#this also goes for older men who go in my ask box and try to talk to me

[dark-nymph3t]

I swear if one more man who is decades older than me follows me one more time I’m gonna lose it

[topguncortez]

Are You With Me? - Ch. 5

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synopsis: Jake and Y/N take their kids to say goodbye to a friend, but it goes as well as one can expect. The Seresins also learn what the next course of action is for Ella's treatment.

word count: 4.1k

warnings: medical inaccuracies, childhood cancer, death, funerals, cursing, traumatic events, fighting, slut shaming, mentions of cheating.

Jake could remember the first funeral he ever went to. He was six, not much older than Ella is now, and it was for his grandfather. His mother had dressed him up in a small black suit with a burnt orange tie, a nod towards his grandfather’s beloved Texas longhorns. His mother was dressed in a black dress and had a simple strand of pearls around her neck, the same as two of his sisters. His father was dressed similarly to Jake; black suit, orange tie. 

Jake could remember walking into the church, a place he had been to a thousand times over, but now it was covered in memorial flowers and people all dressed in black. Some of the ladies wore elegant hats with lace veils over their faces. The men all seemed to have cleaned their watches and dug out their alumni rings for the occasion. Jake’s father was stopped several times in the foyer by people giving him their condolences. Jake wasn’t sure why everyone was stopping in front of a long wooden box, the women walking away with tears in their eyes. 

“Come on,” Jolene said to her children, “Let’s go say goodbye to grandpa.” 

All Jake could do was nod as Jolene led them over to the wooden box at the front of the sanctuary. Jake froze about three feet from the box, his heart beating fast in his chest at the sight in front of him. He felt his hands grow clammy as Jolene turned around to look at her son, who looked like he had seen a ghost. 

“Jake?” Jolene asked, “What’s wrong?” 

“That’s not grandpa.” Jake shook his head, pointing towards the box, “That’s not him!” 

Jolene gave Jake a said smile, crouching down in front of him, “It is grandpa, Jake. It’s grandpa’s earth body. His spirit is up in heaven with Jesus.” 

“They messed him up,” Jake whispered, “That’s not him!” 

“How about we take a look?” Jolene pleaded with her son. Jake reluctantly nodded as Jolene stood to her full height and took his hand. Slowly they walked together to stand in front of the casket. 

Jake took one look in and turned his head. The body laying in the casket looked nothing like the man he remembered. His skin was pale, almost blue and waxy. His hair looked fake and as if they used way too much hairspray to get the combover to lay flat. It all just looked wrong to Jake. It was all just wrong. 

“That’s not him,” Jake shook his head as he sat down in the front row with his mother and waited for the service to begin. The whole time Jake kept repeating in his head that the man in the box was not his grandfather. 

Ever since that moment at six years old, Jake dreaded funerals. It was horrible, but Jake did all he could to avoid going to them. Y/N practically had to drag him to Tom Kazansky’s funeral, and even then, Jake took Alex to the nursery about half way through the service. It wasn’t that Jake was scared to bare his emotions and mourn the loss of a life. It was that he hated seeing the body lying all alone in the pinewood box. He hated knowing that their body was going to stay there for the rest of eternity until they rotted away into nothing. He hated knowing that the last glimpse of your loved one was going to be when the funeral director closed the lid. 

“Dad,” Alex’s soft voice filled the room. Jake was sitting on the bed, trying to come up with an excuse to not go to this funeral, “Can you help me with my tie?” 

“Sure,” Jake nodded, sliding off the bed and kneeling in front of Alex. Y/N had gotten them both matching forest green ties, “You look good.” 

“Thank you,” Alex nodded, scrunching his nose up to push his glasses up farther. Jake couldn’t help but smile at the small movement. No one was quite sure when Alex started doing that, but it was cute, “I asked Mommy to help me but Ella is sick.” 

Jake’s smile turned into a small frown, “I know. . . how are you feeling about this?” 

It wasn’t very often that Jake got to stop and have a conversation with Alex about everything that has gone on. Sure the boy was only seven, but he still had some idea of what was going on with his sister. Y/N and Jake’s worst fear was Alex and Eli feeling ignored during all of this. They made sure at least once a week they were taking the boys out to do something fun whether that was the arcade or the park. Eli was still too little to understand anything but Alex wasn’t. 

“I’m sad that Ella is sick,” Alex shrugged, “When will she be better?” 

“I don’t know, bud,” Jake sighed, “But what about not having mommy and daddy both here?” 

“Oh,” Alex looked down at the ground, “Well, I guess I’m kind of sad about it. I wish you could both be here, but someone has to stay with Ella.” 

Jake smiled at his son. He was as selfless as his mother, always thinking of others instead of himself, “You’re a good kid, you know that,” Alex nodded his head. Jake placed a kiss on his forehead, before standing to his full height. The two of them walked down the stairs together, finding Y/N and Ella waiting for them. They both wore black dresses and pearl necklaces, only Ella had a black hat on her head to keep her warm. 

“We gotta get going,” Y/N said, standing up from the couch. The two of them loaded the kids up in the car, but Jake hesitated once he shut the car door, “What is it?” 

“Do we both need to go?” Jake looked over at Y/N, “I can stay and watch-” 

“Eli is with Rooster, and yes,” Y/N nodded, “We both need to go. Miranda and Dominick became our friends and we need to support them. . . this could’ve been us.” 

Jake clenched his jaw and nodded. Y/N climbed into the truck without another word, and Jake followed. When they arrived at the church, Jake helped Y/N out of the truck, trying to put on a show of solidarity in front of the other couples from the hospital. Rumors had flown since their spat in the hallway, and most of the parents were ‘Team Y/N’. Y/N didn’t bother saying anything to Jake as she opened the door for the kids and took each of their hands in hers, forcing Jake to walk behind them. 

The vestibule of the church was exactly like Jake could remember the one his grandfather’s funeral was in. People dressed in black, flowers all over, pictures and videos of the deceased being played but no one paid any attention to. Y/N signed the guest book for all four of them, taking a bulletin before making her way into the sanctuary. 

“Remember what we talked about?” Y/N turned towards her kids, “We’re going to walk past Sammy’s body and-“ 

“No!” Ella cried, “I don’t wanna see him!” 

“Ella,” Y/N said quietly, “You don’t have to see Sammy, but we have to walk-” 

“No!” Ella shook her head, Jake placed a hand on her shoulder, hoping to soothe her, “I don’t wanna!” 

 Y/N could feel all eyes being turned towards them and it made her skin heat up, “Baby, we have to walk by-“ 

“No!” Ella’s lip quivered as tears began to spill down her cheeks. Sobs racked her body as she hid her face in her hands, “I don’t wanna see him!” 

Jake picked her up, setting her on his hip, “It’s okay. You don’t have to.” 

“That’s not him!” Ella turned and hid her face into her father’s neck. Y/N felt out of options as Jake gave her a pleading look. She glanced around, noticing the stares and the looks they were gaining. 

“Okay,” She sighed in defeat, “We’ll go.” Jake nodded his head, and turned on his heel, taking his sobbing child out of the church. Y/N looked over to where Miranda and Dominick stood, giving them an apologetic look before following her family. She sighed as she climbed into the truck, leaning back into her seat. She glanced at her children through the rearview mirror; Alex staring at the raindrops sliding down the window and Ella with tears running down her cheeks. 

— — — 

Six weeks. 

It had been six weeks to the day since Y/N made the dumb mistake of falling into bed with her ex-husband. She had never been the one for casual hookups. Jake was her first everything and the most she ever let Miles do to her was go down on her. She had promised herself that she wasn’t going to be a woman who hooks up with her ex-husband out of convenience, but here she was, hooking up with her ex-husband out of convenience and currently watching him as he blatantly flirted with Becky, one of the mom’s in the therapy group. 

The styrofoam cup in Y/N’s hand was hot as she stared daggers at the blonde man, who was turning on his charm as he talked to Becky. The smile. The chuckle. The head tilt. The gentle hand on her arm when he walked away. It all angered Y/N. 

Hell, what didn’t anger Y/N these days. 

“Hey,” Jake said as he sauntered up to you, grabbing one of the glazed donuts on the table. 

‘Fuck you for eating that donut’ Y/N thought. She had always been amazed at Jake’s body and how he was able to eat nearly anything and everything he wanted. But now, it annoyed her. The stress from taking care of her sick child, her poorly timed eating schedule and not being able to go to the gym had their effects on Y/N and she had gained some weight. She hated looking at herself in the mirror and hated even more when Jake would sit and make sure she ate something substantial. 

“Hello?” Jake swiped his hand in front of his wife, earning him a glare. 

“Don’t wave your hand in my face,” She snapped. 

“I’m sorry,” Jake apologized, “What’s going on? You seem out of it.” 

Y/N pursed her lips, debating on saying something or biting her tongue, “Becky got a boob job last summer with her divorce settlement.” Jake’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked at her, “You like natural so I thought I’d give you a heads up.” She simply shrugged and walked away to find a chair in the center circle. 

Another thing Y/N didn’t want to say out loud was how much therapy had actually been helping her. She hadn’t said anything more than the bare minimum; who she was, what her child was diagnosed with, what the prognosis is, and a weekly update on how her child is doing. It was nothing more and nothing less than that every meeting. But Y/N did enjoy the adult interaction for an hour twice a week. She didn’t realize how much she missed being around people her own age, even if she couldn’t remember half the names of the people in the group. Jake had attended every meeting with her, sitting next to her and silently supporting her when she gave her opening statement. 

Jake sat down in his usual chair, in the middle of Y/N and Marjorie, the elderly lady who ran the therapy group. She reminded him of his grandmother, permed gray hair, bright pink lipstick on her lips, and she smelled like cherries and vanilla. She also had the slightest southern twang which Jake appreciated from time to time. Marjorie always had a large, leatherbound journal with her at every meeting which confused Jake. He never saw her take any notes, never saw her turn any pages. But the book was in her lap, open to some page at every meeting. 

“Good morning my beautiful caretakers,” Marjorie said, gathering the attention of the group. Y/N fought hard to not roll her eyes at the usual greeting, “Let us start with our daily openings. Jacob, how about you start?” 

“Oh, I’d love to, Marjorie,” Jake smiled at her and Y/N did, in fact, roll her eyes this time. 

Therapy droned on for another hour, as Y/N pretty much blocked out everything that anyone was saying. It was all the same, week after week. But what wasn’t the same, was the two open chairs next to her. It pained her as she glanced over to where Miranda and Dominick had sat just a few weeks ago. No one knew that Sammy had gotten so sick and was circling the drain. Miranda had sat there and told the group that Sammy was still fighting hard, that he was still continuing his treatment with a smile on his face. No one knew that in a few short days, Sammy would pass away in front of his parents. 

Y/N picked up her head and looked at the group of parents and guardians in front of her. She wondered how many of them were saying that their children were still strong and fighting when in reality, the grim reaper was knocking on their door. A sick feeling rose in her belly. The same sick feeling she had been feeling for the past week. 

“I know he’s going to keep-“ 

Y/N stood up quickly, cutting off Becky, who glared at her, “I’m sorry.” She muttered, turning for the door of the meeting room. She tried her best not to break out into a run, but she moved as quick as she possibly could. 

Jake’s eyebrows furrowed as he watched her retreating form scamper out of the room like a fire was lit under her ass. He turned his head back towards Becky, watching as the crocodile tears streamed down her face. Sure, Jake felt bad her son had cancer, but he’s also been in remission for six weeks now and yet, Becky still comes in to hit on the dads. 

Yes, Jake is well aware that Becky flirts with him at any given chance. And yes, he knows that Y/N is jealous of that. Y/N has always been the type to wear her emotions on her face, and Jake can feel the daggers that she glares into his spine whenever he talks to Becky. He should tell her that there’s nothing to be jealous of, that she’s the only one he wants. But Jake is a guy. And sometimes those male like tendencies take over, especially when it comes to one Y/N Seresin. He never knew she could be so possessive and kinky until about six weeks ago. He swore that they’ve been having the best sex they’ve ever had. 

Y/N had returned by the time the meeting had concluded. Her eyes and nose were red, as if she had been crying. Jake’s green eyes tracked her as she moved around the room, going straight for the coffee pot. All the alarm bells were going off in his head, and his body moved without second thought. She had barely set the coffee pot down when Jake grabbed her elbow, dragging her away. 

“Hey! Let me go!” Y/N protested, pulling her arm free, “You heathen. I can walk on my own-“ 

“Are you pregnant?” 

It took Y/N a moment, as the words that left Jake’s mouth registered in her mind, “No. I’m not pregnant, you twat,” Jake felt the tension in his body relax for a moment, “I know I have gained weight, but I don’t need you pointing that out.” 

“Wait, no,” Jake shook his head, “I wasn’t pointing out that you gained weight, which, you look fantastic,” She scoffed, “It’s just that you’re drinking coffee and you never do unless you’re-” He gestured towards her stomach. 

“I’m not pregnant,” Y/N stated again, shoving the cup in his hand, “I’m going to check on Ella.” 

Y/N tried her best to keep her face neutral until she got into the elevator, her body nearly collapsing against the metal wall. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she reached into her pocket, pulling her phone out and looking at her calendar. The bright red circle around the date was almost mocking her as she breath caught in her throat. 

“No way,” She shook her head, “No fucking way.”

— — — 

“Take a deep breath. You’re okay,” The nurse spoke calmly as she ran her hand over Ella’s back, holding the oxygen mask to her face. It was the third time in the past week that Ella has had these attacks where she can’t breathe. 

“I can’t- I can’t,” Ella gasped, her big green eyes frantically looking around the room.

Y/N quickly moved towards her, sitting on the edge of the bed, “You can. Take a deep breath, Ella.” Ella sucked in as deep of a breath as her little lungs could, which resulted in her coughing. Y/N closed her eyes, trying to hold back tears as her daughter coughed and gasped for air. 

“Y/N,” the nurse said to her, “Why don’t you go get some air. I got this.” 

Every fiber of her being was telling her to stay by Ella’s side, but she couldn’t watch for any longer. Ella looked up at her mom, giving her hand a light squeeze as if to tell her it was alright. The familiar burn of tears clogged her throat as she stood up from the bed. 

“Thank you,” Her voice was barely a whisper as she quickly made her exit out of the room. 

Y/N let out a sigh as she walked down the hallway, clenching and unclenching her shaky fists. The familiar grip of anxiety held her heart as stopped at the nurses’ station, placing her elbows on the counter and running her hands through her hair. Y/N couldn’t decide what was worse, watching her child get so violently ill that the blood vessels in her face broke or watching her gasp for precious air. She determined that both of them sucked. 

“Y/N,” Miles' voice sounded out. She looked up at him, expecting to see that warm, comforting smile, but instead was met with a grim look, “Doctor Thomas and I need to talk to you. . . both of you.” 

Jake had started to hate this office. He hated the bright posters on the wall and the stuffed animals on the couch behind him. As much as this office was trying to be a bright, cheerful place, it brought nothing but heartache and pain. The tension was thick as the two of them were trying to wrap their heads around what Doctor Thomas had just said. Jake’s eyes flitted over to Y/N who was staring at something on the desk in front of her. He so badly wanted to reach out and grab her hand. 

“The transplant list?” Her voice sounded out, sounding weak and farther away than the seat next to him, “She. . . you’re putting her on the transplant list?” 

Miles licked his lips before answering, “We think it’s the best course of action.” 

“What about the lobectomy?”

“The cancer will just come back,” Doctor Thomas said, “The only guaranteed way that the cancer will go away and stay away is if we do this transplant.” 

Y/N shook her head, trying to grasp what was really going on. She had called Jake almost as soon as Miles said he needed to talk to them both. Jake had left base like a bat out of hell, getting to the hospital in an amount of time that could only be done by speeding. They knew that one of the treatment options would have to be removing a portion of Ella’s lung. Y/N hated the idea of her child going under the knife to remove a portion of herself. 

“How long?” Y/N looked up at Miles, “How long do you think she’ll have to wait?” 

Both Miles and Doctor Thomas shifted in their seats. 

“Pediatric lungs are hard to come by,” Doctor Thomas spoke softly, “Finding a match can be even harder. It could be six weeks, could be six months. We don’t-” 

“Oh god,” Y/N closed her eyes, a sick feeling sinking her stomach, “We have to wait for another child to-” 

“Donor,” Doctor Thomas said, “We have to wait for a donor.” 

