#cut them some slack Jesus fucking Christ

[aithusarosekiller]

Mainly aimed towards marauders fans bc I see a lot of people being really aggressive about it there but:

💫 Not liking fanon characterisation doesn't make you better than the people who do 💫

Someone changing a character to fit how they enjoy seeing them isn't a crime bc it's a fictional character

Making a character queer in canon content isn't ruining them and it doesn't make the writing cheap or stupid

You can address harmful stereotypes without being a bitch and shutting down entire perceptions of the character because it isn't usually the older writers and artists creating flawed presentations and it's certainly not all of them, you're just being dramatic and trying to demonise an exploration of a character that you don't agree with.

Reminder that a lot of fandom creators especially in the marauders and ofmd fandoms are minors. Young teenagers writing in their school break don't need to be screamed at and called homophobes or racists for making accidentally including a stereotype into the character, they may appreciate being warned about the misconceptions so they can correct them...but berating creators and saying they're all fucking everything up and destroying everything is not helpful; it's mean and they aren't going to take your advice, they're just never going to write again. If you don't like the characterisation just fucking ignore it like the rest of us.

You're a dick 🥰

[theotherbuckley]

“I need a hair cut,” Evan says offhandedly one morning, his fingers running through his apparently too long strands.

Tommy’s gaze snaps away from the paper held in his hands to Evan. He’s shakes his head, opens his mouth before shutting it again, thinking through his words.

“If you— if you want to,” Tommy says, trying to be supportive of his boyfriend’s decisions whilst already mourning the loss of his Evan’s perfect hair.

“Do you— do you not think I should?” Evan asks, looking over to Tommy. He’s still got his fingers in his hair, brushing the loose curls away from his eyes.

“I— I think it’s cute,” Tommy admits, dropping his gaze and blushing slightly.

“You do?” Evan says, almost in awe. Tommy’s always found it ridiculously adorable how receptive his boyfriend is to praise.

“Yeah, baby. It’s my favourite thing to play with,” he replies.

Evan’s eyes light up, a cheeky glint forming in them, and he smiles. “Your favourite thing to play with?” He says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Absolute dork.

Tommy rolls his eyes fondly. “Second favourite,” he mutters, shaking his head.

Evan smirks. “Okay, well, I still need to cut my hair because it’s getting in my eyes at work. And ever since Eddie grew his moustache, Gerrard has been extra vigilant about everyone’s appearance.”

Tommy winces slightly at the mention of the fire captain, memories of the years of emotional repression and his own wrongdoings rising to the forefront of his mind every time the man was talked about. Tommy tries to shake out the thoughts of the man, focusing instead of the gorgeous man in front of him.

“That’s fair,” Tommy agrees. “But uh— well, if you wanted to keep the curls a bit, I wouldn’t be opposed.” That’s an understatement, he loves Evan’s curls, loves how soft they make him look, how they feel under his hands when he runs his fingers through them, loves how he can tug on them and how loudly Evan responds when he does.

Evan smiles at him, his grin almost blinding like the sun — warm and bright, giving Tommy no other option but to smile back.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Evan says, nodding to himself like it’s the most important thing in the world.

Tommy doesn’t get to see the look until two days later. He’s just come off of a gruelling 24-hour shift, with plans to spend the night at Evan’s house. They’ve been together long enough now that he doesn’t feel he has to dress up for the occasion, not that he doesn’t like to put a little effort in for his man, but he can come home after a long shift and cuddle up with his boyfriend like there’s no where else he’s meant to be.

Tommy unlocks the door of Evan’s apartment, smiling softly as he uses the key Evan had recently given him, still unable to contain his joy at the fact that he gets to have this. He wanders over to the lounge, hearing the sound of the TV playing.

Tommy freezes when he spots his boyfriend. He’s laying on the couch, wrapped in a blanket because that man was always cold. He looks ridiculously cute snuggled up on the couch, but that isn’t what stops Tommy in his tracks.

Nope.

Peaking out of the blankets is Evan’s gorgeous face with his pretty pink lips matching the shade of his birthmark. His hair has been cut, sideburns faded away at the sides, the sides and back of his hair having lost some of their weight, and on top lay light brown curls perfectly fluffy, looking so soft. Tommy needed to run his fingers through.

“Hey,” Evan says, shuffling slightly where he sits so that he can look over at Tommy. Tommy who’s currently staring slack jawed at his head, practically drooling over the sight of him.

“Oh yeah,” Evan says, pointing up to his head. “Do you like it?”

Tommy blinks. “Do I— Do I like it?” Tommy lets out a small laugh. “Jesus fucking Christ, Evan,” he says, finally regaining control of his body as he stalks towards his boyfriend.

Evan tilts his head, confused, but it doesn’t last long because Tommy’s on him in an instant, pressing his lips firmly against Evan’s, swallowing any question that he was going to ask. “Do you. Have any idea. How fucking hot. You look right now?” Tommy says, kissing Evan’s irresistible lips between words.

The corner of Evan’s lips tilt upwards against Tommy’s lips as he smiles. “So you like it?” Evan whispers into Tommy’s mouth, seeking confirmation which Tommy is very happy to provide.

Tommy moves back slightly to slide his fingers through his hair. It’s just as soft as they look. Tommy grins at Evan, “I fucking love it,” he says, closing his fingers around some strands and tugging, pulling Evan until their mouths join once more. Tommy swallows the moans that Evan lets out at the action, gripping him close.

Fuck, he is the luckiest man alive.

[sanguineterrain]

window pains | jason todd

Summary: He's got a habit of coming in through the window. You want him to start staying... and using the door. 

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader 

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings/tags: injured Jason Todd (he's okay dw), angst, pining, mentions of Jason's death.

A/N: sooo.... i guess i'm a dc girlie now. just a reminder that every character i write will always be 18+!!! this is probably canon divergent but we make our own canon.

If you like this fic and want to see more, please let me know through reblogs ♡

the divider

"Can't you enter my apartment like a normal person?"

"You know who you're talking to, right?"

"You're getting blood on my carpet, Todd."

It doesn't really matter. He'll come back and scrub it out as soon as his ribs are whole. And fuck if he's not good at getting blood out of surfaces. Jason Todd ought to start a housekeeping column. 

You catch his limp as he climbs over the windowsill. It almost topples him, but he gets to the couch before it does. He doesn't make a sound. 

That had freaked you out the first few times he'd stumbled through your window. Once, he came with part of a windshield wiper impaled in his shoulder. He'd lain on your couch so still and so quiet, you'd thought Red Hood had croaked in your apartment. Which would not have been a good look for you. Or maybe it would. Depends on who you ask. 

Sometimes you want to tell him to make sounds. To hiss and grunt and complain. To grab your wrist so you'll slow down as you pull thread through flesh. 

But it's not your place to request such a thing. You don't know where you reside in Jason Todd's life, but it's not somewhere where you can request to hear him hurt. 

Outwardly, his injuries aren't bad-looking. He takes off his helmet and tosses it somewhere under the coffee table. You offer a hand to help him lie down on the couch—he doesn't take it. 

"Jesus Christ, Jay." You suck in a sharp breath and peel back his bloody suit. "What'd you do?"

"Took a midnight stroll in the Botanical Gardens. Why, what'd you do?"

You frown, eyebrows pinching in the center of your forehead. Jason's stomach is mottled with purple and red bruises. There's a sticky gash right above his hip. A knife. Or a sword, maybe. Apparently, swords are commonplace in Gotham. 

"How'd they get you?" you ask. 

It's a rule-break. Jason's number one policy: don't ask questions.

You always do. Even when it was new, this… thing between you two, you'd ask. Who were they? Why did they hurt you? Did you hurt them back?

The last one, you always know the answer to. 

"There were, like, ten of them," he says. "Cut me some slack, will ya?" 

He has a cut across his lips. A ringed finger that caught on his skin, you guess. You wonder if he'd wince if you kissed him. If he'd wince at the pain or the kiss itself. If you'd know the difference. 

Rage suddenly cuts through you. It makes your hands careless, cruel; you pull the bandage around his waist too tight. Jason coils up slightly. 

"Jesus—ever heard of bedside manner?" he asks, looking at you through his lashes. 

"Ever heard of not breaking into someone's apartment and making them patch you up?"

"I don't make you," Jason says easily. "You wouldn't do it if you didn't want to."

That only increases your rage. Because he's right. You wouldn't be here if you didn't want to be. You'd have kicked him out four first aid kits ago if you minded. 

You yank down his shirt and pack up the kit. Jason shifts on the couch. A sliver of skin above his waistband is still exposed. You have to turn your head to force your gaze away. 

"No bandaids?" he asks. "All my cuts'll be exposed to the elements."

"You can put them on yourself." 

His cheek could use one. And his eyebrow. You're not in the mood. 

Jason doesn't say anything in response to that. You get up to put the kit back under the sink. 

"Can I crash here?" 

"Do what you want," you say, suddenly exhausted. Like it's you who just went six rounds with Gotham's scumbags.

You peek over the kitchen counter when you hear rustling and the couch springs squeak. Jason leans heavily on the arm of the couch, reaching for the window. You walk over and stand in front of him. 

"What're you doing?" you ask. 

"You want me to go," he says flatly. "So I'm going."

"I didn't say that, I said—"

"I can read between the lines." 

"If you could read between the lines as well as you think you can, we wouldn't be in this situation," you say. 

"What situation?"

You turn your head. "Nothing."

Jason steps towards the window. You block him again. 

"What is the matter with you?" you ask. "You're injured. Lie down."

"I'm not your responsibility," he says, glaring. "I'm leaving."

"No, you're not. And since you're allergic to using the door, you don't have a choice."

Jason's eyebrow rises. "Are you saying you'd physically prevent me from leaving?"

You lift your chin. "If that's what it takes."

"Hm. Can't tell if your confidence is stupid or brave."

"Lie the fuck down, Todd."

His lip curls. "I don't stay where I'm not welcome."

Sometimes you forget how young he is. Not that you're not also young, but, well… you don't feel your youth as acutely as other people your age might. It's something you two have in common. 

Here, in the gritty glow of Gotham, you are reminded that Jason Todd died once. Before he finished school. Before he fell in love. 

Your stomach churns every time you see that Y-shaped scar on his torso, strapped over him like a chain. 

"I didn't say that you're not welcome," you say. 

"Yeah, well, you didn't have to."

He sags against the couch and it occurs to you that he's as exhausted as you feel. 

"Can you just—" You touch his bicep. He winces even though there's no injury there. "Can you just lie down?" 

You stare at each other for another minute. Slowly, Jason lays down. His eyes are alert instead of heavy with sleep. Instantly, you feel guilty for making him think he has to be cautious around you. His hand curls protectively over his stomach. 

"Do you want a blanket?" you ask. 

He squints. "It's August."

"I know, I… I thought maybe the blood loss made you cold." 

"'M fine. Perks of being risen from the dead." 

You watch him get settled for a minute. He shifts his weight to his uninjured side and meets your gaze. His eyes are gray in the weak light. 

"You're tired of me," he says. 

Your head snaps up. "No, I'm not."  

"You are."

"I'm not tired of you, Jay."

You see it. The fear. He thinks this is the last time you'll let him in. He doesn't know you can't lock him out. You won't. 

You get up and go to get the kit from the sink again. Jason follows your movement the whole time. His face scrunches in confusion when you sit in front of the couch and unzip the kit. 

You pull out the tiny red bandaids. You'd bought them as a joke, initially. It had made Jason laugh and that had been reason enough to keep buying them. And then he let you actually put them on.

You peel the adhesive off of one and gently stick it on his cheek. He blinks at you, thick, dark lashes kissing the corners of his eyes. 

"I'm not tired of you," you say softly. 

"I'd be tired of me." 

"You keep this city safe. How could I be tired of Gotham's defender?"

Jason scowls and turns his head into the cushion before you can put the second bandaid.  

"I'm not its defender. The others protect this city a hundred times better. Nightwing does it with a smile on his face."

"I like that you go out there even when it's hard, Jay," you say. 

He doesn't respond. You lean in, so close that you can count the freckles on his neck. 

"Can I finish putting the bandaids on?" you ask. 

"I don't need 'em."

"You do. You need another on your forehead."

"It'll heal fine without it."

Your shoulders bunch like a cat on defense. You grab his cheek (gently, always gently) and his head whips to yours in surprise. 

"Jason Todd, I am not tired of you. I'm tired of the fact that you only come by when you need fixing."

He scowls. "I never asked you to fix me. If you want me to leave, I'll leave."

"I don't want you to leave, I want you to stay!" you burst. 

Jason scoffs. "No, you don’t. I'll overstay my welcome real fast."

"Maybe I care about you on purpose!" you say, voice rising. "Maybe I didn't stumble through a window; maybe I walked through the door and bought the bandaids and learned how to stitch wounds because I wanted to."

He suddenly looks overcome by grief. The agony in his face startles you. 

"I don't know how to use the door anymore," he says quietly. "All I do is stumble through windows."

Your hand slips off of his cheek. Jason closes his eyes; they fly open when you stick the second bandaid above his eyebrow. 

"You can come in any way you want to," you say, face an inch away from his. "As long as you come back to me."

His gaze darts to your mouth. You don't kiss him hard. He breaks anyway.

You avoid the right side of his mouth entirely, not wanting to pull at his cut. Jason shudders into your mouth. You cup his pulse through his neck and it quickens.

His eyes are wet when you pull away. His chest heaves like he's been swinging through the city. 

"I wanna try to use the door," he says. 

