and unwrap her hands every day

CAITLYN

A lot of calluses on her hands, especially her fingers

She's been shooting with a riffle since she was young so the pads of her fingers are tougher than the rest of her hand

The skin on the pads if her fingers is hardened

Likes to wear gloves, which you will say is a shame

Knows you like her hands a lot, but she has a better grip on her guns with the gloves on

MADDIE

Her hands are dusted with little freckles

A bit small, perfect for hand-holding actually

Can crack her knuckles and she doesn't even realize she does it most of the time

Many faded scars from her time growing up and training in Noxus

Refuses to elaborate when you notice how scared her hands are, but if she gets to know you well enough and trusts you she might share a story or two

EKKO

Because he's always working his hands are really rough and even have a few burn marks

There are more than a few broken bones in his hands

Never healed well because he refuses to take Shimmer and it's a bit difficult to find good doctors in Zaun

Habit of tapping his fingers against surfaces, even your arm or back while you cuddle

To keep your relationship on the down-low he often holds your pinkie finger with his

VANDER

His hands are huge compared to yours, you have to use both to hold one of his

The strength he has could crush a man if he tried

Definitely a working man's hands, you can tell he's never skipped a work day in his life

Long faded scratches on his arms and wrists

Still enjoys punching things and has a big punching bag in his room, but he often forgets to wrap his hands, which makes them a bit bloody after

SILCO

For someone in Zaun he takes pretty good care of his hands

Cold compared to yours, like his body temperature isn't quite where it needs to be

Skinny, long fingers but he will paint his nails if you or Jinx ask him to

Takes care of himself so he never has dry hands despite how they look

Always places his hand over yours, it's a protective and possessive habit

SEVIKA

She only has one human hand left but she's reckless with that one too

Always fights so you always help her patch up the bruises and clean the blood

Marks from tearing off scabs or making them bleed again

Usually has a hard grip but softens it for you

Has a few ash burns from her cigarette, she doesn't always move it away in time

VIKTOR

He grew up in Zaun and then threw himself in lab work so he's not the best at taking care of his hands

Skinny, almost boney hands

Has a habit of biting his nails when he's thinking about something

Broke his fingers and wrists more than a few times

You always tell him to wear gloves but he never does, not because he doesn't think he shouldn't but because he doesn't remember

JAYCE

Big, meaty, rough hands, very strong

He always wears gloves when he works, be it the lab or the forge

And yet he still gets that slightly rougher skin, not fully though because he's really careful

Uses hand lotion when he finishes working, it's what makes his skin extra soft

Won't admit that he does it but when you hold hands he's doing math in his head and comparing the hand sizes

MEL

If she didn't tell you then you would have never guessed she grew up in Noxus because her hands are so smooth

Her hands are delicate, with really well manicured nails

Only when you look really close can you see just a few, very tiny cut marks but they're almost completely faded away

Enjoys getting hand massages from you and you complimenting her hands

Tickles you when she runs her nails across your skin

[wstviewvidal]

baby- w. maximoff

summary: things get said in the moment

pairing: rich!wanda x r

a/n: i wrote this in like two hours

minors do not interact

you give wanda a sideways glance as she coughs into her elbow, burrowed under her blanket, “i told you to wear your jacket on that trip.”

rolling her eyes, she adjusts how she’s laying on the couch, her legs draped over your lap, “it’s germs that get people sick, not the cold,” she mumbles into the blanket that’s covering her face.

“uh huh, and how’s that working out for you?” you tease as you cover her legs with another blanket.

wanda was recently invited to speak about her experience starting a multimillion dollar company at a conference in new york. of course, being the workaholic that she is, she did not think twice about booking a plane ticket out to the upper east side.

unfortunately, being in a cold climate with countless people stuffed into a closed off space only meant it was a matter of time before someone came down with a cold. even more worse, it happened to be wanda— your wanda. the workaholic in her is now paying the price.

and, boy, are you realizing how hardheaded she is when she gets sick.

“you didn’t have to come over, you know,” she says as you can hear the congestion in her voice, “i’m just going to take some medicine and go to sleep.”

wanda can be independent to a fault.

when you’d called her this morning to ask if she’d like to get breakfast, you could immediately hear the stuffiness in her nose. she didn’t even get half way through her response before you bombarded her with questions like, “are you sick?” “did you seriously not wear the clothes i told you to? i helped you pack, wanda,” and, “you don’t even have actual medicine at home, don’t you?”

she tried her best to ease your worries over the phone, but you were at her doorstep no less than an hour later with grocery bags in hand.

you rub her leg as it lays over your own, “i know i didn’t have to, but i wanted to make sure you were taken care of,” you say softly as you watch her burrow into the knitted blanket.

even though wanda preferred to deal with her things on her own, she’d always imagined what it’d be like to have someone to share these experienced with— to be cared for. that was something she’d kept buried deep inside, afraid it was a childish hope.

at the sound of you saying you want to take care of her, she felt her stomach flutter. her lips curled into a bashful smile as she tried her best to hide it. her cheeks turned a dark hue of pink— not from her fever, but from your words.

you didn’t see her reaction, you were too busy watching the show while absentmindedly rubbing her leg in a soothing matter. wanda watched you with a glint in her eye, taking in your gestures.

you turn to look at her, “i’m gonna make you some soup, okay?”

wanda knew it was a losing game to try to stop you, so she nodded and moved her legs to allow you the room to get up.

she laid in the couch, cocooned in blankets while you prepared a dinner for the two of you to eat together.

you walk back after a while with two bowls in hand. you place both on the coffee table in front of the couch.

you move to stand in front of the laying woman, hands on your hips as you assess how her nose is red and her eyes are glossy, “how are you feeling?”

wanda looks up at you with big eyes, shrugging, “the same.”

you nod and help her sit up, “i know, baby, i’m sorry,” you pout softly as you brush away hair from her face. your voice is gentle and warm as crouch in front of her as you fix the blanket she has wrapped around her body.

you touch her so delicately that it makes wanda’s heart swell— then she realizes what you said. she stares up at you with wide eyes, a subtle smile on her face. you called her baby— you’d never called her a petname before. you don’t notice the giddy look on her face, you’re too busy fussing over her comfort on the couch.

wanda wants to say something but the way you’re holding out a spoon for her to eat tells her that you didn’t even realize what you’d said. she stays quiet, but wants nothing more than to hear you say it again.

she takes the spoon from you, “you’re spoiling me,” she murmurs.

you settle beside her on the couch, soup in hand, “you deserve it.

deep down, wanda would love to tease you for your slip up, but she can’t help but want to keep it to herself.

[secretmarvelsideblog]

Hi, can I hijack this post to rant about Loki?

Yes? Good.

Ok so here’s the thing, yk how some age-math places Loki as the human equivalent of 16, but in cannon he’s very much treated as an adult character? Now, tangent time: the implication here is obviously that Aesir development can’t be so simple mapped onto human ages via simple division, and how an Asgardian character looks/acts/is treated is a much better marker of their ‘human age’ than any math, not that Loki was secretly a teenage the whole time. THAT BEING SAID I have read quite a few fics where Loki is actually a teenager in the canon events and how that influences how other characters treat him after the fact- usually coupled with Odin’s A+ parenting and Loki become friends with Shuri and Peter- which is very adorable and I fucking LOVE these fics, and I think it makes a lot of sense, and makes for some of the funniest shit I’ve ever read.

I am also a Frostiron shipper.

Frostiron works because on one side there’s a huge developmental age gap, and on the other there’s a huge literal age gap. Because Loki is a thousand year old twenty something, him falling in love with a forty/fifty year old mortal is much more palatable than- for example- vampire fiction where a teenage girl falls in love with a hundred year old vampire who looks like a teenage boy, because instead of a teenage girl, it’s an older middle aged billionaire superhero. On the flip side, it’s not like Loki is one of those thousand year old dragon princess middle schoolers that anime loves so much- major ick btw. Even tho he’s young, for Loki this just means that he still has a lot of life ahead of him, not that he’s in any way naive or lacking in competence. In fact, it’s the opposite, Loki is extremely worldly, and key concept here, adult.

If you take away Loki’s worldliness, his experience and otherworldly air of maturity, you create an entirely different picture of Loki. Teenage!Loki and Frostiron!Loki are two vastly different interpretations of him- almost two different characters depending on how immature the author in question chooses to write the former.

Anyway, idk where I was really going my with this, but I guess the moral of the story is that you don’t gotta commit to one version of a character to enjoy. Rejoice in Steve and Bucky’s platonic, brotherly bond and then go read a fic where they’re deeply and hopelessly in love, why the fuck not? And hell, be a multishipper! Or not! Who cares?

People don’t understand the concept of liking two characters’ relationship in multiple contexts. They can be lovers in one setting and just friends in another, their dynamic doesn’t have to be consistent in every piece of art I make.

[moonstruckme]

Mae I feel like we always see the boys doting on reader and I love it! But also I would love a lil fic where may be James or Sirius gets sick or injured and it's reader just taking care of him and being so cautious and loving and doting on him

Thanks for requesting!

cw: modern au, MCL injury, James is not good at recovery

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 912 words

Your senses prickle at a sound from the sitting room. 

“James,” you call warily, hands stilling in the dishwater.

“Yes, my angel?” 

“Are you sitting down?” 

A brief silence. 

“I found some exercises—” 

“James.” You round the corner to the sitting room to find your boyfriend lying on the floor, looking up at you with eyes big and guileless. You wipe your wet hands on your jeans. “You’re only supposed to be icing it,” you sigh. 

“There’s no harm in getting an early start on recovery, right?” He grins his lopsided grin, hopelessly endearing. “I found some exercises online and the website says I can start right away. They’re very gentle.” 

“I don’t think the website knows more about your knee than your team’s PT, lovely,” you say, kneeling beside him. You soothe your fingertips over the velcro edge of his brace. 

