#or shit just takes forever and i only ever do it for short periods every day.

[dullahandyke]

new compromise where i stop myself from using up all my blank dvds by taking a break from burning when i havent watched all the shit ive already burned (thus far its 3 assorted movies n most of cowboy bebop) and i theorise this will indeed work :+1: been getting into watching tv more too insrtead of falling down the fanfic hole (ao3 you need to keep outaging its vital for my mental health) so im watching shit yippee. this isnt stopping me from adding more n more shows to qbittorrent tho

[maladaptivewriting86]

Welcome Home - September Ch1

Eddie Munson x Reader, friends to lovers, slow burn

Also posted on ao3! This is part 1!

Summary: Reader has moved to a new city/state every few months since she was born. She shows up to Hawkins in '85 having to repeat her senior year after learning nothing last year due to changing schools 3 times.

Eddie is repeating his senior year as well, lucky for him. He meets reader in class two weeks into the year and is immediately drawn to her due to her I-don't-care attitude and her Metallica t-shirt.

The two hang out often, studying, drinking, smoking, and healing their respective traumas. But how long does reader have before her dad announces that they're packing up and leaving Hawkins forever, leaving Eddie and the new friends she's made behind forever?

Reader uses she/her pronouns but is non-binary. The term didn't exist in the 80s so she describes it as "I'm only vaguely a girl, you shouldn't really think of me as one."

Reader is AFAB, there will be references to anatomy (smut), but for the most part, she's not really "girly".

AU, the upside down doesn't exist, Eleven and Will aren't mentioned (sorry).

CW for this chapter: mentions of parents with substance abuse issues

AN: This is absolutely just self-insert for me but I really like it and maybe it will be relatable to a small number of people or just entertaining, I don't know. But thanks for reading either way!

I'm planning on each chapter being somewhere between a day to a week of in-story time. Some might be super long and others kinda short, I'm not sure. This is my very first work that I've ever written so I have no idea how its going to work. Each month will have its own chapters (all contained here in this one work) and the story will just kinda flow through the months that reader is in Hawkins. Bear with me, this all might change at some point haha. I have a lot of ideas though as this is literally just my maladaptive daydreams put to paper. Eddie makes my brain melt. Enjoy!

Walking out of the school office with your class schedule in your hand you sigh, taking in the new surroundings once again. This is the eighth high school you've been to in the past four years, and the second time you've been a senior in one of them. After moving three times last year and missing so much of your first senior year, you had to start from scratch in a new school, Hawkins High. Pretty boring to name a school after the city, but you've seen it done so many times that you don't give a shit anymore. Just as long as this is your last one.

The receptionist in the office had pointed you in the direction of your assigned locker and handed you a sticky note with the combination on it. Memorizing the numbers on the gross-yellow paper, you head in the direction she told you to go. 982, 983, 984, 985... 986. That was yours. You stop in front of it and rest your head on the door as you look down and turn the lock in the correct order. You had no faith that this year would be your last, you already accepted that if you couldn't finish high school on your second attempt, then you would just drop out and figure out what to do after that. School is fucking tiring.

The bell rang to signal change of classes and students began to flood the hall. Already missed the first period and study hall, off to a great start. As you pop the lock open and step back a little to open the door, a solid body slams into your side and a book goes sliding down the corridor.

"Hey, watch it freak!" The body yells at you.

You turn to look at who just walked into you. It was a girl with platinum blonde hair in a super high ponytail; a cheerleader uniform; and her tits on full display, absolutely breaking the dress code.

"Sorry, didn't realize you liked to walk with your eyes closed." You grumbled as you rolled your eyes and turned back to your locker, beginning to unload your binders from your bag. She walked into you , that was definitely not your fault.

"What?" She snapped. She took a few steps to the side so that she was right next to you continuing to stare at the side of your face, and at your Metallica shirt, and your ripped black jeans, and dirty shoes. She instantly clocked you as someone who was beneath her so she narrowed her eyes and gave a sickening smile. "Ohhhh... great, another freak to join the freakshow. Just watch yourself okay? And don't get dirt on my uniform." She accented the last line by wiping down the front of her skirt with her hands aggressively a few times before stepping away and bounding down the corridor with her group of friends who looked identical to her, ponytails swishing in unison as they walked. One of them stopped to pick up the book that was dropped and handed it back to who you assume was their leader. All five of them turned to sneer at you before continuing on their way.

"I fucking hate cheerleaders." You thought to yourself as you closed your locker and looked at your schedule again. Your second class was English. An easy enough class, after a bit of a rough start in the hall.

As you entered your classroom you made your way to the desk at the front where the teacher was sitting.

"Hi, I'm y/n. I'm new, I just moved here yesterday and I was told to introduce myself to my teachers when I got to class so... hi." You said quietly to your new English teacher.

"Well hi! I'm Ms. Davies, it's nice to meet you. I'll write your name into the class list. Can I see your schedule?" She seemed way too smiley and chipper for your liking, but at least she didn't seem like she was going to be a hard-ass.

You handed her your schedule and she nodded and confirmed that you were in the right class. She copied your name down on her attendance list and then stood up, handing back your schedule.

"Please don't-" before you could ask her not to, she began announcing your name and welcoming you to the class.

"We have a new student today! Y/fn. Everyone please be kind, she'll be a little bit behind as we've already gotten through two weeks of curriculum but I'm sure she'll catch up quickly!" Smiling, probably very proud of herself for embarrassing you, she turned to you and pointed to an empty pair of seats at the back of the class. "You can take a seat back there... I would say 'next to Mister Munson' but it seems that he won't be joining us again-" just as she said that, a boy with long, curly, brown hair, a denim jacket adorned with pins and patches, ripped jeans, and absolutely no school supplies walked into the class. "Well, never mind. Here he is." She said, a little surprised by this guy's sudden appearance.

Keeping your head down to avoid the stares that you were most certainly receiving, you made your way to the back of the class and sat down in one of the seats Ms. Davies had pointed to.

The long haired boy's eyes hadn't left you since he walked through the door. He also made his way to his seat and sat down just slightly after you. "Metallica fan eh?" He said, nodding to the t-shirt you were wearing.

"Yeah." You said, a little more blunt than you meant for it to sound. "One of my favorites." You added, noting that most of the decor on his vest were metal bands.

"You've got good taste." He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, clearly not intending to pay attention to the class.

"Thank you." You said, honestly. "You seem to as well," pointing at one of his pins, you said "Judas Priest is pretty good too."

The boy beamed. He was honestly really cute, especially when he smiled and his dimples were on full display. He squeezed his crossed arms tighter and wiggled a little, obviously a little giddy, and leaned over to you a bit "I like you. I think I'm going to annoy you for the rest of the year." He said with a sort-of-joking-sort-of-not tone.

You let out a soft laugh and smiled back at him. "Sounds good." You replied, somewhat sarcastically, though you also weren't going to say no to gaining a friend immediately. Especially one who seemed to have the same taste as you. 

He extended one of his hands toward you, intending for you to shake it. "My name’s Eddie." He introduced himself smoothly, his name sounded so royal leaving his tongue.

"I'm y/n." You replied, shaking his hand gently. His fingertips were a little rough, he probably played guitar. "I guess you missed when my name was announced to the world by Ms. Davies up there." You let go of his hand and gestured lightly up to the front of the room where Ms. Davies was writing something on the board. Something you're already not learning.

"I did miss that, unfortunately. I'm sure it wasn’t embarrassing at all and everyone was all 'hi y/n! Welcome to Hawkins High! We hope you have a wonderful time here! Go Tigers!'" He raised the pitch of his voice when he imitated the students, making you laugh a little harder than before.

"That's absolutely horrifying! You make them sound like a cult! I'm glad they didn't say that to me, I think I would've walked right out the door and never came back!"

"I think anyone would!" He chuckled. He looked very pleased with himself that he made you laugh as he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed again, but still smiling wide.

As the two of you settled into comfortable silence, you took your notebook out of your bag and attempted to take notes on… MooBath ? With the fantastic mixture of Ms. Davies’ terrible writing, your terrible eyesight, and your lack of glasses, the board at the front of the room was nearly unreadable from where you were sitting. Squinting your eyes and leaning forward you could make out that it was actually MacBeth that she was teaching, not something a cow would say while getting cleaned.

“Forgot your glasses at home?” Eddie asked softly. 

“No, I don't have any. Can't afford them.” You said simply, trying not to make a big deal over the fact that your parents didn't care enough about you to spend less money on their addictions so they could actually take care of their child. 

“Oh. Well that sucks. You should sit closer to the front then.” He said, like it wasn't the most obvious solution. 

You laughed lightly, “I would've but this was the only seat open and I doubt anyone would be kind enough to move just for me.” You looked back at him, he looked very comfortable leaning back in his chair, his eyes still fixed on you. 

“Don't ask ‘em then. Just sit. We don't have assigned seating so you can sit wherever you want.” He shrugged and leaned forward, putting his crossed arms on the desk. “Plus it would be fun to see the cheerleaders whine about not getting their way.” A somewhat devious smile spread across his face. 

“We'll see.” You said with a small smile, turning your attention back to the teacher. You decided that after missing the first half of the lesson you should at least try to take notes from just her voice alone. It was a struggle, she talked very fast and went on plenty of tangents that didn't have much to do with the subject matter. By the end of the class, you had about a page and a half of notes that you were only 60% confident in being correct and a bit of a headache from squinting at the board. 

The bell finally rang while Ms. Davies was mid-sentence. It startled her a bit but she dismissed you all and wished everyone a good rest of the day. On to lunch!

As you packed up your things and exited the classroom, Eddie stuck right by you chattering away. “Hey you should come sit with me and my friends for lunch! You'll fit right in! They're metal fans too!” He seemed to have a ton more energy than he did in class for some reason, or maybe he was quiet on purpose so that you could try to take notes. 

Stopping at your locker to exchange your books for your lunch, you smiled at him “Okay, I'd love to.” Why not? Worst that could happen is they hate you and you spend your time at another school completely alone. Best case? You gain some friends for a bit, until you have to pack up and move to another town in a month or two. 

You could feel that Eddie was practically vibrating as he led you to the cafeteria, eager to introduce you to his friends. He kept his hand on your shoulder like he was afraid you'd run away or get lost on the short journey. Approaching the long lunch table he waved his hand toward a few younger boys on the left, probably freshmen or juniors, and ordered them to “Scoot!”. They looked at him like he asked them to sacrifice themselves. “I said scoot!” He repeated, now using both hands to usher them all down one seat. 

“Well, you don't have to-” you tried to stop the disruption of their natural seating but Eddie just waved at you stating “They're fine. Have a seat!” He beamed once again when you took your seat, every single boy at the table staring at you like you'd just appeared out of thin air. 

“Friends, this is y/n.” Eddie gestured to you like he was unveiling a masterpiece at a museum. The rest of the table greeted you with tentative “Hi.”s. One guy in a leather jacket, on the opposite side of the table asked “You managed to bring a girl to our table? How'd you do that man?”

You chuckled a little “Well, I'm only vaguely a girl, you shouldn't really think of me as one if that makes you more comfortable. You can call me whatever you want, honestly. I’ve heard it all. But I wouldn't be caught dead hanging out with cheerleaders and doing my makeup and giggling and shit. I'm not into all that girly stuff. But uh… anyway… hi.” You gave a little wave and looked at everyone around the table. Most of the older guys looked similar to Eddie in terms of clothing style. They looked pretty metal and some of them had jackets like Eddie. The younger boys were a little more toned down but they seemed to fit in really well with the general vibe of the table. 

Eddie smiled at you as he pulled up a chair and sat at the head of the table, like a king, you thought. “y/n here, is a new kid. Just moved in from…” He looked to you to finish his sentence for him. 

“I don't even know, I only lived there for three months. Somewhere in south Indiana. Started with a B I think?” you shrugged. You genuinely couldn't remember the name, and the city itself was already a blur in your memory, as with most of the cities you've lived in. 

“Bloomington?” one of the boys to your left asked. He had very curly hair tucked up into a hat that said Thinking Cap .

“Yeah, sure, that sounds right.” You replied, opening your lunch bag and taking out the sandwich you made this morning. “Pretty boring place if you ask me.”

“Hey, wait, are you the one that just moved next door to me?” Another boy to your left asked. This one had shoulder length black hair and bangs, it kind of seemed like he was trying to look like Eddie if you were being honest.

“Probably? I just got here, dude. I don't even know my own address, let alone yours!” You laughed, trying not to sound mean, but wanting to get the message across that you don't know anyone or anything in this town. You took a bite out of your sandwich and looked towards Eddie, who was once again leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, looking at you.

Eddie laughed and adjusted his sitting position so that he was leaning back just a little bit more, legs spread apart like he owned the place. “She’s new, like I said. But I think she fits in with us already. An outcast, a metal head, possibly a freak like yours truly.” He meant “freak” in the same way that the cheerleader had meant it when she walked into you at your locker; a person who doesn't conform to the normie bullshit and instead proudly displays their true self to the world.… that's probably how he meant it, you think. 

“I appreciate that, Eddie.” you said, smiling at him. Something in his eyes flashed as you said his name, fear? Arousal? Just simple appreciation? You weren't sure.

The rest of the table appeared to accept that you were part of the group immediately. It seemed that Eddie was their leader and they would follow his every word. Again, like he was a king. Unlike other “kings” you had met, Eddie actually seemed to take pride in being a leader; he accepted the responsibility and he cared about his “subjects” a huge amount. He certainly had power, but his friends respected him and his ideas. It felt very fair. 

“So what do you guys do in this town?” You asked between bites of your sandwich. “Sex, drugs, alcohol and loud music?” You were only half joking with that suggestion, they were the main things most people did in every place you've been to, but you were looking for more of a “places to go” answer.

“I mean, you're pretty spot on.” The guy right across the table piped up. He had sort of poofy hair and a plaid vest that had a bunch of pins on it. “We’re in a band so… we’re the loud music bit.” He gestured to Eddie and the two other guys on his side of the table.

“Woah really?” You were honestly a little excited about this information. “I assume a metal band, yeah?”

“Duhhhhh!” Eddie droned, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Nothing else is worth playing.”

“Well, slow down there cowboy.” you laughed, “Other music is good too! Doesn't all have to be sick guitar solos and screaming your lungs out. Sometimes it's nice to chill out to some Elvis.”

“Oh god.” Eddie suddenly looked scared and sick as he stared directly at you. “I was wrong… you're secretly… a normie!” He dramatically flailed his arms and pretended to pass out, like the shock of your extended music taste had killed him. The whole table laughed at him, you included. The sheer drama of this man was keeping you hooked, you were already having fun and you had only just met him. He was comfortable to be around though, like you’d known him since childhood. When he opened his eyes and sat up, you were the first thing he looked at, your smiling face, laughing at his little act.

“You should come watch us play some time!” The guy in the plaid vest offered.

Pulling your eyes away from Eddie, you answered, “I’d love to! Where do you play?” You absolutely would love to see them play! You just hope that they’re some kind of good.

“Every Tuesday at a bar called The Hideout. It's a little far from here.” 

“Oh… well I don't have a car, anyone I could hitch a ride with?” You asked, looking around the table. The younger kids probably didn't have cars either but maybe they had other friends who went to see the band play.

“We can drive you.” Eddie answered quickly. “You can be our first groupie.” You think you saw him wink at you.

“Hold on, really? You never offer rides to non-band members. Something about the sanctity of the van or something?” Plaid vest looked shocked at Eddie’s immediate offer.

“Yeah, well, I've made an exception.” Eddie waved his hand and his words were accepted.

“Really, you don't have to if that's not your thing. I can find my own way there some time, or I'll watch you play someplace else. No biggie. Don't make exceptions for me, I'm not special.” You pleaded. You really didn't want to just force your way into their group, it could end badly if you pissed people off. You could handle being alone or kicked out but you wouldn't be able to handle being the reason the band or the friend group broke up.

“No, really, it's fine. If we bring you along then you'll be forced to listen to our whole set and then maybe we'll finally have a fan!” Eddie explained. “We play tonight if you want to come?”

Suddenly feeling a bit overwhelmed, you pulled away, “I… can’t tonight. I have a lot of unpacking to do. I still have to find all my clothes.” You laughed a little uncomfortably. “Next time though, yeah?”

Eddie looked a little saddened by that, but understanding nonetheless. “That's okay!” He reassured, “Next time.” He gave a warm smile to let you know he wasn't trying to pressure you.

“We- we also have a DnD club!” Thinking Cap kid said excitedly.

At this, your eyes brightened. You'd played DnD a few times at different schools, they always ended on cliffhangers though, because you left before the campaign could really get going. “Really!?” You asked. “That's so cool!”

Everyone at the table got excited then; asking you if you were serious, what kind of character you played, if you've ever DM'd, just question after question, none of them getting answered. You laughed as the boys bombarded you with queries and Eddie progressively got more and more annoyed with them. 

“SHUT UP! SHUT UP!” He yelled, silencing the table immediately, and a few others next to yours. He was standing now and he turned to you, “You're lying right? There's no way you're actually into DnD.” He looked a little hesitant waiting for your answer. Hopeful, maybe, that you were telling the truth. 

“No, I'm not lying! Honestly, I've played a few times but none of the campaigns I've been a part of have gotten anywhere because I moved before we could get to the good stuff.” You explained. 

“Ho-ly-shit!” Eddie said, emphasizing each syllable. “You're perfect. You're actually perfect. Sent from heaven, we've gained an angel, boys!” He raised his arms to the air like he was praising a God, the table roared with excitement again. Then he dropped his hands down onto the table with a bang! Making you all jump a little. 

Suddenly very serious, he leaned into his hands, looming over you slightly and asked “What's your class and level?”

Realizing he was quizzing you, or maybe this was a hazing? You answered immediately, “I play a Half-Elf Paladin named Sebastian. With my limited amount of play time I've managed to eke him up to level 5.” proud of your answer you lifted your chin up to Eddie, showing him you weren't lying and you definitely knew your shit. 

The table was silent again, watching the two of you battle. “Backstory?” He questioned. 

“Sebastian was abducted by a group of thieves when he was 15. He spent 20 years under their command, being the muscle to their brains. One night, the thieves’ camp was raided and Sebastian joined the raiders’ side, killing the people who took him hostage. Now, he's sworn an oath to kill or punish every thief or criminal who holds prisoners or slaves captive. He’s also searching for his lost parents that he was ripped away from.” You held eye contact with him the whole time you told your story. Your character's backstory was something you were very proud of and you weren't going to let him make a fool of you. 

Eddie leaned back away from you, sitting comfortably in his chair again. “Not bad.” he praised. “I'm thoroughly impressed. I guess we can add ‘nerd’ to your list of qualities that make you fit in here.”

You smiled at him, a warm feeling in your chest growing as you felt the validation from him. “Thank you. I wear that title with pride.”

“Okay! So she's joining us right!? This is fricken awesome!” Thinking Cap shook his clenched hands in front of him in excitement. 

Still staring at Eddie, you raised an eyebrow to him, questioning if he wanted you to join or not. 

