#but that the guy wouldn’t come back to harass the employees

[deancoded-deangirl]

I am in the truck shaking and trying to breathe slowly and not throw up but my stomach is in knots and terrified.

[pucksandpower]

Man’s World

Charles Leclerc x Ferrari engineer!Reader

Summary: Charles refuses to just stand by and watch as you get disrespected

Warnings: misogyny and lewd comments

You’re admiring the sleek lines of the red Ferrari F8 Tributo in front of you, running your fingers lightly over the glossy paint. The showroom is quiet this early in the morning, just a few employees milling about getting ready for the day.

Charles had to stop by to sign some merchandise for a charity event and asked if you wanted to tag along. You opted to wait out front and enjoy the eye candy while he took care of business.

You circle around to the back of the car, appreciating the aggressive styling and massive rear diffuser. As an engineer for Scuderia Ferrari who often extends your expertise to working on their road cars, you know every detail of this machine intimately. Your hands itch to pop the hood and inspect that glorious twin-turbo V8, but you resist.

This isn’t your workshop back in Maranello.

Lost in thought, you don’t notice the group of guys entering the showroom until one whistles loudly. “Hey baby, those legs look good enough to wrap around me real tight,” one calls out.

You freeze, feeling your heart rate pick up.

“Don’t be shy, we just want to get to know you better,” another says as they swagger over.

You press back against the car, sizing up the situation. Four of them, all clearly well-off based on the expensive watches and designer clothes. But their eyes are cruel as they look you up and down.

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?” The apparent ringleader asks. “Hoping to sink your claws into some rich guy and take him for all he’s worth?” The others laugh nastily.

You lift your chin. “Actually, I happen to work for Ferrari.”

The man snorts in disbelief. “Yeah right, and I’m Michael Schumacher. There’s no way a woman knows anything about these cars other than where the passenger seat is.”

You clench your fists, biting back a scathing retort. The thought of educating these misogynistic jerks gives you immense satisfaction, but you know it won’t do any good. They’ll never change their prejudiced attitudes.

“Don’t listen to him, darling,” one says, giving you a lecherous look. “I’d be happy to take you for a ride, show you how a real man handles power between his legs.”

You’re about to tell him exactly where he can shove his stereotypes when a familiar voice interrupts sharply.

“That’s enough.”

You look over to see Charles striding angrily toward you, green eyes blazing. The men surrounding you look irritated at having their fun spoiled.

“Can we help you with something, pal?” The ringleader asks sarcastically.

Charles ignores him, coming to stand protectively beside you. “Are you okay, mon amour?” He asks under his breath.

You nod, relief washing over you now that he’s here. “I’m fine.”

Charles turns an icy stare on the men who’d been harassing you. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t speak to my girlfriend that way,” he says coldly.

The leader looks Charles up and down dismissively. But then a spark of recognition crosses his face. “Wait a minute … you’re Charles Leclerc!” He elbows his friends. “The Formula 1 driver!”

The others’ eyes widen as they take in Charles with new understanding. “Whoa, seriously?” One exclaims.

The leader chuckles, clearly trying to recover his bravado. “Well, what do you know? The famous racer has a pretty girl on his arm.” His lips curl in a smirk. “Hate to break it to you, but it’s obvious she’s just using you for your money. No way she knows anything about these cars other than how much they cost.”

Charles crosses his arms. “As it so happens, my girlfriend is an engineer for Scuderia Ferrari, so I’d bet my entire net worth — and my car collection — that she knows more about the cars in this dealership than all four of you combined and then some.”

You have to bite your lip to hide a smile at the dumbfounded looks on the men’s faces.

“An engineer?” One sputters. “You can’t be serious.”

You level a challenging stare at them. “Deadly serious. I’ve personally worked on over a dozen projects for Ferrari, including the SF90 Stradale hypercar we just launched.” You point across the showroom. “There’s one right over there, in fact. Mid-front mounted 4.0L twin-turbo V8, delivering 769 brake horsepower combined with three electric motors. First plug-in hybrid Ferrari ever put into full production.” You smirk at the slack-jawed stares your technical rundown elicits. “So yes, I’d say I know a thing or two about these cars.”

Charles grins proudly and squeezes your hand. But the leader is not ready to back down just yet.

“Anyone can memorize a monologue,” he scoffs. “I don’t buy it. You’re clearly just clinging to this guy for his money.”

Fury rises in your chest. You open your mouth to retaliate, but Charles beats you to it.

“That’s my girlfriend you’re talking about,” he snaps, green eyes blazing. “I’d be very careful with what you say next.”

The man smirks, crossing his bulky arms over his chest. “Or what, tough guy?”

Charles takes a step forward, jaw clenched. The man towers over him but Charles doesn’t flinch.

Right as it looks like things might get physical, you quickly take Charles’s arm. “He’s not worth it,” you murmur.

Charles hesitates, nostrils flaring. After a tense moment, he relaxes his stance and turns his back on the leering man.

But it seems the group isn’t done provoking you yet. “That’s right, listen to your sugar baby,” one of them calls out. “Wouldn’t want you messing up that pretty face for the cameras.”

Charles whips back around, shaking with anger now. Heart pounding, you cling to his arm in an effort to hold him back. “Charles, please-”

“No, Y/N.” He shakes off your hand, stalking toward the men. “I won’t stand here and let them insult you.”

You watch helplessly as Charles gets right in the leader’s face, nearly nose to nose. “You need to apologize. Now,” he grits out.

The man narrows his eyes. “Apologize? For what? Stating the obvious?” He smirks coldly. “Face it, your little girlfriend is nothing but a gold diggin-”

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence. With lightning speed, Charles’ fist connects squarely with his jaw. The man stumbles back with a pained shout, hand flying to his face.

“Charles!” You hurry to his side, alarmed. Charles is breathing hard, staring down at the man doubled over and groaning. The man’s friends back away nervously.

Chest heaving, Charles turns to you. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t listen to him insult you for another second.”

You meet his fiery gaze steadily. “It’s okay, I understand. Thank you for defending me.” After a beat, you add wryly, “And remind me not to get on your bad side.”

That startles a small laugh from Charles. The tension in his shoulders eases. He takes your hand, bringing it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “No chance of that, mon ange,” he murmurs. “You bring out the best in me.”

***

“Ow, ow, ow!” Charles hisses as he gingerly holds his right hand. His knuckles are bruised and bleeding.

You sigh, grabbing the first aid kit to tend to your dramatic boyfriend. “I told you not to punch him, Charles. You don’t know the first thing about throwing a proper punch.”

Charles pouts, wincing as you take his hand in yours to examine it. “I was just trying to defend your honor, mon amour. That man was saying such crude things about you.”

You shake your head, amused by his protectiveness. “My hero,” you tease. “Next time just walk away. I don’t need you breaking your hand over some entitled idiot’s comments.”

Charles hangs his head. “I know, I know. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I just saw red when he kept insulting you.”

You smile softly, touched by how much he cares. You start cleaning the wounds on his knuckles with a disinfectant wipe.

“Ow!” Charles cries out dramatically. “That stings!”

“Don’t be such a baby,” you chide. “It’s just a little antiseptic. I have to clean it so it doesn’t get infected.”

Charles pouts some more but stays still as you finish cleaning the abrasions. You apply an antibiotic ointment carefully before beginning to wrap his hand with a bandage.

“I really messed up my hand, didn’t I?” Charles mumbles dejectedly.

You nod. “You definitely did some damage. Nothing serious, but you’ll be sore for a while.”

Once you’ve wrapped his hand securely, you bring it to your lips and place a gentle kiss on the bandage. “There. All better.”

Charles gives you a lopsided smile. “My own personal nurse. How did I get so lucky?”

You grab an ice pack from the freezer and hand it to him. “Here, put this on your hand to help with the swelling and pain.”

Charles sighs dramatically but does as instructed, holding the ice pack gingerly against his injured hand.

You glance at his wrapped hand, the knuckles already starting to bruise beneath the bandage. “Does it hurt terribly?”

Charles considers the question. “Honestly? Yes, it really does. Punching someone is not as easy as it looks in the movies.”

You laugh. “No kidding. That’s why you leave the punching to trained fighters, not Formula 1 drivers.”

“Ugh, this is so embarrassing,” Charles mutters. “What will the team say when they find out I injured myself in a fight? And I’ll never hear the end of it from Pierre.”

You pat his leg reassuringly. “Just say you hurt it working out. No one has to know about your misguided attempt at honorable combat,” you tease.

Charles chuckles ruefully. “Good idea. The last thing I need is for this to become paddock gossip.”

You both sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, Charles icing his hand while you snuggle contentedly against him.

"Thank you for patching me up and taking such good care of me,” Charles gently brushes the hair from your face with his uninjured hand. “Even when I do stupid things."

You grin. “It’s a tough job but someone’s gotta do it. Especially since you did almost break your hand for me.”

You settle back against Charles comfortably. He may be reckless and impulsive at times, but you know he always has the best intentions at heart. And you'll always be there to care for him if those good intentions backfire.

For better or worse, this protective man is the love of your life.

[diejager]

hiiiii! can i request a miguel x reader? miguel is a big shady business man (kinda like king pen) who owns a strip club and reader is one of the strippers who everyone knows not to mess with since she’s miguel’s girl. a guy starts sexually harassing reader and miguel kicks his ass and puts him in his place. if you’re cormfortable, i would like smut ❤️

Property Cw: smut, possessive behaviour, DUB-CON, worshipping, sex workers, strip club, pimp, cunnilingus, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, marking, stripper/sex worker!reader, tell me if I missed any.

Despite the place being a strip club - one on the higher end of the city - there was one rule that it followed to a T without exception: do not touch the workers without consent, yet this pig decided to forgo this fundamental rule put in place in ever strip club and touched you when you’ve told him many times to back off. His sweaty and grabby hands moving across your skin left you shuddering, his hands leaving you feeling disgusted by his touch.

“Don’t touch me,” you hissed, moving between the bodies to get away from the man.

“C’mon babe!” He moved to try to grab you, insistent that he only wanted to share a drink and talk, “Please! One lap dance!”

Men like him just couldn’t take no, it frustrated you. That might’ve been what he said : one lap dance, but you knew his type, he would demand for more after you were done and become forceful if you didn’t comply. You tried to distance yourself from him, your heels thumping quietly on the velvet flooring, hurried and annoyed while the man followed you, his fingers grazing the naked skin of your shoulder. You wore a blue teddy, the darkest shade of navy strapped to your skin, the bust acting as a corset to push out your breasts and the thin fabric cupping the swell of your ass. It was almost sheer, the few ribbons and decorative texture hiding anything too intimate from the public and garter straps holding your sheer stockings up your thighs. Your attire seemed to be the source of his obsession and of his liking, even following you to the boss’s VIP corner.

“No!” You swung your arm back, hurrying to the bodyguards standing between the VIP and public area of the club, “I told you-”

In your frantic hiss, you walked into a wall, groaning softly. The wall was more so a wall of sculpted muscle than a plaster and drywall, a firm hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his protective embrace. A wide and firm palm gripped your stomach, kneading the soft flesh under the lingerie.

“When she says no, it means no, cabrón,” Miguel growled, his broad stature overshadowing the man that followed you. When you turned your head, Miguel had his wrist in hand, the man winced and whimpered at the tight hold, strength threatening to break his wrist, “You got that?”

He nodded, running away with his tail tucked between his legs, out of the club and as far as he could from the beast that held you gently. Turning you around, he led you up the stairs connected to his upstairs suite, a personal balcony that overlooked the proudest part of his kingdom.

“He’s done.”

He wouldn’t be coming back, once Miguel gave the order, the person wouldn't ever be allowed back into any of his establishments. He had rules that he wanted to be respected, towards his employees and especially you, his sweet girl that he picked up from the previous pimp in the area he now controlled with an iron fist towards the cruel and abusive.

His mezzanine was spacious, a soft, faux leather couch, a black able and a private bar area in a corner for him to indulge in his drunken pleasures with or without guests. You’ve always liked this place, a distance from the music and crowd on the ground floor, it was a solace in the busy club. He sat you on the table, the cool surface making you flinch while he faced you, the leather dipping with his weight. He tenderly cradled your cheeks, thumb running along the curve of your painted lips, his eyes roving down your coverage, smooth skin uncovered to his hungry eyes and calling for him.

“Oh, mi dulce Musa,” he cooed, his lips kissing a line down your neck, the dip of your collar, the smell of your breasts and the warmth of your cunt, wetness pooling over the fabric of the teddy he gifted you. “I’m happy you came to me first.”

He hooked a thigh over his shoulder, spreading you on your back as he slipped a finger under your lace, pulling it aside to look at your glistening folds. Sliding two fingers between your labia and collecting your slick on his calloused pads, spreading them open to admire your cunt, clenching around air —hungry for his thick digits. He bowed his head, pressing a kiss on your throbbing clit, pulsing and needy, circling the entrance of your drooling hole, feeling it clench. Wrapping his lips around your nub, he sucked on it as he plunged in, two fingers stretching your tight warmth, guiding his hand in and out.

You cried out, bucking your hips against his rugged face, grinding upwards with a slow mewl. You felt stretched wide, a finger of his counted two of yours, long and sturdy, pumping into you with a goal in mind, tapping your gummy, sweet spot and pulling you apart from the seams. You moaned, shuddering under him, body wracked with tremors when he pumped a third finger, untangling you from the seams of your salacious and confident image you built from your time as a sex worker. You were a wanton mess, back arching and legs quaking, painted nails curled around Miguel’s hair, pleasure coiled tightly in your core.

His pace was steady, hand driving in deeply, coaxing more slick out of you, curling against your warmth. You clung to him desperately, head thrown back and teary eyed as you balanced on the precipice of your climax, an agonising thrum of pleasure beating between your thighs. Sensing your end, he rolled your clit with the tip of his tongue, giving you a bit of solace before he sunk his teeth into the meat of your thigh. You wailed, jerking around as your pussy closed around his fingers, your heat squirting over his hand. It was a blinding fire, eyes rolling back into a white cloud, sightless after your earth-shattering orgasm.

He whispered sweet compliments, laving over the bloodied mark with the flat of his tongue, slowly pumping in and out of you until you rode off your release, legs still shaking and hands still curled around his head. He kissed his bite, red eyes drinking in your debauched figure with his mark, a sign of ownership over you, the red indentation of his teeth bleeding you.

“Mía. Mi dulce Musa,” he whispered, gazing at you lovingly, predatory eyes glowing bright red under his lashes and wild curls.

Taglist: @yas-v @elliewilliamsbae @rinieloliver

[chestharrington]

Infatuation || Gator Tillman x Reader

Part One: Fixation

Rating: E (18+)

Word Count: 7.9k

Warnings: SMUT (f!masturbation, fingering, unprotected p in v), mild/implied stalking, abuse of power, brief non-sexual choking, harassment, slut shaming, misogyny, unplanned pregnancy, implied/referenced abortion, unhappy/ambiguous ending

Summary: As you face the consequences of your unsatisfying encounter with Gator, he finds new ways to worm his way into your life, for better or worse.

A/N: Here is the highly requested part two :) Thanks for all the love, and I hope you enjoy! This can be read as a finale of sorts to this story, but if there is interest I can write a "wrap up" epilogue :) Anyways, enjoy!

As it turns out, Gator Tillman beating the guy you were dancing on within an inch of his life wasn’t exactly good for your career. And the fact that you had technically stolen that guy’s money was the shit icing on the shit cake. 

The club was crowded, maybe more so than you were used to, but you couldn’t find a single patron who wanted you for a dance, or a private dance, or even a second of eye contact. 

And, really, you should have seen it coming just based on the general trajectory of your life, but by the end of the night, you were fired. Apparently, that stint with the realtor and Gator had harmed the stellar reputation of the business. That was bullshit anyway. Like, four people had OD’d in the bathrooms, and plenty of old guys had heart attacks on the floor. 

The problem wasn’t that the realtor got the shit beat out of him. No, plenty of guys came in, got drunk, and wanted to prove how tough they were. The problem was Gator, but, more than that, it was a fear of the Tillman’s getting too close. 

