#frankly i only label at all

[fiona-fififi]

The number of people who think that every representation of queer sexuality has to intimately tie a specific sexuality label deeply to an individual's identity is kind of disheartening to me.

"This representation of Buck is biphobic because he's not constantly stressing over what this new discovery means about his identity."

Well. Okay. Listen. Some of us don't feel that deep tie between our sexuality and our identity. When I realized I was bi, I realized two things: I like women, too, and I'm not particularly concerned about the gender identity of my partners. It wasn't some epic realization that I agonized over trying to understand myself. I wouldn't even necessarily call it part of my identity. Yes, being bisexual is part of who I am and there are all kinds of layers to that, but it doesn't inform all parts of me. I am not a sexuality-first kind of person when it comes to identity. Bisexuality is just a small piece of me that largely feels inconsequential to the larger makeup of who I am.

I love the way Buck has been portrayed because of this very thing. Because so often, the stories I see told are about young adults agonizing over what their queer identities mean and how they can define themselves and how this new understanding of their sexuality fundamentally changes who they are. And that's important, absolutely.

But it feels really nice to see a character just realize, embrace it, and continue to exist with this new piece of themself.

For Buck, I don't see his sexuality as something he would go on a research spiral over. Because it just is. Yeah, there will be moments where a new feeling takes him off guard, but I don't see Buck as a character who would struggle with the label or feel the need to seek out a new community or what have you. He very much feels like a character for whom liking men, too, would just make sense, and then be part of him.

And I understand why not everyone likes that. But it makes me sad to see so many people insisting that this portrayal of Buck is actually biphobic because they're not letting him deal with his sexuality the "right" way.

Because the way Buck is dealing with his sexuality is very much exactly representative of my own experience, which I don't think I've ever seen before in media.

So seeing that constantly attacked just feels like, once again, I'm being told that my experience is not a valid way to experience my sexuality and that I don't really have a place in the queer community.

And that just makes me sad.

[hypotenussy]

You know what? Maybe I'll get through college purely for the sake of learning to write strong academic papers to prove my mom wrong about things.

[cozylittleartblog]

I want to buy a sticker from your shop, but shipping (to Canada) is down as $22 before tax. May I ask why it costs so much to ship a single sticker? Is it Etsy being weird, or does it really cost that much to send an envelope over the border?

I'm not trying to be snarky or passive aggressive or anything, I'm genuinely just kind of befuddled atm.

A fair question honestly! USPS sets the rates for international shipping, and shipping to canada really is about that expensive 😭 I considered sending stickers via envelopes, but 1. if I send them with a stamp (less than $2) they don't have tracking, and etsy Does Not Like That. I gotta send packages with shipping to qualify for star seller, plus it covers your ass in case USPS loses it. and 2. apparently it's illegal to send merchandise internationally in envelopes!! so sadly we're all stuck dealing with the super crazy international rates. I don't like it either because as someone who deals in trinkets, people generally do not want to pay $16 for a charm that costs $12, and they especially don't want to pay that for a sticker that costs $4... I would ABSOLUTELY have way more international sales if USPS wasn't fucking us with the prices but it's out of my control dssdjkfjksdf

I give this advice a lot, but if you don't want to pay international shipping (or just live in a country I don't ship to myself), you can borrow the address of a friend that lives in the states and they can forward it to you! I don't actually know if this is cheaper, but some people have said it is. it's def cheaper for stickers though if your friend uses a stamp!

TL;DR yeah etsy and USPS are Both Weird, sorry ; - ; i assure you i hate it even More than you do lmao

[zymstarz]

yeah sure that's how i'll [re]come out

[genderkoolaid]

as someone with ARFID i really couldn't care less about the distinction between "picky eaters" and "genuine eating issues." if you are an asshole to someone you see as "just picky" i will never, ever trust you. i've lived through the trauma of being shamed and humiliated for my eating needs.

frankly i think a LOT of "picky eaters" have some kind of sensory problems– autistic or allistic– and shame is never useful. i don't fucking care how annoying you think we are. if you've never lived through the humiliation of being the only one not eating at a dinner table, or having to choke down something disgusting you already know you hate because other people insist you don't know your own body, or getting a hunger migraine in a house full of food because none of its edible to you? you don't understand how awful it is to have food issues.

whenever i see people draw this distinction between being "just a picky eater" and "having a real problem" all i think is, who does this serve? most people don't even know ARFID exists. there are so many undiagnosed autistics, or just people with a variety of issues that aren't officially diagnosed. why do we need a medical label in order to be treated with respect and compassion? why did i need to be diagnosed as autistic for my family to realize the abuse they put me through for years because of my eating habits?

it's such an easy habit for neglected groups to fall into– the idea that a medical diagnosis can save us. that by appealing to the medical/psychiatric industry, we can be protected from abuse and given basic respect and resources. but the truth is that it should never have come to this in the first place. dignity doesn't come from an abled doctor telling you that there's a medical reason for your symptoms. it comes from being a person. once you accept that you need a Good Reason to have your needs respected, you doom yourself to neglecting and abusing those who have your same struggles because they aren't lucky enough to access medical recognition.

tl;dr solidarity with all "picky eaters" stop guilting people for having varying food needs, if we make you irrationally angry that's YOUR problem not ours, and abolish "children's menus" & replace them with simple-food menus for people of all ages

[asxgard]

I wanted something where Abbott gets involved with a younger resident — maybe everyone in the ER knows about it, except the interns, since it’s their first day. Maybe the resident doesn’t like Trinity’s style, and Trinity goes to complain to Jack, but Jack defends his resident.

In Your Defense | one shot

Dr. Jack Abbot x f!resident!reader

Requested

Summary: After getting on your nerves all day, you and Santos finally go toe-to-toe over a patient. Jack comes to your defense.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: I’ve been floating around ideas of my own of Jack with a resident👀so this was fun!

Sorry it took a bit! I got distracted with a few other things, and I wanted to make sure Companionship got out yesterday. Plus, this became a lot longer than I originally intended. I hope you like it @mayabbot !

Word Count: 2.7k

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content.

Warnings: age gap, semi-established relationship, foul language, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies, mild Santos hate due difference in style, Pittfest

not beta read

The thing about Dr. Jack Abbot was, you did not need a label to know what you meant to him. There was no officiality of a title, even though you were both serious about each other — but frankly, the title was just a word. You knew where you stood, spending nights in his apartment and cooking breakfast together. He never hesitated to remind you that you belonged to him. Not in the overly possessive way, but in the silent always there type of way.

Jack had a past, and while you never pushed, he opened slowly. He had held you out of reach for some time before you realized what was truly brewing between you, and after he began to share, you thought the slow, quiet way you existed around each other was enough. He had loved and lost, he had fought and sacrificed, so you always assured him there was no rush. Not with you. You supposed there would be something to be said when you finished your residency, since that was a big priority in your life, but that was still a year away.

Like most things, your relationship with Jack did not stay secret for long in the halls of the Pitt. You really should have known better — Princess and Perlah were bloodhounds when it came to sniffing out things like that, and the bet did little to keep it private. You were unsure who had started it, but you were surprised that it was Robby who had walked away with the money. It felt like cheating, since he had insider knowledge after catching the two of you at a bar, but you never said anything.

Waking up in his bed alone was not uncommon — since after your dayshifts you sometimes would just wander to his apartment as opposed to your own. You would curl into his sheets and his smell, even when he would not be home all night. He never minded, and frankly even encouraged it. Working opposite shifts than him cut back on time you had together, but you knew it was only a matter of time before you were back on nights due to your flip-flopping schedule.

He looked worn down when you arrived at the Pitt for your shift, bright-eyed from a full night's rest in his bed. He followed you into the staff lounge so you could put your lunch away and he poured a bit of coffee to top off your thermos.

“Is it a ‘good morning’ type of morning, or a quiet ‘let me contemplate’ type of morning?”

He pursed his lips, “Neither. I lost a vet last night, spent two hours coding him.”

You sucked in a breath, knowing it had been a rough one for him. Those nights were far and few between, but never handled them very well. He was getting better, but oftentimes, he found himself on the roof.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” You said, knowing there was not much to say that would actually make it feel any better. “I made dinner last night, I left some leftovers in your fridge.”

He nodded, “At least we’ll have tonight and tomorrow together.”

You smiled, “I’m looking forward to it. Meet at yours?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

You chuckled, “Go get some rest, old man.”

An eyebrow rose in a challenge, “You won’t be saying that later.”

You smirked, “Counting on it.”

He gave you a rushed kiss on the lips, ensuring it was quick and private, before he was out the door. You sipped on your coffee and let out a long sigh, moving towards the charge desk and greeting Dana with a grin.

You let out a low whistle when you looked up at the board, “Damn, they got hammered last night.”

Frank Langdon stepped beside you to lean against the desk, “Why do I have a feeling you’re going to say the Q word? Don’t you dare, or I swear to god.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, “It was one time over a year ago. Who do I look like? Shen? I’m no longer an amatuer.”

“I’m so glad I don’t work with him much. He’s like a walking jinx at this point.”

“He’s not so bad.” You laughed, “I see we got some newbies.”

Langdon glanced over his shoulder, “Two med students, an intern and an R2.”

“Oh, fun.”

—

You learned all the new faces over the course of the next hour. You found you liked the med students well enough, and the R2, Melissa King, but the intern was beginning to rub you the wrong way. Calloused and indifferent did not mesh well in the chaos of the Pitt, or the team player attitude Robby always tried to instill in everyone.

Santos was the type of person you had vehemently disliked during your med student rotations, and after hearing a few cruel nicknames she had picked for Whitaker and Javadi, you brought it to Langdon’s attention. According to Jack, Langdon had walked into the Pitt with the same type of overconfident attitude, and Robby had taken him under his wing and straightened him out. Maybe you thought he would pass on the wisdom. Not to mention, it took the drama off your plate. You had enough worries keeping your relationship with Jack away from Gloria’s ears, and the last thing you wanted to do was get in the middle of something.

“Trust me, I hear you. She already ordered something without clearing it with me first.”

Your nose scrunched in annoyance, “We don’t need someone like that down here.”

“Maybe you could let her shadow you…” he said, a smile growing as your annoyance did. “Show her the ropes. You know, that whole no-nonsense but still empathetic thing you’ve got going on might be right up her alley. You’d be a wonderful teacher.”

You deadpanned, “You owe me. Like super, major—”

“You’re the best!”

You wished you had gone to Collins instead.

Try as you did, the brashness of Santos did not quell under your careful hand and you grew more frustrated with her poor bedside manner and knack for doing things before clearing them. Just when you stepped away to use the restroom, she ordered BPAP for one of your patients and nearly killed him. Yelling was not in your wheelhouse, nor was letting something like this get the better of you, but as the shift ticked on, your fuse grew shorter. Screaming would be the worst teaching tool, but she seemed to railroad over any and all of your advice.

You passed her off to Mohan to take an hour seeing your own patients without Santos’ shadow. At the end of the hour, Mohan only gave you a knowing glance before getting back to it. By the time you went to complain to Langdon, he had disappeared. Just a bit after that, Robby sent Collins home.

Taking a deep breath, you pep-talked yourself into holding it in until the end of your shift. Then you could pass the news on to Robby and go home to forget about it.

—

When the mass casualty event was called, you fiddled with your hands, rubbing anxious circles on one of your palms. The shift had beat you up and left you out to dry, and you knew you were not likely to get out on time. Anxiety thrummed through your system, or perhaps it was the anticipation

Jack’s face was a welcomed one and you wanted to thank whoever you could that he had showed up when he did, a mess of supplies from his truck. With both Robby and Jack at the head of this, you knew the team would get through it. One patient at a time.

Robby placed you in the pink zone, with instructions to float over to yellow if they needed help. Jack found you in the supply closet trying to grab what you could to prepare for the influx in your zone, and he seemed to read you like your shift had been written on your face.

The braindead boy who no one could help. The drowned little girl no one could have saved. Dana being punched by an angry patient, which set your teeth on edge. The anguished screams of grieving family members. Your frustration with the cocky intern. Langdon abandoning you. Collins going home early. The anticipation of all the blood and loss that was sure to be waiting for you as soon as the first cars arrived with the Pittfest victims.

He squeezed your hand, “Find me if you need anything. I got you.”

There it was, that silent, all-knowing ‘always here’ anchor you had needed given in just a few simple words and a giant gesture. You smiled at him and squeezed his back, exhausted and relieved all at once.

You kicked it into gear, getting to work in your zone. Trying to ignore the tragedy around you and just focus on the medicine was easier said than done, especially getting more and more covered in blood as the shift dragged on. It truly was a blur, except for the fact that each patient was clear as day in your head.

Intubating, assessing, applying pressure to wounds, checking on the status of the operating rooms for your more critical patients, forwarding a few to red. Rinse. Repeat. A never ending cycle of carnage.

Mel whizzed past you and you looked back down at your patient, checking his pulse points. He was as stable as he was going to get, and you waved McKay over to him so you could run by yellow zone to see if they needed anything.

Whitaker’s wide eyes greeted you, “She’s doing a REBOA.”

You stopped dead, “What? Who?”

His eyes looked over to Santos, who was leaning over a patient. All the blood rushed from your head, anger and fear tangling together.

Mel was beside you then, tapping her fingers together in an anxious fashion, “I told her—I tried—“

You swallowed before rushing forward. She had already inserted the balloon, and there was not much you could do. You had only done one before, during a mass pile up over a year before, but it was under Jack’s careful supervision.

“Are you insane?” You hissed low, trying not to cause a scene.

Santos only glanced at you, “Patient was bleeding out, need to—“

“No, no, no, no.” Something snapped and all the frustration you had been feeling all day came barreling out of you. “What you need to do, Dr. Santos, is clear shit like this with your senior resident. With an attending. Literally anyone else. Mel already told you no and what do you do? This is how people die. Doctors feeding their own fucking egos and not letting themselves be checked.”

She simply stared at you, “It’s already—“

“No, this was rash.” You glanced down at the patient, seeing that the balloon was likely already in place, but from Donnie’s grim features, the patient was not doing much better. “If it worked? Amazing, great. You saved a patient. But if you keep doing this shit, someone is going to die. You’re not as infallible as you seem to think you are.”

You felt him before you saw him, a once calming presence now beside you and it made all your hairs stand on end. Like you had been caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

At the hospital, he was your attending, you were the resident and you definitely should not have lost your cool like that in the middle of the shitstorm that was already occurring. You physically braced yourself, steeling your composure and trying not to wince. Jack did not scold in public, but you had made a scene.

Jack’s attention had been pulled away from his patient at a particular voice carrying through the air, growing louder as it continued. Your voice. Unmistakable and in the chaos, completely unnerving. It was not like you to shout, or yell, especially in the mess the Pitt had found itself in. He was walking towards your voice without even thinking about it, gait rushed but not running.

“She performed a REBOA.” Mel told Jack as he approached, eyeing each of you warily. “I told her not to.” She gestured to you. “She told her not to.”

You felt Jack’s eyes on your face, and you glanced over to him. He took in your features and looked back to Santos.

“A REBOA? Are you shitting me?”

“Dr. Abbot, I couldn’t get any of the attendings and the patient was bleeding out. No other options.” Santos told him, looking at you again. “I don’t think her yelling about it, or at me right now is exactly—“

“She is a resident and you are an intern. You never should have done that on your own, ever.”

You blinked, half surprised, half thankful. You never wanted your relationship with him to bleed into the professional act you two played whenever you were in the hospital. You never wanted him to play favorites or defend you when you didn’t deserve it. But a part of you relished in him supporting you. Especially after dealing with her going over your head your entire shift.

Two nightshift nurses — Alma and Riley — and Donnie exchanged knowing glances, hiding their smirks well, while Santos just stood there. Jack looked back to you and raised an eyebrow, asking if you were okay without any words.

You gave him the tiniest of nods, likely not to be seen as anything more than a twitch, but Jack caught it easily. You were okay, for the most part anyway. You could talk to him about all of it later. You hoped this could all be behind you soon, as mild embarrassment for yelling in the ED crept up your cheeks. You would pass along the information to Robby and let him handle it. He would be likely to scold you for losing your cool and yelling like he had earlier with Langdon, who was now back floating through zones with little explanation as to why he had left.

Santos looked between you two like she was trying to read you.

