#i’ve never seen it show me something liked by someone else???? it’s usually just the ‘based off your likes’ or whatever

[haikyu-mp4]

You're not actors

Fluffy workplace romance as a streamer with your secret husband Kenma for my workplace romance event <3

requested by @dira333. word count; 837 – f!reader

Kenma loves his wedding ring. It’s just a piece of metal, but the matching one on your finger makes him giddy whenever he sees it, even if he doesn’t usually tell you that.

Unfortunately, he has to take it off for work. Your relationship wasn’t public, so he would rather not awaken any suspicions by showing his ring on camera. He’s a private person, preferring not to have everyone asking questions about his personal life.

You have separate streaming rooms on either end of the house so no noise would overlap, and so far everything ran smoothly. Sometimes, you would have to remind him about the ring as he kisses you before heading to his streaming room, and sometimes he remembers it himself. 

And sometimes you both forget.

This time, Kenma started the stream with his ring sitting snug on his finger and as time passed, he simply couldn’t move past this one level. It frustrated him to the point of running his hands through his hair and groaning at the seemingly impossible task. As the light from the screen hit metal, it glinted in the camera.

That’s how the speculations started. Is Kodzuken married? He never answers questions about his relationship status…

You’re a streamer too, often seen doing collabs with Kenma but never in person. You worried either of you might forget to act not in love while the viewers are literally observing your every move.

This time, you streamed alone. You recently started a Stardew Valley series where the viewers got to follow the progress with your fun commentary. It was very entertaining and gained you many more followers.

And Kenma knew you were streaming, so it was difficult to hide your surprise when a shattering sound ran through the house and someone hissed “Shit!”

Pausing the stream, you ran into the living room to find your husband surrounded by broken glass and spilt soda with a sheepish look. After sweeping some of it away and making sure he was okay, you hurried back to the stream and started it again to keep playing.

You pursed your lips, trying to act as if nothing happened. Unfortunately, you’re a YouTuber, not an actor.

That’s how the speculations started. Who does she live with? Is she in a secret relationship?

Following these two unfortunate events, you had no choice but to do the collab you had planned, as skipping it would seem suspicious. So just like normal, you both opened the shooter game and acted like you usually would while playing together, as if the comments weren’t bombarding you with these different rumours and some suggested your rumours were related to each other.

While you swore like a sailor at anything disadvantageous during the game, Kenma fell into the bad habit of watching your stream instead of his game, heart eyes evident to anyone who had eyes themselves. He would eventually sober up, getting revenge on anyone who went against you and then killing you so he could win alone.

His soft voice in your headphones made a shiver run down your spine and you wished the watchers were lying when they said Kodzuken is the only one you don’t curse at.

There were several heart eyes during this stream, and it was not just in the comments.

You both stood in the kitchen a couple of days (read nights) later. Kenma had accidentally woken you up by stubbing his toe on the bed and you demanded snacks so he pulled you along to the kitchen. The two of you talked about your latest work adventures or friend gossip while tapping your feet on the cold floors, a plate of apple pie in each of your hands.

“I’ve been thinking about something,” Kenma said, holding his hand up when he knew you were about to say something like I’m happy you told me or else I’d miss it. “Maybe we should just tell everyone.”

When you looked confused, he flipped his hand around, wiggling his fingers to show off the wedding ring as emphasis. Your eyes widened. “That’s a pretty big thought, buddy, good job.”

He snorted, scooping up another piece of cake and feeding it to you. “I’m serious.”

“But I kinda like watching you try to keep it a secret,” you teased again before stepping closer and pressing light kisses along his jaw. Kenma sighed, pusring his lips and looking away with something that looked an awful lot like guilt.

“I might have just said I have a wife on livestream.”

Flashback to a couple of hours before, when some, probably thirteen-year-old, boy commented on Kenma’s apparent lack of rizz. A gen-Z concept Kenma had no interest in taking part in, but felt weirdly offended by.

“Bet you dont even pull, all the marridge rumors are so stupd.”

He would never admit out loud that it hit a nerve, but you wouldn’t need him to. It was evident. “You should see my wife, noob. She’s fucking gorgeous and plays better than whatever you pull.”

masterlist

/thank you @cottonlemonade for brainstorming with me<3

[hellfireeddiemunson]

why did i refresh my dash and the first post say “liked by (mutual’s url)” at the top

[jules-loves-lukecastellan]

| luke castellan x fem! daughter of poseidon! reader

౨ৎ warnings ౨ৎ: none i think

౨ৎ summary ౨ৎ: luke and [reader] go on a secret date, only to be caught by annabeth, percy, and grover

౨ৎ PART 2 OUT NOW ౨ৎ

“I thought this place was secret..”

“where’re you going anyways at 10:00 am on a random tuesday??”

percy asked, giving a very confused look, mostly because, you’re never up at 10:00 am or ever putting this much effort into making sure your shirt looks good enough.

“percy, i’m not going anywhere. i just decided to.. put a little more effort in today i guess.”

you said with glowing cheeks, thinking of luke. percy doesn’t seem to convinced and was about to say something else, but you quickly beat him to it, to avoid other integrations.

“are you sure my shirt looks good?” “should i opt for the baggier jeans or keep these flared ones on?”

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

it was a sunny day for camp half blood. perfect for a picnic or maybe even a secret date..

as you exited your cabin, ready to spend some much needed time with your favorite boy ever, you were stopped by annabeth. don’t get me wrong, you love annabeth. but right now, you wanted some alone time with luke.

“hey y/n! i wanted to ask if you could help me work on some new sparring skills? i was going to ask luke but i can’t seem to find him anywhere.” annabeth asked with a hopeful look in her eyes.

you hesitated in saying it, but you couldn’t ever turn down helping someone. “sure annie. why not” you said with a bit of a forced smile.

as she showed you the moves she’s been working on, you correct her on her form and where she would be exposed to the enemy. this goes on for about 20 minutes until grover walks by and starts talking to annabeth about something.

you use this opportunity to quietly slip away to finally see luke. all you wanted to do was kiss him and hug him and do everything affectionate with him because you felt like you haven’t seen him in forever (you haven’t seen him for like a day).

as you brush through the sharp pine needles and itchy bushes, you finally catch a glimpse of the boy you fell in love with when you were 14.

you see him laying down on a blanket, with his elbows propping him up. you sneak up behind him and put your hands over his eyes.

“guess who!” you say lightly laughing as he guesses stupid answers like “Chiron” or “Percy”.

as you remove your hands from his eyes he gets up and immediately kiss you all over your cheeks, nose, forehead, and finally your lips.

“hey, i’ve missed you so much.” luke says with love laced in his eyes.

“not as much as i’ve missed you.” “i have to tell you all about the morning i’ve had just to get here!” you exclaimed with a smile as you both sit down, hand in hand.

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some time has passed. about an hour or so. your head is on luke’s shoulder as he’s telling you all about how his week has been and how much he’s missed you (even though you two saw each other literally the day before).

in the middle of talking, you decided to just kiss him because well, you love him and this is one of the only times you got to spend time with him alone. as you’re both ahem.. making out, you hear footsteps, but you don’t think much of it.

until you hear a percy yelling “WHY ARE YOU MAKING OUT WITH MY HALF-SISTER?!?!!” as grover catches up with percy, panting. and annabeth removes her hat, “percy! you ruined our cover you seaweed brain.”

“well sorry that i’m freaked out that luke is making out with my sister!! we’re lucky we didn’t get here later..”

as both you and luke just sit there dumbfounded, you finally decide to speak up. “ok why are you all here??” percy replies back very sassily “oh missy that’s the least of your problems.”

you roll your eyes as one of the more mature ones respond (annabeth) “well after grover finished talking to me, i saw that you weren’t with me anymore and also judging how luke wasn’t where he usually is either, i got a little fishy. so i grabbed percy and grover and went off.”

percy is just glaring at luke. like staring daggers into him. luke is just sheepishly smiling as he lays his head on your shoulder kissing it. as you both hear percy lecturing you on how it’s not ok to sneak around and such, annabeth and grover just sit there laughing as you and luke just keep playfully rolling your eyes and being dramatic with your responses like “oh i’m so sorry percy! i won’t ever do this again!”

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆ ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆ ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆ ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆

as you walk back to your cabin, percy in the middle of you and luke, you’re thinking all about how much you’ve fallen for luke and how excited you are to build your future with him (oop).

and as all three of you walk toward the poseidon cabin, you mouth to luke “stay outside for a minute”. you and percy walk inside and you make up some excuse to go back out there.

you go back outside where luke still is and you hug him around his waist. “that date was fun.. until.. yknow” you said laughing.

he rests his chin on the top of your head, and laughs. “yea. i always love spending time with my sunshine.” he says as he kisses the top of your head and pulls away.

you smile and look at his left eye, his lips, then to his right eye (triangle method lol). you lean in and kiss his soft lips as his arms find their way to your waist and yours to his neck. as you both pull away, foreheads touching, luke whispers with a smile,

“my cabin. 10:30 pm. make sure percy’s asleep.” you lightly laugh and pull away going into your cabin. as luke is about to walk to his counselor duties, he sees percy in the window giving him the death glare. he flinches and he awkwardly smiles and walks backwards until percy walks away from the window.

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౨ৎ a/n ౨ৎ-(PT2??) first imagine done! i really hope u liked this one. pls request some!! i love writing for our fav evil boyfriend lol. and give me feedback! i’m new to this whole “imagines” thing haha <3 (btw idk how to put my requests thing on so just pm me with them🫶🏻🫶🏻)

-jules🎀

[mostly-imagines]

🌻 anon here

The last few days I stumbled into a few posts about Jason having +18 pics of reader in his phone and I just can't stop thinking "would he tho??" Like would he trust enough his device to have r18 pictures of the one he love and literally worship in his phone??? Knowing he knows damn well how easy it is nowadays to get those types of pictures through hack and stuff??

And I'm not saying he would share the pics, HELL NO he would never. But because I don't think he would trust his phone -and also because it cracks me up- I imagine him having a Polaroid to take the pics. The photos get printed automatically and if he have to he can't literally burn those without having to overthink about someone hacking his phone.

Like can you imagine him just casually take a Polaroid you didn't know where there out his nightstand and taking a pics of you while you reaching your peak??

Anyways all of that just to ask what one of my fav Jason writers would think about the whole Jason having spicy pics of you in this phone

18+

i’ve honest to god been thinking about this non stop since you sent it sunny

i think you're dead on, jason's protective streak rings too loud in his mind to ever take the chance of someone else maybe seeing those photos of you. personally, i’m of the belief that he uses his phone for the most practical purposes only and that his photo gallery is borderline empty, with few exceptions of nondescript images. like the only pictures of you on his phone don’t show your face or any revealing information about you. yeah, he’s a little paranoid in that way but it just makes his alternative that much more interesting.

there’s also something about it that feels more personal, more intimate. there’s not a chance in hell those photos are going near another person and he likes the idea that you’re giving him this amount of vulnerability and trust.

i also think he is an avid supporter of your personal autonomy and feels better knowing that if you want a picture gone, all you have to do is burn it and it's gone forever. he doesn't really like the idea that so many things on electronics can be spread or seen without you even knowing, so he's perfectly fine to stash a few polaroids in unsuspecting places.

he’d be really hesitant to ask you the first time, he was worried he’d make you uncomfortable or that you’d think it was weird. the thought initially came about after he’d gone on an away mission that lasted twice as long as it was supposed to and he was bordering on losing it without a single image of you. that, and frankly, he was stressed and he has never experienced a stress relief quite like you.

so the night he comes back he’s kissing you hard and rubbing up against you, but all he can think about is how badly he wants to capture all your facial expressions and imagery he couldn’t stop imagining while he was gone.

he breaks away from your lips breathlessly, “can I take a picture of you?”

you give him a bemused look, “what? like, now?”

he fiddles with the waistband of your underwear, not making eye contact. “well…in a few minutes..”

his timorous disposition gives you a solid clue of what he means and you smile up at him. “yeah?”

he finally meets your eyes, looking hopeful. “is that alright?”

“of course,” you nod and he leans back down against you, lips meeting your pulse point. “what brought this on?”

he noses at your neck, “jus’ missed you. a lot.”

you nod, pulling back and running a finger down to the tip of his nose. “take as many as you want.”

and he did.

his favorite pics are the ones he takes right when you cum, lips slightly parted, brow pinched. he’s also fond of the moments right when you’re just starting to feel it.

the photos of you on your knees, trying to take him in your mouth as much as you can really do something to him. your eyes watering and you holding his hand for support. he has to pace himself when he looks at those, especially the ones where you’re looking up at the camera.

he doesn’t usually like to be in the pictures, other than his dick in/against you or his hand splayed across your stomach or neck. he also has one or two where you’re riding him and his free hand is on your hip guiding you.

you’d have to be having a particular kind of sex for it to even occur to him to stop and take pictures. it only really happens during the easy times, when you’re both just having fun more than anything. it’s then when he’s really able to take his time with you and savor things, which is why the majority of your polaroids are taken then. he’s also more likely to be in a teasing mood then and not in a particular rush to get you where you’re going. a lot of those pictures show you smiling and completely relaxed which is another reason why he tends to revere those moments.

a grade A way to make him feel better after a long week is leaving him some surprise polaroids in the stash, it makes him crazy. he’s honestly just really obsessed with the idea that you trust him so much with those kinds of photos that you’d go out of your way to take some for him when he’s not even there. i actually think that’s at least half of what turns him on so much about the whole thing, the trust that you place in him and only him to not only see you in those moments but also relive them afterwards. just pics of you in lingerie or even just one of his shirts—it’s over for him.

[pikp0kcas3]

The Hazbin Hotel fandom’s issue with accepting aromanticism and asexuality

Now that it is officially Aromantic Spectrum Awareness Week, I want to talk about this!

I find that, as an aroace myself, I am constantly grasping at good representation and coming up empty— it usually ends up in one of two ways.

One: the character is portrayed as emotionless, cold, and robotic in nature. It’s the question aromantic and/or asexual people are often asked: “Are you heartless?” The answer is no, of course, but general media makes it out to be the opposite.

Or two: Their lack of attraction is seen as something to “fix” because they “haven’t found the right one yet”, and they end up with a partner as a “happy ending”.

It frustrates me greatly because of how little people actually see aromanticism or asexuality as a true part of the LGBTQIA+ community.

So when I watched Hazbin Hotel, and I found out about Alastor being aroace, I was over the moon. I was on cloud nine. I also saw how his voice actor has looked up the term as an attempt to learn about aroaces, which makes me OVERJOYED?? Amir is truly a blessing, and I love that he’s proud to embody a character that’s part of our community. It’s so beautiful to finally have a proper character, a fan favorite at that, who just so happens to be aroace— and that’s another thing I love about this.

It’s never explicitly stated in the show (though it is stated in interviews), but it’s rather clear when you’re watching, isn’t it? Alastor’s aversion to any sort of sexual advancement, coupled with Rosie’s blatant “I know you’re an ace in the hole” comment sort of spell out his asexuality pretty clearly, as well as what side of the spectrum he falls upon. In addition, his Valentine’s day card was strictly platonic, which caters to his aromantic side. It feels so validating to finally be represented, to finally have a character in media who shares the same lack of interest in romance and sex as I do.

When I entered the fandom to look for more content, I kind of expected to see the same respect for Alastor’s orientation there too. But that… wasn’t the case? I am fully aware that aromanticism and asexuality are both spectrums— of course, aromantic and/or asexual people can enter those kinds of relationships. I’m not denying that and they belong in the community as much as anyone else on the spectrum.

But, the more I see the same line again and again and again, the more it feels like an excuse to just ship what you want.

Usually I don’t mind shipping? I’m often a firm believer in people shipping what they like as long as it’s harmless and they don’t go crazy over it. I also know for a fact that Viv doesn’t have a problem with people shipping her characters. They are fictional, after all.

But in this case, people are ignoring the very thing that makes Alastor a part of the aroace community! People are ignoring his lack of romantic or sexual attraction!

Is this not the same as changing a gay character’s orientation to suit a straight ship? If not, how so? I’m told that we are a part of this community, so why aren’t we being treated like it? Why is it so hard to accept the people on the end of the spectrum who aren’t interested?

Something I’ve been noticing throughout my life is that society has not exactly progressed very much on the idea of accepting asexual or aromantic identities. Maybe we have, a little, since the old days— but hell, people in “the old days”, which in truth wasn’t very long ago, believed that asexuality was a medical condition to be “fixed” by taking the right medication or having sex. That’s a pretty low bar to clear. And on the romance side, you’re seen as a “late bloomer” or “boring” if you don’t express interest. These days, being friends with someone is treated like a gateway to them possibly becoming a lover. Not getting married, not going on dates, not wanting a partner— it’s all treated like a crime when it’s not.

Maybe I’m selfish, or sensitive, or I’m butthurt over nothing, or I’m making it all about me. Maybe I’m gatekeeping or whatever the term is. But please, please, please, I just want an aroace character like me who simply is not interested in sex or romance.

And I want fandom to respect that. I admire the creations that fans make— the art, the animatics, the writing and the character analysis. And I want people to keep creating because creation is indeed a beautiful thing.

But I really would like people to treat aroace identities like they’re important. Like it’s more than just a spectrum to get wiggle room to wrangle in another ship.

[intheupside]

That year, the NHL was embroiled in one of its periodic work stoppages, this one a lockout.Players were allowed at practice facilities, but team officials were not.

Crosby took on the role of media relations director. A day in advance, he’d tell the media what time Penguins players — usually around a dozen — would be working out. One time, in a particularly endearing moment, players canceled the next day’s workout. So, Crosby called me and asked me to tell the rest of the media not to show up. It was a very strange time for hockey and especially for Crosby, who had just lost 100 games in his prime due to a concussion. Now, he was missing more time in his prime because of a lockout.

