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sunlightmurdock · 6 months

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Operation Apollo | 2.8 | Jake Seresin x Reader (18+)

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Synopsis: After a threat is made against her life, the President’s grown up daughter gets her security tripled. Ex-Navy and current Secret Service, Jake Seresin is devoted to being the best at everything he does. He isn’t going to let a bratty little girl cost him this job.

Warning: age gap, power imbalance, enemies to lovers, danger and angst, manipulation, sucky parents, grief and manipulation, lying, distressing themes throughout but especially towards the end of the chapter. Graphic violence, dangerous situations, revenge, wc: 3.5k

For as long as you can remember, you had known that your father was going to be president. It was always discussed as a given. It was the coup de grace; he had been working towards it much longer than you had even been alive.

Those fourteen hour work days, and sleepless nights. The hard decisions and the time away from his family. All along, Matthew had sworn that it would be worth it. It would, one day, be enough.

Then, the first set of polls came in after those primary debates the summer before his first election run and with it, intel that Matthew plunged a sixth of his savings in to. Politics and bribery go hand in hand across most of the world; this wasn’t even the first step off of the beaten path.

The intel was clear as day; It wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t be enough. All of that time, and work, and desperation that he poured into his career, it wasn’t going to be enough to win him the presidency. The guarantee was next to nil.

But there was still time.

He remembers one evening, in particular, sitting with his advisors in his home office, and just sobbing. Every birthday he had missed, every milestone — it was all going to be for nothing.

“Look, Matt,” Arnie had said, stubbing his thin rolled cigarette out into a crystal ashtray and sitting back in the leather arm chair, sinking into it like the lazy waste of space that he was. He was a good friend of the family back then. “There’s still time. We’ve got options, buddy. Plenty of ‘em.”

Matthew had rolled his neck back slowly — he still remembers the stress-induced stiffness those days had caused him — and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, Arnie? — And what options are those?” It was a biting remark, untrusting and downright hateful by that point. Arnie had promised many things already, and rarely had delivered. On the times that Matthew thinks back to his twenty year friendship with Arnold Paulson, he finds himself glad that that asshole now resides six feet under.

The older guy had just shrugged, letting that snide little smile creep across his face. “I know a guy. I think he might be able to, uh… help you out. For a fee, if you get where I’m coming from.”

Ellis Armstrong. After three days, and more phone calls than you care to remember, you have a name. He’s a business-man, and a rather successful one at that. Works in corporate development — he’s not hidden from the public eye like you would expect a guy like this to be.

No, he’s got thirteen offices spanning three continents and a portfolio that would put the Forbes list to shame. Once upon a time, he had been a friend of the family. It’s easy to piece together the headshot of him sitting at the wide, mahogany desk in his new office and the fuzzy memories of the tall man in your father’s office late at night.

You remember him distinctly. The sound your bare feet had made, tiptoeing down that long, curving staircase in the old house. Far past your bedtime, your princess nightgown grazing your ankles. The halls dark, illuminated by lights pouring out from under doors. The house was never really empty back then. Pushing open the heavy pocket doors that separated your father’s office from the parlour.

The gaunt, tall blond man sitting in the armchair. His sunken eyes that had seemed so dark in the dimly lit room. His thin lips and hollow cheeks. The long, straight nose and the deep lines between his brows. Skeletal and still, he had looked like a monster. Something that belongs in the dark, lurking in wait.

“What are you doing up, princess?” Matthew had scooped you off of your feet and suddenly you were looking at him instead, in all of the warmth and glory and familiarity of a man adored by his little girl.

“I couldn’t sleep.” You remember, but it’s hazy now. You don’t remember the softer, higher pitch of your voice or really what had made the man in the chair quite so scary looking, or what had driven you out of the safety of your bed that night.

There’s a fondness to his smile in those hazy memories, a softness to his touch that feels so far away now. The stars and unicorns on your bedsheets, and the stuffie he had tucked under your chin. The safety of your childhood bedroom, with the warm pink glow of your nightlight and the embrace of your stuffed animal. How far away the fear of that man in the chair had felt once your father had kissed the top of your head and closed your door.

It doesn’t just feel far away, it is far away — everything about it. Your parents no longer own that house, you’ve long outgrown that bed and that stuffed animal ended up in the donate pile after one of your big moves. You’re no longer hiding from the scary man sitting in the armchair; you’re looking for him.

“I don’t understand,” You do, but showing your cards has never been part of your strategy. The woman opposite you forces her creasing mouth into a deeper frown as she pulls her coffee cup protectively closer. “Tell me, exactly, what you remember about your time working for my father.”

If Allen knew where you were, he would skin you alive. If Manny knew, he would be right here with you. If Jake knew, you wouldn’t be here at all. He would have locked you in a hallway closet before he let you set something like this up.

The woman sitting opposite you is a timid little redhead with big brown eyes and a disposition that brings new clarity to the term ‘afraid of her own shadow’. She’s jumpy, and looking over her shoulder constantly. You, are considerably cooler for a person more alone than they have been in more than a decade.

Her name is Ida — she was your father’s personal assistant the year before his first election, and it cost you to even get her to this cafe in Pasadena. You remember the long skirts and the narrow glasses, but you don’t remember Ida being quite so… afraid.

“He wasn’t— he isn’t a bad man, darling. That’s what you have to understand, it’s just that—“

“Ida, slow down.” You bite, growing tired of this. You don’t have long before someone notices that you’re gone, if they haven’t already. The sky outside is grey, and sullen, the cafe is almost empty for now but the lunch rush is approaching. “This isn’t about whether he’s a good guy or not. Tell me where Ellis Armstrong comes into this.”

Sitting opposite you, the mouse-like woman’s eyes turn wide like saucers as she shrinks down further into her seat, wringing her hands into the checked fabric of her skirt.

“He wasn’t going to win the election by himself. There was intel out there that… painted him in a bad light.”

“Details, Ida.” You click the pen and stare across at her impatiently. She swallows softly and checks around her again.

“Your father had an affair. It was all going to come out — it would have tanked any kind of campaign he could have put together, and you remember what times were like then… the kind of money it would have taken to make that go away…” The coffee mug in front of her scalds her trembling hands as she finally lifts her chin enough for you to look her in the eye. Raindrops start to beat into the sidewalk outside. A silence sets across the coffee shop as the soft indie playlist stops between tracks.

If you were still little, padding barefoot along the hall in your princess nightdress, this would have hurt so badly. The warm smile and his gentle disposition — and he was already betraying you, even then. You’re not little now. It doesn’t hurt like it would have then. You scrawl messily across the page.

“What was her name, who did she work for?”

Ida pauses briefly, blinking. Truthfully, she hadn’t been expecting this calculated coldness from you. She’s seen the videos of the frightened girl clinging to her bodyguard. She wonders how far he might be from you today.

“Suzy Blake. She was a political analyst for the New York Times back then.” Ida tells you, turning her head and checking through the rain-dotted front windows of the shop. You scribe the information and look back up to her, unsatisfied.

“All I’ve got on this is your word?” You prompt her.

“And her daughter — Matt never took a paternity test, but Suzy was always so sure.” This, Ida can see it worm its way under your skin, writhing under those years of collected conditioning. She blinks across at you and taps her nails against the coffee cup, glancing down at the milky liquid.

You have never heard of Suzy; couldn’t even begin to picture what she looks like. Her daughter would be nine, at least, maybe older. She could look like you, maybe. You press your lips together and grind the tip of the pen into the lined page, threatening to leave indentations of your anger through the rest of the book at once.

“So, Ellis paid for her to disappear?” You confirm, looking back up at Ida with an iciness that gives her a glimpse of her former boss.

“Ellis paid for a lot of things.” Ida answers you suddenly faster than she has in the entire hour that you’ve been sitting here. She doesn’t look at you as she says it, lifting the mug from the saucer and taking a long drink of her latte. The liquid shivers in the cup, disturbed by her trembling fingers.

“Ida.” You sigh, growing frustrated. She turns her head and looks towards the window again, craning her neck slightly. Frightened of her own shadow, you condemn her cowardice. “Details.”

Her eyes follow two raindrops as the grey droplets race along the windowpane. “He bought the presidency for your father.”

Your father is a proud man. He has told you the story plenty of times, of how your grandfather had tried to give your parents the down payment for a house, how your father chose to spend his first year of marriage in a studio apartment rather than taking it. Back then, you wouldn’t have believed he could do such a thing.

Now, you aren’t sure where to draw the line on where your beliefs lie.

“Extra campaign funding, promotions, big names,” Ida’s cup jingles as she sets it rockily back down onto the saucer. She turns her head back to the table, but avoids your gaze nonetheless. “Votes. Ellis made it all happen. He saved your father’s career.”

Your gaze flicks up from the scrawled information on the page, and lands on her hands. She picks restlessly at her cuticles, her attention shifting to every corner of the room but you. Your brows draw together seriously, taking a moment to check the empty space around you before you focus on her.