Jack had his focus back on the patient, asking Donnie for her vitals.

“Carotid’s weak. Radial’s barely there.” Donnie said.

“Another three cc’s in the balloon.” Jack advised and Santos followed the instruction.

Whitaker looked up, “Radial’s much stronger now.”

“Lock the balloon. Check the wound.”

“Wound’s dry, barely a trickle.”

“That’s because there’s no blood going to her legs.” Mel whispered from beside you.

“Get IR and Vascular on the case.”

The patient began coming to, opening her eyes and looking around her tiredly. There was a relief in the sight, but the fact that this would only make Santos more bold in the future made you worry.

Jack leaned in close to Santos, “That was reckless and could have killed the patient. You need to follow the chain of command here.”

Santos gave a tense nod, her tiny smile disappearing.

You stepped away when Jack did, finding a few moments when you pulled off your gown to replace it with a fresh one. He stepped behind you to tie it while you reached for new gloves.

“It’s been a shift.” You explained simply, not even needing him to open his mouth. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry.”

“We can talk about it later.”

You turned to face him, “No, if you’re going to scold me, I’d rather you do it now. Get it out of the way.”

He studied your face. “Can’t change anything now. She did save the patient, but she could've just as easily made it worse. And you lost it for a minute. You know as well as anyone that yelling achieves nothing.”

You cringed, remembering your med school days.

“But you weren’t wrong.” He added, grabbing your arm and forcing you to look at him. “She took an unnecessary risk and hopefully next time, will try to find an attending, or a resident. I’ll mention it to Robby, maybe he can help her get back on track. The Pitt doesn’t need any more egos, I think we’re at capacity.”

A small smirk broke through on your lips, “Thank you.”

“You feel good enough to get back to it?” He raised a careful eyebrow.

You took a breath and nodded. You parted without ceremony, heading back to your respective zones and got lost in the work.

want to join any of my taglists? shoot me a message!

Dr. Abbot taglist: @flyinglama @valhallavalkyrie9 @melancholyy-hill @travelingmypassion @yournerdmodziata @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd @artsymaddie @partofthelouniverse

The Pitt taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera @sharkluver @loud-mouph @ksyn-faith @sunfairyy @dragonsondragons @mischiefsemimanaged

Did my own feelings about Santos bleed into this? …maybe. She grew on me, but oh my god she really was getting on my last nerve for most of this season. I hope season 2 comes with some growth from her.

[lilyinmysoul]

When The Night Ends

DarkJackson!Joel x F Reader

WC: 2k

Warnings: Smut, unprotected piv, somno (sorry not sorry), dubcon, dark Joel like I said, Joel is dominant, breeding kink, kinda forced breeding but she's into it, Joel palming himself

Note: This is based on a request I got, reblogs help so much. If you like it, tell me, so I can write more. If it's not your thing, shoot me a request so I know what is.

Joel isn’t sure how Jackson has so much damn alcohol, or where it all comes from, really. That hardly matters, though—all that matters is that it’s there, and he will drink it.

Regretfully, he couldn’t overdo it. He had patrols to go on, responsibilities to attend to—but nearly every Friday, without fail, he would take to the Tipsy Bison. Whether it be alone, with his brother, or the occasional patrol partner, he would be there.

You are, of course, aware of this. And even if you did have a say in the matter, it wouldn’t bother you much. There was a complete absence of a label regarding yours and Joel’s relationship; maybe it was because you both knew that he wasn’t cut out for such a role, or possibly how you knew that to bring it up would be to run the risk of disturbing a very concise system—his temper. Really, it appeared that you took what he gave you, and it seemed to be enough.

In any case, it is yet another Friday night. The double doors of the Tipsy Bison swing open, and the cool air on his skin mixes with the alcohol’s hazy embrace of his conscience, and Joel wants to see you. The winds are rough, hence why he is nearly the only man in the streets (paired with the time—it’s the dead of night). His brow furrows a bit harder when a man passes by with his son, and he begins his trek back to… wherever he finds himself. He’s too inebriated to make much sense of it. 

It had been too long, it appeared, since he’d seen you. You had noticed this too, and frankly, it seemed to be the nature of involving yourself with Joel Miller. As of late, he had increasingly withdrawn himself from your company; but tonight, he seemed emboldened in his sense of longing for you.

Although it is cold, the winter snow has since cleared, leaving only the occasional melting puddle of slush under his feet. Those same feet lead Joel all across town. He passes rows of closed up shops and blocks full of houses. Warm houses, he assumes. Houses occupied by families, maybe. Husbands, wives, children… alcohol makes him sentimental. Angry, even. He continues to trudge.

What’s interesting is that drinks seem to both aid and worsen the hole in Joel’s chest. They deliver some sort of tranquility, and also, a comparable and equally as intense sense of abhorrence. This isn’t something he contemplates as he nears his house, and when he sees it, he doesn’t slow. He continues to walk. After all, there isn’t much for him there; and so, his home is going, going, gone to a sea of other, almost identical ones. Ones with more to offer than a few half-built and boring guitars.

And when he arrives on your doorstep, it’s like second nature. He’s been here enough to know where you keep your spare key, but never long enough to find the one that opens the back door. Tiredly, he kneels and his hip pops as he reaches underneath the flower pot (he believes he gave this to you, but he really can’t remember) and slides from under it the key.

He turns the knob—not slowly or carefully, but rushedly—and it twists and opens. You had left it unlocked—God, he hates when you do that.

The door creaks open and gives way to Joel’s figure—you weren’t around to notice; it couldn’t be any earlier than midnight, and you had long since gone to bed. He fishes around on the wall in the pitch blackness for the light switch.  It takes him a moment, but he flicks it on. The kitchen is illuminated by a few twenty-year-old lightbulbs and cluttered by everything you couldn’t bother to put away. Each item thrown upon your table was a fragment of your life—not enough of which included him, which fueled his irritation.

His shoes don’t come off, and instead he climbs the stairs, his heavy boots leaving wet footprints on each step and 𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 on the wood but not loud enough to wake you. His every pace is slightly swayed, his balance influenced by many glasses of whiskey, downed alone in a corner of the bar.

Your door is slightly askew, and its hinges squeal as he pushes it open. Joel’s eyes fall upon your sleeping figure, your limbs lost among the sea of blankets tossed atop your bed. Your work clothes had been haphazardly strewn across the floor, and you wore only a bra and panties. This was a spectacle of your everyday life, he realized; one that he didn’t know much about. Another pang of displeasure gnaws at his heart—he isn’t sure of its origin, but he knows that it’s disturbing him.

The way he kicks off his boots is slightly more hostile; a loud, dull noise that rings through the room. The old, hollow walls reverberate the sound, and you stir—but don’t wake. Once his old and beaten shoes rest against the wall, his feet carry him to the edge of your bed. As he takes in your sleeping face, your head resting in your hands and legs stretched wildly on the mattress, he feels almost proprietorial of you.

Only you know that Joel’s vexation often turns to arousal in your presence, and the two often blend. There is something about your still and sleeping face, the plush curves of your body made visible by your clothing (or, lack thereof)—or, it may simply be the fact that Joel is frustrated and he needs it taken care of. As he stands above you, his hand—as if on its own—snakes down to the bulge protruding from his worn jeans. His fingers rub and squeeze, his eyes running over you as you twitch and stir unconsciously. You seem to mesmerize him momentarily as he stands, his roving eyes concluding that they want more.

Soon enough, his drunkenly clumsy fingers are fumbling with his belt, pulling at its leather and clanking its buckle, pulling open the suddenly complex contraption. Next, the silver button of his jeans is popped and the zipper undone as your firm mattress dips under his weight when he sits. For a few moments, he looks at you. And with an almost uncharacteristic gentleness, his fingers reach out to touch you. The graze is tender as it glides along your side, your stomach, your chest—though maybe only an effort to adjourn your waking.

His calloused fingers reach the band of your underwear—a faded blue pair from however long ago. They roam over the soft fabric, cruising over its front and halting when they skim over the spot you like so much—it makes you tense; but your eyes don’t open. Two of Joel’s fingers trace circles for a moment. He watches your still face and glances down when your thighs squeeze. With a few more circlings, his patience has run dry and his captivation with you has turned to necessity.

He does as he can to be gradual with his movements as he lays over you on the bed, his hair tousled and his jeans halfway down. An elbow props him up, his face adjacent to yours as his glazed eyes search your closed ones. His free hand hastily frees himself from the confines of his boxers and rubs fumblingly over the damp fabric of your panties again before pushing aside its material.

His mind is slightly empty from the alcohol, and his head a bit achey, but he knows what he is doing. For no more than a split second, he looks down, aligning himself with you. He pumps his cock a few times before finally notching himself in—a hiss leaves his mouth, and as his hips begin pushing into yours, he looks back up. Your eyes are open.

Your eyes widen, surprised as sleepiness refuses you any sense of understanding.

“Shh,” Joel insists. “Baby, it’s me.” His voice tapers off when he says this, his head slouching to rest on your shoulder.

“Joel…” when his voice registers with you, familiar and low, your muscles relax a bit. “What… are you doing here?” You ask, and as soon as the question leaves your mouth, you understand its stupidity. His hips are moving now, in and out… ‘Why else would he be here?’ and you’re half asleep.

“This okay…?” he asks, but it doesn’t seem like he cares greatly about your answer; he is very much out of it. You smell it on him. On his skin, on his breath. Everywhere.

“Um, I…” His eyes are glassy and focused on yours, and his hips are getting faster. The room is black, and you’re not sure what to think, but you’re glad that he’s finally here again. The only sounds in your ears are the old radiator and the wet sound of skin on skin. “Yeah.”

His head dips to your neck, nipping and biting in a way that’s a little too primal. You wrap an arm around him, your hand resting on his back and when Joel begins to grunt, you let sounds escape your mouth, too.

“Shit…” his voice wavers, and he might be even more drunk than you thought he was. But as sloppy as his movements are, they are persistent. 

“Joel.” His name passes your lips. As a question, or as a statement, you aren’t sure. You don't get an answer. The moon outside is the only thing allowing you to see him, the accentuated lines across his face and the greys littering his hair. Your legs wrap around his hips now, seeking some sort of comfort, or reassurance.

He wasn’t ever particularly chatty during sex, but he is even quieter now. His energy, it seems, has been dedicated to pushing his hips as firmly and deeply into you as possible. He looks almost focused, determined. Or maybe distracted.

Joel is clearly working himself up. His movements rougher, his voice louder, and he’s close. You always know, with the way he tenses, the way he speaks. This is the only fact that registers in your mind; everything else is lost on you. So, when he says; “I’m not stoppin’,” you blink.

“What?”

“I’m gonna cum,” a thrust. “And I’m not pullin’ out, I’m not stoppin’.”

“Wh…” you start. A groan on both of your ends sounds when he hits a particularly good spot. You yourself are getting close now, your back arching slightly off the bed, your mind still cloudy as you try to make sense of Joel’s words.

A few of his fingers come down to rub your clit, circling onto you your own wetness before coming to rest on your stomach. His hand caresses the skin on your tummy. “Imagine that…” he mutters in an almost slurred tone. “Just imagine that.”

You look down at his hand, and then back up again. You meet his eyes, and you understand very clearly what he means. You don’t have the will to fight it–at least, you don’t think you do–so, you hold him tighter and closer, letting each thought fade from your mind as he continues to bliss you out. How he holds you so possessively, how he looks at you so rapaciously… you don’t mind at all.

A few more erratic thrusts, and you’re coming. A few more, and Joel is, too.

You hear it—a low grunt and a groan from Joel—and then you feel it; a deep, warm sensation— a release and movement of liquid that you’ve never felt before. He’s never done that. You can’t help but, in all your weariness, think about the weight of what has just taken place.

To claim you had never mulled over the thought of a child—Joel’s child—would be a lie. The thought was welcoming, sweet… but Joel was not. He was neither. What he had just made was either some kind of commitment, or a grave mistake.

“You’re mine, y’know.” He grumbles into your hair.

“Am I?” You ask.

“Y’are.”

“Okay. I believe you.”

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Thanks for reading! Lmk if you like

[boatswainscall]

SPOILERS FOR TECHROT ENCORE AHEAD, CONCERNING ON-LYNE

DE with On-Lyne could have very easily gone the stereotypical route of "beloved boyband that advertises brotherhood but secretly all hate each other's guts" but on brand with their overarching themes of love and family went in the complete opposite direction. Like the Coda are clones, but they parrot the boys' real thoughts and feelings. And despite the imperfection of that cloning their fierce bond of brotherhood endures.

For one, all of them are so so protective of Packet and it makes me want to cry. This bit from Harddrive especially just has me dreading how horrible the media was to all of them but him especially as he is the youngest.

Packet also has a line during his final confrontation talking about the panic attacks he suffers, which I can only assume is a result of constantly being scrutinized by media outlets and their label. (edit: ITS DJ-ROM THAT SAYS THIS NOT DRILLBIT) has a line during his final confrontation which I think is related to that where he's clearly in the context of an interview and is defensive about questions regarding their personal lives, and even volunteers to answer any of those questions in the others' place.

And while they are all especially protective of Packet, they look out for each other just as much. Packet himself has lines talking about how happy he is that Harddrive punched someone out for making fun of him and another expressing just how worried he is about Zeke and the amount of pressure he is under as the band's leader.

Drillbit similarly talks about how much respect he has not just for Zeke but for DJ-Rom and how much hard work he puts into keeping things running well with the band - how while Zeke is the charismatic public face of the band - Rom, while quiet, is the true brains behind them maneuvering their predatory label's demands.

And then DJ-Rom himself talks about his own bitterness about record labels and how exploitative they are of young talent. He also mentions his familiarity with the industry, and how he uses that knowledge to keep the boys safe from predatory behavior within their label.

Which in hindsight adds more terrible context to why their manager decided to turn to the Technocyte Coda (aka Generative AI) to fully clone the band so they could keep making music with their likeness but stop paying them. DJ-Rom was clearly such a persistent and stubborn thorn in their side in regards to blocking their attempts at shorting the boys what they were owed that their manager resorted to cutting the human element out entirely.

Rom also during my confrontation with him confesses to the fact that he knows how annoying and shallow people view pop music and them by extension, but how it's shallow in itself to see pop music as not "real music/art" and that what he and the boys do has just as much value for all the work they put into it. Which is frankly a message that a lot of us should take to heart, (myself included frankly).

As always DE has delivered on the lore and now that I've converted one of each of the boys I can't wait to resume my farming of them to hear more of it.

[nouearth]

dancing with wolves.

pairing. glen powell x male reader.

word count. 8.8k.

summary. journeying from town to town provided glen a solitude he’d always dreamed of. however, since meeting you, it was all he could complain about.

content warning. smut, western!au, top!glen, yearning!glen, loner!glen, bottom!reader, prostitute!reader, love confession, established relationship, passionate love-making, gagging, deep-throating, handjob (r!receiving), blowjob (r!giving), spanking, overstimulation, milking, anal penetration, breeding.

Cases of whiskey and cider were stacked in a column of two. Six units per beverage, twelve in total as Glen triple-checked the count and label. Though he’d never made a mistake in his deliveries before, it was his vigilance that maintained his good repute amongst the townsfolk. His attentiveness and efficiency in deliveries allowed for trust to be built between him and the towns he’d distribute to.

Months and more, the head of these establishments he’d work with didn’t seem to mind Glen’s uptight and reserved nature. Rather, they were used to it. Penned him as ‘Gunpowder’ because of their inability to see through him, as if the smoke from deflagrated gunpowder had impaired their vision.

As long as the goods were delivered in mint condition, who was to complain that the brooding man marched right on out after receiving his payment without uttering a single word?

Not to mention, his sturdy build was a warning itself to those who’d dared.

“Nearly doubled the shipment from last time.” It was an observation noted to himself. A low mutter that the owner of the saloon caught with a smile, because frankly, the mustached man was known to run the folk’s ears off.

There was a reason why he owned a saloon, and not Glen.

He dropped his payment into his drawstring bag and tucked it into the inside pocket of his shirt. Crime was growing rampant, even in a bustling town like New Vale where a dust storm couldn’t ward off its folks from drinking into the night. Glen wasn’t sure what to make of it. Whether to call them idiots for ignoring the highly alarming signs of bandits gradually killing their way to the west, or brave for living their lives without a single regret.