You touch the bandaid on his cheek, humming. 

"Then I'll leave it unlocked." 

[serxinns]

The Hero awaits but With a deadly fate: Chapter 3

A/n:finally its been done I hope you enjoy it whatndo you thimk happens next tell me in the comments! Also f for reader for going through this shit lol

"Hey....mina!" You awkwardly hugged her, slowly patting her on the back. "We've missed you so much! It's been years!" She sniffles, trying to hold back tears. "Look how much you grown!" Laughed Kirishima as he patted you hard you glared as he gave you a shark tooth grin

"And look at those muscles you've been working out baby?~" Denki said as he poked and played with your muscular arms. "I can't believe your dumbass thought running away was an option" "Oh, cut them some slack. They were probably scared and confused right, y/n?" You ignored Jiro's comments slowly looking around to try and find a way to escape

I gotta find a way outta here and away from these psychos!

You thought to yourself, trying to think of a way out of this; there, you spotted a door that read exit. "Wait, why are you all dressed up in that.." Mina narrowed her eyes at your clothing. You gulped, trying to build up some sort of excuse. "I just wanted to play dress up!" "You never wanted to wear these types of clothes back in high school. You even said you hated that style," Sero glared at you. "Well, I like it NOW! You know people change over the years"

Denki noticed something on your left arm and grabbed it,and pulled up the ssleeve. "What the fuck!?" Denki said as the other catch glanced at what he was aiming at and everyone stood silent "Who the fuck did this" Bakugo glared as the others looked concerned

Cmon y/n think of something ANYTHING

"I....got this a while ago" (...WHAT KIND OF REASONING IS THAT!? ) Your thoughts degraded you for your choice of words as you wanted to slap yourself in the face so bad "Really y/n We aren't 1st graders.." sero said rolling his eyes "and this cut wasn't a while ago cause the womb is still fresh and bleeding" Kirishima added, you were very concern and a bit tense the way he said it so casually, jirou the grabbed your arm and observed the craved wording slowly

"Himiko got you didn't they" Jirou bluntly said as she stared at you with a stern look "That stupid blond bitch got to you 1st!?" Denki's words were laced with shock and venom as the others started crowding around you, waiting for you to respond "No, really, it was-" "Cut the shit, y/n. Who else has HT in their name!?" You slowly backed away from the raging blonde. "I...i"

They all started cornering you blocking your way to escape while you stood back in fear not uttering a simple word until a horrifying familiar voice called out

"Kacchan? Why are you at the abandoned parking lot damnit! I told you to meet us at the abounded agency down the street"

No...NO NO NO NO NOT HIM PLEASE NOT HIM

They all turned toward the green-freckled boy... Izuku Midoriya behind him were Iida, momo, Ochako, tsuyu, and Todoroki all glaring at them looking impatient Mina quickly hid you behind Denki and Sero while Sero covered your mouth shut you tried struggling out of their grip but it was useless despising your lack of energy

"Ugh fuck off, shitty nerd, it's none of your business," Bakugo barked; izuku then turned his gaze onto yours as you quickly hid behind the 2 males praying he didn't recognize you. "Say, who's that person you're hiding?" Izuku's grin widened maliciously

Denki and Sero gulped sweat pouring down their face "Just a nobody thats all" Denki quickly replied iida rolled his eyes "Oh please do you idiots think we'll believe that" Just when they were about to protest a hand touched their chest as they started to float up

"HEY, PUT US DOWN, OCHAKO!" the 2 boys yelled, squirming around. Ochako scoffed as she set her gaze on you. She was stunned as you awkwardly waved at her. "Um, hi..."

Jesus Christ, I just wanna go home...I hope Eris safe

"Y/NNNNN!!" She then jumped and tackled you, almost making your trip as Tsuyu, momo, and Iida joined in the hug, checking for injuries as the others glared at each other "Hey, why didn't you inform us you found y/n the fuck happened to the deal?" He narrowed his eyes

Can someone just pull a trigger and kill me already..

"Oh shut up we found them 1st! And there's no way we would let you keep them, especially with YOU." The green hair then laughed humorlessly at his rival. "HA! I should say the same to you! You are just as bad, and you know it, and you want them just as much as I do!" Everyone then started fighting and arguing about who gets to claim you while you stared in horror

Keep me what am I a toy!? Fuck this!

You tried to run the opposite side until bumped into someone from behind "Little listener is that you?~ your body stiffed as you slowly raised your head to the voice directly praying that it wasn't who you think it was but luck said "fuck you your on your own at that point", you were met with your former teacher present mic with a crazed look in his face "yes it has..." a dark chuckled escaped from a deep voice

...no.AIZAWA!? Please God anything but him

"Moonbean! My little star student oh how I missed you~" Your other teacher midnight appeared behind him cooing as if you were 15 again You slowly backed away cautiously as you tried to activate your quirk "Oh SUNSHINEEEEEE~" you yelped quickly turning around to see the once beloved top hero's mirio, Tamaki and neijire.. all looking with a psychotic look oh their face "p-please don't be afraid your gonna be safe with us" Tamaki added as neijire tried lunching at you but you dodged it barely

"You hooligans must be mistaken if you think they're coming with you" you groaned "You gotta be kidding me" You slowly turned to see Monoma, Kendo, Tetsutetsu, Komori, and Kuroiro all appeared out of the shadows as well "My little mushroom~ it's been forever~," Komori said as she stared dreamily in your eyes

"Now, komori San, we shouldn't scare the sweeti,e," Kendo sternly sa, id, "especially when we are gonna be the ones taking them home!" "back off, you freak. We saw them 1st!" Mina slapped her hand away "Watch your tone you alien" Shiozaki threw a few vines at her which Mina dodged and threw her acid at them

everyone else was in an uproar, activating their quirks and attacking them while you struggled to get yourself up and tried limping towards the exit until Sero stopped you. "Where do you think you're going, darling?" Sero sickly smiled at you, you glared backing up while he was slowly walking towards you

You turned to see a security room you quickly activated your hyno quirk, and before Sero could react he stood there expression blank "Go to the security room and open the door" Sero obeyed slowly walking towards the security room The others not caring were busy fighting with each other

Serp then burst down the door, you quickly dashed towards the security camera making sure nobody noticed, and inside was a small dusty room with old snack wrappers, and bag, and an empty coffee mug you looked around carefully not trying to make any sound until you saw the light switch

Izuku noticed this and his smile widened maniacally "Where do you think you going!?" he used his quirk to dash toward you everyone else noticed and turned towards you two you panicked and started spamming buttons praying one of them was connected to the light, just when izuku got close you managed to press the light button and everything turned dark

That's when you ran for it. You activated your quirk to turn invisible and ran for it. You didn't care how aching and burning your legs were you were you ran and ran until you knew you were safe...

you looked around in the empty dark parking lot desperately trying to find a good place to hide, you quickly saw a bunch of cars on the 2nd floor of the parking lot and quickly jumped into one locking all doors, and slumped down catching your breath for a moment until you heard a fade radio static on your earpiece "Hello y/n hello can you hear me!?"

"Hmm, there escaped. What a shame.." izuku calmly said as he stared. "Ugh, if we would've been quicker, we would've gotten them!" Hakagure whined waving her arms around "Guess we gonna have to play a little game then.." izuku turned to look at Momo with a question waiting for her to say something "A game of hide and seek~" Izuku and the other villains' faces turned into excitement and manic gleefulness "a hide and seek game count me in!" Midnight joined in as the other villains joined and cackled with glee

"Whoever catches them will keep them fair and square!" Neijire announced as everyone agreed on the terms and service bakugo smirk grew deviously his eyes filled with hunger, desire, and pure determination he was gonna make sure he got ahold of you, and when he did he'd never let you go...you needed him and he needed you...with a crazed smile he utters the word

"is everyone ready...?" As everyone was about to head off they heard a giggle "Such a shame for leaving us out~" A dark chuckle rang out there standing at the entrance was the Lov themselves walking past the former heroes as they glared at them "Such a shame indeed how rude not to invite us izuku" the green hair glared at the mention of his name as the dry skin man smiling widely at him "yea especially when our naughty darling ran away like that! especially after I I care of her and even marked them as mine~"

"Wait, YOU craved the H.T. on their skin?!" Ochako said as she glared at Toga she smiled in return "Of course who wouldn't especially if their blood tasted yummy~" she teased "Oh you-" "OK are we gonna start this game or not" Aizawa coldly said interrupting Kirishima's outburst izuku the clapped his hands and said what everyone needed to hear "OK then! Everyone the game starts in"

3...

2...

1.

Hide and seek!

"Cmon cmon! Mirko, can you hear me?" You muttered curses to yourself, trying to get a single from the bunny hero. "C'mon, please, please!" You were trying to get the earpieces to work for what felt like forever, and you weren't backing down, not now, not ever. You want to escape those psychopaths.

"Hello, y/n!? Can you hear me? Where are you?" "YES, YES!!" You silently as you heard Mirko's voice again. "Yes, I can! I'm at the abandoned parking lot at"###### ######" Please help. I'm being hunted down!" Mirko smiled. After 3 weeks, they finally found you. "ok we'll be there, cops and all. Just hang tight and keep talking to me!" You smiled feeling a bit safe after all this

You were actually going to escape and once you did younwere gonna move locations with eri making sure the two of you will be safe-

"Oh bunny~ where have you hidden?"

You froze clutching the earpiece tightly causing it to muffle out something you couldn't understand, you then saw a tentacle hovering over the cars by you, you covered your mouth tightly with tears in your eyes as you watched in fear and with a swoop the strong tentacle wrapped its arm around the car by you crushing it in one squeeze your eyes widen at the strength and speed that tentacles have

You spotted the craze version of Tamaki, a once timid boy who always was behind the smiling boy mirror, now smiling like a psychopath. He isn't the man he was before. He was broken beyond repair...

But you weren't gonna give up especially if escape is your goal to true freedom from these hellish psychopaths it was like a little game for them but for you

A nightmare...

[atinylittlepain]

Marcus Pike x f!reader

(there is no masterlist for this man, good luck to this man)

He's looking for something other than vanilla, and she is more than happy to provide such a service to him.

warnings | 18+ this is smut, pegging, rimming, sucking and fucking, sex work, lowkey sugardaddy!marcus, sweet shy marcus getting his world rocked, and then pancakes and a blackberry and a black american express card so ya know, the works.

a/n | this was written LAST MAY woof - i think originally it was supposed to be for the first round of the PMAMC (also woof) but she's here now :') special thanks to @wannab-urs for resurrecting this fucker. there is a part two... just sayin

..............................

The first thing she notices about him is that he’s nervous. He keeps loosening and tightening his tie, eyes glancing around in quick, anxious sweeps. He’s definitely never been here before, she would’ve remembered a face that handsome, strong jaw under a little scruff and big brown eyes that set a smile tugging at her lips when he finally meets her gaze. 

“Hey there, handsome, welcome in. First time?” His eyes drop down to the floor, a clipped laugh coming out as she steps closer to him.

“Am I that obvious?” He rolls his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes crinkled in a shy smile that sets warmth spreading in her chest, bringing a delicate palm to his shoulder.

“Just never seen you around before, that’s all. What brings you to Pandora’s tonight?”

“Well, I, uh– I wanted to– um–” He cuts his own rambling off, jaw slack as he watches a man in head to toe latex walk by, being led on a leash by one of her coworkers. 

“Hey, don’t worry about them. I wanna know what you want. Would you feel more comfortable talking some more in one of our private rooms?” Eyelashes fluttering, spine arched, she knows exactly how to reel them in, noting the dip and bob of his throat as he nods.

“I– yeah, um, yes please.” Manners, she likes that. She slips her hand down his arm, taking his hand before turning heel and tugging him down the dark hallway, taking them into one of the vacant playrooms. It’s one of the tamer rooms, a four poster bed in the middle, red silk sheets, and a dark chest of drawers off to the side full of all sorts of fun. She guides him to sit down on the end of the bed beside her, his hands immediately going to his thighs in a nervous squeeze. His eyes are still darting everywhere, but mostly to the tops of her breasts, pressed up in the strappy leather corset she has on, though he doesn’t let his gaze linger there long before jerking his eyes back up to her face. 

“You don’t have to be nervous, baby. I just want to hear a little about why you came in, and how you’d like to be taken care of tonight, alright?” He nods, clearing his throat a few times before replying.

“I just– you gotta know that I’ve never done anything like this before, really. But, I don’t know, I guess I wanted to try something different? My, well my ex-wife, I think she thought I was too, um, vanilla. So I guess I want to– not be– um, vanilla anymore. And, Jesus Christ, you probably think I’m crazy, huh?” Somehow, he manages to still be handsome and look like a kicked puppy at the same time, and she has to resist the urge to push his flop of hair back and press a kiss to the crease between his brows.

“Not crazy at all. So when you say not vanilla, what does that mean to you?” When he gives her no answer, eyes only widening as he seems to wrack his brain for what to say, she laughs lightly, bringing a palm to his thigh and giving him a reassuring squeeze.

“Why don’t we start with the basics? Do you see yourself being more of a dom or a sub?” 

“I– what does that mean, dom and sub?” Oh boy, more basic than the basics then.

“Dom is shorthand for dominant, that’s the person in control in the relationship, and they’re usually the one inflicting any pain, if you’re into that. And sub means submissive, that’s the person who follows the dom’s commands, who gets taken care of.” 

“Oh, right, that makes sense. I mean, I don’t think I’d be very good at being in control like that, so I guess, more submissive?” I’ll say. She offers him a nod and smile, still trying to coax some of his anxiety out of him.