Also because of the lockout, Crosby had plenty of time for introspection along with his hockey player and media relations duties. He had time to pay close attention to the rest of the hockey world, too, a privilege he typically isn’t afforded in October.

Two hours north of Pittsburgh, a 15-year-old sensation had arrived in Erie, Pa. — Connor McDavid was taking the Ontario Hockey League by storm. I had decided to travel to Erie with Penguins broadcaster Paul Steigerwald on Saturday, the night of McDavid’s second home game, when the Erie Otters were taking on the London Knights.

On the game’s first shift, McDavid split defensemen Olli Määttä and Scott Harrington and then scored to finish off a highlight reel goal.

Dan Bylsma, then coaching the Penguins, was there. Following the game, he chewed out Määttä and Harrington, a couple of Penguins draft picks, for allowing that goal on the game’s first shift. After seeing the interaction, I joked to Bylsma, something along the lines of, “I don’t know, that McDavid kid is kinda good.”

Bylsma looked at me and said: “He’s 15. They shouldn’t be getting split like that.”

I relayed this story to Crosby, who asked if Bylsma really said that. Then he took my side.

“Doesn’t matter how old he is. He’s different,” Crosby said.

Oh?

Crosby always politely answers questions about players, but he doesn’t typically go out of his way like that.

Then it occurred to me that Erie Otters games aren’t televised in Pittsburgh. I had assumed that Crosby had never seen McDavid play.

“Got some time on my hands these days,” Crosby said with a smile. “I’ve seen him. I’ve seen highlights of him.”

The greatest player in the world is checking out YouTube highlights of a 15-year-old hockey player?

“Yep,” Crosby said.

Then he said something I’ll never forget. Sensing that he saw something in McDavid that was different, I asked him if McDavid reminded him of anyone. In a non-arrogant way, Crosby quietly said, “He reminds me of me.”

Make no mistake, he admired all of the players who were compared to him. He once told me that, if he could shoot the puck like Alex Ovechkin, he wouldn’t pass as much as he does. I once saw him shake his head when he watched Patrick Kane stickhandle around an opponent on TV.

But he never anointed other players, even if he would marvel.

With McDavid, stylistically, Crosby saw himself. And he saw talent that was out of this world.

Crosby didn’t feel threatened. He understood that someone else always comes along.

from the athletic

[bloodywankers]

Trigger Warning! Implied Non-con! Forced Relationship! Yandere Husband!

Unedited | 1.26k Words

Andre was always rational, never unnecessarily cruel or emotional. That was the worst part about him, he was cold, left you feeling touch starved and alone even in his embrace. He was strict, he wouldn’t tolerate deviation from his routine or attempts to ruin the perfect image he had built for you but he wasn’t cruel. At the end of the day it felt like you only had yourself to blame for your misfortune. He wouldn’t criticise you for no reason but that meant that the instances where he did, he was probably right. He wouldn’t scream or yell but in turn left you feeling like a disobedient child.

His affection left much to be desired but you blame yourself for it rather than him, because Andre was perfect. He always remembered anniversaries and birthdays, never letting you want for anything but you had always felt so alone. There was an emptiness that he couldn’t fill no matter what he did because Andre was an actor.

Nothing about Andre was genuine because a character with no flaws is no character at all. He seemed above your childish tantrums and far too sophisticated to enjoy simpler things, lived in a world that was perfectly tailor made for him. But you weren’t Andre, you weren’t logical, or perfect, your acting was subpar at best and you didn’t fit into his world. You were emotional and living in his cold world devoid of any warmth was not something you could tolerate so despite every well planned argument he placed in front of you, you stood your ground.

“I want a divorce.” You tried your best to keep a firm tone, you were sure he would take advantage of any hesitation that you showed.

“Darling, as I’ve said already, I—.” He spoke softly, as always, interrupting you with his finely built arguments, ones that you were sure would work in any other situation. Arguments that you could reason with if you had not been as fed up as you were, filled with unadulterated hatred for the man you were supposed to love. This time you were set on getting what you wanted, you were sick of feeling like this.

“I don’t care for whatever bullshit reason you have this time, I feel miserable every day I spend with you!” You probably could have gone through with this in a more elegant manner but you were at your limit. Andre had always been rational but you couldn’t understand him this time. You were sure he wouldn’t have trouble remarrying someone better, it’s not like you lived in the Middle Ages where divorce meant your life was over. It probably wouldn’t affect his image much. So why was he so hell-bent on keeping you stuck in a relationship where both of you would be miserable?

You expected another well balanced counter argument, maybe a comment about how foul your behaviour was, how unbecoming it was. But instead he stood there, a look you had never seen before and a scowl that seemed so out of place compared to his usual poker face. You instinctively sunk into yourself, trying to avoid what you thought was his attempt at reaching for you, what for you? You didn’t want to find out. But instead he walked past you, stormed out despite still maintaining his obnoxiously elegant posture.

You thought it would blow over, that he would come back and pretend nothing happened, he didn’t seem like the type to acknowledge such arguments. But he didn’t return at his usual time, and instead you found all the exits to your house locked and your set of keys missing.

When your husband did return, he didn’t go to your shared bedroom as usual, instead went straight for his office, you just barely caught him. Slamming the door to his study shut before you said anything else.

“What the hell is your problem?! Where are my keys?! If you’re going to act like this at least let me leave!”

”You will do no such thing.” That’s it. No reason, no explanation as to why he decided on this, just a singular order. You had started to back up, this was unlike Andre. The atmosphere in the room had changed.

“And why is that? Who do you think you are to decide for me?!”

Andre himself didn’t understand. The logical thing, the right thing to do would be to let you go quietly, to not put up a fuss and part ways. He didn’t have any love in him when he chose you as his marriage partner (before you had ever officially met him), you were just the right choice, at the right place, at the right time and with the right background. It wasn’t him who was drawn to you out of all other potential candidates, you were just the best choice. He has a good memory, that’s why he remembered your birthday, and your wedding anniversary. It would look bad if he didn’t buy you the best present money could buy.

Sharing a bed was necessary for any married couple, not because he searched for your warmth, desperately clinging to it every night, whether intentionally or not.

He took off his glasses and rubbed his nose bridge, brows furrowed as he came to the realisation. Love? He had come to love you? Has he always felt this way? For someone who boasted a memory as excellent as his, he couldn’t remember when it started. But there was no denying what this was, it was love, an obsessive love that ate at his insides every moment he kept trying to contain it.

If he told you that, you would understand, wouldn’t you? You’d forgive his past sorry attempts at being a good husband and give him a chance to prove himself, wouldn’t you? After all, you’ve always been understanding, despite your recent outbursts, you would try to understand him.

“Darling, let’s try to calm down.” That’s not what he wanted to say, he wanted to say he loved you, to scream it until his voice gave out but it wouldn’t come out, this in turn only irked you more. You looked ready to leave, too annoyed to even continue talking to him. He couldn’t have that, he’d beg if you wanted so please don’t leave.

Well, if he couldn’t tell you, he’d show you. After all, actions speak louder than words. So he grabbed your wrist before you could drift further from him and dragged you to your shared bedroom, ignoring all cries and protests from you. He made sure to lock the door behind him, you looked like you were ready to bolt out the door the moment he let go of you.

“You-! What are you doing, unlock the door now!” However, your protests seem to fall on deaf ears once more.

“You asked why I wouldn’t let you go? I’ll show you why.”

Andre had never been unreasonable or cruel but that night you realised he was as flawed as anyone else, as dirty as any other and as cruel as he could want to be. You realise how much you miss his distant and unfamiliar self, before you got to know him in so many different ways.

How unfamiliar he looked to you as he kissed you in places he didn’t dare to touch before, as his smile resembled that of a madman and his eyes reflected pure euphoria.

Your husband had always been unreasonable and cruel, you just never knew.

Masterlist

[astrow1zar6]

Astro notes- 22

Having a Neptune in the 1st house can feel like your living in a dream. It’s harder for you to not get taken up by your imagination. This placement is known for dreaming with their eyes open. A lot struggle from Maladaptive Daydreaming. Meditation/ Breath work can help with grounding these people.

Aries placements (especially the moon & rising) have amazing eyebrows. They’re all so perfect arched and full. They’re eyebrows can sometimes make them look intimidating as well.

Libra in your big three usually have buck teeth or they just have really big teeth in the front.

People with Pluto risings cannot stand fake energy. Being around too many fake people can literally make them go insane & snap on everyone. These people normally March at the beat of their own drum which causes many people to flock to them for advice.

Aquarius moons emotions can come out really robotically. Like you don’t know if they really care when you vent to them. They act very nonchalantly and bored when people open up emotionally to them. I started crying in front of my aqua moon friend once and she just stared at me & patted me on the back😭😂 she tried tho. Also I notice aqua moons have a weird thing with physical affection. They are the times to give like 2 seconds hugs or just not like to be touched much in general.

Sagittarius suns have a habit of embarrassing themselves to make others laugh. They really have no shame. They will say and no the most outlandish shit just to get a giggle out of someone. They can sometimes embarrass others tho if they do too much. They can be really extra.

People with Gemini & Sagittarius in their big three we’re probably class clowns

Leo suns never wanted the same things as anyone when they were little. They always wanted something that made them stand out from the crowd. (Ex: everyone had pink tiaras for my cousins birthday and my Leo cousin threw a fit because she wanted purple instead so she didn’t look like everyone else) 😂

Aquarius suns are chameleons in social settings. They can fit into any group & usually have a big people pleaser personality. Not in a weak way however but they just understand what people like & how to engage certain people properly.

Capricorn stelliums can end up being rich or famous. These people are really hustlers. I’ve seen these people start businesses in their 20s with this it worked 3 jobs to get the life they need. One thing these people know how to do is work.

Cancer and Libra suns tend to loose themselves in partnerships the most. I’ve seen these people make their partners their world while they completely neglect other areas of their life. They are both really blinded by love.

Uk an Aries sun women likes you when they start teasing/bullying you. (Playfully!) arguing is foreplay to them bizarrely lol.

If Jupiter is prominently yet negatively aspected in the chart it can show narcissistic or sociopathic tendencies.

Virgo moons tend to like very fresh light scents. Like fresh linen, laundry smells, light floral scents. Nothing to heavy.

Taurus placements look best with minimal to no makeup & Libra placements normally look incredible with a full face of makeup or just glamour looks. It’s really interesting how the two sides of Venus play out. Taurus gives more of an earthy goddess vibe & Libra gives me a more chic fashionista insta model/influencer vibe. Both value beauty & aesthetics but in opposite ways.

[runnning-outof-time]

Can I request John and "Did you even miss me?" Congrats on 3.5k!

Thanks for sending this in, anon! I’m sorry it took me so long to write! Enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Part of my 3.5k Celebration — find more stories here!

Wasn’t Expecting You

John Shelby x Reader

Warnings: language

Word Count: 707

Summary: After being away for weeks, John decides to surprise his wife. She becomes so surprised by him that her reaction isn’t what he was expecting.

“You really don’t know how much longer they’ll be away for?” (Y/N) asked Ada as they both took their seats in the front room of (Y/N)’s home.

“I don’t,” Ada answered with a slight frown and a shake of her head. “Tommy never gives an exact timeline, and Arthur and John just follow along with it.”

“That explains why he won’t say anything when he calls me,” (Y/N) sighed, looking down at her lap.

“They’ll be home soon enough,” Ada assured her, her lips pursed in a tight smile, “and then they’ll become our problems again.”

(Y/N) giggled at the second half of her sister-in-law’s statement. She had to agree - things were much calmer when the boys were out of town.

“So…how have things been around here lately?” Ada asked once they were finished laughing.

“They’ve been grand. This place is finally starting to feel like a home,” (Y/N) answered, her smile wide as she looked around the room.

“Everything looks lovely,” Ada answered, her eyes focused on something behind (Y/N). The other woman just figured she was looking at some of the decorations behind her. She saw her smile widen just as someone else spoke out.

“I’ve brought the booze!” a third voice entered the conversation. Ada’s expression switched on a dime and she rolled her eyes at the statement.

(Y/N) didn’t get time to question it because someone had swooped in beside her to place a set of glasses down on the coffee table. She couldn’t make out much, just that the person was wearing a brown suit. Ada was also looking at her expectantly now. “I don’t think we needed booze…?” she hesitantly questioned, her brows furrowed.

Ada had to hold back her laughter. “Have you not noticed who that is?” she asked seconds later.

“Huh?” (Y/N) was confused now. Ada nodded her head at the person. So she turned to look up at him. “Oh…John?”

“Yeah, it’s me, love,” he answered, his usual cheshire cat-like grin present. “Not the welcome home I was expectin’ though…did you even miss me?”

Something clicked in (Y/N)’s mind as he was speaking. She jumped up from the couch as quickly as she could and threw her arms around his frame. “Of course I missed you! We were just talking about you coming home,” she said to him as she held onto his body tightly. A wide smile was present on her face when she pulled away. “I just…I looked quick and thought you were Finn or something,” she sheepishly explained her previous lack of excitement.

Her statement made John snort. “Finn? Now that’s a fuckin’ insult!” he exclaimed, his still present grin showing that he was teasing her.

“Oh shut up, John,” she jokingly huffed as she lightly smacked his shoulder. He sent her a tight lipped grin, one that she couldn’t hold up a straight face to. Her grin grew as she buried her face into his chest.

“No, darling, I wanna see that beautiful smile of yours,” he said, coaxing her to lift her head once more, “been too long since I’ve seen it.”

“Been too long since you’ve kissed me as well…” she trailed off, a knowing look in her eyes.

“You make a good point,” he agreed with her, tucking his fingers under her chin so that he could guide her lips to his. They shared a sweet kiss before a voice broke them apart.

“That’ll be my cue to go,” Ada announced, standing from her chair so that she could grab her things.

“Thanks for coming over, Ada,” (Y/N) smiled at the woman as she made her way to the door. The two ladies said their goodbyes before John got the attention of his wife again.

“You really thought I was Finn?” he asked her, his eyebrows raised.

“I didn’t think you’d be home so soon,” she defended herself.

“Yeah, but…Finn?” he emphasized his little brother’s name as mock-disgust filled his time.

“Oh shut up and kiss me again, will you?” she dismissed his question, taking hold of his cheeks then so that she could bring his lips to hers once more.

*tagging in reblog so that hopefully the notification gets sent

MASTERLIST

[ladyelissarose]

Can you do like Hobie smut, your writing is GOOD.

Let it be a jealousy kinda thing I haven't seen much of Hobie being jealous

‘I’ll Show You Jealous’

Hobie Brown aka Spider-Punk x female spider-woman reader. (he calls her ‘webs’)

Trope; best friends to lovers

Warnings; 18+ Smut! NSFW. Jealous sex, it starts quite rough then ends soft. Hobie being Hobie- but jealous ;) slight fingering.. mostly smut y’all .

Summary: Being best friends shouldn’t have any feelings in between right? Especially jealousy when Hobie thinks your hanging around too close to a certain Spider-Man? What does it take for him to come to terms on how he ‘really’ feels?

Authors note; My favorite anon!! I’m sorry it took me a few days to get this out, but I’m glad to say it’s all yours now! I hope you like it, I’ve never written for Hobie before!! Enjoy love!!🫶🏼🌻

“You see? That’s why I think you’re one of the funniest! You’re hilarious and you get my humor!”

An effortless chuckle left your lips as your hand slipped off of Ben Riley’s back, where it had been first when you patted it.

You two had just come back from a short mission, which was as per usual… putting an anomaly where it belonged, and making sure canon took place as it should. Hobie stood in the distance watching you both communicate so freely and happily, like if you had been best friends, like you were with Hobie. I mean, that’s all you too should of been.. best friends.

But in the pit of his stomach and behind his tough and sarcastic behavior about not liking commitment, all he wanted to do was commit his life to you, and make you more than his ‘best friend’. The only thing was.. he didn’t know how to tell or show you. So painfully he witnessed you give away your laughter and touch to someone else, if not others that weren’t him. So to avoid staring at this heartbreak, he went back to his universe.

Soon you had let Ben go and looked for the one that made you smile the biggest, warm your heart, and give you a certainty of safety and care no matter what crazy shit you two did. But, he was no where to be seen. A frown made it to your lips after you had checked everywhere, you even went up to Miguel’s lair to check if Hobie wasn’t lurking around and stealing his lunch- and yet, he wasn’t there. You sat for a minute and thought that maybe he went home, but… he always waited for you to come back from a mission, so you could eat together and go on a short ‘joy swinging’ across the universes.

Hoping you’d find him at his universe, you clicked on your gizmo and went to his place, falling in love with the aesthetic of it all as you arrived, and it reminding you of every detail about Hobie too. You swung around his home- he wasn’t there. At his favorite hideout clubhouse- he wasn’t there. Even stopped by the stand where he usually took a sweet bread or two without being seen- he wasn’t in sight. Finally stopping to take a break, you thought for a few seconds before it clicked for you.

“What the hell… where could you- oh! I know.”

What concerned you though about the place where he could possibly be, was the fact that you told each other that you’d go there if something was wrong or ‘a talk’ needed to happen, meaning it was very serious.

Upon arriving to the tallest skyscraper in your universe, you let out a sigh of relief as you found him there, playing a soft tune on his guitar.

You walked slowly towards him, knowing he’d feel your presence, as his spider senses would tell him immediately. You slid off your mask as you called out,

“Hobie?-“

Hobie’s shoulders tensed as he muttered immediately,

“Jus’ leave me be… please?”

