#and i'm sooo goddamn frustrated!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

4urvalidation · 5 months ago

Text

A CASE OF LIMERENCE | Chapter Seven

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

A/N: Didn't expect this chapter to take me as long as it did, but alas - it's finally here and I am goddamn proud of it! Things are finally HAPPENING!!! And I'm so excitedd.

T/W: body image issues, mentions of drug/alcohol use, mild sexual content, implied/mentioned animal abuse, characters being horny & just overall tomfoolery

“Does this dress make me look fat?” Polly emerges from the dressing room in a stunning floral dress that looks so good on her it even makes the sales assistant’s jaw fall to the ground. It was the seventh dress she had tried on that day. Not that Leni was counting.

“Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me Pauline!” Tess quips, her face scrunched in a frustrated scowl. She had chosen her Midsummer dress almost immediately and somehow managed to buy three more. All of this was happening while Leni was desperately trying to find the words to nicely let Polly know that the dress she picked out for her was something only her aunt Edna would wear.

“Stop yelling at me! You have no idea how hard it is to have this body!” Polly says, her face the same color as the dress: burning red.

“Oh yeah - it must be sooo hard to have big tits and a tiny waist.”

They start arguing - something they have been doing a lot more often in the past couple of days, making Leni try hard to recall whether this has always been a part of their friendship or something that started happening only very recently.

Upset, Polly storms back inside the dressing room; closing the curtain so aggressively she almost rips it off its hinges.

“She’s such a fucking drama queen.” With a frustrated sigh Tess plops on one of the sofas, her phone almost immediately in her hand, “Please tell me you decided on a dress. Cause if I have to spend one more minute in this stupid fucking shop I will literally kill myself.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Thank fucking god. Which one is it?” Tess raises herself on her elbows, trying to get a better look at the mess of hangers in Leni’s arms. “Don’t tell me it’s the leopard one.”

It’s the leopard one.

“No, it’s this white one.”

“Good choice. Very classy.”

In the background Tess drones on and on and about how there are people that show up at Midsummers with a complete disregard for the event and no - she’s not saying that there is a strict dress code but a true Kook always knows how to dress up for these kinds of things. Then she starts telling Leni about this one year where this fake Kook girl showed up in the wildest zebra print and how everyone laughed at how tacky she looked.

“I mean it was totally expected. She used to live in The Cut before her family literally won the lotto and got a house in Figure Eight. Poor girl was so desperate to fit in, like you should’ve seen her Leni-” Her pompous rant is suddenly cut short by an ear piercing scream.

Polly.

“The zipper is stuck! I am so fat that the zipper got stuck!” She sobs, her face a mess of runny mascara and tears. “I am literally going to die in this ugly fucking dress!” As if on cue, Tess pushes herself inside the dressing room, leaving Leni standing alone. Totally fine - she didn’t want to participate in that mess anyways.

While out of sight, she sneakily goes to buy her dress and just as she’s about to check whether Tess and Polly need her help, her phone buzzes in her hand.

Leni’s heart skips a beat.

Swallowing, she stares at the message.

“Miss?” The sales assistant calls out for her but she’s too lost for words in order to answer. “If you get-”

“I-I’ll be right back. Don’t let that dress go anywhere!”

With her phone tightly clutched in her hand, Leni steps outside the shop - the bright July sun almost blinding her. Squinty eyed, she inspects her surroundings, hoping to see a familiar figure but the only thing standing before her is a single blue car. And that’s when she sees him.

Rafe.

The driver’s window starts rolling down at the same time she begins crossing the street towards it. He’s in a suit again; his face half covered by dark rimmed sunglasses and ugh - Leni absolutely hates the way her breath catches the second she gets even the tiniest glimpse of him.

“What are you stalking me now?” She practically shouts at him.

“Hello Elena.”

“I asked you a question.”

“S’not my fault your friend posts everything on social media.”

What? Leni furrows her brows, but the realization hits her the second the thought crosses her mind. Of course, Polly has him in her close friends.

“Is that supposed to be an excuse?”

“Not at all.”

“Rafe.”

“Yes?”

“I will kick you.”

The second the words leave her mouth, Rafe takes off his sunglasses - the dark purple bruise and stitches are covering nearly half of his face. “I know.” He says, the corners of his lips perked in a small smile and for the second time that day, he makes Leni’s heart skip a beat. “Have dinner with me.”

Correction, three times.

“No.”

Just then, his smile grows bigger; practically spreading across that frustratingly handsome face of his and suddenly, Leni’s completely lost count of the times he’s made her heart forget to beat.

“I’m not asking you out, Elena. I just want to talk. Like normal people.”

Leni swallows.

Her text.

Rafe is staring at her. Gaze determinedly focused on her own; those dark wild ocean blue eyes causing all kinds of floods in a very particular part of her body and oh - it’s such a terrible idea. Talking to him, looking at him… even breathing the same air as Rafe Cameron is the worst possible thing she could do and yet…

She wants to.

“How about this,” He says when it’s become a little too obvious that no words will be coming out of Leni's mouth anytime soon. “I’ll send you the location of the restaurant and… if you feel like coming… I’ll be there. Waiting.”

She wants to run away.

She wants to tear herself from the car and run as fast as her feet allow her to.

Leave the island, leave the states and go someplace where the memory of him will no longer exist.

“Okay.” Quiet as a whisper, the word practically slips out of Leni’s lips.

“Okay.”

“Now leave me alone, please!”

Back in the shop, Polly’s face is puffy from all the unnecessary crying, but at least she’s smiling and finally out of that goddamn dress.

“Where were you? I wanted you to see and tell me if this pink one squishes my boobs.”

“Oh, I’m sorry I had to take a call.” Leni replies with an apologetic smile and completely ignores just how easy lying has been coming to her as of late. Polly nods and after what feels like ages, goes to buy the things that Tess has somehow convinced her she doesn’t look fat in.

“I know you’re lying.” Tess says, the tone in her voice dripping in accusation, the moment Polly is just out of earshot. “I saw you. You were with Rafe.” Their eyes meet and Leni does her best to seem as unphased as possible.

“So?”

“Why?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“I’m not asking why you were talking to him. I wanna know why you’re lying.”

Fuck.

Leni always seems to forget just how smart Tess is.

“Are you sleeping with him?”

The thought makes her heart skip a beat for the millionth time that day and once the idea weaves itself inside her mind, that’s all Leni can suddenly think about. She doesn’t care about giving her friend a proper answer or making herself look good when the image of Rafe ravaging her is consuming her like some brain eating bacteria.

Tess scoffs, her lips spread into a bitter smile, “Of course. Of course you are. I mean - at this point who isn’t?”

“I’m not. The reason why I was talking to him and lying to you about it - is private.” She’s about to spin some bullshit story about how she’s known his family for years; how at this point she too is practically a Cameron, but Polly comes rushing in - bags of brand new clothes gripped in hand - and Tess’ interrogation ends.

After what feels like ages, the three of them leave Bellefleur, but when Tess and Polly start heading back towards the docks, Leni doesn’t join them. Her excuse involves Sarah and the Pogues and she hates lying to them - especially after the way Tess just confronted her about it, but what else was she supposed to say?

The truth?

They say their goodbyes and she ignores the all knowing glare Tess gives her after their short lived hug. Tomorrow she’ll probably wake up to all kinds of rumors, but does it really matter? It’s not like people know who she really is around the island and those who do, don’t seem to be too interested in the life she’s leading.

Although, they might start if Tess decides to never let this go.

The location Rafe sent her belongs to a country club not too far from the shopping strip she wasted an entire day with Tess and Polly and although the trek was barely a ten minute walk, Leni’s body is sprinkled with drops of sweat; her hair practically glued to the back of her neck and her flimsy top and shorts far too beachy for something as fancy as this.

Wide eyed, she marvels at the high ceilings and marble floors; the people, their crisp designer clothes, fake tans and pearly smiles and if she didn’t feel out of place before, she sure as hell feels like it now. Slightly embarrassed, Leni drags her beat up Converse and massive Bellefleur shopping bag towards the snotty-faced host.

“Bathroom is for members only.” He says pompously and her entire face flushes red. She can’t seem to remember the last time she’s been embarrassed like this.

She also can’t seem to come up with any words either, as she stands there frozen - from both the icey words and A/C - and perhaps this is a sign. Not exactly the thing she’s been asking for, but certainly a warning: she shouldn’t be here. She should be at the docks, boarding the ferry back to Kildare Island and texting JJ to be waiting for her so they can spend the rest of the day together.

“S’there a problem?” A familiar voice breaks her awkward silence and there it is again - that silly heart of hers and its tendency to skip beats whenever he is around. His gaze flickers towards her every now and then; never sticking for too long, but hers does. Leni allows her eyes to linger on his lithe body; the beige suit and his buzzed head; the undone buttons of his shirt; the gold ring on his finger and the way he’s towering over both her and the host.

Fuck.

She always forgets how tall he is.

“Mr. Cameron,” The host’s face flushes red; redder than Leni’s was mere seconds ago and she wants to gloat, but she’s far too flustered in order to do so. “This is… do not worry, I’ve got it all under control. This young lady will leave immediately.”

“This young lady is my date.” Rafe says, the words barely sneaking past his gritted teeth and suddenly Leni can’t tell who’s befuddlement is bigger: hers or the host’s.

“Oh. Right. I see… Unfortunately, the club’s rules-”

“For fuck’s sake. Is it her clothes that bother you?” He doesn’t wait for an answer; just shrugs off his suit jacket and hands it to Leni. “Here. Put this on.” She doesn’t wait for Rafe to tell her twice. In a matter of seconds, the jacket finds itself on her body along with his hand on the small of her back. “Come on sweetheart.”

Sweetheart?

Rafe guides her towards a table in the back while she repeats the word in her mind until it completely loses its meaning. Silently, she watches him pull the chair out for her and over the years she’s considered him to be a lot of things, but never a gentleman. Sure, he could be doing it out of politeness, but then again - when has Rafe Cameron ever been polite?

“Whatchu got there?” Brows raised, he jerks his chin towards the shopping bag on the empty chair beside Leni.

“My dress for Midsummers.”

“You’re going.”

“Yeah. Are you?”

Rafe shrugs, “Dunno.” He reaches for the menu. She can’t help, but mimic him. “Any word from Rose?”

Leni’s heart drops.

“No.”

He clears his throat. “Look, I’m sure Sarah’s told you by now, but I want you to hear it from me too.” She watches him lean back in his seat; the menu now discarded and those blue eyes stubbornly focused on her face. “I’m hiring a private investigator.”

Her jaw falls slack, “I… I didn’t know that.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Hmph. Thought you two shared everything.”

“Clearly, we don’t.” Leni raises her brows, silently gesturing to this little get-together of theirs and he just knows. She sees it in the way he instantly pulls himself towards her; the corners of his lips perking up into a smile and for a second she contemplates doing the same. Her brain is curious to know how it feels to have her face inches away from his own, but that doesn’t happen.

It will never happen.

The waiter comes to take their orders and despite the gnawing hole in her stomach, Leni doesn’t have an appetite. She lost it the moment she caught a whiff of Rafe’s intoxicating cologne. It’s the same he wore on the night of the incident.

“Elena?” Her name sounds different rolling down his tongue and no - it has nothing to do with the fact that for some stubborn reason he’s decided to be the only one to call her that. She glances over at him; those haunting blue eyes gazing over at her with certain unreadable curiosity and what the fuck is she supposed to order? She barely even paid attention to the menu in her hands, little alone spent time looking at it.

“I’ll just have the Caesar salad.” She mutters, “Oh, and a Coke. And fries.”

“I’ll have a Coke too. Thanks.” His gaze never leaves her. “Think you’ll have room for dessert?”

“Depends. Will we be slurping or snorting the Coke?”

Rafe snorts, “Slurping. I don’t do drugs anymore.”

“I know.”

“Or drink.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“I’m sober.”

“I get it Rafe - my joke wasn’t funny.”

“No. But you are.”

Now it’s Leni’s turn to scoff.

When she finally looks back at him and sees his lips pulled into a wide, almost toothy smile something inside her chest cracks open.

Fuck.

She likes him.

He’s the worst man alive and she has a maddening crush on him.

“So, is Rose the only reason why you wanted me here?” She tries to keep her voice as steady as possible, but her heart is running laps between her ribs and the tips of her fingers are prickling at an alarming pace and when did it start? When did she stop thinking rationally and start liking him?

Has she always liked him?

The cat Leni. Think about the fucking cat.

“No. But if you have any interesting things to share - I’m all ears.” There he is again: moving closer and she feels his knees bump into hers; the soft material of his pants rub against her bruised and scratched skin; skin that would’ve been smooth as a baby’s butt if he hadn’t chased her down like the prey he clearly saw her as. “Nothing? Okay-”

“I KNOW ABOUT THE CAT.” She says loudly. Too loudly. Loudly enough for people from other tables to turn and look at them.

Leni wants the ground to open and swallow her whole.