“That's up to her.” He stated. “I think it's clear that the invitation is open.” 

Glancing at the table full of smiling guys, all of them on the edge of their seat, waiting for your answer, you simply said, “Then I accept.”

The table roared a final time and you received a few pats on the back and a few “Welcome to hellfire!”s. Meanwhile, Eddie was grinning from ear to ear, trying to play down his excitement, but you could see the way he squeezed his crossed arms together, the same way he did when you talked about music in class. He was definitely happy that you said yes. 

When the excitement finally died down and everyone settled into a lighter conversation, Eddie scooted his chair closer to you and whispered somewhat close to your ear. “If we're too much for you, you can tell us to back off. I didn't mean to bombard you with so much shit on your first day. You just seem really cool, and that's rare around here, so I wanted you to have some equally cool friends.”

Turning your head slightly to look at him, you noticed how comfortable he was with being so close to you. And how comfortable you were with it as well. “I'm enjoying it actually,” you whispered back. “I've never felt this welcome before.”

“Good.” Was all he said as he moved away from you, showing off his dimples again with a smile. 

You finished your lunch while listening to the multiple conversations happening around the table. Two boys were bickering, three were talking about guitar solos, and Eddie and Plaid Vest were discussing something very quietly. You thought to yourself “Okay, I definitely think like it here for once.”

“Hey, lunch is almost over,” Plaid Vest announced, looking to you. “What class do you have next?”

Reaching into your back pocket, you pulled out your schedule. “Ummm… History, with O'Donall.” 

“NO WAY!” Eddie yelled from right beside you, startling you a bit. “So do I! Let me see your schedule!” 

You handed the paper over to Eddie and both he and Plaid Vest (you really should have asked everyone’s name) looked over every class. “None of those are with me, unfortunately.” Plaid Vest said, slightly disappointed. The end-of-lunch bell rang and students began packing up their lunches, returning their trays, and leaving the cafeteria. “I'll see you later tho!” He waved at you with a genuine smile and left the cafeteria.

“You’ll never fucking believe this, but we have every single class together!” Eddie said excitedly.

“No way.” You said flatly, you did not believe that one bit. The rest of the table started packing up their things as well and heading out. Everyone gave you a polite “bye” on their way out.

“I'm serious! Well, except for first period, but the rest of today we do! I’d show you my own schedule but it's in my locker.” Eddie insisted. He stood up as you did and kept to your side as you made your way back to your locker to gather your things. 

“So what you're saying is: I'm never going to get rid of you?” You joked, opening up your locker.

“Oh absolutely!” Eddie said with a devilish grin on his face. “Guess you and I have to be friends forever now.”

“Well… forever for me might only be a couple months before I move again, but I think I can handle you for that long.” You teased, pulling the last of your class stuff out of your locker and shutting it.

“You're going to move again? You just got here.” Eddie asked. You both started down the hall towards history class, Eddie leading the way.

“Well, I've moved probably near fifty times in my eighteen years of life, so… it's not unlikely that I'll move again.”

“FIFTY!?” Eddie yelled

“Calm down,” you laughed at his sudden outburst, that number usually surprises people. “Yeah something like that. Makes it hard to keep friends.” You said, sounding a lot sadder than you meant to.

“That fucking blows. Why do you move so much?” Eddie was genuinely curious about you, he was leaning in and listening to your every word.

“You'd have to ask my dad. He pisses off a lot of people and then we’re forced to skip town before he gets his ass beat.” You explained. “He's not in trouble with the cops or anything, just like… landlords, neighbors, bar owners, liquor store employees… pissed off a mayor once too.” God your dad’s a mess.

“Wow, what an asshole.” He stepped through the doorway of your history class and held his arm out in front of him, waving you through like you were royalty. It made you laugh, and made other people stare.

“You're telling me.” You said, exaggerated. You walked past Eddie and quickly made your way to the teacher at the head of the room, wanting to introduce yourself quickly this time so that there weren't so many students in the room for her to announce your presence to.

This teacher, once again, confirmed that this was the right class and welcomed you to Hawkins High. As she finished writing your name on the attendance sheet, a shrill voice let out an exasperated “UGH!” from behind you. 

“This is my seat, you freak! Go find a trash can to sit in, or better yet! Go jump off a bridge!” The same blonde haired cheerleader who had smashed into you in the hall was currently screaming at Eddie, who was sitting at a pair of desks in the third row with his feet on the table, not looking at her at all.

“Miss Blackwell! That is enough! None of these seats belong to anyone! Please find another desk to sit in. Mister Munson has already chosen that one.” Ms. O'Donall stated, sternly. She then sighed and added, “And thank you for joining us today, mister Munson.” sounding like she was annoyed that he showed up at all.

The cheerleader and her friend stomped away from Eddie who was now smiling at you, very proud of himself. They sat down at a different pair of desks which caused another two students who had just walked in, to be upset and move back a row, they caused another two to move, and another, and another, and another. Eddie had just disrupted almost every student’s seating habit single-handedly.

“What are you doing?” you whispered to Eddie as you took your seat next to him. “You really wanted to hear the cheerleaders whine huh?”

“Of course! It sounded like fun when I suggested it, and I didn’t think you would do it, so I did.” He took his feet off the desk in front of him and leaned toward you so only you could hear him. “Plus, I figured this was a good spot, you can see the board from here right?”

Did he really just force some cheerleaders to move seats just so that you wouldn't have to sit at the back of the room and squint to see the board? “Eddie!” You whispered, scolding him a bit. “You did not just do that so I could see the board.” You were looking him directly in the eyes, searching for some other explanation than kindness towards you, someone he just met.

Eddie just shrugged his shoulders with a big smile on his face and leaned back in his chair, assuming the same position as he seemed to always do, arms crossed, legs spread.

You continued to stare at him, bewildered that someone would do that for you. A loud voice pulled you away though, “Miss y/ln. I don't think today's lesson is on mister Munson’s forehead, so could you face the board where it actually is, please?” Ms. O’Donall, who you now know will be a hard-ass, was looking directly at you, lips pursed together. “Sorry.” you said quietly, and turned to face her. She nodded sharply and went back to the lesson. You heard a few giggles from behind you, probably the cheerleaders. 

You took out your notebook and began copying the notes Ms. O'Donall was writing on the board, trying your hardest to not look at Eddie. Something in your head kept wanting to stare at him, to get closer to him, to really make a friend this time around. But you knew if you did that, it would end in heartbreak when you were dragged off to another city with your parents. So you pushed it all down. Hanging out with the boys won't be so bad, there's no harm in having fun, you just won't let yourself get too attached to them and the break will be clean. Hopefully. 

The rest of the day went by smoothly. You managed to get some notes from Ms. O'Donall on the two weeks that you missed so you wouldn't be so behind. And your last class of the day was biology, probably the only class that you learned anything in during all of last year, so it felt like more of a review than new information. Eddie chose to sit you near the front in biology as well, though no one yelled at him in that class, which was honestly surprising. 

When the final bell rang, Eddie followed you once again to your locker. “How did you understand a single thing that Mr. Grinnell said?”

“I've been through it before. This is my second senior year. Fuck every other class, but bio? That's my shit. Well, and art, but that doesn't count.” You explained, pulling your jacket and backpack from your locker. 

“I dunno, I've been through it before too, but I think it made even less sense this time around.” He rubbed his forehead like thinking made his brain hurt. 

You closed your locker and placed your hand on his shoulder. “If you need some help, I don't mind. After all you've done for me so far, I think I owe you something. We can help each other finally finish our senior years. Well… help each other for as long as I'm here.”

Eddie pulled his hand away from his face and looked up at you. “You serious? Because I think I could really use the help. I'm dumb as shit so it might be a challenge, but I'm not gonna say no if it means we get to hang out.” He seemed to be excited about your offer. 

“Yeah, I'm absolutely serious. Gives me a reason to stay away from my house and my parents.” You really hated sitting around the house with your dad who was always drunk and mad, and your mom who was always high and stupid. “But not tonight though, I really do have to find my clothes or else I'll be showing up to school tomorrow in this exact outfit. Plus, you have a gig to get to.” You smiled at him warmly, making sure he knew that you weren't just being nice for the sake of it. You really did like the idea of having someone to keep you on track in school, and you had no problem with helping him do the same. 

“Deal!” He excitedly accepted and stuck out his hand for you to shake. 

You took his hand and gave it a firm shake. “No taking that back now, we've made a deal!” You said, pointing at him. 

He grinned. “Scout's honor!” he swore, raising his hand to place it over his heart, his other hand still holding yours. 

The two of you made your way outside, ready to head home. “Need a ride?” Eddie offered. 

“No, that's okay, I'll walk.” You politely declined. 

“Are you sure? If you live near Wheeler, that's a pretty far walk!” Wheeler must be the kid you moved in next to. The one with black hair that looked like Eddie’s. 

“Honestly, it's not that bad of a walk. I made it to school that way.” Granted, you were late two periods, but that wasn't entirely your fault. You didn't have your alarm clock unpacked yet and you woke up later than you meant to. “It's pretty straightforward. Plus, it's how I usually learn the city. If I get lost, I'll just wander till I find my way back.”

Eddie looked a little worried for a moment so you patted him on the shoulder and reassured him, “I'll be fine. Promise. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah!?” 

He hesitated for a moment but you could see him decide against arguing with you. “Alright then, yeah. See you tomorrow, y/n.” He said, nodding and smiling. 

“Bye, Eddie.” You gave him a big smile and a little wave and headed off in the direction of your new house. 

The walk home took about 20 minutes, plenty of time to sort out your head and take note of all that had happened in the day. You made six friends in one day, definitely a new record for you! You joined a DnD party, possibly became a groupie, pissed off some cheerleaders, and gained a study buddy. There's a good chance that this town wasn't going to be the worst you've ever stayed in. But the looming question of “just how long will this last?” would never leave your mind. 

[froggiebi-moved]

i swear nothing has been so validating and helpful to hear than other intersex people with pcos explaining that they had an alternate puberty than what we were taught to expect - because i did, too.

the first sign i had that i was entering puberty was the development of acne at age 8. even as a kid i knew how weird that was, as everyone around me still had nice, smooth skin, while i was the kid in the photographs covered in red bumps. it was humiliating.

as i travelled further into puberty, my boobs and body hair developed as expected, though the boobs got way too big too fast, and the body hair was patchy (but at least easier to maintain). my hips developed, too, but i always felt more top heavy due to the growth of my boobs, as well as the fact that my body type already had a longer torso and big tummy, the latter being a very common pcos thing. i had also been tall until i suddenly stopped growing at 14, giving me a squarely average height and dooming my legs to be forever short. i'm not kidding; at 11, i was about an inch shorter than i am now. i grew a measly 3cm in as many years, and that was it for me. i am now 164cm (5'4") despite my parents and all my siblings being taller.

as a teen, i tried to focus on how i was just like the girls now, how we shared this commonality (even if i had extreme dysmorphia from my body developing somewhat differently), but i couldnt help but be preoccupied with the state of my skin. i noticed the boys were not only more likely to have acne or to develop it early, they were more likely to have severe acne than the girls. my acne began to spread over my chest, shoulders, and back, and some zits were particularly painful and/or itchy. i didn't have cystic acne, but it was mild to moderate on almost every inch of skin down to my armpits. i thought of myself as a monster, fated to be the ugly, overlooked friend, the weirdo who couldn't get a boyfriend as they kept having crushes who didn't like them back - fairly typical teenage concerns to be sure, and one that i couldn't even express as different to my peers' as we were all hormonally haywire. even my irregular periods and heavy cramping seemed normal, because it was hard to find a teenage girl without a single experience of irregular periods and heavy cramping.

all the girls talked about using proactiv, clearasil and neutrogena to battle their pimples, and i tried what my mother was willing to buy for me, even dicey balms she found on ebay, but nothing helped; not until i went on the combination pill at 16. until then, i understood the boys who straight up pretended they didn't have it because either nothing worked, or there was nothing socially acceptable they could do about it - what millennial teenage boy would ever wash their face with specialised soap? don't worry boys, because i tried it, and it didn't do shit; the pill, however, was like a miracle cure. it didn't clear my acne up 100%, but it got better by at least half, and the redness calmed down. my face now seemed just as pimply as most other 16 year old girls, and i couldn't be happier.

i wasn't diagnosed with pcos until i was 19, after a decade of suffering and hating myself and questioning what was wrong with me and begging my mother to take me to a specialist. she even told me that as a teenager she only got pimples when she was due for her period, but didn't make that same hormonal link for me because i had pimples all the time. the constant dismissals and blaming, the shit like "you just need to be more hygienic! here, put toothpaste on your skin!" - it was all infuriating, and only succeeded in bringing my self-esteem down further.

the diagnosis helped a lot with helping me let go of a lot of the self-blame and shame i developed alongside my symptoms, but as an adult i have had other associated issues. since giving birth to my son, i have been growing facial hair that steadily became more and more noticeable, and it now has to be removed every week or so - just like my body hair, it's patchy, so i can get away with leaving it for a few days, despite it growing at the same rate as a typical beard. pregnancy changed my body and made that "topsy turvy" feeling even greater, as my bust is now far larger than my hips, despite women's clothing accommodating for the opposite. (though to be fair, this is also genetic, as my mother was more top heavy than i am; it's just another factor in the struggle of accepting my body.)

on top of all that, i have been struggling to understand my gender for the last decade, coming to the realisation i am nonbinary but itching to know what "flavour", trying on a bunch of different labels (mostly multigender ones that hover around agender), knowing i had dysphoria but not really understanding how as it differed to most accounts told by afab people. due to how my hormones work, as well as my nebulous dissatisfaction with my body, i figured i had to be a transmasc, or at least equally masc to fem. however, the more i heard trans women's stories pre-transition, the more i realised i could relate to them, and that i was doing the same thing - trying to conform to what i felt i had to be, though for me it was more that i didn't feel "womanly" enough to deserve being called one, despite wanting to be involved in the collective of women. trying to pigeon hole myself as transmasc or even completely agender wasn't realistic for me, and the reason my dysphoria was so great was because i wanted to be fem and to feel that i fit in - with women.

this whole confusing journey has been aided by my making the connection between dysphoria and pcos, finding out pcos is considered an intersex condition by the intersex community, being acceped into the community, and growing to understand just how complicated gender can be for us; i'm far from the only intersex person in this boat, despite sailing in it alone for quite some time. i've been calling myself a nonbinary woman / agender woman for a while now, and it feels right, even if it seems counterintuitive to perisex people. but i'm done trying to make myself palatable for perisex people, especially perisex cis people. i am intersex, and nonbinary, and a woman, and the "nonbinary" part modifies the "woman" part, and the way in which i am nonbinary and a woman is further influenced by my intersex status and bisexuality. and all of that is okay.

we are who we are, and when you have a community behind you, it'll quickly absorb the limitations you've put on yourself all your life. i see that now.

*terfs do not fucking interact*

[passivenovember]

hello i am coming here straight from ao3 <3 i just. literally read every single harringrove fic you’ve ever written and holy shit, you are incredible. the way each steve&billy are different in your fics and yet feel so familiar? you’re easily one of the best writers this fandom has and i���m forever honest to god indebted to you. also, i wanted to ask if you would be down to continue super dark times 2? i think the duffer brothers should just adapt your series as a screenplay at this point. god knows they can’t write half as well as you.

This,,,,,is SO kind. I read it last night and I had no words and even now, after a full night's sleep, I still don't know how to articulate what it means that you would not only read my work on ao3 but follow up here with such a sweet compliment. Thank you so so so so much, you're an angel and I'm going to tuck this into my heart and carry it around with me for rainy days.

*hides under the table* I almost passed out reading this. I don't know about me being one of the best writers in this fandom, I feel like such a sham all the time, but I thank you for saying that. This place is stacked, wall to wall, with heart and soul and oozing genius. (and i have to take this moment to applaud some of my personal favorites @cherry-sorry @eternalgoldfish @lazybakerart @witchsickness @heck-in-a-handbasket @cherrydreamer @steviespanties @chrisbitchtree @catharrington and so many others. There are a great many INCREDIBLE devoted, compassionate, kind, and talented artists in this fandom. Go check out their work!)

As for SDT2, the short answer is yes! I plan to return to it very shortly. One of my writing resolutions this year is to go back and do a big re-write for the series. It was the first thing I ever scribbled and published that wasn't a theatrical play, and it was my first swing at writing fanfiction period. While I'm still proud of it, I'd like to move things around, add additional chapters, and take my time making it something special. It deserves more than the amount of attention I gave it.

AAhhhhh, thank you again for everything. I hope you have a wonderful week <3

[lovecanbesostrange]

Here's a tip on how to read and enjoy neverending superhero comics. My credentials for this is being a lifelong X-Men reader, so ~35 years of ups and downs with the mutant soap opera.

Initially you have to find something that speaks to you. Gods, mighty powers, more of a solo book with an expanded cast, a team to follow - nobody can help you with that. With all the comic book adaptations from cartoons to live action movies, you might already have your preferences, go with that.

Now, this is about the big two mostly. Those run on cycles. The writers will come and go (as do the artists), they will try new things, they will broaden the story, they will retcon things, they will go for a big change - and in the end, every book has a core status quo it will return to. Always slightly different, going with the times, but the deep down core is there, trust that.

Many people will pick up your fav characters and write for them. And if you've talked to other people you might have noticed by now that two people can like the same character and still view them a bit differently. This will happen. Some writers will align with what you value most, some really won't. In the worst moments your fav character feels so OOC, you will question how you could ever go back to loving them. But don't worry:

This too shall pass!

A single issue can give you the best scene your little blorbos have been in that you want to rub your face all over the page to absorb it all. And suddenly there is one throwaway line of dialogue in there that is the most disgusting shit you've ever read. Sometimes the idea is super intriguing, but the execution is lacking. Sometimes the art is perfect, but you can't even explain the plot. Sometimes it's overall a meh-story, but the little details with the interactions are just right.

And here's the thing - a few years later nothing of that really matters. You can cling to all the cherished moments. Funny domestic hilarity, a big twist that really captured your emotions, the perfect heartbreak, some cool action that lives rent free in your head. And then you run with that. And you can forget about the rest.

Any in-depth analysis of a character that has been around the publishing block for a few years (but really decades upon decades by now with the well known names) will come with a huge bag of inconsistencies. Please keep that in mind. Also that goes both ways. Your fav will have had a shitty period. So don't take this whole thing too seriously, especially when interacting with other fans (or just writing/reading meta).

Focus on the things that bring you joy and time will help to soften out the edges. Loving superheroes is either a very short sprint - where you care about one specific moment in time only - or the longest marathon through a lot of uncanny valleys.

Also don't believe the always looming "this is the worst they've ever done". Go read some fan mail in older issues (and I mean old, read fan letters from the 70s or 80s, read letters in now acclaimed classic storylines) - people have been saying that since forever. But even the worst stories have some wonderful moments worth remembering. Worth loving.

It's also okay to not have big opinions on everything going on. Sometimes you have to shrug your shoulders and browse through some back issues for a while. That's allowed. Or to take a break entirely until the creative team changes once again.