Worry but you as you heard him, his slightly broken voice,

He’s never told you to leave him alone, instead the opposite, always subtly begging you to be around his presence, whether it was him lurking around with your favorite snack, or playing your favorite songs on his guitar. Hobie was smart, he found out ways to keep you around that didn’t include him actually telling or asking you to be… and so far it has worked like magic.

It was your smile that had him loosening up, the little squeals you let out when Mayday was being extra adorable, puppy eyes at the sight of kittens or his favorite of all time, your mere presence that gave him motive to fall for you.

With you he felt free and safe, he knew he’d give up an entire universe if that meant he could be with you. But lately as you’ve been given more privileges, you’ve been a little too absent for his liking, and he didn’t appreciate how you were hanging around Miguel and Ben Riley more than him.

Trust was something you too have built quite strongly sense the start of your friendship, and he should’ve confided in that trust and believe that you haven’t ghosted him for someone else… yet here he was… sadly plucking on his guitar strings to your favorite tune- ‘Vigilante Shit’… thinking that maybe you have.. but here you are. Speaking out to him as if you were desperate for him.

“Hobie please, I can help-“

“How’d you know I’d be here?”

With a scoff you recalled your guys’ words,

“We said we’d come here for something important.. and today I couldn’t find you anywhere.. so I thought this would be the place.. and here you are. So, what’s wrong Hobie?”

He then stood up and mumbled to himself,

“It’s nothing, I shouldn’t of come.”

Your spider senses heard him clearly tho, so before he was about to walk off you genuinely said,

“Hobie.. you know I’m here for you. Regardless of what it is.”

Hobie turned to you and walked close, watching how you didn’t walk back but stayed in place as his sassed,

“Are you sure? Didn’t think you’d be after being with everyone else all the time.”

You sensed his words, and could feel the weight of jealousy in them, it only caused you to realize that he felt just as protective of you, as you did for him… but you hid your jealousy better. So you took the chance to tease him,

“Are you jealous Hobie Brown-“

Rolling his eyes and crossing his arms he pouted defensively,

“No. Absolutely not-“

You tried to tease him more as you pushed the guitar on his shoulder,

“Then what’s wrong? Looks like you are jealous-“

He sent a playful snap at you so you wouldn’t touch his treasure as he did his best to reassure,

“Tis’ nothin’ webs… I promise.”

His closed off attitude told you it was more than nothing, and you wouldn’t have it.. not his half or full lies about what’s going on. Hobie was about to walk away past you, but you grabbed his arm and insisted,

“Hobie! If you don’t do or say something about what’s going on with you I will explo- MMPH!!”

His warm hands got a hold of your face, pressing a harsh kiss to your lips. Eyes going wide open at the shock his actions caused you, but you couldn’t pull yourself away.

Not when you could see the way he had his shut with force, and the how his long lashes that you were always jealous of brush over his cheeks… you couldn’t deny how much you loved every detail about him. Your heart fluttered at the feeling of the cool of his nose ring press up against your nose, and his soft breathing hitting you, his lip ring marking a place on your lip as he gave you a bruising kiss.

You didn’t realize how long it took you admiring what you’ve always loved about him before you reciprocated the kiss, brining him closer to you by the collar of his jacket. But he slightly pushed you away, and before you could interpret something wrong, he muttered against your lips,

“you think I’m jealous webs?”

With a short chuckle you replied with sass,

“I think you’re very jealous Hobie.”

He smirked and webbed you your hands in an instant, your eyes found his with matching glares, filled with desire. He then put you to lay on the edge of the building, your head leaning off as he growled,

“I’ll show you jealous.”

With expert hands he was able to find your hidden zipper and slide down your pants along with your panties, enough to free your cunt for him to touch. Your hands as they were webbed up, hung off the edge, dangling down, stretching you a bit. Hobie pulled you close to him by gripping your thighs tightly, then he tore the web off your wrists with the pick for his guitar.

You were just about to reach for him, but he pushed you back once again, and laying his pick between your teeth as he ordered,

“Love, you keep that there safe for me.. and these hands.. hold onto the edge… don’t touch me until I tell you.. understood?”

You nodded once, taking all his commands in, wanting to meet them all, but Hobie hovered his face over yours and asked calmly,

“Words love.. do you feel ok and safe?”

You knew if you had a problem with something he’d adjust the universe to your liking, but right now you felt good and desperation. So you worded with the pick in between,

“I feel goo’.. I just wan’ you… I nee’ you.”

Pressing a hard kiss to your lips, feeling his favorite metal pick touch him, it stirred him on to take you now. His fingers found your cunt and stuck two in, going knuckle deep as your were soaking and taking him smoothly. With pride he watched your face contort in pleasure, the most beautiful moans leaving your lips because of him.

Your chest heaved for air as he pumped harder and faster, wanting you to come apart by his hands. The beauty of the city lights below you couldn’t compare to you, you were far too bright and gorgeous, so many things at once you were and yet, you were the most fit and complete person he had ever seen.

Your walls squeezed around his fingers, informing him you were near as your moans turned into cries as well. He teased you a bit as he slowed the pace, hearing you cry for ‘him’ had him groan and feeling his pants tighten more.

“H-Hobie! Ah please! Please-“

“What do you want love-“

“More! More please..”

Your eyes teared up as you cried for him, wanting to feel more of him as he had spurred on your high then took it away. He sucked on his fingers, letting out a moan,

“Sweet as always love.. never doubted you..”

Hobie then kissed your face, letting you taste yourself on him as he took the pick from your lips and he unbuckled his pants, sliding them down as he worded to you,

“C’mere love.”

Latching onto him as your arms wrapped around him, he pulled you up into his lap, sitting where you were at the edge, while looking up to you as your face was almost right at his. You both were breathing hard as you ran your hands through his hair and rested the other on his neck, Hobie’s hands exploring your back and thighs while kissing your neck. It was an all new sensation you both felt, not wanting to end it and growing addicted by the second. Hobie’s cock rested between your thighs, hitting his stomach and leaking precum, it had you reaching for it and playing with the red tip. He pulled you in for a kiss as you began to take him into your hands. His hips bucked up as your hands slid up and down his large length, spreading his cum and rubbing the tip with your thumb. He was getting to his high not so slowly, your hands bringing him on faster than he thought, so he abruptly stopped you with a pleading voice,

“Please love, need to feel you.. ready?”

You were already lifting your hips over his tip as you responded,

“I’m so ready.”

It wasn’t long before you slid down on him, your soaked walls taking him in right away. Once he bottomed out you both knew deep down, that you wouldn’t last long.

He was so deep, his tip touching your cervix, Hobie picked you up as he gripped your thighs tightly, then he slid you back down, groaning into your lips at the pleasure he instantly felt. Hobie didn’t care and wasn’t afraid of the position he was in, as he sat at the edge of the skyscraper, with you in his lap taking all of him. He confided in his strength to withhold you, and make you feel good more than anything. You than began to bounce on his cock, letting out whimper’s and mewls when you slid back down, feeling the stretch overtake you. Hobie helped you speed up as he took control and moved his hips to meet you at every thrust. Warmth began to seep into your core again, but burning more this time. You pulled Hobie closer to you as you begged,

“I need you more- please!”

“I know my love.. me too.”

Hobie needed the same, and fully take control, so he changed positions and laid you on your back, wrapping your legs around his waist. You held onto his hands as they were above your head, and took a deep breath as you prepared for what came. With locked gazes, Hobie pulled back and thrusted into you right away, loving how you responded to him so well by clenching around him and moaning his name. Little by little he picked up his speed, knowing you both needed your much needed release, warmth engulfing you both as well as a passion for more.

Hobie railed into you now as he asked in between pants,

“Who do you belong to love?”

Breathing out a moan when he hit a particular spot, you cried out,

“Y-You! You Hobie!!”

Letting go of your hand to hold your hips down with extra force, Hobie punctuated each word with a harsh thrust,

“You. Sure. Love?”

Hitting your cervix every time had your toes curling and backs arching to him while you whimpered,

“Yes!! I’m yours Hobie Brown!!”

You could feel him throb inside of your walls, as you clenched around him, nearing your release. Hobie could feel the release nearing too, your warm walls taking him in and milking his precum into you. Now all he desired in that moment was for you to let go for him, and only him. Increasing his speed and piercing his grip into you, Hobie demanded with a sweet but firm tone,

“Beg for me love.. t-tell me who it is that is making you co-come.”

Doing his best to hold on a bit longer, Hobie awaited your answer, pleading from his heart that it’d be soon as he wished to claim you already and paint your walls with him. You clawed his back and pulled him closer, kissing his earlobe you then panted and moaned into his ear,

“Only you can Hobie.. please- ahh! Make me come- please please Hobie!”

His jealousy for you along with a new unlocked sensation… possessiveness, had him wanting to here you beg more.

“Beg me to make you come-“

He then lowered his hand to your clit, and began to rub tight circles around your bud, urging you to cry out in a desperate tone, tears evident that you were desperate.

“-AHH!! Oh Hobie! Please- please baby make me cum! Only y-you can!! So p-please!!”

Letting out a deep breath Hobie moaned into your hair,

“Come my love, come wi’ me.”

Feeling him pulsate along with his sharp thrusts, had you coming undone under his arms, coating his cock with your juices. Hobie brought you in for a deep kiss when he came, swallowing yours and his moans as he then slowly rode out both of your highs, wanting it to last a little longer. He was the opposite from how he started, which was rough… but now he gave gentle strokes, only pulling away when you told him it was too sensitive now. You were both out of breath and pulling away at once to catch some air, your chests touching from how close you were but also how much air you were taking in. Hobie gave your forehead a short but meaningful kiss before pulling away, but instead you pulled him in for a hug, hiding your face in his neck as you reassured him,

“I’ll only and always be yours Hobie Brown.. I promise.”

Hobie squeezed you tight and was grateful for your embrace, and he ran his fingers through your hair, as he returned the promise,

“I’ll be yours too love.. forever.”

Your eyes twinkled, as he confessed,

“I’m sorry I never made it clear webs.. but I do love you… very much so.”

With a soft peck you replied,

“I love you too… I always have Hobie.”

In a silence you too held each other, satisfied with your actions, more in love and thriving for more days like this to come.

Maybe this love making session was unexpected and out of the blue for the both of you, but it felt so right, and so good. A little breeze of wind then brushed by, causing you to shiver a bit in Hobie’s arms, a second didn’t go by when he suggested,

“Let’s get us home yeah? Don’ want ya to get cold lovie…”

Carefully he helped you put back on your suit, being extra touchy but extremely gentle as he zipped you up (but he didn’t do this before taking a look at your- his cunt now dripping from his cum.

Soon you too helped Hobie with his pants, and getting his guitar safely back into his hold. Both slipping on your masks, you were ready to swing home, but your legs were a little to wobbly for your liking. Hobie caught the slight stumble before holding you up and telling you,

“I’ll carry you home.. on my back lovie.”

With you tightly secured around him, he took off and swung towards home, going through the city so you could have the last look of the city night lights… as he knew it was one of your favorite parts of being Spider-Woman. Efficiently he swung by a stand full of flowers, plucking one off and easily giving it to you, a smile made it to your face as the rose was given to you with a brush of his hands touching yours. You blushed hard like if it was the first time he touched you, and hadn’t just made love to you on the tallest building of your city.

You never felt fear as you embraced him with the rose in your hand tightly. You trusted Hobie’s skills as you had seen them be incredibly strong and capable of much, while swinging he’d collect something he’d like and hand it to you.. so far you have 3 different flowers and a lollipop. Hobie had sticky fingers.. but you didn’t mind it, he wasn’t selfish with his findings.

It didn’t take long when you finally arrived at your balcony, he made sure your feet were flat on the ground before letting you go. Walking into your dark home didn’t feel lonely and filled with void like before, now you held Hobie’s hand tight as you led him to your room, wordlessly telling him you really wanted him to stay the night, if not forever. You both jumped into the shower wanting it to be quick, your night having been long and you both were craving to lay down in one another’s arms. Hobie’s hands never left your body as he helped you scrub down, he never looked at you like you’re a piece of meat.. but as if you were such a treasure to behold. It didn’t matter about your battle scars or the shape of you, he was now addicted and more in love. You treated Hobie the same way, wanting to show him that you indeed wanted him and him only, asking him questions about how he does his hair and wanting to memorize his steps to keep his styled hair in tact (as you loved how his hair looked) Drying off in fluffy towels, and sharing the air-blow dryer, you too were soon ready for bed. Hobie lifted you up from the thighs and carried you in, laying you down gently and pecking your lips all so romantically, before plopping himself on top of you. A breathy groan left your lips as he cuddled into your stomach, acting innocent and slightly ignoring how he had dropped onto you. He made sure he was in a good spot, not wanting his hair to be in your face, but close enough where you can rub his head. Soft kisses were given on your tummy as he worded again and again, softly yet possessively,

“You’re mine.. all mine. This body, your heart… you. Right baby?”

You could never say no.

“Yes baby.. all yours.. all of me.”

He smiled to himself as he lastly cooed,

“I love you..”

His chest warmed up as he heard your reply,

“I love you more..”

[me-and-your-husband]

if you lie down with me || e.w.

summary: there's one thing you and ellie don't have in common: immunity.

warnings: not beta read, swearing, blood, canon typical violence, death by suicide, ellie has concerning ideations, smut, oral, scissoring, multiple orgasms, angst!, crying during sex, arguing, probably more

word count: 6k

a/n: i know, i'm sorry for using this photo 😭 actually i'm sorry i wrote this entire thing

The end never feels like the end, does it? When you wake in the morning, the air is as fresh as the day before and the sun streams through the window at the same angle. You smile fondly at the incessant banging on your door, and at her urging tone when she tells you to get out of bed. “We have patrol,” she says, like she's said a thousand times before. What makes today any different? 

The gravel road feels the same as it crunches under your boots as she leads you to the gate. Her auburn hair shines the same in the light, the same way you've admired since you were fourteen and she had just settled in Jackson. 

You were helping out in the library, arms full of books stacked above your head. You struggled trying to keep them up with one hand and shelve them with the other. She noticed you from the corner, where she sat with a pile of beaten comics and a Walkman. “Need some help?” she asked, standing up from her spot on the ground. She took half the books from your pile and put them wherever you told her. After, when you asked her about the comics she was reading, her face lit up and she knew that you'd be a part of her life until death. Finally, someone was interested in knowing her. 

The friendly faces of the watchmen at the gate were the same as they were yesterday, a week ago, a month ago, a year. They waved at you and wished you good luck as you mounted your horse and rode alongside Ellie onto the trail. The way she shoved her pistol in her back pocket and slung her bow over her shoulders was always the same. The way your horse galloped evenly alongside Shimmer did not deviate from the norm. 

When she spoke up, her words were usual. 

“Look, babe. A hummingbird,” she said with glee, pointing to the frosty trees.

You smiled at her excitement. “Poor thing, it's so cold out.”

“Don't you remember?”

“Of course I remember, El,” you laughed. “How could I forget?”

How could you forget? It was a humid summer afternoon, shortly after Ellie had turned sixteen. You had snuck out of Jackson to explore a creek you had found the day prior on group patrol. You so badly wanted to show Ellie, to share every part of you with her. You didn't know what to call it, but you assumed it was just because you were really good friends. 

The soft rush of the water and the gentle breeze across your skin contrasted to the beating sun plastering your hair to your skin. You and Ellie sat with your backs against a wide oak, watching minnows skip through the water. 

“Do you think animals have feelings? Like us?” Ellie thought out loud. 

You hummed, “I do, but not as complicated as ours.” 

She nodded in agreement before her eyes drifted to the source of a new sound, a gentle humming. She saw the gentle bird sucking nectar from a flower, tapping your shoulder gently and pointing. 

“Look, a hummingbird,” she whispered.

“Woah!” You beamed, “I’ve only seen them in those nature books in the library. That's so cool. Did you know the sound actually comes from its wings?” 

As you watched the hummingbird, she watched you. “It’s really pretty.”

You agreed. She said your name, but looked away from you. 

“Yeah?”

“I think I like girls.”

You let the words settle in the air. 

“I think I do too.”

It was the first indication that something else could happen between you and her, something less platonic than you would've thought. After that, neither of you said anything about it, confident in the fact that something more could exist in the spaces between. 

It was the same confidence you had today as you followed her through the Wyoming woods, putting your trust in her. You took the same path almost every time you went out on patrol, knowing your way around, knowing the landmarks of the area. You knew you were getting close to the danger zone when you saw your favourite tree, the one you and Ellie would lean against by the creek, telling each other secrets into the night, crossing your heart to never tell another soul. Each of you knew that the other’s soul was the only one that mattered, anyways. 

It was just over a year ago that you’d both carved your initials into that tree, reminders of that early morning on patrol bringing a smile to your face. 

You had stopped for a moment to take a short break against the tree, letting your horses get some rest. Ellie leaned up against the tree as you pet Shimmer. The sun shone despite the snow and the brisk weather, illuminating your features gently. She admired the curve of your lips and the shape of your eyes, imagining her fingers tracing your skin under lamplight late at night. You looked up at her when your name tumbled from her lips. 

“Yeah?” You said, continuing to pet Shimmer.

“I like you.”

The air stilled and your hand faltered, breath hitching. But what if she didn’t mean it like that? 

You forced a laugh. “Well, I’d hope so. We’ve been friends for how long?”

“No, I…” she struggled for the right words. “I want to be more than friends. I like you. Like…romantically. And stuff.”

She played with her fingers, shuffling her feet back and forth in the snow, not meeting your gaze. 

“Ellie, look at me. Please,” you whispered. She raised her eyes to yours, but still kept her head low, not bringing it up until your hand cupped her jaw. She moved her hand on top of yours, trapping it there, wondering if it was just a dream. 