“I’m sorry?” Rafe says, a puzzled look on his face.

“The cat. I know about it.”

“I don’t-” But he does. She sees it in the way his eyebrows shoot up and his lips begin forming into a bitter, tight smile. “Ah, the cat.” Rafe nods. “Of course you know about the cat. Did Rose also happen to tell you why I cut his tail off?”

Leni blinks, “Tail?”

“Yeah.”

“Rafe… Did you cut Mr. Buttersmith’s tail before drowning him?” Her entire body shakes as the question croaks out of her throat. She wants to look away; grab her things and disappear as far away as possible but none of her limbs seem to be functioning properly. All that’s left to do is sit there and watch as a dark shadow falls over Rafe’s face.

“No.” She finds relief in the fact that her voice isn’t the only one shaking right now, but that doesn’t mean her nerves are at ease. With a lump in her throat, Leni watches him chew on his thumb; his gaze no longer focused on her, but on the empty table. When he finally looks at her, the haunted look in his eyes is back. “Mr. Buttersmith… I… Sarah had found this dog - a, a mutt and of course dad let her keep it because Sarah always got whatever the fuck she wanted… Anyways, one day, Mr. Buttersmith got out in the yard. I dunno how he did it, but he was outside and the dog started chasing him and while running away Mr. Buttersmith got his tail stuck in the fence. He couldn’t get out. He was panicking and I was scared that if I didn’t help him, Sarah’s stupid dog would kill him, so-”

“You cut his tail off?”

“I thought I was helping him.”

She can’t tear her gaze away from Rafe.

“Was… what happened to him?”

“Dad helped me take him to the vet. They patched him up. He lived for five more years.”

Leni swallows the lump in her throat. “But Rose said…”

“Yeah. She says a lot of things to keep people away from me. God knows what kind of stories she’s told Wheezie…”

A part of her doesn’t want to believe him. Her loyalty lies with Rose; always has and always will, but something deep inside Leni refuses to take her Godmother’s side. Disappearing without a trace; leaving her with only a cryptic note and a hotel room booked for the summer… She can’t help but think there’s a reason for it, but her brain is far too exhausted in order to make sense of it all.

The waiter brings their food just then - it’s like he’s got both the best and worst timing in the world.

“What are you gonna do when you find her?” After what feels like ages, Leni speaks again; her question rough against her throat.

Chewing, Rafe shrugs. “Take her to court. Get custody of my sister.”

“You think they’ll let you do that?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Well, you did recently get jumped by your ex dealer to whom you allegedly still owe money to…” Smiling, he opens his mouth to speak, but she doesn’t let him, “There’s also the drug charge, three DUIs, that time you spent a night in prison for attacking a cop, rumors about a drowned cat-”

“Keeping tabs on all my crimes…Elena… you’re like, obsessed with me.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

+++

Rafe pays for dinner and as they’re heading out, once again takes the liberty to place his hand on the small of her back. The only difference this time, his touch never truly reaches her, just hovers. Once outside, he lights up a cigarette, his gaze lingering on her face curiously.

“How’re you heading home?” He asks, blowing smoke in the empty space next to him.

“With you, obviously.”

He smiles and for someone she once upon a time thought was completely incapable of such a thing, Rafe sure as hell likes to do it a lot lately.

Without another word, they move towards the docks. The silence between them is strangely pleasant. With the corner of her eye Leni absorbs the way he looks besides her - shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows; hands in pockets; cigarette dangling from lips.

She doesn’t remember him being a smoker.

“You need help getting in?” He asks, the question barely audible against the sound of crashing waves. Leni looks at him and no - she doesn’t, but parts of her body are desperate to feel his touch again so she nods; gaze hidden behind her lashes. The calloused skin of Rafe’s hand feels electric against her own as he slowly guides her onto the boat.

The places where he touched her are aflame. With her breath caught inside her throat, Leni watches him climb with a single, sleek movement and she wonders - why hasn’t she been this attracted to him before? Perhaps she’s always been but the fear Rose instilled in her as a child prevented Leni from properly reeling in it.

“I’m just realizing,” She says after several moments of comfortable silence, “I’ve never been on your boat before.”

“That’s ‘cause you never asked.”

“Well, you scared me, remember?”

Their eyes meet.

Rafe’s brows slump downwards; his lips suddenly twisted in a frown, “Do I still do that?”

“No.”

He doesn’t.

What he does to her is much worse than fear.

But Leni can never admit that to him, little alone to herself.

She is still wearing his suit jacket when they arrive back to the island. This time, Rafe doesn’t ask whether she needs help; he just takes her hand and slowly guides her back to land. She watches his hand twitch - fingers rapidly pulling in and out of a fist and she wonders whether his skin sizzles the same way hers does in that very moment.

“Come, I’ll drive you home.” Rafe jerks his head towards his Range Rover, but Leni stands her ground; her feet practically glued on the pavement. “What?” He asks when he notices she hasn’t budged at all and in two long strides, manifests himself in front of her. “What’s wrong?”

Silently, Leni takes the suit jacket off of her and hands it back to him. “I’m gonna walk.”

“Elena.”

His gaze feels heavy, but she doesn’t dare meet it. If she does, every promise she has made to herself will be broken and she simply cannot allow that to happen. Rafe still mustn’t know where she is staying.

“Please. You’ve done enough.” Finally, she looks at him and he’s so handsome it physically hurts her. His suit jacket hovers in the small distance between them and she nudges it a little, reminding him to just take it off her fucking hands but Rafe shakes his head.

“Keep it.”

“No.”

“It’s cold.”

“I’ll manage.”

Rafe sighs, his hand frustratingly running over his buzzed head, “Stay here.” She hears him say in a rough, almost demanding voice and Leni really doesn’t like the feeling it creates between her legs. She tries looking away; staring at everything but his broad shoulders and long strides, but it’s all her stupid brain can focus on.

When he returns, there’s a teal colored material bunched up in his fist. “Here.” He hands it to her, his voice still carrying that same amount of roughness and Leni doesn’t wait to be told twice. She exchanges the suit jacket for the other piece of clothing and this one is so big, it almost swallows her whole.

Just like what Rafe's gaze is doing right now.

“Happy?” She barks at him.

“Very.”

“Good. Cause I’m not promising on giving it back.”

“That’s okay.” He smiles. “I like it better on you anyways.”

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

28 notes · View notes

weemssapphic · 2 years ago

Note

Hi how are you? I hope well! so i really like your writing actually ur my fav writer here on tumblr ;). So i had this idea for a fanfic by Miranda Hilmarson x reader. It was about Miranda being a traffic cop sometimes too and then she ends up giving the reader a ticket in one day and the reader gets really mad and even fights with Miranda, and then they end up meeting again, but what Miranda didn't know was that the reader would be her new boss!! From there I leave it to you, it can even be an enemies to lovers, you know.

I just had this silly idea, maybe you'll like it and I'd be super happy if you wrote it.💗

another thing! English is not my language, I'm literally writing this through Google translator so if something seems strange to you, you already know ☠️

A/N: thank you sooo much, that is so kind of you! I really liked this request and enjoyed writing it - it's my first time writing for Miranda so I really hope it's okay <3 just gonna post this and go hide now ahhhh

not your fault

Words: ~7.4k | ao3 link in title

Content/warnings: slight enemies to lovers, mentions of Adrian Butler (ugh), reader has a temper - poor Miranda is on the receiving end, mentions of cigarettes and alcohol, employee-boss relationship, angry Miranda, but also adorable puppy Miranda, nsfw (smut) - vaginal fingering, cunnilingus

“Are you fucking kidding me…” You groaned under your breath as you snatched up the little piece of paper stuck between your windshield wipers - a parking ticket. You were already running late thanks to your cat having puked all over your carpet that morning, and thanks to the barista at the coffee shop who’d taken ages with your latte - and now you were going to be even later.

You whipped your head around, looking for the officer who’d given you the ticket. A tall, blonde woman in a police uniform was strolling down the line of parked cars, handing out tickets to each one. The officer turned as you stomped over, eyes widening as you advanced on her until you were standing right in front of her. You had to crane your neck up to look at her - in any other situation, you might have found this insanely arousing, but right now you were far too pissed.

“Care to explain this?” You waved the paper in her face - she went slightly cross-eyed as her eyes followed your movements.

“Uh, that’s a parking ticket, ma’am.” The officer swallowed visibly, taking a step back.

“I park here every goddamn day,” you hissed.

“I’m sorry…” She seemed a bit dazed and distracted for a moment as she regarded you, her eyes darting between your own, before straightening her posture and clearing her throat. “There’s, uh, a festival downtown this weekend, they’ve closed most of the parking zones until it’s over. There’s a sign at the start of the road.” She nodded her head over to a single sign set up at the next intersection, one that you had clearly missed in your rush.

You were seething, a billion arguments ready on your tongue, but the clock was ticking - and in the end, she was right, no matter how pissed you were.

“You know what, fucking forget it. I’m already running late! Thanks for nothing.” You stomped back to your car and crumpled up the parking ticket, tossing it on the passenger seat and groaning in frustration - the officer stood rooted to the spot, watching as you drove away.

~~~

Not wanting to get a speeding ticket in addition to your parking ticket, you took your time driving to the police station for your first day on the job. You’d just moved to Sydney to replace Adrian Butler as he left his position to “focus on his marriage” - you hadn’t even started yet and had already heard rumors of his extramarital affair with a constable. Men are pigs, you thought as you strode into the station and took the elevator up to the third floor, half an hour later than you’d planned.

The room was buzzing when you walked in but as soon as you cleared your throat and made your presence known, everyone went silent.

“I’ll spare you all the usual ‘first day’ speech - you should know who I am. I’m sure we’ll all get to know each other well over the course of the coming weeks, but for now I already have my hands full with everything that Detective Sergeant Butler so generously left for me.”

Your eyes landed on an empty desk near the center of the room. “Who usually sits there? Are they out sick?”

Some of the men began to snicker - one in particular answered your question. “Oh, that’s Hilmarson.” He smirked and took a sip from his coffee mug as he leaned against the side of the copy machine.

You raised an eyebrow. “And? Where is Constable Hilmarson?”

The elevator doors opened behind you and you turned around, eyes widening as you were confronted with the tall, blonde officer who’d given you a ticket. Her own shocked expression mirrored yours.

“That’d be her.” The man - Constable Brown, you’d later come to learn - chuckled, his smirk widening.

“Constable.” You glared pointedly at Constable Hilmarson. “My office, now.”

She frowned and followed you to the small office at the side of the room. You closed the door behind her and took a seat behind your new desk, gesturing for the officer to sit. She scrambled rather clumsily towards the chair and sat down, looking like a child about to be reprimanded.

“Constable Hilmarson, is it? Miranda?” You regarded her carefully. Her cheeks were rosy with embarrassment, her eyes wide as saucers. And, God, were they blue. They were mesmerizing. Miranda bobbed her head up and down in answer to your question, a bit of her pale blonde hair falling in her eye. She raised a hand to her head, dragging long fingers through her hair to brush it back - you had to physically shake your head to stop yourself from getting distracted by her movements.

“I like to be prepared, Constable. So I was having a look at your file the other day, you see, and I was under the impression that you are currently on a homicide case with Detective Griffin. Or am I mistaken?”

“Yes - I mean, no, you’re not mistaken.” Miranda shook her head furiously.

“Then pray tell, Constable - why on earth did you spend your morning handing out fucking parking tickets?” You couldn’t keep the venom out of your voice as you questioned Miranda - something about her was pissing you off (or maybe it was just the fact that you hadn’t even been able to drink your coffee yet), and you were having trouble reigning in your emotions.

Miranda’s face was bright red and her hands shook slightly. “I lost a bet,” she mumbled, unable to meet your gaze.

“Louder.”

She cleared her throat, her eyes locking with yours. “I lost a bet. I had to take over Constable Brown’s duties for the morning.”

You sighed, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of your nose.

“I’m not here to play games. Do you understand that?” Your voice was sickly sweet, bordering on condescension - it was not lost on Miranda, who was starting to look like she wanted to argue.

Evidently, she thought better of it at the last second, for she simply nodded as she glowered at you.

“You’re here to do your job, not Constable Brown’s job. And I expect you to do your job well. So, seeing as you’ve not only made me late, wasted your entire morning, and wasted even more of my time with this silly conversation, I would appreciate it if you could get to work. Now.”

Miranda stood abruptly, sending a stack of papers flying from your desk as she stormed from the room. You rubbed your temples, wincing at the force with which she closed the door behind her - you were already starting to develop a headache, and it wasn’t even 10 am.

~~~

As the morning went on, you found yourself growing more and more agitated, unable to focus on anything. You realized as your stomach growled for the fourth (or was it the fifth?) time that, in your rush, you’d skipped breakfast.

The second the clock hit 12 for your lunch break, you were on your feet. You’d have to work through much of your break to catch up, but you could afford to take a few minutes to grab a coffee and a granola bar from the vending machines in the lobby.