You left the club with maybe thirty dollars in tips and a box full of your shit, which you unceremoniously dumped into the trunk of your car. It was past five in the morning, which meant the sun would start creeping over the horizon soon enough. 

As you drove back into town, you couldn’t help but pull over at the twenty-four-hour diner. The homey interior glowed through the windows like a siren song to weary travelers. It always smelled like coffee and grease, and there were always oldies playing on the jukebox. You sat down in a booth and practically melted into the seat. 

The older woman taking your order seemed nice enough, though there wasn’t anything about working at the asscrack of dawn that brought a smile to anyone’s face. 

“Does Sarah still work here?” You asked, glancing back behind the counter. 

“Quit.”

Well, there was that. Your ex-husband’s skanky mistress wouldn’t be showing her face to ruin your night (or, technically, your day) even further.

There was a sign on the counter— Now Hiring! Probably in Sarah’s position, if you had to wager a guess. You chewed on the inside of your lip. It wouldn’t be glamorous, but it would be a hell of a lot better than it had been at the club. 

“You’re really hiring?” You eventually asked the older waitress as you nursed a cup of hot chocolate. When she brought out your meal— a big stack of pancakes and the greasiest pile of hash browns the world had ever seen— she placed an application and pen down right beside it. 

They really must’ve been desperate, because you got the call the following afternoon that they’d like to interview, and even that wasn’t formal. You walked in, got a three-page employee “manual”, and that was that. 

Things seemed to be getting better… at first. A new job that had significantly fewer creeps, and free food once a shift. You got to wear flat shoes and real clothes, which was also a plus. A little less money in your pocket, but it was more stable. 

Occasionally, you’d get a tipper who thought it was cute to leave a fake $100 bill with a bible verse on the other side, or an old man grabbing at your tits and ass “accidentally.” Spills and messes were more frequent than you expected— and usually wound up on your apron or soaking through your shoes.

The good with the bad. You had to keep reminding yourself to take the good with the bad.

It was a few weeks of getting on your feet before Stark County’s finest walked through the doors, boisterous and loud. You hadn’t noticed, hadn’t even thought to consider that Gator might visit the town’s best source for greasy comfort food. 

When you came out from the back of the diner, your eyes caught him immediately, sitting in your section. You swallowed, grabbed your order pad and a pen, and approached. 

“Good mornin’, officers.” He looked up at the sound of your voice, a sly grin spreading across his features. “Do y’all know what you want, or can I run through the menu for you?”

One of the other men just snapped his fingers at you. “Coffee all around.”

You swallowed and nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll get that right out.”

You heard them snickering as you left, accompanied by loud whispers of don’t you know who that is? 

Gator was staring at you, maybe he had been the entire time and you just hadn’t let yourself look. “We’ve missed you at the club, sweetheart. Wanna give us a twirl for old time’s sake?” His grin was smarmy as he looked you up and down, reaching over the table to place down the mugs of coffee. Your blouse gaped open, giving him a glimpse of your cleavage and a remarkably unsexy comfy bra.

As you reached to place the last mug down, Gator slapped your ass hard, making you spill the hot coffee across the table. His little friends laughed as your face burned hot. You did your best to mop up the mess of coffee, but it wasn’t enough and the table was left sticky and gross.

“You’re not gonna get a good tip if you’re so clumsy,” one of them said with a grin, holding up a dollar bill. It felt slimy, like you were back in the club entertaining them for singles. 

An hour later, you had coffee and grits spilled on you, as well as a plate accidentally knocked off the table to shatter on the floor. They laughed at you on your hands and knees, picking up pieces of the china from the black and white tiled floor. And at the end of it all, unsurprisingly, there was no tip, no thank you, no anything.  

You wish you would’ve spit in their food, but there was always next time. And you knew there was gonna be a next time. 

But Gator didn’t like sharing, especially not his playthings. One morning of watching his friends make your life hell had been enough, you supposed. The next time they came in, they were nothing but respectful. All yes ma’am, no ma’am, thank you ma’am. The message was clear enough. He wanted you all to himself. 

After a day on your feet, all you wanted to do was watch a shitty reality show on the couch you’d stolen from your ex-husband. You smelled like the deep fryer, which made you nauseous, but you knew if you took a shower, you’d pass out shortly after.

There was a loud knock on your door that nearly made you jump out of your skin. You stood, wrapped a blanket around your shoulders, and opened the door just a crack. 

“We got a tip that you might be harboring illegal contraband on the premises.” Gator was leaning against your doorframe like he owned the place, his foot carefully wedged between the door so you couldn’t slam it closed. 

You grit your teeth. What bullshit. “You don’t have a search warrant, asshole.”

He gave a careless shrug. “Eh, maybe I don’t, but who fuckin’ cares about that?”

You stood firm, holding the door in place as best as you could while he pushed against it. “Gator, no. Whatever game this is, I don’t wanna play. I have a headache, and I’m exhausted, so—” He gave a firm push on the door, and your strength failed you. You fell to the side as he barreled his way in, making a beeline towards your bedroom.

The door slammed shut, followed by the click of the lock turning. With a groan, you went for the coat closet and retrieved a wire hanger that you could finagle the lock with. After a moment, the lock clicked again and you pushed your way into the room. 

What the fuck? He was rifling through your dresser drawers, tossing things onto the ground at random. You doubted he was even really looking for anything in particular. Gator’s priority, above all, was to be a creepy nuisance.

“Gotta be thorough,” he said with a smarmy grin, finally recognizing your presence. “Interfere, and I’m bringing you in for obstruction.” Like the perv he was, he was digging through your panties, grabbing handfuls of lace and cotton. He continued on, throwing things onto the floor just to piss you off. After he’d successfully wrecked one dresser, he moved to the nightstand. 

He smiled victoriously and dumped the contents of the drawer onto your bed. Your cheeks flamed with embarrassment at the sight of your modest collection of sex toys, right there for him to see. 

“There we are. This goes against the city ordinance prohibiting the ownership of more than two personal pleasure devices,” he said matter-of-factly.

“That’s not a thing,” you argued with a scoff.

He grinned. “Oh, it is. My dad worked to codify an ordinance to fight obscenity. And Jesus Christ, sweetheart, this is obscene.” He surveyed the pile picking up the devices with amusement and a hint of disgust. “Jesus, you’re a fuckin’ fiend by the looks of it. What’s this even do?”

You grabbed at the vibrator in his hand, but he held it up above your head with a grin. “You’re a fuckin’ pervert,” You hissed.

He pressed a button and it buzzed to life, which only made his amusement grow. “You know, if you found yourself a man, you wouldn’t need any of this shit.”

You rolled your eyes at the notion. Half that stuff was collected during your marriage, not that it mattered. Jack was worse in bed than he was at being faithful. You grew to relish in the nights when he was in some other woman’s arms and you could finally find some release. 

And you especially relished an opportunity to relax and relieve stress when Gator was hellbent on ruining your fucking life, which was all the time. 

You crossed your arms and glared up at him. “That’s a crazy thing for you to say considering you didn’t even bother to get me off.”

He wrinkled his face in annoyance, dropping the vibrator back onto the bed. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about? You came probably, like, three times.”

You could have laughed. “Whatever. Just write the goddamn citation and leave me alone.”

“Maybe I’m concerned about you,” he said with a shrug. “I mean, if you’ve got this many sex toys, that’s some kind of perversion or somethin’. You’re sick in the head. What kind of officer would I be if I punished you for that?”

He grabbed another one off your bed, a rabbit vibrator this time, which only seemed to confuse him more. “Besides, I don’t think you can really afford the fine for breaking this law. I mean, with what you’ve got here, you’re looking at thousands.”

Anger flooded your veins. “Bullshit,” You snapped. “You’re lying.”

“I mean, you can find out tomorrow,” he replied with another stupid fucking shrug. “Or I can forget I ever saw ‘em. Up to you.”

You swallowed hard, already getting a warm, overbearing feeling in the pit of your stomach. Like your body wasn't sure if it wanted to jump his bones or kill him. “And what exactly would make you do that?”

He smiled, showing off his canines. “I mean… now I’m a little curious. Tell me how you use some of ‘em.” He waved the rabbit in his hand. “This one especially. Looks like some kind of fucked up torture device.”

You huffed with annoyance and reached up, grabbing it from his hands. “This one, I mean… this part goes in, and this part stays out.” You explained with vague gestures toward the toy. You grabbed another off the bed. “And this one is, like, just a standard, like, you know. It buzzes. And that one like, kind of thrusts a little bit. I—I don’t know what the fuck else to tell you.” Just seeing him standing there beside the toys made your brain go a little fuzzy with desire and mortification.

He stepped closer, closing the distance between the two of you. “I think I’m more of a visual learner, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low. He reached up, brushing a lock of your hair from your face, and you did your best not to lean into his touch. Why did you want that? “So why dontcha take off your clothes, lay back, and do a little show and tell, huh?”

The moment of hesitation in your brain dissolved in an instant. You wrinkled your face in disgust and shoved him back. “Ugh. Fuck that, and fuck you.” 

Anger flashed across his face, only for a moment, before he masked it with his usual shithead attitude. “Oh… I get it,” he said, looking down at you. “Probably on your period with all the attitude you’re givin’ me. Forget it, I don’t even wanna see that nasty shit.”

You narrowly avoided him as he shoved past you, heading back towards the door. The scales of kiss versus kill had firmly tilted towards the latter at his last comment. Anger unlike anything you’d ever felt flooded your veins. 

Without thinking, you grabbed a book off of the coffee table in the living room and threw it at him as hard as you could. It collided with the back of his head and he swore loudly. 

“You’re fuckin’ crazy!” His hand went to the crown of his head and came back covered in blood. “What the fuck is wrong with you, you stupid bitch?” You grabbed another book and raised a brow in challenge. “Whatever, you’re not even worth it anyway.”

He slammed the door on his way out. The squeal of his tires as he peeled out was music to your ears. 

Later, you sighed as you collapsed atop your bed, exhausted from the long process of cleaning up the disaster he’d left in your room. But despite how tired you felt physically, your mind was still racing with thoughts of Gator. 

The worst person you’d ever met, who somehow still managed to light every single one of your cells aflame with need. You didn’t want to be with him, obviously. He reminded you of all the worst parts of your ex-husband. And yet… you were staring at the ceiling thinking about the next time you’d see him and all the bitchy things you could get away with saying to him. 

With a huff, you reached into your bedside table and grabbed the first vibrator you could get your hands on— simple, without any bells and whistles. Whatever. You were pissed at yourself as you stripped off your pajamas, then your bra… and then your panties. 

Stupid fuckin’ man. Your head fell back against your pillows as soon as the vibrator touched your clit, and you couldn’t help the whiny moan that escaped your lips. Your free hand rested on your breast, kneading softly until it wasn’t enough anymore. 

Your legs spread wider, hips canting up to seek out more as you began pinching and tugging at your nipples. The plain vibe wasn’t close cutting it, even at its highest setting. All it was good for was working you up to the point of dripping with arousal and needing more. 

You clicked it off and sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. Maybe he was right. Maybe you were a little sick in the head. Why else would you be thinking about him right then?

You reached back into the drawer, fumbling blindly until you retrieved the rabbit. It slid in without any resistance with how worked up you were, and you let out a contented sigh at the full feeling.

The second you turned it on, it felt like liquid electricity was dancing through your veins. The external vibrator was positioned just right, so intense that your thighs were trembling. 

“Oh, fuck,” you whimpered, back arching slightly. Maybe you could’ve let him watch you. It would’ve taught the asshole what it actually looks like when a woman cums. 

You could almost imagine what he’d say too— encouragements veiled with insults. Takin’ it like a fuckin’ slut, aren’t ya? Look right at home on your back like that, spread out all nice and pretty. 

You thrust the toy shallowly, eyes rolling back as it brushed against your sweet spot. You could’ve really drawn it out and made an evening of it, but fuck it. You wanted to get off and go to sleep. 

You held it just right, so the vibration was focused on your g-spot and clit simultaneously. It was so intense that your moans were pitchy and whiny, hips canting as you got closer and closer. 

With a moan more like a sob, you came, the pleasure so intense you had to pull out the toy altogether. As soon as it was out, wetness sprayed from you, making a breathless moan slip past your lips. 

Your fingers rubbed at your clit, prolonging the orgasm and making your cunt gush and leave a puddle beneath you on the sheets. When you finally came down, it was with shaky breaths as your body trembled with aftershocks. 

You laughed weakly at the ridiculousness of the entire night up until that point, unable to move for a solid few minutes until the fog cleared from your mind and you reached over to turn off the toy. Your legs wobbled as you stood to clean yourself up and change the sheets.

Well, at least if you were going to get arrested for possession of obscene materials, you got the best orgasm of your life out of it. If only you hadn’t been thinking of him the entire time. 

——

By noon the following day, you hadn’t received any citation, or been walked out of the diner in handcuffs for your depravity. A quick Google search proved your suspicions that the obscenity ordinance was complete bullshit. Which, you know, made sense considering the sex shop and strip clubs within county lines. 

When Gator showed up in his regular booth towards the end of your shift, you did your best to ignore him. One of your coworkers brought him out his artery-clogging usual order, and you were mostly convinced that you might be able to slip out the back without even having to utter a word. 

And yet… Outside, Gator was leaning on your car, fucking around with your radio antenna absentmindedly. 

“Can I help you, Deputy?” You asked, arms crossed as you squinted against the sun. Your entire body was achy and you just wanted to get home.

He made a vague gesture towards the front bumper. “Headlight’s out.”

You glanced at the front of your car, which was mostly held together by zebra print duct tape and sheer force of will. “Yeah, well, some fuckin’ pervert told me I should save my money to pay for some citation he’s writing up for me.”

Gator grinned. “Oh yeah… I decided to let you off with a warning. For the assault too. My head fuckin’ hurts, you know.” You rolled your eyes, pushing him lightly so you could open your door. “Y’know, you’re being ungrateful. Why don’t you be a good girl and say, ‘Thank you, Gator.’”

You hated the way your heart raced just hearing those words coming from his mouth, but you pushed it down and pulled open the door. “Go fuck yourself, asshole.”

A smug smile spread across his lips. “That’s an interesting choice of words, isn’t it? Bet you had a real good night after I left, didn’t ya?” 

He was looking at you like he knew, which he couldn’t have, but he also definitely did. You made a face as you slammed the door shut and flipped him off through the cracked and peeling window tint. 

There was one bar in town that was a certified Gator-free zone. Apparently, he’d gotten into a nasty fight there, slammed a guy’s head into a pool table a few times, sent him to the ICU for a week. Most people don’t realize that the actual table part is made of a giant slab of slate, but a lot was learned that day.

You sat at the bar, eyes trained on the photo of Gator on the Do Not Serve bulletin board. He could be kind of handsome when he wanted to. In that picture he looked a little younger, a little more serious. Maybe a little softer if you really wanted to believe it (which you did). 

Maybe it was the fact that you had conned the guy beside you into buying you all your drinks (of which there had been plenty) or maybe it was the weird mood you’d been in for the past month, but you really wanted to just wash all of that gel out of his hair and wash his face and maybe buy him a pair of pants with the normal amount of pockets. 

“Did you hear what I said?” The guy sitting beside you— Noah? Nathan?— asked. 

You tore your gaze from the photo and turned to him, batting your eyes a few times for good measure. “Sorry, I think I’m just a little buzzed.” You smiled flirtatiously and nudged his arm with your own. “You were talking about… a trip to New York, right? Some sort of walking tour?”

He smiled, nodding enthusiastically before continuing, going on and on about things you were mostly half-listening to. He was smarter than most people you talked to, not surprising after you clocked the giant gold college ring on his hand. Mid-conversation, you grabbed his hand in yours and marveled at it, playing up how impressed you were just to make him feel important. 

His family is from around here, but he lived in Minneapolis. He was in town visiting while his mom was recovering from surgery. He showed you pictures of the cows on his mom’s land, of the view from his apartment, and of the dog that was waiting for him back at his mom’s place. He was sweet, which made you feel guilty for using him to forget all about Gator. 