She closed her eyes tight when she saw you leaning in, praying that you weren't messing with her. When she finally felt your lips ghosting across hers, she leaned into you. Your touch was fire on her skin, leaving a red blush in its wake. She pressed your mouth to hers hungrily, never wanting this to end. 

“I like you too,” you mumbled against her lips. 

When you finally broke for air, chests heaving, you were both beaming. Ellie nervously reached into her pocket for her pocket knife, flicking it open. She held the blade against the bark of the tree, grabbing our hand and putting it on the hilt, sliding hers over top of it. 

She guided your hand as you carved your initials into the tree, trapping them inside of a heart. It was cliche, but it meant everything to you. 

It was the same tree that, a year later, you and Ellie passed on almost every patrol. The same tree that symbolized your everlasting love for each other. The same tree that stood since the dawn of your and Ellie’s time. 

You rode casually in comfortable silence until you got to the watchtower, negative memories plaguing both you and Ellie. The floorboards still held the echoes of your voices yelling, still soaked in your tears. 

Four months ago, when the rabbits were still brown and the path was clear of snow, you'd come through this watchtower to find two clickers. It caught you both off guard, as Jesse and Dina had just cleared it as safe the day before. 

Ellie, always being the hero, snuck up behind one, taking it out easily, and lunged at the other. The second one, however, pinned her to the ground, and she held it by the neck, its arms clawing hers. 

The sound of your pistol rang out as the body slumped on top of Ellie. She rolled it off and got up from the ground, chest heaving. 

“Well,” she said, brushing dirt from her jeans, “that was pretty close. Thanks.”

When you didn't respond, she turned to see you standing with your pistol still in both hands, brows furrowed as you watched the dead body of the clicker intently. She called your name. 

“What is it?”

You shook your head. 

“Come on, tell me-”

“Every fucking time, Ellie,” you said, shoving your pistol back in your pocket and turning away from her. “Why do you have to run head-first into danger like that every time?”

She didn't say anything, gaze on your back as she watched you turn back around. 

“What would I have done if you had gotten bit?” You said, voice a little watery. “Say something.”

She stumbled over her words, not knowing what to say. “I don't try to, you know, it’s just…” she sighed.

“You know, Ellie, sometimes I think that I value your life more than you do.”

The words hung in the air between you two, both of you knowing that you were right. Knowing that she could've been more, done so much more, saved so many people. But she was stripped of that. So what kind of meaning could she give to her life? What did she really have to live for? Before Joel, she never really had someone she knew would care if she died. Now she had you, and she didn't know how her recklessness would affect you. Now she did. 

“Okay, you're right. I’m too reckless. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll start thinking before I react,” she said, voice softening. 

You huffed, “I just worry about you, El. I don't know what I’d do without you.”

She hugged you tight, letting you nuzzle into her chest. She knew how you felt. Before you, she was hopeless. She didn't see a point in doing anything if her life couldn't be used by someone. What was it all for? Everything she'd struggled through? All she'd suffered? 

Now she knew that she was forced to experience it all so that she could end up with you. And she’d do it a million times over. 

She breathed your name. “I need to tell you something.”

You pulled away from her, “Well that's one way to start a conversation.”

She laughed nervously. “No, it's nothing bad. It's just…it might be hard to swallow.”

She gestured at an old, ratty chair. You sat and watched her intently. 

She took a deep breath, drawing it into her lungs and releasing it. “Do you remember why I got my tattoo?”

“Yeah, to cover up that chemical burn.”

“I lied,” she said. “That's not why I got the tattoo.”

You furrowed your brows in confusion, silently begging her to go on. 

“When I was fourteen, I was bitten. On my arm.”

You sat back in your chair. 

“I waited and waited for my mind to go, for my body to go, for anything to happen, but it never did. So…I’m immune, or whatever,” she said, searching for a reaction. 

Seconds of silence passed. It was shattered with a laugh.

“That's a good one, Ellie. Real funny.”

“It’s true! Ask Joel. Tommy. Maria. They're the only ones who know…”

“And you expect me to believe this?”

“Just trust me. Please. It's all I ask, is for you to trust my word. Why would I lie to you about this?” She pleaded. 

“Why didn't you tell me before?”

“Because Joel thinks it's dangerous for people to know. That's how we met, you know. He was hired to get me to the fireflies…they were going to make a cure,” she said, voice trailing off towards the end. 

“It didn't work, I take it?”

She shook her head. “Joel says they didn't need me.” Joel says. 

“Okay,” you said, making her look up at you. “I believe you. But that doesn't mean I’m fine with you running head-first into infected like that again. Just because you're…immune, doesn't mean you can't be torn apart. Got it?”

“Got it,” she said, crouching in front of you and putting her hands on your thighs. “God, I love you.”

You cleared out the watchtower and made your way back to the path. This part was one of your favourites, winding through the mountains. Your horses trotted casually beside each other. 

“Okay, okay, here's one: What do you say when a chef dies?” 

“Oh god, I don't know?”

“He pasta-way!” She said, giggling before she could even say the answer. 

Her laughter was contagious, sending it bubbling through your chest. “That's so bad that it's good.”

“Come on, just admit that I’m a top-notch comedian. If the world wouldn't have ended, I’d’ve been up there with Dave Chapelle.”

“Who’s Dave Chapelle?”

“I don't actually know. Some old ass comedian Joel told me about.”

You both laughed, smiles painted across your faces. However, the giggles subsided as you felt your horse start to shake slightly. 

“Woah, Shimmer, you okay girl?” Ellie said, patting her side. 

“Beau’s shaking too.”

“Maybe they’ve got…I don't know, a cold or something? Can horses even get colds?” You shrugged. “Maybe we should let them rest for a bit.”

You agreed, dismounting your horse and planting your feet on the ground. The shaking underneath you didn’t stop. You looked at Ellie, who looked at the mountain behind you. She yelled your name as you looked behind you.

A loud, grating noise sounded as you watched the earth of the mountain loosen from its side, rocks and boulders tumbling from it, falling in your direction. 

You hurriedly mounted your horses again, kicking their ribs to get them to go. You rode as fast as you could, attempting to beat the oncoming landslide. You'd never seen one before, only heard stories and read of them in books. You were about three quarters of the way through the mountain range when the land detached from the mountain and began to slide. 

“Go, go, go!” You yelled, Ellie a few feet ahead of you as her horse was younger than Beau. She glanced behind her every few seconds to make sure you were still there. 

The rocks falling created a settlement of dust around you, making it increasingly harder to breathe. You finally saw the green clearing outside of the mountain range. Almost there. 

The grating noise died, and you peered behind you to see the path completely covered in rubble. A few boulders still tumbled from the mountain, or whatever was left of it. 

“Watch out!” Ellie yelled. You looked to your right, seeing a massive boulder rolling down the mountain, coming right for you. 

You acted before you could think, much like Ellie, and propelled yourself forward off your horse as the boulder hit Beau and rolled atop of his body. You landed on the ground near Ellie, propping yourself up on your elbows to gawk at the sight. 

“Oh my god,” you whispered, running to Beau. His body was mangled, bones sticking out of the skin and blood painting the grass. You felt like vomiting. 

Ellie dismounted her horse, still shaking from the adrenaline, and put her hands on your shoulders, attempting to get you standing. 

“Wait,” you said, leaning back down, planting a teary kiss on Beau's muzzle. 

You stood, holding her tight. “Let's never come through here again.”

“Don't think we can, sweetheart,” she said, looking back at the obstruction. “Come on, we've gotta find a new way back home.”

She was about to help you mount Shimmer when you both froze in your tracks. A low, husky groan rung out through the air, scaring Shimmer. She ran into the clearing out of fright. 

“Shit,” Ellie breathed. 

“We’ll find her later. Come on, we have to go. It's either a bloater or a shambler, and I don't really want to stick around to find out.” 

You turned to leave when the ground shook again. You turned around, looking back at the mountain. It wasn't the mountain shaking this time. Spewing through the hole the landslide left like spiders were hundreds—if not thousands—of infected. Clickers, runners, stalkers, bloaters, shamblers. Everything. 

There was no way you were making it out of this unless you legged it now. 

In unison, you and Ellie started sprinting to your last checkpoint— the old cabin. You ran faster than you ever had before, the sounds of hungry infected hot on your heels. You couldn't feel your legs, the burning in your flesh too intense. When the cabin finally came into view, you couldn't even allow yourself a breath of relief. You and Ellie had your guns out, shooting behind you as you ran, picking off as many infected as you could. When you were close enough to the cabin, the idea hit you. You knew that the creaky boards of the cabin wouldn't hold that many infected off. You knew what you had to do. 

“Ellie, cover me!” You yelled as you slung your backpack off your shoulder and grabbed what you'd need. You grabbed an old bottle of whiskey you and Ellie had found at the watchtower and a rag. Stuffing the rag in the bottle, you lit it with your lighter. 

In the ten seconds it took you to do this, the infected crept closer and closer to you. Ellie tried picking off as many as she could, keeping them away from you. Until her magazine ran out. 

You threw the molotov in front of the hoard of infected. It exploded, creating a wall of fire between you and your death. 

Until a single clicker went at you from the side. The light of the fire flickered in your irises and cast an orange glow across your face, and you didn't even hear it creeping up amidst the roar of the flames. You didn't even hear Ellie yell your name. 

It tackled you to the ground before you could even turn your head all the way, talons scratching your arms and legs, sinking into your stomach. Its jaw was inches away from your neck, begging to gnaw on your jugular. In the struggle for your life, you couldn't even tell where you were and weren't hurt, what was bleeding and what wasn't. 

Blood gushed into your hair and eyes as you watched Ellie slice its head clean off with her pocketknife. The same one you'd carved your initials into that old oak with. 

Something inside of you rattled knowing that something could be used so innocently and yet so dangerously. 

Ellie picked you up from the ground and helped you limp into the cabin, reeds of grass tickling your wounds. When you entered, you stood in the centre of the room as she barricaded the entrances. 

“There,” she said, returning to you. You were both coming off adrenaline, suddenly feeling the ache in your bones to an indescribable extent. 

You put your hands on your knees and leaned on them, heaving a little. “Ellie. We were so close.”

She just nodded in understanding. Her eyes survey you from top to bottom. You had a scratch across your cheek, a few minor lacerations across your arms and chest, and a few on your legs. She couldn't see any bites. 

You brought your right arm up to run it shakily through your hair. That's when she saw it, brutal and bloody, painted into your skin like a brand. One that would decide your fate. Except that it had already been decided. 

The sight of the bite on your forearm turned her stomach. She blinked over and over again, hoping that she was seeing wrong. Maybe she was still coming off of adrenaline. “Your arm…” she breathed. 

“What?” You asked, confused. You looked over your left, then your right, and…oh. “Oh.”

The silence was deafening. It wasn't like you'd been badly injured, still with a sliver of possibility for recovery. No, this bite sealed your fate. 

In the next day, you were going to become something Ellie had to detest. Something she had to kill. 

You felt the bile rise in your throat just in time to grab a decayed flower pot. You choked out everything in your stomach and more.

Ellie grabbed her stomach as she felt her body start to shake, that feeling creeping up her spine again. Her breath felt like it was being siphoned out of her. She needed air, but her lungs would not take any in. She hyperventilated as she threw herself back against the wall, legs giving out. 

A sweat broke out across her body, knowing that she's losing you tonight. 

Her mind shoved memories into her vision that she swore to never bring up again. 

“There're a million ways we should've died before today. And a million ways we can die before tomorrow. But we fight…for every second we get to spend with each other. Whether it's two minutes…or two days. We don't give that up.”

She remembers the small, impossible slice of hope in Riley’s eyes, one that she knew was futile. Riley was her first love. She thought they were both going to die. She felt…horrible. You would be her last love, though she knew only you were fated to die. She knew she would die too. 

Your voice calling her name broke her out of her fit. One look at you wiping your face and shaking was enough to make her want to break something, anything. 

“Ellie,” you called. She stood and began pacing, running her hands over her face. “Ellie, stop it.”

“There's gotta be…there has to…we need…” she babbled, still pacing. An idea clicked, “give me your arm.”

You held out your shaking arm to your lover, expecting her to inspect the area. Instead, she took out her pocket knife and pressed the blade into her hand without any hesitation. 

“Ellie! What the fuck?!” You said, trying to stop her hand from bleeding. 

“Give me your arm,” she said firmly, a major contrast from before. When you hesitated, her hard gaze met yours. Her eyes softened when she saw the fear in your eyes. “Please,” she whispered. 

You gave her your arm and let her rub her blood into the bite. 

She took your arm and rubbed the blood into the bite knowing it wouldn’t work. 

It wouldn't work on you. 

She knew that. 

She tried anyway.

As she massaged the blood as deep into the wound as she could get, all she could think about was that she would've been able to save you if they made the cure. Her life would've had meaning, so much meaning. She would've been able to cure you from this. But she was helpless, cursed to watch you suffer. 

“Ellie,” you said, putting your hand atop hers to get her to stop and look at you. She could see in your eyes that you just needed to be close to her in that moment. She needed it too, needed to be impossibly closer as to grip into you forever. 

She buried her head into your neck and you did the same, holding your breath. For if you breathed, time would pass. If time passed, you'd be gone. 

You don't know how long you held each other like that, but it was long enough that your legs nearly collapsed with exhaustion. You were the first to speak. 

“I need you to promise me something,” you whispered. 

Ellie knew what you were going to say before the words left your mouth. 

“No-” she began pulling away from you, but you squeezed her tighter. 

“When it starts to happen…when I can feel it, I’m going to take my gun-”

“Stop it-”

“-and I’m going to go outside. You’ll know it's over-”

“-Stop-”

“-when you hear it. Just promise me you won't look.”

“Stop, please,” she begs, tears brimming in her eyes again. She takes a step back from you and turns around. 

“Promise me.”

The words get caught in her throat. Her lip trembles. “Okay.”

Outside, rain starts to fall softly, tapping against the rotting wood of the cabin. 

She breaks the new silence. “I should've been there. I should've taken my rifle out, anything-”

“El, it's not your fault. Look at me,” you say. She looks at you over her shoulder. You nearly crumble at her red eyes and wet cheeks. “Never blame yourself. You hear me?”

She just squeezes her eyes shut, willing for this to all go away. 

You walk to her, putting your hands on her shoulders and leaning your forehead against her back. You tried not to look at the bite. 

“Ellie.”

“Yeah.”

“Will you give me one last good night?”

The soft pattering of the rain against the wood, trickling off the roof and into the ground. 

“Please?”

She says nothing, instead turning around and gently capturing your lips in a kiss. Your bloodied hands find her wet cheeks, noting that the tears haven't stopped. 

Ellie wanted to give you everything you wanted and more, and she had sworn she would from the moment she met you. If this was the last thing you ever asked from her, she would give it to you. 

But it was so unbelievably hard knowing that this time would be your last. 

She pushed you back against the wall, nearly devouring you. The salty mix of your tears and hers slipped into the kiss, but you didn't care. She moved her hand down to cup you where you wanted her.

You bucked your hips into the friction, already needing her. You began to undo your belt, but Ellie’s hand on your wrist stopped you. 

“Are you sure this is what you want?” She said, voice gravelly. 

“Yes, El,” you said. “I don't know where I’ll be tomorrow, or…what I’ll be,” she let out a shaky breath, “but I know I want to be with you right now.”

She sniffled and nodded, getting on her knees to take your belt off. She threw it to the side, unbuttoning your jeans, sliding them down along with your panties. You opened your legs wider for her.

She ran two fingers through your slit before sinking one into your hole, tongue giving kitten licks to your folds. 

You could tell that she wasn't going to be as vocal as usual. 

You couldn't really blame her. 

You whimpered as she added another finger, pumping them in and out of you, filling the air with obscene sounds. She lapped at your cunt, trying her hardest to give you what you want. 

“Ellie, don't stop,” you moaned, whimpering when she used her other arm to hold your hips down against the wall. “Almost there.”

You could feel the coil tightening inside if you quickly, your climax coming in record time. You thought for a moment that it was because of how sensitive you were in this moment. 

You moaned wantonly and grabbed her hair as you came, her tongue working on your clit and her fingers scissoring you open. 

You expected her to stop, but she kept going. In fact, she added a third finger. 

You heard her moan into your pussy, looking down to find her grinding into the floor, a wet spot forming on her jeans. She was so messy, your juices coating her face, red-rimmed eyes and messy hair, rutting into nothing and moaning into your cunt. 

When the fabric of her jeans caught her clit just right, she took her mouth of your pussy, replacing it with her thumb instead, and leaned her forehead against your stomach. You came with her from the sensitivity, both of your moans filling the air, pleading for more. 

When she laid you down on a thin blanket from her backpack and undressed both of you, you noted the scared look in her eyes. The way she looked at you, drinking you in, knowing this would be your last time together. Some part of you wished that neither of you knew about the bite, that you didn't have to treat this so differently. That you could enjoy it. Enjoy your last moments together.

She threw her leg over yours, kissing you messily, yet softly, as she ground into you, folds slotting against each other. You both moaned each time your clits touched. 

As she grew closer to her climax, she buried her face into your neck. You tried to ignore the feeling of her tears trickling down and pooling at your nape. 

You came together. You moaned, but she cried out, more guttural than you'd ever heard from her. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you—!” she cried into your neck as she came. 

When you slowed down, she held you like that without words. 

“I love you too, Ellie,” you whispered, just loud enough for her to hear over the rain. 

You held each other as the sun set, through the night, and through the rain. 

