#even if it's just out of ignorance it's not good because he has the tools to learn

[livetogether--diealone]

Maybe charles will only change when he is in his 30s like seb and lewis did lol

He can also start now though! No age limit for it

[layaispunk]

needs a good fix

jackson!joel miller x fem!virgin!reader

a/n: this idea is by @yxtkiwiyxt !!! i couldn't stop thinking about it.

summary: you can't stop fantasizing about joel taking your virginity.

warnings: UNPROTECTED P IN V SMUT 18+. competency kink. joel is jackson's handyman, reader has no physical description, dry humping, female masturbation, male masturbation, age gap (reader is over 21), reader is a virgin, praise kink, fingering, grinding, aftercare, soft!joel, lmk if i missed anything!!

wc: 4.7k words

Joel was always fixing things around town. 

Ever since Joel Miller showed up in Jackson, folks started calling him the town’s handyman. The way his hands moved, steady and skilled, fixing what needed fixing… he was good. he was good at what he did.

The creak of his boots echoed from the side of the barn as he repaired the gate hinges. A few days ago, it was the broken heater in the art room. Before that, the fencing near the stables. He was the kind of man who did not like to sit still, and Jackson had plenty of things to keep him going. He liked helping around, and it made him feel needed. 

You didn’t mean to notice him every single time. Your eyes just naturally averted to him, every time. At first it was small things.. how he always showed up early in the morning. How he talked to people with that low, Texas drawl, with kindness, and sometimes a little grumpy. It was clear he cared deeply about doing things right. 

His rolled up sleeves, the grunts he made when he was moving, the way his brow furrowed when he was concentrating … it was all too much. He did everything so well, no neighbor ever complained. Every time you saw him with a tool in his hand, or a smudge of grease on his forearm, something inside you twisted. It started as a quite ache, one you could ignore if you distracted yourself enough. But the more you saw him, the worse it got. 

And you… you were a virgin. Growing up in the apocalypse and all, you never really had the chance to get to know someone that intimately, besides, you were very comfortable with your own sexuality, taking care of yourself, and you were quite satisfied. Boys had thrown themselves at you before, but you weren’t into guys your age, immature and inexperienced. You always liked them a bit older, more experienced. You had a thing for competency, and men like him who were good at what they did. blue collar, broad-shouldered, good with their hands. Men who smelled like whiskey, sweat, and knew how to fix shit other people couldn’t. Joel, with that salt and pepper hair and his worn button-ups, the way he moved, was turning you on. You couldn’t look at him without your breath catching and sweat clinging to your forehead, without heat crawling low in your belly. You couldn’t stop thinking about your first time being with him, how protective he’d be, and how good he’d take care of you.

You didn’t live super close to him, but the universe clearly had other plans, because somehow your errands aligned with where he happened to be. And always, he’d greet you. 

Just a “hey”. Simple, and casual. Too casual for the way heat pooled between your legs every single time. You try to keep it cool, offer a quick smile, or a nod, but your words never come out the way you want them. If he had any idea how tightly you had to clench your jaw every time he walked by, he sure as hell didn’t show it. 

He had no idea what he was doing to you. As far as Joel was concerned, you were just another friendly face in town. You were kind to him, sweet even, traded coffee for paint supplies, but you never stayed long enough to hold a conversation. Joel figured maybe he made you didn’t like him, that you, maybe you just weren’t the talkative type. 

He usually worn button-ups, long sleeves rolled up. But with the seasons shifting and the sun hanging higher, he was showing up in tight t-shirts that left little to the imagination. The fabric hugged his arms just right, tracing every muscle and vein, and it was impossible to imagine what those hands could do if they weren’t busy fixing shit. One time, he reached to grab something from a top cabinet, and with his arms stretched high, you caught a perfect glimpse of his waist. The way his shirt rode up just enough to reveal his happy trail leading down, and the waistband of his boxers. It made you feral.

Every night, you thought about him. What his huge hands might feel like. What his calloused fingers would feel like on your body. How his grunts might sound like if he was on top of you, whispering something low and filthy in your ear. Late at night, you let your thoughts slip where they shouldn’t. Under the covers, imagining what it would feel like to have someone there- Joel, instead of your own fingers, moaning and whimpering his name, hoping one day he would just magically show up and fuck you senseless. 

One afternoon, you told yourself you weren’t going to do anything stupid. But it was a hot spring evening, you had two glasses of wine, maybe three, and it was just enough to make you feel courageous. Or reckless. Tipsy, that made your skin feel too hot, your clothes too tight, and your underwear soaked. You didn’t let yourself think it through. You just walked down the street, heart pounding and thighs pressed tight, wearing a top that accentuated your breasts & an old fashioned lie. and knocked on Joel’s door. You told yourself it was innocent. A neighborly thing.  

He answered the door in a t-shirt. Collar a little stretched, fabric clinging to his biceps. You had to force your eyes to stay on his face.

“Hey,” you said, a little breathier than what you meant. “S-Sorry to bug you. I just-uh… my sink’s acting real funny. The one in the kitchen.”

The kitchen sink was fine.

Joel wiped his hands on the towel slung over his shoulder. “What’s it doin’?”

You shrugged, toying with the straps of your shirt. “Leaking. Making a sound. I dunno.” you said nervously. 

“I can swing by tomorrow,” he said, nodding.

You licked your lips. “I’ll uh…. I’ll leave the door unlocked. In case I’m out. So you just let yourself in.”

Joel’s brow ticked. “You leavin’ your door open for just anyone, darlin’?”

Your heart stuttered. Was he flirting with you? “Uh… no, no.”

He smiled, “I’m just jokin’.” He clapped his hands. “Alright then, I’ll uh.. see ya tomorrow.”

Before you could respond, you turned around and walked back home, your heart about to rip open your chest.  

The next day crept up slowly. You woke up flushed, replaying yesterday’s interaction in your mind like a dream. 

You told yourself not to get too worked up. Not to overthink it. But by mid-afternoon, you were restless. The house felt too warm, your skin even warmer. You kept checking the clock, hoping his knock might come any second. 

And when it didn’t, you grabbed the wine bottle. To cool you down, ofcourse. To calm your nerves. You’d left the door unlocked like you promised him. Just a crack, enough for him to step inside. The kitchen sink was fine. Didn’t need any fixing. But your body…? That was another matter.

You wandered upstairs to your room, still leaving the door cracked, restless and a little tipsy from the wine. The fan hummed softly overhead, but it did nothing to cool the heat spreading low in your belly. Your clothes clung to you, damp from the warmth… and your wetness. You ran your hands down the front of your thighs, exhaling a shaky breath as your fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts. They felt suffocating. You slid them down your legs slowly, the cotton catching slightly on your hips before pooling around your ankles. The air kissed your skin, and you bit the inside of your cheek, goosebumps rising on your legs. 

You sat at the edge of the bed at first, on your back. Your head tilted back, eyes fluttering shit. You couldn’t stop thinking about him. The way his biceps flexed. His Texas drawl dipped in honey. The way he said your name. 

Your hand drifted over your stomach, skimming lightly, like even your own touch was too much. You didn’t rush, just let your fingertips trace lazy, aimless patterns, dipping lower each time until they reached the waistband of your underwear. There was a steady warmth pulsing at your core, a heat that had been building all day. You let your fingers press down, through the thin fabric, catching your breath at the feeling. You were already so sensitive, so wound up from hours of wanting, of imagining him. You were pretending your hands were his, touching you like this for the first time. You shifted against the sheets, chasing friction, letting your hips tilt just enough to press into your own hand. It was slow at first, knowing your body too damn well, until you started to rub your clit in small circles and gasping softly, your mouth falling open. 

-

Joel told himself he’d swing by later in the afternoon, but something about the way you looked at him yesterday.. the wine flush on your cheeks, the way your fingers played with your shirt straps… He was confused. He was old. Surely, he didn’t think you were flirting with him. Why would someone so pretty, want someone like him? 

The door was exactly as you left it. Unlocked, cracked open a little bit. He still knocked softly at first.

“Hey,” he called, voice low. “it’s Joel, you home?”

No answer.

So he stepped inside, slow and polite, calling your name softly. And suddenly, he heard it. Faint and breathless.

“Joel.. Oh..”

His heart jumped. You sounded like you were in pain, or crying. The sound of your voice had him moving before he could think. He dropped his tools, boots thudding against the stairs, every protective instinct in him lighting up. Another soft moan. “Oh God...”

He didn’t wait. “Darlin,? You alright?” He pushed the door open with his shoulder, chest tight, eyes scanning …. Until he saw you. laying back against the sheets, legs spread, hand between your thighs. Your shorts discarded on the floor. 

You froze. 

Joel froze too.

He wasn't dumb. He caught on what was happening immediately.

His mouth parted like he wanted to speak, but no words came out. His eyes were wide, locked on yours. Neither of you spoke for a moment, the silence was thick. 

You sat up in panic, putting your shorts back on. “I-I thought you weren’t coming,” you whispered. 

He looked dazed. He swallowed hard. Took one step closer.

“You left the door open,” he said quietly. “Said I could come in.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think—” You whispered, embarrassment creeping up your cheeks. “Joel, I didn’t think you’d—”

He nodded once, firm, eyes still on you. “You say my name like that all the time when you’re alone?”

You couldn’t speak.

He took another step. “I came to fix the sink, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice thick with something rough and warm, “but I think we’ve got somethin’ else that needs my attention.” You swallowed hard, heart hammering like it might break through your ribs. 

Your fingers were still trembling from earlier. From the way you’d whispered his name like a fucking prayer. And now he was here. Real. Solid. Broad shoulders taking up half the space in the room.

You felt small. Exposed. And yet… your body ached for him.

Joel’s eyes dragged down your frame, slow and deliberate. His jaw ticked.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” he said, voice low. “I just… didn’t know you… felt that way about me.” He swallowed. “I wasn’t supposed to see that.” 

Your back straightened, chest still heaving. “Well, I do.” You blinked. “Joel, you should probably just go,” you stammered, voice shaky. You started rambling under your breath, words tumbling over each other like a flood. “I’m so dumb. I’m sorry, Joel. The sink doesn’t even need fixing. I mean, what was I thinking? I just wanted to see you, like some fuckass teenager with a crush. You don’t even like me like that.” You stared at the floor, too embarrassed to meet his eyes, heart pounding loud in your ears.

Joel shifted awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “Darlin’, calm down. I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he said, eyes soft. “I… like you, I’m just surprised,’s all,”

You opened your mouth, words caught in your throat. “I had too much wine. I just need a minute, okay? I’m overwhelmed” 

He nodded, stepping back. “Alright, I’ll head home, okay?” His voice was low, unsure, like he wasn’t quite sure on how to act after that, and neither did you. He slipped quietly without another word. Did you just fuck everything up?

The next day, there was a knock on your door. 

Joel stood there, hand on the back of his head. “Hey,” he said quietly. “Can I…come in for a sec?”

You smiled and stepped aside, still mortified from yesterday. 

He glanced around like he was gathering his thoughts, then finally looked at you. “I been thinkin’ about what happened yesterday.”

You blinked at him, cheeks heating up. Talk about the elephant in the room.  “What do you mean?”

Joel let out a slow breath. “I wanted to apologize. You were embarrassed. Thought I didn’t… want you like that.”

You looked away, heat crawling up your neck.

He continued, gently, “I didn’t mean to walk in on somethin’ so personal. I swear, I only came in ’cause I thought you were hurt. You sounded like you were in pain, and the door was open, and.. I’m sorry.”

You chewed your lip. “Joel, you don’t need to apologize. It’s not your fault, I should have closed the door.” You sighed. “I didn’t mean to make things weird”

“Nothing’s weird,” he said. “I just.. Jesus, I had no idea you felt that way about me. And I’m still tryin’ to wrap my head around it, ‘cause you’re…” he trailed off, eyes on yours, voice soft. “You’re beautiful, and young. I don’t know how in the world you would want someone like me.”

You stared at him. Your heart was thudding in your chest, heat creeping up your neck, wanting to tell him that you’re a virgin and just blurting it out. “I’ve never… had sex.” Your voice barely carried, but it felt like the loudest thing in the room. “I just wanted you to know.” You paused, cheeks burning, then forced the next part out. “I guess... I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I just want to get it over with, with someone more experienced, you know. To know what it feels like. So, um. That’s what I was thinking about. It’s okay if you don’t want to.”

Joel blinked, his gaze holding yours, unreadable for a second. His eyes dropped for a second, then came back to yours, voice rough, blurting out a confession himself too. “I thought about you too, last night.”

You blinked, confused. “what?”

His breath hitched. A humorless little laugh left him as he shook his head. “Couldn’t get the image outta my head. We’re even now. Ain’t gotta be embarrassed.”

You tilted your head, searching his face. “are you just saying that to make me feel better?”

His voice was low, thick with something darker, more vulnerable. “No.”

Your breath caught.

He didn’t move. So you kissed him. 

When Joel kissed you back, it was desperate. His hands gripped your waist, rough palms dragging over your back like he was trying to memorize the feel of you. Your fingers tangled in his soft curls at the back of his head, tugging him closer, swallowing the low groan he let out when you parted your lips for him. You whimpered softly into his mouth, pressing your chest to his, needing him even closer. He smelled so good. Like whiskey, and soap, and musk. It invaded your senses, and your brain turned into mush. 

His tongue swept over yours before he broke away to kiss along your jaw, then your neck, open mouthed and breathless. 

“Joel…” you moaned, “Fuck,”

Your knees hit the back of the couch, and the two of you stumbled, breathless and tangled in each other until you fell on top of his lap. His arms wrapped around your waist, and he sank back onto the couch, pulling you down with him. Your legs were straddling him, your hands braced around his neck. Kissing you deeper, his hands roamed your back, your waist, your thighs, like he was trying to touch every part of you all at once. 

You rocked against him as he groaned into your mouth, hips bucking up just slightly. His mouth found your neck once again as you kept moving against him achingly, feeling the thick press of his erection beneath you, hard and growing. You were so turned on it hurt. 

“Shit,” Joel rasped, gripping your hips, trying to hold you still. “Baby…”

You didn’t stop. Couldn’t. You needed him. But his hands stilled you.