Passing by Miranda’s desk, you noticed that her chair was empty - the sight made your blood boil. You took a deep breath to calm yourself down - it was her lunch break, too, and she had every right to leave her desk during that time. Her messy, cluttered desk… You clenched your fists and headed for the elevator.

That wasn’t the only time her desk was empty, however. Throughout the afternoon, you would look up from your paperwork (you found that Adrian had been terrible at properly filing paperwork, making your job that much harder) every so often - and more times than not, the constable was nowhere in sight. With a frustrated sigh, you stood and strode over to open the window - you desperately needed the fresh air if you were going to make it home without strangling someone.

The sight of Miranda smoking a cigarette in the alley next to the station, just under your window, had you clenching your jaw, nostrils flaring. You couldn’t help yourself - you immediately headed towards the elevator and took rapid steps out of the station, rounding the corner and advancing on the constable, whose back was turned to you.

“Hilmarson!” you barked - Miranda flinched as she turned to face you.

“What did I do now? Am I not allowed to smoke or something?” She sounded agitated, and that made you even angrier.

“This is your fourth smoke break in the past two hours alone. If your habits are going to get in the way of your job, then I suggest you-”

“You know, you’re really stressing me out!” Miranda yelled back, gesticulating wildly as she spoke. “I’ll do my damned job, okay? You’re just really not making it easy.”

You laughed - it was hollow and sarcastic - and took a step closer to Miranda. Your face was inches away from hers now - this close, your eyes were drawn to her lips, soft and plush, trembling slightly with anger. A little scar adorned her top lip and your gaze lingered there for a moment, arousal pooling in your core - until Miranda brought the cigarette back to her mouth to take a drag.

Torn from your trance, you plucked it from her grip and dropped it to the ground, crushing it with your boot.

“Talk to me like that again and I’m sending you home for the rest of the day. Now get back upstairs.”

Miranda pushed roughly past you, her shoulder bumping into yours as she headed back into the station. You leaned against the wall and let out a loud groan, your eyes fluttering shut. Why was Miranda determined to make your day as difficult as humanly possible?

With a heavy sigh, you opened your eyes and pushed off the wall, following the constable back inside.

~~~

Your second day on the job started out significantly better than your first. You managed to eat breakfast, get coffee, and make it to work on time, all without getting a parking ticket or arguing with a certain constable. Miranda had been at her desk when you’d walked past it and, mercifully, hadn’t said a word to you - though you could feel her eyes on you as you disappeared into your office.

When you left your office for your lunch break, you found the main office empty - you figured most of your officers were taking their lunch break as well. You strode over to the little kitchen, reaching for the handle when the door swung open in your face - your body colliding with a much taller one. You heard a gasp above you and looked up to see Miranda standing directly in front of you, eyes wide, mouth hanging open in shock.

It was then that you realized your shirt suddenly felt a bit wet - your eyes fell to the half-empty bowl in Miranda’s hand, then to your torso, which was covered in milk and little pieces of cereal.

“Oh you have got to be kidding me,” you growled, pushing past Miranda and ignoring the apologies that poured profusely from her mouth. You grabbed a fistful of paper towels and dabbed at your shirt, quickly realizing that it was no use - you’d have to get changed.

You spun around when you felt a hand on your arm, glaring up at Miranda who looked down at you apprehensively. At your furious expression, she pulled her hand away as if burned. “Do you need help?”

Sighing, you closed your eyes and attempted to reign in your temper. “No,” you grit out. “It’s fine, you’ve done enough. I just have to go home to get changed, I guess.”

“Well if you don’t have a shirt with you then you can borrow mine?”

Your eyes flew open, meeting Miranda’s soft gaze before flickering down to her torso. “W-what?”

“I mean, I have an extra shirt in my locker.” Miranda gestured back towards the elevator with her thumb, a faint smirk playing upon her lips - the fact that you had just basically ogled her chest was not lost on her, apparently.

You could feel your cheeks turn red and you looked down at your own shirt, clinging to your chest - it had turned slightly see-through, and you could see your bra through the thin fabric. The drive home would cost you your entire lunch break, and Miranda did owe you for this… You sighed heavily.

“Yeah, sure.”

Miranda smiled, her eyes lighting up and crinkling at the outer corners - it was the first time you’d seen her properly smile, and it was beautiful. She crossed the kitchen and peered out the door into the office.

“The coast is clear,” she said with a grin, gesturing for you to follow her. You rolled your eyes and the two of you headed down to the empty locker rooms.

“I always bring something to change into after work,” Miranda supplied as she busied herself with opening her locker. “It might be a bit big on you but at least nobody will be able to see your bra.”

You started to unbutton your shirt, feeling Miranda’s eyes on you as you did so. It was hard to focus with the constable in such close proximity - you struggled with the buttons as you found yourself growing more and more flustered.

“Here, let me help,” she murmured, and before you could stop her, her hands were on the buttons of your shirt. Her fingers brushed against the swell of your chest, just above the fabric of your bra, and you shivered visibly, your mouth going dry.

“T-thanks but I got it,” you mumbled, gently pushing Miranda’s hand away. “Could you turn around?”

Miranda furrowed her brow, her face flushing. “Oh, sorry!” She placed a baby blue t-shirt on the bench next to you, then turned and studied the bare wall with great interest as you got changed.

“You can turn around again,” you said, clearing your throat. Miranda did as she was told, her eyes getting stuck on your chest for a moment before meeting your gaze. Your anger had all but dissipated, replaced with an unfamiliar and somewhat unsettling tension as you looked at Miranda, your stomach flipping.

“Uh, thanks,” you whispered. “For the shirt.”

Miranda’s lips curled up into a smile. “Yeah, of course. You know, I’m really excited to have another woman on the force. Last night I was looking into your case in Auckland before you got promoted - I talked to Robin about it, even she was impressed.”

For once, you were left speechless. For all the crap you’d given Miranda since meeting her, she seemed so genuine and excited to be speaking with you in that moment - you could feel yourself get flustered again, and all you could do was nod your head as she spoke.

“Oh, my lunch break is over so I have to go meet Robin but, uh, I’ll see you later, yeah?”

You nodded absentmindedly, stuck on the way Miranda’s hands moved as she spoke and the brightness of her eyes. She shot you one last grin before turning and taking long strides out of the locker rooms, leaving you to stand there in a daze, holding your wet shirt.

~~~

It was finally Friday and you’d been invited to go to the bar for drinks after work to celebrate the end of your first week - you stood in the lobby of the station, waiting for Robin to join your group before heading out.

Since the little cereal incident, you were trying to actively avoid thinking about, looking at, or talking to Miranda, but she was making that damned near impossible. When you’d returned her shirt back to her, freshly washed, she made sure to allow her fingers to brush against yours, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. She wasn’t at her desk much throughout the day, off investigating leads with Robin, and for that you were grateful - but every time you saw her desk, littered with empty takeout containers, paperwork, coffee mugs, you felt a twinge of annoyance, followed by a sinking feeling of guilt that you couldn’t quite place. As a result, you spent much more time than you wanted sitting at your desk, dissecting your feelings for the blonde but coming up empty.

The door to the station opened and a civilian walked in with a small goldendoodle on a leash. A gasp sounded to your right and you couldn’t help yourself - your eyes followed the sound just in time to see Miranda crouch down and extend her arms towards the dog, which jumped excitedly up at her, trying to lick her face.

You couldn’t tell who was more excited about the interaction - Miranda, or the dog. The blonde was letting out little squeals of delight, cooing at the dog as she buried her fingers in its fur.

“Pull yourself together, Constable,” you grumbled, annoyed mostly at yourself for the way your stomach was reacting to the sight of Miranda cuddling the dog. It was childish and unprofessional… You most definitely did not think it was cute. Not even a little bit, no… You blushed and looked away as Miranda stood up, missing the look of disappointment in her puppy-like eyes.

After that, though, you found you couldn’t even enjoy getting drinks with your colleagues - your mind was going in circles and you were unable to shake off this weird feeling in the pit of your stomach. You sat at a booth near the back of the bar, nursing a beer as everyone around you joked around and slowly got drunk.

You couldn’t keep your gaze from wandering towards Miranda, who was seated at the opposite end of the table. She sipped her beer, smiling occasionally at something one of the others said - your eyes, once again, got stuck on her smile. The upward quirk of her lips, the subtle scrunch of her nose, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. When she caught you staring, however, she quickly looked away, the smile sliding right off her face.

It affected you more than you would care to let on - as soon as her smile was gone, you wished for it back - desperately. And it was stupid, really - she’d somehow managed to sour your mood every single day this week, and yet your body was reacting to her in ways you hadn’t felt in a long time. With a sigh, you drained your beer and ordered a second one - this was going to be a long night.

~~~

If you’d thought your second week on the job would start better than the first, well - you’d quickly find out just how wrong you were.

Monday morning started like any other - you strode into the office with your coffee to-go cup, passing by Miranda’s empty desk. There was a half-empty bowl of cereal at the edge, stacks of manila folders and paperwork strewn over the surface, an empty, crumpled paper bag from the local bakery that had been tossed unceremoniously onto the computer keyboard. It stirred up a twinge of annoyance in you, but you tried your best to shake off the feeling.

Looking up and seeing the blonde standing at the coffee machine in the kitchen, you quickly averted your gaze and hurried to your office.

Your mind began to wander as you answered your emails and a flash of blonde through the window in your office caught your eye. Miranda walked back to her seat, a mug in her hand. She reached her desk and distractedly looked up, talking enthusiastically with Robin as she placed the mug down on a teetering pile of papers.

You looked on in horror as the pile slowly toppled over, spilling coffee all over her desk - you couldn’t bear to watch anymore, dropping your head into your hands in frustration as you heard Miranda let out a gasp.

Not my problem, you thought, trying to take steadying breaths. It wasn’t your desk that she’d spilled her coffee on, after all.

You stood and made your way to your office door, calling out for Robin.

“Yeah?”

“Did you manage to get a copy of the autopsy results already? I really need them.”

Robin shifted slightly from foot to foot, a frown growing on her face - you really didn’t like the look of that.

“Actually, I sent Miranda to get them this morning.”

Raising an eyebrow, you looked past Robin at her colleague, who was frantically wiping up the spilled coffee from her desk. “Hilmarson, can I get those autopsy results?”

Miranda looked up, freezing in her movements. Her eyes darted between you and her desk and her cheeks were rapidly turning pink. “They, uh… Got a bit soggy.” She strode over to you with a piece of paper in her hand. You took it gingerly, a look of disgust forming on your face as the entire thing was brown and dripping wet.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” you growled. Miranda shrugged sheepishly and muttered out an apology - you glared at her in return. “I need you to get me a fresh copy by this afternoon.”

Miranda opened her mouth to speak but you interrupted her, balling your hand into a fist and crumpling up the paper, tossing it on her desk. “And tidy your fucking desk like a grown up,” you snarled.

Miranda’s face was red as she turned sharply on her heel and stormed out of the office, taking large strides towards the elevators and disappearing from view.

“She grows on you,” Robin supplied quietly, watching you watch Miranda. You snorted.

“I doubt it.” Your stomach churned uncomfortably even as you said those words. Why did this woman have such an effect on you?

“She’s been having a rough time, ever since the breakup with Adrian.” Your eyes widened at this piece of information - you’d known about Adrian’s affair, of course, but you’d never thought it would be with Miranda. “They were going to have a baby together, you know.”

You coughed, choking on your own saliva. “They what?” You couldn’t picture Miranda as a mother - she was far too clumsy and chaotic… and goofy. And generous. Okay, maybe you could picture it, a little bit. Your stomach churned uncomfortably - you didn’t know the details of the affair, but breakups were rough - you’d moved across the country after your last breakup. You suddenly felt ashamed for being such a bitch to her.

“Yeah, well…” You cleared your throat awkwardly. “I have a lot of work to do, so if you don’t mind…” You forced a smile and Robin raised her eyebrows, nodding and leaving you be. You tried to focus after that but you couldn’t, your mind wandering quite insistently to a certain constable. Guilt began to gnaw at your insides after having been so harsh with her. You’d have to - you wanted to - apologize for your behavior.

You locked yourself in your office and finished replying to your emails. Even half an hour later, Miranda was still not at her desk - nor was she in the kitchen, the locker rooms, or the alley under your window. You finally found her behind the station, looking out over the water and smoking a cigarette.

“Hey,” you called, your heart clenching when you saw Miranda flinch as she turned to face you.

“Oh fuck. Look, I’m sorry, okay, I-”

“I’m the one who should apologize. Robin told me it was you.”

Miranda’s face scrunched up in confusion. She dropped her cigarette and took a step towards you. “Sorry?”

“You know, with Adrian.”

Recognition flooded Miranda’s features and she dropped her gaze to the pavement. “Oh.” She let out a hollow chuckle and turned again, walking towards the water and lowering herself to sit at the edge. You followed and took a seat next to her, leaving a healthy distance between the two of you.

“Men are pigs, you know?” Miranda said after a moment’s silence. A loud snort escaped your lips, causing Miranda to laugh - you hadn’t heard her laugh so freely before, but it made your heart soar and you thought it might be your new favorite sound in the world. It wasn’t quite melodic, not necessarily akin to birdsong - it was loud and unabashed and very Miranda, and for some reason you found you really liked that. You couldn’t help but laugh, too.

“You’re alright, you know that, Hilmarson?” you said with a grin, gently bumping your shoulder into hers. Miranda’s laughter slowly died out but the smile remained on her face, accompanied by a faint blush.

“Thanks. You are, too.”