“Sounds good, handsome. If it’s alright with you, I can be your partner for the night. Let’s get some paperwork for you and then we can get started, ok?” He only nods, something she’s going to have to work on with him.

“For this to work, I’m gonna need you to always use your words with me, alright? That way I know exactly what you do and don’t like.” She says it to him over her shoulder as she rifles through the chest of drawers, getting out a waiver and a pen for him. 

“Uh, yes, ok, I can– I can do that.” She sits back down beside him with a hum, passing him the paperwork, watching his brow furrow as he reads over it.

“That’s a list of kinks we do and don’t participate in. Are there any that you’re particularly interested in exploring tonight?” Another clear of his throat, keeping his eyes glued to the paper when he responds.

“Do men– do men really like that? I mean, I’ve heard of it, but, does it feel good?” She looks over his shoulder to where his finger is pointing, her lips crooking into a smile when she sees what’s caught his attention.

“Mmhmm, it can be very pleasurable, with an experienced partner, of course.”

“And you– are you, um, experienced?” Her smile broadens into a grin at his question, resting her hand on his shoulder.

“Oh baby, I’m very experienced. Is that something you’d like to try out tonight?” He seems to consider it, his eyes darting from her lips back up to her gaze a few times before he finally nods.

“Fuck it, yeah, I wanna do that. But is it ok if that’s the only thing we do on this list? I don’t think I’m really into the whole– chains and whips thing.” She laughs at that, giving his shoulder a squeeze as she nods.

“Whatever you want. Just need you to sign that waiver which basically affirms that we’re all clean here at Pandora’s, and you are too. You’re familiar with our pricing, right? It’s three hundred for an hour, and five for two.” 

“Is it ok if I do two?”

“You’re the customer, honey. What you say goes.” With a decisive nod, he ticks the box next to two hours on the form, signing his name on the dotted line before handing her back the pen and paper.

“Nice to officially meet you, Marcus. You can call me Daisy, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight.” As she sets the paperwork down on the chest of drawers, he lets out a light laugh, drawing her attention over her shoulder.

“That’s not your real name, is it?” Stepping out of her heels, she pads back over to him, standing right between his legs, setting down the items she grabbed before guiding his hands onto her hips.

“It’s not, is there something else you’d like to call me for the night?” He takes a sharp inhale as she drags his hands from her hips, up and up until his palms are cupping her breasts through her corset.

“I, um– Daisy’s good, yeah.” Letting her hands fall away from his, his eyes search hers, obvious in looking for permission that she’s happy to give.

“You can touch me, Marcus, whatever makes you feel more comfortable.” 

“Can I take this off of you?” His fingers are toying with the laced-up front of her corset, which she lightly bats away.

“It’s a little tricky, let me.” She makes deft work of unlacing the garment, a known path for her fingers that usually bores her, though there’s a little kick of something else, him watching her and the fine flicker of her hands. Marcus lets out a laugh at the grin she offers him, fizzling in his throat when she lets the corset fall away to reveal herself to him, standing before him in only her barely-there shorts. The heat of his hands just hovers over the swell of her breasts, and she can’t help the sigh that thrums in her throat when he finally lets his palms press against her skin. It’s not often that a client affects her like this, and she has to clear her throat to refocus on the real task at hand.

“Why don’t we get you out of your clothes? Sit back for me.” She’s undone dozens of ties, worked her fingers through miles of shirt buttons, and doesn’t even have to look to get trousers unfastened now, but she can’t shake the prickle running up her spine at the way his eyes follow every movement, and she can’t hide the shudder that runs through her when he tentatively tucks her hair behind her ear as she works his pants down his hips. 

“Have you been doing this for long?” She shoots him a look from her spot between his legs, his pants discarded to leave him in just his briefs.

“Are you really trying to make small talk?” Oh, he’s blushing now. She likes that, crawling closer and dipping her head down to press a kiss to the center of his chest before dragging her lips up and up, catching at the bob in his throat before letting her mouth just hover over his, feeling the shaky pants of his breath.

“There’s no need for that, Marcus. I’m gonna take care of you now, and I need you to tell me what you like, and what you don’t, do you understand?” His voice comes out a little hoarse, and she can feel the thrum of it where her chest is brushing against his.

“Yes, I understand.” A grin is all she gives him, ducking down before his lips can meet hers as she lets her mouth drag a trail down his torso until she’s nipping at the waistband of his briefs. 

“Can I take these off?” When all he does is nod, she gives his hip a light pinch, something between a laugh and a grunt jumping from his chest at the sensation.

“Yeah, you can take them off, I– sorry.” She smoothes her palm over the spot she pinched, smiling up at him.

“That’s ok, baby. Just remember your words for me.” He can’t be real, that’s all she can figure when she gets him totally bare before her, his cock a perfect pink that matches the flush on his chest, thick enough to set her jaw aching in anticipation, and long, pre-come smearing in the tuft of hair over his pelvis. She can’t help but wonder why the fuck anyone would ever want to leave him when he’s this pretty to look at. 

“Can I touch you? Get you warmed up for me?” He’s propped up on his elbows to watch her kneeling between his legs, lips swollen from how much he’s been biting them, slightly parted in something like wonder.

“Yeah, yes, please.” 

“Hmm, I like a boy with some manners. Just relax, Marcus, and remember, I’m here to take care of you.” With that, she presses a kiss just below his belly button, smiling against the twitch of his muscles before dipping down and letting her lips ghost over the underside of his cock. It’s involuntary, the hum she lets out when she takes him fully into the heat of her mouth, relaxing her throat like she’s learned to do, a necessary move in order to take all of him. And he’s perfect beneath her, thighs flexing under her splayed palms, low moans rumbling in his chest as she alternates between swallowing him down and lapping at his leaking tip. She knows she’s done her job, that she’s loosened him up, when those moans start to get a little louder, a little more drawn out, and he slumps down off his elbows to run a hand through his hair, eyes scrunched shut. A kiss over one hip, then the other, keeping her palm steady on his heaving belly while she reaches for the lube, his eyes squinting open to see why she stopped. 

“You ever used lube before?” 

“No, never needed to, I guess.” 

“Well it’s gonna be your best friend tonight. I’m gonna warm a little up in my palms and then I’ll let you get used to the feel of it, ok?” He hums out an mmhmm, watching her hands rub in quick circles, his eyes following the subtle shake of her breasts with the movement. And when she gets her hands on him again, slicking her palm up his cock, a hiss slips through his lips.

“Sorry, is it still cold?” 

“No, fuck– just feels really good.” She grins at that, letting her wrist flick, hand in an easy glide as she slips her palm down to cup the weight of his balls, his groan cracking and shooting up an octave, hips jolting at the sensation. 

“Has no one touched you like this before, baby?” 

“I– Jesus, no– no one’s done that before.” 

“Well that’s just not right. Feels good, huh?” A little squeeze to punctuate her question sets another moan loose in his chest as he presses his head back into the sheets.

“Y-yes, feels really good.” She nudges his thighs open a bit more, letting her hand slip down lower, not pressing, but circling, gauging how he reacts as she keeps her other hand easily stroking his cock. 

“Remember, need you to tell me what feels good and what doesn’t. We can stop at any time. Do you like what I’m doing right now?” His eyes are still shut tight, one hand fisted in his hair, the other tangled in the sheets, pleasure pulling his whole body taut.

“Yeah, I like it. It’s, hah– it’s different, good, different good.” His words go a bit slurred when she presses her finger forward, opening him up as he lets out another breathy moan. 

He takes it well, whimpers and moans crackling in his throat as she starts a steady thrust, only pausing to work a little more lube over her hand. 

“Doing so good for me, Marcus. You wanna try taking a little more?” He sits up on his elbows, surprising her a bit with his firm reply.

“I want more, want you to use that on me, please.” He tilts his head over to the strap laying on the end of the bed, once again catching her off guard.

“You sure you’re ready for that?” He tilts his head at her, a crooked smile on his face.

“Didn’t you say something about the customer always being right?” She lets out a real laugh at that, shaking her head at him as he just grins, clearly pleased with himself. 

“I guess so. Alright, handsome, why don’t you get on your hands and knees for me? We’ll take it nice and slow.” He seems a bit taken aback by that request, his smile going a little slack as she gets off the bed to step into her harness, though he catches himself, clearing his throat and shifting around on the bed into the position she asked for.

She can’t help herself, getting back on the bed and kneeling behind him, laying a quick pat to his very cute ass that has him craning his neck over his shoulder to look at her.

“Sorry, just looks so good I had to give it a little tap. You ready for me?” He hums his assent as she slicks her fake cock in lube, bringing one palm over his low back in a reassuring circle as she scoots in closer. 

“Just relax, Marcus, this is about you feeling good. That’s it, open up for me.” She works her strap in slow, curling over him to press her lips in a murmuring of praise into his shoulder blades as he whimpers beneath her, his hands fisted tight in the sheets. 

“How’re you feeling, baby? Is it too much? We can go back to what we–”

“No, no. I just– just need a minute, fuck– didn’t think it’d feel this good.” She’s not being professional about this, she knows it too, but she doesn’t care. A professional would be checking the clock, making sure that he gets his before his time is up. A professional wouldn’t be laying kisses over his shoulders, whispering to him that he’s doing so good, that he can take it, that he’s so pretty like this. But nothing about the way she wants him right now feels professional, the way she wants to take care of him, to make him feel good, to keep him feeling good for as long as she can.

“Just say the word. I move when you want me to.” 

Slow and smooth, nothing but patience and permission in how she fucks him, her hips slotting with his again and again and again, simmering down into a close press, her chest draped over his back and her hand working his cock in time with her thrusts when he finally unravels beneath her. He slumps down onto his forearms, a slur of curses punching out of his lungs as she runs her palms up and down his shuddering back. But what he does next is so unexpected she finds herself at the mercy of his movements. The moment she pulls her hips away from his, he turns over underneath her, still catching his breath as his hands find her hips, insistent and harsh in the way he pulls her down onto the bed. He’s certainly a sight, cheeks flushed and hair perfectly mussed up in every direction, his eyes blown dark and wide as he hovers over her.

“Can I take care of you now? Is that allowed?” A professional would say no, that his time is up, get him a towel and a glass of water and process his credit card.

She doesn’t say no.

He fumbles a bit with the straps of the harness, letting out an impatient groan that makes her giggle, quick to bat his hands away and make easy work of shimmying the whole thing down her legs. And the smile he gives her as she does is downright sheepish.

“That’s, uh, a bit tricky.” She brushes his hair back out of his face, thumb settling against the dimple in his cheek, a move that’s entirely too sweet and she knows it.

“Just a little. I’m all yours now though.” He doesn’t waste any time, ducking his head down to press a sweet kiss over the top of her breast that turns salacious when he slides his tongue down over the tight peak of her nipple, her back arching up into the heat of his mouth as he lets his teeth graze over the sensitive skin. His hands are splayed around her hips, greedy and insistent in the way his fingers curl and press into her ass, lifting her hips up to slide her tiny shorts off her legs before he settles back between her thighs, his nose brushing against her twitching stomach, dark eyes flickered up to meet hers.

“Is this ok? Can I taste you? Make you feel good like that?” He steals a move from her book when all she does is nod, his hand that’s still curled around her hip laying a gentle pinch to the swell, his grin going boyish as she huffs out a laugh.

“Can I have your words, Daisy, please?” She tilts her head at his shy question, enjoying the flushed flare creeping up his cheeks.

“Hmm, you’re a fast learner, huh? Yeah, baby, I want your mouth, Want you to make me feel good.” 

It’s not that she had been expecting him to be bad at it. But she also hadn’t been expecting him to be so fucking good either. Head thrown back, thighs trembling around his scruff, moaning his name good. He’s not precious about it, licking a flat stripe through her cunt before letting his tongue catch on her clit in a harsh press, dipping back down to lap up the slick pooling at her entrance, a continuous circuit of pleasure that has every muscle in her body tensing up. He groans low in his chest when she rakes her fingers through his hair, tugging just a bit unkindly when his teeth graze her clit. One large palm snakes up to grasp at the swell of one of her breasts, his other hand pressed across her pelvis to keep her spasming hips still as he fucks her with his tongue, the strong hook of his nose dragging across her clit with each pass. And it hits her all at once, that snare of pleasure snapping hot and hard as she comes with a stilted moan of his name, her heel pressing between his shoulder blades, keeping him exactly where he is, and he continues to work her over as she comes undone on his mouth. 

She tugs at his hair again when it becomes too much, her hips jolting at the thrumming chuckle he lets out when he finally pulls away, resting his cheek against her hip while she tries to catch her breath. They lay like that for a hiccup of time, just staring at each other, a dazed smile on his glistening lips that she knows is mirrored in her own hazy grin. Eventually she lets out a long sigh, reaching out for him and thumbing away some of her arousal that’s smeared across his jaw. 

“Do you wanna, like, get a burger or something?”

“Is that– is that a part of my two hours?” “Oh baby, your two hours were up a while ago.”

…

He’s waiting for her right outside the club, and she mentally kicks herself for having worn sweats and a hoodie in for her shift earlier, though he doesn’t seem to mind, smiling big and broad when she steps outside to join him. 

“I know you said burgers, but there’s a diner around the corner that does the best pancakes in DC. Sound good to you?” She likes this version of him too, confident, certain, a bit old-fashioned with the way he holds his arm out for her to take like they didn’t just wreck each other a few moments ago, letting her hold onto him the whole walk over to the diner, opening the door for her, the whole chivalric production.