“A child,” Y/N snapped her eyes open and glared at the blonde woman in front of her, “We have to wait for another child to die to save our child.” 

“Well, if you think about it that-” 

“There is no other way to think about it!” Y/N’s knuckles turned white as she gripped the arms of the chair, “The only way our child can live is if another child dies!” 

Doctor Thomas looked over towards Jake, “I think it’s best if we-” 

“Don’t look at him,” Y/N sneered, “You are talking to me. There has to be another way. There has to be. . . Miles,” Y/N gave him a pleading look. 

“I’m sorry,” Miles said sincerely, “We have discussed this at length, getting second opinions from our pulmonary specialists and transplant specialists, we think this is the best course of action.” 

The office was quiet, as the words seemed to settle over Jake and Y/N. His heart was still pounding in his ears and he wasn’t one hundred percent certain he understood what Miles and Doctor Thomas were saying. He got that Ella was sicker than they thought, and the original plan was no longer going to work. But still, Jake couldn’t really wrap his head around what was going on. 

“I know that this is hard to understand,” Doctor Thomas said, “And you’re having an emotional-” 

“Fuck you,” Y/N spat. Jake snapped his head towards his wife, “Fuck you,” She leaned forward, her eyes burning into Doctor Thomas, “You have no idea what kind of response I am having to hearing my child is dying and the only way to save her is to let another child die. You have no idea ‘cause you aren’t a mother. No,” She chuckled, “You’re just a slut who goes after married men.” 

“Y/N,” Jake finally spoke up. 

Doctor Thomas stood up from her chair. If she was insulted by Y/N’s words, she did a great job at hiding them as she rolled her shoulders back, “I think that is all for today. Miles will keep you updated on Ella’s status on the transplant list. Jake, Y/N,” Doctor Thomas nodded to them both, before she left the room. 

“I’ll let you guys have the room,” Miles said, following after Doctor Thomas. 

Silence reigned over the two of them, as Jake shifted in his chair to face his wife, “I know you’re upset, but that was uncalled for. Calling her a slut?” 

“She is,” Y/N huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. 

Jake groaned, running a hand down his face, “We were split up.” 

“We weren’t divorced yet,” She glared at him, “I atleast had the respect to wait until the ink had dried on the papers to go out and find someone. You. . . you were already chasing tail the moment I kicked you out. Hell, before I kicked you out.” 

“Okay,” Jake shook his head, “What is your fucking deal? Hm? This isn’t like you. I thought the group therapy was helping.” 

Y/N sighed, “It is.” And that was true. The group therapy was helping her mood for the most part. 

“Then what is going on?” Jake grabbed her hand, “I want to help you, but I can’t if you don’t tell me.” 

His eyes were full of sincerity and longing as he searched hers for a sign of what could be going on. Y/N used to be such an open book, but now it was getting harder and harder to read her, unless the emotion was anger. He missed the days where she would talk to him about anything and everything. It could be about something that pissed her off or something that made her smile.

Tears welled up in her eyes, as Y/N looked away from her ex. She felt stupid. She felt so incredibly stupid that this happened to her. Of all the times they had tried and tried and failed, this happened when they didn’t even want it to. 

Y/N sucked in a deep breath, “I’m late.” 

“Late?” Jake asked, confused. All she did was look at him and he realized what she was talking about, “You’re late.” He sat back in his chair, still holding her hand, “You’re late.”

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[1424xgaywolf]

I wanted to share my queer identity with anyone who finds this post. If someone in the community asked me who I am, if they asked for labels, I would say I’m “bisexual abrosexual-abroromantic transmasc nonbinary sapphillean” because they would understand what that means and would (hopefully) be supportive of all of it. I know that there are some transphobic and bi-pan-phobic etc people in the community, and I’ve never understood it. I figured that out of everyone, people in the community would be the most unconditionally accepting and supportive people.

But if someone who either doesn’t understand, wants to understand, or if I’m “testing the waters” to see if they are an ally, then I would most likely just say I’m queer/gay because both of those are umbrella terms that aren’t specific labels. Sometimes I like knowing what labels fit me because it comforts me to know that there are other people like me and that I’m not just a big question mark, but other times I just don’t want labels, especially because I have so many and it just would be so exhausting to have to explain what they all mean generally and how I fit into those labels. If you use labels I will 100% support you, even if I don’t fully understand it because labels are your choice and I respect that. Sometimes though I just wish that the world wasn’t a place that relies so strongly on trying to stuff people into their arbitrary and binary boxes.

I also just want to clear this up for anyone who gets confused, but “male female intersex” are the sex you were assigned at birth, pertaining to your biology and your reproductive organs. “Man woman nonbinary etc” are genders, and gender is a social construct. When I think of the word “female” I think of ciswomen who identify with the gender assigned at birth, as well as trans men, trans mascs, and nonbinary people who were assigned female at birth, because you are still a female. I will never call a trans/nb/etc person a woman if that’s not who they are, but you will technically always be a female because of biology but that is not a bad thing. Same goes for amab people. I’m afab and I realize that there’s nothing I could do to change that, because time travel hasn’t been invented yet lol. I understand that some people might not like the fact that they were either afab/amab because they don’t identify with the gender they were born as, but we as a society need to separate sex and gender because the two are not the same and trying to say they are is an arbitrary and outdated way of thinking.

Furthermore, if you are an older person who uses the argument “back in my day” or “in my generation” for quite literally anything you could use that argument for, I would like to point out that this is no longer your day, this is a new day and trying to say that your day was the right day is like saying we should go back to cavemen time because you’re basically cavemen/women by now. Your days are over and we have already evolved into a generation that is more accepting (though sadly still not completely) of EVERYONE. If you want to try and ignore the existence of queer people, other religions, other races (different than whatever your’s is), then go right ahead because it won’t change a thing. We’ll still exist no matter how you try and squash us and force us into your ways. We are resilient and have been since the beginning.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk.

[kazumahashimoto]

He held off the two biggest, baddest war machines BY HIMSELF that one time as if it was a regular Tuesday.

He's a giant hypocrite and a goofy dad.

He's the only one who looks at himself becoming a monster and goes "someone should stop me" instead of going psycho.

He's Angeal Hewley.

Uh anyway, um, an ask...

How many times can his farm boy muscles bench press Sephiroth before he gets tired?

well firstly i'd like to apologize for the wall of text i'm about to give you but unfortunately you HAVE just activated my trap card by calling angeal a dad. i feel strongly about this o7

angeal is, plain and simple, not old enough to be zack's dad and i truly feel like that is an important distinction. angeal is 25. he should be at the club joke. but literally like, he is far too young and zack is too old for this to work.

besides that point, i feel like slapping the Dad label onto angeal is reductive not only of his character but also of his relationship with zack. "dadgeal" is a quick and simple, small quirky way to describe their relationship to one another. not saying you constantly have to wax poetic about them (the way i like to LOL) but it gives them a certain flavor they simply do not have.

the relationship between zack and angeal is a complicated one. and it's not that i can't see the paternal aspects of the way angeal treats him, but at the same time it's so much more than that. like i think i said this somewhere a few months ago but to me the paternal aspects of angeal are more like, accidentally calling your teacher "mom" because as a kid at school a teacher fills a similar role in that space, or a teacher referring to their students as Their kids, because at school they might as well be. but kids don't generally Really see their teachers as their parents, or teachers viewing students as their actual kids. there's nuance. and with angeal, especially from zack's perspective, they have more than just a student and teacher or mentor and mentee relationship. they also have something different from a father and son relationship.

even for me as someone who enjoys viewing them in a brotherly fashion, i think one of the most important pieces to understanding their relationship is when zack is knocked out after falling through the church's roof, imagining talking to his mom, when he says, "i want to help out a friend."

a friend. not something vague like "someone important to me", or even something more distant like "my mentor", what he calls angeal is a friend. despite the fact that angeal is nine years older than him, is higher ranked than him, and is in a direct position of authority over him, zack first and foremost views him as his friend. this shows his innocence he still has, it shows how deeply he cares for angeal in such a simple yet important way. zack sees angeal as his friend before anything else.

this is where i think the paternal aspects really reduce their relationship, trying to fit it into an easier box to make cheeky jokes about, rather than acknowledging how, especially on zack's end, he does not view angeal in that way.

and i don't think angeal views zack as being his son either, at least not seriously. like, i can envision him referring to zack and others as "son" that way older men do with boys just cos he feels like the type to try and Act beyond his years, but he's still just 25. he's not gonna see a sixteen year old as being his kid like that.

it's kind of late rn so i feel like i'm losing my train of thought here a bit but the bottom line for me is that zack and angeal just don't ever treat each other like father and son. they're obsessed with each other and thinking about each other constantly and angeal wants to protect him and zack looks up to him, but that doesn't make them father and son, even in a cute quick jokey way. they are friends. zack does not just see angeal as a figure of authority over him, he sees him as his friend. no need to replace that with a different type of authority figure.

anyway, to answer your question, theoretically if sephiroth were to allow himself to be bench pressed, i think angeal could do it long enough to have me staring gayly at his arms the whole time

[scary-movies-on-netflix]

THE FLESH AND THE FIENDS (1960)

This film takes place in the 1820's in Edinburgh, the spookiest of Scottish cities.  Really.  Two dudes dig up a recently-buried body from a cemetery.  They take it to Dr. Knox (Peter Cushing), a renowned lecturer on medicine, and he promptly buys the body!  (He needs the corpse for teaching purposes; he’ll dissect it to teach his students human anatomy.)

The dudes who dug up the body are called “resurrection men.”  They go the tavern and spend their money, and two bullies and scoundrels, Burke and Hare, watch them.  They return to Burke’s boarding house and discover that one of the boarders has died!  They take the body to Dr. Knox, who buys it from them.  Next, they escort a drunk older woman to their house, and Burke suffocates her to death.  Dr. Knox buys her body.  Hare buys himself a fancy new vest with the money.  An old man arrives at the boarding house, looking for a bed.  He explains that he’s come to find some work and earn money so that he “can end his days in peace.”  We next see him in a box at Dr. Knox’s house.  Dr. Knox isn’t there, but his assistant, Dr. Mitchell, looks over the body.  He says that the man “died only a few hours ago,” and he notes a bruise on the head.  Hare feigns ignorance, but Mitchell demands, “Where did he get that bruise?”  Then Knox appears.  He is nonplussed about how the man died and buys the corpse.  Afterwards, Mitchell presses Knox, “Are you satisfied that man died a natural death?” and he asks, “You’ll continue to accept subjects from them without question?”  Knox says, “I will continue to teach anatomy, using the best specimens available, to turn out doctors who will replace quacks!”

Meanwhile, we’ve also met Chris Jackson, one of Knox’s students.  He’s met Mary Patterson, a local woman, and despite their different backgrounds, begin a relationship.  Chris is quiet and studious, and Mary has a temper and likes to drink.  He asks her not to spend time at the brothel (where she gets free booze), but one night she goes anyway.  Chris returns to his flat and sees that Mary isn’t there, so he finds her at the brothel, sitting in another man’s lap.  Chris says, “You’re drunk, Mary.  Let me take you home.”  Mary mocks him.  “If you were half a man you’d drag me out of here by the roots of my hair.”  She says, “I’m not gonna be bored any more by your mealy mouth talk.”  Chris leaves, but, after a moment, Mary runs after him.  Chris is not outside, but Burke and Hare are there.  With the promise of more booze, they lead her to the boarding house, but Mary’s friend, Maggie, sees them.  At the boarding house, Hare begins to sexually assault Mary.  “No, please,” she cries as she tries mightily to resist him.  He chokes her to death.  Mrs. Burke returns home and is more perturbed by the presence of the dead woman than by the fact that Hare killed her.

The next morning Chris is studying at the academy.  Someone rolls in a covered corpse.  “This one’s the best we’ve had so far.  Doctor wants some drawings taken before we put her in the brine.”  Uneasy, Chris removes the cover and sees the dead Mary.  He runs out the building.  Knox is confused, but Mitchell explains that “Burke and Hare have just brought in the body of a woman … she was Jackson’s girl.”  Knox seems slightly concerned, but says nothing.

Chris goes to the boarding house and attacks Burke, but Hare sneaks up behind Chris and stabs him.  That night, they walk the corpse out of the building.  A young man named “Daft Jamie” sees him, thinking that Chris is still alive, and Hare gives him some money to go away.

By the next morning Chris’s body has been discovered.  Knox and Mitchell identify it for the local police.  They don’t say anything about Hare or Burke.  Later, Knox asks Mitchell why he didn’t mention the men.  Mitchell explains that he’s trying to protect Knox’s reputation.  Knox tells Mitchell that he should tell the police if he feels that he must, but “if you really consider that the life of a street woman is more important than the advance of surgery, then stand in the market square and scream ‘murder’ to the mob.” 

Back in that market square, Daft Jamie approaches Burke and Hare and mentions that he found a ring off a corpse.  The murderers sense that he’s trying to shake them down, so they tell him to come to the boarding house that night so they can buy the ring from him.  Daft Jamie then speaks to Maggie, Mary’s friend, who’s been looking for Mary for two days.  Daft Jamie goes to the boarding house as requested, and when he enters Burke tries to kill him.  Jamie resists to the best of his ability, and he makes it outside, but Burke and Hare catch him and Burke smothers him in the mud of a pigsty.  Fortunately, Maggie is hiding nearby and sees the act!  Burke and Hare take the body inside and find the ring, and Maggie runs away, shouting, “Murder!”

She runs to the square.  Mitchell is there and asks her what happened.  She explains that Burke and Hare killed Daft Jamie.  He quickly moves away.  Maggie goes to the police station, and she leads an inspector to the boarding house.  Burke and Hare are already gone, so Maggie then says to look at Dr. Knox’s place. 

Mitchell arrives at Knox’s house and begs the doctor to not buy any body that Burke and Hare might try to sell him, “because the police know it was murdered.”  Knox, however, reveals that he’s already purchased the body.  He shows Mitchell the body of Daft Jamie.  Mitchell explains that Burke and Mitchell know that Knox has more to lose than they do.  “They’re relying on you to cover their traces.”  Mitchell asks Knox to dispose of the body, but then the inspector and Maggie arrive.  Maggie identifies Daft Jamie, and Knox confirms that he died a violent death. 

Maggie runs to the town square and whips up a mob to find Burke and Hare.  “They’ve been murdering right under our noses,” a man says.  Maggie adds, “And what’s the law doing about it?”  Burke and Hare flee to a warehouse, but the mob quickly breaks in.  They grab Burke, and then they grab Hare.  The camera floats over a huge crowd celebrating their capture.  They are quickly put on trial, and Hare turns on Burke and testifies against him!  Burke is found guilty, but neither Hare nor Knox are charged.  Maggie shouts, about Knox, “But why should that old scoundrel get away free as air?”  Knox attempts to continue his normal routine of teaching, but his number of students have dwindled, and the mob shouts outside his house.

Burke is hanged to death.  Hare is free to leave the police station, but the mob is waiting for him outside.  The police toss him out the rear door.  Two men are waiting for him.  One holds him from behind while the other presses a torch against his eyes, blinding him.  For his own part, Knox is summoned by the medical council.  He has to walk through the mob to get to his carriage.  He faces the council, a group of fellow doctors whom he has insulted and belittled throughout the movie.  “This is a heaven-sent opportunity,” he tells him.  “Make the most of it.”  He leaves the room, but Mitchell arrives.  He faces the council and essentially accuses all of them of doing the same as Knox, in buying corpses when maybe they weren’t sure of the cause of death.  The council erupts into shouting.

Knox walks home.  In the central square, a little girl asks him for some coins so she can buy candy.  Knox says that he has no money, “but if you come to my house I’ll give you some there.”  “No, thank you,” the little girl says, “you might sell me to Dr. Knox.”  Knox is suddenly crushed.  He’s not a renowned doctor; he’s a monster.  He arrives home and speaks to his niece: “It took a child to show me what I am now.”  Knox admits that, despite his statements of working for the betterment of medicine and society, he’s been driven by “achievement, ambition.”  He says that he knew how all the people died when Burke and Hare brought in their bodies.  Mitchell arrives and says that the medical council has exonerated Knox, and he scoffs, “So, they’ve decided to let the world judge me.”  He heads to teach his next class, which he expects will be empty, but instead the hall is packed with students (all men).  He receives a standing ovation.  Knox begins to talk about the Hippocratic Oath, ending with the promise to “never do harm to anyone.”