“And what did my father do to him?”

Such a clever little girl — that’s what Ida remembers most of you. So inquisitive, and engaged. So interested. It’s such a shame that no one had time for you, you really deserved someone who would have answered those wonderful questions you came up with.

She swallows softly, unsure of exactly how much information is encompassed by the umbrella of ‘everything’. In her industry, you never let go of all of your secrets at once. That’s just bad business.

“He ran for re-election,” Ida says calmly, her voice more confident sounding, even in its soft tone. She exhales slowly. “And, after the successes in his first term, it became clear that he could win the presidency again. Without Mr. Armstrong.”

Across the table, you set the pen down on the edge of the notebook and check the time on your watch. You should be getting back before Allen has time to deploy a whole search party.

“Again, Ida… I’ve just got your word on this.” You remind her. A jaded assistant from nine years ago isn’t exactly the concrete evidence that you broke out of your house for. The fear in her eyes is all the proof you need, but that won’t stand up in court.

You’ve been thinking about that a lot recently, as your research has deepened into your father’s past. You came across a picture yesterday, where he was your age, and smiling in the foreground of a Greenpeace conference. It struck you to consider if that young man would hate the man he was going to become as much as you have grown too — if maybe the two of you would have gotten along once, if things were different.

If you would be able to stand up in court and send the smiling young man, with the purest of intentions, to prison.

“You’re right,” She starts to shake her head and her chair scrapes across the floor. The loudest sound that has come from her all day. She twists in her seat and grabs her jacket and her bag from the back of her chair. “You’re right, I can’t prove this. This was a bad idea…”

Your eyes go wide as she scrambles for her things. “No, Ida, wait—“

She pauses, briefly, to look you in the eye. “I’m sorry.” She turns swiftly, and heads for the door, dinging the bell above it and slipping out into the sheets of grey rain outside the door. You slam your notebook shut and fumble to slip it into your back, all thumbs and no fingers, stuck in the struggle as she disappears from the view of the front window.

“Shit…” You mutter, slinging the bag onto your shoulder, forgetting your coat completely as you head after her. She’s much faster than she is loud. Rain chills your cheeks and dampens your hair before the bell above the door is even done ringing. Your shoes slap against the pavement, splashing fresh rainwater onto your jeans. You round the corner and squint through the grey ahead of you in search of her.

Her plaid skirt dips behind a car up ahead as she crosses to the driver’s side.

“Ida! Wait!” You call out for her, securing a hand around your bag as you jog to keep up, rushing for the blue sedan as she ducks into it. It doesn’t take you long, her hands are shaking too much to get the keys into the ignition. You slow, but don’t make it to a complete stop, reaching out to knock hard against the passenger window, as something cold, sharp-edged and hard slams into your right eye socket.

Your elbow hits the ground first, then your knee, then your left temple, before your body collapses to the wet pavement all together. Thrown off balance and reeling, your years of conditioning haven’t ever prepared you for this. Your skull aches, throbbing like you’re being hit with that first impact over and over, before you even feel the fingers curling around your arms and hoisting you off of the ground.

The car door clicks open. Blood rushes to the right side of your face, swelling in circles to form the deep bruise that will be left behind. Slow, blinking, your eyes drag themselves open and blink as you realize that it wasn’t the door of the car that opened. A second impact comes, but this one isn’t stone — it’s all skin. You can feel the warmth of the hand, and the ridges of each knuckle, as it drives forwards into your face.

After that, you can only imagine how easy you make for them to get you in that trunk. It hurts too much to open your eyes. Maybe that’s a pathetic thing to think, as you start to think of what they’ll do to you next — what pain is yet to come. But, it’s dark anyway, and in here, at least you’re alone. Your phone is in the bag. Maybe that’s still on th pavement, or maybe it’s in the car. But it isn’t with you.

Each turn sends you forwards or back, your body rolling over the thinly carpeted trunk, slamming into the back of the seats or the metal of the hatch. You can feel your face swelling, the heat from it stings like a burn.

Jake’s going to be so angry with you, for doing this to yourself.

Maybe it’s just a short ride, or maybe you black out a little on the way, there’s no way of knowing for sure. But, when your eyes feel open, they’re trying to focus to the new bright light after ages of dark. When they’re closed, it doesn’t look much different.

It’s cold, and the echo of the voices around you tells you that the space you’re in is wide open and empty. A warehouse, most likely. The perfect spot for an execution.

You’re held up by a hand on each of your arms, and your feet drag, scrambling for leverage against the ground as they tug you forwards. There’s some fight left in you after all. If it lasts long enough for someone to figure out where you are, that’s another story. You should have told Manny. Or left a note. Something.

The country is going to put your father on a pedestal when he’s grieving the loss of his beloved daughter.

Abruptly, you’re thrown down into a chair and your arms are torn backwards, making you cry out. Rope. Heavy, and fraying, rough against your wrists as you’re bound to the metal backing of a wooden chair. Fingers dig abruptly into either side of your cheeks, pressing the flesh of your mouth into your teeth until you’ve got no choice but to open up in complaint.

The second that your lips part, something is forced between them. A dry rag. It’s tied tight at the back of your head, digging into your cheeks, muffling your sounds of struggle.

Muffled and restrained, there’s no way to defend yourself when another blow comes. It hits the centre of your face hard, another fist, this one harder than the first. Not pulling the punch in the slightest. Instantly, liquid streams from your nostrils and the taste of copper floods your tastebuds.

Your screw your eyes shut and force yourself to blink, you force your eyes to adjust. You refuse to surrender your last sense. Gradually, the room steadies and your vision focuses. It’s grey and industrial, illuminated by a singular lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. Empty, almost, bar a few storage crates, and a scary man sitting in front of you.

He smiles softly as your gaze settles on him and burns with rage.

“I know, I know,” Ellis offers with a small smile. He gives a small shake of his head. “This is none of your fault, darling. I know that. I’m sorry, really I am.”

You’re silent opposite him, your heartbeat thudding in your ears, sickened by the fact he has the satisfaction of watching you bleed. Turning your head slightly, you catch sight of the two men in your peripheral. Security, you guess, in case you do something.

This time, when you turn your head, you aren’t scared. The man in front of you is afraid of little, old you — so much so, that he needs backup.

“But Matt has a debt that I’m… not willing to forgive.” Ellis is wearing a green crewneck and black jeans, not like the suits in his pictures. This must be a casual kind of affair for him. His thin lips twitch, hinting at a smile as your gaze remains, unwavering, on him.

Saliva pools in your mouth, copper-tasting as your nose continues to stream with blood. It saturates the makeshift gag, spilling down your chin, your jaw aching and numb at the same time, pins and needles stinging through your hands as the restraints bruise your wrists.

“You understand, don’t you? — Smart girl like you, you get why we had to go after you, I mean.” Ellis sits opposite you with his long legs stretched in front of him, his palms braced on the cargo box that he is perched on. Maybe it’s because he’s closer now than he ever was before, or maybe it’s just because you aren’t a little girl anymore — but you look into those dark, hollow eyes and there’s not a fibre of your being that needs your father to rescue you from him.

“Fuck you.” You spit. It’s easy enough to pretend that the damp rag secured around your mouth doesn’t cut into the corners of your mouth when you speak. You’re stronger than that.

Ellis presses his lips together and sits forwards, his gaunt face leering closer to you as he twitches towards a smile. He lifts one of those bony, skeletal hands and reaches for his phone, angling it towards your bruised face. “Don’t worry, darlin’ — we’ll get you back to your boyfriend soon enough. Just smile for the camera.”

tags: @alanadetigy @thedroneranger @momc95 @basicchelsea @perpetuelledaydreaming @cherrycola27 @eviesaurusrex @xoxabs88xox@desert-fern @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @khaylin27 @cowboybarbie @marchingicenotes7 @marantha @lgg5989 @herladyshipxx @chaoticweirdogeek @mak-32 @obiwankenobis-lap @diamond-3 @wolvesofthewinter@shawnsblue@itsmytimetoodream

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girlfriendsofthegalaxy · 7 months

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tuesday again halloween problems (10/31/2023)

not quite an "oops all friends" edition but this edition heavily advised by viewers like you. thank you!

listening

mcr's blood, for seasonal reasons. spotify

Father Finlee by Spence Hood and Justin Ray Stringer is my new favorite song, a spooky prison? folk ballad? elements of the work song and dirge about it. rounds are underutilized in modern music imo.

Finlee played that guard like a fiddle Turned his own fears into a honing missile “Father can you save my soul…” “Well, first you gotta bring me a little C4...”

usually when a song intrigues me like this i try to find interviews or breakdowns of samples or something, but i am coming up flat empty. @dying-suffering-french-stalkers tasting notes: "Volga Boatmen, maybe, but by way of like...1950s/60s Disney choruses? Like Grim Grinning Ghosts?" spotify

reading

somewhat horrifying but unsurprising article about how companies who want (or want to keep) governments contracts can buy out entire DC Metro stations' adspaces. via @andmaybegayer i think?

