#ask me a character + flag and i may come up with something

[achillesisnotcomingdown]

[meiyokbf]

under your spell | megan x g!p!reader | part four

author's note: sorry for the delay babes, been moving places and my life has been insane. alsoooo, thoughts about “beautiful chaos”? my top favorites are gabriela, gnarly and mean girls!! lmk if you guys are enjoying UYS, my asks are always open for ideas, questions or thoughts regarding the UYS universe :) hope you guys like this chapter xoxo

warnings: mdni. stripper!megan x g!p!reader, slightly manon x lara. smut, dry humping, p in v, fingering (megan recieving), dirty talking (ish), smoking, idek megan being avoidant and pookie coded again, lara also being avoidant.

word count: 6,8k.

🏷️: katseye, megan x reader, megan skiendiel x reader, katseye x reader, katseye smut, megan smut, manon x lara, marz, daniela avanzini.

masterlist. | prev. I next.

you’d read the text so many times your screen had started to feel like it might file a complaint.

(y/n): my favorite jacket smells like you now. it’s kinda yours by law.

(y/n): you should come and reclaim your prize.

it was supposed to be funny. casual. something someone cool would send without immediately regretting it. and yet, by sunday morning, it had transformed into something too sharp to touch.

you sat curled on the end of the couch, wearing the hoodie like armor, knee bouncing like it had somewhere more confident to be. your annotated copy of pride and prejudice sat abandoned on the coffee table, open to a page you weren’t reading. you hoped that mr. darcy could wait; existential dread had RSVP’d early. and then you heard the sound of the door burst open.

— don’t ask me about rehearsal, i will cry or commit arson. — daniela’s voice rang out as she kicked the door closed with her heel.

you blinked up at her.

— oh. i didn’t know you were coming over.

— well, i needed to steal manon’s vegan protein bars and complain. and now i walk in and find this. — she gestured to your slumped posture, the haunted expression, the pride and prejudice trauma pile. — did someone die, or did you finally fall in love with a walking red flag?

— okay. both feel a little targeted.

she tossed her bag to the side, iced coffee in hand, and dropped into a squat next to you like she was assessing a casualty.

— talk to me, nerd.

you groaned, rubbing your face. — manon dragged me to that velvet room place on friday.

— the one that looks like the personification of a vanilla vape?

— yes. that one. and i… may have hooked up with someone.

daniela raised an eyebrow. — and i’m just hearing about this now?

— manon caught me doing the walk of shame. i told her. haven’t had a chance to-

— breathe? process? confess to your best friend?

— well, actually manon is my bes-

— to your best friend, daniela avanzini? betrayal. — she rolled her eyes and sipped her coffee. — who was it?

you hesitated. — her name’s megan. dances under jade. she’s… something else.

daniela blinked. — wait. the dancer with the pink bangs?

— yeah.

— and you didn’t think this was worth a single text?

you cringed. — we went back to her place. it was… a lot. but then the next morning she was distant. weird. and last night i sent this.

you handed over your phone to daniela. she read the message, then looked at you like you’d just handed her a handwritten will.

— “yours by law”? what are you, emily dickinson with attachment issues?

— i was going for fun flirty with a hint of possessive chic.

— you landed on please haunt me. congrats.

you let your head fall back against the cushion.

— i don’t know what i’m doing.

— do you like her?

you hesitated. the pause said more than anything else. — i don’t know. but i can’t stop thinking about her.

daniela sighed, setting your phone on the table.

— okay. step one: you’re a disaster. step two: you’re a hot disaster, so it might work in your favor. but don’t let some emotionally stunted stripper turn you into a sad gay meme. you know you deserve more than this.

— i already am a sad gay meme.

— yeah, but now you’re main character sad. that’s a health hazard.

— thanks. i think. — you managed a laugh. soft, but real.

— always. now let’s hope she texts back before your pride files a missing person’s report.

as if on cue, the door cracked open again. manon shuffled in with a brown tote bag, dark sunglasses, and a drink in each hand. went straight to the kitchen and gasped as if she just found out that her husband had a 7 year old affair with her sister. — who stole my protein bars?

daniela raised a hand. — guilty. emotional crisis. you get it.

manon pulled off her glasses, eyes landing on you. — okay, you look like you just got ghosted or blessed. which is it?

— they texted their emotionally damaged girlfriend. — daniela supplied helpfully.

manon nearly dropped her drink. — you sent her the jacket text?

— yes. i panicked. it felt funnier in my head.

manon plopped down next to you, tucking her legs under her. — fuck. you’re such a loser, i love you for that. has she replied?

you shook your head. — okay. then we wait. like soft lesbians with too much time on our hands.

daniela leaned forward. — is she stringing you along, or do you think she’s just scared?

— maybe both. she’s so hard to read.

— then stop trying to read her and let her spell it out. — she paused and cringed at herself. — bad metaphor. ignore that.

you snorted. your phone buzzed. everyone froze.

you reached for it slowly, already bracing.

megan: if i come over, it’s not for talking.

you stared at it. your heart thudded so loud it was embarrassing, even for you.

— holy shit. — manon said softly. then you typed back.

(y/n): wasn’t planning to talk.

the reply came a beat later.

megan: that’s good.

a hush fell.

daniela stood. — well. that’s one way to break tension.

manon handed you the last of her stolen protein bars. — chew on something before you do anything dramatic.

you nodded. still staring at the screen.

whatever this was, it wasn’t nothing. and somehow, that was both terrifying and kind of thrilling.

what was meant to be playful had become this jagged thing you couldn’t stop prodding. you sat at the edge of the couch, your favorite leather jacket; megan’s scent still lingering, laying next to you, knees bouncing like they were trying to escape.

the rest of your apartment felt cluttered, to say the very least. you spent the afternoon waiting for megan trying your best to keep your mind off of her. a couple piles of comic books alongside uni stuff, your laptop still open to this morning’s quiet reading of your favorite the picture of dorian gray review, half-empty coffee mugs scattered. this was your world today: soft and rife with longing.

manon had left twenty minutes earlier; went to dinner with another friend of hers and gladly used it as an excuse to make you get laid. while daniela promptly texted you a “if she fucks you up, text me a knife emoji and i’ll take care of it.”

when the knock came, your heart jolted so hard you nearly dropped your phone.

you stood, straightening your outfit while preparing yourself mentally to open the door.

and when you finally did, megan stood there, silhouetted half in the hallway light, half swallowed by the doorway. makeup smudged, sweat dampened the ends of her hair; she looked unsteady in the best possible way. beautiful as ever.

— you look tense. — she said, voice low. observation, not accusation.

— i’m… holding up. — you managed, stepping aside. she came in without a word, scanning your place; the english lit books, the star wars and batman posters, the carefully labeled-by-a-label-maker hard drives by your desk.

her eyelids flicked over a shelf where your dungeons and dragons figurines stood, miniature warriors poised for battle. you thought you saw a familiar curve of nostalgia cross her eyes.

— god, you’re a nerd. — she said, half-smile playing on her lips.

— guilty as charged. — you replied, matching her tone. the room hummed with unsaid weight. you both sensed that something raw was coming.

— couch? — you offered, voice steadier than you felt.

— sure. — she said, shrugging off her jacket. you sat on one side, her settling five feet away. distance felt safe but electric.

you tried to look casual. watched her as she wiped her palms over her jeans, every motion deliberate. your eyes flicked to her boots, the way her fingers flexed, the faint sheen where the late-afternoon light caught her skin.

— so… — you began. — …you said you weren’t here for talking.

— i meant it. — she said, gaze fixed on the table. — not today. not right now.

— then we don’t talk — you said softly. — we do something else.

she shifted. the couch creaked. your heart stumbled at how close she’d moved, now two seats away. you smelled her: sweat, faint spice, heat that stayed with her.

— what do you have in mind? — she asked, voice careful but curious.

— you tell me. — you said, finally looking at her eyes. — you’re the one that despises casual conversation.

she exhaled sharply, then leaned back. your heartbeat thundered.

— you’re such a tease, (y/n). — she muttered. — tell me, is this couch worth getting ruined?

you moved one arm to rest on the back of the couch. your knee brushed hers, you didn’t pull back.

— only if it gets you closer. — you almost whispered. her breath hitched, and then she cracked an edge of a smile. the most beautiful smile you could ever lay your eyes upon. megan’s eyes flicked up, tracking the movement carefully like a tiger analyzing their next prey.

she swallowed, then leaned forward, pressing her palm flat on the couch next to yours. invitation, you thought. and so you closed the gap, hand grazing hers in a casual, deliberate way. that small electric spark hummed louder than the world outside.

— so… — she whispered, dragging a fingertip across your jaw. — i’m here. now what?

you took a breath, chest tightening at how deliberate she sounded. she was testing you. measuring the room. measuring you.

— show me what you came for. — you teased.

— challenge accepted. — she muttered under her breath.

her fingers curled around your jaw, thumbs brushing your lips as her gaze dropped to your mouth. you parted, inviting, and she slipped in: kiss deep and greedy, mouth warm and real. your hands found her waist, chest gliding between ribs. the weight of her presence filled every corner of your mind. she pulled away, just enough to murmur while feeling your breath against hers.

— that couch’s gonna regret it. — you said while she leaned in again, harder. you wordlessly let her climb into your lap. the furniture creaked under her weight. she pressed you down, knee on the cushion, hands tangling in your hair. everything felt sharp; her skin, her breath, your thoughts.

— you’re such a nerd. — she whispered, voice rough with desire. — this is going to be hilarious.

— only if you laugh. — you shot back, grinding into her.

the friction made both your breath hitch. her hands tightened in your hair, head tipping back as she moaned. the contrast of your nerdy persona and raw lust sent heat flaring through her chest.

— tell me something filthy. — she demanded.

— you want truth or dare? — you teased.

— truth. — she hissed.

— i want… — you said, carefully, swallowing your nervousness. — i want to wring moans out of you until your throat hurts.

she inhaled sharply, then slammed your head forward, kissing you again. lips rough, teeth grazing. your hands roamed up her back, over her tank top, tracing the curve of her spine. at this point, the knot below your belly button only felt tighter and tighter. an itch that only megan could scratch.

— you’re fucking insane. — you said, breathless when you pulled away. — and totally hot when you’re trying not to feel anything.

she froze. for a second. then laughed, harsh and joyless.

— god, don’t you dare feel fucking sorry for me. — she muttered, grinding herself into your lap. — feel this instead.

her body rolled with yours, every movement fierce. you slipped your hands under her top again, dragging it up, feeling her ribs, the arch of her stomach. she sighed, leaning back so you could slide it off. no bra, obviously. skin gleaming where your fingers passed. she smiled once she saw your reaction to it; you knew you probably looked like a boy seeing a pair of breasts for the first time.

— damn. — she muttered. — you’re glad i didn’t wore anything underneath?

— fucking glad. — you breathed, and then she cupped your cheek, with a fierce look on her eyes.

— then let me fuck that out of you. — she whispered.

she crushed her lips to yours again, one arm braced on your shoulders to hold her steady, the other pulling at your shirt. you helped her, half-pulling, half-yanking the fabric until it tore free. you tossed it across the room. skin met skin; a shock of heat and urgency. she grinded into your thigh, voice thick and needy. she wanted you more than she was ready to admit. your cock was already rock hard, trying its best to free itself from the fabric of your pants; failing miserably.

— you’re so hard. shit, you’re hard for me.

you smirked, sliding your hand to her thigh, squeezing. — turns out i get like this around you.

— around me? — she paused mid-motion and breathed, as if she was holding it back for ages. — god.

then she leaned forward, pressing her forehead to yours. your bodies moved, friction building. you slid your hands under her jeans’ waistband, brushing skin. her hips lifted, another invitation.

— want this?

— yes. god, yes… — she groaned, her voice filled with need, making you smile. the way her defenses went down every time you got her like this made you feel like the biggest person on the planet.

you kissed her collarbone, hands fumbling with her buttons, pulling her denim pants down. your fingers decided to put her underwear only to the side; something about fucking her while she wore it kinda drove you insane. her pulse pounded in her neck, then she caught her breath.

— you’re so fucking cute when you’re desperate. — she whispered as she tugged her jeans free.

— so are you, when you’re trying not to feel feelings. — you teased.

she laughed. soft, close to tears maybe.

— shut up and fuck me. — she snapped, voice rough with need.

you slid a hand between her legs, fingers teasing. she gasped and bucked, pressing against you with no shame. you adored seeing her act like a complete bitch upon you.

— damn, megan, you’re soaked… — you said, fingers slick.

— yeah? — she whispered, closing her eyes. — turns out i get like this around you.

— then make me yours tonight. — you whispered, without even thinking about what you said.

— i don’t do that. — she moaned softly, pressing her mouth to your temple.

— maybe you just forgot how. — you said, pulling her closer. she froze. your words landed, the air shifted.

— fuck, (y/n). — she hissed. — stop doing that.

— what did i do?

she never answered to that question. though, you already imagined the answer. you kissed her temple as you rubbed slow circles on her swollen clit, while her back arched with need upon you as she tried to get as friction as possible. the couch groaned under pressure as bodies moved, the world shrinking to each moan, each breath. neither of you held back; both pushed, fought and surrendered. you slipped two fingers inside her, slow, deliberate, and she trembled and instinctively bit your shoulder.

— oh, fuck… — she rasped. — you’re deep, so deep.

— want more? — you asked softly.

— yes, (y/n). — she murmured. — fuck, yes…

you moved, slow at first then harder. you ground up, her body wrapped around yours. the movement was instinctual, feral. the way it was supposed to be.

— you like it when i fill you up like this, huh? — you asked rhetorically, voice low.

— it feels so fucking good… — she moaned, making you smile once more. maybe, just maybe, you could never get enough of her. and accepting that was one hell of a task. you picked up the pace, matching her rhythm. every thrust hit her g-spot as if your fingers were meant to be inside of her.

— please, don’t stop. — she whispered, her grip tightened in your hair. you felt the shift, the trembling of her body ready to break. her pussy swallowed your fingers as if it wanted to crush them, to trap them inside and never let them go. she was close, you could tell. and now it was you that wanted to give her something she would never forget.

— let go for me, baby. i got you.

her head fell back, silent whine rising to a scream. her body trembled as if an earthquake took over her, nails gripping on your skin painfully but it was definitely a pain worth feeling; seeing her like this, for you and because of you, was absolutely priceless. she collapsed into you, and you followed not far behind, arm circling her waist to keep her steady. when it ended, you both froze, chests rising and falling, heads touching, skin slick and electric.

— we can do this again. — she whispered after a while, voice small. for some reason, the tables were turned. you, being the loser that you always were, felt protective over her for reasons you failed to understand, with a wave of confidence hitting you every time you felt that the people you cared about showed their most vulnerable side. and megan, of course, promised herself that she would never let those types of feelings take over her mind again. and yet, here she was. small and sweet, scared and wounded.

— we can. — you said softly. — and we will.

the room around you flickered with late-afternoon light, but everything narrowed to the heat between your bodies, the slick of sweat, the taste of salt and fear and something more tangled. the place was quiet but for the faint hum of the city outside, reminding you both this was sunday afternoon, again. but neither of you spoke of time.

megan’s fingertips traced the stretch of your shoulder, light and tentative, like she feared your skin would crack. you swallowed when she leaned closer, breath grazing your collarbone. your pulse hammered at how close she dared to be, then pulled back.

— you feel so… intense. — she murmured, voice low like she was scolding herself. you’d kissed her temple; your hand drifted to her face, your thumb caressing her cheek slowly.

— intense works. — you teased, voice thick. — you like it raw, right?

her nails dug into your arm, reflex, and she shook her head.

— i like control. — she said soft, barely letting it out.

you smirked, palms sliding up her sides. — control’s overrated.

she stiffened, but didn’t pull away. her eyes flicked closed when your hand hooked into her underwear’s waistband.

— maybe… but i like knowing i can stop it. — her voice trembled, not with fear but drive.

you didn’t dare to remove her underwear, so you slid your hand between her legs once more, fingertips brushing her wet pussy. she gasped, body tightening.

— control’s overrated until it comes undone. — you whispered.

she didn’t respond, just let you guide her down onto your bare chest. her skin landed warm and damp; your cock brushed against the middle of her legs. she froze for a heartbeat.

— go slow… — she murmured, voice low, far from certainty.

you braced your hand on the couch, steadied your breath. — slow it is.

your fingers pressed into her back to hold her close as she shifted. your member pressed at the denim, friction rippling through both of you. her hips rolled against your lap, trying her best to get a single drop of your touch.

— fuck. — she whispered, voice thin. — you feel so… real.

you curled your free hand into her hair. — so do you.

her head tipped back, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. she bit her lip to still a moan, but failed.

— don’t. — she breathed. — don’t get soft…

— maybe i don’t do soft easily. — you replied low.

her hips ground again. just gentle, teasing. her gaze dropped to your throat, then shot up to meet your eyes; searching, afraid to trust.

she swallowed hard and moved again, humping her cunt on your cock with mastery; slowly, but surely. you pressed her closer, hands sliding over her ribs.

her hands gripped your arms as she kissed you, soft at first, then hungry. her fingers decided to tangle in your hair while the rest of the world dropped away.

— say it. — she murmured mid-kiss. — say you want me.

your breath caught and you pulled back slightly. — i fucking want you, megan.

she pressed her forehead to yours, lips parted. — good. don’t make me regret it.

— regret what? — you asked, necessity in your voice.

— letting you keep kissing me. — she bit out, voice raw.

you kissed her again, slow and deep. her hands ran down your chest, over your cock pressed against your denim. goosebumps rose along your skin, as if it wanted her more than you did.

— i need to be inside you. — you whispered, voice thick.

megan’s breath hitched. — then fill me up again. — she said, firm.

you unbuttoned your jeans, sliding them down with your own underwear; megan stilled as your cock spilled free, dripping with arousal and pre-cum.

— fuck, you’re still so hard. — she whispered, eyes on you.

— your fault. dick. — you answered, voice husky, remembering your last conversation.

she left your lap so she could lay down on the couch, then snapped her fingers against your chest. — come here.

you moved upon her, cock sliding along her thigh. she guided your hands on her torso, letting you explore her ribs, her waist. she seemed smaller now, vulnerable; and it broke your chest wide open.

she closed her eyes and turned into your touch. your cock slid between her pussy, slick sound where she was wet. neither of you flinched, bodies locked.

— let me feel you, baby. — she said.

you pressed forward, just your tip. she inhaled sharply, legs squeezing reflexively. for a moment neither of you moved. then you pushed inside her slow; nothing rushed, it felt sacred.

— holy fuck, you’re so big… — she gasped as you stretched her open. her walls held you tightly. your hands braced on her hips to guide the rhythm. her arms wound around your back, nails trailing across your skin.

you moved deeper, slow and deliberate, letting her absorb every inch. her breath caught each time you shifted. when she finally started moving; gentle hills of motion, your heart hammered.

— shit- don’t stop. — she murmured.

you slid out halfway then back in. — not stopping.

she cried out, pressing tight against you. the room echoed with soft sounds: skin, breath, low gasps.

you flicked your hand to her clit, grinding gently. she groaned as she rolled her eyes again. — fuck, i want to be loud.

— you want to make noise? — you asked, voice teasing, which she promptly denied.