[hotgarbagedumpsterfire]

Ramble about the mental illness mentally illing under the cut, tw: depression, gender dysphoria, transmasc struggles

I just needed to get this out of my head, pls do not reblog

Things were good, so I hadn’t been taking my antidepressant as often as I should. Of course my brain decided to show me Exactly why that was a Bad Idea TM. But then again, sometimes I have these low lows even when im on the stuff consistently, so…

I started watching more trans content, because representation is cool to see and memes are fun- and then my brain hit me w the whole “you’re too much and not enough” bullshit.

Too different from other transmasc ppl, not doing enough for your medical/physical transition, etc etc

There are Reasons I haven’t pursued things like HRT: my health insurance is shit, I am way too paranoid to remove my Nexplanon birth control implant, I already have a general idea of the hell that elevated T levels inflict upon my psyche due to terrible moodiness w regular periods, and I really don’t wanna go thru a second puberty, and I’m not even down w all of the changes that come w T, etc etc, but that doesn’t stop my brain from making the comparisons to other transmasc ppl around me and telling me that I’m forever falling short

And before the severe dysphoria dropped, I was already feeling lonely- I finally made some new friends, but now my brain is demanding a partner, and that’s been a whole thing since there aren’t many eligible (read: mutually interested and available) queer ppl near me, and dating is hard, and my brain keeps telling me I’m too weird…

These brainworms are just so overwhelming, and even after 27 years of being alive I still don’t know how to make myself feel any better, I’ve only ever been able to Survive feeling this shitty, and every time I try to talk to friends about it I feel worse for bothering/burdening them… I should talk to my therapist, but that’s out-of-pocket…

Anyway, if you actually read all that, thx, I guess

[blue-eyed-bloodstains]

When was the last time you didn’t want to get out of bed? always lol

Do you save cards from your birthday/x-mas, etc? yeah

When was the last time you’ve gone shopping with a friend? many many years

What is your favorite kind of salad dressing? ranch and balsamic vinaigrette 

If given the chance, would you go to Ireland? definitely! that’s a big part of my heritage/nationality

If you’re not already, when do you plan on getting married? god only knows at this point...been together 7 years, engaged for 2 but we just haven’t been able to save up or even start planning, plus he’s barely ever home cause work sends him everywhere constantly for long periods of time...

Is there anything that you should be doing right now? not at the moment

Have you watched a t.v show lately that you haven’t watched in forever? court shows, used to be routine during the day but it’s been a few months and just did the other day

Are you currently in a relationship? If so, how long have you been dating? yeah, been together 7 years and engaged for 2...Feb 13-14 is our anniversary of dating/together, Christmas day 2020 is engagement anniversary. lived together since December 1, 2016 so a little under a year into the relationship we moved in together

Do you use normal batteries or rechargeable ones? rechargeable

Do strapless bras work for you? never really tried one but not sure if one would work

What was the last video game you played, if any? Pokemon Scarlet

Out of Biology, Chemistry and Physics, which are you the best at? never got to take Chemistry or Physics so biology either way but I was real good at it too so

Is there a friend you can always talk to about anything? yeah

What is/or was your graduating year? high school 2010

Have you had a weird dream lately? you have nooooo idea

Do you own a pair of slippers? yeah slip on Ugg slippers gray with no back and furry inside, suede on the outside

Cutting your hair extremely short, would you do it? I completely shaved my head summer of 2021, and I’ve cut my hair short many times all my life and I’m way overdue for a haircut right now so yeah lol

Do you like your nose? I guess yeah

How soon is your birthday? it’s today actually lol I’m 31

Are you one of those people who listen to songs on repeat? yep

Do you have piano fingers? if you mean long and thin? yeah

Is there a movie that makes you cry every single time you watch it? several

What is the first letter of the person’s name you last kissed? Z

Is there an accent you prefer? I’m a sucker for Brit accents for sure, and I love a good country drawl ;)

Where exactly are you right now? home on the couch

Have you ever been in a parade? not in one no

Would you ever consider being a news reporter? yeah

Do people say you look your age? Or younger or older? younger, I look forever 16-18 lol

When was the last time you swam in a pool? too long!! dying to be in one asap

Do you like seafood? omg I’d live on it if I could!

Why are people so afraid of bees? cause they don’t wanna get stung duh!

Have you ever broken a bone? only one and didn’t happen till I was 21, my right collarbone

What would you do if you saw someone turn completely inside out? O_O...okay I love horror movies but what the fuck dude...?! umm what any normal person would do and lose my shit screaming and running?!

Where’s your cell phone? next to me

Would you date the lead singer of a band? maybe

What would you do if I told you you would die today? not going there right now...

Are you coasting on potential towards the wall? what...?

How do you feel when you wake up next to a stranger? ummm...? never happens? I live with my fiance sooo

Does September depress you? only if you wake me up XD no seriously umm no reason for it to

Do you like strawberries? yeah

Do you drink coffee? hell yeah could really go for one right now actually uggh exhausted 

[larkral]

Chapter Four

Welcome to the end of the commentary! 🎉 I have fucking loved this and would like crazy encourage anyone to write about their writing if they want to. I'll read it!!!

The beginning of this chapter is a sideways reference to the beginning of Carry On, except that Simon is A LOT more self aware. He's working through shit. He knows he's obsessing over Baz because he's romantically interested in Baz, but it also manifests in a very similar way as canon. Regardless of whether you think Simon was in love with Baz at the beginning of Carry On, it's difficult to argue he wasn't focused on Baz. Same here! Hopefully this felt a little bit parallel, even though it obviously lasts for a much shorter period of time.

One thing I really like about this section is that Simon characterizes Baz's absence as "almost two weeks" where Baz later says it's been ten days. They're both right but their perspectives are different and so they're framing it differently. For Baz, the precision is important: he got back as quickly as he could. For Simon the length already feels interminable, and a week and a half may as well have been two weeks, because who knows when it will end! Probably not until it's been two weeks. Maybe forever. 

Something that was important to me about the initial scenes in this chapter was that I wanted the plot to be INCREDIBLY concise. I was inspired here by @facewithoutheart's Eight Months (Forever). I think that story is just mind-blowing, and I felt like it might be possible to accomplish a similar plot wrap up. 

Mainly I didn't want this initial section to do much more than resolve the Natasha plot and enable Simon and Baz to find each other again, since that's the reason Baz left. That necessitated Simon being a little bitter towards The Mage. In light of some of my more recent thoughts about the role that The Mage plays in Simon's life, I'm debating a bit if this is unreasonably precipitous. Of course that's a difficult question to answer, but here's where I landed in writing this: Simon has only ever had two points to anchor against—Penny and The Mage. I think there's an argument to be made for Agatha, but IMO the facts bear out to that being essentially a surface-level relationship at best. So, over the course of the blowjob marathon, Simon starts to anchor himself in Baz. And he notices the differences between what he's getting from Baz—attention, availability, jocularity, and an extremely pleasant physical experience (all this from someone who is nominally his enemy)—and what he's getting from The Mage—unreasonable expectations, unmeetable standards, and an absolute bare minimum of necessary care. And I think that with Penny as another anchor, there's space to realize how poorly he's being treated by The Mage. Not necessarily explicitly, not necessarily as a revelation, but under the surface. 

Anyway, uh, you know, I tried to pack that into a single paragraph where Simon is thinking about what he'd say to the mage about Baz being missing. I hope that landed for the reader (did it? You tell me) because immediately afterwards is when Simon steps out of The Mage's plans for him. 

This was a challenging scene to craft! Enough recognizable characters had to be there to tell Simon that Davy was lying in his note. Simon still had to give The Mage the benefit of the doubt (canonically he does and the situation is MUCH less ambiguous). Ebb obviously had to be there as a powerful mage/generally benevolent force/adult who could take over the needs-to-be-powerful mantle from Simon, and The Mage had to do something much more obviously bad-guy-behavior than he already had. Oh, plus something to prompt Simon to seek out Baz. 

Phew!!! All that in what I ideally wanted to be a single, short POV section. I am satisfied with this section, and I think it does the work it needs to do in the interest of the larger story I was telling. However, I don't love it the way I love… almost every other scene in this story. So it goes. 

So. Okay. Okay. Okay. So. The final sexy scene was HEAVILY influenced by a fic my best friend in the world wrote. She is a fucking genius and I'm not going to link her fic here because I can't talk about it in a way that doesn't spoil it, but know that there's a fic out there that's gorgeous and priceless to me and has destroyed my brain a thousand times over and this is a mere shadow of it. Reading the story my friend wrote made me realize that the obvious natural conclusion of the sexual-romantic arc of Good at Something was a one where they just cannot get enough of kissing each other. That the sex is there, and it's got its own purpose, but it's about the collision between them: the uncontained, uncouth, uninhibited force of them realizing that they belong together. And there's something really pure and essential to this feral, animalistic way of being together that's uninformed by a performative motivation, and unbounded by the ways that sexuality is observed. That's what my friend wrote, and that's what I was aiming for. I hope that makes some sense because it's just vital to me.

The next part of the scene I actually feel might be a bit too ambiguous, and that's kind of on purpose. It's about the humdrum and Simon getting control of his magic, and I don't explain it for several reasons. Reason the first: this is a love story, it's not a story about the humdrum or Davy or Natasha. It's a story that we as people in fandom understand to address those things because of our knowledge of canon, but I very intentionally gave that exceedingly little screen time because it's not what's going on here. Reason the second: Simon and Baz don't know what's happening, and I'm not about to explain something that the POV character cannot know just so the reader knows it. If I can't get it across using the narrative structures I've elected to employ, that's my own fault. 🤷 

Anyway, because I can explain what I was thinking here: 

IMO the Humdrum/Simon situation is related to Simon's childhood trauma and was compounded by the fact that Simon wasn't given appropriate tools to manage his magic. Or I suppose, more plainly: The Humdrum is not an inevitability of Simon Snow and the ritual magic under which he was conceived, but merely a potential result of that magic (that occurred as a result of the fucking horrible interpersonal things The Mage did to him after he was born). I think it's very reasonable to assume that the potential to wreak havoc on the magical atmosphere remains a part of Simon after this story, but that the regular meditative practice of giving Baz a bunch of blowjobs, along with the lived experience and continual reassurance of his capacity for competence and the confidence that he is anchored by affection/love on multiple dimensions (Penny and Baz) allowed Simon to rewire the Humdrum part of himself so that it wasn't lashing out with his own uncontrollable hunger. 

Moreover, and I tried really fucking hard to write Baz's final section to convey this, but I think the prophecy is both absolute bunk and is also nominally fulfilled by this series of events. Here's why: "and one will come to end us" for sure refers to Davy, and "and one will bring his fall" refers to …? Is it Baz who ends Davy's reign (arguably in this case yes), is it Simon  (in canon, maybe) Is it Penny (again, in canon, maybe), is it Davy himself (in both cases, arguably yes)? But wait! Prophecies like this are never specific enough that we can be sure they're being fulfilled. Look at Nostradamus! Look at the Torah/Quran/Bible! Look at literally any psychic or horoscope. (Look at me bringing my extreme skepticism to a romance fanfiction, just look at it.) 

Anyway: "let the greatest power of powers reign" is absolutely not about a person at all, otherwise wouldn't it be "may he or she save us all" instead of "may it save us all"? I think the greatest power of powers is acceptance and belonging. And that's both what ends the threat The Mage has created, and is just an objective truth. It's the thing that saves us all. 

The end. Thanks so much to everyone who reads this. As I've said several times, this fic is monstrously special to me and I'm overjoyed that some of you have also enjoyed it.

Directors cut ask—whatever chapter of Good at Something you want to talk about!

What's that? More Good at Something commentary? IF I MUST. (I'm going to. Y'all are going to get every chapter. It is decided) Here is my commentary on Chapter 2 of Good at Something. If you thought that the commentary on Chapter 1 was excessive, get ready for this. It's even longer! I have so many thoughts and here they are. Writing about writing: a thing I like to do

Good at something directors commentary on chapter two. Let's goooooo.

Okay, so I'm pretty sure that the main reason that I branched out from blowjobs in their dorm room was that the setting was beginning to lose interest for me, and I assumed that readers would be feeling similarly. Note: this was before I wrote the oft-opened-envelope scene, so I obviously walked that idea back.

Anyway, notice: the world continues apace despite the fellatio marathon these two are competing in. 

Also notice: they're getting very familiar with each other. Making jokes! Simon pressing up against Baz's back in the hallway, tugging Baz towards him with his belt loops. The goal was that this section start to feel mutually warm in addition to being hot. 

So, aside from a subtle shift in the intended vibe of their relationship, this scene stands out for me because it's got some rocking jokes. It's a very funny scene! "never lock a door with a boiled carrot" is a legit Irish idiom that I learned from a board game called Wise or Otherwise when I was probably 12, and I still think it's hilarious. Let it never be said that writers don't use every fucking thing in their lives as fodder.  "Top marks for consent." (Yes, we're still grading the blowjobs!)

Next comes piano bench sex! Leg over the shoulder sex! Sex where balance is an issue because come the fuck on if you were being blown in the middle of a room and had nothing to lean against you too would stack it. I have a LOT of "smut needs a dose of realism" opinions, and this is one of them. Orgasms: not generally good for one's ability to stand unsupported. 

Get ready for the broken record because….this scene is super hot. I adore it. It's an incredibly awkward scene as well, which for me makes it even better. They're figuring things out! The position they start in is really bad, and the position they end in is not much better! I did a lot more research than is reasonable to figure out if one could actually get into this position, and the position is precarious but still makes me think of a weighted blanket. 

And!!! And! The most important part of this scene is the laughing. The fall and the laughing and the way that overwhelming joy can intersect with the bodily pleasure of sex, and how they're wiring those things together for each other. Even though they're still looking past each other, seeing something different in each other's reactions to the situation than they're experiencing, and both believing themselves to be the more invested one, they're getting there. (Though, my heart, when Simon thinks Baz was kind of amused and Baz is like: I have been bitten by a highyena. See prev point re: looking past each other.)

This scene also includes one of my favorite descriptions of Baz tangling his hands in Simon's hair: "My fingertips are just hidden under his curls." And then afterwards (and truly you will be aghast when I say I did not realize that I was doing this as I did it) Simon jerks off almost exclusively to Baz's tenderness with him, including HAIR TOUCHING.

I feel once again honor bound to mention my influences, and in this case the influence that led to Simon's come-eating is HP headcanon I invested 100% in after reading a drarry fic that lives rent free in my head even now: @firethesound 's begging (fair warning: part of an unfinished WIP, and a big part of the reason I no longer hesitate to read something that's a WIP. I'm glad I read it even if there's never more). The headcanon (which is my own invention, not even slightly mentioned in the above fic) is: as a pubescent child growing up in unfriendly circumstances, the easiest way to dispose of the evidence of masturbation is to eat it. And if that's a part of all of one's initial sexual experiences, it's something that's likely to continue into maturity. Not necessarily as a fetish (though I'm not saying *never* as a fetish), but as a part of what it means for a sexual experience to feel complete. For Simon Snow, a character with a canonical oral fixation, this feels like a no brainer. You're welcome. 

Also in this scene: the very beginnings of plot!!! Simon's successful clean as a whistle came at the end of this scene, self-evident, fully formed in my brain, without any prompting. And is part of the reason I've started to really trust myself and my process as a discovery writer. Sometimes something I can't explain comes out of a story, and I know it's right because it feels right. It feels like what the characters would do, or feels like what happens in the story, and even if (as this was, intensely so) it's confusing and not what I think I'm doing here, not what I'm going for, not what I expected… sometimes it's just exactly where the story needs to go. In the last commentary I called Good at Something my magnum opus which is a bit of hyperbole, but also this story is my heart, and if I hadn't trusted the part of my brain that said "Simon does a clean as a whistle here, and it works" that wouldn't be true. This story wouldn't have gone where it went and I (perhaps, probably) wouldn't love it the way I do. 

Aaaaand this is originally where the chapter ended! And we went from this directly into Simon sees Baz and Agatha talking in the dining hall. We have @petedavidsonscock and @facewithoutheart to that for the fact that it didn't, because after lengthy discussions with both of them, I formulated the potty/editing/re-writing plans that concluded in the Mage's office blowjob! 

Baz's brain scene that follows does a lot of work, but the most important work is…they give weeks into the semester. Whyever would I be mentioning explicit timelines so frequently!? Can't say. Won't say. (You know why.) Also cements Baz's internal voice as snarky and hilarious. I love writing Baz's internal voice. 

Fuck, okay, Mage's office blowjob may actually be strong competition for my favorite sex scene in this fic. It's just wrapped up in so much emotion!! And uh, it's also incredibly hot. So. Sooooo, okay. Here's where I reveal that I originally conceived this type of blowjob (facefucking/deepthroating) as the final sexy exchange of the fic. The blowjobs all have a genre in my mind, and this one seemed like the natural conclusion of the sexual evolution of this story. But also as I worked in that direction it just seemed incorrect. Yes, it's like, the boss level of the blow job video game, but it's absolutely not the boss level of Simon and Baz's relationship, especially given that it doesn't facilitate emotional intimacy, which is where they're heading. So here it is, the final exam in the blowjob seminar, coming midway through the story. 

This chapter is full of my soapbox stands, it turns out, because I am OBSESSED with the fact that Simon isn't just bam immediately capable of deepthroating. As I said in response to a comment @bookish-bogwitch left on the fic: it's so important to me that it's not something he's innately capable of. This is a story about working at something and getting better at it. About built skill, and that includes Simon wanting to do something and working at it and getting there. As a result of that, I did too much research on what deepthroating is like and how you might achieve it. (My lived sexual experience has never involved a penis, so research is a firm necessity.)

Part of the reason this scene just incredibly does it for me is that they're both shaky and uncertain about how much of what they want they're going to get, and even so, they're going for it entirely. I think that's something that's characteristic of both Simon and Baz in relation to this scenario. Simon: going for it because he wants it until he realizes how much he needs it. Baz: going for it even though he thinks it'll destroy him, because he can't say no to how close it is to what he wants. 

Also, hello, parallel between my writing process and the scenario I've put Simon in: he's learning to trust himself. It has cascading results! 🎉 

And, oh man, okay, the end of this scene again references canon in a way that I am obsessed with as a part of fanfiction: Simon finds the book with a picture of Baz in it. He's gobsmacked by it. His reaction is so entirely changed by having begun to experience Baz in a different way, but it's also fundamentally similar. It gives me such a good feeling to think about moments in canon framed through changed circumstances in fic and vice versa. Different lenses on the same moments give such a deep view of these characters, perhaps even of humanity as a whole? 

(Also, and this is getting excessively long so I'll keep this short, but the moment when Baz is getting dire about what he thinks Simon is going to do with the book and then Simon surprises him, that is a kind of emotional chain yanking that I absolutely fucking love when an author does it to me. Do other people feel that way? I don't know. But I did it to you anyway, as a treat.)

[foxilayde]

The Putz and The Perv [professor!Jonathan Levy x Fem!Reader]

Summary: Showing off your anatomy in the anatomy lecture hall. 

