#Nurses Changing Profession

[i-amusemyself]

Honestly if you're a healthcare professional no longer wearing a mask bc the dumbass people in charge dropped the mandate, I hope you fall face-first into an open sharps bin. Repeatedly. Yall are scum with no excuse. Yall are essentially murdering and disabling people who come to you for help.

#there i said it #bc im not allowed to say it on other social media #bc ironically that would reduce trust in the profession which is frowned upon #this pandemic has changed me #so forgive me if i wake up and choose violence #public health #healthcare #health care #nhs #national health service #doctors #nurses #healthcare assistants #healthcare professionals #allied health #wear a mask #masks in healthcare #covid #sars cov 2 #sarscov2 #covid is airborne #choosing violence

[a-b-riddle]

Part 7

Can't stop thinking about how the 141 met reader

(she's a long one. not entirely happy with it either so may edit later)

No harm done yet.

You never saw Simon actually hurt anyone. Johnny and Kyle would share stories about poor recruits who fucked around and eventually found out that Simon had no issue beating them within an inch of their life.

You knew he had a reputation and, like the rest of them, had blood on his hands. But it never bothered you. Didn't make you think twice about loving him or seeing him as the protector he had always been to you. To be frank, you could never actually picture any of them being violent.

But his voice... Fuck. His voice. It fucking rattled you. You actually feared for those fucking idiots now. Sure, they deserved to have their asses kicked, but an ass-kicking was probably going to be a welcomed after thought to whatever Simon would do.

You rinsed off, not bothering to wash your hair, but needing to wash up before getting in the bed. Hoping the scalding hot water washed away the uneasiness on your skin that had began to settle into your bones.

Even feeling fresh and laying in clean sheets, you still found yourself tossing and turning wondering exactly what did Simon do?

Did he walk away? Realizing you weren't worth the trouble, did he just tell them to knock it off?

You had stupidly expected Simon to check in. To check if you made it home alright or at least to let you know he was okay. So you waited... And you waited. You had half a mind to call him yourself before remembering it wasn't your place anymore to care. You had cared enough for the five of you.

It was well past two in the morning before you finally called it a night.

The next morning, still nothing from Mr. Riley. Not a 'did you home alright?' or 'are you okay?' text. Nada. Zilch.

Whatever.

Fuck him.

You had to open up shop, but luckily your Saturday mornings were much more relaxed. The shop wouldn't be open until 10, so you had the time to sleep in and enjoy the morning.

By noon, Mere had sent you several texts reminding you that you had promised to go out. You had tried to dissuade her. The encounter with those men last night had brought back sour memories. One involving handsome men coming to your rescue when it was most certainly needed.

You had tried to bail. Giving her any excuse you could: Last night put you on edge. You no longer wanted to go out. After last weekend, you just needed some down time.

Eventually you had realized she was not taking no for an answer after she had shown up to your apartment, already ready for a night out.

"You're not wearing that, are you?" Mere asked. Mere was in her usual Saturday femme-fatal attire. The black leather pants that accentuated her curves and red corset paired well with her freshly box dyed color black hair.

She looked more like a dominatrix than someone who worked at an attorney's office. Even if both professions included bending someone over and fucking them for all their worth. You wondered who would charge more by the hour....

You had pulled out a off white lace square neck top and a pair of high waisted medium washed baggy jeans. A perfectly cute outfit for a night out. Which was your defense when she had suggested you needed to change.

Tab had arrived later than expected (something about a system being down at work), but made up for it by bringing a pre-game snack. Yes, you had officially reached the age where you no longer starved yourself hours before going out to get more drunk quicker and cheaper. No you had to eat carbs or else you wouldn't be able to leave your room the next day as you pathetically nurse a hangover.

Tab wore a denim skirt. If you could even call it that. It paired well with the white tank top that you could make out the shape of her nipple piercing.

But they looked hot. Really hot.

"This is a perfectly acceptable outfit."

"For a day at market, not for trying to get laid."

"I don't want to get laid." You said, rummaging through your closet, yet again. "Getting laid is what got me in this mess in the first place."

A little over two years ago

"Fuck him." Tabitha wrapped her arms around your shaking body as you continued to sob. "He was a prick who didn't fucking deserve you."

"He couldn't even get you to cum." Mere felt the need to remind you as if that would somehow lessen the blow of your heartbreaking into a million shards. The shrapnel feeling like it would kill you.

"I loved him," your voice is small. "I fucking loved him." You had been dating for almost three years. You had his grandmother's ring on your fucking hand for God's sake. "I'm so stupid."

"You are not stupid." Tabitha gave you a squeeze. "He was a liar and a fucking coward." Meredith rubbed her thumb on you bare leg, offering physical reassure. Letting you know even if she wasn't the hugger Tabs was, she was still here.

"You can't keep locked up in this apartment." She was unfortunately right. You had not only barricaded yourself in your apartment for two weeks, but you hadn't returned to your bedroom. The scene of the crime. "You need to get out."

"Yeah," Tabitha rubbed your arm as if trying to coax you out your metaphorical shell. "Get some fresh air. We can go grab a treat. Maybe go out for some coffee." It didn't surprise you that Tabitha was offering a treat to entice you to leaving your sanctuary.

"I was thinking going to a bar." It also didn't surprise you that Mere offered her way of coping. Getting so drunk that you forgot what you even sad about. Or going out and finding someone to fuck the sadness out of her.

"Because getting alcohol in her system in this state is just what she needs." Tabitha was the mom of the group whereas Mere was the fun drunk aunt. They balanced one another out.

"Actually," you said, giving a pathetic sniffle. "Going out would be nice." Getting away from the apartment is what you need. And going out would be the excuse you would need to get yourself all dolled up.

What you hadn't planned for was getting so pissed that you had manage to breakaway from your friends. Searching for them in teh crowd of people. Failing and when you pulled out your phone were met with a completely black screen.

Dead. Perfect.

The same moment you swore the night couldn't get any worse, it did.

He looked the same. Same as he been four months ago when he asked you to become his wife. Same as he had been two weeks ago when you had caught him fucking another girl. The girl he told you not to worry about. The girl he insisted was just one of the guys. A girl you had told him time and time again would fuck him the moment she had the chance.

It wasn't always great to be right.

When your eyes connected, your body had went into immediate flight mode. Every neuron in your body was shooting out signals of RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN. So that's exactly what you did.

You fucking bolted.

Or felt like you bolted. But you could only scurry so fast in chunky heels while simultaneously pulling down your skirt that had decided to ride up. Aching to show your ass for all of London to see.

You had made it a quarter of the way back to your apartment. Your feet aching. Toes pinched together from the strap digging into them.

"Baby, please!" You heard him before you felt his arm clamp down on your shoulder. Hard. When did his touch become something heavy? Something that practically burned you.

You turned. Eyes brimming with unshed tears as you hissed at him to leave you the fuck alone. The begging came, but you turned around. Determined to go home. He didn't deserve the chance to explain himself and he could most certainly shove his apology up his ass.

He wouldn't shut up. Insisting it was a mistake. A one time thing her fault. How she seduced him. As if he were the victim in all of this. You weren't buying it. Not for one moment. One doesn't accidentally invite some slut over and fall balls deep into her while they are in the same bed he shares with his fiancée.

It wasn't until you were in a more dimly lit area that he had gotten the nerve to grab you. His grip was firm on your arms as he held you in place. "Listen to me!" His voice was panicked.

The feeling of anger slowly began to dim as something else began to rise.

Fear.

You were afraid.

You were in a part of town not many people were out and about in at this time of night. No bystanders to really take note of the scene, or at least not any caring enough to stand by and watch; even for entertainment.

Your friends didn't know where you were at and you were tipsy. And alone.

"Cardan," you swallowed, trying to steady your voice. "Please let me go."

"Not until you talk to me," his fingers dug into you. "We can work this out, okay? It was one mistake." He tried to argue, his voice rising, soaked in desperation. "What's one mistake compared to three years?"

"Cardan," you tried to pull away, his grip only tightening. "You're hurting me." It came out as a pathetic whimper. You were so close to crying, too afraid to scream.

"Hey!" A voice barked from behind you. It caused your whole body to stiffen."Get your fucking hands off her. Someone noticed. Someone was here. Someone was here. Someone was here.

"We are having a conversation." Cardan's eyes left you, looking at whoever stood behind you.

"The lass said to leave her be." Another voice. Someone else. Two (three if you counted yourself, but in that moment you couldn't) people against one. There was no a possibility of you getting the fuck out of this situation.

Cardan stood firm. His eyes looking past you. A silent refusal to back down.

"Either you let her go," another voice. Another accent different that the first two. "Or we fucking make you."

"One against four. Odds aren't in your favor, mate." Four. Four men stood behind you. Faceless strangers there to help you.

"This doesn't concern you." Cardan bit out.

"Aye," Scottish. The second guy was definitely Scottish. "I think it does if she's tellin' ye' to piss off and yer bein' a bawbag about it."

"So what'll it be?" The third voice, deep and threatening, yet still so... calming. As if the vibrations from his deep, rich pitch washed over you.

Cardan looked back at you, his eyes not as manic. He realized he didn't have a chance. This was a fight he had to walk away from or else he wouldn't be walking away from it at all. "I'll swing by tomorrow, okay?" He asked.

You couldn't do anything, but nod. Agree that you could talk tomorrow in the safety of the sunlight. Eventually he walked across the street before fading out into the night. Blending in with the shadows.

You turned around to meet your would-be saviors.

Four men. All slightly older than you and so handsome you felt foolish for gawking at them as if this were your first time seeing a man. Hell, maybe it was. At least specimens like this. All of them tall and broad. Towering over you.

No wonder Cardan got the fuck out of there. Tabs was right. He was a coward.

"You alright?" The one who first spoke up asked. You could place his voice. Now just needed to place the other three. He had a hearty mustache and mutton chops. A look on any one else would make you immediately get the ick. But for a moment you wondered if that mustache would tickle... "Do you need us to call anyone?"

You felt your cheeks flush with heat.

"I just want to go home." You said. "Thank you for stepping in. I don't know what would have-" You stopped. Too afraid to think about the possibilities. There was a time you would never believe that Cardan had the ability to hurt you.

There was also a time you believed he would never cheat. You weren't really sure what to believe anymore. "Anyway," you continued. "Thank you again." You turned on your heel before continuing your stride.

You had only made it several feet before you were stopped again. "Which way? One of us can walk you home." You weren't entirely sure. But with a dead cellphone and a unhinged ex probably lurking in the shadows, there was little time to weigh the pros and cons before giving them a general direction of where you lived.

Which just so happened to be the direction in which two of the four lived. The Scot and one of the two who had yet to speak. The first one, who had still yet to introduce himself instructed the two of them to drop you off and let him know you had made it home alright.

You had hoped that the rest of your night would be met with silence, but the Scot couldn't seem to help himself. "I'm Johnny." He introduced. "And the spooky, silent type is Simon." He gave a playful wink. You gave him your name, not wanting to be rude.

"Not my place to ask," he began. "But what was the deal with that fucker? Ex-boyfriend?"

"Johnny." Simon's tone held warning. You appreciated the defense, but frankly didn't care. These were strangers. Who cared what they thought.

"Ex-fiancée," you clarified. "One who decided to fuck another girl in my bed. Not even our bed. My bed."

"Jesus fucking Christ," the Scot swore. "I was right. He was a fucking bawbag." For whatever reason, that made you laugh. For the first time in two weeks you fucking laughed. And it felt like you were breathing again.

Simon was quiet, not contributing to the conversation and just letting Johnny babble. Talking your ear off in a short trek as if it were an olympic sport.

You were so distracted with his voice you hadn't realized how far you had made it until the sound of your keys clattering onto your kitchen counter brought you back.

Back to a situation you didn't know how the fuck you landed in.

Two men (who you don't know) are in your apartment. Your friends don't know where you are. You are a little bit too inebriated to plan and exit strategy. Doesn't exactly help your confidence in fighting them off since they are built like fucking brick houses.

"He won't come sniffin' around here botherin' ya, will he?" Simon asks, speaking for only the second time since he had threatened Cardan. You shake your head.

"No," you said. "I have him blocked on everything. So I think when he saw me tonight it was just kind of an opportunity, I suppose?" You offer. Cardan had showed up to your place one time with a random assortment of flowers and a useless apology you had to hear through the door as you covered your mouth. Concealing your cries. Too afraid to let him know you were there.

Too afraid that some part of you would be weak enough to take him back.

"We'll leave ye' be." Johnny said, nodding his head toward the door. "But if he comes bein' a shite to ye again, you can give us a call."

"Phones dead." You explain, holding up your phone as if you needed to prove yourself. Johnny offered the brilliant, yet simple solution of giving him your number. He sent off a text, knowing it would be there when you turned back on and promising to check in later.

They both gave subtle nods of goodbye before turning away.

And just like that, they left. The door clicking softly shut behind them. You stood, frozen for several beats before walking over and locking the door.

You plugged your phone into the charging cable, waiting until it lit back to life before shooting off a text in your group chat with Tab and Mere.

Sorry I took off. Ran into Cardan and fucking made a dash for it. Sorry if I worried you. I'm at home. I'm okay. Grab lunch tomorrow and we can talk about it? My treat?

You signed off the text with a heart emoji and turned your phone on do not disturb. Too afraid of your friends going all Mama Bear on you for running away while drunk. Even if your reasons were valid.

You had texted Johnny again. Not because Cardan dared to bother you again, but to thank him. Acknowledging that not many men would have done for you what he and his friend did. Johnny assured you it wasn't anything.

Before you knew it, the two of you were hanging out with Simon always tagging along. It took you a while to realize he did actually like you, but his stoic nature was just who he was. You had met Kyle and John, both as charming and respectful as Johnny and Simon.

John had been the first two mention wanting to take you on a date. It didn't go well with the other three. They all had the same intention and a rock, paper, scissors tournament seemed to juvenile to figure out who got the privilege in courting you. Eventually, they had decided to ask you.

Putting you on the spot to answer the question that had begun to tear them apart: which one of them will it be?

Johnny made you laugh. He was the first person you thought about calling when your day was a bit grey. He saw the positive in everything and was the one who made you feel like even the bad days weren't so terrible.

Then there was Simon. The one who you felt like was your safe place in body and mind. You would babble all day talking to him, thankful when he would let you rant. Your mind was able to go on auto-pilot in terms of safety because you knew Simon would handle it. He also gave the best hugs.

John was the one who instilled the confidence in you that you needed. Your bookstore, your writing, whatever aspirations you had, no matter how wild, John would support it. Nothing was too big. After you all started dating, he was the first person you ever let read your book. He gave you praise as well as critique, pointing out multiple plot holes and helping you craft it better. And never once taking credit for it, even when it was due.

Kyle was the most thoughtful one. He was the one who knew you liked trying knew things so he made an effort to always make date nights interesting. A new restaurant, a new activity or experience. He was the biggest giver of the group.

So when they did ask you, you answered honestly.

"I can't choose." They insisted that you didn't need to spare their feelings, but you stood firm in your decision. "No. I can't choose. I'm interested in all of you." When they pressed on why the fuck you didn't say anything earlier, you told them to avoid this kind of situation. Where you had to choose. You were fine continuing on as just friends if that meant you got to keep all of them.

Mere and Tabs were great friends, but they are the ones who helped pull you out of the slump. The ones who made you feel lovable. The ones who made you feel like a woman again.

"Helloooooo." Mere's hand waved in your face while another held something she had found in your closet. "So are you going to change or not?" Your eyes darted to the skimpy glittery black dress. The same one for your first date with them. Your stomach twisted as you took the sparkly dark fabric in your hand.

You nodded as if trying to shake the memory out of your mind. "I'll change and we can go." Better just to get it over with.

The place that Mere had dragged you to was a club that played music that you would only listen to while encapsulated in the aroma of cheap liquor and sweat. Your outfit form-fitting. The material too stiff to be comfortable, but it was cute. The hem of your dress coming to rest just below your ass cheeks. Hugging your body in a way that made you feel self conscious the moment you stepped out of your building.

Mere had run into some work colleagues. Names you couldn't and wouldn't remember. There had been a high profile divorce going on. Very messy. She had been so encapsulated by the gossip that she hadn't notice you and Tabitha had slipped off toward the bar.

Tabitha insisted on shots and you needed something to get your mind off the less than exciting night. Your expectations weren't high, but fuck. You would have been much more comfortable wearing the jeans. You felt like a piece of fucking meat. It would have been so bad if someone were gonna buy you a dr-

"This seat taken?" It was a cliche introduction attached to a slightly better than average face. Decent enough where it didn't hurt to look at him, but not attractive enough to be a seat.

"By all means," you said turning back to Tabitha who looked at the guy now sitting to your left and raising her eyebrows. Fucking hell. Not her too.

"It's pretty packed tonight." He commented, attempted to make small talk. You hated small talk. At least unless it came to Johnny who would get into discussion on politics, religion and why on the side was the best way to fuck because it gave him 'a perfect view of the front and back of ye.'

"You come here often?" You asked, not wanting to be a total bitch, but having absolutely zero desire to be entertaining him.

"When I can." He said. "I prefer the Artifact a couple of blocks down. Not many people heard of it. A bit of a hole-in-the-wall place." Oh cool. A fucking hipster who liked to act superior at knowing a place that is underground. You could feel any possibility of getting your pussy wet, dry at the thought of this man actually wanting to come onto you.

Jesus, when did you become so harsh.

I blame Simon.

"Oh," you say, no longer interested in entertaining the conversation. "Sounds lovely. My friend and I just came out for a bit of girl-" you turn to look at Tabitha who had somehow miraculously disappeared in the 45 fucking seconds that your back was turned....

Little bitch.

"Bathroom, I suppose." He laughed. It was the sincerity in his voice that irked you. God, why was he pissing you off just trying to start a conversation?

"I suppose." You gave a soft smile back, turning once the bartender had come over to grab your order. Which the stranger next to you had insisted buying. Nothing quite as arousing as obligated conversation.

"There's no need for that-"

"Percival." He introduced. "But my friends call me Percy." Your immediate thought was who the fuck names there kid Percival. The second was to offer him a fake name. Real enough to be believable, but fake enough where if he tried to search you up on any social media, you could just deny having any.

"I hate to be brash," he started. Then don't. "But I can't imagine a girl like you being single."

"Not really looking for anything romantic at the moment." You say, the first time you've been truthful this entire conversation. Percival leaned in closer, before asking in a low voice that he was doubt trying to convey as sexy, "Are you sure?"

And there it was. The final ick that nailed the coffin shut.

You offered in a soft smile before swallowing hard. "Percival,"

"My friends call me-"

"I'm going to be frank." Your voice is soft, as if explaining to a small child why we don't always get the things we want. "I just got of a very long and deep and meaningful relationship and the idea of being near another man in any intimate or emotional capacity wants me to cause very serious bodily harm to said man."

His expression fell.

"I appreciate your confidence in coming over here and making small talk, but if you're wanting to fuck me or even attempt to be friends, I must inform you that is no only not in the cards, but not in your best interest." You turned, downing the rest of your cocktail.

"Time for a trip to the bathroom myself, I suppose." You stood from your seat, having to readjust your dress.. "Have a good night."

You were washing your hands when a red-faced Mere walked into the bathroom. Tabitha on her heels with a concerned expression.

"What did you do?" Mere asked.

"What are you talking about?" You asked. You had half a mind to ask them why the fuck they pulled a disappearing act after insisting you go out.

"You told Percy you would castrate him?" You looked as if you had been slapped. The pieces falling into place to reveal a totally fucked up puzzle.

"You fucking tried to set me up." You seethed, a finger pointing accusingly.

"Well, fuck, what did you expect me to do?" She asked. "You were sulking."

"Listen to me!" You cried. "I want you to listen to me. I was with them for two years. It hasn't even been two weeks and you're going behind my fucking back and trying to set me up with fucking Percival? How the fuck do you even know him? Do you even know him?" She ignored your last question. How convenient.

"I thought it would be good to get it out of your system." She tried to defend, her pissyness now matching yours. "You always do this. I was just trying to help."

"What do you mean 'I always do this'?" Your eyes turned into slits.

"Why don't we just calm down and-" Tabitha tried to stop the escalation. Mere, very obviously, ignored that cue.

"You get so hung up on a guy, or in this case guys, it takes you fucking weeks to recover." You stare at her. Unsure if she was really comprehending the bullshit that had come out of her mouth.

"I'm certain you aren't trying to make me feel bad for grieving a relationship that I was in for over three years to a man I was engaged to. To find him fucking in my apartment, in my bed the same week I was going to get my wedding dress."

"It's not just Cardan," she went on. "Issac in our second year of school?" You gave a humorless chuckle.

"Oh yes," you said condescendingly, "the boy I had dated from 14-years old- until I was 19. The boy I gave my virginity two months before he told me he was not only not interested in me, but women in general." As if that somehow lessened the blow. "Absolutely shouldn't have bothered me a bit."

"You only went out for classes and food for two months!" She said as if you had hit a pedestrian with your car. As if you were a fool for being so distracted by a breakup you couldn't be bothered to carry on with life as normal.

"I'm sorry that I actually take the time to grieve my relationships." You said. "I forgot that it may be hard for either of you to comprehend what a relationship is like considering the only relationship either of you have is with your work or with each of us."

"Hey!" Tabitha said. "I understand your pissed, but there isn't need to attack us like this."

"Attack you?" You asked. "Attack you? This isn't me attacking you. This is me responding to an uncomfortable situation that you put me in. I told you I didn't want to even think about me. I didn't want to fuck someone else and you go and do this?"

"He seems like a decent guy." You roll your eyes.

"Probably why he's not your type, right?" Mere crossed her arms over chest. Eyebrow arched as if she were hoping the words enticed you to realize that you had a history of going after the wrong guys.

Unfortunately, it did not.

You sucked on your teeth, carefully choosing your words before World War III broke out in a nearly vacant bathroom in South London. You took a deep breath. Calming yourself as best as you could.

Before saying fuck it and letting it loose.

"Just because your idea of coping is getting drunk and fucking someone you plan on never speaking to again, quite literally discarding them like trash, doesn't mean the rest of us cope the same way." You hoped it hurt. You hope it stung the same way she had tried to sting you.

You had hoped that your word would be the final blow before both sides called a treaty.

"You mean like they did you?"

And just like that, you heart stuttered. A rapid dum dum dum in your chest as it had been tripped up by her words. The truth in them heavy. The shift in the air was almost immediate;.

"Sweetheart-" Tabitha had tried to reach out before you jerked away.

"Enjoy your night." You said, grabbing your purse where you had left it by the sink. "I'm going to go home and wallow in my self pity." You exited the bathroom, hearing your named called again before shifting it into gear and getting the fuck out of there.

Weaving through the sea of bodies like water flowing around rocks.

Who the fuck cares if you want to cry? To grieve? To be angry? To get closure? To move on? Who cares if you don't want to be the girl who gets her heart shattered and not fuck somone else? Who wants to feel the comfort of a familiar body, a touch that feels safe one last time before you go back into a world where you will only be touched by a stranger?

It didn't matter that you were the one to breakup with them, even if the relationship was broken. It's foundation cracked.

What did matter is that the people who should have supported you and in the way you were dealing with your loss in your own way, didn't. And that's the part that they seem to forget. It is a loss. It's mourning someone who hasn't died. Someone who is still living, yet still no longer there.

"Off already?" Percy cut in the way, blocking your escape. You weren't in the mood.

"Listen-" you started before he cut you off.

"Not anything romantic, I know," he raised his hands as if in defense, "but maybe like another drink or a dance?"

You closed your eyes, wanting to hold off starting a scene and tearing him a new asshole. "Like I said, not. interested." How much clearer could you spell it out?

"Come on." He said, his hand coming to rest on your hip. The grip on it weak. You were by no means the type of woman that could take on a man like the ones you still held in a chamber of your heart. But you could most certainly handle your own against Percival. "I'm asking for a dance. After what Meredith told me, I figured you'd be down for at a little more than that."

"I don't follow." Your blood ran cold. Your heart praying that any assumptions that were running through your mind were wrong, they were wrong.

"She mentioned you having a group of like guys you fucked, but stopped fucking." He shrugged, offering a coy smile that you ached to wipe off with the back of your hand. "I don't judge. It's kind of hot honest. Did they run train or-" You felt it then. His hand had traveled from your hip to the curve of your ass.

And you froze. You froze like a coward. Too afraid to speak or scream. Too ashamed to push him away, cause a scene.

But you didn't need to do any of that.

In an instant, Percy's hand was off of you. It took you a moment to realize that a figure dressed in black stood beside you. Your own personal grim reaper.

"Put him go!" You pleaded, breaking out of your trance. You took hold of his arm putting all of your body weight on his arm, trying to break his hold. He didn't falter.

You could handle you own against Percy.

But Simon could fucking kill him without breaking a sweat.

You looked at Simon's face. His eyes were darkened. The soft brown you had once loved staring into were now almost black. You could even make out the dark circles, even in the unsettling flickering of strobe lights in the club.

"You touch her again and I'll slit your fucking throat. Understood?" Pure venom fell from Simon's lips, but you knew he wasn't lying. Simon was the type of man who didn't say something he didn't mean.

You knew that all too well.

Percy choked out an ineligible, gurgled response as Simon's hand held firm on his throat. "He understands, goddammit, no let him down!" You ordered hitting at him as if it would stop him. "Simon, please!"

It was only when you said his name, did Simon loosen his grip. Letting Percy drop to a heap on the floor before he started a having a coughing fit, trying to suck in as much air as he could.

Simon looked down at you and the exit before scooping you up and hauling you over his shoulder like a sack of flower.

You wanted to die. You wanted to crawl in a hole and die and never show your face again.

"Get in the car." He at least had the decency to open the door for you. Simon wasn't a flashy man, by any means, but he was still a man. A men did love their cars.

He stood, waiting for you but you didn't move. You glared up at him. He had carried you out of there in the most humiliating way possible. You had to fight against the hemline of your dress or else everyone would have gotten an eyeful.

Hand still on the door, he leaned down, getting closer and closer to your height. "You get your ass in this car right now," his breath warm against your ear. "Or I'll have you over my fuckin' knee." His tone was sharp. It wasn't seduction in form of a threat. It wasn't even a threat.

It was a promise.

"We're over." You reminded.

"Do you think that'll fuckin' stop me from spankin' some sense into your bratty ass?"

"It doesn't give you the right to fucking do that to people, Simon!" You huffed. "You could have killed in."

"Could have," he agreed. "But didn't. You're welcome." he nodded toward the car. "Now, in you go or I'll do it here. You already know I don't mind an audience."

The heated seats were a bit to warm for your liking against your bare ass. The tension in the air was uncomfortable. Your hands ached to touch the radio. Anything to stop the silence between the two of you.

"I got home fine the other night by the way." You said, looking out the window, hoping to make him feel like shit for not checking in like he should have.

"I know you did."

"What do you mean you know I did?" You asked, turning to look at him. He shrugged as if it wasn't anything out of the ordinary, not stopping.

"Just did." Was his only answer.

"Are you fucking stalking me, Riley?" That made him laugh. You would have felt better if there was at least a sense of humor in it, but, instead, only disbelief.

"Oh, Riley now, is it?" He asked.

"You're not my body guard, Simon." You snapped.

"Not trying to be," he said. "I was never trying to be." You caught it. A very small slip, but it was something... something you couldn't place.

"Then why?" You ask, your tone softening. "For someone who makes it very apparent to be done with me, you sure do show up at convenient times. Hard not to think your keeping tabs on me."

He didn't say anything. No explanation or excuse. Not evena smart ass comeback or remark.

His hands reached forward and turned on the radio, turning the volume just loud enough that if you were to try and continue the conversation, your words would be drowned out.

He pulled up in front of your building, yet you made no move to get out. You turned off the radio, soaking in the silence once more. You wanted to know why? Why was he appearing out of nowhere like a fucking ghost? Why was he helping you?

He sighed before putting the car in park and stepping out. Coming around to your side he opened the door. "Get inside. Go to bed." There he was again. Fucking bossing you around as if he still had a say.

You wanted to cuss him out. To spew hateful words just as he did you.

But you didn't.

You were tired.

So fucking tired. And the idea of going to bed did sound pretty good in that moment. You made it to the door of your building before he spoke again. "And if you need to out at this time at night call a goddamn cab."

"Why?" You asked, turning around. "Getting tired of having to follow me around on foot, Si?"

There was a pregnant pause. Neither of you speaking. His body shifted forward, as if contemplating getting closer to you. As if the pull you once had was still there.

With his eyes trained on you, you felt a chill run down your spine. Twice you had seen that look on Simon's face before. The look that he had given the figures concealed in the shadows last night. The same look he had given Percy.

Only this time, it was directed at you.

One that personified the saying, 'if looks could kill.'

"Because," he growled out, "the next time I find someone else touching you that way, I'll fucking kill them."

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Doctor Doctor, Gimme The News

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Doctor!Reader

Summary: You receive a particularly difficult patient by the name of Bradshaw and you try your best to resist his charms.

CW: tall Bradley, Mavdad, it's goofy af you've been warned

WC: 1800+

A/N: I don't know, you guys, I just couldn't get this scene out of my head hahah

Your back is turned when the two men enter the office, so you don’t notice right away that one of them is practically shoving the other inside. You hear the grumbling though.

“I’m fine,” and “Let go,” and “This is a waste of time.”

You glance over your shoulder as one of the nurses places a clipboard outside an exam room and gestures for the men to wait inside. It’s a slow day at the clinic so, after finishing up the notes from your previous appointment, you head over to check the chart before walking in to greet your next patient.

The two men look up when you enter. The younger one is sitting in a chair and the older one has a firm hand on his shoulder as if he’s forcefully trying to keep him there.