— i want you to make them hear me. — she snapped.

you increased pace; push in, pull out, fingertips flicking her bud. her back arched, nails dragging down your chest. her cries grew louder. raw and unfiltered, just like her.

— you like that? — you asked, voice low and charged.

— yes! fuck, yes… — she choked out, body trembling. for you, and you only. and that was enough for tonight.

letting your intrusive thoughts win, you slapped her clit, hard enough to sting. she almost cried, it seemed. but the smile on the corner of her lips assured you that everything was fine.

— god, you’re such a tease. — you grunted, giving more.

she groaned, bucked, pushing harder. you rattled between control and abandon.

— fuck, yes… i’m so close. — she screamed, voice raw and shaky. — (y/n)…

you pressed your hand underneath her navel, feeling the bump of your own cock going in and out of her; the action making her body tremble almost instantly. — go ahead. cum for me again, megan.

her body spasmed, cry tearing through her throat as her pussy swallowed your member and her orgasm took over her entire body. you followed right after you rode her through it, making sure to cum on her stomach this time around. you both trembled, breath ragged, locking together in sweat and shadows.

you lay there tangled; skin slick, bodies still humming from everything. her leg draped over your hip like gravity hadn’t decided which of you to pull harder. the room smelled like sex and your shampoo. it was the kind of quiet that felt heavier than the silence that had settled between you, like neither of you knew what to do with the tenderness left behind.

megan stared at the ceiling like it was trying to tell her something she didn’t want to hear.

your fingers traced the dip of her spine, slow, careful. she didn’t flinch, but she didn’t lean in either. that was the thing you noticed about her; she let you close, just never close enough.

— you good? — you asked, voice soft.

— yeah. — a beat passed. — just… thinking.

you waited, but nothing else came. her hand curled against your chest like she didn’t even know it was doing that. you counted the seconds she stayed there. one, two, three. then she pulled away.

she sat up and swung her legs off the couch like she couldn’t get dressed fast enough.

your chest tightened. — you leaving?

she nodded, already reaching for her shirt, her pants.

— is this about what i said earlier? — you tried. — you don’t have to-

— it’s not. — her voice was clipped, but not cold. she yanked the shirt over her head, then paused, fingers trembling for half a second before she covered it by tying her hair up. — i just… i don’t do well with this.

— this?

— staying. the aftermath shit.

— you don’t have to stay here. but you don’t have to run from me, either. — you sat up.

— i’m not running. — she said it fast; too fast.

you didn’t call her out. you just looked at her. and she wouldn’t meet your eyes.

she zipped her jeans. grabbed her jacket. then she hesitated, thumb brushing the leather like it was trying to say something she couldn’t.

— megan… — you started, she shook her head.

— don’t. — softer now. — don’t ask me to stay. it’s easier if you don’t.

your throat tightened. — you think i’m gonna break if you leave?

— no. i think i am.

and there it was. the crack. the jagged edge behind the bravado, the flinch under the smirk.

— you’re not gonna break. — you half-whispered.

— i will. — she said it like a fact. — i’m good at sex. i’m good at pretending i’m not scared shitless of people. but i’m not good at… this. whatever “this” is.

you stepped forward, slow. not touching her yet.

— i’m not asking you to be good at anything. i’m just asking you not to disappear.

her laugh was dry. it cracked in the middle. — i’ve already disappeared, (y/n). that’s the only thing i’ve ever been good at.

your heart broke a little. you could see how much she wanted to stay. how much it scared her to even consider it. you reached for her hand, she let you take it.

— then just… text me tomorrow. or don’t. — you said, letting the words fall gently between you. — but don’t pretend this didn’t mean something. even if you don’t know what it meant yet.

she squeezed your hand, eyes burning like the sun through smoked glass.

— it did. that’s the fucking problem. — she said.

then she dropped your hand, turned and walked to the door. you didn’t follow. didn’t beg.

she looked back once, only once, her expression unreadable. then she stepped out into the hallway and let the door shut behind her. you stood there aching, watching the spot where she’d been like she might reappear if you stared hard enough.

she didn’t.

you sat back on the couch, the fabric still warm where her body had been. the smell of her lingered. so did the ghost of her fingers on your jaw, her voice in your ear.

this time, she’d left slower. softer. maybe that meant something, maybe not.

but you knew one thing for sure. you’d wait. just a little longer. just in case.

the sidewalk glinted under the streetlights like it had something to prove. megan walked with her jacket half-zipped, her work lingerie already on her body to spare her the change, hands shoved into the pockets, and eyes fixed forward. while lara trailed a step behind, absently thumbing at her ear, scowling like the missing earring owed her money.

— okay, this is not happening. — lara muttered, voice sharp like she could intimidate the universe into fixing her problems. — i swear i put them both in here.

megan glanced over her shoulder, uninterested. — the earring?

— yes, the earring. the hoop. the gold one that makes me look expensive and emotionally unavailable.

— well, one of those is accurate. — megan offered.

lara didn’t laugh. her fingers kept raking through lipsticks and receipts and an emergency knife. no second hoop.

— this is a crisis. i can’t show up asymmetrical. it’s bad luck, i’ll get haunted.

megan grabbed her lighter and pack of camel’s and lit her cigarette, inhaled deep like she needed the smoke to ground her. — maybe the ghost will steal your exes and save you the trouble.

— or maybe the ghost will remind me of my worst decision in the last six months. — lara snapped, louder than intended.

megan didn’t reply. just kept walking. the silence stretched between them, thin and electric.

lara clicked her tongue and broke it. — so. are you gonna talk about it or just keep vibrating with internalized panic until you spontaneously combust?

— about what?

— about the fact that you went over there. — lara said, quick and sharp. — that you saw them again. that nerd from friday with that tight lord of the whatever shirt and the haunted eyes.

megan exhaled. the smoke curled out of her mouth like a sigh she hadn’t earned. — it wasn’t supposed to be anything.

— and yet here you are. smoking like you’re in a noir film and brooding like it’s your full-time job.

megan stopped walking. traffic hummed in the distance, a car horn echoing from some other life. lara watched her for a second, then fell into step beside her. took a long drag of her cigarette in an attempt to smoke her feelings away.

— you know i’m not judging you, right? — she said, tone lighter now. — you feel things harder than most people. you just don’t know where to put it.

— says the girl who ghosted a woman because she offered to watch a movie with you. — megan quipped back, lips twitching despite herself.

lara grinned. — it was the way she said the word “we”. gave me hives.

they started walking again in silence for a few beats, boots hitting pavement in time with passing headlights. megan’s shoulders looked too high, like she hadn’t stopped bracing for impact since she left your apartment.

— you liked them. — lara said, voice soft.

megan didn’t reply.

— i mean, fuck, you like them. don’t even try to tell me it’s not still happening.

— i saw them twice. — megan muttered.

— you fucked them on a couch for hours today and then ran away like your life depended on it. — lara corrected. — that’s not “twice,” that’s a limited series.

megan’s hand twitched in her pocket.

— you don’t get it.

— no, you don’t get it. — lara shot back. — you’re out here trying to convince yourself you’re incapable of being loved just because you’re scared of what it feels like to stay.

megan flinched, but it was small. her lips parted like she might say something, but lara beat her to it.

— and before you go all “i’m a broken person, it’s safer this way.” — lara air quoted. — don’t. i’ve used that speech. it’s bullshit and it’s fear wearing lipstick.

they stopped at the corner. the velvet room’s neon glow flickered just up ahead, violet light bleeding into the cracks of the sidewalk like spilled ink. lara turned to her, finally still.

— i left manon’s because she smiled at me like we’d already made a memory. — she said plainly. — and i couldn’t handle it. i can’t handle it.

megan’s brows rose, barely, while lara looked away, scowled at the traffic like it offended her. — she’s… she’s loud. in color. not scared to want something soft. and i’m not wired like that. i break shit just for the noise it makes. you know that.

— so why are you telling me this?

lara looked at her, dead in the eyes.

— because i’m not gonna let you become damaged like me. you want them. and they want you. don’t fuck it up just because your fear’s louder than your hope.

megan looked down at her boots, then threw the rest her cigarette away. her hand stayed clenched around the edges of her jacket. silence pressed between them, heavy and crackling.

— you gonna text them? — megan didn’t answer. — what’s the worst thing that can happen? they don’t reply?

— no. — megan shook her head. — the worst that happens is they reply, and it means something. and then i have to figure out what the fuck to do with that.

lara nodded slowly, like she got it in her bones. then she pulled a stick of gum out of her jacket and shoved it into her mouth.

— feelings are messy. — she said, popping the gum. — but silence is worse.

they stood there for a minute, letting the streetlight hum over them like the city was waiting for a verdict.

megan’s phone burned a hole in her pocket. she could feel it. the small text thread. the way she would left things hanging like a half-finished poem. the way your hands had felt against her skin. careful. present. wanting her even when she didn’t know how to be wanted.

she pulled the phone out. unlocked the screen. the chat thread glowed, still open. no messages since that morning. megan stared down at the small message thread, thumb hovering, heart stupidly loud.

it had been hours.

the jacket text still sat there, ridiculous and sincere and somehow still soft in her chest. like a bruise she hadn’t meant to earn. she typed. deleted. typed again. then eventually, she hit send.

megan: just so you know, i didn’t hate today.

sent. no emoji. no follow-up. punctuation, even. like a breath she let out mid-sentence.

it wasn’t an invitation, but it wasn’t not one.

she locked her phone too quickly. like it might burn her.

lara clocked it instantly. didn’t say anything at first. just gave her that sidelong look; the one that meant megan was being obvious again.

— smooth. — lara muttered under her breath.

megan scoffed, pulling her jacket tighter around her ribs. — shut up.

her thumb grazed her phone screen like she didn’t mean to check it again, like she wasn’t hoping. like she hadn’t just handed someone else the thread to something sharp inside her chest and dared them to tug.

you hadn’t texted yet.

that was fine. she wasn’t waiting.

they reached the velvet room’s entrance. music thumped from behind the doors, muffled and wild. lara went to grab the key to her locker as she entered the club, hand brushing her bag, and stopped; something hit her once she put her hand back in her purse.

megan clocked it instantly. — what?

— i didn’t lose it. — she whispered.

megan raised an eyebrow. — and?

lara stared at the earring like it had just told her a secret she didn’t want to know.

— i left it there. — lara said, annoyed. — i wore them last time on friday and i went to manon’s that night. fuck.

the realization hit like a punch to the gut. and for the first time in a long time, lara looked terrified just for the idea of having to talk to manon again.

while that happened, right across the city, you were on your couch, the light from your phone glowed faintly in the dark.

you hadn’t moved in twenty minutes. hoodie still on. there was some random episode of the big bang theory in your tv but you refused to give it enough attention; like something might change if you stared at it long enough.

your phone buzzed. a soft, single sound.

you didn’t check it right away. you didn’t have to. fingers trembling slightly, you turned the screen over.

megan: just so you know, i didn’t hate today.

that was it. no joke. no wink. no plans.

but something about it made your stomach twist up with hope. you curled tighter into the couch, a flood of excitement coming through you, slightly. whatever this was; it was still happening.

so you texted back, quiet.

(y/n): i didn’t either.

then you locked your screen. exhaled slow. didn’t smile. not exactly. but your chest felt a little looser. your heart, a little steadier.

she’d texted first. and that had to mean something.

[cuppajoel]

the next seven dates| the contractor

PAIRING: modern au/ no cordyceps/younger (late 30s)!Joel Miller x plus size!reader

SYNOPSIS: Dating apps have convinced you that love isn’t real and that all men are pigs. Turning to your bffs for a Hail Mary, you ask them to set you up on a blind date each to restore your faith. Your first date is with a contractor called Joel.

wc: 8.7k (oops)

TAGS: 18+MDNI, NSFW, Modern AU, smut, developing relationships, reader is plus-sized, able bodied and afab, no other description is given. Heavy flirting, first date vibes, Joel is a gentleman at heart, dirty talk, heavy petting in a taxi, alcohol consumption, sex while under the influence, pnv protected (the crowd boos) sex, v fingering, oral sex (f receiving). Both characters are in their 30s.

A/N: I started writing this in September and fell away so many times bc writing for Joel Miller scares me. If you’re looking for a sign to write the thing that you want to read, this is it. Not beta’d.

For context of the fic. This shot is called a blowjob. It’ll all make sense, I promise.

Reblogs, comments and likes are all appreciated <3

Jingling your keys in your right hand, you watch as the numbers climb on the digital display, showing what floor you’re on. You’re exhausted. You let your head fall back against the mirrored surface behind you, your back resting on the metal bar and your eyes fluttering shut for a moment of respite. Although it wasn’t the worst date you’d ever been on, it was a close second or third. You take a deep breath.

From the moment you stepped foot into that bar, the guy was a red flag that turned into a 5-alarm fire.

“Oh wow you look good… A lot like my sister… DING Not that I think my sister looks good, but you look hot, d’you work out? DING Yeah, you can tell… how much do you squat? DING oh, well, I could probably bench you…DING We should try that sometime, if you know what I mean? DING. He laughs, a mix of a frat bro and that lizard meme comes to mind.

The elevator doors open with another ding, making your right eye twitch slightly as you cross the carpeted hall to your apartment. You turn the key in the lock and give your door the customary shoulder barge before the locking mechanism is released. Hooking your jacket and purse on the wall and locking the door behind you, you kick off your shoes and head straight for your giant corner couch, collapsing onto it with a huff.

This wasn’t just a bad date. It was a bad date after a series of bad dates, one after another. The only takeaway from each is that people seriously hyperbolise themselves online.

You were relatively new to the world of online dating after catching your fiancé of three years, Jake, doing the downward dog with your shared yoga teacher only eight months ago.

Jake was everything you thought you wanted. A nice guy with a secure 9-5 and a handsome face. But everything about him was just nice. Your dates, your apartment, your sex- all nice. And at the end of it all, he was cheating on you- real fucking nice.

Unlocking your phone, it opens to the group chat thread between you and your two best friends. You hold down the voice note button.

“So you may be wondering ‘Why is she home already?’ Well, my sweet summer children, not only did my date admit that he found his sister attractive and wanted to ‘bench me’ all before we ordered our first drink…” You pause for dramatic effect, knowing they can’t hear you, but it makes you feel better. You huff out an empty chuckle. “I am just so over it. How can a man say that his favourite film is “Little Women”, have pictures of his rescue cats on his profile, and still be that much of a stereotypical douche?” You fling your head back, resting it on the top of your couch.

“I’m going to do something dramatic and soooo not me… I am deleting the apps… the two of you are tasked with finding me a date each. I don’t wanna know anything about them before I see them- just their name, age, and one picture. You decide who is going first and the winner gets to be maid of honour at the inevitable wedding… Anyway, I’m going to go read one of my fairy porn books and contemplate my life… Night, loves!”

Somehow, you muster the energy to shift yourself from the couch to your room. You bunch up your tainted date clothes, toss them in the general direction of your hamper and pull on an oversized T-shirt. The wasted makeup is double-cleansed off your face, and you shove your hair up into an extremely unflattering bun. Grabbing your Kindle from under your pillow, you flop back onto your bed; your dates with the beautiful high-fairy king never disappoint.

Almost a week later, your best friends pull through. Having found a guy each, who they swear is the one you’ve been looking for, they arrange your dating schedule between themselves. Tonight was the first. In the Uber ride over to the restaurant, you send your location to your friend who set up the date.

Any last-minute words of wisdom?

He’s kinda that strong, silent type.

Also southern

A gentleman for sure!

Hopefully not all of the time 😮‍💨

You shove the car door closed, adjust the strap of your purse on your shoulder, and tuck your phone inside. You feel good tonight. Blue jeans, a red lip, oversized, white-button down, black, pointed-toe, heeled boots-damn they hurt, but they look so good. You slide your index fingers into the belt loops either side of your hips, hiking them up slightly to allow the denim to stretch around your ass just right.

Rounding the corner, you find yourself on the strip of bars and restaurants on the main street. You weave in and out of the patrons, everyone being washed with the rich blues and reds of the neon lights beaming down on them. As you push the door with your hip and descend the two steps to the bar, you lick your teeth, making sure they’re free from any red stains.

Inside is quite the contrast from the bustle of the streets a few feet away. The place is busy, for sure, but it’s as if everyone is collectively trying to keep the atmosphere calm and easy. A massive mahogany coloured bar is the feature of the room, with hanging, warm, filament bulbs creating small spotlights all along it.

You walk further into the room, parallel with the bar, coming to a stop at its corner, facing the bartender. You squint your eyes slightly, trying to pull out familiar shapes from the hundreds of glass bottles behind the bar. The bartender gives you a small smile; it’s your turn.

“Can I have a Tanqueray Savillia gin and tonic, please?” You ask with a soft smile, reaching for your purse to pull out your wallet. “Oh, and a shot of tequila…” You wouldn’t normally mix drinks on the first round, but you also wouldn’t normally go on a blind date.

“Sure. Do you wanna start a tab?” is the return. You look up to answer their question, having retrieved your card and holding it firm between your index and middle fingers.

“Yeah, plea-“

“I got the this one.” A warm, sturdy presence flanks you on your right shoulder. Their strong right hand is placed gently on the bar next to you. Your eyes flick up to the mirrors behind the bar, meeting his in the reflection. He’s looking right back at you through the glass, and a small, closed-mouth smile creeps across your face as you turn to face him in real life.

“Joel?” He nods slowly in response, the smile not faltering as he looks down at you, a glitter in his espresso-coloured eyes. His eyes trail down your form and then back up; you allow yourself to do the same to him. Although not the tallest man you’ve seen, he’s built big.

He’s wearing a charcoal grey, brushed-cotton button down and dark-wash denim jeans that fit him perfectly. Both sleeves of his shirt are folded in on themselves and stop just below his elbow. His hair must be naturally wavy or curly, but it’s been pushed back and tamed slightly, a few curls going rogue.

“Hey, it’s good to meet ya,” he tips his head down slightly as you raise yours, meeting each other in the middle as you press a kiss on the other person's cheek. He smells warm and masculine, a mix of cedarwood and something earthy, like basil. “I’ll take a Glenlivet 15 and a shot of tequila- the tab is under Miller. Thank you.” He smiles firmly at the bartender. Your eyes follow the line of his thick neck, up through his jaw, which is peppered with trimmed salt and pepper stubble.

“Shit, I’m sorry…” your hand comes up to his jaw, remnants of your merlot coloured lipstick on his cheek. He turns back to you and creases his eyes slightly, not following your apology but also not flinching an inch as you place your hands on him.

Your thumb moves in a slow and firm window-wiper motion to try and remove the stain. “I got lipstick on you…” Your left hand now comes up to the other side of his face, pushing ever so slightly to get him to turn to face you more. He preens into your touch, malleable to where you want him. The trimmed stubble pricks lightly at your fingertips.

“Is it my colour at least?” He teases, he looks down at you from the corner of his eye as you woman-handle his face. Damn, his voice is deep. It rumbles through your chest, signifying how close you are to this broad, thick, stranger.

“Yes. Very pretty.” You return with the same level of flirt. Your eyes shift from the red mark you’ve placed on him to his as you give him a lazy smile. The bartender sets up your drinks on the bar in front of you, making you both finally pop from whatever bubble you found yourself in. Three minutes in and you’re already cradling his face? Nice one, babe. You hear your friend's voice in your head.