Word Count: 8.2k 

Rating: Explicit 18+

Warnings: Exhibitionism, age gap, infidelity, drinking warm Jack Daniels like a true college gurl, taking the Lord’s name in vain, 1[one] singular use of the word “cunt”, whoops now there are two cunts. Okay now there’s three. Penis in hand, penis in mouth, penis in love?? Your immersive experience may be hindered if you speak yiddish and or have a cashew allergy.

Authors Note: Heh, anatomy, get it? I think I’m clever. Validate me and I’ll love you forever. Also don’t you ever, don’t you dare, don’t you even wish to dream to think to send me requests for shit. Because this is what happens. This is from the Scenes From A Marriage universe, but can be read as a standalone thot piece. 

You’re a pervert. You’re fucking disgusting. You tell yourself that it’s harmless, this thing you’re doing, but really, the only people who would agree with you on that are other perverts. 

You should have dropped this class weeks ago. It doesn’t even line up with your major anymore. You’re still undecided- flitting around the disciplines, last semester it was Art History, this semester it’s Psychology. So you took a somewhat safe bet with Anatomy, thinking it’d be a nice, neutral choice while you figure out what it is that you really want to do. This shit isn’t safe, or nice, or fucking neutral. It’s nuclear, and you’re making it worse every fucking class period. Look, anyone can teach you anatomy. There isn’t a specific skill to the memorization of the origins and insertions of each muscle. You just have to sit down and memorize them. Any teacher would do. And, fuck, it is just so inappropriate of you to be doing what you're doing. You should leave the poor man alone. 

But, god, why- why is he so sexy? Without trying to be? How powerful is his magnetism that his outfit of loose corduroy trousers and Costco Dad sneakers does nothing to mitigate your attraction? It’s objectively fucking horrible. But there’s something hot about it too, like, the fact that he doesn’t care how fucking hot he is. Or, more like, he’s treating his hotness with great responsibility. Not flaunting it or accentuating it with tailored looks, but putting on the first outfit he grabbed at a goodwill in an attempt to bring gravitas to the thing that he’s teaching. He’s going to have to find much baggier clothes for that to work on you. Like a monk’s robe, maybe. No, no, not a monk’s robe. Now that’s opening up a whole new can of worms, of vows of celibacy, forbidden attraction, and, yeah let’s not go there-

Also, yes, okay, you see the ring. Of course you see the ring, you fucking pervert. Because of fucking course he’s married. He’s married and probably very happy and fulfilled. In any case, he definitely doesn’t need you sitting in the front row of his lecture hall with your short skirt, flashing him your lack of panties. Pervert.

At first it started out as an accident. You were wearing an above the knee, black business styled flared skirt for a career fair at the library. You wore that outfit all day with no trouble, until you got to your anatomy lecture. You sat in your usual seat at the front of Levy’s class, the front row, still raised a good two feet or so off the ground. And to be fair, you were wearing panties that day. Bright red panties. 

You’re a good student, and you’ve also got a big fat crush on him, so of course you were paying attention to him, and of course you saw the moment he saw them. A slight glazing of the eyes, gaze suspended momentarily between your knees, followed by a small rapid head shake and pink cheeks. You weren’t really sure what was going on at the time, but then- then he came up to your desk at the end of class. 

- - ~ - -

“Don’t forget to have those actions and insertions memorized! Particularly the SITS of the rotator cuff, because after next week, we are moving onto the lower body!” He calls to the class as they gather their notes and make their way up the stairs of the tiered seating and out the door at the top of the hall. 

“Hey”, he raps a knuckle on your desk, You pause packing away your textbook and look up at him. He’s covering his mouth with his hand as he says your name, his eyebrows are furrowed and he strokes his beard, looking at the floor. He is adorably nervous and isn’t meeting your eyes. “I want to talk to you about something that might be a little bit sensitive,” he glances around to make sure no one is in earshot.

“Okay, yeah, shoot.” You lean back in your seat and set your packed bag on the desk. You don’t know what it could be that is making him this jittery, but his proximity and unsureness is making your tummy twist. I mean, if anyone says ‘I want to talk to you about something’, regardless of context, it’s full on alarm bells and fight or flight chemicals.

“Your um, your… clothing choice.” He waves his hand in a circular motion as If you’re supposed to understand what he’s talking about with such a vague thing. As if “your clothing choice” would be a lightbulb moment or something. 

“Uh, sorry?”

“Not that you don’t look very nice today, you do!” He amends with vigor and shoves his hands in his pockets, waiting for you to speak.

“Oh… kay.”

He takes a big breath and whispers very quickly to you, even though you’re the only two people in the room and he doesn’t need to speak as covertly as he does.

 “It’s just, you know, certain items of clothing combined with the way the lecture hall is set up. It’s uh- it can be a little bit revealing. And I know you don’t normally wear skirts, so um, just a something to keep in mind for the future, yeah?” He meets your eyes then and you go a little fuzzy before his words catch up with your brain.

Oh… ohhh! 

He’s beet red and he clears his throat uncomfortably, doing a tiny bow before retreating back a few steps looking completely lost. He turns around at that point so you know he doesn’t see your smile. God, he must’ve gotten a real good eyeful of your devil red panties for him to be this flustered.

“Thank you for letting me know, I truly didn’t realize. I promise to be more mindful about… that.” You say it calmly, not seductively or anything. Looking back, you probably decided in that moment, what it was exactly you were going to do about this situation. Pervert. You stand and lift your bag strap over your shoulder. “Have a good evening, professor Levy.”

And you kept true to your word. You had been more mindful. You started wearing skirts exclusively, and stopped wearing panties to his lectures entirely.

The next class, you are bold and brazen and downright shameless. You lean back, parting your thighs and see the exact moment he clocks it, your bare pussy. It’s instant. His lips part drunkenly and he swallows thickly before turning his eyes on yours. You give an innocent smile and a nod. 

Weeks now, this has been going on for weeks. You do wear panties most of the day, you aren’t a complete heathen, buuut right before Anatomy 220, Tuesday Wednesday Thursday; you head to the bathroom on the second floor, remove them, store the flimsy briefs in the outer pocket of your pack, and willfully expose yourself to Professor Johnathan Levy. 

Pervert behavior. No getting around it.

Has he said anything about it since the red panties day? No. Have you caught him staring, going pink in the face? Losing his train of thought? Yes. 

You think he tries to be covert about looking, trying to hide the way his eyes strain all the way to the side with his cheek propped on his fist during attendance. 

Its kind of fucking exhilarating. Giving your married professor a full on peep show while you’re in a crowded room of people. You’re totally innocent to any onlooker; quietly taking notes, raising your hand if you have a question or answer. You sit in his front row and he’s got a front row spot to your little show. The only eyes on you are the eyes everyone else is looking at. It’s wrong, it’s so fucking wrong, but god damn if it isn’t a thrill. You even linger slightly after class. You don’t address him, you don’t bat your eyelashes as you say goodbye or ask if you can do anything to earn extra credit. You’re just seemingly very careful with packing up your book, your notes and your water at the end of the lecture. You take each step deliberately, making sure you’re the last one out. Letting him check out your ass if he feels so inclined. And you never turn around to catch him in the act. 

It’s a fucked up game you're playing. If the tables were turned, if he was treating you the way you treat him, you’d think you were losing your fucking marbles. Because the only salacious thing you’re doing is not wearing underwear. An inherent lack of action. Which places the act of looking all on him. What you’re doing is considerably more egregious because you’re kind of forcing him to be a pervert too, since you don’t lead him on with anything else, no addresses of invitation; you’re forcing him to feel dirty and perverted, you just know it. He’s got to be doubting his sanity. And boy is it fucked, you know it’s fucking fucked up; but just thinking about his conflict, the way he attempts to covertly sneak glances towards your open thighs, the way he licks his fucking thumb to grab your quiz and place it on your desk, the way his palm lingers flat on the surface for a second too long before moving onto the next student. You’re devious. You’re a monster. And it feels so good. The little notes on the top of your quizzes, red felt tip pen markings 100% A+, ‘Excellent!’ ‘Fantastic!’ ‘Well done!’ Well done, indeed. 

Most days he arrives to class with the same lively animated entrance, same stainless steel travel mug, and leather laptop bag slung over his shoulder. On Tuesdays he asks the class how their weekend was. He smiles and puts up the warmup quiz on the projector. You can tell he enjoys his work. He loves teaching. But today? This particular Tuesday, he wanders into class like a zombie. He’s got his bag, but no mug, his clothes look particularly worn as if he slept in them the night before, and he doesn’t smile. His hair isn’t tamed- grey curls are sticking up and out like he’s been pulling on his hair in frustration. And instead of setting up the projector and timer for the warmup quiz, he just sits down at his desk and looks lost, looks like he hasn’t slept at all last night.  

Most of the class is chatting with each other, some are working on other homework and no one notices that he’s a total zombie. You cross your legs because he doesn’t look in any kind of receptive state to be entertained by the show between your thighs. 

After a minute he shakes his head from his zone-out and looks over to your crossed knees and up to your face. Oh my god, he’s got the most pathetic puppy eyed red rimmed stare imaginable. You raise your eyebrows and point your pen at the projection screen and mouth “quiz?” 

He inhales sharply as if being woken from a dream. The breath propels him upward and he makes his way to the little projector table to put on the quiz. Even his movements are sad and unwilling, like each button he pushes costs him a grand amount of life-force. He doesn’t say anything to the class, but he doesn’t have to. Everyone knows the drill. The routine of it doesn’t appear to have fixed him, it’s just there to buy him more time so he can sit back at his desk and stare into the abyss. Jesus. He is not okay. 

The quiz goes fine, he bumbles a bit through the answer key and ultimately forgets to collect them at the end of the warmup, so Kendall has to bring them to his desk. The lesson isn’t much of a lesson at all. He plays an animated youtube video about the parasympathetic nervous system. The lights are off and and he’s resting his head on his arms. Once the video is over he doesn’t stand up from his desk, doesn’t move, and the whole class hears him snore.  A few people snicker and Kendall takes it upon themselves to turn the lights back on. It’s five minutes till class is over and Professor Levy is asleep at his desk. The snickering continues when he snores a second time and everyone shrugs at each other, placating different iterations of “class is almost over anyway…” and they all slowly make their way to the exit. You do not. You’re transfixed, taking in his horrible defeated posture,  light snores emitting from the pillow of his forearms. Fucking hell. You can’t leave him like this. There’s gotta be another class that comes in soon. You step down the few feet to the floor of the lecture hall and approach his desk with uncareful steps, hoping that the noise of your feet might rouse him. It doesn’t. You perch on the side of his desk, examining his form and staring at him the way you only stare at someone who’s unaware you’re looking.

“Pssst!” You make the noise loud and close enough to his ear to alarm him.

He shudders as he rouses, head on a swivel, glasses adorably askew. And looks up at you like you’re the last person he expected to see after a nap. 

“Where is everybody, what happened? Did I fall asleep?” 

“Uh, yeah, and now the whole class knows you snore.”

He scoffs, “fuck.”

“It can’t be that much of a surprise to you. Hasn’t your wife informed you how loudly you saw logs in your sleep?” The comment is supposed to be funny, the intention was to make him laugh, dammit. Mission failed. His face falls even more, if that’s possible, and he groans. 

“Fuck.”

It doesn’t escape your observation that his expression shattered at the word ‘wife’. Marital problems, then. Nothing a little Jack Daniels can’t temporarily solve.

“You need a drink.”

“What?”

“You need a drink. A strong one. I can tell. I know a place.”

“How long was I asleep?”

“Only the length of that weird movie you showed us. Really phoned it in today, huh Levy?” 

“Then it’s 4pm.”

“Correct.”

“4pm is too early for a drink.”

“4pm is entirely acceptable to drink. Especially if you never fell asleep last night. If you miss a night’s sleep, technically the whole next day is just one long afterparty.”

“How did you know I didn’t sleep last night?”

“Uh, the sawing logs, for one. And you look like garbage.”

“Thanks.”

“C’mon Rip Van Winkle, let’s get you some booze and you can tell me all about it.”

“Are you even old enough to drink?”

“My ID says I am.”

“Is it a fake?”

“That is between me and the great state of New York.”

“Woah, I am not-“

“I’m joking. Yes, I’m old enough to drink. Up, up, up. Lets go.” 

You hand him his book bag with the laptop inside. He looks at his desk worriedly. “Where’s my mug?”

“You didn’t bring it today.”

He cocks his head, “Wait, what day is it today?” He tugs his hair and looks at you wild eyed. 

“Tuesday.”

Jonathan sighs in relief, smoothing his hands down his silver stained beard. 

“Good. No more classes today.”

“Great. Because I don’t think you could literally handle another moment of undiluted consciousness.” You make your way up the tiered room’s aisle and turn back around to see him unabashedly staring at your ass. “You coming or what?”

“To do what? Oh, bar. Drink. God, I feel like I’m in a nightmare.”

“I’m going to try to not be offended by that.”

You hear his steps hurriedly behind you and he’s one step below you as he bemoans, “I didn’t mean you, I mean the past 24 hours. Complete nightmare, I can’t believe-“

You interrupt him, “No no, save it for Jack Daniels. He’s a much better listener.”

“What bar are you taking me to? I don’t really feel like running into any students.”

“Scotty’s. Its nearby. And we won’t run into anyone. Its 4pm on a Tuesday, everyone there at this hour is older and sadder than you.”

He chuckles at that. Progress. 

—-

You walk to the bar in near silence. On weekends this place is filled with students, but just as you predicted, in the late afternoon the only other patrons at the bar look like they could tell you stories about cattle wrangling and ‘the good ol’ days’. You take two stools at the end, far away from the meager crowd and Scotty takes your order of “two Jack doubles. Keep em coming”.

Jonathan looks…uncomfortable. Wether its the rickety stool or the atmosphere, or your company; you have no idea. He’s out of place and time, it’s dimly lit in here, like all shit bars, and the red glow of the twinkle lights that line the bottle shelves are admittedly flattering on his features, softening the dark circles under his eyes. 

You cheers and both take a swig. He grimaces and sets the drink down, rubbing his hands together uncomfortably.

“You… come here often?”

You snort, “You hitting on me, Professor?”

“No! I just, I- you seem to know…” He gestures to Scotty who is doing the most stereotypical thing a barman can do: drying the inside of a pint glass with a microfiber towel.

“Scotty”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah I do come here often. Never this early though. And never with a teacher.”

He nods and attempts to take another sip. 

“So…” you lead, leaning your elbow on the bar, your cheek resting on your fist as you face him fully. “Talk to me. Tell me about this waking nightmare.”

He thumbs the rim of his glass, staring into the brown liquid. “The simple answer is; I’m a putz.”

“A what now?”

“A putz, it’s yiddish. It means I’m a jerk. A loser.” he takes a big sip, face protesting in a grimace. “I thought I was doing alright,” he shakes his head with a scrunched nose that has nothing to do with the alcohol, “turns out, I was a putz all along.”

“What makes you think that?”

He rubs at his tired eyes like he could wipe away this reality and exchange it for another. “I shouldn’t be talking to you about this.”

“I’ll have you know, I’m taking several psychology classes this semester, had my heart set on psychiatry, hence the anatomy class. Not so sure about it anymore, but I’m a pretty decent listener.”

“My wife has been having an affair.”

“Oh damn. I was afraid of that. Definitely above my pay grade, we need reinforcements. Scotty! Another round stat!” Scotty is lightning fast, god bless him, and you set the fresh cup beside the one he’s got curled in his hand. 

“You were saying?” 

Jonathan downs his first glass and rests his forehead on his palm, “My wife is in love with another man. She’s with him right now, on a work trip. They work together. Halfway across the world. She wants a divorce and my life is… over.”

“That is some shit. But I’m failing to see what makes you the putz in this situation.”

“You should see the guy she left me for,” he whistles and shakes his head, “a global businessman, 6 foot 2, nice suits, private jet, Poli. A real mensch. And me…” He waves his hand, presenting himself from head to toe, “…a putz”. 

“Poli? As in ‘want a cracker’?”

He snickers into his drink, you smile and nod. Laughing, good.

“I was dying to see what this guy looked like. I found him on social media, which I am not on… so I set up an fucking instagram account last night at 3am to find him and I went through the entire thing while Mira slept like a baby. Trust me, compared to him, I’m a putz.” 

You can picture it, him sitting on the floor of a nice bedroom, wife with lovely hair and a silk sleep mask; he’s verifying his email address through teary eyes and then doom scrolling on some fuckboy’s instagram; self esteem being bulldozed and finely ground into powdery sand. 

“You’re not a putz. They sound like the fucking putzes in this scenario.” 

“There were even couple-y photos from months ago on there. Just posted there, online, for everyone to see. I can hear Mira now, ’ Go ahead and post it, Poli. Jonathan won’t know, he doesn’t have an instagram, because he’s a putz.’”

“I’m going to need you to stop calling yourself that. And I’m going to need you to start getting angry at these fucking… schmucks? Is that the right word?” 

Jonathan considers and nods, “Sure”.

“Because these shmucks seem very selfish and gross. Getting played doesn’t make you a putz… or maybe it does. I’d need more time with the language to fully know I guess, but trust me anyway. You’re not a putz. You’re a mensch.” 

Jonathan hums with disbelief “I don’t know about that.”

“Honestly neither do I as I don’t speak yiddish. What’s a mensch?” 

“Mensch,” Jonathan balls his fist and grits his teeth, “a man, but,” he raises a finger and points it at you “an honorable man. Like my Saba- my grandpa. He was a mensch. Took care of his family, loved them to a fault. When he finally got money, he’d- haha, he would leave the needy families from temple envelopes of money, totally anonymous. Drove my Bubbie crazy. One of my first memories is her, in their living room, cursing up a storm because one of the families told her they saw him dropping the envelope at their door and wanted to repay him. Saba just read his newspaper and ignored her until she was finished with her rant. And then, I’ll never forget this, he folded up his newspaper very carefully, very slowly, and set it on his lap and said, ‘Matya’-that was her name- ‘Matya, do you not have everything you need? Hmm? Has God not blessed us beyond compare? If you want to complain to someone, then pray.’ He- Saba was a mensch.”

You nod thoughtfully. “You’re a mensch too.”

Jonathan scoffs, “you don’t even know me.”

“I know that I’ve been flashing you my pussy for the past month and you haven’t made a move.”

It’s bold, its unprecedented, you’re saying the unsaid thing- and it catches him off-guard mid sip and now he’s coughing up warm Jack Daniels. 

“So you have noticed. I’m flattered.” You smile ruefully and bat your eyes, honestly titillated at the blush creeping up his cheeks. 

He dries his chin with the back of his wrinkled sleeve, “Noticed? Of course I’ve noticed. You haven’t been exactly shy about it! I thought I was going crazy. But you just… kept doing it and God I’ve been…. Never mind.”

“No!” You slap his shoulder playfully, “you have to tell me! You’ve been what?”