“Good afternoon, I’m Doctor Y/L/N,” you say, placing the clipboard on the table as the two men say hello. “What seems to be the problem?”

“He hit his head,” the man who’s standing says.

“I’m fine,” the other assures you.

“Hard,” the first man points out.

The seated man rolls his eyes. “He’s overreacting.”

You narrow your eyes slightly and approach them. “What’s your name?” you ask the man with the apparent head injury, crouching down so that you can look at his face up close.

“Don’t you have my chart?” he asks. He's wearing a cheeky grin and you can tell that he's flirting.

“It’s Bradshaw,” the standing man says. “His name. And I’m Captain Mitchell.”

You glance up at the older man. “If you could refrain from answering for the patient, please, Captain,” you say, slightly annoyed.

“Right,” he nods. “I apologize.”

The seated man raises his eyebrows. “Well, that’s a first.”

You move to grab a chair and position yourself in front of him. “Full name and rank?”

“Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw. What’s yours?” the man asks with a bit of a smirk.

You tap on the name tag hanging off your lab coat coolly. You’re not unaccustomed to receiving this kind of attention, however it doesn’t happen too often at work. “What’s the date today, Lieutenant Bradshaw?” you ask casually, reaching for your clipboard.

“You don’t have a calendar, Doctor?” Bradley asks.

You glance up at him pointedly. “Are you always this cooperative?”

“This is the kind of shit I have to put up with on a daily basis, Doctor,” Captain Mitchell mutters.

“Well, that’s good news,” you say, smiling up at the man. When he furrows his eyebrows, you clarify, “No noticeable change in personality.”

Captain Mitchell grins wryly. “What a relief.”

Bradley snorts and starts to get up. “We’re done, then?” he asks.

“Not quite,” you say, indicating for him to sit back down.

Bradley sighs wearily but resumes his seated position across from you. He places his hands in his lap and lifts his eyes to meet your gaze with a skeptical expression.

“Are you experiencing any dizziness?” you ask.

“No,” he responds, keeping his eyes locked on yours.

You glance down at the clipboard in your hand, slightly unnerved that he’s so boldly watching you. “Headache or nausea?” you ask without looking back up.

“Nope,” he responds.

“Can you count backwards from 100 by seven?”

“Are you serious?” he asks.

You glance up at him sharply. “Would you like to conduct the examination, Lieutenant?”

He sighs and starts counting.

You stop him after several correct numbers and ask, “What is your profession?”

There’s a brief pause during which Bradley lets his head dip to the side to study the contours of your face. You glance up at him expectantly and he looks into your eyes again. “I’m an aviator,” he says nonchalantly, although you notice his chest puff up with pride. As if you don’t regularly meet pilots working at the health clinic on base.

You look down at your clipboard as though you’re reading the questions off the page but, really, you’re just avoiding his gaze because his eyes have a we’re-gonna-fuck look about them and you’re almost starting to fall for it. “Any previous head injuries?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” he responds, and you notice the sexy rasp in his voice despite trying very hard to ignore it.

“He crashed his bike into a tree when he was five,” Captain Mitchell chimes in.

Both you and Bradley look up at him with some amusement, having nearly forgotten he was there. You blink at the captain pointedly before returning your attention to the chart in your lap. “I hope he’s better at maneuvering these days,” you comment.

Bradley starts laughing which makes you look up at him in surprise. Captain Mitchell is also chuckling mildly. “He has his moments,” he says.

 You give them a tight smile and rise from your seat, setting your clipboard down. Bradley stands too, towering over you because he’s still so close. You take a step back, nearly stumbling over your chair, and both Bradley and the captain grab your arms to keep you from falling.

“You alright?” Bradley asks.

You nod, straightening out your lab coat and pointing to his chair. “Sit, please,” you say, not meeting his gaze.

“You got it, Doc,” he says, sitting back down. Captain Mitchell smirks in amusement.

“Tell me what happened,” you say, approaching your patient confidently to perform a physical exam.

Both he and the captain start recounting two vastly different versions of the same event while you check Bradley’s vital signs. Once they’ve finished speaking and you’ve located the swelling on Bradley’s head, you glance between the two of them skeptically. Then you pull a penlight out of your lab coat and say, “Follow the light.”

You watch Bradley’s pupils constrict in response to the light but, when you move the penlight to one side, his eyes remain fixed on yours.

“The light, Lieutenant,” you remind him.

Bradley shifts his gaze to the right as instructed, but every time the movement of your penlight crosses the midpoint, he lets his eyes linger on yours for a split second. You flick off the light and observe as Bradley’s pupils return to normal size. His mouth quirks upward slightly but he never breaks eye contact.

“Good,” you say, dropping the penlight back into your pocket. “Now you can stand.”

Bradley gets out of his seat while Captain Mitchell watches on cautiously, as though he expects him to fall over. When the captain steps closer, Bradley holds out his hand.

“I’m fine, dad.” Bradley’s sarcastic tone indicates that the captain is, in fact, not his father, but his companion’s affectionate expression in response probably puts him in the category of loveable uncle who has frequently – albeit unsolicitedly – stepped into the role. Bradley straightens his back and looks over at you calmly, awaiting your instructions.

“Stand on one foot for me,” you say.

Bradley smirks. “Anything for you, Doc,” he says, bending his left leg upwards.

Captain Mitchell lets out a tired sigh, shaking his head, while you attempt to not roll your eyes. “You can put your foot down, Lieutenant,” you say crossly.

“You want me to put my foot down, Doc?” he responds suggestively.

“Rooster!” the captain warns.

“I’m kidding!” Bradley chuckles. “She knows.” He extends an arm out to point at you. “You know, right?” he verifies, glancing over at you.

“I apologise.” Captain Mitchell shakes his head again.

“That’s the second time,” Bradley notes.

You raise your eyebrows at the two of them. “Well,” you say. “That’s another good sign.”

“What?” they both ask.

“His sense of humor is intact,” you say.

Bradley grins at you. “You think I’m funny?”

The captain closes his eyes.

You fight to keep a straight face. “As long as you think you’re funny, Lieutenant.”

“Do you recommend treatment, Doctor?” Captain Mitchell asks.

You look at him with a small grin. “For the humor?”

Bradley snorts but the captain considers your question. “Might come in handy,” he says.

Bradley lets out a sarcastic, “Ha-ha.”

“No,” you say. “He’s fine.”

“Told you,” Bradley mutters to the captain.

“But,” you say, “if you start experiencing any of these symptoms” – you hand him a brochure on concussions – “come back in and we can do a more comprehensive assessment.”

Bradley takes the brochure from your hand. “I’ll do that,” he says with a nod.

…

As you’re heading back to your office, you notice Bradley eyeing you from the front desk. He mutters something to Captain Mitchell, in response to which the latter glances in your direction before looking back at Bradley pointedly. Then, he gives him a couple of claps on the shoulder and heads out the door.

Having arrived at the door to your office, you don’t linger to find out what Bradley is up to. But, just as you’re about to sit down at your desk, Bradley’s head peeks in through the partially open door. He drums on the doorframe with his knuckle despite already having gotten your attention.

“Was there something else, Lieutenant?” you ask, walking back around your desk toward him.

Bradley grins sheepishly. “May I come in?” he asks.

Truthfully, you’re surprised he’s not already inside. You gesture for him to enter.

“I uh,” he starts, hesitating when you meet his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he says, grimacing. “For being an idiot.”

You raise your eyebrows but give him a warm smile. “We can blame the head injury.”

Bradley nods slowly. “Let’s,” he says. “Although, I’m afraid it’s permanent.”

You chuckle. “Well, at least you’re self-aware.”

He cringes slightly but it quickly turns into a grin. He takes a deep breath, holding your gaze. “I like you,” he says bluntly.

You’re slightly taken aback by his directness, so you simply stare at him for a moment.

 “I hope that’s okay,” he adds when you don’t say anything.

“Uh, sure,” you respond awkwardly, panicking slightly because he’s so tall and broad-shouldered and charming.

“I sort of want to take you out,” he says, taking a step forward.

You sort of wonder how often he pulls this kind of thing. You’re nothing if not a veteran skeptic. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

Bradley watches you with a knowing smirk. “But do you want to?” he asks.

You let out a nervous laugh, shaking your head. “Doesn’t matter.”

Bradley sticks his hands into his pockets, his eyes sweeping you up and down. “It matters to me,” he says.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I can’t go out with a patient” –

“I’m not your patient anymore,” he says, the low rasp of his voice even more persuasive than his words.

“You’re a patient of this clinic,” you say.

“I can find another clinic,” he responds.

You lower your gaze, pursing your lips to keep from smiling too widely. “I work long hours, Lieutenant. I don’t exactly have much time to socialize.”

When you glance back up at him, Bradley flashes you a dazzling grin that demonstrates how fantastically unconvinced he is that your busy schedule is truly a reason for concern. “I haven't heard a no, Doctor,” he points out.

“You haven't heard a yes.”

Bradley chuckles. “That’s fine,” he says, taking several steps back toward the door. “I’m not in a hurry.” And with these words, he walks out of your office.

Rooster Tag List:

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[sunshine-daisies-library]

emergency contact | calum hood x fem!reader

FUCK this took so long and took so many twists and turns but i have finished lads

summary: you end up in the hospital after an accident, only to find that your emergency contact number hadn’t been updated. you are yet to find out if it’s a blessing or a curse. 

word count: 8.9k

warnings: self doubt, talking down about oneself, she/her pronoun usage, swearing, breakups, angst, drinking, car accident, hospital mentions, injury mentions, mentions of weed, partying, fighting

author's note: it might be rushed at the end and there's no set timeline of events, so it might not align with the true events IRL.

i also would like to say that we support girls here! no hate toward anyone, girls support girls!

In defense of yourself, you hadn’t expected to be back in Los Angeles so soon. Nor had you anticipated an accident like this to update your contacts on your phone. It was on the back of your mind, yes, but you had intended to change your emergency contact list on your phone for events like these. It was something you’d remind yourself occasionally, only to push it off for the next day, then the next day, then forget about it altogether. 

And perhaps you were too cowardly to change the list. You didn’t admit this to another soul since it had been nearly a year since the two of you broke things off. Your friends time and time again had persuaded you to put yourself back on the market, to get over the musician. But how could you? You had dedicated the best years of your life to him, nearly six of them. You thought you were going to marry the man, but life had other plans. 

That being said, you still loved him. The small act of removing him off your emergency contacts list felt so final to you. Like that was the end of your sad little love story with him. Truth be told, it was the end. It was the end from the moment you broke things off with him. You were just too stubborn to admit that to yourself. 

It was your doing, wasn’t it? You were the one to tell him it was over. He had just gotten back home from their tour and went to greet you with open arms. You had been wretched enough to deny him that, pulling away immediately. You ignored his eyes when you told him you were tired of your lifestyle. Of waiting on him like a dog for him to come back from tour. Of relishing that one month of being together like it was the last thing on earth, only for him to leave once again for tours or writing retreats. 

And most of all, you were tired of not feeling enough for him. In the world of popular and beautiful stars, why did he stay with you? Calum never made you feel so ordinary, not on purpose, at least. You had nothing to offer him other than your love. You feared that wouldn’t be enough in the end. The more years that passed, and the closer the possibility of marriage became, you thought it would be better to let go of him first before he ended up resenting you for not choosing someone better when he had the chance. 

You didn’t listen to his pleas for you to stay. Or his professions of love for you, or how his promise to leave the band entirely if it meant you staying. You felt so cruel to let someone who loved you so much go so easily. He was willing to give up his music for you, so how could you ever claim that you were second best to his music? 

But that was the very thing, you were afraid. He loved you so much that he was willing to let his entire life go for you. You couldn’t let him do that to himself, to let go of his happiness. But you had enough self dignity to know that you deserved more out of life than waiting in an empty home to fill up again. 

—

Calum wasn’t sure what to make of the phone call he received just a moment ago. He never thought he’d hear your name again, much less be summoned to the hospital to see you. 

“Mate, why are you still here?” Ashton asked, tucking away his drumsticks. “The nurse called you a half hour ago. Aren’t you going to see her?” 

“I don’t know,” Calum uttered truthfully. “It’s been so long since I last saw her. It was probably a mistake, right? Why would they call me up?” 

Michael rolled his eyes from the couch where he was tuning his guitar. “Because you’re still down as her emergency contact,” he drawled sarcastically. 

“Thanks for pointing out the obvious,” Calum deadpanned. “I mean, why would they call me and not her parents or something? Or her new boyfriend,” he muttered under his breath. 

Luke approached the group from the bathroom, running his fingers through his hair. “Easy there, tiger,” he teased, grasping Calum’s shoulders from behind. “One might assume you’re jealous.” The youngest of the group quickly dodged the bassist’s shove, laughing while doing so. “To calm your worries, no, she doesn’t have a new boy in her life. And her parents moved to the east coast three months ago so they can’t come over.”

“Well aren’t you the stalker,” Ashton snickered. 

Luke shot the drummer a glare. “I’m not a stalker,” Luke defended himself. “In case you actually wanted to know, I still keep contact with y/n. At least Sierra does for the most part. Though, last time I heard she was in Boston.” 

“Boston,” Calum spoke up in confusion. “What’s she in Boston for? And how did she end up here?” 

Luke clicked his tongue, a knowing look on his face. “If you want to know, you can ask her yourself,” he sang in an annoying tone. 

Michael set his guitar down and stood up in defense of his friend. “While that’s true,” he began. “What about..you know?”

“What about “you know?”” Ashton piped up. “There’s no harm in Calum going. She could really be hurt and need someone with her. If what Luke said is true and you’re the only nearby emergency contact, it’s better safe than sorry that you go to her.” 

The boys shared a look with each other. In their heart of hearts they knew it was a bad idea to let Calum go, especially after everything that had happened. But a selfish part of them wanted their best friend back, so what harm was in that notion? 

“I’ll go,” Calum finally relented. “But she’s coming with me.” 

–

When Calum arrived at the hospital, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting. The doctor explained it was a car accident, and although you were recovering okay you still had to be observed after minor surgery. A part of Calum’s heartstrings tugged at the thought of you alone and afraid during the accident, thinking he could have done something if you hadn’t broken things off, but he pushed that feeling down. It’s been a year; you’ve probably gotten over him and he’s started a new chapter of his life without you. 

Calum followed the nurse to the recovery room where you were still unconscious. At the sight of you, he instantly lost all air in his lungs. Frozen, the bassist stood before you with a mix of emotions flooding through his face. 

It was as though you were entirely different but still the same in some way. Your face, albeit bruised, looked more peaceful than Calum had seen of you. Hell, even before you broke things off you always had a furrowed brow or frown of some sort. It broke Calum’s heart to know that he was the cause of that stress. 

Calum sat down beside you, instantly grasping your hand like second nature. It was just as soft as he could remember, and your nail polish was chipped and stained the skin surrounding it. Calum chuckled to himself, a tearful smile on his face. He knew your nail polish was your own doing, seeing as you had always asked him to paint your nails since he had “more precision.” 

“Oh y/n,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. “What the hell did you get yourself into now?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” 

Calum jerked back to see your eyes staring back at him. “Hi, stranger,” you managed to crack a smile. “What brings you to this hospital?”

Calum choked out a laugh, his thumb grazing against the top of your hand. “Oh you know me,” he said. “Always hanging around these parts whenever I get the chance.” 

“You idiot,” you snorted, shaking your head and wincing in pain.

“Easy now,” Calum reached over to cup your cheek. “The doctor said you have a mild concussion and a sprained ankle, but nothing a bit of rest can’t fix.”

Your hand met his on your face, instantly warming to his touch like nothing had changed between the two of you. “Why are you here, Hood?” you asked curiously.

“You tell me.” Calum pulled out his phone and showed his past calls list. “I got a call from the hospital saying I was your emergency contact.” 

You dropped his hand and covered your face in embarrassment. If your headache wasn’t killing you, the sheer embarrassment was. “Oh my God,” you groaned. “I’m so sorry, Calum. I had meant to change it but I never got the chance and–”

“It’s alright,” Calum calmed you down. “Relax. I’m not mad or anything. If anything, this gave us a great opportunity to reconnect and catch up on things. It’s been what, a year?”

One year, three months, twenty eight days, and twelve and a half hours, the both of you thought subconsciously. But who’s counting? 

The both of you were. Clearly.

“Something like that,” you lied smoothly. “How are you? How are the boys? I’ve kept contact with Crys and Sierra, but I haven’t had a chance to meet with them both. I was actually planning on shooting them a text as soon as I landed here, but obviously I haven’t had the chance.” 

Calum laughed at your blunt humor. He missed that a lot about you. “I’m alright,” he replied. “The boys are great, too. They send their love, by the way. We’ve been cooped up at the studio writing and producing music, though you probably expected that from us.”

Ouch. Was that a dig toward why you broke up with him? “Naturally,” you grinned. “Do I make a special feature in this album? The trashy ex that broke up with the bassist as soon as the tour ended? You best get back to the studio, I’m sure this whole debacle has given you something to write about.” 

“You are far from trashy,” Calum countered, continuing the light banter. “And I’m not going to throw your dirty laundry out like that, I have some taste, you know.” 

“Oh come on,” you pressed. “That hoe called me back, gave me a heart attack,” you sang terribly, making Calum cover his ears. “Oh yeah she broke my heart, that’s not even the start-”

“Oi, quit that!” he laughed. “Leave the songwriting to me because good God that was terrible. Any more of that and you’d put me in the hospital bed next to you. And please do not call yourself a hoe. That’s worse than Luke calling Ash “daddy.”” 

Once your laughter had died down and you ran out of lyrics to spew, a comfortable silence filled the room. His chocolate brown eyes rested down at your joined hands. 

“Thank you, by the way,” you spoke to break the silence. “For coming. You didn’t have to do that.” 

“For my trashy ex?” he teased, a smirk dancing along his lips. “I’d do anything.” 

God why did you break up with him? He was perfect, still is. Why does he still tug at your heartstrings and make you weak with one smile. How could you still feel this way after a whole year? Do you still love him-

“Babe, there you are! This place is a maze, I could barely understand the nurse’s directions.” 

You turned your head so fast, you nearly got whiplash again. Standing before you was a beautiful girl with the most luxurious beach waves and tan that every girl dreamed of. 

She bent down to kiss Calum’s cheek swiftly, making your breath hitch without you realizing. The girl smiled at you, taking your hand -that Calum instantly dropped at the sound of her voice- and squeezing it. “You must be y/n,” she concluded cheerfully. “I’m Tia, Calum’s friend.” 

–

“They are so not friends,” you grumbled to your friends, days after the initial encounter. 

Your friends chuckled at your gray demeanor, each of them taking sips of their coffee or bites of their breakfast. After being discharged from the hospital, the band and their significant others thought it would be perfect to catch up with you during brunch. You had agreed, eager to learn about everything you missed, especially the new couple. 

“You’d be right and wrong, n/n,” Michael replied, setting his mug down. The group was significantly more relaxed to talk about the subject considering Tia needed to take a phone call and Calum insisted on accompanying her. “The way they’re friends isn’t the same as how he’s friends with us–”

“Speak for yourself, baby, Calum keeps my bed warm whenever Sierra’s out,” Luke teased with a wiggle of his eyebrows. Sierra rolled her eyes playfully, elbowing him in the ribs. 

“And Luke keeps mine warm when they’re both gone,” Ashton chimed in without missing a beat.

Michael sent the youngest and oldest members a glare before continuing. “As I was saying,” he huffed exasperatedly. “They’re in the weird phase between friends and dating. They met a little after the tour and were friends for a while. It was Tia that made the move on Calum, like, two months ago.”

Noticing the stark difference in your facial expressions after hearing Michael’s explanation, Crystal came in to quickly finish the story. “He hasn’t confirmed or denied anything, but they have been on a few dates. He’s taking it very slowly.” 

“That’s..nice to hear,” you slowly began. “But the more I hear about her, the more guilty I feel about feeling this way.” Your shoulders caved in as your friends shared a concerned look. “She seems sweet, and Calum and I are old news. It was my own decision to break things off in the first place.” 

Sierra reached for your hand, squeezing it gently. “Why did you break things off with him?” she asked in a quieter voice. 

You couldn’t help but notice how the rest of the group leaned in to hear your answer. “You mean Calum didn’t tell you?” you inquired the boys. 

“He just said it was mutual,” Ashton raised his hands up in defense. “I didn’t know you broke it off with him.” 

“Why didn’t you tell us she broke up with Cal?” Luke whisper-shouted to his partner. 

Sierra only shrugged her shoulders. “I thought you knew,” she responded, her hands grasping around her mug as she took a sip.

“No one knew,” you settled. “And it’s going to stay that way.” 

The group let out shouts of disapproval that were instantly quieted once Calum finally returned and took a seat. “What’s the fuss about?” he asked curiously. 

You shook your head, taking an overly healthy sip of your mimosa. “Oh you know,” you sighed. “Typical group shenanigans, as per usual.” 

“What kind-?” he pressed before being curtly interrupted.

“Where’s Tia?” Luke cut in, saving everyone’s necks for the time being. 

Calum took in a draw of breath after stealing Luke’s cup of coffee, much to the singer’s distaste. “Oh you know,” he copied you teasingly. “Manager calls, as per usual.” 

“She’s been getting plenty of calls lately,” Crystal commented. 

You tried to not show immense interest in the conversation. After all, you didn’t know much about Tia and the group had been too distracted to show you her Instagram profile, damn Michael and his random tangents. In the meantime, you absentmindedly twirled your straw between your thumb and forefinger as the conversation continued. 

“Tia’s getting a lot of public interest, what can I say?” Calum responded. “Her videos are getting more views every day. Her manager’s been calling her nonstop since companies keep reaching out to offer brand deal after brand deal.” 

Ashton let out a hopeful sigh. “Imagine having a brand deal set for life,” he pondered aloud, setting his salad fork down. “I’d adopt more goats and expand the garden.” 

“Cool it, Old McDonald,” Michael snickered. “I can’t imagine the band doing brand deals. Remember One Direction and their Pepsi commercials during the Super Bowl? Louis hated them.” 

The table laughed, recalling the memory. Recognizing your confusion regarding Tia’s profession, Sierra leaned in. “She’s an Instagram influencer and interior designer. She went to school for design but has branched out since. Last time I browsed her page she was doing promos for some yoga company.” 

“Great, so she’s perfect,” you grumbled to yourself, quiet enough for only Ashton to hear since he was right beside you. The drummer snorted, elbowing you roughly. 

Calum, thankfully deaf to your comment, nodded along to Sierra’s explanation. “She’s great,” he hummed. 

Your heart clenched at his words, but a hopeful side of yourself couldn’t help but perk at his courtness. Of course, it could be just to spare your feelings to not speak much about her. But a selfish part in your mind wondered if it was because she wasn’t his missing piece, the way that you fit perfectly for him. 

Stop that, you scolded yourself. Calum is no longer yours, you made sure of that. You were the selfish one who pushed him away. Why do you continue to torture him when he’s finally happy, no thanks to you. You can’t continue to pull him back, that’s why you broke up with him. And here you are,  falling back into old habits. 

You blinked back your tears, the tears you had so desperately fought back since the day you broke up with him. You didn’t deserve to shed these tears when you caused the problem in the first place. Instead, you sucked in a breath and maintained your rigid composure. It’s better than falling apart, which you more than desperately wanted to do at the moment. 

“y/n, you alright?” Calum asked, breaking you from your trance. 

You jumped slightly, lifting your head to face the group. Forcing a smile, you nodded. “Perfectly fine.” 

–

You weren’t sure why you were called here. After becoming mutuals on Instagram (and thoroughly stalking her pristine profile) Tia was quick to invite you out for yoga. You weren’t too keen on attempting yoga with a certified instructor, much preferring to save face in front of the already perfect girl. However, you found her nice and sweet enough to befriend despite the heartache it caused you. 

“I’m really glad you agreed to come with me today,” Tia told you honestly as you finished your session for the day. 

You settled yourself onto the mat, easing yourself into a simple stretch. “I’m glad you offered,” you replied, grunting at the ache panging slightly in your ankle. You were careful not to apply extra stress on your injured foot since it was still tender to the touch at times. “I’ve been eager to relax, especially after that accident.” 

“And you deserve it,” Tia reassured you, beginning her own routine. “Yoga’s good for recovery and stress, I’ve always tried to convince Cal into joining but he wasn’t the most graceful learner.” 

You giggled, recalling how clumsy the bassist would be. “Yeah, I’d leave that to Ashton.” 

Tia nodded in agreement. Her fingers danced down her leg as she continued to stretch. Even as jealous as you were of her, you had to admit she was graceful in everything she did (and you were sure of it with a simple browse through her Tiktoks). 

The two of you stepped out of the yoga studio, mats in tow as you continued to talk about random nonsense. On the walk back to your friend’s house -you had been staying there for the time being-, you came to realize that Tia was as genuine as they come and found it very difficult to dislike her out of jealousy. 

“So you know how Cal and I met,” Tia began, referencing the story of how the two met at an awards show. “How did you and Calum meet and get together?” 

Your mouth went dry. She knew you and Calum were a thing in the past? “I-“ you stammered. 

Tia laughed at your sudden awkwardness. “I’m not dumb, you know,” she joked. “I knew about yours and Cal’s past. He talks a lot about you, you know? More now than ever now that you’re back.” 

You had to stop the butterflies forming in your stomach. “He does?” you catch yourself saying instantly. 

Tia nodded, uncapping her bottle and taking a sip of water. “Oh yeah, big time,” she answered. “It’s really sweet to know that you made such a big impact on his life.” 

Your cheeks began to warm at her words. “He did the same,” you responded with full honesty. Tia patted your shoulder and grinned. “To answer your question, I met Calum a little over ten years ago, once the band started getting famous. I was just a senior in high school when they moved to L.A. I interned at their studio and that’s how we formally met.”

Tia gave you an impressed nod. “You guys got history,” she mused. 

You couldn’t help but smile. The memories of the past always brought a smile to your face. Dyeing Michael’s hair and staining your bathtub red, constantly buying Ash bandanas whenever you came across one you knew he’d like. Luke coming to you when he had writer’s block, and Cal crawling through your bedroom window whenever he felt homesick and wanted someone to talk to. 

“We do,” you agreed. 

Turning a corner down the street, Tia continued to ask you questions. “Who asked who out?” she questioned. “Three years of being friends turned partners was clearly not an overnight thing.” 

“It wasn’t,” you said. “It was Calum who asked me, but it took a whole lot of convincing from the boys.” You laughed quietly to yourself, recalling how he asked you to be your girlfriend. 

You heard music playing softly in the night air. You had been studying nonstop for your college finals and hadn’t seen the outside of your dorm all day. You hadn’t called the boys in a while either since they’ve been touring the world after releasing Sounds Good Feels Good. You were significantly proud of them but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss your boys. Now, hearing the soft guitar strumming from outside your window made you feel more longingful for them than ever. 

Especially Calum. You had a soft spot for the bassist, everyone knew that. You spent the most time with him when you interned at the music studio. He trusted your opinion above everyone else’s, and reached out to you the most while on tour. To say you had a little crush on him would be an understatement. The boys teased you relentlessly and teased Calum much more. They always said it was a matter of time until one of you would cave in and confess to the other. But they were wrong. You’re here in a small college dorm with no air conditioning single as can be while the boy you loved was halfway across the world. 

“Thinking of you,” you texted Calum with a heavy heart. “And the boys, ofc :P” 

You set your phone down and attempted to go back to studying when your phone pinged again. 

“You don’t have to feel so blue, n/n,” he responded. “Look outside”

You hopped out of bed and opened your window as much as the old rusty thing could go. On the campus grass were your favorite boys flashing lights from their phones at you. Calum was resting on Ashton’s shoulders, waving at you with the wild boyish smile you loved with your entire being. Michael and Luke were beside him, Michael playing the guitar and Luke grinning and filming. 

Concentrating hard, you recognized the sweet melody. It was the very song you wrote with him, Beside You. 

“She sleeps alone

My heart wants to come home

I wish I was, I wish I was

Beside you”

Your heart did somersaults at the presentation before you. You had always begged Calum to sing more for the album but the boy was too shy. It took some pushing but you helped him get his confidence up. Taking a cardigan, you ran out of your hall and joined the boys on the lawn, tackling each of them into a hug. 

“What the hell’s wrong with you!” you shouted out with a grin. You didn’t care if your yelling woke up your peers. Your boys were here in the flesh. 

“We missed our girl,” Ashton told you, giving you a strong bear hug. 

“One of us more than the rest,” Luke added with a cheeky smirk. 

Calum had long been off Ashton’s shoulders, awaiting your hugs he missed so much. You, on the other hand, hesitated to do so. 

“Come on!” Michael playfully shoved you. “We’ve come all this way, give the boy a hug!” 

Your face was on fire. The extra pairs of eyes made you embarrassed. Calum took an extra step forward, his hands bashfully in his pockets. 

“Didn’t you miss me, sunshine?” he asked you, awfully shy now after his confession of love. He was nervous he put you off and that he read the signs wrong. 

“I did,” you whispered back, equally shy. “But I think I want something more than a hug.” 

The boys let out whoops and cheers of joy as you decided to bite the bullet, grabbing Calum by the loops of his jeans and pulling him into a kiss.

Once you had pulled away, Calum’s lips formed into a dazed smile. “Be my girl, sunshine?” he asked you softly.

You pressed your lips against his once again, though this one was much shorter. “I was always yours, Calum.”

“Why did you and him end things, y/n?” Tia asked you, bringing you out of your thoughts. You seemed to be stuck in a trance these days, always pondering over the past and what could have been. 