The Pentagon station, a prime target for reaching DOD staffers, was one of a kind. The Pentagon is the most expensive station to “dominate” according to Outfront Media data which I obtained, even though it has substantially fewer riders than some of the others. Advertising to the 665,786 commuters estimated to visit the Pentagon station in a four week period costs $198,000 (about 30 cents per commuter), before fees. Yet in Gallery Place-Chinatown, a station in downtown DC farther away from government buildings, it costs only $120,000 to reach more than three times as many people (5 cents per commuter).

it is difficult to stress how uncooperative miss mackintosh was during this book's photoshoot. this is genuinely the best one.

i did not enjoy and did not finish Roshani Chokshi's 2018 queer magical intrigue and heist caper in belle epoque france, first in a trilogy. i think there is a mismatch between concept and execution here. i originally had a rather long paragraph about how i'd be interested in a non-new-adult book from her, but after checking her website and seeing that she mostly writes midde-grade and YA, and classifies this book as YA (which doesn't really make sense to me, i think everyone in the core crew can legally drink and i think what i read from this book fits better in New Adult) and has a forthcoming adult book i am not interested in, i think she is simply not an author for me. i reevauated this book with YA in mind, but i think teens deserve books with sophisticated writing and good execution too!

this had a really killer hook but the worldbuilding comes very in thick and fast during the first quarter of the book i read, and felt a little dorling kindersley (here is an eye of horus! on a chinese compass! with a sumerian cipher!). the magical system chokshi uses is novel in its heavy reliance on physical objects and like, countermeasures and counterspells? we get little hints of it as a global system, and it feels very analogous to The Power Of The Computer. a lot of it is based on creation of various physical objects, some of it is mind-based, there are the equivalent of magical stone faraday cages. the macguffin is like. what if a major internet exchange was an object you could carry around.

this magic system is so interesting it makes it disappointing and difficult to break down the distinction between "i don't think the soft-skill worldbuilding through connections and loyalties of characters is that well executed in these first hundred pages" and "hate this specific literary device". we are dropped into a heist at a magical auction where the many magical representatives are attending and rapidly rush through a lineup. this would be a really fun movie or other visual setpiece with intricate costuming choices, but it's hard to show and not tell a complex system of combined familial/cultural/nation-state houses of magic with backstabbing politics when you are rushing through a very time-limited heist. i know that it's the first in a trilogy, but the sheer number of factions and names is very large for a ~400 page trilogy entry. if this were a fucking doorstopper of a series i would have more faith that all will be eventually explained and i will eventually be able to distinguish them all, but i truly don't think she has the pages to do that.

the book's most frequent reviewer praise is that most of the core (but still! very wide! there are so many goddamn names!) cast are colonized or otherwise oppressed people, and i must give this book props for including a bisexual man in the ragtag crew. i read up to the first hundred pages to the first twist, and when the person who joins them at the twist has a voice that is not distinct from the existing gang’s, who are already not distinct from each other, i put the book down. a brief excerpt that does not serve this point very well but serves the following paragraph's point

this book felt like someone describing their dnd campaign to me. people on goodreads do love this book so i'm sure it does eventually deliver on the heist and found family aspects, but it's simply not for me.

bought this here in houston over the summer ( i think) not sure where

watching

House on Haunted Hill (1959, Castle). this was so charming!!!

"it’s a pity you didn’t know when you started playing murder…that i was playing too." vincent price truly is that bitch. his scenes with his fourth wife in the film, carol ohmart, are electric. they hate each other so much. they've tried to kill each other so many times. she laughs when he reminds her how she poisoned him with arsenic. the sex has got to be insane.

this is a public domain movie that's embedded in its own wikipedia page, lol, but there are various restorations of varying quality floating around.

youtube

the exterior shots of the "old, ugly, moldering house" are the frank lloyd wright ennis house in LA, which made me shriek bc it is a famously light/airy/sundrenched building. (exterior wikipedia, interiors here).

thank u @americanwwhore for logging it on letterboxd recently and making me go "oh hey i should watch that too"

playing

not technically fallow but i don't have an interesting story to tell about how i'm trying to get a specific set of genshin impact achievements

making

hey remember this baby blanket? i also forgot about it but now we’re up to 7/10 repeats. i may actually get this out before the child turns one

every time i make these sheet pan chicken thighs i arrange them like the isle of man coat of arms bc it amuses me. had to really mangle them to get a good temp reading but i have not yet given myself food poisoning here (fingers remain crossed).

#tuesday again #tuesday again no problem

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tblsomedoodles · 1 year

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Imagine if Mikey (and possibly Raph) were still mad at Leo for keeping the fact Big Mama was their mother a secret for so long during their first fee visits with her and she picks up on that.

"Darling, ehat got you so upset?" She'd ask on maybe their second visit amd Mikey just... goes intl this rant about how he and Leo had an argument about Narln Draxum and how he mutated them and how it wasn't fair that Leo has known about her being their biological mother for months and kept it hidden and only to them that when he was trying to bring Barry closer to their family! Mama listens closely and eventually is able to piece together why Leo and Donnie started visiting her before the other two and how they came to know of her parentage of them and decides to confirm,

"When was this?"

"Cojple weeks ago..." Mikey sniffles, "I just wanted a nlce family dinner, but everyone hated it, and Leo was really mad! Mad enough to tell us you were our mom, and Barry wasn't our other parent just because he created the ooze that mutated us... I don't know why he kept it secret so long of he's known since the thing with Shredder!"

Mama could see why he'd kept it hidden so long, it was written all over his fave when she'd told him the rat bad claimed him to be her long lost son shortly before tossing him into the arena those months ago, it'd been in how he tried to hide how uncertain amd awkward he was when he came to visit, how despite Leo being better at negotiations his twin had taken charge of most of their conversation thag first visit and how emotionally charged and hysterical be was whenever he had spoken to her, the context of tbe qjestion, his ever present need to see proof.

Leo had been in denial and hadn't wanted to bring the matter up until he could get the entire story and confirm the matter either from his father or from herself. It made perfect sense to the yokai spider5 would have done much the same if she had learned such frightening and life banging information in such a volatile situation, and it also confirmed to her that stupid rat really had kept her existence hidden form ber boys and done everything in his power to keep thay information from them.

She wanted to kill Lou Jitsu for that.

"I believe he himself might have been confused on the matter and, with what recent revelations I could gather had happened to you poor dearies, he hadn't wanted to bring it up until he himself could confirm the information, like any good information broker should." She tries to explain, aware that her twins may not have told them of their recent visits either, "I certainly would have done much the same knhis situation."

"But if he wasn't sure if it was real or not, why couldn't he have asked us for help!? He and Donnie could be here with us to meet you right now instead of just Raph and me alone! We could have figured it out together!"

"That's something you'd have to ask him. I may be a spider, but I certainly can't read minds or know his motivations, I don't know your brother well enough. But if I had to hazard a guess, I'd say he was trying to protect you."

Aww, this is so sweet, with Mama trying to reassure Mikey like that. B/c i'd imagine Mikey was quite upset about not being told this for so long (particularly if he thinks the reason was b/c Leo doesn't trust him.)

Thank you!

#asks #tmnt #rottmnt #family web au

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liquidluckandstuff · 6 months

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Retrospring Question

Hidden Fee asked: Me, a humble Harrymort liker, sees a new AO3 fic with some interesting tags. Me, reading those tags but then stopping at cannibalism. Me, waffling on whether to read this or not because everything else sings to me but that one tag... Me, seeing it's by the author of Heaven Is Your Sleeping Enemy. Me, upon registering this, going "Fuck it, YOLO. Let's see what this is about." Me, at the end of the fic, saying "Fuck, they've done it again. This was good food. Okay, maybe wrong choice of words there." Seriously, that was a good fic. I think one of the things I like most about your take on Harrymort is that the two of them are so very intermingled: body, mind, soul, fate. You convey the bond between them as...the only thing that comes to mind is "viscerally intimate." It's a perspective I really like because you do a lot to explore this and how it's always present, even if under the surface. It's a refreshing contrast to the actual HP books since the bond is more often than not ignored until it's used for some weak plot contrivance/dump.

I am so happy that you said that because that is so much what I love about voldemort/Harry fics. Like there is SO much to explore about their connection that it goes beyond just a regular soulmate connection. I need them obsessed with each other beyond human comprehension. Its one of those things where I LOVE writing it, just... mindless instinctual world ending obsession they have for each other. Like they would watch reality rip itself apart to be together even if deep down they hated one another.