Jonathan cant look at you when he admits, “I’ve been having to hide my erection behind textbooks like I’m fifteen fucking years old!” 

All you can do is smile, he’s embarrassed but he shouldn’t be. He’s not the one who has been brazenly exposing themselves for hours upon hours in a crowded classroom. 

“Why-“ he starts, stopping himself again, “why?”

You take a deep inhale, wishing you had something to occupy your fingers besides the short whiskey glass on the bar when you say, “Let’s just say, I’d never put on that kind of show for a man who I thought was a putz.”

“You have a crush on me.” He accuses with a tired smile. Cute fucking smile.

You waggle your eyebrows, “I do.” 

“Is it the teacher thing?”

“No, it’s more of a you thing.”

“So you’re not doing this to any other professors?”

“Ha! How well do you think that would go over in my Abnormal Psychology class?”

“I guess that would depend on who’s teaching?” He smile is so big right now, his eyes are so scrunched and his teeth show. He even reaches for the mixed nuts Scotty sat down between you. 

“For Ab Psych? Fletcher.”

“Gloria?”

“That’s the one. What are my odds? Think I can pull her?”

“I think you could pull just about anyone.”

“So could you.”

He shakes his head and chews thoughtfully. Clearly having some kind of debate upstairs you’re un-privy to.

“You’re not failing my class. I know because I’ve checked. That first day you...flashed me I checked your grades. 100%. So what’s the deal? Do you need some kind of letter of recommendation? The access codes to the Dean’s office? Are you after my money? Because I don’t really have much-”

“You have codes to the Deans office? His office is coded? Like Star Trek?”

“No, I don’t have codes, I’m just trying to figure out what this is, what you’re doing, cheering me up, hanging out with a-“

“Do not say putz, Jonathan I swear to god.” He puts his hands up defensively, and lowers them again, going for another fistful of cashews. “I like you. I think you’re sweet and sexy and I love the way you get all flustered but you still sneak glances. You’re… endlessly endearing. You’re kind, and thoughtful, and you care about your work. You always grant extensions, which is fucking benevolent. I’m getting wet just thinking about how fucking patient you are. And the clothes. God your stupid clothes. I love them so much. You look comfortable, comforting- like good leftovers. And I know that sounds… not like a compliment, but I am of the notion that Chinese take-out tastes so much better the next day.”

“You should never talk to Mira. You’d have nothing in common. At all.”

“That can’t be true.”

“She’s revolted by me, trust me. You don’t get shoved while you’re trying to hug your wife and not get deemed ‘revolting’”

You whistle at the embarrassing admission, “She sounds like a real cunt, just putting that out there. But she married you, didn’t she? So, at one point she must’ve loved you. And I bet her list of reasons why she fell for you- look a lot like mine. It’s not your fault. This shit just happens with people. We fall in love and we fall out of love, and if we are schmucks, then we destroy everything around us during the falling out portion of the cycle. You ever hear of the 7 year itch?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s science. You’re a good guy, so you probably don’t get it, but for the rest of us animals out here- we are disgusting perverts looking for someone to touch our genitals so we can feel important and loved and sexy, etcetera.”

“You’re not a pervert. You’re… bold, maybe. But not a pervert.”

“Ha! Bold. Good one. Agree to disagree, teach.” You take a few cashews from the bowl and chew as you ask, “so, any plans tonight? Besides getting some much needed sleep?”

“My parents have Ava for the evening, so no. God, how am I going to tell Ava?” He groans and clutches the roots of his hair with both hands, elbows propped up on the sticky bar.

“Who is Ava?”

“My daughter.”

“You have a kid?” You exclaim with a full mouth of partially masticated cashews. “That makes it so much worse!”

He turns his head slowly and eyes you and you know you just said The Wrong Thing. Idiot.

“Uhhh, sorry.”

“Nah, it’s alright. I know. It’s a mess.”

“So, Ava doesn’t know… have you told anyone else?”

“My friends already knew. For months, apparently,” he scoffs and takes another sip, “and I told my parents this morning when I dropped off Ava. I told them we had a fight, I didn’t tell them she’s planning on leaving me.”

“Hold the fuck up. Your friends knew? Jesus Christ, Jonathan.”

“I know. I can’t even commiserate with them because they’re polyamorous and-and that’s fine for them, I’m happy for them, but they just- don’t understand. You know, I’m so stupid, so so stupid- I used to think that they were crazy and unhappy because they would bicker and argue about their other lovers and I, stupidly, thought wow I’m so lucky to have such a stable monogamous relationship and I felt proud of that. Putz, I tell you.”

“Everytime you say putz I’m making you take a shot from here on out.”

Jonathan laughs heartily. Progress. 

You see a lightbulb go off in his head and he slaps the bar. “Dammit.”

“What?”

“I- it’s nothing. Shit.”

“Tell meee, you’ve told me everything else.”

“It’s nothing, I just forgot to pack Mira’s sound machine. She takes it on all her trips, she can’t sleep without it.”

“Excusemewhatthefuck? You forgot to pack? You packed her luggage?”

“Yeah. She was manic, she was having trouble.”

“The luggage she’s taking on her affair trip? The ‘goodbye forever’ bag?”

“That’s the one.”

“Wait, wait, wait;” you push your finger to your temple, “was this before or after she told you she was shacking up with the parrot man who shall not be named?”

Jonathan looks sheepish and admits, “After”.

“Oh dear lord, hallowed be thy name. Tell me you’re kidding.”

“I backed her bags for her yeah.”

He packed her luggage, after she said she was jet setting with her boyfriend. This poor fucking sap. What a mensch. Any other person would have packed up her stuff alright, and then thrown the boxes in the fucking Hudson. 

“You’re a good man, Jonathan. A good husband.” You pat his shoulder. “But there are some things that even Jack Daniels can’t cure and holyyyy shit, are you one of them.” 

He chuckles, “truly a lost cause, I know.”

“No, not a lost cause. But I do have a cure for what ails you.”

“Oh yeah? Let me guess- a bullet?” 

“Oh that was dark. But funny. And, no. I’m not going to murder you, I’m going to take you into the ladies room and suck your dick so hard that the Dyson company will have to revamp their vacuum technology. Think of it as a… karmic consolation prize for getting royally fucked over.”

The shocked look he gives you makes you consider that you might want to keep at the psychiatry classes after all, if only to save yourself some money in the future on therapy for your own perverted mind. 

“Can’t karma only be portioned out by the cosmos?”

Well, that wasn’t the answer you were expecting. He must think you’re joking.

“Oh he’s Jewish and Buddhist now. A man of many hats. I’m serious, Jonathan. I will suck your dick so good you forget about everything for at least…” you pretend to do calculations in you head “… 2 full minutes. And that is a stronger offer than even Mr. Daniels can make you.” 

“The bathroom? Here?”

“Sorry, I called the Ritz and their powder room is booked till next February. Yeah, the bathroom here… Or, second option: we go back to my dorm room. My roommate is cool, Aleesha. You know her from class! She’ll put on headphones and pretend we aren’t there. Lord knows I’ve done it for her enough times.”

“No! Absolutely not!”

“Okay… third option: we go back to your home- you know, the place where your wife ripped your heart out and scrubbed the floor with it? We go there and make love in the bed she’s never coming back to. Hows that sound?”

“First option.”

“First option. Excellent choice.” You down the rest of your drink and slam it purposefully to the rubber mat at Scotty’s station. Tossing a 20 next to it. You stand up and sling your bag over your shoulder, giving Scotty a wink. He just shakes his head at you, unloading the dishwasher. God bless him. 

You hold out your hand to Jonathan but when he doesn’t take it you lean in close to his ear and sing-song “I’m not wearing underwear”

His shoulders un-tense and he lets you lead him like a dog to the off-shooting hallway where you know there’s a single stall ladies room with a lock on the door. Not that you’d need to lock it anyway, there are no other women here as far as you know. But you lock it nonetheless as soon as you’re both safely inside. The walls are red like the twinkle lights at the bar and he looks equal parts tired and terrified.

Jonathan stands there like a blushing fucking virgin on a middle school dance floor, you can tell from the tent in his trousers that he’s raring to go, but all his other body parts seem to be speaking a different language entirely. 

“You going to kiss me, or should I get down on my knees first?”

“Kiss you. Definitely kiss you.”

His hands are purposeful and tender as they cradle your cheeks, the press of his lips is soft and unhurried and ultimately unbefitting the seamy surroundings. He tastes like your favorite cheap whiskey, lips slightly sticky with the sweetness, like the surface of every counter in this dump. 

You’re kissing your professor, absorbing the wordless lessons from his lips and his tongue as it naturally slips into your mouth. He is sweet and shy and searching. At first.

And then, all of a sudden he’s kissing you like he’s got something to prove, like he’s not the man who has been holding back from checking out your ass as you saunter out of his classroom. He is the man who has written tiny encouragements on your quizzes, all graded in red ink, all forgotten and stuffed in your bag, slung over your shoulder like a million secret love notes. 

You grab his messy curls in your hands, telling him with your fingers on his scalp that you’ve longed to do this, that you’ve longed to lick into him with abandon, that it wasn’t a game you were playing, but a long-con; comprised of temptation and adoration. That though you’re sorry he’s going through this bullshit, the timing couldn’t selfishly be fucking better and you invite him in with every suck of your lips, with every flick of your tongue to taste all the things he’s ever denied himself, because he does deserve it, and fuck anyone who doesn’t think so. 

You push his back into the peeling red wallpaper between the sink and the latched door, your lips leaving his lips and traversing away from his heavy breath and fogged spectacles, down the softness of his beard, to kiss open mouthed at his neck. His hands feel like they’re everywhere at once; smooth on your back, rough in your hair, tender along your cheekbone. And the relieved moans coming from his throat serenade you in an encompassing tenor as you unbutton his awful wrinkled top- the one he probably slept and cried in the previous evening. 

You push the objectionable fabric from his shoulders, it falls to the floor, the floor that you know hasn’t been mopped in months, and you kiss your way down, down his unencumbered form; cherishing every new landscape. You read his body like fingers on Braille, like chalk on a board; you go so far south that you’re forced onto your knees and you can see the protestations on his face- because he is a good man. You can read it all like the eye of a projector lens. To him you are too precious for debasement. But it isn’t debased if it is desired, and you fucking desire it. 

The linoleum is harsh on your bare knees and you’re very aware of your lack of underwear at this moment because despite the heat inside of you, your wetness is exposed to the freon cold and the coldness spreads thinly down the insides of your thighs the longer you lick at the trail of hair above his waistband.  

 You unbuckle the flimsy vintage belt from his corduroy pants and chuckle to yourself at how much he compared himself to this Poli fucker. With his ‘good suits’. There could be nothing sexier to you than the exact version of the man stood before you. You don’t tell him this, instead you press your face to his corduroy clothed crotch and inhale deeply. You want to smell and appreciate the lust he’s hidden from you, the hardness he’s kept tame in his pants at the thought of you. All the joys he’s denied himself, you acknowledge and respect. You breathe the musky cravings into your lungs and luxuriate in them.

He smooths his hands along your hairline and you sigh, kissing at his tented hardness. 

“Fuck, you’re incredible.” His lips are parted in awe, eyes half lidded with lust and exhaustion.

“I haven’t even started yet” you say as you unbutton, unzip and slowly pull down his two layers along his firm thighs. His cock bobs out, thick and hard and… uncut? Well, well, well. 

“This is… interesting.” You muse as you stroke him easily with your desperate hand. You revel in the sight of his clear precum dripping over the top of his dark foreskin. 

“I’ll,” he gasps, “tell you all about my parents feud with the Mohel later if you want, just… please, fuck.”

“No skin off my nose…. And no skin off your cock for that matter.”

“Think you’re real fucking cute don’t you?” Ohhh, he’s wrecked, isn’t he? Probably hasn’t gotten blown in a long fucking time and based on his choice of words, some animal within has taken the helm and you couldn’t be more thrilled. 

You smile up at him, licking the bead as it dribbles down his shaft. “I know I am.” 

Before you take him into your mouth you tell him, “Jonathan, I don’t want you to be gentle. Don’t be shy” you kiss the side of his shaft, “not here. Not ever again. Fuck my mouth like you’re fucking my mouth in a dirty bar bathroom. Hold my hair,”  you demand. 

And without a second’s hesitation, his fist comes to curl in the roots of your scalp, he grips tightly when you’re finally on him, enveloping his hardness with your pliant little mouth. His short nails scrape the top of your head and you marvel at how easy it was for him to follow direction this time, where every time before he dragged his fucking feet. But now? Right now? He’s guiding your skull up and down his shaft leisurely, like he’s done this a million times. 

Jonathan’s stunted breathing fills the air of the cramped little washroom and its so different from the controlled expression of his hands in your hair. He is close already. The way is hardness grows ever more substantial under your tongue as he fucks your throat, the pushy rasping of air betrays the calculated thrusts of his hips. You can tell he wants to gallop to the edge, but there’s something about the way he reigns it in that is intriguing to you. Perhaps he doesn’t want it to end. Maybe he is trying in vain to savor every fleck of pleasure, terrified he will never have your soft hair under his fingers again. Never have your pliant willing mouth at his disposal after today. Because to him, today is a fluke, a miscast, an undoing; and every bit of you that he thinks belongs to him, was never really his to begin with. 

But he’s wrong, he’s wrong about himself and what he thinks he’s worth; and you tell him as much when you beg him to cum in your mouth, you beg him not with words, but with tongue and lips to taste him- you beg, relaxing your throat and sucking down sweetly with every pull-back, to have his spend on your tongue. You dig your nails into his buttocks, and force your mouth down so hard that your chin gets tickled by his balls. You want it down your throat. In a simultaneously sick and caring way, you want him to be able to walk through the front door of his broken home a changed man- impervious to the jagged edges of the wreckage his wife left behind. 

You want him to think less of her when he thinks of you. Its not honorable, but it is honest. And god you really don’t want to be thinking about his faceless wife as he cums down your throat, but that’s life, baby and you’re beyond caring. If there was ever any doubt of your pervert status, there isn’t anymore. You’re getting your throat fucked by your still technically married professor, in a bar bathroom at 5 o’clock on a Tuesday. They might just put you in the pervert hall of fucking fame. 

He clutches your scalp and you can see the unforgiving way his bottom lip quivers as he shudders and empties himself in the warm give of your pliant mouth. 

He pulsates hot thick semen onto your tongue. It drips down into your belly via your relaxed throat and you suck gently on his lickable foreskin as he braces his strong palm against the sharpie stained bolted mirror. You can make out “Lonnie 4 evR” between his thumb and index finger. His whole hot, sweat slicked body shivers as he flexes over your kneeling form. 

You could tongue him for hours if he’d let you, suckling the shrinking head of his uncut cock, but he pulls out; shaking, sensitive, and self conscious. He kneels on the floor to be at your level, his corduroy pants still covering his knees and shins but he’s bare everywhere else. He embraces you and you cradle him in a ruby red dream, a scarlet ship in the sea of the nightmare that has become his life. In this locked little room, nothing feels real but who cares- who fucking cares about what’s real? Reality is fucked, reality is so much messier than this sticky bathroom floor. He clutches your torso like a pillow and twists his hands in your hair like legs in sheets. 

-

Holy fuck, he thinks. He usually falls asleep after he cums, his body trained through years of fisting himself in the en suite at midnight, and he is so fucking tired he’s worried he might pass out in your arms. You’ll leave him here; he’s certain, here on the floor, unconscious. A student will eventually find him here, trousers at his ankles, and he’ll lose his job on top of everything else he’s lost today. But you’re scratching his back lightly and not budging an inch under his heavy embrace, and he can’t bring himself to worry that you’ll leave him. You wouldn’t do that.

-

You twist yourself within the crush of his gratitude and kiss the tip of his lovely nose. His hair no longer looks like its been pulled from frustration, but from passion; and his red eyes are no longer haggard but dopey with relief. He smiles widely and chuckles with disbelief, planting his forehead on your clavicle. 

“I haven’t gotten a blow job in… I don’t know, at least 3 years?” He sounds giddy and he laughs against your chest. 

“You poor mensch.”

“That was… amazing. You know- I didn’t think this was where the day was going to take me but…. Shit. Honey.” He’s still shaking, pawing at the back of your top and kissing your sternum. “You’re going to make one hell of a psychiatrist, you know.”

You stroke his hair and kiss the top of it and giggle. “If that’s psychiatry, then I want my student loans cancelled.” 

He shakes his head. “That was the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

“I’m nothing if not a philanthropist. Now get up and get dressed, we should call you a cab.”

“My car is in the staff lot.”

“And there it shall remain.”

He tilts his head to look up at you, the heaviest eyelids you’ve ever seen behind crooked glasses. 

“You don’t want me to return the favor? I’d really fucking like to return the favor. Been dreaming about putting my head up your skirt for a month straight.”

You rub your palms up the warm smooth flesh of his chest. His offer is tempting, very very fucking tempting. You’re wetter than a rainforest, but he’s so very tired, and there will be other bars, other bathrooms, more anatomy classes. Besides, this was for him. “Keep dreaming, professor. No offense but you look half dead right now and I’m not into necrophilia.”

He blinks slowly at you a couple times before agreeing, “That’s fair.” 

He straightens his glasses and braces himself against the wall to stand. He offers you his hand and he hoists you up. You help him button up his shirt that, thankfully, has no visible stains from the dubious floor. Once he’s all zipped up, you check yourselves in the marked up mirror. You’ve got a bit of smudged mascara and your hair is, well, very tangled at the roots, but you pull yourselves together well enough to not draw too much attention when you exit and make your way back over to Scotty. If anyone noticed or cared about your dual emerge from the ladies room, they sure do play it cool. 

“Scotty, you grabbed his bag, yeah?” You brace your hands on the bar, giving Scotty a winning smile. 

Scotty says nothing but stoops to reach under the bar for Professor Levy’s bag and hands him the leather sack over the bar. Scotty is always on it. What a peach. 

“Thanks…” Jonathan had obviously forgotten that he’d left his bag behind when he followed you to the bathroom. Scotty gives him a single nod. 

Jonathan nudges your shoulder and whispers, “can you ask him if he has my mug?”

“You didn’t bring your mug today, remember?”

“No.”

“Well you didn’t.” You slap a fiver on the rubber mat for Scotty. “One more favor, Scotty, can you call this mensch a cab?” You wink at Jonathan who doesn’t seem to catch what you’ve said. He’s leaning on the wooden top, eyelids curtaining and it seems a miracle that he’s still upright. To most people, especially within the context of the bar, it’d probably look like he was drunk, but you know that he’s nodding and swaying from exhaustion.

You face him and put your hands on his hips, hugging his middle. He raises his eyebrows like that’s going to help prevent the closing of his heavy lids.

“I’d love to stay and see you off, but I gotta go- I have a psych group project and if I don’t leave now, they’re going to put my name at the bottom of the power point. You know that’s the death row. And since, as we established, I’m not showing my chocha to Gloria, I doubt she’ll be as lenient as you might be.” 

He nods and waves you off off of him, “I’ll be fine, go, go.”