You chewed the inside of your cheek, truly at a loss of words. What could you say? That you had been selfish and pushed him away so that he wouldn’t end up hurting you first? That you drove the knife deep into Calum, twisting it in every way shape and form out of self preservation? There was no other way to put it than that in your mind. 

“Time heals but also kills,” you told her with a broken smile. “Cal and I decided to put ourselves out of our misery and end things while they were good before it got worse.” It wasn’t completely a lie. Sure, he had no say in your ending things, but you spoke the truth about putting him out of his misery.

“Do you still love him?” she asked. 

You glanced over at her. Her eyes shone in the light, curious and innocent. She didn’t know the pain you both had endured that landed you in this position. 

Yes, your heart cried out. You love him. You love him with your entire being, that’s why you let him go. Because you’d rather kill your soul every single day of your life than stop him from reaching his life goals. If you had to go through that awful night that you broke your own heart again, you would, just to ensure that he is happy. 

Even if that meant that he would be happy with someone else. 

“He’s my first love,” you told her tearfully. “Of course I love him. But I am not his love, and that is okay with me. Life goes on, and so should I.” 

The two of you stopped in front of your friend’s house. Tia took your hand and squeezed it. “I really do appreciate you coming along with me today,” she said earnestly. “And I’m glad I got to hear about you and Cal’s history. It really puts things into perspective.” 

You smiled back at her. “Thank you for having me,” you responded. “I hope my words haven’t changed anything between the two of you. I meant what I said; him and I are in the past. I truly want the both of us to move forward and grow in our own separate ways.” 

Your butterflies in your stomach turned into fierce wasps, stinging you sharply. Lies, your heart hissed. Tell her you love him and still want him. 

You forced the bile rising in your throat down. Tia, blind to your inner troubles, continued to speak. “That’s actually what I wanted to ask you,” she chuckled nervously. She grabbed your other hand, bringing them together. 

“I wanted to ask Cal to be my boyfriend,” Tia confessed.

Crack. There goes your heart.

Tia seemed to notice the dip in your lips and immediately retracted. “But I don’t want to overstep or anything!” she rushed. “You and Cal have history, I’m not stupid enough to deny it. And that’s okay, that’s no one’s fault. If you still love him and want him, I’m not going to get in the way. Calum, well, it’s clear he loves you, too. I’ve heard countless amounts of stories about you to not get the memo. I really like Cal, I do. But that can’t go up against love.” 

This was your chance. To right your wrongs from the past and take back what you truly wanted. Calum. You could take this moment to run to his house right now and take him back, and you’d have Tia’s full support. Zero guilt. 

But why did it hurt so bad? 

No. You made your bed, you have to sleep in it. It doesn’t matter if the bed was built of blades of self doubt and hate, you have to slip into the sharp sheets and let it pierce through your skin. You created your own mess. It is you alone that must deal with it. Not Calum, and surely not Tia. 

You’ve made enough problems for everyone as is. 

You mustered enough strength to let go of Tia’s hands and instead cup her cheeks. “Tia, honey,” you whispered calmly. “Our love is in the past. I’ve missed my chance, and I have learned to live with it. I’ve seen the way Calum looks at you, and that’s something that can blossom into something beautiful. There’s no need to dig up something that has already run its course.” 

Tia’s lip trembled at your words. You nodded carefully. “You don’t need my permission or anything to date Calum. You don’t owe me anything. You both deserve to be happy, and clearly you make each other happy.”

“Are you sure?” Tia asked. “I promise you, it won’t hurt my feelings or anything if you still want him.” 

“No, Tia,” you reassured her, despite the burning feeling in your chest. “Please, make him happy. Make him happier than I could ever make him. He deserves that much.” 

–

Two weeks have passed since your encounter with Tia. Last thing you heard was that the two were very happy indeed, but you didn’t hear if they made it official. You had plenty of dates with the girls, but you insisted on changing the subject whenever they brought Calum up. You feared that if you heard about him one more time, you might burst into tears or do something stupid. 

You finished up your work from the office in your friend’s house. Grateful to be able to work from home for the time you stayed in L.A., you had to admit that sitting on a chair from 9 to 5 made you quite sore. Eager to stretch your legs, you decided to take a walk to the local park. 

However, it wasn’t any random park. It was the place you and Cal used to have endless dates when he was back from tour or the studio. You’d lay on the blanket he took from his apartment at the time and stare at the stars. Back when you both didn’t have much, you’d snack on soup crackers you took from each time you went to the diner across the street and share a can of Coke Cal took from the vending machine after work. So many secrets were shared at this park, and so many memories were made, too. 

“I’m glad to know I’m not the only one who still frequents this place.” 

You jumped to see the last person you expected at this place. Calum gave you a bashful smile before sitting beside you on the grass. You took in the last hour of sun beaming down your skin before the sky went dark, closing your eyes and tuning out the sound of the infamous L.A. traffic. 

“How can I not?” you quipped. “This park is the only place in L.A. that isn’t stuffy or gross.”

Calum let out a laugh, quietly agreeing with you. “So what brings you here, Hood?” you asked, nudging his shoulder. 

The bassist could only shrug his shoulders. “Could say the same about you,” he hummed. “Sometimes I like to sit here and write music. Other times I just sit here and listen to the ambiance.” You nodded, crossing your arms on your chest and making sure to keep a safe distance from him. His touch was mesmerizing, but you had to remind yourself that he was no longer yours. 

“This place reminds me to stay grounded,” he told you truthfully. “When I get too in my head, I always go here, even after we broke up.” 

You dropped your hands to the grass, braiding the blades absentmindedly. “I’m glad,” you spoke up. Calum looked over at you, awaiting an explanation. “It’s too good of a place to let go after a silly little relationship.” 

“It wasn’t a silly little-” Calum fought back. 

“Let’s not talk about it, Cal,” you sighed exasperatedly. 

Calum instantly frowned. “Why not?” he pressed. “You never seem to want to talk about the good old days.”

“Because it wasn’t “the good old days,”” you insisted, lying through your teeth. 

Calum let out a stubborn huff. “Now that’s a lie,” Calum shot back. “But whatever, I won’t push.” A pregnant silence took over the two of you as Calum tried to find something to say. “Have you found yourself a new boyfriend yet?” he decided to ask. 

“Calum-” you began.

“You said not to bring up the past,” Calum argued. “This is the best I can do.” 

You shook your head at his words, giving in nonetheless. “No, I don’t,” you answered. 

“Are you not ready for one?” he asked. 

“I-” You took a moment to find the right words. “I need to work on myself before moving forward with someone else.” 

“Well, I don’t get that,” Calum commented with a snort. “You’re perfect, what could you possibly work on?”

You choked out a dry laugh, though there was no humor behind it. “Quite a bit, I’d say,” you confessed. “Calum, I was a mess, I still am. I can’t put someone through that again.” 

“You didn’t put me through anything,” Calum persisted. “And now that you mention us, I can’t recall anything that you did wrong in that relationship. It was all me.”

“No Calum!” you raised your voice, standing up abruptly. He quickly followed, standing up to meet your frustrated, tired eyes. “It was me. And I’m tired of you insisting otherwise.” 

“You said that I was always gone,” Calum reminded you, his voice matching the same volume as yours. “I don’t see anything that involves you in that.” 

You threw your hands in the air. “Because I was needy!” you exclaimed. “And I was pushy, and I hated being alone all the time–”

“But I’m right here!” he yelled back. You took a step back in shock. He was never one to raise his voice at you, even when you fought in the past. It was your throat that got raw in those arguments from having a shouting match against yourself and losing hopelessly. “Goddammit y/n I’m right here. And I promised you that night that I would always be here if that’s what you wanted.” 

Tears began to stream down your face as you pulled your hair in anger. “You don’t understand, Calum,” you cried out. 

“Then help me understand!” Calum took a step closer to you, taking your hands in his. His brown eyes were desperate, searching yours for an answer. “Please, sunshine, let me in.” 

For a moment, you almost faltered. You nearly gave in at his sweet words and use of that old nickname. But Tia remained in the back of your mind, and guilt sunk in once more.

You released yourself from his touch, looking away from his eyes. “You can’t call me that anymore,” you whispered to him. “I can’t, Calum. I just can’t.” 

Calum watched you back away hopelessly. “y/n,” he sighed.

“I’m leaving for Boston in two days,” you told him. “I’m sure Ash told you that already, though. I overstayed my welcome at my friend’s house. I should start packing.”

The bassist followed you to the gate of the park. “But I feel like we should talk about this,” Calum pleaded. 

Your fingertips grazed the gate, the cool metal sending shivers down your spine. “I’ll see you at the party, Calum.” 

– 

When you told the boys the date you were going back to Boston, Ashton jumped at the opportunity to throw you a goodbye party. In addition to catching up with you and spending every moment available with you, the boys insisted on planning the “biggest party of the century” for your departure. 

“I still don’t see the necessity for all of this,” you told the three boys with a shake of your head. 

“Trust us,” Ashton said with a wild grin. “We all need this.” 

So here you were, casually sipping your cocktail in the corner of Ashton’s home while their exquisite rager took the house by storm. Sierra and Crystal stayed by your side throughout the night, insisting  to keep up with each other while you were away. This time, you made sure to not end contact with them the way you did last time. Tia had also been in the group but left some time ago to deal with something. 

“Are you sure you have to leave?” Luke asked, pouting dramatically. “L.A. isn’t the same without you here, n/n.” 

You ruffled his hair playfully. The singer was always a little brother to you, no matter how close in age the two of you were. “I do, bub,” you said in a sorry voice. “I don’t think my boss could stand another week without me in the studio.” 

“Then move back to this location!” Michael proposed, raising his glass and nearly spilling his drink on the floor. “Transferring wouldn’t be a bad idea, would it? The studio would love to have you back, producing and doing whatever else you do.” 

You laughed at Michael’s drunken state. You were having a lot of fun relishing in the last few moments with your friends before leaving them once again. You almost didn’t realize the shouting that was going on in the dining room of Ashton’s home. 

The entire group ran to the source of the noise to find Calum standing on the dining table with Tia pleading for him to get down.

“Calum, babe, please,” Tia shouted. “You’re causing a scene.” 

All guests turned to see what was going on, especially to see why the bassist of 5 Seconds of Summer was shouting complete intelligible nonsense. 

Ashton ran towards the edge of the table. “Mate, you need to get down,” he begged hurriedly. “You’re not thinking straight, you need to get down before you get hurt.”

“No,” Calum insisted, his words slurring slightly due to his inebriated state. “I need everyone to listen to me.” 

Someone had managed to find the speaker and turn it off so everyone could hear Calum. Your heart was beating out of your chest, not from the alcohol buzzing through your system, but because of the drunk boy standing before you. 

Calum raised his cup to the crowd. “I’d like to raise a toast to the girl who broke my heart,” he announced sloppily. “The “heartbreak girl” herself, y/n l/n.” Calum clapped loudly. He was the only one who was clapping while you stood there in shock and humiliation. “I loved you, you know?” he sniffed. “And I bloody well still do. Tia’s great, though. Absolutely nothing wrong with you, Tia, I hope you know that. But you’re not the one. y/n right here, she’s the one.” 

His brown eyes, red from drinking and smoking God knows what, teared up as he looked down at you. “But what I can’t figure out is why won’t she love me?” Calum threw back the rest of his drink and winced at how strong it was. “I was getting ready to propose to you, you know?” he told you. “I had the ring in my pocket, and I was just waiting for the perfect moment.” Calum chuckled to himself bitterly. “Guess I fucked that up tremendously.”

“Calum, stop,” you pleaded. 

“Why should I?” he asked you incredulously. “You didn’t stop packing your things when I asked you to. You didn’t stop running when I chased after you in the dark. You didn’t stop when you booked that flight across the country to run away from me.” 

Tears were streaming down your face now. “It wasn’t like that, Cal,” you cried. “W-we broke up for a reason-”

“And that’s what I can’t wrap my head around!” he shouted. “You barely gave me a reason! You told me you never saw me anymore. I was willing to make more time for you, to end my career for you, to get down on one knee and be with you, and that wasn’t enough! There had to be another reason-”

“There wasn’t, Cal!” you sobbed. “So drop it, please.” 

Silence spread throughout the whole house. No one moved an inch, too shocked to make a single sound or move. All that could be heard was the sounds of your messy sobs that you failed to keep in. Cal dropped his cup and gestured his hands at you. 

“The Heartbreak Girl, everyone,” he announced with a broken sigh. “Hope you enjoyed this one hell of a show, with your heartbroken host, Calum Thomas Hood.”

You ran out of the house as fast as your feet could take you. The air was brisk in your lungs, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t care when the man you loved poured his heart out to you, only for you to squash it like it was nothing. 

“y/n!” you heard a voice call out for you. You whipped around to see Tia, scrambling to catch up to you. In the back, you could see the band -minus Calum- and their significant others peering out the glass door to see what was going on. 

Tia grabbed your hand tightly. “y/n, fuck, I’m so sorry about Calum,” she apologized, swearing profusely. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him. First we were talking about our relationship then-“

“Please, don’t bring up your relationship,” you cut her off, roughly shaking your head. “I know I gave you my blessing, but please I can’t bear to get my heart broken again.” 

“You don’t understand!” Tia pushed. “We don’t have a relationship to begin with! y/n, I never asked Calum to be my boyfriend, I just couldn’t. I couldn’t interfere with a love as great as yours and his.”

You stumbled backwards. “What?” 

Tia nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “y/n, you and Calum are endgame, don’t you see? I only talked to him tonight to explain that you still loved him. I guess he was too caught up in the alcohol to think rationally.” 

“Tia,” you said, voice dripping in disappointment and dread. “That wasn’t your secret to tell him.”

“Were you going to say anything?” she shot back. “You weren’t, so I had to take matters into my own hands. n/n, I’m a firm believer in fate and second chances. This is your chance at making everything right-“ 

“But I can’t!” you cried, ripping your hand away from hers. “Don’t you get it? I’m the one that’s killing him! I put him through hell and I can’t continue to do that. Why can’t you see that I’m a fucked up mess that ruins everything I touch? I love Calum, I’ll never stop loving him, but I’m not blind enough to not see that my love is torturing him slowly.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration. Tears reappeared in the corner of your eyes, but you were too tired to wipe them away. “I’m never going to be enough for Calum,” you confessed. “That’s why I broke up with him. I can’t watch him waste his life away on a girl that’s only going to disappoint him. I’m not like you, Tia. I’m not perfect, or beautiful, or smart, or anything remotely interesting. And one day, Calum is going to see that and realize he missed his opportunity to find someone good for him, someone that he deserves.

“I don’t deserve him, Tia,” you finished in a broken whisper. “I never will. So I’d rather fade into the background and be a distant memory than become a face he can’t stand to look at.” 

“That’s not true,” Tia insisted, tears gracefully falling down her beautiful face. “y/n, you have to believe me when I say that’s not true.”

A car drove down the street, approaching the two of you. You let out a sigh of relief, recognizing it as your uber. “I don’t have to believe you,” you replied, opening the car door. “My word is all that I need.”

—

Calum woke up the next day with a pounding headache. He groaned aloud, sitting up on the couch and cradling his head. He wished he was drunk enough that night to forget everything that happened, but he remembered every single detail. From the beat of the bass from the stereo to the way your dress hugged your curves he loved to kiss and hold. 

He finally pushed you away, he realized. And for good, this time. Calum felt dread and regret rush through his system, and all he wanted was to crawl into his bed and sleep his life away. 

“You know grumbling isn’t going to cure a hangover,” Tia’s reprimanding voice rang through the living room. 

Tia. Calum jumped up to face her where she had been leaning against the door frame.

“Oh Ti,” he sighed, covering his face in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry for last night, I must have humiliated you. I’m a right idiot, and I’m so sorry I put you through that.” 

“Oh shut up,” Tia laughed, walking over to him and sitting him down. “I can’t say that I wasn’t hurt, but I also can’t say I was surprised with how things turned out.” Calum hung his head low, ashamed of his behavior. He never wanted to hurt either of you. “Cal, you don’t have to be so sullen. It’s okay, there’s no hard feelings or bad blood between us.”

When Calum couldn’t bring himself to respond, Tia decided to take it a step further. “I always knew you loved her,” she confessed. “That’s why I brought it up to you last night. I wanted both of you to work things out. She really does love you.” 

Calum let out a bitter laugh. “She sure has a way of showing it,” he muttered. “Tia, don’t make me feel worse by feeding me lies. It hurts enough that I hurt both of you, don’t make it worse by saying that bullshit.” 

“I’m telling the truth!” she fought back. “y/n still loves you, she told me that herself.”

“Then why did she break up with me?” Calum retorted. “If her love never left the table, where was it when she broke things off? Correct me if I’m wrong, Tia, but I don’t think that’s how you treat the people you supposedly love.” 

Tia screwed her eyes shut, heaving out a sigh. “She loved you so much, she thought you deserved more,” Tia finally explained. “She let you go so that you could find someone better, someone who makes you happier.” 

“That doesn’t make sense,” Calum shook his head, eyebrows furrowed in thought. “How could she think that? No one could be better than her, um, no offense.” Tia snorted at the last part. “If anything, I thought I didn’t deserve her.”

“Well you’re both idiots,” Tia deadpanned. “You two clearly love each other more than life itself but were too blind to see you were perfect for each other.” 

Calum’s shoulders caved in as he drowned in his thoughts. His hangover headache was piercing his skull but he couldn’t care less. He couldn’t process why you’d ever think so lowly of yourself when he praised the ground you walk on. 

“How can I go back to her and repair things when I never realized she was hurting?” he asked. “Why would she ever want me back when I wasn’t there at her lowest? All the signs were there. She stopped calling me every night to talk about her day while I was away. She’d dodge my Facetimes with bullshit excuses that I failed to point out.” Calum huffed to himself, beating himself up critically. “What makes you think I won’t fuck up again when she needs me?”

“Because you’ve learned from your mistakes before,” Tia told him, rubbing his arm soothingly. “And you can learn from them again. That’s what I like about you, Cal. You always made an effort to better yourself, no matter the challenge. And if you truly love her, you’re going to end up fine.” 

Calum smiled softly at Tia’s words, raising his chin to look her in the eyes. “I love her so much,” he whispered. The bassist took her hand, squeezing it affectionately. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out with us, Ti,” he apologized genuinely. “I really do hope you find someone who is willing to lay down their life for you.” 

“I’ve watched two lovers reconnect like no time has passed at all,” Tia smiled back. “Trust me, I have the groundwork laid out for what’s ahead of me.” 

Suddenly, Calum’s phone began to ring. Lunging towards the arm of the couch, Calum pulled his phone off the charger and read the caller ID. Eyes wide, he looked at Tia who gave him a knowing look. 

“I’ll start the car.” 

–

You opened your eyes, immediately squinting at the bright light. You were met once again with the familiar feeling of a skull splitting headache and aching ankle. 

“Must you always get yourself into these situations?” 

You turned to face those brown eyes and cheeky smile you adored. Calum shook his head in disbelief, taking your hand in his. “I thought you said you’d change your emergency contact,” he said in a scolding tone. 

Your face was on fire at his words. “I forgot,” you told him honestly. 

Once again, you ended up in the hospital with similar injuries to what you received at the beginning of your trip. But instead of a car accident, you’d clumsily fallen down the stairs on the way to your Uber to the airport. Luckily a neighbor next door heard the ruckus and loaded you into the Uber straight to the hospital. 

“Or it’s fate,” Calum suggested, resting his hand on the side of your head. 

“Calum,” you tried to counter.

He stopped you instantly. “I know why you ended things,” he simply told you. “And I think I deserve a say in it.” Closing your mouth, you let him speak. “You’re wrong, y/n. You do deserve me as much as I deserve you. And I love you no matter what. I don’t need a famous celebrity as my partner when I have you in my life. None of that superficial stuff matters to me, y/n, you know that. And I know that for as long as I live and you forget to change your emergency contact list, I’ll always come for you.” 

Your heart fluttered, and you allowed yourself to feel hope for the both of you. “But what if someday down the line you want more?” you asked in a small voice. 

Calum blinked away his tears. “What more can I want?” he said in response. “You’re all I want, y/n. I’m so sorry I ever made you doubt that.” 

“Don’t apologize,” you laughed, tears beginning to fall, too. “It was my stupid brain that made me doubt in the first place.” 

Calum leaned in, his lips brushing against yours. “So is that it?” he asked. “Are we done doubting? Will you finally come home, y/n? Be with me forever?” 

You raised your hand to cup his cheek. He instinctively leaned into your touch. “With you,” you told him surely. “I’m always home. I’m yours, Calum Hood.” 

–

if you enjoyed, please like and reblog! it would mean a lot to me <3

#5sos #calum hood x reader #calum hood #calum hood fanfic #calum hood angst #calum hood imagine #calum 5sos #calum 5 seconds of summer #calum imagine #calum hood fluff #calum hood smut #calum hood fic #5sos angst #5sos fic #5sos fanfiction #5sos imagine #5sos fanfic

[thefandomlesbian]

Thinking about House's infarction and recovery and based on the scar, I think he would have had a wound vac for a significant period of time.

(Disclaimer: I am not a doctor, this is conjecture for the sake of fandom, any misconceptions are my own.)

So this is House's scar, per the screen grab I can get off of Google.

In my opinion, the scar seems like it wasn't well-approximated at the time of closure, which makes sense; it's consistent with the idea that his leg was opened and necrotic tissue was debrided, leaving wide margins that couldn't be secured with sutures. (This is a guess; muscular infarctions are incredibly rare and I haven't found any information online on standard procedure for clearing necrotic muscle tissue surgically.) Combine with the fact that an infarction is a clotting issue that can interfere with circulation and perfusion, I think House may have been discharged with a wound vac.

A wound vac is an electronic negative pressure device that assists with wound closure for open wounds, ie the outermost layer of skin isn't sutured/stapled and underlying tissue is exposed. These devices are usually in place for a few weeks.

(This is a stock image I swiped from Google associated with a study on the efficacy of wound vac closures.)

Basically, the tubing hooks to a machine that provides suction for any drainage and helps everything remain clean, among other things. The dressing is generally changed every 48-72 hours and is pretty painful, the adhesives involved are strong to provide total suction (the machine will flag if there is any leak and start beeping, so it must be completely airtight). I've had it described to me as, "It feels like they're peeling your skin off and digging around in your wound."

So from pain alone, this is not something House would've been able to do well by himself. He also eschews nurses, so I find it most likely Wilson provided this care for him. As a surgeon, Wilson is well-acquainted with wound closure techniques and with stages of healing, this is his area of expertise. This is something that needs to be done every 2-3 days, for 3-4 weeks, maybe longer depending on how the wound healed.

Again, based on scarring, it looks like there may have been healing complications. Which, granted, it's House. We see him perform bathtub surgery with no sterile technique or gloves (he also might have had a wound vac for that, too). House attempting to perform his own dressing changes, or worse, foregoing them altogether because it's too painful, except now the suctioned drainage is green and the periwound is hot and bright red and his leg is starting to swell. He needs help, he can't do this himself.

Wilson wants to take him to the hospital to sedate him for debridement and provide IV antibiotics, but House won't go, he's afraid of losing his leg if he's anesthetized again, he'll sooner die of sepsis. Wilson, against his better judgment, does what he must. Clears the dead tissue, cleans the wound, replaces the wound vac dressing, new tubing and canister, all while House is biting a towel like a civil war soldier because he won't be anesthetized again. Wilson fills oral antibiotics to control the infection. Going forward, he religiously changes the dressing, because if the wound becomes gangrenous he knows House will die before he consents to an amputation.

We all discuss House relying on Wilson for mobility after the infarction, which I also think is true and deserves a spotlight. But wound care is such a personal act with regards to House's profession and personality that the notion of Wilson providing for House in this way has me salivating.

#house md #spencer speaks #hilson #house x wilson #tw wounds

[madelynraemunson]

CALL ME WHAT YOU WANT 𓆩♡𓆪

(Book #1 of the Hellfire Gentlemen's Club series)

𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑�� 𝐀𝐔 18+ plz

strip club owner!eddie x fem!exotic dancer!hargrove!reader

Chapter 002: Wing Man

You start your first night of work. Eddie requests a private show. But not for him; for his friend — a rich and lonely bachelor who can’t seem to get over his ex.

* = somewhat smut

** = smut

↳ chapters: 001, 002*, 003** , 004**, 005 , 006 , 007* , 008**, 009, 010, 011, 012* , 013**, 014**, 015, 016**, 017, 018, 019, 020

word count: 7.2k words

NSFW — lap dance, steve creaming his pants, abusive relationships, talks of trauma, steve and reader trauma dumping lol

pairing: lonely bachelor!steve x fem!exoticdancer!hargrove! reader (and lowkey eddie)

author’s note: yes we get with steve before we get with eddie, but we will get there okay??? 🫣🫣🫦 also don’t tell me you guys wouldn’t homie hop in hawkins because these men are SO FINE

tags: @changemunson , @the-fairy-anon , @ali-r3n

“Let me see you dance I love to watch you dance. Take you down another level, and get you dancing with the Devil” -Wicked Games by The Weeknd

♡

A sultry black set.

A hot pink set with bows. Caribbean blue. Army green for the military men. Some cuffs. Personal wet wipes. Sanitizer. And lastly, a stethoscope to play the part.

“I can’t believe you accepted a caregiving job,” Max scoffs as you both make your way out of Scrubs 4 Less. “Do you even have healthcare experience?”

Your stepsister loved to mask her prying with carefully crafted screening questions. Even if they sounded pessimistic.

“Sure I do,” you shrug. “Remember that summer I cared for Great-Aunt Dotty when she had Parkinson’s? Figured maybe it’d be similar.”

“I guess.”

You take it upon yourself to remind Max that you are certified in CPR. And with that cert, you saved numerous people from drowning as a lifeguard. Of course that was for one year during high school, but it was experience nonetheless.

"Well, what about the heavy lifting?"

"Easy. All in the legs." you pat your thighs. Despite being calm on the outside, you are getting nervous now. About everything.

"Takes a lot of core strength too. And upper body."

It's like she knows what you actually will be going to be doing. However, there are parallels between both professions, and you made sure you made a choice like that so you wouldn't have to lie as much about the physicality of things.

"You seemed to have gotten the job pretty fast,” Max notes.

"Nursing homes are really short staffed. Especially with the pandemic and everyone leaving from all the burnout, they’ll take anybody who qualifies."

"Did they even determine if you do?"

"Are you questioning my ability to take care of people?”

You know you’re being manipulative. You can spot a manipulator from a mile away. But this little white lie is for you and Max’s own good. Even if it means selling her a fake story. Even if it means lying. Living a double life.

“An abusive home life and all-timers isn’t comparable.”

“Have you considered that some people with Alzheimer’s are combative as well?”

“And you had to accept the graveyard shift?” she pries further, ignoring all your valid points.

“It pays more,” you answer sharply, readily. “Two dollar shift differential.”

“Oh my god, we’re practically millionaires.”

The sudden change in Max's behavior is really catching you off guard. She was optimistic on her birthday. A little withdrawn when the weekend was approaching. Now the pain is evident it is almost unbearable. Sure, Billy isn't a problem anymore, but with all of his chaos, Max has found solace in using her hobbies as coping mechanisms. Her body needs that adrenaline, and now you have cut off access to all of it.

Max can't go surf. She can't run around freely just yet because she doesn't know good routes and trails. She doesn't have friends in the area besides you, Robin, and Vicky. She misses Donovan.

Max is hurt. You know she is, but you don't blame her. Still, you’ve had it.

“Hey.” you snap.

Max halts. She knows she went too far.

“I know it's sucky... the situation we're in right now," you sigh. "But I'm doing this for us, remember? It’s temporary. We just need a soft place to land, and this is paving the way towards that.”

At least that’s something you didn’t have to lie about: It’s a sacrifice you were making for her.

———————𓆩♡𓆪—————-

Orientation day comes in a blink of an eye.

Eddie is giving you a tour of Hellfire while discussing how his particular ‘system’ works. You’ve got to give him credit. His system makes sense.

“I don’t ask my girls to pay to dance here,” he explains. “I just think that’s bogus. Also, it’s Hawkins. Not that many competitors, so if I let you dance here, you’re automatically staff.”

You two walk down the hall. Eddie shows you where you would clock in and out, promising you your punch-in code by the end of the week. You learn that everyone gets paid out every Friday, because in Eddie’s words, “fuck that biweekly shit”. Tips go home with you every night, but you are expected to help tip out staff members patrons don’t really see or interact with. Therefore: Jonathan’s girlfriend Nancy whose House Mom, Henry, and Argyle. The boys make their money from bussing and serving. Jonathan earns tips from POTIONS.

“I figured as much.”

You graze your hand along the kukris on the wall as Eddie talks. He stops to take note of it and gives you a boastful smile.

“You like ‘em?”

“Yeah, they’re pretty cool.”

“That’s the perk of owning your own business,” Eddie says exuding a lazy stretch to graze the kukris himself. “You choose where the money goes, when it goes, how it goes.”

He ponders for a while longer.

“Most of the time at least.”

Clearly a majority of the money also went to the chicken wings.

Eddie leads you to back of the house where he then proudly showcases his wing menu to you. There’s the Hawkins Hot Chick for Nashville inspired hot chicken. Chicken Strippers for the picky eaters. And the ‘Hot As Cluck’ buffalo wings with spice scales named after Metallica songs: Fuel (mild), Fight Fire with Fire (medium), Creeping Death (hot), and The Unforgiven (Extremely hot). All are served with one’s choice of carrots and celery or crinkle cut fries on the side.

“Crinkle cut fries are the best kind of fries,” Eddie states. “Ain’t that right, chef?”

“Ay ay!”