The future literally cannot exist without the other in it in some way shape or form. Harry would rather be dragged down to hell to be with Voldemort to fight/fuck each other for eternity than to go be with his friends/family in the afterlife. He would never truly be happy. like that kind of obsession. and then just for a moment they get a taste of what kind of connection they have for each other and it makes them do wild shit. They come out of it and its just like "....oh"

I could go on and on and on. (https://retrospring.net/@LiquidlucknStuff/a/111371209373830365)

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anon-e-miss · 1 year

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I was thinking about what a *bad* pregnancy would look like for Prowl, and I had this idea that, like… He’s having a horribly rough carry (morning sickness, aching joints, exhaustion, etc), so he doesn’t do any field work, but nothing and nobody can stop him from tactics back at the base.

Except… the constructicons (who are obsessed with Prowl) notice his absence and strike a deal with Rumble and Frenzy to sparknap Prowl while Devastator keeps Jazz busy. Jazz is good, but… well, they’re a gestalt. And he and Prowl don’t yet have a bond, so he doesn’t realize anything is amiss until it’s too late. He might even get badly damaged because they’re actively targeting him.

So now the Constructicons have a heavily gravid Prowl. If he fights them, Hook threatens to induce premature labor, since he has medic protocols. He runs the odds and his only option is cooperation. Which obviously he hates!

The Constructicons strike a deal with Tarantulas to work together and build a convincing fake Prowl. Their plan is to say Prowl died in childbirth before hostage negotiations could be completed (due to stress), and ‘return’ his frame plus the bitlets they don’t want for a fee/in exchange for con hostages while actually keeping Prowl as a plaything. (Hidden from everyone but Tarantulas)

Imagine Jazz coming out of a coma to find out Prowl is ‘dead’. But at least they recovered his bitties. What would he do? If he goes to look for Prowl despite the extremely accurate corpse he already received, he might orphan the bitlets. (I’m picturing the Twins + Strongarm + Chase—maybe others, too) He has to take care of the kids he has, not go off chasing ghosts.

Does he even know this ISNT Prowl’s frame? Hook is a perfectionist, and Tarantulas is somehow even more the gestalt, so I think it’s accurate down to the tiniest scar. And his array. Which they might’ve used while waiting for their turn on the real deal, and they explain any transfluid as ‘he asked for donations because he could tell things were going south. He was willing.’ Along with a video of Prowl agreeing that he needs contributions to get through this. (Possibly edited by Soundwave, who knows)

How would Prowl get out of a mess like that?

Not something I would write. I find the Constructicons tedious mostly and especially centring around Prowl. So I write them at most a few lines and then… bye bye. Not shitting on anyone liking the dynamic, I just don’t.

My answer to this plot would be mostly, Prowl isn’t pathetic. He fights. Guns don’t care if you’re disabled, they equalize a lot of things. There’s no point where he wouldn’t fight. And I don’t see him agreeing to be raped for transfluids.

Let’s look at my history with Prowl suffering. And boy do I make him suffer. The times when he can’t actively fight, are engineered more than just capture holding him back and even then, he still puts up fights. At no point is he broken to nothing. And no point is he not planning or fighting.

Even in Ecdysis where he’s about as broken as I’ve made him, he’s still fighting.

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saving-ray-23 · 5 months

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BATGIRL (FOUR)

The next week and a half passed achingly slowly, but finally, Friday had arrived. Most of the Upperclassmen were heading to Arkham early that morning and Barbara was included in that group. She had done it— tricked the school and the Commissioner! Her heart was racing, but she couldn't help but grin.

Her thirty dollar fee had been covered by a spur of the moment babysitting gig, a stroke of pure luck. Barbara nearly laughed at her luck, not even caring that the kid was an ankle-biting brat she had to entertain for half her Saturday.

Because it had been nearly three months since Barbara had seen James. Since then, she had cut her hair (the once waist-length locks at her elbows and she had a fringe) and the school uniform changed its skirt length by a half-inch. Not much else had changed, admittedly, but the Commissioner wasn't a big fan of change and his restrictions were . . . well, restrictive. The past year as a whole had been a blur for the most part.

The morning had been rainy like usual, but not even the wind and water could dampen her mood. Babs was giddy. She felt like a little kid as she stood outside of the school, sheltered under the school's entrance. Her classmates chattered around her, all looking less than excited to visit the Asylum. It made a bit of sense, she supposed. After all, the last field trip had been to the District Attorney's office, which was totally lame. They just walked around for a couple of hours and left.

But, this wasn't the DA's office. This was where James worked. He even lived right by the facility, practically inside of it. The Joker had been treated there— how much more cool could it get?

A black coat appeared in her field of vision, followed by the bright smile of Dick Grayson. She grinned back, unable to hide her excitement. "Morning, Dick."

"Morning, Babs— you look happy this fine morning."

She shrugged, feigning casualness. "It's a beautiful day."

"It's storming. And I seem to remember a certain eleven-year-old who hated rain because it brought out the worms." He laughed, cocking his head. "I think her name was Barbara."

Babs blinked, wondering how he remembered that. Peering up at Dick (she only reached his chin) Barbara fought for the right words to say.

"I— "

"Students! The busses will be leaving in two minutes!" A teacher interrupted, gesturing to the yellow automobiles that had lined up outside the school. She hadn't even noticed them arrive.

Dick looped his arm through hers, pulling her further into the crowd of pushing teenagers, everyone eager to escape the rain. She let him, deciding it was best not to question things. Barbara and Dick had hung out five times in the past two weeks and she was slowly getting used to the company, though she never outright called him her friend. She wasn't sure she deserved a friend anymore.

They boarded the bus quickly, Dick surprising Barbara as he sat next to her. She raised an eyebrow, hidden by what were basically overgrown bangs. The day was getting weirder by the minute, but she did her best to ignore the strangeness. In less than an hour, she'd get to see James. It felt like Christmas morning.

Babs was having a grand time. She had somehow ended up having a totally normal, not-awkward conversation with Dick during the bus ride, where she learned that there had been over thirty break-outs from Arkham in the past sixth months, but nearly half of them were just the Riddler. Lame. The drive had passed quicker than she thought possible and they entered the Asylum before nine o'clock.

The tour was kind of boring at first, if Babs was being honest with herself. James was right when he called it a glorified tour of the kitchen. The tour guide was skittish as they entered each room and the first fifteen minutes were spent going over the rules of walking through the Asylum. Like Babs needed to be reminded that throwing spitballs at Penguin was a bad idea. (Although, she supposed some of her classmates definitely needed to be lectured on proper Asylum-etiquette).

But, a good half-hour into the tour, they reached the infirmary. The place where injured nut-heads went for medical treatment. Where James worked.

She practically skipped inside, pushing her way to the front of the room. The tour guide gestured around, saying they had five minutes to look around— make sure you don't touch anything and have fun!

Babs honed in on her cousin easily, finding the head of red among the sea of white. She kept herself from running towards him, waving as she caught his eye. The doctor gave a small smile, leaving the desk he was standing by. She caught sight of the nameplate resting on the dark wood, making her beam with pride. DR. GORDON.

James's hand came to rest on her shoulder, both keeping her an arm's length away and greeting her. "Welcome to Arkham, Barbara."

They talked for a few minutes, mostly about the Asylum and how she'd gotten on the bus without the Commissioner finding out. He smiled a bit more at that, but just said that he'd known she wouldn't get caught.

For the second time that day, Dick Grayson appeared from seemingly nowhere, a strained smile on his face. Barbara wondered if he was freaked out by the Asylum; some of their other classmates had gone pale when they had first walked in.

"Hiya, Babs. Care to introduce me?" His voice still had the light tone it always did, but now it faked, sharp in a way Dick's carefree attitude never usually allowed.

"Dick, this is my cousin, James. He's one of the doctors here." She introduced, deciding to ignore the edge to his tone— for now. "James, meet one of my classmates, Richard Grayson."

"Bruce Wayne's son?" He asked, looking at Dick with a raised eyebrow.

"That's me," Dick responded, smile fading completely. Babs fought the urge to cringe, looking at Dick with a raised eyebrow.

Something unspoken settled between them before Dick's hand was on Barbara's elbow. "The tour's about to leave. We should get going, Babs."

She frowned, shaking him off. "I'll be there in a minute, you go on ahead."

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea— "

"She'll be fine. 'Babs' is safe with me." James insisted, staring at Dick.

Barbara offered her classmate a small smile, gesturing for him to leave. She had only just reconnected with James and the teen wanted a second more so she could say goodbye. Even if it meant ditching Dick Grayson.

The rich son of Gotham's prince reluctantly turned towards the group, leaving her behind. She returned her gaze to her cousin, ready to launch into a wordy goodbye filled with promises of later visits and phone calls. She hadn't really realized how much she had missed her cousin.

"Barbara, are you friends with that boy?" James asked before she could speak, voice cold. He sounded angry, but Babs couldn't figure out why. Not completely, at least.