The golden rays of the sun shone through the cracks in the walls and shudders, dancing across her bare body pressed into your side. Hours ago, her body had stopped shaking and her tears stopped spilling onto your chest, your hands running patterns across her skin lulling her into an exhausted sleep. 

Your eyes had never closed, however. You knew you wanted to be awake to feel it happening, to know when you were losing control over your body. For Ellie’s sake. 

The rain had stopped and the clouds were cleared. Birds sang outside and all the animals went about their day. You thought it strange that the world would continue on without you, that people will age and new ones will be born, that people will die and people will forget about you in time. Your impermanence had never struck you as hard as it did now. 

You felt the twitching in your feet first, unnoticeable at first, but is it crawled up your limbs, you knew it was happening. It happened over three or four hours, and once you felt your neck jerk the first time, you knew. 

Your blood didn't feel like your own anymore, like someone exsanguinated it and replaced it with jelly, slowing you down. Your vision wasn't gone, but you couldn't focus it on anything. It constantly sounded like you were underwater, drowning, gasping for air to no avail. 

Your eyes hardly left the woman in your arms, clinging to you even in sleep. You know she'd curse herself for falling asleep, but you were thankful for it. You were thankful that you could press a tearful kiss to her forehead before gently escaping her grasp, muffling your sobs behind your hand. You threw your shirt and jeans on quietly, dizzy, slipping your shoes on. Your world spun, your lungs burned, your head throbbed. 

You picked up your pistol, watching Ellie stir slightly in her sleep, creamy skin illuminated in the sun, her freckled face creased slightly with worry, even in sleep. You put the gun in your pocket. 

You tried, as silently as you could, to move the barricade from the door. You were thankful that she was a heavy sleeper. 

You were thankful that you didn't have to see the despair in her eyes when you said a forceful goodbye, thankful that you didn't have to convince her to let you go, thankful that your last memory of her was this, thankful that her last memory of you was bliss. 

Through your sobs, you squeezed through the door and shut it behind you, leaning your head against it, willing for this all to be a nightmare. It wasn't, because you started to feel something else take over your will. 

Before you could lose it completely, you forced yourself into a dense brush of greenery, somewhere you hoped she wouldn't look. 

You panted, sweating, trembling, as you took the pistol out of your pocket. It shook with your hand as you held it to your temple, bright eyes taking in all of the world that you could before it was gone. 

You squeezed them tightly, willing yourself to stop shaking. You conjured the image of your lover in your mind, her auburn hair, milky skin, pretty green eyes, and those familiar freckles. How could you ever forget her?

You took a breath in, and breathed out: “I love you.”

Ellie sat up in terror when she heard the sound of a single gunshot ring through the air, seeping in through the cracks of the window and underneath the door. It took her a moment to process what it was, reaching for her pistol next to her discarded clothes. When her fingertips brushed the gun, it settled in. She craned her head to look beside her, half expecting you to still be asleep. 

When she remembered what the sound of the gunshot meant, what you had made her promise, her lungs collapsed and she couldn't take any air in. Tears spilled from her eyes as she heaved, clawing at her chest for any relief. It didn't come. 

She knew it never would.

When Joel got word that you and Ellie still hadn't returned from patrol, he worried that you'd gotten stuck in the landslide. He pleaded with Tommy and Jesse to go out with him to search, knowing he wouldn't be at peace without knowing what happened. 

When the two agreed, they set off on horses to clear all of the checkpoints. It took an extra day to get around the mountain range that was blocked off by rubble. 

When they only had one more checkpoint to clear, Joel got increasingly worried. If you weren't here, where were you?

When the three men got to the cabin, they held their breath as they dismounted their horses. Joel tried pushing the door open, but the barricade stopped him. It took the three of them to open the door, pushing the barricade out of the way. 

The open door shed light on the figure against the back wall covered in a thin blanket, trembling. Joel let out the breath he was holding in when he saw Ellie. She was clutching your backpack to her chest, trying to keep any remaining part of you alive, hers. 

She had hardly noticed Joel pick her up and carry her to his horse, wrapping the blanket tighter around her. She squeezed her eyes shut, not ready to see the world without you in it. 

“Ellie,” Joel’s gruff voice intruded her thoughts, “where is she?”

Ellie’s words failed her. All she could do was point to her forearm, to the bite that only Joel and Tommy knew hid underneath the tattoo. 

She doesn't remember what happened after that. 

It was warmer now, the flowers blossoming and the green coming back to Jackson’s landscape. Ellie sat facing your headstone, wishing you could've seen it. Wishing she could've shown it to you. 

“It’s summer now,” she began. “We started planting these new flowers in your garden…Joel thinks you would've liked them. I think so too. They're really colourful…you know.”

She hesitated.

“Sometimes I wonder if you can hear me. Or if I’m just talking to myself like a crazy person. Joel says it's good for me. I don't know if I believe him.”

She played with her hands, tracing her tattoo. 

“I wish you were still here,” she whispered. Her eyes drifted over all the flowers left by your grave from all the people who loved you. 

Her eyes filled with tears as she watched a pretty red hummingbird land on your grave, searching for pollen in the flowers.

ellie taglist:

@chrry1ovr @milly-louise @dankpunks @starhrtz @pedrobaby @urlocalgingersnap @wrendermedone @kissyslut @felsweb

permanent taglist:

@winters-fairy @idkwhattonamethisblogs

[sadesluvr]

Ōrālis 

Dr Jonathan Crane was a man of great restraint, but he wouldn’t hold himself back from indulging in your self-gratification. 

A/N: I’ve been secretly obsessed with Crane for a while, and just had to make something based off this post! Vaguely dark content (it’s Crane) so please read the tags before proceeding. Minors + ageless blogs DNI!

Word count: 3.1K

Tags: SMUT / DUB-CON / Manipulation / Power play / Misogyny / Abuse of power / Dom + Sub elements / Masturbation (fem + afab anatomy) / Scientific terminology / Dialogue heavy / Crane being weird and unsettling (canon) / Reader is wearing a skirt for logistic purposes

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. 

You never knew why you even bothered to show up to your sessions early anymore.  

Before your previous therapist, Dr Spencer, had retired, you’d used the time to gather your thoughts, perhaps flick through the contents of the random assortment of magazines on the waiting room table, but never to actively contemplate dropping the process entirely whilst staring at a clock, wishing you were anywhere else. Wringing your hands, you shifted uncomfortably on the bench as you tried to suppress the painfully familiar feeling of bile rising to your throat. It was all Dr Crane’s - the Dr Jonathan Crane famed for his work at Arkham – fault, being an uptight, anti-social excuse of a psychiatrist, who, technically, shouldn’t have been treating you regardless. His mutual discontent for the matter was all too obvious, his blunt and borderline disinterested demeanour making you feel that your every thought, choice and emotion was a mistake. 

You’d had a painfully exhausting week, from closing deadlines at your job to your cousins’ wedding plans leaving you feeling like you were on the brink of a breakdown. To make things worse, your bus had broken down on the way in, forcing you to walk four blocks of grimy Gotham streets in the rain. 

Once the door opened – right on the hour at 5PM as usual – you felt like you wanted to die. 

“Might I remind you that this is your time,” his smooth, yet commanding voice said. “If you’d like to waste it, then be my guest.” 

You huffed and shifted in your seat, making small circles with your foot as you held back a frown. If it wasn’t his personality that made things uncomfortable, then it certainly was the fact that he was handsome; rather painfully so for someone in his position. He had dark hair, plump pink lips and a chiselled jaw, all of which were spectacular together but couldn’t compare to his eyes; striking, intense and a sharp blue. His eyes, whilst his best feature, was certainly one of the pitfalls of being in an enclosed room with him. They were always watching; staring into your soul and taking you apart, piece by piece, limb by limb. 

Sighing, you pinched the bridge of your nose before pointing your hand at him in a vaguely accusatory manner. 

“Look, Doctor, I’ve had a long week. Can you spare being snarky for at least a minute?” 

“Interesting that you characterise my frankness as ‘snarky’, Miss L/N,” he said, unmoved by your tone. “It seems like you’re not used to people being direct with you.” 

“I have been, remember? You’ve been treating me for two months now.” You replied sarcastically. 

“Yes, and I haven’t seen much progress,” he said flippantly, pausing to flick through a notebook before looking back up at you. “I suppose I’m now inclined to ask how you are.” 

“I’m amazing,” you said pointedly. “Luck is on my side. I walked here because the bus broke down. Not to mention the fact that I’m four days out from my deadline at work, and I’m probably going to be sick for all of them because of the weather. And my cousin’s wedding is in a month and we still haven’t gotten invitations out, so God knows —“ 

Crane made a small humming sound that stopped your rambling, a small smirk on his face as he did. 

“Did I say something?” You frowned. This man was so self-assured that he found menial, everyday things like this amusing. He probably pitied you.  

“It’s clear to me that you’re doing a lot for other people,” he said. “Work is completely understandable, but preparing a wedding is not. You’re not under any obligation to do this.” 

You blinked, brows furrowing in confusion as you tried to make sense of what he’d said. His lips were folded into a straight line as he watched you unscramble your thoughts, his oh-so powerful gaze making you feel as if you were a blathering idiot. 

“She’s part of my family,” you said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Family help each-other…” 

He angled his head in a small nod. “From my understanding, yes; with aspects such as parenting and homemaking.” 

“Marriage is a kind of homemaking. It’s very common for families across cultures to be involved in matrimony.” You shrugged. 

“Then, what do you suggest you do?” Dr Crane said matter of factly. “Slave over fickle things like necklines and bouquets? What do you gain from torturing yourself in this process?” 

“It’s not about me, it’s about my cousin. She deserves to be happy.” You said through gritted teeth, now inexplicably becoming heated. It was clear that he wasn’t one who had many friends – if any – and a relationship with relatives seemed out of the question.  

“That statement is almost entirely untrue,” Crane said bluntly, brow raised as he cocked his head in a knowing manner. “We as humans are made to be self-serving. I’m not denying that one such as your relative does not deserve to be happy, more that you want something from making her that way.” 

You scoffed. “Are you asking me or telling me?” 

He didn’t answer, but merely swallowed, breaking his gaze with you to look around the room cooly before focusing back on you.  

“I say this because it’s not uncommon for women to experience envy in these positions. Some have the fickle idea that their assistance in the process will bring themselves further along to matrimony,” he stated. “Thus, your apparent stress on the matter paired with your reaction to my previous statement about familial obligation gives me reason to think that you’re particularly jealous of this cousin.” 

You scoffed. 

“That is not true.” 

Crane hummed and adjusted his posture. 

“Is there a significant other in your life?” 

“No…” you replied, your voice practically a mumble at the statement. You were almost a hundred percent sure that he’d known that, given he had Dr Spencer’s files in-front of him. Like most things with him, it was just another way to make you feel small. 

Again, he didn’t follow up the statement but instead moved on. 

“I could go on about how jealousy is a one of the many products of fear, but I’m rather interested about this love life of yours,” he said, placing the notebook on the table below him. “A relationship is one thing, but nowadays there are other options to companionship.” 

You swallowed. 

“I don’t do hookups, nor friends with benefits. They’re too complicated.” 

“I see,” he said. “I wouldn’t write them off too quickly. They can be a fix to what you’re currently experiencing.” 

You raised your brows and shook your head at the implication. Not only was Crane making you feel borderline histrionic for simply having a stressful week but suggesting that you were just succumbing to your base desires was even more insulting. Insulting because on some deep level, you knew it was true. 

Perhaps you just needed a good, old-fashioned fuck for that sweet boost of dopamine and mental clarity.  Truthfully, you couldn’t remember how long it’d been since you’d had sex, let alone been in a relationship, to the point that if undoing your virginity was possible you would’ve been Mother Mary herself. 

“Do you partake in masturbation?” 

“I don’t think you’re allowed to ask me that.” 

“Once again, Miss L/N, that’s untrue,” he said, exhaling as he took off his glasses and folded them into his pocket. “I’m a doctor, and my duty is to help you. Certain ways of masturbation can affect the mind, and I presume that’s one of the sole reasons you came to a therapist. The act releases dopamine, which is certainly good for the brain, not to mention it encourages blood flow to your pelvis,” he said precisely. “Therefore, I ask again. Do you partake in masturbation?” 

He cocked his brow this time; piercing blue eyes fixated on your own. You couldn’t tell if he was getting off on your discomfort, the vision of you touching yourself, or a weird mix of somewhere in-between. For a small man, he had a tremendous way of making you feel alone, as if you were the world, yet so seen. You fiddled with your hands, avoiding his gaze as you answered to the ground, wooden flooring suddenly becoming interesting. 

“I do... I-It’s just been a while...” 

“I’d appreciate it if you answered to me rather than at the floor,” Crane replied before swiftly moving on. “I think we should use the remaining time to work on that.” 

Your heart dropped at the statement, and you finally broke your gaze with the floor to stare at him. 

“H-How —“ 

“Start by making yourself comfortable,” he began. “And place your legs up onto the table as you spread them.” 

You felt ill, yet there was a painful curiosity in your loins that made you want to follow his every command. It was clear that he wanted to present yourself to him, virtually in a platter, and as much as it made you sick that this was a man you despised, you needed this.  “Doctor, I don’t think this is necessary —“ 

“We’ve got forty minutes,” he interjected. “I suggest you make this quick.” 

It’ll make you better, you thought to yourself as you placed your feet onto the table, leaning back as you allowed yourself to relax into the couch. The hem of your skirt rode up as you did, giving him an eyeful of your thighs and up towards your pelvis. Once done, you stared at him expectedly, and he hummed (one that judging by his frown of his lips were of displeasure) getting up from his seat and adjusting you himself. Nothing was ever good enough, something always needed to be fixed. Typical Crane fashion 

His hands were cold on your skin as he spread your legs apart, adjusting your footwork so that he’d be able to see more of you. You shuddered as his fingertips momentarily lingered on your inner thigh, and you suddenly became self conscious of your clamminess derived from the sudden condensation of entering the building. 

“Interesting,” he spoke, cocking a brow as he wrote something down. “You’re clammy to the touch and your legs are trembling. Is there something you fear?” 

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t answer. 

“Perhaps this will clear your head,,” he said softly, undeniably amused. “I’m going to guide you through your fears…Remove your underwear.” 

His voice was noticeably more breathy and ragged than previously, and you took a quick glance down at his crotch, which, if you weren’t to be mistaken, was slightly raised, his usually smoothly ironed clothes now somewhat crumpled. Hesitantly, you shifted your hips up to slide your panties down your legs, quickly unnerved at the fact that you didn’t know what to do with them.  

“Put them on the side,” Crane instructed. “Inhale, and place your hand between your thighs. As you exhale, I want you to place your fingers at the top, on your hood.”  

Your chin wobbled nervously as you did so, eyes locked on Jonathan’s own. He swallowed, and you could’ve sworn that you saw his lip tremble in the process. You didn’t know to be scared or proud that he was seemingly anxious about it all. 

“Now begin to stimulate the area as you would if you were alone.” 

You nodded, using two fingers to rub small circles on your hood. Sometimes, when you’d tried in the past, it’d been apparent that there simply wasn’t enough lubrication.  

Today that wasn’t the case. 

The action gave you a tingle, but it wasn’t enough to make you feel better. Jonathan seemed to sense this. 

“Use pressure. It’ll make you feel better.” 

It did. The force of your middle finger down on your sensitive clit hood sent a pulse down you legs, building to a steady rhythm as you resumed your motions. You let out a broken sigh and bit your lip, your restraint a great disappointment to the man across from you. 

“Why must you insist on running from your own pleasure? I want to hear you, and I’d appreciate it if I didn’t have to ask twice.” 

Craning your neck, you willed yourself to let out a moan, finding that it was far easier than you’d expected. It was just one of the many things you let build up in your head. 

“Good.” Crane hummed, and you could’ve sworn that he had unzipped his pants, relieving some pressure from his swollen bulge. “Now, move down to spread your labia apart. Allow yourself to indulge in your deepest fantasies, and use more fingers. I want you to explore yourself for me.” 

Letting out a whimper, your eyes fluttered shut as you found yourself lost in the smooth timbre of his voice; sensuous, pointed, with a deep rumble. It pained you that this man – this antagonist – was the individual within your fantasies, much more the fact that he knew it. How long had he been waiting to do this? 

There was a slight pain upon entering yourself; your walls moulding to accost themselves to the unfamiliar intrusion as you pumped your hands in and out of you. Your slow but methodic movements brought you a great sense of pleasure as you spread your arousal across your fingers, stimulating your hot sex.  

Jonathan let out a slow hum as he watched your chest rise and fall, succumbing to his basic urges as he mindlessly rubbed his hand over his cock. He wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction of taking it out; let alone masturbate in-front of you. No, that would come much later. 

“Take your fingers deeper,” he instructed, subtly biting the inside of his lip. “I know it worries you. Too often we fear the unknown, but if you want to feel better, you’ll do it for me.” 

You did, burying your fingers into yourself to the point that your first phalanges disappeared within you as you motioned your fingers in a controlled movement. Finding yourself growing a quiet confidence from Crane’s amused smirk, you began to fasten your pace, pistoning your fingers like a machine. 

The wet sounds of your sex filled the room, the shine of your fingers undeniable as you spread yourself apart, baring your pussy just for him. This is what he wanted. 

This was what you wanted. 

Right? 

Right. 

“Very good,” the man crooned. “It feels good, doesn’t it? If this was all it took for you to be obedient, I suppose I would’ve introduced masturbation to our sessions a while ago.”   

The differences were stark; all your spite from the beginning of the session had dissipated, and you were like putty in his hands. He’d integrated your mind like a parasite, a snake, and had carried out his word – he was making you better. 