One chef. For the entire back of the house. Though that seems like the textbook definition of a staff shortage, the friendly Latino man with long, black hair that he concealed with a hairnet and baseball cap most likely had it covered. He flashes you a kind grin with kind, hooded eyes to match, quite possibly revealing to you that he’s likely stoned out of his mind. But if it helps him through the shift…

“Argyle’s the man,” Eddie explains. “Pitched the chicken wing idea to me when we were both blasted.”

Suspicions confirmed.

“Is it just Argyle?” you inquire waving hello to him.

“Sometimes Eds helps out back here too,” Argyle answers for him. “Like when we’re really fucking shlammed, he’ll come back here and help cook.”

Argyle turns to you. You smile at him.

“But most of the time I got it,” he says. “That man’s got enough on his plate.”

“Yeah, Argyle’s a beast,” Eddie confirms. “Don’t know what I’d do without him.”

While Eddie tidies up back of the house, you and Argyle converse with one another. He’s 28, produces music on the side, and learned how to cook from his mom at the age of three. California native as well. By observing the mini station he has set up, you notice that Argyle keeps a stash of Yerba Mate with him at all times, and some bud in his mini gym bag. You also learn that he and Eddie often take breaks together, hot boxing one another’s vans as if it were some sort of competition. But, as Argyle had mentioned, with how much Eddie currently has on his plate, those joint breaks (no pun intended) have been pushed to the backburner.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Hargrove,” Argyle concludes. “Excited to have you on our team.”

“Likewise!” you shake his hand with a smile. “Looking forward to bugging you for chicken wings.”

“You bug me all you want, mamas,” he insists. “I’ll make you allll the chicken wings in the world.”

“You a flats girl or a drumstick girl?” Eddie questions.

“Flats,” you respond instantly.

You receive a distraught gasp from the cook while Eddie cackles.

“Atta girl,” Eddie smirks patting your back. “I knew I liked you.”

“BLAS.PHE.MY!” Argyle screams. “Drumsticks are where it’s at bro.”

The three of you argue back and forth about chicken for the next couple of minutes, Eddie sticking beside you through and through. Though play-fighting with your new coworkers seems meniscal in the grand scheme of things, you reveled in it. It’s the first time in a while you felt a sense of community outside your sister. You wanted to savor it, especially since you know that this is temporary.

“You’re a red flag, Hargrove,” Argyle jokes, clutching his chest. “You were perfect in my eyes until you said you were a flats girl.”

“Well it’s a good thing she’s mine and not yours,” Eddie jeers.

Your heart flutters. Eddie and chicken wings. You’ve GOT to be in heaven.

“Alright, word,” Argyle calls after Eddie as he pulls you away from the kitchen. “Word. I’m still gonna spoil her with food like she’s mine though.”

“He’s such a flirt,” Eddie says to you once you’re both out of earshot. “Endearing and endangering at the same time.”

“All in good nature right?”

“‘Course!” he exclaims. “We’re all about respecting women at Hellfire. Everything’s lighthearted banter.”

And you’ll revel in that too. Especially since ‘respect’ and ‘lighthearted banter’ weren’t things you were able to experience at home.

“Also!” Eddie adds. “Respectfully… Wear something simple but classy on Friday.”

“Ooh,” you chime. “Simple and classy?”

“Yeah, I’m talking neutral tones. Red lipstick also preferred but you can do whatever you want. I’ve got something I need you to do for me on your very first day.”

I’ll do anything for you, Eddie. Your intrusive thoughts are starting to take over.

———————𓆩♡𓆪—————-

It’s Friday night now and everyone is in their respective stations preparing for the rush. Argyle is prepping the fryer while Chrissy flirts with him for nachos. She waves at you with her fingers and gestures that you can have some too. You smile and mouth a, “thank you” to her.

You really like Chrissy. Of all the dancers you’ve seen so far, she is the most memorable. She is charming and sweet, soft but firm with her boundaries. She has regulars lining up for her daily, all with different types of quirks and interests. But Chrissy somehow fits all of their molds, just by how fast she can switch from doe to siren depending on her audience. You want to be just like her.

You and Eddie stop by the kitchen before heading off to finish orientation. There are chicken wings — flats only, of course — on the line waiting for you with a note scribbled on the back of an old ticket order.

“Shy Girl&lt;3”

“Eat up, mamas,” Argyle encourages you. “Gonna need the energy for tonight.”

“Yeah!” Chrissy cheers. “It’s Fridaaay!”

You thank them before heading out with Eddie once again. Eddie steals a flat from you and flashes a thumbs up to the cook before you two leave.

“Mm,” he approves. “Fight Fire with Fire Buffalo.”

You are just about done with wrapping up orientation training and ready to start the first night on your own. That is until Mike Wheeler, Nancy’s younger brother and bus boy, comes along and interrupts Eddie’s train of thought. You walk with Eddie in silence, munching on your food while Mike relentlessly hounds him about bringing his girlfriend into the club. She is 18 but Eddie is refusing.

“But but-” Mike stammers. “The club is already eighteen plu-”

“But nothing,” Eddie interrupts. “This is Hellfire Club. Not babysitting club.”

“Well I’m 19 and you let me work here. Why does it matter if she’s 18?”

“Because you’re a dude, Wheeler,” Eddie hisses in return. “It’s different for the ladies.”

Not willing to risk any liabilities, he leaves Mike with just that. You follow Eddie, fiddling nervously with your hands as you watch him tsk and shake his head in disapproval.

“I can’t have teenage girls in here,” Eddie mutters. “That’s just blatantly obvious right? Or have I lost it?”

“No, right. Totally!” you agree.

Eddie has another rule. No strippers under the age of 20. Anyone under, including ages of 18 and 19 are children to him. He admits that he gets squeamish when guys bring their younger looking girlfriends into the club. You assume it pertained to his colleague’s girlfriends too.

You walk past the bar with Eddie, waving hi to Jonathan as you did so. Dustin is at the bar as well but is too busy to say hello. You manage to glance over and watch him fix his hair, trying to look his absolute best while FaceTiming his Mormon e-girl from Utah, Suzie. After eavesdropping for the past couple of days, you pick up that she insists on video chatting with Dustin every time he is at Hellfire to ensure his fidelity. Suzie wanted to be his “only wifey” to which ‘Dusty Bun’ assures her that she is.

“Uh oh,” comes a voice ever so soft it sounds eerie when it echoes through the club. “Someone’s in a bad mood today.”

Slithering into your periphery is the same tall, lean guy that you ran into earlier last week. Today he's sporting a white tank top that revealed a couple small tattoos scattered around his body, black pants that were tight enough to be yours, a loose wallet chain belt, and chunky work docs. His gorgeous blonde hair looks attainably messy by what you suspect is mousse. He smells of beer and cigarettes tonight, his tired eyes a precursor to his lust-filled gaze. A poster boy for all the men you wouldn’t want to bring home to your parents is none other than,

“Henry Creel,” Eddie says. “Mike’s just picking a bone with me. Have you met Hargrove? She’s our newest dancer.”

It’s seemingly Henry’s first day back. From the first day of orientation to now, you’ve only had run-ins with Jim, the older gentleman who is also a bouncer. Jim spent years with the Hawkins PD, but after a scandal that only Eddie and his peers seem to know about, Jim found a home protecting young women at the Hellfire Gentlemen’s Club. The only place that gave him a chance.

You like Jim. You like everyone here. You are also ecstatic to see Henry again, this time as a dancer. You can see the excitement blooming in his eyes, with a steady increase in his pupil size by the second.

“Well, well,” Henry smirks. “Look who decided to join us.”

You two shake hands again.

“Henry’s my other bouncer,” Eddie explains, but you already knew that. “He’s my right hand man. He’s tiny but mighty. Could snap bones in an instant.”

You peer over at Henry with shocked eyes, to which Henry acknowledges with a dramatic bow.

“You’ll see it,” Eddie hovers a hand over your back. “I sure hope not anytime soon, but there’s always that one douchebag.”

“And they always underestimate me too,” Henry says. “I get a nice kick out of it. It’s a win-win.”

Henry is certainly not beefy, but judging by his muscle tone and sharp upright demeanor, he can put up a fight. Dude seems like he does a lot of the dirty work for Eddie. He can get away with it too.

After bidding ‘see you later’ to Henry, you continue walking with Eddie.

“So,” he starts. “Did you put together a cute simple outfit for tonight?”

“Mhm,” you nod.

“Good,” Eddie says. “I can tell it’s gonna look amazing. I dig the red lipstick and the choker.”

Eddie wanted classy so you gave him classy. Underneath the cloak, you are sporting a lacy black set with a matching black choker and classic red lipstick. Your hair is straightened tonight since beach waves are your signature.

“You want a sneak peak?” you smirk.

Eddie quirks up. “Oh man, do I? Let me at it.”

You take off your cloak to reveal what you have underneath.

Eddie stops in his tracks, taking in the sight in front of him. His gaze is both soft, yet lout. Delicate in the brows, yet carnivorous in the eyes. Slowly, his jaw lowers, uttering a silent gasp as he fully processes the sight of the vixen — you — in front of him.

“Jeez…” he strains. “You look…”

You blush. Electricity whirls through you as Eddie continues to relish in your beauty.

“Showstopping,” Eddie finishes.

He reaches his arms out and you take them, letting yourself fall into his chest as he pulls you to him. During the embrace, he sets his lips beside your cheek, brushing against them delicately as he gives you a verbal kiss.

“Mwah!” he exclaims, leaving you longing for a stronger peck. You feel like you’re on a cloud when he spins you to get a full 360 of your look. “I was expecting like a light color, or pastel…but black — black is your color.”

“Yeah?” you reply. “It’s not too edgy? Choker and all?”

“A lil rough around the edges won’t hurt,” the club owner approves. “He’s gonna love it.”

You follow closely behind. “He?”

Your first client. You had a feeling that’s what Eddie had planned for you today, but reality didn’t sit in until right now.

"Ever given a lap dance before?" Eddie inquires.

"Yeah, but not in this setting."

He seems amused with your answer. Eddie smirks as he gives you a nudge. "Perfect."

You two are walking down the corridor now, down to an isolated room at the end masked by a beaded curtain. You’re unsure if the goosebumps that form on your skin is because of the slight chilliness of the club or because you were walking into a seductive hideout with the boss you had the hots for.

You two stop just a yard short of the curtain. Eddie turns to face you.

"I've got a buddy named Steve. Not short for anything, his parents just... loved the 80s." he chuckles. “You’re giving him a private show tonight. One hour.”

Eddie’s buddy. The pressure is on. The name rings a bell, you believe Dustin was talking about him the first day you set foot in Hellfire.

“Oh,” you say. “I think I heard your friend Dustin talking about him last week.”

As if it were some inside joke, Eddie sighs and rolls his eyes.

“Oh, yeah,” Eddie mutters. “Don’t even get me started on those two.”

Eddie motions you forward, extending his arm to signal an “after you” gesture as you proceed into the private show room. The beads of the curtain carelessly clash into one another as Eddie saunters in.

"Anyway, Steve has been going through it lately. His lady left him for another dude, he lost his job because the city wanted another basic coffee shop instead of a place to rent cheesy B movies…and the last time he worked in the food industry he had to wear a sailor’s uniform, so he’s since opted out.”

You wander around what was going to be your office for the next hour as Eddie aimlessly takes his own path and furthers his lay-down.

“His folks want nothing to do with him because he doesn't wanna be nepotized by them. When he’s not working, he’s babysitting — you guessed it — Dustin and the rest of the boys when they’re not here or playing D&D with me. Oh yeah, and on the topic of girlfriend, he hasn't gotten laid in a fat minute.”

Eddie pauses.

"It's kinda depressing,” he says. “Now that I say it all out loud.”

He makes a sharp turn and walks toward the boombox he kept in the corner of the room.

"That is depressing," you mumble nonchalantly, as if you yourself had not been laid in a fat minute… contrary to your obnoxious brother’s popular belief.

“How do you sleep at night knowing you’re a fucking slut?” Billy’s voice haunts you.

You’ve only had one real boyfriend and Billy knew that. And that boyfriend, shortly after he left you for the girl he told you not to worry about, admitted that you were simply a placeholder for him. They’re happily married now and it tortures you knowing that being the first choice was never in the cards. Billy knew that too and used that backstory to fuel your insecurities. Billy knew you hated feeling used, yet brought it up every chance he got. Making his victims feel small, that was the source of his power. You shudder it off.

You watch as Eddie plays around with the boombox, ensuring that the aux chord was working along with all its other components.

"Tell you what," Eddie begins to barter. "You give him a good show, you can keep a hundred percent of your tips tonight. Consider it a sign on bonus."

“Wow, Eddie really?” you exclaim. “That…helps me out a lot. Thanks so much.

“Of course, doll,” Eddie grins. “Happy to help.”

Eddie finishes up tidying the room before walking back over to you.

“I can’t get over how amazing you look,” he adds one last time. “You’re gonna knock his socks off.”

“Thank you, Eddie,” you thank him one last time.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

He lingers for a while longer before going outside to look for Steve. Meanwhile, heart’s-a-fluttering you try to acquaint yourself with the place, choosing a seductive song of your liking before getting prepped.

Wicked Games by The Weeknd.

More ruckus sounds from outside of the show room. You assume your client has arrived.

“That’s the boy,” Eddie confirms. “BRB-right back.”

You excuse your boss as he makes his way over to his friend. While you wait, your mind begins to race. Does your outfit look okay? Does your breath smell? Do you smell? Despite all the wardrobe and wellness checks you’ve done, your mind is insistent that something else was off. To calm your nerves, you decide to take a quick gulp of Bombay Sapphire, a gin Eddie had provided for the room, before Steve walks in.

Liquid courage. May help with the performance too.

“There he is,” Eddie cheers as the two men greet each other outside. “What took you so long?”

“There was uh, traffic,” a softer voice responds.

“I call bull.”

The two talk a bit more, voices too quiet for you to make out what they’re saying. That, or the sound of your heart pounding against your chest drowned out their conversation. Steve sounds friendly. Timid, but friendly nonetheless.

You listen in on Eddie’s spiel about you. He called you stunning, explained that you just moved from California, and that you are exactly Steve’s type. Whatever that could possibly mean. You then hear Eddie go over the rules. No touching you without consent. No verbal or physical harassment. No sexual intercourse. And to tip generously.

“She sounds lovely. Thanks for the run down, Eds.”

“‘Course. She’s all yours, Big Boy.”

The beaded curtains clash once more.

In walks a man around Eddie’s age, late 20s, early 30s with sleek mahogany hair and slight puffy eyes. He’s sporting a gray North Face sleeveless jacket with a plain black shirt underneath and denim blue Levi’s. He’s a lot more preppy than you thought he would be. Steve’s reaction to you was similar to that of Eddie, despite how different they seem from each other.

“Hi,” he greets you.

“Hi,” you smile. “You’re Steve?”

He nods shyly. “You’re who they call Shy Girl?”

“That’s meee.”

It doesn’t take a body language analyst to see that Steve is guarded. It takes another fragile, sullen demeanor to know one.

“Are you one of Eddie’s shy friends?”

The comment earns a laugh from Steve. “You think I’m shy?”

“Just a little.”

He attempts to mask a gulp. “I’ve just never gotten a lap dance before.”

“You think I’m supposed to believe that?”

You stalk towards him and rest a hand on his chest when proximity and Steve himself grants you permission. You sink your palm in deeper when you pick up he’s receptive to it.

Oh yeah, that’s all gin.

“With your handsome self?”

Steve’s blushing now. “Yeah…strip clubs are kinda not my thing. They’re starting to be though, cuz I always come and support Eddie.”

“What a nice boyfriend,” you joke.

“Eddie and I do have a budding bromance,” he admits with a laugh.

“Boy I’d love to be in the middle of that,” you tease him honestly.

Steve is left stunned and speechless while you grab his hand and lead him to the futon in the middle of the room. He attempts to relax, exhaling the tension out of his shoulders and manspreading as he watches you encompass him. You walked in a slow circle around Steve as the music starts and he peers up at you with curious eyes. Alas, you stop in front of him, cupping his face softly in your hands and synchronizing your hip movements to the rhythm of the song.

Relate to your customers. Talk to them. Build a connection with them, you think to yourself.

“So how’s your day been?”

Steve cracks a faint smile. "Good, how's yours?"

"Good," you chime as you slowly lower yourself onto his lap.

Steve sharply inhales, sucking the tension he had just released right back into his body. You shake your head in disapproval and stroke his face calmly.

“No, no,” you coo. “Just sit back, relax. You’re safe with me.”

“I’m safe with you, huh?” he responds in an is-that-so kind of fashion. “You seem like pure danger to me.”

“Oh, please,” you snarkily disregard his comment. “I’m an angel.”

“In a place called Hellfire?” he challenges you. “I find that hard to believe.”

Steve wants to touch you. So bad. But he refrains. You feel it in his levitating palms, resting just inches away from the small of your back. You start to lightly ride his thigh, hoping to catch his palm in passing as you move your hips about. Instead you’re met with something hard at the base of his pants, an outline and protrusion that wasn’t there before.

Steve looks down and acknowledges it with a shrug.

"Sorry," he chuckles. "It has a mind of its own."

You laugh faintly in return. "It's okay. I'd say it's responding appropriately."

"Yeah?"

"Given the circumstances," you say as you grind slower, deeper. "Yeah."

"Well, that's a relief."

Steve is cute. And a polite man who values your consent was sure to receive it. You two lock gazes before one of you dared to speak again. It all feels like a blind date, and you’re two giddy young adults.

"You..." you start. “You can touch me if you’d like.”

"Really?" Steve asks. "Usually dancers don't let you do that."

"It depends who you ask," you smile. "Consent is subjective...and you have mine. C'mon."

He obliges and starts to graze your ass softly with his hands. You run his hands through his hair, then along his neck without lifting them. A muffled moan is slowly released from his mouth.

"Shit," he sputters. "Feels really good."

He tosses his head back.

"You make me feel so good."

"Aww," you grin. "Me?"

"Yeah you," his voice is deeper now. Huskier. "All because of you."

His hand moves upwards towards your bra and he begins to fiddle with the straps, and then the clasps. You continue your steady grinding, rolling your hips to the beat of the music, tossing your head back for the full effect while Steve holds back the urge to cup your perfect breasts in his kneady hands.

A whimper escapes Steve’s mouth when you find the sweet place to roll, resting a palm over his abdomen for leverage.

“Needy, are we?” you tease him. “Needy for me, Stevie?”

“So fucking needy,” he breathes, a nervous gulp swallowing another sneaky groan. “You’re gonna be the death of me, woman.”

I’ve got my heart right here, I’ve got my scars right here.

Suddenly, you cease the grinding, going from cowgirl to reverse. Grabbing a hold of both his knees with the back of both your hands, you sink down to the floor, knees bent, slightly out turned. Your hands move from his knees to encompass his elbows, accommodating the playful headlock he abruptly decided to have you in, watching you squat down beneath him.

“Mmm,” he hums. “You’re so fucking pretty, baby.”

His arms creep from the sides of your face to the front of your face. You crane your head upwards, peering up at him and refrain from shivering when he brings an arm across your neck. His other hand rests on your face, stroking it tenderly.

“Get up here and, ride my thighs again, please.” he pleads. “It was feeling so good.”

“Okay,” you oblige before standing back up.

“Before you do though, let me get a good look at your ass.”

You stand there for him, bending down ever so slightly so he could run his hands across your back. He grabs a fist full of your hair gently with one hand and strokes your ass cheek with the other.

"Wow," Steve hums as he runs his fingers along the birth mark on your lower back. "I like this birthmark."

"Yeah?" you say. "Some people have said it looks like a tramp stamp."

"It's cute," Steve insists, pulling you onto his lap. “It kinda looks like a bat."

He points to where the wings would be and the fangs and you laugh. No one's admired your tramp stamp-esque birthmark the way Steve did.

"Thanks," you reply. "My brother has a matching one."

You pause.

"Sorry, that didn't sound all that sexy."

Steve tosses his head back and chuckles, hand resting firmly on your ass again. "You look sexy talking regardless, so I don’t mind.”

The chemistry between you and Steve feels so natural. You know if your nurturing heart felt like this with all clients you would be in big trouble. This profession isn’t for everyone and you realize that. But you decide to realize everything else later. Meanwhile, your focus right now is pleasing Steve.

You resume the thigh riding per his request, and chase your own subtle high as you did so. Steve whimpers and whines, seeming to long for you even more with every stroke of his hair, every brush against his cheek, every steady and calculated grind against his—

"Woah, are you okay?"

Suddenly you’re cut off by Steve abruptly pushing you off his lap. When you peer over at him, his face has gone completely red.

Did you do something wrong? Did you violate a boundary? Millions of thoughts race through your head. You can’t get fired on the first day of your new job…

"Y-yeah, I'm fine, I just..." Steve stammers, flushing a deeper red hue with every word. “I... uh, kinda came in my pants."

"Oh..." you begin.

"I am so sorry," Steve sighs. "Embarrassed is an understatement. I’m such a loser.”

You two start frantically talking over each other, one extremely apologetic, another sympathetic to the concerns. Again, it’s like you two are clumsy young adults on a blind date set up by your bold friends.

"It's been a while... so..." Steve stammers.

"Steve," you stop him.

"And..." he cuts out.

"It's okay," you reassure him. “It’s okay, Steve. If you need a break, we can stop.”

“Sounds good,” he agrees with a resigned sigh, the red colored flush migrating to his ears. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

You go to put your cloak back on again and strut towards the gin. Perhaps offering the man a drink would help loosen up his nerves.

"What should we do with the allotted time left?" Steve wonders eyes following you. He’s rubbing his knees anxiously with his palms. “Eddie has this room booked for an hour. He needs to think you're doing splits on my dick or something or else he won't be satisfied."

Laughter erupts from the deepest parts of your belly at Steve's comment. Steve can't help but laugh as well.

"Hm, we can wait a bit and I can give you another lap dance?” you suggest. “Or a strip tease?"

You weren't used to those words coming out of your mouth, so you attempted to make it sound as normal as possible. Wow, you really just gave a lap dance. And someone came from it.

"Do you think..." Steve inquires. "That we can just... talk?"

----

So you and Steve do exactly that. You talk about your families, and your aspirations, your deepest fears, and your core values. Steve Harrington isn’t the loser he thinks he is. He’s a really cool guy. But deeply misunderstood.

“So you and your brother have similar birthmarks?” Steve questions.

“Yeah,” you confirm. “Except his is on his belly. We literally took the term identical twins to a whole new level.”

He laughs.

“Your brother sounds cool.”

“He was.”

Steve gasps in astonishment.

“Oh, my god. I’m sorry. Is he…”

“He’s not dead. Just an asshole.”

The color returns to his face. He exhales steadily and shakes his head. You find his reaction funny, despite how twisted that made you sound.

“Dead to you though?”

“Pretty much,” you giggle. “Dead to me.”

You two do a cheers to that with your alcohol-filled glasses and take another painful sip. It burns.

“Tell me about yourself now,” you prompt him.

There’s a dramatic pause.

“Well,” Steve begins. “I’m an only child. So eyes have been on me for as long as I can remember. What’s Stevie up to? This is what we expect of him and this is what happens if he’s not what we make him out to be. It didn’t take til young adulthood to realize that I have been living in my parents’ shadow. I don’t even know what I like.”

Steve spurs on about how he has struggled with his identity, going back and forth between if what he was pursuing was a desire of his or his parents’.

“And for a while I thought I knew who Steve was. Until I lost myself again in a girl named Nancy.”

“Aw,” you pout.

“A girl,” Steve pauses waiting for you to catch on. “Named Nancy.”

Your eyes widen. “House Mom Nancy?!”

Steve nods as you slowly piece things together.

“So Jonathan’s girlfriend is your…”

“Ex girlfriend,” Steve confirms. “Small world, huh?”

You suppose it wasn’t good that Hawkins is so small. You’d hate for someone to recognize you when you’re taking a casual stroll outside.

Nonetheless, you push that concern to the side and continue your conversation with Steve.

“What happened?”

“Some petty high school shit,” he explains. “But it’s always been her. She made me a better me. The closest to Steve that I’ve ever felt.”

“Wow,” you say. “So you saw a future with her?”

“Marriage, kids, everything,” Steve confirms. “Then she decided I wasn’t what — who — she wanted.”

It’s silent for a while. Steve shakes his head bitterly and downs the rest of his drink. You slosh yours around waiting for him to speak again. Besides, if you did, you’d end up ugly crying about your ex. And no one wants their stripper trauma dumping on them when they’re supposed to be performing.

Thankfully, Steve is the first to speak again.

“Yeah, Nance. She looks… she looks happy,” he turns to you with dismal eyes. “I don’t ever wanna get in the way of that.”

“Do you ever see her here?”

He shakes his head. “Nah, she’s in the back being House Mom, making sure all the girls are taken care of and all that. And I’m sure she doesn’t come up front because she knows Eddie has been trying to play wingman.”

You chuckle. “With a stripper?”

“With anyone,” Steve chuckles. “God that sounds awful. I sound like a loser.”

“Would you stop saying that?” you snap. “You are not a loser, Steve.”

“I know I’m not a loser. Just feel like it sometimes. Especially when it dawns on you that you’ve been living life for other people.”

“I kinda know how you feel.”

You two lock eyes again. Steve rests a hand on top of yours, intertwining your fingers briefly before he begins playing with each of your fingers one by one.

"I guess…going back to the previous topic…” he proceeds. “If I could change anything about myself, I would've done more of what Steve wants to do. Not what Todd and Marsha want Steve to do. Or what Tommy H. and Carol want Steve to do. Because maybe then Nancy and I would’ve been endgame. Or maybe Allison. Possibly Tammy? Who knows? See? Everyone’s world but Steve’s.”

"Steve," you start. "I hope you realize that I have no idea who any of these people are. It’s kinda hard to keep up.”

"And that is such a relief to hear that," he sighs again, this time in exasperation. "I just feel so free talking about them to someone who doesn't know who they are. Hawkins is small, you know. And it’s good that the only bias you can form is in my favor since you only know of me."

You offer him a consoling pat atop the hand, to which he responds by leaning his head on your shoulder. With how tender everything has been with Steve, there’s a temptation to plant a delicate kiss on his forehead. But you stop yourself.

"I'd like to know you, know you, though,” you find yourself saying.

He gazes up at you. You two smile at each other.

“I’d like to know you more too, Shy Girl,” he answers. “If you’d let me.”

“Duh, it’s what I just said.”

He chuckles. “You’re not saying that for the tips?”

“No. Just human to human.”

You stroke his cheek longingly, running your hand along his stubble.

"It's also been a while since I've gotten laid too," you admit. "And I've got a lot of pent up stress I need to release. You seem like a trustworthy person to do that with.”

The energy changes. Steve’s grip on your hand tightens.

"Oh yeah?" He rubs your thumb with his and soon you find yourselves holding hands.

"Yeah.”

“Sounds like we have a deal then, Shy Girl.”

Before Steve gets any ideas, you interrupt him.

“I don't wanna have sex at work," you admit. "Especially not on the clock."

"Oh, yeah I didn’t think it’d be now. Some people do find that hot though.”

"It's my first day. I can’t disappoint Eddie this early in the game.”

"You're kidding."

You shake your head.

"Wow, I would've thought you've been doing this a while."

You blush. "Thank you. But nope, you’re my Guinea pig.”

Steve continues to gawk in amazement. Then he reaches for his wallet, grabbing a huge wad of Benjamin Franklins and handing it to you.

"Tell you what," Steve bargains. "You buy yourself something nice, get your bills paid, and come through in a couple days. The roomie won't be home so we'll have the place to ourselves. We can get takeout or something too. Whatever makes you comfortable, of course.”

You bite your lip. "I'd like that."

“Good. I’d like that too.”

———-

"So, how was it?" you hear Eddie ask Steve.

"Dude...I just about creamed my pants," he says as you hold back laughter. "You got yourself a good one."

"Nothing's ever too TMI for you, Harrington," Eddie says. "But thanks for the imagery."

"Yeah. I gotta get going now. I got laundry to put away at home. It's been piling so much I think it's going to tip over."

“Roger,” Eddie says before bidding him goodbye. “Oh, speaking of which, did you tip her good?”

“You bet I did. Woman like her needs to be spoiled rotten.”

————

You make your way back to the dressing room after saying bye to Steve and finishing the flats Argyle had specially made for you. At your locker, you subtly attempt to count the hundreds Steve gave you for his lap dance and talk session. The man left you 10 of them. A whole band.

You were stunned. What did King Steve do for a living anyways? It didn’t matter to you. You had enough for groceries, gas, and a portion of your rent, all earned in an hour’s work, and all yours to keep as Eddie insisted.

The realization makes your heart skip a beat. You and your sister were good for the next few weeks.

Knock, knock.

“Don’t freak out ladies, it’s just me!” Eddie shouts from the other side of the door. “Put your cloaks on I’m coming in!”

You watch as the girls scurry to get their covers back on. The amount of respect Eddie has for his dancers is insane. Perhaps it’s common decency but it was such a striking difference than what you were used to. It warmed your heart in a way, but also made you sad. You deserved this respect all your life.

When Eddie finds you, he starts towards you, a look of approval spread wide across his face. As deeply as you wanted it to be because he found you attractive, you infer that it’s because you’re bringing in good business — and that you’re good, given a small amount of experience with the pole.

You two are face to face now. Eddie speaks up first.

“Steve, uh,” he says. “Steve really likes you.”

“Oh really?” you smile. “I’m glad.”

“You’re just a natural, Shy Girl,” he compliments you. “Everyone’s just raving about you.”

“Yeah?”