“Do you want to maybe come back to mine?” You asked, playing at bashfulness. He nodded enthusiastically, looking like you’d just offered him a winning lottery ticket. 

In bed, he was generous and eager to please, making sure your needs had been taken care of before his pants were even off. You were so worked up and sensitive that you came twice from his mouth alone, not that he was even particularly that great with it. And then he was inside of you, and you came again, which probably gave him quite the ego. 

It had to be some kind of fluke. He was a sweet guy, but he wasn’t exactly a sex god.

But there you were, boneless and panting and flushed and sweaty as you both came down. He was red in the face, fumbling for his glasses so he could really see you.

He wanted to talk and stay up the rest of the night with you, which should’ve been nice. Really, you wanted to be excited. He even tried to ease you into his arms, hold you against him all nice and cozy.

You couldn’t fucking do it. 

“I’m just gonna grab some water, alright?” You said before hopping out of bed. Your robe was slung over the back of a papasan chair in the corner. You tied it loosely and made your way out of the bedroom. Needing space, and distance, and god, you didn’t even know.

A sane person would have turned back around, spent time with him, and gotten to know him better. Maybe even wake him up in the morning with coffee and pancakes, or a second round in the shower. But you just wanted to be alone.

The knock on your door shouldn’t have been surprising. You had been pretty loud, even louder than the previous night alone. You tied the robe a little tighter and went for the front door, opening it a crack. 

“Look, I’m sorry, I know we were l—“ You trailed off when you caught a glimpse of who was outside. “You’re kidding me.”

Gator stood on the porch, arms crossed and looking irritable. “Got a noise complaint,” he said, glancing between you and the house behind you. “You alone?”

“No,” you replied, crossing your arm. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

He scowled at that, and you recognized the way he was feeling almost immediately. Oh, he was jealous. A tiny laugh escaped you, which only served to piss him off more. 

“What’s so fuckin’ funny, huh?”

“Nothin’,” you replied with a shrug. “Is that all, deputy?”

He puffed on his vape and the sickeningly sweet smell of watermelon or cotton candy or whatever the fuck made your stomach turn. You gagged, mouth turning into a frown. “Do you have to blow that shit right in my face?”

“Nope,” he said while repeating the same action. The smell was overwhelming. You could almost feel alarm bells going off inside.  “Whatever. Better go on and send your fuck buddy back to whatever hole he crawled out of.”

In the back of your mind, you could hear Gator going on and on, talking about how he bet Noah (how did he know his name?) didn’t even make you cum, and that his dick was small, and he’s probably just some big city loser who comes out here for an easy fuck. But that was in the back of your mind. All you were focused on was the overwhelming smell of sugar as he fucking huffed his vape, and the sinking feeling in your gut. 

Nausea clawed up your throat, and a familiar feeling of panic settled over you. You clapped your hand over your mouth, but it was no use. The contents of your stomach spilled onto the floor as you vomited right onto Gator’s boots. 

He swore loudly and colorfully, stepping out of the puddle at his feet. You wiped at your mouth weakly, and you would’ve said something like I fucking told you so, but you just felt awful. 

“That’s so gross,” was all you could offer. “‘M sorry, Gator.”

And then you were crying your eyes out, and he was walking you inside so you could sit down, and that made you cry more. 

“Jesus, you’re moody, huh?” He asked, but the bite in his voice was nearly gone. “Stay here, alright? Before you make an even bigger mess.”

You sniffled and nodded. You saw Noah stepping into the living room, wearing his actual clothes again, which was a relief. You didn’t really want Gator seeing him naked. 

“Is everything okay?” He asked, taking a few steps forward. 

“I’m fine, I’m just embarrassed,” you said, voice croaky with tears. “I just got sick from the drinking, I think.”

There was a noise from the kitchen and Noah furrowed his brows. “You have a roommate?”

“No, he’s—“ you trailed off, unsure of what to say. “He was here to handle a noise complaint, and I kind of puked on his shoes.”

Gator walked into the room, then paused at the sight of Noah. His face furrowed in blatant judgment. He handed you a sprite, then went straight back to staring at Noah.

“Who’re you?” Gator asked, his arms crossed like a club bouncer. 

“I’m Nick.” Oh. Well, at least you were close.  

“You should head out, dick,” he said, standing taller, trying to appear more imposing than he really was. 

Noah glanced at you and hesitated until you gave a tiny nod. “I had a good time,” you offered. “Sorry about… all of this.”

He scribbled his phone number onto your grocery list by the door, offered a wave, and then headed out, leaving you and Gator alone. For better or worse. 

It was quiet as you sipped your sprite, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“Are you pregnant?” He asked suddenly. “And don’t fuckin’ lie.”

“What?”

“You’re acting all bipolar, and you're puking over my vape, and your tits look bigger.” You glanced down at your boobs with a frown. They did? 

“I’m not pregnant,” you replied defensively. “I got my period, like, right after we fucked.”

He shook his head. “I don’t believe you. You wanna know what I do believe?” You didn’t, but he was going to tell you. “That you pocketed the money for the Plan B, ‘cause you want to get pregnant and blackmail my family.”

You scoffed. “You’re out of your goddamn mind.”

His jaw ticked with annoyance as he looked down at you. “Take a test.”

“Whatever,” you said with a shrug. “I’ll buy one after my shift tomorrow if you’re so fuckin’ worried about it.”

He shook his head. “Fuck that,” he said while tapping away on his phone. “You’ll just lie about it. I’m doordashing this shit.”

You would’ve protested, but what was the point in that? You had nothing to hide— certainly not blackmail. The idea of purposely letting yourself get knocked up by Gator Tillman almost made you want to puke again.

You had finished your Sprite by the time the poor kid arrived, probably seventeen, with his face burning red as he handed Gator a bag from the twenty-four-hour convenience store. Gator slammed the door and dumped the contents of the bag on the coffee table. 

Two boxes of pregnancy tests, a monster energy drink, and a pack of cheese bugles.

You grabbed the boxes and trudged towards the bathroom attached to your room while Gator followed close behind. You went to shut the door, but he held it open. 

“No fuckin’ way,” he said firmly. “If I leave you’ll just fake it.”

You rolled your eyes, the irritability you felt close to reaching a boiling point. “I’m not pregnant! I don’t want to be pregnant, least of all with your fuckin’ kid!” 

When he didn’t move, and, to his credit, stayed completely stoic. You huffed and turned. “If you’re not gonna leave, you can be useful. Hand me one of the little cups beneath the sink. Next to the mouthwash.” He furrowed his brows, but obeyed. “I’m not pissing in front of you.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen worse.” You closed your eyes, doing your best to ignore him and just pee into the fucking cup. The whole situation was so infuriating that you just wanted to scream. Once your shy bladder got over itself, it was easy enough. Dip the tests in the cup, cap them again, lay them out and try to forget they’re there. 

You’d taken plenty over the course of your marriage— and you hoped for the same result then that you did before. 

“What’d it say?” Gator asked as you washed your hands. He was squinting down at the tests, trying to discern what was happening. 

“It’s not instant. You’ve gotta wait three minutes,” you said. After drying your hands, you looked at him again.

Really looked. He was all fidgety, a little pale. His lip was bleeding where he’d been biting at it. He was just as anxious as you were, but you doubted it was for the reason he was saying. 

“You kind of want one, don’t you?” You asked, meeting his gaze.

He scoffed. “No. I hate kids,” the words came out quickly, defensively. He was lying, and he was just as bad at it then as he was every time before. “Besides, what the fuck would I tell my dad if I knocked up a stripper?”

His words should’ve had some bite to them, but he just reminded you of a skittish animal lashing out at anything near it. You leaned against the doorframe and sighed. “You’re pushing thirty, Gator. Who fuckin’ cares what your dad thinks about you?” Gator rolled his eyes, because you just didn’t get it, or whatever. But you knew plenty about outrunning parents and the weight of expectations. About outrunning the weight of not being what they wanted.

You looked at him again, narrowing your eyes. “What do you really want, huh? Outside of making my life hell, terrorizing the town, and making your daddy proud?” You paused, but were met with silence. “If you’d just try to be a decent human being for once, you might find a nice girl who wants to be with you.”

“And that asshole you brought back here and fucked was decent, huh?”

“I think so, yeah,” you replied.

“And you’re gonna see him again? ‘Cause he’s so nice?”

“No, Gator, I’m not gonna see him again,” you said sharply. “I’m not, because he deserves better than a second night with someone who didn’t want to be around him.”

Before he could respond, the timer on your phone went off, louder in the tiled bathroom. Your hands fumbled as you turned it off, heart pounding with nerves. 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, just look,” Gator said, clearly annoyed by your hesitance. You watched him flip them over, one by one, all reading the same result. 

Positive. Positive. Positive. Positive.

Gator squinted at the lines, then at the back of the box, a few times until it settled in. 

“Goddamn it!” He shouted, slamming a hand against the counter. You flinched, but couldn’t bring yourself to react further than that. “I told you to take a fucking Plan B, didn’t I?”

You swallowed hard, doing your best to remain calm. “You did, and I did. Maybe, if you didn’t want to knock me up, you should’ve pulled out like I told you.”

He rolled his eyes. “You know, it probably isn’t even mine,” he said, glaring in your direction. “You let that asshole from the bar cum in you tonight?”

Your cheeks burned hot. “You’re disgusting,” you sneered. “And, no. I don’t make a habit of letting guys fuck me raw.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, but you were so willing to give it up for me, huh?” He grabbed your arm, hard for the briefest second before his grip softened. “See, this is why I know you’re tryin’ to fuck my family over.”

You gave an exasperated groan and yanked your arm out of his grasp. “One, you didn’t pull out. Two, how exactly am I gonna blackmail your family if there’s no baby, you fucking idiot?”

His expression softened slightly as he considered your words. His brows furrowed in confusion, as he looked back at the tests. “Those are all positive, that means you’re pregnant.”

You gave a long exhale and met his gaze. “And it’s early enough that I can still have it taken care of. Maybe not in this fuckin’ state, but my car can still make a trip to Minnesota. Probably.”

He processed the words and the implications before shaking his head. “No.”

You raised a brow, taken off-guard by that single word. “I’m sorry?”

He shook his head. “I said no. You’re not doin’ it.”

You scoffed incredulously, blinking away your confusion. “Five seconds ago you wanted to punch through my drywall because you thought you were being blackmailed. Now you suddenly care about the sanctity of life? Give me a break. You nearly beat that guy to death in front of me at the club, and from what I’ve heard, you’ve done worse than that.”

”It’s different,” he argued, annoyed that you called out his hypocrisy.  “It’s mine, so I should have some sort of say.”

You swallowed hard, staring at the curtains near the window so you could avoid his eyes. “Exactly. It’s yours. I don’t want to have your baby, Gator. I don’t want to bring another goddamn Tillman into the world.”

He had you pressed against the wall before you even had a second to realize he was moving. Your head knocked against the drywall, making you yelp. One hand was wrapped around your throat, keeping you pinned to the wall with a light amount of force. “I could stop you,” he finally said. “I mean… really stop you. Make it so you can’t leave. Could keep you at the ranch, make sure you don’t do anything stupid.”

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t, because that would mean involving his father. Knocking up a stripper doesn’t exactly give men like his father warm and fuzzy feelings. 

When you swallowed, your throat bobbed against the palm of his hand. Your eyes trailed up, landing on his as your breathing came out in pants. 

His mouth was on yours suddenly, claiming you with a searing kiss. His tongue forced its way into your mouth, making you moan.

He’d never kissed you before, not once. You hadn’t even thought he’d want to. But there he was, groaning into your mouth as he made out with you.

“Gator—“ you gasped as he ground against you, already rock hard without any real coaxing. He shut you up with another kiss, hungry and messy. 

You got the message— no more talking about that. He pulled the tie of the robe you wore and it fell onto the ground in a pile, leaving you completely bare. 

He pulled back from the kiss, eyes raking over your body hungrily. Big hands traced over your skin, making you shiver. A gasp escaped you as he squeezed your tits. 

“They really are bigger,” he said with a wry laugh.

“Shut up,” you snapped, head knocking against the wall as you tossed it back. 

“You’ve got a bad fuckin’ attitude. But I can fix that.” One of his hands moved down your body, cupping your cunt, fingers dipping into the pool of your arousal. “You get this soaked for that asshole?”

You whimpered as his fingertips teased your entrance, just shy of everywhere you needed him. Just shy of slipping inside, purposely avoiding your clit. He locked eyes with you, his gaze intense. 

“Don’t be shy, you can tell the truth,” he said,  continuing to tease with featherlight touches. You could feel just how wet you were getting— dripping embarrassingly down your thighs. 

“Only ‘cause I thought about you,” you admitted. A sly grin spread across your face. You’d never let him have an easy win. “You’d probably be one of the best fucks I ever had if you bothered to make me cum.”

“Don’t fuckin’ piss me off,” he said with an eye roll. He thrust his middle finger inside of you, and you moaned softly. “Such a goddamn liar.”

He was a little more gentle with you, despite, well, everything. Warming you up with one finger before adding a second. Moans fell from your lips as he curled them just right, the cocky expression he wore told you he was dead set on proving that he really was top-ten material. 

His thumb brushed against your clit, making your legs tremble. You couldn’t help but clench around his fingers, your entire body overwhelmed with need. Maybe it was hormones, or maybe it was all the tension between you, but your entire body was aching for him. 

“Close,” you gasped out. Your open, panting mouth was like an invitation. He kissed you deeply, his tongue licking into your mouth as he continued fucking you with his fingers. When he pulled back, his eyes locked with yours. 

“That’s it,” he practically cooed. “C’mon, give it to me.” You moaned, walls clenching around his fingers as you grew closer and closer to the edge. He tried to pull his hand from between your thighs, but you grabbed his wrist and shook your head. 

“Gator, don’t fuckin’ stop until I tell you to.” His cheeks went pink, eyes flashing with something unfamiliar. 

Your moans grew pitchy as you got closer, hips canting against his fingers, shoulders digging into the wall as your back arched off of it. 

You barely had time to gasp out a feeble, “‘m cumming!” Before your climax hit.

Broken moans escaped you as pleasure radiated through you. His fingers kept their pace, and every brush of his thumb on your clit made spots dance across your vision. When you were finally spent, you had to tap his wrist weakly. “Okay, that’s enough,” you managed. 

He was coated down to his wrist with sticky arousal, which made you look away with heat burning in your cheeks, chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

He grabbed your jaw and turned your face back to look at him, wearing a smug expression. “Don’t act all shy now. Tell me you want more.” Bold of him to assume he could make you cum again. But you nodded anyway. You’d like to see him try, at least. 

“I want more,” you said, even though it killed you to just give in so easily. His thumb brushed against your bottom lip, before he pressed a little more and breached the pouty seal of your lips. 

“Yeah? Your friend didn’t wear you out before this?” He asked, his voice dripping with a false sense of concern. He pushed his thumb a little deeper, pressing down on your tongue while you sucked on it. You had a pretty good sense of what he was getting at, but a hot need was bubbling up in your stomach and you couldn’t deny yourself any longer. “I’m just saying, sweetheart. Takin’ two cocks in one night is… well, it’s pretty fuckin’ slutty.”

At his words, you bit down on his thumb until he withdrew it with an annoyed huff. “You wanna leave?” You asked, raising a brow. He shook his head. You stepped around him, settling in the middle of the bed. “Take your clothes off then.”

He was quick to undress, clumsy in his haste. His vest knocked against the wall and sent a picture frame tumbling off its hook. He stripped off piece after piece in a sort of never-ending Russian doll until he was finally naked and standing there waiting for you to compliment him, or something. 

You took in the sight of him hungrily, and the hormonal neediness of it all made you want him more than you had before. “You’ll do,” was all you said, smirking as he pinned you down against the mattress.

