#do you think 50 miles is enough

[helianthus21]

do you think the vampire community has a whatsapp group just to warn each other where any member of the dreaded polycule is at a given time so they can flee the general 50 mile area?

[motorsportbarbie13]

Christmas Showdown

In which you and Lando run into an ex-boyfriend while you're home for the holidays.

Warnings: talk of abusive relationship (no details though). Established relationship. Protective Lando. This could probably be better and it's pretty short buttttttt I needed to get this out of my head, so enjoy! Pairing: Lando Norris x Girlfriend!Reader Word Count: 1.8k words

Master List

It had been several years since you spent the holidays in your small Midwestern hometown. Usually, your family flew out to London or Monaco to spend the holiday’s with you there, much preferring to leave Michigan’s several feet of snow that was typically on the ground during Christmas. This year was different thought. Your grandmother had been too ill to make the long flight so instead, you came to them. Which was fine with you, you had missed seeing friends that were home for the holidays and missed the nostalgic nights spent around the Christmas tree with your family. The one person who was not fine with it, however, was your boyfriend. 

Lando Norris simply hated the cold. He hated being cold. Hated thinking about the cold. Hated the snow. Anytime the temperature dipped below 50 degrees Fahrenheit ( which also a fight you two had often was how he refused to learn the difference between Fahrenheit and Celsius while also simultaneously refusing to do the same for him.) So you knew he must really be down bad for you when he had agreed (albeit a bit sluggishly) to spend the Christmas holiday with you in your (freezing) hometown. 

There was minimal complaining for the first few days you were at home, mostly because it the weather was fair enough to not be something comparable to the North Pole, but trouble arose the day of your Aunt and Uncle’s infamous Christmas party. The first sign of trouble was your brother’s insistence on a family outing to the sledding hill that was a few miles from your house. Of course Lando had packed several parkas but when he had seen the Canada Goose store in the mall the day before, he had bought the thickest, best cold rated puffer jacket he could find. Despite that and several layers of long johns and sweaters, by the time you reached the sledding hill your poor boyfriend was shivering like your grandma’s ancient chihuahua. 

To his credit though, there was not one single utterance of a complaint or plea to go back to your parents house for a cup of hot chocolate then entire time. Lando happily chased your nieces and nephews around the sledding hill and even went down the hill a few times with you. 

“Okay, folks!” Your dad calls out as the afternoon sun hangs low in the sky. “I think it’s time we all head home and get ready for Judy and Steve’s party tonight. I expect everyone to be at their house by 7pm sharp!” The ‘this reminder is for your benefit’ look that your dad sends you has your already wind chapped face turning even more red. 

“I don’t know why you’re glaring at me! I’m always on time!” You shout, grabbing for Lando’s hand. “We’ll see you guys tonight!” 

Once you get in the Range Rover that Lando had rented for the two week visit, he immediately turns the heated seats on full power and cranks up the heat. 

“Do you want to swing by Starbucks and get something warm before going home?” You ask as Lando pulls out of the park and onto the snowy street. “I feel like I might need to just get you an IV of hot chocolate at this point.” 

Lando gives you a sidelong glare. “I think I have icicles in my nose hairs.” 

Laughter tumbles out of you, quick and light, sending a thrill of pleasure down Lando’s spine. You two had been dating for a few years now and there were still times he’d look over at you and think ‘how the fuck did I convince this girl to be my girlfriend?’. You had come into his life at a particularly challenging time and had been his rock since day one. 

“Starbucks it is, my poor little snowman. There’s one up here in this strip mall. Turn left at this light and then it’s on the right.” 

The parking lot, which is a shared lot with several other big box stores, is an absolute zoo and you can see the line snaking around the inside of the Starbucks before you even go in. To save some time, Lando drops you off at the front door while he goes and finds a spot for the large SUV. 

The line is long when you get inside but you’re thankful to at least be out of the bitter cold. While you wait in line, you mindlessly scroll on your Instagram, which is locked down tighter than Fort Knox. Going private on all socials and not being featured heavily on Lando’s had been one of the things you two had agreed upon when things started getting serious nearly two years ago now. People who were huge Lando fans knew who you were but the casual F1 fan probably wouldn’t have been able to pick you out of a lineup. 

Your casually scrolling, minding your own business, when a deep voice calling your name jolts you out of your little social media bubble. 

“Jeff?” You sputter, surprised to see your college boyfriend standing in front of you in line, huge smile on his face. 

Jeff had been one of the guys you and your best friends had drooled over in high school, having been nearly two years ahead of you when you were teens. You didn’t start dating him until your freshman year of college, when he was already a junior. To say the man was toxic was an understatement. In fact, now that you had a few years distance between the now and the end of the relationship, you could confidently say Jeff had been pretty abusive. 

“Hey, stranger!” He says, leaning in for a hug. You go completely still, totally unprepared to be faced with the man who had caused you so much trauma in the two years you had dated. “I have’t seen you in ages, visiting your family for the holidays?” 

You toss a look over your shoulder, desperately wishing for Lando to come walking in the door. “Uh, yeah. First time in a few years. I usually fly them over to London or Monaco for the holidays.” 

A dark shadow passes over Jeff’s face at the mention of where you live now. “Monaco, huh? You always thought you were too good for us here, didn’t you?” 

Your stomach twists painfully at the look in his eyes and you briefly consider just turning around and walking right out of the Starbucks without your drinks.

Before you can stutter out a response, a strong pair of large hands wraps around your waist as Lando drops his head onto your shoulder. “Darling. Baby. Sweetheart. Love of my life." Lando croons in your ear, not yet picking up on your body language. "I adore you but why the fuck did you have to be born in a place where the air hurts your face?” 

You laugh stiffly despite yourself. “Talk to my parents about that one, love.” 

Lando drops a kiss on your cheek before looking over at the other man. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were talking to someone.” 

Across from you, Jeff had been watching this exchange between Lando and you with an increasing amount of annoyance. Who the fuck was this and why was he calling you the love of his life? 

“Lando, this is Jeff.” You turn slightly, giving Lando a knowing look which he catches onto immediately. “Jeff, this is my boyfriend, Lando.” 

“That’s an interesting name. Only heard that name twice before, once in Star Wars and…” Jeff’s voice drops off as he finally makes the connection. “Wait. Lando…as in Lando Norris?” 

The smug grin that stretches across Lando’s face nearly has you giggling. “That’s me. And you’re Jeff, huh? I’ve heard a lot about you. None of it good.” 

Lando remembered the first time you had ever opened up to him a few months into dating about how you had been in an abusive relationship in college and how much work it had taken to recover from it. He had been your first serious relationship after leaving Jeff, having left the country just to get away from him. Internally, Lando raged at the man standing in front of you two, the protective instinct in him screaming to just lay the guy out right here.

Jeff’s already ruddy face turns red with incandescent rage. You had totally forgotten he was a big Formula One fan and when you remember the fact that not only is he an F1 fan, but a huge McLaren fan, the urge to giggle hits you again. Oh, this was just too good. 

“How’d you…” Jeff stutters. “How’d you manage to bag yourself a Formula 1 driver?” 

The question is a pathetic attempt to rile you up and insult you but both you and Lando see that question for exactly what it is. 

Lando plants another kiss on your cheek and you know he’s doing it to be an asshole. “I was actually the one who pursued her. She turned me down left and right for nearly a year, didn’t you baby?” 

You nod, remembering the way Lando had come into your office at the McLaren Tech Center day after day just to make small talk at first but finally had worked up the nerve to ask you out. You were one of the newer people on the comms team back then and you hand’t wanted to jeopardize the career you had worked so hard for so you had turned him down for nearly a year, insisting that you wanted nothing more than a friendship with the driver. 

“But eventually, he wore me down. He flew me to Monaco and took me out on his yacht for our first date, it was all very romantic.” It had actually been Max’s yacht, but Jeff didn’t need to know that bit. 

You can see Jeff practically seething at this point, knowing that you’re doing so well and he’s still apparently stuck in your hometown. 

“And how are you doing, Jeff? Still working at your dad’s law firm? How is Vance doing? And Laura?” You know it’s killing him, asking about his parents by their first name. 

Jeff just blinks at you for a few moments, realizing you weren’t the little girl he used to push around and take advantage of in college anymore. “Made partner last year, actually.” 

“That must be easy to do when your dad owns the practice, huh?” Lando says, voice nothing but light innocence. 

Jeff’s eyes bounce between you and Lando for several moments before he suddenly reaches into his pocket. “If you’d excuse me, it looks like the office is calling me.” 

“A call from the office the day before Christmas! Gosh, you must be very important, Jeffery.” Lando’s low blow to Jeff’s big ego hits true and without another word, the man scampers out of the Starbucks without a second glance in your direction. 

Once he’s gone, both you and Lando dissolve into giggles, your head finding it’s favorite spot on Lando’s shoulder. “I’m surprised he didn’t try to deck you there are the end.” 

“And mess up his pretty lawyer hands? Honey, I doubt he even knows how to throw a punch.” 

tag list @shelbyteller @formulaal @martygraciesversion381 @longhairkoo @samantha-chicago

[justagalwhowrites]

Knockin' on Heaven's Door - A TLOU One Shot

Sex in the apocalypse is risky but, with Joel Miller, that's a risk worth taking. AKA Joel tries to breed you on patrol.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: BREEDING KINK. Reader is AFAB but otherwise no description. No mention of reader age BUT she's premenopausal and it's hinted that she had at least some college before the outbreak so choose your own adventure for age gap (I'm picturing her late 40s, maybe 50, Joel is 56 but you do you). Romanticization and sexualization of pregnancy. JUST THE TIPPPPPPP. Joel and reader are both whores and you know what so is author nobody look at me. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ only

Length: 3.2k

A/N: LOOK. OK? LOOK. I was scrolling TikTok before starting my work day today and I saw an edit of Joel to Knockin' on Heaven's Door and I started thinking about fucking Joel while he tried to resist fucking you and one break spent typing unhinged smut later, here we are. NOBODY. LOOK. AT. ME. I hope you enjoy this minimally edited snack love you bye

Master list | AO3

This was stupid. 

“Fuck,” Joel growled, desperate and panting in your ear. “C’mon, baby, just… fuck…” 

This was so fucking stupid. 

“We shouldn’t,” you moaned, your fingers tangled in his hair, your hips canting up against him as he rutted his cock against your wet and aching slit, careful to stay outside you, just tantalizingly close to entering you as the two of you sought what relief you could. 

But it was hard to care that it was stupid when you knew he would feel so fucking good inside you, so so so fucking good. 

This was why you avoided Joel when you thought you were ovulating. Neither of you had any fucking self control and it wasn’t like birth control was just lying around in the apocalypse. The only way you had a prayer of not winding up pregnant was if you kept your fucking legs closed when you were at the most risk of getting knocked up but that was only doable if you weren’t within 100 feet of Joel Miller. 

OK probably more like 500 feet. 

Closer to a mile of distance was smarter if you were being honest. 

But here you were, outside Jackson on patrol with the start of your period two weeks behind you and the start of the next one two weeks in front of you and this stomach clenching feeling that if Joel came inside you right now you’d have a baby in your arms by this time next year. 

So. Fucking. Stupid.

Joel usually patrolled with Tommy but his whole house was down for the count with the flu and the younger Miller brother could barely move so you’d gotten assigned with Joel. 

Because why wouldn’t you? You’d patrolled together in the past, the two of you got on well enough, you were skilled and capable enough to handle the tougher route. No one in town knew that you and Joel fucked like rabbits every time you wound up in close quarters because you kept that shit to yourselves. 

It wasn’t their business what the two of you got up to. It’s not like you were in a relationship, it was just sex.

Mind-blowing, toe-curling, stomach-clenching, wish-your-college-best-friend-wasn’t-an-inhuman-monster-so-you-could-tell-her-all-the-gory-details sex.

Even though, when you were honest with yourself about it for even half a second, you wished it was more than that. You wished it was coming home to each other at the end of the day and holding hands in front of everyone in the town and him coming inside you while you were ovulating on purpose because, fuck, you might be a bad idea to have a baby in the apocalypse but with Joel you didn’t care. You wanted a family with him. But, if he didn’t feel the same way, that want was dangerous, so you just… pretended you didn’t.

Even though it was so tempting to give in. Especially now.  

“Fuck, I’ll pull out,” Joel said, voice so desperate you were sure he was out of his goddamn mind. “Just… just the tip, please baby, just the tip and I’ll pull out, swear I’ll pull out, fuck!” 

You just groaned in response, your pussy clenching desperately around nothing as his swollen cock head pressed against your clit. Your nails dug into his scalp and his shoulder, one hand slipped below the flannel of his shirt to find his skin as the other knotted in his hair. 

God this was stupid, this was bad, you’d known before you’d even left Jackson that this was going to be trouble. 

When they’d told you at dinner the night before that you and Joel would be going out together, you made eye contact across the mess hall, the two of you stepping off to the side of the building as everyone headed home for the night. 

“This a good idea?” Joel asked. You could see the silver in his hair catching on the moonlight as he looked around cautiously, making sure no one could hear you. “Know it’s… uh… not a great time for you…” 

“Yeah,” you said, looking around, too - mostly to keep yourself from looking at Joel and his too-handsome face - and crossing your arms over your stomach. “But we’re adults, not teenagers and it’s patrol, not spring break in Cabo. We can keep our clothes on for two days while we kill some infected, right?” 

He looked you up and down then, his jaw quirking as he did. 

“Right,” he said after a minute. “Yeah, we can.” 

In your defense, you’d done a good job of that for most of the day. You and Joel got along well outside of bed, too (part of the problem for you on the emotional side of things,) and you’d enjoyed riding with him and talking about the latest goings on in town and what Ellie had been getting up to lately. It was easy to remember how you’d gotten close enough to Joel to fall into bed with him the first time and how it was only natural that your feelings had grown from that. 

And then the infected were there. 

There were dozens of them, the two of you nearly overrun. There was a haze of gunpowder and  smoke from molotov cocktails and blood from the fresher bodies and, once they were all dead and the two of you were able to stop and take stock of things, you were so thankful that he was alive you couldn’t help yourself. You kissed him. 

Things moved quickly then, you practically ripping off your boots to get out of your jeans as Joel yanked off his belt and freed his cock. 

“We can’t,” you panted as you lay beneath him. “Just… outside, ’til we both come.” 

“Fuck, right,” he shook his head like he was trying to shake an idea loose, looking down to where he’d settled between your thighs, pressing his thick and long and hard cock into your slit so he could rut against your most sensitive place without entering you. You groaned at the feel of him there, so close to exactly where you wanted him. “Just ’til we come.” 

You nodded and he pinned your wrist to the floor of the safe house you’d stopped at before he started rocking his hips against you. 

It didn’t take long to lose control. You freed your hand so you could touch him the way you liked best, your hips working up against his, Joel pulling away from you every so often so he could look down and see where his swollen length was making a mess of your dripping cunt before covering your body with his again, his mouth on your throat and earlobe and lips like he was going to devour you.You came but it wasn’t satisfying, just driving your want higher and higher, inches away from exactly what you craved but still holding back.  

Because it was so goddamn stupid. 

He pulled back far enough that the head of his cock caught on your entrance just a little, just the barest hint of the stretch of him and you groaned. Your body knew how it would feel to take the heavy weight of him inside, just how satisfying it would be to feel him where you needed him most. 

“Just the tip,” he said again, fucking against your slit again, head working your clit. “Fuck, I need inside baby, just… just lemme…” 

“Just the tip,” you panted and he pulled back, stilling against you, his eyes searching yours, his pupils blown and a fucked out look on his face. “Just the tip and you pull out.” 

“Just the tip,” he nodded. “And I pull out.” 

“OK,” you said and you watched as he lined himself up with your entrance and pressed just the first inch or two inside. 

The relief was almost immediate, the burning stretch like scratching an itch inside yourself that you couldn’t reach and Joel groaned in satisfaction, eyes closing and head tilting back as he held himself just barely inside you. 

“Fuck,” he moaned softly, jerking the part of him that was still outside you for a moment before looking down to where he was splitting you open. “Goddamn you feel so fuckin’ good.” 

You were going to say the same when, you realized that the relief of the head of his cock was short lived. Instead of easing that ache inside yourself, it was getting worse and fuck, you were in trouble. 

***

Christ, you were heaven. 

He had that thought every time he was inside you but there was something about now that made you so much fucking better than normal. 

Maybe it was the fact that the two of you had almost fucking died. Maybe it was the fact that you really shouldn’t be doing this right now. Maybe it was the nagging thought at the back of his mind that if he did come inside you right now, he’d put his baby in you and fuck did he want that. 

It wasn’t a rational desire, he knew that. Jackson might be a great place but it was still the end of the fucking world, didn’t seem right to bring a child into it. And the two of you weren’t even together, not really. You were just two friends who fucked, that was all. 

But that didn’t change the fact that Joel loved watching his brother raise a child and wished that he could do the same. It didn’t change the fact that he wished he was more than that to you. It didn’t change the fact that, if he were to have another child, he’d want it to be with you. 

If you were there in town all full of his baby then you would be more than that with him and no one could deny it. You’d be his, as thoroughly as you could be anybody’s you’d be his and he fucking wanted that. Fuck, he wanted that. 

It had been so easy to fall into friendship with you, with your quick wit and generous nature and passion for so much in this broken world. Falling into fucking you had been even easier and he’d held himself back after that. He was in deep enough as it was, asking for anything else from you was selfish in the extreme. He was happy with what he had. Satisfied. 

Most of the time. 

But in moments like this one, when his desires couldn’t be hidden and were right there at the surface and soaked in heat and slick and want, it was too hard to not beg for more. 

“Goddamn, your pussy,” he spread your thighs wider, his fingers sinking into your soft flesh before his thumb found your clit, brushing over you and making your back arch before he started working that little swollen, sensitive nub in time with the head of his cock working the inside of your tight channel. 

“Holy shit,” you groaned, clearly straining to sit still as your pussy started to tighten around him. “Fuck, Joel…” 

“You gonna come on my cock?” He asked. “Gonna let me feel that pussy come all over me?” 

You just nodded, your fingers flexing uselessly against the ground, searching for an outlet. 

“Unbutton your shirt for me,” he panted. “Lemme see those perfect fucking tits.” 

Your hands flew to obey, almost ripping the buttons off and exposing your skin to him before tugging the cups of your bra below the swell of your breasts and he groaned. 

He shouldn’t have told you to do that. Now all he could think about was how you would grow there, too, if he fucked his baby into you in that moment. How soft and full you’d be, how satisfying it would be to lick and suck and kiss you there knowing that your body had changed to care for the baby you made together. 

“Fuck, so fuckin’ pretty,” he grunted, fighting the urge to fuck all the way into you the way he was so desperate to do. You groaned and your hands found your tits, squeezing them and cupping them and your pussy fluttered over his head, nearly driving him over the edge but he resisted. “There you go, look so damn pretty coming for me. Bet I can get you to another one, baby, bet I can make you feel so fuckin’ good…” 

“I need you,” you cut him off, sounding like you were damn near choking on want. “Please…” 

“You got me,” he said, fucking just the head of himself in and out of the shallowest part of you, heart pounding in his chest. “All yours, baby.” 

It was true in so many ways. He didn’t fuck anyone but you, didn’t look at anyone but you, didn’t want anyone but you. It didn’t matter if there wasn’t a damn label on it, if he was anything at all he was yours. 

“I need all of you,” you said, your eyes finding his as you panted for breath. “Inside me. Please.” 

Joel stilled, watching you for a moment. 

“You sure about that?” He asked, breathless. “Know what you’re askin’ for?” 

“Yeah,” you nodded and swallowed hard. “And I want you. Please, Joel.” 

Some distant, quiet part of his brain told him this was stupid, that you weren’t in your right mind, that he should think for the both of you and put a stop to this but that that part was drowned out quickly. 

“Fuck, alright baby,” he said, watching where part of him was inside you. “I’ll pull out and…” 

“Don’t,” you whispered and his gaze flew to meet yours. Your eyes were wide and desperate. “I want you, all of you.” 

“Goddamn,” he groaned, looking back between your legs and pushing inside slowly. “You want me to fill this tight little pussy up, that it?” 

You moaned and nodded, frantic. 

“Want me to fuck you ’til you milk me dry?” He asked, his hands on your thighs again, holding you open to him. “’Til every drop of me is in this sweet cunt, that what you want?” 

“Yes, fuck, please, Joel,” you were almost squirming below him, chest heaving. “I want it, I want you, please, please…” 

Fuck, he loved hearing you say that. He sank the rest of the way inside you then, buried to the root, the head of him brushing against that soft and tender place at the back of your channel that he loved so fucking much. You clenched around him and he gritted his teeth, fighting to keep from coming. He hadn’t had enough of you yet, he couldn’t finish the second he got to be inside you, he couldn’t. 

But he was so focused on not coming, he let the rest of himself go, not thinking, just saying what he wanted. 

“Want me to fuck you full of my come?” He asked, starting to move inside you, slow but firm, your tits bouncing when he bottomed out inside you. “Want me to fuck my baby into you?” 

He realized what he said the moment it was out of his mouth and the moment of panic kept his orgasm at bay. But before he had a chance to take it back, you were nodding again, sharp and needy. 