“Based on what I’ve seen so far and what Stevie told me, yeah,” he confirms. “But I guess it’s no surprise. Shy girls are almost always the freakiest, huh?”

You try not to laugh while you’re witnessing the imagination of your boss running in the complete opposite direction of what really happened between you and Steve. Nevertheless, you let him. You didn’t mind taking up space in your dashing boss’s mind.

“You should come to work a little early next time you’re on,” Eddie says. “I’d like to take you to lunch.”

Heat spreads across your cheeks. “Really?”

“‘Course! I do it with all my dancers as a welcome thing. I’d like to know more about you. You’re more than just a pretty face and someone who simply works for me.”

‘I do it with all my dancers.’

Your heart sinks. Back to square one.

Eddie clears his throat.

“Anyway,” he says. “I’m gonna head out now. Gonna go see the lady friend. I’ve got Johnny boy, Argyle, and Henry holding down the fort.”

The tinge in your heart intensifies.

“Oh, sounds fun!”

“Yeah, I rarely see her cuz she bartends. Even though we work similar hours we work opposite days. But she got first cut tonight so I’m heading over.”

“Have fun, Eddie.”

“I sure will,” Eddie says. “Goodnight, Shy Girl.”

“Goodnight, Eddie.”

Eddie soon disappears out of sight and now your shift seems ten times longer. Regardless, you stuff your tips into your tote bag and prepare to meander around the club, enticing other bachelors for a dance.

Without Eddie around, it seems less exciting.

“Doing it for Max,” you remind yourself while fixing your hair in the mirror in front of you.

You reach for your phone to see the amount of time that has transpired since the private show with Steve. But the clock wasn’t your concern when your Home Screen lights up.

Your heart nearly sinks to the floor.

Billy Hargrove

1 Missed Call

Billy Hargrove

iMessage: 1 message

You open it.

What the actual fuck.

#the babyboyification of steve harrington #daddy eddie #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #eddie munson smut #Steve #steve harrington #Steve harrington smut #Steve and reader #Eddie and trader

[kvtie444]

⋆‧₊˚ TEACHERS PET .7

summary: Reader has a new teacher and finds herself falling for him blahblahblah teachers pet by melanie vibes xoxo ouch.

・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆

July became the somber conclusion. The spring, filled with the blossoming of love, now felt like a cruel illusion. Despite his professed love, I questioned the authenticity of our connection. Winter's usual melancholy paled in comparison to the new depths of summer depression. With school out, I languished in bed, nursing self-pity.

The school board granted me permission to stay due to my high grades and this being my first school issue. Yet, the purpose seemed lost without Matt. My room echoed with the loud hum of the fan as I scrolled through my phone - 2 missed calls from Madi, 4 from Mum, 1 from Dad, none from Matt.

I had no motivation or energy to go back home for summer break. I craved this town's familiar embrace, knowing Matt was still in the same place as me. Comfort came in waves, even though the worst part was that I didn't hate him - I still loved him.

Swiping off from calls, I checked the weather app - today marked a heatwave, the hottest in a decade. Amazing. I groaned and decided it was time to do something. Self-pity couldn't be my refuge. I texted Madi:

To Madi F What are you doing today?

From Madi F Hey girl!! Missed u <3 Some of the girls and I are having a little bonfire tonight. It starts at 7 if you wanna come? x

To Madi F I'd love to :))

Madi F liked your message

From Madi F Would you mind picking up some 6 packs, please? I'll send you the money. We're all just setting up rn x

To Madi F Of course, don't worry about it x

I sigh and get up, opting for a cold shower to refresh myself. The cold water soothes my weary body, and after that, I change into a crop top, shorts, and trainers. Walking through the familiar park on my way to the grocery store, I notice the leaves, once orange and crisp, have turned green. Birds chirp from the trees, the grass is lush, and the sky remains cloudless — a comforting sight.

Upon reaching the grocery store, I grab a trolley and head straight to the back where the alcohol is stocked. Loading up with a couple of packs and bottles, I make my way to check out, fanning myself as I wait in the blistering heat. After paying and bagging up the drinks, I exit to the car park, realising there's no way in hell I could carry all these bags home in this heat. Groaning, I push my trolley through the car park, undeterred by the curious gazes of onlookers. Sweating, I finally reach my building and head inside, trolley still in hand.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

"3, 2, 1, go!"

I smile, watching our friends shotgun their beers around the bonfire in the middle of our circle. Perched on a refurnished log turned into a bench, I swirl my drink in a red solo cup and take a sip. Madi wraps an arm around me, "smileee" she chimes, she holds up her digital camera. I oblige, looking at the cute photo of us – me in a white mini skirt co-ord and her in black shorts and a cami. Downing my drink, I decide to get a refill.

"I'm getting a top up," I tell Madi, walking back to the makeshift bar area she set up (a cheap, fold-up table and half-empty drinks). I pour vodka into my cup, attempting not to spill it in my drunken state, when murmurs catch my attention.

"Yeah, she was screwing her professor for better grades." "Damn, I would too, to be fair. He was fine."

I whip my head around, giving the gossiping girls a stern look. "The fuck did you just say?" I speak up, liquid courage taking control over my body. The eyes around the fire pit turn towards us.

"What? That you were sleeping with your teacher?" the ringleader says, cocking her head.

"What's it to you? Just because the only dick you can catch is from some lowlife frat boy with more STDs than you can count," I spit back, kissing my teeth. "So obsessed and for what," I continue, rolling my eyes. Others come over, standing between us to calm things down, pulling me away.

"Yeah, that's what I thought, bitch!" the other girl yells as they retreat. "Watch when I see you again!" I shout back before Madi pulls me inside.

"Y/n, let's get you some water, okay?" she says softly, leading me to the kitchen. I perch on the island, trying to maintain my balance. She brings me a cup of water, and I sip on it.

"Stay here for a second, okay?" Madi leaves the room briefly. I struggle to focus, my head spinning. I'm so fucked up, and all I can think about is how much I miss Matt. He doesn't even work at the school anymore. What are they going to do? Not let me speak to someone who has nothing to do with my college anymore. I take out my phone, wrestling to unlock it, eventually succeeding. I go to texts and send him a message. fuck it.

To Matt S I miss you.

・₊✧ Matt pov ˚｡⋆

From Y/N I M IF DDD YOY

I gaze at my phone, attempting to decipher her message. She's clearly drunk. Is she alone? Is she safe? Is she with strangers? Shit.

For a moment, I stare at the screen, wrestling with the internal conflict. Ending things with her was one of the hardest things I had to do, especially seeing her in this state – shattered, pleading for me to stay. It was a sacrifice for her future, ensuring she could stay in school, earn a degree, and build a happy life. Not a day goes by where I don't think of her – waking up, reaching for her, preparing meals for two, driving past her building. She was my oxygen. I'd rather die than be the one hurting her. But I needed to.

Fuck it, I can't handle this. I dial her number. After three rings, she answers. Silence. "Y/n?" I say. "Hey," she replies. Her voice, I've missed it so much. "Are you okay?" I ask. "Why didn't you call me?" she slurs. My heart breaks even more. I sense the sadness in her words. "Y/n, where are you? Are you safe?" I attempt to steer the conversation. She sighs and sniffs. "I'm at a friend's, but I don't want to stay here. It's gone to shit. Everything's gone to shit," she mumbles. Sighing, I rise from my spot on the sofa. "Send me your location; I'm on my way."

・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆

tag list !!

@iloveneilperry @bernardenjoyer @daddyslilchickenfingers @mbbsgf @sturnvilmed @s1urnioloslvr @mattsbratt @mangoposts @christinarowie332 @recklesssturniolo @bluesturniolo333 @flowerxbunnie @kenzieiskoolaid @pepsiskiess @poopydroopt @byechristopher @solarsturniolo @m6ttsturniolo @lustfulslxt @stardustmf444 @thankyounextt @glossyfx @bellasturniolo @justurniolos @cl0esblogg @strumbolisworld @strniolosworld @chrisloyalgf @aliyahsbody @spideylovin @justangelheree @sturnioloenthusiast @nickmillersn1gf @soursturniolo@bernardenjoyer@stuniolobbg @luv4kozume@luvmxtt@urmommysbathroom@lexisecretaccx

#Spotify #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #nick sturniolo #smut #fluff #angst

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can i request headcandons of the spiderverse Boys with a shy nurse reader who is constantly tired? Being nurse and spider person is a physically and mentally demanding job and i think that would be nice see more spiderverse content, but if u don't want to make this request i understand

A/n: I’m sorry Most of these are either short cuz I didn’t know what to put for them or come across as a carbon copy of the other in due to me not knowing what to put there instead🤣

Miles sympathises with you wholeheartedly.

Trying to find a healthy balance between being a nurse -an intensive and highly demanding profession- and being a hero was definitely a challenge that had detrimental affects upon one’s mental and physical health.

Miles would affirm you with his words of praises and encouragement all the while holding you tightly, wilfully being your personal pillow/recharging station that often times he’d catch you fall asleep against him because his presence was that warm and comforting to you that it lulled you into a peaceful sleep.

Miles deeply admires your dedication to saving people not only as hero but also within the medical field. But he often does worry that you work yourself to the bone trying to find a way to perform both tasks without having them overlap one another.

There do come days where it all becomes a bit too much as your body grows sick and tired of your constant negligence and choose it’s way of rebelling by refusing you any sort of mobility of your limbs. Your mental state also tanks which only made your want to move even harder as you didn’t even have to willpower to make it so.

Miles would be a major source of comfort during these moments as he would remind you of all the achievements and accomplishments you’ve made during your tenure as both hero and Nurse. He’d probably have his music on as background noise whilst he’s taking the time and effort in making sure you’re as comfortable as possible.

Things he most often says are;

‘You have done so many amazing things and your only just getting started! How cool is that?!’

‘You’re an inspiration to not only the people you save on a daily basis but your also an inspiration to me as well that I even made art about you. Here, take a look!’

‘Don’t beat yourself up over this, you always get back up and hit them twice as hard because that’s what my y/n does, for my y/n ain’t no quitter, they’re a fighter.’

‘Bad days come to pass because the better ones always remain.’

‘Rest, I’ll take over from here.’

‘You’re not alone in this because I’m not going anywhere, I’ll be right here to catch you when you need me to.’

Pavitr would, If you let him, smother you in affection and cuddles but to the right amount so it doesn’t cross the border where it could potentially get annoying.

Which with Pav, it never does because his hugs and cuddles were the best and yet to be topped by anything or anyone because they are superior.

Plus they brought you warmth and comfort that you can’t help but bury yourself into his neck after a shit day in hopes of forgetting all about it as his hand rubs your back soothingly whilst also fighting the urge to just fall asleep then and there.

Also this lad would just spoil you with small gifts as to show his appreciation for you even though he does so quite eloquently enough with his words and his actions that this was merely the cherry on top.

Due to Pavitr being more able to read people then most, he’d notice the indicators within you that told him you weren’t feeling your best and he would make sure to take you to his favourite places within Mumbattan in hopes that it’ll help you by even just a little bit. After all he’s aware of the concept that fresh air and a change of pace were beneficial to a better mental health, and all he wants was for you to feel better, even if it was by a little that would mean a whole lot to him.

Hobie would want you to have a change of scenery from the hustle and bustle you subjugate yourself to on an daily basis to somewhere less noisy and loud within any aspect.

Sure it’s not his kind of scene but for you and how much work you put on yourself just to come home, looking as though any minute you were going to collapse? It was worth seeing you gradually become more relaxed and at peace to the point you fall asleep against his shoulder and he has to carry you back home.

again Hobie didn’t care since he knew how much sleep you missed out on and would not hesitate to get you a few days off if he feels as though you workplace was taking the piss out of you by thinking you were expendable.

He ain’t having none of that shit when it came to you.

Hobie wasn’t about to let you work yourself to the bone and not get a single thanks nor your flowers for busting your ass.

You tell him that it doesn’t bother you as you were doing what your job entails but Hobie more or less your backbone within these sorts of situations because he didn’t want you being taken advantage of just because you were ‘hard working.’ Not to say you aren’t but Hobie was more then well aware that this was often the excuse given when some shit stain wanted to offload their work onto someone else for personal gain.

It was always the ones who worked the least or didn’t work at all that got the appraisal and the promotions.

So Hobie would always and I mean ALWAYS praise you for everything you’ve done for he doesn’t believe you hear it enough for his liking.

Also he’s great with advice so when the days were particularly rough, he’d probably drop a bit of sage advice in regards to any aspect that you were finding hard to cope with like; ‘while the aspiration to save everyone is admirable; it’s unrealistic. For you’re setting yourself up to traverse down a road where instead of pointing out the problem, you are made to believe that you are the problem. Instead of trying to save everyone, focus on saving one person at a time for that one person could be someone else’s everything.’

Being the absolute secret sweetheart that he is, Miguel would try and help take the weight off of your shoulders and make your life a whole lot more easier by performing small acts of service that he knows you’ll greatly appreciate.

Even if it was the minuscule things such as; making you your favourite beverage, setting up a relaxing bath/ shower. fluffing up the pillows, smoothing the creases out of the duvet, cooking your favourite food since you always tell him that one of the things you always loved coming home to was the smell of his cooking. Hell do it all if it made you happy.

Miguel defiantly pampers you on the days where you felt more fatigued from your dual jobs. He doesn’t want you to do anything for you’ve already done enough to warrant yourself some much needed rest.

He lives to serve his beloved and would reject your requests to help him by planting kisses to your lips until you ultimately accept his pampering with little to no complaint.

If you were in the spider society, he’d give you time off because he’s the boss and all and if you were to go against his request for you to take time for yourself, he’d threaten to double it even though he was seriously considering it with how obvious tightroping two jobs was negatively effecting you.

Miguel doesn’t want you to overwork yourself but will overwork himself…what a hypocrite.

Soft Miguel is only soft with you.

#hobie brown atsv #atsv hobie #spiderman atsv x you #spiderman: atsv #atsv x reader #spiderman atsv imagines #spiderman atsv imagine #spiderman atsv x reader #spiderman atsv fic #spiderman atsv #spiderverse x reader #spiderverse imagine #spiderverse x you #spiderverse imagines #miles morales x reader #miles morales x you #miles morales imagines #pavitr prabhakar x you #pavitr prabhakar x reader #pavitr prabhakar imagine #hobie x y/n #hobie brown imagine #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown imagines #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara imagines #hobie brown x you #hobie brown fluff #hobie x reader

[ezekiel-krishna]

Your Planet and Careers (Vedic Astrology)💼

The 10th house in Vedic Astrology is known as the Karma Bhava. This celestial abode holds the key to one's career, profession, reputation, and public image. Now let's uncover the profound impact that planets residing in the 10th house can have on an individual's career path and their potential for success in the professional realm.

Sun (Surya)

When the Sun graces the 10th house, it signifies qualities of leadership, ambition, and a strong drive for success. Those with this placement may find success in government roles, politics, administration, management, or any field that demands authority and visibility.

Moon (Chandra)

The Moon in the 10th house suggests a career in nurturing, caregiving, or public service. Individuals with this placement may excel in professions like nursing, social work, psychology, or any occupation involving interaction with the public.

Mars (Mangala)

Mars in the 10th house indicates a competitive and determined nature, making individuals suitable for careers in sports, military, law enforcement, engineering, or entrepreneurship. They may thrive in dynamic environments that require quick action and initiative.

Mercury (Budha)

Individuals with Mercury in the 10th house possess strong communication skills, analytical abilities, and a flair for intellectual pursuits. This placement can lead to success in fields such as writing, journalism, teaching, public speaking, or any profession that involves critical thinking and problem-solving.

Jupiter (Guru)

Jupiter's presence in the 10th house is considered auspicious for career growth and success. Those with this placement may excel in areas like education, law, finance, spirituality, or advisory roles. They may also find success in positions of authority and leadership

Venus (Shukra)

Those with Venus in the 10th house may find themselves drawn to careers in the arts, fashion, or beauty industries. They could excel in fields like modeling, music, or event planning, showcasing their creativity and aesthetic sense.

Saturn (Shani)

Saturn in the 10th house signifies a strong work ethic and a disciplined approach to career goals. Individuals with this placement may thrive in professions that demand patience and long-term planning, such as engineering, government roles, or business management.

Rahu or Ketu (North Node / South Node)

When Rahu or Ketu are positioned in the 10th house, individuals may face unexpected twists and turns in their professional journey. They might need to navigate through unconventional career paths and industries, adapting to challenges and changes along the way.

it can bring a sense of unpredictability and sudden changes in one's career path. Individuals with this placement may have unconventional career choices and may find themselves drawn to unique or innovative fields. Rahu in the 10th house can indicate a strong desire for recognition, fame, and success, leading individuals towards careers in media, entertainment, technology, or research. However, it can also bring challenges related to deception, illusion, and unexpected twists in one's professional life.

You may find success in careers that involve innovation, technology, and creativity. Suitable career paths may include:

Technology: Fields such as IT, software development, cybersecurity, and digital marketing where creativity and innovation are valued.

Media and Entertainment: Careers in film, television, advertising, social media, or content creation that require a flair for creativity and a desire for recognition.

Entrepreneurship: Starting a business in a cutting-edge industry or launching a startup that offers innovative solutions to existing problems.

Research and Exploration: Pursuing a career in scientific research, space exploration, or cutting-edge technologies that push the boundaries of knowledge.

Occult Sciences: Delving into astrology, metaphysics, or other mystical practices that tap into hidden knowledge and unconventional wisdom.

Ketu [South Node]

Spiritual Guidance: Becoming a spiritual leader, counselor, or teacher who helps others on their spiritual journey and inner growth.

Alternative Healing: Practicing holistic therapies, energy healing, or alternative medicine to promote physical, emotional, and spiritual well-being.

Meditation and Yoga: Teaching meditation, yoga, mindfulness practices, or leading retreats that focus on inner peace and self-discovery.

Charity and Nonprofit Work: Engaging in humanitarian efforts, social work, or volunteering for causes that align with one's values and principles.

Psychology and Counseling: Pursuing a career in psychology, therapy, or counseling to support individuals in their emotional healing and personal growth.

Overall, the placement of Rahu or Ketu in the 10th house can bring both opportunities and challenges in one's career journey. By embracing the unique qualities and lessons associated with these lunar nodes, individuals can navigate their professional paths with resilience, adaptability, and a willingness to explore uncharted territories in pursuit of their true calling.

Remember This is a General Analysis , Whole Chart is to be consider for Accurate Personalized Predictions.

For Paid Personalized Analysis & Reviews ➤ Check Here

Masterlist ➤ Check Here

#vedic astrology #career #jobs #astrology #astro notes #astro observations #astro community #astroworld #astroloji #astroblr #10th house

[thefrontofmymind]

Ice Cream and Jelly (matty healy x reader)

You get your wisdom teeth removed and Matty takes care of you in the aftermath.

WARNINGS: hospital and surgery talks, mentions of teeth but no gore

When you woke up everything was hazy. So hazy, in fact, the instant a minute ended, you’d completely forgotten it. The nurses around you did their job, making sure you were coming out of the anaesthetic alright, but one of them just couldn’t help but giggle when you immediately asked to see your four wisdom teeth that had just been removed–she handed them to you in a sterile plastic-sealed bag and you held them close like a good luck charm.

Finally, you began to gain proper consciousness; you were still a little loopy but at least you could hold your head up by yourself. One of the nurses gave you a small tub of ice cream to eat post-surgery–actually two tubs, since you were the last surgery on the ward and she knew there’d be another shipment of food the next morning.

“Right, well I’ll call to get you picked up,” she said in a cheerful tone after watching you eat with no issues. You couldn’t hide your smile at the thought of Matty picking you up and taking care of you.

In your delirious state, you quickly forgot all about him and turned all your attention to closely studying your four teeth. You just couldn’t believe they used to be in your mouth. 

You could’ve been staring at them for hours for all you knew, but before long you heard the pleasant call of the head nurse, Jodie, telling you that there was a visitor for you.

You saw his smile and his full head of curls and instantly felt grounded–Matty was home for you, a comfort.

“How are you, darlin’?” He asked in a gentle tone.

“Sore,” you managed to slur out. “And tired.”

Matty and Jodie both let out a soft chuckle. “You’re looking all good, I’ll just get a copy of your discharge papers for you and then you can get out of here,” she said with a grin.

As soon as she left, Matty slowly lowered to sit on the side of the thin hospital bed. On instinct, you grabbed his hand and softly played with his fingers–he realised you were still quite drowsy.

“Baby, my teeth!” You said to him, shoving the small plastic baggie from your lap into his face.

“So they let you keep them, then?” He asked, amusedly.

You lazily nodded. “What time is it?”

“Just passed 5,” he answered. 

You let out a discontented groan, your entire day has disappeared. 

“I’m sorry,” Matty laughed. “You look like a chipmunk!”

“Am I really that swollen?”

He nodded, still with one of those cheeky smiles he donned so often. “I put an ice pack in the freezer before I left, and I made that cherry jelly you bought.”

“I love you.”

In a blur, you were driven home and tucked into your and Matty’s bed, all cosy. In your absence Matty had changed the sheets to a new set of soft flannel sheets and fluffed your pillows to make sure you sunk into them as easily as possible. He’d also set up an old kid’s movie you told him that you were obsessed with when you were young on your laptop, something you could easily drift off to–something Matty was hoping on so you wouldn’t feel when your pain killers wore off.

Every so often he would sneak away from whatever work he had to do to check on you, still half-lidded and watching the cartoon about princesses or fairies or the power of friendship (Matty couldn’t really follow when you tried to explain the plot to him one night out).

“C’mere,” you said to him after one of the times you caught him popping in to check you were still breathing.

“I have work to do, sweetheart,” he replied.

You blew a raspberry at him. “What’s more important? Work or your poorly, vulnerable girlfriend?”

With a sigh, he launched onto the bed, landing with an ‘oof’. You leant into him as best you could without putting pressure on your tender jaw. You both settled with his arms around your shoulders, never so comfortable.

“Thank you,” you said after a minute of silence–only interrupted by Thumbelina professing her love for Prince Cornelius.

“For what?” Matty scoffed.

“Just…taking care of me.”

“I love you, there’s nothing I’d rather do.” He kissed the top of your head, noticing your eyes flutter closed every few seconds. “Try to get some sleep, baby.”

“Stay with me until I fall asleep?”

“Of course.”

#matty healy x reader #matty healy imagine #matty healy blurb

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

The Artist and the Builder [a Joel x reader fic]

Read on Ao3

Sequel: All The Fear and the Fire of the End of the World

Fandom: The Last of Us

Ship: Joel Miller x you/artist!reader who is his age and has arthritis and allergies.

Tags/warnings: Bit of pining, Joel is sweet and settling in, reader has joint pain and allergies, kissing, pretty tame foreplay, a little fumbling, teasing, insertion of objects into vagina that probably shouldn't be there but it's the apocalypse there ain't no dildos, vaginal orgasm, Joel is Too Big and also has Bad Knees, piv sex, cuddling, artist stuff listen I don't know how to do this anymore.

Summary: Gruff contractor Joel Miller has been in Jackson for a while and up until now, you thought he didn't like you because you're an artist and who the hell needs art in the post-apocaypse? But you are wrong.

Words: 7,139

A/N: Listen I know absolutely nothing about being an artist, sorry about that. I also don't have allergies or arthritis (although I suspect I am going down that road but let's cross that bridge when we get there). I just want Joel to be soft with someone his age whose body is falling apart. Many many thanks to @pazizz and @rambling-in-purple who helped me with this one. It started as one thing but ended something else. I really appreciate the help along the way <3

My masterlist

The ache protrudes harshly into your dreams and tears you away from sleep way before it’s time to get up. It grows stronger as you come to, and you carefully try to open your hands. Each joint is like a rusty hinge that creaks and whines when moved, and you sigh deeply as you hide your hands in opposite armpits in an attempt to warm them up. Your mother had arthritis and would tell you in a bland voice that you’d probably get it, too. She had it, her mother had it, and so on. But that seemed so far away, you had your whole life ahead of you, and you had just settled down and started to live after your crazy twenties when the outbreak happened, and survival became your only goal. Despite it all, you managed to live for twenty more years, and then got slapped with the family curse.

Closing your hands around a mug of hot tea, you walk around the living-room of your small house and inspect your various half-finished projects: paper made of plants, clay paint, painted mugs. The whole house smells like a compost, so you open a window to let in a cool breeze. You immediately feel it in your aching hands but do your best to ignore it.

Sitting down at your drawing table, you pick up the charcoal and sketch a couple of lines to the profile you’re working on. It doesn’t feel right, however, so you put down the charcoal again. Restless, you sip some tea, your foot tapping against the floor.

Eventually, you have to go to the infirmary, where Robert, Jackson’s doctor, already is treating his first patient of the day.

You like Robert, like being of use, but being a nurse isn’t what you wanted. You trained to be one, yes, and worked as one for years because it felt like a good, honest profession, and your parents insisted. At nearly 30, however, you quit, and went back to school to pursue your true calling: art. You had almost finished your education when the world went to shit, and your passion no longer counted for anything. For the past twenty years, you’ve thrown yourself after art supplies like other people after food, but even paper is becoming harder to come by. Hence your experiments using plants.

“Your hands bothering you?” Robert asks around lunch, and you nod silently. You haven’t said anything, but he notices.

“Take the rest of the day off.”

“I’m good.”

“Just go, okay? I can’t give you anything for the pain, but I can give you the day off.”

You accept gratefully, and as you change into your normal clothes, you decide to go check at the latest construction site if there’s any sawdust to be had.

You hear the promising sound of a saw working its way through wood as you get closer to the latest house being erected, and when you reach it, Joel Miller looks up from the sawhorse and straightens his back. You think you see a grimace flash across his face, but then he carefully rearranges his features into the usual scowl.

Joel’s been in Jackson for a while now. You don’t really know much about him, except for what you’ve heard from others: that he walked across the country from Boston with the girl in search of his brother, and when the place where he was supposed to drop off the girl was destroyed, they both came back here. He seems to have settled well, and he’s handy, so he’s a welcome addition. He doesn’t really seem to understand your needs, though: when you first asked him if he could save some sawdust for your papermaking, he scoffed when he learned that you needed the paper for art. You bit back on an acid remark. Art wasn’t valued very highly in this world, but it’s what made you happy, and you didn’t care what someone like Joel fucking Miller thought.

“Hi,” you say, stopping in front of the sawhorse. “You got something for me?”

He wipes his forehead on his sleeve and nods towards the wall of the house he’s building. There are three buckets by it, and you see that two of them are filled with yellow sawdust, the third one with nettle leaves. Puzzled, you look over at him. You can’t really figure him out.

“What’s this?”

“Ellie said you were looking for nettles in the vegetable patches,” he mutters. “Passed by a bunch of them on patrol yesterday.”

You chew on your lower lip as you process the unexpected kindness.

“Thank you,” you eventually say. “I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” Joel picks up the saw again and goes back to working on shortening the board propped on the sawhorse. The woodsy scent of sawdust fills your nostrils, and you catch a whiff of sweat from Joel, despite the cool weather.

The buckets are proving difficult to pick up. Your fingers refuse to curl around the handles, and even if the weight is more than manageable, your hands are just not having it today. You swallow hard, embarrassed by your frailty, when Joel steps up behind you.

“I’ll take those.”

Big hands close around the handles of the sawdust buckets. You pick up the nettle bucket and start to walk towards your house. Joel walks alongside you, silent and avoiding looking at you just as you are stubbornly staring in any direction but his.

“I have arthritis,” you finally tell him, naming your disease with disgust dripping from your tongue. “My hands don’t work so well some days.”

“That’s rough,” he offers. “I used to have a neighbor who had that. Sorry.”

You finally venture a glance at him. His features offer nothing of what’s going on behind those dark brown eyes.

You arrive at your house, and Joel carries in the buckets for you. You see from how his nostrils flare that he wasn’t prepared for the earthy smell of your home.

“Just put them down there,” you ask him, gesturing to him. Joel does that and is left standing in the doorway to your living-room. He looks around at your various half-finished projects, the pictures on the walls, all your attempts at creating art with whatever materials you've been able to get your aching hands on.

You pretend to busy yourself with washing your hands, but you're really watching him. You've seen this before: people who don't care about art seeing art in a whole new way for the first time. They're always slammed in the face with it, and it's a very delicate moment that shouldn't be disturbed. So you busy yourself at the sink, rinse out your cup despite it being close to clean already, warm up your hands some more with water, open the cupboards and rearrange things. Joel disappears into the living-room, his heavy, unfamiliar boots causing the floorboards to complain about every step he takes. You hear him walk around slowly, and your curiosity gets the better of you. Quietly, you walk over to the doorway to sneak a peek at him.

He's standing by your desk, holding up a paper with a half-finished sketch. To your horror, the picture is of him, the one that you just can't get right because you can't figure him out, can't combine his threatening glower with the warm smile he reserves for his close ones.

You almost dash across the floor and snatch the paper from his hands before throwing it down on the desk, picture down.

"That's not finished, I mean, it's not... you weren't supposed to see it."

"It's good," Joel states simply. You glance at him as you mindlessly rearrange the sketches on your desk.

"Thanks."

His stare is piercing and hard to meet, so you cast down your eyes to a sketch of Ellie right in front of you. Joel follows your gaze and sees it.

"Can I see that?"

You bite your lower lip, pick up the sketch and hand it to him. You're happier with this one: Ellie's face is open, honest. She talks, questions, comments. You've barely heard ten words in all from Joel, and he's been around for months.

"You really captured her," he admires you. "Did she pose for this?"

"No," you shake your head, "but I've worked together with her occasionally. It's easier to draw someone when you know how they move and talk and such."

He hums in agreement as he studies the picture.