This was surprisingly good.  The film was panned when it first came out, but now it’s starting to receive some notice and acclaim.  I think it’s a masterpiece.  The film was just … morbid, both in subject matter and tone.  Burke (George Rose, a mean bully) and Hare (Donald Pleasance, conniving and greedy) were effectively portrayed as true monsters, amoral murderers.  The murders were violent and brutal, long extended takes where the victims fought back as best they could before succumbing.  (Before their deaths, we did get to learn a little about the victims, poor people simply trying to survive.  We spent a lot of time with Charlie and Mary, both flawed in their own ways, and watch as they are killed.)  On the other hand, Knox (Cushing) was cold and dispassionate, appearing to care little for the dead, removed as he was by his wealth and education.  Even at the end, when he realized that these were dead people he was dissecting, he again viewed their loss only in abstract terms.  He was only remorseful because his own reputation was suffering.  Like the little girl said, he was a monster, too.  As terrible as it may sound, the real Burke and Hare and Knox were probably even worse than these film versions.  Burke and Hare killed at least sixteen people.  When Knox purchased the corpse of the real Mary Paterson, she had been smothered to death by the men after passing out from drinking.  Knox kept her body in a barrel of whiskey.

[candycandy00]

I’m currently closed for requests for fanfics. I’m open for headcanons and Choose Your Own Price Commissions only.

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That’s it! If you have any questions about anything at all, just ask!

[shitty-goose-quack]

older sister -> tomboy -> lesbian -> she/they (i'm an ally!) -> she/they (im not a woman) -> 🤔🫠🤨🧐 (im 14 and edgy) -> gender fluid (my crush said she was) -> gender fluid (im indecisive) -> some complicated bullshit about genderfae/genderfawnet -> gender fluid -> it would really just be easier if i was a guy ->🤔🫠🤨🧐 (im depressed) ->

🔥NAME CHANGE🔥

"it's like the ocean or something (xenogender) (micro labels are fun) -> 🤔🫠🤨🧐 -> gender fluid but in an ocean way -> oh i like this agender shit -> nah fuck it gender fluid (you can be all of it) -> pan gender -> you're a woman you fucking trender -> nope that was just a woman day you're gender fluid ->

🔥MERCH TIME🔥

✅ gender fluid hair tie

✅ gender fluid earrings

✅ gender fluid picrews

✅ binder that isn't actually a binder cause you're bad at online shopping

✅ long tumblr rant that is still your most popular post

🤔🫠🤨🧐-> you're a straight girl who's looking for attention -> genderfuck (micro labels will make me happy) -> ocean gender (micro labels will make me happy) -> genderfae (micro labels will make me happy) -> micro labels will make mehappymicrolabelswillmakemehappymicrolabelswillmakemehappymicrolabelswillmakemehappymicrolabelswillmakemehappymicrolabelswillmakemehappy -> fuck it gender fluid (part 2) -> oh whats this? people in my head? that are different genders? making me feel like different genders? -> quinn is a hot mess and nigel is a man and x is nothing and thea uses she/they...

and years go by and felt like hours or however that poem goes but also the background music box shit off of lovely ladies playing

-> hello im your chest dysphoria and i would like to *punching noises* -> so. here me out. we dissociate from the dissociative disorder so bad that all the people get repressed and you feel like your friends died can we not? nah it's fine. (neutral gender??) -> 📞 hello we have been trying to reach you about your chest's extended warranty for some time now. would you like to return your tits? -> like nonbinary i guess just use they/them and don't be weird -> but girl. ew. he/they -> no one said he so ig just back to they/them

and years went by but felt like hours

oh god but trans guys are so relatable -> what if i just went on t for a little bit for the bottom growth and the voice and then came back from it -> what if top surgery but no too scary -> what if little boob reduction so binder work -> shit i taped the bitches down and i feel alive maybe i do want top surgery -> down the rabbit hole of ftm youtubers and fuck you im a guy -> yes -> no -> yes -> no -> tiddy look good tiddy feel bad -> well you see i only wear men's clothes and never do makeup and bind my chest and sleep with a packer and get kinda giddy when someone calls me he and i dressed up as my brother for halloween and i cut my hair off and i don't wear earrings anymore but im not like,,, a guy what are you talking about that's crazy anyway how do you grow a beard without taking T asking for a friend

[mygloviesme]

cool about it. || myg

no. 2: breaking a sweat about it

predebut/debut!yoongi x female idol

summary: kanako is an established idol with a growing career and a secret relationship with a producer from her label, haneul. when she’s asked to work with yoongi and rm to create a track for her, she gains unexpected feelings for a certain upcoming rapper. with her increasing fame, her controlling boyfriend, a set of six boys who seem to have grown an attachment to her, and a new boy who’d give her the world, how will she figure out a way to balance it all?

(definitely inspired by boygenius)

word count: 2.5k

genre: ANGST, friends(?) to lovers, slow burn,

chapter warnings: toxic relationship (not w/myg), mentions of alcohol, small mention of oc getting groped

inspo song: night shift by lucy dacus.

FEBRUARY 16TH, 2012, 3:00PM

I plop on the floor and pick up my water bottle, taking a rather large swig before wiping my mouth and laying my head back. My chest moves fast as I try to collect myself. The rehearsal room is quieter than I thought, the only sound being my quick breaths and muffled music that’s still going. It’s a week before my new album launches and I get back to performing, interviewing, and switching to my other persona. The one that isn’t anything other than happy, the one that’s so glad to be here. 

I bend my knee to rest my head on it, closing my eyes for a fast minute. Just to rest. To clear my head and feel like a normal person. Like I’m back home. 

The door swings open and I’m met with a group of boys, all ready with water bottles and workout clothes. I shoot my head up and gain my composure, trying to act like I wasn’t moping. It takes them a second to notice I’m here, but almost like instinct, my eyes find Yoongi. He doesn’t have much of an expression if any at all. Not like he saw me over a month ago being absolutely devoured by Hanuel. He immediately goes to talk to another member like everything’s normal. 

I stand up quickly and grab my things, “S-Sorry.” I mutter and bow, rushing out the door before they get the chance to whisper a hello. I take one more glimpse at Yoongi before I’m out the door, and he catches my eye too. 

The moment is quick but it gives a sort of reassurance, an odd one. The simple acknowledgement has me spiraling as I walk back to my dorm.

Would it be better to know that he knows and he cares, or would it be better to know that he knows but he doesn’t care? I want him to care, for some reason. Like he could talk to me about it, like he could tell me everything I needed to hear. 

What am I even saying? 

FEBRUARY 22ND, 2012, 9:34PM

It’s the day before my album launches but Haneul insisted we grab dinner. At 6pm. He also insisted he invite some of his own friends, whom I had never met. The friends don’t arrive until later, but when we started, it was actually fun. He smiled and shared words of encouragement and urged me to order whatever I wanted. Mid-way through he brought out a gift from his pocket, a small box that contained diamond earrings. 

I had never expressed I wanted earrings, nonetheless diamond earrings. I was grateful for the gift. Eternally grateful. But I couldn’t help that all it was...was flashy nonsense. Did he actually ever listen to me and my desires? I shook away those thoughts, afraid they would spoil my meal. But it’s those exact thoughts that keep me awake at night, that linger in my brain like an undiagnosed disease. I put them off and we continue dinner like normal, smiles and laughter exchanged like a normal couple. Because that’s what we are, right?

A few moments and courses pass until he gets a text. He smiles, “My friends are here.” he says. He gives me a pat on the back, leaving me with a weirded expression. He stands and waves his arm to a group of men and women, all much older than me. I get a feeling in my stomach, the first impressions one. Especially because I don’t know who these people are and they could very well spill to the tabloids about me and Haneul.

But again, he seems to mind much less than I do. 

“Oh Kanako, hello! I love your music!” One of the women says and I hear a chuckle from a man behind her, “It’s hardly music, no offense Kanako. You know how it is.” He holds a hand out as if trying to console me. The table erupts in laughter, including Haneul, who I give a slight look to. He looks down at me then back up to the table, passively. He moves his hand from mine and takes a sip from his glass. I wait as if we’ll interlock once again but he doesn’t. I wait, wait, and wait. But he never does. If anything, he brushes me off whenever I try to touch him. Like he’s embarrassed. I feel a dark flush in my cheeks, suddenly the walls caving in on me. It’s like I don’t know anyone here, not even Haneul. 

“Oi, isn’t your little girlfriend not even old enough to drink?” Another man says, causing a domino effect of howling amongst the group of people. “Hey, hey…she’s old enough for something else. That’s all that matters, right? ” Haneul says, making me back away from him in disgust. 

“I don’t think she liked that one, bro.” The same man says, covering his mouth to contain his laughter. I look at the different people sitting before me, as if trying to connect to any one of them. As if trying to say help me. But they all think it’s funny. They think I’m some source for their jokes. My breath decreases and I feel much smaller than I usually do. They talk amongst themselves and I look down to my hands, trying to escape the situation by simply daydreaming. 

Thinking of home, my mother, my bed. Sleeping and being unconscious, if I’m being frank. I try to drift off. But a hand…a hand is on my thigh. I turned my head slowly, wishing that somehow Haneul was the one on that side. That it wasn’t a complete stranger. But to my luck it’s a stranger, another one of his friends. The man looks at me with a sinful grin, “So Kanako,” He begins, but I shake my head and get up aggressively. The table shakes from my sudden movement and one or two glasses tip over. 

“What the fuck, Kanako?” Haneul yells. I grab my purse and my coat, sneaking past everyone to leave. He grabs my wrist, making me think of that night. My birthday dinner. His soju breath and sweaty palms. Him yelling at me, cursing at me. Making me feel bad at something he did. 

“You’re never going to change, are you?” I whisper, a slight crack in my voice from attempting to hold back my tears. His eyes dart around the table, as if his facade is cracking, his perfect mask, ripping at the seams. 

“Baby..come on..” He trails off, but I dash out of the restaurant. 

Everything about this night is too familiar, the biting air, the cars, the glowing buildings. I hold myself in an attempt to self-soothe, my breath hitching up to my throat. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. But all I can think of all those other times he’s mistreated me, each memory burning into different parts of me. Will these wounds ever heal? How long is it going to take for him to stop treating me like this? Is this really what I deserve? 

I’ve wasted so much of my time thinking of how I can better myself for someone who doesn’t even care about me. And then an awful thought creeps in my mind, like a monster behind a closet door. 

He’s the only one who can love the real you, the fucked up you. Isn’t that right?

I sit on a bus bench, shutting my eyes closed. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. I purse my lips tightly, wishing I could call my mother to protect me from monsters again. I wish I could walk to her house, only to sneak inside her comforters while she holds me. To have her check under my bed and kiss me goodnight. 

Goodnight? I check my phone, 10:52pm. Shit, I have to be up by 8am. 

“Kanako!” A familiar voice calls out. I turn my head and see Haneul, his button up loose and untucked, his hair ruffled and his cheeks red from the cold. 

I stand up and hold my hand out, “I cannot deal with you right now. I need to get home.” I say. 

He walks closer to me, taking my hand and interlacing it with his. I look down at our fingers, remembering just a second ago he was refusing my touch at dinner. I let go, gently this time. 

“Baby let me fix this. I’m sorry my friends were acting like dicks. They just didn’t know what to say or how to talk to you because you’re so-”

“Young? I know, Haneul. And you do too. You know what you are?” I spit out.

He chuckles and throws his head back in amusement, “What, Kanako?”

I clench my fists together, “You’re a fucking vampire. You’ve sucked the life out of me, you know that? I’m NOTHING now! I’m…I’m…” I pause. Holding my hand on my belly as my breath quickens. He fills the space between us again, his hand trailing to my face. 

“But you love me.” He whispers. My eyes follow his and I part my lips. 

“It’s killing me, Haneul. I can’t. Just…” I stop and turn away from him, stuffing my phone in my pocket and walking away from him. 

He calls out to me multiple times, but never follows me. Never stops me. I wipe my tears away and continue my path, wanting to leave him far away from me for as long as I can. The love I have for him is breaking down, the only thing bringing me back to him is the feeling I get when apologizes to me. We get tangled up in this mess over and over again and I convince myself I’ve learned something every time I leave. But our mess is so magnetic, I feel like I can’t feel the ground when he loves me properly. When he swears up and down that says those words just because he loves me, when at night he worships me like a god. When the curtains are closed and he cries in my arms because he knows I deserve better. 

When he’s asleep in my embrace and I can’t stop looking into his face, wondering if this is what his mother thought when he grew up to be a fucking monster. Devastated, heartbroken. But he was just a boy once, one who needed and seeked for love. But that’s not my job. To fix him, I mean. 

It never was. 

And how did he end up being the one who needed healing? Apologies? How was it that at night, I was the one that held him? I’ve kissed his forehead so many times and have consoled his cold, beating heart. I’ve ran my fingers through his hair and wiped the hot tears from his face.

I remember when he let me drive his new car even though I had just gotten the hang of driving just weeks before. He tossed me the keys so confidently and beamed at me like I was the love of his life. Wasn’t I? I felt so special when I placed my hands on the sleek, black wheel. He placed his hand on my thigh and gave it a loving squeeze as he watched me drive through the barren road. It was just us. 

He used to give me so much, but now all he does is take. He takes, takes and takes. I gave up all my blood for him and now I’ve been hung up to dry. How could he possibly want more? I wrap my arms around myself, tightening the grip. Wanting some sort of comfort. My eyes look to the cars and pedestrians still out. I wonder what it’s like to not deal with something like this, to be a normal person walking down the street after a night of clubbing and fun. But I remind myself to keep my head down, just so no one recognizes me. It’s one thing to be recognized by fans, but another to be caught by them with mascara down your face. 

I attempt to walk faster, time fleeting and the night growing darker. I need to get home or else I know I'll sleep in tomorrow, and I cannot, under any circumstances, be late to performing my first show of the year. As I walk, I accidentally manage to shoulder-check someone. 

My body jolts back from the force and I look up, afraid of who I’d see. I don't know what’s scarier, someone I know or a complete stranger. I rub my shoulder and meet eyes with-

“Yoongi?” I say, not realizing I said his actual name which he’s never told me. Hopefully he doesn’t remember. There’s someone else next to him, someone I saw in the rehearsal room as well, earlier this week. He looks much younger than me and Yoongi, which catches me by surprise. Yoongi’s eyes widen slightly and his mouth parts, “Ah-Kanako. What’re you..” He trails off, looking me up and down. 

Usually I’d be blushing but because of my current attire and the status of my makeup, I’m more self-conscious. I maneuver my hands that settle in my pockets to move closer together, attempting to cover myself up. Although I’m not sure why, it’s not like I'm naked. “I just got done with dinner.” I state simply. 

I’m also not sure why I’m so defensive at this moment. I look at the boy who stands next to him, “Oh, Jungkook. This is Kanako-well Kanako, this Jung- nevermind.” Yoongi fumbles, which makes me crack something of a smile. Jungkook grins, “I, um, really love your music.” He says nervously. His comment is genuine and kind, but it only takes me back to dinner. Nothing can scrub my brain of what happened tonight, unfortunately.  

“Thank you Jungkook. I appreciate that.” I express, my hand stringing from my pocket to my hair, trying to busy myself to seem less awkward. As I run my fingers through my hair I feel tiny droplets. Then medium droplets. Then, a pour. 

“Oh shit.” Yoongi mutters, looking at Jungkook. The boy throws his hands over his head as the rain doesn’t hesitate to cascade onto us. “Rain, I thought it was supposed to be snowing?” He shouts over the loud droplets. 

Yoongi looks around and sighs, “W-We have to go home, do you need a ride?” He asks, looking into me like he really doesn’t want to be asking me that.

I bite my lip and stare off for only a moment. Haneul would lose his mind if he saw me in a car with these two guys. But I'm cold, in the middle of Seoul, and I can't take any chances.

“Um, yeah. Probably.” I reply. 

JANUARY 22ND, 2012, 11:45PM

Yoongi parks his car and sighs, leaning back into his seat. He seems to sigh a lot. I grab my things and prepare to leave before hearing Jungkook, “Hyung, Kanako’s dorm is all the way around the building.” He speaks. I’m unsure of what he’s insinuating, but I stay still in my seat. 

I look over to Yoongi who is almost unwanting of eye contact with me and I suddenly realize what Jungkook means, having me and Yoongi speak at the same time. 

“It’s okay, the walk isn’t too far-”

“We can let her stay in the dorms-”

We both pause and finally look at eachother. “Well-” He says, running a hand through his hair. My lips part just slightly. Am I really going to stay with seven guys I barely know? What kind of person does this make me?