She shook her head, figuring it was best to separate the two teens in her cousin's mind. "He's just trying to be nice— I don't have friends anymore, remember?"

He grinned at her, easily falling back into the relaxed warmth of earlier. "I'm the only friend you need, Barbie doll."

Babs smiled back, tense. Things were clearly not as they seemed, she just couldn't see the bigger picture. She wondered if James was just being overprotective— although that didn't really explain what Grayson's whole deal was.

Glancing at the group leaving the infirmary, Babs gave James a final goodbye, simply waving. James didn't like hugs— none of the Gordon's did, actually. And it wasn't like Babs wanted to be hugged— she wasn't some little kid with a scraped knee. But, sometimes . . . sometimes, she wondered if it would help with some of the shittier aspects of life, more than a handshake or a pat on the back ever could.

Rejoining the Tour group in the hall, Babs spared a final glance at James through the open door. He wasn't looking at Barbara, but above her. Turning, Babs frowned at Dick. He was staring back at James, only looking away when Barbara shoved him.

The acrobat blinked down at her, a smile returning to his features. "Babs— "

"Do you have a problem with my cousin?"

#batgirl #batman #barbara gordon #babs gordon #dc #dcu #dc au

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johnnyrobish · 2 years

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Ohio Lawmaker Believes Holocaust Should Also Be Taught From Germany’s Perspective

Homeschooled MAGA Ohio State Rep. Sarah Fowler Arthur (R-99th Dist), defended controversial legislation she co-sponsored while on a local news station, by pointing out she believes "divisive concepts" should be taught from “multiple points of view.” She further explained that history could be taught from the perspective of someone in Poland who was “displaced” or “incorporated” into the war, or perhaps from the perspective of a Jewish person that has gone through the tragedies that took place, or maybe you'll listen to it from the perspective of a German soldier.

Oh, I get it! We need to start teaching "divisive concepts” such as fascism from “multiple points of view.” Well then, even though she and most of her base are primarily hard-core Bible thumpers, given her philosophy that “all points of view” should be taught - I’m sure all the Satanists in her district will be absolutely thrilled to learn that she’d be open to teaching local school children about Christianity “from Lucifer’s point of view.”

That said, when she suggests we need to also view the Holocaust from Germany’s perspective, it has me wondering - exactly what does Rep. Sarah Fowler Arthur imagine that perspective ought to be? Somehow, the Jews had it coming? Now, correct me if I’m wrong on this, but as far as I can tell, I think Hitler made the “Nazi perspective” pretty clear. I don’t think there was much confusion about their opinions on most issues.

The fact is, there’s really nothing new about any of this. For example, their attacks on the teaching of a basically non-existent “Critical Race Theory” in public schools, is essentially nothing more than a hidden attempt to “view slavery in the US from the perspective of a slaveholder.” The fact is, with this “all points of view” stance, Republicans have actually moved way beyond any “Critical Race Theory,” and are now offering their very own “Critical Reich Theory.”

Frankly, it must be quite confusing for them at times. Let’s take, for example, the late entertainer Sammy Davis Jr., who was both Jewish and black. It’s gotta be awfully difficult for people like her to figure out whether she’s supposed to hate Sammy for being Jewish, or for being black. Now, if we revisit views on the Holocaust, shouldn’t we also consider OJ Simpson's take on the Nicole Brown Simpson/Ron Goldman killings, or Charlie Manson's side of the Tate/LaBianca murders? Frankly, the possibilities seem endless - especially, if you’ve been homeschooled like Sarah Fowler Arthur.

If you’ve enjoyed what you’ve just read, please consider joining me at:

#Holocaust #jewish history #satire #politics #humor #comedy #jokes #news #current events #progressives #antisemitism #News

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

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Hidden Powers

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Abuse allegations, Swearing, Mild melancholy

Genre: Humor, SLIGHT Angst, Fluff, RPF (Real Person Fic) - Sorry the genres are all over the place

Summary: A misconception or misunderstanding turned rumor threatens to bring down Corpse’s entire career, but luckily, Y/N knows better than to stand aside and let it happen.

Requested by Anon. Hi darling! Thank you so much for your request and I’m so sorry for the long wait but here it finally is and I hope you enjoy the fic if you happen to come across it. Love, Vy ❤

“Fuck this game!“ Y/N yells out in frustration as she is met with the screen informing her of her failure - aka death - for the fifth time in the past hour. “Has anyone ever even passed night four? I’m sure the king of FNAF Markiplier has but I’m also sure he hasn’t done it one a livestream! And my big mouth really had to go ahead and swear not to end this stream until I pass this God forsaken night, ughhh!“

Typically, Y/N’s quite the fearful rat when playing horror games, especially when home alone like right now, but this FNAF game has gradually turned her into a raging gamer instead. Not raging as in kicking ass at the game but as in the game kicking the ass of her sanity. She’s been struggling with this specific night for a while - the better half of her previous stream and an hour into today’s. Well, seeing how little progress she’s making with each try, it’s gonna be way more than an hour into today’s livestream as well. She��ll be lucky if she manages to get past it before hitting the three hour mark or just rage quitting which she’s bound to do eventually if her gameplay keeps going at this rate.

Another try later, she’s once again jumpscared into a failure screen that’s practically mocking her at this point. Throwing her arms above her head, Y/N sighs heavily, the frustration she’s harboring becoming more and more evident in her body language. “You know what, I need a break. Lemme see what you guys are saying in the chat.”

Scrolling through comments upon comments greeting her, sending her compliments and some trolling her with some hateful remarks she comes across a question which makes her brows furrow. That same question is repeated by a few other people but they fly by so quickly she doesn’t manage to catch the people’s usernames.

“A bruise on my arm? Where?“ She says out loud as she inspects both her arms, looking for what her chat had been talking about. That’s when her eyes eyes land on the purple mark on the skin just above her right elbow. She laughs, “Oh this? I know I’m a clumsy person but Corpse is to blame for this one.“

Little does the girl know, her boyfriend, who’s currently in his own apartment instead of camping out at hers, is watching this very stream, laughing his ass off remembering how that bruise came to be.

His laughter is cut short though when he catches glimpse of Y/N’s chat which suddenly floods with concern from her fans - assumptions and allegations of him being an abusive boyfriend starting to pollute the previously cheerful comment section. His stomach turns, for many reasons, each reason making it tighten in a worse and more painful knot.

The first blow comes from people actually coming up with such a thing. How could they even allow their minds to wander to such a dark and disgusting place where he’d be even remotely an abuser.

The second blow to his heart is delivered by the fact that people believed it. How and why could people believe such an absurd idea?! How low did these people think of him? What kind of piece of shit did he come off as to some people?

And the third is the mental image the idea gives him. It’s such a fucked up scene, he can’t even conjure it up, he can’t mentally picture it. Hell, he could and would never even raise his voice at Y/N. He’d never dare upset her or hurt her feelings let alone hurt her....like that!

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!“ Y/N’s gasp reaches him as though it was meant to fish him out of the downward spiral he started going down with these overwhelmingly dark thoughts, “What’s with this nonsense some of y’all are spewing in the chat?!“ She sounds downright angry and irritated, ready to fight whoever will continue spreading these rumors about her lovely boyfriend whom she absolutely adores. “Guys, I mean, seriously?! Do you have any idea what you’re talking about and WHO you’re talking about? Do we have the same Corpse in mind here? I doubt we do - you have some villainized, abusive version, and I have the loving boyfriend who tried to teach me how to handle a lightsaber so we can have a lightsaber fight and my dumbass used my own weapon against me. Yeah, I was pretty salty Corpse laughed his heart out while I was cringing in pain, but man, you guys take it farther than the farthest.“ Seeing his sweet, kind and non-confrontational girlfriend who always avoids conflict at all costs turn into this protective lioness because someone is talking shit about him is heartwarming and scary at the same time. “Y’all better shut the hole where these fucked up rumors surfaced from before you get one of the most innocent, loving and caring individuals in hot water for the BS you came up with! Copy? You better.“

Corpse has never in his entire life seen the topic of a stream chat change so quickly, the rumor never once getting brought up again.

That’s some serious power right there - power he never knew Y/N possessed because of her cute and soft exterior. Now he knows what kinda beast of a woman he’s dating - one prepared to do anything to protect him, no matter who from. And damn does that make him feel emotional and loved despite the shit that just happened. She can make him forget all the bad within the blink of an eye - that too is another superpower of hers, but this one he’s known about from the very start.