One would’ve had the same vacillation between labeling Glen as an idiot or a man, for traveling 40 miles and more in his saddle, while the threat of murders loomed over his head.  “God damn, I did! Business been growin’ ever since we’d expanded to include the whores. The fellas can’t keep their hands off of them!” Glen’s ears pricked up from the way the shorter man described the main attraction to his saloon. The man was practically ascending to heaven, tugging on the straps of his suspenders to ground him to the wooden flooring while he boasted about how much of a brilliant man he was for charging patrons by the hour, and taking a percentage of a prostitute’s pay. 

All Glen could do was watch in stoic disgust while the man relished in his own pride, in his own greed.

Though, only for a few seconds before a feeling of guilt and shame took over Glen’s conscious, calling him out on his hypocrisy, on this selfish desire that all the men in the saloon had collectively shared.

He wasn’t much of a better man than the drunkard swaying in his seat, completely shit-faced with a shot glass in his grasp.

Glen tucked his hands into his pockets, leaned to the man’s ear, and lowered his voice to a hush. “The boy in today?”

Coincidentally, he felt a spare coin in his left pocket. The silver ridges scorched his skin like it had come straight from the devil’s fountain, prodding his urges.

“Should be cleaning out back, but I’ll let ‘em know you’re here. You know his room.” The man collected the single coin with a smug grin and tipped his hat. “Nice doing business with ya, and… get y’self a drink. On the house. I’m beginning to treasure your presence.” The march of his steps out to the back were resonant, even with the ragged rhythm of the piano blaring in Glen’s ears as he walked for the stairs.

- - -

The room was left as Glen remembered it.

The thin walls closed in on the oil lamps mounted on the walls. It didn’t take much to light up the room. As bright as candles could be lit, it only emphasized how truly compact the space was. Glen couldn’t imagine that no more than two men could be comfortable standing in this lodging, let alone reside in it. Luckily, Glen was a simple man. He hung his coat on the wall and took his boots off, a much needed relief from the compression at his feet, and he felt satisfied sitting on the miserable mattress. Not from the space, no. Not when he could hear other patrons like him revel in their own pleasure, albeit muffled by the thin walls.

No. It was because he got to see his boy again. Twice a month, like how it had been for almost a year now, and Glen could feel the two weeks of labor thanking him as a huge weight seemingly lifted off his shoulders. 

Traveling from town to town and shipping out whiskey and cider didn’t take much of a toll on his body like herding cattle, but it was uninspiring. Sight-seeing was tranquil, but the sun was beating down on him harder this month. It was tiring. Always on his saddle, on his feet, and now with the threat of robberies ramping, on the defensive, all without so much of a break.

It was lonely. 

And though it was his own fault, it made the moment of seeing his boy all the more special.

Touching you was even more cathartic than he’d like to admit.

Two hard knocks, a beat, then three more, and the door opened.

“You sleepin’ already, Bighorn?” You teased, chuckling to yourself when you could see Glen rise from his position as you locked the door.

Bighorn. The endearment made Glen chuckle.

Glen watched you come into the light as his elbows supported his body, legs extended to stretch the tight muscles in his thighs and calves. A button-up and suspenders, your typical attire as a novice cook. It had to be illegal to look this striking in hand-me-downs covered in flour.

“A second longer, and I would’ve demanded for a refund.” Glen quipped with a simple grin. It was all natural, his body responding to your approach by gathering himself onto his feet. You worked him in mysterious ways. Every step you took, Glen met you half-way. 

Yearn weighted Glen’s heart to match the heaviness of your boots scraping against the floor until you stopped. He stopped in his tracks after, your wide smile reflecting off of his simpler grin, and Glen remained silent, taking you all in with the removal of his hat. 

It wasn’t the first time his eyes ever tracked a man, nor was it the first time his heart ever sped up, but you had this power, this presence, that made him feel anew with the way you looked at him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your chest close to his own. 

Surely, he knew he wasn’t going crazy feeling like his affection for you had shot up like a bull for the past month. And the month before that. 

And the month before that.

“And I would’ve made it up by makin’ sure you get the best sleep of your life. How’s that sound?” You met his eye level, unabashedly smiling wider than you had ever greeted him before. 

He felt flat, like he’d been hit by the train itself. A sharp jolt that sent goosebumps all over his skin, and it was like you read into his soul, because your hands roamed around his body, warding off the tiny prickles over his skin with a caress to his broad chest, over his forearms, against his neck.

It didn’t take long for Glen to realize you were the curator of the bumps on his skin.

“Sounds like an overpromise...” Glen chuckled along with you, his larger hands feeling up your waist, backside, then to your arse, where they felt perfectly at home in his palms. His gaze was just as curious, peeking at the collar of your shirt that revealed the smallest amount of your neck. To your lips, marveling over ruby flesh he’d often daydream about while riding across the plains.

It was becoming a routine. Where the weeks leading up to the end the month felt like the world had a vengeance against you, and this month was surely taking out its worst out on you.

“You got a haircut.” Glen noticed the shorter length of your hair, pushing it back with a swoop of his hand. He then took ahold of your jaw, maneuvering it cheek by cheek to stoically marvel over your cut.

“Was gettin’ hot. Boss man didn’t like how it collected sweat.” Your fingers worked around his collar, unfurling the fold, then folding it back into place.  “You like it?”

“I can see your face clearer. You look good.” Glen’s fingers raked through your hair once before messily ruffling it. You responded with a shove to his chest, knocking him back onto the bed with an unexpected laugh. “Guess I didn’t need to worry about whether you were eating or not. Christ, you gettin’ stronger too.”

A dull ache settled in his chest. He wanted to say something more than, “You look good.” 

No, it fit you. The trimmed hairs on the sides matched how blunt you could be. 

“You bring any gifts for me?”

“You’re sweaty, and that makes me aroused.”

“You pushing 40. That only makes me want you even more.”

“No one can fill my mouth like you do, Glen.”

On the contrary, it also framed your face like you were an angel who didn’t spout nonsense that would render him speechless. Though, he’d gotten used to that now. It made you all the more endearing, how someone could look as passive as you, have a mouth like that.

“Bastard’s been pushing more tasks onto me since business been growing. Same pay too. Man is too cheap to hire another employee. Don’t think I look any different though.” It took all the energy out of him to not sigh when you straddled his lap. He was swelling nicely beneath you, harder and thicker the more you rut your arse against him. “Or… maybe you’re just getting weaker?”

Glen rolled his eyes. “Don’t get so cocky, boy. Wouldn’t want me to beat it out of you, would you?” Your breath hitched when his palm struck down on your left ass cheek as a warning. It was effortlessly done, yet the subtle sting was more than enough to pull a groan out of you.

You brazened yourself, narrowing your eyes into his drawn gaze as you leaned closer, and pulled him halfway up by the collar. “Not if you call that a beatin’.” Your lips grazed against his, and just when Glen leaned closer, you pulled away and resumed your ruts, pushing your arse back onto his palms simultaneously.

“You gon’ regret that.” It was animalistic. The way you drove your hips into him, and the way Glen desperately responded back, groping your ass hard and pushing you flushed to his groin, to the weight of his bulge. He buried his groans into your neck, biting a patch of skin that would draw out whimpers in between your taunts. 

“I ain’t regret nothin’-“ A loud yelp slipped from your mouth. His palm suddenly came down on your ass again. Harder, like the snap of lighting had bit into your skin. It shuddered you to think that it had hurt as much as it did while you were clothed. Yet, that didn’t stop you from unbuckling and drawing out your belt, and then Glen’s. 

“That the best you got? Like a bee-sting. I ain’t impressed.” You muttered into his neck, kissing at the hot flush of skin after stripping you and Glen down to undergarments. Gradually, you worked his top off, licking and kissing every show of skin that would meet your lips, until he was deliciously bare-chested before you.

“I’ll break your damn ass if I have to.” Glen said through gritted teeth. His arms were folded behind his head, cushioning it while he watched your mouth worship every contour of his body like he was a king. Your mouth would latch onto one side of his ribs, suckling on a freckle, while the other admired his abdomen with several, drunken strokes. It took the trail of his stomach hair to pivot your mouth lower, to slip your hand into the opening of his drawers until it was inevitably full with Glen’s semi-hard cock, meaty and thick in your palm.

“You spendin’ the night?” Your ears perked up at the sound of his groans, your gaze followed the source. He was clearly desperate for more than the laze of your strokes as your grasp was loose and open, favoring to feel around his cock than against. 

“That’s what I paid for.” His hips bucked once you began massaging his cock, throbbing harder in the palm of your hand. 

“I’ll make sure it’s worthwhile, then.” With one hand continuing to knead at the tender muscle, you stripped the drawers off of his body, tossing it onto a pile of clothing in the corner.

“Look at me when you talkin’.” It came out more aggressive than he’d like it to, but your eyes lit up when he caught your gaze, a smoldering smile plastered across your face while you stroked him with your knees pressed to the mattress.

“You stressed or what? Don’t usually talk like this to me.” Stripping yourself bare, you resumed tending to his cock after, gulping at the unholy sight of the meaty tool drooling with a thick and ample amount of pre-cum that would surely stain the flooring if you hadn’t caught the sticky rope with your tongue.

You looked extra handsome tonight, Glen thought. Maybe it was the haircut working wonders on him. Making him act all crazy like he’d been bewitched. One strand of hair fell delicately over your forehead when you spat on his cock, and had your grasp around him not remind him, he would’ve forgotten to breathe.

“Just been thinking about my boy. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.” You lapped up his cock while he struggled to pour out his words. It was like molasses, the way he’d pause himself to say the right thing so he wouldn’t scare you. Coincidentally, you seemed to be enjoying the taste of his pre-cum like it was molasses as well, sucking it out him with sunken cheeks.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about filling that filthy mouth of yours with even more filth.” He hissed as you began tonguing his slit.

“Y’know how much I love the taste of your seed.” You dragged your tongue over the head, polishing it with several needy sucks, while your gaze maintained on his. One hand was wrapped around the shaft to hold Glen steady, and the other was cupped around his heavy balls, stretching and fondling the loose stretch of skin.

“I know. You like how it’s warm in your mouth, don’t you?” The grasp around his thick cock tightened. Fingers pressed into his veins, stroking the aroused muscle while your mouth worked on his glans, plump and swollen against your lips.

“And how salty it is. Taste better than your whiskey.” Sweat and musk had built up in the thick hairs of his pubic, in the crevice of his glans as you inhaled his scent. The smell of his cock made your own swollen unbearably hard.

“You like my cock too. Like how heavy it is on your tongue.” He had his fingers running through your hair, keeping any strands from obscuring your eyes as you watched him, just as he had been watching you.

“Nothing better than feelin’ my dirty mouth stretch because of the size of it. Can barely wrap my hands around your tool. My asshole struggles too, if not more.”

You loved sucking on the head. It was tender in your mouth, leaking with salt that made your tongue dance into the slit for more. It was beautiful to look at too. Every now and then, you’d slip him out of your mouth to marvel over the glistening view of his cock, swollen in your own spit.

“Yet it don’t stop you, does it? You keep sucking with that hot mouth of yours. Fucking with that tight ass of yours.” He sat up to stretch his hand from your neck and then down to your spine, repeating the affectionate gesture when he’d reach the limit of his mobility.

“Your cock is my liquor.” You held his gaze with pride, proudly slapping his wet cock across your cheek, against your lips, onto your tongue, because you weren’t ashamed for desiring men. 

You weren’t ashamed for needing Glen.

No amount of prejudice can suppress your very existence. 

“You doin’ a whole lot of talking, and not a lot of sucking.” His hand was strong on the back of your neck, massaging as if it would warm your throat up.

You purred, finding the increasing pressure on your neck welcoming as it naturally opened your mouth back up. Your tongue teased Glen for a little longer. Patience had been wearing thin, you could see it in his eyes as they hardened over the lazy trail of your tongue, unbearably sliming at the underside of his heavy cock. His grasp on your neck was clutching, pulling at your tender skin to maneuver you north and wrap your mouth back around him. But you were resisting. You were going to suck his cock on your own terms, on your own accord, flaunting your tongue over his stiffened pole to warm him up because you had all night with him.

You were beautiful like this, working your spit over his cock with your hand, while you silently leaned up for a kiss. He granted those rubies of yours a chaste peck, then another to the dried drool at the corner of your mouth, then another, a fulfilling kiss to your mouth that had drawn out simultaneous groans from the both of you because it was unapologetically more than lust.

You stroked his cock harder, to the warmth of his tongue as it slipped inside of you, keen to explore the cavern that had made his cock feel so glorious, to explore the mouth that often sent Glen into a spiral simply from his own imagination after the very minute he would depart from you.

His heart was beating, accelerating like it had soles to run on, and all it took was the palm of your hand caressing his chest in soothing swoops to ground him back to reality, to the kiss that had been broken in favor of you returning back to your original position between his legs, mouth agape and taunting as ever. 

“Only because I want you to hear what it sounds like when I’m swallowing your cock.“ With those final words, you slid his cock into your mouth without letting your gags falter you.

His cock was heavy, maintaining the girth from base to tip as you took more of him after every cycle. Tears brimmed in your eyes when you’d choke on one attempt of slotting him down your throat. Then they dripped, rolled down your supple cheeks, when you’d work yourself through your gags until your throat closed in around his tool. You’d lie there with your throat stuffed to the brim, your lips clamped shut from the very base despite the fur of his pubic hairs tickling your lips to open back up.

Your ears rattled from your conscience begging you to end your torture, but watching Glen marvel at that mouth of yours made you endure the looming threat of fainting all the more worthwhile. 

“Christ.” Drool spilled from either side of your mouth as Glen helped you stabilize with a palm to your nape. He gently pushed at the sound of your gags, keeping you situated against his groin in case you’d pull away. “You know how to make a man happy, don’t you?”

“Mmfgh—“ It was pointless responding, but Glen expected it. You always had to get the last word. The last sound. 

He maneuvered you by the neck, pulling you back then forward again, your throat making ungodly sounds around his cock in midst of doing so. Occasionally, he’d meet you halfway and thrust himself into your gags, churning the arising saliva that foamed in your mouth back down your air duct, making you choke in the process.

“You miss my cock that much, boy?”

“Mmff-guh!”

He’d pull you back just in time, his cock releasing from the tight hold of your throat like a cork barricading liquor, and you didn’t waste a single second to fill your lungs again with the arousing air.

“You gon’ kill me with that thing, bastard.” Your spit resembled fizz that would spew out from opened cider. Glen kept it to himself, but he thought you looked dashing like this. Flushed in the face, cheeks stained by dried tears, nostrils stung with sniffles, you’d collect your composure quickly after, brazen yourself as if nothing had happened, but from the tremors in your hands, you were dismantled despite working your hand on him again.

“Too much for you?” He asked, reaching over with a hand to knead at the center of your throat. Glen didn’t show many moods, but you were well aware when he was either aroused, angry, or concerned, simply by the movement of his brows. 

You lifted your chin upon the warm of his hand greeting you, grinning at the raise of the man’s brows. “I jest. Too much? Yes. But that’s the fun in it. Not knowing when to stop because I’m so addicted to you.”

“Should be a poet. You’d know how to charm people with your words.” He sighed into your mouth when he pulled you over, kissing you delicately while one hand lowered to gather his cock and yours in one hold, stroking the throbbing masses.

Glen was never too fond of feeling like this. 

This warmth that was similar to downing liquor, yet not quite as strong or as scorching as to the sensation of aged spirit burning his insides.

It was foreign. The heat liked to spread around his body, the aftermath of hot rain he’d reckon. It was steaming inside of him. Pleasant and restful while his muscles eased. He felt like those biscuits he’d eaten for morning, noon, and evening. Buttery, warm, and pillowy. 

That feeling only happened when he was with you.

It was unnerving how much power you held over him without you even realizing. How he’d weaken under the light of your smile, or even the dazed stare of your eyes, where Glen often found himself concerned with for the remaining month as the shadows beneath your eyes would grow with every visit.

You shouldn’t have that effect on him, because no one has managed to ignite such feelings inside of him. Yet you have, effortlessly so, without missing a single beat, and it was alarming to realize that his solitude had become unbearable since you’d came into the picture. 