"You guys, I mean, we all can get in a lot of trouble over this." I attempt to shut down this wild notion.

“It’s alright, we just have to be quiet.” Jungkook gives a reassuring smile. 

click here for read more of this story!

[stanleyslayer]

on my old posts I like to look back to all the way back to my blue narrator era and think:

"why has he evolved from twink to Twink but tall to blob to hunk and now some genderless thing with a body and wings"

anyways headcannons below if you wanna know more Abt my narry and curator and TK/432

SO anyways time to info dump!!!

My narrator is a fallen angel I like to imagine. With each death he has, he goes closer to his holiness. Though he does not want to really? Considering he already fell once and is fine with his life, he doesn't want to deal with his siblings rattling him about for being the middle child.

Also, quick note, touching water melts him! Or at least the part that is touched, but luckly he is self regenerating. Water kills him!

As for siblings, I headcannon curator and 432/TK are his siblings, with curayor being the oldest and TK/432 being the youngest

they all represent a stage in life kinda? Narrator is death as for the reason with his true name being Mori Momento. Fallen angel is angel of death kinda way.

Curator is life, she makes life, and gives life. Though as life sucks, so does she! Curator does not like narrator and is kinda shitty. like. I mean curator is really strict and serious about their positions, but she is lucky enough to still be an angel !

TK/432 is limbo, or the in-between. They are the in-between of life and death, deciding whether you reincarnate, go to the after life or whatever, really based on your religion there isn't just one place, they decide who goes where

so the system is like this: Curator brings life, narrator sends it to death, and TK/432 decides where it goes

however! of narrator chose to he could bring some people back, thought depends on how important one is ECT

important people stay DEAD

but! as for the parable? it was more or so his punishment to start with, as since being a being who is death and controls death is now a fallen angel, what do you do? so his older sibling curator decides to make the parable along with TK/432 and have narrator stay they're for eternity, but why let him get bored yk? so they choose an already dead human and tell him to bring him back (gets him into more trouble as it was Stanley and he was important and yk...) so now he is stuck in a parable with a guy who has fallen head over heels for narrator

also side facts: narrator is genderless but goes by he/they/it, he is gay (likes. men.), and his form always shifts about sometimes more feminine sometimes more masculine sometimes ambiguous depending on how he feels

Curator is also genderless and a lesbian (likes. women!!), going by she/they/it, and her form mostly stays more feminine looking as she dislikes trying to change her form

TK/432 is genderless as well, and goes by they/it but sometimes a sprinkle of he and a sprinkle of she if they feel bored, they are panromantic but asexual!! they always stay a very gender neutral state but sometimes like to jokingly become the body type of some wild west cowboy that works out 24/7

annnnd yeah hope that was scrumptious!!! if you ever have questions feel free to go into my ask box and ask me stuff, im fine with anything dw, like hell ask me to write a response my narrator would write to something you say I'll do it

[firstaidspray]

🎉 - How did they propose? 

🖐 - Who can’t keep their hands to themself? 

🍥 - Who was (insert character)’s first crush? 

✈️ - How do they celebrate anniversaries? 

for both pairings!

🎉 How did they propose?

Reese and Nonia: They were just driving around in the Chevelle, Nonia was driving for once and Reese was the passenger, and they were just like vibing with music playing and randomly Reese leans over and goes "Hey Nonia, you wanna get married?" And pulls out a box with a ring in it and she nearly got into a wreck trying to pull over so she could smash her face into his chest and hold him and cry and say yes. The ring looks like my engagement ring which you can see if you look in my selfie tag /angelface

Vaas and Mari: Vaas made a HUGE show of it. He called all the other Pirates around and gave this big speech to her about how special she is to him and how her coming to the island changed his entire life and bla bla bla, then got on one knee and gave her a beautiful hand-crafted ring with the metal shaped so the gems are shaped like a butterfly.

🖐 Who can't keep their hands to themself?

Reese and Nonia: REESE 10000%. There's a reason "Keep Your Hands to Yourself" by the Georgia Satellites is on his playlist. Nonia is too shy and reserved to be that way to Reese, but she does enjoy that he expresses his love like that.

Vaas and Mari: Both are very VERY physically affectionate. In every way. Sensually, sexually, you name it. They're like that in front of all the Pirates and, depending on which ones are watching, they either like it or want to throw up.

🍥 Who was (insert character's) first crush?

Nonia's was one of her dad's friends, an older guy who sorta had the same vibes as Reese. She's always liked older men.

Mari's was one of her teachers in primary school. She always dressed much more casually than the other teachers, and had a more alternative hairstyle and wore dark makeup. So I'd say she's always liked people with a more "punk" style.

✈️ How do they celebrate anniversaries?

Reese and Nonia: Even though driving around and drinking are normal parts of their life, they do that but go on longer drives, usually to another area so they can rent a cheap hotel room and have disgusting, room-destroying sex. Not romantic to most, but it is to them.

Vaas and Mari: They like to relax as much as they can, taking some time off from normal Pirate activities. Maybe go to the beach, have a nice little picnic there. Go back to Vaas's place and stick to each other like glue. The Pirates are also REQUIRED to leave them alone all day.

Thank you sm for asking!!! 💖💖💖💖

[ovaryacted]

Questions 3 and 30 for the ask game <3

Also hiiiii nic, how've you been? 🩷🩷 I'm so glad the ask box is open again. I hope you are feeling better since you said you were really busy a while ago, if I remember correctly?

Also OH MY GOD THEY WEREN'T KIDDING WHEN THEY SAID COLLEGE LIFE WAS WILDD 😭😭 ESPECIALLY WHEN IT COMES TO DATING 💀 tell me why I met this boy and got into a relationship with him after an embarassingly short amount of time, then he lovebombed me, had a mental breakdown, got bored and attempted to fake his own death 😭😭 safe to say we're over, though I'm still a little worried about his mental health lmaoo. It's a shame though, I thought I met my brunette version of Leon Kennedy irl, he was really sweet and dorky and all I could ask for. But whatever, life goes on. I think I might quit dating real men until I graduate tho 💀💀 Leon and Chris it is until then!

Sorry if this felt like a rant, but it was too hilarious not to share 😭😭 I hope you're having better luck with real men than I am nic 🥲 it's okay tho, who needs some crazy Texan nerd when Leon Scott Kennedy is right there?

Also, if you have any vague details to share about your upcoming fics, please do! I always stalk your blog for updates, your writing is just that good!! I can be patient though, no pressure. I hope you're having lovely writing time :3

Take care pookie, sending lots of love <3

-🌑

writer ask game

Omg hey new moon anon! It's always so nice to hear from you. 🫶 I'm doing alright for the most part, dealing with migraines so that's fun but I'm handling it. I hope you're doing good too. And yeah, I was busy and a little burnt out from answering all of those asks for like a week straight so I closed my ask box to regroup, but I'm more energetic now so that's good!

#3. how do you feel about your current WIP?

Oh my current WIP is a pain in the ass LMAOO. I've been working on it for like a month on and off and I'm about to revisit it today and re-edit it completely. Sometimes I think I overstress myself about writing certain things because I'm a perfectionist and want to put out stuff that I am happy with, but I'm really hoping I get this done. It's the first chapter of my series, which is hilarious cause I've been drafting this idea out for like 6 months and I still haven't uploaded it. I will though, eventually, I'm just scared about putting it out into the world since it's something I've planned so thoroughly.

#30. share a fic you're especially proud of

I believe I've answered this already but definitely One Of Those Days simply because of how cohesive it is and how easy it was to write. It's one of my favorite things that I've written, and because lord knows I want a dilf to take care of me after a stressful day so it's personal.

Now college boys? Babe, as someone older I'm going to tell you, stay away from them boys at school. Obviously, have fun and be safe duh, but don't let these LEWSERS derail you from your education. I'm sorry that happened though seriously, being lovebombed is the absolute worst thing ever, but he sounds crazy for that like. Don't think that what happened determines your worth romantically, believe me, you will be okay. <3

As for me? I haven't had a man within 6 feet of me in 2 years by choice HAHA. They just get dumber and dumber and frankly I don't want to be stressed so I choose to keep my peace, I can't deal with another dating horror story and trust me I've had plenty. Celibacy does get annoying though, I feel like as you get older, your hormones get out of wack and every ovulation cycle gets more intense. I'm literally at my limit but I'm trying to stay strong and not let the voices get to me. May break my celibacy this summer, I'm feeling reckless, but nobody is a #realfucker like me so I'd rather save myself the dissapointment. Sadly, real men are nothing like the fictional ones we all thirst over, so we must all suffer booo.

And as for my fic ideas, I have a lot written down and I'm actually deviating from Leon Kennedy because I'm fixating over Chris Redfield so I'll tell you some of the things I want to write for him in particular!

Essentially, I have a DDLG fic idea I want to crank out with Chris and it kind of extended to me wanting to create a mini universe of Chris and his sub partner just navigating life and learning more about kinks and how to grow in a dom/sub dynamic. I originally wanted to do that with Leon, but the ideas I had just didn't fit his characterization naturally in my head, it felt forced. And now that I've been doing a fuck ton of character analysis and plotting with Chris, my brain changed and everything that didn't fit Leon fits Chris in my head (because they're foils of each other). So yeah, I'm definitely planning on doing that, probably several different one shots about Chris and his gf in a dom/sub partnership and how they explore it together, and they can all be read as stand-alones or in the same "universe" type of deal.

I'm still hesitant cause of how people think about DDLG as a whole and how they view Chris, but I'm just learning to not give a fuck anymore and post it anyway. :)

[lianahayze]

Shadow and the Midnight Misery: Chapter 4

Welcome to chapter 4, my lovelies! If you missed chapter 3 or want to catch up from the beginning, you can find my masterlist here. Chapter 4 is below the cut!

Chapter Four: Garver Institute

The Garver Institute is sunny. When I’d walked in about two hours ago, it had been the first thing I’d noticed. Sure, I’d noticed the doctors and nurses. I’d noticed the excess amount of identification I’d had to provide. I’d noticed everything I’d had to surrender at intake. I’d noticed a lot of things, sure, but there was something about all the large windows that really stuck with me.

It’s like they’re trying to create artificial happiness.

As I walk through the hallway, all I want to go back to my room. That's right: my room.

Not only do I have to talk to fucking doctors, but I must be isolated while I do it. I hate it and contested it when they first looked through my bags looking for "drug paraphernalia" but it hadn't stopped them. They'd practically upturned my bag, digging through my belongings with a fine-tooth comb. Had I brought anything with me? No, I hadn't been stupid enough to waste the money I'd spent, but I also don't see myself here long term. A few days, that's what they'd told me. A few days if I cooperate.

I'm not by myself as I walk down the hall. Beside me is Dr. Norris. She's not forcing me to speak, which I'm grateful for, but she thought a walk would be nice before we formally meet in her office.

Truth be told, I'm glad I'll be working with her instead of Dr. Dorian. He was as bland as a box of chalk, and if I had to spend any extended amount of time alone in a room with him, that "cooperation" they'd so desperately wanted wasn't going to happen. Older men, especially men who are decades older, just make my skin crawl.

Finishing up our walk, Dr. Norris leads me to her office. The flowy green skirt she's wearing swishes around her knees, and I find myself staring at it for a moment. Maybe it's the fact that I didn't smoke or take a bump this morning, but my eyes have been easily distracted all day.

Dr. Norris shuts the door behind us. She invites me to sit down, and she goes behind the desk. The wheels of her chair spin against the floor as she sits down and starts her computer.

"So, Shadow," she says, "what do you think about Garver Institute so far?"

What do I think? Well, from what I can tell, Garver seems to be designed with a specific clientele in mind, and that clientele is me. I don't even want to know the bill for my stay, but, based off the immaculate upkeep, the large trees and bushes, and the fact that there are cameras everywhere, I'm willing to bet I'm not the only famous person here. Everything just looks so... luxurious.

It could almost be mistake for a spa or a resort for anyone who didn’t know better.

"It's nice for people who need it, I guess." Even though I don’t need to, I smooth out my jeans. I pick at the rips in the knees, widening them.

"So you don't think you need it?"

I look up. "Huh?"

"You said it's good for people who need it," she says. "Do you mean it's good for you or other people?"

"Well, it's..." I'm not sure if she's trying to get me to say something specific. I decide on my words carefully. "I think you all know what you're doing here." I smile. Yeah, that will work.

"And what are we doing here?"

That smile falls. "Uh, helping people?" I sound unsure of myself.

"it's okay, Shadow. You can relax." She begins typing on her computer. "There are no wrong answers here."

I listen to the keys for a moment. "But you're here to help people, right?"

"That's what we try to do, yes. But it requires effort from all parties involved."

"So what do you think I need help with?"

She stopped typing and looked at me. Leaning back, she says, "That’s a good question for me to ask you, actually. What do you think you need help with?"

"Honestly, your guess is as good as mine."

"You don't know why you're here?"

"I mean, my band is acting stupid."

"That's right; you're in a band. What's it called?"

" The Midnight Misery." I pause, wondering if she's still just trying to get to know me or if the session has officially started. "We're, uh, like an alternative band."

"It's not my type of music, but I think I've heard of you."

"It's a lot of grunge, mostly," I continue. "But Wyatt, our guitar player, can come up with these sick riffs. His music taste is mostly stuck in the 80s, so stuff like that." The knot in my stomach that I didn't even realize was there begins to loosen. "We have a good time. Well, we used to have a good time."

"Hmm. What about the rest of the band?"

"They're all good. I got lucky with them, I guess."

"Do they smoke and drink, too?"

"Yeah." I pause. “But not all the time. It's part of the lifestyle, but we know when to take it easy."

"What lifestyle?"

"You know."

"No, I don't,” she says, “maybe you could explain it?"

Her face is blank. I'm not sure if she's just pretending to be clueless or if she genuinely doesn't know, but I decide to indulge her.

"There's a lot of partying. It just comes with being in a band. We buckle down when the time comes, though. Can't party without putting in the work first."

"That's a good attitude to have. It'll help you be very successful." I'm glad she thinks so. "And the cocaine?"

I'm tempted to say, "What about it?" but bite my tongue. I'm not going to lie about it, though, so I say, "I've been using for a few years now. They knew about it. actually, they've known about it for a while." And they've never had a problem with it until now.

That's what makes no sense about this entire thing. If they have such an issue with me occasionally doing coke, why haven't they brought it up before? Why not just mention it instead of staging a full-on intervention?

"How often do you use cocaine?"

"Depends."

"On average. It's just a normal week when you're not doing anything out of the ordinary."

"But my life isn't ordinary." She gives me a look. "Most people aren't musicians. They have normal jobs."

"Ah." Dr. Norris nods. "Well, normal for you, then. How often do you think you're on cocaine during a normal week for you?"

I cross my legs as I think about it. Continuing to pick at the holes in my jeans, I'm not sure how to answer her. It's not like I’m high all the time, and my consumption isn’t excessive. Most of the time I do one or two lines in a go. Do I sometimes go back for more? Sure, but it's not like I’m demolishing a full plate in one sitting.

"Not that much."

"How much would you say you're spending a week on your habit?"

My eyes narrow. Theres something about calling it a "habit" that irks me. Some people like to have a cup of coffee first thing in the morning; I like a line of coke. Really, there isn't much difference.

Still, I ballpark a number. "1 to 2 k." She nods, repeating what I’ve said. "But I don’t use all of it myself. I go to a lot of parties and we, um, share." I’d much rather share my stuff than rely on favors from someone else. Unless I know the person, I can’t verify where they get their drugs from, and I'm not trying to inhale something that’s been cut with who knows what.

At least I’m safe in that regard.

"Have you ever done a detox before?" she asks. "Even an informal one on your own?"

Why would I detox something that isn't a problem? "I'm gone a few days without it, if that's what you mean."

"And the weed and alcohol?"

I wonder if I tell her the weed is medical if she'd buy it? "I really only drink a couple of times a week."

"How many servings would you say you have throughout the week?"

I shrug. Honestly, I can't even answer her. Sure, a "shot" is an official size, but it's hard to keep those uniform when your bartenders are your friends. "I'd say I go hard twice a week."

"Do you smoke every day?"

I nod. "Yeah, just about."

"Vaping?" I shake my head. "That's good. There are studies that show vaping THC might be worse on your lungs than rolling weed into a joint. So, what do you think we should do?" I ask her what she means. "Are you comfortable with quitting everything?"