“Please, please,” you said. “I want it, I want your come, I want you to fill me up, I want you to make me pregnant please Joel, fuck, please please please, I need… I need…” 

“Fuck baby,” he covered your body with his, his cock pressed deep and sure inside, grinding against that sensitive place at the back of you. He kissed and sucked at your throat, teeth grazing over your skin and he fought the animalistic urge to mark you in some way so the whole fucking world knew you were his. “Goddamn, I wanna fill you up. I’ll fill you up, fill you up so fuckin’ good.” 

Your hips rocked below his, desperate for more and he started to fuck into you, less pulling back from you to slam in again and more moving in fractions of inches, grinding himself in deep and hard and working those tender places inside you he knew made you come harder than any other. 

“Gonna give you every,” he thrust harder. “Fuckin’.” Ground himself into you. “Drop.” 

“Joel,” you groaned, your nails digging into his back as you clutched him close, your body moving in time with his, perfect rhythm between you. 

“Gonna come so deep in you,” he panted into your ear. “Gonna do it again and again ’til it takes, ’til you’re always fuckin’ full of me.” 

Your pussy tightened over him and you moaned, beyond words it seemed, and he reached down to hold your thigh, anchor himself deeper, angle you better so your clit was pressed more firmly against him, fingers pressed so deep into your skin like he could become a part of your very being if he just tried hard enough. 

“One more,” he panted, kissing the sensitive skin below your ear. “Gimme one more and then I’ll give you what you want. Gonna give you a baby, make you a mama, c’mon, gimme one more and…” 

You cried out, your orgasm stronger than he’d ever felt, damn near choking his cock as your channel rippled over him. 

“That’s right, take it baby,” he said, only half aware of the shit he was saying. “Take what’s yours, come while I put my baby in this sweet fuckin’ pussy, that’s it, fuck!” 

He came then, the head of his cock against the mouth of your womb, every clench of your muscles pulling more and more come from him and emptying it into you. He came so hard his head spun and swam, visions of you pregnant and you holding a baby with his eyes and your mouth and you watching him as he read to a toddler that was just as mouthy as you everywhere. 

He collapsed on top of you when he was done, too wrung out to not, and you held him, panting for breath, fingers twisting in his shirt before he managed the strength to move so he wasn’t crushing you. He kissed you as he pulled out of you, the combination of your come and his thick and tying your bodies together even as he pulled away. He lay beside you, still trying to catch his breath, trying to wrap his head around what the two of you had just done. Even if it didn’t take - even if you weren’t pregnant - it didn’t seem like things would stay the same after that. 

“You OK?” He asked after a moment of silence. 

“Yeah,” you said, looking at him, an oddly soft expression on his face. “You?” 

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m a hell of a lot better than good.” 

You smiled at that, wide and honest enough that it made his heart swell. 

“We should probably talk about all of that though,” he said. “If… if you meant it.” 

“I did,” you said, reaching over to toy with his curls. “Did you?” 

He smiled back. 

“Every word, mama,” he said, kissing you reaching down to cup your stomach over your womb. “Every damn word.” 

A/N: Sometimes I need a little pure smut.

As a treat.

[alicearmageddon]

"The North Korean regime in the ‘50s developed a series of remarkably effective torture techniques, techniques that were so effective, in fact, that they were able to make captured American airmen admit to all sorts of atrocities they had not in fact committed, all the time, being convinced they had not, actually, been tortured. The techniques were quite simple. Just make the victim do something mildly uncomfortable—sit on the edge of chair, for example, or lean against a wall in a slightly awkward position—only, make them do it for an extremely long period of time. After eight hours the victim would be willing to do virtually anything to make it stop. But try going to the International Court of Justice at The Hague and tell them you’ve been made to sit on the edge of a chair all day. Even the victims were unwilling to describe their captors as torturers. When the CIA learned about these techniques—according to Korean friends of mine, they’re actually just particularly sadistic versions of classic Korean ways of punishing small children—they were intrigued, and, apparently, conducted extensive research on how they could be adopted for their own detention centers.

Again, sometimes, in Palestine, one feels one is in an entire country that’s being treated this way. Obviously, there is also outright torture, people who are actually being shot, beaten, tortured, or violently abused. But I’m speaking here even of the ones that aren’t. For most, it’s as if the very texture of everyday life has been designed to be intolerable—only, in a way that you can never quite say is exactly a human rights violation. There’s never enough water. Showering requires almost military discipline. You can’t get a permit. You’re always standing in line. If something breaks it’s impossible to get permission to fix it. Or else you can’t get spare parts. There are four different bodies of law that might apply to any legal situation (Ottoman, British, Jordanian, Israeli), it’s anyone’s guess which court will say what applies where, or what document is required, or acceptable. Most rules are not even supposed to make sense. It can take eight hours to drive 20 kilometers to see your girlfriend, and doing so will almost certainly mean having machine guns waved in your faces and being shouted at in a language you half understand by people who think you’re subhuman. So you do most of your dalliance by phone. When you can afford the minutes. There are endless traffic jams before and after checkpoints and drivers bicker and curse and try not to take it out on one another. Everyone lives no more than 12 or 15 miles from the Mediterranean but even on the hottest day, it’s absolutely impossible to get to the beach. Unless you climb the wall, there are places you can do that; but then you can expect to be hunted every moment by security patrols. Of course teenagers do it anyway. But it means swimming is always accompanied by the fear of being shot. If you’re a trader, or a laborer, or a driver, or a tobacco farmer, or clerk, the very process of subsistence is continual stream of minor humiliations. Your tomatoes are held and left two days to rot while someone grins at you. You have to beg to get your child out of detention. And if you do go to beseech the guards, those same guards might arbitrarily decide to hold you to pressure him to confess to rock-throwing, and suddenly you are in a concrete cell without cigarettes. Your toilet backs up. And you realize: you’re going to have to live like this forever. There is no “political process.” It will never end. Barring some kind of divine intervention, you can expect to be facing exactly this sort of terror and absurdity for the rest of your natural life."

-David Graeber, Reflections from a Visit to the West Bank

[prentissmultiverse]

No Strings to Hold Us - part I

You are distracted by your boss, Emily Prentiss, who stirs something inside you with the habit of licking her lips. Emily, aware of the effect she has, toys with you and one thing leads to another. tw: smut, age gap, power dynamics part II and part III

(words: 5474)

The bullpen was unusually quiet as the team filtered into the conference room, files in hand and tension crackling in the air. Another case, another unsub to catch. You slid into your seat at the round table, trying to make yourself as inconspicuous as possible. Being the youngest member of the BAU, you still felt like you had to prove yourself every day, even though you knew you were damn good at your job.

Emily Prentiss stood at the head of the table, commanding everyone’s attention effortlessly. Her presence was magnetic—controlled, dominant, and sharp as a razor. Her salt-and-pepper hair framed her face perfectly, a mixture of maturity and elegance that left you speechless more often than you’d like to admit. And then there was her habit—the one that had started to ruin you in every meeting: the way she licked her lips when she was deep in thought.

It was subtle, almost absentminded, as if she didn’t even realize she was doing it. But every time her tongue darted out to wet her lips, your stomach did a little somersault, and your concentration went straight out the window.

"Alright," Emily began, her voice smooth and authoritative. "This unsub has escalated over the last three months. Six victims, all within a 50-mile radius, each killed in a similar fashion. This means we’re likely dealing with someone organized, methodical, and—" She paused, tilting her head slightly as she flipped through the case file, her sharp eyes scanning the pages. And then it happened.

She licked her lips.

It wasn’t deliberate—it never was. Her tongue darted out, wetting her bottom lip just enough to catch the light. Your pulse quickened, heat rising to your face as your focus wavered. God, did she even know how that looked? How it felt to watch her do something so simple, so unintentionally seductive?

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, gripping the edge of the table as you tried to ground yourself. Emily continued speaking, completely unaware of the effect she was having on you—or at least, you thought she was. Her tone was steady, her posture commanding, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes when she glanced your way. Amusement, maybe? No, you were probably imagining it.

“Y/L/N.” Her voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and you jolted slightly in your chair. “What do you think the unsub’s next move might be?”

You blinked, your brain scrambling to catch up. “Uh… well, um…” You cleared your throat, feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes on you. “Given the escalation pattern and the fact that the last victim was found near a transportation hub, it’s possible the unsub is planning to expand their hunting ground. They might feel emboldened enough to target someone in a more populated area.”

Emily’s lips curved into a small, approving smile, and your stomach flipped again. “Good. I want you to follow up on that lead with Garcia. See if there’s any surveillance footage we can use to track movements near the crime scenes.”

You nodded quickly, grateful for the opportunity to escape her gaze. “Yes, ma’am.”

The meeting continued, but you couldn’t focus. Not when Emily leaned back in her chair, her fingers steepled as she listened to Tara’s analysis. Not when she licked her lips again—this time slower, as if she was savoring the thought of whatever brilliant deduction she was about to make. It made your cheeks burn, and you dropped your gaze to your file, pretending to take notes.

By the time the meeting ended, your nerves were frayed. You gathered your things quickly, hoping to slip out before anyone noticed how flustered you were. But as you reached the door, a familiar voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Y/L/N.” Emily’s tone was firm but not unkind, and you turned slowly to face her. She stood just a few feet away, her dark eyes studying you with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

“Yes, ma’am?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Her lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Good work today. You’ve got a sharp mind, even if you’re a little… distracted at times.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Was that a double entendre, or were you reading too much into it? “Thank you,” you mumbled, clutching your file like a lifeline.

Emily’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before she nodded, her expression shifting back to one of professional detachment. “Get those leads to Garcia.”

You nodded quickly and hurried out of the room, your mind racing. As you walked away, you couldn’t help but wonder if Emily Prentiss was as oblivious to her effect on you as you thought—or if she was perfectly aware and enjoyed watching you squirm.

You spent the rest of the day in Garcia’s office, burying yourself in surveillance footage and databases, hoping the work would distract you from the lingering heat in your chest. But no matter how hard you tried, your thoughts kept circling back to Emily.

The way she stood at the head of the table, commanding attention with such ease. The way she smiled, so rare and deliberate, like a reward for those lucky enough to earn it. And, of course, the way her lips moved when she spoke, the soft, unconscious gestures that seemed designed to drive you insane.

By the time you emerged out of Garcia’s office, your head was spinning. You sat down at your desk, wanting to sum up the info you and Garcia found. After some moments you looked up, seeing Emily sitting at her desk, her reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose.

You hesitated, unsure if you should interrupt. She was engrossed in a file, her brow furrowed in concentration. And then—of course—it happened again. She licked her lips slowly and you felt that same maddening twist in your stomach.

This was ridiculous. You were a professional—a damn good one, at that. You couldn’t let something as simple as a habit distract you. Resolving to pull yourself together, you knocked softly on her doorframe.

Emily glanced up, her dark eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, her expression was unreadable, and then her lips curved into that faint, knowing smile. “Agent Y/L/N. What can I do for you?”

You stepped inside, clutching your file tightly. “I wanted to give you an update. Garcia and I reviewed the footage, and we found a car that matches the description of one seen near the second and third crime scenes. She’s running the plates now.”

“Good work,” Emily said, leaning back in her chair. She took off her glasses and set them on the desk, her gaze never leaving yours. “Anything else?”

You shook your head, suddenly feeling self-conscious under her scrutiny. “No, ma’am. That’s it.”

She tilted her head slightly, studying you in that way she always did, as if she could see right through you. “You seemed a little off in the meeting earlier,” she said, her tone casual but probing. “Everything alright?”

Your heart skipped a beat. Was she calling you out? You forced yourself to meet her gaze, even though the intensity of it made your skin tingle. “Yes, ma’am. I’m fine. Just… focused on the case.”

Her smile widened ever so slightly, and there was a glint of amusement in her eyes. “Focused, huh?” she said, her voice dropping to a lower, almost teasing register. “You sure about that?”

Your throat went dry. “I—uh—yes, ma’am,” you stammered, your face burning. “Completely focused.”

The bullpen had emptied out, the rest of the team heading home to get some much-needed rest. You stayed behind, hoping the quiet would help you focus, but every time you tried to concentrate, your mind wandered back to Emily.

And then, as if summoned by your thoughts, you heard footsteps. Your stomach twisted as Emily appeared from around the corner, holding a file in one hand and her coffee mug in the other. Her blouse was unbuttoned just enough to drive you insane, and the loose strands of her hair framed her face in a way that felt almost too casual, too intimate for the professional distance you were supposed to maintain.

“Still here?” she asked, arching an eyebrow as she walked toward you. Her voice was smooth and low, cutting through the silence like a knife.

You nodded, unable to look directly at her. “Yes, ma’am. Just… finishing up.”

Emily hummed softly, setting her coffee mug down on the edge of your desk. “You’re dedicated. I admire that.” She leaned against the desk again, her posture casual but her presence overwhelming. “But you’ve been distracted the last days.”

The words hit you like a brick wall. There was no way to avoid it now. You looked up at her, your heart pounding. “I… I’m sorry if it seemed that way. I didn’t mean to—”

“Stop,” she said, cutting you off with a raised hand. Her voice was firm but not unkind. “I’m not chastising you, Y/L/N. I’m just… curious.”

You blinked, your mind racing. “Curious?”

Emily tilted her head slightly, studying you with those piercing dark eyes. “You’re a good agent,” she said softly. “Sharp, focused, intuitive. But it felt like your mind was somewhere else. Or maybe… on someone else.”

The air between you crackled with tension. Was she implying what you thought she was implying? You struggled to form a coherent response.

“I—uh—no, ma’am, I was just—”

She leaned in, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Y/N, I’ve been doing this job for a long time. I can read people better than they’d like. And right now, I’m reading you.”

You froze, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it might break through your ribs. Emily’s gaze was steady, unwavering, and you felt completely exposed under her scrutiny.

“You’ve been watching me all day,” she continued, her tone soft but laced with unmistakable intent. “I could feel it in the briefing, in my office, even across the bullpen. Am I wrong?”

You opened your mouth to deny it, but no words came out. The truth was right there, hanging between you, and there was no point in pretending anymore.

“I…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… it’s just… you…”

Emily’s lips curved into that maddeningly knowing smile, and she leaned in even closer, her face just inches from yours. “Me?” she prompted, her voice teasing. “What about me?”

Your breath hitched, your face burning with a mix of embarrassment and desire. “You… you’re distracting,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “The way you—your presence—it’s… hard to ignore.”

For a moment, Emily didn’t say anything. She just stared at you, her expression unreadable. And then, to your shock, she smirked—like she’d just confirmed something she’d suspected all along.

“Is that so?” she murmured, her voice low and dangerous. “Well, that’s… interesting.”

Before you could respond, she straightened and walked around to your side of the desk. You turned in your chair to face her, your pulse racing as she leaned down, bracing her hands on the armrests. The proximity was almost unbearable; you could see every detail of her face, feel the warmth of her breath.

“You should’ve said something sooner,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I could’ve… helped you focus.”

Your breath caught in your throat as her words sank in. Was she serious? Or was this just another game, another test? Either way, you were utterly powerless to stop the way your body responded to her.

“I—” you started, but the words died on your lips as Emily leaned in, her face so close that you could feel the heat of her skin. For a moment, you thought she might kiss you, but instead, she shifted slightly, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered:

“Do you want me to stop?”

The question sent a shiver down your spine, and you clenched the arms of your chair, your mind a whirlwind of emotions. Every instinct told you this was dangerous, that you were crossing a line you could never uncross. But in that moment, all you could think about was her—her voice, her touch, her overwhelming presence.

“No,” you whispered, barely able to get the word out.

As Emily leaned back, her tongue darted out to lick her lips in that maddeningly way she always did. Your eyes flicked to the movement, helpless to stop yourself, and when you looked back at her, she was watching you with an intensity that made your stomach twist.

Her gaze was sharp and calculated, every flicker of emotion on your face seemingly absorbed and cataloged. There was something unnervingly predatory about the way she looked at you, a slight curve to her lips that wasn’t quite a smile—it was something darker, something laced with triumph. She leaned back against the desk, crossing her arms, and regarded you in silence for a moment that stretched too long.

“You’re coming with me,” she said finally, her voice calm but firm, leaving no room for argument.

You blinked, your mind still trying to catch up. “To…?”

She smirked, tilting her head just slightly, her dark eyes never leaving yours. “Home. My home.”

Her words sent a jolt through you, and you swallowed hard, your pulse racing. “Are you serious?”

Emily pushed off the desk with a languid grace, stepping closer to you. “I don’t say things I don’t mean,” she said, her voice low and even. “You’ve had a long day, and so have I. And judging by the way you’ve been looking at me—” her tongue flicked out briefly to wet her lips, and your stomach clenched, “—I think we could help each other.”

“Help each other?” you echoed, your voice trembling slightly.

Her smirk deepened, and she stepped even closer, her body just inches from yours. “You’re touch-starved, Y/N,” she said bluntly, her tone tinged with a knowing amusement. “And so am I. This doesn’t have to be anything more than what it is. Just two people fulfilling a need. Nothing serious.”

Your cheeks burned at her words, and you opened your mouth to protest, but nothing came out. She was right, of course. Every stolen glance, every moment your breath hitched at the sound of her voice or the way she carried herself—it all betrayed you. And the way she said it, so matter-of-factly, left you feeling exposed in a way you couldn’t explain.

“I see the way you react,” Emily continued, her voice softening slightly, though it lost none of its edge. “Every time I do this…” She licked her lips again slowly, her eyes locking onto yours as if daring you to look away. Your breath hitched, and her smirk widened. “You’re so easy to read, Y/N. It’s almost endearing.”

“I—” you started, your voice shaky, but she silenced you with a single raised brow.

“Don’t overthink this,” she said firmly, her hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. Her touch was gentle, almost too much in contrast to her dominant energy. “We both want this. So, let’s stop pretending we don’t.”

Her confidence left you reeling, and before you could process it fully, she was pulling back. “Come on,” she said, her tone casual now, as though she hadn’t just unraveled you completely. “Let’s go.”

The drive to her house was a blur. Emily’s composure was unshakable, her hands steady on the wheel as she navigated the quiet streets, while you sat in silence, stealing glances at her and trying not to let your mind spiral. Every flick of her tongue across her lips, every shift of her posture, seemed calculated, designed to keep you on edge.

When you finally arrived, Emily led you inside with quiet confidence, closing the door behind you and leaning back against it for a moment. The air between you felt electric, charged with tension and anticipation. She crossed her arms, her gaze raking over you with a slowness that made your skin prickle.

“Still with me?” she asked, her voice low and teasing.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. I’m here.”

Her smirk returned, and she pushed off the door, stepping toward you with the same predatory grace she’d shown earlier. “Good,” she murmured. “Because I think we’ve both waited long enough.”

As she reached you, her hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face up to meet hers. Her lips claimed yours in a kiss that was firm and demanding, her tongue teasing along your lower lip before slipping inside. The flicks of her tongue mirrored the way she licked her lips, and you couldn’t help but melt into her, your body pressing against hers as she took control.

“Bedroom,” Emily murmured against your lips, her voice rough, commanding.

You nodded wordlessly, letting her guide you. She stood, keeping you close as you stumbled toward her room. Her hands never left your body, steady and grounding as you entered the dimly lit space. It was exactly what you’d expect from her—minimal, clean, with just enough personal touches to feel lived-in. But you barely had time to take it in before Emily turned you around, pressing you against the closed door.

Emily’s hands were everywhere as she pressed you against the door, her lips devouring yours with a mixture of hunger and control that left you trembling. The air between you was thick with unspoken tension, a dangerous mix of desire and need that neither of you could resist. Deep down, you knew how wrong this was—the power dynamics, the age gap, the impropriety of it all.

As if sensing your thoughts, Emily broke the kiss. “You don’t overthink this,” she said against your lips, her voice low and firm. “Not tonight.”

You nodded, your breath hitching as she moved her lips to your neck, nipping and sucking in a way that left you dizzy.

She pulled back, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, “Bed. Now.”

Her voice was low, commanding, and you obeyed without hesitation, letting her guide you backward until your knees hit the mattress. You sank down, your heart pounding as she hovered over you, her dark eyes raking over your body with a look that made your stomach twist. Slowly, Emily began unbuttoning her blouse, her gaze never leaving yours. She wasn’t in a rush—this was a game to her, and she intended to savor every moment.

When the fabric slid off her shoulders, you couldn’t help but let your eyes trail over her. She was stunning, her confidence and poise radiating from every inch of her. Emily smirked, clearly enjoying the way you stared at her, and leaned forward, bracing her hands on either side of your head.

“You look nervous,” she teased, her lips brushing against your cheek.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not nervous.”

“Liar,” she murmured, her lips trailing down your jaw. “But I like that. I like how you react to me.”

Her words sent a flush of heat through you, and your breath hitched as her hands moved to the hem of your shirt. “Can I?” she asked, her voice soft but firm.

You nodded, unable to form words, and she pulled your shirt over your head in one smooth motion. Her hands skimmed over your bare skin, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. She took her time exploring, her fingers brushing over your shoulders, your collarbone, the curve of your waist. When her hands settled on your hips, she leaned down, her lips ghosting over the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Emily,” you breathed, your hands clutching at her arms as she kissed her way down your throat.

“Shh,” she murmured, her voice low and soothing. “Just let me take care of you.”