“You’re such a bitch,” he said, but there wasn’t any real malice in his tone. Actually, you were pretty sure he liked it about you. You spread your legs to accommodate him, shivering as he rocked his hips just so and let the head of his cock brush against your folds. “But you want me so bad, huh? Just need me to fuck that attitude out of you, don’t you?”

You whimpered when he pressed himself against your center, only letting the tip slip inside briefly before pulling back out. He raised a brow, wanting to hear you beg.

”Gator, if you don’t get inside me, I’ll call Nick to finish the job.”

You would have laughed at how quickly he buried himself within you after that if the force of it hadn’t punched the air from your lungs. His pace was brutal, and the sound of his hips slapping against the plush of your thighs with each rough thrust made sheepishness settle warm in your chest.

“You act like— fuck— like you don’t want me, but I don’t think this pussy got that memo.” A smirk played at his lips as he railed into you, soft grunts punctuating each thrust in. You wrapped your legs around him, pressing with your heels to encourage him deeper. 

He was such a self-assured asshole, but, fuck, if that didn’t turn you on. He had one of your hands pinned to the bed, fingers tangled with yours. 

“Go ahead and touch yourself,” Gator instructed. 

He didn’t have to tell you twice. As soon as the words passed his lips, you moved your free hand between your thighs to circle your clit. The feeling was damn near euphoric. Breathy moans fell from your lips as your head fell back against the pillows.

And Gator was fucking eating it up. 

“That feel good, huh?” His voice was breathy; his words were punctuated with moans and fucked-out pants. “Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight, sweetheart. You’re really lovin’ this, huh? Bet you wanna be stuffed full of this cock every day. Coulda had this again a lot sooner if ya weren’t such a bitch all of the time.”

You could feel yourself reaching your finish, but you couldn’t find the words to tell him. Each moan slipping past your lips was even more debauched than the last as he buried himself inside your needy cunt. 

“It’s too much, huh?” He asked, fucking you with a relentless need to cum. With each thrust his cock kissed your cervix. “You can take it, can’t you? Made just to take this cock inside your needy little pussy.”

Your eyes rolled back as your walls clamped around him, your finish so close you could have sobbed with relief. You came with a cry of his name, which would have been mortifying, had you been in a mindset to retain your pride. 

“F-Fuck—“ He cried out, his hips stuttering. “Holy fuckin’ shit— gonna cum— fuck—“ He buried himself in you with one final, rough thrust before he went still, collapsing atop you with his full body weight. 

He laid there, panting hot breath against your neck until he came back to his senses. He gave one final wet kiss to your throat before rolling over with a pleased sigh.

“You finally know what it feels like,” you mused, staring up at the ceiling. 

Gator furrowed his brows as he turned to look at you. “I’ve fucked you before, it’s nothin’ special this time.” 

Gee, thanks. “I meant you finally know what it feels like for a girl to cum while you’re inside her.” You grinned as you watched annoyance twist his features. He rolled his eyes with a huff, but didn’t seem too pissed off at your jab. 

It was contentedly quiet until you remembered the pregnancy tests sitting on the counter just one room over. Your stomach twisted with guilt as you looked over at him, his hair a little messy, cheeks flushed from exertion.

It would’ve been nice if things were different.

“I’m moving,” you said finally. “Back to Texas, I think. Maybe even somewhere new. As soon as I’ve saved enough for a down payment.”

Gator turned quickly, anger making his brows furrow. “Leaving?”

You swallowed hard. “I’m getting out of Lehigh, and I think you should too. This place is poison. You know that.”

You watched him swallow, jaw ticking as he stayed quiet. You let the quiet linger in the air, nearly choking on it before he finally spoke. “This is where I belong.”

You nodded and said nothing else. When you woke up in the morning, his arms were around you, and he was drooling into the junction of your shoulder. His hand, flat on your tummy, almost made you yearn for that picture-perfect Tillman family, the one he thought he wanted so badly.

You couldn’t bring yourself to wake him up. When he left, he didn’t say a thing. It felt definite.

[crazyqueenmoon]

LEADING A TIGER

Atsushi x Fem! Secretary, both mid-20s

Setting: 1960s AU

TW: sexism, mentions of s*xual harassment, CW: Drinking, smoking, implied NSFW stuff

!MINORS DO NOT READ!

So I’ve gotten back to watching the rest of Mad Men after so long. Though I haven’t finished it, it’s definitely a show I’ve found myself loving and find kinda similar to BSD in terms of its themes and workplace setting. Though they’re TOTALLY different as shows. Mad Men has no action, gore, or flashy characters and is 100% grounded in real life, so if you can’t be down with that stuff in a live-action show, expect to be bored AF. I’ve come it with some head-cannons around the 1960s. Also, Joan is one of my favorite female characters ever and I love Atsushi. Their personalities are completely opposite from each other, and this idea of Atsushi being this new employee at the ADA being shown around the office by a tsunderish secretary and them falling in love was just begging to be written, so here it is:

• The ADA would be like the Sterling Cooper office but with far less drama and gossip. The office would still look nice, but not nearly as nice

• You’re the badass, snarky head secretary of the ADA, refusing to settle for anyone’s BS. The Agency would not function without you helping all the higher-ups and you have a multitasking ability which allows secretarial tasks that typically take 8 hours to be completed in 10 seconds

• Unfortunately, most people have a hard time taking you seriously when it comes to your ambitions and underestimate your intelligence.

• BC it is the 1960s we’re talking about, unfortunately some of your male coworkers will be sexist a-holes that believe women aren’t supposed to be in higher positions/ ask for raises and should accept where they’re at and not be so demanding:

-Kunikida would say this to you after he got overhears you saying that you ought to be promoted. (I know you all love Kunikida and talk about how he drinks Respect Women juice, but this is 1960s Kunikida we’re talking about NOT Regular Kunikida. Plus Regular Kuni does kind of conduct himself in an old-fashioned way, so it doesn’t surprise me.

-You can expect Dazai to harass you and hit on you every single day unfortunately. He’ll also joke about how you’ve only gotten the job BC you offered Fukuzawa s*xual favors even though he’s well aware that’s not the case at all. But he will shut his goddamn mouth and behave in front of you once Fukuzawa or Kunikida is in sight. You’ve also learned some good comebacks from Yosano that’ll leave him terrified of you for the rest of the day. Interactions between you two will go something a little like this:

You: ‘I wanna be on top.’

Dazai: ‘Of me, dollface? Come on, now. Don’t be so feisty at work!’

You: ‘Of the company.’

Dazai: *laughs* ‘You’re gonna be a secretary for the rest of your life. That’s you’re fate, as a working woman. I don’t make the rules. But if you don’t like being a secretary, you can be mine instead.’

-Tanizaki also laughs when you mention this to him. He won’t make lewd comments about you or act domineering like Kunikida and Dazai do, but consider him trash as well.

-You tried to seduce Fukuzawa as a way to get promoted, but he noped immediately. He thinks of you as a daughter, and engaging in quid pro quo behavior completely goes against his values. He hires you because you’ve got the right skills and bc of your hard work, but doesn’t think you’re ready for a promotion combined with some sexist biases.

-Kenji respects you as his elder and superior. He wouldn’t really have any opinions on you being a leader, but even if he thought the same as all your male coworkers, it wouldn’t really bother you or frustrate you that much.

-Ranpo’s probably the only man in the office who isn’t dismissive of your ambitious tendencies, though he’s not necessarily a cheerleader about it. He’s more of a ‘Yeah, you’d be good at it, I guess’ kind of guy at most.

• You also smoke cigarettes a lot. You need them the way Ranpo needs his snacks, and it’s the only way you can calm yourself down.

•You’re filling in for Kunikida’s secretary today BC she’s sick. He calls you into his office, introducing you to your new employee, Atsushi Nakajima.

• “He’s the weretiger that he spent all night looking for, and now he’ll be working with us.”

• “Working with us?” you ask coolly. “Who’s idea was it, to employ a shapeshifter of all ability users?”

• “The president’s,” says Kunikida. “Should I report to him you doubted his decisions, Y/N?”

• “No need to,” you answer. “If it’s what president decrees, then I can expect it to be good.”

• Atsushi’s in awe as he looks at you pulling out a cigarette as you’re glaring.

• “Show the new guy around for the next hour,” says Kunikida, impatiently pushing a startled Atsushi from behind. “And cancel my 2 PM appointment! I won’t get it done with all these documents to read.”

• “Yes, Mr. Kunikida,” you scoff rolling your eyes.

• “Um, ma’am?” Atsushi asks. “Are you okay?”

• “Yes, I’m okay,” you say icily. “Now how about you shut up so I can give you the damn tour, tiger man? Could you do that for for me?”

• He nods quickly and walks behind you.

• “This is where you’ll be sitting,” you say, pointing to a small desk with a typewriter and a pen holder. It’s also facing a gray wall with no window. “Not pictureresque, I know. Though a chump like you should consider yourself lucky getting a desk with a typewriter. Now that you’re part of the Agency, you’d better learn to be punctual and not let your emotions get in the way. Don’t, and you’re left for dead. God knows it’s a pain, but it’s how work gets done around here.”

• Atsushi has no goddamn clue how to use a typewriter, so you have to teach him the whole day, in between passing out documents from Kunikida to the president and vice versa. You give Atsushi your worst frown once the day is done bc of all the stress he’s piled on you.

• On your desk the next day, you find a ‘Thank You’ card and a bouquet of flowers.

• It’s from Atsushi himself. He thanks you for helping him learn how to use a typewriter, and apologizes for upsetting you. Some of the ink is smeared, and he asks you to let him know how he can make it up to you.

•You march up to Dazai’s office holding the card and flowers, telling his secretary you’d like to speak to him shortly. She tells you he’s busy but he insists that she let you in over the intercom.

• “Eager, to see me so early, honey, huh?” he teases as you enter his office. “I knew you’d come through one of these days. You’re making me one lucky man.”

• “Is this some kind of joke, Dazai?” You demand, holding the card and flowers and opening the card.

• Dazai looks at the card and reads it. Handing it back to you. “Oh no, not my doing at all. The one thing I’d never do in a love note to a woman is let the ink get smeared with my tears. You’ve got an admirer Y/N. Atsushi-kun’s in love with you. You heartbreaker you. You’re makin’ me jealous!”

• You spend the whole day wondering if it’s true. As much of a scheming bastard Dazai is, he is good at solving mysteries

• You spend the next two weeks testing out if Atsushi’s got a crush on you, offering him employee training which he surprisingly manages to catch up on

•At this point, YOU’RE the one whose got a crush on him. He’s sweet, friendly, takes you seriously and doesn’t laugh at your goals. He’ll even bring you a treat from the bakery a couple times a week. But you won’t show those feelings to him. When you ask him if he’d like anything in return, he tells you he doesn’t.

• “Y/N, you never asked me what I can do for you in return,” he says.

• “Take me on a date,” you say. “At the Green Palace. 6 PM sharp.”

• “Date?!” he asks, shocked by your answer and how nonchalantly you said it.

• He takes you out and it goes well, eager to foot the bill despite his lowly salary.

• As you spend more time together, you vent to him about how you’re underestimated when it comes to your abilities because of your gender. He doesn’t know what that’s like, but he confides in you about how he’s felt so useless his whole life growing up in the orphanage and during his time at the church shelter. He also thinks it’s ridiculous that all the men at work belittle you, and believes you have what it takes to be in a higher role at the company.

• You’re one of the few people not to judge him for bringing up his traumatic experiences to him, and if he didn’t already trust you in the first place, he’s now given 1000% of it to you.

• You two keep your relationship a secret, though Dazai and Ranpo know. You’ll hear Dazai ask Atsushi personal questions about you two, but luckily Atsushi knows to be careful around him and scoffs at him, telling him it’s none of his business.

• He’ll come over to your apartment after missions to decompress and he’ll try to comfort you too when you’re stressed with work.

• A year into your relationship, you tell Atsushi it’s time everyone knows. He’s hesitant at first, but then agrees to it, and wants you to announce if this is to happen.

• Before announcing to the ADA, Fukuzawa decides to promote you to junior director. It’s got ‘junior’ in it, but it’s a far cry from being secretary and you get your own office. You’re now the only other female employee along with Yosano to have her own office.

• When you’ve announced to ADA, everyone cheers. Kunikida’s surprised, and angry you didn’t inform him about this, but gets over it. Fukuzawa wishes you told him, but approves of Atsushi as a boyfriend to you.

• Surf rock music plays on a record, and everyone gets drunk and hollers.

• “Happy one year together,” Atsushi says softly, holding a small gift bag. “ I got you this. Hope you like it.”

• “A marble bluebird,” you gasp, looking into the bag.

• “You said they’re your favorite birds once,” he says nervously. “I thought it’d be a great gift to give you.”

• “Atsushi…” you mutter. “Thank you.”

• You walk up him and kiss his cheek. His face turns bright red with everyone looking you two.

• “Don’t forget to give me one, too!” Dazai calls out. “It just took a measly glass bird? I’ll get you all of them, Y/N.”

• Kunikida makes a fist towards Dazai and he gets frightened.

• “ You hated my guts, when you first met me,” says Atsushi. “ The last thing I expected was that you’d fall in love with me.”

• “I never hated you, Atsushi,” you say. “ I just hated how I felt. You’ve helped me to believe in myself, and you’re always good to me. I love you, Atsushi.”

• “I-I love you too, y/n,” he stammers. He’s told you every single day, but he wants to say it again anyways. “You‘ve done really great. You deserve all this. Got any orders for me, director?”

• “Follow me to my office,” you jest, smacking his ass.

JFC this is MUCH longer than I thought it’d be. And writing this has kind of made me hate Dazai. But I had a lot of fun, writing this. If you’ve made it all the way here, thank you, thank you, thank you! Please leave a comment and LMK your thoughts.

[wawamouse]

Oz Rewatch 3: S6E03: Sonata da Oz

Plotlines

Eugene Dobbins guesting

Keller and Beecher are saying goodbye; Keller attacks Lopresti; Schillinger goes to visit Loewen, who berates him; Yood tells Beecher that Winthrop killed his father; Loewen threatens Devlin; Beecher is released from Oz; Loewen is killed in the hospital

Stella reaches out to Pablo Rosa; Norma visits Rebadow to ask him to talk to Busmalis

Cutler fights Pancamo for Robson; Glynn gives Pancamo back the kitchens on the condition he leaves the Aryans alone

Martinez continues to be ill and harassed by Brass; Chico visits Martinez to shank him but ultimately chooses not to, angering Morales; Martinez dies in the night under Nurse Grace’s care; Gloria fires heron the spot and informs Glynn she’ll be publicizing the autopsy results; Glynn decides to hold a press conference about the toxins in Solitary;

Brass tells Murphy that Martinez confessed that Morales ordered him; Morales is placed in Solitary where Brass cuts his achilles tendons

Hoyt has a mental breakdown on Death Row; Mukada asks Sister Pete to examine Hoyt; Mukada releases Kirk’s possession to his mother

Sister Pete tries to take Jericho from Cyril, who resists and is upset; Cyril is set to be executed; he is put through electro shock to deal with his emerging mental illness and return to a mental space fit for execution

Redding tells the Homeboys they will be working in the telemarketing office

Said is visited by the publishers who tell him the legal battles involved; Said decides to publish Augustus’s boo himself and pay the employees minimum wage; Idzik, posing as a reporter, kills Said

I accidentally started episode 4 instead and had to DIVE for the play controls before McManus announced Said’s death to Emerald City 😅 So she already heard the part that was like "Yesterday, a man came to Oz pretending to be a journalist" and was suspicious when Said went to meet with a supposed reporter at the end of the episode. Whoopsss

Me: What does Yood get from egging this on? Sister: He gets to keep his companion.

Sister: He’s got that prison-itis where he just starts telling everyone his plans. He’s going to die in this episode.

Sister: No time for hugs! Leave, leave, leave! Get out first and then come back and hug him in the visiting room! Quick! Before the door closes!

Sister: Your boy is moving up in the world. Rebelling… Now that he made up with Miguel, it's time for a new leader…

Sister: Uhh, are they banging? Miss ma’am? What are your fingers doing?