He leaned his forehead against yours, kissing your head, chest rising and falling under your palms. “Sweetheart,” he said, voice low and steady now, “we gotta slow down.”

You blinked at him with doe eyes, lips still parted. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no,” he said quickly, cupping your cheek. “God, no.” He swallowed, eyes on yours. “It’s just… it’s been a long time. And I want this to be good for you.”

He smiled, brushing your hair behind your ear. “You really want this?” he asked, voice quiet.

You leaned in, lips brushing his, barely above a whisper, “Yeah. I do.”

His chest rose and fell against yours, his eyes flickering down to your lips before dragging back up again like he was trying to memorize you.

He leaned in and kissed you softly, slow and unhurried, letting it linger, letting your fingers drift up the back of his neck and into his hair. He exhaled into your mouth, and you felt the way his hands gripped you just a little tighter.

Then, without a word, you reached down and tugged gently at the hem of his shirt.

Joel paused, eyes searching yours. But he didn’t stop you.

You lifted the fabric slowly, revealing the scarred, strong lines of his chest. Your fingers brushed over his skin as you pulled the shirt over his head and let it fall somewhere behind the couch.

His breath hitched when you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his chest, soft and reverent. Another to his collarbone. Another just above his heart. He wasn’t used to this.

Joel’s eyes fluttered closed for a second, a hand coming up to hold the back of your head like he didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this.

You sat up, heart pounding, and slowly reached for your own shirt. You watched his face as you peeled it over your head. his eyes widened slightly, lips parting, awe written all over him like you were a dream came true.

You took his hands and placed them on your waist, his palms warm and steady. Then you leaned in again, and he kissed you hard, lips sliding to your jaw, down your neck. When his mouth finally reached your chest, your breath caught. he was kissing you there, slow and gentle, like he was learning the shape of your breasts with his mouth.

A soft moan escaped you, hips shifting instinctively in his lap. You felt the heat building again, sharp and overwhelming. Every place he touched felt like it burned.

“Joel,” you whispered, voice breathless, “need you to touch me…”

One of his hands slid down slowly, carefully, finding the edge of your waistband. His fingers brushed your skin, teasing, and you gasped softly. You could feel the heat between your thighs, a growing ache that had only sharpened since the moment he walked through your door.

“I’ve never-” you whispered, barely audible.

“I know,” he murmured. “I’ll take care of you. We don’t gotta rush a damn thing, sweetheart.”

You nodded, heart pounding, eyes locked with his.

“Jesus,” he rasped, resting his forehead against your chest for a second. “You tell me if anything don’t feel right. Any second. You hear me?”

You nodded again, lips brushing against his temple. “Yeah.”

He leaned back just enough to kiss you again, slower this time like you were something delicate, hands trailing up your spine. You arched slightly as you were dry humping on the couch, gasping at the friction between your core and his erection. You stood up, and discarded your shorts on the floor, just your soaked panties covering you.   When you lowered down on his lap again, your fingers found his, guiding his hand between your thighs.

“You can touch me,” you said quietly. “I want you to.”

Joel let out a quiet groan. “You tell me if it feels too much, alright?” he groaned, voice low and full of heat.

His fingers dipped down between your thighs, finding you through the soft fabric of your underwear. He rubbed slow, careful circles against you, patient and steady,  coaxing every sound out of your lips. 

You gasped softly, hips tilting toward his hand without meaning to. “Joel…”

“That feel good?” he rasped, lips brushing your jaw, his voice rough but gentle, making sure you were okay.

You nodded, too breathless to speak. Your fingers curled into his hair, holding on as he kept rubbing you through the thin cotton, your arousal soaking through. He could feel how wet you were, even like this.

“Jesus, baby…” he breathed, his voice thick. “You’re already so worked up for me.”

You whimpered as your hips began moving on their own, grinding against the heel of his hand. Joel’s breath caught, he was getting worked up too, chest rising fast, jaw clenched. His free hand slid up your back, gripping your waist like he needed something to hold onto.

He groaned again, almost like it hurt. “You keep movin’ like that, sweetheart, and I’m gonna cum in my pants.”

Carefully, he slid his hand beneath your waistband, fingers finally touching you bare. You gasped, the heat of his skin against yours sending a shiver up your spine. Then, ever so gently, he slid one thick finger inside you, slow and deliberate.

“Shhh,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple as you clenched around him. “You’re alright. Atta girl. Just like that,”

You whimpered again, his finger moving in slow strokes, your hips rocking toward his hand instinctively. He added a second finger, easing you open while his thumb stroked soft circles against your clit.

It was overwhelming, in the best way possible. The stretch, the warmth of him, the way he watched your every reaction like he couldn’t look away. This was so different compared to your own fingers. You knew it would feel good, but not like this. Definitely not like this. 

You whimpered, getting closer, reaching the climax as your hips stuttered against his hand. Joel was whispering quiet praises into your skin, fingers moving slow and steady inside you, coaxing you open like he had all the time in the world. Your thighs trembled, your body arching into his touch, and the pressure inside you built with every breathless second.

“Joel,” you whimpered, voice breaking, eyes squeezing shut. “Oh, my god…”

“Right there?” he murmured, lips brushing your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re doin’ so good, baby. Just let go for me.”

Your body tightened, back arching, and then the wave came over you. your climax washing over you all at once, sharp and warm, overwhelming and dizzying. You gasped, clinging to him, your hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt as you cried out his name.

Joel groaned, holding you through it, kissing your temple and whispering sweet nothings as your body shook against him.

“That’s it,” he whispered, slowing his fingers as you came down. “You’re alright. I got you.”

You were breathless, body still burning for him, for something more. “Joel… I want to feel you.”

He stilled, lifting his head to meet your eyes. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, fingers curled around his wrist. “I want you inside me.”

His gaze searched yours for any flicker of doubt. There wasn’t any. Just need.

He gently guided you off his lap, helping you lie back along the couch. The cushions dipped under you, the living room warm and quiet except for the sound of your shared breathing.

Joel stood for a moment, just looking at you. Then his hands went to his belt, undoing it slowly, his eyes never leaving yours.

You watched as he slid his jeans down, then his boxers, breath catching when you caught sight of him, thick, hard, and flushed at the tip. He knelt between your legs, bracing a hand on the couch beside your head, the other guiding himself gently as he settled over you.

You reached for him, touching his chest, then his face, grounding yourself in the heat of his body.

Joel hovered over you, breathing heavy, gaze locked on yours like he didn’t want to miss a single second. He lined himself up slowly, hand cupping the back of your head against the couch cushion like you were something precious.

When he pushed in slow, careful, giving you time to adjust, you both gasped. Your fingers clutched at his back, nails digging in, and Joel groaned low in his throat, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

Oh my god.

Your thoughts spiraled.

This feels so good.

It was everything you hadn’t let yourself imagine. full, warm, overwhelming in the best way. You couldn’t believe how right it felt, how gentle he was, how every slow thrust was lined with care and need.

This. This is why you waited for someone like him. For Joel.

His body pressed flush against yours, one hand bracing by your head, the other still gently cradling it like he couldn’t bear the thought of hurting you. He rocked into you with slow, deliberate rolls of his hips, his breath ragged against your cheek, whispering your name like a prayer.

“Goddamn,” he groaned. “Such a good girl.”

You whimpered, already fluttering around him, your body starting to tremble again. “I-I think I’m close again,” you whispered, voice breaking.

“Me too, baby,” he murmured, voice cracking as he started to move faster, hips snapping a little deeper now, rougher but still so tender it made your chest ache.

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, lips brushing his jaw as your body built toward the edge again. He kept whispering to you, grounding you, worshiping you through every second until everything tightened, and then you broke for the second time.

You came with a cry against his skin, body shaking around him as he groaned loudly, hips stuttering.

“Shit-darlin’, I’m gonna,” Joel gasped, and then you felt him follow, his body trembling with the force of it, buried deep and breathless. It was intense. 

Joel was still above you, calming down his breathing, foreheads pressed together, your bodies tangled and slick with heat. His hand was still cradling your head. 

You could still feel the aftershocks in your thighs, your chest, the gentle tremble in your fingers. Your heart was hammering. You’ve had orgasms before. You touched yourself often. But this was something else. You’ve never had this kind of orgasm before. Every careful touch, every word, every look… he'd made you feel safe. Worshipped. Taken care of.

You blinked up at him through the haze, and he looked down at you like he was in awe.

“You alright?” he murmured.

You nodded, dazed. “Mmmm.”

He exhaled softly, lips brushing your temple, and kissed it. Then your cheek. Then your mouth…slow, like he had all the time in the world now.

“Let’s get you upstairs,” he said against your lips.

You didn’t protest when he gently pulled out, made quick work of cleaning you up as best he could with trembling hands and soft apologies, finding a blanket from your couch to wrap you in.

Then, like it was nothing,he lifted you into his arms. You curled against him instinctively, head tucked beneath his chin, listening to the steady beat of his heart as he carried you upstairs like you weighed nothing.

Your bedroom was dim, bed undone, but it didn’t matter. Joel set you down carefully, then climbed in beside you without a word. One of his arms slid beneath your head, pulling you close, his other hand resting lightly on your stomach beneath the blanket.

You sighed, melting into him.

For a while, neither of you said a thing. Just breathing. Just feeling. His thumb traced lazy little circles against your skin, and you let your eyes drift shut.

thanku for reading!

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[beloveds-embrace]

Thinking about designationless reader...

Imagine how alone she must've been for all her life. It started since she was young, her parents pushing her to the corner of the home, away from the family, and naturally, her siblings would follow their parents' lead, pointedly ignoring her, and finding any excuse available to be out of her presence. She wouldn't understand them anyway, she can't tell the difference between noises nor could she even recognize scents. It just wouldn't work.

Reader thinks that maybe she could find someone, anyone in school, but kids are like sharks, except instead of smelling blood, they smell the lack of all scents on her. Most kids have a combination of their own and their family members' scents. Reader has nothing, so everyone continues the pattern, but now with more stares and jeers and hushed giggles. Reader knows that bullying is bad, but anything would be better than simply not existing to anyone. That's what the others say, at least, that she's nothing, nobody. Never to her face, though, just in the whispers shared between friends.

She eventually tries to find others like her through the wonders of the internet. There's maybe a handful more scattered in her country, but none are her age, and all have their own families who care about them. Was it just her who wasn't deserving of love, of connection? Reader reaches out to them, and they talk a little, but before long, through no one's fault, it falls through. She was bad at talking anyway, even if she doesn't have to worry about scents or sounds that aren't there, she never knew much about context or connotation. She never had the opportunity to learn about the intricacies in communication. Reader is back alone.

The military eventually scouts her, and it's the first time anyone has ever really looked at her. Sure, they look at her like a valuable tool, but a tool is better than nothing. Reader obviously joins, desperate for crumbs. She climbs the ranks, gets the job done. She is good at her job, so people respect her. She learns how to talk professionally, emails, texts, and so one, but no one talks to her on leave. No one invites her to the pub after a good mission. No one even talks to her in the mess. But people do talk to her when they have to, and that's enough. Maybe she even gets a callsign. Doe. After Jane Doe, the placeholder name for unknown individuals, and insult if anything.

Now there's the 141. They invite her to things. They talk to her. They touch her. Reader exists for them. She isn't just an unknown person stuck in the background and invisible to everyone else, and Reader doesn't know what to do. Her speech is awkward and overly professional, even in personal settings. How is she supposed to be friends with someone, multiple someones? How is she supposed to move? To act? To express? She doesn't know, but she really wants to learn. At least now she has good teachers.

ANON YOU GENIUSSSS okay but this? Perfect. AHHHH I ADORE THIS IDEA!! Esp the jane doe callsign omg yes

You weren’t used to being seen.

Growing up, you learned quickly how to make yourself small- how to exist quietly, without taking up space, without asking for too much. Because the few times you had asked- asked for a hug, asked to be let into the nest, asked why you felt so different- the answers had all been the same.

No.

Not now.

Not you.

It wasn’t that your parents didn’t love you. You were sure they did, in their own way. But love was hard to feel when your mother flinched at your touch like you were something disgusting, when your father sighed like he was tired every time you entered the room as if you were taking up space he was saving for his other children. When your siblings built their nests without you, curling into piles of warmth and safety while you sat outside the door, knees pulled to your chest and hands balled into fists to keep them from knocking, a cold ache burrowing itself in your chest.

You stopped knocking eventually.

You stopped trying.

You used to wonder if you’d done something wrong- if maybe you could fix yourself and everything would go back to normal. But it wasn’t something you could fix. It was just… you.

Scentless.

Designationless.

Invisible.

School had been worse, perhaps the worst. At least your family had pretended not to notice how different you were. The other kids didn’t bother pretending. They stared openly, whispered behind your back, laughed when you walked by. You’d caught bits and pieces of what they said- weird, wrong, broken, as if they hoped by having you hear their words, they’d convince you to leave at last.

You’d started keeping your head down after that, slipping through the halls like a shadow. No one talked to you unless they had to, and even then they either did it with a mocking, jeering tone that echoes in your nightmares or with a meek tone; as if your lack of everything is contagious. No one sat next to you at lunch, either. When partners were assigned, you always ended up working alone per your teachers’ instructions.

It was easier that way.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

By the time you joined the military, you’d gotten good at being alone. You didn’t need friends. Didn’t need packmates. You had work, and work didn’t care if you were quiet or awkward or too stiff to laugh at the right jokes. Work didn’t care if you flinched when people got too close or froze when someone raised their voice. Work demanded to be done, and you had nothing and no one to stop you from that.

But the military also has the same teens who used to bully you so consistently. Rookies all to ready and happy to lord over you. It’s how you get your despised callsign, Doe. Jane Doe. A cruel mockery, comedy wherein you are the joke that has the world laughing.

Still, you wear it. It’s still an acknowledgment and that will always be better than never being seen. You flit from team to team, unit to unit, always an observer from afar, watching everyone around you speak a language you can’t.

But the 141 was different, when you eventually end up working for them.

They cared.

They cared in ways you weren’t ready for.