She kissed her way down your chest, her hands sliding up to cup your breasts through your bra. Her thumbs brushed over your nipples, and you arched into her touch, a soft gasp escaping your lips. Emily smirked, clearly pleased with your reaction, and reached behind you to unclasp your bra. She slid it off and tossed it aside, her eyes darkening as she took in the sight of you.

“You’re beautiful,” she murmured, her voice filled with lust.

Her lips found your collarbone, then trailed lower, her tongue flicking over your nipple in a way that made your back arch. Her hands held you firmly in place as her mouth worked its way across your chest. You felt like you were unraveling beneath her, your body responding to her touch in ways you didn’t know were possible.

“Emily, please,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need.

“Patience,” she replied, her tone teasing. “I’m not done with you yet.”

She kissed her way down your stomach, her hands sliding over your thighs as she moved lower. Her fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants, and she glanced up at you, her eyes meeting yours. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” you breathed, barely able to get the word out.

She smiled, a rare softness in her expression, and tugged your pants and underwear down in one smooth motion. Her hands caressed your thighs, her touch firm but gentle, as she settled between your legs. She leaned down, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh, and you felt your breath catch in your throat.

“You’re shaking,” she murmured, her voice low and soothing. “Relax, Y/N. I’ve got you.”

Her words should have embarrassed you, but instead, they only made you want her more. You nodded, your hands clutching at the sheets as she kissed her way up your thigh, her breath warm against your skin. When her lips finally found your center, you couldn’t stop the moan that escaped you.

Her lips and tongue moved with expert precision, every stroke and flick drawing sounds from you that you couldn’t control even if you wanted to. Emily hummed against you, the vibration sending shivers through your body, and her strong hands gripped your thighs to keep you steady as your hips moved instinctively toward her. The wet heat of her mouth and the relentless attention she lavished on you had your head spinning.

Your hands were clutching at the sheets, your body arching instinctively as she brought you right to the edge. The pressure in your core was unbearable, your breaths coming in shallow gasps, and just when you thought you’d finally find relief, she stopped.

You whimpered, your hips bucking forward as if chasing the sensation she had so cruelly denied you. “Emily,” you gasped, your voice trembling with desperation.

She looked up at you from between your thighs, her lips glistening and curved into a smug smirk. “Not yet,” she said, her voice calm and authoritative, leaving no room for argument. She placed a firm hand on your hip, holding you in place. “You’ll come when I decide you’re ready, not a second before.”

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, the dominance in her tone igniting something deep inside you. All you could do was nod, your body trembling with need as you submitted to her control.

“Good girl,” she murmured, her hand trailing down your thigh before she pulled back. She climbed off the bed, moving to the bedside drawer, and your breath hitched as you watched her retrieve the harness. She took her time, adjusting the strap with practiced ease, her movements commanding. The way she carried herself, so confident and in control, left you breathless.

“You’re going to let me take you,” she said as she climbed back onto the bed, her dark eyes locking onto yours. “And you’re not going to hold back. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Emily,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as your heart raced in anticipation.

She smirked, clearly satisfied with your response, and leaned down to brush her lips against yours in a kiss that was more of a statement than an act of affection. “Good,” she said softly, her voice dripping with authority. “Now spread your legs for me.”

You obeyed without hesitation, your body trembling as she positioned herself between your thighs. Her hands were firm as they gripped your hips, holding you in place as she lined herself up with you. The sheer presence of her was overwhelming, her dominance filling the room.

“Keep your eyes on me,” she commanded, her voice low and steady as she pressed into you. The stretch was perfect, intense and all-consuming, and your eyes fluttered shut for a moment as a moan escaped your lips.

“Eyes,” she said firmly, her tone sharp enough to snap your attention back to her. “I want to see you.”

Your gaze locked onto hers, and the intensity of her expression made your breath catch. She began to move, her pace slow at first, drawing out every sensation as she watched you intently. Every roll of her hips was calculated, her movements designed to drive you closer to the edge while keeping you firmly under her control.

“You’re mine tonight,” she said, her voice low and commanding as she leaned down, her lips brushing against your ear. “Every sound, every movement, every breath—it’s all for me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you gasped, your hands clutching at her shoulders as she quickened her pace, her dominance consuming you completely.

And as she took you apart piece by piece, her name fell from your lips like a prayer, a surrender to the woman who had claimed every part of you without question.

“You take this so well,” Emily murmured, her voice dark and laced with approval, her breath hot against your skin. The words sent a jolt through you, your body arching instinctively as she drove deeper, her movements commanding and relentless.

Her hips moved faster now, each thrust purposeful and precise, the pace leaving you breathless as the pleasure built to an unbearable crescendo. But she didn’t stop there. One of her hands slid down your body, her fingers finding the sensitive bundle of nerves that had you crying out the moment she touched it. Her fingers circled with just the right amount of pressure, perfectly in sync with the rhythm of her thrusts.

The combined sensations had you gasping for air, your fingers clutching at her shoulders, desperate for something to anchor you. The words fell from your lips in a desperate, broken stream—pleas for more, cries of her name, and incoherent whispers of need.

“That’s it,” she growled, her lips brushing against your ear. “Let me hear you. Don’t hold back.”

You obeyed instinctively, your moans spilling freely, every sound she pulled from you only spurring her on. Her control was intoxicating, the way she commanded every inch of you, every breath and shuddering gasp. Her fingers pressed harder, circling faster, and the coil in your core tightened impossibly.

“Emily,” you cried out, your voice trembling as your body arched into her. “Please—I’m so close.”

Her smirk was audible in her next words, low and dangerous. “You’ll come when I say you can. Not a moment before.”

Her pace quickened, her fingers working you with maddening precision as her thrusts deepened, leaving you writhing beneath her. Every movement was calculated, every sound you made rewarded with a dark hum of approval. She leaned in closer, her breath hot against your ear. “You’re mine,” she growled, her tone commanding and firm. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped, the words tumbling out without hesitation. “Emily, I’m yours.”

“Good girl,” she murmured, her voice dripping with satisfaction. Her fingers pressed harder, the rhythm perfect, as she drove you closer and closer to the edge. Your body tensed beneath her, the tension building to an unbearable peak.

“Come for me,” she commanded, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Your back arched off the bed as a wave of pleasure crashed over you, your release ripping through you with a force that left you trembling. Emily didn’t stop, her movements slow and steady as she helped you ride out the high, her hand still stroking over your thigh.

As the last waves of pleasure subsided, you lay there panting, your body spent and trembling. Emily leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before pulling back slightly. Her gaze met yours, and for a moment, there was a softness in her expression—a flicker of something unguarded that made your chest tighten.

“You did so well,” she murmured, her hand brushing over your hair. “So beautiful.”

Her words sent a warmth through you, and you couldn’t help but smile, though your body still felt like it was buzzing. Emily climbed off the bed, carefully unfastening the harness and setting it aside before climbing back onto bed. Her eyes glinted with mischief as she hovered over you, her fingertips tracing lazy patterns along your skin. “The night’s still young,” she murmured, her voice low and inviting.

Before you could respond, her lips found yours in a kiss that sent a fresh wave of heat through you, reigniting the spark in your veins. Her smile against your mouth was wicked.

“We’re not done yet.”

A few hours later, both of you lay tangled under the sheets, spent and breathing heavily. The room was silent except for the soft rustle of the sheets and the rhythmic sound of your heartbeats slowly returning to normal.

The weight of the silence between you was heavy, and you could feel the thoughts swirling in your head, as they always did.

You were trying to push those thoughts away, but it was impossible to stop them.

Emily seemed to sense it, her fingers trailing idly along your arm as she shifted slightly, pulling you closer. Her lips brushed against your ear, her voice low and steady. “Stop overthinking.”

You blinked up at her, suddenly self-conscious, but she already knew what you were thinking. She always did.

“I’m not…” you started, but her voice cut through, smooth and knowing.

“I can hear your thoughts from here, Y/N,” she said, her tone teasing but with a hint of amusement. “I know what you're thinking. The age gap, the power dynamics, the… complications.” She paused, meeting your eyes with that all-knowing intensity. “It’s just sex. Nothing more. So, stop overthinking it.”

You nodded slowly, but her words still felt too simple, too final. There was something in her voice, in the way she said it, that made it sound almost too good to be true. You couldn’t help but feel the conflict building within you. The part of you that craved this—her control, her dominance—and the part of you that couldn’t shake the unease about it all.

“Right,” you said quietly, trying to mask the uncertainty in your voice. “Just sex. Nothing else.”

Emily’s lips quirked up into a small smile, but there was no humor in it. She leaned in, kissing you softly, lingering for just a moment before pulling back. “That’s right,” she said, her voice low, but there was an edge to it now. “Because anything else…” She paused, her gaze intense as she let the words hang in the air. “Anything else would be a mistake.”

The weight of her words settled over you, and for a moment, everything felt so simple, so clear. But deep down, you both knew that the simplicity was an illusion. The truth was, neither of you could ignore the undercurrent between you, the way her touch lingered too long, the way your heart beat faster every time she looked at you.

You lay there for a while in silence, both of you lost in your own thoughts, unsure of where to go from here. But one thing was clear: for now, it was just sex. No feelings. No complications. Or so you told yourselves.

You had no idea how much time passed, but when you finally drifted into a peaceful sleep, your body resting against hers, Emily stayed awake for a while. She held you close, watching the rise and fall of your chest as you slept, her fingers gently stroking through your hair.

For a few moments, she let the silence stretch, her gaze softening as she looked down at you. Your face was peaceful, unaware of the storm of emotions swirling within her. She could feel her heart tightening, the pull she had tried to ignore throughout the night.

It felt right. Too right. And in that moment, as her fingers traced over your skin, the reality of it all hit her—she was already too far gone.

...

[astrolook]

💔Short-term Affairs, Separation, Divorce & Heavy Breakups In Astrology 💔

Note: These are just my personal observations and recurring patterns I've noticed over the years. Take what resonates with you and leave the rest. Feel free to share in the comments if any of this hits home. Also, remember that one placement alone isn’t enough to determine whether a relationship will end or not. There are many other factors to consider. This post is based on Vedic astrology.

Mars in 7th: If you married before 29, brace yourself as separation might be on the horizon. This placement is all about fleeting connections. You might jump into relationships knowing they’re just a pit stop on the emotional highway. You want a partner who matches your vibe, but somehow you keep attracting people who will definitely mess with your self-worth. Oops. 👀

Sun + Mars in 7th: Basically, the same vibe as Mars in 7th, but with a bit more flair. Here, natives usually marry in their late 30s or 40s to say “I do.” The Sun gives you standards that are off the charts, but you might still end up with the wrong people before 35 like partners who drain you faster than your phone battery on 1%. Breakups are swift, and sometimes you’ll find yourself eyeing someone who’s already taken. Classic. 💅

Saturn in 7th: Serious relationship vibes. If you married young, chances are you picked someone older to soften Saturn’s icy grip. If not older? The relationships might feel intense, only to end in heartbreak or divorce with a full-on mental breakdown. Saturn’s tough love means at least one long-term relationship before 28 will end with you struggling to let go. Cue the sad playlist. 🎧

Saturn Rx in 7th: Your partner might be the older, child-like, laid-back type who thinks wearing socks with sandals is cool. You’ll be the one playing the role of the responsible, mature one in this dynamic. Marrying before 28? Oops, that could lead to a divorce or a short-term separation from your spouse. Also if kids involved, points to an absent father if married before 28. Letting go of past relationships will take way longer than you’d like. 💀

Venus in 7th: Casual flings and short-term affairs are pretty much your love language. Especially if you’ve got Aries, Gemini, Leo, Sagittarius, or Aquarius in the 7th house sign. Expect some love triangles. Either you're in one, or you are the love triangle. Drama. Doesn't point to a divorce but a few heartbreaks makes you think there's no one out there for you 🔥

Jupiter in 7th: If you marry after 30, you’re golden. Before that? Prepare for a big breakup with a heavy heart, and maybe a partner who leaves you for someone else or cheats behind your back. Classic Jupiter. In some cases, marrying with children or step-kids are possible here. Common with military spouses✌️

Jupiter Rx in 7th: Long-distance love stories are your thing. Or, maybe just trying to find someone who’s not 5,000 miles away. You might also struggle with finding someone nearby who actually works for you. Distance = drama. Another common placement with military spouses 🌍

Venus Rx in 7th: One-sided love connections galore. If you had a long-term relationship, your partner probably found someone else, leaving you feeling like you just got ghosted and dumped at the same time. Ouch. 🥲

Moon in 7th: You might marry early but at least one relationship is going to end in a text message breakup. Quick recovery, though. You’ll be fine, but you’ll probably have a lot of crushes that you just won’t admit to. On and Off relationships are a theme here. #Relatable 🥲💕

Mercury/Mercury Rx in 7th: You might marry someone younger (at least 4 years), and hey, same-sex or bi relationships are totally on the table. Good luck finding a partner who’s not a mess, though. If you marry young? Well, it’s a 50/50 shot at surviving. Good luck with that. 🙃

South Node in 7th: Eloping for love sounds cute... until it all falls apart within a year. 💔You’re often tied to karmic partners like heavy, messy, and oh-so-familiar. Multiple marriages? Totally possible. Long-term relationships? Also yes... but divorces can hit either super early or after 15–20 years when you thought you were safe. Surprise! Kids may still be part of the picture though. In some cases, kids be having 2 different fathers🎢

North Node in 7th: Sometimes marries for money, convenience, or against the wishes of family. 🎯Marriage with kids is possible here too (like South Node vibes) but trust issues and unreliable or dominant partners show up like clockwork. Also one of those placements that screams “multiple marriages pending, please stand by.” In some cases, kids be having 2 different fathers(similar to south node) 📋💍

Please read this too: We have to look at your 7th lord as well and where it is placed along with other planets to get a full picture of what's happening in your chart. This is not to scare you, Vedic astrology is ancient and here marriage means being with a partner sexually for the "first time" which usually happens on a wedding night in those times. In the modern era, multiple marriages also mean to multiple sexual partners as well even if you aren't married. We have to consider your Navamsa chart(d9 chart) to see how your married life is actually manifested there. Hope that helps!

Wanna go deeper into the layers of your placements? DM me for a complete astrology reading or a 5 year/8 year marriage report or synastry reading🌙💬 and check out my pinned post for pricing + details 💫💸

Let’s decode your cosmic chaos together ⭐

[ailius-suffers-through-art]

au where basically everything is reversed and layton is our titular gentleman-cambrioleur.

to note:

The black ravens are still a bunch of streetkids, and crow is the leader running a long con, while working on the side as the youngest police intern. The black ravens will sometimes lend information to layton as long as he pays them in return.

The triton family are one of the more powerful organized crime families in france. They, alongside the Ascot family and the Tuilerons family (angela maiden name in this AU), essentially run france. The Tritons are the main force in the Aquitaine région.

Clark and Brenda didn't want luke to get too involved with the family business while he was young, and were genuinely surprised when he showed an interest in crime and the strange thief who arrived in their town.

Layton's first heist was the abkadain ruins in england. In fact, Layton is a native born englishman, but moved to france in his youth with his adopted parents. This is where he met the stansbury gang. He'd agreed to follow Randall's detective nose all the way back to england when they were teens, where he found the treasure but lost randall. After this, he gave up on crime and went clean.

Layton, Clark, Brenda, Paul, Dimitri, and Claire went to university together, but parted ways after Claire's death. Layton was enamoured by Claire and she was where his desire to become a gentleman came from. Her death was also what pushed him to become a thief again, in order to get back at the rich and powerful for the death of his beloved.

Clive, a french journalist, lost his and Clark's parents in the same accident that took Claire's life. He then swore revenge on the noble who had commissioned the experiment. Who then got elected as the prime minister of france, named Billiam Hawks. His assassination plans aren't going so hot at the moment, but after finding out that the phantom thief who saved his life as a child was back and causing mayham he vows to try and make good on his treason.

Bloom is the lead detective on the case of the international criminal Jean Descole. He's the youngest prodigy of the Sûreté Nationale, and he is utterly bored in his job. The most excitement he gets is when Jean Descole pulls another dangerous stunt, but even then the guy is such an asshole that it ruins all the fun of the chase. He's this close to quitting and becoming a criminal himself. Can successfully stop Descole's schemes a solid 6 times out of 10. He's also very sick of putting up with this newbie private detective who popped up and is trying to catch Descole. This guy needs a vacation, or enough alcohol to drown a horse.

Randall, with all his amnesia for the accident all those years ago, ended up moving back to france when he caught wind that a certain criminal popped up there. As the lost heir to the Ascot house, he holds a lot of power he doesn't even know about. Rather, he spends his days as a private detective with an incredibly high solve rate. After moving to Monte d'Or to catch Descole on his next heist, he decides to finally pick up an assistant and grabs the next dude on the street who seems willing.

That dude happens to be Nils, who is a totally law abiding citizen and definitely has never committed grand larceny in his life. Swear on his mum's soul. He hangs out with Randall because he thinks its fun watching him solve cases, and it gives him opportunities to do perfectly legal things thank you very much. Has a girlfriend named Colette that he steals things for. The two are in a very loving relationship, and also love causing problems to everyone in a 50 mile radius together.

Flora Reinhold is the daughter of an incredibly rich baron in the Auvergne-Rhône-Alpes région. Sequestered away in the alps, she's lived her whole life sheltered. After she meets Layton and Luke, however, she become determined to become a gentlewoman cambrioleur in her own right. Runs away from home to force layton to adopt her, and basically hostages herself on him. Now she's training under him as his second unofficial apprentice.

Emmeline (Emmy) is a freelancer writer and reporter who's been following the recent crime spikes. She works frequently with the Sûreté Nationale to cover and investigate cases. Works frequently alongside Detective Bloom and Clive. All three are basically a friend group. She's probably the one person Bloom actually likes in his job.

Bronev is part of some cult or something. secret society protecting a treasure who noped out on his kids to go do that under duress or something. idk about him ngl i didn't think about it much.

Renowned globally, Desmond Sycamore is one of the leading British Investigators on the Jean Descole Case. His record is immaculate, and people wonder if there's any case he can't solve. He's crashed several of Descole's heists. He's also the secret true identity of Jean Descole. He moved to Paris in order to pursue the criminal. Bloom thinks he's a prick. Randall admires him greatly.

Anton Herzen is one of the oldest Dukes in the country. He lives in the Hauts-de-France region, in a massive castle with his butler. He is eventually returned a jewel he once had stolen from him after Layton steals it back from a greedy noble who had pillaged the castle in the dead of the night.

anyways yeah thats fhe lore ive got rn. im so nromal about phantom thieves guys i promise....

[screamlet]

new fic: post 8x09-10 coda

my contribution to the "tommy shows up at eddie's place and finds buck there" collection. also on the ao3.

bucktommy / hopeful ending / 1k

---

Buck thought about becoming a cyclist a few years ago. Like, as a personality trait. Like he thought he'd get really into biking on his off days, ride for miles and miles, maybe do some of those super long 50-mile races people allegedly did. Getting a newish start at Eddie's old place means taking his fancy bike out of storage and deciding whether it should come with him.

He starts riding and it's not exactly transformative, and he feels a little silly thinking it would be. But he keeps to it because, what, does he have anything else to do? Eddie's settling into his new house and working on his family (not just Chris, but all of his family) and everyone else in his life has their own families, and Buck has his bike. And running shoes. Maybe he should take up running instead. Or build a home gym, like Tommy has. Had. Has. He's not sure about the state of his home gym.

That also feels dumb, though, since Eddie told prospective tenants over and over again that there was a bustling suburban downtown area with a great gym that had reasonable membership prices, and honestly maybe at this point Buck should think about moving out of LA, too. At least when he lived in the Jeep and traveled all over, he met lots of new and different people who made time for him for a little while, and he'd be on the road before they could really lose interest in him and let him go.

"Are you crying?"

Buck's sitting on the front step of Eddie's house and rubbing at his eyes but, yeah, he might have been crying. Now he's definitely crying in front of Tommy, who's standing on the lawn with his hands on his hips. They stare at each other for a minute, like Tommy's waiting for an answer and as if Buck isn't obviously answering him.

"Feeling a little lonely, Tommy. How about you?" Buck leans on his knees and musters a smile. "What are you doing here anyway?"

Tommy takes another long moment to answer, but Buck's got nowhere else to be so he can wait him out. Wait, he lives here now; he literally has nowhere else to be.

"Eddie said his subletter wouldn't move in for a few more days but he thought he left the back door unlocked. Did he tell you the same thing?" Tommy raises his eyebrows. "Cute little scheme to get us to run into each other?"

Buck claps his hands. "I'm the subletter."

Tommy looks surprised, but tries to hide it. "And is the back door closed?"

"I'll find out." Buck, hollowed out, smiles again. "Need anything else?"

A beat. A long one, again. "I've been lonely, too."

"Really?" Buck asks. "With your karaoke trivia and—"

"I've been lonely, too," Tommy repeats.

Buck's less hollow now; a drop of pity for Tommy has hit the bottom of the bucket.

"Wanna sit with me? Be less lonely?" Buck clears his throat. "Eddie told you he was moving, right?"

"He did." Tommy comes closer. "Said he didn't need any help, though, so I didn't come by. Had all the help he needed. Did you guys have a going away thing?"

A wave of pity rolls into the bucket.

"It was really last minute," Buck says.

"Yep. I get it."