You step away from your casual embrace tentatively. “Yeah? Because you look like you’re about to fall over.”

“I was standing before you were born.” He smiles, amused with himself and fuck if he isn’t the cutest thing.

You’re about to leave but then you remember… “Oh- one more thing”, You reach into the front pocket of your bag and pull out a handful of red lace, bunching it in your fist you covertly shove it into the front pocket of his loose corduroy trousers. Not even Scotty saw that move. 

Jonathan eyes you quizzically and reaches into his pocket and when he feels what it is, his eyes go even more dopey, if that’s possible. 

“Thank you.” There’s a gravity behind those two little words that feels weightier than cheap lace panties. 

“You’re welcome. See you tomorrow professor.” You wink at him at him and wave goodbye, turning on your heel, heading for the door- bag slung over your shoulder. You hope to christ you remembered to pack the the ab psych notes for Aleesha or she’s going to bite your damn head off.

With one foot out in the sunlight you turn around to call, “Bye, Scotty! Take care of him, and make sure he gets his cab.” 

Scotty gives you a thumbs up from behind the bar, landline receiver at his ear, already calling the yellow taxi. Fucking champ. 

-------

I tagged people who asked and others who I thought would be interested. 

@roanniom @jedi-mando @santiagogarcia @supernovafeather @paper-n-ashes @veuliee @soyelfuegoquearde @montygirl @wyn-dixie @witchyavenger @writefightandflightclub @isvvc-pvscvl  @picklesgoose @mylifeisactuallyamess  @general-latino @winniedaboo96-blog @youvebeenlivingfictional @aerolanya @tlcwrites @revolution-starter @mariesackler @millllenniawrites @woakiees @dreamingindigital @writing-in-april @nowritingonthewall @waatermelon-sugaar @pumpkin-stars @kesskirata @budcooper @kikis-writing-world @blackberries45 @teacore-hunny  @beepboopyoda @jellybelle @hotchlover-blog  @ophelialoveshandsomemen  @samspade @emilykjh @writefightandflightclub @gottalovethefandom @temptressofwaikiki​ @mstgsmy​ @brandyllyn​ @autumnleaves1991-blog​ @abelslittlebunny​ @moon-kn1ght​

[songforten]

okay actually i rewatched potd the other day and. i have so many gripes with that episode. so many. but what really got me is how like. inconsequential 13's death feels, and not inconsequential in the right way.

honestly 13's regeneration feels a LOT like 10's, but missing all of the beats that made 10's work. let me explain:

(under a cut because HOLY SHIT this got long. don't let classicists write dr who meta)

both 10's and 13's regenerations are prophesied to them. ten gets the woman in planet of the dead, carmen, who says "he will knock four times." thirteen gets the Literal Incarnation Of Time telling her, "beware of the forces that mass against you. and their master."

both their regenerations happen after a short-ish period of time, at least for a time lord. 10 regenerates after only a handful of years, a decade at most, and 13 spends the majority of her life in prison for decades. that's nothing!! 11 and 12 both had centuries.

ten cheating regeneration with tentoo and then regenerating a few episodes later anyway 🤝 thirteen cheating regeneration after being forced into being the master and then back again and then dying almost immediately after anyway

they both almost make it out!! but they don't, and it's heartbreaking!

what's different between them, to me, is their reactions to their deaths. a lot of people who don't like rtd era/ten complain about the scene where he has a breakdown before saving wilf, complaining that he's being whiny or whatever, but in my mind, he has every right to be whiny and upset. regeneration is a death, as established earlier in the episode. it's hard, starting over again and again and again, becoming someone new, especially when he's only had this body for a couple of years AND he believes his next body is his last.

yknow why he's upset in that scene? because he could just walk away. he could just let wilf take the fall, let one, inconsequential old man die, and go off and have adventures forever. but it's not a choice for him. because he's the doctor, and the doctor would never, ever take the other choice. he was always going to save wilf. there's no world in which he didn't.

but he's scared of dying. he's scared of change. he's lost everyone he's ever loved in this body, often in horrible, unchangeable ways. and it's a sad story. but it's an incredibly narratively satisfying one, because it's a culmination of ten's entire arc. he lost his way, broke all his own rules, and was punished heavily for it, but in the end, he still does the right thing, because at their core, the doctor is a good person.

there's a running theme in just about pretty much all of doctor who from 1963 onwards that every single person is important and every life matters. 9 dies to save rose, but is also prepared to die permanently to save the human race. 10 dies to save wilf. 11, after centuries of running away from responsibilities and problems, settles down to protect one town on one planet, accepting he will die for good there. 12 dies to save a handful of people on a ship--"maybe not many, maybe not for long"--accepting all of this might be for nothing, but he does it because it's the right thing to do. because it's kind. the doctor does these things, lays down their lives one right after another because they are fundamentally a kind person.

13 lets people sacrifice themselves for her. multiple times. like. four different people she BARELY knows sacrifice themselves for her (i.e. the derry girls grandpa in "the timeless children" and the one pirate guy in "legend of the sea devils"). and she LETS them. i'm not saying this as a gripe against her, but rather, the writing that doesn't consider those lives important.

people sacrifice themselves for other doctors, of course, it happens all the time. to keep using ten as an example, river is one, and that prickish kid from the sontaran episodes, but he doesn't LET them. they don't give him that choice. and when he IS given that choice, to let someone "inconsequential" die in his place, he doesn't take it.

and then the way 13 does die just feels so... nothing. the master's angry at her, so he aims a large and slow moving Beam at her, and she basically stands there while it hits her. and that's it. honestly i would have been much happier with it if they said it was a product of the forced regeneration from earlier. that would have made a lot more sense. but the whole thing with the qorunx (is that what it's called??) just feels so... last minute. like they forgot that she needed to die at the end of the episode so they just shoved something in. it feels like an afterthought.

yaz's exit feels the same way. you're telling me she fought for four years in the past to get back to the doctor, and now she's just leaving because the doctor is regenerating? it feels like yaz and the doctor both had endings because the narrative said they needed endings, not because their character arcs had come to a satisfying close.

they deserved better. yaz deserved an exit that was fair to her as a character. the doctor deserved a death that mattered. and she deserved to be more upset about her death.

she gets a little bit, just a taste, of an emotional moment: "No. No. That's not right. I need more time. I want more time!", before immediately accepting her death and coming to terms with it. "And I have loved being me," she says. but me, as a viewer who cares about characterization and storytelling, asks, "have you?"

because 13 spent more time of this life IN PRISON than out of it. her life outside was never easy, either, she rarely got moments of true happiness. hell, in this regeneration, she found out her entire life was a lie!

...but she loved being her?

i think 13 should have gotten to be angry and upset that she wasn't given those moments of peace or happiness. she didn't get a lot of time being her, and the time she did get was fraught and difficult and painful. she should have gotten to be upset about not having more time for more than 0.2 seconds. she should have been allowed to be afraid of dying. or at least upset about dying.

i don't know. i don't know if this post is at all coherent but i'm just really disappointed in potd and my rewatch really cemented that. it didn't have the emotional resonance that i wish it did. it felt rushed, overstuffed, and, much like the rest of chibnall era, not well thought out.

[aadmelioraa]

Monday Morning thought - gosh do you ever think of Isildur as a Tolkienesque Prometheus-figure. Like the ring as the fire but also the sapling as the fire and the fucking volcano presence in both narratives.

I'm afraid if I start actually reading these books I'll die a death-induced-by-foaming-at-the-mouth-over-literary-characters.

OOOOH!! I hadn't thought about that exact comparison before but it's interesting because rather than stealing in defiance of divinity, when it comes to the fruit of Nimloth Isildur is sort of stealing…out of devotion to the divine? Or in defiance of a particular demigod, who wanted the tree destroyed? But both his choice and Prometheus' can absolutely be framed as the epitome of human striving, reaching with every bit of strength for better things, providing hope for others at great personal cost...and then when it comes to keeping the ring, 100% is a similar instance of unintended tragic consequences. Also the volcano stuff...yeah, shit.

You got me all worked up about the symbolism angle here, so apologies for what follows. The white tree of Númenor is a direct descendent of Telperion, the elder of two trees of Valinor, whose light is used to create the moon after the tree itself is destroyed by Morgoth…Isildur, servant of the moon, is essentially (as in, by his essence) bound to this living thing, his life and its life are tied up in each other for almost 200 years, and he refuses to let the line of the tree end, it’s like a fucking compulsion for him from the initial instance…there’s something about his unquestioning commitment that makes me insane. Stealing the fruit in the first place is such a batshit crazy thing to do, no one asked him to do it, no one said it had to be done, he just fucking left home in the middle of the night on a suicide mission, he may not have even known why but he knew he had to save a piece of this tree. It's fucking unhinged!! He almost DIES…he should have died!! But then the fruit of the tree takes root, and it lives, and so he lives. And that cycle is repeated, Isildur brings the sapling to Middle-earth and plants it in the city where his family makes their home. Then he saves a sapling of that tree when Sauron attacks them there (I imagine this is nearly as reckless a situation as the first one, but JRRT was short on the details here as with most things from this period). Looking at it from Sauron’s POV, poor little dark lord just can't catch a break, maybe all he really wants is this tree gone and a weird feral king with a very specific gardening fixation refuses to let that happen. Sauron lost his fair form when Númenor went under, but Isildur and his family and this fucking tree make it out, and continue to survive...if I were Sauron I might take that personally too lmao. 

Isildur faces so many defeats and losses between the time he steals the fruit in Númenor and his own death (and the loss of the ring), but he ensures the sapling makes it out every time. The last time he plants it, it's in memory of his brother (I won’t cry about this, I won’t cry about this, I won’t). Then Anárion’s line survives, along with the line of the tree, in Gondor, and they're the stewards who hold off the forces of Mordor for generations while everyone else is off doing their own shit. 

Ultimately, Isildur is someone who is trying to make the right choices all the time, and the worst part is he does make them consistently, even later in his life, based on the information he has access to, only to die alone tragically, knowing most of the people who he loves have died too. He kept the ring as WEREGILD, before anybody comes into my notifications with snark and pj!Elrond memes…I am forever bitter that decision was framed in the movies as anything other than the choice of a broken-hearted man trying to do right by his people and the loved ones he’d lost.

Anyway, I would love to hear if you do read the books, I have been foaming the mouth over these characters for two decades off and on and I'm still going strong...not sure if that's more a recommendation or a warning lol. I got very off topic here, sorry lol. He’s just so [incoherent screaming]

[see-arcane]

Clarimonde: the Comic

You may or may not know about my most beloved classic vampire lady of all time, my undead Parisian party queen, Clarimonde. She was written to unlife by Théophile Gautier in 1836, long before Carmilla and Dracula were kicking. Recently, I picked up a copy of Shudder--basically a descendant/knockoff of the old EC Comics horror schlock--and guess what?

They adapted Clarimonde!

(Warning for naked times and sexy devil fantasizing.)

Clarimonde: Quit your God

Romuald: Why?

Clarimonde: Join my hedonism crew

Man, puberty picked a terrible time to catch up to this guy. Blah, blah, cut some pages describing him moving to the countryside to do priest things, he gets word that Clarimonde’s on her deathbed:

Gautier, under his breath, cramming every line with the most textual subtext he can: Well Now, Mr. Abbott, How the Fuck Do YOU Know* All This? :)

*Assuming you know it and aren’t spinning bullshit based on your own Frollo daydreams! We never get to know! Convenient!

I mean, I’d be gone too. No judgment, buddy

Note: In the short story she tries to be subtle about it, seeming to only prick him with a needle some nights to sip a little. We know its her nibbling him in the real world, but even so, she tries to be careful with him. Of course, it can’t last forever...

I’ve always theorized that the reason she crumbled so easily was the fact that she really was taking far, far less than she would/should have when feeding on Romuald--she was likely building up to a conversion, but got just as lost as him in building the dreamscape fantasy life for them, trying to be gentle. The spectral reappearance suggests she bounces back from the holy spritzing (after all, it’s no heart staking/head-chopping combo) and takes her heartbroken leave...

...While Romuald, (who is, again, An Actual Priest, holy shit, Gautier), is left regretting he ever let the Abbott end her and ruin the life and love he’d made with her, ‘unholy’ as it was.

No guesses as to why this is one of my favorite vampire stories, let alone tragic love stories. Clarimonde is powerful. Clarimonde is sensual, attractive, and a pleasure-seeker as much as pleasure-giver. Clarimonde is unholy in both character and species, especially for a woman.

But Clarimonde is still treated as sympathetic. Even in her crooked manner of trying to be with Romuald while still in her death-state, even in trying to win him from God* (*all the restrictions of Christianity and proper propriety), even when the Abbott tries to paint her in full Lilith-level bacchanal evil...Gautier says no. 

She is all the things we’re not supposed to want, and Romuald loves her, and he’s miserable for letting her be slain, and we feel bad at her loss and departure.

It’s the kind of thing you’d expect to see in a period piece written today, not all the way back in the 1830s. And I love it so, so much. Do give it a read here on Project Gutenberg when you have a chance!

[critical-thinking-is-mandatory]

I posted 1,408 times in 2022

391 posts created (28%)

1,017 posts reblogged (72%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@jacquesthepigeon

@critical-thinking-is-mandatory

@hella-marshmella

@blueberry-macaron

@emberwritesinsight

I tagged 780 of my posts in 2022

Only 45% of my posts had no tags

#asks - 251 posts

#anonymous - 228 posts

#ml salt - 218 posts

#adrien salt - 131 posts

#ml writers salt - 115 posts

#ml creators salt - 79 posts

#ml fandom salt - 55 posts

#ml - 49 posts

#not ml - 48 posts

#marinette - 26 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#and if i went around pretending that say. fucking felix is a misunderstood uwu angel baby darling that would be taking away every single th

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Makes you wonder how Lila's even so likeable when all she does is brag about all her "achievments" and throws pity parties for herself for all the struggles she's had to overcome. Irl a person like her would be f*cking exhausting, and that's regardless of whether they would even be lying or not about their amazing life.

irl, people like that are some of the most despised people I've ever come across. I've had the immense displeasure of knowing several through my life and holy shit. the novelty wears off very, very quickly. especially when the person who makes everything about themself and their problems and their achievements and me me me all. the. time. never does anything for anyone else.

Lila never does anything beyond "wah help me or you're a bad person" and that does not ingratiate a lot of people to you. she makes everyone else carry her stuff, she doesn't hang out at group events, she doesn't invite anyone to her home, she doesn't organise outings, or take notes for anyone else, she doesn't even seem the type to wish anyone a happy birthday nevermind give them a card or present or cake! tack on the lying, which any ordinary 13/14 year old kid would be happy enough to demand proof for, and you have a classmate who is: unhelpful, selfish, self centered, annoying, and untrustworthy. like??

that's not even getting into the fact that, from the class' pov, Lila is flaunting her wealth and connections and making promises that are never delivered upon. regardless of whether or not she's lying that's pretty annoying and disappointing.

like, i get we're supposed to think Lila is some kind of genius manipulator but like?? she's no Azula, and even then, Azula was betrayed by the people closest to her so... even someone who has power and real manipulative skill and the capacity to follow through on her threats still could not remain ingratiated to her only friends forever.

and Lila? she doesn't have any power, or anyway to follow through with her threats other than with middle school bullying. her time in the spotlight is running out, and when it does she is gonna be the most hated kid in school.

252 notes - Posted April 30, 2022

#4

Speaking of time travel powers, here’s a few things that rabbits are commonly associated with to draw power from, instead of doing an alice in wonderland rip off.

Good luck. Lucky rabbit’s foot anyone? The Rabbit could activate a power where the recipient has unbelievable good luck for a short period.

Fertility/rebirth/spring time. Rebirth could easily work to give the Rabbit a healing power or some kind of restoration. Healing people from Akuma influence perhaps?

Being really, really fast. Kinda self-explanatory.

Alertness/watchfulness. Possibly a foil to the Fox, an ability to see through tricks and illusions.

This is literally like. From maybe 10 minutes of research and thought. And already I’ve got 4 powers and none of them are time travel. Time travel is the number one thing you want to avoid if you don’t want plot holes in your story. But yeah, sure, let’s just make the Rabbit have a power off of the white rabbit’s obsession with being late, sure. Soooooo clever. 🙄

278 notes - Posted March 14, 2022

#3

A continuation of this post :)

Ladybug wasn't usually this early to patrols, an unfortunate consequence of her busy lifestyle and general scatter brained tendencies. But today, she decided it was vital she was early. Patrol had consumed Marinette's mind all day, the events of last night shadowing her every thought, every action.

She couldn't believe Chat. The- the sheer entitlement of how he felt about her, the way he had treated a civilian who demanded an explanation, who demanded better. She’d taken the matter to Fu and he had been as horrified as she. Marinette had her orders, and though she resented the idea, she’d offered a compromise. Marinette would talk to Chat, and if he atoned, the punishment would be reduced. She could only hope Chat would admit his mistake, and come forth as his real self, as honest and kind and valiant. Chat’s actions last night left her reeling in disbelief.

But more than that she couldn't believe herself. To act out her frustration and anger on Chat it was so unlike her! And maybe she had overreacted a tiny bit... Chat worked really hard after all! He was always there when Ladybug needed saving, or when she needed a shoulder to cry on...or when... Ladybug dragged her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them. She couldn't really think of anything else Chat Noir did...but that didn't matter! He was her friend and her partner, it was out of line of her to confront him like that, no matter how she was feeling.

But the way he spoke to a civilian last night...a hero should know better. Ladybug shook herself. It wasn't productive to dwell on such thoughts. Chat Noir was her partner, maybe Marinette really was just acting like a brat.

"My Lady!" At the call Ladybug flipped her yoyo open and checked the time. Chat Noir was an entire hour early to patrol. She sighed. She envied how much spare time he had.

"Hello Kitty," Ladybug said. She unfolded her knees and leaned back, looking at Chat over her shoulder. "Are you always this early to patrol?"

Chat Noir sat lightly beside Ladybug, so close they were almost touching. She inched to the side. He followed.

"Of course M'lady! I'd never miss a moment of your company." Chat leaned in, eyelids lowered in a gaze Ladybug assumed was meant to be debonair. "And why does my dearest lady sit alone so early on this fine evening? Hoping to have some extra...Chat Noir time, perhaps?"

"I was hoping to speak to you, actually," Ladybug said. Chat perked up at that, his ears pricked and his tail curled into a heart. The sight would've been funny if she hadn't seen the way he spoke to her civilian self last night.

"Finally ready to confess your love? Let's do it with a kiss." Chat Noir puckered his lips, closed his eyes and leaned in so close Ladybug could see each individual eyelash, blond and pale against the black of his mask.

"Actually I wanted to talk to you about last night." Chat drew back, blinking open startled eyes. His lips were still puckered for a kiss. With the wide, gaping eyes and puckered lips, Ladybug found her partner looking rather more like a fish than a cat.

He recovered quick enough, adopting a toothy grin, running a hand through his hair like some kind of cartoon bad boy. "Oh really? Were you that impressed by my performance? Wait until you see how I perform on a date." Chat finished his declaration with a wink that was beginning to feel smarmy and Ladybug was fighting the urge to call it quits and go home.