~~~

“Hilmarson.” You slung your jacket over your shoulder as you strode past Miranda’s desk the following day around noon. Her eyes grew wide and she dropped the pen she was holding, straightening her posture. “Come with me.”

Miranda scrambled to get up, slipping her phone into her pocket and following you to the elevators and out of the building.

“Where are we going?” she asked, confusion evident in her tone as she scurried after you. You bypassed the parking lot, heading down the street instead.

“You’ll see,” you said with a smirk, wordlessly offering Miranda a cigarette. She fumbled around in her pocket for a lighter but you were quicker, holding up your own. “Hold still,” you murmured, holding the lighter up to her cigarette and lighting it for her, your eyes catching on the way her long, slender fingers held it, as if it were a delicate thing.

Your destination was a nearby coffee shop, and you held the door open for Miranda to step through. “After you,” you purred, smirking at Miranda’s wide eyes. After a moment’s hesitation, she scrambled into the cafe, waiting awkwardly for you at the counter.

“It’s on me,” you said before ordering yourself a latte and a sandwich. “Get anything you like.”

Minutes later, you were sitting together at a little table in the corner.

“Look,” you started with a sigh. Miranda tilted her head. “Can we start over? I haven’t exactly been fair to you. You aren’t the reason I was late last week. I was angry and took it out on you, and that was really shitty of me.”

“I did spill cereal all over your shirt, though,” Miranda murmured with a sheepish grin, her cheeks turning adorably rosy.

“Yeah. Yeah, you did,” you said with a laugh. “That’s not the point, though. You’re too good to let yourself get walked all over, you know that?”

Miranda shrugged, unable to fully meet your gaze and focusing instead on her panini, out of which she took a huge bite.

“Not by me, not by Constable Brown, not by Adrian - you’re a solid officer and you have potential, you just need to stand your ground more.”

“Oh god,” Miranda spoke through a full mouth, her voice slightly garbled, her eyes wide. “Is this a performance review or something?”

You laughed, your stomach flipping as her blush deepened. “No. I just…” You hesitated, biting your lip and looking away. I just really like you. “I just wanted to apologize. I want us to work together, not against each other.”

“Really?” Miranda grinned, her eyes sparkling - the hope written across her face nearly made your heart stop, and you nodded. “I was so scared when I found out you were my new boss. I really thought you hated me.”

“I did, too,” you said with a laugh. “But… for the record, I don’t. I hope you don’t hate me.”

Miranda’s cheeks puffed out as she chewed and she smiled widely. “I don’t.”

~~~

Ever since your lunch “date”, your feelings for Miranda were only growing. Your heart skipped a beat when you caught sight of her at the station, your stomach fluttered when you heard her voice. You even found yourself timing your smoke breaks with hers, just so you would have an excuse to chat with her and bask in her presence.

The following Friday at the bar, Miranda chose to sit down next to you. She placed a beer in front of you and offered you a wide smile - you felt your face flush as you muttered out an uncharacteristically shy “thank you”.

The two of you listened to your colleagues talk and banter - or rather, perhaps Miranda was listening, but you definitely weren’t. You were far too focused on the constable and your close proximity to one another; the way her shoulder bumped yours every so often, the way her hand flexed around her beer bottle, the way her throat bobbed whenever she took a sip.

Miranda laughed, throwing her head back, her shoulders shaking. She looked to the side, meeting your gaze - you couldn’t help but grin giddily back at her, chuckling a bit, and you could see her cheeks turn red as she returned your grin.

After your third beer, you started to feel a little daring - you placed your hand gingerly on her thigh, your touch feather light as you were afraid of crossing a line. To your surprise, Miranda placed her own hand on top of yours - it was warm and soft and large, and you could feel your pulse pick up as her long fingers curled slightly around yours. When you dared to steal a glance in her direction, you could see a soft smile playing upon her lips.

~~~

“Hey.” A low voice coming from the doorway to your office caused you to look up from your laptop. A smile involuntarily spread across your face seeing Miranda leaning awkwardly against the doorframe, her hands clasped behind her back.

“Hi,” you replied - Miranda hadn’t come into your office proactively since you’d started working at the station, but you supposed a lot had changed in the past few days. “Do you need something?”

Miranda shook her head. “No, I, uh, I actually wanted to ask if you’d want to come over to my place for a beer or something tonight?”

“Oh.” A swarm of butterflies erupted in your stomach at the prospect of spending one-on-one time with the blonde - who was looking increasingly like she was about to throw up, the longer you took to reply. “Yeah, yes, I would love to.”

Miranda’s eyes widened. “Okay, great. I’ll send you my address. How’s 7?”