“Well…” Joel picks up both shot glasses of tequila and hands you one, raising his own, and an eyebrow in your direction. “Cheers-“

“Hold it!” You cut in, your glass also raised to the same level as his. “Gotta look me in the eyes as we drink… otherwise it’s seven years bad sex.” You say, dipping your voice ever so slightly as you remember the above dive-bar standard of the room you find yourself in.

“Shit- well…” Joel smirks, he clinks his glass against yours. “Can’t be havin’ that now darlin’” That southern accent clings to every word as he throws the liquid back, his eyes not faltering for a second. You mirror his actions entirely, trying your best not to screw up your face as the liquid heats your insides.

He gives a silent chuckle before leaning into you again, hand on the small of your back and his mouth hovering just over your ear. “I snagged a table in the corner over there…” He points over your shoulder and you follow with your eyes. “Means you can keep telling me how pretty I am…” he teases and resumes his stance- one giant hand supporting himself on the bar.

Your mouth raises slightly at the sides. That first shot of alcohol hits you nicely as the smell of his cologne makes you breathe harder. “Sure.” You grab your drink from the bar and walk ahead of him to the vacant table, hoping that ‘ol’ faithful’ jeans are doing their job.

You stop just before the chair that isn’t covered by his leather jacket, waiting for confirmation. It comes in the form of Joel pulling out the seat for you. “Pretty and a gentleman… so many sides to you, Joel.” You say, not putting your full weight on the chair so that he can tuck it in under you.

He quickly joins you at the table, his large presence not diminished by his seated position. “Well, what can I say? I’ve got many talents.” He shrugs as he takes a sip of his amber liquid, the ice clinking softly as he places it back down.

In the ease of the past forty minutes, you both had forgotten that this was a first date. A charged silence falls upon you both as you simply take each other in, smiling widely when you catch eyes.

Joel watches as you unconsciously play with your necklace. He’s actively trying to stay in the room rather than let his mind wander about your full, rounded lips that flash red with danger.

“So, I gotta say, I thought you’d be a little more bossy given your demand for a blind date… You do that often?” He sips the whisky, hoping it will bring him back to earth. He so desperately didn’t want to be the guy not paying attention to what you were saying, given that he had asked the question.

“No,” you started, your eyes crinkling at the sides as you smile, “I don’t usually demand that they set me up on blind dates, but the last guy I went on a date that I organised admitted his attraction towards his sister and then tried to organise sex… all within the same sentence, so I’m starting to doubt my abilities to pick for myself.”

Joel splutters on his drink slightly, the fiery liquid catching the back of his throat as he coughs. “You got any siblings?” you cock your head, chuckling that you caught him off guard.

“My brother has a bit too much moustache for my taste,” he says, taking another quick sip to hopefully soothe the burning in his throat. “And I don’t tend to ‘schedule in’ sex.” He murmurs, the words coming out a bit laboured due to the whisky in his throat.

“Noted.” You return, “I’ll make sure to keep mine at bay.” You rub your upper lip before finishing off the last mouthful of your drink. “You want another drink?” You ask in a way that sounds hopeful. Not wanting to run after 10 minutes? Double nice one babe.

“Yeah.” He savours the last sip of his drink, licking across his bottom lip. “What can I get you?”

“Oh no, this one’s on me, pretty.” You wink at him. Joel opens his mouth in protest but wavers, a slight flush coming over him at his new nickname. “Same again?” You ask.

Joel notices how the lights strung around the place bounced off your eyes, making it harder to see their colour but even more difficult to look away. You pick up his empty glass as you stand. Joel nods in response, giving an earnest “Thank you, darlin’.” As he watches you make the small walk from your table to the bar, he gives himself full permission to check you out.

Your jeans look like they were painted on by the devil, caressing every curve of your waist and thighs. The back pocket of your pants stretches and pulls as you slide one of your hands in, waiting on a popped hip to be served at the bar. The denim leaves little to the imagination but, boy, was Joel imagining? He never wanted to be in a wrestling match more than with this pair of pants. He takes a deep breath, trying not to think about how difficult it would be to peel them off your body.

You move, shifting your weight to your other hip; your heels must be hurting you, he thinks. He lets his eyes wander up over your silhouette, up to your profile, as he does, he sees your eyes waiting for his. “Busted.” you mouth to him, your lips forming a wicked smile.

Joel smirks too, not letting up his gaze and nodding. ”So busted.” he says under his breath.

It’s not long before you join him back at your table, setting his down in front of him with a tip of your head before sitting back and enjoying a long sip from your own.

From the corner of your eye, the bartender comes over, placing two shot glasses in front of you. “Ah, thank you!” You say to them as they return to their bar. “Here ya go, I didn’t have enough hands for everything.” You hold out the shot to Joel with a devious look that wasn’t there before you’d left.

It wasn’t a shot Joel had ever seen before, a mix of different browns and beiges topped off with whipped cream. Joel takes the small glass between his fingers and crinkles his eyes at you. “Should I be scared?” He says, turning the glass to see the different liquors marbling together.

“That depends…” You move your shot glass to your other hand and lick some whipped cream off your thumb before switching it back to your dominant hand. “Do you like blowjobs, Joel?” You flutter your lashes and smile sweetly at the man across from you, whose jaw had just gone slack and eyes darker from the last time you’d looked at them.

Joel, not wanting to interrupt whatever mood you’d returned with from that bar, makes a deep “mmm mmm mmm” sound that started somewhere in his chest as he shakes his head and purses his lips. “You are trouble, ain’t you?” With that, you clink the glass against his and smile again.

“You have no idea.” You tip the glass back along with your head, just slightly so as not to break eye contact. Joel mirrors your motions, trying not to tempt fate given that he had a demon in front of him. Quickly, his gaze falters as the contrast in taste between the shot and his whisky has him shivering.

“Is that the best blow job you’ve ever had?” There you were again, licking the sweetness of the liquor from where it’d spilled on your fingers. A carnal image of you doing that after having his cock in your mouth flashes before his eyes. He shifts in his seat, having to tug at the denim at his crotch.

“Probably not.” Joel starts, taking a drink to rid his mouth of the overly sweet shot. “But, I believe in second chances-can always try again.” The liquor was starting to talk for him as he felt it climb his neck and up his ears.

“Okay, so I have this game that I play on dates…” You start, somehow your chair had drifted closer and closer throughout the night, as you both take turns getting the next round from the bar. As you sit elbow to elbow with Joel, close enough to smell the whisky that mixes with his earthy cologne.

“I like where this is headed already.” His accent has gotten stronger over the hour that has passed.

You shove his shoulder, “Shut upp. The game is that you have to imagine that your memory is wiped, so you get to experience things for the first time again… I then give you a category and you can only pick one thing, okay? So, if I were to say movie: what movie would you want to experience watching for the first time again?”

“Blade Runner”, he says, without hesitation. His eyes were starting to have that warm, glazed look that comes with drinking. “You?”

“Probably Scream or Fight Club- I like a twist. Vacation?”

“Ireland.”

“Australia.” you respond, picking up the pendant on your necklace out of habit, dragging it back and forth along the chain. Joel follows the movement of your fingers with his eyes, letting it soothe him too. “Food?”

“Mmmm, that’s a hard one…probably something that my Mom makes, like chilli or barbecue.”

“You’re easy to please, hm?”

“Give me a plate of good food and I’m yours.” He picks up his glass, trying to savour the liquid as you’d both agreed ‘just one more’ two drinks ago.

“I also love chilli.” You start, watching the way his lips wrap around the glass and how his tongue flicks across his lips when he sets it back down. “But I think I’d go with a dessert like chocolate fudge sundae… or, have you ever had one of those French pastries… What are they called? Pain au chocolat? That would be mine.”

He hums again, enjoying watching you ask and answer your own questions. The fidget that you started with the pendant of your necklace holding steady. In a moment of no thought, Joel slowly reaches out and stills your movement to look at the gold medal. “This is pretty.” He says to himself more than anything.

His big hand covers yours and flips the coin-shaped jewellery over with his fingers, the only response you can muster, “mmm”. He surveys the jewellery as best he can in the dim light of the bar, noticing the engraving on the back.

“It’s my initials.” You say. Your hand, and his, staying exactly where they are.

“Oh, you have a middle name.” More an accusation than a question. He sounds as if he’s uncovering some hidden gem about you. “What is it?”

“Nuh uh, you’re not getting it that easy. That’s for date five at least.” You tease, your gaze becoming heavier, the devious glimmer in Joel’s eyes becoming stronger.

“Anything else special happen on date five?”

”You might get another blowjob… but you were so ungrateful for the first one.” Your eyes drop to his mouth and then back up to his.

Joel can feel himself aching to be closer to you. His hand that holds the pendant now drifts to your jaw, his thumb feathering over your cheek, mirroring the window-wiper hold you had him in the first moments that you’d met each other.

He had a craving to explore every part of you, to taste, smell, and hear you. The need shoots through every nerve ending, spurring him on to take everything he can. But he has to slow down, or else take you to the bathroom and make you fill up all of his senses.

The Texan gentleman within him holds strong, as much as he could feel all of his reasoning heading south. He brings his face closer to yours, that slanted smile quickly becoming your favourite sight. “Can I take you home?” He rumbles, his voice low and soft so only you both could hear it.

The whisky on his breath makes your eyes flutter as you draw a sharp breath at his question. Your mouth turns up at the sides, you can tell your eyes have the same shimmer as his. Tipsy. Ready.

This wasn’t something you’d planned on. You had so many rules about first dates: No kissing (hence the red lipstick), no sharing a car, and no sex until you felt safe. With this man’s hand cradling the back of your neck and his calloused thumb tracing down your jaw and back again, you feel like syrup dripping over hot pancakes.

You’ve lost all sense of what time it is, or how long you’d been sitting there, inches from his face as your body screams at you to kiss him.

His face is so close to yours that his features become fuzzy. Your eyes are having a hard time focusing in this light. Joel’s eyes move over your features, waiting, restraining, teasing, not daring to push further until you say so.

You reach out to the corded forearm that is tensed and attached to the hand that was holding you gently. Your manicured nails rake up and down his arm in a feathered tickle. You feel his breathing deepen as you press your top teeth into your bottom lip.

“You’re gonna need to,” The pressure from your scratches is getting slightly harder, causing a hum to vibrate in Joel’s throat. “or else everyone will see how pretty you are with this shade of lipstick on your mouth.”

Joel takes the weight of your head and neck in his hands. He holds you both in that position; thick fingers cradling your nape. His tongue traces along his lips and pulls back slightly just so he can take in the heavy-lidded, slack-jawed sight before him.

“Let’em see.” he brings his lips, achingly close to yours, his eyes open, waiting for that last confirmation before he hands over his soul.

In an instant, his lips find yours, setting a slow, strong pace. The trimmed stubble on his upper lip chafes against your soft skin, creating the sweetest friction.

His cologne, mixing with the whisky and the warmth of his skin, takes over your senses as the broad backed man envelops you in his big arms.

Raking your hands through the soft curls at the back of his head, you can help but kitten lick at his bottom lip, craving a taste of that whisky you’ve seen him sip at all evening.

It only takes an instant for Joel’s breathing to deepen and for his tongue to meet yours, you both stifling a moan as you slide deeper and deeper into each other’s mouths.

Your wills, hanging by a thread, allow you a moment of clarity to softly pull away. A noise rumbles within Joel’s chest as you do, his resolve slipping like sand in an hourglass. With heavy eyes he lingers on your messy mouth, his brain unable to think of anything else than what state you’d end up in after his cock passes through your full lips.

With a chuckle, you bring your thumb to his mouth, wiping away the remnants of your lipstick that have transferred to him. “Messy boy.” You mumble, assuming your pupils must be the same size as his. He mirrors the movements on your mouth. The lipstick, blurry and smeared into a faded, pastel red that he hopes stays on him for days.

Joel swipes gently at your hot, swollen lips and chin, trying to clean you up and calm himself down before you leave the table. At one of the passes of his over your mouth, you lick softly at the pad of his finger. Matching your mood, he sinks his teeth into the fleshy part at the base of your thumb and tugs slightly.

“If we don’t leave in the next minute this whole goddamn bar is gonna see how messy I get when I turn your sweet ass the same colour as your mouth.” He licks then kisses where he had bitten you, making your eyes flutter and thighs press together.

The next half an hour was a blur. You both had the mission to get to your apartment as soon as possible, causing you to move with the most efficiency that four drinks would allow you to.

The Uber ride was the longest of your life.

Joel opened the car door and then slid right in behind you. His large, powerful hands placing you into the middle seat and wrapping the seatbelt around you, clicking it into place. He places his warm hand in the inside of your thigh, unable to keep his hands from you, you did the same, your forearm laying across the top of his thigh, nails scratching softly at the denim.

The alcohol has well and truly gone to your head, making every touch and graze feel heady and dreamlike. Joel was struggling. All night he was craving to be closer to you, holding and restraining himself but now that he’d had a taste it was impossible not to touch you. Trying to maintain his stoicism was less like stopping a yawn or sneeze and more like trying to stop a freight train on a windy day.

In the front, your driver is murmuring along to the radio, but all you can hear is the heavy, warm breathing of the man behind you as you allow him to explore your jean-clad thighs.

Pulling, pushing, kneading, it felt like Joel couldn’t get close enough. The roughness of his touch was full of nothing but need and desire.

You can’t make out everything he’s saying, his whisper is strained and raspy. You can make out the words goddamn and jeans; the lucky fabric achieving their purpose once again.

Your hand covers Joel’s, squeezing and pushing at him, encouraging him to keep going. Whatever devil was inside you wanted to push him to his limits in the back of this cab.

Feeling bold, you allow your palm to push at Joel’s high, travelling further and further up his lap before you stop dangerously close to the giant bulge you can see in the low light of the cab. This wasn’t typical behaviour from you, but the solid warmth of the man under you called to your most primitive nerves.

Dropping your head to Joel’s shoulder, you lean into his neck, leaving sloppy, wet kisses, tinged with light pink, in your wake. Trying your damnedest to hold strong until you get to the apartment.

The walk through the main doors of your apartment building was full of sideways glances and lip bitten chuckles. To have such desire within hours of meeting someone had never happened to you before. It made your skin tingle, all of your senses heightened.

By the time you reach the elevator, you can hardly recognise the darkness in the eyes peering into yours. Fingers interlaced, firm squeezes shoot straight to your clit; Joel’s rough hands somehow able to be strong but reverent at the same time.

Waiting until the doors close, Joel guides you against the brushed steel bar, which reaches the small of your back, and closes you in. His hands hold onto the bar on either side of your hips.

That nagging, rational part of Joel’s brain was screaming at him. He didn’t want any wires crossed or doubts about his intentions about tonight. Sure, he’d had his fair share of one night stands but not for years and certainly not with someone who he’d felt this level of attraction to.

With his knuckle, he ensures your eyes are on him as he hovers his mouth too close to yours. “I need you to know that I didn’t come on this date expectin’ anythin’and I still don’t…” he bows slightly, his forehead rests against yours, and he exhales with a self-fuffacing chuckle.

“I should be a gentleman. I should walk you to your front door, kiss you, and say goodnight.”

But I don’t know if I can, his brain screams at him.

Unmoving, you both share breath in close proximity. The alcohol in your system is dulled by the rush of adrenaline and hormones that are buzzing around your body.

Your teeth latch on to your bottom lip, Joel immediately catches on to the action but squeezes his lids shut, keeping his caveman brain at bay just barely.

The hotness of Joel’s breath fanning over your face has you fantasising about how it’d feel to have it between your legs. You shuffle slightly, squeezing your thighs together and feeling how wet this evening has made you already.

Staying in the electric silence, your chuckle echoes his own. You mimic his actions, moving your forehead, pressing the knuckle of your forefinger under his chin, encouraging him to lift it so that you can look him in the eyes.

“Joel, I’ve got some good news for ya…” The elevator dings, opening its metal doors at your floor. You let your grasp of his chin fall so you can wriggle free of his hold and lead the way to your apartment. “You might be a gentleman, but I’m not.”

Exiting the elevator slowly, you emphasise the movement of your hips as you lead the way through the carpeted hallway to your door. Joel follows closely, admiring the view with hearts in his eyes. Pausing for the briefest of moments, he exhales fully, palming himself, squeezing to elevate the ache at the base of his cock before catching up to you.

Twisting the key in the lock, you ram the door with your hips once, twice. “C’mon cockblocker” you ram it again, somehow the combination works, gaining you access to your apartment and a sideways glance from Joel which reads ‘we’ll deal with this later’.

With unfathomable accuracy, you throw your keys into the dish by your door and shrug off Joel’s leather jacket, which he kindly lent you, hanging it by the door.

At your back, you feel the Texan man push his hips into your ass. His fingers slide through your belt loops, giving him more purchase and momentum as you lead the way down the hall to your bedroom. His lips kiss softly at your neck, inhaling your scent before exhaling with a rumble. “Can you feel that, darlin’? Feel how fuckin’ hard you make me?” He punctuates with another pump of his hips.

A playful chuckle passes your lips as you turn on your heel so that you are facing him. Bravely, you press your palm firmly against the thickness under his jeans.

A flush starts at the base of your spire and carries up to the tips of your ears, as you feel how hard he is. His eyes flutter close, a deep groan reverberating from his throat as your breathing gets heavier. “Oh fuck, you’re big.” You rush out, that brain-to-mouth filter experiencing technical difficulties.

Joel threads his fingers through your hair, his palm cradling your head, the other grabbing at your full hip. His big brown eyes glimmer in the low light of the room as he scans your full face, stopping at your lips before flicking back up to match your gaze. “I believe in you, sweetheart. I think you can take it.” A sideways smirk, gifted to him by horny demon, swipes across his full lips.

Bringing your lips to his once again, the kiss is feverish, missing all of the earnestness of your first. Joel licks into your mouth deeply, his tongue gliding along yours, your breaths mixing together, making the air balmy.

Almost simultaneously you reach for his belt buckle and he your top button, the soft clink of metal on metal making your pussy clench.

He coaxes you backwards, prodding you to lay down on the bed as you begin working the buttons of your shirt.

Reaching behind himself, he tugs on the collar of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one swoop. His body is a wall of soft muscle- not created at a gym but through honest hard work. Freckles speckled down his arms and across his chest- you want to trail a path with your tongue.

“These jeans laced with black magic or somethin? Had me hallucinatin’ from the minute I saw you at that bar.” He peels them down in a see-saw motion. Joel kisses down the roundness of your hips and thighs as they are revealed little by little as he goes one on one with the denim.

Before long, jeans, shirts, and shoes are cast to the outskirts of the room. You lay before him in a blue matching set- the heft of your tits barely confined. Giving them a squeeze, your smaller hands barely cover them, the pillowy flesh spilling over the spaces in between your fingers.

Joel’s eyes go directly to them, a slanted smile sweeping across his face before he lowers his lips to the roundness of your stomach.

Licking, kissing, inhaling the scent that he assumed was your perfume lingers heavy on the plumpness of your soft skin. Travelling lower and lower, Joel settles himself, kneeling on the floor before you, eyes settled on the damp patch spreading on the gusset of your panties.

With forearms hooked under your thighs and hands resting on top Joel yanks you towards him, his beautiful hooked nose laying on the wet fabric as he inhales. “Fuck me.” He whispers into your mound.

Hooking his fingers around the fabric, his eyes flick up to yours for permission. Bumping up onto your forearms for a better view, you smile wickedly, crooking your neck to the side. “Let’s see how messy you can get, pretty.”