James gets injured fairly often playing rugby. That’s no new thing to either of you, but he’s not used to needing to take such a long break after an injury. He tore a ligament in his knee during a match last week—you don’t remember the exact name of the ligament, but the word collateral had seared itself into your brain, recognizable and frightening—and apparently that is one of the few things the team’s PT requires players to actually take a substantial leave for. James is due to start recovery therapy in a few days, but for now he’s only meant to be resting and icing the injury. He is not taking it well. 

“You could make it worse by doing more than you’re supposed to,” you tell him gently, stroking his calf below the brace. “Don’t, okay? I really don’t like seeing you hurt.” 

James’ expression softens. He sits up, giving you a nice kiss. “I’m okay, sweetheart.” 

“Don’t make it worse,” you say again. 

“Okay. I won’t.” 

“Thank you.” You kiss him in return, stroking the hair that curls by his ears. “Will you come sit back on the couch, please? Where are your crutches?” 

James makes a low sound, caught anew. “Upstairs.” 

“You didn’t even bring them down?” 

“I get along just fine without them,” he says, pecking your chin placatingly. “Don’t worry.” 

You sigh and coil his curl around your finger. James gives you a smile, sweet and hopeful. Don’t be mad, it begs you. 

Your lips turn up a bit in response as you stand and reach your hands down to him. “Come on, then.” 

James lets you help him back over to the couch. He flops down onto the cushions dejectedly, taking the ice pack when you give it to him and holding it to his knee. Sympathy swells in your ribcage. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I know you’re bored.” 

“It’s not your fault that it’s boring. I just wish I could do things I want to, like usual.” He tries on a grin for your benefit, a poor approximation of the real thing. “I know it won’t be for long.” 

You chew the inside of your lip. You know you have to get back to the dishes, but you can’t stand to leave him like this even to go to the next room. 

“What would you do, if your knee was like normal?” 

James’ grin turns wry. “I’d go to training.” 

“Okay, right.” You roll your eyes, leaning your hip against the side of the couch. “But while you were at training, all hot and tired and stuff, what would you be wishing you were doing instead?”

James lifts his eyebrows, contemplative. His gaze moves to you. “I suppose,” he says, “I’d be wishing I was here with you.” 

Your heart warms. “What would we be doing?” 

He grins. 

“You’re not cleared for that, either,” you say quickly, laughing. 

“Fine, fine.” He feigns annoyance, but his smile gives him away. “In that case, I’d settle for a film and a good cuddle.” 

You nod, stepping closer to the couch. “I can do that,” you say. “I don’t know how good it’ll be, but…” 

“Oh, you haven’t got anything to worry about there, angel.” James takes your hip once you’re close enough, tugging you down beside him. You’re careful not to fall too close to his injured leg. “You’ve got an excellent track record.” 

“Do I?” 

He hums, kissing you. 

“I’m not hurting you, sitting here?” 

“You’re perfect,” he assures you. He gives your hip another tug to bring you closer. “Get comfortable, I’ll tell you if it’s too much.” 

You do as he says, still cautious as you cozy up to his side, encouraging him to lean into you. James rewards you by nuzzling his face into the side of yours, happy as a clam. His voice softens as he drops it to a more genuine register. 

“I’m not keeping you from anything,” he asks, “am I?”

You shake your head. “The dishes can wait. I’d rather be with you.” 

“Christ, lovie. I can still do dishes.” 

“You’re supposed to be resting!” 

James makes an amused huffing sound. “Okay, new deal. After the film, I’ll go do the dishes while you handle the more laborious task of laundry or something. Sound fair?” 

When you’re silent, he laughs. 

“You can’t force me to sit on this couch forever! I’ll atrophy!” 

“Maybe we can see how you feel after the film.” 

“You’re ridiculous.” He stamps a kiss on your cheek. “I’ll sneak and do the dishes in the night if I have to.” 

“You will not.”

[mrsmangi]

Hibiscus 🌺🌺🌺

late night call - luigi mangione

♡ flower prompt: hibiscus - the realization of a friendship becoming something more - meaning: in victorian times, the gift of a hibiscus bloom meant that the giver was acknowledging the receiver’s delicate beauty. ♡ w.c.: 1k ♡ a/n: hi, love! thank you so much for your request. srry for the delay, i'm a bit backed up with requests. she's a short one, but i hope you enjoy!

♡ send me a flower & i'll write a drabble based off the prompt ! ↪ prompts that have been requested

“Do you ever think people realize just how loud their ceiling fans are?” 

His voice comes through the phone, low and scratchy, like he’s been lying on his back for too long, staring at his own ceiling. You giggle softly, shifting against the pillow propped against your back. Your own fan spins above you, a rhythmic hum filling the space between his words and yours. 

“It’s white noise,” you say, quieter than usual. “After a while, you get used to it and stop hearing it.” 

“Mm, not tonight,” Luigi sighs. “It’s like the fan’s trying to keep me awake for as long as possible.”

You laugh again, a soft, breathy sound that feels just a bit too loud in the stillness of your room. It’s past midnight–long past the time you’d planned to be asleep–but this is how many of your nights with Luigi go. What starts with casual texts morphs into a phone call, then into hours of talking about nonsense; everything and nothing.

“Maybe it’s just your thoughts,” you tease. “What are the voices yelling at you about tonight?” 

He pauses on the other end of the line, just the faint sound of his breathing audible. You know Luigi well enough by now to know he’s not actively ignoring your question; he’s only deciding how much of himself to give away. 

“Life,” he answers lamely, though the vagueness of the reply altogether makes it clear there’s more to it than that. “Do you ever feel like no matter how much you do to succeed, it’s never enough?” 

You roll onto your side, pressing the phone closer to your ear. The dim glow of your bedside lamp casts uneven shadows against the wall. 

“All the time,” you reply honestly. “It gets exhausting, though. I feel like I’m just running a race no one even cares to watch.” 

He exhales, a sound that crackles through the receiver. When he speaks again, his voice carries the kind of understanding that comes from being seen. “Yeah. I get it.” 

The two of you fall into shared silence, the steady hum of your ceiling fan whispering across the line. You let yourself picture him for a moment–probably sprawled out on his bed, one arm thrown over his eyes. His phone would be balanced in his other hand. The image feels familiar, like something you’ve seen a thousand times before, even though you haven’t. 

“Can I ask you something?” His voice breaks the quiet.

“Always.” 

He’s quiet again, but you don’t rush him.

“Do you think…” He pauses again, and you can hear the shift of his breathing. “Do you ever think it’s possible for something to change without either person realizing it? Like, to wake up one day and feel like everything’s changed, even though nothing is actually different?” 

“Maybe,” you say cautiously, voice softer now. “Sometimes things can change so slowly you don’t even notice until it’s already different. Then, you find yourself wondering how long it’s been that way.” 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “That’s exactly what I mean.” 

You stare up at the spinning fan, asking him, “What’s different, Luigi?” 

He doesn’t answer right away. His continuous pauses make you grow somewhat uneasy, stretching a distance between you. “Us,” he says. “I think we’re different.” 

You exhale slowly. “Different how?” 

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But it’s like every time we talk, it feels different. More important, somehow, like there’s something there that wasn’t before.” He stops and you can nearly hear the way he’s turning the words over rin his head. “I used to just…enjoy talking to you, but now, it feels like I catch myself waiting for it. I’m counting down to the next time I’ll hear your voice. And when we’re not talking, I’m thinking about what I want to tell you the next time I see you, or wondering what you’re doing, or–” He breaks out into nervous laughter, cutting himself off. “Um, does any of that make sense or am I just rambling?” 

It makes perfect sense. Too much sense. Your heart picks up speed, the weight of his words pressing against the thoughts you’ve tried to push to the back of your mind. You notice it too. You’ve felt a change in the way you catch yourself thinking about him at odd moments–when a song reminds you of something he’s said, or when you replay the voice messages he sends just to hear his laugh on repeat. Tonight, he speaks heavier, like he’s cracked open a door you have both been staring at for weeks, maybe longer, unsure of who will turn the handle first. 

“It does,” you whisper. 

There’s a small, nearly imperceptible breath on his end, like he’s been holding it and didn’t even realize. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” You chew on your bottom lip, letting the word sink in. “I didn’t know if I should say anything. I didn’t want to ruin what we have.” 

“Me neither,” he says, “but I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel it. I do. All the time.” 

You close your eyes, the glow of the lamp behind your lids is a soft orange hue. “So, what now?” 

“I’m not sure,” he says. There’s no pretense, no cleverness to soften the edges of his words. “But maybe we can figure it out. Together.” He says his last word carefully, almost like it’s fragile–like it may break under the weight of its meaning if he doesn’t say it the right way. 

You hear him shift, the faint sound of fabric rustling through the receiver. It’s a small thing, but it makes the moment feel so real, tangible, like he’s not just a voice in the dark. You let his words settle over you. Luigi doesn’t have the answers to all your worries and neither do you. But, it feels comforting somehow–to know that he’s with you in this journey, and you with him. 

“Okay,” you say. A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips. You know he can hear it, even if he can’t see it. Your heart is full of love for this boy as you exhale: “Together.”

[butchvampireheimerdinger]

The Great War

A/N: So this was made in response to a request but it ended up blossoming into a full 2K word fic adjacent and I had to split it into two posts! Anyways, if you enjoy sexy and occasionally soft Sevika, dramatic arguments that result in comfort, and mob-wife vibes… enjoy!

Warnings: Not smut but mentions of sex and both characters are D O W N B A D.. A lot of cussing and mentions of violence.

Pairing: Butch!Sevika X Femme!Reader who is super outgoing and forward

🂱 So the two of you’ve met briefly around town, kinda running in the same circles. You notice her right away but you don’t actually talk until she shows up at work — The Last Drop.