Frightening, where his solitude would feel like abandonment had something ever happened to you.

“Poets don’t make a home.” You whispered lightheartedly before breaking into soft, hushed moans, where Glen would happily devour as you resumed kissing him with tongue, running your hands over his muscles in meantime.

“And whoring yourself out does?” He sat up, pulling away to raise a questioning brow.

It was naive of you, but Glen knew better than to lecture you in the meantime. He hadn’t seen you in a month and he wasn’t letting a simple discourse interrupt that.

You shrugged, kissing at the underside of his jaw after he pulled you onto his lap. His hands were on your hips, his cock rubbing between your ass cheeks. “No, but at least I get fucked hollow out of it.”

“Forget what I said. If your mouth is this vulgar, I can’t imagine what you’d write on paper. You’d end a famine with folks dying from shock at your smut.” Without warning, one finger slipped inside of your hole. You clenched from surprise, but eventually welcomed him in with the languid kisses Glen would provide on your neck, on your shoulders, and on your chest.

“That’s a good thing, ain’t it?” You arched forward into his embrace, pushing your ass out as Glen twisted another finger inside of you, stretching your hole with two fingers. “I saved the world…” You moaned out in a manner that sent tremors down Glen’s spine. To his cock, when he stuffed another finger inside of you, and curled deep into your resistance. “Don’t do too much. Wanna feel you.”

“You silly.” The keening sound you give out rendered him speechless, along with the dew of your body and face, thinly layered with cold sweat of your own desires. Your hands braced on Glen’s shoulders as he pistoled his fingers inside of you for a little longer. Twisting, spreading, turning, curling, throttling, until you begged for him, in whispers, in hot kisses that muffled your sounds incoherent. 

But Glen was an attentive man; tasting your tongue to feed off of your words, urging you to repeat with a smack to your ass. You would, desperate and delirious as you pushed your ass into the sting of his palm.

“Can’t take it anymore. I need you inside of me. C’mon.” You reached behind to stroke his cock with your spit, simultaneously pressing his shaft between your rump.

“You actin’ like you don’t get hollowed out daily.” Glen’s touch was tender on your cheek, holding the left side delicate in his palm, while his hips moved against your hand and grind, taunting your patience.

“Not like this. Always thinkin’ about you when someone else fucking me. They don’t do it like you.” It came out as a whine, a needy sound as you angled his wet cockhead against your pucker, dangerously pressing when you lifted your hips.

“They don’t satisfy you like I do.” A statement, rather than a query.

“They don’t...” 

Glen was good at casting doubt on people. 

Lies were often evident through the eyes. Novice liars either looked away, or stared too intensely like they were trying to convince themselves.

Your gaze yearned, lingered in search for Glen’s blessing. He held your gaze for a moment, catching a glimpse of stars in your pupils like he wasn’t aware that it was the candles’ doing. Getting lost in your eyes wasn’t warding off the warm feeling in his body. Rather, it began manifesting a smolder, burning more despite kissing you once to fan it away, to make the light in your eyes—the way you looked at him disappear.

He pulled away quickly to look into your eyes again. Burning now, he was burning. 

Again, his lips sealed over yours, and then he pulled back to stare.

The stars winked.

Again.

A few morphed as one, seemingly emptying the space in your pupils.

Again. 

No, Glen was wrong. They weren’t emptying space.

And again.

They were creating space.

He began witnessing the birth of a few more stars after every turn, crystal-like as they glimmered in your pupils once you smiled at his behavior. 

Glen was in silent hysteria, finding himself spiral from one look you’d given him. It was different. Completely unlike anything you’d ever spared him. It felt true. Pure. Honest.

Loved.

There was no way out. He couldn’t find a way to escape if he’d tried. Burying his face into your neck didn’t work. You smelled like bread dough, ones you’d been kneading in the back of the kitchen. Ones he had eaten and marveled over before even meeting you.

Simply closing his eyes had no effect either, as your hand was on his cock, chasing after the throbbing with patient strokes.

“They don’t.” Glen repeated after you, a confirmation into the underside of your jaw.

Glen was never a man who lost. At least, he never lost without putting up a fight. When he spared you one more glance at the sound of your groan, he felt himself crumble and completely melt. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it. Feel himself melting until all that was left was for bone to be rattled with as you sank yourself back onto his lap, hands braced on his shoulders while you welcomed his cock inside of your cavity, inch by inch

“You’re an angel, y’know that? Every time I see you, I feel like my sins been washed away.” Glen ran a finger along your taut rim, marveling over the way you looked right now, bouncing on his cock, over his lap, your cock swinging in for the ride. He harbored his moans into the crook of your neck, fogging your skin with the warmth of his breath, until you’d break into cold sweats.

“Ironic, ain’t it? What loving a man can do?” You groaned and grunted with exertion as you worked your way lower in tiny thrusts. “They don’t make love to me like you do, just as I don’t make love to them like I do for you. ” You confessed with conviction, and let gravity weigh you down onto Glen’s cock, taking him into your sturdy body. “Only you.”

Glen didn’t hear that right, did he? Loving someone? It was difficult to concentrate with the way you were working his cock. It was a glorious feeling being back inside of you, compact and warm like how he’d remember breaching you. 

You felt so stretched, uncomfortably yet pleasantly filled when you’d lift your hips until only the cockhead remained, and rammed his cock back in with a strong drop of your ass. Your forehead rested on Glen’s, and you could feel every puff of breath he’d exhale. Hear the restraints in his panting as you tied your arms around his neck, and let your weight push him flat onto his back, properly straddling him. 

“You love me? What you talking ‘bout?” He didn’t have the will to stop you. You were so eager, absolutely high on your arousal as you rode his cock with desperate rhythms, but he needed to address the revelation, for his sanity. 

First off, you beat him to the punch. Had it originally played out in his mind, Glen was the one to confess about his feelings, not you.

“What? I-I ain’t say nothin’ ‘bout that.” It must’ve slipped. You didn’t know when, or how, or maybe Glen was a mind reader because you definitely didn’t say that, did you? You rocked your lower body in quicker ruts, hoping it would distill any remaining questions, and looked off to the corner, silently cursing at yourself.

“You’re lying.” His grip on your hips was sudden, making you come to a pause.

“I ain’t lyin’—“ Your brows furrowed, exasperated at the interruption. Luckily, Glen’s cock was still hard inside you, somehow throbbing even more as you witnessed something clicked within him.

Glen took ahold of your body, arms secured around your waist, before stepping off the bed and carrying you to the lone rocking chair in the corner of the room. “So, you hate me?” 

“What? No, I don’t hate you. You—I—Glen, put me down.” You groaned when Glen sat down on the chair, the position driving his cock impossibly deeper into your body.

He refused despite your attempt in wriggling yourself free. You were strong, but Glen was stronger, tightening his arms around you. “Then what is it? I want to know how you feel before I feel like a fool for loving you too.”

Though, not like he had to hold you with much strength considering your bewilderment stunned you in place. “What? You love me?”

“You tellin’ me you don’t know? What was all that “makin’ love” speech about?” He was just as perplexed as you were. His chest felt heavy with disappointment. He’d been overthinking it, hadn’t he? Glen was a liar, someone who tried to convince himself of the impossible. 

“It felt like you were making love to me. Don’t mean that I thought you actually did.“ 

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

A deafening silence as you two stared at each other. You were about to leave his lap, only for him to bound you back to him at the last second.

“Well, I do. I love you.” Glen stated matter-of-factly, a peculiar tone to his official confession, you couldn’t help but chuckle at it.

“Bighorn…” You sighed, surrendering into his arms with the slouch of your body, your chest colliding onto his. Frankly, the thought of being with Glen made you happy, yet nervous at the same time. “You know it don’t matter whether I love you or not. Nothing is gonna happen beyond this. Nothing can happen, unless you wanna risk your life. Mine too.”

“That’s something I’m willin’ to do. I’ve risked my life traveling plains, through towns, carrying expensive liquor. Nothing I won’t do for you.” Your heart felt like a pond with thrown rocks skipping across the surface of water.

“Absolutely not, and that ain’t the same. How you gon’ love me when you’re ten feet underground because of the fact that you love me?” You crossed your arms, frowning at his persistence because… well, it was working. More rocks began breaking the solitude of the pond.

“From the heavens, hopefully. Can leave you with my horse. Got a ranch back at home too. Can leave you with that. You’d have a house like you’d always wanted. Carry on with my business.” Pure dreams. That was all they were. Dreams.

“That’s only if I ain’t buried with you, Bighorn.” As much as you seemed resistant to Glen’s imaginations, you found yourself picturing a better life for you as you buried your head into his neck, listening to his tales. Living on a ranch like he’d described. Cattle and sheep would run free while you struggled to keep up with Glen as you joined him on this new lifestyle. It would be hard work, but by dawn, you’d slip into bed with Glen after dinner, and deem that it was all worth it in the end.

“At least we’ll be together, one way or ‘nother.” He kissed you at your neck, laving your skin in the weakest kisses, almost like he was beginning to surrender to your defiance. “So, you love me? You love me too?”

“I—Bighorn—Glen…” 

He’d come a long way since you’d met him. Describing him as quiet was an understatement. He refused to make small talk when you led him into this room for the first time. It was a quick exchange, a shameful one as Glen power walked out of the saloon without sparing you a single glance. Now, he often spent nights with you, refusing to let go of you even in the deep of his slumber. In retrospect, you could’ve left when you had the chance. You had many opportunities even, to find a better life in the next town, and the next.

The thought of having Glen disappear from your life felt like death itself, so you didn’t, knowing that he would eventually down the line. 

A year later, and he hasn’t. 

Love makes you do crazy things. 

“You know I love you, Glen.” You rubbed his chest sweetly, forewarning him of the disappointment you’d never relieve him from. Tears formed at your waterline, threatening to leak, so you pressed your face deep into his neck, wiping them against his skin. Your heart felt heavy, like it wanted to burst out of your chest to stop you from pushing him away. It would’ve killed you, but at least it would’ve saved Glen the disappointment. “I love you too. I’m glad we sorted that out, but we—”

“No, stop. No more. I love you.” He cut you off with a sudden kiss, whispering into your mouth after. “I love you, and I need you, you understand me?” His palm was back on your rump, kneading at the tender, yet toned flesh, while the other hand pressed his growing erection back to your pucker again, prodding. “No more buts.”

“But—“ Your breath hitched when he slid himself in again, stretching you out like before, yet it felt like an endless slide, digging all the way into the deepest part of your body, like Glen was going to cradle your heart, until he was rooted deep inside of you, balls flushed to the cleft of your ass.

“(M/N), I’ll take care of ya. Whatever happens, I’ll take care of it, you hear me?” Glen cradled your head, kissing at your cheek while you returned to burying it in between his shoulder and neck. “Let me see you.”

“H-hmm, m-mhm—“ His cheeks burned as you made those wanton noises in midst of revealing yourself before him. Flushed in the face, cheeks stricken with tears; one would’ve mistaken you to be ill. Though, in a way you were. You’d been struck by incurable illness that was love.

Glen clicked his tongue, frowning in wonder. “So, so, so pretty. You look so pretty.” He began thrusting into you, resuming where you two had left off. “You look even prettier now that I’m making love to you, you know that?”

“You love me.” You bit your lip, holding back moans because you needed to hear it from Glen again, hear of his devotion for you.

“I love you.” He whispered through grunts, spreading your ass cheeks wide, and you pressed your body forward, arching your ass out as his thrusts ramped up. His cock slammed up into you with raw passion, devoting his remaining strength to holding your ass up, and making himself work for you, all in the name of love.

“I love you.” You repeated between needy whimpers. You soon began to bounce up and down, hands braced on Glen’s shoulders, while you joined his thrusts with your own movements, meeting him halfway. His large cock reared you from behind like a hammer to a nail, pummeling you without break, without the chance to let you breathe. 

It was rather the opposite, to knock the breath out of you. 

You watched close, mouthing at Glen’s neck, then jaw, until you reached his lips, where you’d let hungry moans delicately fall into place. Glen found you breathtaking as you lost your mind with primitive lust. 

“You belong to me, you hear me?” Glen said simply, his features calm. “No one else fucks you like I do.”

Your arms tightened around his neck for a hug. Glen seemed absolutely serene in his love, with you on his lap, fucking yourself into his cock. On the other hand, you were absolutely wrecked. Glen was fucking you harder, knocking guttural moans out of you on each thrust. Your own hole clenched when Glen lifted your ass up, pulling his cock completely out of you until you were squeezing nothing but warm air. He’d expertly dip a finger inside of you, to feel how stretched you were, play with your rim because of how swollen it had gotten, before stretching you back to capacity as he brought you back down on his cock, and onto his upward thrust.

“No one makes love to me like you do.” You panted through his batter, each syllable of word rattling in volume as you had absolutely no sense of it. Glen hummed in agreement while he fucked your ass and jerked your cock all at once. He was taking care of you.

You knew what he meant in the long run; tending to your injuries if you’d happen to fall off his saddle, hosing you down with water when you’d take a dive in the lake, feeding you the last bit of his biscuit because he never liked seeing you hungry. A life far from neglect as Glen had made you realize that you and him shared the dream.

But for now, he was taking care of you. Meticulously so as Glen remembered all the spots that made his tongue taste sugary when you’d moan in his mouth. Glen’s thumb caressed your frenulum, using the pre-cum your cockhead had been spitting to slip his touch in the tightest crevices. The pad of his thumb sailed smooth over the neck of your glans, flicking, pressing, rubbing at the swollen flesh of skin. You sounded so sweet and looked so serene under Glen’s touch, a complete antithesis to how you’d normally present yourself.

Glen was familiar with the roll of your eyes; from the way you’d interact with displeased customers at the bar, or from his demand to hold you throughout the night. But would you hold it against him if Glen revealed that he preferred seeing the whites of your eyes from being fucked impeccably in the ass? With his thick cock, battering your insides until you’d remember the shape of his cock? The motion of it all, digging deep into your ass, into your guts, pummeling through your need to clench hard around him, failing to pause him from hitting that sweet spot, or else you’d spill. Your hands curled into his chest as they were braced on the sweaty surface, and you’d never felt so desired, especially with your reflection in the vanity staring right back at you, providing you a simple glimpse of how beautiful you looked to Glen.

You’re a dirty bastard, Glen reckoned you’d confront him with, only before bending over the mattress and spreading your ass cheeks for him. You lucky that I’m as well, Bighorn.

No. No, you wouldn’t hold it against him. 

You were perfect.

“Close.” You warned, then dropped your head lower to kiss him on the lips, spilling your moans into his mouth in midst. 

Your hips bucked into his fist while simultaneously rocking back into Glen’s cock. His hold on you was secure, clutching to keep you as close to him as possible. You toyed with your nipples, pinching and tugging on them, and Glen accepted those gestures as a silent invitation for him to wrap his lips around one nub at at a time, suckling on the perky bud until you’d gone swollen. You’d join his lips for another kiss in gratitude, thanking him with your tongue as it explored his warm mouth, licking into his panting, his grunts, his devotion for you. You swallowed his spit after, and your fate with Glen was sealed and optimistically beyond your control.

“You look like an angel right now, but your hole’s the devil. Squeezing around my cock like this, holding me so tight like you’re afraid I’m ‘bout to pull out of ya. Christ, you’re so tight. You my dirty angel. My sweet devil.” His hand had abandoned your cock in favor of taking your ass into both palms and spreading them like before, fucking his cock up into you.

Your eyes shared pleasure with his, only your pupils had seem blown since he’d started angling his hips in a way that sent tremors to your body. With your cock in your hand, you gazed down at Glen with dazed passion, lips parted to warn, yet only little sounds had come out instead. “Glen. Christ—“ His cockhead tickled your sweet spot at first, a brief brushing that you didn’t think much of other than the fact that it made your body tremble. But Glen persisted, shifting his body against your gorgeous, helpless, and needy body, and fucked your tight body with force, teeth-bared, sweat beading on his forehead. Your mouth fell open, and your face slackened with unadulterated pleasure. “Damn you, I’m gonna come—“

Glen shuddered, witnessing your gaze blur in and out in an attempt to focus on him as he was on the brink of his control himself. “Do it,” he urged you. “I want you to. Come from my cock. Gonna come too, inside of your hole.”