There's enough space, for sure, but Buck edges to one side of the step anyway. "There's space for you."

"That's okay." Tommy's lips are a fine line before they quirk into a smile. "I don't need the pity."

"Too bad," Buck replies. "I went and got too much for myself and there's leftovers with your name on them."

Tommy rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. He sighs loudly, playfully, then comes and sits next to Buck on the step. He asks, "You doing okay?"

"I mean, my pregnant sister got kidnapped and my best friend moved to another state and I moved out of my apartment that I've been in for five years and I still miss my ex-boyfriend but other than that. Yeah, just fine." Buck clears his throat and points to his bike. "Do I seem like a cyclist to you? Like could you see me really getting into biking?"

"I think if you want something, nothing will stop you," Tommy says. "If you want to date a guy and never have before, you're gonna date a guy. If you wanna learn everything about a dead cowboy and then give him a respectful funeral while you're covered in boils, you will. If you—Eddie gave me like five different lemon and walnut and cranberry-orange loaves before he left and he said you made them? You just like, started a baking side gig or something? Did you want to do that, too, or did it just happen to you?"

"Oh, that." Buck has been blushing as Tommy talked, ducking his head to hide it, shying away, but Tommy's leaned in like he has to make sure Buck doesn't miss a word. "I started baking after we broke up. It was a good distraction."

"Five—"

"You came at the tail end, honestly, you missed a whole bakery's worth over the holidays." Buck looks at him. "What have you been doing?"

"Me, well. I bought another car I could start restoring. I repainted my porch and the fence. Took up yoga because, I don't know, wasn't feeling that flexible anymore. Uh." Tommy motions to the bike. "Also thought about biking because who doesn't want to pedal away from their problems, right?"

Buck asks, "What's your schedule look like? Did you actually buy a bike? Want to go on a ride? I know a place that does rentals."

"Buck, I don't know."

He wants to howl and correct him (Evan) but he keeps his mouth shut.

"Just an offer," Buck says. "I'm gonna head in now. Do you want water or something before you head back?"

Tommy doesn't make a move until Buck does, standing up from the steps and brushing off the back of his jeans. "If you're free..."

Buck raises his eyebrows.

"I'm free," Tommy says. "There's a bottle shop like 10 minutes away, if—maybe we could have a drink here? I don't know if you've already christened your new house or anything."

Buck grins. "Have I had a beer here? Yeah, I have. But—but that sounds nice. I can order a pizza if you're hungry. I'm starving."

"Yeah, that sounds nice." Tommy takes a few steps back to the truck. "I'll be back. Promise."

That little promise makes him ache. "No IPAs, please."

"I remember." Tommy watches him for a moment from the driver's side, then climbs into the truck and starts it up. Buck steps inside and shuts the door. He knows Tommy will be back.

[the-ace-with-spades]

(sorry this got longer than I thought)

You know what fic I'd love to read?

One where Carole dies but doesn't get anything in order before her death (as is many times the case) and Mav is installed as Bradley's temporary guardian after her death but everything goes wrong very fast

Due to Mav's less than heterosexuals tendencies, Bradley ends up in the foster system. One day a social worker with a police officer just shows up and takes him away from school and he doesn't know what's going on. He ends up in his first not so good foster family the same evening. Mav can't even visit as he is deemed a bad influence and has an ongoing investigation if he is 'fit' to be Bradley's guardian.

He doesn't stop asking about Mav for months. Keeps trying to run away to him (he's about 50 miles away because foster homes are sparse so no dice) and finally his foster 'mom' is fed up with the constant asks to at least try and call Mav so she tells him Mav didn't want him and doesn't want Bradley to contact him.

And because Bradley is twelve, he believes it.

(It's not that Mav didn't try. There was a whole appeal process but Mav had a deployment right after and he couldn't explain to the social workers that no, Bradley would stay with someone trusted while he was gone, because that someone was Ice, the source of his suspected homosexual tendencies. They literally told him he's not allowed to contact Bradley and once he came back from deployment, Bradley was already in a different foster home, a few counties over and lost in the system.)

Bradley spends the rest of his childhood in the system. His first family is dubious and the following ones are a mix of constant hope and disappointment. He has at least two different families foster him every year, until he is sixteen and ends up in a group home. There are only two families that he actually comes close to calling family - a young married couple that stops fostering when the wife is diagnosed with chronic autoimmune disorder, and a couple of teachers that have to drop one of the two kids they foster when the financial requirements to foster raise and decide that Bradley is going to be that kid.

No one ever even thinks about adopting him. He's got good grades and stays on top of school, but that's about what is going well in his life. Some families he's with are average - they let him be and maybe don't care as much for anything that involves him as long it doesn't stir trouble at the fostering agency and Bradley is healthy and safe. Some families are worse - sometimes he is one of the five kids and is expected to stay and be a live-in nanny, sometimes they're only doing it for the money and he has barely anything, barely any food, barely any attention, barely any clothes, barely any school supplies, just so he doesn't cost too much. Sometimes, things get physical - it happens less, the taller he gets and by the time he starts fighting back, he has enough reputation that no one believes it and no one wants to foster him anymore. And group home it is.

By the time he's seventeen, he's enlisted. Just so he leaves the system as fast as he can. It all works out because the Navy fits the bill for his university and NROTC when the time comes - even if he's told he's not a good candidate for the USNA, even if he was told his grades and his achievements should be more than enough, even if despite the circumstances, he managed to meet the same requirements.

Finding out that it was Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell who protested his application and pulled the plug on it is Bradley's second heartbreak.

Bradley bites down any complaints he has about life and enters UVA at 21, with a military scholarship and NROTC bursary. At that point, he doesn't even know if he still wants to go into aviation, it brings so much bitterness in him. But then his grades and his overall achievement are so good, everyone says it'd be a waste if he didn't go to one of the most competitive pipelines. The Navy pays for his private pilot licence when he hesitates, and sure enough, it does feel good.

The pipeline is where he meets Jake Seresin. Jake Seresin, who has two brothers and two sisters and who has jars of homemade jam and chocolate-covered plums sent in a little package from his mom at least once a month. Jake Seresin, who uses all his leave to attend weddings, holiday parties, birthday parties, even a dog's funeral. Jake Seresin, who comes from every Thanksgiving with spare pumpkin pie, who has a new handmade Christmas sweater every year.

Jake Seresin, who, for some reason not known to Bradley, is impressed with how effortless learning to fly is for Bradley, with how much Bradley knows, with how much he leads in the lectures and the flight lessons - most guys find Bradley annoying and cold and Bradley would've agreed with them if any said it to his face. The Navy is the only good thing Bradley's had since his mom died, he has much more time to focus on being good at whatever Navy throws at him and maybe that makes him strange and aloof. But not Jake.

Jake Seresin, who is a competitive asshole that can't shut his mouth for his own good. Who has no idea of personal space, who fills the silence better than a jukebox, who will drill and drill the topic until he gets an answer he can comprehend, who doesn't care what people think of him as long as he knows his worth.

Bradley might have a bit of a crush on him, but it's an annoying crush kind of crush - one he doesn't really want to have, one he doesn't really know what to do with. Jake Seresin, who probably would never look at Bradley twice, especially in that way.

They get separate F-18 training bases and Bradley forgets for a moment Jake Seresin ever existed.

Then, summer of 2011, Jake Seresin gets restationed, right into Bradley's squadron. And he's still his annoying self, inserting himself into Bradley's private space, private time, and doesn't let Bradley have a say in it, at all.

Maybe Bradley doesn't want to have any say in it, deep down.

A few months later, DADT gets repealed. It doesn't change much for Bradley, he's not going to talk to anyone about his personal life. But it seems it changes something for Jake.

Because he asks Bradley out on a date.

Bradley's never really dated. Didn't really have the time to when he was a teenager, moved so many times, and then he enlisted, and then he was in college and NROTC. He slept with people, but he's never dated anyone.

So he gets to know Jake Seresin. Jake Seresin, who despite bringing all that food back with him any time he visits his parents, can't cook at all and who would hang onto Bradley's arm or shoulders whenever Bradley cooked. Who can sew so well that he saves all of Bradley's old shirts. Who can't keep his mouth shut, no matter the circumstances - not in the theatre, not when they eat, not when they just watch a movie at home, not even in bed. Who seems to know every single tune under the sun but can't play a single instrument. Who has elaborate, detailed plans for his life - an admiral by forty, two kids by thirty-five, a nice little house in driving distance to some body of water, a German shepherd or a border collie for a family dog once the house is there, a personal two or maybe four-person plane by the time he's forty-five, maybe co-owning aeroclub by fifty.

Bradley's never before thought about the future.

He never tells Jake even half of the things he's seen and lived through when he was in foster care, never tells him about his pulled application from USNA, never tells him about Mav. He doesn't think Jake would be able to understand, the way his family seems perfect and loving and caring. He doesn't want him to know how many things is wrong with him.

But Jake knows he's got no family, that his dad died in the Navy, his mom when he started middle school, that he's been in foster care for all his teenage years. Knows that Bradley has no one to come back home.

"Don't be a fool, sweetheart," is what Jake tells him. "You've got me."

For the first time in his life at the age of 29, Bradley requests Christmas leave.

Bradley's never had a big family, but there was a time he once had a family - or so he thought, when he was twelve and the illusion shattered - so he thought he'd be okay.

And at first, he is fine. Jake rotates him around like a prize piece, introducing him to his siblings, parents, aunts, uncles, nephews, cousins, grandparents, but it's just two or three people at once. Whenever it seems like too much, Bradley drifts away to the kitchen where he can just stay silent and listen to Jake's mom talk to the various people that come by while he slices homemade ham or he steps out onto the backyard and talks to the kids of all the ages gathered around the makeshift playground.

But then they're right before dinner starts - there are over thirty people in the open space of the house, now that everyone arrived, and Bradley feels hot, suffocating in the crowded space, in the clutter of gifts and food and colorful Christmas sweaters.

And then, before he can take any of it in, he hears Jake, saying in his typical loud and teasing tone, that Bradley can play the piano, and look at that, he could play something Christmas-y before the turkey is done, and next thing he knows, there's over thirty pairs of eyes on him and plenty of people asking questions and making teasing remarks and it all seems so tricky--

He can't imagine himself, in that room, with all those people, feeling comfortable. So he walks out.

Bradley doesn't know how to be a part of a family. There's no reason to try and lie to himself and everyone else.

They don't see each other for years after. The next time they do, it's only the eight weeks at Top Gun. The Jake that Bradley knew isn't there - this Jake is bitter and sarcastic and sharp with his tongue. This Jake wins Top Gun and never looks back at Bradley when he returns to his station base.

The next time they see each other is at the Top Gun recall when Bradley is going through a life roller coaster.

Not only is Jake being the biggest ass not just to him but to everyone, for the first time in twenty years, Bradley sees Mav. Sure, maybe he's not moved on from Jake - he still remains the only person Bradley ever dated - but he's managed to dodge Maverick, and Iceman by association, in all those years he's been in the Navy and now he's forced to pretend all is fine.

And Maverick doesn't make it easier.

He tries to approach Bradley like they're long-lost friends, saying all those things about how he missed him and how Bradley looks so much like his dad. Like he didn't leave him in the foster system when he was a kid and didn't fuck up his application for USNA.

So he pretends he doesn't remember Maverick because that's the easiest given that Maverick is supposed to train him.

On top of that, Jake mixes himself up into Bradley's shit life situation when he overhears Mav trying to get Bradley to 'remember' and 'renew their relationship' and keeps pestering Bradley. Maybe he can tell you more about your childhood, why the hell are you so rude to him, he wouldn't make up knowing you, you know, maybe he's got some of your parents' stuff and can share---

And hearing the love of his life that he let get away because Bradley didn't know how to be part of his family side with the first person that told Bradley he's not enough to be someone's family - well, it's not exactly helping the state of Bradley'e mental being.

So maybe he explodes at Jake, a little bit, in the end. You want to talk to the man who left me behind when I was twelve and the only time he looked back was to tell me he didn't think I was good enough? Then so be fucking it.

Instead of butting into Bradley's life, Jake shuts up and starts avoiding him. Bradley supposes he has what he wanted.

Bradley doesn't care what Maverick thinks or if he changed or if he wants something from Bradley.

He still turns around when he's shot down. It's not like he's got someone to come back to anyway. Not because he cares about Maverick.

"I'm not you," Bradley tells Mav. "I don't leave people behind."

The admittance - that he knows and remembers Mav and wants nothing to do with him, wants to be nothing like him - works. They survive and Bradley doesn't see Maverick again, not when they're in the med bay, not when they're in the hospital in San Diego, not when he gets discharged.

He sees Jake instead, waiting on him at the reception of the unit he had been on, patiently waiting for Bradley to sign his discharge papers without using his broken wrist.

"What, do you have someone else to take your broken ass home?"

In truth, Bradley was just going to take a taxi. Instead, Jake takes the plastic bag with Bradley's clothes and silently leads them to his truck before he asks for Bradley's address.

And in all this mess, the first thing Jake asks him is, "Are you going to stay in San Diego?" because they have the offer to stay there and make their place in Top Gun-adjacent brand new squadron.

"No, I'm going to go back to my base," Bradley tells him. There's nothing for him San Diego, but there's plenty for Jake and he doesn't want to be a barrier.

"I think you should stay in San Diego. With me."

He wishes it was that simple but the truth is, Bradley is still the same.

"I can't be the person you want to have in your life."

"But you already are the person I want in my life."

"I think this is going to end up badly."

"Only if you let it."

Bradley's never really could say no to Jake.

It all seems so easy, when he falls asleep on Jake's shoulder watching Top Gear, but at some point, Bradley knows, they will get to the point when it'll all crush again.

There is also the whole thing with Maverick, their now CO, who appears to be some kind of ashamed now that he finally knows that Bradley remembers what he did - or rather what he didn't do. He avoids Bradley like the plague and it seems to be affecting the squad - because they all love Maverick and Bradley is the weirdo who can't have fun or be friendly. He's just waiting on someone to call him out as the party pooper contrasting to their fun CO and deem the problem, as always, just because he can't pretend to be happy to be around him.

Jake hasn't said anything about the Maverick thing explicitly but he gives Bradley those looks whenever Maverick is nearby and sometimes he makes those quips

[dangermousie]

2024 list - cdrama edition

Yes, it's cdrama world so even though December is halfway though, they may drop 10 more dramas I will check out between now and 2025. But if I wait, this will never get done and it can always be updated, so here we go. This has been one of the best cdrama years for me!

This is only going to cover cdramas that aired in 2024; if I watched it but it was made in a different year, it’s not on the list. As always, very subjective.

DRAMAS WATCHED

(In order of liking from least to most as opposed to pure quality; I am including if I’ve seen enough to make up my mind; yes I realize that’s inaccurate, but that’s my list)

61 My Divine Emissary - it’s actually a pretty good drama year when the worst cdrama I’ve checked out this year is merely utterly shrill and brain dead but not horrifyingly offensive to good taste.

60 Are You the One - no you are not. There are objectively worse dramas I've ranked higher but this is here because I am annoyed at the waste of Zhang Wanyi and this drama's popularity and douban rating. I am a petty bitch.

59 Fight for Love - they had wonderful actors and a great premise and utterly wasted it. There might someday be a good drama about a female general torn between a royal and an enemy general but this ain’t it.

58 Peacock in Wonderland - I am a few decades too old for this brain dead fest but I am glad Zhou Jun Wei is not canceled at least.

57 Her Fantastic Adventures - honestly, this, MDE and Revenger are all the same type of subgenre - they aren’t offensive they are just as empty as air. This also suffers from casting an utter dud as ML and a charisma boat as SML. Why?

56 Lady Revenger Returns from the Fire - the main thing I remember from this is that Miles Wei must have stolen the wig maker’s parking spot. That wig is the one that should have gone into the fire.

55 Fox Matchmaker: The Red Moon Pact - it’s so pretty, so full of gorgeous costumes and actors and I enjoyed the first few eps, but ultimately it was like watching colorful paint dry. It was so dull, I couldn’t even hate watch it, and that is more damning than anything.

54 Your Trap/Imprisoned Love - the plot of this mini made no sense but the softcore vibes of sanitized 1990s cinemax were on point!

53 The Unexpected Marriage - cutesy dumb period romcom. Could be worse, not that this is much of a praise.

52 Love’s Rebellion - so twee, so precious, so full of cutesy awful CGI and actors who aren’t bothering. I am not sure why Zhang Linghe and Jing Tian are in this mess that looks like rainbow vomited on a xianxia set.

51 My Wife’s Double Life - her life may be double but her brain is only half.

50 Jade’s Fateful Love - I lost some braincells trying this one, but (a) it’s gorgeous and (b) no transmigration say you? Multiple transmigration in first ep alone! Good for you, makers!

49 Follow My Heart - how do you have Luo Yunxi, Song Yi and Cheng Lei and waste them so utterly? First few eps were nice and then it’s like exercise in how much you can tolerate before you call it quits.

48 The Story of Pearl Girl - almost made me dislike ZLS and LYN and that's a feat. Dull and stupid and pointless from beginning to end.

47 Brocade Odyssey - more like Snooze Novella.

46 Melody of Golden Age - see write up for FMH because it fits here. This is bland with a side of bland.

45 The Legend of Taotie - an unequivocally bad drama but the look is such a nostalgia trip and I had fun.

44 Sword and Fairy 4 - it’s kinda a mess but I loved the actors and some of the plots and you can do worse.

43 Dawn Amidst Hidden Clouds - I enjoy watching Chang Huasen as a ML but the rest is eminently forgettable.

42 Blossoms in Adversity - dumb as a set of particularly dumb bricks and ML I don’t think could act if his life depended on it, but it was strangely addictive and I watched it often before better dramas. It’s just a genuinely good time somehow!

41 Judge Dee - it’s not you it’s me in action. It’s smart and gorgeous and well acted, I just don’t do procedurals.

40 The Substitute Princess’ Love - it’s like some of those trashy web novels I enjoy. It was clearly cut, its budget was equivalent to loose change found in the pockets of makers of Fox Spirit Matchmaker, but it was a surprisingly fun watch, though I enjoyed the first half better than the second. Also as a drama old, it was a fun blast from the past seeing Dylan Kuo (if you have never watched the old twdrama The Outsiders, what are you even doing with your life?)

39 Rise from the Ashes - a wacky as hell mini where reborn FL wreaks revenge with help of her fake uncle as they carry on as some sort of Borgia/Phillip II of Spain fame hybrid. If you don’t need to use your brain, you could have a worse time.

38 The Legend of Heroes - it suffered from me seeing other versions of this tale before that I liked more and not loving how dark looking it is but that cast is A+ and Wang Hongyi was a revelation as Yang Kang.

37 Beauty Strategy - a mini of what a few years ago would have been a proper angsty drama of palace scheming enemies while lovers, powerless emperor etc etc. Honestly, I loved it.

36 Lovesickness - this year’s gender-reversed Ancient Love Song, not as artistic or good but still a good time about a woman traveling back in time and falling for a powerful but doomed duke.

35 Fragments of Kylin - demon slayer falls for a demon; this one came out of nowhere and didn’t have much of a budget but is surprisingly lovely.

34 Love of Nirvana - the good parts are vvvvv good and points for making the emperor the villain, but it almost never emotionally grabbed me, and a lot of time was spent on narratives I had no interest in.

33 Enslaved by Love - the only reason it’s not the most fucked up drama on this list is because Shadow Sect, Palace Shadows and Burning Flames exist. The ML is toxic enough to be banned by the Geneva convention but FL does get some of her own back and also if you ever wanted to see blindness-curing sex, boy do I have a drama for you!

32 The Princess Royal/The Grand Princess - I am in the minority of finding this drama very mid. The acting was fine (except for former eunuch dude), the writing was fine, but I never really got invested alas. I don’t even know why. I think it’s just not my type of narrative; there was no intensity.

31 Secrets of the Shadow Sect - head of sect lady and her very very subby bodyguard. What’s not to love?

30 Palace Shadows: Between Two Princes - ML pretends to be his own twin, bdsm and sluttiness ensues. I cannot even explain how wild this drama is but the acting is on point and way way fun!

29 Dashing Youth - I had no expectations of this drama (was either indifferent to or disliked everyone in the cast, wuxia and wuxia-adjacent is rarely my genre, the number of characters is huge) but I loved how under its bright colors, it eventually gets very dark (it’s quite old school that way) and somehow I am invested in everyone in the huge cast. This being a prequel to The Blood of Youth makes us know the fates of many of the characters and this adds the air of tragic inevitability to it all.)

28 The Last Immortal - a surprisingly sweet and touching xianxia that works largely because Zhao Lusi and Wang Anyu are so so so so solid separately and together.

27 Burning Flames - the most gonzo drama on this list. I love it for committing to insanity as it should (if you pick insane source material, commit.) Humans taking on the worst Gods since Olympus, fur and chains, sentient crystal FL, ML who goes from Crown Prince to mine slave to rebel leader, bare chests and fur, demon elves, a villain that leaches color from the world - this drama has everything and I loved its unhinged glory.

26 Lost You Forever 2 - it would have been higher except it fell apart in the last third so badly I am still wondering how the makers could misunderstand their own characters and their own narratives so badly. The first season was a masterpiece. This is a hot mess.