🂱 You’re a server and your charisma, magnetism, and punchy/blunt sort of energy makes you well suited to hospitality. You’re the bubbly outgoing type of waitress who gets their table laughing and in a good spirits with ur contagious good vibes.

🂱 You beat the other waitress to claim Sevika’s table, and it’s on.

🂱 She would get a kick out of it — your shamelessness. She really likes the forward thing, timidity makes her roll her eyes. Life’s too short for playing hard to get! Plus, she’s an adult. And a literal revolutionary who quite literally does not have the time for all that.

🂱 Before you learn each others names you endearingly and lightheartedly call her “butchy,” or something like that. She calls you sweetheart.

🂱 You’d pour her beers on the house. You’d lean over the bar counter on ur elbows, making sure ur titties look good and perky. And if it was just the two of you, she would not hide her ogling.

🂱 It’d be a bit of a game to you two. Making the other person crack, being the first to back down/get all blushy. You’d be all flirty-flirty over the bar counter, she’d pull you into her lap during her card game. It’s like how straight guys play gay chicken. Except ur actually gay so it would just be chicken.

🂱 And she’s smoking indoors, as per us. You ask if you can have a hit. She shotguns it into ur mouth and you blow it upward, once again drawing attention to your décolletage, to the girls hehe

🂱 Eventually she just asks you straight up if you wanna spend the night. Maybe you take her up on it, maybe you don’t. Either way, she’s not the fuckboy (fuckbutch?) hit it n quit it type. She’s an adult woman with emotional intelligence and communication skills goddammit and she’s gonna ask you to dinner.

🂱 Takes u to the fanciest place in the undercity, orders everything on the menu trying to flex her wallet and impress u. Whether or not u ask for it she gets you one of those weird rich people desserts where they make part of the preparation an “experience.” like they pour hot liquid over a hollow chocolate shell and it cracks open and reveals a little cake inside. Or something involving a blowtorch.

🂱 Anyways this whole time ur just rubbing ur lil high heeled foot up her pant leg under the table and twirling ur hair, touching her arm, etc. Naughty girl — she mock-scolds you telepathically with a dommy little eyebrow raise thing.

“Here? Now? I pull out all the stops to give you a magical evening and you already wanna leave and bang it out. That’s real classy, sweetheart.”

🂱 You’re both rather bold and upfront, obviously. Strong personalities, fire sign energy — which means you butt heads often. Your relationship is super intense and fiery so every day is like a soap opera, or like The Real Mob Wives of Staten Island in levels of drama.

“Why the hell didn’t you come home last night? And why did i have to find out from Vivi that she saw you cracking skulls in a fishing boat by the pier?”

“Babygirl I told you I was taking care of business. Sweetheart, uprisings don’t happen overnight, it’s all about biding time and strategically applying political pressure in Topside-”

“Jesus, Mary, and the goddamn camels you and your strategic goddamn pressure. I’ll tell you I’ve fucking had it with you and your fucking pressure. You wanna make me look like an idiot? When me and my girlfriends are sitting drinking mimosas for brunch at Jarrod's and they ask me ‘Y/N where’s that woman of yours?’ And i have to look them in the eyes and say “Clint Eastwood was unable to join us as she had a prior engagement strategically applying pressure. To the back of enforcers’ skulls. With a fucking baseball bat. Like a common thug. Mind you, I’m a classy lady all by my lonesome on a Sunday fucking morning-"

“Classy lady I’ll fucking say. You’d think I plan on growing old with Mrs. Fucking Vanderbilt, the way you want to buy ten thousand pairs of red high heels-“

“Omg babe you wanna grow old with me?”

“-that all look exactly the fucking same, by the way. ‘Burnt orange’ and ‘vermillion’ and ‘chartreuse’ or whatever the fuck — You know it’s just fucking red.

“Chartreuse is green, since you wanna be a smartass,”

“Don’t gaslight me, woman. Where do you even plan on wearing those? We live in an oversized sewer pipe. Not the magical land of Oz. I told you who i was when you met me. I told you this is what I do. And you better get used to it if you wanna keep charging my card at every boutique within a ten mile radius,”

“Or what? Gonna give me the spiel again, talk me to death about the uprising and the political elites and the our time is imminent, y/n. Gonna threaten me like you do your little fishing buddies? Gonna apply me some strategic fucking pressure?”

“That’s enough.” Sevika hissed, scary calm. She kicks the pantry door shut and whips around, pointing at you with her cigarette. “I’ve had enough of this shit. You’re done, Missy.”

“Beg pardon? I’ll decide when I’m done, thank you very much. You’ve got some nerve telling me when to speak when I can’t even reach you half the time. I had to track down your little boss the other day — brought him a lovely casserole — and ask if he could pass on a message for me! ‘Excuse me Mr. Scaryman Eye of Zaun, sir, could you possibly ask Zorro if she might head home as soon as she’s done busting kneecaps? And to arrive in a clean shirt, as my parents are in town and they prefer to greet their daughter-in-law when she’s not covered in someone’s intravenous blood. Thank you kindly.’”

“You showed up at work? Wait- you talked to Silco? Babe I told you to stay the fuck away from there!”

“Please. He may be the kingpin of the city or whatever, but I make a gorgeous quiche. Trust me, babe. Once he tastes my cooking, I am henceforth immune to whatever machiavellian basement torture chamber you brutes probably use as your break room.”

🂱 Sorry guys, got a little carried away there. Point is, one minute you’re screaming at each other and dramatically slamming doors and throwing shit, the next you’re fucking on the kitchen floor like the world’s about to end. You guys basically co-authored the book on how to be an absolute nightmare of an upstairs neighbor. The entire building feels the floor shaking and no one knows if the screaming is just you guys having a little too much fun for 2pm on a Tuesday, or if they’re gonna see this on the news tomorrow.

🂱 Kidding! At the end of the day, trust and loyalty are the foundations of your relationship. You love each other wildly, deeply, and passionately.

🂱 Sevika has a strict no going to bed angry policy. If you’d gotten into it that evening you might give her the cold shoulder, curl up facing away from her in the quiet moments before bed. She’s reading by the lantern on the bedside table — an upcycled barstool the two of you stole from your old job at The Last Drop one evening when you were in a particularly silly mood.

🂱 She catches your gaze a couple times as you stare over your shoulder to see if she’s paying attention to you, and then you immediately turn and go back to ignoring her. She takes off her reading glasses, tosses her book onto the bed, and rolls over to you, wrapping her arm around you from the back.

“Hey baby?” She kisses your shoulder and the back of your head since you still won’t look at her, and she continues. “Love of my life? Light of my world? Keeper of my soul and partner in crime through the sea of trials we call the fucked-up game of life?” You turn slightly to give her a glaring side eye.

“…What do you want.”

“Still mad at me, babygirl?”

“Not at all. Why on earth would I be mad?”

“I’m sorryyy,” she draws it out, cooing at you all soft and sing-songy. If the ne’erdowells who often got their asses handed to them by her and her little team could see this Sevika, they’d think they lost their mind. Hell, if any punk on the street could see this Sevika they’d think they lost their mind. It made your knees weak the way she undid herself and softened for you. For only you. You fought the smile forming and she continued murmuring against your skin.

“It’s all this bullshit at work Silco’s got me taking care of. I’m neglecting my little lady, I’m stretched so thin. It’s too much…”

“Too much…?” You echo. “Talk to me, love. Silco’s not letting you catch a breather?”

She grunts in affirmation against your shoulder: “Mm-hrmm”

“Does my baby have the whooole wide world on her poor, tired, buff, strong, sexy shoulders-EEK!” She gleefully flips you over to face her, making you cackle. You’ve been disarmed. At her mercy. You always were.

She leans forward to bonk her forehead against yours.

“Glad someone in this cruel world finally understands me and my line of work,” she says, half-joking.

“No one understands the importance of your job better than me, babe.” You continue, at this point unable to remove the sarcasm from your tone even if you tried. She nuzzles into the crook of your shoulder facedown, head supported by the cushiness of your tit. You weave your fingers in her hair.

“The honorable burden of great duty… The unfathomable smothering of moral obligation, even. One might describe it as an immensely… strategic pressure-”

“-For FUCK’s SAKE”

“You have worker’s rights, you know! Demand an hour off — paid — in your underground torture chamber-breakroom. You’re entitled to relax and sip coffee as you watch the bodies hit the floor, goddammit!”

Feigning exasperation, Sev dramatically collapses backward starfish-style on the old-ass creaky-ass decrepit-ass daddy longlegs convention of a double bed the two of you share; in a shithole apartment, in a shady-ass neighborhood, in a collapsing city. That’s how it was between the two of you. Underneath it all, she trusts that you’ll always be there to kiss her wounds, to make sure her collar is straight and there’s no shmutz on her face. You trust that at the end of the day, it’s you she’s coming home to.

[thatonebirdwrites]

Trust me, you do not want LongCovid. I have it. A friend of mine has it. Her young niece has it. If you claim you don't know anyone who has it, it's either: 1. they don't feel safe enough to tell you, 2. people may not understand they actually have it because most doctors are NOT trained on recognizing the symptoms so people just think they're "tired" all the time and make jokes about brain fog or their sense of smell being funky.

To avoid it:

Vaccinate.

Wear an N95, KN94, p100 mask or better. This also will not only protect you from Covid and other airborne viruses, but it will also protect you from wildfire smoke, air pollutants, folks using too much Axe spray, and allergens.

Better air filtration.

Join or start up a mask bloc to help share info and supplies with your community.

That's our new normal. Grieve the world that was. Stop trying to go back to it. WE CANNOT. So please exit the denial stage of grief, okay? Being virus vectors is disabling and killing people. We don't have to get covid over and over and over. We have tools we can use. Those are bi-yearly vaccines, N95 or better respirators, air filtration devices. Normalize these. This is how you care for yourself and your loved ones. By doing the right thing and normalizing masking, vaccinating, and better air filtration. Thanks.