It’s so late at night, they’re virtually the only people in the place, tucking into a cracked vinyl booth and putting in their order, pancakes and scrambled eggs and bacon, the works. And they share every last bite, having both clearly worked up an appetite after their evening together.

Though he’s vague about it, she can suss out for herself that he’s some sort of higher-up government type, she knows them well, and in turn, she answers his questions about her, that her work at Pandora’s is good enough to be supporting her through college, Marcus seeming to perk up when she tells him she’d like to be an art teacher one day. He’s older than her, at least enough to have already been married and divorced, but she can’t find it in herself to care about that, too busy enjoying their easy conversation, the subtle game of footsie they have going on under the table, and the way he smiles at her, all of his attention on her. It’s so strange, so different, so starkly contrasted to the way her nights usually go, not that she minds the simple rotation of disinterested clients, but she hasn’t had someone look at her, really look at her the way Marcus is, in quite a while. 

“I have to admit, I wasn’t really expecting my night to end like this.” Plates long cleared, each of them nursing a mug of coffee as the first sweeps of dawn start to light up the streets outside, she smiles at his admission.

“Good surprise or bad surprise?” He grins at her question, leaning in on his elbows like he has the wildest secret to tell her.

“Really good surprise. I mean, I just think you’re– amazing. Fuck, is that weird of me to say?” She mirrors him, leaning in on her elbows, a smile threatening to quirk her lips.

“Hmm, no, it’s cute. For the record, I think you’re kinda amazing too.” Their faces are so close, and she realizes all at once that she hasn’t even kissed him yet.

“Only kinda, huh? Guess I didn’t do my job then.” She can almost feel the curve of his smile as she laughs at his simpering response, the sound getting swallowed when he closes the space between them, pressing his lips to hers. And he’s good at this too, his palm coming to cup her jaw, thumb stroking along her cheek as he deepens the kiss, licking into her mouth and nearly melting her on the spot. Though it’s over too soon for her liking when they get interrupted by someone clearing their throat in front of their table, pulling away to see the rather annoyed looking waitress setting their check down and shuffling away with a sour side-eye. She opens her mouth to protest when Marcus reaches for his wallet, but he waves his hand, black American Express glinting in the diner’s fluorescent lights.

“Don’t worry about it, baby, I’ve got it. It’s the least I can do after going over my two hours.” She can tell he means it as a joke, a flippant remark, but her stomach still sinks at even the suggestion of this still being a business transaction. It’s a sore spot for her, and though she’s more than comfortable with the work she does, her exes hadn’t been, nor had they been kind about it for that matter.

Busy signing the check, Marcus doesn’t notice the way her face falls, and she’s already out of the booth and halfway out the door of the diner when he finally calls out for her, further rubbing salt in the wound when the name he uses is Daisy. 

“Woah, woah, hey, what happened in there?” The hand he hooks around her bicep is gentle but insistent, and she can’t help the tears threatening to spill over when he turns her around to look at him in the faint morning light.

“Look, if that’s all this is to you, just business, that’s fine, but I have enough respect for myself to not–” He cuts her off, bringing his broad palm to cup her cheek again, his eyes wide and unwavering.

“Hey, that’s not what this is– I mean, at least not anymore. We did meet under some, ah, particular circumstances. But this isn’t business to me now, if that’s ok with you?” He thumbs away her stray tears, and she nearly goes dizzy with the relief she feels hearing those words from him. 

“I’m sorry, baby, it was a stupid thing to say, wasn’t even thinking.” Baby, it’s the second time he’s called her that. She’s never anyone’s baby, they’re always hers, but she likes it now, coming from him, finding herself smiling into his touch.

“I don’t want you to call me Daisy.” His eyes soften, smile tempering as he nods.

“Ok, what should I call you?” She tells him her real name, and with it, the last shred of her professionalism dissolves, and she doesn’t care one bit. He says her name like he’s rolling a hard candy around in his mouth, slow sugar in each syllable before he presses a kiss between her brows, lips trailing down to catch hers in a sweet smack. 

“Can I see you again? And, definitively not as, um, as business?” It makes her laugh, how quickly he shifts between confidence and constraint. She likes both. 

“I would really really like that, Marcus. Am I giving you my number or are you giving me yours?” His eyebrows shoot up his forehead, like he’s surprised she actually wants that, though he’s quick to catch himself, clearing his throat and smiling.

“Uh, both? Both is good, right?” They swap phones, and she can’t help thinking to herself that of course this man has a Blackberry, stifling a giggle as she types in her number. 

“Can I walk you to your car? It’s back at the club, right?” 

“Oh, I don’t have a car, actually. Just take the bus to get around.” He doesn’t seem to like that, lips pressing into a thin line as he looks at her.

“How about I get you home this morning? Would that be ok?” Under any other circumstances, she wouldn’t dream of getting into the car of a man she just met, but seeing as she’s already broken a dozen of her cardinal rules with him, she doesn’t think twice about getting into his sleek BMW that’s still parked outside the club. He keeps a palm splayed just above her knee, thumb idly swiping back and forth, a soothing lull as she gives him directions toward her apartment complex. She hates to admit it to herself, but she’s a bit reluctant to get out when he does pull up to her building, leaning over the console for a kiss that he willingly gives her. 

“So I’ll call you?” She lays a kiss to the small patch in his scruff, smiling against his skin when he lets out a huff.

“I’ll answer. Thank you, Marcus, for a really nice night, and morning.”

When she gets inside her apartment, she slumps back against the door, blowing out a long exhale and shaking her head.

“Fuck.” Her boss is going to kill her, but she doesn’t really care. 

[thelampisaflashlight]

Lakeside

[This got longer than expected. Dew gets introspective with Rain.] Below the cut.

Dew lays sprawled out on the dock, legs dangling off the end just above the water, a hand thrown over his face to block out the sunlight filtering through the clouds, turning his head slightly when he hears Rain approaching and giving a little huff of acknowledgement.

"Feeling alright?" Rain questions, crouching down beside his friend, deliberately leaning over him to cast his shadow over his form.

"Not really, no." Dew mumbles, "I came out here to get some fresh air, but... I dunno. Head hurts from thinking too hard about bullshit, and I just... It's nice out here, cold, but nice. Calm, quiet..."

"Did something happen?" Rain asks, moving to lay down next to him.

"Ehn... Yes and no." he says, closing his eyes and letting his hand fall slack at his side, "Talked to Aether about some stuff... feelings stuff. We're good."

"But?"

"...When you..." Dew bites his lip, "D'you think Mount and me come off a-a certain kind of way?"

Rain rolls onto his side, propping his head up with his palm.

"Like, gay?"

"I mean, I guess that's what I'm..." Dew makes a grumbling noise in the back of his throat, "If I said that wasn't the case, what'd you think?"

"That you're not gay or that the two of you aren't an item?"

"See that's-" The other ghoul finally sits up, running a hand through his hair, "It's not that I'm NOT, ya know, into dudes I'm just... It's complicated, and, like, with Aeth, people thought we were a thing for a while but we weren't, and then with Mount, we're buddies and all, but he isn't into me like that, and he's not totally my type, and I just..."

Dew shakes his head.

"Why is it that when it's ME in these kinds of situations that people think I'm dating my friends?"

Rain shifts and sits up as well, shrugging, "Honestly, I couldn't tell you why. I guess, maybe, people see that you're happy or comfortable around someone and they just assume... You know. That you're into them, maybe."

"But they don't do it when I'm around Cumulus or Cirrus, now do they?" Dew points out, "Why's it only when I'm friendly with a guy?"

The water ghoul clicks his tongue.

"What?"

"Real talk?"

"Noo... Don't do this, come on-"

"Dew, I'm gonna have to level with you." Rain starts, placing a hand on his shoulder, "When you like a woman, it's obvious, yeah?"

"Yeah...?"

"When you like a guy... it's really, really obvious."

Dew scoffs, "No it's not-"

"The waiter at that restaurant in Spain, who you kept eyeballing all night."

"Now hold on, I just wanted free tapas-"

"That time that guy at the bar rolled up his sleeves and you almost passed out because all the blood rushed from your head to your-"

"Hey, that was objectively sexy-"

Rain snorts, "I'm not arguing with you, I'm just saying that compared to how you treat women -which, you know, you're respectful and that ain't a bad thing- you treat men more like... like something you wanna fuck, I guess... I dunno, I wanted to put it more eloquently than that, but that's pretty much the most straightforward way I could think to put it."

Dew tents his fingers, deep in thought.

"So what you're saying is that because I don't objectify women, but DO objectify men... people think I'm gay?"

Rain tilts his head and then shrugs.

"Are you saying you're not gay?"

"NO!" Dew shouts immediately, "I mean, no, but... maybe-Augh! I like both, I guess, I just... with women it's like... Women... ya know? And with men it's like... men."

Rain blinks.

"Jesus Christ..."

"Oi, no need for that kind of language now." Rain jokes, then clears his throat, "I kind of get what you're saying, I guess... You like women, you're attracted to them, but with guys it's more... physical, would you say?"

Dew makes a face and pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, the tips of his ears turning a bright shade of pink.

"I mean, yeah... Yeah, that'd be..." he swallows, "When you put it that way, it just sounds so... Don't tell anyone I told you about this."

Rain mimes zipping his mouth shut.

"Your secret is safe with me." he says, "But, Dew, there's nothing wrong with liking men, even if your attraction to them is different from the kind you feel towards a woman..."

"Thanks..."

"No problem."

Rain leans back on his hands.

"Question though."

"If you say something stupid right now, I'll smack you like I did Aether."

"When you think about yourself with a guy-"

"...Are you seriously asking me if I'm a top or a bottom right now?"

Rain gives him a once over before meeting his gaze.

"I was actually asking what your type is, I can already hazard a guess as to-OW! YOU BIT ME-"

[whatthebodygraspsnot]

old habits ian in his emt uniform AAAARRRGGHHHHH

[ old habits ]

mickey's halfway to the mailbox when he stops dead in his tracks, his eyes immediately zeroing in on ian chatting with lucy one driveway over. he doesn't give a fuck about lucy on a normal day - but today it's like she's not even there, because ian's clearly just come home from work and holy fuck...

mickey's caught glimpses of his emt uniform, but never out in broad daylight like this - every inch of the well-fitting blue button-down - the shine of his silver badge - the clean cut and crisp lines all tucked perfectly into place and jesus christ, mickey practically drools, his hand reaching blindly into the mailbox almost as an afterthought. no man should look this hot in a uniform.

lucy can't resist the call either. clearly. but lucy isn't getting turned out in ian's comfy bed every other night like mickey is, now is she? no, she isn't! and it isn't lucy who ian's noticing and sending a little wave over to, is it? no! it's mickey! and it's also mickey who saunters his way over to interrupt, happily, with a composed, "ay doc, you got a thermometer in that fanny pack-a yours?"

it gets them both tucked away inside ian's house with a laughably low amount of effort. and now that he's here, mickey can put his plan to action, watching his personal emt emerge from the bathroom with one of those concerned brow furrows. "you got a fever...?"

ian's got the thermometer, but it's the back of his hand that he uses instead, pressing it to mickey's cheek to check his temperature. then softly over his forehead. mickey mumbles something noncommittal. whatever will keep ian's attention on him like this.

"hm..." after his forehead, ian's hand drops to the back of mickey's neck - more comforting than anything - and god damn, does is light him up from the inside out. "you're definitely runnin' hot..."

an understatement of the century.

but mickey is the perfect patient. opens his mouth real good and everything when ian tells him to, keeping that eye contact as he feels the thermometer slip under his tongue. "stay here for me, alright kid?"

uh huh. yup. whatever the fuck he wants.

mickey watches ian move around the kitchen. takes in a greedy helping of how nicely those slacks hug his ass. how fucking snatched his waist is with that thick belt. how his back broadens into strong shoulders under the pressed blue fabric of his shirt. jesus fucking christ, this man. no way motherfuckers ain't passing out on the spot when he arrives on the scene. damn, mickey would do some highly questionable shit just to get him-

beep beep! beep beep! beep beep!

"lemme see."

mickey opens up exactly as asked, the thermometer slipped out from under his tongue.

in front of him, ian reads the numbers, mickey's scheme about to be put to rest once he realizes there never was a- "hm..."

mickey frowns. flicks his eyes to the thermometer and then back up. "what?" he asks. "the fuck you mean 'hm'?"

"you weren't kiddin' - you really got a fever going."

and-... wait a minute. "really?"

"mhm. looks like you're gonna need some follow-up care."

mickey's brain plugs along slowly, trying to wrap around what's happening. "...what-"

but the rest of his confusion is snuffed out as ian moves forward, scooping him up in his arms and getting that bespoke heart attack to set in - gloriously. because he's carrying mickey toward the stairs, "gonna have to be on bed rest for quite a while, i'm thinkin'..." the thermometer with mickey's temp left on the kitchen counter.

99.1

[cowgurrrl]

When The Sun Goes Down

Pairing: rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader

Author’s note: cue Diet Mountain Dew by Lana Del Rey

Summary: Your first date with Joel doesn’t go exactly as planned [2.6k]

Warnings: Joel being an asshole, reader being (rightfully) mean to Joel, fake dating, a little (a lot) smoochy smooch

There's a knock on your door at 7:15. You think about giving him shit about being fifteen minutes late, but when you open the door, he has a bouquet of red roses in his hand. You take a deep breath as you glance between him and the flowers. He cleans up nicely. He's wearing a sleek white shirt tucked into a pair of slacks and a gold chain peeking from his collar. "You look nice," he compliments with a smile. You glance around and spot a black van down the block with the unmistakable round lens of a camera up to the window. "Ready to go?" He asks, pulling your attention back to him. You smile and nod.