Joel all but rips the lace garment, whisking it downwards, past your knees before he hovers his mouth just above your pussy, close enough that his breath tickles against the soft hairs. Tongue first, he places wet kisses on just north of where you want him the most.

Instinctively, your hips raise, eliciting a dark chuckle from him. “Goddamn you’ve got a pretty pussy.” He shifts you so that your legs lay over his shoulders and freeing up his hands to push apart your folds, allowing him to see your swollen clit.

With a flat tongue, Joel licks almost too tenderly at the soft, dewy skin before swooping languidly over and over your bud. “Oh my god.” You moan, willing your hips to stay still and stop being so greedy, allow this man to cook.

“Never been called that before.” he mumbles, bringing the sides of his cheeks together, gathering his saliva in his mouth and then letting it fall to your clit. You were already soaked but Joel needed to see you dripping, messy. You moan, the lewd act making your eyes roll back.

Although being caught up in the desperation you had for each other, Joel needed to take inventory of every twitch, roll, and moan passing through your sweet, soft form. There was no way that he was taking tonight as a solitary event, already craving how you’d moan and whimper for him when you allowed him to fuck you bare.

Gently, he pulled at the apex of your pussy with one hand, pulling at the hood of your clit to unsheath it fully, before circling it with deep, even pressure with his opposite thumb. “You are fucking soaked, sweeheart.” Your breathing gets heavier, you’re unable to open your eyes fully, but you’re not willing to miss a second of this guy at work.

Joel incorporates his mouth, slurping and swallowing as if you were ice cream threatening melt right under him. Threading your fingers through his messy hair you push and pull at his fluffy curls, your heels digging in just at his shoulder blades to encourage him, more.

Feeling him chuckle,he presses into you deeper, his lips and tongue now licking into your pussy which flutters and pulses around his tongue. With each movement of his jaw you feel his beautiful nose bump and swipe across your clit, that familiar buzz at the base of your spine growing stronger and stronger. “Fuck, Joel keep going, it feels so fucking good…”

Hearing his name as a moan on your lips, strokes the most primitive part of him. He needs to be closer, deeper, before he comes in his pants like a teenager.

Somehow finding the strength to peel himself from you, he stands, his cock aching and hard as stone. There’s a clear, darkened patch on his boxers which steals your attention for a second before it moves slowly to his hand squeezing at himself. “I gotta get you ready sweetheart. Gotta be inside you.” He shucks his boxers off himself and pumps his cock in his hand.

Resuming his earlier position, Joel gathers your slick with his middle and ring finger before pushing them in slowly to your weeping pussy.

“Shit”

“Mmmmmfuck”

Groaning in unison, you swear you see Joel’s eyes flutter in the way yours are as you squeeze against his fingers. Joel flexes his digits, sweeping the pad of his thumb across your beautifully swollen clit to tandem with his fingers.

Shifting your hips, you rock yourself on his fingers, allowing your big tits to bounce and ripple in harmony. Opening your eyes, you can see him jerk his heavy, weeping cock at the same pace as he pumps into you, the strong expanse of his forearm tensed with chorded muscle. The view getting you closer and closer by the second.

“Think you can take more? I know your sweet pussy is gonna milk me dry.” Joel stretches his fingers inside of you, licking his lips, his eyes glued to your own.

Never have you had a man talk to you like this during sex. Often, your background music to get off was either the squeak of the bed frame or the buzz of your pocket bff after you were laying, disappointed, in a wet patch in your bed.

“Oh, you like me talking to you, don’t ya? You like it when I tell you how tight your cunt is, hm?” Joel’s upper body is covered in a small sheen of sweat, his fingers somehow able to quicken and maintain the even pressure.

“I’m gonna come, fuck.” Your hips grind harder, movements in tandem with Joel’s allowing your big tits to jiggle and ripple.

A familiar warmth spreads through your pelvis and hips, growing higher and higher flushing to the tips of your ears.

Joel, praying so hard that he doesn’t come, stops jerking himself, instead lowering his body so that he can drink your sweetness from the source. “That’s it. Good girl. Come all over me.” He speaks into your sopping wet pussy. Through thick lashes, he peers over the soft valleys of your stomach and hips, his tongue and fingers not stopping but calming to a slow, steady motion.

Ears still ringing, you prop yourself back on your elbows once more, enjoying the view of the southern man, eyes closed kitten licking at your pulsing hole.

In feeling your muscles flex in movement, his eyes pop open. He pulls his fingers from you, holding them in front of his face and scissoring his first two fingers, examining the silky wetness of your come. Without show or performance he places them in his mouth, past his knuckle in order to finish his meal.

Not wanting to waste another minute without him inside of you, you extend yourself, reaching to the top drawer of your night stand, grabbing a box of condoms and rattling them in his direction.

“I think twelve times might be ambitious but I’ll sure give it a go.” The flirty twinkle in his eye makes you cock your head to the side, giving him an over exaggerated eyeroll. He grabs the package from you, using his teeth to perforate the cellophane and pry open the untouched box.

Pumping his length a few times, Joel scans your entire body; toes, knees, thighs all the way to the undoubtably frizzy fucked curls framing your face. “You are the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen in my life.” It’s not until he finishes the sentence that you look up at his face, meeting his gaze that was waiting for your eyes. He slides the lubed condom over his shaft before joining you, kneeling between your parted thighs on the bed.

Biting your lip, you watch his actions in earnest, allowing his words to settle on your skin. Although never the best at taking compliments, this was not one you wanted to deflect. This beautiful, strong, southern man was looking at you with reverence and you were determined to believe it, if only for tonight.

Lowering himself on one elbow, he reaches your leg with his other arm, hooking it over the sturdy angle of his hips, his eyes never leaving yours.

Sweetly, his lips find yours, having that gentle quality that you shared in the bar. Pulling back only slightly, his eyes peer south, grabbing the base of his cock and rubbing it up and down the wetness of your slick, tap tap tapping it on your now engorged clit.

On your gasp, his eyes dilate further, unable to keep that goddamn slanted smile off his face.

Only in this moment have you noticed that when he smiles, he does with his whole face. Yes, his lips move but also his cheeks, creating a domino effect on his eyes, crinkled at the side, and the soft raising of his ears. Fuck, he was handsome.

It was your turn to peer down, looking at the way his cock was teasing you. Cheekily, you manoeuvre your hips, making the tip of his cock, notch against your cunt, causing Joel to swallow a moan and for you to smirk. “C’mon pretty, I wanna feel you stretch me with that big dick of yours.” You circle your hips, trying to make him do it again.

Leveraging your leg on his hip to raise your hips higher, he sinks into you, slowly, inch by inch until he is seated fully. Eyes cemented on yours as your smirk turns into a moan.

“Jesus Christ”

“Fuck, Joel”

Joel held still for a moment, the hand that secured your leg over your hip sweeping up and down the expanse of your thigh. “Damn you’re fucking tight.” His lips lower, licking and kissing over your collarbone and neck, the sweetness of your perfume now musky, mixing with your sweat.

As he pumps his hips with long, deep strokes, you thanked the sex gods that he had a pretty face and a pretty dick. His cock was big and thick, stretching you and making you feel beautifully full, fuller than you ever had been.

Working your hips, you moved in parallel with Joel. Pulling your hips back into the mattress when he pushed his pulsing length deep inside, bridging your hips upwards when he retreated. You didn’t want there to be a moment when he wasn’t inside you, moulding your pussy to fit his perfect size.

Joel slants his lips against yours, not waiting to push his tongue deep and long against your own. It wasn’t controlled, it was sloppy and wet, your hand threading through his hair and pulling at the disheveled strands.

The taste of him, mixed with your come and the faint memory of whisky had you rolling your eyes. It was desperate, reckless, kissing someone you barely know like this, like your life depended on it.

Pulling back, he arranges you, one leg still wrapped around his hip and the other raised up, ankle on his broad, freckled shoulders. “This okay?” His eyes, somehow wider, looking for any change in your expression, ensuring you’re comfortable.

You answer with your heels digging into his shoulder and the small of his back, pulling him into you. He feels bigger this way, his cock able to get deeper, on some strokes kissing that detonate button buried deep inside you.

It’s almost as if you forget how to breathe as he gets faster, the hair on his thighs and lower stomach now glistening with your slick as they rub against you.

Joel lifts you higher, allowing him access to grab at your ass, spreading it slightly, making your head spin and pussy flutter. “That’s it. Cmon, baby. I need to feel you come over my cock.”

This feels primal, biological; as if this night, this moment was written in the fabric of your DNA. Meant to happen.

With your eyes rolling back, you give over your body, surrendering to the will and strength of this man. Joel, feeling that he could combust at any moment looks skyward, willing his body to endure this sweetness for longer.

Bringing his thumb to your poor, swollen clit, Joel rubs in quick, deep circles, his pelvis and hips stuttering as he feels his impending orgasm.

“Fuck yes.” You come, eyes rolling, toes curling and pussy squeezing against the heavy cock inside of you. Your eyes snap shut, your jaw clenches as Joel continues to pump in and out of your spent pussy.

“Mmmmmmfuck” you peel yourself from ecstasy long enough to see Joel come. Each beautiful angle and muscle on his body tensing, his eyes scanning over your flushed face, that smile of his appearing again.

Inching towards you, he kisses you sweetly, the curls at the nape of his neck getting curlier by the second. His giant palm rests on your cheek, deepening the kiss slightly, running his thumb over your jaw.

It doesn’t take long for you both to get cleaned up. You grabbing the oversized T-shirt that lay dormant under your pillow and him finding his boxers in the far corner of the room.

A conversation isn’t had about whether Joel should sleepover or not, instead you fall into each other again; kissing, biting, licking, unable to stop but too tired and a little drunk to take it further.

An ungodly vibration on wood wakes you from the best sleep you’ve had in months. Shooting up in bed, you immediately regret your pace, your head tender from the night before.

Scanning your surroundings for a minute, a little seed of disappointment plants itself when you realise you’re alone, no Texan man in sight.

You swipe across the screen, putting your phone on loud speaker before you faceplant back into your pillow.

“Hello?”

”Good morning, princess.” You can hear the sarcasm dripping from your best friend’s voice. “I was gonna call you last night to see how your date went with the contractor but I’m guessing due to my 5 unread texts that it went quite well, hm?”

Stretching your body like a cat in the sun, you grab your phone and lay it on the pillow next to you, feeling like you’re at a sleepover.

“It went well, yeah.” You hear the smile through your voice before you realise it’s there. “He is so fucking hot, got that Mr Darcy stoic thing about him but he is definitely a dark horse.” You turn to lay on your tummy. “Honestly, it got to just about closing time at the bar and I didn’t want it to end. We got back to my place and he went full fucking caveman. And his dick is fucking gian-“

Your soul leaves your body as you hear a hoarse throat clear. Flipping around you see a fully clothed Joel with two cups of coffee hovering at the threshold of your bedroom door. With no notice you hang up the phone, shoving it somewhere in the bed before sitting upright.

“I hope you don’t mind, I didn’t want to subject you to the uncaffeinated version of me too early.” His movements are slow, shy almost as he hands over the cup and perches himself on the side of your bed.

“I thought you pulled an Irish goodbye on me.” You take a long sip, peering over the ceramic as you drink, the sarcasm shield firmly intact.

“And miss seeing your Cookie Monster T-shirt in the daylight? I don’t think so.” He teases, reaching for the hem of your shirt which grazes your mid thigh.

“I had a lot of fun last night.” He rests his giant warm palm on your leg, his brown eyes almost doe like.

“Me too. Think you finally broke my curse of bad dates, pretty.” You set the mug on your nightstand.

Joel flushes at the nickname, immediately taking him back to last night's events. Placing his mug next to yours, he scoots forward, cradling your jaw and placing a sweet, chaste kiss on your lips.

Unable to resist, he deepens the kiss. His big fingers thread through the mess of tangled curls as his breathing becomes heavier.

Pulling away, he keeps your faces close together as he scans your sleepy features. A goofy looking grin works its way across his face as he chuckles softly.

“What?”

He shakes his head softly, the smirk not letting up. “Can I have your number?”

Your head bows slightly, falling to rest on his broad chest as a silent laugh works its way through your shoulders. The sex last night was incredible, not the typical first time timidness so the thought of this man not having your number seems so ridiculous.

Joel presses a kiss into your hair, inhaling that scent that now makes something stir at the base of his spine.

Sunday afternoon rolled in slowly. Joel stayed for a hearty breakfast of cocoa puffs before heading back home, the impression of him lasting through the sweet ache in between your thighs.

Your current boyfriend, the high fairy king, had just slayed the mortal who spoke ill of his mate as a notification pops up on your phone from the Texan himself.

[image attached]

damn, that looks so good

I’m jealous

Last night work you up an appetite?

certainly did

it is good

but it’s got nothing on what I ate last night

The smile on your face had your cheeks hurting. Last night was not a normal first date. The level of attraction and passion you’d felt was nothing you’d ever experienced.

Rolling your head to rest on the top of your couch, you can’t imagine any date going better than your one with Joel. It makes you anxious but in a way where it feels like butterflies in your stomach.

Before you can reply to Joel your phone pings again, but this time the message from your best friend.

Okay gentleman Joel might’ve been good but just wait for first date number two before you make up your mind.

This is Javier. 🙂‍↕️😮‍💨😚😋🫠

Clearing your throat you look at the image of date number two.

Think I should give him a shot.

For science. 🙂‍↕️🤓

npt/ tag list 🏷️ @gothcsz @chasingthepoguelife @mandaloriankait @probablyreadinsmut @half-moon16 @brittmb115 @noisynightmarepoetry @maried01 @witchy-and-persnickity @drunk-and-capable @angiewatson @toshatoshalopez @qutequeersstuff @indiegirlunited @jolalibrary @sheepdogchick @regularjoel @iknowisoundcrazy

[taeyongdoyoung]

intro (infected)

summary: your attempts to find out the identity of your stalker lead you right where you least except... characters: reader, heeseung, sunoo and sunghoon genre: thriller, dark romance(-ish) warnings: themes of stalking, non-consensual photography, blood-covered dolls, stealing clothes, invasion of privacy, breaking in, toxic characters, betrayal, knife, drugging, kidnapping, etc. please PLEASE read at your own risk author's note: the title is inspired by this amazing song and the story itself is strongly influenced by my dreams and insta/tiktok edits of enha lmao; also this is the first part in a trilogy part two & part three word count: 2.3k

You feel like you're losing your goddamn mind. The last month has been the worst of your life. You literally dread coming home to another one of your stalker's "surprises". Sometimes it's photos of you taken from afar. Sometimes you return to your apartment only to find clothes of yours missing. Sometimes you receive little "gifts". Like creepy dolls covered in blood. So sweet.

Why haven't you called the police, one may ask? Well, you've heard of similar cases and the truth is, the police never take women's complaints seriously. They always make up some bullshit excuse about there not being enough proof. Or they try to make it seem as if the woman was somehow "asking for it" by leading some guy on or whatever.

So, you're stuck in this situation, being horrified of returning to your home every fucking evening. You can't afford to move out right now so, there goes nothing. However, you honestly don't imagine continuing to put up with this any longer. Therefore, you decide to take some action.

There are only two people other than you who have a key to your place. Thus, there are only two suspects you can think of.

Suspect number one. Your loving, doting, precious boyfriend Heeseung. You cannot possibly imagine him doing something so vile. Plus, he already has you. There would be no motive for him to stalk you and send you weird stuff and steal your clothes. True, he can be kinda possessive sometimes but nothing that would raise any red flags. He cannot be your stalker, you are pretty much convinced.

Suspect number two. Your adorable, sweet, younger best friend Sunoo. Once again, you cannot picture him being behind this. And yet...sometimes he has this resting psycho face clouding his usually adorable features. You don't wanna judge him hastily and without any proof. But sometimes he looks kinda dangerous. You know it's not his fault, he was just born like that. You have to investigate somehow and get to the bottom of this.

So, like the fool you are, you share your concerns with suspect number one.

"I have a stalker," you admit to your boyfriend one afternoon while you're watching a movie on the couch.

"What?!" Heeseung exclaims in shock.

Okay, his reaction seems surprised enough. There's no way he's acting.

"For the past month I've been receiving pictures of myself, as well as some creepy dolls covered in blood. Oh, and some of my clothes have gone missing."

"That's crazy! Why haven't you reported it to the police yet?" Heeseung asks, holding your hand, deeply worried about your well-being.

"Ugh, as if the police will do anything to take my case seriously. I'll figure it out myself. Well, with your help, hopefully."

"Of course, anything you need, I'm here for you," Heeseung promises.

"So, actually, you're suspect number one," you chuckle, not at all concerned Heeseung is behind this. He cannot be.

"I am?" he laughs. "Darling, I hope you know I would never-"

"I know," you cut him off with a trusting smile. "But you're one of the two people, other than me, who has a key to my place. And there was no sign of a broken door or window, so, whoever it is, obviously owns a key."

"Who's the other suspect, then?"

"Sunoo," you confess.

"Sunoo?!" Heeseung can't help but laugh again. "There's no way. He's a total angel. I just can't see it."

"Yeah? I lowkey see it, he has this creepy face every once in a while. He could totally pull this off," you reason.

"Well, what are you going to do?"

"I'm gonna confront him. Judging by his reactions, I'll be able to determine if it's him."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Heeseung immediately offers.

"Nah, that might intimidate him and he may not be as honest as I'd like him to be. Don't worry, we'll meet in a public space, just in case."

"Uhh, I'm not sure if you feel better but sure. Call me rightaway if you need help."

"I will, I promise," you smile fondly and kiss your boyfriend on the cheek.

The following day, you are sitting in a café with your best friend Sunoo, sharing mint choco ice cream that is a favourite of you both.

"So, I have a confession to make," you blurt out, mouth still full. "I have a stalker."

"Oh my God!" Sunoo exclaims dramatically.

"Yeah...I keep receiving weird objects and photos of myself. Also, some of my stuff have gone missing in the past month."

"The hell?! That sounds terrifying, why haven't you contacted-"

"The police?" you snicker coldly. "They won't help me, I'm on my own."

"Well, you've got me!" Sunoo replies enthusiastically.

"That's funny, because you're one of my suspects."

"Me?" Sunoo pouts adorably. "Y/Nnie...I wouldn't do something like that to you."

"I'd really like to believe that, Sunnie, but you kinda scare me sometimes, not gonna lie."

"Hey! It's not my fault my face does that thing when I'm not smiling. I promise I'm not your stalker!" he gets a little too passionate in convincing you.

"To be honest, I don't really think it's you."

"Who's your other suspect, then?"

"Heeseung," you shrug. "He's the only other person who has a key to my place."

"It's not him," Sunoo responds confidently.

"That's exactly what he said about you!" you cry out.

"Why are you not suspecting him, though?" Sunoo eyes you suspiciously.

"Well, if it was him, he would be quick to place the blame on someone else, you, for example. Therefore, it cannot be him."

"Ooor, he's only defending me to mislead you into thinking he's the good guy."

"I'm not sure that's the case," you shrug it off.

"Okay, then, are you confident we are the only two people who can access your place so easily?"

You try to think deeper about it. And suddenly it hits you. There was one other person who used to have a key to your place. But he gave it back. A week after you broke up with him for punching your friend (at the time) Heeseung for "staring at you" and "flirting" all the time. A week would have given him plenty of time to make a copy of said key.