Soap was relentless, dragging you into conversations even when you barely knew what to say. He filled the silences like it didn’t bother him, kept talking for the both of you, lounging against you unbothered, until you started talking back. Gaz was gentlest, steadier. He never pushed, just lingered close enough to remind you he was there, waiting, whenever you were ready. Quiet, silent acceptance you’d never been given before, and you were yet far too afraid to so easily cling to it.

And the Alphas- Price and Ghost- were worse.

Price had a way of looking at you that made your chest ache, like he saw you, really saw you, and didn’t mind what he found. Scentless, with no designation and all. Ghost was quieter, sharper, but his eyes tracked you everywhere, presence wrapping around you like he was staking a claim you didn’t understand, like he was teying to etch every part of you behind his eyelids.

You didn’t know what to do with it.

They didn’t give you space. They sat next to you at meals, tugged you along when they went out for drinks, called you over during breaks like it was the most natural thing in the world. And it felt natural- until it didn’t, because sometimes you still felt like an outsider.

Like you didn’t belong.

You tried to hide it, but they saw through you. They always did, and they never shied away.

When you started avoiding the mess hall, it was Gaz who caught you, shoving a plate of food into your hands and dragging you to sit with him like it wasn’t a big deal. When you hung back during missions, letting the others fall into their pack dynamics without you, Soap was the one who looped an arm around your shoulders and pulled.

And when you flinched, once, at the sharp sound of someone’s voice echoing down the hall- when you tensed so hard it made your fingers tremble- it was Price who closed the distance, standing in front of you like a wall and letting Ghost linger at your back. Neither of them said a word.

They didn’t have to.

You weren’t used to being protected. You weren’t used to belonging.

But they made it hard not to.

[kitteninabunker]

thinking about constructionworker!toji who's at your house, working on renovations for the first story flooring since he’s gotten hired by your father. though he had little to no knowledge about how to actually build anything, the money was good so he took the opportunity.

you're woken up by the sound of a drill and hammers banging nails into the walls. groggily, you raise yourself to sit up in your bed, rubbing your sore, puffy eyes as the piercing sound of tools makes your ears ring loudly from all of the noise. why the hell would they come so early to work on the house?

slamming your head back against your pillow, you pick your other pillow up and press it against your ear, trying to drown out some of the noise coming from downstairs, but it's no use.

instead, you roll of bed and slip on your silk robe, wearing nothing beneath it. you’re gonna give whoever’s making all the noise a piece of your mind. walking out of your bedroom and up to the railing of your upstairs balcony, you see a team of men in yellow hats and orange vest doing random handiwork as you look down. you spot the one black haired man placing wood tiles onto the floor, and doing a horrifc job at it—toji.

"do any of you know what time it is???" you yell over the noise of the men working, your voice is barely audible over the noise but some of them turn their heads toward you at the sound of your voice before turning their attention back to their work. toji lifts his head to see you standing above him, your arms folded across your chest with a scowl on your face. your disapproval is obvious which makes him chuckle.

"i can't hear you!" he yells back at you, waving you to come downstairs. "maybe you should come down here so we can talk!" you roll your eyes and sigh at his request, walking to the staircase to step onto the first stair as you descend down. you approach toji as you stand there above him, looking down at him as he raises his head, the corner of his scared lips curling up into a smirk as his green eyes meet your piercing stare.

"why so cold, little lady? i'm just doin' my job." he says, looking back down at the wooden tiles as he places them on the floor. it's not like you knew the first thing about construction, but you could tell his technique would definitely cause more issues with the floor than it already has. "8:00 o'clock in the morning is a perfect time to come over and do construction.” you barked, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you look down at your imaginary watch on your bare wrist.

toji stands up from his haunches, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow with a gloved hand as if he's actually done anything worth sweating over. he places his hand on his hip as he looks over at you, his towering height looms over you which makes the scowl you have on your face even cuter. "your dad's out so i assumed the house was empty, let me apologize for waking you up." his voice is genuine, but you don’t catch it because you’re eyeing him up and down.

he's clad in a white thank top, speckled by dust and dirt from hours spent working on the floor. his tools hung from a worn, brown belt strap slung low around his beige work pants. maybe toji stood out to you the most because he's the only one half dressed for construction—not that you were complaining.

each time he raised his tank to wipe his face, the sharp cut of his abs and the trail of dark hair leading below his waistband became impossible to ignore. your eyes shamefully locked into the utter perfection he didn't bother hiding.

"w-well you see that i'm still here..." you whisper, your eyes glued to toji's frame as he tugs his tank back down, muscles rippling through the fabric. he runs a hand through his slick hair, his sharp eye catching the way you're eyeing him.

"you're staring." he says, his voice low and edged with amusement.

his voice breaks you out of your trance, and your eyes snap back to his face. heat crawls up your neck as you realize your expression had softened while you were ogling at the man's chest, so you scowl at him again. "whatever," you snap, quickly looking off to the side.

toji pivots on his heel to stand in your line of sight, forcing you to crane your head up at him to meet his gaze. his broad frame towers over you, casting a shadow over your face, and you swear his smirk grew wider as your breath catches in your throat.

"are you going to straighten up," he murmurs, his voice dropping, “or do i need to fuck that attitude out of you?"

before you know it, you're bent over on your bathroom countertop, legs trembling as your cunt gushes around toji's cock, slick dripping out in thick strings down your thighs. toji's hips snap against your ass with brutal precision, each trust feels like his dick is pushing into your stomach. "look at you," he growls, his voice dripping with mockery as he roughly cups your face with a large hand as he grips your slack jaw, forcing you to look up into the bathroom mirror at your face "all it takes is a good fuckin' to shut that dumbass mouth of yours, huh?"

your vision blurs as you keep staring at yourself—your hair sprawled out over your head, tears streaking your flushed cheeks and your nose red from crying—your lips are parted, trembling from the endless stream of broken moans and breathless gasps. toji leans in, his scared lips brushing the shell of your ear as his free hand slides up your belly and grabs your tits, rolling your nipple between his calloused fingers. "c'monnn, keep watchin', he sneers, his voice low and taunting. "see what you look like getting your slutty little pussy stretched out."

the guttural slap of skin fills the room, being drowned out by the muffled noises of the workers outside. the very sound you were cursing earlier now served as a shield for your shame, you thanked whatever force or luck was keeping the men oblivious—to the fact you're being fucked silly by a stranger in your own house before you even got a chance to eat breakfast, and toji's absence. though it's not enough to conceal the shameful squelch of your pussy taking him in so deep. you bite down on your lip, trying to stifle the soft whimpers spilling from your throat, but toji doesn't let up.

his fingers curl into the plush of your hips, his nails digging deeply into your skin, dragging you back to meet his trust. the tip of his cock kissing your sensitive and bruised cervix that has your legs shaking uncontrollably.

"you're so fuckin' tight," he groans, his eyes glued to the sight of his cock disappearing into you as your entrance flutters around his thick shaft. "shit, you're squeezin' me like you're beggin' me to fill you up." he lets out a low laugh, teeth scraping against the side of your neck before biting down hard enough to leave a mark. the sting makes you cry out, your walls clamping down on him like a vice. "oh, you like that, huh? filthy little thing—this the kinda shit you've been waitin' for?"

you can barely breathe, your vision blurring as tears keep spilling over. the pressure builds unbearably fast, heat pooling low in your stomach. "i-i…fuck, i can't," you gasp, shaking your head as the intensity of toji’s fast thrust overwhelm you.

"you can, and you will," toji growls, his hand snaking down to your clit, rough fingers circling the sensitive nub with just enough pressure to send you hurtling toward the edge. "ain't lettin' you off that easy."

your knees buckle, but he keeps you upright, his cock drilling into you mercilessly as you fall apart around him. the lewd squelch of your release gushes around his length, soaking his thighs and the counter beneath you. "shit, look at this mess," he mutters, gripping your ass with one hand to spread you open, his thrusts growing sloppier as he chases his own high.

"since your squirtin' on my dick—fuckkkk...—maybe your daddy doesn't have to pay me. he'd be horrified enough to know his daughter's got off on my dick." toji goans deeply into your ear as your pussy squirts out the rest of your cum, your slick coating his shaft as it bubbles in a ring around the base of his cock. your head dips to the side before toji roughly grabs your jaw again.

"keep that fuckin' pretty mouth open," he snarls, tilting your head toward the mirror again. "gonna make you watch when I fill this pussy up. that's what you want, isn't it? my cock buried so deep you feel me for days?"

you let out a loud, helpless whimper at the mere mention of toji cumming...inside of you? you'd really be carrying a stranger's baby without an ounce of shame, and the idea of him filling you up right now doesn't sound to bad, especially when his cock is spitting you open so good, fucking you so deep and hard you can hardly form a coherent sentence.

"talk to me, girl." toji growls, his voice sharp and commanding as his trust grow more punishing. the heavy slap of his swollen balls against your soaked pussy echo in the room, their weight tightening as his cock twitches inside of you.

"y-yesss, daddy—aaahh—fuck, i-i want your seed...!" your trembling words slip through your mouth. toji groans out as he feels your walls clamping down onto him tighter and tighter, milking him harder as he struggles to hold himself back.

toji's hand comes down hard on your ass, slapping the fat of your cheeks as he grips your ass, spreading you open wider so you can take him even deeper. "mmm, that's what i wanna hear." his pace turns sloppier than before, each pump of his dick pulls another nasty squelch from your soaked cunt. "gonna pump ya so full my cums' gonna be dripping outta ya for days."

your head lolls forward, lips parted in a daze. but toji's grip doesn't let up, you feel him wrapping both of his strong arms around your waist to keep you in place, fucking your vaccum of a pussy in long, drawn out strokes as he cums deeply inside of you. your walls clamp down on him violently, spasming around his pulsing cock, milking every last drop of his cum. he stays buried inside, groaning as his cock twitches, warmth spilling deep into your womb.

"shit, you're squeezing me dry." he groans, his cock pulsating violently inside of you as your body jolts in his arms. you can feel each squirt of his seed spilling out from his fat tip, his heavy chest vibrates against you as his lets out another throaty groan. "bet this load's gonna be leaking out of you for hours, isn't it?" you give him a shy nod, your head barely moving against his chest, your body too spent to do anything else.

he smirks, feeling the slight motion. one of his hands snakes down to your ass as he kneads it possessively. toji presses his nose against your hair, inhaling your sweet scent deeply as his cock gives you another lazy throb inside of your sensitive slit. "greedy little thing," he groans as he slowly pulls out, a lewd squelch fills the room as his thick cum begins to leak out of your tiny hole.

his hand gives your ass a sharp slap, making you wince as you pussy tightens from the sudden movement, pushing more of toji's cum out as it drips down your thighs. "now go take a shower," he demands, pulling his pants back up without cleaning your juices off of his dick.

[timmydraker]

Tim hates Damian, but not for the reasons people think.

It did start as him thinking of Damian as rude, violent and unworthy of something as bright and joyful as the mantle of Robin. Tim might be better than most rich folk can be, but he’s still human and was very clearly ignorant of Damian’s lifestyle and culture, and I don’t just mean being an Assassin.

There’s no arguing against the arrogant way he sometimes talks about Damian and the League even if later adaptations are lighter with it, and the only reason it’s not a big thing is that he actually learns and pulls his head out.

Tim is an asshole but he’s not stupid, he’ll learn even when he doesn’t want to, it just takes some time.

But once he started to try and see Damian differently, around the time the younger Robin started to grow more into his role and adapt to the American world, Tim was confronted by something that make him almost insecure.

Because while Tim had to overcome some of his faults, Damian did something so mind numbingly difficult.

He overcame his entire childhood and taught nature.

Tim once used Damian’s blatant disregard for victims comfort as a reason he shouldn’t be Robin, and now as Damian is becoming an adult he’s going out of his way to learn how to help people and not shut save them.

Tim would often point out how Damian never trusted anyone no matter how much proof they gave to earn it, only really putting full faith in Dick and Bruce, but then he’s putting himself I situations that make him squirm just to give people a chance. But then it’s Tim who has the most contingency plans because he firmly believes even your most trusted allies can betray you.

Tim hated how Damian was so arrogant and self centred and then he’s catching himself lying to partners just because he doesn’t think he did anything wrong even though they are clearly upset.

Tim had to work against his own body to be able to fight, changing his untrained body into a tool to be used, but Damian didn’t have to do that because his body was ready to fight from the moment he was made.

Damian grows, he becomes someone dangerous and threatening but someone equally as kind and compassionate, strange ways of showing it be damned. Damian wants to be a doctor, wants to help people o ur side of the suit, which just doesn’t make sense because Tim said at the start that all Damian will ever be is violence and cruelty and yet-

Tim is admittedly jealous.

He wants to say he’s someone great and strong, and he is really, but Damian…

Damian is more of a Robin than Tim.

They both still did good, great things and Tim will always be a good Robin, it’s just that Damian has done so much more in regards to himself. He’s grown and changed and went from being someone Tim saw as just bad to someone more patient and willing to do the hard work big for the good and it just doesn’t make sense because Tim-

Tim has become bitter and angry and every internal monologue he has is filled with venomous words and irritation. He’s making plans he claims he won’t act on, but who thinks up so many ways to permanently stop someone with violent, unethical and just inhumane means without batting an eye?

Tim isn’t hesitating when making ‘world had ended’ plans, when making last ditch plans that involve killing people and he’s stop pulling punches with certain groups because they come back to life anyway so who cares if they die in a fight?

And it’s so ironic, because for a time when he was first introduced to the family, Damian saw Tim as the goal. It was Tim who was most trusted by Batman, who was allied with pretty much every hero team, who was given free reign and his own cases, and it was Tim who his mother warned him would be in his way of Robin.

But Damian stopped being so eager to replace and started to want to be his own person. His own Robin and eventually, his own everything entirely.

And now it’s Tim who is being told to calm down, to stand down, to not be so defensive.

It’s Damian whose defying Bruce now, whose moving on from Robin and spreading a whole new pair of wings when even Tim can’t let go be cause he has to do better, right? Because if Damian, cold blooded and aggravating Damian, can become someone else and good then he should be too.

Yet even with good friends and a good rep, he feels like something lesser.

And doesn’t that just suck.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Platonic yandere shigaraki HCS with a younger sister who's the daughter of AFO? (Since he's readers adopted older brother since AFO adopted shigaraki)

Yandere Older Brother Shigaraki Tomura

“This is the little sibling I was telling you about. Would you like to hold them?”