I practically choke on the air as she says it. "The weed's not harming anyone," I insist. "It relaxes me. Good way to start my morning."

"So you only do it in the mornings?"

Well, not only, but... "Sometimes I can't sleep at night and it helps."

"Okay. This is good, Shadow. Honesty really does help."

Glad I'm saying at least some of the right things.

"Let me see." She stares at the computer screen. "I believe you're with us for seventy-two hours. Does that sound correct to you?"

I shrug. Maybe it's right. With Dr. Dorian by my side, I had "willfully" brought myself here. The guys had been here too, and they'd signed some papers. So, I guess I’d agreed to seventy-hour hours, but, without actually having read the paperwork, I didn’t know for sure.

"After that, we'll do a full evaluation to see if a 5250 is warranted."

"Yeah, I'm trying to--" Suddenly the numbers reach my brain. A 5250. Why does that sound so familiar? I try to wrack my brain but come up empty handed. "Remind me what that is again?"

"It's similar to the 5150." Her voice is calm and straight-forward. As if trying to gage my response, she looks me straight in the eyes.

It takes me a moment, but when I finally realize what’s going on, rage fill my body.

"Wait, I thought I was allowed to leave whenever. I came here voluntarily!"

"No, Shadow. You came here with Dr. Dorian."

"Yeah, but I walked myself in!"

"You were deemed a danger by the other individuals that accompanied you in."

A danger? A fucking danger?

I've heard of 5150. It's how they keep people who are a danger to society locked away for a couple of days while they're being evaluated. I'm not a danger to myself, let alone society. What the fuck is going on?

"Your alcoholism is stated as the reasoning on the paperwork. Do you not agree with that?"

But I'm not even an alcoholic! What the hell?

"I thought I was here because of the drugs, not the drinking."

"In my opinion so far, it could be cumulative, but--"

"I'm not trying to hurt anyone! I guess I’ve hurt the band, but not like that. Not physically, I mean. They're just mad that I'm sometimes late for practice. And there were a couple of shows that..." I shake my head. "Never mind. The point is I'm not a danger to anyone."

"No, Shadow, you're not understanding." Really? It seems pretty black and white it me. "You're not here because you're a danger to others. You're here because you're a danger to yourself."

Her words piece through me, causing my breath to leave my chest. A danger to myself? I'm not suicidal, if that's what she's trying to say. There have been times where I'd rather die than let certain things happen to me, but full-on suicidal? No way. Absolutely not.

"I'm not drinking and doing drugs because I'm trying to kill myself." Just saying "kill myself" out loud makes my mouth dry.

"No, that's not what I'm saying." It's not? I exhale sharply. "I think your friends are worried that you might accidentally harm yourself. That's all. You're lucky you have such caring friends."

I purse my lips. "That's all"? She makes it sound so simple, like I'd just missed a meal or something. "Don't forget to eat breakfast. Studies show it's an important part of your day." That's the tone she's said it in, like all of this is just a recommendation.

But if all of this is just a recommendation, then why am I here?

"I think there's been a mix-up. I don't know why they did this, but I don’t need to be here. Not like this."

My chest feels tight. I'm beginning to wish that I would have tried to sneak some drugs in. My body is shaking and I either need a drink or a joint--stat. My skin is crawling and I feel hot. My legs are shaking violently as I tap my heels against the floor.

"It's okay that you feel that way." Her voice is still so calm and nonchalant that it’s eerie. Why is she so calm, acting like this is no big deal? "I'm not telling you that you'll be here indefinitely, just for the next three days."

Isn't that the same thing?

"I can't just sign some paperwork, or something?"

She shakes her head. "No, that's not how that works. You didn't sign yourself in, so you can't sign yourself out."

Well, that's total BS. "What can I do, then?"

"You can work with me over the next couple of days. Once the three days are up, I'll do a re-evaluation to determine if you're safe to go home."

I was afraid she'd say something like that, but it wasn't what I meant. "So what will you be looking for?" I ask.

She takes a moment before answering. "There’s not an official checklist. We'll meet up a couple of times a day, we'll chat, I'll see how you adjust here by talking to the rest of the staff, and, if I think you're well enough, I'll create a plan for your discharge. If, for your own safety, you'll be here longer, we'll come up with an extended in-patient treatment program."

The thought of being here for more than the three days makes me nauseous. "So I just... answer your questions and be nice to everyone?"

"It's a bit more complicated than that, but to put it in the simplest terms, yes."

I put my face in my hands. I feel sick, like I'm about to throw up. If I ever get out here--no, when I do get out of here--I'm going to kill them. I'm absolutely going to kill them. They put me in here to save the band? Ha, by the time I get out, there's not going to be a band to save.

"Does all of this make sense, Shadow?"

"Huh?" I pull my hands down from my face and look across the desk at Dr. Norris. "Um, yeah. I guess." It's taking everything to my power to not grab the paperweight next to me and hurl it across the table. Throwing a fit isn’t something that I often do, but, right about now, I desperately want to.

I exhale. "Yeah, I get it."

She smiles. "Good. That means for the rest of the day, you're on your own. Did they give you the meal schedule? You know what time meals will be served?”

I nod. Though I doubt I’ll be eating, I remember them saying something about mealtimes during intake.

"Excellent. Feel free to walk around the grounds but remember that you'll have to check in every hour."

"What?"

"It's just so we can keep track of you, make sure you’re adjusting alright. Tomorrow it'll be every two hours." My breathing keeps increasing. This is going to be an absolute nightmare. "One other thing, you're not on any legally prescribed medications, are you?" I shake my head. "Good. We wouldn't accidentally want you detoxing from that." She stands. "Well, unless you have any questions..."

I have several, none of which I can actually get from my brain to my lips. I shake my head slightly, starting to get up. My legs wobble as I stand up, and I have to press my palms against the chair to prevent myself from falling. Dr. Norris notices, and says,

"Be careful. Are you okay to stand; do you need some water?"

The thing I need isn't water. Forcing myself to compose myself, I shake my head. "I'm alright. I just..." I shake my head again. I'm not even able to come up with a good excuse.

As I leave her office, Dr. Norris says something to me, but I'm not able to hear it. There's a buzzing noise in my ears, and my vision keeps switching to black. I keep myself upright just long enough to wave at her. The moment her door closes, I collapse against the wall, my body slowing dragging down against it.

My chest continues tightening, and no gasp of air that I take makes it better. I feel like I'm drowning, unable to calm myself down.

My fingertips start to tingle, and my heart bounces hard enough to just about crack my ribs. I'm alone in the hall, and I don't know what would be worse: being alone and with no one to comfort me, or someone turning the corner and seeing me.

Eventually, I'm able to get myself up. How long I'm on the floor I don't know, but, as I get my feet, all I want to do is take off my clothes. I'm hot and dizzy, and I have to blink several times for my vision to slide back to normal. I cough over and over again. I'm wheezing, but, after several attempts, I'm able to get it over control.

My feet drag as I make my way back to my room. Luckily, I don't run into anyone. My hands shake as I open the door, push myself inside, and slam the door behind me.

For a moment, all I do is stand there. It's quiet, but the screaming in my head is loud. I can't silence it, and, needing to get it out, I walk over to the bed. I stare down at it. The pillows look flat, and the covers are tucked in so tightly that I’ll probably struggle to put them back when it’s time for bed. Not that it even matters, though, because the bed looks ridiculously uncomfortable. I'd probably be better off sleeping on the floor.

Calmly, I walk into the bathroom. There's a toilet and shower and sink. Like everything else in this place, it's cleaned impossibly well. I reach for one of the small bottles on the sink. I turn it over in my hand. My eyes scan the words, but none of it reaches my brain. I look at myself in the mirror; a spilt second later, I'm throwing things at my reflection.

First it's the small bottle in my hand. Then the second one. Then the third one. I find a hair dryer and throw that, too. It doesn't break the mirror, but it makes a loud sound.

I storm back out into the bedroom. I open my bag onto the bed. There isn't much for me to sort through, and I quickly found what I was looking for. I grabbed my makeup bag and unzipped it. I hastily took out anything that I was at least somewhat heavy. Going back into the bathroom, I continue throwing things.

My mascara. My blush. My foundation. Anything that will ricochet off the floor and walls is fair game. I want to scream--I want to punch a hole in the wall--but, with this being the best I can do, I let the destruction consume me, not caring what breaks or who hears.

When it is all over, my foundation is splattered all over the floor, the glass bottle broken. I'd thrown the hairdryer so many times that parts of it have chipped. My heart is still thumping, and I'm still enraged, but I feel better. I feel... like something is actually in my control.

Taking a deep breath, I begin to clean everything up. Leaving it for housekeeping will only arise suspicion. Methodically, I pick up everything. One by one, I place the shards of glass into my hand and then into the trashcan. I don't know if they'll check my trash, but, right now, I'm so focused on just cleaning everything up that I don't really think about it.

After all, hiding things? Cleaning up messes? It's probably the only thing I'm good at.

-

Thoughts? Let me know what you think here. Hope you're having a wonderful day!

[hansensgirl]

put me in a movie.

summary. | He knows you can’t make it on your own, so he’ll put you in his movie.

warnings. | Dubcon (reader doesn’t know what he’s doing but consents to it), smut, drinking, age gap (reader is legal), virginity loss, choking, spanking, dirty talk, degradation, corruption kink, innocence kink, cream pie kink, penetration, teasing, praise, filming, voyeurism, porn (the industry), fluff, yearning, Daddy kink, humiliation, overstimulation, dumbification kink, and more. SMUT, 18+ MINORS DNI.

word count. | 6.5k.

pairing. | Grey!Pornstar!Helmut Zemo x Innocent!Reader.

a/n. | please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog! if you take ANY inspiration from my fics (and i’ll know, trust me) and you don’t give credit, you will be blocked and i’ll let others know. inspired by wet, written by the talented @thewritingdoll! do not translate or repost my fics at all.

You don’t like the heat, but you love the summer. The way the days are seldom cold and cloudy, with that occasional breeze that your skin gracefully soaks up in the same way your beach towel soaks up the water on your bathing suit. Popsicles of different flavours dripping down your skin and onto the hot sidewalk. The sticky residue makes you cringe, and you’d use the damp side of your towel to wipe it away. It would work for a few seconds, maybe even a minute or two, before the feeling returns.

You hate the heat, but you love to see him. Those swim trunks of his sticking to his wet skin. They’re a blue colour that seems easy to describe at first glance, but you’ll soon realize just how many shades of navy blue there are, and suddenly you don't even know what colour they are. Maybe it’s the colour of the jeans the cameramen wear, or perhaps it’s the colour of the night sky at around six in the evening during the summertime.

They lug heavy equipment, and you just wonder if they’re filming a movie. If your friends and family members got word, they’d probably lose their minds before begging you to get them a part. Vying for fame runs through the family tree branches, and even you would want a small part in it as well. You give them empty promises, forgetting their words after a few minutes until the following text message or phone call.

You don’t spend much time at the beach anymore. Heck, you haven’t been there since June. Your friends have left with their boyfriends and girlfriends on a trip to Bali, and all you have are your family members to keep you company. Your white fence, magazine and lawn chair are all you know of now. You spend your days outdoors, knowing each one will be filled with the same things. The sunlight, bees buzzing, and seagulls having unwarranted ferociousness.

Your parents spend their days at work, and you stay home to hold your small fort down. You don’t water the grass or touch the garden because your father does it better than anyone. You don’t touch the paint meant for the walls or the furniture boxes that are strewn across the floors because your mother knows where to put them and how to paint. You just relax, and you don’t mind it at all.

That was until you saw him.

Curiosity is your closest friend other than the blue raspberry flavoured popsicles that take up more space in your freezer than anything else. So when the empty house next door suddenly filled up with around half a dozen people, you just couldn’t help but wonder what they were doing. So you peer over the fence, standing on the small two-step ladder that your dad stole from his previous job. Women and a few men are laughing, dressed down in both swimsuits and t-shirts. Their bodies are lovely, the pinnacle of beauty that you sometimes envy. Other times, you’d feel as though you’re the prettiest girl in the world, and that’s not far from the truth. They’ve got different brands of alcohol in their hands, White Claw cans littered on the ground, and you cringe at the mess.

They must be mentally younger than you’ll ever be again because no person older than you can act like this. Heavy, black cameras are resting nearby briefcases, and you hope to god that nothing illegal is going on. The last thing you need is the police questioning you at 1 in the morning. Some of the men ogle at the younger ladies, and they bask in the attention. You watch as their eyes rake up and down their shiny, sweaty bodies.

“Oh, please, the least you all can do is wait for me before you start the party,” a man snickers, stepping out of the house. You look over to him, and your breath is taken away. Water drips down his face, cascading down to his neck and onto his slightly hairy chest—a navy bluish-purple robe and those blue swim shorts that peek through underneath the cloth. The colour of the fabric goes oh so well with the blue of his eyes. They all laugh until they’re sighing and already cracking open another bottle of beer.

You admire him from afar, and you can’t help but be mesmerized by the way he moves: such grace, such elusiveness. The glass in his hand isn’t cheap beer or tequila; it’s whiskey that looks rich as fuck, and he swigs it back like it’s water. You remember the first time your father and mother brought whiskey home from the local liquor store. Your father didn’t enjoy it, and neither did your mother. It sat in a random cupboard until a year ago when your mother decided to throw it out.

He lets out an exhale as the amber liquid flows down his throat, and you watch in awe as he handles the burn like a champion. God, you can’t even handle beer if you try hard enough. He gently places the glass onto the table, far away from the men’s feet, as he knows that they can be quite clumsy. There must be a proper name for all feelings; you believe. Like that feeling when it dawns on you that you’ll never experience something like this ever again.

Or maybe the feeling that Helmut has right now. Not the excitement of finishing this film, and not the tiredness that is a result of working too hard. No, the feeling that he knows you’re watching him from over the fence. He sans his hand towards you, and you quickly duck down, letting out a whimper. You nearly fall from the small ladder, but it wouldn’t be so graceful if it did happen. “What’s wrong, Baron?” one of his co-stars teasingly asks.

“Nothing... Must’ve been the whiskey…”

You don’t hate the summer; you just don’t like the boredom. Even relaxation is something you can tire of, believe it or not. You’ve got nothing to do. Your friends are still out of town, and your parents are at work. You’ve cleaned the house not once, not twice, but three times. Your closet is as clean as it’ll ever be, and the pantry is now organized by most used to least used. The plants have been properly watered, even though it wasn’t necessary since the forecast said there’d be light rain.

You love the rain, especially during the summertime. The sky makes the surrounding world have an almost orange tone to it. The after smell––an earthy, oceanic scent that is so unique––is something you’ll forever look forward to. You’re excited for the day it’ll rain, but even meteorologists tend to be wrong, and Mother Nature has a thing for keeping her children on their toes. It’s one of the many reasons why you love her. So with your little red dress on, you spin around in the backyard.

You’re sensible. You know what creepy crawlers lie underneath the dirt, between the fluffy grass. So instead of being barefoot (just like in those Sofia Loren movies) and playing around, you grab that little latter once again. You’ve scrubbed the grooves and cleaned them of their plant stains––sloppily, of course. Your oversized slippers belong to your dad, and they struggle to stay on your feet, but it doesn’t matter.

You’re not going to be moving around much, anyway. You move the latter closer to where you last saw the group of men and women. You truly hope you don’t get caught and get into any trouble; the last thing you want is your parents scolding you and embarrassing you. You step up on the ladder carefully, grasping onto the wooden fence for support. The surface is hot to the touch, and you really want to let go, but you really shouldn’t. You whisper affirmations along the lines of ‘I won’t fall…’ over and over again, under your breath.

And you hope to God they work.

Admittedly, you also hope he’s wearing those blue swim shorts of his again. The look (and he) resides in your heart, amongst other tubes and canals that have learned to make room for friends, family and passions. But he’s not a friend, he’s not family, and he’s most certainly not a passion. ...He’s something else, that’s for sure. An enigma, really. He reminds you of that feeling––the one that has a name, temptation. Someone tells you not to do something you weren’t going to do in the first place, and now you want to do it.

Except the case is different. You shouldn’t be perving on strangers like this––sneaking up on them, spying on them––all because you just can’t help it. Your mind tells you to stop, but it’s just giving you all the more reason to continue doing it. So, until you nearly get caught one more time, you’ll continue to watch him. Desperate to figure out who he is and what he’s doing.