I just want to remind people that it’s 2024 and we didn’t “go thru a pandemic” we are “going thru a pandemic” present tense. It is still happening. People are still get sick, still becoming disabled, and still dying. Covid hasn’t gone away and I beg people to not normalize getting sick with it.

[aurumalatus]

𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 [𝟕]

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3.5k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff and angst, drabble collection, mentions of blood and injury

summary.

in which kinich learns the value of all things: lives, friendship, and, of course, you. or, in which kinich realizes that you are the only priceless thing in this world.

author's note. thank you all for waiting during my hiatus <3 turnfire is back, probably a bit sporadic for updates! still, i hope you'll join me in seeing the story through until the end! reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

↢ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ↣

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗦𝗜𝗚𝗡𝗦

In the week that you’re apart, Kinich dreams of you five times.

It’s a welcome respite from the constant nightmares he’d been experiencing. They’d grown more frequent since your injury, lying in wait in the dead of night. He’d found himself trapped by them, thrown to a hellish dreamscape that saw you meeting your end over and over again. It always ended with the sight of your body, bloody and broken.

And he was always too weak to save you.

But since the contract, Kinich finds new power thrumming through his veins. He’d thought he was strong before, but this is different. He wonders if this is how it must feel to hold a Vision, to be one of the Archon’s chosen. Being afforded a power like that means protection and stability, however steep the price may be. And sure, his body is a high price.

But when he remembers your screams of pain and the tears running rivers down your cheeks, he really can’t bring himself to regret this deal at all.

Still, Ajaw’s power brings its own share of consequences, like actually dealing with Ajaw. Truthfully, he’s reluctant to let the Dragonlord anywhere near you—he tends to run his mouth, and he doesn’t want him saying anything unnecessary in your presence. 

He isn’t a great companion, not like you—he gets on Kinich’s nerves, both intentionally and unintentionally. But there is something to be gained from a power as great as his, a power that even Kinich is forced to recognize.

The first dream is nothing special. There’s no rhyme or reason to it; he dreams of running through the meadow with you, flower petals bursting and floating through the air. His next dream is similar, though this time it’s in the forest, river rushing alongside you. He dreams of the late nights you spend talking, of the dinners you’ve shared over candlelight, of your whispers under the stars. It doesn’t matter what it is, it’s you. 

It’s always, always you.

So, if sacrifice must be had, let it be his. 

Ajaw seems to realize it too, the weight of the bond they have forged. Ecstatic as he is to take Kinich’s body as his own, he knows that most people wouldn’t make such a deal so easily. He tries to question it a few times, wondering who this “special mortal” could be, wondering why Kinich would need his “awesome powers” to protect them. Kinich doesn’t care to answer—no one needs to know how he feels about you except you.

And, by the time he makes it back to your shared home, he’ll make sure that you know too.

He has the man in the ruins to thank for that oath. After he’d escaped the darkness, he’d made a small grave for the others who had embarked on that journey with him. He hadn’t had much onhand, but he tried—a small pile of stones, stacked precariously until they were about his height. Though he hadn’t known the other men well, he feels a sort of duty to their memory. After all, he had fought by their side, and no one deserves to die alone.

And now, he has the means to protect you, and to make sure that you never have to cry again.

On the seventh day, Kinich raises his head to the sky, one hand shielding his eyes as he gauges the position of the sun. If he starts the journey now, he could be by your side again by nightfall. Something flutters in his chest at the thought of seeing you, and part of him feels like he really can’t wait any longer.

“Ajaw,” he calls. The dragon is resting nearby, picking berries off of plants and scarfing them down. “We’re going home.”

He walks, and doesn’t wait to see if the dragon is following him. He’ll be able to tell based on the complaints that Ajaw is constantly spewing—he’d learned quickly how to phase them out of his mind.

“Your house?” Ajaw moans, still smeared with the juice of a Quenapa Berry. “What is it, a pathetic cave on the side of the mountain? Or maybe a cardboard box on the side of the road?”

Kinich rolls his eyes. “It’s a real house, and you’ll be lucky if I even let you inside. Now pick up the pace.”

The wind is good today, he notes, ideal for grappling. Ajaw scoffs, reluctantly following alongside his partner. 

“What are you in such a rush for anyway? Mortals get excited over the smallest things.”

Your smiling face flashes in Kinich’s mind. He sighs.

“Just feeling a bit homesick.”

/

“I’m home.”

Kinich’s voice floats languidly through your quiet house, comforting familiarity seeping into his bones. Something delicious is cooking—the smell of rich meat and spices wafts through the air.

On the table, there’s a loaf of fresh bread, a single slice spread with your favorite jam. Fresh fruit overflows from the basket on the counter, shiny skin promising ripeness. One of his old shirts is draped over the arm of the couch, sewing needle and thread strewn across the fabric. You’d kept busy while he was gone, evidently.

Somehow, simple as it is, the sight of your home at peace is almost overwhelming. After days spent in the dark humidity of the ruins, he suddenly feels like he can finally relax, if only for a moment. He lets the bag drop from his shoulder, falling to the floor with a dull thud.

There’s no response, but Kinich can see your shoes by the door and the faint sound of splashing water—most likely, you’re in the bath. Still, Ajaw fixes him with a look of disbelief. 

“Did you seriously make up an entire girl just to convince me you don’t live alone in the mountains? That’s pathetic, even for you.”

Kinich fights the urge to stomp the small dragon into the ground, opting to start organizing his things instead. Kneeling down, he unzips his bag, starting to pull out various trinkets and pouches of Mora.

“She is real, she’s just in the bath. Try not to be so annoying when she comes out, or I’ll punch you out.”

Ajaw turns red in irritation. “Just try it, servant! And you’ll see just what it means to be a Dragonlord—”

“Kinich? Is that you?”

He perks up immediately at the chime of your voice, excitement palpable in your words. There’s a scuffle behind the door—you’re rushing to change and greet him, he thinks, face warm. Even Ajaw seems to notice his change in demeanor, based on his mocking chuckle.

“Oh, how sweet. Your little girlfriend has been waiting for you.”

Kinich doesn’t even have time to retort, because the bathroom door flies open and you come bursting forth, wide grin splitting across your face. You clear the room in only a few steps—Kinich’s eyes widen at the sheer speed—and then you’re collapsing into his arms with all the force of a raging bull. 

He catches you anyway, heart nearly pounding out of his chest at the proximity, at the still-damp heat of your skin, at the way your arms wrap around him so tightly.

Spring blooms around him as he holds you closer.

“I missed you,” you admit quietly. Your breath is warm against his neck, but the feeling is pleasant all the same.

“I missed you too.”

After a moment, he holds you at arms-length, gauging the state of you. Your bandages are a clean, pristine white, and there’s less of them than when he left—your wound must have healed considerably.

Noticing his gaze, you smile, stretching your arms wide.

“I’m a lot better now,” you assure him. “We can start going on jobs together again soon!”

It’s a true relief to see you healthy and happy again. Though the guilt will likely never leave him, he wants to burden you as little as possible. 

“That’s good,” he replies, thumbing over your cheek. His breath hitches when you lean happily into his touch. “I’ll look for some good commissions next time I go to the outpost.”

Silently, he notes that the two of you will have to take some simpler ones first, at least while you’re still healing completely. And maybe for the time being, while he gets used to Ajaw’s power—he can’t risk hurting you again.

Someone clears their throat obnoxiously, and Kinich finally remembers that he hadn’t returned home alone.

Brows furrowed, you peek over Kinich’s shoulder to see the small, pixelated dragon floating there. He has an impatient expression on his face, like he can’t stand the lack of attention. 

“Kin,” you whisper, “I think something followed you home.”

“I am not something,” Ajaw roars, “I am the Almighty Dragonlord K’uhul Ajaw, the bearer of power that strikes fear into nations and gods, the pinnacle of strength and—”

“I found him in a cave,” Kinich interrupts dryly. “And now he won’t stop talking.”

Despite the bold introduction, you don’t seem intimidated by Ajaw at all—you’re peering over him curiously, poking at his tail and flicking at his feet. He growls in reply, already full of protest.

“It’s…floating,” you observe, in awe.

“It? You dare refer to the Almighty Dragonlord as an it? I oughta burn you to ash right here!”

Kinich shoves Ajaw aside, a sour expression on his face. Admittedly, he’s irritated at your reunion being interrupted.

“Try anything against her and see what happens.”

Ajaw grumbles some curses, but neither of you pay him any mind—you’re too overjoyed that Kinich is home, and Kinich is just happy to be in your presence.

“I made some stew for dinner,” you announce, practically skipping over to the stove. There’s a pot already boiling there—that must’ve been what he smelled earlier. “Your favorite. Ajaw—sorry, Almighty Dragonlord can eat too if he wants.”

When you bring it over to the table, beckoning him over, Ajaw huffs at his side. 

“If she’s inviting me to dine, maybe she isn’t so bad after all,” he comments haughtily, and Kinich resists the urge to roll his eyes. Leave it to Ajaw to change his opinion of you on a dime. Instead of arguing with the impossible dragon, he moves to clean up the rest of his things.

Ajaw pounces on the bread right away, tearing it to crumbs. It doesn’t seem to bother you, based on the way you calmly hum as you stir the stew. Really, it doesn’t seem like anything could ruin your mood at this point, and that thought makes Kinich smile in turn.

“If you’re planning on keeping him like a pet,” you say as you place three bowls of stew on the table, eyes flicking between him and Ajaw, “something tells me he won’t be able to learn many tricks.”

Luckily for you both, Ajaw is too busy scarfing down his food to hear. Kinich shakes his head, a half-smile on his lips.

“Not likely. We made a contract, actually.”

Your head tilts in curiosity as you take your seat. “Really? What kind?”