"Let me put these in water first, and then we can go," you say, turning on your heels to walk back into the kitchen. You hear him grumble and you roll your eyes the second you hear the door close behind him. "Did you buy these of your own volition, or was it contractually obligated?"

"It was my manager's idea." He says, stuffing his hands in his pocket as he watches you move around the kitchen. You pull a vase down from the top shelf of your cabinet, your black dress riding up just a little bit. You turn to the sink and catch his eyes on your legs.

"Well, tell Pauly I said thank you." You say, ignoring the unexpected attention.

"Don't call him Pauly."

"Why not? He's the only one who showed me an ounce of kindness yesterday."

"We really don't have to do this. Especially if you're gonna act like this."

"If you don't like the way I act, I'm sure we can find someone else who would happily take your place," you say, repeating his words from the day before. His jaw works as he grinds his teeth together, but he stays silent. You cut the stems on the roses and place them in the crystal vase before resting your elbows on the counter. "We need to set some ground rules before we actually start this."

"Ground rules?" He asks

"I don't care if you kiss me, hold my hand, or whatever PDA our team wants. I'm trusting you with that much," you say. You expect him to say something snarky, but he doesn't. He fiddles with his keys in his pocket and nods. "And I don't want you to touch me anywhere inappropriate. In public and in private."

"I wasn't going to."

"Good." You grab your purse off the counter and walk to the front door without anything further. He follows behind you and opens the door before you can even touch the handle and plaster on a sticky sweet smile for the cameras. He walks you to his expensive-looking car and opens the passenger side door for you. You smile and squeeze his bicep.

The car ride is silent except for the low hum of his radio. It's set on a classic rock station, and he taps along to the drum line on his steering wheel. You watch the movement with curious eyes, and he catches you staring. He doesn't seem annoyed, but he doesn't smile at you, either. He just stares at you with his deep brown eyes like he's trying to figure you out. You look away first and mess with the chain of your necklace.

"How long have you been playing music?" You ask.

"We don't have to keep pretending when there are no cameras." He says, his tone suddenly harsh, and you roll your eyes.

"Jesus Christ, all I did was ask you a fucking question."

"My whole life. I've been playin' music my whole life," he finally relents. It's just enough information to satisfy you and just vague enough for him to be comfortable. You're surprised he even answered you. "How long have you been acting?"

"I've been in the industry for about four years now, but I was acting way before that." You say, and he hums. He doesn't follow up with a question, and you decide to quit while you're ahead. When you get to the restaurant, he makes a show of dutifully escorting you inside and giving his keys to the valet. The hostess gives you a hidden table in the back. It's out of earshot of anyone else, and there are lit candles in the middle. It's all very romantic, and you gush about it in front of the host so she has something to report back to news outlets when they find out about this. Joel thanks the host and pulls your chair out for you before he can cross the table. If this was an actual date, he would win major points for having such good manners.

You order a cocktail, and he orders some kind of whiskey before you guys scan the menu in silence. You're debating whether to get the Rissoto or the margarita pizza when Joel's foot bumps yours under the table. You look up and see him glancing at something behind you. You don't have to turn around to know that you two have an audience. You smile and reach for his hand across the table, his calloused palms sliding against yours. He doesn't hesitate to squeeze your hand and bring it to his lips, pressing a sweet kiss to your skin. "That tickles!" You giggle in a high pitch. He laughs, too, and rests your hands back on the table as the waitress comes over with your drinks. She takes your orders before disappearing to the back again, leaving you and Joel alone.

You two move closer and closer together until you're sitting on the same side of the table, your head in your hand as you gaze at him. You have to admit, he's very handsome up close. His salt-and-pepper beard is full except for a few patchy parts that you could find endearing. His nose is prominent and bumpy, and his lips are curled in a crooked smirk. Not to mention the fluffy curls that fall over his forehead just so. You understand why people throw themselves at him. He smiles and puts a hand on your knee as he nurses his drink.

"You're staring," he mumbles, and you scoff.

"I'm supposed to be madly in love with you. I think it's okay," you say so only he can hear, and he shrugs. You slip his drink out of his hand and take a sip, the dark brown liquor burning the whole way down. "What would you rather me do?"

"Where are you from?"

"Twenty questions? That's what you do on a first date?" You ask, and he laughs. For a second, you think it sounds real.

"Humor me, would ya?" His face is relaxed, and his hand is warm on your knee, and it might be the alcohol, but you decide to oblige. You tell him about your hometown, and he actually listens before telling you he's from Texas. You go back and forth even after the food comes out, asking about first loves, college, and even your worst talk show experiences.

"No, I don't believe you for a second!" You say, crossing your arms over your chest.

"You don't have to believe me 'cause it still happened."

"You were hungover when you did that summer concert for the Today Show?"

"Deathly. Even had to get an IV when we got off stage," he says, and you can't help but laugh at the image of him getting hooked up to a saline solution because of how sick he was. "What? What's so funny about that?"

"Everything! Don't you know the cardinal sin of morning talk shows is showing up hungover?"

"I know people who've shown up still drunk."

"Really?" You ask, and he hums. You glance around the restaurant and realize it's mostly empty, and the only people left are you and Joel. You uncross your arms and rest one on the back of his chair, turning to look at something behind you so you can whisper in his ear. "When you see the waitress coming back to the table, kiss me." He turns his head to look around before placing a hand on your jaw and turning your face toward his. His lips are on yours a second later. His mustache scratches you, and he tastes like whiskey and something dangerous. He's gentle and firm, but he doesn't push any boundaries. His hand stays on your face, his fingers grazing the skin of your neck, making your breath hitch. You faintly hear footsteps approach, and Joel turns away from you to look at the bright red waitress. You pretend to be embarrassed about getting caught and hide your face in Joel's shoulder.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to drop off your bill and let you know that we will be closing soon." She apologizes, but Joel shakes his head and tells her not to worry. He hands her his black debit card without even looking at the bill, and she's off. You smile as you pick your head up and look at him.

"Alright, I have another question for you," you say. He raises his eyebrows like he's telling you to go on, and you glance over your shoulder to make sure nobody's lurking. "Why'd you punch that guy?"

"What guy?"

"The guy that's the whole reason I'm here." You say quietly. A muscle in his jaw jumps as he thinks, but he schools his expression when the waitress returns with his card. He's silent as he signs the bill, leaving a 25% tip, and you bump him under the table to get his attention.

"I'm done playing this game." He snaps, his attitude completely changing. You're taken aback by his response and even more confused when he stands and pulls your chair out for you once more. You stand, and he shrugs out of his jacket to wrap it around your shoulders before escorting you to the front of the restaurant, both of you wishing the staff a good night. Cameras flash, and people yell questions at you the second you two step onto the sidewalk, and you grip Joel's arm as he steers you to the car. You can practically hear E! News gushing about how cute you look together when in reality your picture-perfect date just got ruined.

The entire drive back to your house, he doesn't say anything. You try to say something about how good that went, and you're sure the waitress will have a story to sell to whatever news outlet wants it. He doesn't even acknowledge you. By the time he pulls into your driveway, you're more than annoyed with how childish he's being over a perfectly fair question. It's not like you asked for his Social Security number. You asked a legitimate question about something that happened not even thirty-six hours ago. Hell, his knuckles are still swollen from the force of the punch. The second the car rolls to a stop, you unlock the door and get out.

"Have a good night, Joel." You say, ready to slam the door in his face, but he's already unbuckling his seatbelt.

"Will you, at least, let me walk you to the door?"

"I thought you said we didn't have to keep pretending when there aren't any cameras," you say. You're being a little dramatic, and you'll be the first to admit it, but after the way he acted yesterday, you think you're allowed to. You fish your keys from your purse and walk to your front door. Joel calls your name and you roll your eyes. "Is there a reason you don't like me, or are you just an asshole to everyone?" You ask as you turn to look at him, the arms of his jacket swinging around you.

"Is this because I didn't answer your stupid question?"

"Or because of pretty much everything that led to tonight. The way you talked to me in the office, not answering my question, ignoring me the whole way home when I thought we had a pretty decent night. Do you even realize how fucking frustrating you are?"

"Right back atcha, sweetheart," he says, and you huff as you grip your keys. "Look, I don't wanna do this anymore than you do. The faster we get this over with, the faster I can go back to my life, and you can go back to whatever big wig you had to sleep with to get here." You take two big steps to get in his face, your chests touching as rage rolls through you.

"Let's get one thing fucking clear: I've never slept with anyone to get anywhere. I studied, and I worked shitty jobs, and I went to every audition, and I lost years of my fucking life to be where I am now. I don't care if you think I'm some bitch who puts on dresses and plays pretend for a living, but you will not accuse me of fucking my way to the top. Do you understand me?" Your words are precise and cutthroat and hit right where you want them to as you stare at him. You worked your ass off to get here. You deserve to be here, and you will not let a man like Joel Miller tell you otherwise. Something flickers behind his eyes, and he swallows.

"Yes."

"Good, because if you ever say anything like that to me again, I will ruin your fucking life and have fun doing it," you say. Before you can get one last word in, you catch a pair of tires squealing down your block, and something deep in your chest tells you it's photographers trying to catch a goodnight kiss. Joel seems to have the same thought because he quickly crowds you against your front door, and you let him, despite the burning anger in your chest. You bite the inside of your cheek until you can taste blood. "You better make this worth it, Miller."

His last name gets cut off as he kisses you. This kiss is starkly different from the one at the restaurant. This one is bruising and clashing teeth as his hands splay across your ribs. You're almost sure he can feel your heartbeat through the fabric of your dress. You pull him closer when you hear breaks squeak to a stop and know that the paparazzi are right behind you. His hand slides down your side, past your hip, and encourages your leg up to his hip. He bites at your lip a little too harshly, and you pull at the hair at the nape of his neck, a deep groan rumbling in his chest at the feeling. He dips his head to mouth at your jaw, low enough to look like he's kissing your neck from far away but high enough for you to allow it. His teeth scrape at your pulse, and your body involuntarily arches into him. You think you hear him chuckle as the photographer's car speeds away.

You can imagine how the photos will be captioned in the morning, how they'll all praise what a good couple you already are, and some will even make jokes about how they wish they could be either of us. But this doesn't feel romantic or dreamy like they imagine it does. This feels like war.

[whiskey-bumblebee]

shake it out

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Reader

Word Count: 1510

A/N: Part of the touch tank ‘verse, established relationship, all that good stuff <3 (seeing this gif made me want to do CRIMES to this man’s body jesus christ...)

also! thank you to @ssamorganhotchner​ for hearing me out when i first had the idea! <3 hope you like the fleshed out version :))

Warnings: nude photography, female reader, pet names (honey, good girl), facials (in the sex sense), oral sex (M receiving), brief mention of guns

Hotch is a pretty private person, especially when it comes to work, so he doesn't love the idea of having/taking/storing digital nudes. Film would be cute, but someone has to process it. That's when he remembers... From his youth... Polaroids.

So now he has one that he keeps in a concealed section of his wallet, where it can sit neatly tucked away, hidden from even the most prying eyes. It's his favorite- one of your face, your jaw slack, eyes screwed shut. He's fucked his fist raw to it so many times that he thinks it's just about time for you two to take some new ones.

Hotch knows exactly what he’s getting into when he walks through the front door and sees your coat on the ground. He doesn’t bother taking his shoes off, knowing the combination of the freshly polished leather and his suit and tie will turn you on. He’s right, of course, as you hear his shoes clicking on the wood, making their way to the bedroom, where you’re laid out on the bed, flicking through a magazine. You’re lying on your stomach, dressed in your favorite matching set, and his favorite pair of heels, kicking your legs playfully behind you.

You hear him clear his throat from behind you, and you hook your finger under your bra strap, teasing him by slipping it off your shoulder and pretending you hadn’t heard him enter the room. He said your name lowly, and you glanced over your shoulder, back at him. He filled the doorway, and you smiled at the imposing figure he cut. To anyone else, they’d tense up when he walked into a room, but for you, it was the opposite. 

You knew you’d be safe, taken care of. Knew you were surrounded by love and care. He took his guns out of the holsters on his hip and ankle, locking them in the safe in the closet. You sighed and rolled your eyes slightly, knowing he wouldn’t be able to see your reaction. You’d asked him to leave them at the office, and he’d told you that wasn’t an option, since he never knew when he’d have to leave for the airport from home. Still, you didn’t love the idea of having guns in the house.

Pushing the thought from your mind, you glanced over at him, watching him undoing his tie and shrugging off his suit jacket in the ensuite. He made eye contact with you in the mirror, and his lips pulled into a slight smile. 

“You look pretty. Any particular reason you left a trail of clothing from the front door?”

“You know,” You smirked, tugging his hair as he leaned down for a kiss.

“Tell me anyway,” He mumbled against your lips before closing the gap.

You were impatient, and ran your tongue over his lips, trying to gain access to his mouth. He let you, for a moment, then pushed your shoulder, rolling you onto your back. In a moment, his body was between your legs, supporting his weight on one arm as he cradled your head with his other hand.

“Tell me what you’re planning. I want to hear you say it,” He said, searching your eyes. You twisted a strand of his hair around your finger, smiling up at him as you felt his body heat radiate from his still-clothed body. 

“I want you to fuck my mouth, and I want you to take pictures of me.”