"Sunghoon used to have a key to my place," you say out loud.

"Your ex?" Sunoo's eyes widen in shock.

"But he gave it back...a week after we broke up."

"He could have made a spare, that's really easy nowadays."

You nod in agreement.

"What are you going to do? Now that you have your primary suspect?" Sunoo asks.

"I'm not going to sleep. One of these nights he'll show up and I'll be ready to confront him."

"That sounds dangerous. Wouldn't you feel better if Heeseung and I were there with you?" Sunoo suggests warmly.

You shake your head.

"I have you guys on speed dial. If something bad happens, I'll call you rightaway."

"You have us on speed dial and yet we were your two suspects. The loyalty is dead," Sunoo tsks disapprovingly.

"Hey! It's not my fault you'd make a good psycho character in a kdrama," you try to joke to alleviate the tension.

"Damn right, I would."

Three nights later and you've drunk more coffee than is probably normal. You're so stoked there's no way you'll fall asleep. But you are tucked under the covers on the couch, pretending to be sleeping. Honestly, it'd be kinda disappointing if no one shows up. You must be crazy. Are you seriously looking forward to confronting your stalker, whoever he is? It's probably Sunghoon. You'd be pretty shocked if it was Sunoo or God forbid, Heeseung. You love them too much to expect something so creepy coming from them.

After what feels like forever, you finally hear it. The sound of the front door being unlocked. Slowly, almost impossible to notice. You curse yourself for being such a heavy sleeper. If you had been awake some of the previous nights, you would have caught him sooner. You wouldn't have had to put up with this for an entire month.

Your heart is beating so rapidly you feel like you're going to die any moment now. In retrospect, this probably wasn't the greatest idea. You probably should have notified the police just in case. Oh well, it's too late now.

Steps. Approaching. Slowly. Then, faster. Fuck. He's not gonna...Is he? The sheets you're hidden under are removed in one swift movement. He is.

"Miss me, princess?" Sunghoon asks, his voice as velvety as you remember.

You can't find the strength to say anything, let alone scream. You were right! It was Sunghoon all along!

"Missed me so bad you waited for me on the couch?" he teases you, running a gloved hand down your cheek.

Sooo far from the truth. You just wanted to know who was tormenting you. You didn't miss him at all. All he ever did was bitch about you spending too much time with Heeseung. He was a jealous, insecure wreck and all of that somehow manifested into the current predicament you found yourself in.

"Nah, just wanted to see who's been leaving me all these presents," you try to keep your composure.

"I'm surprised it took you so long to figure it out," Sunghoon chuckles darkly. "I thought you were smarter than that. Did you seriously think that dork Heeseung would be capable of something so wicked?"

"That dork is a much better person than you are," you spit out. Okay, probably not the best idea to confront him right now. Stupid Y/N...

"Hmm, is that why you cheated on me with him?" Sunghoon sighs wistfully.

"I never cheated on you, I started dating Heeseung three months after our breakup."

"Three months. Couldn't even wait a year. You're so cruel," Sunghoon pouts and sits next to you on the couch, making himself at home.

"I'm not the cruel one, terrifying my ex-girlfriend. Move on, Sunghoon. I have."

"Have you? Then, why haven't you thrown away the little gifts I gave you?"

How did he know they're safely tucked away underneath your bed? How many times has he been here without your knowledge?

"As evidence," you reply dumbly.

"Evidence you don't plan to submit," Sunghoon teases you.

"I will submit it if you don't stop."

"Why are you even giving me a chance? Obviously, you haven't moved on. Obviously, you wanted to see me again, didn't you?" Sunghoon caresses your cheek and you want to push him away, you really do. But it feels so nice, the coldness sending chills down your spine. Maybe you're just as sick as him.

"Obviously, you are delusional," you roll your eyes. You just have to keep talking to distract him.

You remind yourself that your hand is stuffed in your pocket, clutching your phone tightly. You could easily call Heeseung or Sunoo without Sunghoon noticing. They could be here in minutes as they live nearby. The question is who to call? If you call Heeseung whom Sunghoon is so jealous of, you are afraid that Sunghoon might be carrying some kind of weapon and Heeseung might get hurt. You are fairly certain that Sunghoon wouldn't hurt you physically but you are worried about your boyfriend.

Sunoo, on the other hand...Though he doesn't look physically threatening, him showing up might be a better idea. His angelic demeanour may lead to a diplomatic dialogue. Besides, Sunghoon's always had a soft spot for Sunoo. He wouldn't hurt him, right? So, without thinking too much into it, you call him.

"Am I though?" Sunghoon tilts his head to the side in a way you used to adore. Fuck. "Admit it, if I wanted to really hurt you, I would have. And if you wanted me out of your life, you would have filed for a restraining order or something. Since neither of us did any of those things, that means there's still a chance you crave me in your life, isn't there?"

"You’re fucking crazy if you think I’m going back to you."

Sunghoon grits his teeth angrily, but doesn’t say anything. You really should stop saying things that will make him mad but then again, your biggest flaw has always been excessive honesty. When you broke up with Sunghoon, you were explicitly clear why his behaviour was making you upset and that his jealousy was in the core of it all. At the time, you really viewed Heeseung only in friendly light so Sunghoon’s anger towards him appeared unfounded. Now, however…you were, in fact, dating Heeseung. So, clearly, Sunghoon would believe he’d been worried for a reason.

"Oh, princess, what makes you think you have a choice?"

Moments later, your strained conversation is interrupted by Sunoo who just lets himself in as Sunghoon conveniently left the door wide open.

"Sunoo, thank God, you’re here!" you exclaim even though you are perfectly aware that Sunoo wouldn’t be able to defeat Sunghoon in a physical fight. You just hope that his precious smile is enough of a weapon to get Sunghoon to leave you alone.

"Hi, sunshine," Sunghoon greets him calmly as if his arrival comes as no surprise. Wait a second…

"Hey, hyung," Sunoo responds and instead of being comforted by his appearance, you feel sudden dread upon seeing his angelic features slowly transforming into psychotic ones.

"Since when were you two so friendly?" you try to rack your brain. Back when you were dating Sunghoon, you never noticed anything. Did Sunoo like him?

"Since we share a common goal," Sunoo smiles softly at you, making you even more creeped out, as he pulls a blade from his pocket. What the fuck?!

"Aww, Sun, don’t scare her just yet," Sunghoon scolds the younger man gently. "We’ll have plenty of time to play with her later."

Sunoo is working together with Sunghoon?!?!

You try to make a run for it but you’re too slow so Sunghoon and Sunoo capture you quickly. Sunghoon’s holding you strongly from behind, while Sunoo is caressing your neck with the blade, not drawing blood, just messing with your head.

"Are you gonna be a good girl or do we have to drug you?" Sunoo asks sweetly.

You struggle against them but it is of no use. They’re too powerful and you were too foolish.

"Bad girl, it is," Sunghoon answers coldly and presses a piece of clothing against your mouth and nose, making you feel dizzy and sleepy. Fuck.

You really should have called Heeseung.

To be continued…

[capricorn-writes1]

Hey love, I see your HCS of Aomine with s/o that is horrible in sport and I love it ❤️❤️❤️ but Can I request Himuro, Murasakibara, and Alex with S/O that are also horrible in sport???

❤️Murasakibara Atsushi, Himuro Tatsuya and Alexandra Garcia Having S/O Who Are Terrible At Sports❤️

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Hello there, Anon. I try my best to make the portrayal of their character based on their personality, and I would like to apologize for replying to the ask late because I had horrible carpal tunnel syndrome in my right hand and depression, and I had to focus on finding jobs as well as therapy. Thankfully, I graduated in July from my university and was able to get a quick 6 months of internship before leaving to find a new job.

Gender: Neutral Warning: None

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Murasakibara Atsushi: Center/Ace - Yosen High School

Watching you trip over your own shoelaces during a casual game of catch is peak comedy to him. He’ll be chuckling with a mouthful of chips, mumbling, “You’re sooo bad at this, (Y/N)~” But he’ll still lazily roll the ball back to you so you can try again.

If someone else laughs at your lack of coordination, he instantly gets defensive. With narrowed eyes and an arm around your shoulder, he’ll say, “Only I can say (Y/N)’s bad at sports.” He’ll probably challenge them to a one-on-one and win just to make a point.

At first, he lifts you by the waist so you can dunk, thinking it’s cute. Then he sees you try to dribble and the ball hits your face. With a sigh, he hands you snacks instead: “Let’s just eat, okay?”

You’re wheezing after a 100-meter sprint while he’s just strolling along with Pocky in his mouth. “You’re sooo slow, Y/N~,” he teases, but he hands you his water bottle. Secretly, he loves watching you try your best, even if you suck.

While his world revolves around towering over opponents and breaking rims, you’re in the corner struggling with jump rope and somehow getting tangled. He watches you with a weirdly soft expression and thinks, I want to protect this clumsy creature forever.

You accidentally hit him with a dodgeball once. It barely grazed his arm, but he dramatically flopped over like he’d been shot. You screamed in horror, but he popped up, laughing like a kid. “You really think that could take me out?” He grinned, ruffling your hair.

He blocks the sun for you during outdoor games, literally just standing beside you like a human shade tree while you squint at the sky. “You’re going to get heatstroke or something,” he says while chewing a chocolate bar. Then he shares it with you and complains when you bite too much.

He calls you his “clumsy little shrimp.” You groan every time, but he says it with so much affection it’s hard to argue. You may not run fast or throw well, but you cheer for him louder than anyone. And that, to Murasakibara, is way more important than being good at sports.

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You had never been good at sports. Not just “meh” or “okay on a good day”, you were impressively, artistically terrible. Balls flew in the opposite direction of your aim, running left you wheezing after ten seconds, and you had once managed to trip over a stationary hula hoop. The only reason you agreed to come to the school’s casual basketball day was because he would be there. Murasakibara Atsushi, the walking snack tower you somehow called your boyfriend.

He was already on the court when you arrived, lazily towering over his teammates and dunking without even jumping. You waved at him with both arms like an overexcited flag semaphore. He noticed you right away, slow-blinking like a sleepy cat, and then wandered over. “You wore the jersey,” he said, eyes flicking over the way his oversized shirt hung on you like a dress. “Cute.” You tried to strike a sporty pose but nearly lost your balance. He caught you by the elbow, grinning like it made his whole afternoon.

When you joined the casual game, it was a pure disaster. The first time someone passed you the ball, it bounced off your head and rolled away. Your attempt at dribbling resembled a child slapping a balloon. Murasakibara didn’t even try to hide his amusement. “You’re sooo bad at this, (Y/N),” he said through a mouthful of gummy worms. “Like, impressively bad.” You shot him a half-hearted glare, cheeks hot with embarrassment.

Still, he didn’t leave your side. When the others ran ahead, he strolled beside you, acting like you were the star player. When someone snickered after you tripped over your own feet, he shot them a look cold enough to turn summer into snow. “Only I get to call (Y/N) clumsy,” he said, stuffing another piece of mochi into your mouth before you could respond.

You tried to redeem yourself by showing off a cartwheel you’d been practicing in secret, but it ended in you tumbling sideways and landing in the grass with a surprised squeak. There was a pause, then Murasakibara broke into loud, wheezing laughter, doubling over with his hands on his knees. “You’re seriously the worst at this,” he said between laughs, “and it’s the best thing ever.” You pouted, grass stuck in your hair, but couldn’t help smiling too.

After the game, the two of you sat under a tree, legs stretched out, sharing a bag of salty chips while the sun dipped lower in the sky. “I think I’ll just be your personal cheer squad from now on,” you declared, waving an imaginary pom-pom. He hummed in approval. “That’s good. You look better on the sidelines in my jersey anyway.” You leaned your head against his arm, feeling the warmth of the day slowly cooling down.

He handed you the last chip without hesitation, which was as close to a love confession as Murasakibara got. “You don’t have to be good at sports,” he muttered, flicking your forehead gently. “You’re already my favorite.” You stuck your tongue out at him in reply, pretending not to melt like chocolate under the sun.

And maybe you were still bad at sports, but with him beside you-teasing, protective, warm like a giant pillow, you didn’t mind at all.

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Himuro Tatsuya: Shooting Guard - Yosen High School

He finds your lack of athletic skill kind of adorable. You nearly fall while trying to kick a soccer ball, and he rushes to catch you before you faceplant. With a warm smile and soft laugh, he says, “Maybe stick to cheering, sweetheart.” But you catch him bragging about your enthusiasm to his teammates later.

He’ll gently guide you through the basics, step by step. Himuro’s patience is endless, especially with you; he’ll adjust your posture, your grip, and your stance. His hands are always warm as they rest on yours. And he always says “Perfect,” even when you mess up.

You once tried to join him for morning jogging. Once. After five minutes, you were hunched over a bench wheezing like a lawnmower. Himuro offered you water, wiped your forehead, and said, “You made it farther than yesterday.” You blinked. “I didn’t jog yesterday.” He smiled. “Exactly.”

He always asks if you want to come to practice, even if you just sit and read. He likes knowing you’re nearby, even if you're curled up with a book while drills happen around you.You occasionally peek up and clap when he scores a shot. His cheeks flush every time, no matter how cool he acts.

He once tried to teach you basketball… and deeply regretted it. You managed to hit yourself in the chin with the ball on the first dribble. He was horrified, gently inspecting your jaw with the care of a surgeon. “We’re doing yoga next time,” he declared.

He makes fun of you, but with elegance. “Oh, darling, you were born with many talents… just not athletic ones.” You shove him lightly, and he kisses the back of your hand with a teasing grin. Still, he’ll always volunteer to be your three-legged race partner, no matter the risk.

You’re terrible at catching things, and he’s made it into a game. He gently tosses small items like candy, pens, or rolled socks at you randomly throughout the day. You catch about 10% of them. Each time you miss, he dramatically clutches his chest and says, “And I still love you.”

He becomes your accidental bodyguard during team sports. If a dodgeball comes flying your way, he intercepts it like a reflex. “Sorry, muscle memory,” he says coolly, spinning the ball on his finger. You stick to hiding behind him after that, and he lets you.

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You had no business being on a basketball court. That fact became glaringly obvious the moment you attempted your first dribble and sent the ball ricocheting off your shoe, bouncing with traitorous energy toward the nearest wall. Himuro, mid-conversation with a teammate, turned just in time to watch the chaos unfold. His lips twitched with amusement as he calmly strolled over, picking up the ball like it hadn’t just tried to assassinate a water bottle on the bench.

“I see you’ve developed your own playing style,” he said, smile soft but teasing. You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “My playing style is called complete athletic failure,” you muttered through your fingers. Himuro chuckled, gently pulling your hands away so he could look you in the eye. “If this is failure, it’s the most graceful one I’ve ever seen,” he murmured, and you couldn’t tell if he was mocking you or flirting. Maybe both.

He offered to teach you the basics, just for fun, he promised and guided you through simple moves, his voice calm and steady. But somehow, even with his patient coaching and the occasional hand on your waist or your shoulder to adjust your form, you remained spectacularly uncoordinated. You tripped on your own shoelaces twice and once flailed so dramatically trying to shoot the ball that he instinctively reached out to catch you. “Basketball might not be your sport,” he said gently, helping you up. “But falling? You’ve really mastered that.”

After ten minutes, you sat down on the gym floor, winded and mildly traumatized by a basketball to the shin. Himuro knelt beside you, not the least bit tired, still looking as smooth and composed as ever. He handed you a water bottle and brushed a strand of hair away from your face. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “most people would’ve quit by now. I like that you’re stubborn.” You raised a brow. “Is that a compliment?” He smiled. “Absolutely.”

Field day at school wasn’t any better. You were the last one across the finish line in the sack race, having fallen over twice and accidentally hopped into a bush. Himuro was waiting for you with a towel, water, and zero judgment. “You were amazing,” he said as if you’d won Olympic gold. You eyed him suspiciously. “I came in dead last.” He shrugged. “Still my favorite competitor.” He even kissed your forehead, and for a second, you forgot you had grass stains on your knees.

Later that evening, you found yourself sprawled on a picnic blanket while Himuro read beside you, your head in his lap. “I don’t get why you keep inviting me to sporty things,” you said, squinting up at him. “You know I suck.” He looked down at you, his expression warm and unreadable all at once. “Because you make it fun. You laugh when you fall. You cheer like I just hit the game-winner even when I miss. You make all of this feel lighter.”

You reached up and flicked his chin gently. “You’re really good at making clumsiness sound poetic.” He caught your wrist and kissed your fingers in return. “That’s because I love all the parts of you, including the ones that can’t throw a ball to save their life.” You blinked, caught off guard by how easily he said it, as if the words were already true before he spoke them aloud.

In the end, maybe you’d never be good at sports, but Himuro made it feel like you didn’t need to be. With him beside you, even your worst gym-class disasters turned into soft, golden memories. And that, in its own strange way, felt like winning.

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Alexandra Garcia : Trainer/Coach

Alex finds your lack of coordination endlessly entertaining. The first time she saw you trip over a foam dodgeball, she burst into laughter and nearly dropped her protein shake. “You’re like Bambi learning to walk, but cuter!” she cooed, pinching your cheeks. You glared at her, but your blush betrayed you.

She tries to train you anyway, because she believes in the impossible. “Don’t worry, babe. I’ve trained NBA-level players. I can definitely teach you to catch a volleyball.” Five minutes later, you bonked yourself in the forehead with it. She kissed the red mark and said, “Okay, we’ll start with breathing exercises.”

She takes videos of your flops to watch later and giggle. You caught her once rewatching your failed somersault attempt while drinking wine and giggling like a teenager. “Don’t worry,” she said with a wink. “It’s for analysis purposes.” You deleted the video, and she immediately demanded a reenactment.

Alex loves showing you off in front of her athlete friends. She wraps an arm around your shoulder and announces proudly, “This cutie? Completely useless at sports. And still mine.” They laugh, and you groan, but she’s already kissing your cheek. “Don’t worry. You’re better than all of them at cuddling.”

She makes you do warm-ups with her for fun, knowing you’ll fail spectacularly. “Okay! High knees! Stretch! Breathe! Lift those arms, gorgeous!” You collapse halfway through, panting like a dying hamster. She gives you water and a massage like you just finished a marathon

She’s lowkey protective when people laugh at your efforts. If anyone snickers when you mess up in PE, Alex’s expression drops from sunshine to stormcloud. “Laugh again and I’ll accidentally spike a basketball into your face,” she’ll say sweetly. No one ever laughs twice.

She sneakily flirts during “training” sessions to distract you from failing. “Okay, dribble the ball… and look at me like that again and I might let you win.” You forget the ball entirely. “Oops,” she smirks. “Guess we’re playing a different game now.”

At the end of the day, she wouldn’t change a thing. You bring softness to her loud life, laughter to her serious moments, and kisses after her workouts. “You may suck at sports,” she says, cuddling against you on the couch, “but you’re perfect at being mine.” And when she says it like that, you almost believe you are an MVP.

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You should have known something was up the second Alex walked into your room wearing spandex leggings, a cropped hoodie, and a look of barely-contained excitement. She held a duffel bag in one hand and two smoothies in the other. “Surprise, babe! I signed us up for a couples’ boot camp class at the park!” she chirped. You blinked at her from your blanket burrito, deeply betrayed. “I didn’t agree to this. I’m in a committed relationship, with my couch.”