25 Fateful Love - this was released after years in the dungeon and feels old school in the best way. It's what reading one of those OP FL web novels feels like, and the OTP is shockingly competent and adult. I loved that.

24 Love Game In Eastern Fantasy - excellent start, mid middle, and a terrible last third but I cannot have truly hard feelings since before it fell off, it really was fun.

23 Love in a Dream - it's a mini that has the most gorgeous cinematography I've seen all year except for Fangs of Fortune and Eternal Brotherhood. I loved the vibes and the story (though of course it suffered from mini running time constraints) and its feeling of tragic love and lost time.

22 Different Princess - a ridiculous amount of fun and ship about an author falling through to her own novel and falling for the villain.

21 Kill Me Love Me - the story is a mess and a half but the OTP gave me some incredible incredible scenes, and Wu Jinyan, Liu Xueyi and Baron Chen are gorgeous and acting their hearts out, plus the whump mmmm.

20 Meet You at the Blossom - this is a Thai/Taiwan/China coproduction so I am including it. It's my list! An uncensored BL adaptation with delicious dysfunction, sunshine x murder boy, angst, shippiness, groveling and wigs that are surprisingly decent for the budget!

19 Sword and Fairy 6 - I love this tale; the young OTP (a whale weapon and a clone of her trigger? More wholesome than you think) who are so ride or die for each other, the other amazing characters (sect leader who has to live as a man and her “twin” who is an ancient trapped spirit, a wolf demon, etc…) It’s just genuinely good and proof that targeted to younger audience doesn’t have to be bad.

18 In Blossom - sure, we all know JJY can’t act, but the narrative was so fun and the visuals were so gorgeous and Liu Xueyi so gorgeous and magnetic in his first proper Male Lead role, it was all worth it. I liked the first half when they were still cautious of each other more than the second but this is just a good time!

17 Snowy Night Timeless Love - a classic, tragic, romantic wuxia the way "they don't make it any more" only they did. Just lovely.

16 The Rise of Ning - such a pleasant, easy slice of period life with a side of revenge and fakecest (but only a teeny side.) Secondary characters are not particularly engaging and the plot suffers from being limited to 40 eps, but the main OTP is so enjoyable and Ren Min and Zhang Wanyi are doing such nuanced, lovely job that I can't even complain.

15 Hard to Find - my second favorite mini on the list, this is an aesthetic feast. The doomed couple from enemy kingdoms, the vengeance, the twists - if ever a mini deserved to be a proper drama, this would be it. But alas, if it was they’d probably not let it.

14 The Double - unhinged web novel vibe done so perfectly in the inimitable Yu Zheng style. The leads were so good even the amazing villains didn’t truly steal the show. Like with a lot of cdramas, it lost a lot of steam in second half for me, but still a great watch.

13 Strange Tales of Tang Dynasty 2 - I never like procedurals. Somehow both seasons of this show are the sole exception. It is so gorgeous, so impeccably acted, with such great characters. I cannot wait for s3.

12 Love in the Desert - a mini drama in story but with a proper budget and run time, this is such gorgeous sensual fun with a great main OTP, a truly incredible secondary OTP and some beautiful visuals.

11 Fortune Writer - the best mini this year and better than most “proper” cdramas (Douban raters agree), this tale of villains in love fighting the narrative has a lot to say about writing cliches and writing conventions. I love how clever it is and how it actually made me care for the characters.

10 Tender Light - except for that ending, this was in the running for my favorite 2024 cdrama. The writers’ lack of ability to commit and carry through pushed it lower but otherwise it’s a genuine masterpiece. The acting, the chemistry, the looping narrative, what it has to say about abuse and complicity of society and blazing your own moral path is something else.

9 Derailment - who knew a little quasi scifi modern would be this high but this one is amazing. If you watch one modern this year, make it this one. Our FL is a rich girl a little in the future who somehow wakes up in a different timeline a few years back in the body of that universe’s version of her (who is poor and has been missing) and her one connection is a young man who was in love with that universe’s version of her. I don’t want to say more so as not to spoil because the twists are twisty but this is EVERYTHING and also addresses transmigration, what it means to love, what is ethical etc etc. And that OTP!

8 Will Love in Spring - this is a year of miracles because I don't just have one modern among my favorites, I have a bunch. This is a gorgeous story about love and healing and awkward, scarred emotionally and physically people feeling if their odd angles and prickly flaws actually fit and working towards a future with fits and starts and it's just so chemistry driven, so tender, so gorgeous.

7 Snowfall - a fever dream of a vampire narrative set in an alternate universe of the Republican era, it’s gorgeous, passionate, hella queer and just like watching the most amazing fanfic come to life.

6 Heroes - a complete masterpiece about three men about to be on the scrapheap of history in the Qing Dynasty about to fall (a constable devoted to obsolete norms, who spent his whole life studying for the imperial exam which got canceled, the world’s best swordsman in the era of guns, and a former imperial guard who emerges from prison into a different world) whose stories intersect as they search for treasure and the women and other people in their lives. This is smart, impeccably acted, filmed in a stunning way, bleak and funny at once and - I don’t use the term masterpiece often but I will use it here.

4 (tie) Blossom - a romantic fever dream, with gorgeous damaged destined lovers. The director is the person who made A Familiar Stranger and Butterflied Lover into amazingness on a short run time and no budget, so when he actually has a proper run time and a budget - oh boy - it's romantic and beautiful and intense, a drama as opera.

4 (tie) The Legend of Shen Li - I am often indifferent to xianxia that suffers from too much CGI, hella immaturity and not enough stakes. Shen Li is everything. It’s gorgeously filmed, it’s adult, it gives the story time to breathe and centers it on characters and relationships. And the OTP is everything you can ever dream of - it reunites Zhao Liying and Lin Gengxin, totally healing those Princess Agents wounds - their chemistry is still utter fire but the narrative supports them every step of the way.

3 Eternal Brotherhood - if JoL2/FoF did not come out this year, this would be my favorite cdrama of the year. It’s clearly a passion project with a small budget but this complex and grim tale of three rather different sworn brothers in a world at war is gorgeous, smart, well acted, dark and inspiring at once. There are shots that take my breath away, the love stories are amazing, the pace is perfect, and ohhh our complex mainsssssss.

1 (tie) Joy of Life 2 - (almost) nothing can beat this masterpiece. The first season was perfect and somehow the second is even more perfect. It’s smart, it’s funny, it’s heartbreaking, the cast is still impeccable and Zhang Ruoyun still gives a completely jawdropping performance as the focus of all the madness Fan Xian. If you watch only one cdrama this year, make it this one; well, this and Fangs of Fortune.

1 (tie) Fangs of Fortune - this is an emotional and visual feast, with such incredible characters, interesting explorations of fantasy and mortality and morality and what makes life worth living. It made awful actors good and mid actors amazing (and amazing ones extra amazing.) It is also the most stunning drama I've ever watched as well as throwing me back into what it's like to be immersed into an amazing fantasy book as a kid and the characters and the relationships and the themes sing to me. A miracle.

FAVORITE DRAMA

Fangs of Fortune - I have rarely seen a drama that speaks to me so personally, but it is also narratively perfect, emotionally devastating, with impeccable acting, complex characters and visuals that are beyond stunning.

Joy of Life 2 - there is not one second I forwarded, not one unnecessary scene, not one weak link character. It’s a smart, fierce masterpiece.

Eternal Brotherhood is a runner up - it came out of nowhere and owned my whole heart. It’s the sole other cdrama this year where I did not ff a second.

WORST DRAMA

My Divine Emissary may have been the lowest ranked drama on my list but honestly, a drama with a tiny budget and a bunch of nobodies does not deserve to be listed as the Worst. What does? Fox Spirit Matchmaker - a huge budget, fancy stars etc etc and yet it's a completely and utterly unwatchable mess. To make something this thoroughly dull is a genuine feat. I cannot think of a drama that insults its viewer more not just this year but any recent year.

FAVORITE MALE CHARACTER

Fan Xian (Zhang Ruoyun), Joy of Life 2 - how could it ever be anyone but smart, irreverent, fierce, broken, idealistic, funny Fan Xian. The man who fights against the horrors of the universe, who remains human while being so larger than life. This character is everything.

Or Zhu Yun (Hou Minghao), an ancient, irreverent, vivid, borken demon who wants to die even as he might finally find a reason to live in Fangs of Fortune.

Runner up: Zhou Luo (Zhang Xincheng), Tender Light - idealistic loner who refuses to compromise his principles even as it would be easier to, even as it destroys his life, ZXC has always been a solid actor but here he is beyond.

Alternatively, Zichuan Xiu (Yang Xuwen), Eternal Brotherhood - only way to describe Xiu is “trauma sunshine.” He’s funny, he’s irrevocably fucked up, he is magnetic and intense and he fights for his hopeless ideals and he breaks and he keeps going.

or Xing Zhi (Lin Gengxin), the lonely ancient god in Shen Li discovering the pleasure of life for the first time in aeons.

or Zhuo Yichen (Fangs of Fortune) - a traumatized idealist who goes through so much hell but retains his heart and his core of steel even as he grows up about complexities of the world and the human heart.

FAVORITE FEMALE CHARACTER

Shen Li (Zhao Liying), The Legend of Shen Li - so fierce, so certain, so alive. She is a goddess but ZLY made her feel so real.

Runner up: Nan Ya (Tong Yao), Tender Light - an abuse victim who keeps trying to find a way out, she’s strong and damaged and complex and honestly, one of the best performances this year.

Alternatively, Jiang Xiao Yuan (Liu Haocun), Derailment - she makes a character that in other hands would be boring or trite, someone I want to reach through to the screen and protect and love.

Or Mi Lan (Ouyang Nana), Snowfall - a tiny, suicidal, abused, seemingly helpless blind girl who decides she needs to protect a deadly ancient vampire as her reason for living and she is unstoppable, fierce and a force of nature in her goal.

NEEDS TO BE MURDERED

99% of the denizens of the town in Tender Light - selfish every day denizens monstrous because of their very everydayness - they watch abuse and choose to blame the victim and gossip and enjoy the view. I hated them all.

BEST BAD GUY

Li Lun (Fangs of Fortune) - with his glorious mane, equally glorious eventual redemption, and incredibly dramatic attitude to a bad breakup, that was a feast.

The Emperor (Joy of Life 2) - a magnetic monster, smartest and the most ruthless character in any scene - Chen Dao Ming gives an insane performance.

Wang Jia Luo (Heroes) - a revolutionary for conservatism, a young man with brains and ideals who gets destroyed by them, who out-Javerts Javert, his descent into villainy and inability to live in the modern complex world, is one of the most compelling and tragic arcs of the drama.

Shen Yurong (The Double) - both repellent and somehow sympathetic, it takes skill to make me feel for a man who tried to bury his wife alive in ep 1. The performance of the whole drama for me.

City Lord (Eternal Brotherhood) - an utterly vile toad of a man, with nothing truly human and yet hiding it under weak and caring facade. I need him taken out.

"HAROLD, THEY ARE LESBIANS" AWARD

Wen Xiao x Pei Sijing, Fangs of Fortune - Duh.

"HOW DID CENSORS NAP THROUGH THIS" AWARD

Vamp Daddy and Loser Li in Snowfall and the entirety of Fangs of Fortune.

MALE LEAD MOST LIKELY TO BE BROUGHT HOME TO MOTHER

No, thank you! The few modern ones she'd not approve of (a mortician with issues? A teenager? A man who had his memories rearranged?) and the period ones are no go since few moms would be keen on wild-eyed, bloodied sons in law however hot and long haired they may be.

FAVORITE SHIP

Dou Zhao x Song Mo, Blossom - one of the most perfectly in sync couples out there, smart, competent, different kinds of damaged, get each other before they love or even trust each other. Your OTP could never. Unless your OTP is them.

Fan Xian x Lin Wan'er, Joy of Life 2 - she is his peace and his haven and the place his busy mind can rest, he is her safety and happiness and ability to live and not exist. They are everything to me.

Shen Li x Xing Zhi, The Legend of Shen Li - the chemistry, the yearning, the slow inevitable collapse into admittance, the way he protects the world and she protects him, the way they dance around each other, her being the aggressor, his surrender to forbidden emotion, their utter mutual belief in each other’s competence. They are everything to me.

Whatever the throuple (with sides?) thing was going on in Fangs of Fortune - I've raved enough about it elsewhere but that was insane in its intensity and gorgeousness and emotion and narrative arcs.

Runner up: the OTP in Derailment - those two went through some mind and soul breaking stuff and made it out.

FAVORITE SECONDARY OTP

Hands down Ruo Wen x Ge Xinwei, Love in the Desert. An amoral, magnetic bandit leader and a princess gone wild on spring break stole the drama utterly. His unhinged energy was so matched by her sfl but with an appropriate target fixation. They made me swoon, laugh and cry.

Amusingly enough, Fu Xin Bo is the male actor in two - the crossdressing sect leader x wolf demon OTP in Sword and Fairy 6, and First Prince x Eldest Princess in Joy of Life 2. What can I say, man knows how to pick them. Those OTPs are both utterly adorable!

If we are talking about an OTP where it’s not that it’s not the main but it’s not a ship-centric drama so they don’t get much time, then we have Si Yilin x Ka Dan, Eternal Brotherhood - they are both such desperately good people in a mad world, tender with each other despite surrounding cruelty and Shen Zhiheng x Mi Lan, Snowfall - a vampire age gap romance done well, the ancient gentleman vampire and the tiny fierce blind girl who decides to protect him.

And of course Qing Geng x Fei, Fangs of Fortune - Ai Mi and Zuo Ye breaking my heart yet AGAIN.

NOTP

The couple in Fox Spirit Matchmaker - such pretty people, and so bland and boring and pointless together. It was kinda amazing.

HOTTEST SCENE

Ka Dan and Si Yilin (Eternal Brotherhood), the primmest, properest OTP of them all, consummate their love without any marriage, but with plenty of golden light.

FAVORITE SCENE

God, so many good scenes this year so far - Fan Xian watching the death of the old censor and the aftermath, in JoL2; his confrontation with Wan'er after she finds out about the truth behind her brother’s death, the scene where he poisons Second Prince, his scene with the registrar. Xiu giving up his future to protect the surrendered soldiers only to come back and find Di Lin executed them all in EB, the scene in Ning’s bedroom when he tells her how he really feels because she can’t hear, the very end of that season and Di Lin striding into the light, Ka Dan and SYL’s letters to each other. XZ literally defying heaven’s lightning and all their longing in Shen Li. The last scene of LYN and his girl in Heroes, the way Heroes always intercuts the golden past of the guard and princess and the dreary present (especially when we see her bicycle spin out of control back when and her husband lose it in the present and this time there is nobody to catch her), the big reveal in Derailment and the hairwashing scene, Mi Lan touching Vamp Daddy’s face as their thing in Snowfall, and the cage stuff, the aborted sex scene in Will Love in Spring, so many scenes in Fangs of Fortune but especially the aftermath on the stairs between ZYC and ZYZ post the latter's loss of control, the final sacrifice,Li Lun x ZYC x ZYZ battle against the bad guy, the whole plague demon storyline, ZYC becoming a demon, ZYZ having to slap himself to nerve himself to walk to his death, everything. And we haven't gotten to it yet, but the scene in all Blossom previews where Song Mo falls to his knees in front of Dou Zhao from a dead run is imprinted in me.

BIGGEST CRUSH

Shen Zhiheng (Gao Weiguang), Snowfall - Vamp Daddy made me hormonal in a way I haven’t felt for a cdrama lead since the heady days of Darren Wang in The Wolf. Those outfits, that hair, that height, that restraint, that lack of restraint. THE CHAINS

BEST SCENE STEALER CHARACTER

Liu Duan Duan as Second Prince in Joy of Life 2 - what a performance! Unhinged, magnetic, pitiable, terrifying and always mesmerizing. The Second Prince is Fan Xian’s foil and a worthy one. LDD is always a great actor, and with a role that actually gives him something to sink his teeth into - wow!

Runner up - Baron Chen in Kill Me Love Me. It's the year of unhinged royal princes, I guess.

BEST COSTUMES AND WIGS

Fangs of Fortune - the whole design is exquisite!

MOST EXTRA OUTFIT

Burning Flames - this drama was a feat of extraness and that meant costumes but even among those, costumes worn by Peter Ho's human king and Jeremy Tsui's psychotic god stood out.

FAVORITE SECONDARY ML

Wu Shan, Blossom - this man is a literal sunshine angel.

MOST BLATANT INNUENDO MOMENT

The Double - As our FL fondles her wet flower petals in the bath, our ML wields and swings his giant sword shirtless in the rain. That was eye popping.

FAVORITE 2024 CDRAMA SONG

This Chen Xueran song from Eternal Brotherhood:

MVP OF THE YEAR

Liu Xueyi (In Blossom, Kill Me Love Me) - this is the year LXY finally achieved leading man status and he was spectacular in both of his outings - so very different in both but equally magnetic in either even if the dramas themselves had flaws. I have a new fave!

ACTING SURPRISE

Ouyang Nana - Li Muge performs miracles. He made Yang Chaoye be good in Heroes (2022) and now Nana, who was always as wooden as a post, is a revelation as blind abused girl who becomes a vampire in Snowfall.

Hou Minghao - I've always found HMH a stunningly beautiful man and a thoroughly bland actor. But he was surprisingly solid in Dashing Youth and utterly blew me away in Fangs of Fortune. Like jaw on the floor level blown away.

Wang Hongyi - found him bland as paint in LYF (both seasons) but his Yang Kang in Condor Heroes blew me away and then he repeated that feat as a very different character in a very different drama (Snowy Night.) Consider me a new fan.

NEEDS A SEQUEL

Joy of Life 2 of course - I need to see the looming confrontation between Fan Xian and the emperor, though not sure how that will pass censorship.

NEEDS SCISSORS TAKEN TO IT

FF button has cured me of finding contenders for this category, but perhaps cutting out a lot of terrible acting and lack of stage presence of “not yet a eunuch” dude in The Princess Royal, would have improved it.

TOO MANY SCISSORS TAKEN TO IT

Lost You Forever 2 - there were other issues with it, but all the cuts couldn’t have helped with coherency.

TROPE THAT NEEDS TO DIE

Same as last year - the emperor cannot be irredeemable. WTF, China, you are a communist country! Though they are nibbling at the edges this year. Also fake feminism - I am all for girl power but not when it's ridiculously anachronistic for the period with no explanation at all. And finally NO MORE TRADE DRAMAS PLS PLS PLS

FAVORITE TROPE WE’VE SEEN A LOT OF

Men (and women) knowingly fighting for a doomed cause because otherwise they’d cease to be who they are. Or if we are being shallow all the beautiful men in chains.

BIGGEST DISAPPOINTMENT

Lost Your Forever 2 - the first season was my favorite drama of 2023 but LYF2 just fell apart so so so badly, it was almost fascinating. It totally eviscerated the characters and the meanings of the story.

BIGGEST GOOD SURPRISE

So many of top dramas on my list are not dramas that were on my radar at all before airing - Heroes, Eternal Brotherhood, Fangs of Fortune, Will Love in Spring and Snowfall were not anything I anticipated, let alone I realized how much I’d love them. Same for Derailment and Tender Light. This has been a year of surprises.

2024 DRAMAS I HAVEN’T SEEN THAT I MOST WANT TO WATCH

I have honestly watched everything I wanted.

BEST NON-2024 DRAMA I’VE WATCHED IN 2024

Lighter and Princess, hands down. I rarely even enjoy moderns and this one made it into my Top 5 cdrama of all time. This is how you make a love story. This is literally perfect. PERFECT.

Runner up: Strange Tales of Tang Dynasty - I, a procedural and mystery hater (especially when there is close to no romance) somehow fell like a ton of bricks for this gorgeous, smart, impeccably acted show.

MOST ANTICIPATED

A Dream Within a Dream looks like Fortune Writer with proper length and budget, Legend of the Female General looks epic and I love the novel, Divine Tree with Deng Wei is all my fave tropes, Veil of Shadows is peak Guo Jingming, and so many more.

[goldenroutledge]

someday my prince will come

pairing ⤜ rafe cameron x fem!reader

word count ⤜ 3.7k

summary ⤜ fluff. in which you’ll never feel alone as long as you have rafe, and he’ll never feel alone as long as he has you.

warning(s) ⤜ wedding planning stress, toxic family members

a/n ⤜ inspired by ‘alone together’ - sabrina carpenter || masterlist

Expect the worst and you won’t be disappointed. That’s what you try to tell yourself, hoping it will wish away the cynicism surrounding what is supposed to be the happiest time in your life. Transactional relationships set the norm on Figure Eight for friends and foe alike. Everyone used anyone they could get their hands on, only leaving them for dead when the conditions were no longer suitable.

It should’ve been no surprise that people would be treating your upcoming marriage to Rafe that same way. As if it’s nothing but a transaction curated to mutually benefit yourself, Rafe, and your respective families. Truthfully, your relationship was anything but.

Years together proved that passion still burns between you, in a way that most can’t begin to dream of. Every look, every kiss and every touch holds that passion somewhere deep inside. There was no denying that you two have enough of it to last a lifetime and then some when Rafe got down on bended knee and asked you to spend your life with him. You love Rafe Cameron for all the right reasons and he loves you the same.