“But my quirk–!”

“Not this time. Trust me.”

It was hard not to pull his cradled arms away when AFO unswaddled and slowly lowered the baby down

Visions of his past 

His quirk’s awakening flashed violent through his mind 

Tightly shutting his eyes in fear 

he feels the warmth and substantial weight in his arms

Opening his eyes to see a darling little baby cooing at him

Giving a gummy smile when he lets out a little chuckle in disbelief

“This is (Y/n). You’re little sibling.”

“My little-?”

“Yes. Will you protect them?

“YES!”

From then on it was history

It’s been him and his newfound family against the world 

Even with his old notfamily he wasn’t the oldest

And now you’re immune to his power letting him connect with you in a way he just can’t with others

All that being said he’s a doting big brother

“(Y/n). Are you giving the nanny trouble?”

“Psh! It was only a mud pie!”

“Really? That doesn’t sound so bad.” 

“They threw it in my face!!”

“It was meant for the pillow! Honest!”

“If (Y/n) said it was meant for the pillow then it was meant for the pillow I see no problem here.”

Because AFO is AFO the way you’re raised will really dictate how he watches over you

If he’s not the only one doting on you but your father dearest as well you can expect to always be miles away from the action

Kept in the boonies or shipped across the world

If AFO demands it you will see no such thing as a world he doesn’t create

But if you’re just another tool of his then you both will start to get competitive

“Awww heard about the little incident in Kamino! Heard you couldn’t get the job done!” “And I heard about your little excursion with the American division.”

“Pft! it was more so just a distraction.”

“Oh yeah? Is your enemy weakened and out of the game for good?”

“Grrrr.”

“That’s what I thought little Padawan!”

“Grrr shut up!”

If AFO completely ignores you and keeps you only because Tomura wants it 

Or because you have too many features like your late uncle

He’s dealing with a rebellious little sibling that he’s intent on tracking down

Whether you’ve decided to side with the heroes or strike out on your own

He will make it everyone’s problem that you’re not in his custody

“You seem to forget (Y/n) that as your older brother, I’m going to protect you…whether you like it or not.”

In whichever universe you are the apple of his eye

And he refuses to let you leave it

Whatever plan AFO has for him can wait if it doesn’t mean you safely within his grasp

[michanvalentine]

Here I go again, venting about the whole "I can fix him" thing that all spawn Astarion fans get accused of. But seriously—what the hell are we even talking about?

First of all, having a moral compass is not a flaw. It’s a good thing. Let’s stop promoting the idea that being a piece of shit is somehow okay—because in real life, it’s not. In the game, sure, do whatever you like and enjoy it—but that doesn’t mean it’s justifiable in the real world.

Secondly, Astarion is not some one-dimensional monster whose sole purpose is to gain wealth and power at any cost. His goal is to be safe. Period. If you didn’t get that, then you missed the entire point of the game and the character. And safety doesn’t come in just one form.

Most importantly: Astarion contains both light and darkness. It’s up to the player to bring out one or the other. This isn’t about fixing him. It’s about recognizing and valuing the qualities that are already in him, for fuck’s sake. There’s no way you could talk him out of the Ascension if he weren’t already having doubts about it! He’s meant to be ambivalent—designed that way to let different players make different choices and enjoy the journey.

And let me say this again, because it’s a hard myth to kill: rolling the dice to convince Astarion not to ascend isn’t making the decision for him. It’s cutting through the bloodlust and fear clouding his mind and saying, “Hey, babe, have you considered this, this, and that?” Nothing more, nothing less.

The person who convinces him not to ascend doesn’t change him—they reassure him. They show him a different possibility.

So no, it’s not “I can fix him.” It’s I see you.

And for the record, if you choose the spawn ending, Astarion stays exactly who he was—just with a new perspective on the world and the people in it. So what the hell was “fixed”? Nothing. He has to fix himself from that point on, using the tools he’s chosen to reclaim: connection, friendship, and—yes—some level of morality (he’s still an antihero and a vampire with needs, after all).

The Ascension literally changes him—turns him into something he’s not, into a type of unnatural vampire that didn’t even exist before. And it’s in that exact moment that he becomes a true monster with no chance of redemption—because he chooses to go from victim to predator. Once again, something he wasn’t before.

And who pays the price? Not enemies—mostly innocent people, including children who will be damned to hell for all eternity.

And for what? The gain (which, honestly, is highly questionable—and for me, not worth it) of one person. A person who, again, gains things he didn’t originally have—wealth, power, sunlight, no more hunger, etc.

So isn’t that what trying to “change” or “fix” him really looks like? Making him different? The excuse that “he was always just a piece of shit with no hope” doesn’t hold up—even if it helps someone sleep at night.

And let me be clear—I don’t give a fuck what people prefer or how they play the game. I ascend Astarion too, in some of my runs, when and how I feel like it. But seriously, this whole “fixing him” narrative? It needs to die—especially when tied to morality.

Shocking news: everyone should have a moral compass and use it. It’s not about “conforming.” It’s about the fact that without it, the world—which is already falling apart—would be completely doomed.

And by the way: the only reason some people get to ignore morality is because most of the idiots on this planet do follow it. Otherwise, it’d be absolute chaos.

[pittsick]

ohhhh maybe giving scenemo!pat his magic cross piercing. he’s hard partially because you’re pretty and have your hands on his dick, and partially because he’s a bit of a whore for pain. you notice, one thing leads to another, he’s fingering you in your back office while you try and give him care and healing instructions.

summary: when patrick gets his magic cross piercing and things leads to one another, he’s fingering you in your back office when you try to talk to him about the aftercare.

pairing: scenemo!patrick x afab piercer!reader.

cw: +18. mdni. 1.1k words. genital piercing. pain kink. clinical setting. professional boundary violation. dirty talk. brat behavior (Patrick).

taglist: @blastzachilles, @lvve-talks, @jordiemeow, @strfallz, @222col, @soulxinxthexsky, @diyasgarden, @jinxedbambi, @lexiiscorect, @religionlost, @bluestrd, @jclolz22, @destinedtobegigi, @imperishablereverie, @lovefaist, @shahabaqsa0310, @prismozo, @jesuistrestriste, @grimsonandclover, @nozhdyved, @artstennisracket, @yardofbrunettes

You’ve done plenty of intimate piercings before—Prince Alberts, frenulums, ladders—but something about this appointment has you tightening your thighs the second you read the form.

“Magic cross.”

And the name on the intake? Patrick fucking Zweig. Scene hair, chipped nail polish, three belts on his jeans and none of them functional. He’s got eyeliner smudged into the corners of his eyes and a grin that belongs on someone who’s been suspended from at least three high schools.

It’s not his first time at the shop; he had been here for his labret piercing a few years ago and an eyebrow one that he didn’t keep—but you hadn’t been the one piercing him at the time. A shame.

“I want the full cross,” he says again when you sit down on your rolling chair. “Horizontal and vertical. Gimme the pain.”

You arch a brow, snapping on a pair of gloves. “You know that’s four holes total, right?”

Patrick shrugs, fingers already at his zipper. “Yeah. I’ll try not to nut on your gloves.”

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks are warm. You’ve seen dicks in every shape and size—but not every client moans when you disinfect them. Not every guy twitches under your touch and breathes out, “fuck, you’re kinda making me hard just with the prep.” But Patrick does.

You ignore him. Kind of.

The setup is clean. Tools lined up. Two needles, two straight barbells, all sterilized. You mark him quickly—two vertical dots, two horizontal, all across the head—and give him a look.

“You ready?”

Patrick lies back with a deep exhale. “Ruin me.”

You pierce the vertical pair first. He lets out a guttural sound as the needle slides through, but it’s not a cry of pain—it’s pleasure. His cock jerks in your grip, fully hard now, tip glistening like he really might cum from the needle alone.

“Shit,” he pants. “That—fuck—that hurts so good.”

You keep your head down, focus tight, thighs clenching. Slide the jewelry in slowly, threading the bar through the fresh holes one by one. It’s precision work, and you do it perfectly—even as Patrick groans under you and clenches the edges of the padded bench.

Then come the horizontal. He’s sweating by the end, but still rock hard, his chest heaving like he’s been edged.

“Jesus,” you murmur, wiping him down and snapping off your gloves. “You’re a freak.”

“Compliment,” he gasps. “Say it again.”

You shake your head, fighting the throb in your own core. “Get dressed. I’ll give you care instructions in the back.”

By the time he walks into your cramped little office, he’s redressed—mostly. His belts are hanging undone, button half-fastened. He sits with a slight wince but a smirk still plastered across his face.

You clear your throat and grab the aftercare sheet. “No sex for at least six weeks,” you start, professionally.

He raises a brow. “Not even hand stuff?”

You ignore that; well, you try your best to. It wouldn’t be professional. “Clean with sterile saline twice a day. No touching unless it’s to clean—”

Patrick leans back, legs spread slightly, his tongue pressed to his lip ring. “So like, hypothetically, if I were the worst patient you’ve ever had—”

“Already are.” You can’t help but roll your eyes at him.

“—and I touched it anyway… and got really fucking hard again, just thinking about your hands?”

You blink at him. He’s already moved closer with the rolling chair, almost between your knees now, voice low and syrupy. “Would you let me show you how good my fingers are, since you were so gentle with me? Think of it as a payback.”

You open your mouth to say no. To say it’s not professional, you could get caught—yet, you can’t stop thinking about how Patrick reacted to you piercing him, his cock hard, his comments. So your legs unconsciously spread for him and you sigh like permission.

Then his hand is between your legs as soon as he sees your expression and you realize you’re soaking through your underwear. You have been since Patrick’s first dirty comment.

“Fuck,” he hisses, like it’s hurting him how wet you are. “You’re into this, huh? Got off on making me moan for it?” He’s smirking now. You don’t answer. You can’t—not when two of his fingers slip under the band of your panties and slide right in, like your body’s been waiting for it.

You gasp, legs spreading even more before you can stop them, hips bucking into his hand. Giving him more space.

“You’re fucking soaked,” he whispers, transfixed. “Holy shit—did stabbing my dick actually get you this wet?” It’s like he can’t believe it, licking his lips and the silver ring of his labret.

Your breath shudders. “Patrick—”

“I’ll be gentle,” he lies, already curling his fingers just right. “Promise.”

You brace your hands flat behind you on the desk, head tipping back as he starts to move. His fingers are rough and metal-tipped—cold rings sliding against your folds as he pumps into you, fucking you open like he’s trying to earn an A+ in making piercers cum in their own office.

He finally gets up from the chair just to lean in close, breath hot against your ear. “Should I stop?” he whispers. “Or should I let you finish telling me about cleaning it while I ruin your panties?”

You bite your lip hard enough to bruise.

“Don’t stop,” you grit.

He laughs—sweet, fucked-up, giddy. He angles his fingers again and you nearly choke on your own moan. Your thighs clamp around his wrist and he groans like he felt it in his own cock.

“God, you sound so good,” he pants. “Can’t believe I came here to get stabbed and ended up with my fingers in the hottest girl I’ve ever seen.”

You try to glare but it melts into a whimper. He speeds up, fingers rubbing against your walls to find the perfect spot that you’d make you cum. When he does, you see white, thighs shaking and whimpering.

Your orgasm builds sharp, fast, the kind that climbs with no warning. You clutch the edge of the desk, head spinning, thighs trembling more and more as he keeps working you—slick and messy, knuckles deep, wet sounds echoing between your moans.

“Come on,” he whispers. “Give it to me. Let me feel you cum on my fingers. You earned it, didn’t you?”

You fall apart with a broken sob, clenching around him so tight he curses. Your body jerks with it, trembling as he fucks you through the high, eyes dark and locked on yours like he’s watching art happen in real time.

When it’s over, you sag forward, chest heaving, thighs twitching. He pulls his hand out slow, sucking your wetness off two fingers like it’s dessert.

You stare.

“You’re gonna clean those before you touch your piercing, right?” You can’t help but ask, professionalism coming back into your mind.

He grins. “You gonna spank me if i don’t?”

You grab the aftercare sheet, eyes rolling and smoothing your skirt down.

“Maybe.”

[revelboo]

You works are awesome, but i also wanna remind you not to overwork yourself! :) Have a nice day/night! ;3

Honestly, considering this blog is only 24 days old, it’s you guys I’m a bit worried about. Y’all good? Cause holy crow…

The Weakends Pt 5

TFP Ratchet x Reader- argument

• Putting a tool away, Ratchet glances over at the empty counter, the medbay quiet around him. Who’d have thought he’d miss your questions and companionable chatter? Need it to work. That silence drives home the fact that you’re avoiding him. Have been for days now and it’s worming under his plating, a disquiet that sparks through him, because you belong here. Your loss making him snap at everyone, because it’d be one thing if you were just skulking about the base, but no. Since you got upset with him, you’ve kept far away. Sulking like a sparkling.

• Setting the little trowel aside, you drag one of the mums you’d bought closer and wiggle it free of its little plastic pot. It’s warmer today, sweat slicking your skin as you work. Really, you’re just keeping busy. Trying to distract yourself, because you’re so frustrated you want to scream. Mostly at a certain white and red moron. And yourself. You know you’re both too proud to bend now. Neither one of you willing to back down no matter how silly the argument actually was. Even if staying away feels like you’re punishing yourself more than him.

• The sound of gravel popping under tires lifts your head and you squint in the sun. Bumblebee and the kids back again to pester you into coming in? Lips pressing into a thin line when you spot the ambulance, you yank off your gloves. Surely, he isn’t going to actually apologize? Blowing out a breath, you stand and stretch the kinks out of your back. Your little house is far enough from town and the main road that Ratchet can transform without worrying about being spotted and he does, walking the rest of the way over with a scowl like he tastes something foul. Cocking a hip, you cross your arms and wait for the apology. “Well, you’re not dead or dying,” he growls, optics narrowing at you.