It’s not uncommon for Kinich to make deals—it’s what he’s good at, and he’s even better at following through. So it comes as no surprise to you that it would be the nature of his relationship with Ajaw. Still, you don’t expect him to continue:

“My body, for his power.”

A sharp gasp slips between your lips. 

When he turns to face you, your smile falters at the edges, a withering bloom.

“You…what?”

“It was a fair trade,” he explains calmly, checking his grappling hook. There’s a chip in the metal, he notes grimly, evidence of its overuse. “In exchange for my body after death, I get to—”

The clattering sound of your chair tipping to the floor has Kinich flinching, one hand outstretched instinctually toward you. When he looks up, your expression is like shattered glass—you’re clutching your stomach like someone’s just punched you.

“In exchange? For you?” Your words thin at the end, dying halfway up your throat. The sound makes Kinich’s heart twist. “Are you joking?”

It’s as though all the air has been sucked out of the room. Though he’d expected your surprise, he hadn’t expected the despair, the anger that burns in your irises.

“I promise you, it was fair,” Kinich reiterates. “As annoying as he is, Ajaw does have a lot of useful power.”

“But he’s taking your body,” you say. Each word comes out almost robotically. “That’s supposed to be fair?”

Hesitantly, he takes a step toward you. You shrink away, directly onto your fallen chair—you stumble and fall, a pained expression painting your features. Even as quick as he is to rush to your side, Kinich can’t help but curse himself internally.

Somehow, no matter what he does, he hurts you every time.

You recover quickly, climbing to your feet, and Ajaw merely watches, uncharacteristically silent. Kinich doesn’t really care what he thinks anyway—he’s far more focused on the glassy tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

“It’s only once I die,” he assures you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. You flinch at the feeling, eyes wide. “For as long as I’m alive, I’ll be stronger.”

You shake your head. “You don’t need that thing’s power, Kin. Give it back, we’ll be fine.”

From his place at the table, Ajaw sneers. 

“How ungrateful! You have no idea how many humans would scramble and die for the chance to use a sliver of my—”

“Ajaw,” Kinich breathes, a warning, stare never leaving yours. “Get out.”

Ajaw huffs. “Do you even hear her? She’s being totally unreasonable—”

“Ajaw.” Kinich grits his teeth until it’s practically audible, tone laced with frost. “Get. Out.”

The tension is so razor-sharp that even the Almighty Dragonlord slinks out the door, though he grumbles as he goes. You don’t seem to care either way, instead scrubbing at the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

Silence falls, a blanket of ice over the warmth of your home.

He hates it. He hates the way it reminds him of his parents, of the countless fights that occurred here, and he hates the broken sheen in your eyes when you look at him. It’s a far cry from your previous brightness.

“Please, Kin,” you plead, a near-whisper, “please, please give his power back to him.”

You grasp at his arms, tracing the tattoos etched into the skin there, like you’re trying to remind yourself that he’s still here. Small cuts litter his skin, evidence of the journey he’d endured before returning to you, and your frown deepens.

“I can’t,” he replies. “The contract is done.”

His words sink deep into your mind, a stone in water, the weight of what he’s done slowly dawning on you. He can see it in your eyes—the fear that takes root. The fear that one day, he’ll no longer be by your side.

With a sigh, you rise to your feet, moving toward the couch. Kinich follows.

“You have to understand,” he starts, almost begging, even as you walk away, “I only wanted to be stronger for you. I don’t want you to get hurt again—”

When you whirl on him, your eyes are burning.

“So it’s because of me? Because I got hurt?”

And really, it was, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t because of you, or any sort of perceived weakness of yours. If anything, Kinich thinks, it was his own that brought him this far—his own selfish desires for you.

“It’s not like that,” he murmurs, reaching for you. His heart pangs when you flinch away from his touch—you’ve never done that before in his life. “I’m stronger now. I can protect you now—”

“I never wanted you to protect me, Kinich!”

The pure volume of your voice seems to shake the walls of the house, and Kinich feels like it’s all crumbling down around him. He’s never seen you like this—nearly quivering with anger and disappointment, tears running endlessly down your cheeks. 

You can’t seem to decide where to look, but your gaze lands on his all the same. He almost wishes it didn’t—he can’t take the sorrow in your eyes.

“I’ve been learning on my own. I want to fight with you. I don’t want you to protect me, or hide me away, or sacrifice anything more for me. I just wanted to be with you!”

“We can still be together, it’s just—”

You gesture wildly outside, to where Ajaw is presumably waiting.

“Just that your life is tied to this…this thing now, and now not even your own body belongs to you. Do you realize how insane that is, Kin?”

And he wants to tell you that it’s not about Ajaw at all, it’s about you. It’s the fact that he’s always belonged to you, he wants to belong to you, and being strong is the only way he knows how to do that. He thinks of his mother, of the price of her smile—he would pay any price to see yours.

He wants to tell you that he’d thought of you every day he was away, perhaps every moment. He wants to tell you what he promised himself back in the ruins.

But he can’t seem to move an inch. He should say something, he knows. Comfort you in some way. All he can do is watch as you collapse onto the couch, old and fraying, stare fixed blankly to the wall.

And when he remembers the sight of your blood seeping through your shirt, he still can’t bring himself to regret this.

You hold your face in your hands. “We…we were happy, Kinich. Wasn’t that enough?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

You don’t answer.

And, as always, Kinich drowns in the realization that he’d hurt you again. His father’s voice echoes in his mind.

It’s your fucking fault. This is all your fault.

The deal had been fair, at least to him, and he was rarely wrong in these things. He’d gained a power to protect you. With this newfound strength, you’d have no reason to worry again. 

So why did it feel like everything was falling apart?

He’s never been good at these things—at feelings, at vocalizing them—but all he’s ever wanted was to be what you needed. But someone like him isn’t worthy of your light.

He really, really wants to be.

Kinich slinks to your side, careful as he kneels before you. Your head is still hung, tears dripping into your lap. He tries not to let the sorrow on your face deter him, at least for now—you deserve to hear what he’s been thinking all along.

Even if it’s too little, too late, he has to tell you.

His fingertips brush against your knee first, apologetic. For now, you don’t push him away. He finds comfort in that, somehow. Even when everything the two of you have built until now lies on the precipice, the mere sensation of your warmth is enough to calm him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you first,” he whispers, letting his hand drift toward yours.

You don’t reply, which makes Kinich think that you’re simply waiting to hear what he has to say. A deep breath fills his lungs, slow, the buildup of everything he’s longed to communicate all these years. 

Outside, the sun is falling to rest, leaving shards of fading golden light in its wake. Kinich watches its luminescence slip over your face, slow and winding. 

“I thought you were going to die back then. And it would’ve been all my fault.”

Even suggesting the possibility has something in his chest writhing and twisting, a chill settling in his bones. He’s lost too much until now, and he’s always told himself he could move past it. And yet, he doesn’t think he could ever stomach losing you.

“I couldn’t let that happen again,” he finishes quietly.

He can practically hear the gears turning in your head as you absorb his words. But your hand doesn’t leave his, and he holds steadfast to that feeling.

A sigh escapes your lips. 

“And I can’t let Ajaw have you, even after death. I told you I would always be by your side, Kin, and I wish you would trust me to do that on my own.”

His eyes widen, and he’s about to reply when—

A knock echoes at your front door.

You sniffle once, then twice, gathering yourself. Kinich moves to stop you—he’s sure it’s just Ajaw getting impatient during his timeout.

“It’s not Ajaw,” you assert, practically reading his mind. “It’s the couriers.”

The couriers? They don’t come here often—that fact hasn’t changed since his parents lived in his house. A seed of unease plants itself in his stomach. 

“They’ve been looking for you,” you sigh. Before you can take another step, his fingers wrap tight around your wrist, rooting you in place.

“Why? What do they want with me?”

The look in your eyes is far away, falling upon the lukewarm stew on the table. It was supposed to be a happy occasion, all of it. Instead, your lip quivers as you admit:

“The Wayob called for you. You’ve inherited an Ancient Name.”

And, despite all his efforts, Kinich feels the distance between you growing wider and wider.

[punkshort]

Ice Cold

Pairing: Dave York x f!reader

Summary: Dave ghosts you, so you get even by dating someone else in the office. That doesn't sit well with Dave.

Warnings: language, angst, jealousy, possessiveness, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex, fingering, pussy pronouns, one spank, infidelity, minor violence, office sex, sexual tension

WC: 6.5K

Collection Masterlist

You had become a part of his routine without him even realizing it. Twice a week, minimum, he would seek you out. And it was always on a night when he was doing some work "off the books". Whether it was tailing a target, doing some recon, or actually finishing the job itself, he always found himself driving to your side of town, parking his car a few blocks away, and under the cover of night he would sneak up to your apartment and quietly undo the lock, letting himself inside.

You weren't aware of the pattern. At least, he didn't think you were. The days of the week were always different, but it was always in the middle of the night and he was always dressed in all black.

Hell, maybe you did know. If you did, you never brought it up. Even after his injury, you never asked any questions.

Maybe that was why he kept coming back to you. It was nice having someone who didn't pry, someone he couldn't implicate. You both wanted the same thing - that thing being him fucking you senseless while you babbled his name and clawed at his back, or the sheets, or the wall, or the goddamn floor. He had been seeing you long enough that he had fucked you all over your apartment.

But on that particular night, Dave realized how much he had grown to depend on the release you gave him. How much he thought about coming to see you once his work was done. And more importantly, how much he was growing to care for you.

That wasn't good. When did he become so reckless? One wrong move because he was distracted with thoughts of you and he was dead.

So that was how he found himself staring up at your apartment building, sitting silently in his car. He squinted, searching the rows and rows of windows until he finally saw one with a familiar, small orchid. As if on cue, his cock began to swell. He clenched his jaw and palmed himself through his pants while he weighed his options.