Sister: I don’t get it, either… (proceeds to muse for several minutes)

Sister: Wait, wait, wait. They publicly revealed that Solitary is full of poison and they’re still just putting people in there?

Sister: His ideas are getting too big… Something's going to happen. Said: Mentions he's meeting a reporter Sister: NOOOOO... he's going to DIE.....

Stray Thoughts

Sister was impatient to see Beecher leave

Sister thinks Eleanor is Secretly Evil

Final Thoughts Sister: I was wondering why there wasn’t really a Said storyline this season, and it was because now he’s gone forever… I wonder if the writers got lazy and just killed him so they wouldn’t have to figure out what to do about all the legal battles. Damn, and now we won’t get to see Beecher come visit him and hug him in the visiting room… And who will be leader now? Arif? I guess so, but he seems to have control problems. They’re not going to bring a new guy in just to be the leader, because this is season 6. Everything’s falling apart… What are we going to do? What’s the point? Said’s dead…

Sister: The Irish guy (Murphy) got stupider. Me: Ryan? Sister: No, the other one. The guy who just went along with things. Me: Oh, Murphy. Sister: Yeah, maybe. Also, if I worked there and they said that part of my workplace was contaminated, I would not be stepping foot in there. Not only did they know that area was making people sick, but they put people back there and continued to voluntarily step into the space. I’d be pissed. I’d be calling OSHA. Me: Did they mention that they are already fixed the situation and we just forgot? Sister: I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure he just said to keep it hush hush and then stuck them back in Solitary… Sister: Also, if they’re cutting him up in Solitary, how are they supposed to make up an excuse? Don’t they have to take him to the hospital? And they’re cutting his heels, so that’s like a slow torture and they’re all exposed to the contaminants. Like, shouldn’t that one lady be sick, too? The one who keeps going to all of the prisoner’s cells? And she works there? Ooh, is that what the plot is going to be? Retribution at last? Is the lady going to die? Hm… I guess it depends on how the show wants me to feel about them… 20 years later…

Me: Any predictions for the rest of the season? Sister: The lady may or may not die… Mm, I was going to say maybe the prison will close, but they didn’t even close it when it got blown up. They just moved everyone to a different part, so I guess not. Umm… McManus will leave, depending on what happens. The Poet guy may try to take control from Redding, and the telemarketing office is going to do credit card scams…. Miguel? I don’t know… He didn’t really have a storyline this episode, either. Other than being horny. Also, the priest is having some demon plot line… You know, kind of rude of Mr. Reverend to disappear and instead of hanging around on Mr. Priest’s shoulder, he lets the devil ride there instead. He should be coming over like “shoo, shoo, this is my guy”. Like, if you’re supernatural, and the devil is supernatural, then you’re on the same playing field. You could tell him to fuck off, that’s your shoulder. Or, you could send prophetic dreams to him and be like “there is no devil on your shoulder” like the biker dude said. That way Mr Priest isn’t all paranoid, looking at his shoulder and thinking he’s haunted.

Sister: I think Cyril will die. Me: Which episode, do you think? Sister: Episode 5…

[fleckcmscott]

Making Motions

Summary: Months ago, Y/N shared an unexpected flight of fancy. Arthur decides to take it to heart.

Words: 3,652

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: @sweet-nothings04​ requested to see Arthur enact the fantasy mentioned in Ch. 3 of Stepping Stones. 👓 This is the result! Hope you all enjoy this story! Thanks for your support! 😊

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Three sandwiches in a row. Three lunches gobbled in a meeting. Three breaks skipped to pace the length of an oak conference table. But going up against NCB required more than a will to find a way, so Y/N took another bite of pastrami on wheat and settled on the windowsill.

Popular wisdom held that harassment was a worry solely for women. That they were never, ever perpetrators. Having come of age before she could get a loan on her own, experienced an era in which an employer had sought her ex-husband's permission to hire her, it'd been a hiccup for Y/N to get past that assumption.

But power had a way of begetting bad behavior, which in turn begat ever more power. And when Aaron Williams had stumbled into her office, embarrassment trembling his squared off fingers, she'd believed him.

Lana Miller, Gotham's Golden Girl, charmed the city on the six o'clock news. Bringing You the Truth! as the slogan went. Bleached teeth smile, gleaming grey gaze, a confident cadence that demanded trust.

She'd set her eyes on Mr. Williams a month after he'd signed his contract. Blocking his way as he'd try to exit the production control room, suggestive comments that'd escalated to the outright lewd. An offer to put in a good word with management if he'd visit after a broadcast. ("I hold a lot of sway with the boys upstairs.")

When a meeting had devolved into her nude on his desk, that grey gaze had turned steely. He'd kicked her out and filed a complaint.

A cardboard box shoved at his chest, an order to leave the premises by noon. That a handful of others had reported bullying hadn't mattered to The Top. Ratings were too high, too critical to hassle the on-air talent. A behind the scenes guy was expendable, a money saver even. Big deal if he blabbed about it over beer with buddies. That kind of tale had been blabbed before. Bye, bye trouble, hello to the next desperado trying to break into showbiz.

Wage theft, safety violations, employee misclassifications. Those were matters Dube, Ellis, & Flat handled on a regular basis. Filing a motion in court often got the Mom and Pops to behave. Publicized cases, though? Speculation aired on tabloid television? The firm wasn't used to that.

Williams v. National Center for Broadcasting had spent the past year collecting dust in the corner filing cabinet, waiting for its turn on the docket. NCB had stalled every way it could. Frivolous Motions to Dismiss, fillings for discovery every month as if a past due bill. A flurry of due process that felt like old money showing off. Then, low and behold, another case settled, and their matter was set for a two-week trial.

The delay had allowed Y/N plenty of investigation hours. He saids, She saids were hard to prove, and anything she could find to put a dent in the network's excuses was worth the effort.

She'd snuck into NCB studios as part of a tour group, just to refamiliarize herself with the place. When a copy editor discovered her in the stairwell, pretending to be a new employee had been the easiest solution. ("Oh, you must be Brenda's replacement! Personnel is one floor up.")

Mrs. Cunningham was a barrel of woman, a cigarette held perpetually in her left hand. Y/N asked about Spencer Fox, a counterfeit sounding name that kept appearing in NCB's filings. "He's an old friend," she'd claimed. "I wouldn't mind getting back in touch."

The older woman shook her head. "He moved to California nine months ago, pilots and renewals. Damned if I know when he'll be back."

At that dismissive declaration, Y/N had to shove her hands under her thighs to hide her excitement. Fox had sent in an affidavit, stating he'd witnessed no harassment during the period in question. Now she could testify that was meaningless. Mistreatment is easy to miss from three thousand miles away.

Turning to sift through manila folders, Mrs. Cunningham tapped ash into a pink ashtray, florals printed in the glass. "What did you say your name was? Treble? Your paperwork isn't here." She'd offered a pained expression. "You look more fun than Brenda. God, I hope you are. She had bitch stitched in her seams."

Y/N wished circumstances would have allowed her to get to know this woman better. As a thank you for her trouble, she'd sprung for two vending machine coffees, shaken her hand, and slipped through the nearest emergency exit.

"I'm not even that good looking," Mr. Williams said, fingers trembling again. He flexed his knuckles, left knee bouncing like a snare drum. Mannerisms that held a touch of Arthur. "I don't know why she picked me."

Placing her sandwich on a napkin, she took a coffee carafe from the center of the table to refill his cup. "Her actions have nothing to do with you and everything to do with a lack of consequences. But we're going to change that, aren't we?"

The corner of his mouth twitched. "I guess so."

"Good. Now let's review court etiquette and your testimony again."

She covered the basics. Stand when the judge enters and leaves, always address him as Your Honor, don't chew gum during the proceeding. When on the stand, pause before answering. Make sure you understand the question being asked. Be clear and concise.

"Don't guess, either," she continued. "It's fine not to recall everything, even expected. Remember you're under oath. An 'I don't know' is better than speculation." She'd seen too many people twist themselves into Slinkys trying to say the right thing, to justify themselves. "And don't volunteer information. If you get nervous, focus on our team. We're here for you." She popped the last bit of crust between her lips, wiped her fingers, and grabbed her binder.

The lines between her brows deepened. Fingers paged through the documents faster and faster. She regarded Mr. Williams over the top of the binder. "Let's take five minutes." Then she rose and jogged to her office. The file had to be there...

Just as she strode in, her phone rang. One hand sorting already sorted stacks, she set it to speaker. "Dube, Ellis, & Flat, this is Y/N."

"Hey, it's Arthur." Her heart leapt. She grabbed the receiver to listen closer. "I was wondering if we could meet for lunch? I'm kinda in the mood for a Reuben. They're on special today." Patricia had gotten him hooked on the combo of sauerkraut and corned beef.

Y/N's heart sank back to her ribs, a pang starting below her left breast. A glance through half-glass walls. Her colleagues were gathering materials for this afternoon's meeting with expert witnesses. She'd be expected post-haste.

"I'd love to but we're so busy here," she said. Then added, a tad defensively, "You've seen the news coverage."

"Oh." The solitary syllable came out low and slow.

She closed her eyes. She hated disappointing him. As of late, she'd found herself doing so too often. "I promise to be home on time tonight. I'll make it up to you-"

"There's nothing to make up."

"-when all this bullshit is over. Tell you what. I'll save you my coleslaw."

"No, you need to eat."

"Y/N!" Her name bellowed across the room like an air horn. Not scolding but sure to get her attention.

A pause. "You better go," Arthur said.

She raised her hand in a One Minute gesture. She wasn't about to cut this goodbye short. "Thank you for understanding. I don't take it for granted."

"Yeah. See you tonight."

"You will," she affirmed. "You will."

~~~~~

The cordless handset clicked in the cradle. A lean hip hutted against the counter, a cutting line against bone. Arthur pressed his head to the light blue cabinet door. He drew in one long breath.

He'd meant what he'd said. There was nothing to apologize for, there was nothing to forgive. He'd read the headlines, heard the lowlights on GCR, skimmed editorials in the paper. NCB was continuing its age-old tradition of shitting on the little guy.

And he knew what was at stake for Y/N. Challenging those who abused their advantage was important to her, had been since they'd met. Christ, it was how they'd met. He couldn't be prouder of her for believing in something, for having convictions strong enough to take it on. Yet, tendrils of dissatisfaction spread across his chest, a vise he couldn't loosen no matter how much he longed to. An annoyance as much as it was truth.

She'd helped him. Plenty. Taking messages from clients, ensuring his gigs were on the kitchen calendar so they could plan around them. On evenings he was home late, dinner was ready and on the table. She rubbed his lower back if it ached, massaged the stubborn knots that tended to swell by his misshapen shoulder. (He was over forty now; his body liked to remind him.) She listened when needed, left him alone when requested.

A couple Tuesdays ago, he'd dropped in his chair, palms flat on his desk. A sinking slowness had snuck into his schedule, leaving him bereft, feeling unwanted. As if he should do more but with no clear vision of what. He'd worried the seam of his legal pad, curled torn strips of yellow paper with his thumb. "I don't know how much longer I can do this."

Clad in mauve tunic and black leggings, Y/N had knelt beside him. Offered a tender look with love as its foundation, gentle debate twinkling her pupils. "Do it until it stops making you happy," she'd said, ruffling his oily hair. He'd leaned into that touch like she was water and his ruminations flames to be doused. "But even then," she'd continued. "Don't quit. Think of it as taking a break. That way you can make sure you want to live without it."

He'd taken her advice, kept his calendar clear. A choice rather than circumstance. So far, it'd been a good decision, one that allowed him to write more jokes, make more observations, work on his timing, work on himself. Already, the itch to return to Carnival had started in his inner wrist, traversed his lanky arm. Led to an impromptu dance in the living room, when he hadn't moved to a beat in days.

She was a resilient woman, wore an exterior as tough as bull hide. But he saw through all that. Deepened wrinkles framed her mouth, flattened cheeks, eyelids that drooped well before bedtime.

Y/N had restarted his pulse. There had to be a way for him to do the same.

Heaving a sigh, he tapped a Stutton into his palm. Grabbed his lighter from the counter and headed for the fire escape.

Just as he was about to light up (a few seconds too early, he'd crack the window, she'd never know), a folder on the coffee table forced a doubletake. Egg timer set, limiting herself to half an hour, she'd worked on a binder last night. He'd brought her a coffee, kissed the top of her head, skimmed the top notes in her loopy script.

Arthur's lips pinched. From the beginning of their courtship, she'd stressed that she'd tell him what she could, but privacy laws and her own code of ethics prevented her from sharing a whole hell of a lot. But this was their coffee table in their living room in their apartment. Obviously, the folder had been forgotten. If he were to steal a peek, who would know? Maybe it held the key to giving her a hand.

That convenient line of thought drove him to pluck it from the table and flip it open.

Green bar printer sheets, two columns of questions in dot matrix font. LIKELY and HYPOTHETICALS in all caps. Squinting, he held the pages a foot away. How many incidents were there? Did you report them to anyone? Can you describe your relationship with...

A sudden image came to him, a spark of awareness. A flight of fancy imparted in a hospital garden, sitting side by side on a concrete bench. Cool breeze on raw, goosepimpled skin. Whiffs of strawberries and musk.

Yes. Yes, that would work!

He raced to the bedroom closet, nearly stumbling in his haste. A suitable shirt, striped tie, brown trousers, freshly polished Oxfords. Only a couple more props were necessary. A bit of research at the video store, the jotting of his own questions.

From interviews on the highest rated shows to dating the prettiest girl in the world, fantasy was one of Arthur's longstanding habits. Although the weaves of his dreams had changed - less dire, more aspire - his mind still titled towards the land of make believe. He had no doubt he could pull this off.

Eager as a gumshoe, he patted his wallet, tossed on his jacket, and flew out the door.

~~~~~

Though the temperature hovered around fifty, patches of sweat darkened the armpits of Y/N's bow tie blouse. The breakneck pace of the day had overheated her, ponderings of all tomorrow would bring. And where the hell that file could have disappeared to.

Due to electrical work, she had to exit the subway at Ditmas Avenue. Five stops early. She skipped the offered buses to walk the rest of the way to 4A. That always helped her sort her thoughts, decompress. Put her mind in Pay Attention to Home mode rather than lingering on a missed comma in an affidavit.

Besides, she adored her adopted hometown, the aura of the city, the souls of its people. The street musician blasting a trumpet on the corner, the homeless woman wrapped in a blanket who asked for the time, the guy in a beanie selling bootleg VHS tapes, laid out on a ragged blanket. Y/N loved them all. And, if she was lucky, walks led to unexpected joys. Like the stroll from Burnley that'd led to a certain greasy donut shop in Otisburg.

A sort of silliness accompanied her, the kind only fatigue can bring. Silly as best experienced with Arthur. She'd stopped at Ed's Grocery for a surprise dinner of breaded pollack fillets with white rice and ketchup - a take on a fish stick dish he'd often made as a teenager - and a lone flower, the apology he'd said wasn't needed.

Coat hung on its hook, kitten heels kicked off, court bag dropped to the floor, she moved to put the fish in the fridge. Brown Eyed Susan in hand, she aimed for the living room to find her husband, seize the kiss she'd craved since his call.

She stood stockstill in the entrance. Fingers curled about the stem. Her lips gaped.

Buttressed on the wall to her right, under the windows, sat the television and coffee table. To her left, the cream couch was now six inches in front of their console stereo in a parallel line. A yard from the bedroom door stood a lone dining chair, the remaining three had been arranged in random spots about the room. A sort of imitation of an audience. Or a gallery...

Was this what she thought it was?

Pulling at his belt loops, Arthur entered from the bathroom. With the sheer will of a gallon of hair gel, deep mocha locks had been forced into a side part. He wore a violet and gold striped tie, fixed neatly at his neck in a half Windsor knot. The pale yellow button-up was a shirt he donned far too rarely, his medium brown trousers the perfect fit for his narrow waist. Black suspenders gave him a look more 1940s than modern. A classic, classy man. It was a style that worked, one she loved on him and only him.