You wailed when Glen’s strong thighs slammed into your sweaty ass. A thunder of delicious sounds: your wails and his growls, the bruising smacks of flesh to flesh, the hard rocking of the chair, scraping against the floor; they created a symphony that was nearing a crescendo. Faster. Harder. Deeper. Glen pounded up into you, and your ears blared with sounds of Glen’s pleasure. Your fist pumped your cock until your forearms began to burn, veins pulsing through to power you to your high.

He was gutting you, hollowing your hole out until it would recover just in time for his next visit. You’d remember him for the remaining weeks, his cock pummeling you until your melodic cries had shifted from want to euphoric need.

“Glen..!” You yelled.

Glen kissed you deeply and bit your lower lip, one hand steeling you by the nape to hold your forehead to his. He doesn’t plan on letting go. Watching you like this, submerged in unconditional pleasure, was just as gratifying as hammering into your prostate. “You feel so good, angel. Look at you. Look at that pretty smile, you’re so happy to be filled with my cock. 

You were so full of cock, of Glen’s cock, and you cried from it. Cried from how Glen was taking care of you so well, back to fisting your cock, kissing your neck, pounding your insides out.

Love has never felt so good.

Finally, you came with an arch of your back. Glen’s fist released just in time for thick and heavy ropes to splatter on his chest. Glen stiffened, his eyes daring back and forth between the exhilarating expression on your face and the obscene visual of your cum flooding Glen’s fists as he wrapped his hand back around you, and worked you through your orgasm.

“M-mmfgh, come inside— Need it. I need you.” With your eyes on his, you leaned down to kiss him and take his hands into yours for balance, raising them over his head. They were sticky shut from layers of your cum, but that only made it more thrilling as you rode him. You lifted your hips and brought it down without a single pause, burying his cock inside of you to the hilt.

“Angel, fuck— I’m coming.“

You swallowed his growls, warnings of the inevitable, yet you accelerated like you didn’t hear, slamming your ass down repeatedly, chasing after his high. His hands suddenly grasped hard onto yours, sponging cum out from the locked hands and letting it trail down your arms, and his hips bucked. You could feel his thighs flex, see rapture possess his very being as his gritted teeth no longer could contain the trumpeting sound of his moans, his muscles pulsing. With one more press of your ass, you buried Glen’s cock and felt him come inside of you. Heavy and thick as his hot seed stained your walls. Creamy like butter, when you slowly milked him inside of you with gentle rhythms of your hips. It felt sublime, having your insides contain Glen’s devotion for you.

“You the devil himself…” Glen groaned and his body twitched as you emptied him of seed, stopping once you were satisfied. He then released your hands to embrace your waist, letting you slump into him with relief. Your head rested on his shoulder, and your eyes closed shut.

“You really mean it? You’d wanna live on a ranch together, or something?” You asked, feeling his heart come to a calm with your palm providing soothing strokes to his chest.

“Have I ever lied to you?” He turned, pressing his nose to yours. One hand caressed the small of your back, and occasionally would fondle your rump. Warm and plump in his grasp, he couldn’t help that he was in love with every aspect of you.

You thought about his question for a moment, pursing your lips before shaking your head. “No.”

“Then that’s your answer.” He assured with a kiss to your lips. “We ain’t gotta do it now, or the next month, or the month after that. When you’re ready. Just wanted to know I want a future with you.”

“Me too...” You muttered, playing with his chest hair to distract the sudden conflict you’d been harboring from him. 

Silence filled the room for a moment as he watched you intently. You picked up his hat from the floor and fit it on yourself. 

“There’s that ‘but’ again. What’s the problem?” Glen chuckled, his heart racing again despite maintaining his composure. He playfully flicked the rim of his hat down, making it tilt on your head, and cover your sight line.

“Hey—You ain’t gon’ like it.” You adjusted the hat, sighing in defeat when Glen watched you with vigilance.

“What?” He sat up, making you straighten your posture in turn.

“Think the sheriff’s not gonna like the sound of me quitting.”

“You kidding?”

“Nope.” You pursed your lips again, then sighed. “He’s boss’s most loyal customer. Pays well too. I mean, I don’t know. I may be wrong, but… think he likes me beyond what I do for him. Buys me gift from the city and all.“

“Well, he’s gonna have to prove it. I ain’t leaving without a fight. Not until I’m dead, and even then, I’ll be watchin’ over ya.”

“You a mad man.”

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[aptericia]

Not proud to be here.

--

Ok, here goes draft like 5 of this fucking post. I spent 4 hours tossing and turning in bed last night thinking about this, and then this morning I found a tumblr post that really helped me understand what I was trying to say.

The post talks about how aromantic "advocates" claim that "aros don't take up resources, so there's no reason not to include them!" And if that's actually what people believe, I think I can finally articulate why it is that I feel so alienated in queer spaces.

It's because aspecs in general aren't "welcomed" by much of the queer community. We're tolerated. We perhaps get the luxury of not being contradicted on our own identities, or not being specifically kicked out of LGBTQ-only spaces, but that's the whole point: what we get out of the queer "community" is people NOT doing things, not actually doing things FOR us. And that, frankly, is not enough. We deserve conversations about us. We deserve to have others consider our feelings, even when making lighthearted jokes. We deserve varied, respectful representation in media. We deserve the active deconstruction of amatonormativity in society. We deserve to have space made for us, rather than at most being told we should "go take up more space!" ourselves.

Of course, the reality is that my being aspec is a personal matter that does not inherently affect anyone else. But the same can be said for literally any queer identity. Your being gay doesn't say anything about me, so of course I shouldn't hurt you for it, but why should I help you either? Because your happiness and comfort are important. The same goes for aspecs.

And most of the time, I don't even need anyone to make space for or expend resources on me; I can live fine in everyday, non-queer-specific places without mentioning my identity at all. But it's the queer community that claims it will make that space for me, doesn't, and then acts defensive and morally pure if I call out the hypocrisy because "we're queer too, you can't erase our identities to advocate for yours!!!!"

Again, this post isn't about specifics. I have queer friends who are incredibly thoughtful and supportive about my identity, just as I have non-queer friends who are. I find more solidarity in aspec-only communities, as well as trans/genderqueer ones, although there are still many exceptions. This post is also not about amatonormative ideology, which is extremely common from queer and non-queer people alike. This post is about the reason I've felt so betrayed by the queer community.

--

On a personal note, I remember being so excited when I started identifying as aromantic (and later asexual). Fitting myself into labels has been a lifelong struggle for me; to this day I still can't confidently say if I'm White or PoC, neurotypical or neurodivergent, abled or disabled, cisgender or not cisgender. I continue to struggle making friends because I don't fall into social cliques. To discover that I officially, certainly, was LGBTQ+ lifted a huge weight off my shoulders. And now I'm just so sad to find that despite that, I'm still stuck in the middle. I didn't get rewarded with a community. I still feel alienated from both queer and non-queer people. I know it was silly to get my hopes up when there's such vast diversity in both groups, but it really was a disappointment. Going to my first Pride parade last year was really the moment where I realized this.

[xiaq]

In the last year we’ve been in our house, we’ve had an issue with one of our neighbors. He owns the house, but he rents it out all year on Airbnb.

His house/garage shares a back pedestrian alley with ours. Now, he keeps his trash bins at the street 24/7 since he’s not there to take them out on trash day, which means that for the first few months we owned our home, his guests were filling up our bins, the only bins in the pedestrian alley, with trash/recycling (even though they’re right outside our door, not his). They would run out of space and overflow every week and we’d have nowhere to put our trash. We messaged the owner multiple times and he did nothing. So we moved our trash and recycling out to the street as well, which is a hassle, but better than dealing with a bunch of party-trash on a weekly basis.

We left our compost bin, since we step out the back door to empty our kitchen compost container into it almost daily and don’t want to walk all the way around to the street. This bin is bright and very clearly labeled both for our home and for compost.

His Airbnb guests did not care. For the past few months, at least every other week, I am pulling trash (often not bagged) from our compost bin. I’ve added giant signs, I’ve tried putting bungee cords on it so they have to slow down and read the signs. They ignore these measures.

Thursday, after having to completely clean out the bin of rotting party trash (again) so we can use it for compost, we sent a message to the owner (again) that was ignored (again).

Instead of dealing with the trash myself this time, I left if piled outside his back door.

This morning, not only is the trash still piled outside the door 3 days later, his new guests, who checked in Friday, have added an additional bag.

B is still trying to message him and be diplomatic.

I’m ready to burn some bridges.

My first thought is to bring all the trash to the front porch, so someone will be forced to deal with it if they want to get in or out of the home.

My second thought is to tell the city he’s operating an illegal Airbnb. In the city proper, due to the housing crisis, you can only get a rental license if the home is your primary residence and you live there for the majority of the year. He verifiably does not.

Now, I’m not typically a snitch but A this guy has been given multiple (multiple)opportunities to address his guests’ poor behavior and elected not to. B, he’s knowingly contributing to the rise in housing costs which is a dick move in itself.

Frankly I’m not above doing both, at this point.

Thoughts?

[dejwrld]

⤷‧₊˚ hiromi higuruma helps his bratty sub study for her bar exam.

┊ •° ੈ ⋆° ┊ warning readers discretion is advised — black reader with descriptors, female anatomy described, her/she pronouns, usage of y/n, reader is a law student, mentions of reader being the child of a judge, mentions of law, dom!hiromi, sub!reader, reader described to be very feminine and bratty, no cursed au, dom x sub dynamic, usage of toys (vibrating panties), oral (reader receiving), pet names (good girl, doll), mentions of pubes, praise kink (academical), bonus after care scene, written in third pov (hiromi’s), mdni

sticky note from deja — sometimes i think about dom hiromi higuruma and just sigh happily.

Hiromi passed his bar exam with flying colors. He didn’t do study groups. Simply studied alone and prioritized his time to balance being a law clerk, studying, and socializing to ensure a law firm hired him. But this woman didn’t do any of that and frankly, he was even shocked that she still wanted to pursue law at all. She graduated from law school with a high GPA, and wonderful recommendations from amazing professors, and her father was a prominent judge. Many can assume that her pretty looks and her legacy surname got her where she is today, but Hiromi has observed her in her element and when she was in her element she was a beast. 

So the older lawyer had no clue why she came to him with law books in her arm, her tote bag slung on her shoulders—tight coils sprawled on her head like a crown, and a tight suede tracksuit on as if she was stepping into her law class. But of course, when she had a problem, she came to him. When she needed a quick nut, she came to him. Needing someone to vent about when it came to her class rival, she came to him. Now it seemed she needed help studying for the exam and who did she come to, him.

But as an hour and thirty minutes went by, the young woman was not soaking up the information that Hiromi was going over. His eyes bored into the notebook, flashcards, and textbooks scattered across his desk. She watches as she twirls her pink pen around her fingers reading over the notes she jolted down, but he can just tell by the crinkle of her eyebrows that the information wasn’t going through that thick skull of hers. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe she knew the information because she did. But he doubted she’d remember it for the exam. He leaned back into his comfortable black desk chair trying to rack his brain with a better studying technique before eventually he got an idea. An imaginary light bulb lit up over the top of the lawyer’s head.

“I think I have an idea.” He spoke out, causing her to stop her highlighting—which he was hoping she would do because the scent of the highlighter was already giving him a headache simply because she just had to have scented ones. 

This one smells like strawberries, smell it? Those were her exact words forty-five minutes ago as he was going over some laws on family laws. 

“Will it help me feel like the information I’m consuming is sticking and staying in my brain?” 

“Possibly,” was the only thing Hiromi answered before pulling himself out of his seat and disappearing from his office.

It was three things the woman that sat across from him enjoyed. Shopping, her father’s credit card, and sexual pleasure. If Hiromi had any more knowledge of psychology, he would have labeled Y/N as a nymphomaniac. 

When returned with the red velvet box, he sat the box on the table and she perked up happily, possibly thinking that this was a sparkly diamond necklace for her. 

“A gift? Aw, this definitely will help.” Her plush glossed lips spread into a smile. She claps her hands together in excitement sitting up in the chair. 

“It’s not a necklace, doll.” He points out. She opened the box revealing the black lace underwear that had a vibrator inside of them. 

He was going to use these at their anniversary dinner as a sub and dog duo, but he guessed he had to come up with another idea to make their dinner interesting. His gloomy eyes watched as her eyes lit up like fuckin’ fireworks. His assumption was right. He watches as she simply stands up ready to remove her underwear eagerly.

“I do think a quick sex session will help me focus a bit more. This is why I came to you. At first, I was going to join that one guy who knows Nanami's study group, but in my mind—I just knew you would have a better study idea.” She giggled as her hand went to untie her tracksuit bottoms to change into the other panties.

“No, we’re not doing that. Put the panties on and sit back down.” He scattered around his desk to give her time to change into the vibrating panties. 

He thought she was going to argue against what he said, but she didn’t. As quiet as can be, she’s shuffling to remove her underwear and replace it with the sexual treat that Hiromi graced upon her. While she changed, Hiromi was looking for the notebook that he used when he was studying for his bar exam. He knew it had a bunch of mock bar exam questions on there and thought they would help. When he found the book, he walked back to his desk and Y/N sat patiently waiting for him, she went back to reading her textbook without a care. 

Hiromi removed the box from the table, placing it on the ledge behind him after he grabbed the remote. He slammed the notebook on the table that looked like it’s been through centuries of war. He liked keeping it because it showed how far he had come from a law student to one of the best lawyers in the city. He skimmed through the pages before finding a page he wanted to start on. 

“A defendant is being prosecuted for conspiracy to possess methamphetamine with intent to distribute. At trial, the government seeks to have its agent testify to a conversation that he overheard between the defendant and a co-conspirator regarding the incoming shipment of a large quantity of methamphetamine. That conversation was also audiotaped, though critical portions of it are inaudible. The defendant objects to the testimony of the agent on the ground that it is not the best evidence of the conversation.” He pauses briefly to look at Y/N across from him. “Is the testimony of the agent admissible?” 

He watches as she brings her French tip manicured finger to her chin to think. He had a feeling she knew the answer, she told him about the paper she had done about admissible evidence. But as he watches her shoulders go upward and downward in an ‘I don’t know’ manner, Hiromi lets out a sigh before pressing the remote. The silence in his office was disrupted by the sound of the vibration. He watches as she jerks forward provocatively. He leans back in his seat.

“You know the answer to this, stop being a smart ass.” Hiromi’s slender fingers toyed with the small remote watching as she was withering forward in attempting to mask her moan.

“It’ll be admissible,” She breathes out. 

“Why?” Hiromi asked. 

For a quick second, he can see a glint of sexual frustration in her eyes. This was the first sexual encounter in a while due to him restricting them from it. He had a huge case coming up and she had to study for the bar exam. Sex would cloud their judgment on the tasks they had to do. 

“The best evidence rule does not require proof of the conversation through the audiotape.” 

He presses the button on the remote making the vibrator stop. “Good girl. I knew you knew that.” His lips crack a smile and he watches as she recomposes herself. 

“Next question.” Hiromi flips through the pages in his notebook. “Hypothetically thinking, say a person broke into a closed building to solely seek refuge due to a snowstorm. Can this person be convicted of burglary if that’s her defense?” His fingers were itching to press the button, but he had to hear her answer first.

“No.” 

“Why? Come on baby, you know they’re going to ask why?” 

“I’m not sure, let me think.” 

It didn’t take long before Hiromi pressed the button. Her moans echoed within the study while clasping her thighs closed to engulf the sudden vibration from the panties she wore. She falls back into the seat across from him and her body arches off of it briefly before she’s finally croaking out an explanation. 

“Burglary requires the intent to commit a crime upon entering a building and seeking shelter from a storm is not a criminal act. So, this hypothetical person can validate her claim.” 

“That’s right. You’re doing amazing with these questions. Just need it to stick in your brain, that’s all.” He reassures Y/N with a smile.

The quizzing went on for about thirty minutes, but Hiromi had lost track of time when he felt how tight his cock felt in his slacks. He was sure she had orgasmed multiple times from the vibrating panties just by the way her eyes drooped, her body slouching in the leather seat she was in, and the fact that he could see her hardened nipples through the sports bra after she had unzipped the hoodie of her tracksuit. She had this tendency where if he wasn’t touching her during little sessions, she had to touch herself. Which she did, right across from him—each time he flicked the remove on causing the vibrating on her pussy, she'd pinch her marbled nipples while uttering out a response to a random law question. 