It took every ounce of willpower to start his engine and pull away from the curb.

It had been three weeks since Dave had come to see you and it was driving you insane. You sat right outside his fucking office every single day, watching him go in and out of meetings, chat with executives by the coffee machine, and take phone calls with clients while laughing and resting his feet on top of his desk.

All the while, he hardly spared you a single glance.

That wasn't necessarily new. Ever since this thing you had began, he did his best to keep his distance from you at work. You assumed it was part of the excitement for him: pretending the other didn't exist until a day later he would show up at two in the morning and fuck your brains out.

But something felt different, now. Something was off. And he never, ever, went more than a week without seeing you.

When he stood to speak in meetings, he wouldn't look in your direction whatsoever. If you dropped something off on his desk, he didn't look up. He ignored you when you tried to say hi as he breezed past your desk but if your co-worker on the other side of your cubical said hello to him, he would smile warmly and greet them in return, making your blood boil.

After having your feelings hurt for maybe the fifth time that week, you had just about enough. You snatched a random file folder off your desk and marched up to his office. Your knuckles rapped loudly on the door while your heart did cartwheels in your chest, and when he called out from the other side to enter, you took a deep breath and stepped inside, closing the door quickly behind you.

"What the fuck is your problem?" you seethed. Dave's shoulders stiffened when he heard your voice and slowly turned away from his computer to pin you with a steely glare.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," you said angrily. "What the hell is going on? You're icing me out. What did I do?"

"You didn't do anything," he said, tone clipped. "I'm busy."

"Busy?" you repeated mockingly. "You've been busy for three weeks? You can't even look me in the eye most days. What is this? Some weird power trip?"

Dave shook his head and tensed his jaw. "No."

Silence fell between you at that point. You had thought he would have put up more of a fight, argued back, done or said something, but he just fucking... sat there, gaze flickering between you and a spot on the wall behind you.

"So... what?" you asked, voice quieter but still cold. "This is over? You don't want to see me anymore?"

You watched him work his jaw while tapping an expensive looking pen anxiously on a blank pad of paper. His eyes watched the movement while the silence stretched on painfully between you. When the answer became clear based on the way he avoided your eye and refused to speak, your shoulders sagged and you swallowed tightly.

"Right," you said bitterly. Without thinking, you angrily threw the file you were holding at his chest. He jumped and tried to catch it, but gave up when papers fluttered all over his desk and floor.

And he still didn't say a fucking word.

"Could've at least been a man and told me you were done with me to my fucking face," you snarled, then turned on your heel and disappeared back out into the office. You resisted the urge to slam his door behind you, knowing it would have caused a scene, and decided at the last minute to just leave it ajar.

And for the first time possibly ever, when Dave stepped out of his office to leave for the day, you were already gone.

Michael was nice. A little nerdy, a little awkward, but he was relatively good looking and he was sweet. He held doors open for you, always asked questions to get to know you better instead of always talking about himself, and never once pressured you to go home with him, even after you had been out with him several times.

Then again, he was probably too timid to ask you back to his place. Which was fine with you, given you were still struggling to recover from your break up, or... whatever it was that happened between you and Dave.

The week following your outburst in Dave's office, he disappeared for five days. Some people said he was on a business trip, so you chose to believe them. In that time, you had gone on two dates and three lunches with Michael.

He worked in your office, too. He had trained you when you first started and while you hadn't given him a second thought once your training was complete, you caught his gaze lingering on you in the break room the day after your argument with Dave and you made a stupid decision. You flirted with him, asked him if he was seeing anyone, and of course, he asked you to the movies that weekend.

Initially, you had made a rash decision based entirely around making Dave jealous. But when he disappeared for a week and you kept seeing Michael, your attitude shifted a bit. You had decided it was best to move on, and who better to move on with than a nice guy who treated you well?

And it really felt like it was working, too. When you ran into Michael at the water cooler, it gave you butterflies and you couldn't stop yourself from smiling. But in the back of your mind, Dave always lurked. You knew you'd run into him again. It was impossible not to. But when you finally did, it managed to take you completely off guard.

The day it happened, you and Michael were sitting together in the corner of the lunchroom. You had just finished your food and were listening to him tell you a story about a car accident he witnessed on the way into work that morning when you saw movement out of the corner of your eye.

You knew it was Dave before you even saw him. It was like your body just sensed him nearby. Your skin felt flush under the heat of his gaze and your hand began to tremble in your lap when it seemed like he wasn't moving, just frozen and fucking staring. Nervously, you cleared your throat and tossed your hair over your shoulder to glance his way.

His eyes immediately locked with yours. He was gripping a mug of coffee so tightly that you could see the whites of his knuckles even from the opposite side of the room. Michael was still talking, oblivious to the tense moment you were sharing with another man right in front of him.

Another man who, when you were falling asleep at night, still imagined breaking into your apartment while you slept.

Another man who you could still feel inside of you.

Another man who was suddenly crossing the room and making a beeline for your table.

"York," Michael said, sounding surprised when Dave approached. "How was Akron?"

"Fine," Dave said, his eyes never leaving yours. You gulped.

Michael blinked and seemed to remember his manners, introducing you to Dave followed by not sure if you've met.

"We have," Dave replied. He finally tore his eyes away from you to fix Michael with a look that could melt steel when his hand rested nonchalantly on your thigh.

It was under the table, but Dave noticed. He noticed everything.

"She sits right outside my office," Dave reminded him before dragging his gaze back to you.

Michael chuckled and stammered something but you didn't listen. You couldn't. Not with the way your ears were ringing and your pulse thrumming so fast, you thought the whole room could hear.

"Is there something we can do for you?" Michael asked when the awkward silence had gone on too long. Had you even said a word yet? Jesus Christ.

"Yeah," Dave replied, shoving a fist into his pocket. His other hand still tightly gripped his mug and you could tell by the way he bounced a little on his heels and loosened his shoulders that he was trying to come off as relaxed, but you knew better. You knew Dave very well.

"Just wanted to check with you and make sure you're still free for that meeting later?"

It took you at least half a minute to realize Dave was speaking to you.

You straightened your back and crossed your legs under your skirt, forcing yourself to snap out of it.

"Uh, yeah," you mumbled. You had assumed he was just making it up, to fabricate an excuse for him to come over, but then he said, "At four. My office?"

Four. His office.

Your heart was hammering in your chest.

"Y-yeah. Yes."

"Don't keep her too long, York. We're catching dinner tonight, don't wanna be late," Michael said with a sweet, clueless grin in your direction. You tried to mirror him but the best you could do was a shaky smile.

Dave's eyes burned holes into you when he said, "That right? Somewhere nice?"

Michael began to talk about the Italian restaurant he had made reservations for, blabbering on and on about the Sunday sauce and the fucking bread they made in house. Meanwhile, you were wilting under Dave's glare and praying to whatever god was out there that you didn't faint from the pressure.

"Well, I'll do my best," Dave smirked, acknowledging Michael's original concern before swiveling around and disappearing back into the depths of the office.

"Guy's intense," Michael chuckled. You managed to choke out a soft laugh while you shakily cleaned up your lunch. "I didn't know you had meetings with him. What's his deal?"

"Uh, I don't know," you shrugged. "He's alright. Quiet. Keeps to himself."

"I notice he never really talks about himself. Always steers the conversation back to the other person. You ever notice that?"

You frowned and pursed your lips. Did Michael pick up on something between you and Dave?

"I don't think so. We don't talk much."

"When I asked about Akron, for instance, he dodged the question," Michael continued.

"Maybe there's just not much to say about Akron," you shrugged. Who the hell cared? You had bigger things to worry about.

A beat of silence passed between you as Michael walked you back to your desk, but thankfully once you got there, he was back to his usual self once again. He kissed your cheek and said he was looking forward to later, to which you smiled and agreed. But when you turned your back to sit down, Michael's eyes found Dave's from within his office. Michael gave him a terse nod and headed back in the direction of his desk halfway across the massive, open space, leaving you to panic for the next three hours over what the hell Dave really had planned for you at four o'clock.

One minute after four and you found yourself seated across from Dave in his office. You had brought a pad of paper and pen but you had no idea what you would need it for. You triple checked your calendar earlier - there was no meeting at four. So your anxiety just built up all afternoon and was on the verge of boiling over as you watched him calmly scroll through emails while casually pressing the tip of two fingers against his lower lip, giving you the impression he was deep in thought as you squirmed impatiently in your seat.

"You're a lot quieter than the last time you came in here."

Those were the first words he said to you. His gaze still remained fixed on his monitor while you formulated a response.

"What else is there to say?"

His dark eyes flickered over to you and you swore you saw something soft there, but he blinked and suddenly it was gone.

"Guess you're right," he murmured before focusing back on his computer. He waited a minute before adding, "Does he treat you well?"

You glanced at the clock: five after four.

"There's no meeting, is there?" you asked.

"Sure, there is."

Your eyes dropped to his and you swallowed tightly. Fuck, why did he have to look so good? He was just wearing a light blue button down and red tie, but his shoulders looked ready to burst out of the fabric and you kept fantasizing about that goddamn tie dangling in your face as his hands pushed your legs apart to make room for his hips.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, snapping you out of your reverie.

"No," you whispered hoarsely. You cleared your throat but you saw the corner of his mouth twitch and his eyes dart down to catch your thighs pressing together.

"You sure? You look a little warm."

"I'm fine," you hissed.

"You didn't answer my question."

"I know."

Dave sighed and let his hand fall from his computer mouse so he could turn and face you properly.

"Just tell me if he's treating you well, and I'll let it go."

You swallowed again and fixed your gaze on his desk when you said, "Yes. He's nice."

Dave nodded once. "Nicer than me?"

"I thought you said you'd let it go."

He smirked and laced his fingers together on his desk. "I'm finding it harder than I thought to let things go that pertain to you."