• “Yeah, doing great,” you say, tone tight with anger as your fingers dig into your upper arms. “So, I don’t need a medic.” The ‘I don’t need you’ coming across loud and clear. That open hostility in your stare ramping up his own irritation that you’re so petty you’d made him drive all the way out to retrieve you. And you turn your back to him, bending to roughly seize a potted plant. Ignoring him. After he came to get you? His servos close around your middle, hearing your startled gasp as he lifts you. And then you whip around, chucking that plant at his head. It bounces off, scattering dirt all over him as you glare at each other. “Put me down. Right now.”

• Your heart’s racing, the adrenaline souring inside you as you realize you just hit him with a mum. And he’s not just going to let that slide. His optics shutter, jaw clenching as he vents angrily and you tense for the yelling. The fury. Instead, one of his servos slides over your torso as he adjusts his grip. That servo settling against your breast where your frantic heart is pounding away. Grabbing that servo, you mean to shove at it, but just hold on. Slowly his venting evens out.

• He can feel your heart thumping against his servo, frantic with fear. Of him. He can’t move, snared by that rhythm, knowing he’s causing it. As he remains still, that too quick beat slows. Calming. Your little hands shift on his servo. “There’s work to do. I need my assistant,” he says. Can’t make himself apologize, but isn’t leaving without you either, even if he has to just take you. You’re coming home. And you whisper okay so low he almost misses it, that tension winding through him just unraveling.

Previous

Next

[gatorbites-imagines]

Hey Gator can you write for Moon Knight with reader thats also an avatar but for Ra? Cuz duality

Moonboys x avatar of Ra male reader 

Headcanons 

“Kill them with kindness. WRONG, CURSE OF RA” my dream of a moon knight season 2 seems further and further away, and I fear it will never happen. How’s everyone doin? Viktor nation, how are we feeling? 

I'm trying out a new writing tool, so if there's spelling mistakes, that's why. It has been a while since I watched Moon Knight, so some of my canon might be off. 

If this was an oc, I would have to make the reader a Pharaoh, since they are seen as manifestations of Ra or so-called Sons of Ra. But this isn't an oc, so the reader won't be. 

Maybe you are a solar physicist instead, since that whole job is about studying the sun. Or you could be a writer who writes travel books, or history books, which allows you to travel the world. 

I'm not sure if you would be a shadow of the night like the moonboys. Ra is a god and has his worshippers, but I don't actually know if he's the one who punishes people or not. 

And since Ra is the god of the sun, you would act during the day for the most part. You can still move around during the night obviously, but you prefer the sun and so does your patron.  

I don't think Ra would be cruel in the way Khonshu is, but he is still a god with expectations and things he wants you to do. Instead of just hunting criminals, he might have you healing people or using the abilities of creation to do things. 

Don't get me wrong, I still think Ra would have you blast somebody with the power of the literal sun, but he might think about it first. Sometimes. 

I like to think you get to shoot sun lasers out of your eyes, and mouth. And like, anywhere you want. Who is gonna stop the sun of all things? You can kick major ass, and with a god that's mostly nicer than Khonshu, you have an easier time doing it too. 

Being the avatar of Ra doesn't mean you are all sunshine and rainbows obviously. That role goes to Steven. But you aren't as tense and ready for violence at all times, like Marc and Jake are. 

I like to think you are always warm to the touch, so depending on whose fronting, you find yourself getting cuddled.  

I like to think, even though they share a body, the boys have differences. Like, I think Steven struggles with always feeling cold, at least his fingers and toes. So, he slips his hands into your pockets, or stuffs his feet under you. 

Marc wouldn't struggle with feeling cold, but I think he would find a lot of comfort in how warm you are. You never get uncomfortably warm, like sure, it gets really hot, but he never feels clammy or sweaty.  

Marc would saddle up beside you when he's having rough days and just needs to... exist. Expect him to end up under your shirt somehow. It's not anything wild, he just shuffles up under it so he can lay his head on your chest and dissociate, using your warmth to ground himself. 

Jake wouldn't have much of an opinion about you always running hot, except for maybe grumbling a few comments about how you always wear shorts and tank tops, even when it's snowing outside. 

Jake will end up nuzzling against you when you guys are sleeping, though he doesn't like this admit it. This is just in general, as Jake struggles with showing affection or emotions that aren't negative. 

Controlling the sun also lets you give them the most comfortable massages they have ever experienced, since you can warm up your hands and then warm their aching muscles. 

It's a sure way to knock all three of them out, even if Marc and Jake try to act tough. They just become puddy in your hands. This might also be because they just know on a deep level, that they are safe with you, so they can relax. 

Going out and doing avatar work together is a must. Theres some differences on who's fronting there too. 

Steven, being Mr. knight, isn't as quick to murder and violence as Marc and Jake, so i imagine you guys spend a good chunk of time talking, ignoring your patrons since they like to argue. 

Marc is similar in his own way, he's not as violent or snappy when you come along. He might even jokingly call it a date, even if you guys are hunting someone who needs to be punished. 

Jake is the most quiet and deadly one, since he's used to hurting and hurting others. He would never hurt you though, and if you have a softer personality and like to crack jokes, you might even get him to laugh. 

Post missions are always for cuddling and checking up on each other. Gotta make sure your boys aren't hurt and all. Yeah, you guys might both have god given healing factors, but you still check them over, no matter who is fronting. 

This also means you end up getting checked over too, since all three of them are worrywarts in their own ways. Blame it on trauma, but they just need to physically see that you are okay. 

If it's been a hard patrol or target, you might have to work on getting them present and aware. I could see all three of them dissociating every now and then, leaving no one able to front, so as their boyfriend, you have to help them resurface. 

Heating your hands up, not enough to burn but enough to be felt, and placing them on their wrist, thigh, or face, depending on the situation, will help ground them. Sometimes they cling to you too, if you got really badly hurt. 

Your guy's patrons obviously also aren't welcome in the apartment when you guys take care of bruises and hurts after missions. Ra accepts it and just tells you to heal, and Khonshu will grumble about it, but the guys leaves you alone for the most part

[thelastofme-l]

It’s worth it…

(Jesse x f!reader)

Word count: 2343

Summary: Jesse sneaks around with his boss’s daughter.

Warnings: No warnings really; just fluff, kissing, sneaking around, sweaty!jesse, daddy!joel

A/N: Sorry this is short, I’m currently sick and I don’t know if there are any errors! Thank you for requesting it 🫶🏼 gif set

You followed the sound the power drill, it was the perfect indicator of where your father was. You bounced down the old creaky steps, hand gliding down the railing until you reached the bottom.

"Hello?" You called out as you wandered through the empty rooms. The drilling stopped and instead was replaced with the sound of wood smacking against the ground.

You stopped short at the fridge, grabbing two beers and moving toward the back door. The sticky summer air hit your face the second the door was opened, immediately making you wish you had stayed in the air conditioning.

He was stood a couple feet down on the grass, over a makeshift table, measuring it and then marking it with the pencil he always seemed to keep behind his ear.

He planned on extending the deck, you tried to talk him out of him, being that it was the dead of summer and too hot for him to be working out in the sun all day but, here he was.

"Whatcha doing?" You asked coming off the existing deck and walking across the plush grass toward him.

"Hey baby, figured I'd get a head start on the extension," he raised his head from his task and smiled, seeing that you came bearing drinks, "Thanks darlin' I was just about to grab one"

"Great minds think alike" You smiled, coming to stand beside him and handing him the beer. He cracked it open easily, taking a long sip.

You cracked the lid of the other beer in your hand ready to drink it just as you heard someone come through the back gate.

"Hey Jesse," Your dad called over, throwing his arm over your shoulder and kissing the top of your head, "Y/N grabbed us beer, why don't you take a break?"

You watched Jesse nod, dropping the wood near the side of the deck. His dark shirt was clinging to his biceps and when he turned to head over toward the table you noticed he has saw dust on his shirt.

"I didn't know Jesse was working today" You mumbled, glancing at the tools on the table in front of you.

"He wasn't. I gave him a call this morning to help me with the extension of the deck here, just got back from the lumber yard for me"

Interesting.

"Did they give ya any trouble?"

Jesse dug into his back pocket, fishing out a credit card and receipt before handing it to Joel. "No sir," he nodded your way when you held the beer out to him. He took it, squinting at you through the sun. "Hey, y/n"

"Jesse" You had to bite the inside of your cheek and look down at the grass. You had a hard time ignoring how good he looked with sweat glistening off his skin.

You wiggled out from under Joels arm, standing between them and feeling the hot sun heating your exposed shoulders while Joel explained his plans for the deck, moving his hands in the air.

"Sounds like a lot of work" You said, patting your dad on the back when he finished, "But I think it'll look great"

"Oh it'll just take the weekend, Jesse and I will tackle the job like we always do" He took a long sip from his beer before turning his attention to Jesse, "Right Jess?"

Oh right, Jesse was still standing there. You hadn't know because you refused to look at him, even when you felt his stare bore into the side of your head.

When you did finally look over to him again you saw him nodding, sipping on his beer and wiping the sweat from his forehead, not his usual talkative self.

"Oh–uh that reminds me, the lightbulb in my room blew" You moved your toes into the soft grass under you, "Think you have time to change it for me?"

"I'll do it" Jesse blurted out, a little too quickly and you rolled your eyes. "I mean, I can do that–if that's okay with you sir, it'll just take me a couple minutes"

Joel looked between the two of you before sitting his beer down on the table and taking his pencil from his ear again, "Yeah, that's fine, you know where I keep the bulbs?"

"Dad," You laughed, now walking backwards towards the house with Jesse in tow, "He practically lives here, of course he knows where you keep everything"

"Yeah, just make it quick Jesse. I wanna get this started soon"

"Yes sir" Jesse repeated, following you up the deck steps and through the back door.

"Yes sir" You mocked, once both of you were fully inside. He stopped short at the cabinet beside the kitchen and grabbed a bulb while you made your way to the stairs.

He was behind you on the stairs now, reaching out and pinching the back of your thigh that was exposed from your shorts. You squealed as he laughed, smacking his hand away and running up the stairs.

When you got into your room you immediately went to the window where the sun was shining through, seeing Joel down below—a perfect view to keep an eye on him.

"We have 5—maybe 10 minutes" Jesse said sitting the lightbulb down on your dresser. He knew it never needed changed.

You moved to where he was standing and shut the door behind him, pushing him up against it and kissing him hard.

He kissed you back moving his hands to your face, holding it in place to he could kiss you better, but just as his tongue grazed yours, you were pulling back.

"Why didn't you tell me you were helping my dad today?" You kept your hands on his chest, moving your head back further when he tried to kiss you again. "It's supposed to be your day off—we had plans"

By plans you meant telling your dad you'd be going to your friends house but actually meeting Jesse at the end of the street and driving to the next town over for a date.

"I know" He sighed, moving your hair back and kissing your neck, when he spoke again his voice was muffled, "But you know how your dad is–"

You nodded, eyes fluttering close at his mouth on you, "You do know you can tell him 'no' from time to time, it'd probably do him some good"

Jesse hummed against your skin, remembering what you'd told him about leaving hickies where Joel would see them, before pulling back completely, "He'd ask why and you know I'm not a good liar. We both know he won't like what my actual plans are"

"Well you could've told me" You pouted, moving your arms around his neck as he looked down at you.

You were mad at Jesse. But you were more mad at your dad–even though he didn't know he was interfering with your love life.

If he actually knew that you’d been hooking up with his employee after years of said employee hanging around his family and house, he may have an aneurysm. It's not like it was illegal, you were both 18 and he trusted Jesse but he would never allow him to be sleeping with his only daughter. You were sure it would jeopardize Jesse's position on Joel and Tommy's construction crew. It wasn't worth the risk.

Although you couldn't be too mad, you knew Jesse was a people pleaser, especially when it came to your dad— constantly getting roped into random home improvement projects when they weren't working an actual site.

"I knew you'd be mad" He admitted, moving his thumb across your cheek, "I'm sorry"

"You're lucky you look good when you’re all sweaty like this" You rolled your eyes, leaning up and kissing him again.

He immediately melted into you, this time grabbing at the back of your thighs and picking you up effortlessly. All the years being the construction crews pack mule paid off when it came to his muscles and endurance. He moved away from the door as you wrapped your legs around him, hands finding his hair.

He took a couple of steps before laying you gently on your bed, lips never leaving yours as he moved his body down on top of you.

You were lost in him, you always were. The two of you didn't get too much time together, usually having to sneak around and lie but it was worth it for moments like this.

You smiled against his mouth as he took your bottom lip between his teeth and tugged carefully. Your hands moved up his biceps, feeling his muscles flex as he supported himself above you.

You tapped his arm, breaking the kiss in a lusty haze, "Where's he at?"

Jesse groaned, moving to his knees and leaning over to the window. He looked for a second before coming back down and crashing his lips into yours, meaning you were still in the clear.

You moved your hand down his stomach until you came into contact with the waist band of his jeans. You smirked against his lips, beginning to play with the zipper when his hand caught yours, moving it away, "We can't start something we can't finish. He's right down there—"

You groaned, purposely bucking your hips against him as you moved on the mattress. "Well you took away my Jesse time today, I'm just trying to make up for it"

He sighed as he moved down your torso and lifted your tank top to expose your sun kissed stomach, a place he learned he could leave all the hickies he wanted and never get caught. He pressed sloppy, wet kisses as he spoke, "Maybe we should just come clean"

"You know that's not an option" You whined, watching as he came back up to your chest, resting his chin there and looking at you, "He might actually kill you"

"If it means I get to love you out in the open then it's worth it"

"Dude, you are so corny" You groaned throwing your head back to look at the ceiling but you weren't able to hide the blush that crept onto your cheeks. "How about you go down there and tell him you're going home? Then we can still go out and you know–"

You had moved your hand back towards his crotch. But he stopped you again, catching it and bringing it up to his mouth as he playfully bit at your fingers. 

"I already committed to helping him" He sighed, kissing your palm before dropping your hand, "Unfortunately, I'm a man of my word"

"You disappoint me" You chuckled, moving the same hand back to his hair, lacing it into his black locks and pushing them back off his forehead.

"I'm sorry baby" He whispered, moving slightly so he wasn’t crushing you with his weight. You could've combusted right then and there.

His lips found yours, gently pressing against your mouth with a sweetness that seemed almost tentative. His drew you impossibly closer. The kiss deep and slow, his tongue moving against yours in a dance of desire.