He nodded at her, mischief curving his lips. "I'd like to call Y/N Fleck to the stand?"

"Arthur..." Chuckling, she shook her head, crossing the carpet. She reached to embrace him, petals brushing his bicep. "What in the world?"

He caught her hands. His were warm and firm on her skin. "I wanna help. I rented 'Adam's Rib.'"

"Isn't that about a murder trial?"

"Yeah, the husband and wife are lawyers. Anyway, I think I got the hang of it. I know you sometimes get nervous when you testify. I thought it'd be good to practice, like what I do for my shows."

Wetness stung the corners of her eyes. She blinked it away in haste. That he'd recall the fantasy she'd shared at Arkham, a goofy trifle she'd disclosed during his toughest of times, moved her deeply. He was a wave upon the sand of her soul.

Clearing her throat, she slipped the flower in his breast pocket and patted it twice. He angled his head to admire it, gave her hand another squeeze. "I better hurry before the court holds me in contempt," she said, and passed him to sit on the setoff dining chair, the presumed witness stand.

A piece of paper emerged from his sleeve, a magician's move. He unfurled it with a flick of the wrist. Her brows shot up and held. "Where did you find that?" she asked, incredulous. She'd recognize that dusty printer paper anywhere, the list she'd spent a better part of the afternoon scouring for.

"The coffee table." He plucked a pair of reading glasses from his trouser pocket. Espresso browline, rounded wire bottoms, a pair that looked as if it'd been selected from the display stand at Groves. When he put them on, the temple tip momentarily caught in his hair. 

She felt her insides melt. It was a glimpse of the future she longed for.

His gaze rose from the paper. "Raise your hand."

"Which one?" As innocent as an intern on her first day.

"Uh, the right," he said, indicating with his chin. He straightened his posture, feet squared with his shoulders. "Do you swear to tell the truth?"

"I swear to tell you anything."

A laugh caught behind his teeth, green eyes sparkling. "What's your name?"

"Y/N Fleck." She spelled it for good measure. A third of court transcribers left off the h.

"And what's your job? Have you had it for long?"

"I'm a senior paralegal at Dube, Ellis, & Flat. I've held that position for just under a year. I started there as a paralegal in 1982 - before the Flat. Prior to that, I worked in firms both in Gotham and Missouri."

"I see. Do you think you're a good boss, Ms. Fleck?"

"Misses, actually." At the correction, pleased pink stained his cheekbones. She crossed her legs at the knee. "And I'm no one's boss, but I am good at what I do."

"What did your client say happened?"

"I'm afraid I'll have to object to that question." She tapped her chin in mock suspicion. "It's dangerously close to hearsay."

"What does that mean?"

"That you'll have to ask the complainant directly, not me."

"Okay, well..." Eyes narrowing, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "How did you prepare for trial?"

Flirty and fun was what she wanted to be, but reciting it all, even the compact version she offered, exhausted her all over again. "I reviewed the filings submitted by both parties. I assisted in preparing the complainant and expert witnesses to testify. I snuck into NCB Studios - an old habit I developed awhile back. And I put on many, many pots of coffee."

"That sounds like a lot. Gotham is lucky to have you." A tender look that said and so am I.

"It has been. A little too much." She let out a weary sigh, everything at risk an abrupt weight on her shoulders. All she'd wanted tonight was escape and laughter and him, but now... She folded her hands together in her lap to maintain her composure.

Lowering the list, he ventured a step closer. Earnestness softened the lines of his face. His head dipped down and towards her. "How are you feeling about next week?"

Suddenly, she was the case he'd decided to investigate. She shifted in her seat. "That depends. Are you retained by the plaintiff or the defendant?"

"I'm on your side," he said, kind as a pat on the back.

Fresh perspiration stained her blouse. Five seconds of pondering before she dropped the brave face. "A little scared, to be honest. I'm glad the judge decided to keep the proceedings private - we don't need a circus in there - but I'm still going to angle for the back door. NCB has so much money, and so much of the public is behind Lana Miller. I just want our client to get what he deserves. And for NCB to pay for protecting the wrong people.” She smoothed the pleats of her skirt, bottom lip planted firmly between teeth. “I've worked hard on this. We all have. I need it to be worth it."

"It will be." He knelt on one knee before her, his breath warm on her chin. He plucked the flower from his pocket, took her fidgeting fingers, and placed the bloom in her palm. "Is there anything else you wanna tell the court?"

A gulp cleared the breath locked in her throat. "Just two items. You're an ace lawyer, Attorney Fleck. If you're ever looking, you should apply to my firm."

"And what's the other?"

On a grin, Y/N cupped his cheeks. "You forgot to ask if you could approach the witness." Then she kissed him. "I love you."

He caught her by the collar. "Kiss me again."

She did. Sweet but sure, the testimony of her whole heart. Her forehead bumped his glasses, his nose collided with hers. When they broke apart for air, she stood and took his hand. "I'd like to submit a Motion to Dismiss. It's time for us."

Arthur's thumb traced hers, his feet already guiding them to the kitchen. "No objection, Mrs. Fleck."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​​​​​​ @ithinkimaperson​​​​​​ @sweet-nothings04​​​​​​ @stephieraptorr​​​​ @rommies​​​​​​ @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1​​​​​​ @another-day-in-chuckletown​ @hhandley80​​​​​​ @jokerownsmysoul​​​​​​ @rafaelbottom @ralugraphics​​​​​​ @iartsometimes​​​​​​ @fleckficgirl​

[sensei-venus]

Poly Yasmonn eith their shy chubby gf at the mall. They wakk away for 5 seconds and comes back to find a guy trying to hit on their gf and making her super uncomfy. Yasmine and Moon just into protective mode asap

(Unedited) (Support Me Links🌺) (Girlboss Yasmine, Soft Proactive Moon, Mentions of Hawk being Moon’s ex but they are friends, Slight hint at homophobia??)

“Ahhh! This looks so cute! What do you guys think?” Reader said as she spun around to show off the new clothing find. It was a yellow and white sun dress. She shook if around on the hanger at her two girlfriends.

Both of the girls looked up from their own racks that they had been going through. Moon's eyes sparkles as she looked at the dress. She clapped out of excitement saying “That is so cute! It would look great on you! Oh do they have a pink or blue one? We could match!”

she walked over and started looking though Reader’s own clothing rack. Reader pointed at the area she found the dress in.

“Yasmine come look at this dress! Don't you have a sun hat that would match this perfectly? I think I saw you wear it at the beach a few weeks ago.” Moon said as she stopped at a particular dress. Yasmine cocked her head before abandoning her own area and walking over.

Moon was right that the dress matched one of her old sun hats. It was a short but slightly friled at the bottom pink dress. Her Sun hat was the exact same pastel pink. A small smile spread across her lips as she went though the selection of dresses. The sound of metal coat hangers filled the air as she shoved the dresses around. She huffed as she meet the end of dresses.

“They don’t have my size, all of them are to small or tiny.” She pouted, now she really wanted that dress.

Yasmine had promised both of her girlfriends to a beach date. That’s why they where even at the mall, looking for cute new outfits to wear out.

“Maybe you can ask one of the employees and see if they have your size in the back or something? Wouldn’t hurt to ask.” Reader says as she notices a employee walk out of the back of the storeroom.

“Can you hold my dress for me? I’ll go with her and ask.” Moon says as she hands her own dress to Reader, the girl nods as she takes it and puts it over her arm along with her own dress. Yasmine picks out one of the dresses and heads off with Moon to find a employee. They find someone at the register and explain the situation.

Within two or three minutes the employee was able to find the right size of the dress in the back. Both girls are excited and decide to head back to Reader to tell her the good news.

Both girls are all grins and smiles as they head over to their girlfriend.

Their smiles fade as they over hear a conversation coming from the area they left Reader in.

“Come on it will be fun, just me you and my friends over in the food court~”

“No thanks….”

“Come on it’s not like your doing anything here, and I doubt you have a boyfriend.”

“I’m actually here with my girlfriend-“

The guy who is way to close to Reader interrupts her before she can even finish what she’s saying.

“Don’t tell me your a fucking lesbian, your just trying to get out of having a good time with a guy like me-“

Yasmine has enough of hearing the asshole talk to her girlfriend like that. She Frits her teeth a little as she stomps over to the two. Moon doesn’t even try to calm her down as she walks away, she just follows behind her with a frown. They both cross their arms as the walk up behind Reader who is clearly upset now. She grips at the dresses on her arms.

The poor girl is chewing her lip raw and her eyes are even shaking a little. Her posture is even hard as she looks like she can’t walk away.

Moon attaches herself to Reader by putting a arm around her. She snuggles into her side and just glares at the guy.

“She’s clearly not interested in you now stop harassing my girlfriend you grade a asshole. Also you should try not to hit on people’s girlfriends, it’s tacky as hell.” Yasmine says as she gets into the guys face a little. He backs off a little as she steps closer to him.

“Step off or I’ll call my friends, my ex knows karate asshat!” Moon says with no hesitation.

“No way bitch-“

“Hawk”

The guy pales when Moon mentions Hawk. Clearly understanding she wasn’t playing when she said the threat. He backed up a bit more before taking off and leaving the store. This left all three of the girls alone.

Moon rubbed at Readers arms as the girl started to relax now that the guy was gone. She tried to give a small smile as she kissed the girls cheek. Yasmine turned around and walked back over to the two of them. She cupped Reader’s cheeks and makes her look up at her. She sees the small frown on her face, clearly still a bit shaken from what just happened.

She rubs small circles on her cheeks saying “Hey it’s ok, that was creepy as hell.” Reader nods back saying “ I was just looking though the clothes and he just walked up to me and started trying to flirt and talk to me. I kept saying no and that I wasn’t interested, he just kept going and wouldn’t leave me alone.” Her voice trailed off at the end. Her eyes downcasted.

“Hey it’s not your fault! You did nothing wrong, he was a creep for trying to come on to you even after you made it clear your weren’t interested. We shouldn’t have left you alone like that.” Moon says.

“I’m a big girl I can handle myself.” Reader smiles and pouts making both of the other girls laugh and roll their eyes.

“Ok your right but still…next time you come with us. Your are girl, your off the market.” Reader giggles as Yasmine leans over and gives her a kiss to the lips. It’s short but sweet, it makes Reader’s belly bubble and flutter all at ones. They pull away and Yasmine hugs her into the side along with Moon.

“Ok so let’s go buy these dresses and I’ll take you guys out to lunch, they have that new vegan and vegetarian place open a few blocks away.” She grins as both of the other girl smile and and start raving about the new restaurant.

All three of them buy their new dresses for their up and coming beach date. They go about their day with smiles and laughter sheared between the three lovers.

[maiosx]

Videogame Question Time

Who is the number one person in the game industry and why?

Kiana Kaslana. Has the best character design, best story arc, follows god, has a gun and a sword, has an evil avatar too.

Who is the second?

Seele from Honkai Impact 3. Most powerful character in the game. Stronger than Kiana and Mei.

What is the strongest vehicle in the entire game industry?

The sub in GTA Online.

What is the strongest character with non magical attributes?

Doom guy.

Who composed the best soundtrack in a video game?

Shadow of the Colossus

Who is your favorite character?

Sam from Metroid Prime or Raiden Mei.

If you could change any videogame storyline what would you do?

Half Life 2 Ep 2 Alyx’s dad dies and they don’t have a person to give her directions in HL 3 so they never made it… I would’ve changed it to the combine just trap him or something instead and doggo has his coordinates but Gordon has to fix him bc he gets injured by the combine when her dad gets taken and he tries to help him then they fight g man and it ends with him telling them they created black mesa to fight gladOS and the aliens were their friends bc gladOS was trapping Cave Johnson’s employees underground so Gordon would have to infiltrate their base with Alyx to try to stop her and that’s what causes the beginning of Portal 2 where the whole place has collapsed bc in the end of the game Alyx would have a baby with Gordon but Gordon and Alyx run out of food and die but that baby is the prisoner that gets out of the Portal 2 chambers and sends Wheatley to the moon which then triggers half life 4 where he and the bad aliens there form a pact and they come back to earth and now Alyx’s baby is fighting the combine and the aliens at the same time and in the end she wins by infiltrating black mesa and stealing the dna of the zombie crab aliens and using it to make stronger and smarter aliens than them.. so it becomes like alien warfare that eventually becomes halo 2 but only the covenants story arc and you end up realizing that master chief was against the prisoner of portal 2 and say nah fuck Microsoft and that’s the ending of Half Life 4 bc Gabe Newell worked there and I’m pretty sure that would be the best ending and reason they actually created Halo… to compete with Valve but the main reason he created that game and never finished it was bc those are probably the correct storylines to HL3 and HL4.

What is your favorite videogame and why?

Sky children of the light, has a social system that should exist on social networking platforms so we wouldn’t feel harassed by community members or like randos.

What is your favorite videogame memory?

Sakura Miko playing Pokémon on the Switch and she finally gets a pink one she’d been being wanting for days. She was crying and screaming it was running to her and fell asleep by her.

What do you think about the videogame industry as a whole?

I don’t like it. I think Valve publishes good titles and so does Apple but Microsoft and the rest of them have like bad boy status to upkeep and it’s like Todd from Bethesda fucking up Fallout 76 Online just to say yeah we made this online game you can drop props in.. like nobody was asking for that. Skyrim with mods was good but it was good bc it had enb shaders and good looking clothes with like 4k textures and nexus support. Fallout with Forge creator was not and nobody that made that game understands the roleplay aspect of games.. like you will not have ppl RPing dying in a wasteland in the 1950s… that’s weird but ofc ppl would roleplay The Witcher series or Cyberpunk.. Todd from Bethesda is weird and those MS ppl bought a weird studio too.

[fuckrealityfictionisbetter]

I posted 12,615 times in 2022

304 posts created (2%)

12,311 posts reblogged (98%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@tree-of-blue-squirrel

@lichensings

@yetanotherobsessivereader

@cowboymitchell

@last-an-eon

I tagged 563 of my posts in 2022

#random - 138 posts

#soz - 136 posts

#personal - 95 posts

#stranger things - 53 posts

#strangerthingsedit - 43 posts

#criminal minds - 41 posts

#the umbrella academy - 32 posts

#spencer reid - 31 posts

#tuaedit - 28 posts

#supernatural - 27 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#peter jumping outta the way whilst joker screams at him ‘i told my other me’s i wouldn’t kill anyone but you’re being a real pain lately mr

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

If the new Batman film ends with a cut away scene of Bruce walking into a circus, flying greyson poster on the wall behind, damn I think we’d all lose our minds

117 notes - Posted February 13, 2022

#4

Yes cheating scandals are always scandals but this one’s bigger in a different way (not for the public he’s not a mega start or anything) but from a repercussions standpoint oh boy, if you don’t know Ned is one of 4 founders of a company that has multiple employees, shows, tours, books, podcasts, tv shows including one on food network that’s scheduled to come out and he slept with an employee! Of course he got fired because don’t fuck the employees is a pretty big rule of most jobs and if she wanted (say she was engaged and wanted to try anything to pass the blame to win her Fiance back) she could of tried suing for workplace harassment, said she was paid or threatened, and I’m guessing she’ll get a nice payout so she can’t sue for unfair dismissal (my boss pressured me into sex then I got fired is a pretty good lawsuit). And although he has left the company are already people suspecting that the rest of the guys knew and hid it/ignored it which is Bad for a company based of personality. So in short not only did this guy give up his family’s primary income but risked the entire company and income of an entire company full of people so he could dick down an engaged women

222 notes - Posted September 28, 2022

#3

They own tumblr now

279 notes - Posted March 21, 2022

#2

Really wanna see Steven on an ep of ghost files!!! Doesn’t even have to be regular ghost files drag him out to a murder scene to make cocktails! Makes a spare drink for the ghosts

409 notes - Posted September 27, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Supernatural, the longest queer bait, has struck again

15,186 notes - Posted April 25, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[x3rrorx]

We’ve got nothing to hide so I’m gonna show what was actually said in our chat.