Butterflies bloomed in your stomach and you tried your hardest to control your breathing while those goddamn beautiful eyes of his kept staring at you, waiting for an answer.

"It's - I can't compare you to him," you said quietly. His shoulders stilled and you realized he was holding his breath. "It's not exactly apples to apples. He doesn't sneak into my apartment in the middle of the night and you didn't take me to Italian restaurants."

"Is that what you wanted? For me to take you out?" he asked, the vulnerability in his voice surprising you.

"Uh, well, I - I never really-"

A shrill ring pierced the air and the red light on the corner of his desk phone lit up. His hand immediately stretched out to tap a button and he cleared his throat.

"York."

A female voice greeted him on the other end, announcing that he was on speakerphone with a handful of others whose names she rattled off and you realized that there was, in fact, a meeting. Dave tapped another button, presumably the mute button, so he could point to your pen.

"I need you to take notes."

You nodded numbly and slowly picked up your pen, jotting down the date in the corner of a blank page while your mind was reeling. You did your best to write down key phrases and talking points, but your brain was scrambled from the past ten minutes.

"So," Dave said casually, leaning back in his chair. "He's nice, takes you to restaurants-"

Your eyes flickered to the phone, checking to make sure he was still muted.

"-what else?"

Your jaw tensed and you dropped your pen. There was a meeting, sure, but clearly not an important one. It was all a ruse, after all.

"You're the one who stopped coming to see me, remember?" you snapped. His eyebrows twitched but otherwise he didn't move. "Why are you doing this? Why are you asking me all these questions when I'm just trying to move on-"

"You're mad."

"Yes, I'm mad!" you exclaimed, then lowered your voice and rubbed the back of your neck with a sigh.

"And you're tense," he added lowly. You nodded and rolled your head from side to side. Dave's eyes fell to the soft skin of your neck and he licked his lips.

"Yes," you whispered.

He hummed and tented his fingers together, deep in thought.

"Seems like being nice and taking you for expensive dinners doesn't hold up well in bed," he taunted, making your eyes narrow and your nostrils flare.

"Stop it."

"Tell me I'm wrong," Dave pressed, leaning forward again and resting his forearms on the desktop. Your gaze fell to his hands; those thick, skilled fingers and that strong grip. Your legs began to tremble from how hard you were clenching them together. When you didn't answer, he grew impatient.

"Just tell me and I promise I'll let it go."

People walked by Dave's office. You could hear their muffled voices laughing while you sat there, feeling like you were about to combust.

He wouldn't stop. You could tell by the look in his eye, he wasn't ever going to let you leave without admitting it. So, you sighed and crossed your arms.

"We haven't had sex. Happy?"

His face instantly lit up but he tried to hide it with a condescending frown.

"Oh, baby, no wonder you're all worked up," he cooed.

"I'm worked up because you're being an asshole."

Dave shrugged. "Maybe. Either way, I can help you."

You barked out a laugh and rolled your eyes, ignoring the heat that flared between your legs. "How's that? Waking me up in the middle of the night so you can fuck me and disappear?"

Something not unlike regret flickered across his face.

"I didn't realize our arrangement wasn't working for you," he admitted, not a trace of teasing to be found in his voice.

"It wasn't working for you, if I recall," you shot back. You refused to let him confuse you. Did you wonder what it would be like to have a normal relationship with Dave? Sure. But you knew what you signed up for from the beginning, and that was fine. You never said a word otherwise and didn't plan on it.

He was the one who stopped showing up.

"Not true," he said with a shake of his head. "It was working too well. That was the problem." Your eyes widened as you listened to him speak. You had resigned yourself to never getting closure with Dave, but it turned out you were wrong. His fingers tapped nervously on the desk while a man's voice began to filter through the speaker on his phone.

"You were becoming a distraction. And a constant," he continued after a moment. "It was getting too risky for us both, so..."

"So you ghosted me."

Shame passed over his face when he nodded.

"Yeah."

You sniffled and silently stared down at your lap. It made sense. Whatever it was he did at night was dangerous and illegal, that much you knew. You had to imagine many bad people would try to get to Dave at any given time, try to kill him, so he couldn't risk lowering his guard, and he couldn't risk putting you in harm's way.

"You could have just told me that instead of making me feel like shit for weeks," you grumbled. Dave nodded.

"I know. I'm- I'm sorry."

Closure. An apology. Finally.

You sighed and dragged your gaze back up to his.

"Apology accepted."

More muffled voices walked past his office while you stared at one another. The words projection and budget and sales were being said in a monotone voice through his phone, but neither of you absorbed any of it. You were too lost in each other's eyes as the heat that always seemed to crackle between you grew even hotter.

"Are we good now?" you asked, breaking the spell.

"Good?" he repeated while tilting his head to the side.

You swallowed. "Yeah. Good. Can we work together without this being weird?"

Slowly, he nodded, but you could still feel that familiar spark. The one you usually felt in the stillness of your apartment late at night.

The tension was too thick. You had to look somewhere else, anywhere else, so your eyes found the clock behind him. Half past four.

"Something wrong?"

Your eyes shifted back to his face.

"No," you murmured. He shook his sleeve loose and glanced down at his watch.

"Don't worry, I'll get you to your date on time."

You had completely forgotten about your dinner plans with Michael. Something must have given that thought away because Dave smirked and shot you a knowing look.

"That's what you're thinking about, right?" he asked with a teasing edge to his voice. Then his gaze dropped down to your lap where your legs remained pressed tightly together. "Or are you thinking about something else?"

Your pulse fluttered nervously in your throat and you could have sworn Dave saw it, like a predator zeroing in on his prey.

"No," you lied, voice coming out thick and raspy, making your chest flush with embarrassment.

Dave hummed and looked away, pretending to read something in his email while he not so subtly dropped a hand to adjust himself through his black dress pants. You mouth watered at just the mere memory of his thick cock lying heavy across your tongue and you made a soft noise in the back of your throat. Dave focused on you again and grinned.

"You sure you're not thinking about anything else?"

You shook your head, trying to ignore the pull low in your belly when he looked at you like that. But when he leaned forward in his chair and you found your own body drifting forward like a fucking magnet, you knew you were done for.

"Can I tell you what I'm thinking about?" he asked. You gulped and nodded before you even had a chance to think it over. He smirked and ticked his jaw to the side, clocking the way your chest rose twice as fast as normal underneath your blouse.

"I'm thinking about how good that tight little cunt would feel right about now," he said lowly. You whimpered and glanced at the phone again, confirming the mute button was still lit up before looking back at Dave. He was still pinning you with the darkest stare, as if people weren't yapping through the speaker or walking past his office every few minutes.

"She's all wet for me, isn't she?" he goaded from across his desk. With a last ditch attempt at having some dignity, you shook your head, voice long gone and no longer trustworthy. Dave tsked and narrowed his eyes.

"You're lying."

You glanced at the clock again, cheeks flaring with heat under his tense gaze, then cleared your throat and forced yourself to speak.

"I'm not lying."

Even to you, your voice sounded broken and foreign.

"Prove it," he whispered.

Your breath stuttered and you felt a gush of arousal flood your panties, betraying the very words you just spoke. And even though you knew you shouldn't, even though you knew it would undo all the progress you thought you just made, you found yourself murmuring, "Here?"

"Here," he replied firmly, then patted the top of his desk and slowly leaned back in his chair while spreading his legs, waiting for you to make your decision.

You rose to your feet before you even had a chance to think, but that's how it always was with Dave. The things he said and did to you caused your mind to go blank and just give in.

A small chorus of laughter echoed through the phone but neither of you registered it when you rounded his desk and stood between his knees.

To his credit, he kept his eyes on your face, even after you perched on the edge of his desk and propped up a heeled foot on either arm rest of his chair, caging him in. You bunched up the fabric of your skirt, breath coming in excited, shallow pants, before pressing one hand flat onto the desk behind you, holding yourself up. Dave's expression didn't change. He kept staring deep into your eyes throughout it all, but when you hooked your underwear to the side and revealed your glistening cunt underneath your skirt, his eyes finally dropped to take a look.

"Christ," he groaned, tugging at the knot of his tie. You smirked when you finally saw the crack in his armor. His brows pinched together as if he were in pain as he continued to stare between your legs. After what felt like an eternity, he swallowed and met your gaze again.

"You lied."

"I know."

He stood up in a flash, his chair rolling somewhere behind him while your legs dropped to dangle over the edge of the wood. He made a move to grab your thighs but hesitated. Instead, he curled his hands into fists and planted them on either side of you.

"Tell me what you want," he said darkly, lips hovering dangerously close to yours. You shuddered and your eyelids slid closed, breathing in the sweet scent of coffee, mint, and ink. "Tell me what you want and I'll do it," he said more firmly.

That was one of the things that kept you coming back to Dave: when it came to moments like that one, when you felt like you were floating and lost under his spell, he always reminded you who really held the power.

"I want you to fuck me," you whispered. Instantly, your mouths sealed together and his hands grabbed your thighs, pulling them even further apart so he could wedge his hips between them. With a quickness that shocked you, he reached under your skirt and tugged your underwear down your legs with one hand, letting them drop unceremoniously to the floor before his hands were back on you again.

Your tongue slid past his parted lips to find its mate while your hand dropped to his belt. Shaky fingers tugged hastily at the leather while some woman droned on through the phone next to you.

You swallowed down his groan when you made quick work of opening his belt and pants, letting the fabric hang loose so you could reach for what you really wanted. At the same time you wrapped your fist around his smooth, aching cock, his fingers found your slit. He slipped two fingers past your lips and you whimpered into his mouth when you felt your arousal begin to leak out onto his desk.

"Fuck," he groaned before swiping his fingers through your pussy once more. "Fuck, you're so wet. You need me bad, huh?"