The cameras are no longer on the ground; a smart decision, given that there’s a pool that takes up more space than anything. The blue water of pools has always fooled you. You grew up believing that it was the true colour of water, not even knowing that it was, in fact, the tiles and not the water. There’s no mess there either, clean and tidy. Maybe professionally done, because the concrete has but not one dark spot or crease where grass grows out of it.

Laid perfectly, you know your mother and father would admire it for a few minutes. You squint your eyes and gaze at the glass sliding door. Inside is him. You let out one of those dreamy, love-filled sighs that only main characters do in romance movies. You watch him as he pours himself a cup of coffee, two spoonfuls of sugar, and a dash of what seems to be almond milk.

You wonder if he likes iced coffees, as they can be so nice during the summertime. He wears those lovely blue swim shorts once again, hair slightly damp (with a pretty curliness to a few strands) and a navy bathrobe. It’s that same outfit as the other time you saw him, and you realize that they’re probably filming a movie. He moves around the counter, putting away certain little ingredients and whatnot.

The most mundane actions ever, ones that even you did just this morning. But god, he just makes it all seem so unique. He cards his fingers through his brown, almost dirty blond hair. There are clumps of strands that stick together, wetness that’ll dry probably as soon as he steps outside. He faces the window, staring out towards the fence that has been freshly painted, and sighs.

His head lulls back, and his neck is exposed. He’s probably both an actor and a model, you think to yourself. His chest hair has grown a bit more, and you can’t find yourself complaining. Tingles run through your body and even down to your pussy. You rub your thighs together, trying to make the feeling go away, while still being careful about holding onto the fence. You hope that he doesn’t know you’re watching him because you’ll never be able to live that down.

And it’s just so unfortunate that Helmut is such a clever man. Heightened senses from when he used to camp a lot when he was younger; he just knows practically everything. He knows you’re watching him, squinting your eyes until they’re nearly shut close. The skin around them wrinkles in the most adorable way, just like the way your nose scrunches up out of instinct. God, he could kiss every crevice of your body, even if you don’t know who he is.

“Hey, Helmut, we have a few re-shoots to do. Do you want to start now?” one of the cameramen asks him, holding a microphone in his hand. “No… I’m tired; we’ll do it all tomorrow,” Helmut says, waving his hand. He’s no longer looking outside and instead at the man who he’s addressing. He nods and walks off before Helmut follows him. Common courtesy is to always escort your guests out, and Helmut was raised with manners. With a hand on the man’s lower back, and a smile on his face, Helmut gently pushes him out the door and locks it.

You watch him as he disappears, seemingly leading someone out of his home, and you think all is fine. That is until that little voice in your mind decides to be obnoxious. The slight possibility that you’ve been caught and he’s mad haunts you, and your breath hitches. Your eyeballs are wide open, as big as the eyes of an owl, and your hands shake a bit out of fear. They dampen up a bit, not enough to the point where you’d be disgusted, but they’re clammy nonetheless.

You make a move to jump off the latter, not caring about the possible risk of falling and scraping your pretty legs. Your hands begin to let go of the fence, but they’re stopped by someone grabbing you by your wrists. You let out a squeal of shock as they hold you tightly from over the barrier, and you’re screwed. “I’m sorry!” you quickly yell, squinting your eyes out of fear. You’re not sure what to expect, whether he would yell at you or threaten to call the cops.

“No, it’s okay. Calm down, I’m not mad. Come back,” Helmut tells you, and you calm down. Yet you’re still nervous, scared that he’s a liar and that you’ll be in deep shit with the law. You step back onto the latter and are wary of looking over the wood. His eyes meet yours, and you swallow thickly. “I’m not mad, okay? I think it’s kind of cute. You’re like a curious little bunny,” he smiles, and you giggle.

“Never been called that before, usually just a curious cat,” you share with him, and he laughs. “Well, that’s not wrong,” he adds. A brief silence intrudes, and you just stare at one another. Helmut’s eyes jump from feature to feature on your face, relishing in that unique gorgeousness of yours. Someone like you will never be found amongst models because you’re an absolute angel. You’re like a pretty rose amongst other flowers; all are beautiful in their own ways, but you always manage to stand out.

You wonder if Helmut is the wolf to your bunny. That dark look in his eyes that compliments his features and overall attitude. He carries himself in such a way that old Hollywood actors wish they were so graceful. He’s the polar opposite of you––seemingly. But from the few words you’ve exchanged with each other, he just might be a bunny friend to yours. “I- I saw that there were cameras and I heard people talking… Are you filming a movie?” you ask him.

“...Yes, we are, bunny. I apologize for being so loud. Do you forgive me?” Helmut questions with a smile on his face. You nod your head and bite on your bottom lip, watching as his eyes brighten up a bit. “What’s it about? Can I know? Are you the main protagonist? Or the antagonist? What genre is it?” you interrogate, flooding him with questions. “Shh, one at a time, bunny. It’s very, very special and secretive. I can’t tell you much. But I’m the main protagonist, and it’s a bit of a naughty movie, so I don’t think a little girl like you should know much,” he whispers to you.

You nod your head as you listen to him, so intrigued about the work of art being filmed next door. “I’ve always wanted to be in a movie! Especially in one of those old Hollywood ones, they’re so good,” you admit to him shyly, with a coy smirk on your face. “Really? I think you’d be an amazing actress. You’d be even more popular than Audrey Hepburn and Marilyn Monroe,” Helmut praises, and you giggle once again.

“T- Thank you so much! ...Can I be in your movie?” you politely request him, but he shakes his head. You frown, your bottom lip jutted out. “You wouldn’t want to be in this movie, bunny. Remember what I said? It’s a naughty movie, and you’re just a little girl,” he reminds you, but you’re still pouting. “Is it a violent movie? One with curse words and lots of scary stuff?” you innocently ask, not sure as to what he means.

Helmut laughs quite loudly. “No,” he stifles a chuckle, “but one day I’ll shoot a movie with you, and I’ll show you how it’s all done.” He promises, and you can just tell he’s honest. You’re elated, hoping that the day he’s talking about will come soon. “What is your name, bunny?” Helmut asks, and you tell him. He nods before repeating it, giving you a smile. He brings both of your hands close to his face. You go on the tip of your toes to properly watch him once more. He presses his lips to the back of your hands, kisses them one by one.

“Go get some rest, bunny, and come by my place tomorrow,” he tells you before letting go of your wrists. He walks off before you do anything else. Sliding the glass door behind him, he disappears somewhere, and you’re left all by yourself. You’re still standing there, sighing dreamily as you replay the moments that will surely turn into a broken record. You hope that he’ll wear those blue swim shorts again, even though he’s already worn them twice.

There’s a skip in your step—nothing new and nothing unusual. Your shoes scratch against the concrete of the sidewalk that connects to Helmut’s front door. The sun only rose an hour and a half ago. The sky is a bright blue, filled with a few clouds that compliment the colour. The sun beats down onto your skin, and you haven’t forgotten to put on sunscreen once you finish twirling around in your little sundress.

You’ve got a miniature backpack that is slung over both of your shoulders. It’s orange, a bright one, in fact. It reminds you of the tangerines you love to peel, and those creamsicle treats that can be quite rare to find at this time of the year. You climb up the two steps that lead to his grey door, and you rap the wood a few times. There’s a doorbell too, one of those high-tech ones that record everything in its view.

Nothing but silence echoes back. No cars driving by, no birds chirping, no insects buzzing. Nothing. You wonder if he’s woken up yet, or if he’s even home. But as the door suddenly swings open––without a squeak, mind you––you’re met with the smiling face that belongs to Helmut. “Good morning, early-bird, is everything alright?” he questions, not one ounce of sleep tainting his look.

“Good morning! Everything is alright… D- Do you remember what you told me yesterday? About coming by?” you ask him, almost thinking to yourself that you’re just insane and that conversation never really happened. “Oh, right! Sorry, I've been a bit forgetful lately. But come in, have you eaten already?” Helmut asks as he moves to the side for you to enter.

Hesitatingly, you step inside his home. You kick off your shoes and look around. It seems sleek and modern at first, quite… different from the familiar feel of your house. Now, there are no wild polygons or geometric shapes that make you feel like you’ve been placed on a spaceship. No, it’s something that even your mind can’t come up with. The walls are a cream colour, engraved with different patterns that make it resemble marble. The chairs and couches have clear plastic legs on them, adding to that newfound era feel.

The floors are a light brown colour; wood in the shape of long, skinny parallelograms fitting against each other perfectly. The lights hang down a bit, high ceilings that you can’t even fathom reaching. You spin around and look up at them as they shine down brightly on you. They stem down from a pretty grey bronze appliqué that is attached to the ceiling. It’s practically art, just like the portraits of half-naked ladies that hang on his walls. There’s a specific piece that is above the fireplace.

It’s a mirror, and your reflection is in it. So is Helmut’s. You’re in front of him, looking at him through the mirror. He’s behind you, staring at your reflection. You both stay like that for a bit before you look away and admire the windows. He has such a lovely view; you can’t help but envy him for it. “Now, bunny, I have to be honest with you. We wrapped the movie up last night, and it was very late. I didn’t call you over because of that, and I’m really sorry about that. Do you forgive me?” Helmut questions.

You nod your head eagerly, just sensing that he’ll lead on with some sort of good news. Your parents have done that far too many times for you not to know better. “But, if you want, I’ll put you in a movie. It’ll be just between you and me because it won’t be too professional, okay?” Helmut grabs your hands and looks you in the eyes, waiting for your answer. “Oh, yes, please! That sounds amazing. Thank you so much!” you cheer, wrapping your arms around him.

You hug him tightly, and he eventually hugs you back. “Now, I want to finish it as soon as possible. So set your bag right on this couch, and go sit on that one,” Helmut instructs, pointing at the biggest couch in the living room. You nod and do exactly as he tells you. He walks away, possibly to set something up or to get ready, but either way, you still sit on his couch, filled with pure excitement. You cross one leg over the other, your pretty white dress covering the upper half of your thighs.

Lace that is on top of the cotton, both the same colour, and you realize how much you love this dress. Helmut saunters back into the living room, holding a giant tripod in one hand and a small camera in the other. You gasp at the sight, and he chuckles. Setting them up from the other side of the small coffee table, you watch him in awe. “This is going to be… a big girl movie, okay? Just like the one I was in. But I don't think it will be visible to the public eye, might just be between you and I,” Helmut tells you.

You nod in understanding. “Are you fine with that, little bunny?” he asks you just for reassurance. “Mhm, you can do anything you want; I don’t mind!” you reassure him, with a giant smile on your face. He swallows thickly as blood rushes downwards to his cock from your words. You still grin gleefully, such innocence on your features that he almost feels bad for having feelings for you.

He presses the little power button on the camera and waits for a green light to come on. With a smirk, Helmut walks around the table and stands in front of you. You look up at him, waiting for him to do something. He bends down and grabs both sides of your face––gently, of course––and he makes you stand up. He tilts his head and leans forward, slotting his lips against yours.

Now, you’ve kissed someone before. His name started with something along the lines of ‘J’ or ‘L,’ but that doesn’t matter. But that kiss was nothing like Helmut’s kiss. His kiss is soft and passionate, something you struggle to match. His lips stay locked with yours before moving to push his tongue into your mouth. You’re not sure what to do, so you just give up and let him kiss you until you both run out of breath. His tongue runs against the wet skin of your mouth, and you gasp at the feeling.

He eventually pulls away, and he looks at you with his eyes blown out. Helmut sighs and smiles at you. “You gotta trust me, okay?” he tells you once more, and you nod. “Ok…” you trail off, not knowing what to follow up with. “You gotta call me by a nickname, bunny… Hmm, how about Daddy?” he exclaims, his accent becoming more prominent. You love it and how unique it is. “Okay! I like that one a lot, my friend calls her boyfriend that sometimes,” you share with him, and he laughs.

He sits you down on the couch again, and his hand inches up your dress, making you giddy. He smiles at you, and you can see from the corner of your eye how the camera is filming you both. Helmut just knows you’re wet already, but you probably don’t know it. And he’s not wrong. You feel slightly tingly, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary. Your panties slide down your legs, a wet patch on them, and Helmut throws them to the side. He lifts your dress over your head and tosses the fabric away, too.

He takes a step back and admires you. You still have your ankle socks on, but God, you’re so gorgeous he thinks he’s in heaven. “You’re so pretty, bunny. The prettiest bunny I’ve ever seen,” he compliments. You grow shy and smile before whispering a thank you. You smile at the camera, and he begins to undress. The first thing that goes is the robe, and his chest is now exposed.

Helmut hasn’t shaved his chest hair, and you’re glad. It looks nice on him––but to be fair––anything does. All he has on is those swim shorts. God, you love those shorts so much. They’re no longer wet, and yet they still cling to his thighs. He slowly pulls them down––and you feel as though you should look away and give him privacy––but you just can’t. His cock is hard, and it shows through the fabric, but you’re too busy staring at his hands to notice it.

His Adonis belt is slowly exposed, along with his pelvic bone, as he pulls down his boxers as well. There’s a small bush of hair right above his cock, and you find yourself wanting to tangle your fingers between the strands. Helmut’s cock bounces up––hard, red, and leaking––and the tip slaps right below his belly button. You let out a gasp, and he chuckles. His swim shorts lie on the floor, and you’re suddenly being urged to lay back.

Helmut climbs on top of you, caging you beneath his well-built body. Soft abs that are just perfect enough for you, and big hands that hold you so lovingly. He wants to feel his rough palms against your delicate skin, falling into every groove and curve there is. Like an artist admiring their artwork, he runs his hands along your body. From your thighs to your hips, over your stomach, between your breasts, all the way up to your neck. His hard cock is between your legs, nearly touching your sensitive little pussy.

You swallow nervously at the feeling. Helmut’s left hand wraps around your throat, and his right hand moves downwards to your legs. Gripping your calf, he places your right leg on the head of the couch and moves to position your left leg so that it hangs off the edge of the seat. You’re spread wide open for Helmut, not able to hide your naked body or close your legs. Your hands rest above your head, almost as though you’re pathetically shielding your hair from the rain.

Helmut’s hand still rests on your neck, but he doesn’t squeeze your throat or anything like that. You’re not sure if he’s playing the antagonist or not, but you decide to just go along with what he does. “You’re okay, right, bunny? You’re fine, I’m gonna treat you so good,” he promises, and you give him your best superstar smile. You have to admit that you’re nervous, but you trust him completely. Helmut would never do anything wrong to you.

“Has anyone ever touched you down here, bunny? Have you ever touched down here?” he questions you, walking his fingers up to your soaking wet pussy. “Hmm, uh, I touched it once, but I didn’t know what was happening, so I stopped,” you shyly explain to him, and he nods. “That’s okay, bunny. Can I touch you here? I won’t hurt you too badly, I promise,” Helmut assures you, and you nod. His index finger sticks out, and he watches as slick drips from your hole and coats the silky skin around it.

The digit becomes a bit shiny and quite sticky, and he traces your slit lightly. You shiver lightly from his touch, and sensitivity blooms in your core. “Uhm… Daddy?” you call out to him, a bit worried. “What’s wrong, bunny?” he asks, bringing his finger up to your clit. It throbs with want, just like the veins on his cock. “It feels very sensitive, almost too sensitive…” you admit to him, even though he continues to touch your clit.

“That’s okay, bunny, that’s how it’s supposed to feel. But if you want to stop, just tell me,” Helmut urges you. “Okay, Daddy.” He rubs your little nub in small, light circles. The muscles in your legs twitch, and you bite down on your bottom lip. He continues to touch your clit, and you begin to writhe from the overwhelming feeling. You let out a few whines, and Helmut watches as your cunt just gets wetter and wetter.

You try to shift his hands away from you in your weird position. It’s just too much at once, and you’re scared of what will happen next. The pornstar’s finger slips off your cunt, and he lets out a small gasp. The sound is mixed with displeasure, and you look him in the eyes with innocence. “Don’t do that again, bunny,” he warns, squeezing your neck a bit just to add to his threat. His index finger returns to your clit, and this time, he rubs your little pearl even harder. You see stars, ones that are dark and would be hidden in the blackness of outer space. Your eyes roll back into your skull, and you’ve never felt such pleasure in your life. Helmut’s digit touches the most sensitive part of your clit, and you jerk in response. Your legs try to shut close, but his body stops you from doing so.