"Is that why you haven't finished my picture?" he eventually asks, catching you off guard. "Because you haven't spent time with me?"

"Probably," you shrug, and hold up your hand for him to relinquish the picture back to you. He does, and the line between his brows seems to melt away when he asks you if you'd want to finish his portrait.

"I can come by tonight after work."

You meet his soft gaze and nod.

"Yeah, okay."

///

You're in the middle of dipping your paper molds into a tub of pulp and putting them to dry when there's a knock on the door. You call out a "come in" as you wash your hands under water as hot as you can manage. Not good at staying passive, you've strained your hands all day continuing with your experiments.

Joel steps in, eyeing the room immediately before settling his nut-brown gaze on you.

"How are your hands?" he wants to know. You shrug.

"The same."

You reach for your jacket, and Joel grunts questioningly. You raise a brow at him.

"Are we going out?"

"I need fresh air."

"It does smell in here." A grin flashes by his face, almost shocking you. Was that a joke?

"Sorry," he immediately apologizes, taking your silence for chagrin. You smile wryly.

"Don't worry. It really is smelly, I just don't notice anymore."

You leave your house together and start walking slowly down the street. The evening is cold in a refreshing way, and you hide your gloved hands in your pockets, both to keep them warm and to keep them occupied. Keeping your eyes trained on some invisible spot in the distance, you try to figure out something to say. It doesn't feel like you and Joel have a lot in common, and all those old icebreakers of "where are you from" and "do you have a family" can be sensitive in this world. You opt for something you do know about him.

"Did you build houses before?"

He takes a second to answer, but finally tells you that he was indeed a contractor.

"Always good to know how to build things," you comment. Joel hums in agreement before clearing his throat.

"And you? You usually work in the infirmary."

"I was a nurse, but I didn't like it much," you tell him. "I went back to school to study art, but the breakout happened before I finished. And nobody needs art to survive. So I work as a nurse."

Joel doesn't say anything, but nods to a passer-by.

"Do you like being a contractor?" you ask. Once again, he takes a little time before presenting his answer.

"I do."

"Good, honest work, huh?"

"Something like that. And..." He hesitates, gaze flickering when you turn your head to look at him.

"It's nice to build something instead of destroying it," he finally mutters. You nod slowly.

"Yes. Yes, it is."

Without hurry, you walk around Jackson three times while talking. Joel is a man of few words, but the words he does utter are well chosen and sometimes heavy with information. He talks about his former construction work but doesn't utter one word about his personal life, possible family, likely loss. His voice is warm when he talks about Ellie, the teenager he delivered across the country, only to find that the people who were supposed to take care of her were already dead and buried. There is a momentary crack in his facade when he talks about his failed mission to bring Ellie to Salt Lake City, but he quickly gathers himself, and states that that's how both ended up in Jackson. He seems happy enough with those turns of events.

You tell him about your art education, about how you ever since you were a young child have seemed to notice how light falls on objects, faces, your surroundings, and the deep-seated urge to draw the light, paint it, trace is with a brush in futile attempts to replicate the magic. The light changes everything, how the world is viewed, and you're constantly trying to capture those moments when the light renders a common kitchen utensil magical, just because the first rays of morning sunshine catch the curves and angles of it. You're not sure he understands, but he does listen.

Eventually, you stop outside your house, facing each other. Darkness has fallen and you didn't leave the porch light on, so you struggle to see his face in what little light there is to be had from the moon, and the glow from the windows of the neighboring houses.

"It was nice talking to you," you say sincerely.

"You too."

You hide your hands in the opposite armpits in an attempt to keep them warm. The cold is getting to them, even with gloves.

"Will I see you tomorrow?"

Joel blinks.

"You're not going to draw me?"

"It's too dark."

"Ah." You hear from his tone that he just realized that you've been talking about light this whole time. His head shifts on top of that long, strong neck, his face turns a little to the side and you catch the profile of his aquiline nose against the faint light coming from the neighbor's house.

And you know you have to try to draw him like this, half cloaked in darkness, the bridge of his nose sharp against soft light, maybe from a fire, the shadows painting dark valleys on his face with his frown, the glint of grey in his beard, a lock of hair curling by his ear.

"Maybe not," you correct yourself and step past his towards your porch. "Come on in."

You load up the fireplace, your hands only trembling slightly from the weight of the wood. Joel kneels next to you by the fireplace and takes the matches from you. A protest rests on the tip of your tongue, but the brief touch of his warm, callused hand makes you swallow it. You stand up and watch him light the fire, breathe life into the kindling, and carefully place smaller twigs on the first, small flames before rocking back to watch the fire grow. You move your weight from one foot to the other, tuck your hands into your pockets. Joel glances up at your fidgeting.

"Your hands hurtin'?"

"It's the cold," you shrug. "But it's fine, it's not that bad."

You take a step back, towards the kitchen.

"Want a cup of tea?"

"Sure. Thanks."

When you return with two mugs of steaming tea, the fire is crackling merrily. Joel rises, joints popping, and accepts one mug from you with one hand, the other suddenly taking a gentle hold of your wrist. You twitch, the tea spills over a little, but you don't pull back your hand. Slowly, Joel covers it with his big, broad palm, so much warmer than yours, and you almost instantly feel the heat spread into your aching joints.

When you search his averted gaze, he releases your hand, and clears his throat.

"Thanks for the tea," he murmurs, and you nod quickly.

"You're welcome."

You busy yourself with emptying the run-down armchair from various knick-knacks and tools, and indicate the seat for him. Carefully, as if afraid to break it, Joel sits down. You pull up the desk chair and take a piece of charcoal and a paper, propping it on your lap with a sheet of cardboard under.

"You're not going to continue with the half-finished picture?" Joel asks, sipping his tea.

"No," you shake your head. "It's not how I want to draw you."

"Waste of paper."

"I'll use it to make more. It's okay."

He grunts, and you hide your smile without knowing why you're even smiling in the first place.

"Turn your head a little towards the fireplace," you instruct, and Joel squares his shoulders, as if he's unhappy about being told what to do. However, he does as he's asked, and follows the rest of your directions easily. When you're happy with his angles, you put coal to paper, and start to sketch.

For a long time, the only sound heard is that of the fire, and the soft scratch of the coal against the coarse paper. Your sharp eyes note every hair, pore, and line on Joel's face, but you're finding it hard to transfer them to paper. After a long day, your hands are hurting bad, and the pain keeps shifting your focus away from the task at hand. Finally, you sigh deeply and turn the paper upside down.

"I'm done."

"It's finished?" Joel asks, shifting like he's sitting back and leaning forward at the same time. One brow is quirked inquisitively, while his tight jawline lets you know that he doesn't really want to see the result - but he's curious.

"No," you specify as you get up, "it's not finished. I have to start over, but it's getting late."

Your fingers can barely let go of the coal when you set it down together with the paper. You hide your knuckle in the palm of your other hand and rub it discreetly.

"You won't show me?" Joel rises from the armchair and comes up to you, putting away the cup of tea. Standing right in front of you he seems almost impossibly broad.

"Your hands hurtin'?" he asks in a low voice that vibrates along your spine. You swallow quickly.

"Just need to warm them up, it's okay, I'm used to it."

Your breath gets caught in your throat when he takes both your hands and presses them to his chest. You feel his heart beat quickly against your palm and realize that some of his body heat actually comes from him being just as nervous as you are.

Feebly, you try to pull back your hands.

"I'm getting coal on your shirt..."

"Don't care."

You bite into your lower lip, speechless as if you were fourteen and standing in front of your crush, instead of a middle-aged woman talking to...

Who is Joel to you, anyway?

"Why are you doing this?" you ask hoarsely. Joel frowns, his hands slowly letting go of yours. You keep your palms on his chest for a second longer before letting go. Bereft of the warmth, your joints feel even worse.

He doesn't seem to have an answer to give you, but his lips move like he's trying to say something to break the silence. When nothing comes out, you get impatient.

"Joel?" you prompt.

"No one's ever looked at me like you look at me," he lets out, his dark gaze locking in on you. "It's like you're staring right through my clothes. It makes me nervous. I haven't been nervous in... a very long time."

"Nervous how?" you hear yourself ask, even if your armpits have grown damp, and your heart is beating so hard he surely must hear it.

"Nervous in that way." You hear exactly what he means, all the possibilities and threats and risks summarized in that. There's something so awkwardly boyish in it that you find yourself smiling. His frown deepens when he sees it, but his lips soften.

"Joel," you ask, softly touching your aching hand to his, "do you want to kiss me?"

He immediately grabs your wrist and touches his lips to yours in a kiss that doesn't really know what it's supposed to do but wants to do it anyway. He forgot to draw breath, and instead of inhaling against your skin, he pulls back quickly when he has to breathe.

"Fuck," he mutters, "that was a shitty kiss. I'm sorry."

Your cheeks flush violently when you pull at his hand.

"You can try again?"

The offer makes him smile, finally, and he displays that dimple that you found absolutely impossible to put to paper. His closes his hand around the back of your neck, and his lips press onto yours, and he remembers how it's done, and kisses you until you're not sure your legs will carry you anymore.

///

The picture of Joel becomes secondary to your meetings. Joel, you realize very soon, courts you, like some southern Gone With the Wind-type of gentleman. He brings you whatever materials he can find when he goes on patrol - you're excused from that task due to your horse allergy - and quietly offers you his thick gloves when you're out walking together, and your hands hurt. He continues to not talk much, but you start to recognize the little things: acts of service, the way he looks out for you, how his eyes light up when he sees you. His kisses when you part.

There is only kissing. He hasn't touched you in any other way, and you haven't taken initiative to anything further. There is only a rather chaste, yet warm, kiss when he leaves your house, where you usually meet up. He drinks tea and watches you draw, or paint when you're not asking him to pose for you. You know exactly how you want to capture him but so far, your hands haven't been skilled enough, and for every hour you spend with Joel, you lay another piece of the puzzle that is Joel, and you become unsure of how to draw him.

One evening, a couple of months after that first kiss, you're enjoying the warm fire in your living-room when there is a knock on the door. Joel stands on your porch, eyes scanning you quickly as soon as you open the door.

"You weren't at the movies," he says, referring to the event that nearly everyone in Jackson went to tonight. You hear the question in the statement: Are you okay?

"It's cold," you shrug. "Not my thing. Wanna come in?"

He enters your house, and you take his coat and hang it by the door.

"How are the hands?" he asks. You rub your palms together.

"Not bad today, actually. How's your knees?"

He grins a little, knowing that you saw him carry furniture up porch steps earlier.

"Creaky, but they still carry me."

"Tea?"

"I don't want to disturb, if you wanted to be alone."

You lead the way into the living-room, and move some things away from one armchair, pulling it closer to the fireplace, next to the one you were sitting in.

"You're not disturbing, do sit down. I could work some more on your portrait."

Busying yourself with picking at pieces of charcoal, you don't pay him any attention until his footsteps bring him right behind you. One warm hand touches your waist gently, startling you into turning around to meet his sheepish face.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay." His warm body is so close to yours, and his smell of wood, sweat, and snow invades your nose. You inhale deeply, pretending to sigh just to get the opportunity to soak in this intoxicating, masculine smell of his.

"I got something for you." Joel holds up something wrapped in cloth, and it takes you a few moments to gather yourself.

"For me?" Carefully, you take the little package from him. "Whatever for?"

He shrugs. “Thought you might need it. It’s probably your birthday at some point, or Christmas, or whatever.”

You never were good at receiving gifts, and it's even harder now. When was the last time you even got one?

He shifts his weight; a show of nerves that doesn't match up with his calm, deep voice. You decide to put him out of his misery and unfold the cloth.

It's four paintbrushes, hand carved with thick, curved handles, and tidily shaped heads.

"Oh. Joel, these are... these are gorgeous."

You hear him exhale, like he had been holding his breath.

"You think they're any good?"

"I'm sure they are, the hairs look amazing. Where did you get these?"

"I made them."

Now you tear your eyes from the brushes. "You made them?"

"Carved them, they should be comfortable to hold, I asked the doc what's suitable for someone with arthritis... The hairs are horsehair, bound together with sheep hairs."

He has really listened to you talking about all the art supplies you miss, and your ideas of making your own.

"The hairs are washed, so hopefully they won't give you allergies," he adds quickly.

"Joel... thank you. I don't know what to say."

He chuckles a little. "Try them first. What I know about making paintbrushes can fit onto the head of a nail. You may wanna return them."

"Unlikely."

You lean forward, the brushes still in your hands between the two of you, and touch your lips to Joel's. His hands rise to gently cup your elbows as he accepts your kiss. Only when your lips grow more insistent, does his hold tighten as well, and all you can think of is him holding your tits in the same manner.

Your hands, still holding the brushes, come to his chest, and you start undoing the buttons of his flannel. Joel's lips leave yours, and when he looks at you with eyes steeped in hot molten lava, you know that it didn't come easily.

"What are you doin'?"

"What does it look like?" you smile a little shakily. Is this the beginning of a refusal? Have you misunderstood his interest in you altogether?

"I don't want you to do it just because I gave you somethin'."

"It's not because you gave me something, it's because you never took anything away."

He cups your cheek now, strokes his big thumb over your lips.

"You're beautiful. I haven't done this in a long time, and never with anyone as beautiful."

"How old do you think I am?" you laugh, amused and touched at the same time. His ever-present frown changes slightly, turning quizzical.

"I don't need to hear that I'm beautiful," you specify, hands still on his chest. "I don't care about that."

"Then what do you wanna hear?" His voice is impossibly low. Your pussy clenches, grows moist and hot.

"I want to hear you want me."

"Oh, darlin'..." he sighs, closing his eyes momentarily. "I want you like crazy. I have wanted you for a long time, but I wanted for you to decide when you'd have me."

You didn't know how much you had longed for someone who saw you as a sexual being, a woman with desires and a will of her own.

"Joel," you whisper, and he swallows the rest of your words when he crashes his lips to yours. The brushes fall from your hand when you throw your arms around his neck to bring him closer, and Joel's big arms go around your waist. He hums into your mouth when your entire front is pressed against him; a satisfied hum, like he's happy to have you here. You answer with a hum of your own and feel his lips curve in a smile.

Slowly, his hands begin to know your body, sliding over curves and dips, fingers dipping into flesh, palms caressing over your clothes. Your approach is more direct: you pull at his flannel, wanting it off him.

"There's no hurry," he admonishes you between kisses. "Unless you got somewhere you need t'be?"

You exhale in something in between a scoff and a chuckle.

"In your pants?"

"Bedroom, then?"

"It's warmer in here, where the fire is."

"Hold on."

He releases you, seemingly unwillingly, and disappears into your small bedroom, re-emerging momentarily later with your bedding. You move the armchairs away to allow for him to put everything down in front of the fireplace. Groaning, he lays down on the makeshift bed, taking your hand and pulling you down next to him. You giggle a little as you plop down, immediately receiving more kisses.

"This better?" he wants to know. Your skin knots over when his hand finds its way underneath your shirt.

"Much better."

He rolls half on top of you, hand finding your breast for a light squeeze as his knee pushes between your thighs to separate them. His cock is stiff against your hip, and you move against it, smiling into the kiss when he grunts and grabs your breast harder. You put your hand on his, pressing it down, feeling his hand disappear into your soft flesh almost painfully. Your moan gears him up, and he starts to pull your shirt upwards. Squirming out of it, you reach for his belt, huffing in annoyance when Joel sits up to take his own shirt off. You sit up as well for a better reach, and your forehead connects with his chin just as he dives back to you.

"Ouch!"

"Fuck!"

You smile sheepishly at each other, both of you more startled than hurt, and Joel gently pushes you back down.

"Maybe we should take it slow?"

"I need you, I'm done waiting."

"I know, sweetheart, but I don't want you to break my jaw."

You scoff, but his kisses make you docile. Your clothes come off, along with his, and when you're both finally naked, skin against skin, you discover that you're happy with going slow as well. In the light of the fire, you trace your hand along his strong muscles and soft flesh, kiss his scars from past struggles, and the newer bruises from recent altercations with logs or whatever he has attempted to lift on his own. You close your fingers around the girth of his cock - Jesus, 20-year-old you would've giggled like a maniac at the sight of it - and enjoy the sounds of surrender that you can conjure out of him.

"God, your hands feel good on me," he hisses as you slowly, while trying to remember how to do this, stroke him with both hands. You smile, suddenly struck with nerves, when you pass your thumb softly over the glistening head of his thick cock. The precum catches the flickering light from the fire, and you get lost in how light and shadow play over Joel's skin; the dark dip of his navel, the hills of his soft pecs and stomach illuminated, his cock rising proudly from a thicket of dark hairs towards the light, the fuzz of his thighs. The embossed skin of a scar reflecting the warm light. The way his skin rises in goosebumps at your touch...

"Darlin'?"

You blink, and meet his wry, amused smirk.

"You with me?"

"Yeah, sorry. I just... was looking at the light."

"How you'd paint it?" Joel seems to catch on immediately, having listened to you rambling on about The Light several evenings. Yod nod and run one finger along the length of his cock before continuing up his happy trail, swerving around his navel.

"There's so much to see on the human body, if one just knows how to look."

"Lemme try that."

Joel pulls you down and rolls you onto your back, propping himself up on one arm next to you. You blush a little as he inspects you, his hand following the dancing shadows on your chest and stomach.

"Yeah," he murmurs, "I can see it alright."

"Yeah?"

"M-hmm. Hold on."

He rolls to the other side, looking in the dusky room for something. When he returns to your side, he's holding one of the brushes he made. With a feathery touch, he touches the brush to your ribcage, right underneath one breast.

"Here's light," he mumbles, carefully tracing the brush along a rib. "Right next to the shadow of your breast."

You exhale in a soft moan as his knuckles brush up against your breast, knotting the nipple. Joel's tongue slips out to lick his lower lip before he goes on tracing the lines that only he can see on your skin.

"What are you painting, Picasso?" you ask hoarsely.

"Hush," Joel tells you curtly yet not unkindly. You smile and close your eyes, shifting a little so that you can drape your arm around his shoulder. His hot breath is on your breast, his whiskers tickle you before something warm and wet disturbing your nipple tells you he's licked it. A shiver runs through you, and you push your chest out, asking him wordlessly to do it again.

He latches on and suckles steadily, but your shout of surprised pleasure has barely died down before he releases you and continues down your stomach with the brush.

"Joel," you whine, blinking up at him, but the focus in his eyes is so intense that you don't say anything more. Instead, you watch him figure out the fundamentals of visual art: how the light changes everything, how to handle the brush, how to angle the hand. His brush may not have any paint on it, but he paints your pleasure with sounds from you: gasps, hums, a hiss when he passes over a ticklish spot. With the brush trailing through the thicket of your pubes, your legs fall open and your lower lip catches between your teeth. Your pelvis rises to meet the soft hairs, and you moan when Joel dips the brush through your slick folds. He moves the brush to your nipple, circles it to wetten it with your arousal, then ducks down to suck it into his mouth. Your back arches, your inner thighs are wet, your heartbeats echo in your pussy, and you need him to understand just how desperately you need him.

"Fuck me," you keen, "Joel, I need you to fuck me."

He hesitates, coming up to slot his mouth over yours and steal your breath away. You rub yourself against him, find his cock and tease it, make him moan just as needily as you.

"I take it you ain't a pregnancy risk?" You hear from his tight voice how close he is to snapping. Fuck, but that's hot.

"STDs are our only concern," you try to joke, but it's not funny. Before coming to Jackson, you spent years in a quarantine zone as a nurse, and the common sexually transmitted infections ran rampant. Without proper testing equipment, it was hard to tell the scale of it.

"I should be clean," he tells you, and you're too far gone to doubt him.

"Me too."

He kisses you again as he rolls on top of you, his width and weight blocking out everything else as he plunges his tongue into your mouth. Your hips rise to meet him when he leads his cock against your entrance, and you almost bite him when he starts to push into you. Your nails press into his shoulders, the fit is impossible, and Joel stops.

"Fuck," he mutters. "You okay?"

"It's big, it's been a while."

He growls and pulls out, cupping your cheek when you whine.

"Don't wanna hurt you."

"Just get me wet, Joel."

"You're plenty wet already."

"And you're hung like a goddamn moose, so get me wetter," you snap, and Joel chuckles.

"Relax, darlin'."

"I'm trying."

He kisses you again, hand between your legs, two fingers slipping through your folds and drawing out the slick to a slow circle around your clit. Sparks run up your spine and you bury your fingers in his thick, greying hair.

"You always try to cram it in before finding a girl's clit?" you mutter, but your smile shines through. Joel slips a finger inside you.

"I told you, it's been a while." He trails kisses down your neck and moves his finger inside you, seeking the right, spongy spot. You mewl and writhe, needing more but not getting it. One finger is not enough. An idea forms in your head.

"Take the brush," you ask him breathlessly. Joel stills, finger slipping out as he studies your face. You roll your eyes.

"It's not a commentary on your skills. Get over yourself."

"You were the one who were in such a such a hurry a minute ago," he teases before looking around for the brush. Finding it, he brings it to your tits, but you shake your head.

"No, use it on me."

His brow rises quizzically. You push his hand down.

"Fuck me with it, Joel."

You expect an objection, or at the very least surprise, but all you get is a strangled sound and a searing kiss. The handle, so smoothly polished, is thick and curved in a way that bears resemblance to a dildo - not that you've used one in twenty years, but the thought is there now and you have to try this out.

The handle slides in easily, filling you better than his finger but without the intensity of his cock.

"Fuck," you keen, directing your hand down to rub your clit as Joel slowly pulls out the handle before pushing it back in. "There, fuck, Joel, that's good..."

He's breathing audibly now but you don't look at him anymore, you close your eyes and let him help you find all those buttons and spots that you had almost forgotten that you had anymore. When your toes start to curl, and you moan "Faster, Joel, faster!" he complies, rough whiskers scratching the sensitive skin of your tits as he fucks you with the paintbrush that he carved with his own split-knuckle hands to spare you your aching ones.

You barely know what an orgasm feels like anymore, but there's no mistaking this one. The rise and the tightening of muscles, the holding of breath before releasing it in a choked moan, the loosening of limbs, the pounding heat of your pussy.

"Jesus, but that's beautiful," Joel sighs, gently sliding out the brush and putting it to the side before kissing your flushed forehead. "Darlin', you're killin' me."

You chuckle huskily and pass your hands over your face.

"I think it takes a lot more to kill you, Joel Miller."

"I wouldn't bet on it."

The bedding underneath you may keep the draft of the floor at bay, but offers no suspension, so when he edges into you a second time and bottoms out, it's like being split in two between a rock and a hard place. But you can take him, and you cling to his broad shoulders with breaths coming out as hissing.

"Relax," he murmurs, petting your hair as if you were a skittish animal while slowly moving in you. "Sweetheart, you can take it, you're doing it already, you're doing it so well, it feels so good..."

You keen as he spears you again, slowly but steadily, his muscles trembling from the effort of keeping himself from crushing you. Your legs wrap around his thighs, arms around his shoulders and you pull him down, you want to be crushed, you need him like this, steady like a train and sharp like a razor, his breathless kisses on your neck, the groans that may come from pleasure or discomfort from being on the floor, you have no idea, but you need him just like this.

"Come, Joel, come," you gasp into his ear, the good one, and he endures, unwavering in his effort as he digs into you, deep, thorough, devastating.

His climax is a relief and a sadness. You don't want it to end, but you also couldn't bear one more second of it.

Joel slumps to the side, gathering you into his arms as he draws a deep, shaky breath. In the faint light of the embers that are left in the fireplace, you trace the scar on his right cheek and watch his eyelids press shut more firmly before he turns his head to kiss your fingers.

The temperature in the room seems to drop as the heat dies down, and you carefully untangle yourself from Joel's firm hold to put another log on the embers. When it flares up, you return to Joel's side, now finding him watching you.

"You okay?" he asks when you pull a blanket over both of you. Making yourself comfortable, you nod with a little smile and a kiss to his lips.

"Perfect."

"That thing with the brush was... interesting."

You blush. "I don't know what happened."

"Glad it did."

"Joel, I... haven't had sex like that... at all... in decades," you blurt out. "And this was... perfect."

He hums, glances down, and to you it's glaringly obvious that he is conflicted. Your heart sinks just as he speaks up.

"It really was perfect."

"But?" You can't help yourself: there's a slight edge to your tone. Joel leans his head back a little to take a good look at you, the usual disapproving frown back on his face.

"But there was someone," he starts, "for years. And we never had this. Time and place wasn't right."

You exhale in relief. History and baggage are easy to deal with, rejection is not.

"I'm sorry."

He shrugs with a little sound, forehead smoothed out.

"Was she... Ellie's mom?" you dare. Joel shakes his head, and his hand slowly passes over your back, fingers strumming the bump of your spine.

"I didn't know Ellie until a few months ago. This was... someone else. A partner. She took Ellie on, really. I was against it. And she... didn't make it."

You don't want to say that you're sorry again, but don't know what else to say, either. So you kiss him, because you want to, because you think he needs it, because there are no words. Your hand is splayed open on his cheek, his lips and mouth are dry and so are yours, but the kiss is sweet and gentle, and the things you can't find words for are carefully passed on to him. He exhales in a soft sigh onto your cheek, then tilts his chin up to kiss your forehead before burrowing his nose against your hair. It's clear to you that he wants to sleep, but you're buzzing with unexpected energy. Carefully, you slide away from his arms, smiling at his frown, and get up to tip-toe to the desk, where you pick up paper and coal. A faint blush colors your cheekbones when you feel his cum seep out of you, and you hurry back to the makeshift bed, sitting down by Joel's feet.

"C'mere," he barks, but you shake your head.

"Just stay still."

He complies with that frown of his, and you settle down, putting the piece of coal to the paper.

You know how you want to draw him now.

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfic #my fic

[sebstan2020]

Red Ties

Chapter 40

Mary, a sweet Christian girl living in the city of Brooklyn as a nurse had a simple life. She loved her work, her friends and attending church every Sunday and helping Reverend McCarthy. Her life was nothing out of the ordinary. However, it all changed one day when she bumps into the intriguing and intimidating James Barnes, Brooklyn’s notorious mafia boss and is introduced to a world of guns, lust and dominance.

Warnings: BDSM, Dom/Sub, Mafia, Violence, Gang, SMUT, Sex, Possessive Bucky, Overprotectiveness, Bondage, Sexual Themes, Dark Themes, Guns, Drugs, Gang Violence

Mary winced as she sat on her stool at her desk. Her ass was still sore from the erotic flogging James had given her a few days ago. Since she was new to this BDSM lifestyle, her body was still getting used to all the painful implements James wanted to use on her. Her body marked much easier than the regular submissives's at Vanilla, and James enjoyed every moment of seeing her bright red ass when he could. But Mary was finding it hard to hide her discomfort, and Anya gave her a confused look at the clear wince in her face. 

"Are you okay?" she asked, and Mary looked at her, plastering on a smile. 

"Yeah, fine, I fell over the other day and landed on my butt, so I was just a bit bruised," if only Anya knew. Mary still had yet to tell her about their kinky antics. She wasn't sure how she would react. James and Mary had been together for at least six months, and time seemed to be going by fast. Anya definitely had approval of James, so there was no chance of her disapproving him now, but still, Mary wasn't sure how to bring up the subject. 

a Christian girl admitting her boyfriend whips and ties her up for his pleasure as much as hers. A girl who had never drunk alcohol until a few weeks ago, someone who barely crossed into the dark side of life, was now submitting willingly to a dominating, possessive mafia boss. And she had yet to tell her that as well. She felt guilty for keeping that from her and knew she had to bring it up soon. 

"So, when are you seeing James?" she winked.

"Tonight," she answered. 

"You might as well just move in with him at this point; you basically live at his, and why would you live in that shitty apartment when he literally owns a mansion?".

"Thanks, Anya. Well, I did suggest taking it in turns, staying at mine and his."

"Jesus, only you would suggest such a thing; what does God have a rule about not living in a million mansions?" Anya said. 

"No, I just... I don't know; maybe I'm not ready to move in," she shurried, even though that was a complete lie. Anya was right; she practically lived there already, but Mary was worried that she'd overhear their illegal business and the dirty, dark details of Jame's profession, and she didn't want to hear any of it and have another argument. although she knew that she couldn't let it bother her. It seemed everyone around her these days was into some organised crime business—James, John, maybe even Anya. At this rate, she might as well assume everyone is involved. 

"What? Don't be so stupid; you are ready to move in with him; just do it. The longer you leave it, the more you won't want to move in." Anya was right; god, she hated it when she was always right despite her questionable choices in life. 

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Mary admitted, rolling her eyes, and Anya patted her back, sending a shock of pain as she touched a tender spot the flogger had attacked. She held back her wince through gritted teeth, and when Anya left the nurses station, she hissed. She was going to have to tell James not to torture her on a work day. 

"Hey Mary!" Peter walked in, carrying a stack of papers, and dropped them heavily on the desk. 

"Hey Peter," she said with a big smile, and Peter instantly relaxed. Luckily, James hadn't made much of an appearance in the parking lot, and Peter didn't have to avoid him. Things were much less tense between him and Mary, and he was glad to have his best friend back, although his feelings for her weren't gone and he didn't think they'd ever go. He would always have a crush on her, and he tried not to think about her spending the rest of her life with James. 

selfishly, he wanted them to break up, but he knew that would only cause more heartbreak for Mary, and gaining from that would be cruel. So instead, he ignored what he could of James and spent what time he had with Mary. He was glad Mary didn't devote every single second to her new boyfriend like some first lovers do, and she'd spend time with him outside of work, much to James dismay. 

"Hey, I wondered if you wanted to come over tonight for some takeout. We can put a film on, chill out, and my apartment is pretty much done," he asked, and Mary nodded.