@maat-the-prescriptive @simonsbluee @save-the-sky @itsminniekat @hacker-ghost @bi-andready-tocry @imtiredaffff @jazzkaurtheglorious @hereforbeebo @fandomgirl17 @chrysanthykios @maehemscorpyus @loraleiix @letsloveimagines @annshit @i-cant-choose-a-username-help @enigmaticmaze @divine-artemis @waterlilypat @idontknowwhatthisisfam @evi-ka @classyandfabulous00 @redperson58 @lilysdaydreams @solowheein @mythicalamphitrite @axen-gers @luckygirl144 @nj01 @buddyemily @the-albino-lioness @stardream14 @gdhdkfnn @nomadicgypsyy @preciousskye @fluffysuicideunicornsworld @o-kaelin @manacharlotte @awkward-youtube-trash @lolalee24 @bonky-beerns @meme-lord-and-savior-sebastian @strawbrinkofdeath @teenloves @tams0527 @browneyespinkhair @starstruckllamapuppy @daisychains012 @y0ulooked @tinytacosuitcaseflap @supernatural-is-my-only-life @jula-pauline @melodykitty @just-that-bi-girl @crazybutconfidentaf @lowellshade @alphakees @bellero @weallneednamjesus @starryhanji @boiled-onionrings @husherstan @fockingwhore @melaningoddessthings @prettypastelpetals @haleypearce @godwhyamiawkward @y-napotat @daisychainyoonmin @little-miss-rebel3 @free-wheelin-bi-sexual @redmoon261 @darkacademic2 @wiseflamingoqueen @into-the-end @namikhai-i @nastiablr @thelittleplantlover @mirktuan @dont-hyuck @jjk-bunny @vintagegothlover @easygoingtheatre @itsrandombooklover @miiaivi @emmybaybee @befourgolden @jjk-is-my-shit @eternalteaaars @spacebadgerx @princesslunalight @acequinn14 @samm48 @misselsbells06 @simp-lykawa @fo-love @marishimomura-blog @therealglenncoco @cinnamonbun332 @killtherandomness @sanshinexxxsan @fee-btheweeb @press-lay @cathleenpotgieter16 @jazzydoesstuff @moonlxghtbay @forestrain2000 @hyunjinhugs @blood-of-fandoms @lovellylies @ukiyolixx @simpforhpcharacters @chrisdylan17 @parkerjisung @pedernille @theodonyous @wineandionysus @malfoystilinskii05 @morbid-x @coryisagee @jessewa26 @scoobydooluver97 @mindintheskies365 @raeanneinwonderland @indecisive-empanada @gluttonypalace @loriane2503 @btsiguess-kpop @khaoticbunny @lucidlycactus @smiithys @rottenroyalebooks @kpopgirlbtssvt @fangirl-tc27 @fr0z3n-1 @notmesimpingfortechno @shotarosleftpinky @kunoi-chan @idk-whats-wrong-with-me @yikeroonie @goldenstarofthunderclan @poetry-and-tea @ama-do-writing-stuff @wishbonewolf @emeraldxhope @t0xick1tty @kusuinko @speakyourselfloveyourself @sophia902103 @lo-manburg @classsykittykat @dmgama @depressedpuppythatneedscoffee @btsiguess-kpop @akaashi-baby @gun-jong-simp @geschichtenfee @yerapotato-wp @browneyedgirl365 @thysagclub @sparklycloudnight @helloatomicshadow @queentorresstuff @vtte @val-gal @lucy-bunny17 @aaliyahh0 @katluckybear @boyleanti @straybids @franchesca-791 @cosmicstorm19 @averyisbackinthetrashcan @aomi-nabi @xlanawriter @allensimpsforcorpse @sunnyrae-cessh @ladykxxx08 @meowiemari @renupf @booklover76 @sra-verissimo

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lockefanfic · 3 years

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Black Silk

Shin Ryujin hated waiting.

“This is so unprofessional,” she says, tapping impatiently on the steering wheel with hands covered in black leather driving gloves. “You would think considering how desperately they wanted the package that they’d be here on time.”

You grin to yourself. People in your line of work weren’t the most upstanding of folk, and you knew from experience that punctuality was relatively low on the list of virtues held in high regard.

“They’ll be here, Ryujin,” you say, turning to her to offer an appeasing smile. “Be patient. Just make sure you’re ready to move once the deal is done.”

Ryujin lets out a sharp, dismissive huff from her nose.

“I’m always ready,” she states, finally stopping her incessant tapping on the steering wheel to cross her arms in frustration, choosing instead to glare at something through the driver’s side window. You’re happy to let her frustration simmer. Ryujin could be beautiful or sexy or cute or some mixture of all three at her whim - but she was downright adorable when she was frustrated.

You are about to tease her further when three sets of headlights appear at the opposite entrance to the large, abandoned plane hangar you were currently parked in.

Ryujin snaps to attention - suddenly alert, senses primed. When the other vehicles come to a stop inside the hangar, she flashes your car’s high beams three times. The first of the three vehicles opposite you flashes its lights three times in return.

“Here we go,” you say as you swing the passenger seat open and make your way out of the car. Ryujin exits the vehicle as well, although she keeps the driver side door open. She meets you at the trunk, which she pops open with a click on her key fob. Inside is a metallic secure container the size of a large briefcase - and an H&K 416c rifle fitted with a large capacity drum magazine.

You grab the package by its handle. Ryujin grabs the short barrelled rifle, discreetly racking the charging handle to chamber a round before keeping it low and behind her to keep it concealed from view. She takes up position behind the reinforced, bulletproof driver side door with one hand resting casually on the window, the other on the rifle’s pistol grip as it rests near the door's hinge.

“Be careful,” she says.

You turn back to her with a reassuring smile, even though her eyes are locked on the three vehicles. Package swinging casually in one hand, you make your way towards the old office table and chair that stood at the midway point between you and the new arrivals.

The occupants of the vehicles file out, and a quick headcount reveals that there are eight of them, all women. It wasn’t hard to see which one was the leader - her bright red leather jacket and fishnet stockings stood out starkly from the dark, subdued business and formal wear of the rest of her crew.

“Sorry we’re late,” she says nonchalantly with a vaguely Californian twang. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“No, not too long,” you answer, as casually as you could manage. You take advantage of the relatively dim lighting inside the hangar to take note of the positions of the other seven members of the crew, running through possible contingency plans in your head. Twenty or so metres behind you, you were sure Ryujin was doing much the same. Even though your brain was running at a million miles a minute, it was important that you at least appear calm and collected.

“You got the goods, I see?” the leader asks with a nod of her head towards the package in your hand.

“Maybe,” you answer, as casually as you are able. “I was told to deliver it to someone codenamed The Queen. Are you her?”

“Maybe. You can call me Tiffany.”

“Nice to meet you, Tiffany. Unfortunately I’d prefer not to give my name - I’m sure you understand. Now we’re all busy people, so how about I give you the package, you pay me my fees, and we each go on our merry little way?”

A sly smile appears on the young woman’s cherry red lips. She regards you for a moment longer before giving Ryujin and your car an appraising glance. With the wave of a hand, she motions one of her minions forward.

“Give him the cash, Yoona.”

A tall, slender woman with beautiful, delicate features steps forward, a metallic briefcase similar in size to yours clasped in one hand. The thick-thock of her high heels sound almost obnoxiously loud in the relative silence of the hangar as she makes her way towards the table.

She places her briefcase onto it with a loud thud, motioning with her head for you to do the same.

There was always a momentary moment of sheer dread when it came to making the exchange. If things were going to go sideways, it would be now. Your fingers squeeze the handle of the package a little tighter. Your heart beats a little quicker. A bead of sweat drips down the side of your head, and you are happy that the dim lighting doesn’t betray your anxiety to your business partners.

Thankfully, the pale, beautiful girl in front of you shows none of the warning signs that you’d seen in other exchanges. There is a no-nonsense resting bitch face on her otherwise pretty features - absentmindedly, you wonder for a moment what she would look like if she smiled.

You place the package onto the table next to the briefcase. She takes it, and sparing not a single moment more, turns and heads back towards her waiting group. Inwardly, you breathe a sigh of relief as you take the briefcase containing your payment off the table before taking a few steps backward toward Ryujin and your waiting car.

Yoona presents the package to one of the shorter members of her group - a soft, cute woman with a shock of short, bright blonde hair. She has opened a laptop on the hood of one of their vehicles, and after opening the package, she hooks it up to whatever was inside before typing furiously into the keyboard.

Throughout it all, Tiffany’s eyes remain locked on you, a slim smile on her dark red lips, as though there were something about the transaction that amused her.

“You don’t care what was inside?”

“Not even a little bit,” you answer. “There are three-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tiffany interrupts, her eyes rolling back in her head disdainfully, as though she’d heard what you were about to say a million times before. “Never change the deal, no names, and never look in the package. You couriers are all the same.”

“I’m glad we’ve made such a positive impression,” you answer with a hint of sarcasm. You rest a hand as casually as you could on the old swivel chair next to the desk - ready to reach for the pistol Ryujin had duct-taped to its underside should shit hit the fan.

“And you’re not gonna check the briefcase? It could be full of Monopoly money, for all you know.”