He groaned softly, letting his face drop into your neck, where he bit down gently. 

“You okay with wearing a scarf tomorrow?”

“Yes,” You breathed, your eyes fluttering shut as your mind flooded with pleasure. Heat rushed through you, and you stroked your hand up and down his back, enjoying the smooth texture of his button-up beneath your splayed palm.

He bit down suddenly, and your body jerked, your back arching and pressing your barely-covered chest into his. 

“Fuck, Aaron,” You moaned, digging your nails into his shoulder. “More.”

“Say it again.”

“Aaron,” You breathed, grinding your core against his dress pants. “Aaron,” You moaned again, louder this time. He changed the angle of his knee so you had better leverage.

“Need me?”

You didn’t reply, lost in the sensation of his pants against your clit. The mesh of your panties didn’t leave much resistance.

“C’mon honey, I thought you wanted my cock in your mouth?”

He was satisfied with the array of bruises he’d left over your neck, running his fingers over them affectionately as he pulled back, moving to the other side of the bed and standing up. 

Goosebumps raised on your skin, suddenly cold now that you were without your human comforter. You moved to where Aaron was standing and knelt in front of him, looking up at him and batting your eyelashes playfully. 

He reached into his bedside drawer, and pulled out the polaroid camera you’d left there for him. He raised the camera to his face and looked through the viewfinder, framing the shot. It looked good, so he put the camera aside for a moment, undoing his zipper. 

“I’m not gonna last,” He said under his breath. “Not when you look like this.”

You nodded in understanding. “Where do you want to come?”

He stroked your cheek with the back of his hand. “Anywhere you want, baby. You’re the director.”

“On my face?” You grinned devilishly. “Should make for good photos.”

He swallowed thickly and nodded. You felt your skin grow warm from the attention. You’d never tire of having him wrapped around your finger.

“And Aaron? I want it rough. Want you to use my mouth how you want. And later...” You trailed off, and suddenly tugged his pants and briefs to his ankles. “You’re gonna fuck me how I want it.”

“Jesus,” He said softly. “Yes. Please...”

You took his cock in your hands, teasing the tip at first, letting it get messy, your spit running down his cock. You pumped him a few times while he readied the camera. He snapped one of you smiling up at him. It was a sweet smile, filled with genuine affection for the man behind the lens. That affection contrasted with the fact that you had both of your hands working on his cock, and the difference drove him wild.

His head dropped back as you took him into your mouth properly, letting one hand drop to your thigh, keeping the other in place while you warmed up, letting your mouth and throat get accustomed to his size. When you dropped your other hand to your thigh, he knew you were ready.

“Are you gonna take it?” He asked, adjusting his grip on your head. “You want this?”

You nodded enthusiastically. He nodded back. “Good. If you want me to stop, just push, okay?” You nodded again.

He was right about not lasting long. Within a few minutes, and 2 or 3 polaroids, he’d started groaning loudly, guiding you up and down his length at a quicker pace, feeling the tightness of your throat around him. From this vantage point, and with the lingerie you were wearing, he could see almost all of you, and he loved all of it, from the crown of your head, where his hand gripped your hair, to the soles of your feet, still in heels. 

“I’m close,” He groaned, voice higher than normal, his breaths coming quicker. “Close your eyes, honey.”

You did as he asked, and closed your eyes and opened your mouth. He gave a final shout of your name, sounding almost like anger, but you knew it was desperation, plain and simple. Within seconds, you felt his hot come coating your face, and you blinked your eyes open. He ran his thumb over your cheek, to your bottom lip, and you accepted it into your mouth, making eye contact with him all the while.

He breathed heavily, his breath still coming back to him, and let out a soft noise that sounded almost like a whine. The camera clicked, and he withdrew his thumb from your mouth. He put the camera aside, going to the bathroom to fetch a face cloth. He dampened it slightly and pumped some of your cleanser into the cloth. 

When he came back into the room, you were sitting on the bed cross-legged, having kicked off the heels. You held a picture in each hand, shaking them back and forth, a look of complete concentration on your face.

Aaron smiled and started laughing at the image. His come was drying on your cheeks and forehead, and here you were, making sure the film developed properly. 

“I love you.”

You blinked in surprise and looked up at him, having been so focused on your task that you hadn’t heard him come into the room. You smiled back at him.

“I love you too.”

He took a seat across from you on the bed, having kicked off his shoes too.

“C’mon. Let’s wipe you off and then we can take a look, hmm?”

[thesovereignsring-if]

Jesus christ I would never want to be in your way if you were upset (refering to the previous ask) lol that was such a beautiful way of telling someone to fuck off 🤣🤣🤣 but seriously tho. We haven't even gotten into the story for real yet. There hasn't been much character development which is to be expected since again... it's just started. It seems UNREALISTIC to expect the MC to now be all powerful this isn't a Manga. 🙄 kid lost his mom... was forced to adapt to a new home, had his brother attacked because of him on his birthday!! Then lose basic contact with both his siblings and when we see him again he's whisked away and lost the only.. other.. mother he's ever known and forced to flee in the middle of the goddamn night in a panic..

Where the fuck exactly were we supposed to be so wonderful and robotic to process all of this at the speed of light as our MC and now as a teenager (who is on the run!!!) Now he amazing and defeat everyone we see. 👀 with what??

Jesus cut the MC some slack and yeah Eirik is a dick bt we had one interaction with him. Albeit a horrible fucking one bt we have yet to even get to know them as a character at all ALONG WITH EVERYONE ELSE.

Not sure about being eloquent lmaoo. But thankfully, I was only mildly annoyed.

All I really said was to step back and look at the situation at a different angle and maybe have some sympathy for a little boy who’s going through a horrible rough patch in his life. Doesn’t mean what he did was right, it’s just that maybe, the people around him are failing him. :)

And have some sympathy for the MC as well. It’s only going to get mildly worse from here on out 😔

[finelinens1994]

i know it's easier to embrace blissful ignorance and choose to avoid anything that might make you (god forbid) think critically but jesus christ it's always so disappointing to see. i'm willing to cut younger people some slack because i know you guys especially got fucked educationally and got fucked by near-constant screen time as children but oh my fucking god... i see so many young people falling for propaganda unquestioningly and then stubbornly refusing to hear out anyone who tries to talk to them about it regardless of the approach. i try so hard to talk to kids at the library and answer their questions and prompt them to explore the information available to them meanwhile their parents are on their phones ignoring them except when it's time to reprimand them for doing normal shit. i feel awful for gen alpha. things are just fucked up and it's not fair that basically anyone under 20 is left to their own (literal) devices when it comes to learning about critical thought and dis/misinformation. there isn't really a key point to what i'm saying i just needed to say that i feel sad about all of this

[coffeesforcatchers]

jesus fucking christ

“let’s pause you there”

Liam your circle isn’t going to survive to the break please cut them some slack oh my god

[queerasflux]

So I've been struggling real bad with working through some old childhood trauma, and my therapist asked me to sit down and write down everything my mother did to me that was just like, Objectively Not Okay- and jesus christ. I always just sort of assumed that like, yeah, my mom wasn't the most perfect mom, but she was doing her best and meant well.

then I just... couldn't stop writing. and the more I wrote, the more I realized that hey, this was straight up abusive. not just "made a few mistakes but generally well-meaning as a parent" but like honest to god "what the fuck is wrong with you and why would you do that to a child" shit, and I'm just so angry and I don't know where to put it.

I'm tired of people telling me that I must forgive/give my mother some slack, because she's my mom and she was also traumatized and "did her best"- as if being traumatized is a free pass to abuse others, or that it somehow negates the emotional and mental toll it took on me to be raised by someone like her.

I'm angry that I can't even confront her about these things, because she will immediately either get defensive/aggressive at me, or will invalidate it (it wasn't that bad/wasn't as bad as what her mom did/she didn't mean it that way), or hop up on the pity potty and want to be comforted that yeah, even though she severely abused her child, she's not a bad mom, right?

Really just struggling with things rn. List under cut, because I think other people should also be aware this shit is Not Okay, and because I'm tired of covering up for my mother's bad behavior, and not being allowed to talk about it or how it hurt me because of how it may reflect on her.

A (very) abridged and generalized list of shit my mom has done that was straight up fucked up and abusive and Not Okay that I was convinced was "not that bad" for literal decades.

Beat the shit out of her autistic kid having meltdowns, joked years later about "beating the autism" out of me, never got me tested for autism/ADHD/any other neurodivergency, I had to get diagnosed myself at 28

stayed married to a man that was not only physically abusive, but who she (rightfully!) suspected of being a pedophile

constantly ripped her children from places once they'd established friendships/finally settled in at school with no warning, apology, support system, or any way to contact old friends

when her child who is very smart starts struggling very badly in school (for above reasons and also because she was drinking heavily and was too busy partying to help her kid), decides the best option is not to get the kid tested/help in school, but to simply scream at them that they're just like their abusive father

medically neglects her children- one of whom didn't get glasses until they were 13 and had a note sent home from school. same kid becomes partially deaf in ear later due to medical neglect, and eventually ends up with several disabilities as an adult from things that could have been prevented or mitigated from childhood

repeatedly put children in the path of her own abusive mother, who she knew and described as abusive, and who she knew (commented on and joked about!) was targeting one of her children specifically

when I get depressed over that, and come to her asking for help because I'm suicidal, she proceeds to mock me for (actual quote) "needing [my] mommyyyyyyy", does not get me into therapy

despite never getting her children treatment for their own mental illness or being someone they could confide in, perfectly able and willing to use her children as free therapists, from as young as 6 years old.

constant breaches of trust/privacy- instead of simply talking to children or listening to them when they have a problem, she decided to simply read journals, chats/emails, anything private, then becomes angry when confronted.

The first two times I came out to her, she just ignored it because she didn't want to have to deal with it and thought I would just drop it

The third and final time I came out, she said I was mutilating my body, that my fiance would stop loving me and no one else would ever want me, and that I was holding her hostage/betraying her.

again, the most generalized/abridged version of what she's done, and seeing it all down just... disgusts and enrages me. this is not okay behavior. this is child abuse, emotional abuse, just sickening behavior in general, and this whole time I've been making excuses. Because I was taught/told that I "had to understand" because she had been traumatized, so that somehow made my own trauma acceptable? Because she wasn't as bad as her mother, I was expected to praise her and never hold her accountable for her behaviors and actions. I am expected to give her kudos and a gold medal for meeting the bare minimum of food/shelter, as if that's not the absolute bare minimum that doesn't get your kids taken away, and that animals in the animal kingdom do without any sort of celebration every day. a leopard doesn't get a mother's day card for feeding her cubs, she has to do that or they fucking die.

I'm just angry, and I need to get it out somewhere. I am sure this will be eventually seen/found by my sister, and like, sorry buddy but I can't be quiet any more, and I'm not making excuses for her any more. She was abusive. Is abusive. And I don't have to put up with it any more.

[atinylittlepain]

I Wanna Marry You

no outbreak!joel miller x fem!OC

Hungry Hearts masterlist

he has a black velvet box waiting in his sock drawer. what will her answer be?

wordcount | 5K

warnings | this bad boy has it all. a little smut, a little angst, a whole lot of fluff

a/n | the jerry proposal and wedding event of the century. i had a lot of fun with this and would love to hear what y'all think <3

................................

Here’s the thing, Joel Miller is not slick. At all. And Cherry is pretty sure she knows what he’s up to.

For starters, she keeps finding him in their bedroom, his arm stuck way back into his sock drawer, though he never fails to whip around and slam it shut when she catches him, face flushed down and palming the back of his neck, a pantomime of casual guilt. He has also started making frequent trips out onto the back porch in the evening, leaving her on the couch while he takes a call. 

No, Joel Miller is not slick at all. She bets it’s Tommy’s fault, never far from a carton himself, though he knows better now than to smoke in her house, one too many swats upside the head. But he’s usually got a cigarette between his teeth when he and Joel drive together to work, so she doesn’t have to look far to figure out where Joel has picked it up again. 

It isn’t exactly that she minds him smoking. Hell, everyone did it in the eighties, and she even picked it up for a while back in the mid-nineties in the whole artsy-fartsy writing scene. What’s bothering her is that he’s making such a big deal of hiding it from her. Sure, keep it away from the girls, but why all the bullshit with her?

But she’s been waiting for him to bring it to her, something about healthy relationships and building trust and all that good stuff that she heard on some radio show, listened to while she was supposed to be doing edits for her newest project. She hasn’t snooped, she hasn’t pried, even as whatever this is continues to grate on her nerves. Supposed calls being taken, and Joel spending a bit too much time with his hand in his sock drawer.

Here’s the thing, Cherry isn’t very good at waiting. A moment of weakness, what she should be doing is going over the new round of edits she was just sent. What she finds herself doing instead is wandering upstairs into their bedroom. Everyone else out of the house, the girls at school and Joel at work for another half hour, so it’s perfectly quiet when she opens up his sock drawer and starts rifling through it.

She would have preferred to find a carton of cigarettes. Definitely not a necklace, nor a bracelet, and she’s pretty sure it’s not earrings either. No, the black velvet box is the wrong shape for any of those pieces of jewelry. She doesn’t open the box though, doesn’t really have time to when she suddenly hears the garage door opening, followed by what could only be the sound of Joel’s boots shuffling around in the kitchen. 

“Cher?” She moves before she can think, something nervous swirling up in her stomach, that damn velvet box still clutched in her hand as she makes her way downstairs. Joel stops himself mid sentence, something about needing to go to the grocery that gets cut off when he catches her pinched expression. 