"Sure. that sounds great".

"I mean, as long as your boyfriend is okay with it," he teased. 

"Well, he'll have to be," she shrugged, and Peter secretly jumped for joy inside. Yeah, fuck James and his opinion. 

"Great, we can go back after work," he said with an excited grin. 

Mary texted James that she didn't need picking up after work and that she was going to Peter's. She could have simply said she didn't need picking up, but then James would question the reason for that and wonder why she didn't come home. Besides, she had nothing to fear from him; if he got all jealous and possessive, that was his problem. It was clear her simple text had fueled a little fire in him, as he instantly replied with 'oh'.

She could imagine him now, red in the face, a scowl on his lips. Oh well, he'll live. She wasn't going to let his jealousy take control of her life. 

Peter's apartment was beautiful, with everything in its place now and the walls not looking so bare. He had hung several pictures up and placed some furniture in small places to add more depth to the room, rather than it being so empty. 

"Wow, Peter, this place is amazing," Mary said as she slumped down on the sofa. 

"Yeah, I'm so happy with how it turned out. How's your place, by the way? I know you were having issues with it," he said as he stood at the ktichen plating up the Chinese they brought on the way home. 

"Oh, it's okay; I rarely spend time there since I'm always at James's house. In fact, I'm thinking about moving in with him," she said, and Peter looked with a slightly more shocked face than he would have liked. 

"Oh, really, that's soon," he shrugged, trying not to make a big deal out of it, even though it kind of was. Things seemed to move so fast with her, and James and Peter's feelings were getting in the way. He couldn't help but worry and wonder if Mary could end up getting hurt. He still didn't trust him much, especially after the whole 'stay away from Mary' chat they had in the parking lot. 

"Yeah, but I rarely spend time at my apartment, and his house is a lot nicer than mine; I mean, he does live in a mansion." She tried not to sound like she was bragging about it, and she wasn't, but when your boyfriend lives in a million-dollar mansion, it's hard not to sound like you're bragging. 

"Remind me what he does for work again?" He asked as he came over with the plates of Chinese food, consisting of sticky chicken, noodles, beef, and a small bowl of soup, along with prawn crackers. It smelled divine, and Mary was starving. 

"He's an accountant and has his own business," she said warily. If Peter knew he was a mafia boss, he'd spend the rest of his life convincing Mary to leave his ass. 

"Right, he must be amazing at his job to afford a house like that," Peter said as he sat beside Mary, crossing his legs. 

"Yeah, I don't know. I'm still in two minds about it; I haven't fully decided yet," she shrugged, and Peter smiled. 

"There's no rush; take things slow; you've got plenty of time to figure those things out, and there's nothing wrong with having your own space.".

"Yeah, it's nice to be able to have some quiet me time," she giggled, and they tucked into their dinner. They spent the rest of the night laughing and watching funny films, remembering funny moments in their lives, and dying with laughter. Peter offered for her to stay at his so she didn't have to make the trip back, but she kindly declined. She knew James would either be worried about her or be so jealous that she didn't come back to him that night. 

It wasn't until late that Mary arrived at James, and the moment she stepped into the bedroom, his hands were on her, cupping her face, kissing her deeply, forcing her to the bed, and falling on top of her. He kissed her lips, her neck, and the lobe of her ear, and a sweet moan escaped her lips as she fell into his trap. He did this when he was pent-up with jealousy and frustration. He wanted to show his possessions to her, and boy did he. 

The next morning, she woke to find dark kisses left on her neck and chest, his arms wrapped so tightly around her waist as if he were holding on to a piece of wood at sea or as if she were going to drift away from him. She sighed and rolled her eyes at his entrapment. His arms were like a little jail cell, and he kept her captive. 

She turned in his arms, which woke him softly, and he moaned gently, pressing a kiss on her temple. "You know you don't have to get all possessive like that," she pointed out.

"Like what? I'm just kissing the woman I love." Those words gave her a tingle, and she grinned immediately, her cheeks heating up. She wouldn't get over how he confessed his love for her. After a petty apology and an introduction to his ex-submissive, what a way to say you love someone! 

He pressed a kiss on her lips, and she moaned in them. "Alright, if you say so," she shrugged with a tease in her voice, and he chuckled. He knew exactly what he was doing. 

Mary was working her shift with her private clients away from the hospital, first starting with Mrs. McKenzie. She had a million questions and, of course, wanted to know the dirty details of her love life with Mr. Handsome. She giggled, shaking her head, and reluctantly gave up some details, despite Mrs. McKenzie asking her naughty questions about that woman and her mind. but it was nice to be able to catch up with her and talk about all things girl. She had popped in to check on Yori and make sure he was okay as well. 

He was so much more relaxed the first time she met him, and he was more than happy for her to visit him. Her and James were the only visitors he wanted; no one else. But he wouldn't be Yori without making a moan about his noisy neighbour McKenzie. Mary didn't think their feud was ever going to settle. 

On her way to her next patient, she needed to stop at the pharmacy and pick up a few prescriptions for them. She parked her car just outside, grabbing her bag to run in. The streets were busy, and she dogged the grumpy people of New York and weaved her way inside the pharmacy, the clean smell of disinfectant hitting her nose. She wasn't there long and made her way back to her car, but stopped just in front of it and stared across the street. 

There was James, standing next to a very pretty woman, dressed in a tight skirt and blouse with shiny black heels. Her hair was in a volumous blowout, all curls and waves cascading down her back. She was stunning with light makeup, from what it looked like, and she had a beautiful smile. They were talking very intimately, and she reached and placed a hand on his shoulder. A sudden pang of jealousy rippled through Mary's body, something she hadn't felt before. So this was how James felt when he saw her and Peter together. 

but this was different. She didn't know who this woman was or why he was standing there with her. and then he reached down and pressed a kiss to her cheek, and Mary's heart sank, a shiver leaving her body and mouth. The woman smiled and turned on her heels, with James following. 

Mary felt cold inside, as if her heart had been taken out and hammered into a tiny number of pieces. Who was that woman, and why was he kissing her like that? Yes, it was only a friendly kiss on the cheek, but she didn't know who she was or why he was with her, and seeing that kiss only made her heart shatter. and now he had followed her, like a puppy to their mother. 

Mary threw herself in her car and took a shuddering, deep breath. What should she do now? 

Chapter 41

Hey I hope you like this chapter, let me know what you think in the comments

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#sebastian stan #sebastian stan fanfiction #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #sebastian stan smut #bucky barnes fanficiton #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes dom

[cautuscoralcoast]

The Wicked Witch of Lang and The Boy From Adler

Finn Ames x reader

Synopsis - Part of the magia lupus, you wanted nothing more but to own the love of others. Feeding your sadistic desires, you are defeated by Rayne Ames. But upon being defeated, you are told that what you're doing is bad. Forgiven by an underclassmen from Adler, you get a glimpse at love and fall hard.

Based on this

Word count: 4k

"Are you alright?"

You opened your eyes, struggling to do as you were blinded by the light. Half expecting see to the divine visionary who beat you to a pulp, you were slightly afraid to wake up; Then again, that prick never cared to apologize to anyone that wasn't the headmaster—especially to someone like you.

"What it matter to you?"

The Adler kid flinched at the sound of your voice as he slouched. "You're bleeding a lot a—and..."

"Beat it kid, unless you want me to give you reason to leave."

This Adler brat acts as if you and your peer weren't trying to kill him and his bud minutes ago. That was what you were doing; Trying to hurt them in order to steal their coins. It was going so well, too! Love was defeated, but then you and Milo came back to complete the job! HOORAY! NOT! The Adler prefect decided to show up and absolutely destroy you and Milo.

Now that Abel is defeated, you have no motivation to get up. You were far too exhausted from trying to lay a hit on Rayne that you feel numb. It wouldn't be too bad to sleep here for the night if this brat left you alone. He just had to come back after his friend defeated your boss.

Kids........would you count as one too if you're only like a year older? Nah.

"I—I–I'll take you to the nurse, so please don't hurt me."

Despite being Rayne's little brother, he really didn't belong at Adler or the school at all. He's far too shy and cowardly: His friend was the one who did all the fighting while he just sat there like a pretty, little pathetic princess. Why was he even there? You really hated the students from Adler.

Even so, you didn't say a thing as the boy did his best to walk you to the nurse's office.

As he laid you down on the bed, you couldn't help but look at him more closely. Though his hair and eye color were similar to his brother, he had freckles, and his eyes were so much bigger. As you felt yourself being lulled into a sleep, you couldn't help but think how adorable he looked.

This was your second year at Easton Magic Academy.

You were assigned to Lang.

You wanted to mistreat others.

There was nothing remarkable about you; Born as single‐liner, there was no way you could ever stand out or succeed in life with your skills. Yet, despite all that, you wanted to be loved without having to earn it. You didn't want to expect it, you demanded to receive it. You didn't want to deserve it, for there was no reason for no one to not love you. However, as a single‐liner, that was easier said than done; That is, if it weren't you.

In the middle of your first year at Easton Magic Academy, you fought Abel.

You were pretty cute: Beautiful, pristine, and as divine as that fake goddess Aphrodite. That was your ticket at love. Able to make the minds of anyone who so much as had feelings for you. They just had to fall in love with your appearance or hate every fiber of your being and......BAM! Under your spell. Just thinking about how cute you were or how horrible your personality was, and they fell that easy. Love was the ultimate form of control.

You wanted to abuse others.

You wanted to see those who threw their love at you to grovel at your feet. You wanted to see them cry in pain and anguish as you rejected their affections. You lead them on and drop them the moment they professed their love for you. What you wanted to be in control, not love.

It was because of your reputation as the wicked Witch that Abel took notice. He fought you, and you fought back. Your senior didn't seem to be affected by your magic, and so you had to change tactics. If this big‐shot thought you were just looks and talk, he got another thing coming. That was because synthesis was what you specificalized in besides your basic magic. No one will ever know the struggle and effort you put in synthesizing new spells. Science and magic were the two things you made into one. But does any of that even matter when Lang's prefect beat you?

You were sixteen when you joined Magia Lupus.

What you lacked in magic power, you made up with knowledge. Using your knowledge about magic synthesis along with science, you were able to amplify your magic power. As terrifying as a double-liner, you were the proud member of Magia Lupus.

"Abel, I think I'm dying."

You felt so warm. You want to jump all over the place. You wanted to move and do something: Sitting still made you nervous. Your heartbeat went rampant with each and every thought of yours.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because every time I get close to that Adler boy, I feel ill to the point I can't sleep, eat, or mistreat others."

Abel sat in his chair as he sipped his tea, staring at you as if you were a kid he was babysitting. "Then don't see him again. You two are in different dorms, so avoiding him isn't that diffi—"

You slammed your hands on the table as you brought your finger to your throught and made a slicing motion.

"Suggest that one more time I'll fucking end you goddamn spoiled brat." You sat back down as you continued your rant. "Bit that's the thing—HE'S TOO CUTE! He has six little cute freckles on his face. His eyes are a lovely golden color brighter than any light the sun is able to illuminate. And the streak of yellow in his hair is so AHHGHAHAAAAAHHHHH! How can I stay away when he's so cute, adorable, divine, pretty, beautiful, charming, sweet, precious—AHHHHHHH! I WANT TO OWN HIM! TO SEE HIM SQUIRM AND ALL FLUSTERED AS IF HE LOVED ME!!"

You kicked your feet as you held your face to squeal. Abel sat there as he drank the last bit of his tea and then promptly stared at you as if you were the most peculiar thing to exist. At this rate, with your sadism and obsessive behavior, there was no way you would ever be married off.

"I do believe that you may be in love with young Ames."

"His name is Ames?"

"Finn Ames.....You didn't know his name before this?"

You love Finn Ames, that is a fact.

You never had been in love: Love was something foreign to you. You had no parents to receive or reciprocate love. You had no desire to befriend others, nor did you expect it. The only thing you ever truly loved was to mistreat others. You loved to see the pain and agony in people's expressions. You loved to be in control of their thoughts and choices. You loved obedience.

But after realizing your feelings of affection towards Finn Ames, you stopped your mistreatment of others. He was so afraid of you when he first met you—so afraid he froze in place. He was afraid you would hurt him and force him under your spell. He didn't want to be around you a d that was the worst pain you ever felt.

After realizing your feelings of affection towards that boy from Adler, you tried to better yourself. You didn't want to become who Finn was afraid of; You didn't want to be the wicked Witch of his fairytale. You wanted to be someone who he wanted to be around by he his own free will.

"You could use your magic. There is doubt that Ames finds you attractive."

You thought about how easy it would be for you to use your magic and have him in your grasp—and you almost did it. The next time you met him after waking up from the infirmary, you were going to use your spell. You wanted to have his heart so badly that you were willing to sell your soul if it meant owning Finn Ames. But when he looked at you and smiled, you felt your will waver.

"I'm glad you're alright."

"I tried to hurt you and your friends, and you're glad that I'm alright?"

He told you how, though, you weren't the greatest person, seeing Rayne hurt you made him feel guilty. Rayne was his brother, and he went too far when he broke your wrist and wand.

"Though I'm no longer not upset about what happened, please don't hurt anyone anymore."

You didn't want to be something he couldn't like. It was because of that you refused to use your magic on him. Breaking the spell on all the students you enchanted, you took your first step into becoming someone better.

You refused to see Finn Ames again until you became a better person.

You were absolutely disgusting, as told by Rayne Ames when you first tried to fight him prior to the Lang and Adler rivalry: He was right. You were someone who used revolting language to dehumanize others. Your behavior and attitude were abusive and manipulative. The reason you were placed in Lang was because of your ambition to control others. You were the most wretched person out of Magia Lupus. Not even Abel could match that.

So you asked Abel and Abyss to help you improve your manners and to manage your anger. You didn't want to lash out while with Finn. You didn't want to see him afraid of you ever again. It was difficult at first, but you did get better.

Asking for help was your second step.

"You're glowing (literally) today."

"Abyss! I spoke to him today!"

"Good for you."

When you finally met Finn Ames for the fourth time, you professed your feelings.

"Finn Ames of Adler, I am here to profess my love for you!"

"Huh?"

You weren't an expert on relationships. You never had been in a relationship. As a result, you weren't familiar with how to go about forming one, much less one that is built of mutual love and respect.

You were shocked when he rejected you. Rejection wasn't something you weren't familiar with. However, you weren't ever on the receiving end. You almost relapsed and used your spell on him, but the want to do so weakened when he smiled at you sadly.

Finn Ames was an amazing person. He said he didn't know you quite well to even consider a relationship with you and that you, to summarize, weren't his type. At the very least, he wanted to be friends before he considered anything more. Though he wasn't afraid of you, he was uncomfortable.

This was your mistake. You shouldn't have avoided him for as long as you did. There was no basis or reason for wanting a relationship with you. It hurt a lot, but that was fine; He said you two could be friends instead.

Accepting rejection was your third step.

"Abel, they have been rather mild mannered today—and not as belligerent as usual."

"I have seen; It's rather disturbing to see."

"I'm actually right here—you guys know that, right? You want me to really hurt you, don't ya' Aye?"

It has been three months since Rayne Ames beat you to the point that your beloved was concerned enough to go back and get you. It has been two months since you and Finn became official friends. In those three months you've changed a lot. You used to struggle hard trying to resist the heavy desire to enchant Finn; Now it's not even a thought that comes to mind. You used to feed your sadistic greed, but now it makes you feel sick. You used to be abusive towards others to the point people were afraid to look at the witch of Lang in fear of being controlled; Now you spend most of your days trying to better manage your anger and mood swings.

Despite the changes you made to your character, the students did not forget your abrasive behavior. You often spent time alone away from the social spotlight. The negative attention you once thrived in made you feel dizzy. Abel and Abyss were the only ones who didn't mind your callous behavior. Just like two older brothers, they often scolded you or apologized for your brash behavior towards the divine visionaries. Unlike everyone else in Magia Lupus, they didn't judge you because of your single mark. Besides, they were happy to help you better yourself. They helped make that loneliness in that first month much more bearable.

Sometimes you found yourself longing for Finn when left to your own devices for too long. You hated that you belonged in separate dorms: Lang and Adler. Separated by the architecture and natural terrain, not even love could convince you to transfer. Despite being in love, you had your other ambitions that required to be at Lang than to get Finn to reciprocate your love.

Even so, you couldn't help but grow envious of his friends. They have no idea how lucky they were to be able to see him everyday. They were also so lucky for Finn to be so carefree around them; He was never like that with you.

There would be times you wanted to say hi but run away when you see his friends. He would be so happy when he was with them: Something he wasn't always when with you. It hurt a lot to see how differently Finm treated them opposed to you. The reason you would always go in the opposite direction was because you didn't want to impede his happiness. You would hurt regardless, so why hurt him?

It would take half a month later when Finn began to open up.

"How are your studies going?" You sat with Finn in the academy library, watching him as he studied.

Finn groaned, and he brought a hand to his face. "Honestly, not so great. I have no talent in magic—I mean, I barely passed the entrance exams, and I'm already struggling with this class—"

"I can help you. I already passed my second year, and I'm one-liner like you. Despite that, I was still able to join Magia Lupus and am at the top of most of my classes; That's excluding magic power! I'll end that prick—I'll be able to assist you in a way that others can't."

That's exactly what you did.

You did your best to teach him the material. It was the first time in your life you truly ever helped someone without ulterior motives if you ignored your desires to wed him, but that was besides the point. Point being, you never helped someone if it meant you couldn't hold something over their head.

You even went as far out as to tell Finn your own personal spell: "Damnation." You told him about the spells' weakness and how it could easily be bypassed if anyone wanted you dead. You told him many other flaws in your skillset and of your own insecurities. How your peers often thought less of you than the others in Magia Lupus, especially after the whole Rayne thing.

"Finn, I wasn't lying when I said I love you."

That was no lie, and Finn didn't know what to say other than he didn't feel the same.

"I'm sorry..."

"Don't be, it's like you casted a spell on me."

Sometimes, it felt like Finn Ames did cast you under his spell.

Even after your many confessions of love, Finn never pulled away from you. Sometimes, you swear that he blushed, but it always be replaced by a saddened expression as he rejected you again.

Despite all of that, Finn grew like your company. You were so much more calm and tranquil to be around when compared to his friends. You listened to his concerns, and you could understand. Though Dot and Lemon both had one line, Dot was special, and Lemon didn't have the same struggles as he did. Finn felt like a burden to them and Rayne; You were burdened with the fact you'll never be as powerful as the other members of Magia Lupus. Unable to use the same magic as second and third liners, you were rather quite normal.

That's what you liked about Finn. He was able to see through your sadistic hobbies and horrible personality and hold your heart. Rather sly, considering you usually stole and broke them afterward. However, you're glad he did so.

You love Finn Ames with every fiber of flesh and blood: That is true. Your love for him is true and genuine, and that is no lie.

However, Rayne Ames, Divine Visionary, you really hate him. It's low-key hard to like the guy who broke your leg and arm plus your very expensive wand. Then again, you were part of the group attacking students from his dorm..........You hate Rayne Ames!

"What the hell are you doing around my brother?"

You knew Rayne had never liked you since the day you two met. Believing you to be the repulsive thing to exist, he despised you. So to see someone whom he hates dearly around his little brother, it made him uneasy.

"The hell you care? You don't even care about him! Why care now—ah! Hey"

Before you could react, a blade appeared close to your neck.

"Listen! I—I just," you choked on your words as you struggled to open up to your soon-to-be-murderer about your feelings for his brother. "—I love Finn! Alright! That's all there is to it! I won't hurt him if that's what you're so concerned about."

You held your hands up as you tried to step back, but more blades appeared, keeping you in place.

Rayne grimaced, "Like someone like you could ever love someone. I've seen how you really are; You really think Finn would ever like something as disgusting as you?"

The blades disappeared as Rayne approached and grabbed you by your shirt.

"If you don't want to end up in another coma, stay away from Finn."

Rayne threw you to the ground and began to walk away.

You felt your nerves crash on you all at once. You really wanted to vomit from just fear alone. You grit your teeth as your hands formed fists.

You hate Rayne Ames.

"You goddamn fucking piece of shit! How dare you call my love a sham! What the hell would you about me anyway! So what if you think my love was built on a lie? I REALLY DO LOVE FINN AMES! I do so much I have no idea what I'll do with myself if you force me to stay away. Listen—I'm sorry for trying to hurt him back then. I hate myself everyday for that and yet Finn found it in himself to forgive me." You shouted as you dug your nails into your thighs.

Rayne stopped walking, and you continued to speak, keeping your head low in embarrassment. "I—I hated him so much that I wanted to hurt myself when he helped me. Look! I understand why you think I'm lying, but please do believe me when I say that I love Finn!"

Rayne didn't turn around, nor did he say anything. He just continued walking back to his dorm, paying no attention to you.

You bit your nail before yelling again, "i—I'm not going to stay away from Finn, do you hear me!"

He just kept walking.

You really despised Rayne Ames.

You hadn't seen him since that day. You continued to spend more time with Finn, and that detestable brother of his never bothered you again. That was until the end of the world was soon to come.

You tried to reach Finn to help him with training. As strong as you were as a simple one-liner, Finn didn't have the same experience to use his magic to the best of his abilities. As he trained(?) with divine visionary Kaldo Gehenna, you taught many defensive and offensive spells best suited for his skill set.

"Keep your head up and chant!"

"Don't waver your will or else the spell will reflect that fault! "

"Easy now, keep your breath steady."

You were a strict teacher because of love. You refused to ease up on your teachings because it was Finn you were mentoring. Finn wasn't as capable as you, and that was the truth. He didn't have the same talent, nor did he have the same experience. It was for this reason you refused to allow Finn to forfeit himself.

"I did it!"

You wanted nothing more but to keep him to yourself like a caged canary: To keep him safe in your grasp and sheild him from the horrorsof your most ugly form of love. Ultimately, the only thing stopping you was your love for him—and that love was so much stronger than your obsession. You had faith in Finn Ames as he did for you.

So as innocent zero finally came, you had faith that Finn could manage himself as you two remain apart.

"Damnation."

Your personal magic was truly disgusting as you found yourself using it once more. However, you can't help but enjoy it in a cruel fashion—It was what helped you to push back the swarm of monsters. To damn them into the most horrible, grotesque, and horrific curse: Love. As you cursed those horrible monsters, you blessed your fellow magicians by helping them express their truest forms of love and manifesting that love into magic.

You felt your ears ring and blood seeping out your nose. There was only one giant left and you were far too tired from using your magic on hundreds of little things: People, monsters, animals, it was too much. You really wanted to see Finn Ames one last time.

"(Y/N)! Now's not the time to rest."

"Abel? When the hell do you ever shut up?"

With the giant now taken care of, Abel stood in front of you. With the doll in his hand, he looked down on you. You really wanted to strangle him at least once in your lifetime.

"Finn—"

"—is fine! He's with Rayne." You interrupted Abel; Not like that brother of his would leave Finn alone in a time like this. As much as you despise Rayne, you have to admit he's so much stronger than you can ever hope to be.

"Finn Ames is with Mash, the magicless student. Likewise, Mash is currently fighting innocent zer—"

You interrupted him again.

"Why didn't you say so!? LET'S GO! ABYSS! YOU TOO!"

Fueled by pure motivation, you stood up and grabbed Abel and Abyss to help Mash and his fight against innocent zero. As you three ran towards the big fight, you encountered other students from the academy. Accompanying you three were once the enemies of the world's savior now turned allies. Thinking about how you once hated Finn, it was quite ironic.

With your future on the line, you'd be darned if the world ended today.

"—then allow us to assist you."

You hated that Abel actually looked and sounded cool when he said that: Not that you would ever admit that. You're still mad at him for a reason you long since forgot about.

"(Y/N), use your magic on us, yeah?"

And so you did.

Creampuffs, rabbits, dolls, Mash specifically, girls, music, pain (what), parents.......sisters, and lovers: It was an array of true and pure love and affection all around The one that made you jump was when you saw yourself.

This part of your magic is a secret that you will take to your grave.

The rest of it was a blur. Exhausted and depleted of most your energy, you didn't even realize someone sat your fallen-self up.

"You're alright!"

Hearing Finn made you smile, though not by much when he hugged you tight. As painful as the embrace was, you were happy to see and feel him breathe.

As you felt yourself doze off, you felt a sudden burst of energy. You jumped up and hugged Finn yourself. Burying your face in his neck, you two toppled over.

You two couldn't help but laugh as you held eachother.

"—would you like to go out on date sometime this week?"

You jumped out his grasp. Holding your hands to your chest, you felt yourself burn up. Just as when you first realized your feelings for Finn, you didn't know what to do first.

"I—I do! Three days from now at some Cafe or through a butterfly garden! Anywhere you want to go, I'll be over the moon! I'm actually—" You embraced him once more. "I really do love more than I have thought I could."

"I love you too"

Once as the Wicked Witch of Lang, you fell in love with the boy from Adler. In doing so, you became akin to more of the Princess who fell in love with the prince.

✾❊❃✾❊❃✾❊❃✾❊❃✾❊❃✾❊❃✾❊❃✾❊❃✾

"So, you're dating Finn."

You and Rayne sat next to each other in the extracurricular class you share.

"Yeah, and what about it?"

"Just very surprised is all."

"Hmmm."

You don't hate Rayne as much anymore, but that isn't to say you like him as a person.

#mashle #finn ames #finn ames x reader #reader is from magia lupus #i love finn so much #😔😭💖💕🫶😫💞 #mashle x reader #ill always love you more than your older brother fr

[your-eternal-lies]

𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐌𝐄 ╰┈➤ chapter ten

𝒏𝒐𝒕-𝒔𝒐 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 — do not plagiarize, copy, screenshot, repost/republish, and/or translate any of my work for posting on social media platforms or third party sites. no part of my stories are to be fed into AI software or generators. and please remember: you are responsible for your own media consumption. check for any content warnings before you proceed.

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐋𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐨𝐱 — 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — steve rogers x neighbour f!reader

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — as his perfectly normal civilian neighbour, you’ve always been secretly curious about the captain. getting to know him while trapped together in your building’s elevator, however, definitely wasn’t on the agenda.

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 — mild angst.

𝑮𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒃𝒚𝒆, 𝑵𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒓

Sharon Carter, a nurse who lives in the building, lowers herself onto the floor to see into the tiny gap near the top of the elevator doors, her scrubs whispering against the dusty carpet. 

“You two okay in there?” Her voice is tinged with a genuine mixture of concern and curiosity. Her eyes are sharp and assessing, the calm authority of her profession evident even in this unexpected situation. 

You offer her a grateful smile. “We’re fine, thanks. Just stuck.” 

“Alright, hang tight. I’m gonna call for help,” she replies before disappearing from view. She stands up and steps away, her voice growing distant as she makes good on her promise, her conversation a bit muted. 

“Thank god,” you venture after a moment, nudging the conversation into motion like one might cautiously poke at a resting bear. “Sharon seems nice.” 

“Yep,” is all Steves says, his reply terse, his eyes not meeting yours. 

“Must be handy having a nurse in the building,” you prod further, trying to stir the waters that had suddenly grown stagnant between them. Did you imagine the part where he almost kissed you? 

“Handy,” he echoes, almost mechanically, and nothing more. There’s an odd tension in his posture now, a rigidity that belies discomfort or perhaps something deeper than you can’t quite pinpoint. 

You watch him closely, noting the subtle change. The way he avoids eye contact and gives monosyllabic responses are worlds away from the laughter and stories you’d shared earlier. The relationship that had blossomed in the dim light of the elevator seems to wilt under the weight of whatever unspoken thoughts occupy Steve’s mind. 

…Or the arrival of a certain blonde-haired nurse. 

You want to delve deeper, to understand the sudden shift, but the sound of Sharon’s voice cuts through the silence once again. 

“Help’s on the way,” she calls out, her tone friendly yet professional. You can hear the faint murmur of her talking to someone outside, some more shoes shuffling past the visible gap—likely the super, and maybe a few repairmen. 

“Everything okay, Steve?” You ask, addressing him directly for the first time since Sharon’s interruption. His head jerks up, those piercing blue eyes momentarily clouded with something you can’t quite place. 

“Oh, uh, yeah. Everything’s fine,” he stumbles over the words as if they’re cracks in the sidewalk. You raise an eyebrow, skeptical. Sure, the moment had been awkward, but there’s something about his reaction that rubs you the wrong way. 

“Come on, spill it,” you prod, your voice tinged with humour to try and lighten up the mood. “You’ve been acting weird since Sharon got here. What’s up?” 

“Sharon?” Steve echoes, his voice climbing an octave higher than usual. He clears his throat and tries again, this time his tone landing somewhere between casual and completely unconvincing. “No, nothing like that.” 

“Uh-huh,” you nod slowly, not buying it for a second. You cross your arms and regard him with a playful tilt of your head. “You need to work on your poker face, Cap.” 

“Look, it’s just—complicated,” he says, but then he presses his lips together, looking like he wishes he could snatch his words right out of the air and stuff them right back into his mouth. 

You blink at him, all the warmth from his jacket draped over your form seeming to evaporate into thin air. Complicated. You don’t have to be a linguist nor a genius to know what that means. 

But before the awkward pause can stretch into eternity, the distant rumble of an approaching toolbox cuts through the tension. The super, a burly man with a semi-permanent frown, interrupts, “Sorry for the trouble, folks. This old lift has been giving us grief for weeks.” 

One of the repairmen kneels by the control panel, his tools clinking as he works. With a few swift movements, he pries it open and begins fiddling with the wires inside. After another tense couple of minutes, there is a soft click followed by the familiar whirring of machinery. 

The elevator doors close before it jolts slightly, then smoothly resumes its descent, the floor indicator lights coming to life one by one. It chimes its arrival on the ground floor and the doors finally glide open again with indifference. 