"Yeah," you whined, biting at his lower lip once before your mouth drifted down to his jaw. You scooted closer to the edge of his desk and pulled him in, hand still stroking his erection. Dropping your chin to your chest, you looked down between your bodies. He was leaking and rock hard and so fucking close to where you needed him.

With your free hand, you curled your fingers around the back of his neck and pulled his mouth against your throat, moaning when his lips made contact with your pulse point.

"Can't be loud," he panted. The tip of his cock bumped against your pussy and you bit back another moan.

"Y-yeah, okay," you stammered. "Just - please, Dave. Please-"

"I know, I know," he said, and each of you held your breath when he dropped his hips forward to notch at your entrance.

You tried to look him in the eye when he pressed inside, but the feeling of relief was so exquisite that it had you falling forward to bury your face into his neck.

He cursed softly under his breath once he was fully sheathed inside you, but all you could do was press your mouth firmly against his throat, hoping to muffle any noises that slipped past your lips once he began to move.

"Shit," he sighed when he drew himself halfway out just to thrust deep inside your cunt once again. Your eyebrows knit together as you concentrated on not making any noise, but it was a next to impossible task. The way he stretched you and filled you up just right every single time had you completely forgetting where you were.

His big hands found a home on your waist, holding you steady when he began to snap his hips faster. Your ankles hooked around the backs of his legs and your fingers clawed helplessly at his back while he fucked you, wishing you could cry out his name and beg for more.

"This is what you wanted, huh? This what you needed?"

He murmured into your ear as he pounded into you, each knock of his hips taking your breath away. All you could do was nod helplessly and take it.

"Not him. Me," he clarified. When you heard the jealousy in his voice, you smiled into his skin.

"Yes," you whispered.

"Fucking - say it," he grunted.

"Just you, Dave," you gasped. The tip of his cock kissed your cervix and you whimpered, praying it wasn't too loud. His hand shot up to grab your jaw, a thumb and forefinger pushing into each one of your cheeks. Startled, you opened your eyes.

"You're gonna go on your little dinner date," he growled, "and you're gonna have my cum leaking out of you. Every fucking time you move, you're gonna think of me. Right?"

"Yes," you hissed, then yanked your chin out of his grip so you could bend forward and whisper in his ear, "but I was going to be thinking about you either way."

That pleased him. He chuckled and held your hips steady before pulling out of you roughly. You whined and Dave pressed a finger against your lips.

"Turn around."

With a mischievous grin, you slid down from his desk and did as you were told, leaning your forearms on his desk and sticking out your ass. But right when he was ready to enter you again, you both heard his name through the phone.

He paused and reached forward to unmute and your heart sunk.

"Yeah, Kathy?"

You closed your eyes and let your forehead fall to your hands, already anticipating losing the build up of your orgasm, but much to your surprise, you felt the tip of his cock nestle between your folds. Your head snapped up right when he buried himself fully inside you, eyes bugging out of your head and your jaw hung open in a silent scream.

The phone wasn't muted. Kathy was yammering on about quarterly something or others, wanting to get Dave's take on things, while he was already slowly fucking you once again.

"Yeah, so, I think the projections for next month look very positive," Dave was saying while shallowing thrusting in and out of you. Your teeth sunk into the back of your hand and tears burned your eyes, but you remained perfectly quiet. "There's a few big clients we're ready to lock down any day now, and-"

Dave coughed when your cunt clenched around him, stilling his hips and causing him to dig his fingers into your waist.

"Excuse me," he said, voice sounding an octave higher than usual. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head when he began to fuck into you faster.

"Next quarter looks promising. Fourth quarter always dips below expectations-"

Dave grunted softly when your back arched and your hand reached behind you to grab his wrist. You began to rock your hips, matching his pace and pulsing around him with your lip trapped between your teeth. You were close.

"-we always make up for it the following year," he continued while reaching around, pressing the pad of his finger against your clit.

You gasped, completely forgetting about the phone. Half a second later, you folded your palm across your mouth. The timing was perfect, too, because Dave gave you a sharp smack across the ass as punishment while clearing his throat to cover up the noise.

A man's voice joined in through the phone, but you couldn't process a single word he said. Dave was fucking into you steadily now with a firm finger still drawing tight circles over your clit. Your hips were grinding into the edge of his desk, almost sure to leave bruises the following day, but you didn't care one bit. The pleasure that was mounting between your legs was overpowering every other sensation, and when it finally snapped, throwing you over the edge with a silent scream into your palm, nothing else mattered. Nothing except for Dave.

"Yes, Charles, I agree," he said through clenched teeth. Your climax was still rolling through you, causing your pussy to gush and squeeze around his cock, trying to pull him over the edge and give you what you wanted. What he promised.

Mercifully, Charles took the lead and began to give his own insight. Dave fell forward, chest hovering just over your back, and he slapped the mute button. The little button glowed red and he let out a low groan right next to your ear before he shuddered and then stilled. A moment later, you felt his release flooding your pussy, filling you up more and more with each soft moan that tumbled from his lips until he sighed and dropped his forehead to rest on the back of your shoulder.

"You're gonna get me fired," he murmured into your back. You laughed dryly with your eyes closed.

"Something tells me you'd be just fine."

Dave chuckled and slowly pushed himself up with a groan. One hand held your hip steady so he could pull out, grunting when he abandoned the warmth of your body. Almost instantly, you felt his seed trickle out of you, smearing between your thighs when you pressed them together.

You stood with a wince, legs and hips already aching, and went to fix your skirt when much to your surprise, Dave's hands got there first. He got down on his knees to take you gently by the ankles, guiding each leg through the material of your panties before sliding them back into place. Then his eyes locked with yours when he straightened your skirt, hands lingering on the bare skin of your calves for just a moment. You swallowed tightly, fascinated by the sight of him on his knees for you with such an endearing look across his face.

Behind you, voices in the phone were bidding everyone farewell, snapping Dave out of his trance. He stood and tapped the mute button, mimicked a polite goodbye, then hung up. His eyes drifted to you once again, still frozen in place up against his desk.

"Hope you aren't too late for your dinner."

You glanced at the clock and cursed when you saw it was already a few minutes past five.

"He's probably waiting out there for me," you told him. Dave nodded curtly and you thought that was your cue to leave, so you took one step forward. When his hand shot out to grab your arm, you swiveled back around.

Dave's lips met yours with the sweetest kiss you'd ever shared with him. There was no urgency or messiness or fighting for dominance. It was soft and tender and chaste, making your heart rattle inside your chest. But just as quickly as it started, it was over. He dropped your arm and slumped down tiredly in his chair, effectively dismissing you.

A big part of you wanted to ask if he was going to start coming by your apartment again, but you bit your tongue. What you just shared was probably just one last fuck for him; break up sex, if you were willing to call it a break up, and the last thing you wanted to do was embarrass yourself. So you ran your fingers through your hair and gathered your things before disappearing out into the office, softly shutting the door behind you, the whole time feeling Dave's gaze watching your every move.

Surprisingly, Michael was not at your desk. You didn't think anything of it, just grateful you had a few extra minutes to yourself to breathe and shift gears before having to see him. As you were packing up your things, you saw a pink post-it note stuck to your coffee mug: meet you in the parking ramp.

Okay, so he had been there at some point. It was probably a good thing Dave actually had a conference call at four. It kept you from feeling too paranoid as you switched off your light and pulled on your coat. You hurried to the elevator all alone, the floor almost entirely empty, which was no surprise for a Friday. Right before you stepped onto the elevator, you glanced back once towards Dave's closed door. His light was still on, the bright yellow glow peered out from the crack under his door.

All the way down to the parking garage, you were burdened by the words Dave moaned in your ear and the empty feeling he left inside your leaking pussy. Something about him was so magnetic, it was difficult to think about anything else. It was why you were so distracted walking towards your car in the dark parking garage and didn't hear the soft footsteps of a man sneaking up behind you, hitting you so hard over the head with something heavy and narrow that you passed out immediately.

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[lazylittledragon]

Heya, feel free not to answer if this is uncomfortable, invasive or you just don't want to :)

I'm a trans guy and I'm, after top surgery, hoping to get laurel wreaths tattooed over the scars with florograpgy accents.

Do you have any advice for someone who's never had a tattoo before? Anyways to deal with pain, common courtesies for the tattoo artist, how the actual session goes, etc.?

Love ya,

Quimble

THAT'S A GREAT IDEA also absolutely!!!

don't stress about it or worry about being 'too much', for someone's first one i will talk through every single thing i'm doing and there are no stupid questions or too many concerns. also don't worry about twitching/flinching, it's not your fault and we know how to work around it

your artist should never make you feel bad about ANYTHING!! you can move the stencil as many times as you want and we don't care about your body or what you look like. if you need to take a break it's fine, if you need numbing spray it's fine. i would honestly rather slightly inconvenience myself than make you uncomfortable. as long as you aren't intentionally wiggling around the entire time or being a dick to the artist, you're all good.

yes it is going to hurt but it probably won't be as bad as you think it will be. when i got my first one i really hyped myself up and was very underwhelmed by the pain aksddfjfdj

bring something with you like a book or headphones if you need a distraction (as long as the tattoo placement allows it). i'm quite chatty most of the time but if you want a quiet session/no smalltalk you can ask for that

the actual session will go something like: show up, look at the design, make any changes if you want, test it out for sizing, put the stencil on and make sure you like it, then start the tattoo. afterwards they'll go through all the aftercare with you and either put on second skin (a film that sticks to your skin and protects the tattoo) or wrap it in clingfilm

if they haven't specified when you book the appointment then ask if it's cash/card/paypal etc and if it's cash, try and get it out BEFORE the tattoo appointment (just a time saving thing). also tipping is never expected but always Extremely appreciated :))

please please PLEASE tell us if you don't like the design/want to change the placement etc. personally i would be mortified if i knew someone didn't like what i'd done and didn't feel comfortable telling me. it's there forever so i want you to like it!!