“7 is perfect,” you said with a growing blush, chuckling as Miranda rushed back to her desk to grab her phone - your own phone pinged with a text moments later: an address.

~~~

You showed up promptly at 7, your heart pounding fiercely against your ribcage as you knocked on the door to Miranda’s apartment.

The door swung open to reveal the tall blonde, wearing the blue shirt she’d loaned you after spilling cereal all over you, as well as a pair of shorts.

“Blue is definitely your color,” you said before you could stop yourself. It really was, though - it brought out the blues of her eyes, making them shine and sparkle against her pale skin.

“Thank you,” Miranda said with a laidback grin, gesturing for you to enter her apartment. It surprised you to see that it wasn’t as messy as you’d have assumed it to be - it was definitely lived in, but it was clean and had very home-y vibes. More than anything, the first thing you noticed was the smell. It smelled like Miranda - light and clean, but with the faint scent of cigarettes clinging to the air. Her shirt had smelled like that, too, when you’d borrowed it, and though you never would have admitted it back then, you’d buried your nose in the fabric more than once before begrudgingly washing and returning it.

Miranda offered you a beer and guided you to her living room, settling on the couch and motioning for you to join her. The couch was relatively small and though you tried to leave some space between you, your knee ended up pressing lightly against Miranda’s thigh.

Despite your nerves, it somehow felt right to be in her space. You felt as though you were able to see a whole new side to Miranda - a side that you really liked. As the two of you engaged in some timid small-talk, you couldn’t help but wonder why she’d invited you - you hoped it was for the same reason that you’d said yes.

“God, I was so nervous to ask you to come over,” Miranda said with a cackle, shaking her head at herself before taking a swig of her beer.

“Were you?” The thought amused you greatly, and it gave you a shot of confidence. You dropped your voice an octave and leaned forward. “Do I make you nervous?”

Miranda looked like a deer caught in headlights, her eyes widening. Your eyes flicked briefly to her lips, to her wet, pink tongue darting out to lick them, and you found yourself leaning even closer.

“What would you do if I kissed you right now?” you murmured, scanning Miranda’s face for any sign of discomfort. Miranda’s pupils dilated and her lips parted slightly.

“I would kiss you back,” she whispered, her gaze landing on your lips.

“Yeah?” you whispered back with a smile. Miranda nodded slowly.

“Uh-huh.”

You closed the gap, your lips meeting hers - she tasted like beer and cigarettes, and her lips were impossibly soft. She kissed you back eagerly, whimpering a little as your tongue darted out over her lower lip.

You pulled back, your cheeks covered in a light blush.

“I’m sorry, I hope that wasn’t-” you started, but Miranda interrupted you with a second kiss, this one deeper and hungrier than the first as her hands grabbed your cheeks, holding you in place. Her tongue licked greedily at the seam of your lips, which you immediately parted for her. You let out a deep groan as her tongue slipped into your mouth, dancing with yours in near-desperation.

“You taste so good,” Miranda moaned, her voice low and sultry, and desire pooled in your core.

“Mmmh,” was all you could reply as your hands gripped at Miranda’s waist and you swung your leg over her lap to straddle her. Her hands slid down to your waist, then your hips, then came to rest on top of your thighs. She gave them a squeeze and you found yourself involuntarily grinding your pelvis into her lap, her touch sending your body into overdrive.

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered, Miranda swallowing your words as your bodies pressed against each other, a steady and suffocating heat building between the two of you.

The constable’s hands slipped under your ass and she turned you onto your back - breaking the kiss only briefly to position herself above you. One of her knees came to rest between your legs and she pushed it against your core, drawing a groan from your throat. The pressure was delicious against your aching sex and you bucked your hips to get some much-needed relief.

Miranda’s lips left your own and began to trail down your chin, your throat, your chest, stopping at the top button of your shirt - hot, wet, needy. She lifted her head and you looked down to meet her gaze - her pupils were blown wide with lust, her cheeks gorgeously flushed, her hair tousled.

“We- fuck,” you started breathily, finding it almost impossible to think as Miranda’s knee pressed against your clit. “We should slow down.”

Miranda nodded, her eyes widening and her cheeks bright red as she reluctantly pulled her leg away from your cunt. You bit down on your lower lip to stop a whine from slipping out at the loss of friction.

The constable settled half on top of you, leaning against the back of the couch and propping her head up on her arm. She closed her eyes as she tried to steady her heavy, ragged breathing. “Right. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you whispered, your voice hoarse with want. “I just don’t want to take advantage of you.”

Miranda’s eyes snapped open and she met your gaze, a slow, easy grin spreading across her face. “You’re not. I want this.”

“I don’t think I just want this,” you mumbled, closing your eyes and swallowing hard. “I want you.”

“I want you, too.”

You opened your eyes and met Miranda’s bright, eager gaze, searching her face for any hint of doubt or hesitation. “Are you sure?”

Miranda nodded and you lunged forward, your lips crashing into hers as your hand snaked its way around the back of her head, holding her in place. Your fingers threaded through her hair - it felt like silk under your skin.

Your other hand settled on her waist, tugging her on top of you - her body weight pressed you down into the couch and you groaned at the feeling. You needed more, you wanted more, so your hands found the hem of Miranda’s t-shirt and you slipped underneath it. Her bare skin was impossibly smooth, and you felt electricity coursing through your body at the feeling of her soft hips in your hands. Your hands found their way up her back and you raked your nails over the expanse of it, pleased with the hungry growl that escaped Miranda’s lips.

Finding the clasp of her bra, you unclipped it, slipping a hand around to the front of her torso and under the loose fabric to palm her breast. She grasped desperately at your waist as your warm palm rubbed over her nipple, rolling it into a hard peak. Miranda let out a breathy sigh and sat up, straddling your waist and pulling her shirt off. Her bra followed, and both were discarded on the floor behind the couch.

You felt the air leave your lungs as you stared up at Miranda - your mouth going dry. Her rosy nipples contrasted against her pale skin, her abdomen rippled with every heaving breath that she took. You couldn’t help but reach out and touch her, caressing her hips, her stomach, her breasts - flicking your thumbs over her pert nipples and watching them harden further.

Sitting up, you hungrily took one of the rosy buds into your mouth, sucking greedily and soothing your tongue over it as you felt Miranda’s hands thread through your hair. You repeated the process on her other nipple, thoroughly pleased with yourself when Miranda let out a soft, breathy moan - one that was so deliciously pornographic that you felt a wave of arousal course through you, your panties growing damp.

You released Miranda’s nipple, your hands drifting down to the buckle of her belt and making quick work of undoing it. Miranda took the hint, removing her pants in a hurry and then focusing her attention on your own clothes. Your own shirt was unbuttoned and tossed aside in an instant, your pants tugged down your legs and dropped onto the floor with the rest of the clothing.

Miranda’s bare skin was hot against your own and you pulled her back down on top of you, your pussy throbbing as her nipples brushed against yours. You kissed her with hunger and passion, your left hand palming her ass as your right hand found its way between your bodies to cup her pussy over her underwear.

The constable groaned, immediately grinding against your hand - you noticed that she’d soaked through the thin cotton of her underwear. You pulled the fabric aside and curled your fingers against the length of her slit, letting out a gasp as you felt her dripping for you.

“I need you,” she whined, shuddering as your fingers explored her folds - letting out a strangled whimper when you smeared her wetness over her clit and began to draw lazy circles over the bundle of nerves.

Miranda turned out to be as loud as she was sensitive - you found it easy to bring her to the edge, time and time again, your fingers applying a gentle pressure to her clit and pumping easily in and out of her, her slick walls drawing your digits in and clenching tightly around them. Her unabashed moans filled the air, echoing off the walls of the living room and having you wondering - only briefly, though - how thick those walls were.

After her fifth orgasm, when the stimulation finally became too much for her, Miranda whimpered and shifted her pelvis away from you. Taking the hint, you pulled your hand out of her underwear, your fingers shining with her arousal. You lifted them to Miranda’s face, smirking when she immediately opened her mouth and allowed you to place your fingers on her tongue. She sucked them clean, her flushed cheeks hollowing out, her kiss-swollen lips wrapped around your knuckles.

You leaned forward to kiss her as she released your fingers, eager to taste the remnants of her orgasm on her tongue. The taste was heavenly - you were almost sorry that Miranda was so overstimulated - you’d have given everything to go down on her.

She pulled back from the kiss, her hot, heavy breath ghosting over your face as she rested her forehead against your own, trying to steady her breathing. A bead of sweat had collected on her forehead and you reached up to wipe it away, tucking a strand of mussed hair behind her ear. It was too short, of course, and immediately fell back into her face - it made you smile, and Miranda smiled - no, beamed - back, her eyes sparkling.

“I hope that wasn’t too much,” you whispered into the silence - Miranda blushed and shook her head no. Her fingers danced along the waistband of your underwear, lightly at first as she leaned in for a languid kiss. Then her fingers curled under the waistband and began tugging, her lips trailing down your jaw, your throat, your sternum, your stomach - soft, warm, wet, hungry. She tugged your underwear down your legs, her lips immediately replacing the fabric as she pressed kisses to your mound, to your inner thighs - finally disappearing between your legs.

You felt her tongue lap hungrily at your folds, little noises of pleasure coming from between your thighs and vibrating against your cunt. It was both adorable and extremely hot at the same time, how eagerly Miranda ate you out - sloppy, yet determined (and very skilled, you noted mentally, letting out a filthy groan as her lips latched onto your clit, her tongue flicking at the sensitive little bundle).

By the time Miranda was finished with you, your thighs were trembling and your breathing was ragged. The constable pressed one final kiss to your clit, before sitting up and grinning goofily down at you. Her chin was coated in your slick and her cheeks were flushed, and you couldn’t help but loop an arm around her neck and pull her close, licking your own arousal off her face before meeting her lips in a slow, sensual kiss.

After what felt like hours holding each other, kissing and regaining your breaths, you felt your eyes begin to grow heavy and you sighed.

“I should probably get going,” you murmured, your voice slightly hoarse.

“Yeah - of course.” Miranda blushed as she pushed herself off you. “Can you just wait here?”

You nodded, furrowing your brows as the constable stood and walked out of the room. You heard the tap running, then she came back with a wet washcloth.

“Is it okay if I…” Her eyes darted down between your legs as she took a seat next to you.

It was your turn to blush. “Yeah, that’s okay. Thanks.”

Miranda cleaned you up with great care, being extra gentle as she soothed the washcloth over your clit. When she was done, you got dressed in silence, then allowed Miranda to walk you to the door. She paused with her hand on the doorknob.

“Would you want to…” she trailed off, not quite able to meet your gaze.

“Are you busy Saturday? Would you like to go on a date with me?” You couldn’t help but smile as Miranda’s eyes widened and she began to nod, a look of relief washing over her face as her lips curled upwards.

“Yeah - I’m not busy, I would love to.”

“Good.” You smirked, leaning in to press your lips to Miranda’s - her breath hitched in her chest. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

You turned to leave, exiting the apartment and walking down the hall. Turning around to wave goodbye, you could see Miranda smiling as her head poked out from behind the door.

That night, you fell asleep with a soft smile on your face and a warmth in your belly - already mentally planning your date.

Taglist: @alexusonfire @brienneswife @rosieathena @pro-weems-places @bigolgay @kimiinou @imprincipalweemspet @h-doodles @bychrissi @katie-bennet @giogwensversion @gela123 @friskyfisher @justcallmelittleone @michi2504 @scream-queenlover @a-queen-and-her-throne @sequoirius @anne-lister @winterfireblond @imgayforwoman69 @Ssappling2004 @yourlocaldisneyvillain @fictionalized-lesbian @i-like-reading @aemilia19 @milfsloverblog @missdowling @billiedeansbitch @The_Demon_of_your_Dream @agathaandgwenslesbian @http-sam @Cute-catx @saltrage @renravens @opheliauniverse @zillah-ofviolets-bayolet @scarlettssub @catechristiestuff @niceminipotato @mysaviorfalsegod @lvinhs @sweetderacine @daydream-cement @ilovetlcc @wastdstime @ladylarissaweems @barbarasstar @women-are-so-ethereal @thevillagegay

Join my taglist here!

#miranda hilmarson x reader #miranda hilmarson #top of the lake: china girl #top of the lake

354 notes · View notes

ceasarslegion · 2 years ago

Text

Ive made my stance on oppenheimer discourse very clear but one detail of it that really bothers me is the "movies about sad white men are always bad" attitude, and i didnt really know why until i was able to sit down and parse it out.

Here's the thing. I have a film degree, I've spent more time in movie theaters than I have sleeping and I've easily seen more films and shows than all of my peers combined. Which isn't a flex btw, I'm a little hermit who prefers the warm embrace of a cinema seat to human connection and is the most annoying mfer imaginable during family movie night; don't be like me.

But I know hollywood, I know cinema history, and I know the legitimate frustration this attitude comes from. Hollywood doesn't like to take risks, they have to historically be dragged kicking and screaming into any territory that isn't a guaranteed profit, which usually means that we get periods of stagnation where every film is the same goddamn formula over and over again until audiences get sick of it and stop buying tickets en masse. Hollywood also tends to reflect the dominant culture and the sociopolitical issues of the time, but not SOOO much that you'd rock the boat. As an exec, you wanna hit that sweet spot where audiences relate to your films without them being so blatant that they'd cause them to question things that weren't acceptable to question. Noir was a picture-perfect example of that.

And in the modern day, that DOES tend to translate into the weird genre of Sad White Man Who Regrets Killing Foreigners movies. Like American Sniper. But I've seen American Sniper, so I can speak on how lowkey disturbing I found it, and the history it's based in and the goals it had as an art piece were to make you sympathize with a system of corruption. And here's my unpopular opinion: if done RIGHT, those films still have a place within the cinematic sphere of influence, like if you made a film exploring the psyche and experiences of what leads a man to willingly participate in a system like that, but that's not really what it was.

Now let's move onto Oppenheimer and other films like it. I don't think these films are at ALL equivalent to films like American Sniper, even if they follow a sad white man who regrets killing foreigners. You are looking at the bare bones surface level of it and assuming its contents both real world and dramatized and judging it based on that instead of the, well, actual film.

One of the biggest differences here is that Oppenheimer WAS an important historical figure just, objectively. Even removing all western racial influence from the equation, you can not look me in the eyes and tell me that the man who invented the atomic bomb in the middle of the largest world war of modern history was not an important historical figure. If you try to make THAT argument just based on the sad white man-ness of him, I'm sorry but your point is already moot, because it's not based in historical fact anymore but your own personal subjective feelings. He IS an important historical figure, he's not soldier number 648 in the middle of a massive battlefield who followed other peoples orders.