You step out first, your movements hesitant as you balance your laundry basket against your hip, as if you’re reluctant to leave behind the strange intimacy the confined space had fostered. Your glance back at Steve, his posture rigid, each step carrying the weight of things left unsaid. 

“Thank you,” you say, and it’s unclear whether you’re talking to Steve or another repairman who’s tipped his hat at your arrival. Your voice is a murmur that barely reaches across the distance now wedged between you—the air is thick with things left unsaid, emotions masked by the bright lights of the hallway. 

Sharon comes out of the stairwell, and all you can hear is: Complicated. Complicated. Complicated. 

“Take care, Steve,” you say, mustering a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, and the falter in your voice betrays the hurt you try to hide so well. You hold his gaze for a fleeting moment before turning away, the finality in your gesture unmistakeable. 

“Wait, please—” he takes a step, intending to follow you, to clear up an obvious misunderstanding. It’s then that his phone vibrates sharply in his pocket. Pulling it out, he sees Natasha’s name flash across the screen. 

Natasha: Mission alert. Extraction imminent. Meet at the curb. :) 

A sigh escapes his lips, a silent acknowledgement of the impossible timing. His sense of duty clashes with the personal regret gnawing at him, his heart sinking as he watches your retreating back. 

The distance between you and him grows, and Steve feels the keen sting of more missed opportunities, the dull ache of what might have been. There are no do-overs in matters of the heart, and yet duty calls. 

Again, unforgiving in its urgency. 

« Chapter 9 || Chapter 11 »

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#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers series #steve rogers fluff #summer’s fics

[guspartenza]

THE SUPERWOMAN FROM KRYPTON, FANART+FANFIC INTRODUCTION

art by https://www.deviantart.com/gabrielrb91

What would you think about an alternate universe with a female-Clark as Superwoman in the golden age?

Is the only main change in the classic canon together with her love interest, is not Earth-11, let's say is Eart-19...meet Clara Kent/Superwoman!

It's 1948, in Metropolis!

Up in the sky! Look! It's a bird? It's a plane? No! It's Superwoman!

Faster than a speeding bullet! More powerful than a locomotive! Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, this amazing stranger from the planet Krypton, The Woman of Steel: Superwoman!

Empowered with X-ray vision, possessing remarkable physical strength, Superwoman fights a never-ending battle for love, truth, and justice, disguised as a mild-mannered newspaper reporter, Clara Kent!

In a world plagued by the Cold War and mistrust, can Superwoman bring peace to the world while fighting for love, truth, justice, and the American way? Can she finally find a happy life with Louis Lane, the love of her life? Can she defeat Lex Luthor and the terrible ancient evil he is about to awaken?

You can download full free illustrated fanfic in pdf here! SUPERWOMAN FROM KRYPTON-FREE ILLUSTRATED FANFIC by lordmallory on DeviantArt or here https://drive.google.com/file/d/1XPh48B9_giTgDpnBXjRP-4Z4ksUU-WzR/view?usp=drive_link

Art by https://www.deviantart.com/letoart

KALA-EL/CLARA JOSEPHINE KENT/SUPERWOMAN

BORN: Krypton, a moon in a distant galaxy. Formally 28/02/1918, SMALLVILLE, KANSAS

PROFESSION: ASSISTANT REPORTER

YEAR: 1948

PLACE: METROPOLIS (METROPOLIS COUNTY, NEW YORK)

art by https://www.deviantart.com/wagemagegames

-Farmgirl, born Kansas 1918. No sisters nor brothers.

-Nicest girl in the office but very unfunny.

-Disappears without reason very often.

-Lives alone in a little flat and has a golden retriever dog called Krypto.

-Daddy issues. Her father didn't let her pursue a career as ballet dancer or swimmer (he didn't want her to take advantage of her powers) and died when she was 18.

-Former nurse during the war in the Pacific Ocean and in the Philippines.

-Loves children and dogs

-Tomboyish trails. Not quite elegant.

-Music-Hall fan, Katherine Hepburn and James Stewart fan

-Favorite books: Scarlet Pimpernel adventures, Jane Austen, Upton Sinclair and Virginia Wolf, somewhat eclectic.

-Amateur writer of children's stories, with characters such as DeeDog and the Komfy Dragon.

-She greatly admires her boss, Perry Weiss. A 1940s very liberal Republican style journalist, chief editor of the Daily Planet. She despises her deputy boss Cat Grant.

-Ambiguous relationship with her other boss Louis Lane. Clara has a good friendship with Louis and hides that she is very much in love with him. At the same time, she competes a lot with Mr. Lane and is annoyed by his political ideas and his paternalism.

-Strange friendship with young millionaire Bruce Wayne, something that is very surprising for the people in the Daily Planet newsroom.

-Always good scoops but never appears in the front line and too stubborn and independent to grow fast in the newspaper.

-Progressive quaker like her fathers.

-Civil rights supporter.

-Dislikes General McArthur, dislikes even more Lex Luthor

-Loves Eleanor Roosevelt but also Governor Dewey.

-Hates guns

-Supports unions, splits ticket between Metropolis Liberal Party and the two main parties. Politicians must be kind.

art by https://www.tumblr.com/bobbinalong

SUPERHEROINE LIFE

-Superpowers: Flight, Super-Strength, Super-Speed, X-Ray Vision, Heat Vision, Enhanced Vision, Super-Hearing, Super-Breath, Freeze-Breath, High Invulnerability, Super-Stamina

-Can fly to a Mach 100 speed.

-Acts as Superwoman since October 1945.

-Defeated Zod invasion in July1946.

-Initial bad relationship with Batman but now close friends and allies. Together with Flash they conform the Justice League.

-Didn't act as Superwoman during the World War II because she was afraid of her powers. After the discovery of the Holocaust and the atomic bombs she decided to step in and showed herself to the world on autumn 1945.

-Worst enemy: Lex Luthor, heir of Nikola Tesla, rocket engineer & CEO of TELCORP (Tesla-Luthor Co.)

-Deeply in love with Louis Lane, who strongly rejects the superheroine.

-She hides her supersuit and cape under her normal clothes. The material is extraordinarily thin, flexible and resistant, and very easy to wear under normal clothing. Whenever someone needs Superwoman, she just needs to find an inconspicuous place, rip her shirt, unfold her cape and fly away at full speed.

-Widely admired.

art by https://www.deviantart.com/bluerollerball

art by Gabriel Larragan (Ko-Fi)

FAMILY & ORIGINS

The El family & Krypton

Krypton was a decadent civilization located on a moon near a large gaseous planet in the Orion belt, next to a green sun. In the past they had visited Earth and other planets expanding civilization, but their penchant for slavery, war, resource extraction and violence caused many of these projects to fail. Even in 10,500 BC the Kryptonians almost caused the terraforming of the Earth, melting the poles and destroying Atlantis and other civilizations, causing among other things the end of the Ice Age. Nearly 99% of humanity perished during that Kryptonian attack.

Over the centuries the Kryptonians lost the fuel necessary to travel across space and ended up confined to their planet, dedicated to warfare, genetic engineering-creating clones whose organs they needed to extend their lives-to pleasure and to exploiting the subsoil of their planet. The Kryptonians also established a dictatorship with a caste system based on genetic engineering and prohibited natural reproduction.

Jor-El and Lara were a couple of scientists critical of the system and supporters of the abolition of the caste system. They also fought against genetic engineering, violent repression, and the permanent destruction of the ecosystem. After a series of terrible earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, and gas outbursts, it became clear that Krypton's core was collapsing, due to the energetic drilling and magnetic energy used in Krypton's industry. The Planet was doomed but the ruling caste ignored it. Jor-El and Lara had a daughter, Kala-El in a natural way against all the rules of Krypton. Lara managed to manufacture a small ship capable of making a space jump to save her daughter from the end of Krypton. General Zod stole her design and managed to build a larger fleet of ships but Jor-El managed to sabotage them and send the fleet to the Phantom Zone, a black hole near Krypton.

Lara decided to send Kala to Earth, confident that the culture of this planet was much more hopeful and kinder, and less prone to the mistakes of Krypton than other distant inhabited planets closer to them. Jor-El preferred to send her to New Genesis, another distant inhabited planet, because there Kala would receive less radiation and develop less extraordinary abilities that would allow her to live a normal life, but eventually Lara convinced him. During her journey to Earth and her growing period under a yellow sun, Kala would develop wonderful powers and could live a long life in the service of mankind, rehabilitating Krypton's legacy.

Within hours of Kala's birth, she was placed in the small ship, accompanied by the robot guide Kelex, whose memory was imprinted with the consciousness of Jor-El and Lara, as well as nearly all of Krypton's cultural heritage. They included several Kryptonian artifacts inside, such as a nearly indestructible ceremonial female ancestral caped suit with the crest of the House of El on its chest.

The ship was launched just hours before Krypton's demise and travelled through space for thirty years...

art by https://www.tumblr.com/bobbinalong

Joe&Martha Kent, Kansas life

Joe and Martha Kent were a Quaker farming couple whose farm was struck by the pod carrying Kala-El the 28th of February of 1918. Although owners of substantial property they were a very humble, cooperative, austere, devout, and civil rights-minded people. Martha Kent was a descendant of Kansas abolitionist guerrilla fighter John Brown. They both raised Clara very lovingly and unwilling to ask too many questions about the baby's origin. Clara was a very sickly child as her body did not adapt to the Earth. She was an affectionate and obedient girl and devoured books. The Kent family were avowed supporters of the New Deal and Joe Kent was a member of the local farmers union.

With puberty Clara developed very fast, and her superpowers began to appear. She soon began to excel in swimming and ballet, while still questioning her origins, but Joe forbade her to pursue a professional career to prevent her from taking advantage of her powers, and moreover he forbade her to use her superpowers to help others, fearful of humanity's reaction and wary of savior messiahs in the era of interwar dictators.

Clara rebelled against her father but eventually gave in, fearful of her own abilities and understanding her parents' position. During these years, Clara didn't fit in very well, but she had two best friends, Pete Ross, with whom she was secretly in love, and Lana Lang. Pete didn't know about her superpowers, but Lana did. In 1936 Joe Kent died of a heart attack, devastating her daughter. Clara was unable to go to college after her father's death and worked as a teacher and nurse's aide in Smallville. Her engagement to Pete Ross, her teenage sweetheart failed in 1939 when she revealed her powers to Pete and he panicked, although he later promised to keep the secret. In those times of sadness, Kelex, the Kryptonian robot, was activated, explaining to Clara her true origins, which filled her with confusion.

Between 1939 and 1941 Clara lived in Canada and Alaska searching for the Fortress of Solitude, a strange place Kelex was pointing, but with the outbreak of World War II she decided to enlist as a nurse in the Pacific, refusing to use her powers except to help the wounded, fearing to cause more harm than good. In late 1944, the hospital ship on which he was traveling, the USS Shuster, was torpedoed by the Japanese. Clara jumped into the water and managed to keep the ship afloat with her super strength until she managed to beach it. No one understood how miraculously the ship had stayed afloat and even levitated. The incident was kept secret. Clara got a permit to return home and she revisited Alaska where she found the Fortress of Solitude with the help of Kelex. There she was able to better understand her origins and began to train her superpowers.

After learning about the Holocaust first and the atomic bombs later, Clara decided to become Superwoman and help others with her superpowers dressed in the ceremonial Kryptonian costume of her ancestors. Her mother Martha supported her decision. She relocated to Metropolis, where in September 1945 she was hired as an assistant reporter by Major Louis Lane, who had just returned from Europe.

art by LuisF47 - Hobbyist, Digital Artist | DeviantArt

On October 1, 1945, Superwoman unveiled herself to the world and caused a huge sensation. The world was changed forever. Superwoman introduced herself to the newly formed United Nations, explaining her origins and her desire to help others and to stay out of political conflicts except to protect civilians.

Clara Kent began her double life as a journalist and as Superwoman. In July 1946, she defeated the invasion of General Zod and the survivors of Krypton. She also had to face other enemies such as the Intergang - an alliance of all organized crime in Metropolis and Gotham, Atomic Skull - an ex-Nazi agent with terrifying technology, Lex Luthor who began to develop his hatred and paranoia towards the superheroine, and his creations such as Metallo.

art by https://www.deviantart.com/xtophe

DAILY PLANET CHARACTERS

Perry Weiss, a major shareholder and editor in chief of the Daily Planet. Born in Odessa in 1886. Jewish immigrant from humble origins who became a skilled journalist and founded the Daily Planet as a tool of the liberal wing of the Metropolis Republican Party to unseat the city bosses of the time. Still a staunch liberal, he supported Roosevelt in 1932 and 1936, is an ally of Mayor LaGuardia. He won the Pulitzer Prize in the 1920s for defending the innocence of Sacco and Vanzetti. Friend and ally of Louis Lane's father. He is very demanding with his employees but is very fond of Clara. He admires and defends Superwoman despite Louis Lane's distrust. Best friend of Cat Grant.

Cat Grant, Co-chair of Perry Weiss, Pulitzer winner, closeted lesbian, and Ayn Rand Fan. Born 1901, she comes from a fine family of Metropolis Knickerbockers. She is like Louis the least liberal element of the newspaper. To protect herself she married a very old friend of her father who helped her lead a double life. For twenty years she lived with a painter named Margaret Ivy. Considered the best writer of the Daily Planet, in addition to being a journalist she has published two novels. Very elegant and popular in intellectual circles. She is tremendously authoritarian. She mistreats Clara a lot because she does not respect her authority and because of her different political ideas, but as Clara grows as a journalist and Cat Grant suspects that she is Superwoman, she will protect her and push her forward without Clara knowing it. Best friend of Perry Weiss

Jimmy Olsen and Lucy Weiss, best friends of Clara.

Jimmy is a junior urban photographer. He comes from a town in Massachusetts. He is 7 years younger than Clara. He is a party animal, friendly, generous, and somewhat naive. Yet he is a skilled photographer who has been able to capture the worst of the night and day of Metropolis. Miraculously he always gets the best pictures of Superwoman (Clara helps him a little). Very democratic and complains about working for a newspaper that is too conservative for his taste. Adores Clara whom he treats as his big sister. It doesn't even cross his mind that she is Superwoman. Jimmy thinks that Louis is a snob and a bigot.

Lucy is a senior political photographer and the only woman on photo reporting on the Daily Planet who works outside the fashion department. She is the eldest daughter of Perry Weiss. She is an intrepid photojournalist who gets overseas passes and has been to several military conflicts. A loyal friend of Clara, and a very serious and professional woman. She is suspicious of Clara's double identity but would never say anything. She is the same age as Clara and a lover of jazz and the more alternative circuits of Metropolis.

art by https://www.deviantart.com/milkydraws8/gallery

art by https://www.artstation.com/pabloalcalde

LOUIS LANE, SUPERWOMAN'S WEAKNESS?

NAME: LOUIS LANE

BORN: 08/02/1912, METROPOLIS (NEW YORK)

PROFESSION: SENIOR REPORTER

YEAR: 1948

PLACE: METROPOLIS (NYC)

art by https://www.deviantart.com/rickcelis/gallery

-Rich family, born in 1912, first of 6 brothers.

-Caustic, cynical, ironic but somewhat kind.

-Commanding.

-Lives in Park Avenue with his 6-year-old daughter and his rich unfaithful wife, fashion reporter Pat Lane (neé Kelly). Very unhappy marriage.

-Major rank during the war in the US army. He also worked with the OSS.

-Elegant, sportsman, plays violin.

-Teaches music lessons in an orphan house in secret.

-Not that snobbish nor Wasp, new rich family traits.

-Arkham University alumni.

-Classic music and literature lover.

-Heavy drinker.

-Does not enjoy journalism, thinking of quitting to politics or teaching literature.

-Jewish father (Lane surname is a change from Lantzman), Irish catholic mother, raised catholic and religious, but not extremely orthodox.

-His father is a self-made tycoon who started as democrat in the Tammany Hall and then switched to republican. Close ally of Mayor LaGuardia.

-Fought in the European theater during World War II.

-Conservative republican opposed to his father liberal republican views, loves McArthur, who he thinks should be the next President.

-In the past he had a good opinion of Lex Luthor. He saw him as an innovator and freedom fighter, but his opinion changed when Luthor kidnapped him to set a trap for Superwoman.

-Perry Weiss favorite reporter.

-Won the Pulitzer Prize in 1941, for his articles about the first defeat of the Intergang.

-First person to interview Superwoman.

-Very nice and paternalistic to Clara. Louis pushes Clara's career forward despite Cat Grant's opposition. He is also secretly in love with Clara. Although he rejects Superwoman and suspects she is the same person as Clara, he deludes himself and rejects these suspicions.

-Tired of New Deal Politics, anticommunist.

-"a brilliant and kind man" for most of the Daily Planet staff, a "terrible asshole" for many others like Jimmy Olsen.

-Strongly rejects Superwoman and other heroes.

-Sometimes Clara really hates him.

-Famous line "Neither reds nor capes".

-He lives a bizarre love triangle with Clara Kent and Superwoman. Although he publicly rejects the superheroine, he also desires her and he and Superwoman have had moments of passion, which Louis feels guilty about because he is married and because of his religion. On the other hand, he is in love with Clara Kent as much as he rejects the figure of Superwoman. He deludes himself about the identity of both. A bit James Stewart in Vertigo, which destabilizes and infuriates Clara.

art by https://www.deviantart.com/guinnessyde

art by https://akiko02.carrd.co/

CURRENT AND PAST ENEMIES

Lex Luthor

Rocket engineer, CEO of TELCORP and Heir of Nikola Tesla. A Brilliant scientist who defines himself as a "radical humanist"...but in the early 30s supported closely fascism to stop "imperialism" and "usury" but later changed his mind and move closer to the USSR to fight "predatory western capitalism". Publicly, he is a tycoon and scientist loyal to the United States and works closely with the government. The world's greatest philanthropist. Loving father and husband. Hates Superwoman to death and believes she spells the end of humanity. Paranoid and ruthless but convinced that he does everything for the greater good.

art by https://www.deviantart.com/gus-art

General Zod & Faora

Political dissidents like the El on Krypton on the other hand believed that Krypton's only salvation lay in emigrating and invading, terraforming, and exterminating other planets. They almost succeeded in a coup d'état but after their failure they and their henchmen tried to flee by space jumping their ships, Jor-El managed to sabotage the launch and send them to the Phantom Zone. Over the years they managed to escape and arrived on Earth in 1946, shortly after Clara showed herself to the world as Superwoman. They tried to exterminate all humanity, but Superwoman and the armies of Earth managed to defeat them. Their invasion caused 5,000 human casualties but could have caused complete extermination. The experience was traumatic for Clara because she had to send Zod and Faora back to the Phantom Zone where they would surely die. Zod, Faora and their henchmen had not yet developed the full powers of a yellow sun like Earth's and so several of them were killed by human bombs and missiles. Their remains were stored by Russians and Americans. Superwoman managed to expel all Kryptonian technology and weaponry into space so that humans would not use it for warfare.

Doomsday

A truly near-indestructible abomination.

Perhaps from Krypton's past? Perhaps created by mistake by human scientists?

art by https://www.deviantart.com/fernando-damasio & https://www.deviantart.com/kristherion

The Toyman

Winslow Schott, former entrepreneur, and inventor of the 1920s toy business who was ruined in the Great Depression by banks and various betrayals. After a crime spree he was imprisoned in 1933 but escaped from prison recently completely crazed and ready to take revenge on the whole city using his inventions.

Brainiac "The Eternal Traveller"

An android resulting from the abhorrent merger of a famous astronaut and artificial intelligence, which was used by the first civilization of Krypton to collect information from other worlds. It is more than 100,000 years old. With the passage of time, he revealed against the Kryptonians, became evil and phobic to any form of life that he considered imperfect or inferior. It caused the destruction of many cultures. He wanders through space visiting planets and analyzing life forms. He probably has no enthusiasm for humans, much less for a descendant of the House of El.

art by https://www.instagram.com/estefaniaart_/

art by https://www.deviantart.com/midnightowl07

art by https://www.deviantart.com/artsandar

art by https://akiko02.carrd.co/

art by https://www.deviantart.com/son-neko

art by https://www.deviantart.com/dommnics

You can download full free illustrated fanfic in pdf here! SUPERWOMAN FROM KRYPTON-FREE ILLUSTRATED FANFIC by lordmallory on DeviantArt or here https://drive.google.com/file/d/1XPh48B9_giTgDpnBXjRP-4Z4ksUU-WzR/view?usp=drive_link

#supergirl #heroine #gender bent #fanfic #dc universe #dc fanart #dc comics #dc artwork #fanart #1940s women #alternate universe #alternate history #dc elseworlds #elseworlds #superwoman #superman #superhero #krypton #action comics #justice league #dc comic #dceu #batman #clark kent #superheroine #science fantasy #science fiction #fandom #fan art #fantasy

[bunnyyamor]

[ OCTOBER 18TH ] - SATORU GOJO x fem! reader (dr x nurse au) {REPOST}

synopsis; your pussy has been aching and in pain. but don't worry, dr. gojo will take great care of his fellow colleague. he will make sure all the boo boos go away. wk; 1k

warnings; mdni, smut 18+, heavy smut, sex toys, squirting, nicknames, overstimulation, fingering, beta read!

notes; so i had posted this on october the 18th and it got almost 700 notes but bc tumblr is the way it is it flagged my post and dleted it from tumblr so i am doing what i do best. not litenin and obv reposting it. remeber ur setting on tumblr to make sure it allows all mature things and make sure to reblog, like, comment so it can get back to the notes babes ʕ￫ᴥ￩ʔ ily all my bbys.

-nav : kinktober m.list : kinktober taglist

you waited in dr. gojo’s waiting room. patient to have your name called out. the predicament you were in was actually comicall. you were dr. gojo’s nurse. he was your boss. he was the best gynecologist in the city, many women came to him and seeked his profession. you were always beside him, writing down everything and assisting him in whatever he needed. now you were one of his patients. you trusted him more than anything. you twisted in your seat, feeling discomfort and sensitivity on your vagina. you definitely needed his help, it was becoming a nuisance. 

“y/n,” another nurse called out to you. “wait, don’t you work here?” she asked. you usually never worked this day so you both didn’t know each other, but apparently she recognized your name.

“guilty,” you chuckled as you grabbed your bag, wanting to already be inside the room to get a diagnosis. 

“well, follow me. dr. gojo is waiting for you.”

you followed the nurse and gojo sat in his doctor’s chair, writing something in your folder. “y/n!’ he said as his ice blue eyes met yours. “my y/n. come sit here.” he tapped on the paper covered table. “thank you, i got it from here,” satoru winked at the nurse. you could tell her heart probably stopped at that moment. all the nurses and patients were obsessed with satoru. they found him incredibly handsome and so attractive. “so sweetheart, what seems to be the problem?” satoru asked, wheeling over to your sitting position. touching your knees with gloved hands. 

you understood everyone's appeal. not only did he look so handsome but he also smelled so good like cologne. “well, i’ve been feeling weird lately.” you played with your fingers. you sort of regretted coming to your boss’s clinic. this was so embarrassing. 

“weird? in what way?”

you clutched your shirt and shimmied uncomfortably. 

dr. gojo grabbed your hands, “sweetie, look at me. i’m a doctor okay. you are my best nurse and i’m really thankful to have you working for me. so if i want you longer i’m gonna have to make sure my best nurse is healthy, okay? whatever you tell me stays between us. i am your doctor, i care about you and want you to seek the best help ever. so don’t be shy, tell me exactly what you’re feeling.” he rolled his chair back to your folder to write down your symptoms. 

“alright…” you gulped. “so my vagina has been very sensitve recently like sexually sensitive. i am horny most of the time and very wet down there, more than usual! i know most of this is normal but it’s getting to the point where it’s messing with my day to day life. all i think about is sex. and my clit is swollen and my lips are fat and puffy. i don’t know what to do doctor.”

satoru sat there quiet. his eyes turned dark then he gave a goofy smile. “is that so? y/n, let me ask you. when’s the last time you’ve had sex?”

you sighed, “it’s been forever doctor. i haven’t had sex in a really long time.”

satoru wrote that down and clapped his hands. “well, alright. let’s get you changed and check everything out. here’s a robe.” he handed it to you.

“do you want me to go into the changing room?”

he shook his head, “no since we're kinda on time here. just do it there and i’ll turn around for privacy.”

you nodded. you started removing each piece of clothing. tits spilled out and panties off. you were completely naked. you grabbed your clothing and bent over to place it on a chair nearby. when you looked to the side you saw that dr. gojo was staring completely at you, your spreaded ass cheeks and your tight hole. he saw everything. you were flustered but knew it must have been for a reason. so without alerting him you knew he was watching you put on the robe and sat back down on the table, “done.”

satoru feigned innocence. “alright. let’s get you checked. you know the drill love.” his chair rolled up to you and you propped your feet up. 

that was when you opened your legs wide for dr. gojo. you could feel his cool breath breathing against your sensitive pussy. “how’s it looking boss?”

satoru got a good look at your pussy. he saw all of you, even your asshole. your pussy was pulsing, closing in and out. gojo gently lifted his fingers to your lips and gently spread them apart, seeing your hole. he inspected every inch of your cunt. “well, you are very wet. there is a lot of moistness here.” satoru used his middle finger to pick up all your cream. 

“fuckkk,” you moaned. your eyes widened as you realized you moaned. “o-oh my god! i am so sorry.”

“don’t be sweetheart. you know how many girls do that. if you need to let it out, let it out. it must be so painful having gone for that long without a thick cock to be inside you.” he pouted, feeling sorry for you.

“yes, you get it. it’s true.” 

satoru continued to spread your juices around your pussy. “i just want to see how wet you can get.” he closened on your cunt and inhaled your scent. “it smells delicious y/n. i can tell you take good care of it. and it looks beautiful. the most prettiest vagina i’ve ever seen.”

“really?”

satoru used his thumbs to spread your lips as far apart as they can go, “see how wet you get when i do that? i can tell that you need this.”

you moaned, “shittt. god that feels so good. but yeah, see, it’s really sensitive.”

satoru slapped it playfully. “why don’t you lay back, yeah? and let me take care of this. i know how to solve your problem. i know how to cure you.” 

you opened your legs wider, “yes please.”

satoru started to massage your clit, “shhh, just like that. let’s get this problem taken care of.” 

“shit, right there.” you huffed, feeling so sensitive. 

satoru’s glove mixed with your juices made slick plasticy noise. he used one hand to open up your folds while the other pinched your clit then dipped lower to have his middle finger enter you. “now, how does that feel?” he smirked. 

“oh my god. don’t stop. fuck. i feel so full, so good.” you felt all that tension was slowly draining. you needed him. your pussy contracted around his finger and sucked him up. 

“wow, your pussy is very eager,” dr. gojo talked vulgarly, making you more wet. your hips grinded against his finger.

slowly gojo flicked your clit back and forth while he gently rocked his finger in and out of you. “let me take this off.” he bit his gloves off and again added his middle finger inside you. his digit was cold and the contrast was better than your fingers. “you like that sweetheart?” satoru asked as he went faster, easier to slide in because of your natural lube. 

“mmmmmm, yesss doctor. don’t stop.” you held his hand to keep going on your cunt. it was globbing up your juices and dr. gjo was going quicker each second. he curled his finger, but didn’t want you to cum. “i know just the thing.”

you were annoyed that he stopped but were met with a buzzing sound and the most overwhelming feeling ever on your clit. 

“this should help.”

it was a vibrator wand on your clit. satoru held it there, noticing the way your whole cunt vibrated and was glistening more from your wetness, “that’s it. good girl.”

“fuckkkkkk!” you screamed. you moaned loudly at the pressure that was building up. “shitttt.” your legs shook from the vibrations. you felt you were having an outer body experience. “fuckkkk satoru, i’m gonna cum.” you orgasmed, thrusting your hips as you wanted something inside you. 

“tsk, tsk, tsk. were not done.” satoru wagged his finger. he still kept the vibrator resting on your clit but then he brought out a dildo. it was a good size, probably not as big as dr. gojo but still a good size. satoru spat on the dildo and then gently shoved it inside you. 

“ughhhhhh, fuckkkk!” you went cross eyed for a second. having the feeling of being full being what you needed. you felt your walls pulsing around the dildo as it slipped in and out easily. dr. gojo kept the vibrator on your clit and the dildo drilling in and out. his eyes were dark and he was emotionless. he got pleasure out of overstimulating you. 

“no-no more. ugh shit i’m gonna cum again!” you were so sensitive, crying out. you hoped no one heard you. “right there.”

dr. gojo moved his wrist to fasten his pace. his hands getting drenched in your cum as he probed the whole thing inside you. “do you like taking in the whole cock y/n? yeah, you like that baby?”

“yes, doctor! oh yes! harder! faster! please!” 

dr. gojo listened and went even faster, putting the virbator on the highest volume. 

“fuckkkk!” you groaned loud as spurts of your juices drenched satoru. you squirted many times. the flow quieted but then because of the virbator it squirted out again. “fu-fuck.” you shook as you kept squirting. it covered dr. gojo’s collared shirt and doctor’s cloak. “oh my god.” you couldn’t stop shaking. the orgasm was earth shattering. your cream dripped down to your ass hole. feeling cool when it met with the air. 

as gojo sat up you noticed you squirted on his glasses. he smiled as he pulled the dildo out with a pop. it was shiny and dripping. “see? now didn’t that feel better? i told you, i am one of the best doctors.”

#cry baby *🧸* #jjk smut #jjk x reader #gojo smut #satoru gojo smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru smut #satoru gojō x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x you #gojou satoru x you #jjk gojo