“Y-Yeah..” you whispered, mind blank as you found it difficult to keep your legs up. Crane was stimulating himself through his trousers, small breaths from his chest ragged as he spoke. 

“Good girl,” he sighed. “Is my voice turning you on? Would you like me to bring you to release?” 

You nodded, an uncharacteristic squeal escaping your lips as you brushed past your clit. Jonathan sighed again, his lips pursed as he fought the urge to do it all for you, just for a feel of your wetness and tight walls. Alas, unlike other men, he knew how to exercise control. 

“Taste yourself.” he commanded without an ounce of hesitation. You winced, hands trembling as you removed them from inside of you and bringing them to your lips. Cautiously, you took a small lick of your juice, squeezing your eyes shut as you tasted yourself on your tongue. You’d never done that before. 

“Now touch yourself again, only faster. Keep your legs up, I want to see you. All of you. In this room, in this moment, you belong to me.” 

You wanted him to fucking consume you. Frantically, you switched between stimulating all of your zones, from your lips to your clit, a pornographic squelching sound coming from your nether regions. Crane bit down on the inside of his cheek, his nostrils flared as he palmed his cock, feeling spurts of pre-cum coat his pelvis. 

He let out a restraint grunt, and for some reason it made your loins tingle, sending a pulsing heat to your core. Given the way your head spun, and your vision became jagged, you could tell that you were close, which Crane took great joy in. 

“Perfect…” he hummed. “Look at me when you cum. Can you feel yourself lose control? This is what you needed, wasn’t it, you silly whore? Give yourself to me. All of it…” 

Had you been in a clear state of mind, you would’ve taken that as a threat, but in your bout of ecstasy it was hard to not be intoxicated by the idea. His voice was so soothing, so controlled and yet menacing that you felt like you’d sold your soul to the devil himself. Perhaps in a way, you had. 

Your legs were overcome by the force of your orgasm, quivering as you found it difficult to stay still. Squeezing your legs shut, you came around your fingers with a cry, your fluids spurting around your fingers and trickling onto your thigh and seeping down your legs.  

It felt impossible to come down from your own palpitations, and Crane’s stare was far from useful in relieving your anxieties. The man had barely moved, but he looked somewhat flummoxed, his hair slightly curly and tousled from sweat, whilst his pink lips looked raw, as if he’d been gnawing on them. 

Had he cum? Had he enjoyed this at all? Oh God, you were wondering if your therapist had cum from your private masturbation. 

The reality of what you’d done was coming back to you now, and you truly didn’t know what to think. You wanted to stay; to be petted and showered with praise for your show, and yet run and hide completely. You’d only known him for two months. 

And. He. Was. Your. Therapist.  

And so, you found yourself glancing back up at the time again.  

“That was…quite something,” Crane said slowly, clearing his throat as he nonchalantly polished off his glasses before putting them on. “I assume you’re feeling better now. I think I’d like to integrate this into our future sessions, starting with next week,” 

There was his usual detached tone. You thought orgasms brought mental clarity, but Jonathan was an enigma. 

“- It might be useful for you to wear a skirt, something accessible...I happen to like the colour you’ve got on now.” 

[fanofseabassanddorito]

Dear Chris Evans,

I’ve waited and watched. I’ve gone back and forth with Real vs PR. I’m just a fan, of your work, but I also because of what you seemed to stand for and acted like a real person. I think I’m done now.

There has been questionable ‘sightings’ even though you claim to want to be private. Your friends and hers have posted the two of you. You have posted her twice yourself. But then you seem to hide her. That isn’t a good look. If you are in love with someone, you don’t hide them because you want to be private yet leak photos and hints to keep your fans spiraling when you know how some can be.

We all know celebrities use social media for what they WANT fans to see. Why? Because they want privacy, as they should, to separate their work world from real life. I completely agree with doing so, BUT I don’t agree with going back and forth. You owe fans nothing except maybe the respect that goes both ways. After all, your fans have been the reason you have your paychecks. I think we deserve a little bit of respect not to be played by what you say in interviews vs. what you show yourself to be through your actions.

There are so many examples of couples being private but NOT hiding significant others like they are embarrassed to be seen. A real private couple does things together but do not post montages on their socials, like scare videos and couples pictures. People do not call paparazzi unless they want to be seen. A real private couple does still go to things together, they don’t hide but they don’t bring attention to themselves. Real private couples do not let things drop during a special date for something else. One example, the NYC pap walk on the day that Warrior Nun season 2 dropped right after SMA.

Tabloids run on things they are given. There have been more articles about you and this girl than Harry and Meghan, Jennifer and Ben, etc., etc., etc. your reps have never confirmed anything. IMDb does not list her as your wife. Your mother liked a tweet about the girl being racist.

I had no issues at first, thinking you wanted privacy, which I thought was a great idea, given your fandom. I gave you the benefit of the doubt for a good while. But then it seemed like her friends and yours, her mom, along with the likes on IG, proved this isn’t private. Certain social media sites have been the only ones to randomly get these pictures that are nowhere to be found. It’s only a few, and they usually come at specific times when there is doubt. Friends posted from Lisbon, Avengers in MA, and the wedding rumors began. I’m sorry, but when there is an NDA, then the wedding news should not have leaked because the NDA would cover that. And if you have to ask people to turn in their phones to attend, that’s rude and you’ve invited people you don’t trust.

Showing up to a convention, with a ring on but you can’t say her name. Just ‘Go Portugal!’ And then go on about Dodger.

Let’s not even get into photoshopped or not photoshopped because I don’t even know anymore.

I could go on and on but it saddens me. I cannot be a fan of someone just because of their projects, and that’s just me. I have kept quiet, because it’s none of my business what you do with your life. What is my business though, is who I give my hard earned money to. Barely getting by on what I make, medications and food for my kids continue to rise in cost, but they also enjoy Captain America because he seemed like a good guy in real life too. Now they come to me with things they’ve seen online like Captain America’s new wife nude in the shower. They have seen people posting about her friends and their previous tweets, and things they’ve said. Why? Because you have played games with your fandom and they got pissed and exposed things. Let’s be honest, kids get online and see things even if they aren’t supposed to. Luckily they didn’t see your ‘slip’ up, because your fans cleaned that for you quickly, but the shower pictures continue to be passed around. They also said in some of the pictures they saw you post that they thought you had a daughter but found out it was your girlfriend.

I would make sure you don’t have any more slip ups because I feel like your fans are limited at this point. The ones that see your work the day it comes out. That’s one reason why Ghosted flopped. Before this, your fans would have said you did wonderful even if you didn’t.

After the new picture of the two of you at the Globes after party, I CHOOSE to not be a fan and hand you my money. I know it isn’t much, but I will choose to spend it on a different movie or person at a convention. Maybe I just won’t have a favorite anymore because it seems like a lot just tell fans what they want to hear.

I don’t know if it’s Real or PR and don’t care but it’s the game you seem to be playing that I don’t like. I don’t care what people think of my opinion and have not posted anything about a side. I just know you look like such a hypocrite and lose fans by the hour now. So many blogs and pages that are team PR or Team Real and they argue over who is right and wrong, because you and everyone around you are playing with them. You are using them for free publicity and that is sickening. I didn’t believe it was happening and you were just trying to protect your love life. But, eventually, it was just so obvious with the tiniest bit of things creeping in on the same sites and coincidences on dates. Mostly, I just don’t want to watch all the drama that has become part of being your fan. I like to escape the real world by looking at my favorite celebrities and what they are up to or their movies etc. I don’t want to see the gross mess you have become. She looks like your daughter, so I choose to leave. You don’t know me or care because I’m just one fan, but I do know who you want people to see you as now and I don’t like this version. Be private or just don’t hide. Look happy, not miserable. Treat her like your love and wife, because I would never allow my boyfriend/husband treat me the way it appears you are treating her. To the public, she looks like a mail order bride that jumps as soon as you tell her too. It’s gross.

So, it’s been a long, fun ride being your fan until now. Enjoy traveling back and forth and wear sunscreen to the beach, because boy are you white. Research the word ‘privacy’ and maybe get those NDA’s to the people leaking things if you want privacy or take their phones from them when they are in your proximity. Invest in energy drinks next, she’s a lot younger and likes to travel and have sex (maybe check out her soft porn). Let Buddah know she did a film with a demon having sex with her. Maybe purchase a plane and get a pilots license, because older dogs don’t travel as well as they age and that’s a long ride to Portugal. Remind your wife to keep her clothes on and keep your 🍆 in your pants because I think Team Real is even over this mess and don’t want to see it. Thanks for the laughs and smiles over the years. I wish you luck and hope you’re happier than you actually look.

Sincerely,

An Ex-Fan of Christopher Robert Evans

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Napoleonville [Chapter 1: The Fall-Down House]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, alligators, kids, parenthood, smoking, cupcakes!

Word Count: 7.2k (she's very chonky for a first chapter).

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Since this is the first chapter of a new series, I'm going to tag a bunch of usual readers, but I won't tag you again unless you want me to. 💜

@persephonerinyes @tinykryptonitewerewolf @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @marbles-posts @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @dd122004dd @jetblack4real @joliettes @mariahossain @minttea07 @please-buckme @florent1s @tempt-ress @wintersire @w3ird11 @eltherevir @florent1s @maii777

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged! 🥰🧁

“What do you want to do to me?” you whisper through the phone, stretched out across your bed like a cat as George Michael’s Faith plays from the baby pink Panasonic boombox out in the kitchen. It’s late afternoon, and fading daylight falls in tiger stripes through the window blinds. The May air is hot, muggy, golden; cicadas hum in the southern live oaks, an ancient earthen music like rattling bones.

A few seconds pass before he can reply. It was a bold way to begin. You are admittedly a little impressed with yourself; an idea like this has been pacing around in your skull like a beast behind bars for years, but you’ve only now set it loose. “That’s difficult to explain in words,” he says; and in the low, teasing purr of his voice you can hear that your gamble paid off like striking oil. He has a British accent, which you never would have expected. You only recognize it from clips you’ve seen of Prince Charles and Princess Diana on 60 Minutes. “But I’d enjoy showing you.”

It’s laid open beside you on the bed, his personal ad in the Bayou Journal: Educated white male in his mid-20s. Single and not looking to change that. Seeking an open-minded, adventurous, and spirited lady for short-term D/s arrangement. Be prepared to answer the following riddle: I’m small but loom large, I’m Italian but French, I give away much to gain little. Who am I? Best regards, An Indecent Gentleman. “I’m waiting.”

“You understand what is meant by D/s?”

“Of course,” you say, your best feigned flippantness. You only know because Amir told you; he’s been daring you to call for three days.

“Thank God,” the man on the other end of the line sighs. There is an inhale like a drag on a cigarette. You imagine what he might look like: broad or slight, dark-haired or blonde, striking or average or homely, treacherous or safe, forbidden fruit or just plain forbidden. “I’ve had four different women ring me thinking I’m going to be their boyfriend, dinner and flowers and everything. They’re functionally illiterate down here.”

How unfortunate, you think. He’s highfalutin. But alas, no one is perfect. That’s no prohibitive obstacle. He doesn’t need to be faultless; it’s not as if you’re planning to marry the guy. “I like when someone else is in control.”

“Why?” This is a test, you can feel it. You can sense his rapt attention across the wire, through the electricity and the lush treetops and the rust-amber sky.

“I have a lot of…responsibilities in my real life,” you explain. “A lot of pressure. I make the decisions, I look out for other people. Sometimes I want to be the one who’s told what to do.”

“I can make that happen. And the riddle?”

“It’s Napoleon.”

The grin is sharp and triumphant in his voice. “Good girl.”

“He was short but an emperor. He was born in Corsica to an Italian family, but he ended up ruling over France. He sold off a bunch of French colonies to focus on conquering Europe and still couldn’t quite manage it. But the U.S.A. got this charming little corner of the world as part of the bargain.”

“You’re a historian,” the man says, sounding pleased.

“No sir, we all had to learn about him in school whether we wanted to or not.”

“Sir,” he echoes, tasting it, savoring it. You imagine a pink tongue flicking out to skate across his lips. Then he is abruptly cool, impersonal, businesslike. “Listen, I’ve got a scar down the left side of my face. It’s thin, it’s clean, but it’s noticeable. The eye is glass, although you can’t really tell unless you look closely. Is that a problem?”

A scar? Is he a veteran? A lion tamer? A motorcycle enthusiast? You try to remember what kinds of hobbies British people have. Isn’t there some kind of sport where men swing sticks around while riding horses? That sounds like it could put an eye out. Perhaps to your own surprise, you find that you are more intrigued than uneasy. Oh, you realize, dull like dawn through mist. I like him. I want him. Not just THIS, but HIM. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Brilliant. I don’t want to talk about it again.”

“That’s fine.” You hesitate. “There’s actually something I should tell you too.”

“Hm?”

The hum of his voice is arrogant, hungry. You try not to get distracted. Blood rushes hot and ashamed into your cheeks. “Um, well, uh, sometimes it’s difficult for me to…you know. Finish. Not when I’m alone, just when I’m with a guy. Especially if I’m anxious. And I don’t want to feel worried about faking it or making sure it happens or dealing with you getting offended or upset or whatever. Because it’s fine, really. It doesn’t mean I’m not having a good time. I’m just…stuck in my own head.”

There is a sound you can’t quite match to an expression, an exhale, a scoff. “Obviously I wouldn’t be mad at you. But you’ll come. I know you will. I’ll make you.”

And you’re flooded with a relief that you never dared to hope for. A confession spills out in a trembling whisper: “Please.”

“When?” he says, eager, urgent.

“I think if we don’t do it now, I’ll lose my nerve.”