"I mean, Chat, that I saw you and that civilian girl talking last night. After we fought Gigantitan," Ladybug said. She glanced at Chat through the corner of her eye, noting to herself the way his spine stiffened and his smile was bordering on pained looking.

"Oh, you know how fans are M'lady," he gave a flippant wave of his hand. "She declared her love to me and I tried, so hard to let her down gently, but she just reacted like a crazy person. Accusing me of all sorts of heinous lies, y'know."

This? This was Chat Noirs explanation? He just...just lied! Right to her face! He. Lied. Ladybug gripped her yoyo so tight that if it weren't magic, it surely would have shattered. She worked her jaw as Chat continued rambling, lying about the conversation as easy as breathing. God, and she thought Lila was bad.

"And, well, when that crazy girl started accusing me of being selfish when just moments before she was throwing herself at me, begging to be my girlfriend, well..." Chat Noir grinned and shrugged. "You have to tell those freaks exactly where to shove it, am I right?"

Ladybug's eye twitched. That. Was. It. Marinette hadn't been too hard on Chat Noir last night, not in the slightest! No, no Marinette was going to give Chat a piece of her mind. And Marinette thought Fu was being too hard on Chat! Well, Chat Noir won’t know what’s hit him by the time Ladybug is through with him.

But first.

"Why are you lying to me?" Chat went deathly silent. Ladybug had only murmured the question, but it still seemed to have the impact of an asteroid.

"Bugaboo, you know I would never lie to you! We're partners, would I ever, ever betray your trust by lying to you?" Chat pressed a hand to his chest and directed sad, teary eyes at her. Ladybug’s stomach twisted. She knew this was a bad idea, but it was too late to back down now.

"I was there, Chat, I heard every last word. And that girl never 'threw herself' at you. You're lying. You know I hate liars." Chat Noir lowered Ladybug with a look of condescending concern. It was familiar in a way that made her skin crawl, she had seen that same, patronising look time and time again but where?

Chat Noir tutted and flicked a stone off the ledge with a careless flair. "M'lady I think your ears are failing you, you misheard. That did happen. Maybe you should get your hearing checked. I know a great-"

"And there you go again!" Ladybug shouted. She stood, threw herself to her feet really. Her body trembled with every ounce of unbridled rage she was feeling. "You're still lying to me!" Chat Noir’s ears pinned back and he gaped up at her like she’d struck him.

Chat Noir stood slowly, eyes on Ladybug, and clamped his hands tight on her shoulders.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he murmured, voice welling sincerely. He gave Ladybug a gentle shake. “M’Lady, you’re acting like a crazy person, I have no idea what you’re talking about. You must be seeing and hearing things.”

Ladybug gaped at Chat Noir, turning his words over in her brain. She knew what happened last night, she was there. She slapped Chat Noir. Papa had held her while she cried, she stood there while Chat Noir told her, told a civilian that they should have stayed dead. He was just treating her like an idiot now.

Ladybug wrenched herself out of Chat Noir’s grip, lowering her hardest glare at his teary eyes.

“Chat Noir.” She took a deep, shaking breath to calm her nerves. “You have let your feelings for me take priority over your duty to the civilians of Paris. Your treatment of the Dupain-Cheng girl last night was abhorrent, no hero should ever tell a civilian that they should have been left to die. And above all else, you have the nerve to lie about it to my face.” Ladybug held her open palm out to Chat Noir. “The Guardian of the Miraculous agrees with me. You are no longer fit to hold a Miraculous, and are hereby ordered to surrender the ring of the Black Cat.”

@naruwitch @natedogx15

294 notes - Posted February 25, 2022

#2

It's bizarre that the deuteragonist (Adrien) has basically been replaced by his love rival (Luka), his ex-girlfriend (Kagami), and his ""antagonist"" (Felix). Like, they make the parallel better than the original. His "calming" attitude, his social "awkwardness," and his "justified" anger have all been done better as separate characters.

Literally!! The creators are doing absolutely everything they can to make Adrien the bestest person ever except actually. Write a character who is kind, awkward and brimming with righteous anger who happens to be called Adrien Agreste.

Felix has all the connections with Hawk Moth and Mayura, plus the initiative to investigate them 2 episodes into his career.

Kagami is the awkward rich kid fencing prodigy struggling to make friends.

Luka is the genuinely sweet and charming love interest with just a hint of mystery.

Everything we're told Adrien is, these three show us without fanfare.

306 notes - Posted January 21, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Adrien never puts any effort into his relationships with people. He's always handed things or having people do things for him. You have no idea how much I want the others to realize this and rethink their friendships with Adrien, but I know it's never gonna happen.

you said it, bestie. like, all relationships are a two-way street but Adrien's written in such a way that like, people adore him for doing fuck-all. like.

in Origins Nino becomes Adrien's bff because...............they sit next to each other.

Chloe chases after Adrien because he's rich and a model. neither of which are like. even within Adrien's control.

Marinette is obsessed with Adrien because he gave her a speech and an umbrella like, one time.

Kagami???? WHY does Kagami like Adrien? he is like wet bread. no backbone, no true drive or passion. because they're fencing partners??? that alone is not a solid basis for friendship, nevermind dating.

the rest of the class? they like Adrien because....he's Adrien.

like i'll give Gabriel and Emeilie a pass for their weird infatuation because that's kinda what parents are meant to be like (kinda). they're meant to love their kid no matter what (again Gabriel, kinda).

but friends? like Adrien's just floating through life all la-di-dah until he needs to cry about something and everyone rushes to comfort him because....The Script Said So. come on. what a weak-ass friend Adrien is.

when did Adrien ever plan Nino's birthday? or help with a party or a picnic? hell, he straight up ditched his friends in Glaciator because Maribug didn't want to go on a date. what kind of weak-sauce, limp-spined, lily-livered chump friend is that?

anyway Adrien ought to be a better friend or everyone else ought to move on to better pastures. but that will never happen because aDrIKinS iS PeRfECt

386 notes - Posted August 10, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[shemarmooresfedora]

Collision Course

Summary: You and Spencer were just bound to collide. Only fate could plan a first meeting that unique.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Content/Warnings: fluff, minor car crash (no serious injuries), swearing, sexual harassment (specifically cat-calling from a stranger), mentions of eating a lot of food, implied allusion to sex (not specifically stated)

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: this is my one-shot entry for @ellesgreenaway ‘s 1k follower celebration! congratulations! <3 i’ve had this fic in my drive for a while but i never got around to finishing it until now

Masterlist

The metro was down for scheduled repairs today. JJ offered to bring Spencer in but he politely declined. He figured he should drive his car at least every once and a while so it doesn’t just collect rust in his parking spot.

Leaving his apartment 15 minutes earlier than he normally would to account for his rather slow driving, Spencer cautiously reversed out of his space.

He sighed in relief that he had not hit the neighboring cars. Spencer began to pull out of the parking garage. Unfortunately, he was so relieved from his little victory that he forgot to check both ways when he drove out of the parking garage.

Spencer slammed on the brakes but it was too late. He hit a young woman jogging and knocked her to the ground. Luckily, his average speed was that of a snail so he hoped her injuries were not too bad.

Spencer put the car in park and got out, “Oh god, oh god, oh god. Are you okay, miss?”

“I think so,” you were on the ground, assessing your body for any damage.

“Can you stand?” Spencer extended his hand to help you up.

You carefully stood, wincing a little when you put pressure on your left ankle.

“Is there anyone I can call? Do you want me to drive you to the ER?” Spencer frantically asked.

Your eyes widened, “No!” you stated a little too loudly, “Um I mean no thank you. I should finish my run anyways. I have a 5k for Alzheimer’s research coming up and I need to run or else I don’t raise any money,” you politely waved and took off again, much slower this time.

Spencer cringed as he watched you limp slightly every time you stepped on your left ankle, knowing it was his fault you were in pain. He sighed and pulled out his phone.

“Hey JJ, have you left yet? I need a ride, I’ll explain in the car.”

-

“Pretty Boy, how was your drive in?” Derek asked as soon as Spencer stepped off the elevator with JJ.

“I got about 20 feet and then hit someone with my car and had to call JJ so not great,” he admitted.

“Boy Wonder, you did WHAT? Are they okay?” Penelope gasped.

“She insisted she was fine but then she was limping away. I offered her a ride but she didn’t seem too keen on getting in a car with me,” Spencer explained.

“I wonder why,” Emily chuckled.

-

So there Spencer was. In the park in his only pair of short athletic shorts and a hoodie.

He had asked Penelope to sign him up for the 5k as a way to sort of make it up to the woman he hit. Plus, obviously it was for a good cause that was near and dear to his heart because of his mother.

Spencer had to take a lot of water breaks, periodically stopping to walk for a bit.

In the distance, he saw you on a bench and he suddenly felt the energy again to continue running to you. As he approached, he saw you tightening an ankle brace around your left foot and to make matters worse, you had a wrist brace as well.

Spencer considered just leaving you alone but he felt the need to apologize.

“H-Hello,” he awkwardly sputtered.

“Oh, hi,” you replied.

“I am so so sorry. Please let me pay your medical bills and any other expenses that I caused,” Spencer apologized.

“Unless you meant to hit me then it’s fine,” you stood from the bench.

“I definitely didn’t and I wasn’t on my phone or anything like that. I just barely ever drive but the metro was down today,” Spencer explained.

“You don’t have to pay my medical bills. I’m friends with a nurse so she did this for free. However, I would allow you to sponsor me for the 5k,” you answered.

“Absolutely,” Spencer nodded, “And funny story, you inspired me to register as well. I got everyone in my office to sponsor me.”

“That’s so great! The money is certainly going to a good cause.”

Spencer saw you smile for the first time since he met you.

“I’ve never been much of an athlete though. I barely passed my fitness test for work,” Spencer admitted.

“What kind of job has a fitness test?” you asked.

“I work for the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI,” Spencer stated.

“Oh shit, you’re a federal agent? Maybe I will sue you and make bank,” you grinned.

Spencer’s face reddened.

“It was just a joke. You can laugh, then that means the incident is in the past and no hard feelings,” you smiled, “I’m Y/N.”

“Spencer.”

“Well, Spencer, if you ever need a running buddy, I’m more than happy to come along seeing as we both are training for the same thing. But I do have to warn you, this brace is kind of a bitch so I’m a little slower than normal.”

“I can assure you that you will probably still be faster than me with the brace on so maybe it was a good thing for me that I hit you with my car so you won’t be miles ahead,” Spencer grinned.

You laughed wholeheartedly, “See, Spencer! I’m laughing about it so no hard feelings, all is forgiven.”

“I’m just finishing up for the day but I was planning on being here again on Wednesday at the same time if you want to meet at this bench,” you offered.

“Yeah, I can do that,” Spencer nodded.

“See you around, Spencer. Hopefully not in your car though,” you winked and waved.

-

“Oh god, you’ve fallen in love with the chick you almost killed,” Derek groaned.

“Not love...well, yet anyways. She’s so pretty and easy to talk to and isn’t mean to me after everything that has happened and her laugh is like honey,” Spencer smiled softly, recalling the sound in his mind.

“Okay, lover boy,” Penelope giggled, “Did you get her number?”

“No but we’re meeting for a run tomorrow. We actually met at the park when I was training,” Spencer said.

“So she’s seen you in those short shorts and agreed to another meeting? Maybe you do have a chance, kid, cause you really put it all out there,” Derek smirked.

“Speaking of, I actually need to get more of them,” Spencer sipped his coffee.

“Just go all the way and get spandex. Leave nothing to the imagination,” Derek chuckled as Spencer rolled his eyes.

-

“Jesus, I’m going to have to hit your right leg this time if I’m going to have any chance of keeping up with you,” Spencer huffed as he bent over his knees to catch his breath.

“Well good news is that was four miles so you definitely will be able to run a 5k because it’s only 3.1 miles,” you encouraged him.

“Technically, it’s 3.10686 miles but I see your point,” Spencer heaved.

“I know a really good smoothie place nearby. Come on, it’s on me,” you grabbed his hand.

Luckily, Spencer’s face was already red from exercising so you weren’t able to see the blush that formed on his cheeks.

“No, it’s definitely on me. I know you said we’re fine but I am forever going to be indebted to you because of the incident.”

“Spencer, really just forget about it,” you assured him.

“I can’t, I have an eidetic memory,” he grinned.

“Ah, I see. Fine, you buy me one smoothie but then we’re even,” you conceded.

You were walking down the street to the cafe when you heard a whistle come from one of the cars driving by.

“Damn, your ass is looking sexy in those leggings,” a man hollered from his passing truck.

You flipped him off and tried to pull your shirt down as much as possible, crossing your arms tightly around your front.

Spencer unzipped his hoodie and extended it towards you, “Sorry, it’s a little sweaty but if you want to wear it, you can.”

You smiled softly and accepted the sweatshirt, feeling more comfortable now.

“I’ve got his license plate number memorized and I intend to file a police report. Unfortunately, reports like these usually don’t go very far but I’ll keep pushing it through. I’ll also call the company that was printed on the side of the truck and ask to speak to his supervisor,” Spencer spoke softly after a few minutes.

“Thanks, Spencer,” you leaned your head on his shoulder and sighed.

“You don’t have to thank me for that. I’m just doing what’s right. He had no right to make comments about your body,” Spencer said, wrapping a gentle arm around your upper waist.

-

“Welcome to Y/N’s carbo-loading extravaganza!” you opened the door of your apartment to let Spencer in.

“I brought dessert as requested,” Spencer held up a chocolate cake.

“I like how you think, Spencer. Dinner’s all ready,” you smiled.

“Spaghetti, meatballs, and crispy buttery garlic bread,” you pulled the bread out of the oven.

“Looks absolutely delicious,” he complimented.

“Eating carbohydrates before a race boosts the glycogen storage in your muscles allowing you to work out longer,” Spencer informed you.

“Interesting, I never knew the science behind it but I’m never going to complain about eating tons of pasta and bread,” you twirled some pasta on to your fork.

Halfway through the meal, Spencer accidentally got a sauce stain on his pale pink shirt.

“Oh no,” you said as he tried to dab it away.

“That needs to soak right away. I don’t want any casualties at the carbo-loading extravaganza. Give it to me to scrub and I’ll get you another shirt.”

Spencer unbuttoned his shirt and peeled it off. You gulped at the sight of him shirtless, grabbing the shirt and heading to your bathroom sink to scrub it with laundry detergent.

“You can just grab any t-shirt from my room that you think will fit,” you called out to him.

Spencer settled on a light gray shirt with a golden retriever on the front.

“Okay, the stain is out! It’s just soaking now-“ you immediately stopped talking as soon as you saw the shirt Spencer was wearing.

He noticed your eyes were beginning to glisten with tears, “I’m so sorry. I can pick a different shirt,” Spencer was already beginning to pull it over the top of his head.

“No it’s fine, Spencer. That’s just my grandma’s t-shirt. I forgot I even had it.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” he spoke guiltily.

“You didn’t know, besides it looks good on you anyways,” you smiled, “My grandma is the whole reason I’m running the 5k.”

“My mom has Alzheimer’s too so I understand that it’s extremely hard to watch a loved one go through that,” Spencer pulled you in for a hug.

You cried into his chest as he rubbed soothing circles on your back.

After Spencer hadn’t heard any sniffles in a while, he whispered, “Do you have any tea I can make you?”

You nodded and Spencer guided you to the couch, wrapping you in a blanket before turning the kettle on.

-

Spencer answered the cheerful knocking at his front door early in the morning.

“Race day! Are you ready?” you exclaimed.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess,” Spencer smiled.

“I promise we are sticking together the whole time because it doesn’t matter how long it takes us as long as we finish,” you held up your pinky.

“Together,” Spencer affirmed, locking his pinky with yours.

The starting line in the park was only a short distance away from Spencer’s apartment so you and Spencer decided to walk there as a little warm-up.

You and Spencer were doing quad stretches when you saw his eyes wander to something behind you and then widen. His face immediately reddening.

“What?” you asked, turning around to see a group of people with a sign that read ‘Go Spencer and his girlfriend!’

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t expect them to do that,” Spencer stammered.

The poor boy was so flustered so you decided to take it easy on him.

“I don’t mind,” you shrugged with a slight smile.

“You don’t?” Spencer clarified, “I’m not very good with words or flirting in general but I would like to see you again after the race is over. Maybe I could take you out to dinner?”

“Yes but my only condition is...I’m driving,” you smirked.

“Oh, you’ll pay for that,” Spencer grinned.

An air horn sounded, signaling the start of the race.

“I think you’re going to have to catch me first, Dr. Reid,” you giggled as you sprinted ahead.

-

“It’s in sight, Spencer! We can do this!” you pointed to the finish line in the distance.

“Y/N, you’re going to have to carry me. I can’t,” Spencer heaved.

“If you finish this race, I will…” you cupped your hand to his ear and whispered something.

Spencer immediately perked up and started running again.

“Hey, wait up!” you laughed.

You and Spencer crossed the finish line at the same time. Spencer’s legs immediately gave out which caused you to fall too, collapsing on top of him.

“I know I’m really sweaty and gross right now but can I please kiss you?” Spencer whispered.

Your lips were pressed on his as soon as he finished his sentence. You honestly didn’t know how long you had been kissing for but you didn’t look up until you heard one of the race officials shout, “Hey lovebirds! That’s very sweet but other people are trying to cross the finish line.”

“Sorry!” you and Spencer apologized, scrambling to your feet.

“Not really,” Spencer whispered to you and you jabbed him in the side with your elbow playfully, stifling a laugh.

what slightly inspired this fic is one time @samuel-de-champagne-problems commented on one of my posts “i could never stay mad at spencer” and then i thought to myself “same. i couldn’t stay mad at him even if he hit me with his car” and now here we are... 🚙

taglist: (just ask to be added or removed!): @samuel-de-champagne-problems @g0lden-cth @spencerreid9 @averyhotchner @coldlilheart @k-k0129 @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @harrystylesandthegoobs @cmily @jswessie187 @rem-ariiana @hoodpankow @mochionly

[rextasywrites]

One Night (Leon Kennedy x f!reader)

The heat inside of his flat became insufferable, so during the evening, Leon ripped open the curtains and the windows, letting out the suffocating air. With a deep breath he leaned against the window sill, his eyes scanning his surroundings. If someone wanted to attack him, they would have done it already, Leon’s anxiety lowering significantly. The street under him was deserted apart from a few drunken teenagers, laughing and swaying in the streets. Leon clearly remembered the first time he got drunk. Oh, the memories flooded his brain and for the first time in quite a while, he let out a chuckle.

As Leon awaits his new mission, his neighbour catches his eye...

Warnings: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Peeping, leon gets caught peeping lol, One Night Stands, Female Ejaculation, Cunnilingus            

The waiting period between missions had become Leon’s biggest enemy. He couldn’t even go home, no, he had to stay at some rented flat in buttfuck nowhere, just to make sure the Bad Guy Of The Week didn’t find out where he was. Fuck, all he wanted was to hug his nieces and nephews again! But no, he had to stay at this shithole under some fake name, Alexander Johnsen or so. Couldn’t they at least rent him a flat with working AC?