Fifteen minutes later, you were gasping for breath beside her on a yoga mat, swearing your legs had betrayed you. The instructor had just yelled something about burpees, and Alex was bouncing like she lived on a planet with less gravity. “Come on, sweetie! Use those beautiful thighs!” she called, clearly living her best life. You wheezed back, “My thighs have given up on me. Tell them I said goodbye.”

Alex didn’t stop smiling, even when you collapsed halfway through jumping jacks and accidentally hit yourself in the face. She offered you water with a wink, dabbing your forehead with the corner of her towel like you were the star of a sports movie. Except instead of winning the big game, you were struggling not to pass out in public. “You’re doing great, darling,” she said, kissing your nose. “I’ve never seen someone flop this artistically.”

By the end of the session, your body felt like overcooked spaghetti, and Alex looked like she could run a marathon and then teach Zumba. She practically skipped beside you as you hobbled out of the park. “That was amazing! We should make this a weekly thing!” she beamed. You gave her a flat look. “Only if you also agree to a weekly nap class where I teach you how to lie down and do nothing.”

Later that evening, the two of you were curled up on the couch, and Alex had her legs slung over yours, scrolling through her phone. You caught her watching a video, of you. Flailing dramatically during high knees. “Alex,” you groaned, burying your face in a cushion. “Are you really watching my athletic downfall for fun?” She grinned. “For science. And also because you’re adorable when you suffer.”

She kissed your temple then, soft and warm, and rested her head on your shoulder. “I love that you came with me even though you hate it,” she said. “You were sweaty, breathless, and wildly uncoordinated, and still the cutest person there.” You rolled your eyes but felt the heat creeping into your cheeks. “You’re weird.” “You’re welcome,” she replied smugly.

When she offered to carry you bridal-style to the kitchen later, you thought she was joking, until she actually scooped you up and strutted like she’d won a trophy. “See?” she purred. “You don’t need to be athletic. That’s my job. You just focus on being adorable and letting me show off.” You groaned, but didn’t resist. It was hard to argue when you were weightless in her arms and laughing uncontrollably.

By the time she plopped you onto a stool and started prepping your favorite snack, you had fully accepted your role in this relationship: chaotic disaster, protected and adored by a goddess in sneakers. You didn’t need medals or muscle, just Alexandra Garcia and the way she made you feel like a champion, even when you couldn’t catch a basketball to save your life.

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

So I 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Summary: your casual arrangement turns a bit too serious.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“It was great to talk,” you shake Nick’s hand. “I’ll send you the details?” 

“Wonderful,” he squeezes as his lips slant in his characteristic half-smirk. His eyes remind you of another bold blue pair but you’re trying not to think of him. “I look forward to doing business together.” 

“Let’s aim for a follow-up next week. Make sure everything’s on track,” you confirm. 

“I like that. Very straight to the point,” he muses. 

“As nice a company-paid dinner is, I’m sure you’re dying to get home,” you say. 

“Maybe... if I wasn’t going home alone.”  

You hesitate. His little comments keep popping up. It’s expected. It comes with being a woman. You’ve done your best to ignore them but that one is too pointed to miss. 

“Again, appreciate doing business,” you pull your hand away. “Have a lovely night.” 

“Maybe next time,” he calls after you. 

You walk away, focusing on your posture as you keep rigid. It wouldn’t do any good to show your discomfort. You’re not sure what it is but lately, you’ve been like catnip to men. Something about you is drawing them all in. 

You raise your hand to flag a cab but your arm is caught and pulled back. You yipe as Bucky pulls you to face him. Holy shit!  

“What-- Bucky?! You scared me. You—you scared me.” It’s all you can stutter as your shrill voice scratches in your throat. “God!” You yank on your arm but he keeps a firm grip. You hit his other shoulder with your fist, “let me go. What are you doing?” 

“Who was that, huh? Thought you weren’t looking for anything serious.” He snarls. 

“Ow,” you finally rip your wrist free, rubbing your sleeve as you lean back on your heel. “I’m not. That was a work dinner.” 

“Oh yea? Cause it didn’t sound like just work.” 

“You-- you’ve been watching me?” You accuse. 

“I happened to pass by. Couldn’t help but overhear,” he scoffs. “You sitting there in that dress. I couldn’t look away.” 

“We agreed that this is over,” you insist. 

“I didn’t agree to shit. You pulled the rug out from under me.”  

“What are you talking about?” You bluster hotly. “This was never—it was always going to end. You know that. Why are you complicating this?” 

“Me, complicating it? It didn’t have to end. We were having fun,” he spits. 

“No, I wasn’t. I’m too busy for all that. So are you. I can’t have you stopping by in the middle of the night all the time or—or walking into my office after hours. Don’t you see that it was getting... too much?” You shake your head. 

“Too much? It’s exactly what you wanted. You said you wanted spontaneity. You wanted me. You liked it. All those time when you were under me, you couldn’t get enough. You always begged for more--” 

“Just stop. Bucky, we could be friends, we could hang out but I can’t keep doing that. I don’t have the energy and it’s getting scary.” 

“Scary? Oh so now I’m some monster? Huh?” 

“That’s not what I mean--” 

“No, I get it. You see me and you see this,” he raises his metal hand and wiggles his fingers. “You see what they all see.” He snaps his hand down. “You haven’t even caught a glimpse of what I was.” 

“Why-- why are you doing this? I wasn’t mean. So why--” 

“Doll,” he squares his shoulders and steps closer. He’s never called you that. He’s never been one for petnames when he isn’t buried inside you. “I’m not doing anything. I’m standing here talking to you. But think about what I could do?” He stops and you take another step back. He snorts, “I can your fucking heartbeat. You really think I’d hurt you?” 

“Right now, I don’t know what you’re going to do.” You utter. 

His blue eyes turn dull as his pupils dilate. He gets closer and huffs through his nose, “you won’t even talk to me like I’m a person.” 

“Bucky--” 

“You used me. You treat me like some dog you can throw out.” He takes one step and you take one back.  

“No, we had an understanding. We were just messing around--” 

“You’re messing around!” He barks as your back hits a pole. “And now it’s my turn.” He grins and raises a hand. You wince and he gently caresses your cheek with his knuckles. “You want me to be him, hm? Not Bucky, the other guy. You wanna see him? You wanna see how nice I’ve fucking been.” 

You whimper and shrink down, “please, I’m sorry. I know it was sudden but I thought--” 

He grabs your jaw and squeezes and you whine. Your legs buckle as you brace the iron street pole. 

“You thought fucking wrong. You didn’t think. Not about me.” His fingers tighten and your jaw aches. You slap your hand around his wrist. “Now, you will. I’m not going to let you go. Not forever. Tonight, you get to walk away but you’re going to be thinking of me. You’re going to check over your shoulder, behind your shower curtain, under your desk. You’re going to be watching and waiting for me because, doll, you won’t see me right in front of you and you won’t be able to stop me.” 

You shudder as he lets you go. You cling to the pole to keep from folding into a trembling heap. He stretches his fingers out as he examines his hand and turns to face the traffic. He chuckles as he steps up to the curb and motions for a taxi. You just stand there. 

A cab pulls up and he opens the door, “get home safe, doll. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure no one else bothers you.” 

[mrsblaileen]

i really liked your L analysis! you are 100% right: he's not shy. why would he be so open and bothered with social norms about his odd mannerisms and habits otherwise?

don't you mind sharing more thoughts on him in relationship?

i imagine him as a type to be a direct, but strongly manipulative lover in terms of getting what he wants (both physical and other kinds of intimacy) from his partner. not out of malice, but (as i see it) he seems to be very sure of him knowing better when, where and what should happen, so he let's himself some degree of manipulation to "lead" the partner to whatever decision he needs them to come up with.

what do you think?

thank you for your answer and sorry for my english! it's not my first language. have a great day!

—🪱

Hi, thank you so much! I would love to expand on this.

Absolutely, i think you are correct - generally he comes from a well meaning place, but having such a disconnect from "normal" life and relationships, i think its hard for him to see his actions as "wrong", even if they are socially improper/immoral. He has his own determined perception of what justice is, and he stands by it unwavering, even ignorantly - no matter how warped it may be.

Before i start, i think L is a very elusive character in some regards, whether that’s due to the variance of his established character in writing/media, the fact that we as viewers are torn between rooting for him as the “hero” while faced with his sometimes unlawful tactics, or that the story never quite delves into what is “true” of L and what is part of his persona / the facade of the detective known as “L”. So this drabble is based on my own tastes/interpretation.

This got a bit lengthy, and is a mix of sfw and nsfw (flagged when the nsfw starts).

Hope you enjoy!

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I think L at his core is bored by almost everything and everyone. It’s a rarity for something to capture his attention for more than a few fleeting minutes, interesting only until he’s turned his watchful gaze onto it, and stripped it of all its unknowns. You however, and the feelings you stir within him, are an enigma.

L is nothing if not a detective at heart. He’ll observe you to an almost unsettling degree, you’ll feel his dark eyes lingering over you frequently, its borders on unsavoury. He wants to know it all; what’s your favourite food? Your likes and dislikes? What are your interests, your goals and dreams? What kind of soap you use?

If he deems it necessary, he’s not above near stalking measures. He’ll tell himself it’s to make sure you’re safe, regardless of your own opinion on the matter. I don’t even think he would perceive it as “wrong” - how could it be, when he’s just trying to protect you? He knows best; it’s for your own good. Even if the true goal is just to sate his own curiosity about you.

Maybe it is from place of authenticity, of wanting to be the very best for you, and the more informed he is about you and your preferences, the better he can be. Or is it truly just some basal desire to consume any piece of information he can about you? You've burrowed deep, and he’s starving for it. He may even set up little tests, secret things put in place purely to garner your reaction to them, and store the information away for later.

I think the core of it (aside from his innate curiosity) is protectiveness - it’s hard to get into Ls circle of trust, but once you’re in, he’s watching you like a hawk, and you’re under his protection whether you like it or not.

On a lighter note (hehe) - L spoils you, constantly buys you little gifts, or even just keeps stock of things you use on a daily basis (you don’t need to ask, he knows what you like, knows when you're running low). He won’t let you pay for a thing. A part of me considers that he may do this, even subconsciously, to make you more dependent on him. He likes to feel needed/important to you, likes his ego stroked.

He can be abrasive - although there is an air of disconnected politeness from him, a mask - after you have been together for a while, once he knows he’s not going to scare you off, he is not afraid to breach taboo topics, or ask you bold (bordering on inappropriate) questions.

I like the idea that he may start mirroring his partner, subconsciously. Given that he gets to close to them, so into their head, ingrained in their habits, in the sense that he knows so much about them - it’s natural that he may pickup some of their mannerisms.

NSFW warning from this point.

Going off my last post - this man is not shy when it comes to your relationship.

He is unashamed in his interest in you. He’ll stare, unabashed, watching your face for any micro reactions. If you sit down, his eyes are fixed on the spread of your thighs over the seat. Dropped something? He’s watching the curve of your ass or slow reveal of cleavage as you bend over, regardless of where you are.

It’s no secret that L has something of an oral fixation, and you are (fortunately i would say) more often that not at the receiving end of this fixation. He’ll take any opportunity to have his mouth on you - open mouthed kisses, sliding his tongue down the delicate skin of your neck and chest, eating you out slow and methodical, teasing your nipples with his tongue. He wants your fingers in his mouth when you ride him, or wants his thumb pressed flat over your tongue, coated in your spit while he fucks you.

He’s also a very quick learner, and he likes to learn - especially about you. L is calculated, and he’ll turn that analytical mind on you. When you’re together he’s watching, dark eyes glued to your form, taking in every piece of information - every slight furrow of your brow, every little moan, every twitch around him - to deduce what feels best for you (and for him). He might be a bit sloppy and out of practice (or lost in sensation) the first time, but give him 5 minutes and he’ll have you feeling the best you’ve ever felt - hitting just the right angle to make you come undone in record time.

L generally appreciates efficiency more than flair in the bedroom, and he can be selfish to his own needs/desires. He may even be into free use or somno (all consensual, of course). Having said that, I think he’d also love any opportunity to observe you, to pull different reactions out of you; he’d kiss you slow and methodical, and run fingers over you to map the curves of your body to memory.

I think he might get bored of sex sometimes. Definitely not a reflection of his feelings for you, just the boredom that comes from routine, especially with a mind as quick and ravenous as his.

I can picture him fucking you from behind while he works on his laptop, balancing the device on your tailbone, or on his stomach while you ride him - dark eyes glued to the screen. The only indication that he feels any of what you’re doing is the slight flush over his cheeks, and the little puffs of air he’s letting out. He might even interrupt you midway to get up and find a different usb, or report in a different room - the whir of his mind a constant priority.

In retaliation, i’m sure you’d find new ways to spark his interest, to quiet the constant flow of thoughts in his head.

──── ୨୧ ────

I’ll cut it off there as i could genuinely rant about him forever...

I hope you enjoyed, and thankyou so much for your message!

[nqueso-lies]

I wrote this out over the course of 2 hours, taking multiple breaks. Hoping I've written something you could understand. I don't remember the last time I came to you to vent like this... it's not an easy one. To have express or probably to read. Sorry in advance. You can disregard this, I'd understand. I'm gonna hold on to this ask for a bit and if I actually sent it then...

It's been a few hours by now and I can honestly say I will never be about to watch this episode again because of these Eddie scenes and how those stans are positively reacting towards his actions with Buck.

As it was playing live if felt uncomfortable but angry in a way that made me scoff as the scenes came on. Simultaneously reading the first batch of posts as others were live blogging along I was just as snarky to Eddie's behavior and by the end of the episode I was just fully pissed off that I had to log off because something about how I felt watching it all was different than most other uncomfortable scenes I've experienced watching this show and I think I was trying to convince myself that I was just "mad" at those scenes solely this episode because I enjoyed everything else about the episode, it was another 911 episode you know... and I thought I calmed down enough to come back a read everyone else opinions and reviews and... seeing people breakdown those "Buddie scenes" made me sick, from all sides. I didn't even know I was crying until I just kept reading post after post from multiple people explaining how harmful, manipulative, and abusive his behavior was. Then on the flip side, I saw multiple shippers say "how romantic" and "Buck deserved that! Go Eddie!" and I had to run to the bathroom to throw up. Took me a few to stop shaking and rethink everything. Everyone's analysis, well not everyone but yeah, of Eddie was spot one. So spot on that it triggered flashbacks to a few people in my life who traumatized me. Just like Eddie. Similar experiences, similar traumas, similar volatile excuses, same explosion reactions, same manipulation, same tactics. Same guy. And then... how Buck was treated, has been treated repeatedly... fck me man. Smh. Seeing Eddie be so beloved by those people even though he has so many red flags and has yet to change but still gets praised and romanticized live during those scenes was shameful. This whole "we're so back! we're definitely getting canon buddie after this!" is embarrassing and hurtful. It gave me a similar feeling when the Doug and Maddie episodes first aired... discomfort.

I personally stand by ship what you want but witnessing awful actions in real time repeatedly for years and people wholeheartedly putting every bit of hatred into trying to justify it as the only optimally correct ship there is because they think it's "ok" or "romantic" or "so married" like it's "healthy" and "deserving" or "a turn on" ... Never again can I watch that episode or rematch any episode with him and look at his character the same slack. Could I ever say I fully love him or that he was my favorite? No, but I don't think I've ever fully thought or fully believed he was irredeemable or scum. I think every character had/has major flaws and was complex and complicated but I can't at this moment forgive him as a character just yet... Maybe ever.

I see daily how other characters are framed because they haven't been deemed redeemable by stans for whatever it may be and people seem to just hate any redemption arc on this show in general. Valid or invalid. What's it to me? Usually not much. I protect my peace, roll my eyes, block, don't engage, and move on but this time, for this particular episode, seeing people defend him, truly defend him has me visibly and physically disgusted. This fandom has disappointed me so much I'm usually not fazed at their antics but this episode...

Eddie has truly ruined my experience and everyone supporting him in these particular scenes and justifying his past actions as a whole and still seriously shipping him with Buck... fucking gross.

I tried to rationalize the "that's not abusive" by saying well maybe it's ok or fine they can't relate or understand why what happened is triggering because why would I want everyone to relate to any ounce of what I'm feeling? But let's be fcken for real. The lack of simple intelligence and sympathy and disregard for others because they don't want to admit Eddie has a pattern and that pattern is what is legally, morally, technically whatever the fck ever, is abuse. All because accepting that would mean having to admit Eddie has been the truly unchanged unforgivable evil character they have been dragging for over a year, that in reality he'd be the worst possible opinion for Buck or anybody to date atm and Buck deserves better like they been preaching, that they are the ones with a flawed ship that makes no sense, that they falsely created a picture of what abuse was for Tommy but in reality, it's been a projection of Eddie all along, that they willing harassed and be vile to anyone who doesn't like their ship built on no based but insecurities, jealousy, and lies... That they have been wrong. That they are the ones that don't actually care about anything but "two guys kissing"

I keep reading over these posts calling people "over dramatic" "weak" "sensitive" "pathetic" and "liars" for seeing, understanding, and admitting what happened, not only tonight but multiple times, canonically mind them, that Eddie is not that spectacular, caring, romantic person they so desperately created in fanfiction, behavior that would never be expectable in real life, that it's not "hot and sexy" ... Ships with toxic dynamics aren't wrong... when you opening can admit they are toxic and aren't hiding the truth for what it is. You don't have to have a socially moral or ethical reason for shipping what you ship but to start multiple smear and hate campaigns about things that they so loudly despise even when 98% of it is made up and dumb... a Henley, really? A kink "joke" Buck started himself, really? But Eddie's years of volatile behavior, gaslighting, manipulation, using his child to "make things better" and do it on repeat and be comfortably stunted by refusing to get help and actually stick to change because that means he can get away with it again and who frankly is one of the most selfish people in general, who has done all these things to multiple people he's "cared" about...

His grief and experiences don't make it more okay. Hurt or abused people can unfortunately end up repeating the same behavior that hurt them for many reasons. It still is inexcusable if they do. Eddie has been written to ignore acceptance, growth, and responsibilities. That's how he was created. He could change but he hasn't and by that design that performance highlighted another instance people can add to the list. Something that personally could cause someone with 15 years of therapy, coping skills, and reflection to see one scene and feel like they're reliving an experience all over again.

Eddie was scary but people believing he isn't is probably worse. Having people point out with proof of the history and trying to explain to others and seeing the rejection and defense for a fictional character is... something broke in me this episode. I don't think I'll feel the same watching the show again. I wish I couldn't relate to Buck. I wish I wasn't scared for him because I didn't trust Eddie in that moment not to do another irrational thing. I wish Eddie was written differently. I wish stans would stop "trying to win." I wish I never started this show 7 ago had I known this would be the experience I'd being dealing with now. I wish they hadn't just permanently ruined something for me.

*had a terrible night thinking this over, and I think at this point I just feel numb to it all but I still stand with this.

I don't want to take away from anything you've said ❤️🫂 just know I'm giving you a digital hug, Annie!

[shiny-jr]

Heya sorry to disturb ya but talking about AI, how to notice if the writing are ai or not? Imma reader so yeah :P

Sure! I'm really glad that the whole AI discussion seems to actually be making a sort of change here. I sorta expected for my words to fall on deaf ears, but that is not the case. So that makes me really happy!