When you open your eyes, you’re faced with a displeased superstar. Helmut lets out a shaky exhale, trying to compose himself. He knows he shouldn’t get mad at you, but he just doesn’t like it when he doesn’t have his way. His hand leaves your cunt and moves downwards. Suddenly, a harsh slap lands on your ass, making you cry out in pain. The skin stings and prickles, and you can feel slight tears beginning to form in your eyes.

Instead of staring at your pretty little face, Helmut squeezes your neck even tighter and watches as your little hole begins to leak with even more wetness. “Aww, bunny, did you enjoy Daddy hitting you? Hm? I bet you did; that’s you’re so wet,” he chuckles, and you grow shy. He’s not wrong, though. You enjoyed the pain quite a bit, even though you tend to avoid any and all activities that could leave you with a minor injury.

“Such a little slut for pain. But I bet you don’t like it when Daddy gets mean with you, right? Yeah, because you’re just a sensitive little bunny,” he coos, and you smile. You nod to him, and he grins down at you. Helmut’s cock is a furious red, almost purple if you really look closely. Beads of precum run down the sides of his cock, all the way to his thick base. He slaps your ass once more, enjoying the way you flinch and then smile from delight.

“I guess I’ve been a bit mean, just touching your little button without even letting you come…” he sighs before shifting onto his knees. Helmut looks over to the camera, just to make sure it’s still recording. And it is, so he smiles. He towers over you even more now, a few strands on his hair dangling downwards, and you find yourself wanting to play with them. The hand that was on your ass grasps the base of his cock, and he runs the head through your folds.

A quiet squelching sound echoes between the both of you, and you giggle. Your laughter is cut short when he bumps up against your clit, and you let out a moan. The sound is unexpected on your behalf, but Helmut just smirks. Your moans turn into a string of shallow pants, and he curses under his breath at the feeling. Dragging his head away from your clit, he brings himself down to your hole, and you let out an even louder gasp.

“Shh, just let Daddy in, okay? I know it’s your first time, but it’s okay. You’re fine, don’t worry,” Helmut reassures. You nod your head and let out a pained cry as he pushes into you slowly. You feel as though you’re being torn apart, split into two. He grips your throat even tighter, and you wrap your hand around his wrist in a panicked, fleeting moment.

Helmut sheathes himself inside you, with your mouth parted open in a silent scream and his eyebrows knitted together. He eventually bottoms out, and the stretch of his cock goes from a harsh burn to a pleasurable feeling. His swollen balls touch your aching ass, and he bends down to kiss your forehead lightly. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” he questions. “Y- Yes, it feels really good, Daddy. Just a li’l uncomfortable, but it feels really good,” you tell him.

Your cunt squeezes him in a tight hug, your silky wet walls welcoming him in hesitantly. He wishes to stay inside you his whole life, and he would if he could convince you. Helmut pulls out until his head is the only thing inside you before roughly thrusting back inside. You cry out, and his hand loosens around your throat. “Such a good girl, letting me use your pussy for my pleasure. You like being recorded while I fuck you, right? Say it,” he demands, fucking into you roughly.

Your tits bounce with each and every movement. Helmut’s cock gets closer and closer to your sweet spot, and you moan loudly. “I- I like being recorded while you fuck me, Daddy,” you repeat to him. Helmut groans loudly, and you clench down on his cock tightly. “You feel so good, bunny, better than anyone else,” he compliments, feeling slick sweat beginning to build upon his back. “Uhm, Daddy? S- Something’s happening,” you whisper to him through your desperate cries of pleasure.

Searing heat grows hotter and hotter in your stomach, right above your pussy. You’ve never felt like this before, other than when Helmut was touching your pussy a few moments ago. “Let it happen, bunny, it’s okay, come all over Daddy’s big cock. I know you can do it, squeeze me, bunny,” Helmut urges, and you listen to him. The powerful feeling grows and grows, and so do your moans. And the elastic cord breaks eventually. It always does.

You cry out ‘Daddy’ as you come undone around his cock for the very first time. He continues to fuck you through your orgasm, even though you’re gripping him so tightly. You gush all over him, wetness coating his cock, and it makes him fuck you even quicker. The sound of skin on skin and loud moans fill the room, and Helmut hopes to God that the microphone is picking up on it all. The feeling in your body makes you lose all sense of reality, and you’re babbling like a little baby.

“Daddy- It’s too much,” you sob to him, digging your nails into your palms. “Shh, it’s okay, bunny,” he shushes gently, keeping his hand wrapped lazily around your neck. Helmut’s cock slams into your cunt, pounding into you ruthlessly, yet he’s somehow oh so gentle. Your eyes roll into the back of your head again, and you moan gently as you feel another climax being built up. Back to back, and you’re not sure how your body is going to handle it.

He’s close, too. He’s never had this happen before, and he’s not sure what to think of it.

“Awe, you’re going to come again, bunny? That’s okay, shh, Daddy’s here, bunny. We’ll do it together, and it’ll b- be good,” he tells you, and you nod. Helmut bends down and places his shiny forehead against yours. He stares you into your glassy eyes––they’re hazy––and he can tell you’re gone. You’ve gotten all stupid and dumb for his cock, and he loves the idea so much.

You both pant as he sloppily fucks into your cunt, his heavy balls slapping against your ass. “Fuck, I can’t wait to fill up your tight little pussy with my cum. Gonna watch it leak out, and I’m just gonna fill you up over and over again. Make you all mine because you belong to me. Right? Say it,” he growls, fucking you even faster. “I’m all yours, Daddy, I’m all yours,” you say to him, and you’re both pushed off the edge after one specific thrust.

“O- Oh my…” you choke out, squeezing your eyes shut. Helmut curses loudly, saying all kinds of sinful things that a nun would faint if she hears him. His cock twitches as he comes inside you, and your pussy squeezes him as you let go. Streaks of cum shoot out his tip and paint your inner walls, and it all begins to leak out already. Your cum mixes with his, and he can’t lie and say he doesn’t enjoy the sight of it.

He presses a kiss on your nose before slowly pulling out. Helmut’s cock is still hard, and he just knows the afternoon won’t end until he says so. You wince loudly at the feeling of emptiness and overwhelming sensitivity. “Sorry, bunny,” he frowns, reaching over for the camera. You watch him through droopy eyelids as he focuses it on your cunt, then to your body, and then to your face.

“Did I do good, Daddy?” you ask him excitedly.

“So good, bunny. You’re going to be sweeping up at the awards next year.”

[multiples-fandomswontkillme]

~Metal Family headcanons~

These are like my... general hcs)? which means I didn't include my main hc that Glam, Ches and Vicky are polyamorous, married and started dating after Glam met Vicky, and absolutely everything that implies for the kids and the relationships between each member of the fam. Maybe I'll make a separate post for that or maybe not! Who knows lkfwnlfqnf

Glam

Bisexual

Glam has constant nightmares and ocasional night terrors ever since he ran away home and is an active sleep walker. Ches helped him through the worse ones when they were younger, and learned how to deal with them, always preferring not to wake him up but being with him until the episode passed. Vicky has learned how to deal with them, though she normally asks Ches for advice with it cuz she comes out short sometimes.

He has PTSD. I bet it's diagnosed too, he takes medication and goes to therapy, it doesn't mean he still doesn't have his bad days anyway. He's trying to get better.

Glam has talked to Vicky about his past, his father and his family. This is a direct contradiction of Alina's confirmation that Glam doesn't talk about it with anyone but man FUCK THAT. We love good communication in this house, Vicky tries her best to help him, but there's only so much she can do to help.

Glam enjoys gardening, cooking and making models, he also likes doing his make up, painting his nails and dressing up in fancy, extravagant clothes even if he has nowhere important to go.

He likes taking care of everyone's hair, and constantly helps Vicky brush her hair cuz there's so much of it, Dee when he gets stressed over how tangled it can get, buys Ches hair products so he actually takes care of it, and chases Heavy so the kid actually washes, untangles and brushes his hair.

This one is kind of weird, but I refuse to think any adult in the family is unarmed at any time. Glam owns a taser and pepper spray. They're bright pink and sparkly.

This man cried his eyes out while watching Coco. He's hell to watch movies with cuz he talks and predicts what's gonna happen during the movie, judges them with scores at the end and all.

Vicky

Also bisexual!

Vicky's the one who does everyone's laundry most of the time. She prefers it that way since she's the only one that knows how to wash their black clothes so the colors stay vibrant. (This is based on my gf shaming everyone but Vicky cuz their black clothes always look so muted and almost gray, but Vicky's whole outfit is always the same vibrant black colors, so we decided that neither Glam or the kids know how to wash dark clothes)

She has anger issues, if it isn't obvious. I think she also has PTSD, mainly survivor's guilt due to her surviving the accident her brother died in. She blames herself and cannot bear to talk about it, in some sort of deep denial. If she can't remember, it can't hurt as much, right?

She has scars on the right side of her back and her hip, from the road rash she got on her brother's accident, she never treated it due to grief and it scarred badly. Apart from that, the scar of the caesarean section from Heavy's birth. She doesn't really mind both of them, they happened, nothing to do about them.

She likes watching boxing competitions, brawling matches and motorcycle repairing on TV. Loves doing BBQ's and going to the pool. Also an enjoyer of teasing her kids, kissing and loving her husband at random times, spending time drinking and bonding with Ches and bragging about her family and punching anyone who thinks they're not that cool.

Not particularly a fan of make up, skirts and dresses or any traditionally femenine-perceived stuff. But has been making exceptions due to Glam and Ches being unashamed of being seen as femenine, and actually rocking the looks. The internalized misogyny is kind of slowly dissapearing.

Apart from the guns she carries in each arm (I mean her biceps, have you looked at the size of those?? She strong) she has brass knuckles on her at all times. Glam gifts her new ones sometimes, she loves having multiple choices to punch people teeth in.

Loves horror, thrillers and action movies. Falls asleep during rom-coms and dramas. Ironically, loves gossip and talking shit about people. Enjoys hearing Ches talks about the gossip going on in the nursery home even if she doesn't know who the hell he's talking about.

Rest of the family under the cut!

Heavy

Heavy is a trans boy! He doesn't know his sexuality yet though, he's still figuring himself out. When he's older, i think he definitely dated some men but had better luck with girls.

Heavy has had innocent crushes on some girls on his class before, but they never turn into anything more cuz he's not the best at expressing himself. He follows the bother-the-girl-to-death-until-she-hates-you gimmick, and unsurprisingly, it doesn't work.

I'm sorry to break this to u but Heavy totally had an among us phase, and uses so much reddit and twitch slang... You know he does.

Likes bullying and teasing his brother to death. You know that when Dee had his first romance, Heavy was ALL up in his business being a tease and a bad attempt at a wingman. He means well tho.

He's not squeamish at all. Also has great pain resistance. This kid has picked cockroaches with his bare hands and loves cats, of course the cats have scratched him. He's tough!

Grows up to be the charming himbo he was always destined to be.

Dee

I hc him as demisexual. Kind of inherited his dad's tastes for the takes no crap, intimidating but pretty kind of people.

Can't cook. He tries but he can only do basics like rice, cereal, chicken nuggets or eggs. Complicated meals always burn or don't taste like anything at all. It drives him crazy.

Dee was a quiet and very well behaved toddler before Heavy was born. He never threw tantrums or got whims. After Heavy was born though, and despite the fact he understood his brother was small and needed special care, he started craving attention often and cried and got mad at little things. Typical jealousy of the oldest sibling.

The first time Dee fell in love with someone, he didn't recognize it was love at first. He just thought his interest on the person was born out of curiosity and aesthetic attraction, but as soon as he realized he seeked validation and companionship, that he liked seeing them smile, that he wanted to protect them, that he yearned for more time alone with them and that he wanted more than what just a simple friendship implied, it was an instant 'oh hell no'. He wanted those feelings to get the hell away, but unfortunately, they were there to stay.

Canonically likes MLP, psychological and horror anime like Death note and Hellsing, so I'm deciding he also watched Death Parade, had a FNAF phase, is very into The Walten Files. This guy enjoys any kind of specially dark ARG's and knows a ton of lore of real crime, unsolved cases, ghost appearances and other stuff. Doesn't believe in the supernatural, but sure is entertained by it.

He's a mess at romance. Flirting? His attempts at compliments are hardly flattering. Giving gifts? The best he can manage is jewelry and you can kind of tell he asked his dad for help. Dates? He's so nervous he's silent for most of it, but begins getting comfortable and having fun if his partner really knows how to get him down from his negativity cloud.

Ches

Pansexual.

He's very good with kids. He has the patience of a saint and he's laid-back, chill and fun but still is an authority figure who knows how to put limits. Sure, he's gonna let the kids light up a house on fire BUT hey, now they know everything about fire precautions, burns and how to treat them AND how to get away with arson. What an educational evening, am I right?

Due to certain info from the "Goodbye" official comic, I headcanon Ches as depressed. I don't want to elaborate a lot 'cuz of spoilers, but... God, everything related to his mom fucking hurts, man. How did he deal with all that?

Ches has been Dee and Heavy's babysitter so many times he cannot count them with all his fingers. He learned how to put those kids to sleep almost immediately (Sing Bon Jovi's "This ain't a love song" and any cheesy love song in a slow lullaby style and they're out), which movie were their favorite as kids (Heavy loved 'Monsters Inc.' and Dee never looked away during 'Meet the Robinsons'), how to console them after nightmares (Heavy needed reassurance, sweet words, and to be with someone until he fell asleep again. Dee just had to be tucked in, get his nightlight turned on and kissed in the forehead). He practically raised those kids along with Vicky and Glam.

More than once, Dee and Heavy have slipped and called Ches "Dad". Ches immediately gets his shit eating grin on and answers "Yes, son?" and does a couple of dad jokes just to mess and embarrass them. He's actually very flattered and surprised at how proud of himself he is for being a father figure to both kids.

Has a scar on the left side of his forehead due to a bottle his mom threw at him when he was younger, around the time he met Glam. He hates the scar with passion, it's a permanent reminder of the fact she never cared, that's why he always keeps it covered with his headband. Gets sad about it sometimes.

Ches likes to spend his time with a group of grannies of the nearby nursing home. He genuinely considers them his friends and gossips and hangs out with all of them on weekends. Bingo, billiards, walks in the park, soap opera marathons, you name it. I even designed them, gave them names and backstories... God, i just love the concept too much. I'll make some art about Ches and his granny gang FOR SURE, you're NOT ready for them.

Carries a pocket knife on him at all times. This man grew up on a bad neighborhood and absolutely knows how to defend himself, he can be intimidating when he wants to be and will pose a threat if needed. He's fucking terrifying when genuinely mad. Just cause he looks harmless doesn't mean he is, darling.

That would be all!

[morefandomscenarios]

@lilmilkmaiden asked:

I love your writing and I've just been stocking your page reading your work could I perhaps request op dudes as dads? And how they would take care of there infants? To like let the mom/s.o. relax? Like after birth?

Oh sorry bout that I was hoping for kid and killer and how they'd take care of there new born while there s/o went to the spa or something for some much needed self care i kinda realized it was a little under specific 😅 sorry bout that you don't have to write it. If its to much.

A/N: This turned out pretty long oopsies

Kid

Oh my goodness are you sure you want to do this? Are you really, really sure??

He has absolutely no idea how to take care of a newborn baby. Will probably end up throwing the responsibility to his crew. I am so sorry.

It gets better as time goes on though.

Kid mostly has no idea how to babysit infants because they can only cry, so he panics because he has no idea about what the baby wants. Are they just hungry or are they literally dying???

So as they grow up and start to babble or be able to form some kind of words, given that he's also getting used to the whole parenting thing, he'll become more comfortable, and you'll feel more at ease to leave him with the baby.

It's kind of cute to see him 'converse' with the toddler in the early stages. He's struggling so bad to understand them, but he wants to, so badly, after he sees you being able to have a conversation with them.

It also helps that he's able to make toys and interesting contraptions. Your child is spoiled for choices. They'll have boxes upon boxes of things made for them to play with because Kid keeps making one as soon as they get bored of it.

Don't worry, they're not dangerous. You've beaten enough sense into him to make toys that are safe for your baby. We don't talk about the first toy he made... Let's just say your baby has slight scarring on their arm now.

He's all for tough love, so he won't be the helicopter parent who follows their kid everywhere and picks them up when they're about to fall or do something dangerous. Kid will still keep an eye out for them, but he won't freak out from the slightest fall or bump. If the child cries, he'll pick them up and distract them with toys, grinning proudly when they stop crying. "Now that didn't hurt that bad, did it, pipsqueak?"

The older your child gets, the more chaotic the duo will be if you left them without supervision.

Some kind of destruction will always be waiting for you when you return, be it the playroom looking like a tornado has gone and gone wild inside the room, or the deck missing a chunk of railings / floorboards, or Heat sulking over the burned ends of his hair...

Killer

You know how they say mothers have a special sort of connection with their babies?

That's Killer and your baby.

You have no idea why or how Killer ended up being the one who has this telepathic sixth sense power to detect your baby's moods and wants, but he has it alright. It's all the times he dealt with Kid, he's trained for this

He knows whether they're hungry, or need a change of diaper, or just want to be held based on their cry. So you'll have zero issues if you want to take some time off for yourself.

And Killer is really understanding about it too - he doesn't even hesitate when you say you're tired and you want to have a self-care day on the next island you dock, he'll nod and tell you to go ahead because he's got this.

He prefers to play and interact with his baby behind closed doors, but it can get stuffy in the cabins, so he'll carry your baby up so they can get some fresh air every now and then.

Times like these the crew who are around will be all over your child, helping Killer with babysitting voluntarily. Your baby is the crew's baby! They're all proud uncles and aunts! They wanna shower the baby with love!

Imagine this buff, beefy hunk of a man carrying a small little human, surrounded by other massive men and women trying to make the small human laugh. It's adorable.

As the child gets older, nothing really changes except that now Killer is the one who's at the beck and call of your little spawn when it comes to the activities they do.

He's still a firm parent when he has to be (again, he's trained to take no bullshit from babysitting Kid), and though he's a silent protector he'll let his child run around freely.

They want to braid his hair? He'll sit in the middle of the deck and let them do it.

They want to zoom around the deck to burn off some excess energy? He'll be there to make sure they don't slip and fall into the ocean.

They want to climb up uncle Kid with his cool mechanical arm? If Kid is in a good mood, why not? It's fun to see the redhead get all flustered as he tries to not hurt them accidentally while the child climbs him like a monkey climbing a tree.

[the-witty-pen-name]

Tell Me Your Mine, Darling

Western AU 

18+ ONLY

Lee Bodecker x F!Reader

Warnings: prostitution, mentions of smut, alcohol, cursing, violence, mentions cheating 

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: Hey! As always, this is unedited! Please let me know if I missed anything to include as a warning. I’m on the fence if I should make this a longer story, I like the idea of this being a stand alone, but let me know what you think! I’d love to hear any feedback cause this is my first attempt at a Western AU :)

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The player piano echoed throughout the whole saloon, bouncing off the walls as patrons moved about the crowded room. The peppy music was perfect for dancing as a few of the men threw back shots of liquid courage and asked some of the women working tonight for a dance. It was a night where the people who came in through the batwing doors could forget about their troubles and the existence of sins, and partake in merry drink and debauchery. The night air hung heavy and the room smelled of sweat, cheap liquor and even cheaper perfume. 

The women were scantily clad in dresses only slightly less revealing than their undergarments, and the men still in their clothes from long days of travel. Cowboy hats, rugged trousers, and boots that lost their shine years ago. Girls carried around large trays of shots and lagers, passing them around to the drunk souls who struck rich for a night and opened tabs at the bar. 

It was a busy night both downstairs in the saloon, but also many of the girls were leading men upstairs to their beds, for a warm place to lay their head and anything else they can afford. That was the secret that kept this dilapidated building up and running. The music and the watered down liquor wasn’t enough to keep the sheriff from closing and condemning the building. 

If the owner was honest, he knew what kept the sheriff from coming and toting him away to rot in one of the two cells down at the jail. Not only was the sheriff partial to a drink or a few each night after the sun goes down, but he was particularly taken with one of the girls who worked there. Sure, the sheriff must’ve had his turn with every girl in the joint, but there was something about you which made the sheriff absolutely smitten. Of course, no one dared admit to seeing his obviously growing affections but the owner knew as long as you were here, and his glass was refilled, he had nothing to worry about. No one quite knows what happened. He went from coming in every Saturday night asking for whichever girl is free and then it went to asking only for you, every week without fail. 

People theorize that maybe it’s your honeyed smile or the sweetness in your voice. The ability to deceive every man into thinking they’re the only one to ever touch you. The ability to put on the act of the farmer’s daughter while having the dirtiest mouth on this side of the Mississippi. No matter what drew him in, the sheriff had declared you his girl and anyone with half a brain knew better than to try to say different. 

Nothing was any different about tonight, you watched from one of the stools at the bar while the other girls worked the room. Sitting with your legs crossed, your dress skirted up high enough to show the tops of your garters, you sip on your drink stealing glances at the doors waiting for him to arrive. You can’t help but let out an impatient sigh, balancing your high heel on your toe as you watch the clock that’s mounted on the wall behind the bar. 

“Slow night?” the bartender asked as she topped off your drink. You smiled, but it fell a little flat, not meeting your eyes. 

“Every man here is scared to come near me,” you chuckle dryly. Not that you were necessarily complaining- but you worried more and more as the savings you kept under your bed dwindled. The sheriff was a regular who paid incredibly well, but he was feared. And no one else would touch what he called his. You wanted to save up to get out of this town, salvage whatever was left of this life and do something. You didn’t want to live cooped up in that room and in this town for the rest of your days. You were luckier than most, that you understood and never tried to forget that, but still you found yourself daydreaming. 

You thought about the men you’ve slept beside and the wild stories they told you. You didn’t want to live a hard life, the tedious and unfulfilling work they told you about. But, oh, you were so envious of how they traveled. Seeing the naked lands of the country and going to different towns. You weren’t even sure what you wanted to do, but you wanted to have the option. So in a little cigar box under your bed. You scrimped and saved what you could from each week. But, being the sheriff’s favorite girl, meant no one else dared touch you, meaning you have been having to open that little box of savings more and more. 

“That ain’t the worst thing in the world,” you heard a voice next to you. Soft, and velvety- you’d recognize the voice anywhere as Dottie, one of the older women who had been working there much longer than you. Middle-aged, but completely sensual in her mannerisms and her voice. She had the ability to captivate an entire room with her prominent curves and everything you know, you learned from her. 

“I know, I know,” you try to explain, but she feels your frustration. She understands it, and she knows it better than you do. She’d been there herself. The restlessness, the feeling of being incomplete, the utter fear of your life being wasted away under men whom you’re never going to fall in love with. She knows.

But she also knows the harsh realities of this world and how it treats lost souls like you, and she doesn’t want to see how it can hurt you like it hurt her. She understood how demeaning this line of work is, and how from here there is no way to move up in the world. It’s a limbo, where you're stuck in this saloon, listening to the complaints of men who despite their hardships will always have it better than you. However, the alternatives for women like you are far less desirable outcomes for your lives. 

“Appreciate the gift you’re being given, sweetness,” she chuckles, watching as the bartender makes her usual. “As long as that sheriff keeps coming around, you’re working less for the same room and board the rest of us pay.” 

You know she’s right. You know there’s so many things wrong about this town you can’t change. You can’t afford to worry about things like that, while so many of the people in this little one room saloon are just trying to survive tomorrow. It’s never going to be an ideal, and the world is much too cruel for miracles to happen for a woman like you who sold their soul. 

Jesus befriended Mary Magdalene, so it never made much sense to you when folks in this town claimed you were damned to spend your own eternity in hell. You weren’t sure if the people in this town actually read the Bible. Granted, you didn’t know much about religion yourself. But long ago you learned religion was a luxury only the wealthy people in this town could afford to follow, and they were the ones who could afford to participate in the sins you peddled. But, that was just one woman’s observation. 

Dottie disappeared back into the crowd as quickly as she arrived, and soon you were back to watching the doors again, waiting for the sheriff to relieve you of your ever growing boredom. The place was in full swing as a posse of men you don’t recognize entered, talking about how they were on their way to the coast, to mine for gold and become millionaires. You can’t help but roll your eyes, and you keep to yourself as they whoop and holler, making demands of the barkeep to send out a round for the whole place on their dime. Their rowdiness makes you flinch, and for the first time tonight, you find yourself anxiously waiting for the appearance of the sheriff so you don’t have to entertain the likes of them. Maybe God does like you, because before one of the men staring at you has an opportunity to saunter over, the saloon doors open suddenly and you can be saved. 

You know you shouldn’t find it thrilling, but there is something about being his favorite that fuels your ego on nights like this. The most commanding man in the town, calling you his- making you have this untouchable status for the night. It was the closest you think you can ever be to royalty. In that bar, on the nights he regulars, you’re a Queen. It’s a rush that's definitely spoiled you and yes, in the moment, you absolutely revel in the power you feel as he changes the atmosphere in the room- with his hardened blue eyes locked right on you. 

“Evening, sheriff,” you coo and shoot him a smile, genuinely happy to see him. 

“How many times do I have to ask you to call me Lee, darling?” He smirks, placing his hands on your knee so you uncross your legs and he can stand between them. The feeling of his hands on the exposed skin of your upper thighs sent a tingle right up your spine. His thumbs slowly rubbed circles on your skin, making you shiver. 

You rest your hands on his chest, rubbing gently, your hands shamelessly feeling the strength of his chest under his shirt. You straighten out the gold sheriff’s badge on his chest, and you can feel him tremble slightly at your touch, which strokes your ego more than it already was. 

“I forget,” you tease, straightening out his tie. He smirks, looking down at you as his hands trail up higher, resting on your hips under the skirt of your dress. “I need you to keep coming back and remind me,” you flirt shamelessly. 

“Your usual, sheriff?” the bartender asks over the loud music, people settling back into their own business after the excitement of the sheriff arriving has died down. Lee replies with a quick thank you but doesn’t take his eyes off of you. 

“Did you miss me, darling?” he quips, rubbing your sides, his thumbs trailing across the waistband of your undergarments. 

“I always do,” you wink, leaning up and pressing a quick kiss to the side of his jaw. “It’s so slow when you aren’t here,” you practically whine, pouting your lips slightly. 

“I’m sorry about that, sugar,” he mumbles, leaning in and trailing kisses down your neck. 

“It’s your fault you know,” you tease, your nails scratching his scalp affectionately. 

“Is it now?” he chuckles, as he nips at your skin. 

“No one else comes near me,” you admit, and you feel him smile against your skin. 

“Good,” he murmurs against your collarbone. 

“Ice is melting,” you chuckle, referring to the drink he’s ignoring on the counter. He just chuckles, pulling away only long enough to finish the drink in one long sip, and you watch as his Adam’s apple moves, and how the condensation of the glass drips onto his knuckles. 

After he places the empty glass on the counter, you pull his arm to lead him upstairs with you. He takes your hand and let’s you lead the way, he knows like the back of his hand, and at this point better than his own house.

“Impatient, darling?” he teases, “Not going to ask me for a dance?”

“You never say yes,” you giggle, “Figured you want to have some privacy.”

“I might’ve said yes,” he retorts and you can’t help but roll your eyes. 

“Would you have?” you counter and he shakes his head no with a devilish grin. 

“One of these days, doll.” 

“I’ll be an old maid,” you joke, continuing up the stairs and down the hallway towards your room. 

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” he says. You don’t know exactly what he means, but you don’t push him for an explanation. As soon as the door clicks closed behind you both, Lee’s lips attach to yours like if he waits a second longer he’d evaporate. 

“Been dreaming about this,” he mumbles against your neck, leaving a trail of love bites that send a shiver up your spine. “Think about you every night I can’t visit you.”

You noticed how much more intimate your interactions with the Sheriff were gradually becoming. You weren’t sure how much of it he meant. The way he fawned over you and treated you like something more. Plenty of times, men behaved this way, never admitting except behind closed doors that that craved a much deeper sense of intimacy. You had always assumed the Sheriff was no different.

He’d take care of you, and you saw over time the way he handled you changed. It used to be rough and impersonal, oftentimes as well relying on you to do all the work so to speak. But, overtime, his visits became more of a mutual endeavor, and soon he was kissing you like how he is now, or begging to let him settle his head between your parted thighs, saying he felt good making you feel good. 

“I’m addicted to the feeling of your skin, darling,” he whispers as he lets his fingers linger as he pulls the straps of the dress down your arms. When the dress pools at your feet, he stares in awe like it’s the first time seeing you, and then soon enough his lips are on yours again and his hands are free to wander where they please. 

“Most stunning thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispers as you work on taking off his shirt, teasingly slow at undoing the buttons. 

“You say that everytime,” you point out and he chuckles, running his hands up and down your sides. 

“Cause I mean it everytime,” he smirks, walking you back until the back of your knees hit the back of your bed and you lay down with him on top of you. 

One time a month or so back, you were sitting on top of the bar counter with him settled between your legs. You were using a rag to wipe blood off of his face after a messy fight that happened. Well, a fight that he started. 

“I didn’t like him looking at you like that,” he grumbled, still fuming and he winces slightly as you press the damp cloth to the cut by his brow. “Shouldn’t be touching you like that,” he slurs, and you can smell the whiskey on his breath. 

“Just means I’m doing my job right,” you chuckle, amused at his possessiveness. “It don’t mean nothing,” you say.

“It don’t mean nothing when it’s me either,” he pouts, with his eyes closed like he could fall asleep standing up. You are convinced he’s just drunk and doesn’t know what he’s saying. He leans on you slightly to keep himself upright, and you move to wipe the blood that is smeared by the corner of his lips. 

He’s so handsome, you can’t help but observe. From a distance, sure he’s gruff and rough around the edges but he’s got the most handsome face you think you’ve ever seen pass through. You’ll never admit to yourself that you were taking your time patching him up so you could just look at him like this for a little longer. It’s always nice sometimes to pretend a situation is something that it’s not. 

“Tell me your mine, darling,” he almost whispers when his eyes flutter open again to look at you. His gaze on you felt heavy and you weren’t sure what to make of it. 

“I’m all yours, Sheriff,” you can’t help but chuckle, thinking he’s just fooling. Just trying to tease you. He frowns and looks so  sad, those damn blue eyes more expressive when he’s drunk. 

“Tell me your mine,” he asks again, like a whispered plea as his eyes roam over your face. 

“I’m yours.”

By the morning, he’s always gone. He always leaves more than necessary, insisting to you the night before not to tell the owner. He doesn’t want him taking a bigger percentage. He whispers not to worry, and to let him take care of you. He knows how much he affects your wages and he wants to do the right thing. 

Lee doesn’t like to pay you. It’s a horrible reminder to him that you don’t actually care one way or another if he shows up or not. It’s the terrible wake up call come morning that you aren’t actually his, as much as he asks you to say it. 

You’d just have to say the word and he’d do just about anything to make you love him back for real. But he knows that this can’t ever go further. You deserve to go off and see the places he hears you tell the other girls about. You don’t think he knows about you wanting to leave but of course he does. 

The pictures of far away cities are hung on your mirror held up between the frame and the glass. There’s a picture of New York that sometimes he’ll stay up staring at, knowing your heart ain’t tied down yet to one place like his is tied here. He can’t leave and he knows he can’t in good conscience ask you to stay. He knows you would, but not for the reasons he wants. 

Good god, you’re still young and have a spark in you that he damn well knows he doesn’t want to be the one to put out. He wants nothing more than for you to look at him and see you could be happy and be in love. But what life is that compared to the life you’re dreaming of. You have hopes, dreams, and Lee knows he isn’t at the center of any of them. 

So for now, he settles for the time you share with him when he comes by like tonight. Where he hopes he can silently tell you with his touches how much he feels for you. Where he can carefully tread the waters of sweet sentiments in hopes you’ll return them without him asking. It’s not real, none of it is. 

He can hold you close and touch every part of your body like it’s only his to see and feel. He can hear every noise you make and watch every reaction to his touches and it fuels him for now. It’s enough for now to leave bruises on your skin and pretend it’s enough to keep others from knowing you’re his. It’s not, because the marks won’t matter. 

He can feel himself inside you, and feel how your body reacts to him. The way to him, nothing will ever come close to the feeling of you around him. He’s addicted and he can’t go back. He’s been ruined by you, and no one else will ever come close to adding up to you. 

But it’s not real. He’ll go home in the morning, and lie to his wife one more time, swearing that it’s the last time he goes back. He’ll tell her he worked late and slept in the Sheriff’s office. He’ll make the promise that he’ll be home on the weekend. But it’s not real. Because, he knows that he’s going to find himself going back to you. And he prays to God you won’t be there.

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