Your families and friends around you are fools to not acknowledge that, seemingly destined to have their own ways of projecting insecurities onto the both of you. Planning your wedding was something you imagined to be a magical time, selecting colors and florals that would paint a picture reminiscent of a fairytale. Expect the worst and you won’t be disappointed.

From the moment your perfectly cut diamond ring was noticeable on your left hand, some chose to take it as a personal invitation to assert their unwarranted advice. It started with your mother, divorced and remarried now more times than you care to keep track of. Her guidance hardly resembles the special experience between mother and daughter that planning a wedding usually brings. After one of your first meetings with your wedding planner, you’d come to regret asking your mother to accompany you.

“I just don’t see why he’s walking you down the aisle instead of me.”

“You mean my father? I didn’t think you’d have such an issue with it given you chose to marry and have a child with him.”

“And I chose to divorce the asshole, too.”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with me, Mom. You both made your choices and I made mine. My father is going to be at my wedding whether you like it or not.”

“50 feet away from me at all times, I hope.” She speaks lowly, barely under her breath. You’d be burning with embarrassment right now if it weren’t for your wedding planner, ever attuned and able to spot an argument a mile away, who kindly left you and your mother to chat in private.

“Please, don’t worry about that. I’m sure he wants nothing to do with you either. The only difference is that he’s willing to tolerate you for the sake of my happiness.”

“This isn’t about happiness, Y/n. It’s about respect. Had I not raised you right, you wouldn’t be able to attract a man like Rafe in the first place. The least you could do is acknowledge your mother on your wedding day.”

“That’ll make for a beautiful toast at your next brunch with the ladies from the club. I’ll be sure to write that down.” You chide sarcastically, unable to hold back from rolling your eyes at her audaciousness. “It’s good to know that’s what you’re really excited about. Showboating to your friends that I found someone successful, not that I found someone I love.”

“Like it or not, it’s the truth. I’m not afraid to be honest with you unlike some people in your life.”

“What exactly is honest about guilt tripping me into letting you make all of my wedding decisions for me? For us! You’re lucky Rafe isn’t here or he would’ve thrown you out by now.”

“And risk our relationship just when we’re about to be in-laws? You’re ridiculous. I hope he knows the kind of dramatics he’s marrying into.”

“No kidding.”

“I’m not trying to be malicious, dear. I just want you to have your priorities straight.”

“Believe me, they are.”

“You can’t forget your family in the process, my darling. You can’t just leave me behind like I don’t exist because when this marriage is over you’ll realize that I’m not as crazy as you think. You’ll need me again one day.”

“When my marriage is over? This isn’t some fucking contract. We love each other.”

“There’s no need to get hysterical, Y/n. I told myself all the same things too. You’ll see.”

—

Your conversation with your mother left you disheartened at best, infuriated at worst. One look into Rafe’s eyes would have your worries melting away, but you can’t help the nagging feeling inside that’s telling you to say something. You know how much courage it took for him to open his heart to you in the way that he has. You know how much courage it’s taken for you to open your heart, too. You know how with each other it’s been so easy that neither of you really noticed how naturally your love has blossomed. When you fell for each other, there was nothing that could stop you.

That explains why this nagging feeling, that you assume is guilt, simply won’t go away. How can you imagine getting married to Rafe Cameron, the love of your life, and feel anything but unbridled joy. To give a big ‘fuck you’ to everyone doubting your relationship, you’d love nothing more than to proclaim your love for each other in front of a crowd. But in the many scenarios you’ve played in your head, none of them put you at ease.

There was no denying the deep trust that connects you, knowing that you can tell him whatever is on your mind. The worst thing you’ve ever done, the darkest thought you’ve ever had, he will stand by you through anything. And you would do the same for him. It’s why the idea of saying: ‘Hey, by the way, I don’t want a wedding’, is not something you can muster the courage for. Guilt begs you to tell him anyway, knowing how badly he would feel to know you’re suffering in silence like this.

Little do you know, Rafe is troubled in reconciling his own guilt. It’s not just your mother who wants to see the worst come of your relationship. Considering Rafe’s strained dynamic with his father, that should come as no surprise.

Cameron Development takes up most of Rafe’s time these days, leaving him and Ward to spend quite a lot of it together. Rafe prefers to keep their topics of discussion focused on the company. Their relationship works best that way, a transactional partnership between father and son that would benefit the Cameron legacy for generations.

But if it weren’t for Ward’s nagging, Rafe never would’ve ended up here at the Island Club having lunch with his father. He knows for a fact that it would’ve been time better spent with you, his future wife, desperate to feel the kiss of your lips or be able to exhale in your arms in the midst of a busy day.

Ward spends all of 5 minutes discussing some company stuff that could’ve easily been sent in an email drafted by his assistant before getting down to his real intentions. He always hides them behind the mask of a loving father.

“I lied about why I needed to speak with you today.”

Rafe scoffs, but always manages his expectations when it comes to Ward. “Imagine that.”

Ward chuckles, trying to play off his son’s jab as innocent sarcasm. “I wanted to talk to you about your soon-to-be marriage to Y/n.”

Rafe takes a gulp of his drink, already feeling slightly on edge and on guard at the mention of your life together. “What about it?”

“Have you two discussed a prenup?”

“Dad-” Rafe tries to interject, but to no avail. Ward’s already a step ahead of him.

“I know it’s only been a couple months into the engagement, but it’s never too early to have these conversations.”

“I don’t need to worry about having these conversations at all. And you definitely don’t need to be concerned with it either because I’m not asking her to sign a prenup. Simple as that.”

“Rafe, if there’s anything I’ve learned in my marriage to Rose-”

“Your marriage to Rose is a sham. And Y/n is nothing like her.”

“Y/n’s great.” Ward seemingly surrenders, in hopes to disarm Rafe while still getting his point across. “I’m not trying to suggest otherwise. I’m just saying that things happen in marriages and you need to be prepared. What do you think will happen to Cameron Development if she winds up with half in a divorce?”

“If we get divorced, it means that I’ve got bigger problems than potentially losing Cameron Development.” Rafe laments, finishing his drink. “Besides, she wouldn’t want it.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“I know her. For sure. Alright?” Rafe fires back, firm intent behind every word. “I know you have a hard time imagining what it’s like to be loved for something other than your money. And I’m sure you have a harder time imagining how she could love me without it. But you can save your fatherly advice, I’m gonna live my life with Y/n without any of your prenup bullshit.”

Rafe grabs his wallet from his pocket, throwing down several bills on the table that he doesn’t bother counting. All that’s on his mind right now is getting back home to you.

“Have a nice day, Dad.”

—

At this point in his life, Rafe has mastered the art of ignoring Ward Cameron. He’s come to accept that they’re simply a better duo in business than as father and son. The family he came from felt less like family when he fell in love with you. Now that you were about to be married, it was gonna be real. You would be each other’s family not only in spirit, but officially on paper. For the rest of your lives you would be where you always belonged; together.

Right now, Rafe can’t shake the feeling that his father is already preparing for everything to fall apart before you two have a chance to build anything more. Logically, he knows the concept of a prenup isn’t a stupid idea. But his father’s intentions for him have proven to be anything but pure. There’s always something in it for Ward.

Rafe loves you, and that means he’s ready to share his life with you, money be damned. Besides there’s nobody more deserving for him to spend it on, no matter how badly you insist that you don’t love him for the fine jewelry or the dates at expensive restaurants around the island. For him, that’s all the more reason why he commits to showing you a lifestyle that’s beyond comprehension.

He wants to tell you about the absolute bullshit his father brought him to lunch to talk about today but hesitates in mentioning it at all. In any other scenario you’d both laugh it off, but this was a special time for your relationship. It’s delicate, and deserves to be handled with care. Rafe wants nothing more than to protect you from anyone looking to tarnish it.

Rafe’s final straw strikes later that night while waiting for you to finish your skincare routine and join him in bed. His phone sounds with several text messages from Topper. His eyebrows furrow in curiosity, expression quickly turning sour as he reads the messages.

Clearly, after cutting lunch short, Ward was quick to enlist Topper Thornton into his agenda. Seeing the way he wears his heart on his sleeve, he’s an easy enough target to carry out something like this. Rafe scans the messages, catching the gist of it.

Something about ‘A prenup is just insurance, you might not need it! But you should be prepared anyway cause she could leave you at any time, bro’ and ‘Have you heard of the infidelity clause? I'm not saying she would, but you know what Sarah did to me, better be safe than sorry.’ Rafe’s frustration catches your attention when he curses something about ‘this motherfucker’ under his breath.

“Everything okay, baby?”

Rafe looks up to meet your eyes peeking outside the bathroom door. He gives you a reassuring smile, but you can tell that it doesn’t reach his eyes. Coupled with the fact that his energy has been off ever since he got home today, you can’t help but wonder what’s going through his mind.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s nothing, it’s just Topper bitching to me about the wedding. He doesn’t think he’ll find a date in time.” Rafe cringes at his white lie, but figures it’s better not to stress you out when you’re about to go to sleep. And it’s not completely untrue, Topper has expressed his concerns about finding a date ever since he found out about the engagement. At this point, it’s to be determined if he’s still invited.

You chuckle at the thought. “Our wedding date is 7 months away, surely that’s enough time.”

“Speaking of our wedding.” Rafe starts, which reminds you of the pit in your stomach. “How did it go with your mom today?”

“It was good.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows inquisitively, picking up on the uncertainty in your voice. Finishing your nighttime routine, you make your way to your shared bed. Rafe gets up to meet you halfway and to make sure you’re okay. He’ll be able to tell with just a glance.

“Okay, baby. You know as long as you’re happy, I’m happy.”

Your heart flutters and you smile at him, knowing in your heart that he truly means it. “I know.” You press a kiss to his cheek, wrapping your arms around his large frame. Being in his embrace drowns out any lingering thoughts of frustration. After all, you could choose to blame it on pure exhaustion clouding your mind. “Can you believe we’re getting married in seven months?”

Rafe beams at the thought. “No. Can’t even fathom what I’ve done in my life to deserve you in the first place.”

You shove his chest softly, the tips of your ears warming up at his words. “If anything, it’s the other way around.”

“Not sure about that one, baby.”

You sigh, full of contentment while being held in the secure hold of your fiance. Yet a part of you still feels resigned from the stresses of today. “Just ask my mother.”

You can feel Rafe’s muscles tense slightly before he pulls back to look at you. “What do you mean? I thought it went well today?” The gears are turning in his head as he anticipates your response. He’s always been great at picking up on the smallest of cues, be it the change in your tone or the look in your eyes.

“It could’ve been better. I mean you know her, she always has something negative to say about everything, she’s pretty much allergic to my happiness.” You chuckle softly, trying to deflect and keep the conversation from going where it’s headed.

Rafe is having none of it. “She doesn’t think we should get married?”

“Not without her involvement, ad nauseam. Everything I suggested, she had a better idea. She’s trying to guilt trip me into letting her walk me down the aisle instead of my dad. It was just her usual schtick, trying to control me any way she can, hoping she’ll get my attention by using our wedding to play her little mind games.”

“You don’t owe anything to her, not about this. Besides, security will take care of it if there’s any problems. I’m not gonna let anything ruin this for us.”

“I know.” You reassure him, running your hand up and down his arm. “It’s just a lot of tradition this, and family legacy that. She’s sucking the joy out of everything, like usual.” You mumble that last sentence, almost hoping Rafe didn’t hear it. “Not that I’m not excited to marry you. You know what I mean, right?”

Rafe nods, flashing back to the conversation he had with his father at lunch today. It’s almost uncanny to him how you two are often on the same page about everything. It’s comforting above all else. “Yeah, I do. I know exactly what you mean. I had lunch with my dad today, got a lot of the same bullshit.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, I shut him down. I guess our parents are just hellbent on making sure we do things the same way they did.”

“As if we want to be anything like them?”

Rafe chuckles at your quip, relieved at how you two are able to make light of the stress your families have imposed on you. “As if.”

You both stand in silence for a few moments, enjoying the calm of being in your lover’s arms. The weight of your worries feel lighter now that you’ve shared them with Rafe, unfortunately knowing that they’ve made a home with you until the big day is over and done with. Hopefully you make it, if the stress doesn’t kill you first. If there’s anyone you’d have by your side through this, it’s Rafe. You can’t imagine enduring the hardships that life has to offer with anyone else. Then again, there are worse problems to have. Just seven more months.

“Did you ever see yourself here before? Getting married?” You ask Rafe.

“Not until I found you.” He charms, satisfied with the way you snuggle even closer to him. “How about you?”

“The same. Never thought I’d find the one until I found you. If I’m honest, that’s all I’m excited for, to just be husband and wife.”

“Y/n?” You hum in response, matching his curious tone. “Do you even want a wedding?”

You freeze, noticeably tensing the same way Rafe did some time ago. You knew the answer and had a feeling that he did too. It was painful to put into words. “I want to be married to you, Rafe. You know that right?”

“I know that, silly. I wanna be married to you too, clearly.” Rafe acknowledges, brushing his thumb over the engagement ring on your finger. “But a ceremony and a reception, the tradition. Do you want that?”

You can’t help but give him a knowing look, one that says damn, you’re good. But it’s also filled with a plea for understanding. “I could live without it, but our wedding will be beautiful, Rafe. I just want to make sure that it’s ours. I hope you don’t have the wrong idea, that I’m having second thoughts or anything because I-”

Rafe cuts off your ramble by kissing you, your face cupped in his hands delicately. He’s gentle, but reassuring. He needs you to remember that he knows you and he’ll never forget.

“Run away with me?” His eyes gaze into yours and there’s an intensity of love behind them that leaves you tearing up. “Our wedding will be beautiful, because it will be ours. Just you and me. We can still have the actual event, don’t think that I don’t dream of you walking down the aisle towards me. We can still have the party and the tall ass cake that you deserve. But having that doesn’t mean we can’t have what we want.”

Rafe’s never been more sure of himself as he watches a tear slip down your cheek, his thumb wiping it away before it can fall too far. You beam at him, and it’s your turn to kiss the man that you love. The man that you’re about to run away and elope with.

“Screw tradition, let’s get married.”

—

The sun sets in the distance, giving you and your husband the perfect view of your spot on the beach, taking turns at feeding each other bites of a miniature cake, coated in a silky white frosting to commemorate your marriage. It was Rafe’s surprise to you, having ordered it custom, and practically overnight, decorated with icing rosettes and your new titles, Mr. and Mrs., written beautifully in the center.

“Our families might kill us, you know.”

Rafe’s smile doesn’t budge, he’s convinced it might just be stuck on his face forever as long as he’s spending it with you. “I guess that means we’ll have to die together then, doesn’t it?”

“I guess it does.” You whisper, closing the distance to kiss your husband. You’ll never get sick of it. Golden rays from the setting sun surround you in glowing warmth, something you’ll feel in your heart from this day forward. The light catches your diamond ring perfectly and it winks at you with a sparkle, forever a reminder of the love you and Rafe share.

He pulls back, yet never too far as he holds your face in his hands. His cerulean eyes glimmer with a hope you only see when he’s looking back at you. “You don’t regret it? Not having the fairytale wedding?”

“This is my fairytale wedding. Just you, me, and a cake.” Rafe smiles, unable to imagine that this is his real life; unable to imagine that having him and him alone, is more than enough for you. There’s not a decision he’s been more sure of in his life than asking you to marry him. “Do you regret it? Marrying me without a prenup?”

Rafe scoffs lightheartedly. “You’ve already taken my heart so you might as well have the rest. Nothing else matters to me as long as you’re mine and I’m yours. I love you, remember? ‘Til death do us part.”

He holds out his pinky and you happily reciprocate the youthful gesture by locking your fingers together. “‘Til death do us part.”

Emotion overcomes you once more, pouring your heart into a kiss that’s as true as your promise to each other. You know he intends to keep his, and so do you. Daring to love each other through the pretty and the ugly, healing each other with a simple look or touch. You wouldn’t trade it for anything. If you don’t have each other, then you have nothing at all.

💌: reblogs & comments are always appreciated! thank you for reading <3

taglist: @marjorieswrld

[delphi-shield]

:// sᴍᴀʟʟ ᴛᴀʟᴋ ғᴏʀ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ / ʙɪʟʟʏ.ʙᴜᴛᴄʜᴇʀ

Billy Butcher x Reader smut, hurt/no comfort wc: ~5.2k mdni read on ao3 digging the worms out of my brain real quick since i finally caught up with the boys. idk i think i worked through something personal with this, so like, that's a win for me.

summary: Butcher knows better than to be fucking around with you, but there's 50 quid in it for him if he gets you to call him 'daddy'. Easy money.

content: s4 spoilers, dubcon, butcher's pov, an exorbitant amount of kessler in the first half, age gap, general sleazy behavior, handjob, finger fucking, piv, pussy slapping, some just the tip action, blowjob, mentions of titfucking, degradation, general objectification, public sex, not proofread.

“Makes you realize men have nipples too.”

The bar is packed for a Wednesday night, but Butcher already knows exactly what Kessler is talking about. You’re a ditch lily, sitting tall in this shithole. He turns his head away, pretends he doesn't see the way you lick up a trail of spilled cosmopolitan from the side of your glass, pink tongue parting your lips, eyes half-shut. 

Fucking typical. Kessler could sniff out daddy issues and sadness from a mile away, and he was lethal at half that distance. He could have them wrapped around his finger in the time it took Butcher to take a piss.

His eyes linger. A thing like you doesn't belong in a dump like this. This is the sort of place girls like you stumble into at 1 AM, survey the crowd through the haze of cigarette smoke, and wobble right back out onto the streets, take your chances with the elements rather than the haggard, unfriendly crowd that hunches over their drinks.

Butcher likes Midwest 10's. Begs Kessler to stop ogling barely legal co-eds, says he's not some sleazy cunt in a John Hughes film. He can lie all he wants. If it makes him hard, it makes Butcher hard. 

He glances sidelong at your face. You've got this Christmas-light bright smile that makes his dick jerk. Kessler’s more than under his skin. He’s in his veins, in the same blood that raises his cock up like a goddamn bicycle pump when you lean over the bar, arms squeezing your tits together.

"You could probably fuck 'em." Kessler tips his head to the side, eyes locked on your cleavage. His eyes narrow, lips pursed, evaluating your chest and charting a course for his dick to travel.

"Shut up."

"Huh?"

Fuck. Your tip your head to the side from two seats away, brows pinched together. Cute, in a lost little lamb kind of way.

Butcher's eyes cut to Kessler. He's cocked it all up now. The sly, punchable grin on Kessler’s face turns him back to his drink. He drains his glass and gestures for another. If he doesn’t look at you, if he keeps drinking, this all goes away.

"Nothin'. Don't you worry about it, love."

That should be the end of it, but you’ve clearly got something wrong with you. You fiddle with your purse, pluck up your courage, and drop yourself onto the barstool next to him. Whether you’ve got no sense of self-preservation or you’re just that damn oblivious, he doesn’t intend to get to know you well enough to find out. Butcher's strained smile doesn't do much to smooth the worry lines away.

Kessler chuckles, leans back and props his elbows up on the bar. Cunt just wants to watch him squirm.

"No," Kessler corrects, drawing the word out. "I want you to get some pussy."

His eyes dart over to Kessler, looming over you, hands ghosting up your arms to squeeze your shoulders. He blinks rapidly, rubs at his face, tries to play it off like he's nervous or tired or whatever the fuck but when he looks down, there's your tits again. Butcher lolls his head back to the ceiling. Laugh it up, you fuckin’ cunt.

And Kessler does. Makes a show of slapping his hand on his thigh, head knocked back, grinning toothily.

He tries to ignore you, but you’re straddling that stool next to him in your little skirt and ordering another cosmo. This isn’t the kind of bar for cocktails, and he knows without even seeing the bartender’s eye roll that he hates you.

It's none of his business. He ought to keep himself sat there drowning in his drink ‘til last call and past that, make them throw him out on the street, give him a reason to swing first. It's a better idea than messing with you.

The bartender drops your drink off in front of you and turns before the words ‘thank you’ leave your glossy lips. Another sickly pink cocktail with a dried out lime dropped on top. Butcher can’t help himself. He’s got a soft spot for the clueless.

“Cheery bloke, isn't he?” He says, casting a sidelong glance at the bartender. He taps a finger against the bartop, inclines his head toward your cocktail. “That the only drink you know the name of?”

Your cheeks warm. You hide it behind a hand, turning your face away from him to laugh.

“What? No. I just think they taste good.”

Kessler snorts. “That’s a fat load of shit.”

Butcher agrees. His mouth twists into a half-hearted smile. He slides his glass over to you. 

“Try it,” he insists.

There’s hardly a passing thought for your own safety. You look between his scotch and his face and seem to decide it’s safe to take drinks from strange old fucks in bars. Your fingers brush his when you take the glass, warm and soft - sticky. You must be more sloshed than you look, must keep spilling your drinks. Hell, for all he knows, maybe this place does make the best cosmo in the city. Maybe the bartender just hates your ass because you keep making a mess.

You don’t even ask what he’s drinking. (Maybe this is all a grift, he thinks. Kessler’s at his ear, chuckling - she ain’t bright enough for that.) You lift his glass and leave your lipstick behind.

“Oh my god.” You sputter, pound a fist against your chest. It makes your tits bounce. Fucking miracle your shirt is containing those things. “That tastes like ass.”