Anyways, just to make this extra thorough, I consulted with the council (my writing mutuals) to ask their opinions on the best way to tell between AI writing and real writing. To some it may come across as an easy difference to spot, but to others it may not be so obvious. So I hope this does help you and others pick apart the AI from the real work!

AI Art

Red flag number one. To me, this is the most obvious sign. As AI art is a bit more obvious to see. There's usually inconsistencies in lighting, awkward lines, too shiny, oversaturated, etc. If you see someone use AI art as a cover for their story or within the chapters, the user is likely using AI in other ways too. If they're okay with using AI in art, they're probably okay with using AI in writing. Which isn't okay.

2. Pacing

This is also a big one. Writers are busy, we got lives and things to do, believe it or not. So if you see a story or account that's just pumping out heaps of content in a small amount of time, that is highly suspicious.

Of course there's people who can write a lot in a short amount of time or who have the time to write frequently, but I can tell you, if you see a story less than a year old that has HUNDREDS of pages of content, something about that is off. Usually, not all the time, it's AI. Because it's very quick for people to just type prompts and get the AI to make tons of content in a small amount of time when real work actually takes a lot of time.

Just check out the frequency of updates and the amount that is being given with each update, and you can probably make logical conclusions from there.

3. Author Notes/Comments

This is a hit or miss, but I've noticed a pattern here. From the AI fics that I've seen, I assume that most of them are written by users who did not have English as their first language. How can I tell? Their words.

These users might leave a note or a comment, and sometimes it's hardly readable, other times it is readable but there's a lot of mistakes in basic words, and on occasion their English is good but there's still flaws. Yet somehow, they can write pages and pages of a story with perfect English? Yeah, that don't make sense.

4. Writing Style

This is a lengthy one, as there's a lot of telltale signs in the writing itself that can reveal whether or not it's written by AI. I'll be breaking this down into more parts, just because there's a lot here.

Definitions - For this one, I'll give an example, without going into specifics of titles or anything. However, I saw a story recently, where something happened. And the line essentially went "And the crowd gasped– a collective intake of breath." See what's wrong with this line? Why are we, the readers, being told the definition of a gasp? People should know what that is. There's no reason for that to be there. So if a written portion includes a word, then defines what that word is, something is wrong.

Emotion - AI work is very stiff, robotic. It does not portray emotion well, if at all. As I mentioned once before, there's no passion in it. Any emotional scenes AI does write, feels very stale and lifeless. It doesn't invoke emotion as it should.

Characterization - This one is iffy. AI work tends to get characters wrong, like they'll make dialogue for a character but that character would never say that. Or they'll make a character do something but the character would never do that. Things like that. It's because AI doesn't truly grasp characters. The most it'll do is if given a set of character traits, it'll try to emulate that character solely based off the given traits, but often come up with multiple flaws and just totally get the character wrong. However, I say that is iffy because people do write characters differently. Sometimes, people totally write a character wrong and it's not AI.

Vocabulary - Another iffy one, but in all the AI works I've seen, they tend to try to use a high level vocabulary. Iffy because some real writers do write very eloquently with high vocabulary, but usually with AI, it sounds like an essay. You can also include excessive descriptions on this, especially descriptions that don't matter and have no real importance to the story. AI does that a lot.

Tone Shifts - AI doesn't have good memory, for the most part, so they can change tones of the story very quickly that it might seem jarring and out of place. If you look closely, this'll reveal if it's AI or not, especially is the tone shift is accidental and caused by the AI messing up. This can included repeated phrases, which also might seem out of place. It can especially be seen in chapter stories, as one chapter might read or feel a certain way and the next chapter reads completely different. There's no consistency.

Focus - AI tends to focus on tell. Tell and not show, when most writers try to focus on show don't tell. Here's an example, since this one might be hard to conceptualize. AI might write something like "He looked around suspiciously" versus a person who might write "He avoided eye contact, glancing around at anything else but you." See the difference? The first example is tell, the second example is show don't tell.

Long sentences - I have yet to have seen an AI fic with short sentences. All AI fics I've seen thus far have the tendency to write in long sentences.

Okay, I think I covered the basics of everything that was mentioned. At least, that's all that was brought up and could be thought of. I sincerely hope this helps, y'all. Remember, support real writers, not AI users ✨

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Now don't throw tomatoes at me but I'm actually really excited to finally see malleus again— I've always loved malleus since we met him in the story, but I'm also sooo curious about what's gonna happen next,, I'm wondering the obvious thing, about whether or not we might get a parralel scenario like what happened with the KoD and silver will have to "slay" malleus or at least be the one to land a killing blow, but I also saw a really interesting post focusing on how magic is a manifestation of dreams and deep desires and imagination,,,, in that case, I may (VERY delusionally) hope that Yuu finally gets to be a major part of the story for once??? Even reading the novels, there HAS to be something bigger for yuu— while the idea of crowley simply being an incompetent airhead is fun and more comfortable, haven't you thought that meybe he pulled them into this world deliberately??

All to say, what if at some point, Yuu somehow manifests magic in a very dire moment ?? You know lol?? Agh idk. I just want yuu to finally make impactful choices but that IS too much to ask, as far as we can see for now,,, (but hey, that part leading up to ace getting is UM, and the convo between him and yuu,,, it *does* give one a sliver of hope, doesn't it? :') )

Don't worry, no tomato throwing here! 😅 I may not care for certain characters, but I’m not going to shame anyone that does. You’re free to think however you want about Malleus!

dbjsvsJcwhj My personal feelings about him aside, I am actually glad he’s finally relevant to the main story again. He’s missed out on so much of his own book OTL In the time he’s been gone, the fandom has been left to speculate about both his and Lilia’s potential death flags. I really doubt Twst will have the balls to kill off one of them, but it would be cool to at least see Silver delivering the final blow to knock some sense into (not necessarily kill) OB Malleus.

Yes, it’s true that Silver states in the recent update that magic was originally considered “a miracle borne of strong desires from the heart.” But 💦 I don’t think that means Yuu would randomly manifest magic in the final fight?? It feels more like a “let’s save the day with the power of friendship” to me, but I could of course be wrong.

I understand being frustrated that Yuu’s participation in the main story seems to fluctuate a lot, with most of their activity being books 3, 4, and segments of 1, 6, and 7. That’s not much, especially considering how long books 6 and 7 are. Sometimes (even in events) it feels like Yuu is barely there, as most dialogue options don’t involve different reactions from the characters. Even Yuu's quest to find a way home is barely addressed or taken seriously until early in book 7. Yuu hasn't gotten "real" development unless you count them realizing their Disney dreams are prophetic in book 5, taking the initiative to save Grim in book 6, and that dialogue option about them being worried they're not contributing + the related convo with Ace in book 7. All very short moments in the grand scheme of things. And honestly, I think that makes sense for the kind of character Yuu is. A blank slate, a self-insert, an outsider that's easy to exposit information to, someone with which to view the story, characters, and world through. Yuu is primarily there to be the POV character, the lenses, the camera that we see Twst through. They're not really meant to be a traditional "main character". It's possible that Twst gives them a slightly bigger role at the very end (especially with what went down in the dream in book 7), but I doubt it will be a huge triumphant moment where they and they alone save the day or deal the final blow in a crazy act of self-sacrifice. Twst has always been a story that puts the NRC boys first, while Yuu is the observer.

I've noticed that the complaint of Yuu not doing a lot in the story comes mainly from English speaking fans?? And I guess that makes sense, given how western culture tends to emphasize independence and standing out. They want Yuu to reflect that. They want to be the ones to make a difference. I don't even remember ever seeing these same comments from the Japanese speaking fans; it's definitely a less common sentiment for them. The Japanese fans seem pretty content with Yuu being an observer and taking on more of a minor or supporting role. Again, this fits in with what I understand of many eastern cultures. They're demurer, not wanting to stand out too much from the crowd and instead prioritizing group harmony. Very interesting cultural difference to note!

It's a common theory (with many variants) that Crowley intentionally summoned Yuu to Twisted Wonderland for his own nefarious motives. People found him pretty sus right away due to how he seems to not put in any real time or effort into investigating a way to send Yuu home. Plus, there's that ominous opening monologue of his to consider. However, I don't think he summoned Yuu because of their (potential) great magical capabilities. The Mirror of Darkness tells us that it doesn't sense a shred of magic in Yuu, and Leona smells zero magic on them (though that could be because it hasn't technically manifested yet, as some fans claim).

The idea is that Yuu is supposed to be plain. They are supposed to be magicless. Why? To humble the NRC students and to show them that asserting yourself violently or with great magical power ISN'T the way to go. To show them value in strategizing (which Yuu does in the prologue by helping Grim aim at the ghosts), of camaraderie. What does it say about the story's themes if Yuu, the person who is supposed to be showing them the worth of mundane things, is suddenly... "secretly ultra-strong, actually”/“just like you guys” (even if it's only a temporary hope-fueled magic)? It might contradict what has already been set up. It also breaks the self-insert appeal of Yuu, since developing magic would also mean Yuu would later have to further develop things like proficiency in magic, best/worst subjects, and an unique magic/signature spell... meaning Yuu HAS to become better "defined", thus losing their blank slate nature. This would surely upset some fans who deeply project onto Yuu, have a Yuusona, etc.

Yuu can still make an impact on the characters and the world--and they have, judging by how much closer the boys are with each other--without having to be The Most Special One or like everyone else. I think it undermines what Yuu has already managed to achieve to say that they haven't made an impactful choice at ANY point in the main story when I believe they definitely have. Yuu made the choice to sign the contract with Azul. Yuu made the choice to approach Malleus. Yuu made the choice to go against Crowley's orders and go retrieve Grim from S.T.Y.X. Yuu made the choice to get Leona’s help with the contracts. Yuu made the choice to stand with Adeuce against Riddle in book 1. Yuu made the choice to let the VDC/SDC tribe train at Ramshackle. Yuu has done a lot, and all without needing to seize the spotlight or to do anything big and flashy. I don't think Yuu needs to be big and flashy. There is pride to be had in simplicity and being humble too. There is pride in representing the 90% of humans in Twisted Wonderland that are ordinary and without magic.

(An aside: so if Yuu wasn’t able to manifest magic in many other extreme instances, does that mean their desire to save Grim in book 6 wasn’t “enough”? That their desire to save Ramshackle, their one and only home in this world, wasn’t “enough”? It implies that Yuu didn’t wish hard enough for these other things they clearly care about and want.)

I think a good way to give Yuu a decent role while staying true to their design as a blank slate would be for Twst to really lean into the whole "beast tamer" aspect that was introduced all the way back in the prologue. This would work well with their deep connection to Grim as well. Assuming that Grim ends up being the final OB... We could easily have the NRC students and staff on the ropes, Malleus at his wit's end after exhausting himself with his own OB, a rampaging Grim about to end it all. And then... one lone figure shakily rises from the rubble and confronts Grim. One human. Magicless, defenseless. A human lost in an unfamiliar world, a human who believes they're useless and don't contribute much. A human who is always in need of being protected by others. But not anymore. This time, it's Yuu's turn to protect what they love--their friends, this world they've come to love, Grim. Ace and Deuce yelling at Yuu to not be stupid, to get back--but Yuu just advances, calling out to Grim and begging him to stop. And maybe it's Yuu's wish that rallies everyone and/or gets OB Grim to hesitate. That's when they can strike. Is that corny? Yeah. Does it sound like the ending to a Disney film? Sure. But it still grants Yuu, a magicless human that is supposed to be there to teach everyone about friendship, cooperation, and humility, their big moment to shine. The best of both worlds, I'd say.

[coca-lastic]

Takami Keigo: 5 Red flags vs 5 Green flags

Characters: Takami Keigo (Hawks).

Mi first lenguage is not English btw

Part 2 with Bakugo?

First of all, a relationship with Keigo can go very well or very badly. His life requires a very specific type of person, although he is not one to judge people and prefers to be optimistic when it comes to anything, it must be admitted that a person who is a little more "egoistic" could not stand the schedules, the dangers and harms that come with the hero's work.

In any case, if you are a person who, although you have flaws that might seem out of place with the style of life that has been imposed on Keigo, but you are still a person who is willing to do better, fight and resist for the relationship, believe me that the he will put the same as you and more.

Probably at the beginning there will be many problems, Keigo is not a man used to his life not being just for him, and perhaps you are not used to living with someone like him, but part of a relationship is learning, step by step and with a lot of time, love can change things if you use it well.

Of course, like any person, he has his good things and bad things.

🟥 Red Flags:

• At first he's a very independent and close person: Being independent can be a very good thing and a good sign, but when it comes to Keigo, it is not the same. His independence is too big to be considered a good thing, he has grown up and lived his entire life believing that he is the one against the world and only he has the right to know what is going through his mind, so it wouldn't be the kind of boyfriend who is asking your approval or telling you about his day. But he knows that that is not right, so I firmly believe that he would correct it to the point of telling you his problems.

• He's sarcastic: Come on guys, you could see this coming from the second this hero appeared on the screen and started making the most annoyed faces a face can make. It's not like he does it in a bad way often, but when arguments start he would get on your nerves with his sarcastic comments, probably minimizing the problems or making you look wrong, even stupid in the worst cases.

• You are the priority, but if people need him, he will leave: This is a very extensive topic and contains many reasons. You are the most important thing in his life, if you leave he would be totally devastated and depressed than anyone else could be, but he simply cannot reject the call, if his phone vibrates and they tell him that they need him he will already be acting the hero suit. It's not that he wants to leave you, it's that he can't stay, it's that he has been educated to always leave.

• He is jealous: Normally it is not something that bothers you, it can even be something that the two of you later make fun of in private, but there are some times that if he seems to be intense about it, he is not attracted to the idea of you leave, that you change him or that you abandon him, so although he always tries to keep himself in line, there are few cases in which he goes too far, when he marks someone as his rival he will forever be "the disgusting guy who wants with you", and he could say offensive things about him, start fights so that you stay away from him and even demonstrate his jealousy without any type of shame.

• "Is not that deep": I don't know why, but I'm very sure that Keigo would say this MANY times, like you may have told him that it's something that bothers you, or something that hurt you, or you're just telling him a story, and he responds with the damn "is not that deep." Partly it's because like I said before he won't tell you something just because it happened to him, so he doesn't understand why you're open about it.

OKAY BUT, he has hes beautiful Green Flags and all that, SO let's goOoOooOOoOOOoo

🟩 Green Flags

• He drives you to achieve and fulfill your own goals: He would be a man who not only asks, he also offers, he would never ask you to support him in his goal of a better and more relaxed world for those who are heroes without first supporting you in any goal that you have worn. You need money? He can give it to you, do you need to improve yourself? Ok, here he is to support you, do you just feel tired of trying? Well he will give you a reason to do it again.

• "Let's see each other even if it's just for 5 minutes?": He leads a busy life but he takes you into account in every second of it, it's true that it's hard for him to tell you about it, it's hard for him to open up, but he loves seeing you, even if he doesn't express it correctly, he loves to be there for you even though he may not tell you that he thinks about it, he loves to give you time even if it means more fatigue for his body.

• Stop having attitudes that make you feel bad: Did you read all the previous red flags? WELL HAWKS TROLL YOU BECAUSE HE CHANGE WHAT YOU ASK HIM TO DO, GIRL!!!! He would make an effort because he doesn't take it lightly, it is difficult and takes a lot of time, but he keeps trying.

• "I saw this and I remembered you": I repeat, Keigo takes you into account every second, even if at first he can't express it correctly. But he is a bird, he will bring you any stuffed animal, bracelet, candy, necklace, clothing or toy that he finds in a store and has a detail as beautiful as you.

• Hella touchy: Bro, if you don't consider this a good thing I'm really sorry but what the hell are you doing reading something about Takami Keigo, Get the fuck out of here! He will never have one hand far from you in moments of rest and time as a couple. A simple hand on your thigh while the two of you are eating or while he is finishing work papers, a few light cuddles on your hair while he is falling asleep, a hand on your cheek before kissing you, a hand on your waist to hug you, and if i keep going, I don't finish the list.

[syneilesis]

[fic] Coffee Break

Coffee Break

Love and Deepspace | Xavier (Shen Xinghui) x Main-Character!Reader | G | 1.2k words ao3 link

You buy Xavier a new coffee machine.

A/N: I am so in love with this man. Day 2 of the closed beta test and here I am writing fic lmao. God, I love Shen Xinghui so much. This fic is inspired by his Shimmering Sunlight story. Some spoilers about the main storyline and character-exclusive stories, though nothing too significant. Though I frequently refer to his CN name in my other posts, in this fic I use his EN version -- Xavier.

The box is light in your hands, but the salesperson assured you that weight does not equate to quality. Price, too—because although the Hunters Association is generous with their pay, you don't want to raise flags by taking missions incessantly. Tara's nose for intrigue, of course, is well-known among your circles.

It would be all the worse if Xavier gets in on the gossip too. (You'd have to thank the stars for the man's indifference to workplace drama—and to most in general. Xavier may be airheaded at times but when he's focused on something he is monstrously focused on it. It's impressive, and—well—cute.)

The recommended beans are secured inside your messenger bag. You don't call Xavier this time to give him a heads up. He had, a few days ago, granted you the privilege to enter his home whenever you like, his hand tracing the book spines on the shelf, all the while saying it. He wasn't looking at you, but his tone remained light, playful even, that it prompted you to tease him by pointing out that if he merely wanted an efficient alarm clock, he could just buy one of those state-of-the-art ones sold in major stores. That's when Xavier whirled around to look at you, mirth in his eyes but with a secretive, scheming tilt on his lips.

“I'm coming in,” you announce, regardless, by the door, pushing it in with one hand, and Xavier's voice floats across the hall.

“You're really taking advantage of this, huh.”

“Well, a wise man once said that one must seize every opportunity given their way.”

Xavier emerges from a room in all his cardigan-and-sweatpantsed glory, hair mussed enough to indicate that he's just risen from his bed.

“Good morning!” you chirp.

He glances at the clock—two in the afternoon—and eyes the box in your hands. The caution—and curiosity—is obvious in the lilt of his question. “What's that?”

“For you.”

He takes the proffered item and inspects like it'll explode at any moment. You sigh and retrieve it again, and he follows you when you make your way to the kitchen.

“I already have a coffee machine,” he says, confused, as you begin to clean the gift.

“And it brews bitter coffee.” You spare a glance at him to find that he's watching you. You tap the lid of the machine. “This is a more recent and an undeniably better model.”

“I don't recall asking you to buy one for me.”

“That's because you didn't.” There's a pause where you deliberate telling him your next sentence and facing him directly as you say it. You go for it, in the end. “It's a gift. This is a gift from me to you.”

It doesn't register to him at first—it's as if he's waiting for an explanation that requires the mention of Captain Jenna's orders. But after a blink and a shuffle, it clicks, his eyes widening and he's fully awake all of a sudden.

And when he responds, it seems urgent: “What's the occasion?”

You shake your head. “Nothing—or rather, it's the occasion for drinking good coffee.” The coffee beans make their appearance. “Go sit on the sofa or something while I work this thing out.”

Xavier chuckles. “What—now you're ordering me in my own home?”

“And making you good coffee!”

“You're a guest—even I know that it's rude to have the guest make food or drinks for the owner of the house.”