And also to be completely honest, you are a huge fucking liar if you try to claim that people like Dr. Oppenheimer are not interesting. Flawed people who make flawed decisions with complicated variables are what make for good fiction, so when one exists in the historical record, of course they are going to interest people. They are going to be studied and interviewed if they're still alive and have their entire lives and every word they said picked apart and analyzed because they are interesting. You are straight up lying if you try to act like these people arent interesting enough on their own to have media made about them, regardless of what identity they had that fits into the opposing side of the 21st centure culture wars. This attitude reminds me a lot of the people who claim that the only reason anybody could find true crime interesting is because they MUST want to fuck jeffrey dahmer or whatever. The argument just doesnt hold up because all it takes is one person going "thats not what i find interesting about them" to collapse that entire absolutist argument.

So yes, hollywood absolutely has a racism and war glorification issue. But I take issue when these accusations are just made blindly against any historical dramatization based on nothing but the poster. If you're going to talk about hollywoods sad white men issue, at least make sure the films youre citing actually fit that bill AND that you actually understand whats WRONG with those sad white men movies, because its not just the presence of a sad white male protagonist, its a conglomerate of various sociopolitical issues that must be present within those characters and what they represent.

#some thoughts #oppenheimer

71 notes · View notes

sushirrrry · 19 days ago

Note

calling ur hard work AI is sooo disrespectful. I'm an english major and I know how frustrating writing can be sometimes. don't listen to that person they're probably jealous lol

I've studied and read so much since I started writing online to understand what people like and how things can emotionally hit and it's just extremely disappointing that someone would send a comment like that to me

if they really think I did, fuck them and stop reading my shit. with as many people as I have reading my stuff on tumblr and wattpad, I wouldn't be writing harry styles fanfiction AI shit in my spare time for FREE either, that's for goddamn sure 😭

I appreciate your comment sm ♥️

#ask #anon ask

2 notes · View notes

untolduttering · 1 month ago

Note

Weepy Eyed Sanji anon here! I have been thinking plenty of thoughts, and good lord.

So, we all know Sanji is a lover boy and romantic. We also know that he's a pervy little freako who would bawl if he ever got called that (while also trying not to cum everywhere hearing that come out of his beloved's divine lips)

So he's all snuggled up, not quite sure if he wants the cuddling to stay innocent or not. Just being near his gorgeous love is enough to get him going, and it doesn't help that his hair is getting toyed with and he's getting little forehead kisses now and again. He just can't help himself from getting so goddamn hard :((

And he tries to keep it to himself, he really does. But when he feels his beloved shift, thigh brushing against his own, he can't stop the breathy little whine. And he hears his beloved pause, shifting again and making him moan again. And when Sanji looks away, that means one thing: he wants something, but is either too shy or bratty to ask for it.

"Sanji? Are you..."

"Mmnh..."

He turns over and huffs. Definitely feeling a bit bratty about it. He feels that swell of guilt in his chest, but the swell of arousal is too hard to ignore. He just feels so nice being beside his beloved, being surrounded by their smell, their warmth, all of it.

So when he feels nails scratching dully at his back through his shirt, he can't stop himself from whining and bucking. He wants so much more. He needs it.

"C'mon! Do something, please, mon cœur!"

"Hm? What do you want? This is just a simple back massage. What are you thinking of, pervert?"

He lets out a gasp, his hips twitching at the name. He knew his beloved meant more than just a massage, but he wanted to be good.

"I'm not a pervert, my dear. I'm simply just... wound up."

"You're not a perv? Are you sure? Because this, says otherwise."

A little cry leaves his throat as his lover caresses his back, their hands carefully trailing all the way to his pelvis, ghosting over the leaky tent in his pants. He hadn't even realized he was leaking.

What else could happen is up to you. I just really like the thought of teasing Sanji, knowing he's getting all horny, and pretending it's innocent, making him feel dirty about it. Of course, not without finishing everything with reassuring aftercare, kissing away his tears, making sure he knows he's not done anything wrong.

And yeah :) hope this brightens up your day/night!

!!!!!!Hell yeah it brightens my day!!!!!!

I love bratty Sanji cause like, he’s got an attitude problem, but being bratty to you specifically is not something he’ll do a lot, and he deserves to have that tantrum (cause I love it so so much and want it…. so I can also do something about it 😈)

But ugh him being all shy about it gets me just as bad 😫 he’s such a sweetie and it makes me wanna eat him up. Bratty or shy… I’ll give him whatever he asks for.

BUT OHHOHOHHH YOUR BRAIN, can’t stand being called a pervert but can’t help but get hard from it, oh ABSOLUTELY, and will be exploiting that mhm mhm

And leaky, oh a leaky leaky boy 🫠🫠 that pretty cock of his is weeping alllll the time, and that’s sooo added to the teasing.

Lover boy does deserve some mean teasing but always always the love afterwards. Making him work for it too, placing a palm to his bugle and telling him he’s gotta put in the work. Watching him hump into your hand, crying and whining about how he needs more :(((( After some begging, the only change is taking his pants off and making him humping your hand like that, just making it all take so so long, taking it so so slowly 🫣🫣 he’d be soooooo frustrated 😩😩

Also I cannot tell you the excitement that filled me when I saw the ask and saw it was from you, thank you thank you

#ask #weepy eyed sanji anon

6 notes · View notes

mdverse · 2 years ago

Text

md's fun silly little top 10(ish) arts of the 2023!*

*pretend there's a fun cute doodled banner here (i was going to make one earlier and then i forgor)

doing a lil recap of my top 10 15 (it was supposed to be 10 and i could not narrow it down oops) best(? this is subjective as fuck i guess it's more like my personal faves) drawings of the year! *the crowd cheers* (it’s me I’m the crowd)

15: paradise by the dashboard light! i hate to rank her so low bc i spent ages on her but it seems i don't love the result that much anymore so :/ a for effort for me tho this was ambitious

14: cheer girl loml <33 not my best art technically by far but i went way out of my comfort zone for the background and the art style (for no good reason really) (i just wanted to do a comic book thing bc superhero vibes or whatever) (it did not come out the way i was hoping it would bc i think i got too frustrated) and we simply must acknowledge that. atog did things to me that i cannot explain

13: barbie meme brittana! not my best britt but truly sooo fun to work on. there's nothing quite like finding a fun rendering process and then never using it again (i don't even remember how i coloured this but i like it)

12: cowboy barbie brittana <3 they look good, they're about to kiss, cute outfits, pretty sunset, probably went overboard with the rim lighting, what's not to love? a banger, i think

11: i say a little prayer! i think the background is. questionable at best. but this is still really fun! i think i got possessed when i got to the uniforms bc goddamn they look good

10: klaine?? on this blog???? almost unheard of lmao i truly did not think i would like this one as much as i did. i'd consider ranking it higher if i wasn't constantly Unwell over brittana but again, i'm biased, and no one here should be surprised about that

9: pre-wedding kiss my beloved! with how insane i've been over this kiss it could perhaps be higher. i am gnawing on my desk as we speak i'm not even sitting at a desk rn

8: rutherchang x black swan!! ohhh u guys i don't talk about this one enough i think it's so pretty i don't even remember how i did the colours for it but rhgfdkngd?? love her, love pushing the glee x bts agenda, if any of u gifmakers are interested in making a mike chang x black swan lyric gifset i will love u forever

7: colour wheel challenge! busted my whole tiddies and ass for this one fellas. labour of love etc etc i think staring at the bright colours for so long made my eyesight worse and i'm ok with that

6: mistletoe brittana <33 easily the best instalment of this series by a long shot! recency bias (and also just. regular bias) made me rank her much higher originally but technically she is not the most intricate piece so she must sit down here

5: prom queen kurt! dare i say a girlslay on my behalf? i think i dare. every time i see it i think i should do more glosters (glee posters) and then i don't. i could tho they would be really cool (source: dude trust me)

4: churro kiss redraw!!! genuinely Not Sane over this! never have been, never will be! redraws are like crack to me and so is this kiss

3: furtana!! i neglected them for far too long this year but if neglecting them results in art like this i may have to do it again

2: heart kiss <3 if we're being really honest and vulnerable in the chat tonight i think this is technically my best of the brittana kiss screencap redraw things i've done this year? which i did not see coming but i guess practice means refining the process etc etc so. it makes sense ig. mwah to them <3

1: black or white gcv animation <3 it's not what i would call my best drawing (bc it's, yknow, not just one drawing) but it is what i would call the product of a very obsessive thought and some frantic art sessions. objectively it's the coolest thing i've done this year so it deserves the top spot. i'm proud of it i hope to glanimate more next year. also this isn't art but it's a relevant post that i still stand by months later

#md rambles #idk what this is kdfghk i'm so sorry it's 5am and i've spent the past hour ranking these and just saying shit #if i were more awake i would be more specific about actual art things i'm proud of. but i am not. so #sth sth made a lot of bangers this year i think sth sth vv proud of myself sth sth fun list bc i feel like it

24 notes · View notes

sincebrooklyns · 4 months ago

Note

any songs you associate with our little babies rn

so i have been thinking about LOL rks a little bit. you know how i have to make all of my mean muses a victim in one way or another. but about 8 times out of 10, in the real world, isn't that the case? hurt people hurt people and other cliches. sooo i suppose i'm just gonna be twisting these lyrics however i see fit and that's just gonna be that. this information may very well override anything i've said about this exact situation in the past but i think all of our muses are fluid concepts at this point... or we just slap the title AU on there and it all works. who knows. take a walk with me into the depths of my daydream universe

i want you but hon, we've been through enough. / like my heart hurts, like my jaw hurts, like my job hurts, and i'm talking to a wall.

leo he loves hazel, he does. he married her and he sincerely wanted it to work. whether he continues to want to or not is tbd, but when the very first cracks in their foundation were discovered he really didn't have any malintent (should be a word but apparently isn't?). he wanted to be a provider. he wanted more for himself, and thus, hazel and his future children as extensions. he also wanted to bypass his father's game in the restaurant industry, subject to the whims to the general public. ambitious and all too impatient by nature, he wanted to pursue something that guaranteed success and prosperity. their things snowballed and spiraled; never a good communicator, leo wasn't able to share earnestly, and too proud for apologies, he never offered one of those, either.

fingertips are shaking, playing operation.

i think this exemplifies leo's experience chasing his goal, the anxiety felt when working under so much pressure, especially as a new person in a field of high-stakes work; the frustration of playing what feels like a losing game. this lyric helps me understand his perspective and the urgency he feels to dedicate himself to his field, advance as much and as quickly as possible. i don't remember how we imagined the business to do in julian and gabriela's hands but i can imagine there were varying degrees of success, things ebbed and flowed as business does. i don't believe stepping up and taking over ever appealed to him; he always wanted bigger and better.

i don't need a fan, i am who i am. i'm cool as the goddamn sea.

it began as an earnest thing. he had goals, he had his girl. he had a marriage and a hypothetical future. success was what he wanted, and upward mobility is what he believed his hypothetical family needed to live a happy, full life. that got muddled somehow. he met some marginal success , he got too big for his britches and sabotaged it all. tale as old as time.

and it's laugh out loud when this shit's not funny.

haha? part of him thinks hazel is being ridiculous, part of him recognizes that the better part of him is walking out the door when she goes. his whole being is too pride to admit in. bummer

#this was in my drafts dated july 10th #its gonna be july again soon #let me just hit post.#this is half baked obviously but heres where i was at way back when.#i wanted to elaborate way more even now looking back i want to jump back in but i don't have the energy #i had more lyrics to elaborate on that i think rounded this out well but i tried to speak to them and was like wellll i'm done now #i'm sorry for who i am. but still think this is fun as half baked as it is

5 notes · View notes

joellesolo · 8 months ago

Text

Oh, yay, another freak out!

I am having a really hard time getting myself to eat 350 calories at dinner for the latuda to take full effect (and it's only day three 😭) and tonight it was just like, fuck it, let's order pizza and garlic twists, I like that, it's easy, it's been so shitty these last few weeks and we literally have to do NOTHING except tap a few buttons to order it?!

So, I eat a garlic twist (and, FUCK, instant regret, because they are hard as HELL and my mouth is in SO MUCH PAIN from the jaw-clenching for over two weeks straight, so I just gently chewed while crying and it took like, five minutes), and then moved on to my feta and chicken pizza, which is normally my favorite kind of pizza, and took one bite, and... nearly threw it back up instantly. It was instant repulsion. I have NO idea why, if the cheese was bad or if it's just me, but... yeah, I instantly started crying again and panicking, because ALL I needed to do was eat a piece of pizza and a garlic twist and I would've been set for the latuda, and then I JUST COULDN'T FUCKING DO IT, AGAIN 😫

And Michael's attempting to comfort me, "oh just do your best, it's okay if you can't eat all of it," and I'm just like, UH NO IT'S FUCKING NOT, THE MEDICATION LITERALLY WON'T WORK, WHY ARE YOU NOT UNDERSTANDING THIS?! (because we've been going over this over and over again for the last three days straight) and it's just soo goddamn frustrating, like, FUCK, no one is fucking LISTENING TO THE WORDS I AM SAYING!!!!! WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?! 🤯 (I should add, it's not just him; it's literally EVERYONE IN MY LIFE, my parents, the girls, majority of my friends, like, it's just fucking baffling at this point??! No one will listen to me because I'm a "crazy person," apparently?!?)

So I'm sobbing, and now grossed out because of the disgusting fucking pizza, and I just grab another stupid garlic twist (which is even somehow HARDER at this point because it's cold by now, RIP my sensitive mouth 😭), and chew super slowly on it, getting more nauseated with every bite. And I finish, and I'm like, okay, how many calories was that?!, and he's like, that's probably about 250, that's good, don't worry about it, and I'm just like, 😒 NO IT IS NOT!, so he gets me some pink lemonade and is like, okay this is probably another hundred? and hands me the lithium and latuda and I chug it and take the meds.

Okay, so, this is where the post actually starts. That was the backstory, wow, fuck me 😭

I head upstairs to do my 'evening routine,' which is just the only time of day I get alone time, and consists of: flossing, computer time (ie, checking tumblr for like, not even seven minutes), and then journaling (which used to be silk & sonder but fuck them and their money hungry founder) and is now more like plannering I guess? (Anyway, guess which step I'm still stuck on 😳 it's been an HOUR since I came upstairs and I'm still on the computer, for the following reason...)

But I'm sooo nauseous at this point, and it takes me forever to floss because I have to keep pausing to breathe and close my eyes, and then I text Michael to ask, "hey, do you think I can take some zofran" (which I have been prescribed for years) "or would that not even help because this nausea is from overeating?? can't google because staring at the phone is making it so much worse 😭" and, typically, he didn't reply.

(Okay, so, in his defense, I've been... well, insane lately, so, he's fed up with me... but, in my defense, I feel like this constitutes an emergency, and it would've been nice had he at least checked his phone and could've given me a response, at least, or even come upstairs?! Whatever...)

So I just keep breathing, and make my way to my bed slowly, and pull out my computer and open tumblr, and before I start catching up on the dash, I'm like, okay fuck it, I'm going to puke, let me see if zofran helps when you overeat or not?!