“I trust you. And if you screw me over, well, I’ll know where to find you in order to rectify the situation.”

A smirk appears on Tiffany’s lips at your thinly veiled threat, but the sense of amusement on her face doesn’t fade in the slightest.

“You have balls. You and your partner,” she says with a nod behind you, towards Ryujin.

Not wanting to engage any further and prolong the transaction, you settle for giving her a shrug and a smile. For a few long, uncomfortable seconds, the soft typing of the girl at the keyboard is the only sound filling the otherwise quiet hangar.

“Is it legit, Sunny?” Tiffany eventually asks, breaking the uneasy silence.

“It’s legit,” the short girl answers, packing up her laptop and the package. Tiffany gives you one last smirk.

“Alright then,” she begins. “I think we’re done here. Let’s go-”

Tiffany is interrupted when a third member of her crew, a short, slender woman in a black dress, emerges from the rear of their crew to whisper something into her ear. The sarcastic smirk that seemed permanently affixed to Tiffany’s face widens.

“It’s your lucky day, Mr. Courier. It seems our boss has arranged for a bonus for you - a reward for having transported the package to us so safely and… promptly.”

This wasn’t good - anything that changed the terms of the deal was never a good sign, even if it was labelled as a bonus. Your mind runs at a million miles a second. Your hand tightens a little more around the briefcase, while the other one inches slowly towards the hidden pistol under the chair.

“Is that so?” you answer, as casually and nonchalantly as you could manage. You had to stall for time while you came up with a plan to escape whatever it was that was about to sent your way. “I didn’t know someone called The Queen could even have a boss.”

“We all have bosses,” Tiffany replies, with a matter-of-fact sigh. “Anyway, I think you’ll want some privacy while you indulge in this particular... bonus. Perhaps you can ask your driver over there to give you some space.”

She makes a twirling motion in the air with her finger, and the members of her crew all re-enter their vehicles - all except the woman in the black dress. Tiffany is the last to board, turning around to shoot you one last smile.

“Toodles,” she says with a casual wave. “Oh, and do enjoy.”

The three vehicles quickly back up from the hangar, seemingly leaving the girl in the black dress behind. Once you are satisfied that they are a safe distance away, you turn to Ryujin and give her a nod.

“Are you sure about this?” she asks.

You nod to her again, giving her a smile of reassurance that only half-satisfies her. Shooting you an uneasy frown, she gets into your vehicle, closes the door, and after starting the car, backs it up until she leaves via the same entrance you arrived in.

Alone now with the girl in the black dress, you give her an appraising look from head to toe. She was slender, short, the black silk of her dress wrapping tightly around her small frame and showing off the soft curves and slim lines beneath it. Wavy black hair frames a face filled with soft and youthful features, making placing her age a difficult proposition.

“So what’s this bonus your boss has for me?” you ask, as nonchalantly as you could.

A slim smile appears on the girl’s lips. There is a mysteriousness about her, a strangeness that you couldn’t quite pinpoint. She wore it like a dress, as much of her clothing as the black silk draped around her small frame.

“I think you know what it is,” she answers, her first words calm and measured, “...it’s me.”

The girl steps closer to you, and your body tenses at her proximity - although the allure of her deep, dark eyes keeps you from answering the alarm bells ringing in your head. A pale, slender hand reaches out to the briefcase of cash in your hand, her fingers wrapping themselves around its handle before taking it from your grasp and placing it delicately onto the ground. The ease at which she’d divested you of your hard-earned fees surprised and frightened you in equal measure.

Her fingers play with the front flap of your blazer, her long, slim fingers tracing lazy patterns on your chest.

“I’m not quite sure I follow, Miss-”

“Taeyeon,” she answers, firmly and confidently. “Kim Taeyeon.” Names weren’t always freely exchanged in your line of work, and her willingness to divulge hers, even if it was a pseudonym, spoke of her complete confidence. Her finger suddenly ceases playing with your chest to slowly trace a path down towards your waist.

“Taeyeon,” you repeat. “Anyway, as thankful as I am for your boss’s generosity, I…”

Your sentence dies in your mouth as Taeyeon’s finger reaches your waist. Her other hand joins it, quickly undoing your belt, and soon after the button and zipper to your jeans. Her fingers hook into the waistline of your boxers before she gives them a gentle tug, pulling them and your jeans down halfway your thighs - and freeing your quickly hardening cock.

Throughout the entire process of undressing you her eyes have not left yours. There is a playful confidence there. Hers was the look of a woman who knew exactly who she was and what she was doing - while enjoying every second of it. Every alarm and alert in your brain was telling you to stop her from going any further, but there is something in her eyes that keeps you from paying heed to your brain’s warnings.

“Miss Kim, this really isn’t necessary,” you say, although the words lack conviction. “I don’t really want-”

Taeyeon’s slim, pale fingers wrap themselves around your shaft for the first time - and your final words of resistance die in your throat. The sly smile on the girl’s lips widens. Her fingers begin to pump up and down your length softly, every stroke sending sweet little shocks of pleasure up your spine as your cock quickly comes to full stiffness.

“Really?” she asks, with exaggerated incredulousness. “What’s the matter, too much of a gentleman to fuck a girl that’s been bought and paid for?”

“I… I, uh, I don’t usually fuck-”

“...whores?” Taeyeon snaps, although the sly smile on her lips carries no hint of condescension. The word leaves her lips without any sense of hesitation or judgement, as though she were asking you a simple, obvious question.

“I, no, Taeyeon, I meant-”

“Don’t worry about it,” she answers, her eyes temporarily leaving yours to look down on your cock, which she has continued to pump and up down with a closed fist. “I know what I am. And I won’t judge you for not wanting to fuck me… although your friend here begs to differ.”

“My friend has a habit of getting me into trouble,” you answer with a smirk.

“Does it?” she answers, her tone playful. She breaks eye contact with you to glance down at your shaft again, now leaking glistening pre-cum over your head. She licks her lips - and you take it to mean that she liked what she saw.

“Yeah. It always wants to stick around and play when I really should be leaving.”

“Interesting,” Taeyeon answers, fixing her gaze on yours once more. “My mouth does that to me too.”

Eyes not leaving yours, Taeyeon slowly drops to her knees. With one hand on the base of your cock she points it towards her mouth before her small, pink tongue darts out to give it a long, wet lick from base to tip. You shiver with pleasure. Your eyes close involuntarily, and it takes more effort than you cared to admit to force them open once more so you could watch as Taeyeon reaches the tip of your cock, swirling her pink tip around your head, slathering it with saliva and milky pre-cum.

The sly, devilish smile on her lips widens. Those eyes had never left yours, drinking in the pleasure she was conjuring in your body like it was some fine wine to be tasted and savored.

Satisfied that you were bound now to her whim, a slave to her thrall, she takes you into her mouth.

Your attempts to keep your eyes open fail almost immediately, your lids shutting over thankful eyes as those first delicious sparks of pleasure begin to radiate from your shaft, travelling up your spine and into an overwhelmed brain. Your mind had been running a million miles a minute over the past hour or so - and to go so rapidly from being tense and on-edge to an unforeseen but not unwelcome windfall of pleasure was a little more than it could handle.

Nonetheless you do your best to savor it, savor every second as the young woman on her knees in front of you takes your hard, stiff cock in and out of her hot, wet mouth, perfect pink lips closed tightly around its length, lathering it with a slick sheen of her spit and your pre-cum. Your left hand reaches out under its own volition, resting on the side of Taeyeon’s head as it bobs up and down on your shaft, your fingers slowly drifting down to cup her chin.

She looks up at you again - soft, innocent eyes that held a glimmer of something devious in their corners, as though she were only barely repressing something else behind the cloak of confidence she wore around her.

Your hips begin to move in time with Taeyeon’s movements on your cock, shoving your length even deeper and faster into her wanton mouth. The girl welcomes it, encourages it by bracing her hands on the sides of your hips, fingers digging into your thighs and pulling them back towards her.

Your other hand joins your left, cradling the back of her head, taking your liberties with her face as it continues to suck tightly on every inch of your cock with every entrance and exit of it between her tightly pursed lips. Soon she has ceased moving her head, letting you truly fuck her face, thrusting in and out of her wet mouth at your own pace. Her eyes remain locked on yours the whole time, her gaze never wavering, that look of fulfilled lust never diminishing - only strengthening with every thrust you made into her face.

Your eyes close involuntarily once again, a sigh of wordless pleasure leaving your throat as your head tilts back and you take a moment to savor the sensations flowing outward from your crotch. Only a few minutes ago you were so tense, so anxious and fearful about the possibility of a deal gone wrong; and your weary brain had no capacity left to fight the orgasm quickly building in your loins. Your peak nears after only a few minutes - quicker than you would have liked, but you were too lost, too drunk in the tight wetness of the woman’s mouth to give a damn about it.