“I think you deserve a break for today. You still have the weekend to study,” He pointed out as he tossed the remote back into its box. “Come here.” 

She’s hesitant at first and Hiromi can tell just by the way her lips part to argue and her eyebrows frown together. She wasn’t sure if she should cave and come forward or stay put just to feel the vibrating in between her thighs again. She knew that he knew she always defied him in some way just to get a rise out of him, but today—it seems her head was screwed on right. After all, Hiromi didn’t have to help Y/N study. Helping her study wasn’t a part of the contract, but he did—in such an odd sexy manner that caused her to be soaked between her thighs. 

As she tiptoed around the wooden desk, she was peeling off her clothes so provocatively that Hiromi couldn’t help but swallow the harsh knot that formed in his throat. He couldn’t wait for himself to be buried so far in between her sumptuous thighs that the only thing he could smell on his top lip was her essence. Hiromi spread his muscular thighs so that she could take place between them—looking down at him like she was Aphrodite and he was a man that she had just placed under a spell due to her elegance. His hand grabs her waist letting his hands caress every bump and curve of her body that he was obsessed with. From the stretch marks that decorate her mahogany skin to the small mole that was right near her belly button. 

“You drive me fuckin’ insane,” Hiromi finds himself saying. His dark eyes scan at how her lips spread into a grin. 

He grabs her, placing her on his desk without a sweat. The sound of textbooks and notebooks echoed through the office as he pulled himself further under the table. Her legs gaped so provocatively that in Hiromi’s mind, the Lady Justice statue on the shelf on his left probably wanted to clutch her pearls. Hiromi placed subtle kisses on her legs starting from her ankle which was decorated bejeweled with a diamond anklet. 

“You’re stalling. You know how much I want you right now, and you’re stalling.” The law student breathes as she leans back on the weight of her arms. 

Hiromi watches as her chest begins to rise rapidly with each kiss growing closer to her pussy. Her words went into one ear and out the other for the lawyer and when he was finally face to face with what his mouth salivated for, his eyes met with hers. Her eyes were pleading for something. A kiss. A nibble. A lick. Hell, even a blow. Anything to soothe the aching feeling on her clit. Y/N’s hand went down to palm at the wetness in between her thighs, so eager and impatient—but the stern lawyer stopped her. 

“Don’t fucking touch yourself, Y/N.” He commands. 

And there goes the tone she was longing for. Oh, that authoritarian tone that made her pussy clench when he used it. She relaxes under his touch and lets him do his work. “If you’re going to take so long, I might as well finish off by myself.” Y/N comments. 

“You talk so much, do you love hearing yourself talk?” 

“And you are doing so much talking for a man whose mouth should be stuffed with my pus—”

Her words were interrupted by the feeling of Hiromi’s tongue dragging upon her panties. He pulled them to the side swiftly and finally was granted what he wanted all along. The flat of his tongue licks up her pussy lips collecting her juices like a man that was deprived of water for days. He moans at the taste of her and his hands grab at her waist to pull her closer. His eyes flutter close as he’s lapping at her puffy pussy lips at the sound of her moans. Her fingers entangled in his hair as her hips grind against his face. She wasn’t sure what was turning her on more. The way his face was buried into her pussy or how attractive it looked as his nose was nuzzling against her pubes. 

“Fuck.” She moans out, her toes curling at the feeling of his tongue flicking her clit. 

Hiromi detaches himself from her briefly, peppering soft kisses on her trembling thighs before devouring her whole again. The thing about Hiromi is that he knew how her body would react to certain things. He knew how her pussy clenched around his cock when he gave her neck a little squeeze. He knew that she was in between a squirter and creamer depending on the task. Squirting when he’s fingering her with a vibrator practically glued upon her clit. Creamer when he’s forcing orgasm after orgasm out of her after begging him to cum inside her (but to Hiromi, having his cum inside her is merely a privilege). So of course, he knew using his tongue to trace alongside the drooling entrance of her pussy was going to have her pushing herself forward for more. The mere feeling of his tongue invading her in such a manner that had her a trembling and whimpering mess was something Hiromi knew about her. 

Hiromi lets out a moan at how good she tastes. The taste of Y/N has graced his tongue countless times and he still ate her out as if it was the best meal he has tasted. With each squirm in his arms, he’s flicking his tongue slower on her clit. With each moan of his name that slips by her plush lips, he’s granting her more licks and sucks. He wanted to see her come undone right here. He could feel it just by the way her thighs were poorly attempting to entrap his head by shutting them. 

He lets out an annoyed sigh after he removes himself from her pussy, “Do you want to cum, Y/N?” 

“I do. I want to cum.” She whines.

“Then fuckin’ act like it.” 

Y/N obediently nods, her snarky comment jammed into her throat before she let Hiromi spread her thighs even wider than what they were before. Her clit throbbing to be in his mouth again and he graciously granted her wish. Like a deprived man, Hiromi snuggled his nose back into her pubes as if he belonged there. Y/N was aware that Hiromi knew she was about to cum. He had this tendency to hold onto her as if she would turn into dust in his arms—as if he didn’t want to let her go. That’s what he was currently doing as her orgasm was spilling over. One hand gripping her in place (that she knew would leave a bruise) and the other palming his hardened cock through his pants.

Just with the flick of his tongue, an explosive feeling causes Y/N to let out a dragged-out moan. Her back lays back on the desk as Hiromi’s tongue helps her ride out the orgasm. Her French pedicured toes curl at the feeling of that fiery pit in her stomach shattering so intensely it brought tears to her eyes. Her fingers tugged at his black strands of hair as if they were a handle holding her up from falling. When she heard him remove himself from her with a pop, Hiromi leaned back in his seat with a huge satisfied grin on his face.

After Y/N came down from the euphoria of cumming in Hiromi’s mouth, she sat up on her elbows with a pleased look on her face. She knew after any sexual intercourse with the high-profile lawyer, he just had to include aftercare in the special package. He may have gotten off at the thought of seeing her tied up with rope, handcuffed to his headboard, or mouth gagged with his cock—but he was very serious when it came to aftercare. The two soon settled for a bath to end the evening. The warmth of the water engulfed their bodies as they were in the large bathtub filled with scented soap and rose petals. Hiromi’s head fell back to be met with the marbled tile and he let out a relaxing sigh, the scent of Y/N lingering on his upper lip and tongue. 

“I have a confession to make..” Y/N leans further back on him, relaxing under the warmth of both the water and Hiromi’s body. 

“Hm.” He hums lightly letting his eyes flutter back open.

“I’m actually well prepared for the bar exam. Took a practice bar exam a week ago and according to my professor—if it was the real one, I would have passed.” She happily sighs letting her fingers play with the bubbles in the tub. 

“What?” Hiromi glares at the back of her head with a displeased look.

“I woke up this morning with a student and tutor sex fantasy, silly.” 

“You will be the death of me.” 

⤷‧₊˚ cuties that wanted to be tagged | @tojiscumdumpster @salaciousdoll @thithesandofferings @tachibannaa @shinsousliya @sinistersnakey1427 @gothogue @rhionnajones @jamaicanqueenaa @dxmb-luv @0hmyg0th @ryukenzz @dancingwithdeities @getosbunny @hvly @racconwarrer @aiyaaayei @torapologist @strawhatsav @msdrpreist @neesieiumz @strawberrymuffinlovin @consternat1on @photosbyameil

thanks for reading. <3

[fantastic-nonsense]

So what are the best Nightwing runs to read?

*sigh* this is a very loaded question.

Three things to keep in mind before we continue:

Dick's best writing historically happens in books that are not the Nightwing solo.

The tenures of Nightwing solo writers are usually pretty long, so despite Dick having a solo comic for nearly 30 continuous years, there's a limited number of writers who have actually written Nightwing.

The direction of Dick's solo book has been at times driven largely by the whims of editorial edicts rather than creative team desires, particularly the fallout from War Games and Infinite Crisis pre-reboot and Dan Didio's personal hatred of the character post-reboot. So most Nightwing runs already come with a huge asterisk beside them labelled "*Note: worse than it would have been without editorial interference."

For ease of answering the question, I'm not including Dick solo books that happened when he was Robin or Batman on this list. Since there's only 14 total Nightwing/Grayson writers to choose from (Dixon, Grayson, Jones, Wolfman, Tomasi, Higgins, Seeley and King, Seeley, Humphries, Percy, Lobdell, Jurgens, Taylor, Watters), your options are already limited. Of those:

Devin Grayson's run, Marv Wolfman's run, Tim Seeley and Tom King's Grayson run, Ben Percy's filler arc, and Scott Lobdell's Ric arc are all objectively bad, for various reasons. All have redeeming features, but I would rarely actually recommend them to anyone.

Bruce Jones' One Year later filler arc wins the prize for "had potential, ruined by the most utterly bizarre creative decisions of all time" (aka, everything about Cheyenne Freemont and Tentacle Monster!Jason).

Dan Jurgens' run is…fine. Unfortunately, because it's short and focused on cleaning up Joker War and the Ric arc, there's not a lot of redeeming plot features.

Tim Seeley's solo run and Tom Taylor's run are aggressively mid. They're both readable, and they both have some solid arcs and character development; they also have creative approaches, characterizations, and/or plotlines that are just. very bad.

tbh, my opinions on Taylor's run written prior to the sister reveal vs. post-reveal are funny because it's just a complete 180. my pre-reveal opinion was like "oh this is a fun lighthearted palette cleanser run after the nonsense of the last 5 years. I have issues with it, especially with the ableism and general treatment of Babs, but the run itself is probably needed to re-establish an actual status quo" and my opinion of the post-reveal part of the run is like "this run is dead to me."

So this ultimately leaves us with a Top 5 of Chuck Dixon (his og run, not including Nightwing: Year One, which I personally dislike), Peter Tomasi, Kyle Higgins, Sam Humphries, and Dan Watters' current run.

I'm still not sure where I'd rank these Top 5, since they all have really great elements and not great elements. Dixon's run is foundational but is more focused on worldbuilding than it is on plot progression; it's a great starting place as long as you don't expect consistent quality from all 70 issues. Tomasi's run had fantastic characterization, but his plots aren't great and are frankly racist in hindsight. I really enjoyed Higgins' run, but it was clearly held back by all of the New 52 era editorial edicts and Batfam history/relationship erasure. Humphries' run was imo great but ultimately too short to consider a 'top run.' And Watters' run has been incredible so far, but he's literally only 5 issues in and I can't guarantee he'll stick the landing or stay this good.

So. Probably Tomasi>Dixon>Higgins>Humphries, with the current run by Watters tentatively somewhere on the list as well?

[transandrobroism]

an observation from several posts/conversations that could really help in avoiding a lot of misunderstandings: often when people talk about 'transmisogyny', they are using the term 'transmisogyny' to mean at least three different things simultaneously and conflating different meanings of the term in discussions. in general usage i've seen 'transmisogyny' used to mean:

transmisogyny-as-phenomena - i.e. 'transmisogyny' as a term for the intersection of transphobia and misogyny, a common feature of transfems' experiences;

transmisogyny-as-framework - in which transmisogyny is elevated to the level of a conceptual framework for understanding all transphobia. under this meaning everyone is encouraged/expected to conceptualise their experiences of transphobia through the lens of transmisogyny and run it through a filter of "how does this relate back to transmisogyny as the primary driving force for all transphobia"

on top of this both uses of the term are also conflated with the TMA/TME framework that divides people into two neat categories of those affected or primarily targeted by transmisogyny (transmisogyny affected, or TMA) and those exempt from transmisogyny and only accidentally impacted by it (transmisogyny exempt, or TME).

conflating all these meanings with each other is how you end up with soggy takes like "rejecting the label of TME is denying transfems the right to define and discuss their own oppression" which is a real thing that someone (transmasc) said to me. treating these concepts as all interchangeable meanings of the term transmisogyny contributes to a lot of the discourse and (frankly) animosity about discussions of transandrophobia, because when someone says something like "idk i just don't think transmisogyny is adequate as a robust framework for understanding how all transphobia works" or "dividing the world into TMA/TME is a flawed way of viewing transphobia and replicates the gender binary we're all trying to dismantle", that's a critique of transmisogyny-as-framework, but is read as a rejection of transmisogyny-as-phenomena, and thus is viewed as invalidating transfems' experiences.

add to that the fact that i've seen some people insist that transmisogyny is not just an umbrella term for the ways transfems experience transphobia but just means the intersection of transphobia and misogyny - but at the same time people insist that AFAB (trans) people are all exempt from transmisogyny by default and that our experiences should be discussed as 'misdirected transmisogyny'. which renders the de facto meaning of the term 'transmisogyny' an umbrella term for transfem experiences from which anyone not transfem is exempt.

the conflation of terms and definitions means any critique of transmisogyny or TMA/TME is taken as a denial of transfems' experiences. it also means that when transmascs propose a term like 'transandrophobia' - meaning the intersection of the identity positions of 'trans' and 'man', or more broadly a term for commonly-shared experiences of transmascs - that's read as an argument that all men are systemically oppressed for being men (it's not) and/or that transmascs are proposing transandrophobia-as-framework (again, not the case). but because 'transmisogyny' can refer interchangeably to both transphobic phenomena and experiences and a proposed conceptual framework for transphobia in general, the term 'transandrophobia' is misconstrued as a conceptual framework. we say "we've come up with a term to describe our experiences as transmascs" and people hear "you need to conceptualise all your experiences with transphobia in terms of the oppression of transmascs and centre our experiences in your discussions about your own marginalisation".

the reality is that most people discussing transandrophobia are not denying that transfems experience transphobia or denying that transmisogynistic phenomena happen. objections to the TMA/TME distinction are objections to a conceptual framework that treats all transphobia as just transmisogyny in a trenchcoat, and not a denial that transfems experience transmisogyny or are 'not oppressed' or whatever else.

for the record, i have no beef with transmisogyny either as a term for the intersection of transphobia and misogyny or as a term for shared transfem experiences. my critiques of transfeminst thinking are theoretical, namely:

transmisogyny-as-framework presupposes that the major driving force of all transphobia is a desire to target/punish trans women and that everyone else is caught in the crossfire. i don't think that's adequate as a conceptual framework because transphobia is better understood as a result of a gender-essentialist society punishing all non-normative performance of gender. it also relies on a lot of faulty assumptions about the transphobia that transmascs experience. transphobia experienced by transmascs is treated as a category-typical experience of transphobia (i.e. trans men get the 'just transphobia' version, whilst transfems get the 'transphobia plus' version)... but also transmasc oppression must be framed in terms of 'misdirected (trans)misogyny'. you can't treat trans men as having the most typical, 'basic' experience of transphobia whilst also insisting all transphobia is actually a form of transmisogyny misdirected at other trans people. those two positions are mutually contradictory. if all transphobia is actually about transmisogyny then transfems are getting the default transphobia experience and transmascs/trans nonbinary people/etc are all getting variations of that, not the other way around.

if you want to use transmisogyny as a framework for understanding all of transphobia, you cannot label anyone as exempt from transmisogyny. if transmisogyny is the proposed framework for understanding all transphobic discrimination of any trans person of any gender, then you are saying we all exist in a system of transmisogyny. therefore none of us are exempt from it. and if you're proposing transmisogyny-as-framework for all trans experiences, then all trans people get to weigh in on it, because you're applying it to all of us. i get to disagree with the framework being coercively applied to my experiences and i should be able to do that without being called transmisogynistic, because critiquing a framework you're asking every trans person to submit to is not synonymous with hating on trans women or denying their lived experiences or saying they're not oppressed. you can't insist that transmascs are TME by default whilst also insisting we only ever discuss our experiences as 'misdirected transmisogyny'. and you definitely can't label all transmascs as exempt from transmisogyny whilst simultaneously insisting we use transmisogyny as the conceptual framework within which we understand our oppression. that's trying to have your cake and eat it.

the TMA/TME framework is just reinventing binary gender but with extra steps. especially since in practice determining whether someone is TMA or TME seems to involve an awful lot of focus on people's assigned gender and what genitals they were born with.

a lot of this theorising follows a very radfem pattern of dividing everyone into two gendered categories, labelling one of those categories to Privileged Oppressor Class, and then heavily policing who gets to belong to the Oppressed Victims Class based on their genitals and socialisation. at which point you're just doing TERFism from the other direction. any framework that proposes we can understand gendered experiences in terms of a strict binary is automatically throwing intersex and nonbinary people under the bus. a comprehensive theory of trans experiences must have space for nonbinary identities and intersex experiences otherwise it is incomplete.

i'm making this post in good faith and i'm not denying the impact of transmisogyny on transfems. but i do think theorising around transmisogyny and TMA/TME as a framework have a number of flaws and i'm not going to use those frameworks to talk about my own experiences because they are theoretically inadequate. a robust theory of transphobia and trans experiences must have room for all trans experiences within it, as well as overlapping experiences of gendered oppression such as intersexism, misogyny, butchphobia etc. TMA/TME ain't it.