There is a razor-thin pause, and then he asks for your address.

~~~~~~~~~~

You haven’t had a man in your bed in years; you are abruptly and unkindly reminded of this when you paw through the top drawer of your bedroom dresser and find only practical, deadly unsexy cotton Kmart underwear. You dash to the closet, yank open the squeaking door, and—tucked away in a cardboard box of winter clothes like sweaters and jeans, forgotten, needless—unearth a sprinkling of insubstantial silk and lace, all in luxurious gemstone hues: amethyst, ruby, sapphire, onyx, emerald.

“Oh, hallelujah.” You throw off your sunshine yellow shorts and tug on what were once upon a time your favorite panties. They don’t fit nearly as well as they used to; they fit horribly, in fact. They evaporate the thrill and leave nauseous trepidation in its place. “Oh God. Oh no. Oh no, oh no.” You steal a harried glimpse of the clunky black alarm clock on your nightstand. The flashing red numbers inform you that you have approximately ten more minutes until he arrives.

You jog pantsless to the kitchen, pour yourself a glass of sweet tea—ice cold, bright with a squeeze of lemon juice—and pace back and forth across the wooden floor as you sip it. The pine boards slope at just the slightest angle; if you laid an apple by your feet, it would roll. The house is sinking. It was built at the turn of the twentieth century, but it won’t live to see the next. Ailing sunlight casts your shadow against the wall, mint green, spider-leg cracks inching through the paint. Outside cicadas buzz and doves coo in long, mournful whirrs.

You pick up the phone—pink to match the boombox that is now playing Poison’s Nothin’ But A Good Time—next to the refrigerator and dial with one finger, your other hand still clutching the frosty glass of sweet tea. It rings twice before he answers.

“Wassup?” Amir says distractedly. You can hear a commotion from his living room on the other side of town: his grandmother squawking, ambient applause, Wheel Of Fortune.

“Quick, what should I wear?”

“Huh?”

“The guy! The guy from the ad! I called the guy! What should I be wearing when he shows up?”

Amir cackles. “Ho, you must be truly desperate, why the fuck are you asking me?” There is some shrill protestation in the background. “Grandma, don’t you dare try to act like you’ve never heard that word before, we just rented Aliens.”

“You know what men like,” you plead.

“Not the straight ones!” And then, not to you: “Grandma, calm down. Grandma, Grandma! It’s my homegirl. She has an emergency. She’s got a man coming over and she doesn’t know what to wear. What did you wear for Pop Pop? What? What?! You expect me to believe you got seven kids out of that dude with just some old floral nightgown?! Prairie girl fabulous? Looking like you’re on your way to join the Donner Party? Okay, if you say so! Phyllis knows best!” Amir’s attention returns to you. “Grandma suggests a nightgown.”

You are skeptical. “That seems slutty.”

“You’re inviting some stranger over for an all-expenses-paid ride on the Pussy Express and you’re concerned about looking slutty?!”

He has a point. “Okay. Okay. Yeah. You’re right. Okay.”

“You wear that nightgown with confidence and you take that random kinky man directly to bed, do you understand me?” Amir orders.

“Totally,” you say, gulping sweet tea with a shaking hand.

“Good luck. I gotta go, it’s the Bonus Round. Hope you have a few rounds to tell me about tomorrow.” Then he hangs up.

Back in your bedroom closet, you find a black satin slip that runs to your ankles and flows like a ballgown. You put it on some nights when you’re feeling desirable, after a bath of bubbles and steam, candles and Madonna, freshly shaved legs and shimmering with Pond’s, when you want to lounge around daydreaming, when you want to remember the fantasies you once had about what your life might turn out to be. Now you wear it in the fading daylight, nothing underneath and golden sunbeams turning your skin to something that warms and glows.

You appraise yourself in your dusty dresser mirror, and you think: Not too bad, actually. You’ve had your hair up in a haphazard bun. You reach to take it down, then stop yourself. You like the wayward wisps, the I-don’t-care-too-much casualness. Your breathing is slow and calm again. There is a noise outside: tires crunching on gravel. Your glass of sweet tea, now mostly just ice cubes, is sweating on top of your dresser. You grab the glass, swipe the Bayou Journal off your bed, and take both to the kitchen counter, still speckled with flour, powdered sugar, flecks of cinnamon. Then you pad across the sloping wooden floor in your bare feet to open the front door. Amber dusk streams in; you can hear bullfrogs croaking and the hoots of the long-eared owl that lives in the collapsing, overgrown shed behind the house. Spanish moss hangs like cobwebs, like chandeliers. The tree swing rocks idly in the breeze. The first notes of You Shook Me All Night Long play from the kitchen boombox.

His car is red, sporty, with a logo on the grill that you don’t recognize, a series of circles intertwined like rings. He cuts the engine and steps out into the driveway as you watch from behind the screen, leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed over your chest. He’s tall, trim, blonde, wearing Adidas sneakers and light-wash jeans and a Marlboro jacket that it’s far too hot for. He peers around, taking in the trees and the house through his black aviator sunglasses. He puffs one last time on a cigarette before putting it out on his own windshield and starting towards the porch. And immediately, primally, you crave him like water or air.

He climbs the groaning steps, splitting wood and rusty nails. You open the screen door to meet him in the threshold. And he takes off his sunglasses so he can look at you, stowing them in a pocket of his jacket, his gaze not wavering from yours, his lips not saying a word. Yes, he has a scar, but it doesn’t diminish him in the slightest. Yes, his left eye may be glass, but you wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t already told you. You’re too tangled up in the right. His iris is a brisk greyish blue, not like the ocean, not like the bayou, more like the sky before a hurricane, heavy with the threat of wind and rain. His face is strong, jarring, beautiful in a rare way. His full lips are curling into a grin.

At last, you speak first, an inane observation that feels somehow significant. “You found me.”

“I did.” He nods towards the large lavender sign out by the mouth of the gravel driveway. Hand-painted on it are the words Hummingbird Bakery and a logo that Amir designed, a hummingbird feeding on the frosting swirl of a cupcake as if it’s a flower flush with nectar. “You told me to look for the sign. That helped.”

“What kind of car do you drive? I don’t recognize it.”

“It’s an Audi Quattro.”

“Audi,” you repeat, like a hopelessly distant place, New York City or Los Angeles or Paris or the moon. ���Is that British?”

“German, actually.”

“You’re from a very different world.”

“Yeah, I am.” His eye flicks up and down your body, black satin that curves and clings; his grin widens. “But I could learn to like yours, I think.”

You step back so he can follow you inside. The screen door shuts with a bang. Under the shadows, as the sun sets into the west, he unzips his Marlboro jacket and tosses it onto your living room couch. Underneath he wears a white t-shirt. We’re opposites, you think dazedly, wondering what he will taste like when he kisses you. He grazes his fingertips down the front of your throat, continues to your chest, stills when he hits the satin of your slip.

“You can tell me to stop whenever you want to,” he murmurs, and you breathe in his smoke and cologne and dauntless, dizzying self-assurance. “But until you say stop, I’m gonna keep going.”

Your heartbeat is drumming beneath his hand, part exhilaration and the rest nerves. You are afraid of disappointing him; you aren’t sure what to expect. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Aemond.”

Aemond. Foreign, like Audi, like Paris. You give him your own in return. He leans in, presses his hips to yours, denim and satin that you can feel his heat through. And you think he’s going to kiss your neck, or bite it, bruise it, mark it, claim it, claim you; but he only ghosts his parted lips from the edge of your jaw to your bare shoulder, inhaling slow and deep, drawing your atoms into his lungs until they tumble down the narrowest corridors and into his capillary beds, into his bloodstream. You moan softly, helplessly, and turn your face to kiss him.

“No,” Aemond growls, teasing you, catching your chin with one hand to hold you still. His other hand glides down the front of your slip and stops between your legs. Through satin the color of a starless midnight, his fingers stroke you roughly, commandingly. Animalistic yearning bolts low to weaken your knees, high to rip a gasp from your throat. “Nothing underneath,” he notes in approval.

Oh, I like him, you think, in equal parts ecstatic and petrified. I REALLY like him.

But are you going to be able to impress him too? Are you going to ruin this?

You whimper, unintentionally and almost inaudibly. Aemond is studying your face; furrows appear in his scarred brow, so faint and fleeting you might have imagined them. Then his hand retreats as he says: “Show me your toys.”

You gape up at him; this is not what you anticipated. “What?”

“I want to see how you make yourself come. You have toys, don’t you?”

“I do,” you admit, though you’ve never used them with anyone else before.

Aemond smirks mischieviously, then commands: “Show me. Right now.”

You lead him to your bedroom and slide open the middle drawer of your dresser. You glance at his reflection in the silvery glass of the mirror; he’s staring, not at your body but at your face, his gaze locked with yours, his mouth open, entranced, hungry. You move to stand against the wall, smiling sheepishly as Aemond shoves aside folded sheets and pillowcases to reveal your collection. It’s nothing too adventurous: five vibrators in different colors, styles, sizes.

“Quite the assortment,” he praises.

“They were gifts from a friend.”

Now Aemond is dubious. “A friend?”

“Don’t be jealous. He doesn’t like women.”

Aemond laughs, warm and boyish like he’s breaking character; and you are alarmed by the wave of fondness for him that crashes through you. It’s something that could pull you under. It’s something you could drown in. He picks up the largest vibrator: long, thick, pink like soft feminine vulnerability, like love. Then he is darkly, deliciously stern again. “On the bed.”

“No.” Not because you’re genuinely protesting. Because you want him to make you.

Aemond grabs you around your waist and drags you towards the bed as you squeal, giggle, fight him halfheartedly. He throws you down onto the wildflower-patterned duvet and climbs between your thighs, parting them as he pushes the hem of your black satin slip up to your waist. Abruptly, you are bare for him, exposed, fiery dusk air cool against your wetness. Aemond is still fully clothed, white shirt and pale blue jeans. He is holding your legs open with his own. You can see the bulge of his cock beneath the denim: at least as large as the vibrator and hard with insistent longing.

I want him, you think as you hear the vibrator click on. I want him, I want him…

Aemond brings the pink silicone tip to your flesh, and instantly you’re ravenous. It shocks you how much more erotic this is when someone else is holding it, when someone else has you entirely at their mercy. You cry out, loud and shameless, euphoric. Your back arches; your fingers twist into the duvet. As he presses the vibrator down more forcefully, Aemond braces his hips against yours, grinding into you through his jeans, taunting you, conquering you.

You fumble for the button and zipper of his jeans. “Please—”

“No,” Aemond snarls, beaming, snatching your hand and pinning it up by your head. His other hand is still circling your clit with the tip of the vibrator. “You haven’t earned it yet.”

“Aemond, please, I need you—”

“No,” he says, defiant. He makes the rules. He has the power; he’s in control. Suddenly, he pulls the vibrator away. You yelp in dismay. “You know,” Aemond quips cavalierly. “It’s a shame you have such a difficult time finishing when you’re with a man. I bet you’re not even close.”

“I am,” you whine, in agony, in ecstasy.

Aemond pretends to be surprised. “Hm.” He returns the vibrator to your skin, slick, hot, aching in the most wondrous way. You sigh as the pleasure surges through you, as you soar up to the previous plateau and then begin to ascend beyond it. You must have repositioned yourself without noticing; Aemond releases your hand to smack his palm against the inside of your thigh. “Keep your legs apart. I want you wide open for me.”

“I will, I promise.” I’ll do anything you tell me to.

Aemond’s hand ventures lower. Two of his fingers glide inside you and thrust in time with his hips. “Fuck,” he hisses, breaking character again; and something rocks through his shoulders, his spine, a divine temptation that he is battling.

“Aemond, more,” you plead, looking at the massive outline of his cock under his jeans.

“Not yet,” he pants, fucking you with his fingers as the vibrator hums against your clit. “You have to come for me first, baby. You have to earn it.”

And you’re close, you really are, you’re closer than you ever would have imagined you’d be with him tonight, this stranger, this elusive British man, this man from a personal ad in the Bayou Journal that you almost never replied to. Your hair has come undone and is wild around your face; your heart is pounding frantically; your skin is bathed in a sheen of victorious perspiration. When was the last time someone made you feel like this? You can’t recall; the answer might be never. There is a spellbinding, intensifying sensation of warmth, of opening, you’re only seconds from the brink, you’re ready to step off the precipice and into open blue air the same color as his eyes—

Aemond yanks the vibrator away again, grinning toothily down at you.

“No!” You scrabble for him with shaking hands, pulling yourself up as you reach for the vibrator. Aemond pushes you back onto the bed. Despite your protests, you love the feeling of his weight on top of yours; you love the organic symphony he’s built of, muscle and bone and skill and power. His fingers are still pumping in and out of you, keeping you soaked and throbbing, pinning you to the edge of an orgasm without permitting you to succumb to it.

“It’s going to be so good for you like this, baby,” Aemond insists, low and raspy. He’s reading your face, attentive to every detail, drinking up your desperate body and quivering voice. “I swear I’m not torturing you for no reason. Let me show you. Let me take care of you. When it happens, it’s going to blow your fucking mind. Are you ready?”

“Yes, now, please, do it now,” you whimper as you lie beneath him, open, bare, senseless, vanquished.

Aemond drags his tongue over the tip of the vibrator, moaning with lust as he tastes you. Then he at last presses the pink silicone to your clit once more. In your electrified nerves, in your scalding blood, there are sparks and momentum and currents rushing towards the cataclysmic breaking of a rogue wave. “Nice and slow,” Aemond murmurs. “Let it build.”

Instead of the peak, you reach another plateau, so high and so rapturous you can’t stand it, you can’t fathom climbing any farther. It’s becoming so sharp and intense it’s almost painful. Fresh anxiety flashes in your mind like lightning. The momentum begins to dissipate like dewdrops under the late-morning sun. Oh no, I’m going to lose it, I’m going to disappoint him—

Aemond lifts the vibrator off you again; before you have time to collect yourself enough to speak, to apologize, he’s slipped his fingers out of you and carefully guided the vibrator inside, stretching you, filling you, thrusting rhythmically but not too viciously or too deep. He places his thumbprint on the place where the vibrator was just seconds ago and circles quickly, once, twice, again, and then…

You try not to scream, but you can’t help it, can’t stop it; the climax wrenches out of you indescribable pleasure, vanished fears, awe and relief, twisted muscles and gasping breaths, every electrical impulse of every atom, and each time you believe it’s over it rolls a little farther like an endless summer afternoon. When it’s done—truly done—you aren’t sure exactly how it happens but suddenly you’re sitting upright on the bed and the vibrator is lying forgotten on top of the duvet and Aemond is laughing, kissing you—sweat and nicotine, smoke and salt—and caressing your face with his hands, saying: “You were such a good girl. You did amazing. I’m so proud of you.”

“Okay,” you exhale unsteadily, smiling. You nod to the very noticeable bulge in his jeans. “Your turn.”

“No,” Aemond says primly.

“What?”

“No,” he repeats. “Not today.”

“But…but…why?”

The curl of his lips is crooked and playful. “To prove I’m not just here to get myself off.” He kisses you again, far more tenderly than any random dom from a personal ad should. “You don’t trust me. But maybe next time you will.”

“How could I trust you? I don’t even know you.”

“We’ll have to spend more time together.”

“You seriously aren’t going to fuck me right now? Me? A mostly-naked stranger you met up with exclusively for the purposes of fucking?”

“Are you dissatisfied?”

In truth, no; your pulse is slowing, your thoughts are calm, your lust is satiated, you’re reasonably certain that you’ve sprained no less than four muscles. You feel like the sky after rain: emptied, unburdened, untroubled, at peace. “Not at all.”

“Then you shouldn’t be complaining.”

You reach out to touch Aemond’s unscarred cheek and he smiles. You try to ghost your fingertips over the left side of his face and he flinches away, leaves the bed, takes the vibrator to the bathroom to scrub it with soap and water. “Can I at least pour you a glass of sweet tea or something?” you call after him. “I feel guilty. I feel like I didn’t uphold my end of the bargain.”

“You exceeded all of my expectations,” Aemond says with a strange sort of somberness. “But sweet tea sounds great.”

You take five minutes to clean up and change into real clothes—ratty denim shorts and a red, white, and blue Pepsi t-shirt, chaotic hair, no bra—and then meet Aemond in the kitchen. He’s surveying the large circular table, which is littered with covered cake plates in a hodgepodge of sizes and colors; you found most of them at yard sales and thrift shops. The sun has set and the stars have risen; the kitchen is illuminated by yellow-hued florescent light. Night air flows in through the screens of the open windows. The boombox is currently playing Tiffany’s I Think We’re Alone Now.

“What’s the deal with that?” Aemond asks about the cluttered kitchen table.

“They’re the baked goods. For my bakery.”

“Right,” he says, remembering, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “The sign out front.”

“Would you like anything? Today we had butterscotch chiffon cake, coconut custard cake, blackberry dark chocolate cupcakes, pecan pie, red velvet brownies, lemon blueberry cookies, lavender black tea cookies, chocolate meringue pie, butter pecan muffins…”

“How about those?” He points.

“Oh! Those are banana bread cupcakes. One of my favorites.”

“Banana bread…cupcakes?”

“Here.” You plop one on a plate for Aemond, then go to the refrigerator to pour two tall glasses of sweet tea. “A lot of people put chocolate chips in their banana bread, but I feel like any chocolate really eclipses the banana flavor. It’s so subtle, you know? So what I do instead is cinnamon, honey, cream cheese frosting, and a tiny bit of sea salt mixed into the batter. If you get the ratio just right, there’s this really great blend of saltiness and sweetness, and the banana is still the star of the show. Of course I’ve fucked up plenty of times too and almost given myself dangerously high blood pressure. If I ruin a batch, I’m the one who has to eat it. We can’t let anything go to waste. Our profit margin is thinner than a crescent moon on the best months.”

“Oh my God,” Aemond says. He’s taken a bite and is now gawking at the banana bread cupcake. “You made this?” He gestures to the table. “You made all of this?”

“My best friend Amir runs the business with me, but most of the recipes are mine. My mom used to bake all the time when I was little. Now she has rheumatoid arthritis and has given it up, more or less, but that’s where I learned a lot of what I know. And I try to come up with new ideas each week to add to the rotation.”

“This is exceptional,” Aemond says. His mouth is full of the rest of the cupcake. He washes it down with a few gulps of sweet tea; ice cubes jangle in the misty glass. “This is, like, insanely good. Can I have another one…?” He’s already lifting the cover off the cake plate.

You chuckle. “Yeah, seriously, have as many as you like.”

“How much do you sell them for?”

“The cupcakes are $1, but you don’t have to pay me. You get the unrequited orgasm discount.”

“Just $1 each.” Aemond is incredulous. You aren’t sure what that’s about. He sets the second cupcake down on the table, tugs a black leather wallet out of his jeans pocket, and gives you a $10 bill.

“Aemond, really, you don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to. Take the money. Stop talking about it.”

You smirk up at him. “Is that an order, sir?”

He grabs your jaw with one forceful hand, kisses you roughly, bites your lower lip almost hard enough to draw blood. He tastes like cinnamon, honey, sugar, sex. “Yes,” he says, grinning wickedly. Then his hands drop to unbutton your shorts. The idea of stopping Aemond doesn’t even cross your mind; your desire for him—him specifically—is back, flaring red and primeval and irresistible. “I want you on top of that counter—”

Outside there are footsteps bounding up the front porch, loud on the creaking boards. You tear away from Aemond and hurry to re-button your shorts. What? Already??

You know exactly who it must be.

Well, now I’m definitely never going to see Aemond again.

He’s terrified, he’s wondering whether he should try to jump out of a window. But really, he’s already been spotted; his Audi Quattro is still waiting for him in the gravel driveway. “Please don’t tell me that’s your homicidal armed boyfriend or something.”