“That is the highest quality scotch this bar serves.”

“It tastes like someone put a cigarette out in a glass of whiskey.”

“It’s a shit bar.”

You laugh, head tipped back, nose scrunched - the works. You’re too tipsy for it to be on purpose. Being cute comes naturally to you. Must be how you’ve made it this far.

You pass his drink back and scoot your cosmo closer to you, spilling it as the glass skips over the pock-marked countertop. Butcher snorts, dabs it up for you with his sleeve. He’s starting to think his theory about the cosmopolitans might hold true.

“Well, here, a trade’s a trade.” He takes your drink by the stem (fucking amazed they even have martini glasses in this place) and pounds back a mouthful.

It isn’t that bad, but he makes a show of scrunching his nose and shaking his head. He slides your drink back over to you and mirrors the way you had clung to your drink.

“You’re kidding,” you laugh. “It’s better than yours. I don’t know how you drink that.”

“I’ll keep my liquid ashtray, thanks.”

Your eyes are all lit up when you smile, but it emphasizes the raw edges, the puffiness that lingers. Rough night for you, by the looks of it. Not like he’s having much of a better one.

There’s no harm in it. No harm in showing you what a proper drink tastes like, broadening your horizons and helping you both forget what a shit hand you’ve been dealt. He buys you a drink on the condition that you try something that isn’t a cosmopolitan. You can hardly stomach a whiskey and coke. He orders you a fernet and coke for shits and giggles, expects you to spit it out like all the rest, barks out a laugh when you declare it’s tasty, notes of lavender drawing you in. Notes of lavender - Christ, what fucking suburb did you pop out of? 

He introduces you to more drinks, leans closer with each empty glass. You're new here, you tell him. You tell him your name, too, not that he remembers. Got stood up on some shitty date. He knows it’s got to be shitty because what idiot in his right mind would take you here, of all places?

By the time he orders you both shots of Rumple Minze, you’re pressed shoulder to shoulder. Your hand splays against his chest, head leaning against him. You lift his shot to his lips for him and he’s too drunk to find it childish and irritating. He downs it and does the same for you, watches you extend that pretty neck to drink it down.

“I’ll get you a cab,” he slurs, rocking unsteadily to his feet.

“I already called an Uber.”

Jesus. It’s a struggle not to roll his eyes. Fucking kids. Allergic to one night stands, couldn’t take a hint to save their life. Even Kessler is on his side, his head thunking against the bartop.

It's for the best, he thinks, trying to curb his disappointment. He's got shit to do. Ryan to worry about. Kessler's a right cunt, pushing him to you. He hasn't got the time to be fucking about. This entire thing had been a waste of time, too busy trying to get his dick wet to make the most of what he’s got left.

Butcher stuffs his hands into the pockets of his coat, steps back, ready to split and stumble his way back home. He nods quick and sharp, tight-lipped smile to keep his frustration locked behind his teeth.

You show him your phone, make him squint to see what he’s supposed to be looking at. “My Uber is still a couple minutes away, so…”

Kessler picks his head up from the bar. He's a bloodhound for pussy. He picks up the leading edge in your voice before Butcher’s even done parsing your words.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Kessler drones. “You can’t even get it up, can you?”

“I’m damn well going to try.”

“What?” You laugh, swaying on your feet.

Butcher wraps an arm around your waist, tugging you against his side. “Nothin’. Don’t you worry about it. I’ll keep you company. Make sure no nasties try to get you.”

The cold outside is bracing. You wrap your arms tight around yourself and this time Butcher’s too drunk to pretend he isn't staring at the way your tits press together.

It’s your idea. Really. The way you look up at him, the way your lips stay parted while the pair of you pace the sidewalk. You wrap your hand around his bicep and squeeze, eyes drifting slowly to the side, to the alleyway just a few strides away.

See? It’s your idea, honest. He drags you behind a dumpster, pins you to the wall of the alley, and shoves his tongue down your throat, yeah, but you moan so fucking loud and drag him closer. It takes longer than he'd like for your hand to stop massaging his chest and start fondling his cock, but you're a sweet girl - don't seem the type to do this too often. Need some guidance.

Butcher lays his hand atop yours, wraps your fingers tighter around his bulge. Your breath hitches, your eyes flicking down to your hand, mouth popped open - got this sweet, vacant little look in your eye.

He'd bet real money you go dumb for cock.

“$50 says you can get her to call you ‘daddy’,” Kessler pipes up, leaning against the wall next to you. He tips a cigarette into his mouth, cups a hand around to light it, and Butcher swears the light from his zippo gleam in your eyes. He doesn’t doubt it. Seems cruel, though, especially when he can’t remember your name.

“What was your name again?”

It takes a bit for you to get dick off your mind and fish around for your name. You mumble, make him lean in close and tilt his head to get you to say it again, clearer.

You're the obedient sort. Pick up on cues so easy. Don't even make him ask for it again. He pats your cheek, smirk creasing his face.

By your side, Kessler flashes a crisp $50. He plucks it taut, fans himself with it, makes a real show of being a dick while you try to take Butcher's out of his pants.

At the end of the day, 50 quid is 50 quid.

“How ‘bout you ask daddy for permission, sweetheart?”

Your mouth moves wordlessly.

“Please?”

He clicks his tongue. “That’s real polite. But it ain’t what I asked for, is it?”

“Can I please play with your cock, daddy?”

“Better.”

Kessler slips the fifty into Butcher’s coat pocket while you fumble with his belt and free him from his pants. You lay his cock in the seam of your hands, cupping him like he’s a gift on two legs. You stroke him reverently, look up at him with big, thoughtless lamb eyes.

Your heart’s in it, but you’re too reserved for his taste. He grips your hand in his and guides you down his cock, shows you when to squeeze, when to twist your wrist, how to flick your thumb over the slit of his tip.

He can never make it last when he drinks. Should have warned you before he came on your pretty skirt, but you’ve got a natural talent for stroking dick. He keeps his groan locked up tight. It rattles through his chest and he leans into you, crushing you against the wall of the alley. His hips stutter and rut into your hand, still wrapped around him, coaxing every drop from his tip. You still toy with him while he tries to catch his breath. He’s got to push away from you with a mumbled “Christ, all right, that’s enough.”

It’s like he’s taking your favorite toy away. You pout up at him, hand still molded for his cock by your side, by the skirt his ruined with his cum. He almost gets an apology out, but you drag a finger through his mess and bring it to your lips, make a show of licking it up.

His chest aches. He isn’t sure if it’s the tumor or his heart desperately trying to pump enough blood down to his dick to get him up again.

Butcher crams two fingers into his mouth and scrapes the dirt from beneath his nails with his teeth. The rest is a blur. He knows that he kicks your feet apart, traces your slit through your panties before he pushes them to the side and finger fucks you until your head snaps back against the wall. It’s quick, messy - leaves his forearm soaked. He’s not so sure that was real, but he’s too drunk to figure it out, too gone ask.

He tucks himself back into his pants. You set your panties back in place, skirt still hiked up to your ribs. You slip a little lower down the wall, panting. He stops you before you can slip all the way down, pats your cunt, and tugs your skirt back into place.

“Let’s get you a cab, eh?”

That’s the last thing he remembers clearly. You’d missed your Uber, had to take a cab with him anyway. He remembers you leaning against him, tucked up against his side, hand stroking his chest. He’d pet your hair - soft as lamb’s wool - and whispered nonsense against your head just to get a laugh out of you. After you get out, the whole thing’s blank.

When Butcher wakes up at 2 PM the next day, choking on his own vomit, he can't find the 50 quid. He turns his jacket inside out searching for it. A scrap of paper with your number scrawled on it falls from his jacket pocket. He doesn’t spare it more than a glance and keeps digging for his wallet.

Lambs lose their appeal after the flying cunts nearly bit his cock off.

That farm had been dirty business. Wicked stuff, the kind that doesn't wash off. This work always has been, but this time the blood doesn't come out from under his fingernails. He tastes bile every time he breathes. The copper twang of blood trickling down the back of his throat is the only chaser he gets anymore.

He doesn't think of you often. He knows it'd break your little heart to hear it, have you looking up at him with those ‘fuck me, I'm sad’ eyes and that little girl pout that makes him feel every bit the lech he is. You’re a sweet thing. Vacant, just like him. It didn’t take long to piece that together.

You’re easy and malleable, quick to fit yourself around him in whatever way he demands. He liked that about you at first.

But when he calls on you at three in the morning for a quick lay and you answer the door in a full face of make-up, hair done and wearing the sort of nightgown that no one actually sleeps in, all he feels is distaste.

You let him crowd you against your couch (a neutral color, no blanket in sight, your living room just as blank as the rest of you) without so much as a ‘hello’. You hook a leg over his hip. No panties, he realizes, eyes locked on your drippy cunt, already flushed. Been touching yourself to the thought of this. He warms a little at the thought.

Butcher wedges his knee between your leg and grinds. Any warmth you’d kindled with wet pussy dissipates the moment you moan so goddamn loud, the sound hollow and plastic. He keeps his leg still, flexes his thigh for you to grind on. His jaw tightens. He nearly shoves his fingers in your mouth to keep you from making those stupid fucking noises.

You let him twist you up however he wants, more a posable toy than a person. He pushes you further along the couch until your back arches awkwardly against the arm. You don't protest. Of course you don't.

His thick fingers trail down your slit, part your slick folds for his inspection. He sways back on his haunches, admires the pretty way he's got you arranged, pinned open on his fingers for him.

He brings his hand down sharply on pussy once, twice - and the third time directly to your clit is just because you kept making that annoying fucking noise. That nasally, porn-star whine that drills him between the eyes and makes his hard-on flag. The way you twitch and jerk at each hit might be genuine but that fucking noise drives him up a wall. Christ, there's got to be something about you that's real.

Pussy’s real. Can’t fake that, he thinks.

“Stay right there,” he says, a bite to his voice when you try to shift against him again. If you could just lay there and take it - is that so much to ask for?

He guides himself to you, hips rocking experimentally. You suck his head in and his chin dips to his chest. He groans deep. It turns to a growl when you raise your hips. He lays his forearm against you, pressing you down - and that moan might have been real.

“Can't you do fucking anything right?” He snaps. His hips push forward, bullying himself deeper into you. You suck a breath through your teeth, your hand bracing against his forearm. “I told you to stay right there.”

A spark of indignation flickers in your eyes, flash-fire flushed out by the same pitiful little lamb wool you pull back over your eyes. Makes you look all downy, plush and fuckable - he's fished more respectable shits from the toilet.

You’re a good girl for a few more shallow thrusts, lay there just like he wants while he works himself to the hilt. He finds his rhythm sloppily, one knee propped on the couch, the other foot planted on the floor. Your tits bounce with every thrust and he’s stupid enough to take his hands off of you, trust you not to move while he gropes at your breast.

Immediately you rise to your elbows, try to arch your back deeper. He’s positive you’re trying to mimic some video, down to the exact angle of your spine, but your heart isn’t in it. His cock butts against your walls, shallower than before, the pleasure that had been tearing through his blood coming to a screeching halt. He hisses through his teeth, grinding out his frustration.

“Don't –” his shoves you back down, hand flattening against your cheek and pushing your face into the couch. Feels fucking awful any other position. “–fucking move. Don't fucking move. Trying to cum. Goddammit.”

Your hands curl into fists by your head. You hide your face, press it deeper into the cushion and he presses your face deeper to help you. The noise you make is pitiful, but at least it's real.

Fucking hell. Now he’s completely out of it. You’ve gone and fucked up pussy for him. He didn’t think that was possible. He can’t find the angle he needs, can’t get back to that gummy spot that make his vision blur.

He pulls out and flips you onto your stomach, ignoring the little whine you make. You don’t raise your hips - god forbid you take a fucking hint - so he sits you up for him and wedges his dick back in. It only takes a few thrusts for him to realize this is worse. Tighter, dry, chafing his dick like goddamn sandpaper.

“Your cunt shrivel up or something? Feels fucking terrible.”

He snatches your wrist, pulls your arm back at an angle that makes you cry out, and fills your palm with lube. Can't even get wet on your own. Fucking Christ, he's got to do everything for you. Even has to curl your fingers around his cock, drag your hand back and forth until you final get the big, swinging fucking hint and jerk him off.

He meant to stuff himself back into your cunt, but at this point your hand will do. Six one way, half a dozen the other. At least your hand doesn't chafe.

You’re silent now. Small mercies. The only sounds are the slick of your palm working him over and his labored breaths. Your hand is clumsy at this angle, but he’s not going to risk letting you move and fuck it all up again.

Once he’s close, he drops your hand and flips you onto your back again. A big hand presses your knees apart, opens you up for him. You're still so pliable, even if the sheen is gone from your cunt. You try to fix your hair. If he notices the tears brimming your eyes, he doesn't say anything.

He lines himself back up with your cunt, dragging himself through your folds. Your knees knock closer with each pass of his bright red tip over your clit. He taps it once with his cock, expecting another produced moan to rattle the walls, but you only whimper, your thighs trying to close around him.

Butcher smirks. He pumps himself into you, keeps himself shallow - just the tip past your puffy lips. 

You whimper, try to shuffle down and take more of him. Butcher’s hand grips your face, squishing your cheeks so hard it stings.

“Don't you fucking move,” he grits out. You used to take instruction so well. Now you've gotten all up in your own head. Nobody likes an uppity bitch, he ought to make you see that.

What he really ought to do is make you get down there and jerk him off. Your hand is still slicked, but you'd probably piss yourself at the chance. Instead, he pushes your knees damn near up to your ears and barks for you to hold your own legs. Your hands curl around the backs of your knees. There you go. Figuring it out again.

His hand strokes his dick quick and hard, one hand dedicated to keeping himself just inside you. It doesn't take long for him to cum. It’s a slow burn that seeps up through his belly, lattices up his ribs and congeals in his chest, makes him ache and cave over your body while his hips sputter. He squeezes himself dry, pumps his cum into your pussy until it flows past his tip and seeps down onto your couch. 

Butcher lingers over you, catching his breath. He’s already gone soft, his cock dropped out of you. He sits back against the opposite arm of the couch, splays himself out while you curl up.

Something burns in his chest - remorse, maybe. You’re all curled up against your couch, cheek cushioned on your arm - won’t look at him, don’t paw at him or lean against his side, don’t even reach to clean yourself up.

His head knocks back to the ceiling. He can’t be bothered to pull answers out of you. He reaches for the tissue box on your coffee table, plucks a handful, and cleans himself off.

He tosses the box back to the coffee table and shoves his boots back on, barely taking the time to lace them up properly. He scoops he coat up from where you’d shucked it onto the floor, buttons himself back up, and you still haven’t moved. His eyes linger on you for a moment, brow set low.

Can’t be bothered, he reminds himself. He runs a hand through his hair and makes for your door, boots thunking heavily against your floors.

“Can I see you again?”

You’ve managed to pick your head up when he glances back at you. You sound so desperate it's pitiful. His lip curls. He runs a hand over his head, looks anywhere but you.

Christ, even your apartment is blank and devoid of personality. He hadn't noticed it before, too consumed with the need to get between your thighs. He shrugs, and gives you a lifeless smile.

“We'll see.”

Butcher closes your door behind him and hurries down the hall. He turns the corner to see Kessler’s cheshire grin greeting him in the dark of your stairwell.

He ought to get right with you before his time comes. He isn't proud of the way things ended. Butcher’s a right bastard, but he isn't blind; he'd seen the look on your face, the hopeful shine in your eyes dulling when he'd left you there without so much as a ‘cheers, love, thanks for the rub’.

He doesn't bother texting you. He's already posted up outside your apartment. Giving you a heads up would only give him time to pussy out.

Besides, you're home. He knows it. You’re piss-easy to track. Home to work, work to home, same route, same time. It will be easy to knock on your door, get his closure, and slip out of your life for the last time.

It should be easy. He’s had harder conversations with people who meant more to him but he keeps staring at your door, trying to will himself to knock. He’s not that weak yet. He can still raise his hand.

Butcher turns to leave just as you open the door. His shoulders tense when you call out to him.

“Billy?” You blurt out. There’s genuine surprise there.

“I just thought I’d –” He turns to catch a glimpse of you and it sends him headlong into silence.

You look a right mess. No face isn’t done up, an oversized t-shirt draping off your shoulders. Your pajama pants are fluffy, snowflake print - tackiest thing he’s seen in a while. 

You duck your head down, trying to catch his eye. 

“You okay?” You hook your thumb over your shoulder. “Want to come in?”

He doesn’t. Not even a little. He wants to rip the band-aid off, forget he ever met you and let you get on with your life - whatever it is you do. But you step to the side and fix him with a weak little smile that he thinks might be real, and his feet take him in through the door.

It’s a nice place in the daytime, he realizes. Natural sunlight, open floorplan, your shelves crowded with plants and knick-knacks he’s never seen. You offer him a drink, laugh when he says water and fall quiet when he insists.

You hand him his drink and collapse onto your couch. Your legs kick up onto your coffee table, and for the first time he realizes your socks are fuzzy, too. He looks around, scans you from head to toe. Is this the right place? He keeps picking at his nails, trying to free the grime from under them.

Once you realize he’s baffled, you’re merciful enough to start the small talk. It’s awkward and stilted - his fault, his answers halting and quick. You give him grace, sip on your drink. Your laughs never quite reach your eyes, but you scoot closer to him on the couch anyway.

“Why are you really here, Billy?” Your hand settles on his thigh and curls inward.

It’s not how he wanted this to go, but he doesn’t stop you from sliding your hand higher while he chokes on his words. You’ve got his belt undone by the time he manages to string a sentence together.

“I've been a right cunt to you.”

“Mhm.”

“You don't got to put up with it, yeah?”

“Mm-mm.”

“Got your whole life right ahead of you.”

“Uh-huh.”

Fucking Christ, could you give him more than a noise? A few moments ago you’d held a conversation with him.

His irritation is snuffed out by your lips wrapping around the tip of his cock and sucking hard. Your hand pumps his shaft, twisting your wrist on the way back up. Good God, you learn quick.

Butcher could spoil you rotten if he had the time. He could get you whatever you wanted - if ever you wanted for anything. He cups a hand over the back of your head, encouraging, not guiding.

You’re methodical. You let your hand work what your mouth won’t reach, fondle his balls with the other one. It’s clinical. You’ve committed the moves to memory, when to swirl your tongue, hollow your cheeks, when to moan around him, when to look up at him with those tears straining at your waterline.

He finishes quick, his chest heaving. You pass him his water while you reach for a tissue box. He drains it and nearly misses you spitting his cum into a tissue, wadding it up and tossing it into the bin.

“I haven’t got much time left,” he says, breathless.

Your brow creases. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, your lips swollen. “What?”

“I’ve got this –” he gestures nebulously with a hand, like he’s trying to pluck the right words out of the air. “– thing. In my brain, see? Inoperable. So, if I up and vanish on you, it ain’t personal.”

You stay silent, stone faced. He wishes you’d say something. Even one of the irritating platitudes people like to parrot would be better than this. Your eyes harden. You purse your lips, breathe deep, and stand from the couch.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that, Billy. It was good to see you.”

Butcher’s still trying to catch his breath. He tucks himself back into his pants, a mess he’ll clean up later, and rises unsteadily. You don’t reach out to help. He makes another nebulous gesture towards you, his hand quivering.

“You want me to..?”

“Nah. Don’t strain yourself.”

He stuffs himself back into his coat, watching your eyes linger - maybe realizing for the first time how much slighter he’s looking. Butcher pats your cheek gently as he passes by.

You don’t ask to see him again. For your sake, he hopes this is the last time.

[feefivefoe]

Please can we hear your thoughts on what Bruce does/thinks when being confronted with his neglect by Jason (and maybe the other boys too)??

Thank you, and have a nice day!

Bruce is the one I have the hardest time characterizing tbh.

I think his first reaction would be denial? He hasn't been the best father, but even he wouldn't go as far as to forget his own chi...

Oh my god he doesn't know how old you are. You were...you were older than Tim but younger than Dick, he thinks.

Wait.

When was your birthday?

Did he ever give you a birthday party?

What wing of the manor did you sleep in?

Where were you right now?

Unlike Tim who starts the unofficial search, Bruce heads right to the batcave to find your official records. Social security number. If you worked anywhere or has anyplace legal to stay, you'd have to input that. He's ashamed he has to go through a government database to find it, rather than simply knowing it.

And just like Tim, he finds nothing. Which scares him beyond belief. Had he lost you already? Did he actually forget about one of his children and then unknowingly replace them? Was he actually guilty of what Jason had accused him of years ago, albeit to a different child?

In reality, you're living solely through cash. Plenty of individuals are eager to avoid paying all their taxes, and are thrilled to accept cash only payments on your rent, or paycheck. Legally, you haven't done anything since graduating high school.

Not necessarily hiding from them, per say, as you don't think they'd go looking, but just because you don't want to be known as a Wayne.

And god, there is so much guilt, fear, and anguish rolling around inside that man. He needs to find out where you are, and if you're okay, and if anybody had done anything to you.

He swears if they have, he'll rip the motherfucker to pieces-

No. That isn't going to help. So instead he checks every reported death within not only Gotham, but any city within a 50 mile radius. For the last 10 years.

As well hidden as you are, nobody can hide from Batman while he's concentrating every effort to find you.