So first I wanna start with,

You guys have also caused me distress and open to threatening messages and harassment. You girls have also exposed me to all of your follows to all of my social medias and my location. You guys yourself have insulted, belittled, harassed, bullied, etc etc etc…

Second thing I wanna point out is,

There is 1 messaged in the discord relating to violence. It was said as a joke but I understand the concern. But can we go back to the tweet you made about a Sumerian records employee you made about “beating their ass”… who probably doesn’t even know who the hell you are or had anything to do with the video Sumerian posted on their social media.

So… you’re okay with making threatening statements on others and letting you friends threading me BUT god forbit someone makes 1 joke towards you.

OUR DISCORD CHAT

JULI’S TWEET

The hypocrisy you guys keep spewing needs to stop girl. It truly does. Like I said many times before, I come with receipts.

You have brought people into my private chat to spy on us but you want me to have an open adult conversation with you. So would it be okay for one of my people to be in your guy’s private chat? Your chats with your RB and MG? Would that be alright? Oh right, no… no it wouldn’t. That would be invading your privacy. But it’s okay for you to invade everyone else’s right?

“a punch” vs. “beat her ass” 💀

Anyways,

Enjoy that photo I took of Noah when you cuddle it to sleep at night. You want me to send you some more? 🤔

[nicnacsnonsense]

I see Ed as engaging in three different types of violence, broadly speaking.

1) Violence as an emotional reaction. As stated above Ed actually has a pretty good handle on his temper, so he really only loses it when someone maliciously digs into one of his vulnerable spots. As such, I don’t think he typically regrets this type of violence (with his dad being the big exception) because if he’s at the point that he’s losing his temper, then he’s at the point that even once his temper subsides he’ll still feel the other person deserved it. I think he probably derives some pleasure from this type of violence, just in the very human way of finding violence cathartic when you’re angry, especially when directed at someone who has just hurt you. However, I wouldn’t really say he enjoys this type of violence because my impression is he’d just as soon not be maliciously attacked in his vulnerable spots in the first place.

2) Frat bro violence a la Calico Jack. This type of violence I would say he enjoys, but that’s kind of the point. This is violence being used as a consensual camaraderie building activity between a group of people. Now, there is a problem with the way that Calico Jack does it where people are being “jokingly” harassed and peer pressured into joining in, but I don’t think Ed has realized that that means their consent isn’t genuine. The one time he did become aware that one person hadn’t consented, when they blew up Stede’s armoire without asking first, Ed was immediately apologetic. There’s also the comment he made on the beach about not wanting to cut another guy’s toe off for a laugh anymore which suggests that while Ed has enjoyed this type of violence in the past, he’s not finding it as satisfying anymore.

3) Violence as a tool. I mean, he’s a pirate, violence is going to be a necessary part of the job sometime. This is where I would put cutting off Izzy’s toe btw; it’s not an anger response, it’s a deliberate action to get an insubordinate employee back in line.

This one is a bit fuzzier, but I would guess that he deliberately emotionally distances himself from this kind of violence so he doesn’t have to feel bad about it, which to my knowledge is a pretty normal coping skill in a job that requires violence. But if we were to break through that distance some of it he probably still wouldn’t feel bad about — I doubt he’s ever going to lose any sleep over killing those Spanish naval soldiers — but some of it he probably would feel guilty over some of it. This may be some of what’s going on when Jack is talking about the ship Ed burned down; Jack is deliberately emphasizing the humanity of the people who died in order to horrify Stede, but he ends up cutting through some of Ed’s armor and making him uncomfortable as well.

I have to assume this type of violence can bring Ed satisfaction of a job well done, but I don’t think he gets any sadistic sort of pleasure from it. When he threatens to stab that one French sailor’s eye out, he sounds unhinged while making the actual threat, but immediately prior when speaking to Stede his tone was calm and professional; the unhinged violent man is an act that is an effective way to get the job done. Plus if Ed really enjoyed violence that much, what would be the point of coming up with all those fuckeries?

hey weird question lol but do the people making posts like "fans need to accept that ed is a violent sadist who loves physical violence and stop ignoring all the violence he does on screen” realize that complaining abt fans portraying an indigenous character as not violent enough is a uh. kinda weird stance to take?? lol????

like as of right now it’s kinda up to interpretation how violent ed has been in the past and how genuine ed's sad little "maiming's different, love a good maim" is. personally, i think ed is capable of plenty of violence, but i think his alleged enjoyment of violence has less to do with him having sadistic tendencies and more with enjoying the frat-bro type of camaraderie that comes with engaging in a well-established culture of casual violence among pirates.

some people think ed is less violent than that. i personally disagree with interpretations of ed where he has a gooey innocent marshmallow center (even tho i do love to joke that he's done nothing wrong in his life ever) that's been hidden for years. that interpretation bothers me, but in that petty fandom way where i just roll my eyes and move on.

some people think ed is a cruel sadist who gleefully loves torturing innocents. i disagree with this interpretation, too, but unlike ed woobification this one makes me deeply uncomfortable. and i know i'm not the only person who feels that way. i'm not bothered in a petty fandom way, i'm bothered by the racial implications of interpreting an indigenous character as exceptionally and brutally violent.

and im even more bothered by the ppl who think the fandom's version of ed is not violent enough and make posts about that. like. that's a weird stance to take, and an even weirder one to make posts arguing abt. idk. i think mayyyybe people should take a step back and rethink that that one???

[peoplesgraves]

Yandere verosika x reader x yandere Blitzø!! But blitz and verosika hate each other.

The Choice

Yandere Blitzo X Reader X Yandere Verosika

“Ugh Verosika. You haven’t been banned from this club for being a drunken whore yet?” Blitzo glares at the succubus opposite him.

The pair stand stiff like they’re in a western about to draw. The air around them is tense but everywhere else in the club is pulsing with demonic life.

“Blitzo. Usually I’d be glad to insult you until someone more important came along but I have something more important to do.” She waves her hand in a shooing motion and turns away from the imp.

He rolls his eyes and turns back to the bar as well. Tapping his foot impatiently as he waits for shift change and mumbling what a piece of shit Verosika is under his breath.

Shift change comes not a moment too soon and both demons rush the bar as you take the previous bartenders place. You smile at the pair and prepare yourself to milk them of all the money they had. “Hey it’s you guys. I don’t think you’ve ever both come to visit me at the same time”

Both demons break their gaze from you to glare at each other. Ordinarily they wouldn’t ignore you for anything but Blitzo and Verosika had a past and tonight would finally decide the biggest loser of their relationship.

“Oh you sucubitch. No way are you going anywhere near them. You’ll give them super herpes or something!” He puts a hand in his hip and uses his free hand to poke Verosika’s chest like a child would.

Verosika only rolls her eyes “oh like you’re any better. Aren’t you in some freaky relationship with the bird prince? Oh and your employees. That’s like sexual harassment.” She crosses her arms and smirks, leaning down to be closer to his level “even in hell that’s not cool Blitzo.”

Blitzo starts to respond until he’s cut off by you. Both look distraught at having been seen like that by you and are surprised to see you snickering.

“Wow and I thought my relationships sucked. You guys must’ve really hated each other.” Both rolls their eyes

“Understatement of the year. Look clearly we both like you and hate eachother so you have to chose.” Blitzo throws a thumb over his shoulder and points to the packed dance floor “I’ll be on the dance floor shaking what satan gave me, join me once you kick this bitch to the curb.”

He disappears in the crowd and Verosika speaks her piece. Her eyes are half lidded and her voice is silky smooth. “Meet me in the bathroom and I’ll make you fall in love.” She reapplies her lipgloss and gives a winning smile. “I know you’ll make the right choice.” She blows a kiss and disappears just like Blitzo had.

[superhero--imagines]

idk if I can handle going through my Percy Jackson phase again but your beach date with him was just so cute<3 what other dates do you think he would like?

Ahhh there’s so many!

Late Night Food Date

I don’t think it’s a secret that New York is the city that never sleeps.

Which means more often than not you and Percy end up harassing some poor college student at three in the morning with your McDonald’s order.

You trade bits of banter and conversation over fries and ice cream—you’re convinced the employee has a soft spot for you since they didn’t tell you the machine was broken— laughing when he insists on feeding you a fry.

And he looks at you, with sauce all over the corner of your mouth, like your the best things he’s ever seen.

Bookstore dates

Let me preface this by saying Percy himself doesn’t inherently like bookstore dates.

But if you like bookstore dates? Then yeah, he likes bookstore dates—always has. 😤

It’s hard for him to sit still, so if you’re growing for a book in one spot, or you’ve popped it open to read the first few pages, he’ll say he’ll be back.

Usually he’ll pace around the store, he always comes back with a gift. Either coffee/juice or pastries, or sometimes books or stationary he thinks you might like.

He has a picture of you sitting on an arm chair reading a book in the fancy four story Barnes and Noble from uptown in his wallet he stared at when he misses you.

Target/Whole Foods/Grocery Store Dates

So this one is like half an errand because you’re usually doing Sally’s grocery shopping to give her a break but—

He loves the domesticity of it, walking around the store with you, pushing a cart while you scan the grocery list.

Sometimes you guys pretend that you’re a married couple, making up outrageous stories/arguments when you notice people are eavesdropping.

But in his head it kind of feels like you are, especially when you point to a candle or a couch and say: “Wouldn’t that look so nice in out living room when we get our own place?”

He’s just waiting to make it official.

He likes other dates too, like going out for dinner or watching a movie, or even just hanging out at each other’s houses, but I think these are his favorite!

[jarofstyles]

hey besties, pls do a football player Harry (soccer in case ur american lol) and physical therapist y/n !!

I know absolute shit all about football (soccer bc we are American) but we can give it a go!!! Plz don’t be mad I don’t know anything about it cause it’s ✨make believe ✨

If you like this, check out our Patreon!

—-

He was a little shit.

A beautiful, charming, irritating, little shit.

When Y/N has signed on for this team, being the medic was something she had been passionate about for years. Having her own accident and making it so she couldn’t properly play anymore, it was her mission to still be involved in the game so how. Y/N’s own injury and healing process had her become more and more interested in the profession, and here she was.

It wasn’t everything she had dreamed of, as nothing ever was, but it was good. She got to sit field-side every game, close to the action. And every injury she got first look at. She helped the guys with their stretches, their previous injuries and keeping them from Re-injuring themselves, taking care of them and making sure their physical shape was the best it could be.

In general? She was happy. But there was one man who was a thorn in her side and a pain in her crotch.

Harry Styles.

The man who decided it was his personal mission to follow her around like a puppy dog. Popping up in her singular moments of peace during game day. Texting her and asking about very, very small twists of ankles and giving her the ‘🥺 maybe you should come and look at it…’ whenever he did so.

Not to mention his complete and utter want to get into her pants.

Now it wasn’t as if she couldn’t handle a few sexual jokes. Y/N was a big girl and knew 99% of the time, the guys on the team knew their limit. And Harry? Harry, in reality, was a gentleman. Never touched her inappropriately, ever. But the problem was… she kind of wanted him to.

There was no actual clause against staff members and players being together or hooking up. Nope, just frowned upon. Maybe a slap on the wrist. However Y/N knew, she knew that the moment anyone caught wind of her potential affections for any team member or acting on it? It would end with everyone thinking she slept with them to get the job.

Y/N worked long and hard. Tireless hours for make sure these men were healthy, fit, and at their best. She wouldn’t sleep with anyone for any job, and she was actually respected by this team which was something a lot of women weren’t in this field. She could not and would not throw it away for a good dicking.

Fuck, did she want to sometimes.

—-

Harry had these hands. The perfect hands, in her opinion. Big, strong with thinner fingers. Long fingers. A good sized palm, not overly veiny, just perfection in male hand scales. Luckily (or unluckily, whatever way you’d put it) she got to handle them often.

“S’sore today, doc.” He winced, sitting on the table in front of her. Harry’s wrist throbbed. It was rainy, and it was usually a wreck when it was the perfect condition. The ache was annoying, and he knew she had a solution.

Her lips pouted softly as she gently took the hand in place, thumbing over the part of the wrist where rhe injury had occurred. She had learned a while ago where to press, how to rub and get it to lessen before she wrapped it up. “Yeah… old injuries tend to never let you forget.” She sighed, pushing her glasses up into her hair.

Harry never could get over how fucking gorgeous Y/N was. From her nose to her lips, the pretty sparkle in her eye, the curve of her hip… he was obsessed. Not to mention the fact that she was so gentle with him. So kind and sweet, though he knew he got on her nerves with his teasing sometime. She could handle it and he always tried to watch to make sure he wasn’t going too far, but he couldn’t help it.

He was a silly boy with a bit fat crush.

Y/N didn’t bite for any of them. Everyone had attempted when she first came on, testing the waters. Her pretty face was welcome to all the blokes in the team, and there was something incredibly attractive about a woman who could heal. Nonetheless, she never gave in to anything.

In Harry’s case, he knew it was different. He could see her smile at some jokes, see her get the bumps on her skin when he brushed her a certain way. But she avoided the eye contact. Avoided the touches. And it drove him mad.

Of course she wouldn’t know he had actual feelings for him because he was a giant coward most of the time. He hid his affection in the dirty jokes and the teasing squeezes of her waist and teasing. He was a thick skinned man but a full rejection form her would hurt.

Her soft fingers gently massaged over the wrist, making him groan. His head tilted back and he let it out, hissing slightly when she pressed too hard. “Oooh, don’t worry sweetheart. Y’know I like it to hurt a little.” His wide smirk made her roll her eyes huffing under her breath.

Y/N was not having a great day. She had been harassed by an Ex all fucking night over her new job. Making all the damn assumptions that she was getting ‘trained by the team’ in a much more vulgar way, and she had cried half the night. To say she wasn’t in the mood was an understatement, but she was trying.

Harry was not what she needed today, because it made her feel worse. Her blatant attraction to him made her feel guilty. She should be professional and leave it with. The way she had squeeze her legs tighter while he groaned didn’t help her case. The ugly words of how they’ only kept her around for a potential fuck’ was ringing in her head.

Harry though, he was a little oblivious. Her hands were so talented, and he didn’t watch her face for once as she hit a good spot again and he let out another remark.

“Jesus, that’s good. Do those magic hands work everywhere?”

That was the straw that broke her. It wasn’t his fault necessarily, he was just playing. But her eyes watered, hand yanking away as she turned from him, walking over to the bench. Trying to compose herself was hard as the tears burned so hard in her eyes, hands shaking slightly.

Harry startled, not used to that. She never flinched away like that, never ignored his remark and walked away. Usually told him to fuck off, rolled her eyes, something. But the energy in the room immediately shifted and he was uncomfortable. What had happened?

Cautiously, he cleared his throat and stood up from the bench, licking over his dry lips as he spoke again. “Uh… Y/N?”

“S’all I’m good for, right?” She muttered under her breath. Frantically wiping under her eyes she tried to focus on the paper in front of her but she could feel Harry approaching.

He furrowed his brow, not sure if he heard correctly. “Wha-“

Y/N whipped around fast, eyes teary and wet. “I said, that’s all I’m good for right? Only good for my hands and sex and all that pleasure you can get from me?” She hissed. “Only good for a romp in the sheets and a pretty face to heal your wounds and put on band aids. Only good to make you get off and feel good and then what? I’m left here with nothing.”

The tears left her, her hands shaking as she grabbed her bag. Harry felt his stomach drop. Never, ever had he wanted to make her feel like that. Her crying? That wasn’t something he ever wanted to see again. He felt like he had taken a ball to the gut, hard. Those eyes he adored being full of pain, full of tears was his own personal hell.

“Y/N… wait, I’m so sorry, I didn’t-“ he tried to follow her to the door, stopping abruptly when she lifted a hand up to him. Her stomping had made him nervous. Now she was leaving without talking to him and he felt like a complete dick. It was their normal teasing, but he had crossed a line.

“Don’t. Just…. Just leave me alone. I’m going home.”

—-

As much as Harry had wanted to chase after her, he had already made her cry once. He wasn’t risking it again.