[marauder-misprint]

hello and good day! can I request sirius black x house of prince member!reader whose like severus' only tolerable cousin (so platonic severus and reader kinda relationship and they're chill) but the marauders don't know that and sirius has a fat crush on the reader (reader isn't in slytherin if that's okay) and flirts w them but reader thinks "Oh sirius is probs flirting w me to piss of severus" and cheerfully rejects him till like severus confronts the marauders that sirius stops being a coward and all and to leave his cousin alone and the marauders goes "????" and severus goes "hold on you don't know" and sirius kinda spirals bc the person he's down bad is severus' cousin... uh new tactics to win them over... severus being the biggest hater lmfao, if you can't write this pls don't force yourself 🫶! ty and have a good day!

Hi! Thank you for this request! ❤︎ I put reader in Hufflepuff - I think it fits :) I hope I did this request justice, especially the Snape/Reader dynamic.

Hope you enjoy ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

Snape's cousin

Sirius Black x Prince!reader

5k words

cw: fluff, pining Sirius

Until last year, there were two non-Slytherins that Severus willingly talked to and was friendly with. One was Lily Evans but they were no longer on speaking terms. The other, the one who remains, is you. A lot of students wonder why you occasionally hang out and seek him out in the Great Hall. Frankly, he’s one of the few Slytherins you talk to – you don’t mind Pandora and Dorcas. But what a majority of your classmates don’t know is that you and Severus are cousins. Your close friends know, as do his, and you’re sure a few of Lily’s friends know too. 

The first time you saw him label a book ‘Property of the Half-blood Prince,’ you snatched it and held it away from him as he tried to get it back. 

“Come on, give it back. It’s mine,” he had said. 

You pointed at what he had written. “According to this, it’s more mine than yours. You’re Snape.” 

Severus rolled his eyes and you handed him the book back with a triumphant smile on your face. When you teased him, it was friendly, short-lived and harm-free. Severus tolerated it. It was better than anything the Marauders did to him. Plus, you were family and family he didn’t despise at that so he kept you around. You offered him a change of pace from his Slytherin friends. Severus needed it more than he would admit. 

You, on the other hand, are not hurting for friends. People like you. To a point, you’d say they gravitate toward you. One of those who seems to gravitate toward you more than he should is Sirius. 

“Oi! Prince!” his voice calls across the Transfiguration courtyard. 

You’re walking with Meredith and Abby to your next class. You have a few minutes to spare so you pause and turn to see Sirius jogging up to you. 

“Yeah?” 

“So, I know you’re a Prince, but if you were mine, I’d treat you like a queen,” he says once he’s next to you.

Cue eye roll. 

“I appreciate that, Sirius, but no thank you,” you say sweetly.

Then you continue walking with your friends, the girls sharing a knowing look. This wasn’t the first time Sirius has flirted with you and you doubt it’ll be the last. Relentless. That’s how you’d describe him. Relentless on trying to get to Severus, trying to mess with him. Severus would probably have a conniption if you went on a date with Sirius, not that it is any of his business who you go around with, but the Marauders are not nice to Severus. You chuckle to yourself at the Gryffindor’s sad attempts to piss off Severus. Sirius had yet to flirt with you directly in front of Severus and you weren’t about to bring it up to him. So his attempts were futile. 

“I still can’t believe you brush him off every time,” Abby sighs as you climb the stairs toward the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. 

“We both know he’s not genuinely flirting with me,” you say. “And even if he was, he’s been too cruel to Sev.”

“Right, like he hasn’t earned some of what they dish out,” Meredith says dryly. 

It isn’t a secret that Meredith and Abby aren’t the biggest fans of Severus. Abby’s muggleborn so when Severus called Lily a mudblood last year, she fully swore off trying to be kind to him for your sake. And Meredith stood by her. You keep telling yourself that he’s family and you know more about his homelife and bringing up than anyone else. Although, you sometimes wonder if you give him more leeway than he deserves. Every time, you shake the thought from your head. 

“What’d you think of the assigned reading?” you ask, entering the classroom and desperate to change the conversation away from your cousin. “Dementors?”

“Glad they are far, far away at Azkaban,” Meredith says with a shiver. 

“Personally, I hope I never have to meet one,” you add. 

“I think it’s going to be a long unit,” Abby says.

You and Meredith give her a confused look.

“Discussing creatures that suck happiness out of the air and eat souls? Not very cheery.” 

You chuckle. “Yeah, but we should cover the Patronus charm soon. That’ll be fun.” 

“Professor Fischer didn’t let them try it in class last year. Just the theory and ‘you can try it on your own time,’” Meredith says, mocking your professor’s voice.

“We’ll try it together then, yeah?” 

“Yes!” Abby eagerly agrees. 

You make eye contact with Severus from across the classroom. He nods and looks away. That’s the most you get from him lately unless you’re asking him for Potions help. The volume in the classroom skyrockets as the Marauders and other Gryffindors enter the room. Sirius winks at you as he passes you. You don’t react, just taking out your notes and textbook for the class. The Gryffindors were always the last into the classroom, so if they were here, that means Professor Fischer will be starting class momentarily. 

“You saw that, right?” Abby whispers to you and you know she’s talking about Sirius.

“Yes. It doesn’t mean anything.”

She raises her eyebrows as if to say ‘yeah, sure.’ Despite you repeatedly telling them that Sirius was using you to get Severus, they still think that Sirius is actually flirting with you, that he has feelings for you. You sigh heavily as the professor starts his lesson on dementors. 

After class, you walk out with the girls and head to your next classes, not lingering in the room. The Marauders are a bit more slow. Sirius watches you leave the room before even moving to gather his things; this also means that Severus is out of the classroom when Sirius speaks. 

“Another day, another rejection,” he sighs. 

“I thought that’s what you like about her?” Peter asks, slightly leaning against his desk as the boys wait for Sirius to be ready to go. 

He stands up and throws his bag over his shoulder. “Part of it. I mean, she’s gorgeous, sweet, kind, smart, funny, pretty, stubborn. Smells nice. Lovely smile.”

“Ah, we get it. You could go on forever,” James says, clamping a hand down on his shoulder. “Just like me and Evans. We’ll get there eventually.” 

Peter snorts. “Yes, of course.”

“Oi! What do you mean?” Sirius snaps, turning around.

“He’s saying that when a girl says no, she means it,” Remus says with a smirk. 

“Or…” James starts, “they just need time to come around. Get to know us a bit more.”

Remus and Peter make eye contact and roll their eyes. 

---

A few days later, you’re working on a Potions assignment with Severus in the library. He finished the assignment a while ago, but stayed to answer your questions. You have more than you’d like.

“I really should just be able to put bezoar as the answer to these!” you sigh. “It’s a goddamn cure-all!” 

“Do you have a collection of bezoars under your bed?” Severus asks, not looking up from his assignment.

“No.”

“Then you need to know other cures for poisons.”

You sigh again and flip a few pages in your textbook. You know Severus is right but it doesn’t make the assignment feel any less tedious and stupid. 

Then Sirius walks up to your table. He doesn’t seem to notice Severus as his gaze is trained on you. He has a singular rose in his hand as he leans against the table with his free hand supporting him.

“Prince, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to Hogsmeade next weekend?” he asks, holding out the rose to you.

You don’t take it, but you do give him a polite smile.

“Sirius, you know the answer’s no.”

He sets the rose on the table between your parchment and your book. “Think about it? Let me know if you change your mind.”

“I won’t change my mind.”

“But you’ll think about it,” he says with a hint of hope in his usually suave voice. 

You roll your eyes. He smirks and leaves the table, leaving you to turn your attention back to a now-gobsmacked Severus.

“You know the answer’s no? What the bloody hell was that?” he hisses, leaning forward.

“Don’t get worked up. Getting a reaction out of you is the only reason he’s been asking me out,” you say calmly. 

“How often has he asked you out?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. Probably every few days? But, really, don’t give him what he wants. He’ll get bored eventually and move on to something else.”

Severus makes a noise that sounds like a growl before dropping the subject. To you, Sirius’ flirting wasn’t all that horrible. It was mild, really. And even if it was just to get at Severus, it still feels nice to be flirted with from time to time. 

You forget about Sirius’ invite to Hogsmeade until Tuesday. He had left you alone all weekend, which you hadn’t expected. You’re sitting in the Charms classroom next to Meredith as you wait for Professor Flitwick to start the lesson. Sirius enters with the rest of the Marauders, but the other three boys go straight to their seats. Sirius strolls up to your desk with an easy smile on his face.

“So, love, did you reconsider my offer for this weekend?” he asks.

“Nothing’s changed, Black,” you say, not even bothering to look at him. 

His smile shifts into a smirk as he leans down to say, “Well, there’s still time. It’s only Tuesday.”

You raise your eyebrows in mild annoyance. He doesn’t seem to notice, but Meredith did, using her hand to block her smile. Sirius turns to find his seat next to Remus. Remus, already knowing your answer without having to hear it, has an amused look on his face. Sirius getting turned down when girls are usually putty in his hands is a much-needed change of pace in Remus’ opinion. Ever since Sirius set his eyes on you, he hasn’t paid as much attention to any other girl. Not like he used to. 

Somehow Sirius doesn’t realize that he’s now done something he’s never done before: flirted with you twice in front of Severus. In the library, you’d been at the same table as him and able to tell him to let it go, that it wasn’t worth getting worked up over. This time you are a few desks away from. Close enough for Severus to hear what Sirius said to you, but far enough that you don’t notice his knuckles turning white from gripping the desk. He manages to keep it together the lesson and the next. Then, he makes it his mission to find Sirius. 

The Marauders are lounging near the Black Lake when Severus spots them. Normally, he tries to avoid him so he has to gather some courage to even walk up to them. He keeps telling himself that he’s doing this for you, even if you say it’s no big deal. 

“Black,” Severus says firmly with some edge to his voice once he reaches the boys.

“Snivellus! What a surprise!” James exclaims, sitting up slightly with a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

“What d’you want?” Sirius asks, sounding bored. He knows they don’t have any prank for him planned at the moment, nor have they pranked him within the past two weeks.

“I need you to stay away from my cousin,” Severus practically snarls. “It’s fucking cowardly to try to torment me through her. Your problem is with me, not her. Leave her out of it.” 

The boys exchange confused looks, none of them saying anything. Remus clears his throat.

“Erm, who is your cousin?” he asks. 

Severus crosses his arms, casting an annoyed look at Remus. “You know who my cousin is.”

“No? ‘Fraid we don’t follow everyone’s bloodline,” James says. 

“Y/N.”

Sirius chokes on his spit before gasping, “Prince?” 

“You really didn’t know?” Severus asks slowly, his eyes flitting between the Marauders. 

Remus is trying to hold in his laughter because this revelation just made your denials even better. Sirius stares at Severus with an unreadable expression – there are so many thoughts swirling in his brain that he can’t settle on a single emotion. 

“Just… leave her alone,” Severus says.

With that, he heads back to the castle. He doesn’t quite believe that Sirius didn’t know. How could he not know? His friends know. Your friends know. Surely Lily told her friends as well, which would sadly include Remus and by extension, Sirius. 

“At least Evans isn’t related to anyone foul,” Peter deadpans once Severus is a good distance away. 

“She’s… No. There’s no way she’s related to him. She’s so… and he’s just… Ugh,” Sirius says, most of his thoughts fizzling before he can articulate them.

“What would Snively get out telling us that?” Remus asks.

“Maybe he’s trying to keep her to himself or something!”

“Right, because being attracted to his cousin is something he wants to admit to?”

“Shut up.” 

Remus barks a laugh. Peter and James echo it, the ridiculousness of the situation hitting them. Sirius has been pining for Severus' cousin without knowing it. He doesn’t understand how that’s possible. How are you related to him? 

Sirius gets up and walks away from his friends. They call after him but he doesn’t turn back. He needs to clear his head, sort through his thoughts to make sense of it all. He ends up inside the castle, aimlessly wandering the corridors without any rhyme or reason. Then he runs into you. Literally. His body crashes into yours as you turn the same corner. 

“Shit, sorry,” he says, holding out a hand to help you up after standing up himself. “I’m… sorry.” 

He hurries away from you. He doesn’t look back. Sirius’ one goal now is to get far away from you until he figures out how to process your relation to Severus. You watch Sirius practically run away from you with a baffled expression on your face. This boy had flirted with you shamelessly and with no one around, he’s sprinting away from you like you have the plague. It’s peculiar, but reinforces that he only flirts with you to get at Severus. 

Sirius ends up in the Astronomy Tower, leaning against the railing. How could he like you this much without knowing you are related to Snape? How had he not figured it out? You aren’t that similar; you tolerate him better than any other non-Slytherin. Except maybe it’s not tolerating if you’re family. Sirius shakes his head. You don’t have to like your family, he knows that. But you talk to Snape. You study with him. He acknowledges you in the corridors and the library. 

Being related to Snape doesn’t change who you are. You are still the wonderful girl that he adores. You are still gorgeous. You still crack jokes with your friends. You still know what you’re doing in class. You’re the same girl. 

It takes Sirius longer than he’d like to admit that he can get over it. He doesn’t accept it while he’s standing in the Astronomy Tower. It takes him seeing you in class a few times and hearing your voice carry across the room for him to realize that he really likes you. Nothing is going to change that. Sirius sees you in a whole new light and somehow you’re impossibly better. He sees you talking with Severus after Potions and he’s not turned away by it. The urge to approach you and pull you close to him is as strong as ever.

Sirius needs to figure out how to tell you that he’s actually interested in you for you, not for the entertainment of pissing off Snape. Although, he does have to admit, pissing off Snape would be a huge plus. He stands down for a little bit. His previous methods of flirting and asking you out didn’t work. He’d need to try something new. Something that wasn’t as Sirius. Maybe that’d get through to you. 

“Moony, got any ideas?” Sirius asks as he reclines on his bed, throwing a ball into the air and catching again. 

“Working on a charm to have that snake statue on the third floor squirt gobstone juice on Slytherins…”

“No, with Y/N. How do I get her to get that I really fancy her?”

Remus sends a lazy glance toward Sirius. “Isn’t that a question for Prongs?”

“Our methods haven’t been working. We think too much alike. You, you think differently.”

“Yeah, I don’t think with my dick.” 

“Hey!”

Remus laughs. “It’s the truth, Padfoot. Use that brain, put in some effort, make it personal.” 

“Personal…” Sirius murmurs to himself. That is something he can work with. It wasn’t like he hadn’t put effort into asking you out – some of his methods were extravagant in the past.

Sirius needs to brainstorm more. He knows he needs something specifically you. Something that will catch your eye and show that he really knows you and cares about you. A simple bouquet of flowers wouldn’t do. A serenade, a poem or a grand gesture are all no’s. Sirius needs it to be perfect so that you’ll say yes and give him an actual chance to prove himself. 

You feel like Sirius has started watching you more. He doesn’t ask you out or flirt anymore. He still says hi when he passes you in the corridor and sometimes he asks how you’re doing, but nothing more than short pleasantries. You don’t mind it. Your friends are intrigued by his change of behavior. Meredith thinks Sirius has moved onto someone else, but you can’t figure out who. Abby doesn’t have any idea either. 

“If he’s chasing someone else, why is he watching us?” Abby asks when you’re studying in the library. 

“Hoping for homework answers?” Meredith offers. She knows it’s a longshot, but still worth suggesting. 

“No. He’s too smart for that. And he has friends who could give him the answers,” you say. 