He's hesitant to bring you home at first. How can he call himself your father after forgetting you for your whole time living with him? But his regard for your safety eventually wins out. Until then, you just get a concerning amount of money just...stashed in your apartment??? What the fuck??????

Dick also feels a lot of guilt, but he somewhat subconsciously channels that into abundant overeagerness. Instead of focusing on how many important moments he missed...that he can never get back with his first baby sibling...

...ah, he should focus on all the memories you can make going forward! He has to take you to all his favorite spots, and you take him to yours!

What interests do you have? Are you a go to the aquarium person? Family movie night? Spa night? Just having fun with everyone at dinner? He has to do these things with you! And then you'll be his family again, and he'll love you, and you'll love him-

In spirit, he shows up outside your door like Damian. But he is self aware enough to know that'd freak you out, so instead he 'coincidentally' shows up at your work...in the bad side of town...and his attitude definitely gives away it was planned.

He messes up your "I'm a nobody like all of you" persona you'd spent years cultivating, and by the time he leaves, all your coworkers and customers know that you're Dick Grayson's sibling...which means Bruce Wayne's child, but he likes saying you're related to him more.

Tim doesn't give a fuck at first, like I established. It really is a game to see if he can find you before anybody else does. When he loses that to Bruce (damn it-), he decides he'll just know you BETTER than the others to win.

So he starts literally stalking you and making a psyche profile, like you're a case rather than his sibling. Any interest you've ever listed in your social media is cross checked with any belongings of yours. Merch or posters? Songs you listen to? Any of that content, he consumes as well. He's going to need conversation topics with you.

I'm not entirely sure if he actually loves you as family, or if you're just a hyperfixation that's consistently buzzing at his brain. It's like he wants to dissect, then digest you. Pick you apart piece by piece so he sees every last skin cell, then make that information a part of him

Though, he'd claim it's the former. To him, there's no discernable difference.

He's the one who meets you at your hobbies. Claims an online friend brought it up, but hey, it's crazy to see you again!

Even though it's your first conversation...maybe ever?

He's chatting to you like you haven't been estranged your whole life.

And the look in the eye is...a little unnerving.

[alchemistc]

for the intimacy prompts, it's buck & tommy so of course gotta go with #7 kissing scars or #50 patching up a wound or whichever other prompt sparks joy for u <3

Buck's late. Holy shit he is so late. He'd promised Maddie he'd be at the house like, half an hour ago, but he'd gotten caught up in a conversation with Jana from B shift on his way out the door and it'd been just enough time to cause an extra half hour backup on the highway that had clogged up all his usual back road routes, too.

With this in mind, he's rushing as he parks the Jeep, barely paying any attention as he shoves his door closed and practically sprints up the walkway.

And of course, of course, he's jittery, rushing, so it takes him three tries to get the key in the lock, and by the time he swings the door open with apologies on his lips, he sort of wants the floor to just swallow him up.

There's no Maddie. There's no Maddie or Chim, who would definitely be standing in the entryway giving him shit for somehow ending their shifts at the same time and still managing to be late.

All there is is the faint sound of voices coming from down the hallway, so he follows those until he catches the light leaking out from the open door of the bathroom.

As he nears, the voices become a little clearer. Jee says something, too soft for Buck to catch, a little strain in her voice he's vaguely concerned about until the other voice responds, in a familiar cadence that has Buck stopping dead in his tracks for half a heartbeat before he remembers - crap, he'd invited Tommy over, too, when it became clear it was the only 'free' night they'd have for like, six days, and now not only is he late to babysit his own niece but he's left Tommy the task of sending Maddie and Chim off on their date.

Buck ignores the little skip of his heartbeat at the idea that Maddie and Chim had felt comfortable just ... leaving Jee in Tommy's hands. That's a dumb train of thought - Chim knows Tommy, and Maddie hasn't made a secret of how much she likes Tommy, too, there's no reason to get gooey about it.

"...and viola!" comes Tommy's exclamation, and in the bathroom, Jee giggles. He must be making a face, or doing some gesturing. Jee's a little obsessed with Tommy, still, just as enchanted as Buck by the way his focus is always so intent when she's telling him something, by the way he's always got a follow up question, by the way he's not remotely afraid to dissolve into giggles with her.

"Now you!" Jee exclaims, and Buck knocks on the doorframe, tilts his head in to get the scope of things. Jee's up on the counter, legs kicking, a bright orange bandage on her knee and the box in her hand being brandished in Tommy's face where he's kneeling on the bathroom floor. There's a tube of Neosporin open next to her, and some bloody paper towels in the trash, but Tommy and Jee both glance up at him with smiles on their faces.

"Hi Jee," Buck says, and Jee waves, in that weird age where she'll be talking a mile a minute and then go completely mute for like twenty minutes until she's had time to process something. She kicks at the cabinet below her and shakes the box of Band-Aids at Tommy's head, and Buck gets the message. "Hi, Tommy."

Something soft and quiet passes between them. Buck's trying to be cool about this relationship, but there are times where the comparisons start to rattle around in his brain, a bit, and he's - it's never felt like this. He can't imagine Chim and Maddie even feeling comfortable enough to leave Jee alone with Natalia or Taylor, let alone actually asking them to join him for an evening of Bluey and hotdog Mac and Cheese. And it's - maybe he's just older, more settled in his bones. Maybe the secret sauce is those relationships not working out, so that Buck knew exactly what he was looking for, and what he wasn't. He's grateful for that, but mostly he thinks it's just Tommy - how steady he is, how grounded, how one look from Tommy can ease a days worth of worries crawling under Buck's skin.

"Sixty words a minute for the last forty-five and suddenly you don't wanna talk to your Uncle Buck?" Tommy teases, massive hand curling around the bottom of Jee's foot to shake her leg, and Jee giggles and ducks, arms crossing and head shaking 'no' as she presses her heel into Tommy's palm and nearly launches herself into the mirror behind her. Buck slides a hand behind her head to steady her - clearly she's a little accident prone today, and he's not particularly in the mood for a visit to the hospital this evening.

The movement brings him close enough for Tommy to touch, and he wraps his free hand around Buck's calf, squeezing for a moment before he uses it as leverage to lift himself off the bathroom floor. This bathroom isn't nearly large enough for two grown ass men standing shoulder to shoulder, they barely fit toe to toe.

"Hi," Buck says, when Tommy comes level with him, chests brushing and a familiar fond look in his eye.

"Hi," he repeats, grin going wide, and next to them Jee squirms and grabs at both their arms.

"No kiss!"

Buck tilts his head, and Tommy mirrors it, brow raised. "You heard the lady," he admonishes in a wry tone when Buck's gaze darts immediately for his lips.

This doesn't seem to satisfy Jee-Yun, who leans forward to smack at Tommy's wrist. "No, kiss!"

The change in tone is enough for both of them to glance down at her. She's pointing at her bandaged knee, which makes a lot more sense. Shed spent the last 118 barbeque demanding every couple in her immediate eyeline kiss for her entertainment, like an extremely cute fork against a champagne glass.

Buck's not thinking about weddings, though. He's not.

(He absolutely is, but at least he and Tommy have, like, talked about it. In vague hypotheticals, but... still.)

Jee slaps her knee for emphasis.

Clearly whatever she did hadn't injured her too badly, but there is a rule. You bandage something, you gotta kiss it better.

Tommy eyes the distance back to the floor like he's eighty years old, not a fit forty, so Buck makes it easier on all of them by squeezing in and swinging Jee over his shoulders, her legs fucking pinwheeling enough to force Tommy to duck as her breathless giggles fill the echoing tiles of the bathroom. Settled onto Buck's shoulders, Jee digs her fingers into Buck's hair, and Tommy leans in and makes an exaggerated smacking noise as he presses his lips to her bandage.

She shifts her weight, pleased, and tugs hard on Buck's ear. "Okay, now kiss," she demands, and Tommy snorts with laughter as he leans in.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Opportune Growth

Requested Here!

Pairing: Dominique Luca x fem!baker!reader

Summary: While Luca looks for opportunities to expand his food truck business, he doesn't expect growth in his personal life or to meet you, a woman capable of making everything better.

Warnings: fluff

Word Count: 1.9k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Luca Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

“I’m on it,” Luca says into the phone. “Hopefully by next week.”

Street tilts his head to the side, a silent request to be pulled into the conversation.

“Yeah,” Luca agrees, laughing. “Thanks, Xiomara.”

“What’s funny?” Street asks when Luca ends the call. “I like funny things.”

“You are a funny thing, Streeter.”

“I’m okay with that.”

Luca shakes his head and playfully punches Street’s shoulder. It’s a slow day at SWAT – though none of them will admit that aloud and risk jinxing – and Luca has been spending more time working on the growth and thriving of Guata-Mama’s.

“I’m looking for some opportunities to expand Guata-Mama’s. Ya know, get more jobs, maybe a more permanent spot,” Luca explains, shrugging as he finishes.

“Like a restaurant permanent or a parking spot permanent?” Street clarifies.

“I’ve been asking myself the same question. Xiomara doesn’t seem to care, she just wants to cook, and now that we have enough help, she can. Right now, I’m focusing on finding some new venues; farmer’s markets, events, stuff like that.”

“There’s a farmer’s market like a mile from here tomorrow,” Street remembers. “We could go scope it out, see how Guata-Mama’s would fit in.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Luca muses.

“Of course it’s not, it’s my idea,” Street counters, smiling. “Plus, you used all the blueberries this morning.”

“There were three left, Street.”

“Tan’s rolling with 50-squad for a hostage situation,” Hondo says as he exits the situation room. “What are you two doing?”

“Planning a takeover of Los Angeles,” Street answers. “Guata-Mama’s will be the only name that matters.”

Luca smiles as he rolls his eyes. “I’m looking for new opportunities.”

“Well, this is the right city for that, my man,” Hondo encourages.

“I feel underdressed,” Street says through his teeth as they enter the farmer’s market.

Luca taps his elbow against Street, then gestures toward a juice vendor. The man is wearing a light kimono, board shorts, and sandals.

“Never mind,” Street adds. “Just rich, overdressed customers then.”

“I’m gonna go talk to a few of the vendors, get a feel for what it’s like,” Luca explains. “You coming with?”

“I’ll catch up,” Street mumbles, his eyes locked on a booth farther down the transformed parking lot.

“Sure, you will,” Luca agrees facetiously.

He walks between tents and fruit stands, smiling and greeting people as he approaches a strip of food trucks. A breakfast truck offers pancakes on a stick, a smoothie/ice cream hybrid truck appeals to health nuts and sweet tooths, and a sandwich truck is parked between them. Around the corner, tents sell homemade food – everything from customizable organic trail mix to fresh bread.

“Good morning,” Luca greets as he approaches the Juice Cream Dream truck. “I was going to ask if I could speak to the owner, but now I think I need to order two blue line smoothies.”

“You an officer?” the woman in the truck asks.

“I am. How’d you know?”

She shrugs and says, “The owner is picking something up, he’ll be back in five minutes, maybe less. I’ll let him know you want to talk to him.”

“Thank you,” Luca replies, retrieving his wallet.

“It’s on the house,” the woman interjects. “Wendall, my boss, told me never to let an officer pay for a drink he made for them.”

She passes Luca the smoothies and tells him to let her know if she can help with anything else.

“Luca!” Street calls as he returns. “There’s an artist over there who painted a picture that looks like- why do you have two smoothies?”

Luca offers one to Street, and his story is forgotten as he takes the first drink.

“That is incredible,” Luca says after taking another sip.

“And it’s got a blue line,” Street muses. “What is the blue line?”

“Blueberry,” a man answers. “Sorry for interrupting, gentleman. My name is Wendall, I was told you wanted to speak with me?”

“I do,” Luca replies, offering his name and hand. “I own a food truck and I was wondering if you’d be willing to share your experience here with me.”

“Of course.”

“I will be at that bakery tent,” Street tells Luca. “Nice to meet you, Wendall.”

“Good morning,” you greet when someone enters your tent. “How are you?”

“Better now,” the man replies. “It smells amazing in here.”

Your smile grows as he begins looking at the labels on your fresh baked goods. Since you opened your bakery, you’ve found immeasurable joy in seeing people enjoy what you make. When you started vending at a farmer’s market, that joy grew. Being face-to-face with customers like this beats being in the back of your shop, you think, even though you love every aspect of your job.

“Looking for anything specific?” you inquire.

“Well, now I’m trying to narrow down what I want because everything looks amazing,” he replies. “Can you recommend anything?”

“Depends on what you like. The raisin scones are my personal favorite, but the butter croissants and maple cookies are well-loved.”

Another man enters your branded tent and sends you a devastatingly beautiful smile.

“Luca,” the first man says, “we need all of it.”

Luca, you repeat to yourself, drawn to him and his name for a reason you’ll probably never know.

“Good morning,” he tells you. “Sorry about my friend.”

“He’s a great customer so far,” you say lightly, smiling at the man before you.

Luca hesitates, desperate to talk to and be near you for as long as possible. He tries to shake the feeling, but it lingers, like a cloud of impenetrable smoke separating the two of you from the rest of the world, blind to reality around you.

“I’m sorry, is your name Luca?” you ask. “You wouldn’t happen to be Dom Luca, of Guata-Mama’s, would you?”

“Dude, she’s heard of you,” Street gushes. “You’ve made it.”

“Yes, I am,” Luca tells you, sending a look to Street. “You’ve heard of it?”

“It’s the best food truck in LA, of course,” you answer. “I’ve been hoping to see the truck at a farmer’s market.”

“That’s actually why I’m here. I think Guata-Mama’s would do well here.”

You nod and pull a folder from beneath your table. “Here is the contact for the director,” you offer, extending a piece of paper. “He’s a great guy, really down to earth and just looking to make local food and businesses accessible.”

“Thank you,” he says, folding the paper carefully to stow it in his pocket. “How long have you been selling here?”

“Not long. I’ve got a brick-and-mortar place, and I thought it was time to get out of the bakery every once in a while. Business is good here, so it worked out.”

“Looking at your product, I’d imagine business is good all the time.”

Luca smiles and ignores Street’s low whistle. You match Luca’s smile as your cheeks warm.

“I know you own Guata-Mama’s but is that your primary job?” you ask.

“No, we’re LAPD SWAT. The truck is more of a passion than a job,” he explains.

“I love that. And thank you for keeping LA safe. A friend of mine was at the flower market shooting a while back, and I heard SWAT was instrumental in keeping those people safe.”

“I made a decision,” Street interrupts.

Luca turns toward him, and his brows raise when he sees Street’s arms full of boxes.

“You do not have to buy everything I mentioned,” you tell him. “You know that, right?”

“I’m not,” Street assures as Luca takes a few boxes. “These are just the things I couldn’t say no to.”

Luca knows the feeling; he can’t imagine saying no to you either.

“If you’re sure,” you say, giving him an out.

“Very sure,” Street answers.

You make more small talk as you ring up the items. After applying a hefty discount, Street pays for the items as you put them in a large canvas bag. You then draw a business card from the stack beside the iPad you use as a register and write your name and cell phone number on the back.

“This is for you,” you tell Luca, sliding it to him.

“It was nice to meet you,” he says after he sees your handwritten note on the back.

“Enjoy the food, and hopefully I’ll see you around.”

You will, Luca mouths as he follows Street out of the tent.

3 Weeks Later

Luca unlocks his phone again, smiling as he taps the screen.

“Okay, what is up with you?” Tan asks. “You’ve been looking at that phone nonstop all week, and you haven’t acknowledge a single one of Rocker’s stupid insults about double date night.”

“Probably because they don’t make sense,” Deacon interjects. “Although, Luca, he’s got a point, you’ve been… in the clouds, lately.”

“Ooh,” Street teases. “Everybody knows something is up with Luca, and I’m the only one who knows what it is.”

“You know?” Tan asks, turning toward Street. “What is it?”

“Why would I tell you?”

“Because we’re friends and he’s on my team.”

“I brought muffins,” Luca says, changing the subject to one thing he knows his team can’t ignore: food.

Tan follows Street toward the kitchen, pestering him about giving away Luca’s secret. Deacon, however, stays with a knowing look.

“Baked goods, huh?” he asks. “That’s not really your specialty, Luca. Or something you’d go out of your way for, unless someone made them more appealing.”

“Maybe I just got them at the store,” Luca counters.

“You’d never feed us store bakery goods.”

Luca sighs and nods. “She owns a bakery.”

“And it’s been, what, a month since you met?”

“Three weeks.”

“You really care about her.”

“I think I love her, Deac. This is different than anything I’ve experienced before. It’s like she’s a magnet, an addictive drug, I don’t know, but I can’t go long without thinking of her.”

“You’re telling the wrong person,” Deacon points out. “I’m happy for you, Luca. And I’m willing to bet that this woman feels the same, this isn’t like your past relationships.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Let’s go to dinner,” Hondo says as he closes his locker. “I’m in the mood for not having to cook.”

“I’m in,” Tan agrees.

“Me too,” Street adds.

“Annie’s sister is watching the kids while she prepares a deposition, so I’m free,” Deacon says.

Luca checks his watch before he answers. “I have to run by a new store to get some ultra-fine milled whole wheat flour.”

Tan’s eyes widen dramatically. “No way.”

Deacon and Street nod, and Hondo looks between them and Luca several times.

“Is that a special flour, or?” Hondo inquires, lost.

“Don’t focus on the flour itself,” Deacon says. Hondo raises his fingers from his backpack strap in question. “He’s going to a special store to buy a specific ingredient for something he wouldn’t use.”

Hondo considers Deacon’s explanation for several seconds, then asks, “A girl?”

“Not just any girl,” Street replies, “a baker.”

“My man!” Hondo cheers. “When were you going to tell us?”

“He didn’t have to tell us,” Tan teases. “We figured it out without a lesson in romance from Deac.”

“Pipe down,” Deacon interjects.

“Get the flour and then meet us at the restaurant,” Hondo tells Luca. “We need to plan to meet this baker that swept Luca off his feet.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Street says as they exit the locker room, ignorant of Luca’s phone buzzing again.

[chubby-dutch-feedee]

Ghostly feeder hands spell

Imagine this.

You found a spell. This spell allows you to summon a group of feeder ghosts. You can summon female ghosts or male ghosts. But these ghosts all have the same goal…

To make you F A T

There are some rules you need to keep in mind before you use the spell.

1: these ghosts always come in groups of three a.k.a enough hands to feed you

2: the need to feed you atleast once a day for 30 minutes max

3: WARNING KEEP THIS IN MIND. there is a 50 percent change that the ghost will feed you beyond mobility.

4: after 2 years the ghost will leave leaving you with nice luscious curves ✨

These ghosts will just keep stuffing you to the brim. They’ll just spawn the most calorie rich food out of nowhere. You have no choice but to eat. For 30 minutes you’re their little feeding disposal. But after a year of feeding you’ve had enough. You are wayyy too fat. Every part of your evergrowing body is pulling you down. You’ve nearly reached immobility. But the ghosts are dissatisfied. There is one year left on the clock and they are not done yet. You come to the realization that you have made a huge mistake.

You live in a cottage 50 miles away from the city… and with your swelling body its not even possible to take ten steps…

After two weeks you are completely bedbound. A bunch of fat piles around your neck creates a soft pillow. Then suddenly your timer goes off. Everyday you measured when the ghosts would come and the clock has struck 1 6 : 0 0 and the inevitable feeding session has begun. You whimper to the ghosts begging for them to stop!

Pleashhse “huff” im cant keep thishs up anymore im way too fat!

But the ghosts dont seem to care. Extremely calorie rich foods start appearing out of thin air. Cakes, candy, butter, batter and MUCH more. The hands make the gargantuan pile of food float towards your mouth. Forcefully gorging it down your fat face. There is little to no force to resist the oncoming calorie bomb. With every chomp you feel you gut expanding with delicacies. The ghosts caress your flabby arms and rub your enormous belly to calm you down. And finally the timer stops. Such a relief 😮‍💨. But you know that there is no way to stop now. More months of this endless torture are remaining.

Fast forward and the last day has arrived…

All you can do is huff and puff. You are basically a living food storage. Unable to move any muscle at all. You cant even see beyond all the piles of lard.

The clock strikes 1 6 : 0 0

The ghosts appear. But this time they have a B I G suprise. A giant tank appears with a hose strap attached to it. On the tank it says. “Calorie dense fattening formula”. Floating hands strap the hose to your big mouth. The hose goes alll the way down your gut. Multiple hands have already started caressing your oversized gut to help calm you down. But it does not help at all. You stress out seeing the enormous tank above your piles of fat. The tank is sized like a car barely fitting in your room. The hands open the crank of the tank. A low pitched rumble starts to fill your ears. And suddenly a river of goo opens your mouth even further. The pressure is immense. Your stomach fills up at an alarming rate. Hopelessly you feel your belly blimping up. Gallons and gallons of fattening formula racing through the tubes. Your sides fill up to the side of your bed spilling over. You whimper as the pressure exceeds your gut. You can only think of a cry for help.

“C R A S H”

Your bed crumbles beneath you making you fall down instantly. Waves of fat slosh in your belly.

And then it stops…

“Slosh” “gurgle”

You have reached a weight of over 2000 kgs. You lay down on your back helplessly like a beached whale.

One ghosts lets out a whisper…

“You are now the heaviest human in history, congratulations”

(I hope someone can draw this story)