He moved his hand under your shirt, cupping your breast, every touch left a trail of fire in its wake. You felt him moan against your mouth, making butterflies erupt in your stomach. That is until the sound of the creaky stair steps floated through the air and under the crack of your door.

"Fuck" You whisper, pushing Jesse off you and sitting up on the bed just as the door knob turned and your dad was walking in.

"How long does it take to change a damn lightbulb—"

The silence in the room was thick and you could hear the heartbeat pounding in your ears.

"Hi daddy" You squeaked as he took in the scene. Your top was lifted, exposing the bottom of your stomach and Jesse was sitting on the edge of your bed with his hair sticking up. Both of your lips were swollen in an unmistakable way.

"Did you change the bulb?" He asked Jesse, impatiently, moving his hands to his hips.

"Uh–yes sir I did"

Joel reached over and flipped the switch, of course, the never broken light switch turned right on. He looked around the room slowly before looking back at the two of you.

"Alright, well let's get back to work then"

Jesse nodded, stealing a look at you before moving from the bed. Just as he came to the doorframe, Joel reached out and stopped him, planting a rough hand on his shoulder.

No, no, no.

"Word to the wise—if you plan on seeing my daughter, you need to ask for permission"

From the bed your whole body tensed up, praying that your dad didn't hurt him. You were 18, he couldn't control who you dated but you were too worried for Jesse's safety to argue, "Dad, what are you talking about?"

"You think I don't know all the sneaking around you do?" He wasn't mad, at least from what you could tell. "Why do you think I've been keeping him busy?"

"Well," Jesse cleared his throat nervously wiping his hands against his pants, "Sir, can I date your daughter"

"No" Joel answered immediately, amused.

"Dad" You groaned, throwing a pillow at him. The fact that he hadn't already thrown Jesse into a wall was a good sign.

"Finish the deck and I'll think about it" Joel said, again amused at the look on your face as he slapped Jesse hard in the back.

"Yes sir" He smiled, feeling confident as Joel nearly pushed him out of the room. You heard the steps creaking as Jesse walked down the stairs.

Before your dad shut the door he peeked his head back in at you, where you were still on the bed, "For the record, the answer is yes—he's a good guy— but I want my deck finished first"

You laughed and smiled big at him, taking your pillow in your lap, giddy at the idea of no longer having to hide your feelings for your dad's employee.

[endlesslyhyperfixating]

Every time people try to pretend there’s no existence of racial bias in the way Sydcarmy is dismissed, an angel loses their wings.

You know what’s exhausting? Watching people bend over backward to insist that there are no racist or misogynoir undertones to the way Sydcarmy gets dismissed as a valid ship.. like let’s just be real for a second.

I understand people who don't ship it or believe in the ship because they prefer to take the show at face value, focus on different dynamics, or interpret relationships in other ways. However, the people who deny any validity to believing their relationship is more than meets the eye? That needs to be addressed.

People will swear up and down that their issue isn’t with Sydney, that they love her, and that they "just think Carmy should go to therapy first"—but then in the same breath, you'll catch them romanticizing the hell out of his dynamic with Claire, a relationship that was unhealthy, regressive, and rooted in avoidance rather than growth. @yannaryartside covers the very strong existence of the Oedipus complex and the fulfillment of Carmy’s mommy issues through Claire’s behavior and manipulation in their relationship, and I agree wholeheartedly.

Let’s talk about the “Carmen needs therapy before a girlfriend” argument. Let’s be real—Carmy needed therapy when he was with Claire too, but nobody seemed to mind that. In fact, everyone around him—Richie, the Faks, even the audience—enabled this idea of Claire as a “good” thing for him, as if she wasn’t feeding into his worst tendencies. And the most infuriating part? Claire was, in fact, manipulative. (Again, covered by @yannaryartside .)

She didn’t do it in an overt, villainous way but used **soft, socially acceptable manipulation**—the kind that gets ignored when it’s coming from a conventionally attractive, non-threatening, quirky white woman.

Claire’s Manipulation: The Softness of a Manic Pixie Dream Girl

People like to act like Claire was just a character who wasn’t well-written or worth the time for analysis, but that was the entire point of her: to feel underwhelming, to feel forced into place. In many ways this is true of course, she's under/not well-written in ways, and people think she was simply there, offering Carmy what she believed (and convinced him to believe) was love, when in reality, she inserted herself into his life in a way that preyed on his vulnerabilities and pre-existing issues.

And before anyone jumps in with "she didn’t do anything wrong!"—let’s actually look at how she operated.

- She sought him out when he wasn’t in a good place.

She made it a point to go out of her way to get his real number after being given a fake one. If course she uses that classic manipulative play it off as a joke move when she threatens him but not the best way to start. I know it's been said before, but can we imagine if the roles were reversed? Would we not think that creepy?

- She made it about her when he was struggling.

When Carmy tried to set a boundary, Claire framed it as him pulling away from her, rather than him dealing with his own issues. She encouraged his avoidance, gave him an easy escape from his problems, and then was surprised—and (validly) hurt—when reality came crashing down. Even when Carmy was harsh in breaking up with her, he was speaking from a place of truth for himself. To be with her, when he was so damaged and not really in a space of genuinely liking her, was bullshit.

- She used nostalgia as a tool.

Claire’s entire presence in Carmy’s life was based on a past version of him that no longer existed. Just as Carmy didn’t really see Claire, but rather a projected version of her shaped by his family (and a little bit of Sydney), Claire didn’t love him—she loved the idea of Carmy she had from childhood. And she expected him to fit back into that mold, to regress into a state where he could blow off work to hang out with her and forget his partnership with Sydney, someone he's meant to work with and has a responsibility to be with. That’s not love. That’s entitlement to a person’s growth—or lack thereof.

And yet, people ignore all this because Claire fits their idea of what a love interest should look like to them. She’s non-threatening, familiar, digestible. They don’t question why she feels right, - white - while Sydney—who actually challenges Carmy, who understands him in ways Claire never could—gets written off as “not romantic.”

Claire, for "clarity" or "peace" (ugh)—is simple. She's the painted picture of a woman who puts others before herself, the quirky manic pixie dream girl inching too close to the camera, sneaking her way into his life. People argue it feels like the same effect Sydney has on Carmy, but it's not the same at all. Claire is easy. For Carmy. He can fuck up, regress, and stay stagnant, and she’ll applaud him for it. "Never ever, ever apologize."

Sydney is the opposite. She calls him on his shit, and she sees him for who he really is. Sydney is the real peace for him (how many times do we need to bring up that damn panic attack, the table scene, and strange currencies? Thank you, @chefkids ).

Phew...

Moving on,

The Hypocrisy of the “Carmy Needs Therapy First" Argument

Back to the “Carmy needs therapy before a relationship” excuse—because wow, is that just selective. People only seem to apply it when Sydney is involved, not when Claire is around. It’s the most transparent double standard imaginable. I’ve seen one too many “I ship Carmy with therapy” memes, and I need to talk about it.😾.

When Carmy was with Claire, he was a mess—but people loved to romanticize it, acting like she was his “breath of fresh air,” even when she was just another distraction. Even he fell for it, tricking himself into believing the false sense of security she contrived for him.

When these people talk about Carmy and Sydney, suddenly it’s “he needs to work on himself first” as if the mere suggestion of them together is too high-stakes to even consider. It’s always “God forbid we have well-written female-male relationships without it being romantic.”

So we prefer shitty romantic relationships between the quirked-up white woman and our white male main character rather than the chemistry, character plot, and dynamic between Syd and Carm? Okay.

It’s not about Carmy’s emotional availability for these people. It’s about who people *want* to see him be available for, and it's not Sydney.

Why Do People Feel So Pressed About Sydcarmy, Anyways?

If Sydney were white—let’s be honest—this wouldn’t even be a conversation. The dynamic is already there. The intimacy, the trust, the undeniable chemistry. Their relationship fits the mold of that slow-burn, work-obsessed partners-to-lovers trope better than any other ship that actually makes it to canon.

But instead, people act like EVEN speculating about it is ridiculous, like the idea of Carmy feeling something deeper for Sydney is somehow beyond the realm of possibility. They’ll call it “forced,” “delusional,” or “just not where the story is going”—as if every single element of storytelling isn’t deliberately crafted to suggest something simmering under the surface. Whether platonic or romantic, it's there. It’s genuine soulmate energy.

They pretend their dismissal of this ship has nothing to do with race, but race is an integral part of the ship because Sydney is a black woman.

It's almost like erasure in itself when they deny it's importance, as if there isn’t a long history of Black women in media being sidelined, desexualized, and treated as expendable when it comes to romance. Sydney isn’t “just a coworker.” She’s not “just his business partner.” She is one of the most important people in his career—and even his life—whether people want to admit it or not.

So yeah, maybe people need to interrogate *why* they can believe in Claire(a character who offered Carmy nothing but regression)but not Sydney, who actually represents something real.

Because if the reason is "Carmy's growth," you're bullshitting.

---

Tags

@fairestbeard @chefkids @thoughtfulchaos773 @yannaryartside

[callmrmorrow]

mark v cecil debate is way too polarized for what it is

cecil is reacting exactly how he should react. omni-man pretty much deceived them all for 20 years to the point where cecil was actually “hurt” by his betrayal (yes he might’ve known he was lying, but had no clue what he was lying about — was his planet fake, was his government fake, was he here to protect him, was he even really a viltrumite). mark defenders saying “how many times does he have to save the world for cecil to think he’s good” ignore the fact that omni-man saved their world MULTIPLE times over, and still was intent on committing genocide. the inner-ear device is extreme, but so is the threat that mark poses. this guy disappeared to go help his father on a faraway planet, came back with another overpowered kid, and is talking shit about how “it’ll take a long time for anyone to forgive him,” which implies that mark thinks, on some level, his father should be forgiven.

wanting to forgive nolan for everything he did but refusing to forgive any of the murderers that cecil employs is… super hypocritical from mark, and is exactly what he scolds oliver for doing: prioritizing people he knows and cares for over the world at large. objectively, the reanimen (who aren’t even ALIVE, they’re donated corpses) and darkwing 2 will save more people than they hurt. mark is a killer. oliver is a killer. omni-man is a killer. mark has more compassion in his heart for killers that he loves than innocent people that he doesn’t know.

on the other hand, we the audience KNOW mark is a good guy. we know it’s his prerogative to be offended, even scared, at the idea of cecil having that kind of power over him, over ANYONE that he cares about. mark is 18, first and foremost, and he didn’t get much choice in the situation he’s in (though he does have choice in how he reacts to it, which he did badly because of how morally conflicted he is). it really is as simple as mark wanting to be a good person and cecil wanting to save the world. of course cecil sees his heroes as tools! it’s shocking that none of the new GOG understood that earlier. the guy isn’t lying and acting like he cares any more than he does. mark is very caught up in his own situation — reasonably so, it’s a really fucking nasty one — and can’t see things objectively, and has a sort of entitlement to him that is very normal for a guy his age, half-alien or not. it’s shown when he gets pissed at debbie for sharing his identity with paul, as if it isn’t debbie’s prerogative to talk about her kids, as if she hasn’t been through the same shit that he has regarding nolan. it’s shown when he’s berating oliver for ideas that he fostered when he killed angstrom (albeit accidentally), that it’s not okay to kill even if it’s to save others. no wonder oliver was confused — he’s just following his brother’s example.

on that note… why have a no-kill rule and then be anti-rehabilitation? mark won’t kill the bad guys, but he won’t accept cecil using them to save other people. there’s nuance to the situation, i’m sure, but mark’s flying off the handle because he thinks his might is right. it’s obvious from the pilot of the show, where the moment he realizes he has powers, he tells his own mom to “make him” go to bed. mark has always wanted to be like his father, and he’s trying to find a way to be LESS like him now that he knows the truth, and that’s confusing. his path is diverging unexpectedly in so many ways, and of course he’s gonna struggle. he’s holding onto the only stuff he knows for sure, which is that “good guys do not kill. i am a hero, and i don’t work with villains.” when something flies in the face of that, he freaks out, because he’s losing a moral foundation of his that he grew up on.

i would even go as far as to say the fact that they call him “invinciboy” in the news is kind of symbolic of a moral regression, where he’s just going back to what he knows to be true, and sticking to it even if the ideas clash with how the world has to be — because it isn’t all so black and white anymore, and mark has a hard time slotting himself into a world that isn’t clear-cut.

tl;dr cecil’s idea is right, but mark’s reaction is justified not for cecil’s handling of the situation, but due to mark’s difficulties with figuring out who “invincible” is.

[noctiva]

(No worries! I was just checking haha diagnosed with OCD and in the process of getting an Autism assessment at the moment)

But could I maybe request how Toby would be with an OCD s/o?

Not necessarily the stereotypical clean freak way but more so a lot of obsessive/intrusive thoughts? For example I have episodes where I'm freaking out over inherenting my dads Schizophrenia and I am just a paranoid WRECK for a good couple days

But then again I know Toby also has neurodivergent issues so maybe he'd just ignore it? Would he make it worse? Haha just maybe your take on how he'd handle that please?

Catharsis

Toby Rogers x GN!Reader

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Thank you for the request lovely!! I hope this is okayyyy 👉👈just some fluffy supportive bf toby i love him sm

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WC: 2.5k

Summary: Toby finds you in the middle of a war within your own mind, and makes you a promise he won’t ever break

CW: mentions of mental illness (schizophrenia specifically), Toby using the phrases ‘crazy’ and ‘having a screw loose’ to allude to it (he has it himself and copes with humour), paranoia and intrusive thoughts, descriptions of anxiety and panic attacks

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You’re not crazy. You’re not crazy.

You don’t know how many times you’ve repeated that phrase to yourself over the past few days. In vain, because it just never seems to stick. Your mind doesn’t want it to. Your mind wanted you to be scared, to be paranoid, because that was the safest option. The best way to protect yourself.

Because… what if you were? What if you were just being ignorant, because of how much you didn’t want it to be true? What if you were already too far gone, your brain transforming from a tool into a weapon within your skull?