The three of you all look his way at the same time. He looks away as soon as he meets your eyes, turning his head to pretend like he is deeply involved in his friends’ conversation. Meredith and Abby giggle at that. You tilt your head. Curious. 

Another week or so passes and the treatment from Sirius remains the same. Polite but with a distance. You’re not sure how you feel about it. It’s nice at first, but now it feels strange. Did he finally succeed at pissing off Severus and now you were just another Hufflepuff? Abby and Meredith are still trying to figure out who Sirius has moved on to. 

You’re sitting alone in the library. You have your Potions homework out in front of you. Severus had originally told you he’d help you but bailed last minute. So you’re alone and despising Slughorn more and more with each passing minute. You hear footsteps approach you, but you don’t look up. The person pulls out the chair across from you and sits down. 

“Y/N,” Sirius says calmly with a small smile. 

Now you have to look up. After keeping his polite distance, he’s sitting with you, and looking at you with a soft expression. 

“Sirius,” you say back to him. 

He reaches into a bag and pulls out a neatly wrapped package that looks to be about the size of your Potions’ textbook. He slides it across the table. You look from the package to Sirius and back. 

“It’s for you. You can open it,” he says. 

“What is it?”

“It’s a gift. You open it to find out.”

“Why?”

“Why?” he repeats back to you. 

“Why did you get me a gift?”

He sighs and pushes the gift even closer to you.

“I’ll tell you when you open it.”

“With your reputation, opening this could be dangerous…” you say while thumbing the wrapping. 

Sirius watches you intently as you slowly peel back the brown wrapping. A grin slowly spreads across his face as he sees your face light up. He had given you a framed painting of a Chinese Fireball – your favorite dragon. It’s a beautiful painting with intricate details. You trace your fingers over the glass of the frame. 

“Every time I asked you out, I wasn’t thinking about… Severus.” Sirius tries not sound disgusted when he says Snape’s name. He clears his throat. “I, erm, I fancy you. I really do. I’d love to treat you to butterbeers or walk around the greenhouses with you or, hell, I’ll sit here and help you study for-” He leans forward to see what subject you are working on. “-Potions. Not sure how much help I’ll be, but Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms… But I know you don’t really need help with those subjects. I just want you to give me a chance. Please.” 

You can’t bring yourself to look away from the painting. 

“Um, Y/N? Did you hear me?”

You look up slowly. There’s a glassy look to your eyes that Sirius wasn’t expecting. He needs you to say something so he knows if he sorely messed up or did something right. Reading emotions is easier when tears aren’t involved. 

“How did you know?” you whisper; you fear if you spoke any louder, your voice would shake and the tears would fall. 

“That you like Chinese Fireballs? That’s easy. I’ve seen the way your face lights up when dragons come up and you’re the most passionate about them.” 

You open your mouth, close it and open it again. “And it was never about Severus?”

“Never.” 

“Then yes. You can plan a date and I’ll go with you.”

“Thank you. Thank you!” Sirius stands up, turns to leave but stops. “Saturday sound good?”

“Yes, Sirius. I’ll meet you in the bell tower.”

“Brilliant.”

---

You don’t tell Meredith nor Abby about your upcoming date with Sirius until Saturday morning. You knew that they would freak out and cause a scene. But when they see you getting ready, you can’t hide it anymore. 

“Who are you getting all prettied up for, darling?” Meredith asks. 

“I have a date. It’s no big deal.”

Abby perks up. “A date? With who? And why haven’t we heard of this before now?”

“Erm, it’s with Sirius…”

“Sirius? As in Sirius Black?” Abby asks.

You nod. You straighten your shirt and turn around.

“Yes. Do I look okay?” 

“You’re actually going on a date with Sirius? After all this time? What changed?” Meredith asks, leaning forward from where she sits. 

“I don’t know how to explain it. Something just shifted.”

You take one last look in the mirror before leaving your dorm. You go straight to the bell tower and you only have to wait a short time for Sirius to show up. You want to laugh at how excited he looks. Even with his wide smile, he still maintains an exceptionally suave look.

“You look absolutely lovely, Prince. Shall we start the best date of your life?” he asks, taking your hand in his and bringing it up to his lips kiss it. 

“Best date of my life? Let’s see what you got.” 

Still holding your hand, Sirius leads you out of the castle and off school grounds. You want to ask where he’s taking you, but you don’t. Something tells you that even if you had asked, Sirius wouldn’t have told you. This date is his. You know you have to trust him. 

Eventually, you come to a clearing that overlooks a larger field. Down in the field are sheep, cows and puffskeins. Like when he had given you the dragon painting, your face lights up. All the animals look so peaceful and content as they exist in their individual herds. Sirius stands next to you, watching your reaction carefully. 

“I figured we could eat lunch here and then if you wanted, go a little farther-” You look at Sirius with eyebrows raised. “There’s a hippogriff nest not too far from here. There’s usually a few flying around nearby if they aren’t in the actual nest. I thought you might like to see it.”

Your eyes widen, taking your expression from incredulous to wonder. 

“There’s a hippogriff nest near here?”

“Magical creatures all around Hogwarts if you know where to look.”

You look back to the field below. It’s a truly serene sight. Sirius, however, can’t take his eyes off you and the way you’re looking across the field. He can tell that you don’t get out of the castle much to explore; you’re a Hogwarts and Hogsmeade girl. You’ve probably never stepped foot into the Forbidden Forest. 

You don’t notice when Sirius disappears from your side until you hear the ttsss of a bottle opening. You spin around to see Sirius finish setting up a picnic with all of the fixings. He holds up a butterbeer for you to take. You make yourself comfortable on the blanket Sirius had spread on the ground and let Sirius make you a plate. Usually, you’d say you could make your own plate, but he is already putting all of your favorites on the plate. You didn’t consider that Sirius would know all of your favorite foods and desserts already. 

“How am I doing so far?” he asks as he hands you the plate.

 “No one’s ever taken me to see puffskeins or offered to show me a hippogriff nest. I mean, maybe if I asked Kettleburn, but…” You give Sirius a small smile. “This is nice. And the food looks amazing!” 

He returns your smile with a brilliant grin, like he just won a massive trophy. 

“You just have to ask the house elves nicely.” He takes a small sip of his butterbeer. “So how has your week been? Did you get that Potions assignment figured out?”

You did. You give Sirius a brief recap of your week, which was fairly uneventful. He listens intently, asking questions and responding politely in the correct places. When you ask him about his week, he delves into a detailed story about a prank he pulled with the boys that made a corridor unusable until Filch manages to clean it up. 

When you finish eating, Sirius is quick to clean up the picnic. You offer to help but he turns you down. Then he takes your hand again and leads you down the path before veering off to the side. You gasp when you see it. The hippogriff nest. There’s a baby hippogriff resting with its mother and in the sky, a few more hippogriffs are circling. 

“Merlin… this is… amazing…” you say breathlessly. 

“Yeah,” he says in a voice just as soft as yours. “Better if we stay back. You know, they spook easily.”

“Yeah, I know. They’re just so magnificent.” 

“Just like you.”

You blush, giving Sirius a shy look. He’s already looking at you like you’re the most precious thing on the planet. You’re certain that no one has ever looked at you like that before and it only makes your blush deepen. You stand in silence, staring at Sirius for a few moments, and then you look back at the hippogriffs. Your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest, trying to escape. As you watch the hippogriffs for a while longer, Sirius can’t take his eyes off of you. He could watch you like his forever, he thinks. 

Eventually, the two of you head back to the castle, Sirius’ hand intertwined with yours. He walks with you as far as the kitchens. 

“I had fun, Sirius,” you say.

“I’m glad. I did too.” He pauses as he admires your face. “Maybe we can do it again sometime. Or something similar. Or completely different.”

“Another date. I… I think that’d be nice.” 

Sirius brings your hand up to his face and kisses it again before gently letting it go and disappearing back up the stairs. You head into Hufflepuff Common Room. Meredith and Abby spot you immediately and run up to you, demanding details of the date. You obliged them with a giddy smile that you can’t wipe off, even if you tried. But you don’t want to. The date was sweet. Sirius was sweet. 

It doesn’t take long for word to spread through the castle that you went on a date with Sirius. He has that effect. It also wasn’t like people didn’t see you leave and return to the castle holding hands with him, nor had people been ignorant to his flirting with you. Some people claimed that they called it; others were surprised that you finally said yes since you seemed so dead set on saying no each time.

Then there is Severus. He finds you in the library later in the week, after refusing to meet your eyes in classes. He’s fuming when he approaches the table you’re working at. 

“Why the hell would you go on a date with him?” Severus snarls, placing his hands firmly on the table. 

“Would you believe me if I said he asked nicely?” you reply, not looking up from your work. Severus had ignored you all week and this is how he says hello? 

“Black is a horrible person. You know this. He has made my life a living hell!” 

You sigh. “I don’t think he’s as bad as you think.”

“Y/N…”

“Don’t act like you’ve never done anything bad, Sev.”

“Nothing compared to what he’s done!”

“Do you remember Lily?” you ask, finally looking up at Severus and he recoils slightly at the expression on your face. “We used to be a trio. And now she barely talks to me because I remind her too much of you. You are not as innocent as you pretend to be.” 

“Do not bring her up!”

“I’m just saying, Severus. He was a complete gentleman and I think he genuinely likes me. Merlin forbid I actually give him a chance.” 

“He’s using you to get at me.”

“He says he isn’t.”

“And you believe him?”

“Yes! And whether you like it or not, I’ve agreed to go on another date with him. You can deal with it.” 

Severus gives a humph before storming out of the library. You watch him go with a slightly frown, but you don’t go after him. He’s your cousin. He doesn’t get to decide who you date. Not when Sirius just took you on the perfect date.

tags: @navs-bhat, @bruxa0007

[itstheghostofmypast]

Big Spoon

Non-Idol Choi San x (F)Reader

Summary: Who knew he'd wake up bleary-eyed to find her a mess, one that was out of her control and his - or so he thought.

Genre: Fluffish

Warnings: None (just mentions of sad puppies)

Word Count: 1.3 k

Est.Read Time: 10 min

Rating: PG-13

Networks: @cromernet @k-labels @san-network

Banner: @cafekitsune

"What are you doing?" He sat up, squinting at his lover who was sitting with her headphones on, blasting God knows what at 2 am. Good lord, no wonder the bed seemed so lonely and-

"Why are you awake?" She snapped at him, causing him to flinch, his little pout and amusing bed hair had her mentally scolding herself for the outburst, he was sitting there half asleep, half awake, though completely ready to get to the bottom of this mystery. She took a deep breath before biting her lip and mumbling, "S-sorry, I didn't mean to sound mean, client called and Hongjoong needed more photos so I uh...got up to do it now so I won't have to do it later- just because that lady's rich. " Turning the chair to face him she winced slightly, hoping he wouldn't notice it, though how would it be Choi San if he didn't?

"What's wrong?" He asked pushing the covers off as he sat at the edge of the bed, feet planted on the cold floor. The moment of clarity allowed him to notice the small hot water bottle on her lap, and the cup of green tea in front of her beside a giant flask and a tissue box- "Were you crying?" He cooed, getting up to go closer only for her to whine and roll her chair back, keeping her distance.

"Hey, come on." He pouted before jumping at her causing her to gasp, only to realise he had held onto the armrests of her chair, locking her in place, "What happened?"

"I-it...nothing." She mumbled, averting her gaze, in no real mood for anything at the moment, she just wanted to finish editing these photos and- "Does it hurt here?" He asked, gently placing his palm against her belly, causing her to whine and try to push it away, only for him to shake his head  and remove his hand, instead using it to cup her cheek, "Let me guess, you got the call, they asked you for something that makes no sense, and shark week hit mid brooding session?"

Her eyes widened by the end of his little monologue, as she nodded, staring at him in awe like a little girl who had just met a fairy, well, he was a fairy, a rather feline-looking fairy she could call her own. Elegant, yet endearing, soft and warm yet as solid as a rock, smart yet, just a little dumb- either way, he was her pretty, cute, little fairy- though if he heard this analogy he'd probably be throwing a fit for days, claiming he was anything BUT A FAIRY- he was, as he'd like to call himself and his bros (minus Wooyoung because frankly she had realised he was the only sensible one in the lot)  A KING!

"How did you know?" Her lips quirked upwards when he leaned closer to place a soft kiss atop her head, a gesture that would oddly make her all putty in his hands.

"Because I'm the world's best boyfriend." His voice boomed across the quiet room causing her to cover her ears due to heightened sensitivity, before frowning up at him

"The world's best boyfriend missed one thing though."

His shoulders deflated at the statement, and he flopped backwards on the bed dramatically, his back landing with a loud huff, "And what is that?"

"I was crying cause- " her breath hitched as the memories resurfaced,  "Some dogs go through depression and this puppy did too- I was watching the video and it was so sad...Sannie" she whined, calling him out for God knows but the flashing images of the puppy and the stupid client's appeal just bothered her even more, the cherry on top was the excruciating pain that was a constant reminder of how the world is too cruel to women.

Not a moment later she was gently pulled out of her chair, engulfed in a warm embrace as his familiar scent enveloped her senses, work left behind, as she felt the soft, warm pillow- nope that was his arm, "My head's heavy," with a small mumble she tried to move, but he clicked his tongue and pulled her closer, resting his chin on her head, "And my heart is heavy....my poor baby is in so much physical and emotional pain and I can't do anything about it-"

"We're never getting a puppy."

"I- um...okay?" He mused, giving her a gentle squeeze, of course, that one video of the sad puppies would make her come up with this verdict, possibly fuelled by her hormones. Making her laugh right now probably wasn't the easiest task, which is why he resorted to asking her the real question, though gentle toned and carefully curated, using his other hand to rub soothing circles on her back as he approached the topic, "I thought you sent the client all they asked for, did they want something out of the contract?"

With a loud huff she began, only to pause for a moment when another cramp hit, her fingers gripping his shirt as she took a deep breath before speaking (venting), "Apparently some of the guests, who refused to take solos then, now want their solo pics because the others who did get their solos taken got good results- like flattery will get you nowhere, I can't pull out your solo pics from my as-ah shit, " she hissed, trying to move, "I need my heating pad." He was quicker than her, jumping over her, letting out a hearty laugh when he heard her squeak and let out a few vulgar words. As quick and agile as a cat he hopped back on the bed, turning her on her back as he placed it on her lower belly, "There, all better?"

Nodding she placed her hands on the pad, pressing it against her skin before sighing, continuing, "Anyway, someone was like oh can you like crop us out and put us somewhere to turn it into our logo- you mean cut you out and paste the image, spend time blending, shading, fixing the highlights- no, because its not in the contract and I'm not being paid more for this."

"I...wow..." he mumbled, running his fingers through her hair soothingly as he sat beside her, looking down at her only to notice her trembling power lip and glossy eyes, "What's...wrong...baby, you don't have to do anything that wasn't under your contract." He hummed, tracing his fingertips over the slightly warmer skin of her forehead absentmindedly, "You want me to talk to -"

"That puppy was so sad, he looked like he wanted to cry and..." Turning to her side, as she closed her eyes, the rush of emotions getting a bit to strong, the tears leaking through her clenched eyes, hugging herself. This was stupid, she had ruined his sleep, woke him up in the middle of the night, snapped at him, told him stories that were irrelevant and then ended up crying about a video on puppies.

"I like being the big spoon."

Oh- that's why she felt so warm, and-

"How is laying on top of me the bigger spoon, you're crushing me."

"I'm protecting you from the bad vibes. Told you Hongjoong as a boss sucks, man's a capitalist monster."

With a sigh she relaxed in his hold, the added weight actually helping with the pain, both, physical and psychological.

"To sleep, you should stop thinking, leave your worries, for tomorrow's you." He sighed, giving her another squeeze, though he didn't recieve any response to his wise words, he could get them printed, "You asleep?" He whispered peeking over her shoulder only to smile,  two hours, they'd been awake for two hours, listening to God knows what she was going through, biological and induced. Either way, he was glad that she had the world's best boyfriend, he'd probably boast about this tomorrow to her, when she's in a better mood, when she's well rested and probably complaining once again, about how Hongjoong finding the dumbest, but richest clients. Need not worry, she'd always have someone loyal, sincere and the best big spoon out there- all her's.

Taglist: @edenesth @yessa-vie @the-kpop-simp @mlysalt @spooo00oky