... and, google was not helpful. And I'm at the point where it's like... what do I have to lose, right? I can take it, and it'll help, or I take it, and it WON'T help, but... it's not like it'll make everything worse, at least? I SPECIFICALLY asked my psych about if I was about to take BOTH new meds, with zofran because it's one of my as needed meds on an occasional basis, and he said, oh yeah that's fine, there's no interaction.

But, you know, I'm a worrier! That's what I do! So, you know, I figure may as double check, right?! And, well, it's a good thing I did, because:

...

LIKE WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?! A RARE BUT POTENTIALLY LIFE-THREATENING CONDITION?!

Then maybe don't tell me it's okay to take with lithium?!?!?!

And, anyway, so I freaked out about that, that he fucking said it was a-okay to take, and DIDN'T EVEN FUCKING CHECK!!! and now I'm like, what else is interacting with all my different meds?!?!? and I immediately opened a text post to vent and scream into the void because no one in my life will put up with me anymore and... fuck. It's literally been FORTY FIVE MINUTES since I started, and I am SO far behind in my routine now 😭

Goddamn. Shit just keeps getting worse and worse. Can I get a fucking break yet?!

Oh, also, yes, I am STILL super nauseated. And, I can't even do anything about it. But, at least I haven't thrown up all over my computer, so, silver linings, I guess?? 😭

#joelle's life #bipolar disorder #lithium #latuda #zofran #what the actual fuck #rant #send help #nausea #😭

2 notes · View notes

wintersoldeer · 9 months ago

Text

ok i wasn't going to make a post but i do have feelings about until dawn remake that didn't fit under the tags of one reblog

im 15 mins in someone's playtrough of the remake and im still not too impressed BUT ohh my god they changed my least favourite line ("wHeRe's mY SiSTer GoInG?") and i might just have to forgive them everything for that

other than that so far: the people look terrible (like the graphics look nice, but as people...... they don't look like themselves to me.... also. very dark – i cant see anything but that might just be the streamer's settings idk) the longer intro is sooo awkward without any new dialogue. might be the streamer mode with no music tho idk. but goddamn i don't agree with sam's new role in the prank or see why they changed note (i've always thought it was wild that hannah would just start by taking her shirt of, but now it's just.... why exactly does she??) and i miss the fixed camera but that might be just because im not playing im just watching sucks to be chris in the morning with all that on his face...... not the situation where you want to look like that

ok i'll keep watching and liveblog

it is so dark that if i hadn't seen this game being played about 39204932 times before, i wouldn't have any idea what's going on::'D i love the snow falling from the frees tho no subtlety with the fire here i see ::'D

they made the creepy scarecrow postcard look downright pleasant?? it's so darrrrk/there's so much contrast you can't even tell if dr hill's office has cool things on the background

ok i am very into the new intro

sam on the bus looks so good.... but something is off with josh's video?? the movement?? the face?? something???

still no clarification on whether josh wants to party like they are fucking porn stars or party like they're fucking porn stars

did they move this game from february to like april since the sun is still out in the beginning?? they also made the time earlier but im pretty sure that's still a couple of hours too late..... and i take my winter darkness very seriously (but like. the nice atmospheric dark of the original) it's very pretty tho

it feels very.... video game-y now. with the new graphics and especially with the moving camere.

interesting that jess is now mike's girlfriend instead of mike's new girlfriend, an em is now matt's girlfriend instead of mike's ex and same with mike and matt

oh noo the snow ball fight without music is horrible:::'D

oh nooo the sun is finally and very quickly setting i can't seeee anything

doctor hill has a swedish flag on his desk 😂😂

i am not a gamer. but. is the hunting around for a premonition on a totem.... fun? seems like a frustrating waste of time

ok i am an hour and twenty minutes in (chris wandering around the lodge) and i'm seriously considering on just giving up and watching another (third.. this week..) original game let's play instead. mainly because it's so damn dark that it's not pleasant to look at. the flashlight (or lighter or torch or whatever) is for pointing out glinting things, it's not supposed to be the only light source! one of the things that keeps drawing me back to this game year after year is how pretty and atmospheric it is, and the remake... is not delivering.

but at least they don't leave the window upstairs open anymore! that has been bothering me for years

ok i cant do this i give up!! i'd like to continue bc the streamer seems cool, but iii cannot see anything. i'll skip through some random scenes and mourn what could've been and maybe watch another let's play of the original... there might be one or two on the internet that i haven't yet seen

like look at this!! who is that?? where is he??? i wouldn't know

#until dawn #until dawn remake #i say

3 notes · View notes

luciferfemme · 2 years ago

Text

not to sound like an old™ but the way apps become UNUSABLE in their incessant push for you to pay for them. I had to switch from Google Keep to Evernote because Keep has a limit on how many words you can use in a single note (I got a lot to say dammit) and yet every goddamn time I open Evernote it's like DO YOU WANNA PAY US?! I'm like NO. They're like okay you'll never get this offer again... five seconds later HEY DO YOU WANNA PAY US (the same offer) it's like NO. JFC. If I wanted to I can figure it out. I'm about 3 seconds away from just going back to OneNote because UNHOLY SHIT I'm sooo tired of evernote's bullshit.

I can't even have it open on more than 2 devices without logging out of one or paying you are you fucking kidding me?

like I know this is such a non issue in the grand scheme of things but it just speaks to the absurdity of the modern internet where EVERYTHING is a subscription model even "free" things and it's so frustrating.

i just wanna be able to write notes for videos and shit without being harassed every second to PURCHASE something is that so much to ask?

7 notes · View notes

bluejaybytes · 1 year ago

Note

💘🍛 I like both of these. What's most important to your oc (of choice but I'm thinking of Maggie), and what their usual dinner looks like <3

Hiiiiiiiii <3

💘 HEART WITH ARROW — what and/or who do(es) your oc consider the most important to them?

Maggie has sooo few people she's close with BUT the people she IS close with she is VERY close with, the three main ones would be her brother, Hawke, her Girl Best Friend (come to your own conclusions on this one, they'll never have an actual discussion about it), Jenna, and one of the ghosts that hangs around her, Opal. Hawke she was always fairly close with as a kid, while he never actually believed her when she would talk about the ghosts and their various shenanigans, he was always one of her strongest and most reliable supporters, and would claim to believe her. She knows now that he never actually believed her (She figured that out as a preteen), but she definitely appreciates the fact he was still always there for her and standing up for her when she'd get talked over by others. When she wakes back up after her murder, finding where he lives is one of her first priorities, because she's basically having like a million crises at once and figures he's the person she trusts must to be able to help her.

Paragraph break because I'm going on longer than anticipated WHOOPS. For Jenna, she's close with her for several reasons. The first part is... honestly just a bit of necessity. Maggie's lost and scared and has no idea what's going on, and Jenna's the first person to approach her and is someone willing to try and help her figure out what's going on, during a situation where anyone else would've just forced her to go to a hospital (Which... to be fair Jenna definitely should've suggested they go to some sort of medical help, given that she was passed out in the middle of a field and wakes up talking about being murdered). Outside of necessity, however, she and Jenna just like... basically instantly latch onto each other. They're frankly both a bit obsessive with each other because they both... really don't have anyone else? Once the plot ends and their lives calm down they'll get some other friends and their dynamic will become more sustainable longterm, but in the moment they've only got each other and GODDAMN do they have each other. Jenna's like 90% of the reason Maggie wants to actually take care of herself, because if she's not doing it, Jenna just does it for her, and she doesn't like feeling like a burden, even if Jenna's doing it willingly and without viewing as such. Their bond is so largely based on their willingness to support each other, so. yknow <3

For Opal, she's known Maggie since she was only a few months old! Ghosts took notice of Maggie's ability to see them LONG before Maggie would be learn this was Not normal, AKA, as a several month old baby, she'd track ghosts with her eyes and try and interact with them like any other person, which alerted the ghosts to the fact she could actually see them. This made her essentially a bit of a celebrity/VERY weird and kinda creepy to the ghosts, so word of the Magic Baby Who Can See Dead People spread, and tons of local ghosts would hang around just to see her themselves. Opal ALSO heard of her, and she just generally loves kids, so she went to go see baby Maggie, only to realize that oh man. This is going to be. a tough life for this kid. So she takes it upon herself to watch over her, and chases away other ghosts who bother her so that Maggie doesn't have to spend her entire life being harassed by ghosts. Their dynamic is a bit weird throughout Maggie's life, as Opal tends to be a bit overbearing, and also tends to talk over the living people Maggie's trying to talk/listen to, making it difficult for her to concentrate, but as frustrating as Maggie finds her to be, they still are very close, Opal's someone Maggie can be actually open with, and someone who is always trying to look out for her and protect her any way she can. Their dynamic gets WAY more strained after Maggie's death but this is already a VERY long ramble and that would involve a LOT more so I'll save that for another day

🍛 CURRY AND RICE — what does your oc's typical dinner look like? do they usually eat dinner?

Bad it looks bad.

Okay the actual answer is more nuanced <3 Prior to her murder, Maggie was still living at home (She was only 17 and had JUST graduated highschool, graduating a year early), so her typical dinner was just... whatever her mom made! Nothing too fancy, just pretty generic dinner items. Maggie's never really had much of an appetite, but also stayed up extremely late every night, so typically it'd be eating like half the normal portion of whatever dinner was -> stay up until 2am -> Get hungry and finish off the other half of dinner -> stay up until [god knows how late]. Her favorite meal is probably stew, though while she is an extremely picky eater, of the foods she's okay with she doesn't tend to have really any standout favorites.

Once she wakes back up after her murder and has to care for herself, her dinner is... crackers. As mentioned, she's an extremely picky eater, but she also has no skill in cooking and is also just deeply depressed, so she can't really give the effort to care about it enough to want to eat properly, so she just. doesn't! However, once Jenna starts hanging around more, specifically hanging around for long enough stretches of time to see Maggie's abysmal self care and eating habits, THEN Maggie's typical dinner stops being "crackers" and starts being whatever Jenna makes her. This is typically things like easier to prepare meals like mac n cheese, but Jenna always adds things to them that aren't included to make them nicer, so it's always more than just "box of kraft mac n cheese", its got some added vegetables and meat added in there to make it better!

Once Maggie actually starts trying to learn how to cook herself, her typical dinner consists of one single bite of whatever she tried and promptly failed to make, and then a plate of Whatever Jenna Made Instead. She's trying her best but oh boy. its not great.

#IM SORRY I WENT ON SO LONG.#also Maggie's favorite meal AFTER the plot is probably a nice salad #low effort + REALLY hard for her to fuck up + tastes good #as for Maggies dynamic with Opal post-murder... its. its something. its bad </3 #The start of Maggie's full blown breakdown is literally her snapping and tearing into Opal and essentially blaming her for her murder #This is. bad. Opal has already felt INSANELY guilty all of this time- she would leave Maggie alone at night-#-to try and help with Maggies insomnia by not keeping her up #-so she ABSOLUTELY feels responsible in part for Maggie's murder- that she could've been there and she could've warned Maggie-#-about the intruder. But like. It's not her fault. How could she have known? Maggie knows its not her fault #but she's extremely freaked out at that point and is having an intense breakdown and is lashing out at Opal because she just needs SOMEONE-#-to blame. She's dying and she doesnt know why and she needs to find someone to blame for it #anyways maggie please apologize to your ghost mom. (she does. she also gets to- for the first and only time- physically hold her hand)#(ghosts can physically interact with each other- and Maggies growing wounds are essentially her soul physically splitting-#-so its essentially this bittersweet moment of like. for the first time- shes able to reach out and hold Opals hand.#and its only because shes dying)#BUT THEN SHE DOESNT DIE. VITALLY IMPORTANT #my OCs #maggie

3 notes · View notes

tsubasaclones · 2 years ago

Text

all the tsubasa references in clear card are both one of the only interesting things about it and also arguably its biggest flaw. and the fact that it's one of the only interesting things about it contributes to it being its biggest flaw.

like, i'm obviously not saying to get rid of the tsubasa references. they're fun when they're done right, they're to be expected, they're even integral to the story. after all, the whole magic staff thing connects to tsubasa. which is the point of clear card

this sequel would not exist without tsubasa because really the only purpose it solves is to be like "oh see she has another staff after she gives the other one away". which is a problem. this is a sequel that does basically nothing for the original story, it only exists to aid a single scene in a separate story, and yet it's 30 fucking chapters longer that the original ccs manga for no good reason.

they try to replicate tsubasa sooo hard in clear card and it just does not fucking work 99% of the time. the reason they try so hard to make akiho and kaito carbon copies of sakura and syaoran [which doesn't fucking work by the way, i'm just acknowledging that's what they were ATTEMPTING]? well, other than a lazy way to try and get us to like them without trying... you know what story has two syaorans and sakuras in it? the one they keep fucking paralleling. cause the parallels also extend sometimes to akiho and kaito, especially kaito (I HATE IT HERE.)

why are we suddenly throwing in random timeline changing shit at the end?* oh wouldn't you know it tsubasa has a plot about an altered timeline (which, while it gets revealed near the end of tsubasa, happened before the story started, so it doesn't feel nearly as sudden as clear card's timeline shit)

and the last chapter... she has the original cards back and the new ones are gone but can be found again, the whole real name shit, some characters staying back while others go to keep travelling and they kind of hint at meeting up again... there are so many parallels throughout the story i'm not even bothering to put here because you get the idea already surely.

but just... starting off clear card acting like you might not do the gross age gap shit anymore only to shove that stuff in our faces super hard by the end, introducing characters then ignoring their original traits to try and make them copies of already existing characters, using the original ccs story and tsubasa as crutches to avoid making something original... guys come on we're better than this. and the fact that she doesn't even get to keep the clear cards by the end (minus flight) feels like an extra slap in the face cause it's just like oh okay it was ALL pointless then

not to mention so much stuff just passively happens to sakura instead of her actively doing stuff in clear card. it's fine in the beginning when she doesn't know what's going on, but then when she learns, and then she's still subconsciously making cards, and then the most important thing (and only purpose of this goddamn sequel) happens, when she conveniently gets a second staff, it's not because of anything *she* did. it's because it was a byproduct of kaito's timeline fuckery. and then when she fixes the timeline (because the only thing she gets to actively do is fixing someone else's fuckup i guess!) she still has two staves so it's just. agh

anyway what was i saying? oh right clear card frustrates me to no end and if i wanted to read tsubasa i would go read tsubasa so stop trying to copy your old shit clamp

*yeah i know that's what kaito's plan was building up to, what i mean is the timeline gets changed and it gets resolved in such a short amount of time (i mean chapter wise, i almost forgot there was that random ass long time skip)