You would swear you were already hearing voices. Seeing things out of the corner of your eye that would disappear when you faced them. Surely, your heightened anxiety couldn’t be making things any better, but that wasn’t a fact at the forefront of your mind. All you knew, what that you would swear you could feel it - your mind deteriorating. Everything just felt all wrong.

Stood in the bathroom of you and your boyfriend Toby’s shared home, you stand in front of the mirror - fingers gripping the counter, eyes fixated on your reflection.

Would you be able to see physical changes, if something was wrong with you? Would it manifest in that way? You lean in closer, peering into the frantic eyes that stare right back at you. Were your eye bags always that dark? And were the whites of your eyes bloodshot?

You looked skinnier, right? More gaunt. Sickly even.

(Which - though you weren’t able to come to this conclusion yourself - was definitely because you had been in a state of near paranoid catatonia for the past five days.)

It was hard to function. And it was frustrating because you had been fine. You had been having a good week before this, good month even, and all it took was one little thing to send you spiralling.

One night, while you and Toby sat together on your couch in the living room, you swore you saw something move just out of your line of sight. A flash of something, that disappeared the moment you turned your head to look at it.

Now, it could’ve been a myriad of things. Trick of the light, shadows bouncing from the light of the television, the curtain moving as a breeze floated in through the cracked window.

But those were too safe. Too easily believed. Perfect excuses to brush something worse under the rug.

And with your family’s predisposition to illnesses that would cause such a thing, was it really so wrong to be worried? Or at least… Cautious?

You reach your hands up and press them against your face. They’re trembling, and clammy - smearing sweat against your cheeks when you touch them. And you just can’t tear your eyes away from your reflection. You - that person - in the mirror… It was possible, right? That your mind was deteriorating without you even noticing.

You had done your research. Disorders like schizophrenia didn’t start showing signs until later in life. Late teens to early twenties, specifically, and you were nestled snugly in that age bracket. These thoughts were not unfounded. Maybe it was already happening.

You press your hands down firmer. Was it already happening?

Your eyes dart around the mirror’s reflection, trying to find something - anything - that looked out of place. Wrong. Anything that could prove you right.

It was definitely already happening.

“Th-There you are. Why’d you just g-go and disappear on me?”

The sound of Toby’s voice yanks you out of your focus so harshly that it makes you flinch. You snap your head towards him, immediately pulling your hands away from your face, trying to look completely put together though you know it can’t be working. You’re still shaking, and because you had completely forgotten to shut the door, he had definitely just caught you deep in the throughs of the mental war you were waging.

You watch as it happens, the way his eyes shift from confused to worried the moment your gazes meet. He takes a hesitant step forwards, watching you carefully - eyes flickering down to your trembling fingers every so often. “Are you… Okay?” He asks, voice soft and concerned.

And you hate it. Hate how you’ve worked yourself into such an anxious knot, that he was approaching you like you were a scared animal.

But at the end of the day, was that not what you were?

“I’m fine.” You answer back a little too quickly, a little too harshly. His eyebrows furrow together, a crease forming on the bridge of his freckled nose, and you let out a shaky sigh. “I’m fine, really. Just, uh… Thinking.”

“Uh oh. D-Don’t do that.” Toby jokes softly, but the concern on his face hadn’t dissipated. It was such a him thing to do, that it doesn’t faze you at all when he tries to force humour into the clearly tense situation. When he doesn’t get so much as a sarcastic snort of laughter out of you though, he quickly realizes that this wasn’t just a sour mood he had found you in the middle of.

He takes another step closer, then another, peering down at you with a frown on his face. You watch as his eyes search your expression, roaming over every square inch like he was trying to decode you.

Oh, god. Could he see it too? The changes?

You knew that Toby himself had schizophrenia, along with a slew of other disorders that he dealt with on a day to day basis. If anyone would be able to tell something was wrong with you, it would be him. And as he’s staring down at you, seemingly peering into your soul, you wonder if he sees himself in you.

And though you love him dearly, right now you really hope he doesn’t. “T-Talk to me.” He finally murmurs after a few moments. “Something’s d-definitely wrong.”

You swallow thickly, struggling to maintain his gaze as you shift in front of him. It’s not that you didn’t want to talk to him, it was just the anxiety coming back in to wash another wave over you. What if… What if he thought you were being annoying, and irrational? Or what if he was already growing tired of dealing with you, and this was the final straw?

It was the unknowns that were making your heart pound in your chest.

“I’m…” You shift from one foot to the other, eyes flicking around to avoid him. It was difficult to though, when he was so close - head tilted down to encroach on your space further. He wasn’t trying to make you squirm on purpose, you knew that, and yet your skin was still crawling. “I’m just… Worried.” You mutter, to which he raises an eyebrow.

“Worried?” He asks. “About w-what?” He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning to the side to rest his hip against the bathroom counter. “You’ve d-definitely been off lately. But I d-didn’t want to bring it up…” Your eyes flick upwards, and you watch as he gnaws at his bottom lip - already cracked a raw from this constant habit of his. “Y’know, didn’t wanna m-make things worse, if you were just trying t-to work through it on your own or whatever.”

So he had noticed. You suppose that shouldn’t have been a surprise, but Toby worked often, leaving you at home alone more often than not. You had been hoping that the time away had hidden the shift in your demeanour. Obviously, that hadn’t been the case. “But at the same time, y-you know I don’t like it when you hide stuff ff-from me.”

“I’m not trying to hide anything.” You shoot back immediately, lips twitched down into a frown. Your fingers, still trembling, curl into fists down at your sides. Your eyes catch his, and he looks so damn worried it makes your heart ache. So, you take a shaky breath in, and finally let it out. “I’m worried… That I might be becoming like my dad.”

You whisper the words out, soft and quiet like you’re hoping he may not hear them. You’re kind of hoping he didn’t, so that you could come up with some other excuse and brush all of this off. Figure this all out on your own. Go back to overanalyzing every little instance in your life.

But he did hear you. Of course he did.

“Your d-dad?” His face scrunches up in confusion for a moment, his eyebrows wrinkling together. He watches your face for a few moments while the words sink in, and then realization washes over him like a wave of frigid water. His entire expression melts, bewilderment swapped for a look of pity that made your chest feel tight. “O-Oh… Oh, baby, no.”

He reaches up gently, two calloused palms coming to cup each side of your face. He’s so warm, or are you just that cold? You can’t tell, but the comfort is immediate. His thumb smooths against your cheek, the roughness of his skin a soothing sensation for your brain to latch on to. “You’re not, I p-promise.”

“How would you know?” You ask, voice quivering as you look up at him. You would like to just take his word for it and believe him, but if you couldn’t even convince yourself - it was a lot harder to simply give in to an outside force.

“Law of n-nature?” He hums as he gently strokes your face, his one hand moving back to thread into your hair instead. A soft pressure against the back of your head, cradling you. An anchor. “There c-can’t be two crazies in the household r-right? That just wouldn’t be fair.” You purse your lips at his second attempt to lighten the mood, and he lets out a sheepish little chuckle. “Sorry, ss-sorry. Just joking.”

He draws you in closer, slowly. Permeating through the bubble of dread that had been encasing you, bringing with him a warmth that only he possessed. “Listen to me though, o-okay? You’re alright. You will b-be alright. I’m certain of that.”

The hand cupping your cheek slides down, and then he’s resting two fingers under your chin - lightly tilting it upwards to look at him properly. You frown a little at his words, and open your mouth to protest, but he cuts you off. Seemingly knowing you were only going to launch another rebuttal in his direction. “And d-don’t say ‘you can’t know th-that for certain’ because yes I can.” He smiles down at you, even as your bottom lip starts to tremble. “No matter what ha-happens, you’ll be okay, b-because I will make sure of it.”

He tilts his head to the side, before pinching your chin gently. “Didn’t I tell you I’d a-always keep you safe?”

“Well, yeah.” You mutter back to him softly. “But this is different.”

“Maybe.” Toby hums. “But my p-point still stands.” He withdraws his hand minutely, then using it to brush a stray stand of hair out of your eyes. “If - and I said ‘if’,” He meets your eye before continuing, “Something did happen, I’d h-help you through it. I’m puh-pretty well versed on the topic of havin’ a screw loose, y’know.” This time, he actually does get a tiny snort out of you, but it’s enough to have his lips stretching into a grin. “But, I’m like 100% sure that you’re f-fine. I think your brain is just b-bullying you again.”

“Typical.” You mutter, to which Toby hums in agreement.

“H-Happens to the best of us.” He shrugs. “But letting it, is a whole ‘nother i-issue. G-Getting all anxious about it is probably just m-making it worse.”

You let out a reluctant little sigh, shoulders drooping as his words wash over you. You knew he was right, you really did, but it was just so difficult. It wasn’t like you wanted to be a nervous wreck, you just always felt like you didn’t stand a chance against your own mind. How could you? It was your brain, the thing that kept you ticking, was it even possible to fight it?

“I know.” You breathe out, leaning into his hand minutely. He notices this, and smiles softly as he tucks that strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s just hard.”

“Well of c-course it is.” He answers back softly. “But that’s why I’m h-here. To help.” He observes you for a moment, eyes warm and affectionate, before he ducks his head down to press a gentle kiss to the centre of your forehead.

And he had meant that, because that’s all he had ever wanted himself. Help. A shoulder to lean on. Someone to rub his temples when his thoughts got too loud.

He knew what it was like to not have that. To have to wade through the thicket all on your own, shrouded in darkness as your own mind works against you. It was something he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy, and so he definitely let it happen to you - the love of his life.

His eyes wander over your face, quickly fixating on the dark circles ringing your bloodshot eyes. His smile morphs into a little frown immediately. “Have you b-been sleeping?”

Your eyes flick away from him, before you sheepishly murmur;

“Not really.”

“Eating?” He presses on, his hand moving to trace the curve of your cheekbone before doing the same to your jawline.

“Also… Not really.” You mutter, looking back to him for a moment - which proved to be a mistake. God, he looked so distraught. You feel your stomach twist.

“That’s… An issue.” Toby frowns. You watch as his eyes as a multitude of different thoughts pass through his mind, before he’s reaching down and curling his fingers around your wrist. He gives it a tug as he turns and starts making his way out of the bathroom, bringing you with him. “C’mon. I’m g-gonna cook you somethin’, a-and then we’re going straight to bed.”

“It’s like, five pm.” You chuckle softly, but let him tug you along behind him anyway, working in speedwalk behind him to keep up with his longer strides.

“So w-what? You g-got somethin’ against n-naps?” He counters, turning his head to throw a raised eyebrow back at you. “Haven’t g-gotten to fall asleep with you much this p-past week. All these ss-stupid - tweet! - stupid late night missions.”

You round the corner into your kitchen, where he doesn’t let go of you for one second even as he starts searching through cupboards with his free hand. “W-What do you want? I’ll make you something r-real nice.”

He turns to look at you with a smile, and you feel your heart flutter. A warm, gentle feeling flowing through your veins and relaxing muscles you hadn’t even realized had been tensed.

And you think, he may be right. You’d be alright.

However the cards fell.

—————————————————————————☆

Again, thank you for the request!! It was nice to write something fluffy for once

I feel cleansed ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

[hugevanserrass]

reasons to hate cassian

Cassian saw that Azriel was romantically interested in Mor, felt jealous over it, and agreed to have sex with her knowing it would hurt Azriel.

The first time he meets Nesta, he immediately passes judgement on her for letting Feyre hunt as a child, despite the fact that she was a child herself.

Tells her he doesn't understand why her sisters love her

Bonds with feyre over their shared experiences living in poverty but treats nesta like she's a stuck up rich girl, despite her living in the same mf hovel as feyre (why does he do this ??)

He gropes her in her own home despite her not wanting him to touch her.

He sees her on the verge of tears due to anger and despair when the human queens won't send aid to the humans in Prythian, and then a scene later says "She barely seems to care about anyone other than Elain."

Will not take no for an answer when Nesta tells him to leave her alone.

When they are both clearly feeling something for each other, he still rips his hand out of Nesta's when Mor walks in. Wtf was this about anyways?

He buys Mor lingerie despite knowing Nesta is his mate. This is just weird in general. Also calls Mor his sister, despite having slept with her in the past.

Judges Nesta for not getting over her trauma in a way that is both quick and convenient to him and the inner circle.

Admits to ignoring her claim that she is enjoying the music while he drags her, against her will, out of a "seedy" tavern.

Supports Feyre and Rhys in their decision to forcibly remove Nesta from her home and relocate her to the House of Wind, on threat of deportation.

Drags her to Windhaven to "train" even when she makes it clear she has no intention of training. As a result, she is forced to sit on a rock in freezing cold temperatures.

When Mor basically tells Nesta she is just like her evil father and the rest of the Court of Nightmares because she is mean to Cassian, Cassian does not defend Nesta nor call Mor out on it.

He brings up Nesta's dead father at breakfast because she won't eat her oatmeal.

He tells her everyone hates her.

He watches her fall down a very steep flight of stairs, and then laughs at her. She was bruised and had a black eye from this fall. Cassian thinks this is funny.

Whines constantly about being a bastard nobody despite Nesta only using "bastard" as a direct insult to him one time, and in that same convo he called her a haughty witch.

He is rude to Lucien for no reason. (unforgivable)

Despite knowing Nesta is vulnerable, he fucks her at the first opportunity, even though he knows she uses sex as a coping mechanism.

Snarls and bitches at Nesta when she talks about Rhysand in a tone he doesn't like, even after telling her he can match whatever she throws at him. (He can't)

Sides with Rhysand over her constantly, even when he is in the wrong.

Every time they do engage in some sexual act, he immediately bolts, leaving her alone and confused. Refuses to communicate his feelings, acts like an asshole.

Keeps secrets from her, and agrees to participate in a vote on whether or not she deservers to know about the swords she created, which directly pertains to her powers. He whines a little, but ultimately does what he is told.

When she voices her fear that she is not good enough for him and will never deserve him, he does not correct her.

When he learns of Nesta’s love for dance and how her mother twisted it into a tool to find her a prince, Cassian turns himself into the victim. (this takes skill tbh)

He interrupts the only true canon Neris moment to shove in and dance with Nesta. Will not forgive him for this. Get off the dance floor.

When they finally admit their feelings on solstice and have a passionate and meaningful night together, he STILL leaves immediately the next morning to go hang with his homies and doesn't see her for a week. She is left alone AGAIN. (Begging him to stop doing this.)