“What happened? What’s the matter?” Anger feels good at least, so she scoffs, setting the ring box down on the kitchen counter between them. Joel’s face goes perfectly slack.

“You tell me. What the hell is this?” 

“That’s– you– what’re you doing snooping like that? Jesus christ.” Good, she thinks, let him get angry too. It’ll give her something to bite back at, glaring at each other from across the counter, Joel running a frustrated palm down his face.

“Snooping? Oh please, it was kinda hard not to notice your newfound obsession with the back of your fucking sock drawer. I’m telling you right now, Joel Miller, if this is what I think it is, you’ll return it if you know what’s good for you.” 

“Oh come on, Cher, just–”

“No.”

“Let’s just–”

“No, Joel. We’ve talked about this. You know that isn’t something I want.” She sees the sharp wince in his expression, but it’s not enough for her to back down, not when it comes to this. They have talked about this. A few times now. And normally, Joel is on her side, neither of them caring much about a ceremony or the titles that would come with it. Hell would have to freeze over before she took someone else’s name, not when she has built so much out of and on her own. 

“I just– it’s paperwork. That’s all it is, and a ring. You and I don’t need that, baby. It’s, we’re past that.” She knows what she’s doing with that soft baby she slips into her words, and for a beat, it seems to melt Joel just the way she wants it to, his eyes rounding a little, grimace softening around the edges. But then he huffs, a harsh drag of his fingers through his hair as he shakes his head at her.

“What about what I want, huh? Is it such a goddamn crime for me to want this? To want something a little more– a little more official? Fuck, Cherry, this isn’t– this is not how I wanted this to go.” Damn him, damn him for the way his words crack, tired and utterly disappointed at the end, a long sigh that slumps his shoulders. Damn him, she can never stay mad at him. Damn him, because she would like to give him whatever he wants, but this is not that easy. Silence falls between them, Joel resting both his palms on the counter, his head hanging down between his shoulders. Careful and quiet, she rounds the counter, one palm to his shoulder, and one covering his hand. 

“You deserve to have what you want, you do. But marriage is not– it’s not something– what we have is good, and I don’t want this– this thing to change it.” The truth of it. To her, marriage is cage. Marriage is silent houses, scraping forks at dinner. Marriage is violence. And she thinks that Joel understands that, his palm shuffling to rest over hers, thumb stroking along the side of her hand. 

“I don’t want it to be like that, Cher. Like you said, s’just paperwork. We can make it whatever we want it to be. Hell, we can just chalk it up to the tax breaks if we want.” It’s enough to coax a laugh up from her chest, her smile slipping to the side as she rests her cheek against his bicep, anger long forgotten for whatever this is. Something sweet, at least.

“Can I ask why it’s so important to you? Because if it’s just Deedee breathing down your neck I can handle–”  He cuts her off with a laugh of his own, a small shuffle for him to lean back against the counter, her stepping between his legs and letting her hands settle along his waist, dipping her head down when his chin drops in something a bit bashful.

“No, it’s not her, though she probably wouldn’t be upset at the prospect. But it is something I want, and– it’s stupid really.” She coaxes him with a quiet no, tell me, baby, squeezing at the soft part of his waist, making him huff again, and maybe flush a little. She loves getting him like this, a little mushy gushy where he’s usually such a hardass. God forbid Joel Miller have feelings, and God forbid he get embarrassed by having said feelings.

“Certainty, you know? That’s what marriage means to me. My folks– they’ve been married for fifty-something years now. And it’s a very real thing to them, that commitment. I just– I’d like that– with you.” And damn him again, for looking at her like that, brow all pinched up, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth when he finishes talking. She gets it now. Where she sees capture, captive, Joel sees comfort, reassurance that yes, this is real. Yes, staying. Got the ring and the paperwork to prove it. Maybe it could be that for her too. Maybe he could show her how.

Her answer doesn’t come in words, not at first, easy to lean forward and press her lips to his, once, twice, feeling the small curl of his smile the second time, hers matching his, fitting with his.

“So, you said something about tax breaks?” Enough to smooth out the scrunch of uncertainty in his expression, that smile threatening at the corners of his mouth while her palms smooth and shift to splay over his chest. 

“That a yes?” 

“Show me the ring, Miller.” He doesn’t turn around, just fumbles blindly behind himself until he snatches up the box. Of course, it’s perfect. A little unconventional, simple silver band with an opal set in it. Yes feels a little easier just looking at it. 

“I’m not wearing white, for the record.” 

“I’d expect nothing less, Cher.” Before he can lean in for another kiss, she remembers that initial curl of anger, pressing against his chest to hold him at bay.

“Wait, so you’re not smoking again?”

“What? Why the hell would you think that?” 

“I mean, that’s what I assumed was going on with the sock drawer and all the evening calls you were taking on the porch.” While she’s dead serious, Joel just seems entirely amused by the whole thing, letting out a laugh and squeezing at her hips even as she huffs at him.

“That’s not– those were phone calls, with Tommy. I was– well, I was planning something for you.” Damn him, Joel Miller was planning a proposal, and now she looks like a total jackass for ruining it.

“Oh, oh. What were you planning?” 

“If you weren’t so goddamned nosy maybe you would’ve gotten to find out, Cherry baby.” 

“Hey, watch it. The ring isn’t on my finger yet.” Of course Joel takes that as a challenge, one she doesn’t really care to fight against, letting him pull her closer into his chest while he fumbles with her left hand, a small, petulant grumble when it takes him a few tries to slide the ring onto her finger. When he does succeed, she indulges him with a waggle of her fingers, watching the gem glint, all light and color. 

“What do you think?” 

“You did good, Miller.”

“The girls helped pick it out.”

“You’re telling me Sarah and Ellie both knew about this? And that Ellie voluntarily looked at jewelry?” Clearly pleased with himself, he hums a yes, so smug she would smack him if it wasn’t a sweet thought. Her girl helping him pick something out for her mom. 

“Just to clarify, this does count as a yes, right?” 

“I suppose so.” She says it with a sigh, playing at resignation that he jostles out of her, another kiss that’s more answer than anything else.

…

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Uh, putting on my suit jacket.”

“If you think you’re wearing jeans to the goddamn ceremony you’re sorely mistaken.”

“It’s Texas, Joel. You can wear jeans to a wedding.”

“Not to mine you can’t. Does Maria know about your little outfit? Because I reckon she’s not gonna be too pleased with it either.” Tommy’s face falls at that, hands pausing in his adjustment of his cufflinks.

“Shit, you think I got time to run back to my place?” 

“You’ll have to meet us there, but I ain’t letting you in the chapel like that either.” Tommy is already shuffling down the hall, though Joel chooses to ignore what he thinks is a grumbled fucking diva that comes from his brother’s mouth. More important things to be thinking about anyways, like the faint sound of Cherry and the girls getting ready down the hall. 

Sarah and Ellie had been adamant about this separation, starting last night when they stepped in front of the couch where he and Cherry were sitting. Their girls, with all the solemnity of CIA agents, informing them that the next time Joel would see his woman would be at the altar, no time for him to protest when they were already all but dragging her away from him. Sure, she was just down the hall in the guestroom, but he wasn’t about to rail against their girls’ orders, unsure whose wrath he was more afraid of, Sarah’s or Ellie’s, or the combined, nuclear explosion of the two. 

His eyes flick over to the clock on the nightstand, a muttered curse when he realizes they should have left five minutes ago. The plan, him and Sarah, his best maid of honor as she had named herself, in the truck, and Cherry and Ellie, her best maid of honor as dubbed by Sarah, in the minivan. No seeing each other until the altar, right. 

“Sarah, you ready to go? We’re already–” He doesn’t get the rest out, stumbling back in the hall when someone clamps their palms over his eyes. 

“Don’t look, old man, Jesus. We were just leaving.” He huffs at Ellie’s snappy command, a light tug to her wrists, though her hands don’t budge, clammy over the tops of his cheeks where they’re covering his eyes.

“Kid, my eyes are closed. Lay off, huh?” Albeit reluctantly, Ellie takes her hands away, a seemingly satisfied hum when she sees that his eyes are in fact closed. 

“I’ll give you the all clear when we’re down the stairs, alright? But until then, keep ‘em shut.” Lord help him.

“Uh-huh, whatever you say, boss.” Not sure what else to do, he rests his hands on his hips, eyes still scrunched shut as he hears what he thinks is the sound of Ellie and Sarah both bounding down the steps, but his whole spine shivers  when he feels a hand slip along his jaw, nails lightly scratching at his scruff.

“Look at you, baby. Always clean up so nice.” He could open his eyes, but now it feels like a game with the way her words graze right over his mouth, and he’s not about to lose. 

“How come you get to look?” A bright peel of laughter, her other palm slipping up along his chest. He can picture that grin of hers in his mind.

“Because I’m the bride, Joel. I can do whatever the fuck I want.” He has to laugh, his hands reaching blindly, slipping against silk that makes a hum settle in his chest. His eyes threaten to open on impulse to see, though he manages to keep them scrunched shut. 

“You still wanna do this, right? It’s– this is still good?” He knows it’s a stupid question, a small part of him still worried that somehow, there will be a catch to all of this. But Cherry doesn’t even indulge his ask with words, a pfft in the back of her throat before she leans in a little closer, guiding his lips to hers in a sweet, simple kiss. 

“I’ll see you at the altar, handsome.” 

…

“Dad, don’t cry. We haven’t even gotten to the church yet.” He sniffs hard, knuckles swiping under his nose as his other hand holds the passenger side door open for Sarah. 

“I’m not– not crying. You look very beautiful, honey.” An eye roll and a scoff, but he’ll take it, because she really does look lovely in the light purple dress Cherry helped her pick out, a sweet sight, with baby’s breath threaded through her hair.

His heart starts to kick up when they get to the church. It’s a small thing, simple, white clapboard and a single steeple. He knew that Deedee would have thrown a fit if they didn’t get married in a place of worship, not that he or Cherry had stepped foot in a church anytime in their recent adult lives. Still, they were happy to make that compromise, even though the priest had a small aneurysm when they told him that Cherry wouldn’t be taking Joel’s last name, no need for the Mr. and Mrs. Miller congratulations. Doing things their own way, just like they always have. 

Only the first two rows are filled across each aisle. His parents, Tommy and Maria, a handful of other friends and family. Will is here too, with his girlfriend who Cherry seems sure will soon be more than his girlfriend. Joel’s family has become hers in many ways, filling in the gaps, something he’s been happy to be able to offer to her, and to Will whenever he visits. 

He stands at the altar, waiting, Sarah right next to him, his hand on her shoulder, something to steady whatever this jittery feeling is. 

And there’s no fanfare to it, just a sudden wave of silence when she and Ellie appear at the end of the aisle, heads turning over shoulders to see. Ellie looks sharp in her suit, pleased with herself, clear in the set back of her shoulders and the tilt of her chin as she walks her mom down the aisle. And Cherry, well. 

He can already hear her snark. We’re way past white, Miller. Like sage, he thinks, soft green silk, a simple slip, her shoulders bare to reveal the dark curl of her tattoo. Her bouquet, made mostly of chrysanthemums, a broken laugh rattling in his chest at the sight. And she’s looking at him, the smallest curl of a smile, maybe a little nervous when her eyes dart to their modest audience, but then right back on him, still certain. 

“I like the suit, kid.”

“Thanks, old man.” He’s only a little surprised when Ellie offers him a quick hug, already ducking over to the side so it’s just him and Cherry, and the priest, of course.

And the rest is blissfully easy.

…

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

“Don’t slouch.” Her mother’s hand is a quick curl of ice at the back of her neck, just enough pressure to send her spine back into straightness from her slow slump in the pew. Honestly, she’s not sure why her family insisted on going to this wedding, it’s not like they’re that close with Lisa-Anne’s family, especially not her older sister who is the one getting married. Appearances, she reasons, always appearances with her mother and father. See and be seen. 

Right now, after a nearly two-hour long ceremony, she has no interest in what her mother and father want, a little more focused on how her tights are cutting into her waist, sweat starting to drip down her spine beneath the stiff fabric of her dress. Mercifully though, this whole wedding thing seems to be wrapping itself up, man and wife walking down the aisle to a polite chorus of clapping. Meanwhile, she’s trying to figure out how she can escape early from the party afterward, trailing a bit glumly behind Will and their parents as everyone files out of the church. 

“Hey, Cherry.” Just above a whisper, it still stops her in her tracks, stepping out of the throng of people to look around for where that sound came from. She scoffs when she sees who it is.

“What do you want, Joel?” He looks like a cartoon character running from the law, peeking out from behind the side of the church, wild grin and a jerk of his chin that she knows means come over here. She glances back to her family, making their way along with everyone else to the tent set up for the reception, and suddenly, whatever Joel’s offer may be is seeming much more appealing, already slinking off to the side and toward him. When she gets within arm’s length, he surprises her with a reach and tug to her forearm, pulling her along and behind the church, finding Tommy already partaking in what she supposes Joel wanted to rope her into.

“Hey, dipshit, I didn’t tell you to light up yet, did I? Have some manners, goddamn.” Tommy smiles sheepish, a thin seep of smoke coming out around the edges of his smile as Joel plucks the blunt from his fingers. He must be exceptionally bored, she thinks, to have wrangled her into this, considering that they haven’t spoken to each other much for the majority of sophomore year. 

“I would say ladies’ first, but seeing as someone started without us, I’ll just give you the next hit, Cher.” She knows he’s serious, holding the smoldering blunt out to her pinched between thumb and forefinger, but she still scoffs. 