#omg sorry for the essay-length post its been a WHILE good to know i still have it in me #and you know they were dragging that shit on because the volume count got extended twice. they probably wanted that nice even 80 number too #except it never should have been anywhere near 80 chapters #chapters 26-31 ish really felt like the halfway point to me and then it just kept going and going and going #i could have forgiven it being around ccs length or slightly longer but 30 chapters??

2 notes · View notes

pinescent-and-gingerbread · 2 months ago

Text

Late to the party to reblog as always, but GOD, HAPPY I HAD THE TIME TO INDULGE IN THIS MASTERPIECE. This might be one of my new favourites from your Zae!! (even if I say so every time LMAO)

You know how downbad I am for solo Arthur. For utterly frustrated Arthur, taking matters into his own hands. Oh God this was perfect. As aways, I'm caught right from the beggining:

Channeling the self-control of a brigade of soldiers, Arthur willed his unruly cock flaccid as he left the post office.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is how you open up a perfect fic 😂😂. Seriously, though, I loved how you gave some context about their relationship in a light way, not too much info dumping, but just enough to understand Arthur's point of view. Looooved this passage

Every time he passed by the quiet homestead, he found himself lightly pulling on Boadicea’s reins and scoping out something to fix. Your ways of showing gratitude, like a hug or kiss on the cheek, turned his neck to shades of crimson, yet he’d still come knocking again some time later. On his last visit, you were dragging him to your room by cotton suspenders, mouth attached to his before he could get a word in. An innocent lamb you were not—he was sure of it now in a half-daze, hypnotized by your breasts as you bounced on top of him. Matter of fact, you must’ve been a witch or a succubus; he’d never felt so used, drained, and perfectly satisfied.

I was wondering if I could use the word succubus a few days ago for my own writing, and I'm very grateful you showed me that yes indeed!! I love how he's all yearning here, not doing anything explicitly to win her over but just coming back every time. I could totally picture him do that. And oh yes, yes, yes, he deserves to be drained like that 😏😏

And of course, the heart of the matter is absolutely brilliant and delightfully written.

Fuck, he wanted to rip that photographer’s head clean off his shoulders for capturing you like that, but goddamn, he wanted to shake the man’s hand too. This slip of paper was a slice of heaven on Earth.

I laughed sm at this!!! I can totally imagine him getting all jealous the photographer saw her nude but being so grateful at the same time, confused boy 😂. Also please, just the fact tha you managed to transcribe sexting and sending nudes to fcking 1899 is MASTERFUL Zae!! I'm in awe as always!!

I had a dream about you. Do you ever dream about me? The bulge in his pants begged for attention, and he appeased it, palming himself idly while his eyes stayed trained on the photograph. He’s too old and weathered for this—pining over some girl and touching himself like he’d gotten a second wind of puberty.

I love how you start it slow. Two simple sentences, and he's gone. And I'm too, to be honest 😤

His cock sprung free, twitching and yearning. Flicking his eyes to your photo once more, his right hand moved on its own, kneading his leaking tip. He peeked over the edge of the paper, watching precum drizzle down his shaft, imagining it was you leaking around him.

*sighs*. Click. Bzzzzzz (seriously this is a fucking treat to read Zae. Thank you for writing and sharing your magic with us mortals.)

Also, the part when he wishes for more photos; sooo hot of course (loved how he would even provided money for it eheh) but also, the need to have a proper one? What a perfect way to show his need for actual love and affection on top of lust. This is an incredible "show don't tell", I'm on my knees rn.

Jesus all the parts about Arthur being eager in her dream, I was MELTING Zae. The way you wrote him reacting to specific sentences and parts is just so perfect. I'm repeating myself, but it was just incredible to read and so vivid and interactive, even if we're still just readers. I don't know why and how but I felt so involved!

I get the feeling that you do a lot of taking care of other folks and don’t get that in return. Am I right? I’d take care of you, Arthur. I’d keep your belly full and drain your balls all in a night. They tightened at the thought, and his hips were a piston now, going up and down on their own accord.

See? Stuff like this. It's absolutely wonderful. I was SO turned on I should be ashamed!!! And oh, that part with the necklace 😏🔥 Very very clever once more. And so erotic! You bet your ass he's an excited mess. What a tease!!

And oh, the climax. His climax. Our climaxes. This had the effect intended, dear, I've been way too much impacted by it.

Don’t think me too crass, but do you touch yourself to my letters like I touch myself to yours? Yours are more well-mannered than mine. But still, I wonder, is your fist wrapped around your cock? “Yes, darlin.” Goddamnit, he was talking to himself now, arm cramping as he pumped feverishly at his engorged dick, his orgasm waiting to explode behind his eyes. Do you imagine it’s me instead? I wish it was me. I wish I was on top of you again, milking you for everything you’ve got. Would you give it to me this time, Arthur? Would you spill inside of me? And spill he did, teeth gritted and grunting, as hot ropes of lust spurted out over his hand. Once again, he’d made a mess of himself on account of you.

This was too good Zae. I won't recover from this one until a long time 😮‍💨I was in the same state as him honestly, this wrecked me 😂

And the last line, so light and fluffy. Our dear baby, always longing and yearning. Perfectly wrapped!

What can I say more? One of my favorite fantasies to read, written by one of my favorite authors?? What more could I've asked for? Thank you so much for this incredible piece Zae!!!

Causerie

Summary: You send Arthur a letter. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female!reader Word Count: 2,185 Tags: Male Masturbation, solo handjob, mentions of oral and unprotected p in v, dirty talk, long distance relationship, high honor Warnings: 18+ MDNI

an: So this came out of nowhere LMAO It's a bit different from what I'm used to, but I ran with it. The mentioned photo was heavily inspired by @sir-walton-goggins's under-the-cut sketch of their OC, Kris Blake. 😍😍😍 I hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading!

Causerie: an informal conversation

Channeling the self-control of a brigade of soldiers, Arthur willed his unruly cock flaccid as he left the post office. An envelope addressed to Tacitus Kilgore in familiar dainty cursive teased him from inside his satchel. The nagging twinge in his gut could only be satiated by his fist wrapped tight around himself in the solitude of his tent.

He didn’t know how he’d make it through the rest of the day without losing his sanity. Once you’d unknowingly planted the seeds, his thoughts of you grew wild and untamed like the weeds at your feet. He’d never seen something so ridiculous—a woman in her day dress, the lacy hem stained with dirt, trying to repair a loose fence post on her own.

“No man ’round here?” he had asked, holding his hand out for the hammer.

“There is now.”

You beamed, your smile stunning him like a camera flash. Unbeknownst to him, that grin was a brand, marking him as yours for a long time to come.

An innocent lamb you were not—he was sure of it now in a half-daze, hypnotized by your breasts as you bounced on top of him. Matter of fact, you must’ve been a witch or a succubus; he’d never felt so used, drained, and perfectly satisfied.

And guilty, too. He couldn’t even look at you as he confessed to his life of criminality, finally admitting what he’d come to tell you in the first place. After this job, he was leaving for good.

To his surprise, you didn’t put up a fight—just wished him well—and dammit, that made him want you even more. You didn’t follow him outside—only watched from under the blanket as he said his last goodbye and promise.

“I’ll write t’you.”

Receiving your letters kept his heart ticking and dick aching. What started as a pile of polite notes quickly transformed into a library of erotica. His hands trembled in anticipation as he opened the latest letter.

Dear Arthur,

Are you still alive? I hope you haven’t gone and gotten yourself killed. I’m sorry if I kept you waiting. A new photographer opened up in town, and I stopped by the studio one evening just before he closed. I may have batted my lashes and stood a little too close when I asked for his help. A special photo of me would be the perfect gift for my dear husband, who was about to be shipped away to war in the Philippines. You should’ve seen how red he got when I dropped my blouse. I tried to sit pretty. Did it work?

A photo? Arthur checked the discarded envelope, searching for the supposed gift. A small photo was still tucked away in the envelope. He took it out and held it up to the lantern to get a good look.

Christ.

You were directly in the center of the camera with a lazy smile on your face. Pearls adorned your neck, and velvet cloth draped over your shoulders, just barely covering those twin humps on your chest. Fuck, he wanted to rip that photographer’s head clean off his shoulders for capturing you like that, but goddamn, he wanted to shake the man’s hand too. This slip of paper was a slice of heaven on Earth.

And for what he was about to do with it, he was going straight to hell. Setting the letter aside, the gunslinger undressed down to his union suit with the ardor of his twenty-year-old self. As he settled back onto the cot, he locked on to your sultry eyes and sighed contently.

I had a dream about you. Do you ever dream about me?

The bulge in his pants begged for attention, and he appeased it, palming himself idly while his eyes stayed trained on the photograph. He’s too old and weathered for this—pining over some girl and touching himself like he’d gotten a second wind of puberty.

But he couldn’t help it. Even after deafening gun fights and vicious animal attacks, he’d find a letter to re-read, and now he had this picture to accompany his fantasies. His gaze shifted from the photo back to your words on the page.

We were in this beautiful room in a palace or someplace like that, swimming under blankets. It was far from my humble bed, but it felt like paradise.

If only you knew, that little bed was his paradise.

Dream you tasted like whiskey and ash and smelled like leather and gunpowder. I don’t think it was too far off from the real thing. We weren’t wearing any clothes, of course, and your head was tucked between my thighs.

Breath shaking, his hips shifted upward, the memory of your thighs on either side of him overwhelming his senses. Arthur sucked in his bottom lip and didn’t waste any more time undoing the bottom two buttons of his union suit. His cock sprung free, twitching and yearning. Flicking his eyes to your photo once more, his right hand moved on its own, kneading his leaking tip. He peeked over the edge of the paper, watching precum drizzle down his shaft, imagining it was you leaking around him.

Oh, Arthur, I could feel your lips on every part of me at once, kissing up my stomach, bosom, arms, thighs, legs, all over. But when you found my lips again, I don’t know how my pounding heart didn’t suck me out of the dream. Has anyone ever told you how gorgeous your eyes are or how heavenly your hands feel? And your back, Mister Morgan, is like a brick wall. How I wish I could’ve dug my nails into it.

Arthur’s fisted pace quickened as he stifled a groan, trying his very best to keep the sounds of his sin quiet. He urged himself downward into the cot, hoping the friction could mimic the sting of your nails dragging down his spine, but it was no use. Tightening his grip in frustration, he turned his attention back to the photograph of you. He wanted to study your hands, to imprint them in his mind’s eye so he could imagine them scratching his back and pleasuring his cock.

But the photo was too close up, only your face and a peak of your breasts captured at that moment in time. Would he be too brazen to ask for another? To request a pose? Hell—he’d stuff the money in an envelope with a list of the depraved positions he’d like to see you in. Your hands on your bust, legs spread open, on all fours, one with your pretty fingers in your mouth, and a full body shot with just the pearls. Dammit—he’d kill for it.

But then, at the very end of the list, he’d ask for a respectable one. One of you with your hair pinned up under a fancy hat, dressed in your finest, wearing a necklace, earrings, and a bracelet with your hands folded politely over your lap. One that was sweet and proper. One that he could tuck in his journal, frame, or pin up on the wagon. One that he could take out in broad daylight and pretend, just for a moment, that he really was that war vet admiring a photo of his loving spouse.

His hips moved involuntarily again, jutting up into his fist—the placeholder for the pussy of the woman he’d one day make his wife.

I didn’t plan to get you in bed that night, as unbelievable as that may sound. You were just so damn handsome and so so kind. I couldn’t help it. I needed to know how you’d feel inside me. I hope you don’t see me as just some Jezebel.

“No,” he gasped out. Wet sounds of his strokes accompanied his declaration.

I really did and still do have feelings for you, Arthur. It’s quite scary, actually. Maybe that’s why my dreams about you are so vivid? I realized just how much I cared that night, looking down into your eyes. I don’t take you as the type of man to just give yourself away on a normal day like that, so I hope you feel the same way as me. Did I ever say thank you? Thank you for being such a giver. I have a tendency to take, take, take when I’m on top, but you got payback in my dream. You had me pinned under all of your weight, damn near suffocating me. It was the good type, though. When you pushed into me, I forgot all about it. I never took you for an eager man either, but you were drilling me into those blankets with the fervor of a threshing machine. Are you an eager man, Mister Morgan?

He answered in shallow pants, twisting his fist around his length and rocking his hips.

I have a curse of waking up right when I’m on the edge, so as you can imagine, I had a wet problem to take care of. My fingers just don’t quite do it like you. I wish we could’ve had more time together. I get the feeling that you do a lot of taking care of other folks and don’t get that in return. Am I right? I’d take care of you, Arthur. I’d keep your belly full and drain your balls all in a night.

They tightened at the thought, and his hips were a piston now, going up and down on their own accord.

I know you’d never ask because you’re too nice, but I’d get on my knees for you and take care of you in that way. I’m sad we never got to try it, that I never got to taste you. The thought gave me the silliest idea. Are you looking at my picture? Imagine that pearl necklace is your spend on my chest.

Jesus—the perverted imagery hit him like a train. He looked at the pretty pearls atop your chest. Goddamn, minx.

Don’t think me too crass, but do you touch yourself to my letters like I touch myself to yours? Yours are more well-mannered than mine. But still, I wonder, is your fist wrapped around your cock?

“Yes, darlin.”

Goddamnit, he was talking to himself now, arm cramping as he pumped feverishly at his engorged dick, his orgasm waiting to explode behind his eyes.

Do you imagine it’s me instead? I wish it was me. I wish I was on top of you again, milking you for everything you’ve got. Would you give it to me this time, Arthur? Would you spill inside of me?

And spill he did, teeth gritted and grunting, as hot ropes of lust spurted out over his hand. Once again, he’d made a mess of himself on account of you.

Shame crept in as he floated back to reality and stared up at the canvas of his tent. He brought the letter back to his face to read the last paragraph. The least he should do was finish it—dirty old bastard. But when he landed on your words and processed them, he was left with a numb, longing ache in his chest.

If we were together, I’d help clean you up, then maybe we could spend the rest of the night all tangled up in each other. I’m sorry I’m not there to touch you for real, but I hope these letters bring a little light to that hard, lonely life of yours. If I can make you feel good, even from far away, that’s enough for me. I miss you. Any chance you could come see me soon?

Yours.

Arthur sighed and folded your letter back up neatly, tucking it away in his now hollowed-out copy of Rambles Through Woods and Plains. Though your photo and letter were out of sight, his mind refused to wander from the subject of you.

An assortment of motion pictures flickered in his memory: the way your head tipped in laughter at his dry sarcasm, how you so graciously welcomed him to that sitdown meal, the way you worried about him just as much as he worried about you, and how your words, even from afar, brought him unmeasurable comfort. Making it back across the Upper Montana could be a brutal fight, but he’d outrun the law and take a few bullets if he had to. He’d bare it all to bring you back with him.

As he relaxed into the cot, another thought drifted by, small and almost weightless like a dandelion seed in the wind: maybe he wouldn’t have to bring you back at all. Perhaps he could stay right there with you.

#Zae is our queen #I'm fulfilled #and wrecked #wonderful moots writing #rdr2 arthur #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #rdr2 smut #zaefic

1K notes · View notes