When Nesta has finally had enough of being judged by the inner circle, she decides to tell Feyre the truth about her pregnancy. Cassian is furious with Nesta, takes no responsibility for lying to Feyre, and does not react in the slightest when Rhysand threatens to KILL Nesta. (His mate)

When Feyre tells him that she is angry with all of them and not Nesta, he does not tell Nesta, even though it would be comforting to her while she is at her absolute lowest.

When Feyre tells him Rhys is secretly happy Nesta is going to hate every second of the hike, he has a nice little laugh with Feyre at Nesta's expense.

He makes her endure a back-breaking death march in which she is forced to carry an extremely heavy backpack as punishment.

He sees that Nesta doesn't care if she dies, and does nothing to get her away from the steep cliffs. He snaps at her the entire time, even while she is clearly spiraling and about to have a mental breakdown.

She collapses at the end of each day and all he says is "at least remove the pack so I can cook myself dinner." She has not spoken in days.

He works her to the point of passing out. She literally faints, face first, onto the hard ground and he yells at her for not drinking water instead of trying to determine if she's alright.

When she finally breaks down and cries and tells him how much she hates herself, he tells her how much he loves Rhysand as an attempt to relate to her suffering. (fuck you dude seriously)

He does not correct her when she says she is unworthy of love.

He says "there is nothing broken to fix" despite forcing her to obey him and change her coping mechanisms and behave in the way he approves.

When she tells him the word mate doesn’t mean anything to her because she’s human at heart he dismisses her instantly and says "that's bullshit." No attempt to understand her feelings whatsoever as he tries to force her to admit they are mates before she is ready.

Tells her he didn't ask to be "shackled" to her after she says she didn’t get to choose to be fae, and it was forced on her. (it was)

When she calls in the bargain he immediately thinks of a way to get around it. He does not respect the boundaries she sets for herself. He thinks something like "Easy enough command to work around. I'll tell her to word her bargains more cleverly." She says she wants a week alone and the very next day he shows up to Windhaven in order to force her to speak to him.

When he learns she has been taken into the blood rite, after a lot of sulking and one feeble attempt to disobey Rhys, he thinks something like "even if I could rescue her I wouldn't, I wouldn't take away her opportunity to save herself." Meanwhile Nesta is hoping that he will be coming to rescue her.

When Nesta finally saves him, and tells him she loves him, he does not say it back. HE NEVER SAYS I LOVE YOU.

He calls Eris a coward immediately after learning he was tortured by his father, and likely has been his whole life. In the same thought, he acknowledges that Eris was willing to be tortured to protect their alliance and STILL calls him a coward.

When Rhysand is yelling at Nesta AGAIN for helping Bryce save the entire world, Cassian does not stick up for her. AGAIN! (I stg you bitch)

Amren says to Nesta, in front of Cassian, "Pray to the mother that your sister changes Rhysand's mind tonight" ABOUT WHAT? IS HE GONNA KILL HER? And Cassian does...nothing.

"Nesta's mate shifted an inch closer to her, his eyes darting between the two of them, torn. Like he didn't know who to side with in the brewing fight." I hate him so much for this !!!!

Nesta tells Ember that Cassian is "the most furious with me of anyone" WHY? Nesta even voices that she doesn't think they'll kill her. This implies Rhys has yet again threatened her life because he disagrees with her choices, and guess what: CASSIAN DOES NOTHING.

[withering-bloom]

Arlecchino x Fem Reader Angst

Arlecchino angst because I hate myself and I’m incredibly depressed atm, listening to good luck, babe for the past four hours LMAO

arlecchino x fem Reader Angst ,internalised homophobia, reader marrying a man tw.

2.5k words

The ballroom was gilded in gold and excess, every chandelier a mockery of the weight crushing your chest. Guests danced in practiced elegance, their laughter ringing hollow in your ears. Your fingers clenched the fabric of your white dress as you stood at the edge of the festivities, trying to make yourself invisible. But no amount of opulence could dull the aching in your heart.

You shouldn’t have looked. You promised yourself you wouldn’t, but when her piercing gaze found yours from across the room, it was as though the ground beneath you disappeared. Arlecchino stood in the shadowed corner, her presence impossible to ignore despite her effort to blend into the background. The tailored suit she wore fit her perfectly, but it was her expression that broke you. Her normally unreadable face now bore something raw, something vulnerable.

You forced yourself to look away.You have a husband now you're supposed to give your undivided attention and support to him.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to fall in love with her.

But you had.

Your father’s voice lingered in your mind like a cruel shadow, a constant reminder of why you were here tonight. His words were sharp, not with pride but with practicality, as he justified your union with the Demoisters, the family you're now bearing your last name with. It wasn’t about love or your happiness—it never was. This marriage was nothing more than a transaction, a lifeline for your father to pull himself out of crippling debt, no matter the cost to you.

Sometimes, in the back of your mind where your unspoken dreams slowly die , you wished the weight of his failures would finally crush him. Maybe then, you could finally escape the invisible chains he had wrapped around you for as long as you could remember. Even now, as a grown woman, you were nothing more than a pawn to him, your life reduced to serving his needs, his ambitions, his mistakes.

You’d tried to tell yourself it wasn’t his fault, that he was only doing what he thought was necessary to save your family. But that excuse had grown thin, and now, standing in the midst of this charade, you couldn’t ignore the bitter truth. He would never see you as more than a tool. And you—despite everything you wanted to believe—were too afraid to break free.

The realisation sank deeper, heavier, like a stone tied to your soul. You weren’t living for yourself. You never had been.Marrying the heir of another family wasn’t just an expectation—it was a lifeline for your family’s survival. You couldn’t afford the luxury of choice, let alone the freedom to love someone as dangerous as Arlecchino.

She’d warned you.

All that rang through your mind was the night before all of this happened. The last encounter you had with Arlecchino before she called off things with you for good.

“Your father is just using you,” she said, her voice low but trembling with restrained anger. Her eyes, usually so piercing, now brimmed with raw pain and frustration. “He doesn’t care what you want. He never has.”

You flinched at her words, but it wasn’t because she was wrong. It was because she was right, and hearing the truth from her lips made it unbearable.

“I—he’s my father,” you mumbled, the excuse tasting bitter in your mouth. You couldn’t meet her gaze, your eyes fixed on the floor instead, where the shadows of candlelight danced—so fragile, so fleeting. “It’s not that simple. I don’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” she snapped, stepping closer, her voice growing more desperate. “But you’re too scared to take it. You’re scared of what they’ll say. What he’ll say. That’s why you’re going through with this farce of a marriage, isn’t it? Because it’s easier to let them decide your life for you than to fight for what you actually want.”

Her words hit like daggers, and you hated how well she could see through you. She always could.

“You don’t understand,” you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of your own emotions. “I have to do this. It’s my family—”

“It’s not your family,” she interrupted, her voice sharp enough to cut through the air. “It’s him. It’s always been him. He doesn’t care about you, about what makes you happy. He’s doing this for himself—to save his business, to save his reputation. And he’s dragging you down with him, forcing you to live a life that isn’t yours.”

Tears burned in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not here. Not now. “It’s not that simple,” you said again, but the words were hollow, and you knew she could hear it too.

“And for what?” she pressed, her voice softening but losing none of its intensity. “For a family that doesn’t see you for who you are? For a man who doesn’t love you—and never will? That’s why you’re marrying him and not me, isn’t it?”

The silence that followed was deafening.

She took a step back, her shoulders trembling as she let out a bitter scoff, the sound laced with heartbreak. “Because they’d rather see you miserable than happy with me. Because they’d rather you live a lie than accept the truth. And you’re letting them. You’re letting them steal everything from you, including me.”

Your chest tightened, and the tears finally fell, hot and unforgiving, streaking down your face. You wanted to tell her she was wrong, to reach out and beg her to stay, but your voice caught in your throat. Because deep down, you knew she was right.

“I can’t,” you whispered, your voice so quiet it was almost inaudible. “I can’t fight them. I’m not strong enough.”

Her expression crumbled, her mask of anger giving way to something far more devastating—grief. “Then that’s it, isn’t it?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re going to let them decide your life for you. And you’re going to lose me in the process.”

She turned away, and for a moment, you wanted to reach for her, to beg her to understand, to stay despite everything. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

“I love you,” you said, the words breaking on your lips.

She paused, her back still to you. “Then you should’ve chosen me.”

And with that, she walked away, leaving you alone in the suffocating quiet of your own cowardice, your heart shattering into pieces you would never put back together.

But you had no choice.

Now, the gilded ring on your finger felt heavier than lead. Every step you took toward the man you were bound to felt like another nail in the coffin of your happiness. He smiled at you, oblivious to the storm raging within you, as he held out his hand to guide you into the first dance.

You moved mechanically, your heart somewhere else entirely—across the room, where Arlecchino stood unmoving, watching.

When the music slowed, and the crowd dissolved into polite applause, you excused yourself under the guise of needing air. The garden was empty, the cool night breeze biting against your skin. But it wasn’t the cold that made you shiver.

“I shouldn’t have come.”

Her voice was low, cutting through the silence like a blade. You turned to see her standing there, her suit blending into the shadows.

“Then why are you here?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

She stepped closer, and for a moment, you thought she might touch you, but her hands stayed firmly at her sides. “Because I had to see it for myself,” she said, her voice cracking. “Had to see you give yourself to someone else.”

“I've told you a million times it wasn’t my choice,” you said, tears welling in your eyes.

“There’s always a choice,” she hissed, her calm veneer cracking to reveal the fury and heartbreak underneath. “But you’ve made yours.”

Her words stung, but they weren’t untrue. You had made a choice. A cruel, impossible choice.

“I love you,” you said, your voice breaking as the tears spilled freely now. “I love you more than I can put into words, but—”

“But it doesn’t matter,” she interrupted, her tone hollow and sharp. Her hands twitched at her sides, as if fighting the urge to reach for you, to pull you close one last time. “It never mattered, did it?”

“That’s not true,” you whispered, stepping closer, but she stepped back, the distance between you an unspoken barrier you knew you’d never cross again.

“You’ve already chosen,” she said bitterly, her voice trembling in a way you’d never heard before. “And I’m not going to stand here and beg for the scraps of your heart. Not when you’ve already handed it over to someone else—someone you don’t even love.”

Her words struck you like a physical blow, and you recoiled, clutching the fabric of your dress as though it could hold together the pieces of your breaking heart. “This isn’t fair, Arlecchino,” you choked out. “I’m doing this for my family—”

“For your family,” she repeated, the words dripping with venom. “What about you? What about what you want? Or does what we had mean so little that you can throw it away without a second thought?”

“It’s not that simple,” you pleaded, your voice barely audible.

“It is,” she snapped, her sharp eyes blazing with a mix of fury and heartbreak. “You just don’t want to admit it. You’re a coward, and you’re running from the one thing that’s real.” Your shoulders stiffened as you raised your head up to look her directly in the eyes.

“So what?” you snapped, the words spilling out before you could stop them, sharp and defensive, laced with fear you refused to acknowledge. “I’m doing what’s best for my mother and my sisters. They need this—they need me to do this.” You folded your arms tightly across your chest, trying to steady the tremble in your voice. “You don’t understand. They would never… they’d never look at me the same if they knew about—about us.”

Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard, willing yourself not to cry. You hated how weak you sounded, how transparent. “They’d disown me,” you whispered, almost to yourself now, the words like broken glass in your throat. “They’d hate me. My own mother, my sisters—they’re the only family I have, and if I lose them, I’ll have nothing.”

Her silence stung, and when you finally looked up, the hurt in her eyes was unbearable.

“They wouldn’t hate you,” she said softly, but there was an edge of disbelief in her tone. “They’d come to understand. They love you. Isn’t that what family is supposed to do?”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “You don’t know them like I do. Love isn’t unconditional in my family. Love is earned. And if they found out about this, about me…” You trailed off, your chest tightening as the weight of it all pressed down on you,while fiddling with the ring chained around your finger, “They’d never forgive me for ruining everything.”

“You’re not ruining anything,” she argued, her voice rising with frustration. “You’re just too afraid to live your life—our life. You’re letting their expectations cage you, and for what? To keep their love? What about your own happiness? What about mine?”

You flinched, her words cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. “You don’t get it,” you hissed, desperation creeping into your voice. “This isn’t just about me. This is about them, about saving them from losing everything. And—and being with you? It’s wrong, don’t you see that?”

Her face fell, her expression crumbling into something between anger and heartbreak. “Wrong?” she echoed, her voice barely audible. “You think this is wrong?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you said quickly, but the damage was already done.

“Yes, you did,” she shot back, her voice trembling. “You think being able to allow yourself to love me is wrong. You think you are wrong.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “You don’t understand,” you repeated, weaker this time. “It’s not about love. It’s about survival. And if that means I have to bury this—bury us—then so be it.”

Her shoulders sagged, and she let out a shaky breath. “I hope it’s worth it,” she said quietly, her voice devoid of the fire it once carried. “Giving up everything that matters to you. Including yourself.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. You reached out, desperate, but her cold, empty laugh froze you in place.

“Do me a favor,” she said softly, her voice cracking under the weight of her own words. “When you stand at that altar tomorrow and say your vows, don’t think of me. Don’t look at him and wish it was me standing there instead. Because I won’t be waiting for you, not now, not ever.”

Her words broke something in you, but before you could respond, she turned and walked away, her silhouette dissolving into the shadows.

You didn’t follow her.

You stood frozen in the cold garden, the echoes of her parting words wrapping around your throat like a noose. When you finally found the strength to move, your steps felt heavy, every movement dragging you closer to a future you no longer wanted.

As you re-entered the ballroom, the weight of the ring on your finger seemed to double, a gilded chain binding you to a life of pretense. Your fiancé greeted you with a warm smile, but you barely heard his words. You saw only Arlecchino’s back as she disappeared into the darkness, taking your heart with her.

And as the music swelled and the guests toasted to your impending marriage, the truth settled in your chest like a dagger:

You would love her for the rest of your life, but she would never forgive you.

And you would never forgive yourself.

Live,love,lesbian angst.

Me writing this fanfic: