#But the damage will almost certainly be done by then

[cripplecharacters]

Facial Differences that You Should Consider Representing in Your Writing More

[large text: Facial Differences that You Should Consider Representing in Your Writing More]

As it has been said many times on this blog before, facial differences are a very wide spectrum - there’s thousands of conditions that cause it, and they’re often extremely different from each other! It’s an incredibly diverse category almost by definition. But…

In books, movies, and our inbox, it seems that a traumatic battle scar is the only facial difference that exists. I find this rather frustrating because I would like to see the real life diversity to be actually considered by writers when creating characters - and that’s exactly what this post is for. I hope that by making people just aware of the myriad of options they have, I can help a bit. 

This isn’t to say that you shouldn’t write characters with scars, it’s to say that there’s more for you to consider. Just like not every physically disabled person has hip dysplasia and not every neurodivergent person has epilepsy, not every person with a facial difference has scars! 

Of course, this list isn’t exhaustive - no such list exists, it would be like “list of every disability ever”, it simply can’t be done. This is just a dozen random facial differences that I would like to see incorporated into characters more often!

Facial paralysis Exactly what the name implies. There are many types of facial paralysis - complete, partial, bilateral, unilateral, chronic, acute, and it can affect the whole face, or only part of it.  Sometimes it can cause problems with speech or dry eyes (mostly the latter), but it’s frequently just primarily a visual difference. A person with facial paralysis might be completely unable to make facial expressions at all if it’s severe, or have a lop-sided smile and inability to raise an eyebrow or control an eyelid like me. Causes include cranial nerve damage (especially the 7th nerve, which is called facial palsy), Bell’s palsy, Möbius syndrome, or multiple sclerosis! It can be congenital, like in my case, or acquired, like in most cases - mostly due to stroke. Here I would write something about the current media representation being good, bad, or what tropes to look out for but I don’t know a single character with it. So :-)

Anotia/microtia Microtia is a congenital facial difference that affects the outer ear(s) - as the name implies, they’re smaller than average; anotia means a complete lack of them. This usually will also result in being d/Deaf or hard of hearing in that ear, as the ear canal can be smaller or closed (depending on the “grade”). People with microtia who decide on using hearing aids will usually wear a bone-anchored hearing aid, which looks very differently from the “regular” HA; it’s worn with a headband. Microtia can be the only facial difference that a person has, but it can also be a part of Goldenhar syndrome, Treacher Collins syndrome (mentioned below!), or hemifacial microsomia.

Congenital Trochlear Nerve palsy I have a subtype of this, and because it happens to have the most boring name in existence I have never seen anyone talk about it, certainly not see a character with it. So! CNIV palsy (again, an incredibly catchy name) is a disorder of one of the very-easy-to-damage nerves that allow eyes to move. It causes constant double vision, severe strabismus, and progressive facial asymmetry. A person with CNIV palsy will have a 24/7 head tilt to the side and will have their chin tucked in, which causes said asymmetry - facial features on the side of the tilt will sag down, the eye will “sunk” in, and because it’s congenital, the jaw can grow to be misaligned (like mine!). Over time, it causes neck pain and kyphosis, so add chronic pain to that. Trochlear nerve palsy can be congenital, acquired, traumatic, and even extremely rarely genetic (that’s me! allegedly <1 in a million). However, most acquired cases are only temporary, and “fix themselves” with the passage of time. Again, I would love to write something about CNIV palsy representation, but I’m fairy confident it doesn’t exist : )

Sturge-Weber syndrome The most visible part of SWS - that you might be familiar with - are port wine stains! In this syndrome, they tend to be large and generally cover the forehead-eye area. Around 15% of people with any kind of port wine stain on their face have Sturge-Weber syndrome, and even more when it comes to larger ones. Most people with SWS will have epilepsy since childhood, and many will develop glaucoma (which causes blindness) if the PWS is around that eye. Hemiparesis (one-sided weakness) can also sometimes happen on the opposite side of the PWS. Here is a short article about media representation from a person with SWS!

Cystic Hygroma Also known as lymphangioma, it is a bump that mostly happens on a person’s lower face and/or neck. It’s almost always congenital and a result of a blockage in the lymphatic system (thus lymphangioma). Sometimes, if it affects the mouth or jaw, it may cause a speech disability where the person’s speech might not be fully understandable, or cause an airway obstruction; this generally means that the person has to have a trach tube in their neck to breathe. Here is a short article about living and growing up with cystic hygroma by Atholl Mills!

Congenital melanocytic nevus A complicated name for a specific kind of birthmark! Melanocytic means related to melanin, so it’s a black or brown birthmark that can show up on any part of the body and be of almost any size. Sometimes it can be hairy as well. While CMN doesn’t usually cause any problems, people who have it have a higher risk of skin cancer, epilepsy, and brain tumors. Here is a short article on representation - among other things - by a person with CMN!

Ptosis Ptosis is actually really common - I can almost guarantee that you have seen someone with it - but for some reason it never shows up in media, unless it’s to show that a character is under the influence or vaguely creepy. Ptosis is simply a drooped eyelid. It’s caused by damage to the third cranial nerve, which can be congenital, acquired, traumatic, etc. It’s very common in myasthenia gravis and CHARGE syndrome. In most cases ptosis is a visual thing, but it can sometimes cause problems - for me, it partially obstructs my vision and for some people who acquired it later in life that can cause pain (due to having to constantly lift the eyebrow). Ptosis is often misunderstood, and people tend to make bizarre assumptions about those of us who have it - even Wikipedia cites “looking sinister” as a symptom (not that I particularly trust Wikipedia as a source, but it shows the general public’s view quite well). In real life, we are normal people and all these “drunk/high/rude/evil” associations aren’t true at all.

Treacher Collins syndrome You have probably seen a person with TCS at some point, as it’s not that rare. This is a genetic, congenital disability that affects the development of the face. The bones of the jaw and cheeks are underdeveloped, eyes have a downturned shape, and microtia/anotia is often present as well. A lot of people with Treacher Collins are d/Deaf or hard of hearing. Sometimes, the small jaw might cause problems with breathing, which is why a lot of people with TCS will have a permanent tracheostomy tube in their neck. Similar to ptosis, eyes in TCS are often seen as “looking sad”, but that’s an incorrect assumption - that’s just how they look like. The main and only big representation of TCS in media is that one awful movie from a few years ago, that was literally just inspiration porn featuring an able-bodied actor based on a shitty book, made by an author with some sort of abled-person guilt. Very cool, don’t do that.

Crouzon syndrome Crouzon syndrome is a type of craniosynostosis; a congenital condition where a person’s skull fuses too early. There are other disabilities that can look somewhat similar, like Pfeiffer or Apert syndrome, but they are different!  CS will affect the person's skull - it will be taller than usual, eyes - they will be large and bulging, midface - it's often smaller than average and can look sunk in comparison to the jaw and forehead, and more! Sometimes people with Crouzon syndrome are d/Deaf or hard of hearing (very common with craniofacial differences), or experience long term effects of hydrocephalus, which happens fairly often. Here is a short article by Mikaela Moody about movie representation - and her piece on how it to be trans while having a facial difference, which I relate to a lot and wanted to share:-)

Phthisis bulbi Phthisis bulbi is something that I have mentioned on this blog before, as it logistically should be represented way more often in fiction than it currently is. It's also known as the “end-stage eye” which is a pretty metal name. This is an ocular difference that can result after trauma to the eye. It can also result from a million other things, but trauma is apparently the most common thing to happen to an eye in fiction, so. With phthisis bulbi, the eye shrinks, sinks, and everything inside becomes stiff; this is permanent, and the eye isn't functional anymore - it's blind and unable to move. The only treatment is to have the eye removed, especially if it causes pain. If you're writing a character who got a Hot Sexy Scar over their eye and still has that eye, they probably should have this (and yes, the “shrunk and sunk” part is mandatory, you can't just make the eye lighter and call it a day).

Frontonasal dysplasia Frontonasal dysplasia is a congenital facial difference that affects the structure of the face. While it's a spectrum with a lot of variety, most people with FND will have hypertelorism (eyes spread widely apart), a flat and broad nose, and a cleft going through the middle of the nose. Other facial clefts (not necessarily just cleft lip) are also common. Sometimes, someone with it can also have cranium bifidum (meaning a brain/meninges that protrude through the skull, similar to how spina bifida works), or intellectual disability related to the potential absence of corpus callosum. Rarely, limb differences can also be a part of it; absent tibia, extra toes, or clubfoot. Again, I’m unaware of any representation of FND outside of “scary birth deformity” on medical shows :--)

Parry–Romberg syndrome PRS is also known as progressive hemifacial atrophy, which is a much more descriptive name. It’s an acquired facial difference that people just get for unknown reasons, mostly before the age of 20 and usually between 5 and 15. Generally, PRS is considered to be slowly-progressing, but this can vary pretty widely between different people. As the name implies, it causes atrophy in the face, which affects everything from skin to fat and muscles to sometimes even bones. Some people will also experience skin darkening, alopecia (hair loss), or trigeminal neuralgia (very severe nerve pain) on the atrophied side. The difference between the two sides can be very pronounced, with a visible line between the halves showing up on the forehead. Again, no existing rep that I know of :-)

And as always, I recommend this short PDF that in my opinion any writer who wants to include a character with an FD has to read. Additionally, you can also check our #face difference tag, this primer on facial difference, or this piece on making sure you’re not contributing to disfiguremisia.

Also apologies for the amount of “idk what to say about already existing rep because it literally doesn’t exist afaik” but I hope it illustrates the problem :-)

Happy Face Equality Week!

mod Sasza

#mod sasza #face difference #disabled character ideas #writing guide #writing resources #writing advice #writing help #face equality week #long post

[drunkenskunk]

So, I was getting ready for bed, as I am Old™, and I have work tomorrow at Oh God Why The Fuck Am I Awake O'Clock. I looked at myself in the mirror, I realized: this is the look I was going for when I was designing Scarlet, my character in the Lancer game I'm currently in.

Hair tied back in a ponytail with loose frizzy bits along the edges, heavy bags under the eyes, the tired expression of a suicidally depressed alcoholic, faint scar across the nose from when it got broke that one time.

That is exactly the look I was trying to convey. Except my art skills are... y'know... kinda crap.

Also, I don't have red hair.

And Scarlet doesn't have disgusting, unshaven stubble.

And I'm not a mech pilot.

And... well.

Yeah.

#Lancer RPG #In Golden Flame #I don't know why I'm posting this thought #I certainly don't know what that last line is supposed to represent #Definitely no unexamined feelings or thoughts going on here #Which is technically correct #Just not ready to admit it in public #So obviously I'm going to post a picture of the face I hate with some easily decipherable thoughts in the tags for anyone to see #No sir nothing to see here officer #These aren't the droids you're looking for #I'll probably delete this in the morning when I think better of it #But the damage will almost certainly be done by then #Oh well

[theguardianace]

you've heard of hermit reversed mizuki and hermit searcher ena now get ready for wandering alchemist rui

[ID in alt, concept sketches in notes]

#rui kamishiro #project sekai #pjsekai #proseka #colorful stage #its almost certainly been done before but i have this little au thing where rui's (and by extension wxs) a part of this set #mizuki and rui were old acquaintances who split up a few years prior #mizuki's still running from being known but rui found a home in wxs #they meet up one day on accident and rui tells them abt how its ok to stop running #that acceptance is scary especially for outcasts like them but it happens and its a lovely thing when it does #fun little design facts i wanted to mirror mizuki's outfit most #hence the broken horn (they were the same incident) #but while mizuki hasn't changed rui's embraced his home and repaired his damage #the stars in his cape are also wxs colored :) #oh also his belt is like that so he can tie alchemist materials like bottles and containers to it #this guy was so fun to draw tho i'm definitely drawing him again later

[proteuus]

hmmmmmmmmm

#these are suspicious times. they are actually not at all suspicious but arent they. #here are some odds for my vague unspecified circumstance: 30% 👍 20% 👎 and 50% good news but no definitive answer #these odds are very fair and very good. the bad ending also is very far from the end of the world like it's literally fine #so I'm not sure why I'm so freaked out about it #i really want to do damage control but 1) there's no damage 2) at this point it is what it is #and 3) i have already done enough damage control doing anything else will almost certainly make it worse. not that its bad its fine

[softened-hearts]

why is stuff about shitty in-laws (tv tropes, cartoon strips, reddit posts) centered on catty insufferable mother-in-laws. like obviously misogyny is a huge factor but. do straight men not get filled with rage wanting to throttle the fathers of their girlfriends and wives for all the damage they've done? the only times you generally see talk of shitty fathers is absent ones. how is there no acknowledgement for fathers where she would have likely grown up happier if he had left? for when you think of or hear of the shit he's done and said, your adrenaline immediately kicks in? for when you hear them talk, all you can think is "you don't talk to someone you love like that."

so much of this rage is rooted in queerness, i know. but it's stunning nonetheless how completely ignored this focus of anger is.

#not to mention toxic MILs getting treated as a joke rather than a source of trauma too #this isn't like. probably the most intelligent of posting i just. almost had to do a Big Confrontation with him yesterday #and i've been in a directionless fog ever since. grounding coping mechanisms aren't being particularly helpful #i hate him so much and hate this institution built up that makes him think he's in the right by default #he's a fox news watching reagan loving far-right bootlicker who makes everyone he lives with miserable #ultimately of course i hope he gets well because thats what i want for everyone #but he doesnt want to acknowledge he's unwell or get help. he just. agh #he is only nice to others insofar as it makes him look good or conveniences him #and certainly in ways that he alone wants to be nice without taking into consideration the wants of others #he's an absolute prick and in my dreams i cry and scream at him of all his injustices i've been told of secondhand #and that he has a wakeup call and kicks his ass into gear to reverse the damage as much as possible #it's clear he's miserable because his family is sick of him but it just pushes him further into altright pipeline shit #idk.im just really mad and wish he would do better because he absolutely could if he would admit he's done wrong #personal rambles #parental abuse tw

[corporatebanana]

im still thinking about the time my prof for my children's literature class tried to say you could find the course texts on the internet archive and instead she said we could find the course texts on archive of our own ...

#love when people tell on themselves #but can i judge i would almost certainly say the same thing #she did catch and correct herself but the damage was done

[jexania]

Is there a single person on this earth that knows what a page break is and that you can add one into a google(or microsoft word) document by hitting CTRL+ENTER instead of pressing the enter button 30 times and readjusting it every time you change the length of the text body besides me?

#if you are working on a group project with me than you have almost certainly used this software for like a decade of school at this point #surely every time you’ve done this you’ve thought in your head that there must be a better way #I receive an increasing amount of psychic damage every time this happens #if this is news to any person reading this know that you can change this world for the better by pressing two simple keys #your past transgressions shall all be forgiven and the grace of the universe shall smile upon you

[vanessarama]

.

Feeling very discouraged lately. I would love love love to live in my own place, ideally get out of this fucking state, but it feels so impossible. No matter how much money I save, something happens and I have to use a huge chunk of it. I got a promotion and I, excited, did the math of what I could afford for rent. Still not enough. Rent here is insane. Trying to move out of the city and either have a nightmare commute 2 days a week or find work elsewhere feel so daunting and idk what the right choice is. The idea of finding a new vet for my cats, and WORSE new doctors for my fuckiiiiing history of cancer feel EXTREMELY daunting.

But lately everything about living in this house with my family chafes me. I love them, but I’ve realized how enmeshed I am with them, how I’m never really myself talking with them because there are some things that aren’t safe to talk about without it turning into a fight.

It’s so fucked up that a single person can’t afford to live in their own place here. I don’t make minimum wage by any means, but it’s still!! Not enough!!! The only way I could live comfortably is living with someone else and that’s not what I want!!!

Anyway. You know. It’s the usual. I’ll get over it. Have a nice day.

#good old fashioned rant under the cut #I’m just feeling real emotionally yucky lately #vanessarambles #donut rebagel etc #the other thing is that I was thinking about hurricane season this year and it gave me anxiety lol #ALSO also there’s stress from shit going on with a huge loan that was taken out on the house my dad lives in. it’s a mess. #and that house needs major work done and I was thinking even if my dad keeps the house. if a Cat 5 hurricane hits that house it’s done. #that house will be almost certainly majorly damaged if it stays standing #and no one has the money for the repairs needed #anyway. fuck. #delete later maybe

[wildernessuntothemselves]

Class clown

class clown gyu who for some reason has it out for nerd!reader and finally she gets sick of it and puts him in his place. warnings: dom!reader, sub!gyu, handjob, blowjob, dirty talk, pathetic gyu as always

"What is your problem?" You snap at Beomgyu, the class clown and the bane of your existence. He is always on your case, making fun of you in front of everyone. Today you made a mistake answering the proferssor's question and he immediatley jumped on it, humiliating you in front of the entire class. "Why do you have to mess with me?"

"Because you're fun to mess them." He answers simply, a huge infuriating grin on his face. You look really funny when you're angry."

You don't know what came over you, you're not usually a violent person but seeing his stupid cocky face makes you lose it and you shove him against the wall, slamming your hands on either side of his head to trap him in. "Do I look funny now?

But to your chagrin, he keeps grinning, not phased one bit. "Kinda."

You're so frustrated you could cry. There was nothing you have ever thought of or done that got him to leave you alone. He has been doing this to you for years, even back when you were at school. In fact you had been so excited to go to uni just to escape him, only to see his stupid face at your first lecture and your entire dream of escape came crashing down.

"What? The smart mouth finally has got nothing to say?" He goads when you stay quiet too long for his liking.

Your vision turns red. He makes you so frustrated and pent up, you would do anything to shut him up. Maybe that's why you resorted to doing something crazy.

Grabbing his face, you push your lips against his, intending to strong-arm him into silence. After all if his lips are busy, he can't mouth off anymore.

You don't know how you expected him to react to that--freeze in shock? Push you off? Call you crazy? You don't know but you certainly didn't expect him to almost immediately start kissing you back. It threw you off so hard you actually pull away from the kiss yourself.

But as soon as you pull back, he's running his mouth again. "Damn, nerd, looks like your mouth is good for somethjng other than eating the professor's ass."

"You're so fucking.. ugh!" You groan, shutting him up again. But this time you don't just use your mouth, instead you raise his shirt up, feeling up his body to his nipples and grabbing them between your thumbs and index fingers and pulling on them a bit roughly, making him gasp and break away from the kiss with a wet smack.

"Oh god," He groans, eyes fluttering as you roll his nipples between your fingers.

"You like that, brat?" You spit, happy to finally be getting the upper hand for the first time in your years of being tormented by Beomgyu.

"Fuck yeah." He groans and tries to reach out to touch your own tits.

"Don't fucking touch me, brat." You hiss at him, "If you touch me, I stop."

"You're being such a killjoy." He protests but it's hard for him to keep a steady voice when your fingers are playing with his clearly sensitive nipples like that, and even more so when one of your hands slips into his loose pants to palm his already very hard cock.

"You look like you're enjoying it enough." You mutter, twisting your hand up to the head of his cock, making him moan out.

"Fucking hell...Are you gonna fuck me?" He asks bluntly.

"Do you want me to fuck you, Gyu?" You ask, and any hesitency over the unfamiliar nickname vanishes as he shudders under your touch.

"If you're going to be handling my cock like that then I damn well expect to get a fuck out of it." He replies, still insolent despite his whimpering and frankly slutty moans.

"You're such a little bitch." You chastise, focusing your strokes on the head of his cock, aiming for maximum damage. "You think you deserve to get anywhere near my pussy after the shit you've pulled over me for years?"

He shrugs, trying to affect nonchalance but it's hard to but he's panting like a bitch for you. "Maybe if you get fucked good, you'd be a little less uptight.

Uptight! Just because you care about your future, that doesn't make you uptight. God, you hate him... but damn, does he looks fucking hot falling apart in your hands like that.

"And maybe if you were getting any attention on your cock apart from your own hand, you wouldn't be such an attention seeking slut." You jeer, getting down on your knees. "Now shut the fuck up or you won't get to cum at all."

"What--" He doesn't have time to formulate his question before you pull his pants down and wrap your mouth around his cock, sucking any retort right out of him.

"Oh, fuck, that's it." He arches his back, driving his cock further down your throat which you readily take, to his surprise.

"Fuck, where did you learn to suck dick like this?" He asks through his moans but you don't bother to answer him. You don't owe him an answer, you just want to shut the bitch up.

But Beomgyu is incapable of shutting up. "Have you been sucking dick on the down low? I didn't know the nerd is such a big slut. Thought you were a good girl."

You detach from his cock to retort, tearing a whine out of him which the idiot is too stupid to realize he is the cause of. "You're one to talk. Look how loudly you're moaning as soon as you get your dick wet. What? No one wants to fuck such a loudmouth?"

"Fuck you." He mutters, and you laugh. "You wish, baby." You smirk, bobbing your head down his cock again, going ruthlessly fast and getting the brat to writhe under you.

You think that would be the end of it but Beomgyu could die and his mouth would still be running. "Seriously, who are you fucking? Taehyun? Soobin? Don't tell me it's that manwhore Yeonjun?"

You pull off his dick in frustration, using your hand to jerk him off roughly instead. "Why do you fucking care who I fuck?"

"I don't care." He huffs, arching his back to push his cock further into your grip. "I just know they can't be fucking you good if you're still so uptight all the time. If you want a good time, I could give you the time of your life."

You burst out laughing, obviously bruising the boy's ego in the process but you don't care. And you don't even bother hiding your incredulity. "You? Do you even see yourself? I'm barely even moving my hand and you're fucking it like a dog in heat. Your dick is drooling all down my arm. You look like you're a few pumps away from creaming yourself. I don't think you'd even make it one stroke inside my pussy before you pop like a virgin."

"No, I'm not." He denies, trying to keep his hips still, clearly fighting with himself. "I can fuck you so good you'll screaming my name."

"You can? You can take hot, tight pussy until I cum? You can have me clench around your needy cock without emptying your balls inside me?" You reach your other hand out to cup his balls, massaging then gently between your fingers, making him suck in a shuddering breath. "You can hold back your hot cum until I'm ready to milk your cock? You won't just break and spurt your cum inside me as soon as you put it in?"

"Fuck, fuck, slow down." He gasps, trying to squirm away from your touch but you hold him tighter, jerking him off steadily.

"Why? Are you going to cum just from my hands? That's disappointing. I thought you wanted to give me the fuck of my life?" You cock your head to side, staring up at him condescendingly, making him shudder.

"Baby, please, slow down?"

"Baby?" You laugh. "Now I'm baby?"

"I can't take much more." He was jerking uncontrollably in your grip but you never let go, taking the hand on his balls off to press it against his lower tummy to hold him in place as you continue jerking off his now very red and slippery cock.

"Are you gonna cum?" You ask again and he nods, biting onto his lip harshly. "Yes, can I?"

You have to say you were taken aback at him suddenly asking for your permission to cum. You would have thought the brat would just do it with no warning. "Aw, baby is asking for permission to cum? If I knew it was this easy to get you to behave, I would have... well, actually I still wouldn't have touched you any sooner. But it's good to know how pathetic you really are."

"Fuck you." He repeats, voice strained in his effort to still hold back.

"You want me to say you can cum?" You tease, twisting your hand over the length of his cock slowly.

He nods. "Yes. Need it. Need it."

"Are you going to be good to me from now on?" You ask and he shakes his head. "You're too fun to tease."

"You are too." You counter, slowing your hand down, making him thrust his hips to try to get more of your touch so you smack his thigh in punishment. "Down, boy!"

"Baby, please!" He begs so sweetly, pining you with his pretty, brown eyes, his dick drooling in your grip.

"Are you going to be good from now on?" You tighten your grip around him as you deliberately move your hand up the entire length of his cock, feeling his precum dripping down your arm.

"Yes, yes, I'll be good. I'll be so good." He babbles, and you know he is lying his ass off, just wanting to say whatever would get you to let him cum, but even that makes you feel so fucking hot. To have that effect on your tormentor after all these years is a fucking head rush.

"God, you're a mess." You mutter, quickening your pace over his cock, making Beomgyu panic. "Wait, wait, can I cum? Can I cum?"

It's a little precious how much he panics over cumming without your explicit permission, so much so you decide to just give it to him, wanting to see the brat completely lose it in your grip.

"You can cum, brat." As soon as you utter the words--as if he was really waiting for them--he explodes, spurting rope after rope of cum down your arm and onto your chest.

"Thank you. Thank you, baby." He cries, emptying himself for you until he can no longer hold himself up anymore and collapses to the ground by your side.

But to your surprise and mild horror, Beomgyu takes a minute to calm himself down before he grabs his own cock and strokes himself to full hardness again, bearing through the pain of overstimulation for a reason that only becomes apparent to you after you ask, "What the hell are you doing, Beomgyu?"

"I promised I can fuck you good, didn't I?"

He really is insane.

____________________

#txt smut #beomgyu smut #sub!txt #sub!beomgyu #sub!idol #dom!reader #just a small unedited thing cuz I miss writing for gyu 😭 #really wanna get out the next yamqn chapter but have no time at all #so take this messy thing as a compromise

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍

body piercer!joel miller x f!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni, modern au, no outbreak au

word count: 4.7k

summary: you finally go and get your nipples pierced.

warnings: reader has tattoos & has flat/small nipples which is the only physical description in this fic, nipple play, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, joel miller with a tongue piercing, lots of teasing, sexual tension, tattoo kink??? joel is really into them

a/n: this fic literally wouldn't exist if not for @swiftispunk's fic flesh and metal after reading it and screaming about it (and also reading articles about it) this fic was born, enjoy xx

special thanks to @johnwatsn for the beta! 💞

It’s late. The faint buzz of the neon sign is loud in your ears, taunting, mocking you for just staring inside instead of going in. Your face is illuminated with a red hue, the words BODY PIERCING burning into your irises. And despite the tacky neon sign, the inside looks quite clean. You would know, you’ve been stalking their Instagram page for a while now. 

There’s no one inside and you’re contemplating whether or not you should just get on with it. The idea of getting your nipples pierced had been a vague thought until recently. You desperately needed a change, you wanted something new and exciting. You wanted to feel sexy again. Your ex had certainly done a decent amount of damage to your self-esteem and that, plus your already low view of yourself, did not help your brain to see the good of you. 

So many things could go wrong, you’ve read multiple articles about it. Your body might reject the piercing, it might leave a scar, irritate it. . . 

G Suddenly, a brisk burst of frigid air gently caresses your cheeks, causing you to instinctively step back. Your gaze swiftly shifts from the interior of the shop to the door, where you notice that someone has just opened it, allowing the chilly air from the air conditioning inside to spill out.

Joel Miller, the shop's number one body piercer. Your cheeks burn, your pulse quickens, the sound of it flooding your ears. He’s tall and broad, his brown eyes staring at you with utter amusement. As you continue to just blatantly stare at him, he cocks his head to the side with a crooked smile. 

“I’m closin’ in half an hour, sweetheart. If you’re thinkin’ of comin’ in, I’d do it now.” 

“O–Oh,” you swallow thickly. “I can come back tomorrow if you’re closing up, sorry to bother you.” 

He raises an eyebrow, his smile falling, “Well, I didn’t quite say that, now, did I?” Come on in, darlin’. Tell me what you need.” 

Tell him what you need—your heart beats in your throat, the lazy drawl of his words going directly between your legs. You mentally curse at yourself. How touch-starved are you? He’s just being polite. You’re the customer, it would’ve been weird if he just shooed you away. 

Joel takes a step to the side, silently granting permission for you to enter. You stroll past him, making your way inside without uttering a word. The air conditioning is a blessing on your sweat-soaked skin. Even though you don’t have to, you briefly look at your surroundings. Just like your research had entailed, the shop was squeaky clean. 

“So,” Joel clears his throat. “What can I do you for, sweetheart?” 

Some part of you wishes that he could just understand without you having to form the words. You lick the back of your teeth, suddenly it’s very hard to breathe. 

“I. . . wanted to get my nipples pierced—if that’s okay?” 

“Of course, it is,” he smiles, much softer compared to his crooked smirk from before. “I’m Joel by the way,” he extends his hand and you take it with a sigh of relief, you feel much lighter now— 

“I know.” 

Your eyes go wide, both your hands stopping mid-shake. Joel’s amused glance is back again, his smile stretching into a grin, “You know?” 

“I mean—well, I did research before I came here,” you answer quickly, aggressively almost, and release his hand. His grin only wides, a puff of air escaping his nostrils. “So that’s how I know your name.” 

“Aren’t you the cautious one,” he turns on his heel and points towards the back. “If you’re set on what you want we can just head inside, I can explain the rest there.” 

“Sure.” 

Just as you both take a step you remember what you initially wanted to ask before going through with it and stop. Joel senses your lack of movement, turning around, you notice the furrow between his brow. “I actually wanted to ask something before we went on with it.” 

“I’m all ears.” 

Oh god, this is embarrassing, “So. . . my nipples are. . .flat—or is it more proper to call it small? I don’t know. Would that be an issue?” 

The glimmer in his eyes returns full force, his expression of worry melting away, “I’ve never met a nipple I couldn’t pierce,” he teases. “So no need to worry that pretty head of yours.” 

“Do you sweet talk with all your clients?” you ask, your lips twitching into a smile. You don’t know what it is, but you feel comfortable with him. Maybe it’s because you’ve been stalking his shop for so long. Either way, it’s a nice feeling. 

“Only with the ones that know my name before I meet them.” His eyes gradually move up and down your body, eating you up. His tongue darts out and swipes over his bottom lip. You notice the faint shimmer that belongs to a silver tongue piercing. “And the ones that’ve been starin’ into my shop for least an hour.” 

Joel takes a step closer and you feel your breath dissipating from your lungs. Dark, charcoal eyes sweep across your face. Your heartbeat is like a fearful hummingbird, hitting the bone cage in rapid succession. You swallow. By some miracle, you hold his gaze. 

“You ready to go, little rabbit?” 

All the tension drains from your bones and you burst out laughing, “Rabbit?” you giggle, your amusement only growing when you see his wide smile. “What the hell?” 

“There’s that pretty smile,” he hums, pulling back. Joel stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Now that you’re relaxed we can get to business. We can stop whenever, so don’t feel pressured when you’re in the chair. You can just leave.” 

You nod along as you follow him inside. You’re relieved when you see that it’s a spacious room with bright lighting that doesn’t irritate your eyes. 

“First things first, let's pick out the piercing.” Joel walks towards one of the small glass cases and pulls out one of the drawers. Your excitement builds as he presents them to you. “Any ticklin’ your fancy?” 

The light above gleams against the glass, there are so many and for a split second, you want them all. You never thought you would be labeling piercings as pretty. Looking them over, you decide you definitely want barbells instead of hoops. Now the question is which barbell one do you want? 

“So many,” you mutter, eyes scanning over them again and again. You see one that says ‘cum here’ on each heart-shaped barbell. There’s a couple of them that say different things; kiss here, bite me, lick me— a shudder rolls down your spine. Your mind instantly fills with indecent thoughts, most of them staring at the man still patiently holding the glass case. You bite the inside of your cheek. 

You bet he has the most skillful tongue—

“Oh, that one!” you exclaim suddenly, pointing at one in the shape of a heart. It’s decorated in shimmering rhinestones, the metal gold. When he inserts it, the heart would be framing your nipple. “It’s so cute.” 

“You like shiny things, huh?” he smiles. “You gotta good eye, it’ll look good on you.” 

Your breath catches in your throat, “Thanks.” 

“Now lay on the bed, darlin’.” 

It takes you a second to realize he’s talking about the piercing bed. You’re about to lay on it before he stops you with a raised hand. “Take off your top.” 

“Most guys buy me dinner first.” 

“Har har very funny,” he rolls his eyes but he’s smiling, which in return makes you lightheaded. The expression is like a drug and you want to see more of it. More and more and more. “Besides, if you have a flat nipple I’m gonna need to stimulate it.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Joel is unaware of your blundering, he arranges the fresh, disposable drape and sterile forceps, placing it on the small portable workstation, “If you’re uncomfortable with that I can use the suction device too,” he answers nonchalantly. You watch breathlessly as he pulls on his black rubber gloves and finally turns to you. He raises an eyebrow. “Why’s your top still on?” 

“I—I just wasn’t aware nipple play was involved.” 

“You do realize where you’re gettin’ pierced right?” his lips twitch up. “You’re not drunk, are you sweetheart?” 

“Very funny,” you answer, mimicking his tone from before. “But anyway, okay, I guess I’m just a bit nervous.” 

“Understandable,” you point towards the endless draws. “Want me to get the suction device?” 

“God, no,” you let out a low chuckle. “Your fingers are just fine.” 

“Never had any complaints before.” 

Your stomach jumps, arousal caressing your skin similar to a summer breeze. The darkness in his eyes is back, his gaze intense and nerve-wracking. 

“Will it hurt?” you mumble. 

“I ain’t gonna lie so yeah, it will.” 

“How much?” 

“Depends, really.” 

Your shoulders drop. 

“Mine didn’t hurt that bad, to be honest, but my pain tolerance is quite high,” he mutters to himself rather than to you. He follows up with another sentence, probably something to soothe your worry but your brain is locked on to something very specific he just said. 

“You have nipple piercings?” you ask incredulously. “Really?” 

“I do, though it was more of a bet kind of situation. My brother loooves causing me trouble,” he sighs and crosses his arms over the expanse of his chest. “But joke’s on him because I liked how they looked so I kept them.” 

“Can. . . Can I see?” 

“You gonna be a good girl and keep still when I pierce you?” Joel teases. You nod furiously, lips pressed tightly together. “A’right then.” He curls his fingers into the hem of his shirt and lifts it. Your eyes are glued to his chest—his entire torso. You see the way a soft trail of draw hair starts from his bellybutton and disappears under his jeans, you see the soft swell of his stomach, the muscle—your eyes move up, you finally see his nipples, pierced, just like he said, with silver barbells. You lean closer, your ass at the very edge of the piercing bed. 

Joel suddenly drops his shirt, hiding away, he shrugs, “Nothin’ fancy, but still, I like’em,” saying that, he takes a seat on his chair and sways a bit thanks to the wheels underneath.

“Do—” you lick the back of your teeth. “Do they make it more sensitive?” 

His smirk makes your heart skip a beat, “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he points to your shirt. “Now off.” 

Without a word, you peel off your shirt and unhook your bra. Joel’s eyes widen momentarily, his breath hitching at the sight of your bare torso. You’re confused for a moment. Surely, in his line of work, he’s seen many tits before— 

Then you realize he’s staring at your tattoos. 

You don’t have many, though you guess compared to others you do have many. Joel’s gaze lingers on your chest piece, two hands reaching towards each other with the sun and moon in between, decorating the dip between your breasts without going too deep. The blood rush of your body fills your ears, and your lips part with a gasp, his eyes instantly snap to your lips. You see the way his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. 

“Didn’t know you were tattooed, darlin’.” 

“You like tattoos?” you ask, your voice hoarse and barely there. “I have more on my back.” 

You swear his pupils dilate, “I’d love to see them after. If you’ll let me.” 

“Sure,” you answer with a weak smile. “I don’t see a reason not to.” 

He wheels closer, eyes dropping to your breasts. You look away. Your cheeks feel unreasonably warm despite the air conditioning running. Goosebumps blossom over every patch of skin. His mouth is too close, the warmth of his breath fans your chest, a pleasant tingle echoing over your breasts. 

You’ve always felt a bit awkward about your nipples. They always seemed silly compared to your breast size, especially when you started seeing other nipples. 

“I’m gonna touch you now,” he says softly, dragging you away from your thoughts. “I’m gonna massage it a bit to work it out, a’right?” 

You nod and hold your breath simultaneously. He does your right nipple first. Just like he said, he massages the flesh closest to your nipple, easing it out. It feels good, undeniably so. The pads of his fingers work delicately. Deep down you wish he didn’t have to wear the gloves. Your body aches for his heat, his bare touch on your naked skin. Joel pinches a bit hard and you flinch, he mumbles an apology. You don’t have it in you to tell him that it didn’t actually hurt, rather, it felt good. 

Soft whimpers threaten to escape your lips so you bite into the bottom one, hard. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to regulate your breathing with deep inhales. His thumb swipes over your, now hard, nipple. “There we go,” he says. 

You don’t open your eyes. Pain blossoms from the flesh of your lips, you feel them starting to swell. 

“Hey,” Joel’s hand cups the side of your face, then you feel his thumb easing out your lips from between your teeth. “You’re gonna hurt yourself like that. Are you okay?” 

How are you supposed to tell him that you’re just turned on? That this has been the most action you’ve had in months? 

“I’m okay,” you answer. His brows furrow in disbelief and you can’t really blame him. You let out a long sigh. “I’m fine, I promise. I just got a little worked up.” 

“Worked up?” His smile is back and in response, you want to bury your head in the sand. “What d’you mean?” 

His hand slides to your waist, squeezing it gently. You stick your bottom lip out. “You know what I mean.” 

“Hmmm, maybe,” his voice drips with cruel teasing, his thumb begins to draw lazy circles around your skin. You think he’s going to say something else but his gaze once again drops to your chest. “Looks like it disappeared, gonna need to work it out again.” 

You expect his fingers—maybe for him to pinch a bit harder this time. 

What you don’t expect, however, is his burning mouth on your cold skin. 

“Oh, fuck—” you gasp, your body instinctively arching towards him. He groans as a response, taking more of you into his mouth. His tongue flicks your peaked nipple. You feel his teeth nipping the tender flesh and you gasp once more, a sharp moan rattling in your throat. 

His eyes look up at you, momentarily he parts away, his lips are swollen, spit glistening at his lips, “This okay?” 

“Yes.” 

And he continues to devour you. 

Your fingers bite into the leather bed, he laps at the pebbled flesh, purposefully rubs the tongue piercing into it. The sudden hardness of metal makes you jump and then melt into it, he repeats the movement of his tongue again and again, swirling it until your thighs start to shake. His hands briefly move to your tattoo, thick fingers dancing along the ink. 

“So sensitive,” he murmurs, directing his attention to your other nipple. He flicks at it first then closes his lips around it. Your underwear is sticky with slick, your legs in constant motion to relieve some of the tension from your throbbing clit. He cups your mound, presses his fingers into your clothed slit. “Be patient, I’m gettin’ there.” He sucks on your nipple and teases the other with his fingers, pinching and pulling them. 

“Won’t be able to do this when we pierce them,” he growls, teeth sinking into your nipple, he flicks his tongue over it. “And you better not let anyone else touch’em too.” 

Your head falls back with a groan. He flicks his tongue again when you grind into his palm, the friction not enough to quench your need for him. You grip his shoulder, urging him to move back. He does. You immediately feel guilty at the worry crossing his eyes. 

You grip his shirt, slightly sliding it up his stomach, “Can I see how sensitive you are?” 

A brush of color spreads from his neck to his cheeks. You smile. Red looks good on him. 

He stands up, the chair wheeling away. Joel is quick to discard his shirt and you’re glad that the piercing bed makes it so that you’re in perfect tasting range. You spread your legs wider as he comes closer, taking his place between them. His skin touches your own, his warmth overwhelming yet welcomed. 

You kiss his neck first. Then his collar bone, you suck on his skin, teasing the sensitive flesh with your teeth. He shudders. Slowly you make your way down, your thumbs push at the pierced nipples and he moans behind gritted teeth. Smiling sweetly at him, you swirl your tongue around one, playing with the other. Your tongue moves over the bead of the piercing, you tilt it which in return twists the nipple. Another tremble overwhelms him, his body curling around you even further. The outline of his cock is prominent through his jeans, his body impulsively grinding against your stomach. You moan at the hardness, and he moans at the pressure. 

“Fuck, that’s nice,” he rasps, hips jerking. “But let’s take care of you now, I bet your panties are soaked, darlin’.” 

Fuck, it is. 

Joel drags his lips down your cheek, he kisses your neck slowly, the metal on his tongue forcing a shudder up your spine and making you curious about how it’ll feel on your cunt. 

“Want to eat you out from behind, sweetheart, wanna see those tattoos.” 

His hands are a constant on your skin as you hop off the bed and bend over, he helps you with your jeans, reaching around and unbuttoning it for you. The fabric suddenly feels too tight on your skin and you need to get rid of it—now. 

The harsh fabric pools at your ankles and you kick them away. His fingers play with the elastic of your underwear, pulling and twisting. The heft of him rubs between the crease, thick cock straining against his zipper. You expect him to take off his jeans too. Your piercer is full of surprises, though, and instead of doing the predictable thing, he continues to roll his hips whilst tracing the pads of his fingers over tattoos. 

“Fuck, they’re beautiful, sweetheart,” he mumbles. His touch is ticklish, yet arousing at the same time. More slick gathers at the fabric. You’re desperate for his touch. By the movement of his fingers you guess which of them he’s stroking. First, it’s the fox that stretches over your spine, beams of sun framing its face. Then it’s the smoke-like lines that are closer to your shoulder and the other one near your hip. Joel can’t seem to get enough of it. His palms are flat against inky skin, trying to feel the thought of you while you got them. 

You gasp at the touch of soft lips and soft tongue. He licks a slow line up your spine, tracing over the fox and sunlight. By pure instinct you bend over further, your breasts completely pressed against the leather. You’ve never been more glad to have tattoos in your goddamn life—he’s worshipping them, the figures that adorn your skin. 

His velvet tongue is replaced by sharp teeth, your back arches, ass pressing further into his clothed cock. Joel trembles and follows your eager movements with another tender bite. 

“I love them,” he mouths over the inky smoke near your shoulder. “I love feeling you, touching you. I could just do this for hours. You feel amazin’ against my skin, my sweet little rabbit.” 

This time you don’t laugh at the absurd nickname. His name drips from your damp lips like honey, sweet to say and sticking to your tongue. 

His hand dips between your legs and his mouth moves down to your ass, he kisses the plump flesh as two fingers stroke you from over the fabric of your underwear. His groan reverberates on your skin, teeth skimming the flesh, “Fuck, you actually are soaked,” Joel hums and slips them under, gathering you around his fingers. “All this for me?” 

“Yes,” you gasp, raising your hips. “P-Please—”

Joel shushes you, “I know, sweetheart, I know,” he gets down to his knees and as he does, a small grunt leaves his lips. 

“Are you okay?” you ask. 

“Just fine,” he kisses your pussy and you’re instantly melting towards his mouth, a groan ripping from your throat. “A sacrifice I’m willin’ to make.” 

Joel doesn’t give you the chance to reply or offer to change positions, he slides your panties to the side, licking into you hungrily. You shudder and your upper body jolts, forming the perfect arch. He presses deeper. Licking and teasing your clit with the tip. He cups both sides of your ass and gives them a gentle smack. Your eyes roll at the mild pain, your slick coating his lips, tongue, and chin. The rough hairs of his beard chafe your skin, only adding to the pleasure. 

“Taste so good, beautiful,” Smack. “Gonna fuckin’ ruin you, make you come until there’s a goddamn puddle on the floor.” 

“Oh god—” you choke on air, a moan locking in your throat the same time you’re trying to gasp for air. His words and the swirl of his tongue are downright sinful. He flattens his tongue and parts your folds with the soft muscle, teasing your entrance. 

Joel pulls you back against him, his lips teaching your clit, your jaw drops, a jolt of pleasure rushing through you and tightening your nipples. It’s filthy, that’s all you can think. If someone walked through those doors right this instant, they would see his face between your cheeks, drinking from you like a man dying of thirst. 

Your head drops, mouth flooding with saliva, you roll your hips; begging, asking for more. He gives it to you. Two thick fingers slide into you with ease, his mouth leaving wet open-mouthed kisses on your ass. 

“Gonna come for me?” he asks, voice full of gravel. “Come on, give it to me, let me see how your pussy throbs, sweetheart.” 

He curls his fingers and you imagine him smirking as he breaks you apart. You cry out his name, your entire body shuddering as if lightning struck it, “That’s it, that’s it, that’s it. . .” He continues to thrust his fingers in and out, you feel yourself dripping, imagine yourself making a puddle just like he asked for. “Give it to me, honey. You’re fuckin’ beautiful, look at you. . .” 

Joel spreads you with his fingers and delves back into you, he draws circles around your clit, his jaw constantly moving with every lick. He doesn’t stop until he’s coaxing another orgasm out of you—your head fills with bliss, your body lifeless. 

When he’s done feasting, he slowly gets up with his hands sliding to your back. He leans down to pepper more kisses onto your tattoos, your skin tingling and singing at the contact. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he murmurs, lips sucking at your neck. “Then let’s get those pretty nipples pierced.” 

“W—What about you?” you ask breathlessly. 

Joel helps you sit back up on the bed, you part your legs so he can come closer, he accepts the invitation with a wide smile, “I have a feelin’ we’ll be seein’ more of each other, sweetheart. You can make it up to me then.” 

Your heart skips a beat and your lips part. 

You have a strong feeling that he’s right. 

With gloved hands, Joel carefully opens a sterile needle package. You watch with rapt attention as he takes out the fresh needle, inspecting it. Your body is still thrumming with pleasure, your head still swimming in a daze. All you can hear is his breathing.

He had already walked you through everything while preparing for the procedure. No touching, no swimming. You had to clean them softly in the shower and that was meant to be the only source of water your nipples touch for a while. If there was any irritation or marks, you were to reach out immediately. 

Honestly, you found it cute that he’d gotten so serious all of a sudden. It was nice to see him so professional too, so competent. 

He comes closer and your body seizes. You hold your breath. With a sudden need to distract yourself, your eyes linger on to the walls. Your brows furrow in surprise when you notice the tattoo designs. You thought this was only a piercing shop. 

“You do tattoos too?” you ask nervously. 

“My brother does,” he answers. “He works the tattoo side of the business and I do the piercings.” 

“It’s nice that it’s in the family. . .” 

“Sweetheart, I know what you’re doin’. You’ll be fine I promise.” 

“Okay. I trust you mister man-I-just-met.” 

He grins, “You didn’t seem to have a problem with it ten minutes ago.” 

“Touché.” 

Joel prompts you to lay on the piercing table, he approaches you with a reassuring smile on his face. You can feel your heart racing as you nervously anticipate the pain of getting your nipples pierced, you imagine the worst, your heart beating in tune with your fear. 

He carefully cleans the area around your nipples and marks the spot where the piercing will go. He double-checks the placement with you to ensure you're happy with it. You give a slight nod, still feeling a bit apprehensive.

“Such a good girl for me,” he murmurs. “It’ll only hurt for a second.” 

With steady hands, Joel takes the needle. You feel a sharp pinch as it punctures through your skin, but the pain dissipates quickly. You let out a small whimper, “It’s okay, it’s okay, just a bit more,” he comforts you and you nod with a long exhale. 

After the needle is through, he quickly follows it with the jewelry, securing it in place. You watch in awe as he attaches the beautiful barbells to your nipples, the adrenaline and endorphins making the pain feel less than it is.

Once the piercings are in place, Joel gently cleans the blood before you can get a look.

“Aaand done, tell me what you think.” 

You’re surprised that he has a mirror in hand when you sit back up. Your gaze finds your reflection and an instant smile spreads across your face. 

“You like’em?” he asks, his tone shy. 

“Like them?” you gasp. “I love them! Thank you!” 

“Oh that’s a relief,” he leans back into the chair, slightly rolling away with a relieved smile. “No matter how many times I do it, I still get nervous.” 

“I definitely love them,” you say, you get up to wear your shirt but end up wincing at the sharp pain. You look at Joel between squinted eyes. “When did you say the pain would stop again?” 

“It’s gonna take a while,” he answers with a sympathetic smile. “You don’t know how much your nipples touch stuff until you get’em pierced.” 

“Well, at least they look good.” 

He shoots you a wink, “They sure do, little rabbit.” 

“That nickname is still ridiculous.” 

“Should I remind you that the last time I used it you came on my tongue?” 

“Nope no reminder needed,” you put your shirt back on, smiling. “I’m still going through the aftershocks.” 

“Good,” he stands with you, hands on your waist, he pulls you as close as he can without your nipples touching his chest. “So, you wanna go out?” Joel’s gaze drops to your chest and he licks his lips, “Gotta make sure you’re takin’ care of them properly.” 

“My hero.” 

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller au #joel miller fanfic #tlou fanfic #the last of us fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #scheduled post

[marvel-ous-m]

After Starcourt, Steve and Robin began a new tradition- 'spa nights'. Robin would make them homemade face masks (“peaches and yogurt? On my face? That’s disgusting Robin.” “Shut up and put it on, dingus.”). They would put in a shitty tape from Family Video and Steve would paint their nails. (“How do you even know how to do this Steve?” “I’m a babysitter, Rob, it’s in the job description.”)

The school year started and Robin got a lot more busy- what with it being her senior year and all- but they still made time for spa nights. They were less frequent (maybe once a month instead of every other week), but they happened.

Vecna came, they killed the bastard, and they all lived- somehow, miraculously, certainly not unscathed, but they’re all alive. They beat him. A few months later, after the almost-end-of-the-world, Robin brought up their spa nights. (“Come on, Steve, it’s been months. My brain needs a vacation, my face needs a vacation, my nails need a vacation.”) Steve agreed, acting reluctant (but was secretly really excited to get back to one-on-one time with his best friend).

Except the kids find out, namely El and Max, and they beg Steve and Robin to join them. The two acquiesce, and then Eddie hears about it and joins the party, too. Uninvited. (But nowadays he doesn’t need an invitation. He shows up, bright personality and even brighter smile, and brings a constant, welcome addition to the party. Along with some… feelings that Steve can’t even start to try and acknowledge.)

The spa night comes and everyone crowds into Steve’s living room. Robin has put together a new face mask recipe (“ugh, what is in this?!” “Just shut your mouth and put it on, Red.”), Eddie brings his braiding skills, and Steve provides the nail polish.

Only now, his hands shake.

It’s something he’s noticed by now. The nerve damage from fighting the bats and Vecna, the 24/7 anxiety, the brain damage, something that they faced over spring break has left him with a tremor that he can’t quite get rid of. Sometimes it’s small, sometimes it’s more noticeable, and tonight… well, it’s not great.

Robin wiggles her fingers at Steve, ready for their tradition of him painting her nails, and Steve hesitates. It’s a small thing, but his shoulders tense. He hasn’t mentioned the shaking to anyone yet, and he knows that he wouldn’t be able to get the crisp, clean paint that he used to. The tremor would make itself obvious, and he just can’t face picking up the nail polish bottle. It’s a sign of the new weakness, one that he can’t admit to others, can barely admit to himself… he can’t face being seen as weak. As flawed. As-

“Hey! Are we painting nails?! Here, lemme have a go. I haven’t done it on anyone else before, always just painted my own.” Eddie interrupts Steve's train of thought in his easy way and grabs the nail polish from just below Steve’s hand. He plops down between Steve and Robin, admiring the color the later had chosen. “Robin’s Egg Blue, very fitting, Birdie.” Eddie winks at her and starts painting, accomplishing a more polished finish than Steve was ever able to get before Spring Break.

And Steve just watches. Quiet, his hands on his knees. He watches as Eddie paints Robin’s fingernails blue, then Max’s a bright red. Eddie paints Eleven’s a deep purple shade, then gives himself a fingernail in each polish that Steve has to create a rainbow of clashing colors. Afterwards, once the paint has dried, the girls all wash their face masks off and curl up to watch the shitty movie Robin had picked.

Eddie turns to Steve then, a bright yellow shade in his hands. “Want a turn, sunshine?” Eddie must’ve seen the look on Steve’s face, the flash of pain, because his voice turns to a whisper before Steve can answer. “I can help you keep your hands steady, Stevie. Don’t worry about that. Just relax and lemme treat you to a manicure.”

Steve startles at that. He thought he'd been better at hiding it. “How did you know?“

“How wouldn’t I know, Steve?” Eddie grabs Steve’s hand, a gentle but firm grip holding his fingers straight and steady. “I paid attention. I noticed. We all came away from that fight with a different scar, and we all need some extra help with different things now.” Eddie speaks as he paints, carefully brushing away any mess with the corner of his thumb. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, but I get it if you can’t tell anyone just yet. I’ll be here to help, though. Just like this. If you want it.”

Steve’s quiet still, but now in an effort to keep his emotions at bay. He’s never had anyone do… anything like this for him before. Eddie moves on to paint his other hand, and they sit in silence while the sound of the shitty rom-com washes over them, joined by the occasional giggle or mocking comment from one of the girls. Eddie does a second coat, brushes any scraps of excess paint away with an alcohol wipe, and caps the nail polish with a gentle smile.

Steve admires his nails, then glances up at Eddie, his eyes welling. “Eddie, thank you-“

“Don’t worry about it, darlin’, it’s just a paint job-“

“No really, Eddie. Thank you. For everything. For noticing. No one’s ever-“

“I’ll always notice, Stevie.” Eddie squeezes Steve’s arm, then turns slightly to watch the movie, his hip pressed against Steve’s.

Years later, in retrospect, Steve realizes that the spa night was the night he fell in love with Eddie Munson.

#my writing #steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #domesticity after the vecna fight >>>> #Hope the past tense/present tense shift wasn't too jarring for u guys #my writing style is unique (by unique I mean stupid) #stranger things post s4 #steve harrington/eddie munson

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 | sub!robert fischer x dominatrix!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you're a professional dominatrix, he's a restless heir in desperate need of being put in his place; you both know what this is. it's just your job, it's just his fetish. no reason to make it more complicated than that, right?

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 7.2k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | smut (18+ only), bdsm dynamics, reward/punishment, orgasm denial, overstimulation, oral f and m receiving, cnc (meaning he says no but it's not literal, there's a safeword in place for that), angst and fluff at the end, presumably inaccurate depictions of sex work and dominatrix-ing, robert cries. a lot.

You weren’t expecting much when you met him, just another rich boy with daddy issues and an Italian suit. 

And… yeah, you were pretty much exactly on the money.  The very literal money— Robert was already paying almost double what anybody else was, in order to have a monopoly on your time.  But, that said, he still managed to surprise you.

First of all, you were surprised how little experience he really had with this.  People tend to ease into paying thousands of dollars for an on-call professional dominatrix; but Robert had the money and impulsive personality necessary to start at the top.  It’s like getting a Lambo for your first car… which, to be fair, he had also done.  He admitted to you that he’d only had one or two experiences with dominant women and the lifestyle in general: he credited it partially to a need for discretion, that he couldn’t just go to a club with the risk of the wrong people recognizing him and his business being affected.  Though that was a fair reason, you knew he was leaving out his own anxiety as a significant factor as well.

Secondly, he surprised you with how well he understood his own needs and limits for someone with such little experience.  He explained to you, in rather shameless detail, that he was looking for someone to relinquish emotional control to— that he didn’t need to be really physically tortured, just to be psychologically tormented.  In that way, he was less ‘hardcore’ than many of your clients, who had physical damage to show for their time with you by the end of the session, but he was absolutely no wimp.  A crybaby, yes, but not a wimp; big difference.

And, perhaps least importantly, he surprised you by being young, and hot.  Not, you know, too young, and still older than you, but closer to your age than any of your other clients.  As for him being hot, well… yes, he was probably the best-looking of your clients.  ‘Probably’ being a polite word for ‘definitely’.  Ironically, for being so submissive, he had a somewhat intimidating visage: sharp features, bright and icy eyes, quite tall as well.  That was probably what most people saw first, but you were lucky to be able to appreciate completely how delicate he really was: with that pleading wet gaze, his thick bottom lip between his teeth, an unexpected softness to his masculine features.

You were surprised he needed to pay someone for this, looking like that, but then again, his kinks were a bit specific and his need for privacy was understandable.  Maybe what all that money really was, was just hush money.  After all, truth be told, you probably wouldn't mind doing the rest of it for free.

A friend of yours in the business warned you that that was a sign you needed to stop working for this guy.  If you’re catching feelings, get out now, she warned.  You tried to assure her it wasn’t feelings— just an acknowledgement that he was absurdly beautiful— but she didn’t seem to buy it; you yourself were starting to doubt that excuse.

But, here you were: usual place, usual time.  A lot of your clients preferred hotels, but Robert Fischer found the most discreet method was just to have you come to his penthouse; he had a few properties, but apparently this one was the most secluded.  The private elevator certainly gave off that impression.

He’d given you your own key to use, to take you to his place whenever you wanted.  Obviously, you only went there when you had an appointment… but you did get a little giddy every time you used it.  You got the impression that some small part of him hoped you’d use that key on your own time one day, but that could’ve been you projecting: you tried to remind yourself that he, like all the other clients, probably didn’t think of you much when you were gone.

It was hard to hold up that narrative just a few minutes later, though, as you stood in his bedroom with him on his knees in front of you.

“Missed you so much, Mistress,” he mumbled against your skin as he pressed his face to your thigh.  “I swear, I haven’t thought about anything else since last time— can we move up to four times a week?  Three isn’t enough anymore.”

He was a little more desperate than usual because, even with three sessions a week, this one had been delayed by two days because of his work.  Still, he couldn’t quite justify being this worked up when you’d seen him four days ago…  “Do you want to talk business, or do you want to play?” you asked him quickly.  “Scheduling is best done before or after—”

“Sorry, sorry,” he sighed, looking up at you through his lashes.  “Sorry, I just— we can talk about that later.  I need you so fucking bad— and you look so pretty…”

You dressed a bit differently for him.  Most of your clients wanted latex, leather, chains, studs— you know, the usual.  Robert told you from the start he preferred soft things, pretty things.  He’d asked if he could buy you things to wear but you insisted on simply billing him for whatever you picked out: anything else was giving him too much power over you.  Thankfully, he’d never had an issue with your tastes.  

He liked seeing you in relatively ‘normal’ clothes.  Little black dresses with lacy pantyhose, silk robes— he actually went a little feral seeing you in a pinstriped three-piece suit once, but that’s another story.  Today, you were keeping it classic with a black skirt and blazer, plus stockings with garter belts (his favorite) and your tallest, sharpest heels.  Clearly it had the intended effect, since you hadn’t even told him to get on his knees when you walked in…

“Get up,” you told him, and he scrambled onto his feet and gave you a look that barely hid how impatient he was feeling inside.  “Actually, I have some business to discuss with you.  Take a seat on the bed, why don’t you?”

He tilted his head a bit but did as he was told.  He hadn’t even seemed to notice the briefcase you brought— maybe his life was just so full of briefcases he’d learned to ignore them.  But you certainly had his attention when you set it down between you and opened the clasps— though you didn’t lift it to reveal its contents yet.

“I’m very disappointed in you,” you informed him flatly.  He seemed thrown off— like he couldn’t tell if this was part of the scene or not.  

“I-I’m sorry,” he said first, then adding, “what did I do wrong?  I’ve been so good…”

“I saw you in the papers.”

Reaching inside, you pulled out the newspaper picture of him, walking along the Manhattan streets with a young woman by his side.  She was taller than him with her heels on, overwhelmingly blonde, annoyingly pretty.  His eyes went wide at the sight.  “Oh—” he began,  but you cut him off.

“It’s not right for you to be seeing me when you have a girlfriend,” you explained, pausing before you set down a magazine snapshot of him with a different model, “or two.”

“N-no, wait, I can explain that,” he rushed, but you shoved the pictures aside and leaned forward, sneering at him.

“Is that what you are, huh?  Just a slut?” you snapped.  “Am I not enough for you?”

“No!  God, no— you’re everything,” he whined, “of course. Those are just—”

“Just what?  They seem like lovely young women, Mr. Fischer, you don’t need to insult them for my benefit.”

“Oh, don’t call me that,” he pouted, looking down— already his cheeks were getting redder.  “You’re really mad at me?  For being seen with them?”

You knew he was upset you weren’t calling him a pet name, the last thing he wanted to be when you were here was Mr. Fischer— he wanted to be your good boy, your baby, your puppy, your pet.  “I’m more concerned about what you did that nobody else saw, Robert,” you admitted.

The last thing you wanted to do was appear jealous— that was never what you would do, or at least, not your character.  But one of your rules for Robert was that he was required to be celibate outside of your sessions with him.  It was always about control— and he loved the humiliation of being reminded that you worked with other men and slept with whoever you wanted, but that he was doomed to only be yours.  He asked you to remind him all the time, whispering in his ear about how he belonged to you, that nobody but you could touch him, that he was just Mistress’ good boy.

“It’s not like that, I swear,” he whined, “they— it was just publicity.  For both of us— I mean, for the girls and for me.  It’s business!”

“Right,” you returned, not acting especially convinced.  One of those photos in the magazine was pretty deliberate— his arm around her waist, whispering something in her ear with a smirk.  It certainly didn’t seem like business.

“Please, Mistress, you know I’d never—”

“Do I?” you interrupted sharply.  “I mean, after you were so naughty last time—”

“I didn’t mean to come so fast, I was just—”

“How dare you speak over me?” you hissed, and he clamped his mouth shut as his shoulders slumped.

“I’m sorry, ma’am…” he whispered with defeat.

“I’m starting to wonder, what’s stopping you from breaking any of the rules?  How do I know you’re really behaving?”

“Y-you know, because…!” he trailed off, eyes darting wildly as he looked for a response.  “Because you know how bad I need you.  How important you are to me.”

When your heart beat a little faster, you told yourself that he really meant how important these sessions are to me.  

Going back to what seemed like his default state, Robert dropped to the floor again, kneeling in front of where you had your legs crossed tensely.  Twice now he’d done that without you asking, but you weren’t going to correct him this time because, well… some men were just meant to be on their knees.  “I swear, I swear it wasn’t real, was all just for the pictures… I’d never break your rules, Mistress, I wanna be good for you.”

“Want to, yes,” you smirked, “but it takes a lot of willpower, when you could afford as many little playthings as your heart desires.”

You leaned back on your hands as he got more and more desperate, and you fought the urge to smile proudly seeing him panic a bit.  He knew that with your hands holding your weight, you wouldn’t be running your fingers through his hair or stroking his cheek… he was getting antsy, still not having been touched by you ten minutes into the session.  “Let me show you,” he pleaded, “I promise, I only want you— I-I’ve been waiting for this, for you to touch me again…”

Now, truthfully, you’d believed him when he said those girls were for show— for publicity, as he said.  But only now that he said it like that did you really believe how desperate he was.  Unfortunately for him, it just made you want to tease him more.  “Touch you?” you repeated, egging on his begging.

"Please, touch me," he whined, "please, I'll be so good… I need you, Mistress."

"I know you do, baby, but I don't think you've earned me yet."

“Yes, ma’am— I don’t deserve you,” he breathed.  “I know I don’t.”

He looked so sweet, so broken, looking up at you like that.  “Why should I touch you at all tonight, baby boy?” you asked sweetly; he rested his forehead on your knee, looking exhausted from his own desperation.

“I… I don’t know if you should,” he admitted, surprising you a bit.  “I just know that if you don’t, I’ll lose my fucking mind.”

You said nothing, though you couldn’t fight your smile, and he continued softly under his breath.

“I swear, I only want you,” he whispered.  “I only ever wanted you.”

“Alright,” you shrugged, “show me how bad you want me.”

Uncrossing your legs, you let him see that your little outfit today didn’t include any panties; as he caught a glimpse up your skirt, his shoulders and chest sunk with a sigh.  “Mistress,” he breathed, but a second later he grabbed a tight hold of your legs and yanked you closer to the edge of the bed so he could push up your skirt and dive right in.

He was always ravenous when he did this.  It didn’t matter how long it had been since you saw him last, how long you teased him, or if you just walked right in and ordered him to his knees: he always, always ate you out like his life depended on it.  He was obsessed with serving you this way, moaning and whimpering against your skin, grabbing weakly at your hips or thighs and sometimes struggling to control his own arousal as his cock throbbed in his trousers.

You were already trying to temper your reactions; if you showed how much you liked it, you’d be surrendering a bit of your dominance, and that couldn’t be allowed.  Instead of gasping or moaning his name, you simply hummed and reached down to card your fingers through his hair; he whined against you, even louder when you tugged on it.

“Good boy,” you praised softly, making him shut his eyes tight as he sucked and licked at everything his mouth could reach.  He flicked his tongue over your clit and you fought not to let your hips buck against his face.  “Very good boy— how much do you like tasting Mistress’ cunt?”

“More than anything,” he answered, taking a break from the main task to kiss and bite hungrily all over your inner thighs.  “Fuck, I could taste you forever— you’re so perfect— should I keep going?”

“Of course, baby, just keep looking up at me.”

God, those eyes; sometimes you thought he could look right through you with those.  Could he see how hard you were fighting not to lose it right there, not to lay back and order him to fuck you?  You wondered if he would— it had never gone that far with him, he was obsessed with the denial, the inequity, the deprivation.  To be fair, you didn’t have sex with any of your clients… but you also never thought about sex with any of your clients, other than him.

“Alright, that’s enough,” you decided after a few moments, causing him to look up at you with concern like he’d done something wrong.

“I’m not allowed to make you come?” he pouted.

“Not yet,” you said simply.  “Get up.”

He popped right up, ready to serve— as always.

“Why don’t you take off your shoes for me?” you encouraged, and he certainly wasted no time; but as he toed his shoes off, he shirked off his jacket, loosening his tie and getting a few buttons of his shirt undone.  You raised your eyebrows, frowning at his eagerness.  “Stop.  I didn’t say all that.”

He slowed to a stop.  “S-sorry,” he mumbled, looking away.

“Lay on the bed.”

You watched patiently as he did, sitting up beside him but not getting too close.  He looked nice mostly-dressed, his suit half-removed and a bit disheveled.  You’d made him strip completely before, adding to his vulnerability, but you thought there were benefits to this too: by wearing his work clothes, you were reminding him of the man he was supposed to be while treating him like the needy boy he really was.  Whether or not he noticed that irony, he shuddered when you gently brushed your hand over his bulge, which flexed as if trying to ask for more itself.

“Look how hard you got for me, just from eating me out,” you noticed proudly.

“Tastes so good,” he whimpered his excuse, biting his lip when you started to open his belt and trousers.  “Y-you’re sure I deserve it?”

“No,” you admitted, “but I think it might be fun to touch you a little.  You want me to, don’t you?”

“Y-yes, of course,” he rushed, just as emphatic as ever.

He keened and bucked up into your hand when you just barely touched his cock; you pulled away, giving him a stern look as a reminder not to move too much.  When he settled down, you gently reached into his boxers again and freed his aching cock.  There was a little precum at the tip already, and he was looking at you with fascination as you delicately touched him, but never properly gripped or stroked it just to keep him on edge a little more.

“How long has it been since anyone but me touched you like this, baby boy?” you wondered.

“Y-years,” he choked, “years— I don’t even touch myself anymore, I swear.”

You gently ran your fingers over the ridge of the head, making him shudder and writhe on the bed.  “Are you sure?  You didn't even jerk off after feeling up that lovely young lady in the magazine?"

"No— and I didn't— c'mon, Mistress, don't you believe me?" he choked.  "I'm your good boy, you know I am— love being yours…"

“So you really don’t touch yourself?”

“No!” he snapped, correcting his tone a moment later.  “No, I… I stopped when you told me to.”

"Well, how about you show me how you used to do it?" you encouraged with a grin, taking your hand away from him.  "Stroke your cock for me, puppy."

"No, please," he gasped, "I want you to— please, I'm sorry—"

"Stop fucking whining and do what I tell you," you sneered.  "Not such a good boy after all, are you?"

He suddenly scrambled to get his hand around his cock when you put it like that, groaning and biting his lip as he gripped himself tightly.  "Like this, Mistress?" he panted proudly.

"Mm, something like that," you cooed.  "But go a little slower, baby boy, we've got plenty of time."

His eyes got wide with fear— fear that you would really make him edge himself the whole time.  You had much bigger plans, though.

He found a rhythm: not horribly slow, but careful and precise.  His cheeks kept getting pinker as you watched him, and he once reached out to touch your thigh with his free hand, but you moved away.

“C’mon,” he begged quickly, “can I just… can I at least see…?”

“See what?”

“Y-your tits, maybe,” he asked shyly, stroking his cock faster already at just the thought.

“I don’t think you need to see my tits,” you accused, noticing that his cock was already flexing in his grip.  He really had been worked up, if he was this sensitive to just his own hand.  “You’re doing just fine, baby.”

He grunted but went on, shifting around on the bed slightly.

“A little faster now,” you told him.  “When you used to jerk off like this, before you met me, did you imagine while you did it?  Did you watch porn?”

“Yes— I mean, imagine, always; porn sometimes,” he answered.

“What kind of porn?”

“Uh… this kind,” he admitted with a small laugh.  When you heard that laugh, saw the self-effacing smile on his face, you suddenly thought again about what your friend said: if you’re catching feelings, get out now.  But you shook the thought from your mind.

“Do you miss it?  Being able to get yourself off?” you pressed.

“Fuck no,” he grunted, and you caught the way his cock bobbed in his hand— he was getting even closer, poor thing.  “Don’t even— don’t want to now, but… but I’m trying so hard to be good for you…”

“I know,” you offered with a sympathetic, yet condescending, pout as you leaned in and caressed his face for a second.  Just that seemed to push him even closer, and he struggled to keep his hips down again.  

“I— fuck, I’m close,” he finally admitted.  “I’ll come…”

“Okay,” you shrugged.

"Oh, please, please don't make me come," he whimpered.  "I— I don't wanna come like this…"

You tilted your head.  "Like what, puppy?" 

"I want… I want you to touch me…" he pouted, eyes welling up a bit.

"We agreed you don't deserve that, Robert," you said sternly.

"Fuck! I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he sobbed— and there were real tears, he was obviously devastated that he had let you down so much.  "I'll do anything, I swear— let me be your good boy, your puppy— Mistress, I just wanna be yours again…"

You slapped him hard on the thigh when you saw his hand start to falter.  "Don't slow down," you snapped.  "I want you to keep going— keep stroking your poor cock, don't fucking stop until I tell you."

"But I— I'm so close," he choked.

"That's not my fault," you chuckled.  "You're a pathetic whiny baby who comes too quick, that's not really my problem."

He bit his shaking lip and blinked through his tears, hips beginning to buck up into his own hand.  "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said over and over, "I didn't mean to be bad, I promise… only ever wanted t-to be your good boy…"

Feeling just a little sympathetic, you leaned in closer to speak beside his ear.  "Is my good boy gonna come if I tell him to?"

Though he hesitated, he nodded.

"But you don't want to?"

He shook his head.

"Because you want me to touch you when you come, right?" you pressed, your voice just as soft as your touch while you gently ran your hand up his leg.  He whimpered and squirmed, his eyes getting a bit wide.  "You want me to make you come?"

"Yes! Please, fuck, please, Mistress…" he gasped.  

You rubbed his inner thigh as he stroked himself faster; you could see his cock flexing, and you knew he was trying so hard not to come right then.  Deciding to test him further, you let your fingers run over his swollen balls, and he choked on his own throat.  "Bet these are so full of come for me," you purred.

"Yes, Mistress," he hissed.

"Stop moving your hand," you ordered suddenly, and for a man who'd been begging you to let him stop, he took a second to do it— his hand faltered a little as he slowed down, and he ended up holding his cock much too tight… surely trying to hold himself back from coming still.  "You wanted me to touch you, didn't you?"

"Yes," he gasped, eyes getting wide with hope.  "Yes! Please, Mistress!  I swear I'll be good…"

"Then let go of your cock and let me take care of you, baby," you cooed.  Again, he took a second to do it— still trying to make sure he wouldn't come when he wasn't choking the life out of it.  Hissing as he let go, he dropped his head back with the sweetest moan as you gave him one slow stroke from the base to the tip.  "Good job, baby," you whispered to him, "you're my good boy, aren't you?"

He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing in his exposed neck, and nodded hastily.

When his cock twitched in your hand, you figured it was just because he was so sensitive— but then, halfway into your second stroke, he gasped and suddenly began to come.  You noticed it in his face first, the way he scrunched his nose and let out a low groan; then there was hot, sticky come shooting over his chest and stomach— and ruining that nice white shirt.

You pulled your hand away instantly, giving his face the hardest slap you could; he cried out in pain, but he just kept coming and bucking his hips into nothing.  

"You pathetic, stupid boy!" you scolded, and he groaned.  "I gave you one stroke, and you came?!”

You said it in past tense, but he was still coming, whining through his teeth and blinking quickly with those long lashes of his.  He looked so sweet— but you knew that he knew he was utterly fucked.  “I-I’m sorry,” he breathed, groaning one more time and going limp onto the bed beneath him as his cock gave one more weak flex.  “I’m sorry, Mistress, I’m sorry…”

You watched him pant for a moment, almost losing your train of thought when you saw just how pretty he was.

Unfortunately for him, it gave you an interesting idea.

Loosening his tie, you slipped it off around his head; he blinked his eyes open and scrunched up his brows with confusion.  “What are you…?” he asked, though he seemed to figure it out when you gave him a certain look: he instantly held out his wrists for you, and you smiled proudly.

You didn’t just tie them together, though— you tied them to the headboard, keeping his hands bound above his head as you grinned and leaned down over him.  “What am I gonna do with you, puppy?” you cooed in a sweet-but-concerning way.

Chuckling nervously, he answered, “that’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

You ran one finger over his cock, following the line a final drop of come had left down the shaft, and he hissed in a breath through his teeth.  “So sensitive,” you noticed; he tensed up, like he was catching on.

When you licked a stripe up his shaft with the tip of your tongue, his gaze darkened and his mouth went slack.  “I— I don’t—” he stammered, clearly conflicted with his desire for you and his fleeting logic telling him this was going to hurt.  “I don’t think I can… take it…”

You’d never done this to him before, but you couldn’t stop yourself: looking up at his flushed face to see his reaction, you enveloped his head with your lips.

He let out a high, desperate moan as you suckled his swollen tip; “M-Mistress, fuck, I— oh my god—”

You looked up at him, but his head was tilted back too far to see you.  You slid your mouth down further, stroking his base with your hand, until you were gagging on him and he was writhing beneath you wildly.

“Oh my god, fuck!  Fuck, fuck— I… god your mouth is warm…” 

You pulled off of him, partially to give him a bit of a break and partially so you could keep talking to him.  Then again, it wasn’t much of a break since you kept stroking him, letting your spit and his come smooth your movements, sure to focus on that poor overstimulated tip.  “It’s not too much for you, is it?  My good boy can take it, right?”

“Yes, fuck, yes,” he promised, though he didn’t sound that confident.  It sounded like what he really meant was I’m gonna try my best to take it.

“And aren’t you so thankful that Mistress is so nice to you, sucking your cock even though you don’t deserve it?”

“Fuck, of course,” he panted, “thank yo—oh fuck, fuck—”

You threw him off by taking him down as far as you could in the middle of his sentence, but he still had his manners.

“Thank you!” he yelped, starting to shudder more violently.  “Th-thank you, so much, fuck, you’re perfect—”

When you pulled off again, he sighed with relief yet followed your mouth with a buck of his hips.  “Does it hurt, or does it feel good?” you wondered.

“I— it’s— both,” he choked.

“I bet you wished I would suck your cock someday, didn’t you?” you pressed, and he instantly nodded and whined through his teeth as you licked all over the tip with a wide tongue.  He gasped as you licked right over the slit.

“Fuck, I did— god, I— oh…”

Poor thing couldn’t get many words out in a row, he kept losing it every time you hollowed out your cheeks and swirled your tongue.  And then you gave his balls a firm squeeze, and he made a sound you thought you might’ve never heard him make before.

“Mistress, please, please,” he begged breathlessly, moaning louder as you bobbed your head up and down.  You couldn’t tell if he was begging for more or for relief, and honestly, you expected he didn’t know either.

You kept going for a few more minutes of that before his cries of pain got a little too intense— then you pulled away, and replaced your mouth with a hand stroking him as fast as you could.  He still sobbed, of course, and dropped his head back again between his restrained arms.

“Fuck, s’too much,” he breathed, “just slow down…”

“I can’t, sweet boy— I need you to come again for me,” you encouraged. 

“I— fuck, Mistress— I—” he stammered, and you could tell he was trying to stop himself from saying I can’t.  He couldn’t bear to disappoint you twice.

“Can you do that for me, baby?” you cooed, making him look at you with the widest, wettest eyes.  “Can you show me you’re still my good boy?”

“F-fuck, yes, okay,” he panted, “I’ll… I’ll come for you, just don’t stop, please…”

“I won’t stop, puppy, not until we’ve got every drop of come out of you,” you promised.

He should’ve known you took ‘every drop’ very seriously.  Though he came after just another minute of stroking him like this, you still didn’t stop.  When he cried out and tugged on his own tie holding him down, you didn’t stop.  “Fuck!” he yelped.  “Please, I can’t— I can’t!”

“Shh, yes you can,” you encouraged, though your free hand holding him down by the neck did more to keep him in place.  “C’mon, be my good boy, gimme one more.”

He kept trying to squirm away, though, and his wrists were pulling hard on that necktie— he was probably going to ruin it.

“Stop fighting so much,” you warned him firmly.  “Just be my good boy and fucking take it, come on— the fuck are you good for if you can’t do what I tell you to?”

“S-sorry,” he barely managed to get out, you almost didn’t hear it over the sound of his feet kicking all over the satin sheets.

“You don’t wanna get in trouble, do you?  Don’t you wanna show me you know how to do what you’re told?” you kept taunting him, glancing down and seeing how red and weepy his cock was getting— you knew he wasn’t much further off from coming again.

“Yes, yes, fuck, I’m sorry,” he spoke hoarsely through the pressure you were putting on his neck.

“The sooner you come, the sooner it stops, puppy,” you informed him, gripping his cock even tighter as he hissed in breaths through his teeth.  “Just come for me one more time…”

All he could do was lick his lips and nod; you let go of his neck, wanting to hear every broken moan he made.  With his eyes shut tight and his nose scrunched up, he finally came with a long and wavering grunt— that was what you were waiting for, the sound of total relief.  You slowed your movements down to a stop, smiling as you watched his cock give just two small pumps of come that dripped onto the ends of his shirt… it flexed weakly a few more times after that, but clearly he was beyond spent.

“Good job,” you praised softly, “you did so good for me… look what a mess you made…”

If you were feeling really mean you’d make him clean that all up, but something told you it was best to stop now… that ‘something’ being your watch.  You’d stayed twenty minutes late and you were probably going to piss off your next client by being significantly tardy, especially considering you had to change first; you hoped you could chalk it up to some mindfuck dominance thing, walk in and say Mistress is never late, I always get here when I want to, if you were sitting around waiting for me that just shows how pathetic you are or something.

As you thought about that, you reached up and released the tie around Robert’s hands; he didn’t jump to rub his wrists, or flex his fingers into fists to bring some feeling back.  He just let them fall limply at either side of him.

Though it was a small difference, it worried you— as did his silence.  Normally he was all over you with praises by now, thanking you for everything, telling you he couldn’t wait to see you again.  

“Was it a good session?” you asked him gently, letting him know it was over— he didn’t need to ‘perform’ anymore.  You still felt like you needed to, though.

He worried you with the continued silence, though, just catching his breath and keeping his eyes shut; just when you thought you might check again that he was okay, he nodded quickly and hoarsely insisted, “Yeah, m’fine.”

“Not too much for you?” you asked nervously, watching him shake his head— but his lip was shaking, too.  He was still crying, and you could tell it wasn’t like the whiny tears from before: he was holding back from bursting into sobs.  You interrupted the silence with a whispered Robert? and he collapsed; folding in on himself, he curled into a ball on the bed and shook as he cried.  Your eyes went wide as you realized you were absolutely in over your head.

Aftercare was generally not part of the deal.  Most of your clients didn’t want it— they preferred to process whatever they needed to alone, after you left— and the rest just had to suck it up, though they never made much of a fuss.  This felt like a real situation, and you felt guilty leaving now, but worried you’d only make it worse or break your own rules if you intervened somehow.

“I’m gonna give you some time,” you offered as you sat up— like ditching him now was a courtesy.  Of course, as you expected (from him, specifically), he reached out for you.

“Please stay,” he begged— still heavily in his submissive mindset, it seemed, and sniffling pathetically.  “Please, please—”

“Your time’s up,” you informed him flatly.

“Anything,” he whimpered, “name your price.”

“It’s— it’s not about the money, Robert,” you sighed.  “It’s just unprofessional.”

“But I need you,” he breathed, and your heart twisted.  “You can’t leave me like this, I just— I just need you to—”

Relenting, you sat back down on the bed; he instantly wrapped his arms around you, buried his face in your chest, and pulled you down with him.

Though it took you a moment, you went ahead and wrapped your arms around him in return, hoping to soothe him.  “I’m sorry,” he said, though you struggled to make it out at first until he kept repeating it.

“It’s okay,” you replied softly, rubbing his back and looking down at the mess of brown hair shaking with each sob.  “It’s okay, baby, you did really good… I didn’t— I wasn’t trying to go very hard on you, I mean, I’ve made you come a lot more than that before.”

“Not that,” he choked, finally pulling his face up to let you see and hear him better.  Your heart broke seeing how overwhelmed he really was.  “I just… I really don’t wanna disappoint you…”

In retrospect, maybe you should’ve known it would be too much for him— or maybe it was something about today, it just hit the wrong way, you couldn’t be sure.  It didn’t really matter, in the end.  

You sat up a bit, and he followed you, as you sighed and held his face.

“Robert, I was just— that wasn’t real,” you promised.  “I needed something, you know, to work with.  I just wanted you to prove your loyalty— I was never angry with you.”

“I know,” he croaked, though he was calming a bit already, “I know that, but I— it felt like it.  Nobody else tells me what I’m supposed to do, you know— only you do that.  I need that.  Then I can know I’m doing what I’m supposed to… you’re the only person I can’t let down.”

Biting your lip for a second, you reached out to touch his chest through the half-unbuttoned shirt, but he pulled away suddenly.

“I know what this is,” he said, suddenly sounding a bit more normal again— almost clinical, actually.  “I know this is your job.”

“Well… yeah,” you mumbled; obviously he knew that.  You tried to understand what he was really saying to you.

“I know… none of it’s real,” he added, looking away.  

Gently, you turned his face back to yours, wiping a tear from his cheek with your thumb.  “I really am proud of you,” you whispered, moving closer to him on the bed.

He held your face, then, too; and he put his other hand on your waist, moving even closer to you.  “Please…” he began, and though the word was overwhelmingly familiar, you were sure you’d never heard him say it like that before.  “Please, let me kiss you.”

You kissed him first, feeling one more tear roll down his face as he pulled you closer and pressed your body to his.

The kiss was soft at first, still a little teary; the way he held you was incredibly tender but with a lightly-suppressed neediness behind it… his fingers would tighten at your waist sometimes and you could tell he wanted to just force you against him.  You’d let him, if he wanted to, but he was probably too weak after all that.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, reaching to hold onto his shoulders and squeeze them.  “I’m so sorry, baby—”

“No,” he breathed against your lips, barely stopping the kiss to speak, “no— no, you’re perfect—”

“Stop it,” you mumbled, pushing him away slightly.  “I’m not.  I fucked up.  I went too hard on you.”

“I— I could’ve safeworded, I just didn’t… I don’t know,” he shook his head before leaning it onto your shoulder.  “You must think I’m pathetic.”

You laughed a little as you combed your fingers through his hair, letting your nails gently scratch his scalp.  “No, I just get paid to call you pathetic.  You’re so strong…”

“No, I’m not,” he promised, his voice oddly firm and stable for how weepy the words could’ve come off.  “I’m not— not even strong enough to… to end this.”

You froze up, looking at him with wide eyes as he pulled his face up close to yours.

“It’s not right anymore,” he whispered to you, cradling your cheek in his palm; god, his hands were warm.  “You know it, don’t you?  You can tell.  You can tell I broke the fucking rules.”

“Don’t tell me, after all this bullshit,” you managed to laugh bitterly, “you really are dating one of those fucking models— or both—”

“Not that rule, fuck,” he coughed, “no— I fucking fell for you.”

You blinked quickly, forcing yourself to believe you misheard him.  “You—?”

“I fell in love with you.”

“No— Robert, you don’t even know me,” you insisted, looking away.

“I want to!  God, I want to,” he groaned, “it’s all I think about: what you must be like when you’re not, you know, on the clock.  What turns you on, what ticks you off, what… fuck, what you eat for breakfast!  Anything.”

“Then you don’t love me,” you informed him, “you love the idea.  You love the… mystery.  You don’t really want to know me, I promise.”

“You don’t love a mystery because you want it to stay that way,” he laughed, rubbing your shoulders— only then did you notice your own eyes were getting teary.  You really didn’t want him to see you that way, but you didn’t have much choice now.  “You love a mystery because you can’t wait to get to the ending and figure it all out!  I just wanna know you— you’re a page-turner.”

“Okay, the metaphor is a little tired now,” you rolled your eyes, but you sniffled and tried to hide your face.

“Hey,” he whispered, petting your head, toying with your hair for a moment with his fingers.  “I know you can’t keep going on with me, now that I said that.  I know this is gonna have to be goodbye.  But I… I think goodbye is still less painful than having to be this close to you but so far away.  I’m sorry… I thought I was strong enough for this.”

Get out now.  Get out now.  The advice echoed in your head.  If you’re catching feelings, get out now and definitely do not tell him you’re falling for him too— no don’t you fucking dare bitch— “It’s not goodbye,” you blurted out.  “I’m not strong enough for that.”

When you dared to look at him, his eyes were full of hope.

“God, you look fucked up,” you noticed with a laugh, your eyes scanning his ruined suit.  “C’mon, let’s get you in the bath.”

~

There was plenty of room in this bathtub, more than any one person could need— plenty for you to have your own space.  But, of course, Robert kept you close to him, your chest against his back as he ran his hands over your skin under the water.

“For breakfast?  I don’t know, I guess I have toast a lot, if I remember it,” you chuckled.  “My mornings are pretty busy.”

“Any pet peeves?” he asked.

“Uh, people who don’t use earbuds on public transport,” you decided.

“Ah,” he nodded.  “That sounds irritating.  I, um, haven’t been on public transport…”

You rolled your eyes, but you giggled, too.

“If you could only wear one color for the rest of your life, what would it be?” he prompted.

You turned over, splashing the water a bit, so you could look up at him.  “Is this interrogation ever gonna end?  The water’s getting cold.”

“Well, so far, the more I know, the more I wanna know, so…” he trailed off.  “Guess we’re gonna be in here ‘til I solve the mystery, hm?”

You laughed, but he pulled you into another kiss— more energetic than before, but still sweet, still a little hungry.  When you pulled back, he leaned in and kissed your neck instead.  “I think we could be here all night and still have a lot left to cover,” you warned him.

“I can afford all night,” he shrugged.

As tempted as you were to take him up on that, you had to accept that that element of the arrangement was over now.  “I’m not gonna charge you,” you admitted, making him break away from your skin to look up at you.  “You wanted to learn what I’m like off the clock, right?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, pulling you a little closer until you straddled his lap in the water.  “I wanna learn whatever I can.”

“Well, here’s something you should’ve figured out a lot sooner,” you offered, running your fingers over his jaw until you gently held his chin, making him look up at you with this sweet, pouty, needy look on his face.  “I fell for you, too.”

#whoops how did feelings get in there? #not sure how that happened #robert fischer x reader #robert fischer smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut

[izzyspussy]

it's just. i'm seeing a lot of posts about how ed sees izzy as an extension of himself and that's why he's targeting him so much, as a projected form of self-harm, which... I Guess. i don't really agree with that but it's not egregious, and it falls into a 'why not both' place for me. but then people are jumping off from that point to say that because ed sees izzy as an extension of himself, that's why izzy's love "doesn't count" to him. and that, in my opinion, is not at all It.

ed is targeting and hurting izzy specifically because izzy loves him. he's punishing him for it, first of all. how dare you love someone i hate, when you're supposed to be loyal to me and do whatever i want even when i don't tell you what it is. one. but he's also - crucially - hurting izzy to get him to stop.

izzy won't kill him if he loves him. izzy won't abandon him if he loves him. izzy won't let him hurt himself if he loves him. he gives izzy the gun when he does because he thinks he surely must have crossed the line by now, and izzy will finally hate him and want to kill him. and, well, izzy killing himself is (almost) just as good since dead men can't love anybody.

the thing is, izzy loving him gets in ed's way. it ruins his plans, it messes up his (spectacularly violent and rife with collateral damage) pity party. just like he's trying to get the crew to mutiny him - because he doesn't want to be BlackbeardTM anymore, but he doesn't want to put in the work to change either, and he certainly doesn't want to admit it's his choice either way - he's trying to get izzy to stop loving him. if izzy loves him, his actions matter. if izzy loves him then he's not UnlovableTM and he has to acknowledge what he's done - as things he's done, rather than as things that were inevitable because he's Just Like That - and all of his pesky feelings.

so he hurts izzy because he has to punish him for fucking up his whole deal. and he has to prove him wrong, so he can keep believing in his own self-loathing.

#jack facts #ofmd #ed teach #blackhands #hc

[seresinhangmanjake]

The One I Want: Part 8

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x plus size!reader

Summary: You’re new in town and some guy named Jake is about to be your roommate. Being skeptical of new people keeps you lonely and uninterested in any entanglements, but Jake is desperate to change that.

Notes/Warnings: traumatic past, trust issues, cursing, very likely typos

Words: 1951

The One I Want Masterlist

You don't remember how you got to the couch. You don’t remember whose idea it was, or who guided who, or who first fell onto the cushions and pulled the other with them. Jake’s lips have kept you from retaining that information, not that it is of much importance, anyway. It doesn’t change that you are where you are, your legs draped over Jake’s thighs, your fingers woven through the ends of his hair, with his hand latched onto your hip. Your lips have barely had a moment apart since you relieved his concern with your smile and he went back in for a second kiss. Bodies have requested a few decent breaths here and there, but nothing keeps you separated for long. 

His kiss is demanding, but not controlling. It’s a kiss unwanting to break, but willing to do so if that is what you need. And his touch follows a similar pattern. Jake is not shy when his hand ventures past your hip, but he’s still cautious. The warmth of his palm sliding over your ass and pulling you closer is gently done, and when he travels up to your flannel sleep shirt and fingers dip under the fabric, he stops just after two knuckles are hidden past the hem. Fingertips grazing your skin are enough to cause shivers of pleasure, but they are still careful not to cross a line. 

You’re not actually sure if a line is there for him to cross, yet somehow you both know the possibility exists that it is hiding in plain sight. It might be that his touch an inch or two closer to your breast could ignite a panic response. His fingers playing with the buttons that hold your shirt closed or the tie that keeps your shorts around your hips could have you jumping out of his hold. And with such unpredictability, you appreciate that Jake doesn’t take that risk because you don’t want to stop this. You want to stay as you are, connected as much as you can safely be connected.

Jake has stolen minutes, maybe hours, from your morning—although, you suppose it can’t be considered stealing if you’re freely giving them to him and intentionally surrendering to the way he's making you feel. Any grasp on time disappeared long ago, but you couldn’t possibly be more content. In Jake’s arms, you have chosen to loosen your connection to the space around you and he has led you to a place where nothing else, especially not your past, matters. 

And you like it here, in this place. Every available reality suspends. Here, you are not damaged. You are not imperfect. A man like Jake wants you. You believe you’ll never have to leave this town because no one is going to say anything to you that will make it unbearable. Here, there’s the suggestion of a future. Here, you can feel your feet start to plant into the ground.

—

“You’re beautiful, you know,” he says. 

You stopped kissing some time ago and he’s taken to staring at you, scanning your features, touching your kiss-swollen lips with a proud smile on his face that says “This was my doing”. 

“I’ve thought so since I came through the front door and saw you standing right about…” he shifts on the couch to get the entrance of the apartment in clear view. With eyes squinting as if to find an exact measurement, his finger points to the spot where you stood the night you first met him. “Right about there.”

Your eyes briefly follow his finger. “I thought you were disappointed.”

“Oh no,” Jake chuckles with a light shake of his head. He looks down, almost as if embarrassed, and watches his hand run back and forth over your bare knee. “No, that certainly wasn’t the case. And Nat teased me for it immediately,” he says. 

Your brows shoot up. “Teased you?”

“Yeah,” is a long-drawn word. His lips curve into a smile and his eyes find yours again. “She knew I was gonna be a goner.”

When you try to conceal your blush by looking down at your fiddling hands, Jake’s grin widens. “Don’t hide,” he says, leaning over to tilt your chin back up with his thumb and index finger. “I like it.”

“You like what?”

From your cheekbone to your jaw, his knuckle draws a soft line over the pink shade of your cheek. “This.”

You would feel more self-conscious about the blush spreading to your ears and chest if not for the light rosy tint making its way onto his cheeks at the same moment. It’s a lovely shade that blends so well with his complexion and instantly confirms that what you saw at the bonfire was not a trick of the flame's glow. Your abdomen clenches with the sensation of velvety wings fluttering throughout your stomach, but the feeling disperses when a pang of something else hits deep in your chest. 

Jake is already so comfortable with his kissing and touching of you. Though he is thoughtful, he doesn’t hesitate or question what he’s doing. He holds on to you like he’s done it a thousand times before. Your bodies mold to this couch as if the position you are sitting in was imprinted into the cushions long ago. He somehow knows what you like; he knows how to kiss you like a man who has been studying you for years. It all comes so naturally—to you and him—that it teeters on the cusp of unreal, and is, therefore, slightly unsettling. 

Typically, you’re careful; more calculated in your interactions with people. You aim to avoid putting yourself in positions where you lose your sense of control, and yet, for Jake you let it all go. With Jake, you’re allowing the revival of parts of yourself that were slowly fading from lack of use, but it forces you to wonder if you’re capable of maintaining that freedom without him there to help you. You don’t want to clam up if he’s out of reach. You owe it to Jake to try to apply everything he’s given you so you can do right by him. If you hurt him from an inability to let yourself remain open, you expect you won’t find of self-forgiveness. 

You don’t realize you’re staring off into space, your eyes on an out-of-focus plant in the corner of the room, until Jake’s hand cups your face and his thumb begins to stroke your cheekbone. When you look up at him, the smile that at some point fell from his face returns and he leans into you. His fingers slide into your hair to guide your head closer to his. 

“Jake, this isn’t trouble, is it?” you whisper before his lips can meet yours. 

He pauses. Then with his brow scrunched in confusion, he pulls back. “What do you mean?”

“This.”

A palm returns to your cheek and that thumb restarts its back-and-forth motion. “You and me?” he asks, but his head shakes before you can answer. “No, we are not trouble.”

Your chuckle lacks full commitment. A twinge of doubt in your capabilities weaseled itself into your thoughts, and though Jake is rather effective at shaking it, you can feel remnants lingering in a place he might not be able to reach. “You’re so sure,” you mutter.

 “Yes,” he says in the limited space between you. “I’m sure.”

“How?”

When Jake sighs and shifts to rest his back against the couch, you know it is not from exasperation. If you could so easily irritate him, he would have given up on anything to do with you after twenty-four hours of you living in his space. Instead, it’s a sigh of contemplation. By the look on his face, your question is one he already has an answer to for himself. His extended thought is for your sake; an extra minute taken to piece together the most encouraging explanation that will help you understand why he’s so confident.

Your hand is encased in his and he squeezes. His stare matches yours. Intense. Unwavering. “Because,” he starts, “I more than thought you were beautiful when I first saw you. I wanted you, and I have wanted you every day since—you and me, just like this, right here. But I wasn’t going to do anything unless you felt like you could trust me,” he says. “And you said you do now, right? You trust me?”

You nod. Then he nods.

“We’ve lived together for months, and I’ve been deep in it, beautiful. Nothing you can do or say will make me think anything other than what I think of you now. So you’re not trouble for me,” he says, bringing the back of your hand to his lips. “And I swear I won’t be trouble for you. If you trust me, trust that.”

Your eyes sting and your nose fills with familiar pressure. There’s something in the ease with which Jake soothes your worries that is sickeningly overwhelming. Your method of relieving pain is, as it has always been, to flee, and after spending so many years doing so, you refused to entertain any other option. But this is Jake, and Jake is different. He doesn’t do the fleeing thing. He does the “I want what I want so I will figure out how to get it” thing. And what he has wanted is your trust, which he obtained by becoming exactly what you didn’t know you needed. 

Not wanting to fall into a mess in front of him for the second time in one day, you move your legs off of Jake’s thighs despite his noise of protest and scoot your body next to his to regain some of that control. 

“What are you–” he begins with a hint of worry in his voice, but you instantly silence him with the soft “hush” that leaves your lips as you throw your leg over his hips and find your balance atop his lap. Jake’s hands settle on your waist. They snake around your back and he tugs you to his chest. The awe that swirls in his eyes as he gazes up at you fills you with confidence, and you tuck a few loose strands of hair behind your ear before gripping his shoulders. 

“I’m going to kiss you,” you say. Jake blinks, gulps, and nods, both of you knowing that each kiss between you prior to this moment was initiated by him. “I’m going to kiss you, and after that, we’re going to stop focusing on me. We’re going to stop talking about me.”

“I like talking about you,” he says. One hand slowly runs down your clothed spine, over your ass, and along your outer thigh, then makes its way back up. “Can’t we do both?”

“No.” As you lessen the distance between your lips, Jake’s neck stretches up to connect the kiss, but you maintain just enough space to keep him from succeeding. “I tell you something, you tell me something, remember?” 

With his eyes glued to your mouth, Jake nods again.

Good, you think, because step one in your determination to remain open to him is being for him who he is for you—someone to trust. “It’s your turn to tell me why you don’t like to be alone.”

The heat of a hand finds the back of your neck. Fingers weave into your hair. “I’ll tell you anything you want.”

“What I want is to know you, too.”

Jake’s inhale expels as a soft sigh. His eyes pierce yours. “It’s heavy stuff, beautiful.”

“I can handle it,” you say. Then you lean in close so your lips can ghost over his. “Trust me.”

---

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @ssa-sadboi @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @sailor-aviator @penguin876 @rogersbarnesxx @nani-kenobi @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @emilyoflanternhill @wretchedmo @shanimallina87 @crowsreadsarahjmaas @mamachasesmayhem @sky2nd @eloquentdreamer @jessicab1991 @rosedurin @averyhotchner @elite4cekalyma @buckysteveloki-me @shelbycillian @kissmethric3 @fox-bee926 @hangmandruigandmav @waltermis @fandom-life-12 @a-serene-place-to-be @bruher @cehenyne @tngrace @mamaskillerqueen @emma8895eb @benedictsvestcollection @blackwidownat2814 @himbos-on-ice @entertainmentgal8 @hookslove1592 @whoeverineedtobe @alwaysclassyeagle @chaytea06 @cherrycolas-things

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick #jake seresin fic #jake hangman seresin x reader #top gun #jake hangman seresin fic #top gun hangman #jake hangman seresin x y/n #jake seresin x plus size!reader #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin angst #jake seresin fanfic #jake seresin fanfiction #tgm #tgm fic

[petrichorium]

“you broke up with nagi?”

you yelp at the sound of a voice behind you as you leave your apartment, dropping your key as you spin around and clutch your purse instinctively.

it’s reo. he’s leaning against the half-wall across from your door, arms crossed over his chest, watching you with some kind of contemplative frown marring his features.

“mikage, fuck, you scared me.” the familiar face has you relaxing. he only continues to stare you down, and you realize that he’s actually looking for a response; you clear your throat and shift a little awkwardly. “uh, yeah. it just wasn’t working out.”

his frown deepens. it’s distinctly ugly, you think—the furrow of his brow, the way his nose crinkles.

it’s now that you take note of his clothes—the jumper he wears is a pretty blue, certainly costing more than six month’s rent, and the jeans are expertly fitted. this is a singular visit, he hasn’t stopped by on the way to his work. you figure he’s taken the day off; perhaps for this specifically, or perhaps to support nagi. it isn’t your business anymore.

nor are you reo’s business anymore.

“what are you doing here?”

you watch his brow furrow further, that contemplative frown returning in full force. his eyes dart to the side, lips pursed, and he crosses his arms again.

for half a moment, you watch him. when he neither moves nor begins to speak again you decide to finish locking up while he ponders whatever it is that’s nagging at him.

you turn, glancing down to scan the concrete floor for your dropped key. the glint catches your eye a few inches away from where it had fallen—you crouch to pick it up, acutely aware of the pencil skirt and heels you’re wearing for the office.

when you rise to your feet you feel reo at your back before it fully registers.

how he spanned the distance so quickly and silently is beyond you, though you’re inclined to blame those professional athlete abilities. it doesn’t much matter either way when you spin around and find that he’s now right before you.

you lurch backward, shoulders slamming into your closed door, staring at him and his proximity with wide eyes.

“mikage…“ you trail off as he tilts his head.

“do you think i hate you?” the words are off—quiet and absent-minded, like he’s talking to himself, not you. it’s only magnified by the way he stares not at your eyes but at your lips.

you swallow thickly. “i don’t really care. nagi liked me, that’s all that mattered.”

“you don’t care…” reo gives a little huff. he pulls away just slightly, eyes flitting sideways as his hand flies up to ruffle his hair.

“reo—“ you start, and then catch yourself, but the damage is done. his eyes widen and his arm drops and he draws closer, closing the distance in a single step. at the same time he reaches out with his hand to brace against the door behind you, trapping you between his arm and the barricade next to you. you forget how big he is until times like this—until he crowds you up with your back to the wall, and every bit of your vision is filled with him, and he’s so close you’re surrounded by the heat of his body and the smell of his nice luxury cologne.

“to be honest i always did hate when you were around.” you feel his laugh fan over your skin, warm and husky. “but when he told me you’d broken it off with him, i was furious.”

“reo,” you say again, and you’re not even certain what it is you’re pleading for anymore.

“all i could think to do was come here to see you, couldn’t tell you why, but now… well.” he’s careful not to touch you, only to hover, and that’s worse somehow—it has your heartbeat quickening, your stomach flipping. it has you turning your head away and inadvertently baring your neck to him, a motion he takes full advantage of as he dips his head to almost-but-not-quite brush lips against your pulsepoint, and your breath hitches, eyes closing. “now i understand it.”

“stop,” your voice is hoarse, almost breaking, “nagi—”

“push me away, then.” it’s low, whispered like a secret, and he still doesn’t touch you but he keeps you pinned here, a butterfly under glass. as if to prove this point he presses closer, one polished leather shoe sliding forward between your legs, his free hand sliding behind your back. “push me off. i’ll leave. or…”

he drags that featherlight touch up your neck, along your jaw; stops just over your lips, eyes heavy-lidded and halfway to closed. you feel the words against you more than you hear them, spoken so quietly—like if he doesn’t say it aloud it isn’t a betrayal of his best friend.

you could kiss me.

and, really, it’s on reo—nagi, you remind yourself, isn’t your responsibility anymore. reo is the one betraying him. when you press forward, no more than a centimeter, it’s that thought which propels you. when you reach out to tug him in with a fist bunching that handsome sweater, you disregard how much you still care about your still-fresh ex.

and when you come to your senses a fraction of a second later it doesn’t matter. reo surges after you, encouraged by the minuscule taste of a kiss that you’d given him. if you’d thought him overwhelming before it’s nothing like now, as his arms close in and he presses you flush between him and your own front door.

his hand slides in behind you and sprawls, hot and heavy, wide at the small of your back; the other finds your cheek, cradles it gently but insistently as he gives you no choice but to tilt your head up towards his for easier access. in the back of your mind you feel like a horrible person for comparing, but it’s difficult not to—reo’s kiss is desperate, fervent, stark contrast to the lazy way nagi always kissed you. it’s messy, with clacking teeth and a questing tongue and the obscenely loud sound of spit-slick lips. your head would have slammed into the solid wood behind you if not for his hand cushioning you, and you can’t help but melt into him, falling limp in his hold.

before long you’re forced to turn your head and break away for air, chest heaving as you catch the breath he’s stolen from your lungs. he has no such need. his mouth doesn’t leave your skin, but in the absence of yours he turns his attention to sucking what will inevitably be a deep, lewd mark just beneath your jaw at the pulsepoint he’d been so interested in before. and it hits you then, exactly why he’s fixated: months ago, it’d been a mark right there that had revealed your relationship with nagi to him.

the revelation snaps you out of whatever spell you’d been under and you yank your hand back from his chest like it’s been burned. it slams into the door handle, still yet to be locked by the key you clutch in your other—which gives you the only thought you can manage with your mind so fogged by the feeling of his lips on your neck. you still fumble a bit, but you turn it, let the door swing back from behind you and feel the swoop in the pit of your stomach that accompanies your body dropping.

now you thank everything for those pro athlete instincts, because just as quickly as your support falls away reo is there to wrap his arm securely around your waist and, before you can even react, turn the pair of you around so that you land on his chest and he takes the brunt of the fall.

“ow— fuck, are you okay?” he’s sprawled out on the floor of your foyer, one arm around your waist as he blinks away the shock. that jumper is ruffled, bunched up the side to give you a little peek at the taut expanse of skin beneath, as he rubs at the back of his head with his free hand. ironically, you think this suits him better than the stiff, polished mannerisms he typically employs. there’s a boyish charm to the wide, dazed look and the little purse of his lips, the way his hair is now mussed. you’re almost inclined to giggle before you remind yourself, quite sternly, that reo’s charisma has always been a little overwhelming even when he isn’t trying. still, you soften, even easing into his hand at your waist.

but then he pauses in his motions, and lifts his head, and his eyes jump to the now-still door before meeting yours—and you fling yourself back, breath hitching as you settle on your haunches as far away from him as you can manage in a single motion.

“was that on purpose?” he asks, leaning forward to sit up and reach out towards you, all wild-eyed and hazy. you scramble back even further.

there’s a glint to those eyes now that they’ve fallen on you, something you don’t dare to name. something that makes you want to slam the door in his face and never return to your own apartment for fear of what you’ve trapped within; something you’ve only ever seen when he’s looked at nagi but only now realize can be turned on someone else, something you hope desperately is a fluke.

(the following day, when you arrive at work to find your desk flooded with hundreds of deep purple roses, you know it was a futile hope.)

prequel

#reo x reader #reo x y/n #reo x you #bllk x reader #bllk x y/n #bllk x you #blue lock x reader #blue lock x y/n #blue lock x you #mine.🌧 #char.🌧 reo #OKAY SDFHV OKAY THERE WE GO #if there r mistakes...... shaddup #JHSBDFJHB #i hope this isnt too tonally confusing #reader is Very Ambivalent okay we'll just blame it on that #and pretend it wasnt that i was very ambivalent abt how i wanted this to go LMFAOOOOOO #n e way #enjoy ig

[absolutebl]

TOP 10 BL Trends of 2023

This is just me with my analysis hat on. 

1. 2023 = the year EVERYONE went outside their lanes

Everything went topsy-turvy this year in BL. 

For example, Korea gave us agonized yearning and outright queerness (The 8th Sense, The New Employee) while Japan served up soft office workers and tender family (Our Dining Table). 

The BL world went askew for a while, especially in the spring of 2023. 

Not that we still didn’t still get Korea’s soft angsty bubbles or Japan’s “what are you doing and why does it hurt?” kink-fests. But there were quite a few BLs that made us chronic watchers sit up in confusion and wonder if Korea was dabbling in Taiwan’s territory or Japan in Thailand’s. Then they fudged the kisses and we were like... okay, back in familiar territory. 

In contrast, Thailand stayed course-correcting for the damage they’ve done in the past with tropes (2022) and self referential meta criticism (2021), but also almost aggressively returned to their BL roots after last year’s series of shockers. Certainly, they are reexamining those roots, transplanting some, aerating others. But they really went back to classic Thai university and high school BL and pulps in a big way in 2023. 

Taiwan is always difficult to gage because they produce so few but they seem to have stuck with what they do best with no deviation while producing more this year than they have in ages. I’m happy for that, why change a good thing? But there is a tiny part of me that really wants them to hit it out of the part with a quality piece soon. For me, We Best Love still reigns supreme, but I would really like the HIStory franchise to give us that level but longer - like a happy version of Your Name Engraved Herein. I think Taiwan has the chops to give us something as good as The 8th Sense or Old Fashion Cupcake but in their style, and I would like to see them exercise their talent for good rather than just profit. 

I know, what a very odd thing for me to say. But if any BL is going to break into the mainstream American market, I genuinely think it’s most likely come from Taiwan. 

Vietnam and the Philippines are falling behind, in general. They just didn’t bring out very many shows in 2023, and what the brought out tended to fub the endings. This is forgivable in Japan (because of their style and quality) but not what watchers want in the lower production value propositions. In other words, if you do a pulp, you can’t mess up the ending (by romance standards). that doesn’t look to be changing anytime soon. 

2. The Office Romance Dominated

After years of Thailand serving us an endless (and slightly bland) buffet of university (and a few high school) BLs, this year Korea was basically like...

Ofiice. We like the Office. It’s cheap to film we can use grown up actors, acting (mostly) their actual age. 

And yeah... it totally worked. 

To be fair, Japan has always given us office live action yaoi from the beginning (they had the source material) but this year everyone else, including Thailand, seriously started playing in this setting. 

3. Boys Danced with Boys

The darling @heretherebedork​ was a big fan of this one, and I rather like it myself. Prior to this boys dancing together was very very rare in BL, but this year we got way more than our fair share. It was lovely. 

Never Let me Go

My School President 

Bed Friend 

The Day I Loved You 

Step by Step

Be Mine Superstar

Tie the Not 

Dangerous Romance

I think there were a few more. These are the ones I remembered to write down. 

4. Getting (even more) Meta With Tropes 

BL has been getting more and more meta over the past few years but this year they really focused in on tropes specifically. Calling out their own biggest and most favorite tropes in a massive way, especially Thailand and especially GMMTV. 

Like they tunneled in on damaging tropes with Bad Buddy and the like over the past 2 years, and now they are just having fun with us. 

I mean they just started the dancing trope and already they are calling it out? That’s like rapid-fire regurgitated meta there, GMMTV. 

5. Cameos are the norm now 

Taiwan has always loved cameos but in the past the other countries have been show and steady with only one or two a year. (Unless Japan does a parody.) 

This year Korea got in on the game.

Korea rarely starts trends but they do adopt smaller and lesser known existing ones and make them super popular. 

This year they did that with cameo couple appearances, even borrowing a few of Thailand’s pairs (TutorYim and MaxNat traveled north). They did it so much I stopped tracking. Love Class 2, Why R U?, and Jun & Jun were the heaviest hitters. 

Taiwan, of course, came back swinging. Kiseki was the gum-ball machine of pair cameos. (In Taiwan mafia = gay.) 

6. We are entering the cross pollination age

The number of remakes picked up or started this year was startling, not just countries revisiting their own content (Thailand, Japan) but countries revisiting OTHER countries stuff.

Lemme explain...

Korea has started remaking Thai content (Why R U?) alongside cameo'ing Thai pairs.

Thailand is doing Korean IP (My Dear Gagster Oppa) and has 2 Chinese ones slated for next year. 

GMMTV acquired a lot of Japanese IP (Cherry Magic, Ossen, and My Love Mix Up) - and then had problems distributing it. 

This is probably the most surprising trend for me. Especially the Japanese stuff. I would have thought these properties well outside of Thailand's price range (even GMMTV's) not to mention Japan’s legendary IP issues (I swear I typed this pout before the pulled TayNew’s excellent Cherry Magic). 

Also why not option some of the older popular manga instead? Bet that's much cheeper. (I did see a NEW Thai translation of Finder into Thai, which is 90s yaoi, so I have my fingers crossed on that front.)

I shouldn't be too surprised. 

Thailand is running out of y-novel content. Their publication industry is just not robust enough (I was just talking to a friend about this at length recently). But I didn't think they had the funds to option, especially from Japan. 

Perhaps the option deals are for peanuts?

7. Korea got cheeky

I’m not sure quite how else to put this. 

After finally figuring out boys can kiss, Korea started to do not just higher heat but playful higher heat, with more aggressive word play and linguistic innuendo, like they are entering their racy rom-com teenage years (Why R U? Love Class 2 and Jun & Jun in particular.) 

I guess: Welcome to your BL teens, Korea? 

It’s cute of them. I am very much enjoying it. 

And now that comedy is warming them up, we get to see them play with actual queer burgeoning physicality in shows like The 8th Sense. 

It’s nice. I like seeing Korea stretch its wings. They still stick to their bubble, but that bubble seems to be expanding. 

8. The Amnesia Trope is back

And I, for one, would prefer to forget about it. 

9. BL got trendy 

I’m not quite sure how to articulate this category but basically we started seeing a lot of “modern” romance trends out of the west (like a/b/o) show up in our BL. Not a ton and sometimes quite small, but there has a been a steady rise of things like: no seme/uke, femme gay, out gay, condom use, messy gay. 

We also got an increasing range of sub genre frameworks (like mafia, office setting) that’s moved BL pretty firmly (even in Thailand) out of school and into the workplace, whether actual working is involved or not. 

It’s not to the point where it feels like we get more non-school BL than school BL (if I include all countries in this assessment).

Japan, in classic Japanese fashion, quietly started moving in the opposite direction. It’s what they do. 

10. The Vampires are coming 

This is an announcement trend, which I don’t usually report on but it’s so CLEAR. 

So last year we had a spate of announcements of possible Omegaverse (2 from China, 1 from Japan, 1 from Thailand - the only one that’s happened). 

This year we got 5 Vampire (or vampire-esk) Thai BLs announced including one from GMMTV. 

Whether all 5 will actually get made is unlikely, but having had (basically) none prior to this (Kissable Lips), I’m pretty confident that we will get at least 2 of them. And I wouldn’t be surprised if at least one other country made one as well. (Side eyes Taiwan with interest.) 

Final thoughts

It feels like we are also seeing a decline in BL (both by quantity and quality) from Vietnam and the Philippines. As you all know, I don’t track or really watch either of these two very closely. But it feels like, now, no one else is either. 

I think we have likely seen the BL heyday already in both places and their industries are now on the decline. 

We might be witnessing a thinning in the players in the BL field. 

FYI we had approximately 

136 BLs in 2023

Previous Years

2022: 117

2021: 95

2020: 62

2019: 40

2018: 30 

2017: 44 (China’s last gasp)

2016: 27

2015: 17 (50% micro)

2014: 17 (50% micro)

And that’s it! Let me know in the comments if you’ve spotted any additional trends you want to call out.

Last year, 2022′s trend report

2021���s Trend report

Last Year’s Stats & Predictions

(source) 

#bl 2023 #bl trends 2023 #film trends 2023 #EVERYONE went outside their lanes #The 8th Sense #kroean bl #thai bl #The Office Romance Dominated #bed friend #Boys Danced with Boys #the day i loved you #Getting (even more) Meta With Tropes #hidden agenda #gmmtv #dinosaur love #love class 2 #jun and jun #We are entering the cross pollination age #why r U? #Korea Got Cheeky #The Amnesia Trope is back #BL got trendy #The Vampires are coming