“It's fine! And besides, I'd like to test this out as soon as possible. Refund and exchange policy only lasts for seven days from the date of purchase. I'd want to know if this works just fine.”

Xavier attempts to protest a little more, but you hold firm. Once he trudges back to the living room, you concentrate on the coffee. The salesperson seemed trustworthy enough when pitching the product, and you really can't forget the time Xavier served you a cup of bitter coffee. Not even three sugar cubes could salvage that unholy concoction.

When it's done, the heavenly aroma wafting along your nose, you test a sip from your own mug. It's a success. Placing the mugs on a tray, you head to where Xavier is.

He's reading a book. Though 'reading' seems to be a stretch because his head bobs twice, his eyelids drooping, the edge of a nap threatening his posture.

“Xavier,” you call him, and his head snaps back to attention. You bite your lip to stave off a laugh. Sitting next to him on the sofa, you put the tray on the table and hand him his own cup. “Try this one.”

A sniff and a tentative sip. And then he hums in approval, now drinking it normally. You smile around the rim of your mug, your eyes falling on his book.

“This is good,” he comments, wearing a smile of his own when he turns to you. “Did you use another kind of coffee beans?”

“Yep. The salesman recommended me another one, and it was the right decision. By the way, why are you reading an instruction manual on building a claw machine?”

“It's nothing,” he says, swiping the item away. There's another book on the table—a collection of short stories—and he snatches that up instead. You recognize the title.

“Oh! I've read that before.”

“Is it good? I haven't read it yet.”

“Yes. I particularly loved the titular story. The suspense buildup was done skillfully and the payoff was perfect.”

“I see, then I look forward to starting it.”

Surprisingly, Xavier begins reading it then and there, occasionally sipping his coffee and turning the page. You, beside him, are minding your own cup, thoughts drifting here and there. Your next mission. New strategies in battle. Your next appointment with Dr. Zayne.

It's when a weight has plopped down your shoulder that you jolt out of your musings: Xavier falling asleep on your shoulder, mug empty, the coffee residues pooling at the bottom, book opened in the chapter of your favorite story.

“Xavier?” you murmur, careful not to startle him if he's truly asleep.

He doesn't stir—only burrows further into the crevice between your neck and shoulder, the puffs of his breath close and warm against your skin.

It would've been cruel to push him away, not when he looks comfortable. And besides, you're afforded an opportunity to study him—so you let him as he is.

From your angle, staring down at his sleeping face, you note of his eyelashes, long and thick and seemingly soft, slightly curved upwards, hovering over his smooth cheeks. They frame the blueness of his eyes very well. They make him even prettier under daylight. You're reminded of the time you and he strolled under the blooming peach blossoms, the pink backdrop highlighting the radiance of his presence, statuesque. He as sublime art itself, rivaling that of Rafayel's paintings—or better yet, surpassing them. And when he smiles—

Unbidden, heat crawls across your cheeks and settles there. Oh no. Oh, no no no.

Oh dear, this won't do.

You swallow, and turn away. Against your neck, Xavier sleeps on, unaware of your unfurling realizations. By the window, a familiar bird perches, twittering under the afternoon sun, a small but melodious background song.

[ilikekidsshows]

Had a Marinette fan yell at me for saying a dread the day the show will have Marinette use Adrien's amoks to control him "for his own good"

They yelled she would never do that and then got even angrier and said that I'm just a salty misogynist who wants to f*ck Adrien when I pointed out that I lost any hope for Marinette not doing it when she didn't even try finding an alternative solution to risking to kill him in Weredads. They said that Marinette did nothing wrong cause she was trapped in a "metaphorical mental cage" and that she deserves to put her own safety first even if it requires sacrifices. She allegedly has nothing and no one, never had and clearly never will, so whatever needs to be done by her to get through the this hell she was forced into she's perfectly in her right to do.

At that point, I was just laughing. Marinette stans are on another layer of unhinged. What they are unabashedly describing is a VILLAIN. Not a victim. You talked about how you believe that one of the 4 years olds you teach was negatively affected by the way Marinette is written. But can we talk about how having been a Marinette stan in this fandom in the last 5 years or so also 💯 set alot of Mari fans on worse paths due to this having happened in their adolescence?

Say however you want that "oh they will grow out of it one day and know better", but long-term fandom participation during adolescence absolutely contributes to the shaping of one's belief system, sense of self ect. This cannot just be acknowledged when the fandom participation resulted in something GOOD, it also has to be said when the consequences are BAD.

Don't misunderstand me, it's not just Marinette stans this applies to. I'd say every type of stan ended up worse due to having been part of this fandom in the last years. But for Chloe stans, Adrien stans, Alya stans, and the others, they were actively forced to accept that the show isn't on their side and they have to look for their media fulfilment somewhere else. Nowadays, as far as I can tell, stan blogs that salt on Marinette are often pretty much just remains of their former hyperfocus or emotional investment that the show ended up having beaten to death. They are side blogs and people say in em that they have long expanded their media diet but Miraculous is simply a case they specifically remain upset with for whatever given reason.

With these other stan blogs I feel like I can put faith in most of them having gotten a more diverse media diet after s4 and s5 that serves to better balance out the negative effects their participation in the ML fandom had on them. But I can't muster up that same faith for Marinette stans.

They've had no reason to seek refuge in other pieces of media cause Miraculous has stayed on their side all this time. Not to mention that expanding their media diet would lead to them seeing the show's (or Marinette's) bad writing for what it is. I to this day wonder how much Marinette stans limited their own media diet and particularly on female empowerment just cause they didn't want their Marinette bias to be challenged. Remember, we're talking about kids or young adults in their adolescence here. They will absolutely double down on what kind of representation they wanna watch when they put their minds into it, just like biased adults. Age isn't the deciding factor, it's the determination of not wanting your world view challenged.

And Marinette stans were the ones who even went so far to write the vast majority of the Maribat and character bashing fics which the show still backs them up for by not even asking them to face CANON anymore. Then yeah, forgive me for singling Marinette stans out as the ones who may actually be coming out of this as true red flags. Other types of stans can at least list solid and consistent reasons for what ruined the show and Marinette to them. May it be due to morality or simply other story telling priorities than prioritizing the main character all the time. Even if I think some of their anger towards Miraculous and Marinette looks sus, I can still see how of that is gonna be the case when they engage with a good piece of media that gives them what they were promised.

But interacting with some Marinette stans makes me question how they can possibly be watching ANYTHING else if they are convinced that Marinette is how a main character should always be prioritized in any story for it to be good. You cant tell me those Marinette stans actually watch anything else, or at least anything else but their special niche.

Long story short, Astruc says being a Chloe stans is a red flag, but I'm so much more wary of Marinette stans.

---

Yeah, the “all Marinette critics are misogynists who wanna fuck Adrien” defense. We’ve all seen it and the Maripologists continuing to use it just proves how they are literally just repeating the words they’ve seen some other Maripologist use with no thinking of their own. Generative A.I. user -ass behavior 

“Marinette deserves to put her own safety first” is such malarkey. Marinette was so unbelievably safe, she'd just easily whooped the asses of both the Akuma and the people she had under her thrall. Killing Adrien in such a zero-stakes situation was completely unjustified, no matter what “mental cage” the apologists invent for her. Unless they mean Marinette's tendency to objectify Adrien and see him as an object, I can see that as a mental cage, but I don't like how it makes it sound like Marinette is the victim herself instead of her committing human rights violations for no justifiable reason.

Also, like, I just had another anon telling me that the Maripologists are making posts like “What if Marinette accidentally mind controls Adrien while holding his hand, poor Marinette!” They’re making posts about how Marinette will eventually overwrite Adrien’s free will too, but the instant somebody posts about it without going “poor Marinette!” on the same breath it’s unreasonable conjecture. Wild.

Oh, yeah, long-term fandom exposure does influence how we behave towards other people. Like, back when Steven Universe was really popular, so were these “anti-blogs”, group blogs whose members dedicated themselves to hunting down and harassing people engaging in fandom behaviors (mostly ships) that they didn't approve of. These blogs always ended up imploding very quickly due to infighting because these people became that awful when their negative behavior got constant positive reinforcement in their community.

Maripologists are no different from these anti-blogs. Sure, they’ve branded themselves after “loving” a character instead of hating certain types of fans, but this “love” manifests as chasing down and harassing people who are critical of Marinette, aka people engaging in fandom behaviors they don't approve of. And they get positive reinforcement for their negative behavior from other Maripologists for “defending Marinette from salters”, and the show through it catering to them.

I usually wouldn't blame the source material for the fandom’s bad behavior, but, in the case of Miraculous, the waters are really muddied because I can see why this show specifically has this kind of fandom outside of “all fandoms have rancid parts to them”. As you said, the show basically rewards them for having such stunted compassion that they can extend it to only a single fictional character, because fans of any other character practically get punished. But the Maripologists take it even further when they project every excuse in the book onto this fictional character while treating real people like cartoon villains.

I talk a lot about the child audience because, as a teacher, I care about what media teaches children, and, as I said, I’m in a position to see what kind of real world damage this show can cause to the small children it is marketed towards. But, you are correct, Maripologists probably grew up on this show and have now aged out of the target demographic, or fixated on this show as a comfort show, and can't move on to better media that would teach them what better media looks like because Miraculous keeps going, and, when it's on hiatus, the fanworks keep coming. There's constantly new Miraculous for them to focus on so that they never have to challenge themselves or their views. They project onto their protagonist and think that making sure they have as easy a time as possible and never feel uncomfortable is the same as putting their “safety” first.

Maripologists are the epitome of “go outside and touch grass”. Go check out other shows. Read a book every once in a while, even if it’s “just” a graphic novel. The act of reading enriches your thinking and is the best exercise for your brain. It doesn't have to be long or a masterpiece as long as it gets you reading. Get out of your comfort zone or get stuck in a rut. But Maripologists have been in this rut for years, it's going to be really hard to break that habit to check out what's going on with Miraculous constantly, and they probably aren't even motivated to do so. After all, the show hasn't utterly disappointed them yet.

[justchillandshipit]

Here I go again.

Buck asks Eddie if his son is the real reason he doesn't date. Eddie responds with, "That and, they weren't my type."

This has been a flag for everyone who reads the subtext, but let's take a moment to look at the last GIF.

Eddie says they weren't his type. Buck turns around to look at them and probably assesses what makes them, 'not' Eddie's type because the girls were all subjectively pretty. There were also a variety of types of women there.

But look closely at the GIF. Eddie said they weren't his type. While Buck is glancing back, Eddie gives Buck a quick look that really screams, "You are it. You are the type." When I noticed this from the GIF edit, I thought it might be the creator slowing it down, but nope. If I look at the episode, it is the same or nearly the same. This is early season two, and I have always thought, in the early episodes, there was no intent to pair Eddie with Buck as anything but a friend. However, this scene makes me wonder at what point Tim M or whoever was writing changed their minds about adding in a subtextual narrative.

I find it very difficult to see this scene as a heteronormative exchange. In fact, it even feels like Eddie is pushing back a little to test where Buck stands. Buck as a character who lacks self-awareness gives a mixed signal answer. (which tracks with his character at this point and matches his coming-out arc.) **edited to clarify** Buck's mixed signal response to Eddie saying they aren't my type is, "Not mine either, at least not anymore."**

A few seconds later, Buck says Eddie has a weak excuse. My lovely and wonderfully sassy Eddie says, "You live in your invisible girlfriend's house, and you're telling me about weak excuses." He essentially points at Buck's closet door, but of course, this is something that Buck couldn't see or pick up on at the time. These moments are small in the grand scheme of the show as a whole so I'm afraid it will be forgotten. It would be nice to have some sort of throwback acknowledgment that this scene hasn't been retconned.

To backtrack a little bit here, I would also like to point out something else about the early timing or the writing of these characters as potentially queer. They are outside. (True I don't understand the ins and outs of filmmaking so there may very well be a reason for this.) But the shot itself is making them walk close together. Not just close, their shoulders are literally bumping against each other, hitting and knocking at each other in a way that might appear "unintentionally" intimate--until you remember they are outside. It seems to me like there are dozens of ways to shoot this thing that don't require them to be so casually physical with each other. For the scene to be shot like this and then consider the canon conversation that took place, it feels quite intentional that the writers wanted viewers to look closely for something else.

Whenever certain people call Buddie shippers delusional, I think about this. Subtextual language aside, the scenes are shot in such a way as to plant the idea of "More." There is attraction here. There is flirting.

Someone, somewhere wanted to tell this story from the start; and I'm not mad about it. I'm 100% here for it, and I'm ready for it to go down as the most epic love story I've ever watched or read about, but I also admit that I want it to be canon, not so I can throw it in anyone's face that their ship is wrong, but so I can prove I'm not some weirdo putting two hot guys together. I'm seeing a real romance being built. I want that validation as much as I want everyone under the LGBTQ umbrella to see representation for themselves on screen.

If you want to see the scene, go to about 3:05.

[doodler16]

May I ask *how* Mammon from Helluva Boss is bad asexual representation?

I'm ace myself, & have a video script about asexuality I hope to one day be able to produce once I get some recording & editing equipment/software, & analyzed Mammon's appearances so far (so just S2) for it, & I came to the conclusion that he's not as bad as most people say he is when it comes to asexual representation. His ace portrayal is DEFINITELY FLAWED, but not to the degree I think most people make it out to be. To summarize...

1.) He actually has some moments in his debut episode that subtly imply he's ace (while still staying in character with him being a jerk), they're easy to miss to the point one might be able to write them off as plausible unrelated coincidences though; these moments including his deflection about making robots of whoever wins his clown pageant being seen as "weird" at the beginning of the episode, calling his customers "sick degenerate adults" during the Robo Fizz ad, & possibly him not quite understanding the implications when he tells Fizz during the fan-meet, "The better the impression, the more they’ll want a piece of you to take home & fuck! Don’t you want that, Fizzie? To be fucked?!"

2.) When he says in Mastermind, “Oh shut up, you two. We all know you enjoy slumming it with the lower class plebs. Unlike the rest of us, heh. Right Levy?” definitely read as ace to me the first viewing alone.

Most of his moments DEFINITELY needed another pass, especially by an experienced & asexual writer since the stuff he says to Fizz during the fan-meet doesn't read as ace at all, the way he doesn't say anything to Beelzebub about him being ace when she says stuff that shows she either doesn't understand asexuality or just doesn't care to learn anything about him in Mastermind in favor of unnatural dialogue between the two mindlessly insulting each other, & Mammon's dialogue & body language/expressions when he flirts with Leviathan don't read as asexual in the slightest, at least to me.

So what I'd like to know, if possible, is what evidence is there that he's as bad of asexual representation as so many folks seem to imply? The way everyone talks about him (without explaining their reasoning alongside the facts), makes it sound like he's clearly harmful representation with loads of misinformation, but I couldn't find any evidence of something like that when I wrote that part of my script. If there's something really bad about him I've missed, I'd love to add it to my script!

I understand Medrano's personal opinions of asexuality over the years is full of red flags & misinformation (that hopefully she'll finally bury with her potentially being on the ace-spectrum & actively trying to learn more about it), but just looking at Mammon's portrayal alone, is there something I'm missing? I'm approaching this as someone who just wants to learn, so if you can teach me something here & don't mind taking the time to do so, please do!

My main beef with Mammon and his asexuality representation is that it feels like stereotype of what some think asexual people are. Portrayed as selfish jerks who don’t care about others but themselves, inflated ego, etc. It also doesn’t help that Mammon is portrayed as this greedy, disgusting pig (metaphorically and literally) who uses others when it benefits him. I get it, he’s the sin of greed but with the asexual representation added on top of that, it is not a good look but hopefully Vivziepop does a better job handling it when season 3 and 4 comes.

[atomicrebelfire]

🪦 "The Last Alarm" — Grief Isn’t Always Loud

Episode 8x16 of 9-1-1

TL;DR: People grieve differently. 8x16 may not have been loud, but it was deeply respectful. Sometimes grief looks like silence, small stumbles, or just showing up. This episode understood that — and Bobby’s farewell was not a waste. It was honor.

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

“Grief is not always loud. Sometimes, it's the silence that screams the most.”

There’s been a lot of reaction to this episode — some people feeling like Bobby’s funeral was sidelined, or that the story didn’t give the grief enough space. Some wanted bigger emotional moments, more overt breakdowns, or different characters to be centered. That’s valid. Everyone connects to grief in their own way — and not every interpretation will land the same.

But for me, 8x16 wasn’t about loud grief. It was about the quiet kind — the kind that doesn’t look dramatic on the surface, but still hits deep.

Athena’s case wasn’t a distraction. It mirrored her own struggle. A mother clinging to the hope that her child might still be alive. Just like Athena was holding off on saying goodbye. Her final decision — to bury Bobby beside the family he lost before her — was quiet, heavy, and full of love. It wasn’t a side plot. It was her pathway through grief.

We saw Chim struggle with guilt, isolation, and anger. Hen held it together until Karen’s hug undid her. Eddie showed up, silent and grieving. Buck moved through the motions, supporting everyone — but his hands shook when he stood to salute. He stumbled. And that stumble said everything.

Tommy wasn’t just there for show. He helped save the team in the lab. He pulled Bobby from a collapsing floor in a flashback. His presence beside the casket was earned — a nod to how deeply Bobby touched the lives around him.

And the funeral? It wasn’t excessive. It was deserved. The ten bells. The flag. the handing over his service cap. The march. Flying Bobby to Minnesota. These aren’t just traditions. That’s what a firefighter deserves. That’s what a captain deserves. That’s what someone who gave his life in service of others deserves. These aren’t dramatic flourishes — they are part of honoring the sacrifice. And I’m glad the show took time to make that point.

Because first responders — like soldiers, like medics, like anyone who walks into danger so others don’t have to — deserve heroes’ welcomes, and heroes’ farewells. Taking time to show that isn’t a waste. It’s the bare minimum. It’s respect. This show can be messy sometimes. It forgets trauma between episodes. It drops plot threads. But not here. This was purposeful. This was a reminder that 9-1-1 is first and foremost a show about first responders — people who run into danger and sometimes don’t come back.

I know grief. I lost someone deployed in Kabul. It didn’t arrive in sobs or speeches. It came in fragments. It came in silence. It came when we are alone. And that’s what this episode captured — not just sadness, but the shape of mourning. The way it isolates you, even in a crowd.

That’s why the team being apart in 8x15 and 8x16 mattered: Buck in the hallway. Athena behind the glass. Hen and Chim in separate rooms. Tommy in the command center. Ravi outside. Eddie in Texas. Everyone grieving. Everyone alone. some dealing it with anger, some with dissociating, or some with being stoic or some just showing up.

Not every story will land the same. But before calling something hollow, maybe ask if it just portrayed grief in a way you didn’t expect. Not every farewell needs a monologue. Sometimes, all it needs is presence. And this episode gave us that.

Not trying to make this about me. I don’t need validation. I just need sleep. me @ myself after reading too many takes at 2am:

why do i let this stuff get to me? it’s just a show. people are allowed to feel differently. but when i see it reduced to “no one even cried?” or “why waste airtime on the funeral?” — yeah, it stings. maybe it hit home. maybe it reminded me of someone. maybe that’s why i found myself defending a fictional funeral like it was real. i’m okay. really. just… before we throw it all out, maybe pause and ask what the story was trying to say. and if it still didn’t speak to you — that’s okay too. 🌱