“I can’t do that, Joel. If my mom smelled that on me she’d– well, I can’t do that.” He squints, shrugs. And she hates how beautiful he looks when he takes a languid hit, the top buttons of his rumpled dress shirt undone to display how the long line of his neck trembles with the inhale, the puff of his chest, and then that smooth slump when he lets the smoke out. 

“Suit yourself. Tom, Maureen said she’d dance with you–” Tommy’s eyes light up, an exclamation already hanging from his parted lips, though Joel cuts him off with a prim finger pointed in the air.

“If you catch her early. So, you know, best get on with it.” Tommy nods hard, gulps a thank you to Joel, and is off like lightning around the side of the church and toward the reception. She raises her brow at Joel. Another shrug, smug.

“He asked me to talk to Maureen for him.”

“You didn’t talk to Maureen, did you?” 

“Nope, he’ll figure that out for himself though. You sure you don’t want some of this?” He takes another hit, hissing out smoke as if to punctuate his question. 

“No, and if that’s all you called me over here for then I think I’d rather be over at the–” 

“Oh, c’mon, Cher. We can just talk, huh? It’s better than all that bullshit anyways. Look–” With that, he flicks the half-smoked blunt into the grass, stamping it out with the sole of his shoe.

“See? All gone, now we can be civil and proper just like your mama wants us to be.” His smile spreads, and she can’t help her own, finally sighing and leaning back against the side of the church, turning her head on her shoulder to look at him.

“What’d you think of the service?” He snorts, kicking the toe of his shoe into the grass, his gelled hair – Deedee’s work, no doubt – flopping and falling into his eyes. 

“Thought it was long. And I thought the groom looked about ready to hoof it.” It feels good to laugh after sitting still for so long, a quick flutter of it in her chest.

“He was sweating so much. And the way he messed up his vows?” Ever the entertainer Joel immediately goes into character, his grin dissolving, brow pinching down and mouth pulling into an over the top frown as he wrings his hands in front of him, the perfect pantomime of fret.

“In, uh, in health– no, in sickness and in health until, uh– what was it again? Oh, death– until death do us part. A–fucking–men.” He concludes with a slap to his thigh and a big bark of laughter, his head tilting to the side as he grins at her own guffaw.

“You make fun now, but just wait until you’re up there at the altar one day. I’d pay money to see that trainwreck.” 

“Not very nice, Cherry. And also, bold of you to assume I’m even gonna get married.” 

“Oh please, Joel. At the very least, I’m sure Deedee will eventually stick you with some nice girl from the Kiwanis Club.” His whole face scrunches up at that, an indignant sound crawling up the back of his throat as he shakes his head at her.

“Nah, nope, no, ma’am. Reckon I’m not really the marrying type.”

“How can you say that? You don’t even have your driver’s license yet.”

“Uh, yes I do. I got it last week.” He’s already fumbling in his back pocket, movements a little fuzzed around the edges from his couple of hits as he procures his wallet and waves his fresh license in her face.

“Nice mugshot.” He tuts, tucking his wallet away.

“Always so mean. I bet you’ll be a sight at the altar one day, Cher. Gotta be careful not to shred your pretty white dress up with all that bite.” The word bite comes out with a flashy flare of his canines, a dramatic snap of his jaw that makes her snort.

“I won’t have to worry about that, thank you very much.”

“Oh no?”

“No, I’m never getting married.” She regrets it the instant she says it, even though she means it, already bracing for Joel’s mimicry.

“How can you say that? You don’t even have your driver’s license yet.” High and nasally, though he cuts himself off with an oof when she shoves him in the shoulder.

“I got mine two months ago, so there.” He sighs, shoving his hands deep in his pockets as he mirrors her stance, leaning back against the church with his shoulder brushing against hers.

“You really ain’t gonna get married, Cher?”

“Not if I can help it, you?” It must be the weed, she thinks, making his face fall and his eyes droop.

“Nah, it’d, uh, have to be someone real special to change my mind.”

…

“You think they’d notice if we sneaked off for a while?” She tries to keep her grin schooled, a hard task with Joel’s hands wandering down her hips, laying a squeeze to the swell of her thighs before skating back up, arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her back flush with his chest. 

“Hmm, the cake’s been cut, et cetera, et cetera. I think we could get away with it.” Joel hums, swaying her a little where they’re standing on their back porch, surveying their small but mighty reception. Ellie is dancing a clumsy waltz with Deedee, a few other family members around on the makeshift dance floor, everyone else talking in a haze of booze and sugar, slumped in their folding seats, napkins and plates stacked on the tables in front of them. And her and Joel are already slinking inside and up the steps. Giggling, entirely absurd, they don’t even make it to the bedroom, tangling and traipsing over each other into the bathroom, Joel kicking the door shut behind them as he crowds her up against the sink.

“Looked so beautiful today, I already tell you that?” Words humid and hotly murmured into her sternum, her laugh turns into a gasp when he noses up the column of her throat, teeth grazing that spot he so likes to grin into.

“You may have mentioned it. Not as pretty as you though, baby. All proper for me– oh, right there– waiting for me in your suit and tie.” Said suit and tie has long been shucked down to just his button-up and slacks, now untucked and rumpled, going lopsided with the way she fumbles down the first few buttons of his shirt. She can practically feel the heat flushing up his neck from her words, though Joel hides any bashfulness with a petulant smack to the side of her ass, quick to smooth when she jolts in his hold.

“Don’t tease, Cher, gotta be quick, huh? You gonna turn around for me and show me this pretty dress from the back?” The realization of just what that means settles in her mind, slanting her grin to the side as she shoves him back with a palm in the middle of his chest, for once, doing exactly as he asks and turning around to rest her palms on the counter. For posterity’s sake, she makes a show of it, arching her spine and spreading her stance a little wider, a little sway in her hips. She can’t help her snicker when Joel finally slides the satiny skirt of her dress up over her hips, his movements stuttering still as a quiet curse slips from his mouth.

“How— how long have you been like this?” She turns her gaze over her shoulder, maybe enjoying this too much in the slow bat of her lashes. Joel looks stricken, jaw slack and eyes wide.

“All day, baby, why do you ask?” 

“You’re telling me you walked down the aisle– in a house of God– like this?” She shrugs, leaning back into Joel’s palm that’s been idly palming her ass, her very bare ass. 

“Don’t tell Deedee.” His laugh comes out on a splutter, clearly unsure if he even should laugh in the first place, though she can’t help her own snort of amusement, soon the both of them dissolving into it, shoulders shaking and eyes crinkling up.

“You are trying to give me a fucking heart attack, goddamn.”

“Think of the lines, Joel, it would have ruined my outfit.” He just shakes his head, leaning over her to find a slanted kiss. And then the realization that yes, they still need to be quick about this, wedding guests downstairs and all that. A little bit of fumbling, and a preening sigh in the back of her throat when he drags the hot weight of his cock through the seam of her cunt.

“Who’s the freak now, huh, Cher?” She tries to laugh, but it’s more of a whine when his hips finally settle against the plush of her ass, so deep that she can’t help but lift up onto her toes, Joel holding her steady with a palm clutching at her breast.

“You’re the one that married the freak.”

“Damn right I did.” 

Not romantic at all. Quick, the lewd sound of skin slapping against skin with the way she bounces back to meet his thrusts. And no, not so young anymore, so it isn’t long before they’re both biting back moans, a small hit to hold them over before the guests leave. They slump down against each other in the aftermath, hazy smiles and breaths that try at laughs, Joel pressing his lips to the top of her shoulder, the side of her neck, her temple. 

“Love you, freak.” 

“You were the freak first, Miller.”

“I believe the correct response is love you too, actually.” Still framing her against the counter, his hand comes to rest over top of hers, fiddling a bit with the ring on her finger.

“Yeah, that too.” He scoffs rubbing his scruff against her cheek with the way he shakes his head at her. It’s annoying how quickly she folds for him, turning around in his hold, a shaky two-step to finally look at him. 

“You know I do, baby. I wouldn’t do this with anyone else.” She punctuates her words with a kiss, small and simple, feeling his hum beneath her palm on his chest. 

“Me too, Cherry. Only ever imagined it with you.” 

...........................................

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[whentherewerebicycles]

SORRY i have to do dear diary: work problems edition under the cut again

so on monday i volunteered to do this small project with the HR team to wrap up a massive project i’d led earlier (although of course it was one that my lead took over in the last 2% of work and now claims as her own achievement). got the go-ahead from my boss & my lead was copied on all the emails. so i set up meetings with the team today and tomorrow, circulated an agenda, and created a structure for us to use in brainstorming content. my lead was CC’d on all of this because i’m not allowed to email people without her knowing. then this morning she messaged to ask me to change the time of my meeting because she wanted to meet with the HR lead about something earlier in the day. so i was like ok whatever! annoying that you couldn’t find some other time and had to take this time but fine! i moved the meeting, sent out a note to the HR team, and don’t really think anything of it.

but THEN we just had our weekly meeting with our boss, and at this meeting ashley announced that she had met with the HR team this morning, gotten all the material needed the project, and would complete everything by the end of the day. i was just sitting there like “...i’m sorry?” and finally interrupted her to be like “so what should i do with them in the meeting?” and she was like “well you don’t really need to have it now. but you could just sit on the call with them and have them upload these three forms i need and email them to me if you want.” i just sat there gaping at her because what the ACTUAL fuck???? like you already block me from taking on projects and take credit for the projects i DO do and now you’ve escalated to stealing projects I’d claimed & completing them before i can finish them & then telling me that in front of my boss so it looks like either you didn’t trust me to do it myself or i was failing in some way and you had to pick up the slack? and also you make me look stupid in front of the HR team by scheduling your own private meetings with them and not telling me so i’m still communicating with them like i’m coordinating the project? like WHAT is this woman’s deal??? jesus christ!!!!

i have a meeting with her later (which she rescheduled earlier one minute before it was supposed to start without telling me) and i’m trying to decide if i bring it up with her to be like “that really fucking bothered me” in more professional language, or if i just let it go and use it as further fuel to get out of here. i feel like i keep letting things go because they’re annoying/insulting but they’re also just “oh i can explain...” enough that i feel dumb bringing them up because there’s that tiny voice in my head that’s like ‘did you miss something? did YOU fuck up? is someone mad at you? did your boss say yes to your face and then go over your head to tell your lead to do the project for you?’ which just makes me feel all uncomfortable and lowkey anxious even though i’m like if i DID fuck up recently somehow (how could i have fucked up?? i’ve been out for three weeks!!!! i literally have not had opportunity to fuck up!!!) and my boss handled it that way instead of addressing it with me, that’s just terrible management and should not be something i internalize. but AGH the fucking MIND GAMES in this team and just all! the! tiny! ways! my lead undermines me or tries to make me doubt myself. and THEN i have no idea if she’s doing it intentionally or if she’s just kinda shitty at supervising people or at communicating clearly (which is funny because she talks all the time about how she’s such a ~relator~ whose biggest skill is building relationships and communicating with people). idk man it just makes me feel bad and then it feels even worse to stew in the negative feelings all day. like i don’t actually ENJOY complaining i would much rather just have a job where i get to work hard alongside people i generally like and respect and all of my dear diary posts are about how rewarding i find my work or whatever!!! blehhhh okay gotta go do a quick lap around the house before i can face her in 5 minutes. 

[chancellorxofxtrash]

Keiwa - current feelings?

Okay but seriously fucking FINALLY someone told him the deal with Mitsume. People talking shit at him for being mad at the goddess because uhm hello nobody fucking told him it isn't her fault. And maybe he wasn't the most tactful about it but did we also forget that his parents also got sacrificed during the DGP? Maybe she wasn't that tactful about Ace's mom, but Ace wasn't too tactful about Keiwa's parents either, when their discussion was basically "so your mom took away my parents" "my mom did nothing wrong". Neither of them were tactful there, and Ace cannot communicate to save his life, but I'm just tired of people putting this conflict on Keiwa solely. Do I get why Ace struggles to communicate? Yes. Do I also get why Keiwa MIGHT NOT HAVE BEEN MOST TACTFUL WITH HIS WORDS? Also yes. Like jesus christ cut him some slack too.

Keiwa sees saving the people who got sacrificed to the goddess as a way to right a horrible wrong. To correct a terrible injustice. The injustice was done to Mitsume (WHICH. AGAIN. HE DID NOT KNOW ABOUT UNTIL THIS WEEK), but there were also countless other victims. Keiwa focuses on the other victims (BC DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT HOW MITSUME WAS USED), and Ace only focuses on his mom (which, duh).

And then there is his conflict with Michinaga. I mean. HE LANDED A HIT ON HIM! Michinaga looks at all of this and basically is just going. "No. Burn it all down." Instead of trying to solve it, he is going to cut the knot, he will destroy it. He thinks this is unsalvageable. Nothing good can come from anything else - meanwhile Keiwa wants to fix the things that were broken, and THEN shut the DGP off. Michinaga thinks there is no point for wishing to fix the broken past. (He never wished for Tooru to come back, as far we know, after all. He is always looking forward, despite being trapped by his past. Which is... interesting.)

And of course him telling Neon that he considers them friends, and just how he wouldn't want her to run away, that he still looks at her as he always did. Neon is still Neon, after all. (GOD HOW I WISH HE WOULD HAVE SAID THAT TO HER.)

Tl;dr: I just think Keiwa is neat and the people constantly hating on him are ridiculous lmao.