Instead, the bottle had become his best friend along with local porn magazines. But even after a while, even the best liquor and his left hand became boring - what a shame, what a crime! But he wasn’t allowed to leave the flat, what else could he do? Watch the same foreign soap opera that ran every day at the exact same time? Why do soap operas have the same outcome everywhere?

The heat inside of his flat became insufferable, so during the evening, Leon ripped open the curtains and the windows, letting out the suffocating air. With a deep breath he leaned against the window sill, his eyes scanning his surroundings. If someone wanted to attack him, they would have done it already, Leon’s anxiety lowering significantly. The street under him was deserted apart from a few drunken teenagers, laughing and swaying in the streets. Leon clearly remembered the first time he got drunk. Oh, the memories flooded his brain and for the first time in quite a while, he let out a chuckle.

His eyes continued to gaze over the area, until they stopped on the window vis-a-vis him. And oh fuck, he was glad he caught this view. By the open window, a beauty was changing out of her clothes, probably ready to slip into her pyjamas for the night. Her thin plaid shirt fell from her shoulders after she unbuttoned each button with great care, making sure not to rip one off in a moment of carelessness. Leon was greeted with the sight of a toned back in a black tank top, hot pants unbuttoned and hanging low on her hips. The mere view of a real woman - big sorry to the pretty ladies in his latest copy of Playboy - made his cock twitch. “Fucking pervert.”, Leon growled to himself and looked down on himself in disappointment. But hey, one cannot fight the primal urges.

By the time Leon looked back up, the woman by the window had dropped her tank top and Leon’s jaw dropped along with it. Her breasts had the perfect size, and his imagination went straight to how he’d place kisses all over them, smoothing his face with them.

His imagination came to a sudden halt when the woman and he made eye contact. As she raised her eyebrows, Leon panicked and drew the curtains shut again, hiding behind the nearest wall. Oh fuck. That shouldn’t have happened. He was in a goddamn foreign country and supposed to keep a low profile - and not to get a peeping tom charge from the local police department. Chris would curse him out to hell and back if he finds out about this!

Leon dropped on the couch once his heart stopped trying to leap out of his throat, taking deep breaths as his eyes wandered to his crotch. Despite the heart attack he nearly suffered from, he couldn’t deny the sweetness of the view he just had. Ah, fuck it, his imagination was ways better than porn rags anyways.

With a quick motion, Leon pulled down his sweatpants and boxers, revealing his already hard cock. The now colder air hitting his warm skin made goosebumps cover his thighs and he went to town. With an almost hypnotizing rhythm, he thought of how much better her hand would feel around him. Up and down, up and down. Gently tugging on his foreskin, rubbing over his pre-cum leaking tip to lube himself up. Every stroke was done in her honour. How he’d rather have his cock buried deep inside of her pussy, or even better, his head between her thighs. If she tasted only half as sweet as she looked, her lovers would be the happiest men in the world.

His orgasm approached faster than he would have liked, but with an image like this in front of his inner eye - how could he not? By now in his mind they had swapped to hard fucking, him taking her from behind, bend over the desk standing deserted in his bedroom. His hands gripping her hips as he pounded into her, how sweet her moans would sound as they filled his room. As he grabbed for the tissues, his sweet moment was interrupted by a knock on the door. Fuck.

Leon quickly pulled his sweatpants back up, trying to hide his boner by carrying a jacket in front of it. He would have chosen his gun, but who knew who was actually at the front door? Maybe it was just a friendly old neighbour asking him to open a jar for him? Yeah, sure Kennedy, he thought to himself. His train of thoughts was interrupted when he spotted who was actually in front of his door. It was the pretty lady from before, oh fuck he’d get an earfull for his behaviour… Leon braced himself before he opened the door with a shy smile. But she didn’t seem hostile! The complete opposite was the truth, she seemed...happy? Excited? What was going on, and why could he not control his cock under the jacket he was holding?

“Am I interrupting something?”, the lady smiled at Leon, nodding her head towards his crotch. A blush, redder than the ripest tomato Leon had ever seen, spread across his cheeks as he tried to stumble over an apology. The lady just shook her head and pointed into the flat, “Tell me your name, dear. I want to know who I am going to ride all night long.”

Ah?

For a moment, Leon felt as if his brain was short circuiting, his brain cells bouncing from one wall inside of his skull to the other. It took a little cough and an instant reboot (along with some blood getting back into his brain) to make him remember his own name. “Leon.” Oh shit, he should have told her his fake name! Fuck, what was he even doing.

The lady chuckled and brushed past him into the living room. Leon walked to her after he locked the door, didn’t want any visitors while he was, uhm, busy. She was looking around in the room, eyeing how there was no decoration, no way to make it feel like home. Who was that man anyways? But at this moment, she didn’t care about it too much. It had been ages since she got laid and she didn’t want to waste another hour without a cock inside of her.

Leon looked down to his feet, stumbling over his words as he tried to form an apology. “I...I am sorry for looking at you that way. This was embarrassing for you and I am so so-”, he was interrupted by her clearing her throat which made him look up. To his surprise, the woman in front of him had dropped her tank top, standing now in front of him in this beautiful bra she had been wearing before along with her hot pants...and his dick jumped right back to attention.

“Come on, I was waiting for someone to look at me that way. You can be glad you came first.”, she chuckled as she walked over to Leon, cupping his cheeks as his hands found their spots on her waist. “Give me a kiss, will you? And then we can decide how we are going to spend the night.”

The kiss soon turned into more. Before she even knew what was happening, Leon had her pressed against the nearest wall, his hands roaming over her body, starving for any kind of sweet touch. It’s been too long since he had been touched without any ill intent. Her bra had been discharged a long time ago, his hands kneading and massaging over her breasts, taking in the softness under his fingertips. If he were to die now, he’d die a happy man. “Come on...Leon”, the woman breathed out, needing more from the agent in front of her, not knowing he had saved the world just mere days ago. Again.

*

The feeling of her legs wrapped around his hips was a feeling that’d be burnt into his mind forever. Their useless clothing items were soon discharged, carelessly thrown into the room. There was no time for foreplay, their looks exchanged from window to window were enough to rail both up. Funny how life works.

Her verbal confirmation that she was on birth control made his cock twitch, knowing he could fill her up without any worries was one of Leon’s bigger kinks. A groan rumbled through his chest as his imagination went to places he could take her at. They settled for the bed, dropping onto it with him on top of her. Dry grinding was boring at this point, she grabbed hold of his cock, dipping it between her folds to coat him with her juices of pure desire for him.

“Fuck.”, both of them moaned in unison once Leon pushed inside of her, connecting them in the most primal way. How long had it been since Leon was buried inside such a beauty? Didn’t matter, all that counted to him was the here and now, what was in the past didn’t matter to him anymore. All that mattered to him was her...and her sweet pussy.

Each stroke he had done in her honour just minutes before was now done inside of her, stretching her in the most perfect way, just enough to rail her up further, but not too far to the point of pain. Just perfect. His fingers toyed with her clit, feeling the wetness coating her all beauty. Nothing could stop him from claiming her as his, even if it was just for a few hours. “Fuck, you feel so good!”, Leon growled out, his voice shaky as he tried to contain himself from coming too early.

She realized this, and wrapped her legs tightly around him, flipping them over in the process. Now Leon had the prettiest view, her breasts right into his face as she leaned over him, taking all of him as best as she could. “Leon...oh fuck, yes, just like this!”, followed by a long drawn moan as she straightened her back, feeling how he bucked his hips up. Fuck, he wouldn’t be able to hold out any longer, she was just too sweet.

“I’m gonna...I’m gonna…”, Leon breathed out, and before he could finish his sentence, his orgasm rolled over him, taking him aback. His head dropped into the pillows under him as he filled her up, such a huge load that it was dripping out of her by the sides of his cock. Guess peeping had its perks too. His hands held onto her hips, keeping her down on him as he shot rope after rope inside.

For a moment, Leon felt like he was about to pass out due to the sheer craziness of his orgasm. Once he remembered his own name (it was not Alexander Johnsen!), the woman looked at him with a tilted head and a smirk on her lips. “You haven’t made me cum yet, Leon.” “Sit on my face, pretty lady.” “But you just…” “Did I fucking stutter?”

And she did. As his softening cock slipped out of her along with his cum dripping out, she crawled up to this face, reassuring herself once more that Leon was okay with it. He just gave her a dirty grin and nodded.

The salty taste of his own cum mixed with her sweet juices made Leon moan against her pussy, taking in every second of this fucking session. At first, he licked through her folds, tasting whatever he could get on his tongue but neglecting her clit for now. But he wouldn’t let her wait for too long.

Once he felt her thighs shake against his head, Leon knew that it was time. His mind was clouded with the taste of his own cum and her juices, so he moved up a little bit. After countless minutes of teasing her entrance with his tongue, ever so gently dipping in, he was ready to feel her cum around it. Leon nudged his tongue against her clit, and it felt as if a dam broke loose.

As she covered his face with her squirt, her whole body shook and she had to hold onto the bed frame so she wouldn’t tumble over. Leon laughed as she came on top of him, such a sweet view, just for him! And only for him! His whole face was covered in her lust, once the flood gates closed again, once again as sweet as ambrosia. Something he could lick on for every day for the rest of his life.

*

By the time Leon woke up again, the woman was gone again. No trace of where she went, but he knew she wouldn’t be far. She was vis-a-vis his apartment after all. All he needed to do was watch her undress again. Maybe this time he’d take her out for dinner afterwards.

Fuck, he didn’t even ask her for her name.

[infernwetrust]

Marked You [Michael Langdon x Fem Reader]

Summary: Oh you know, just the interesting relationship between you and your best friend, the anti-christ.

Warnings: smut, implied smut, swearing, fluff, smallest amount of violence

WC: 2.0k

A/N: This was literally the first fucking thing on my mind when I woke up at 4:30AM. And reading all my mutuals works got me brainstormin’. Master list, here. Thank you for reading! -Juno

GIF by casikototmblr

Your relationship with Michael Langdon was very, clear. He was your best friend of course, the two of you, inseparable. Friends since the age of 5, you know everything about each other. While the two of you have your own friend group, everyone else knew where they stood when you and Michael got around each other. You trusted him more than anyone else in your life. And while the silly little arguments came, perks of the best friend contract, he never hurt you. He never put you down. A simple cool down period and he was in your room again, making the most ridiculous jokes.

On your worst days, Michael was the first person there. Exceptional at reading tone through text, he was at your door, movie and food ready, followed by a friendly cuddle. On his worst days, and his days were really fucking bad, you were there too. A short walk over to his house, you would allow him to vent angrily to you as you sat on his bed, watching as things flew around, feeling the temperature in the room fluctuate rapidly, but again, he made sure to never hurt you.

That's how it's always been though between you and Michael. Comfortable. And you appreciated that. Time after time, you'd sit in his lap amongst your friends, who thought nothing of it because they knew the deal. And amongst his annoying group of friends who knew better than to say anything out of pocket. You'd hold hands sometimes, walking wherever. Kisses on the cheek and forehead weren't uncommon either. And while that didn't deter every whore at school to not throw themselves at him, it did make it hard for you to find yourself a boyfriend.

To those who didn't know him well, Michael was intimidating. He stood at 5'11, dominating blue eyes, charming smile. Outside of his comfort zone, he was very reserved and closed off, which at times made it seem like he was hard to talk to, but anyone that did know him could say he was the sweetest boy around this dreadful place. A sweet boy who isn't afraid of anything or anyone.

When you finally did get your first boyfriend, he was almost your first everything, until he fucked that up. Yes, he was a douche. Yes, Michael did make him pay. And, while he could of used his powers, he decided to go the old fashion way for a change. And while you had yelled at him the same day, saying he didn't need to do that, that rather large action, brought the two of you even closer. Maybe a little too close?

Senior year, 18, and you were still a virgin. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but your hormones got the best of you at times. You didn't trust very many guys outside of Michael and your friend group and you didn't just want to give yourself to just anybody that even looked at you sexually. You'd listen to all your friends brag about who they've slept with or who they were dating. You knew Michael was sexually active too, but he never went out of his way to talk about that with you, which you appreciated. Not that it would of mattered, right? Wrong.

"This has got to be the dumbest shit I've ever seen." Michael said, referring to the movie in front of the two of you. The both of you sat on the couch in his living room, Ms. Mead asleep for the night, his arm wrapped tightly around your shoulder as you nestled into his side. He waited a few seconds for a response that usually came quick to anything he said, but when you didn't say anything, he turned his head to look at you. And look at you, just staring. "You okay, Y/N?"

You still didn't give him an answer. Instead, your eyes darted back and forth between his eyes and his lips and you swore that you could feel your face inching closer to his. And with Michael's unpredictability at times, you didn't know if it was his powers, but either way he was getting closer too. You gently put your lips on his in what started out as a gentle kiss that soon escalated. Realizing what you were doing, you quickly pulled yourself away.

"Sorry. Sorry. Sorry." you repeated. "I just.. I-, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

"You're sorry?" Michael grinned. He was hot, temperature and looks. "I finally get the one kiss that means something to me and you're sorry?"

"Wait wh-,"

"You're gonna be real sorry if you don't kiss me again." No more questions because you were wanting it just as bad as he was, you slammed your lips back into his. And he got handsy QUICK. Tongues exploring each other's insides, he grabbed every inch of you that he could, pausing momentarily so that he could pull his shirt off, followed by yours. His hands found their way to your breasts again, squeezing them before his fingers slowly trailed down to your stomach and in the waistband of your jeans.

"Wait-..." you mumbled against his lips, grabbing his wrist. "I-, I'm, I'm not-,"

"I know." Michael said, staring deeply into your eyes. "I'll be gentle, but if you want me to stop, I will. But God, and I use that term loosely, I've wanted you forever."

"I don't want you to stop. I just thought maybe you didn't know..."

"I'm always gonna know about my Y/N." Michael grabbed both of your hands, holding them together as he gave them a kiss. "If I do anything to hurt you, please stop me." You nodded and allowed him to resume. And he took care of you, just like he said he would.

"Hey." Michael said to you the next day, startling you at your locker.

"Shit." you said, almost dropping one of your books.

"Did I scare you?"

"You always scare me." He gave a small laugh before he face became serious again. "But about last night..."

"What about it?" he questioned, raising his eyebrow.

"Thank you."

"What are you thanking me for?" he asked confused.

"For being my first. For being so gentle and so caring. And for just being my best friend. Oh and being cute, a bonus."

"It's what best friends are for right?" He leaned up against the locker next to you, eyes piercing through your body as he licked his upper lip.

"I mean, no not really." you laughed. "But I'm honestly glad it was you."

And it just didn't stop there. Sexual encounters between you and your "best friend" became regular. Countless times you found yourself being dragged into the utility closet between periods. And it was always a quicky. Either you were on your knees for him or he was on his knees for you. Thankfully this room was located at the far end of the hall because the noises that came from it were sometimes so ungodly.

Wet and sloppy noises and his moans crowded the room as you sucked Michael off relentlessly, drool dangling from your chin, hand wet as you stroked him at the pace you sucked him. As he got closer, you let him take control, hands finding their way behind him to grip his ass tightly as he released himself down your throat. Re-dressing, he sent you on your way with a sloppy kiss, a smack on the ass, and a "love you". And the next time you knew it was your turn.

If you've never squirted before, you did now. This forced Michael to bring a back up shirt for the days he knew he was going to be between your legs in that closet. He wouldn't let up either, knowing how sensitive you were and how little time the two of you had. An intense mixture of his mouth and fingers, he worked you like a pro, not caring that his face was soaked in your juices. And when you squirted, he took all of it like it was nothing. He's left you speechless and breathless so many times, taking you above and beyond. If he was fast enough, he'd stroke himself for you, leaving his mouth to do all the work, knowing the sight of him got you off quicker and if you, yes you, got lucky enough, he'd orgasm with you, all over his hand, and you'd clean it right up.

There was no doubt that he brought out your inner sexual nature. The joy of being a sinner, yes? Your favorite place to be was in his room, music playing in the background, underneath him. Some evenings it was rough and fast. He'd fuck you deep into his mattress, arms pinned above your head as he hair dangled over his face. Or hand wrapped around your throat as you held onto his wrist. Most evenings though, it was slow and passionate and that's when the both of you realized that it was maybe more than just bfs with benefits.

Michael made love to you more than anything, taking his time to fill you up. Hands carefully and gently roaming your body as you sat in his lap, legs wrapped around his waists. Soft kisses on the lips and neck. When he fucked you, he made sure to hit the spots that made you cry out, every single thrust. He always took care of you first, made sure you came, and more than once. His favorite place to have you was in your room, LED lights red just like he liked it, on top him, forcing you to ride out your orgasm until you either had another one or he reached his.

You two weren't shy of public adventures either. Hand jobs and being fingered behind any hidden surface, as long as the conditions were right and it turned you on so much how Michael could keep a straight face while you did it, but projected his loud thoughts into your mind so only you could hear. You struggled most times to keep yourself together, but obviously not reckless enough to give the both of you up. Dress rooms in the malls were a favorite too as he could pound you as hard as he wanted to, knowing that you couldn't let out a sound or risk getting caught.

And when enough was enough, it was enough. How dare another guy try to flirt with you at a party that Michael was hosting. Sure, you two weren't official, but you were official. Anyone with eyes could see that you were off limits, but not this guy who hadn't stopped talking to you despite your clear lack of interest in what he had to say.

"Clearly she doesn't want to be bothered." Michael said, suddenly appearing behind you, hands clasped behind his back.

"Oh come on, Michael." the guy said. "Can't a guy get a little action every now and then." Michael, already buzzed and now with an even shorter fuse, snapped, grabbing the guy by his throat, drawing the eyes of those in the vicinity who knew better than to object.

"If I see you talk to her again, and trust me I'll know, I'll snap your neck. Understood?"

"Michael..." you said softly, grabbing his arm. "It's okay. Really. C'mon."

"Understood?!" Michael said again, his grip tightening.

"Under... understood." the guy weakly replied and Michael let him go, shoving him back so he stumbled backwards.

"Hey!" you said, pulling him towards you. "I said it was okay."

"No one is gonna flirt with my girl and everything just be okay? Do you want to know what he was thinking about? Cause I can tell you and I promise that you will not be happy." But you had already tuned him out after hearing the words "my girl".

"What did you just say?" you asked, amused.

"Nothing. Just. Come on. Let's go have a drink or something. I've barely seen you all night."

"But all of sudden show up when a guy starts talking to me? Nuh Uh, Michael Langdon. I know you. You were watching me. Your girl, huh?"

"You were always my girl, Y/N. You were always going to be, my girl and you always will be."

Taglist: @jimmason @angelicmichael @whatcodysaid @9layerdevilfoodcake  @xavierplympton @guiltyfiend @mikhalxngdon @fernfiction​ @theneverendinghunger​