The icky, gross feeling in his stomach followed him all day. He was gutted. Not only has he apparently crossed a line with someone he respected, he had a fucking crush on her. The man was convinced no other feeling was worse than a crush being angry at him. Even if it sounded juvenile to place it like that.

Harry liked Y/N. He never ever wanted to make her upset in any capacity, let alone feeling like a sex object or violated. He prided himself on respecting women. And he had fucking failed. He needed to make it right, and fast.

-

He had found her address. In her employee file, and he knew that was bad but he needed to check on her. Regardless of what happened beforehand, she was upset by him enough to leave and go home and he wanted to make sure she was genuinely okay.

It was an overstep and Harry knew it. He had to try, though.

He arrived at her door step with a box of cupcakes and some flowers. Gently kicking the floor, he heard the door open and his heart broke a little more.

Y/N standing in front of him with swollen eyes. She had been crying, seemingly a lot. And she looked upset still. Though he expected her to close the door in his face and tell him to fuck off. But she didn’t.

Instead, she broke into tears again, throwing herself into his chest. Her arms wrapping around his waist, he nearly tumbled over but righted himself as he startled. Quickly he found himself recovering, wrapping his free arm around her and holding her. He was able to maneuver slightly and drop the cupcakes on her entry table, flowers as well before having his arms free.

“Hey…. Sweetheart, what’s the matter?” He whispered softly, gently placing a hand on her back. Rubbing it up and down, letting her cry into his tee shirt. It was worrying. Whatever happened was beyond him, but he wasn’t going to let that take away from the fact he had added and made it worse.

“I’m sorry.” Her muffled response was sobbed into his shirt. “I’m sorry for yelling… and saying you thought those things, you were playing and I…” she pulled back worth tear streaked cheeks and Harry’s look of pure concern making her lip wobble. “You didn’t do it. It was… he kept sayin’ that all the team wants is in my pants, and you make me feel guilty because you’re so…. Beautiful, and I never slept with anyone to get this job! Never. And then he wouldn’t leave me alone-“ she hiccuped, looking up at Harry as he caressed the back of her head.

“Who, lovely? Who wouldn’t leave you alone?” He asked with a calm tone. Of course he wasn’t. Someone was harassing her. And Harry would fucking take care of it. It boiled his blood to think of someone making her feel less than.

“My ex.” She sniffled again, slowly calming. Harry had that quality, she thinks. “He-He broke up with me for taking the job. Said… said that I was going to be a personal whore for all of you. And not do my job.” She took a shuddery breath. It was embarrassing admitting this to him, but he had been on the receiving end for a meltdown that wasn’t his to fix.

“Well, can I tell you something?” He brought his thumb up to wipe away some of the sticky tears from her cheeks. “You arent. You’re no one’s whore. You’re a respected, talented and intelligent member of our staff. You so happen to be incredibly beautiful, which obviously makes people find you more bewitching… but I know that we all look at you as a professional talent. They may have tried their luck at the beginning but you laid down the law quickly and they all understood.” He whispered.

“Me? I was trying my luck, because you’re incredible. And I think you’re lovely. But that isn’t a conversation for now. Let’s make some tea, hm? Relax. I brought you some cupcakes. I need to properly apologize for being inappropriate to you. Regardless if it was a joke…”

—

He sat next to her on her couch. The poor girl was better now, washing her face and a mug of tea in hand while Harry had helped himself to a vase and put the flowers inside. Carnations. He thought they were pretty, didn’t know the name until Y/N had fawned over them.

“I’m sorry for freaking out on you.” She said softly, her big sweatshirt swallowing her up. Before Harry could interrupt, she put a finger up. “I know that you were just playing, Harry. I let you flirt with me like that. And I enjoy it.” She could feel herself get warm in the face. “If you’ve noticed, I let you get away with it. I enjoy it. And you didn’t do anything out of line. I was sensitive… I was still raw and I hadn’t had much sleep because he had blown up my phone and regardless he was telling me things he said in person over and over again. So…” Y/N shifted in her seat and used her sweater paws to bring the drink to her lips. “When you came in… I felt guilty for finding you attractive. For liking what you said to me.”

Harry sat for a moment, quiet. So she had liked it…. And felt guilty. Now knowing the context? It made sense. For the life of him he was trying not to hold in to the fact that she enjoyed it, but he couldn’t. It made him excited.

“Okay. That makes sense. Usually.. I do a better job at reading your physical cues. Sometimes I can see something isn’t the right thing to say because you’re tense already. But I was in my own world cause you were making the pain go away and I felt good. It isn’t an excuse, though.” He gently grabbed her hand once she set down her warm tee, thumbing over the knuckles.

“I felt like such a dick. I still do. You know that? And it isn’t because I’m attracted to you. But it’s because I didn’t think about the position I’m putting you in by flirting.” He moved a little closer. “I would never try and jeopardize your job. I’ve been blinded by my own feelings for a while and I was trying to feel it out but I didn’t think to think it was because someone else or a group of people would look down at you for it.” He frowned.

It was so unfair. They wouldn’t care if he slept with her. But they’d ridicule her for sleeping with him.

“I just want to let you know now as well… I wasn’t trying to come on to you to have a hookup.” He hummed. “The feelings I’ve got are genuine. Alright? They aren’t just too get into your pants. And I never want you to feel as though that’s your only purpose. Ever. You have so much worth, and while I’m positive you don’t need me to tell you that, I want tok anyways.”

He was unreal. She really thinks so. How did a man just… be like him. He was a fan favorite and had charm but behind the scenes he was even better than anything they said.

“Yeah. I think I was afraid. Because… I’m the same, you know?” She shyly admitted. “You’re charming and I didn’t want to admit I let your charm get to me, but it has. It has very much. And I like you. I don’t know what to do about it, but I think it’s only fair I admit it myself as well when you’ve put yourself out on the line.”

Harry’s grin grew, dimples pocketing in his cheeks. She liked him back. His heart was ringing in his ears, the shy little look into her eyes making him want to explode. Fucking adorable girl making him feel such intense emotions…. It was incredible.

Thank god. He thought he was going insane.

“We don’t have to do anything in the sense of our job right now. But since we both know… would you want to explore it? I would say privately. Just get to know each other better. Talk. Hang out. Cook food together… maybe kiss.” He smirked slightly at the end, making her let out a laugh. Her laugh soothed his Damn soul.

“I think I’d like that.”

——

Part II maybe? Who knows

[lonelier-version-of-you]

It’s funny you say that, because it was days before the start of series 18 that we got the interview with Simon Harper, Series Producer at the time, where he literally said Henrik shouldn’t get storylines because then he wouldn’t be mysterious enough, and he was better off as the moral compass in other people’s stories. https://www.digitalspy.com/soaps/holby-city/a672662/holby-city-producer-simon-harper-reveals-more-story-teasers-well-crack-hanssen-open-again/

“That's a really interesting question because the thing about Hanssen and why he works so beautifully is that he is an enigma. You could say that he was always a bit quiet - that's kind of the whole point of him. The great thing about Hanssen is that he always looms beautifully in other people's stories. He's the moral centre, the captain of the hospital, and the conscience of the other characters who keeps them on the right track. In a sense, to keep Hanssen as Hanssen, you never want him to give away too much.”

I assume the reason Henrik’s character got fucked up so badly in his second stint (he was originally on the show from series 13 to series 15, then returned in series 17) is that his creator, Justin Young, was no longer working on the show (he left when Henrik/Guy Henry did). Without Justin Young, the rest of the team didn’t seem to know how to write Henrik, and we ended up with a version of him that felt more like it was written based off fandom misinterpretations of the character than who Henrik actually was. (Henrik in his first stint got a lot of the reactions that male characters - particularly white ones - who go around being rude to everyone tend to get: praise for “telling it like it is”, despite the fact that he was actually just being a bully. He was getting romanticised by viewers long before he got romanticised by the show. The amount of victim-blaming towards Sahira there’s been over the years is absolutely disgusting. So many people who think it was in some way her fault Henrik harassed her.)

If you think he’s bad when it comes to bullying his employees now, just wait until you see series 13 and 14! Back then, he didn’t even need a reason to be angry at or upset with or dislike them in order to be mean to them. He was just an absolute twat to everyone from the start. To be blunt, it’s no wonder he basically had no friends back then. The only people he was even sort of nice to were Antoine Malick and Tara Lo, and even with them he started out quite cold and harsh (with Malick, I’m not sure he ever really stopped), he just also showed affection towards them and interest/enthusiasm/respect for them as doctors. (He was more openly affectionate towards Tara, I recall - not that that’s saying a lot - than he was to Malick. That may be because Tara was more like a daughter to him, whereas he seemed to see himself in Malick. Malick was also openly gay, btw, which makes Henrik seeing himself in him very interesting, especially as there weren’t really any other hints of Henrik being bi until John Gaskell turned up.) That’s the case with his staff, anyway - him with patients was different (he was usually at least professional with them, though his bedside manner still sucked; with vulnerable patients, like young people or abuse victims, he could be lovely).

Series 15, imo, was where he really peaked as a character. He’d moved past the cold, villainous role of his early seasons, but they hadn’t moved into “he’s the moral compass” yet. (Plus, he’d been on the show for a couple of years by that point, so he’d been well developed; and, most importantly, Justin Young was still working on the show.) He’d become more of an anti-hero (insert Taylor Swift reference here - I think that song is really fitting for him, actually), which I think is probably the role that suited him best. The exploration of his character in that series is wonderful. I highly recommend watching it, or at least watching the Henrik highlights: S15E01 “The Third Way”, S15E04 “If Not For You”, S15E13 “Hanssen/Hemingway”, S15E42 “Never Let Me Go”, S15E50 “Fredrik”, S15E51 “The Cost of Loving”/S15E52 “Like A Prayer” (the last two are a two-parter).

“Also I’ve noticed that when Henrik rights a situation he feels he’s been responsible for, he often veers into a solution in the extreme. It’s painted as making amends but in reality he’s holding just a tight a grip on things as before, if not tighter. Usually his first reaction to solving a situation isn’t actually growth.” He REALLY does; the man has some serious control issues that his second stint didn’t fully address.

“And I can’t speak for actions in past seasons or excuse them because I haven’t seen them, but it seems to me that a lot of his issues come from an overwhelming need to blend into the world around him and repress the things within him that would cause him not to “fit in”.” I pretty much agree with this. The way he goes about it is quite interesting and unusual, though. Rather than trying to be “normal”, per se, he tries to be weird in a more socially acceptable way - you may have noticed he deflects a lot of his autistic traits onto “I’m weird because I’m Swedish!!”, or allows people to think he’s being difficult on purpose (not that he isn’t actually difficult on purpose a lot of the time as well, lmao). I think part of his coldness is certainly him trying to push people away, so they don’t get too close to him and see him as he really is. (I’m talking about his general cold/rude attitude, particularly in his early episodes, here. The Sahira stuff is separate - there’s a lot of headcanons/theories/implications that could possibly tie into why he treated her the way he did, but it’s a lot to get into and I feel like it deserves its own post.)

“I don’t know if that comes from him being autistic, bisexual, depressed, or a combination of all three.” I think it’s all three, plus him having grown up at boarding school. I can’t imagine him having had an easy time fitting in there, as a Jewish kid from Sweden in what was probably a school filled with English Christian boys. He has serious identity issues and I think the boarding school thing and him being an immigrant are a big reason for that. I’ve actually written meta about this before, if you’d like to read it (no spoilers, apart from me mentioning how Henrik introduces himself to Roxanna in the flashback episode, lol): https://lonelier-version-of-you.tumblr.com/post/679829684428701696/do-you-think-henrik-ever-tried-to-anglicize-his

“But then it bothers me that when he can clearly see time and again that he needs help, he doesn’t seek therapy. He just leaves the hospital for a bit and returns when he’s deemed he’s put himself back together enough.” Yep, yep, yep. This is a massive issue of his. (Also, thanks for saying this and then immediately mentioning the hospital shooting, because that pretty much tells me where you’re at in the show - after “Group Animal”, but before “Blind Spot”.) There are references to him getting therapy in future episodes, both him having it in the present and him having had it in the past (personally, I think that was after Sahira left, because his respect for consent improved greatly after that and he even got a bit of a handle on his anger issues), but overall he doesn’t seek help nearly as much as he should.

“Also I don’t know what made his family situation so messed up,” Oh, please do watch “Hanssen/Hemingway”. I could explain the plot, but the episode itself is just really worth watching, and it explains all of this. If you need any more convincing, it was written by Justin Young himself, and filmed on location in Stockholm so the scenery is GORGEOUS. The short version of why Henrik’s family situation is so messed up, though, is that it’s to do with his mother being a Holocaust survivor (his depression was strongly hinted to be because of intergenerational trauma, though this is another thing that got ignored in his second stint) and his father having used the Nazi data for research. The way that led to his parents’ marriage falling apart, and ultimately his mother’s suicide, made Henrik scared of committing to a relationship or having a family because he didn’t want to fail his partner like his father failed his mother.

So when Maja (his girlfriend, Fredrik’s mum) got pregnant, Henrik walked out on her, thinking she and his child would both be better off without him. Maja ended up marrying her and Henrik’s mutual friend, Nils, who raised Fredrik alongside her. When Henrik returned to Sweden for the first time in years in “Hanssen/Hemingway”, Maja asked him if he’d like to meet Fredrik, but Henrik refused; the same thing happened again when Maja visited Holby in “Never Let Me Go”. Eventually, in “Like A Prayer”, Henrik decided to move back to Sweden and reconcile with Maja (who had just got divorced from Nils) and meet Fredrik. But after a while, Henrik ended up running back to England (the reasons he left Maja and Fredrik again were never actually explained, but presumably his fear of commitment got to him again), came back to Holby, and, well... you know what happened from there.

I do agree Henrik treated Fredrik awfully at Holby (though it’s kind of understandable, given the whole medication trial thing). I don’t think Fredrik was mentally unwell, though. If anything I’d say the show went out of its way to point out that Fredrik was not mentally ill. He even denies it himself in “Losing Game”:

Henrik: “Can I ask you one thing? Have you ever suffered... as I have?”

Fredrik: “If you’re asking ‘do I have depression’... no. I’m afraid I don’t quite share your temperament. Your weakness of will.”

Fredrik was undeniably pretty miserable in every appearance he made (every speaking appearance, anyway; I’m not counting his cameo at the end of “Like A Prayer”), and was even self-medicating with his own antidepressants, but I think that misery had a very specific source: the death of Nils. That would also explain why Henrik and Fredrik seemed to be on good terms up until Nils died (I know the explanation Fredrik gives is that Henrik wasn’t there to support him in his grief, but I don’t think that’s the whole reason): when Nils was alive, Fredrik didn’t need to seek out a replacement for him. He could just take Henrik as he was. Henrik may have been Fredrik’s biological father, but in many ways, Nils was his real father - and that was all well and good while Nils was alive, but once he died, Fredrik was desperately looking to Henrik to be Nils. And Henrik couldn’t give him that.

So yeah, Fredrik didn’t have any actual psychiatric disorders imo. He was just consumed by grief, and the combination of that, plus Anders’ (Henrik’s father’s) influence on him, plus Fredrik being exactly the sort of privileged white man who gets led to believe everything revolves around them, is why he did what he did. (Disappointing that the show was so clear on Fredrik being neurotypical, and then turned around and blamed certain other characters’ evilness on mental illness, but what can you do I guess.)

Also: “Sometimes the logic is removed from the show for the sake of drama and that bothers me.” I hate to have to tell you this, but if you’re on series 20, then you have reached the point (well, nearly reached it - I’d say it’s around the middle of the series, although I suppose in reality it started with the Fredrik storyline) where all logic is officially removed from the show forever and it just becomes a ton of sensationalist nonsense. My apologies. You’re gonna have to go back to older series if you want to see the show being at all realistic or logical from this point on.

“How do you think he’s doing?”

“With Henrik Hanssen, it’s hard to tell.”

No it’s not!! You can see that ham spiralling from miles away. He is not mentally well and you’re blind if you can’t see that!!