“No,” you say. “It’s my daughter.”

“Wait, your…?!”

The door swings open; you hardly ever lock it. Cadi trots in just as you are flipping over the copy of the Bayou Journal on the kitchen counter so Aemond’s personal ad is no longer visible. Instead, what now faces up—dotted with flour, powdered sugar, cinnamon, grease stains of butter—is a column about the rigs opened in Lake Verret. Just what this town needs, you think distractedly. An environmental disaster.

“Mom, whose radical car is that—?” Then Cadi spies Aemond and blinks at him a few times. She is ten years old but thinks she’s your age, short hair, short temper, denim overalls and a t-shirt underneath patterned with multicolored horses.

“This is Aemond,” you explain. He waves awkwardly and then resumes nibbling on his second banana bread cupcake, avoiding her scrutiny. “He’s a friend.”

“But you don’t have any friends,” Cadi replies.

“Watch it, Child Of The Corn. I have friends.”

“You have like one friend.”

“What happened to your sleepover with Mawmaw? I thought you were excited to trick her into watching Hellraiser.”

“Blockbuster didn’t have it. Then Great Aunt Ethel called and said she broke her hip. Mawmaw dropped me off here on her way to the hospital.”

“And she didn’t even think to check with me first, huh?”

“As if you’d have anything better to do.” Cadi races to the refrigerator—careening around a shellshocked Aemond—and heaves open the door. “What’s for dinner?”

“I think we have some Swanson’s meals left. Oh, and spaghetti.”

She narrows her eyes at you. “Who made it?”

“You’re in luck! Not me. Amir.”

“Yay!” Cadi trills, then drags out the pan and begins spooning mounds of spaghetti onto a plate. Aemond looks to you, intrigued.

You say: “I bake, I don’t cook.”

“She really doesn’t,” Cadi concurs.

“Completely different skillset.”

Cadi places a few paper towels over the heaping plate so sauce doesn’t splatter all over the microwave and then sets it to three minutes. As she waits to eat, she wanders over to where the Bayou Journal is lying on the counter and scans the page: Viserys Targaryen, three state-of-the-art oil rigs, Lake Verret, an additional 50 employees hired, Jade Dragon Energy. “Those bastards are going to get their way, I guess.”

You sigh. “Yup.”

Aemond is alarmed. He polishes off the last of his cupcake, frowning as he licks frosting from his lips. “You don’t approve?”

“They’ll blow up the whole town,” Cadi says matter-of-factly.

You smile wanly at Aemond as you sip your sweet tea. “You work for Jade Dragon, right?”

He stares back at you—stunned, perhaps even fearful, a deer flooded with headlights—but doesn’t speak.

“It’s alright. I figured you must. Some smart British guy way out here in Cajun Country? It’s gotta be for a job. Don’t worry. We won’t shoot and skin you or anything. It’s not your fault. You’re just collecting a paycheck, it’s not like you’re running the company.”

“Right.” Aemond grabs a third cupcake and gnaws at it. After a moment he adds: “I have a degree in petroleum engineering. I just moved to Napoleonville last week.”

“I knew it,” you say.

“Boo!” Cadi heckles jokingly. The microwave beeps, then she disappears into her bedroom with her plate of spaghetti. You hear Cadi turn on her little television and flip through the channels until she finds Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Aemond watches her closed door for a few seconds—still processing, you assume—and then turns back to you.

“Her name’s Katie?”

“Cadi. C-a-d-i. It’s short for Arcadia.”

He is impressed. “Greece?”

You titter nervously. You don’t know what he means. “It’s a town up by Shreveport, it’s where Bonnie and Clyde were arrested or killed or something. I’m not sure. Her father picked it.”

“You didn’t have an opinion?”

“Um, I wasn’t really…uh…conscious for a few days after she was born. By the time I was up and around again, he’d already filled out the birth certificate.”

What is that you see flicker across his face like the transient surge of a lightning bug? Curiosity? Apprehension? “I see. And her father is…” Aemond raises a blonde eyebrow, the one his scar cuts through. “On an aircraft carrier somewhere?”

You laugh. “He’s not deployed. We’re divorced, Willis lives about fifteen minutes down the road. It’s amicable.”

“So I don’t need to worry about him showing up on your front porch to murder me with a 2x4 full of nails.”

“No. Although he is the town sheriff.”

Aemond smirks. Is this a challenge or an inconvenience? “Why’d you two split up?”

You shrug, glancing at Cadi’s bedroom door. She is quite aggressive with her television volume; you’re confident she won’t be able to listen in if you keep your voice low. “It’s not that interesting a story.”

“I’m extremely interested.” And he sincerely appears to be, head tilted to the side, eyes fixed on you (though you know the left one sees nothing), thoughts whirling like storm winds.

“Well…we only ever got married because of…” You gesture towards Cadi’s room. Aemond nods, following along. “And I was too young and I didn’t know anything. I didn’t know what I wanted out of a man, I didn’t even know I had the right to set standards to measure a husband by. Willis wasn’t terrible. He didn’t hit me. He just wasn’t really who I wanted.” You chew at your lower lip, peering down at the kitchen counter, drawing circles in the sparse flour dust. “He never even proposed to me. Not properly, I mean. I told him I was pregnant and he said: Well, guess we oughta get married, huh sugar? and then drove me to the Kmart up in Gonzales to pick out a ring.”

“Classy,” Aemond mutters.

“I had to buy it myself, actually. Willis didn’t have enough cash on him. He paid me back later, but still. It wasn’t about the ring. I don’t need gold and diamonds. But I need someone who really sees me and understands me and chooses me, you know? I’ve never felt chosen. And I decided I didn’t want to settle for that. If I ever get married again, I want the whole goddamn thing. The real thing. I want the candles and the flowers and a boombox blasting Heaven Is A Place On Earth. And if that’s not in the cards, I guess I’m not the marrying type.”

“And you’ll make do with occasional visits from your friendly neighborhood dom.”

You grin up at Aemond. “Yeah, exactly.”

“You really hate Jade Dragon?”

“Companies like that…they just use us. Our land, our labor. And then when they decimate the place they pack up and disappear overnight, no pensions, no retirement, no unemployment, no meaningful cleanup, just Thanks for the millions! Bye! and we’re left to live in their filth.”

“That’s a rather cynical perspective,” Aemond says.

“It’s a realistic perspective,” you counter. “In 1965, there was a pipeline explosion in Natchitoches, in ‘79 there was an oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico, in ‘80 a Texaco rig accidentally drilled into a salt mine under Lake Peigneur and destroyed the whole ecosystem. Two weeks ago there was a refinery explosion an hour east of here in Norco. 4,500 people had to be evacuated from their homes. So no, the jobs sound nice, but in my humble estimation they’re not worth dying for.”

Aemond considers you, a look that is not patronizing or combative but not convinced either. And there’s something else too: a caginess, a nervousness.

“And these Jade Dragon people, the Targaryens? They have a history,” you continue. “I read about it in the Bayou Journal. Last year they had an oil spill at an offshore rig near Ketchikan, Alaska. They poured hundreds of thousands of barrels of poison into the ocean and killed a bunch of dolphins and whales and everything. Fishermen went bankrupt, people committed suicide.”

“Mistakes happen.” Aemond places his empty sweet tea glass in the sink.

“But they didn’t make it right. Their lawyers blamed a defective piece of equipment and kicked liability back to the manufacturer. They’ll be battling it out in court for the next decade. And meanwhile, the people of Ketchikan get nothing but misery. I don’t want Napoleonville to end up like that.”

Aemond gazes out the kitchen window and into the cicada-rattling night, faraway, pensive.

“But seriously,” you say, more casually now. “I get that it’s not your fault, Aemond. I don’t hate you or anything. You’re working for a living like anyone else. You can only do so much.”

He looks back to you and smiles vaguely. “I just go where they tell me to.”

“And that’s why you like to be in control when you’re with me.”

“Yes,” Aemond says; and on his face—strong, scarred, perfect—you can see that he is reminiscing, that he is planning what he wants to do to you next. But he can’t do any of it. Not here, not now.

“I’m sorry about…you know. The kid thing. I really didn’t think she’d be home tonight. I would never subject her to something like that, walking in to find a strange guy in the house. And I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable either.”

“It’s okay. I believe you.”

“I don’t usually do this. I’m sure you think I’m lying, but I’m not. I’ve had two boyfriends since I got divorced seven years ago, and both times it didn’t last long and Cadi never met them. And it wasn’t…like it is with you. The dynamic, I mean. The…control thing. They were just normal dudes.”

“And they couldn’t satisfy you,” Aemond says, taunting, proud, setting your blood on fire.

“No. They couldn’t. Not even close.”

You both stand silently in the kitchen amidst a cascade of inconsequential noise: Eurythmics from the little pink boombox, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles from Cadi’s room, cicadas and bullfrogs and the long-eared owl from the world outside that is primordial and feral and green. For the first time in as long as you can remember, you feel not like the piecemeal potential of a desirable woman but whole. Aemond’s right eye traces every curve and edge of you in a way that makes you think: Maybe I will see him again after all.

“Come on,” you say, turning towards the front door. “I’ll walk you out.”

But when he steps onto the creaking porch—pulling on his Marlboro jacket, watching lightning bugs bloom like daisies in the yard—Aemond seems to be stalling. “This is lopsided,” he says, tapping the wooden boards with his Adidas sneakers.

“I know. The whole foundation is, it’s sinking. We’ll have to move eventually. But we’ve been in this place since Cadi was five, it has a lot of memories. She calls it the Fall-Down House.”

“Cute,” Aemond says, but he’s pondering something. “Do you own it?”

“Oh no, God no. We rent.”

“Are you saving for a down payment to put on a new house?”

This is a rude question. “A little,” you reply curtly. Not enough. You need to make money to save money.

“Okay.” Aemond senses your discomfort. He’s good at that; it’s an advantageous skill for a dom to possess, knowing when he’s approaching a limit long before you have to shut him down. He descends the porch steps. “I’ll be back for more of those cupcakes—” There is a shrill, alien hissing from out by the tree line. Aemond shouts and scrambles back onto the porch, throwing an arm in front of you to shield you from his enigmatic nocturnal adversary. “What the fuck was that?!”

“Just a gator,” you reassure him, amused.

“A what?”

“An alligator.” You show him the shadow that lurks beneath a young oak tree draped with Spanish moss. “She’s over there. Just stay on the gravel once you get off the porch.”

Aemond is puzzled. How does anyone live in this hellscape? his face says. “How do you know it’s a female?”

“She’s not too big, and she doesn’t bellow. But she sure loves to hiss.”

“I think alligators should have gone extinct with the rest of the dinosaurs.”

“Well, there’s a secret to dealing with them.”

“Yeah?”

You smile, skating your fingers into the sleeve of Aemond’s Marlboro jacket and up his forearm until you feel goosebumps rise on his skin. “If she gets mean, you just have to bite back.”

Aemond chuckles, turns your face towards his, kisses the apple your cheek…and then, for only a moment, his teeth close around the sensitive flesh there leaving a whirlpool of pulsing, forbidden heat. He whispers through your hair: “See you soon.”

“Will you?”

“Yes,” he says, severely now. It’s a commandment, it’s a need. “I absolutely will.”

Aemond leaves you, strides across the gravel driveway without glancing back, ducks into his car, lights a cigarette; you can see the rust-colored glow through the windshield as he takes a drag. You wait in a flurry of moths under the dim florescent bulb of the front porch until his Audi Quattro veers onto Route 401 and disappears.

I hope he meant it, you think as a lightning bug lands on your knuckles and illuminates there like the gemstone of a ring. I hope I’ll see him again.

Then you shake away the insect and go inside to see if Cadi wants to help you clean up the kitchen and get a brown sugar pie baked for tomorrow. As compensation, you’ll offer her the $10 bill Aemond gave you for the cupcakes.

[rere9500-18]

Miles and his abandonment issues/not wanting to be alone.

Something I’ve always thought about Miles was that he has abandonment issues. This clip here is only a scene that shows apart of that.

Gwen’s “I’ll never see him again” makes him panic, with not seeing her or Peter or anyone of his spider friends for a year or so now. Hearing that from Gwen alone probably is what mainly encouraged him to jump through that portal and follow her. Because if that portal closed, there’s a big possibility he’d really never see her again.

Even in the second half of the video where Miles is walking to his dorm/new school and he walks past his old school with everyone he knew chatting it up with him as he passes. It’s clear while Miles attended that school, he’s been friends, or at least acquaintances, with a lot of the people there. He has and still does leave an impact on them, if it wasn’t noticeable by the amount of people simply happy to see him walk by.

At the end of it, the last girl asking how the new school is and that they all miss him, Miles responds with a “Wait… you miss me?” with a smile on his face. Now, I’ve seen some of the comments on that bit on YouTube and it’s mostly people thinking it’s Miles being cute with the ladies, but I don’t believe that’s what that was at all.

It’s clear to see Miles is cool with most people in that scene; of course keeping in mind he’s spent time with them at some point in his life if they are telling him they miss him. That little smile Miles had and the question that followed was an exact reaction to truly realizing that nobody at his old school has forgotten him, nor intend to, in theory, leave him anytime soon. It’s that warm feeling of knowing that maybe you truly do have people by your side. It’s actually a little intense with Miles since I think he sort of needs that feeling more than you’d usually need it.

Whether it be his mom, his dad, his uncle (RIP Uncle Aaron 😔), or the spiders who he thought were his friends.

That’s why it hurts so much when they’re taken away from him. Either by death or because of needing to pick a side. Because that warm feeling slowly turns into dread that no one’s by his side anymore. That the people he love may not love him anymore. That he may have to face something he’s been trying to hide from: being alone.

Because being alone means you’ll have no one to care for. Being alone means no one’s gonna give you their warmth when you’re in the freezing cold. Being alone means you’ll be left in the dark by yourself with no one to encourage you to break out and run free.

Miles followed Gwen to avoid having to be alone, like he was for the past year after she and the other spider-people left. Because, while it doesn’t make it right to follow someone and then go invisible to see what they’re doing, he wouldn’t have ever known this would have been the last time he’d see his best friend if he hadn’t followed.

At the end of the movie though, I feel that Miles is put at an even harder spot due to him trying to prevent his father’s death. He wanted to be with the rest of the spider people so badly that it blinded him to the fact it wasn’t all it seemed to be cracked out to be. At the end of the movie, all Miles wants is to go home. Yes, it hurts to lose everyone you’ve worked so hard to see, but in his mind, if the people you call your friends can’t understand that it’s fucked up to let an innocent person die, his dad no less, for a so-called ‘greater good’, then maybe that warm feeling of them being by his side isn’t what he wants right now.

Miles feels betrayed by Peter B., Gwen, and most importantly, by himself because he soon realizes that he was so determined not to lose them again, that he never realized he’s lost himself in the process. Gwen, Peter, and everyone else basically said (through their actions) that they’ll never see Miles again. Who is Miles to stop them?

He doesn’t care what happens afterwards. He just wants to go home, HIS home, and stop the one thing that will truly make him deeply and utterly alone.

The death of Aaron and Miles being Spiderman only encourages Miles to want to do these things. He wanted to surround himself with people he can trust, but he soon realizes those relationships can die, either by actual death or by lies and secrets.

Idk. This is all just my view of what Miles feels even in Into the Spiderverse. If you’ve finished reading all this, idk; eat a cookie or something.

[sleepyhutcherson]

sleepy?

mike, who usually shies away from physical touch in public is suddenly touch starved.

pairing: mike schmidt x gn!reader

word count: 0.8k

contains: established relationship, mike struggles with physical touch, fluff and nothing else really :)

a/n: i restarted this several times but finally got a version i liked. anyway, thank you for requesting ⭐️ anon!! i accidentally deleted your request so i hope you find this <3 also i’ve not seen “anyone but you” so there’s no mention of the movie at all, sorry but i hope you still enjoy it <3 im currently working on everyone’s requests, i have about like 3 mike requests and a billy one soo expect that soon :p

Mike wasn’t usually very affectionate, you didn’t mind that, you understood that it was harder for him than for you. He wasn’t completely drawn from touching you, though, but only when you two were alone, he never really felt comfortable being touchy out in public.

Leaving the theatre room he’s quick to pull you to his side, wrapping an arm around your waist and planting a chaste kiss on your cheek. You immediately tense up, surprised by the sudden touch, you giggle in response. “What?” He asks, a shy smile on his face now, his cheeks tinted pink slightly.

“Nothing,” you reply, a little flustered yourself, honestly. You both walk out of the cinema, Mike’s arm never leaving your waist. Once outside he stops you, positioning himself in front of you, both of his hands on your waist to keep you still.

“What were you giggling at in there, hm?” He asks, raising a brow, trying his best to keep himself from just leaning down and kissing you right there.

Sure Mike wasn’t comfortable enough showing much affection in front of crowds but it didn’t mean he didn’t desperately crave your touch, your lips, your skin every passing second he was around you. He always kept himself contained nevertheless but something about the way you continuously touched him while watching the movie made him absolutely weak. It was dark in the theatre room, barely any people inside, so he was more relaxed when he felt your fingers playing with the end of his curls, or the way traced his arm with your finger…it was too much for him, but of course he didn’t stop you—he loved it.

“It’s just you’re usually so…you know,” you reply, allowing your hands to rest behind his neck. He melts into your touch, you catch the way his body softens from the bit of tension he had from being this intimate outside. It was late out so there was really no one outside but it was still a lot for Mike, he never understood why it was so difficult for him to be affectionate around people but it is, and he feels incredibly lucky to have someone like you who doesn’t pressure him.

“I know,” he replies, sheepishly. His hands are still on your waist, he kneads at the soft skin there covered by the fabric of your shirt feeling a sudden comfort. “I just…” his words fail him, feeling too embarrassed to say anything now.

“It’s okay, Mike. I wasn’t teasing you or anything,” you tangle your fingers with a few of his curls knowing this always eased him. “I’m really glad you felt comfortable to kiss me inside. You did really well, I hope you know that.” You smile with such a proud look on your face that Mike nearly comes undone at your praise.

He turns a bright red and it earns him a laugh from you. “You’re so flustered!” You point out which just makes it worse. He smiles, tucking his face into the crook of your neck wanting nothing else but to hide right now. God, he was so easy to tease, you loved it and you knew he secretly loved it, too.

“You’re going to kill me, you know?” Mike says, you can feel his smile brushing against your skin, it sends shivers throughout your entire body. If anything he was going to kill you.

You run your hand through his hair the way you knew he liked it. You plant a kiss on top of his head before pulling him back to get a better look at him. Your hands are softly pressed against his cheeks, and you notice how hazy and sleepy his eyes look due to you playing with his hair.

“Sleepy?” You ask, staring into Mike’s eyes that look so soft, well, softer than usual. He nods, a small tired smile on his lips. “Let’s go home then and sleep.”

“Okay.” He agrees. He doesn’t let go of you immediately, tucking some of your hair behind your ear, his eyes never leaving you. You were so lovely to him. You were so great, so perfect, and he felt so fortunate to have you all to himself. Without another warning his hands travel up to your jaw, gently holding you for a moment before pulling you in for a small, innocent kiss. His lips are soft against yours in that brief moment, despite wanting more you feel rather pleased by the kiss. There’s a huge smile on his face when he pulls back, eyes still droopy with sleep, and before you know it he’s leaning back in this time for a more passionate kiss, it’s soft, short, and somehow still innocent like the first but it’s so ineffable.

He pulls back with a small laugh, brushing his thumb against the bottom of your lip. “Let’s go home.”