“I’m gonna fucking cum,” you hiss. Taeyeon’s only response is to slip her hands from your hips to the cheeks of your ass, pulling you against her mouth, strengthening each thrust between her lips, removing any thought of pulling your cock out of her wet cavern. She lets out a wet gurgle that could have been acceptance, or permission - not that it mattered, when her swirling tongue and the tight grip on your butt told you all you needed to know.

It only takes you a few moments more before you let your orgasm overtake you, the stress and anxiety of the past hour or so finding release in thick, white semen that spurts wetly from your tip and into the back of Kim Taeyeon’s needy throat. Her throat works as fast as it can, gulping down and swallowing every rope that fills her small mouth. Her eyes remain locked on yours the whole time, even as they water slightly, even as they flinch with each spurt of semen you leave in her throat.

As your orgasm begins to subside you give her mouth a few more thrusts, grunting with each one, your body possessed of a temporary but undeniable need to watch her choke on your cum. And she does so, a wet cough leaving her mouth as the tip of your shaft hits the back of her mouth and temporarily cuts off her air supply.

You are suddenly ashamed, and afraid that you’d hurt her. But when your spent cock finally slips out of her mouth and she lets out a wet gurgle, allowing a spill of her spit and your cum to drip from the corners of her lips, the lust in the gaze that she fixes upon you is undiminished. In fact, it is only deepened, as though the taste of your cum and the roughness with which you’d given it to her had only heightened her need for more.

She rises from her knees, a slender hand with slender fingers wiping the wetness from her messy chin before bringing the slick mess to her mouth for her wet, semen-glazed tongue to lick off. Eyes never once leaving yours, she takes a few steps backwards towards the waiting office table, her black high heels echoing oddly loudly in the hangar.

The young woman leans her butt on the edge of the table before reaching up with hands and pulling the straps of her black dress down, revealing her small, round breasts and the tight, taut nipples atop each one.

She bends over at the waist to grasp the hem of her knee-length dress, giving you a generous view of her hanging breasts as she does so. Her slim fingers grasp its edge before pulling it up her body, revealing the pale, creamy skin of her thighs and the slick wet lips between them. She only stops when the dress is a mere slash of silk around her waist, more like a fancy belt than a dress.

There is no slow undressing, no teasing, seductive dance. Only a stripping of unnecessary obstacles that stood in the way between her and needs that needed to be satiated.

“Come take what’s yours,” she says, her eyes half-lidded now, every syllable of the words leaving her mouth dripping with desire.

Your body moves of its own volition, driven solely by the need to claim the reward offered to you. When you reach her your lips crash into hers in a frenzied kiss that had little passion but plenty of lust - tongues quickly find and explored mouths, teeth, and lips; hands explore shoulders, breasts, and backs; legs press torsos against torsos, hers wrapping quickly around your waist as you pick her up and deposit her upon the desk.

You tear your lips from hers - which proved more difficult than you cared to admit, the soft sweetness of her lips like a delicious dessert that was almost too decadent to finish. Your mouth moves to her neck, to her soft, round breasts and her tight, stiff nipples, latching onto the small buds with hungry lips before sucking deeply - savoring each inch of her pale, creamy skin, devouring the young woman’s body like a starving man indulging in an unexpected feast.

Taeyeon moans and sighs and gasps with every movement of your mouth and lips, every suck on her tight nipples. Her hand finds its way onto the back of your scalp, pressing you against her needy breasts, pulling you by the hair from one needy mound to the other, ensuring both of her tight, stiff peaks received the attention she needed. After a while she rips your mouth from her saliva-soaked breasts, and with a wicked glint in her eye, she pushes you down between her legs.

You go to your knees willingly, taking only a moment to drink in the sight of Taeyeon’s wet, glistening lips before diving in, indulging and feasting on her wet, slick flesh with the same hunger and need you showed to her breasts. The girl’s gasps turn into heavy moans as your tongue swipes up and down her tender lips, drinking in her taste and her juices like her body was a newly opened fruit, lapping her up, licking every drop, gorging yourself on her sweet, tender flesh.

“Oh, fuck,” she gasps, just the beginning of a long string of profanity and filth that begins to leave her mouth - not that you could hear most of it, as she quickly closes her warm, flushed thighs around your head, trapping you against her crotch, forcing you to finish a meal you were going to devour anyway.

Her pussy is as delicious a meal as you could have ever wanted, but you want to heighten it for her, ensure that she was being fed as much as you. And so you latch your lips around the tender, taut bud at the top of her opening before devoting tender licks of your needy tongue upon it. As her moans rise in volume and need, your fingers find her slick opening and slip inside it, building to and maintaining a steady rhythm as you thrust them in and out of her folds.

It doesn’t take long for your actions to achieve the desired effect - soon she is a writhing, squirming mess atop the desk, the wordless gasps and occasional hissed profanity muffled by the thighs pressed tightly against your ears as she wraps her legs around your head. Her fingers dig almost painfully into the back of your scalp, pressing your head against her flesh and making it difficult to breathe.

But oxygen was a secondary concern. The wet, slick, hot flesh of the woman beneath your tongue was all that mattered. You slurp up her juices onto a thirsty tongue, savoring her bittersweet taste on your palette, before returning your lips back onto her needy clit and resuming swiping at it with firm, steady strokes.

When she orgasms she fills your mouth with even more of her delicious juices, her slick wetness flowing freely into your mouth and onto your still-thrusting fingers. She makes a mess of your face and hand. You could not have cared less. When you finally release her quivering bud from your lips and even as your fingers slip out of her satiated pussy, you lap up every drop of her juices you could find - your hunger not at all satiated, not at all satisfied.

You return to her feet to find the same look of need on her eyes. She hops up onto the desk and spreads her legs wantonly, welcoming you between them. Your stiff cock rests on a warm thigh, still streaked with her own juices.

“Fuck me now,” she hisses with a tone that was more of an order than a request.

“Tell me you want this,” you reply, the words leaving your tongue before you knew you were speaking them. There was no doubt in your mind that she did - but you wanted to hear her say it, wanted to hear her admit it. “Tell me how you want me to treat you.”

“Treat me like a fucking whore,” she hisses in reply, eyes dark and needy. “Fuck me like a dirty litlte whore that your boss bought you.”

She spreads her legs wider. Your cock quivers with need. You grip it by the base and place it at her entrance, swirling its head around her needy clit. Her glistening lips lather the head with her slick juices. Her eyes drip with lust, mirroring the slickness of her body.

“If you want to be treated like a whore,” you hiss as you fill her tight, hot pussy for the first time, leaving her breathless, “then you’re going to be fucked like one.”

You begin fucking her, pounding her on the creaking, protesting desk. Not giving a damn about a slow building up of speed, not caring about anything other than driving yourself in and out of the young woman’s wet, slick, hot pussy at a fast and frantic pace. For her part Taeyeon seemed to welcome it, even revel in it - any initial pain and discomfort she felt was quickly overwhelmed by the welcome feeling of being filled again and again by your stiff meat.

She lets out sharp gasps with each wet meeting of your bodies, her sweet little mouth frozen in an open “O” as if each thrust of your cock into her needy pussy drove the air from her lungs. Her right hand involuntarily clenches tightly onto your left shoulder, nails digging so painfully into your skin that she might have drawn blood - not that you would have cared or even noticed. Her body tightens around you. Her pussy pulsates. Her eyes remain locked on yours.

The old desk creaks loudly with each thrust into her body as it protests the rough treatment it is being given. For a moment you fear it would give out and break, sending you both crashing to the floor. Not that you would have given a damn. You would’ve fucked the mewling, quivering young woman right on the dirty, cold floor if you needed to.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck me like that,” Taeyeon hisses, the filthy profanity leaving her mouth at odds with the innocence of her youthful face. “Fuck me! Harder! Fuck me as hard as you want.”

You take her words as a challenge, and to that end you grasp her behind her knees, pulling them from your hips and bending them over her torso until they are hovering just over her shoulders. You fuck her like that for a few minutes, every thrust giving her the full length of your cock from base to tip. You groan at her tightness. She moans at your size.

“Treat me… treat me like the fucking whore I am,” she snaps, the vulgarity of her words momentarily stealing your attention away from the tightness of her body. “Choke me. Slap me. Hurt me!”

You normally weren’t one to indulge in such kinks aside from relatively tame hair pulling or ass slapping, and so her demands for rougher treatment surprise you somewhat. But there was something in Kim Taeyeon that enticed you in a way other women didn’t - perhaps it was her youthful appearance, perhaps it was the fact that she was so confident and demanding about what she wanted. Perhaps it was that she knew who and what she was, and she revelled in it, enjoyed every moment of what she was hired to do.

Your hand moves - again, almost of its own volition - to grasp a bouncing, soft breast, squeezing it none-too-gently, enjoying the feel of her warm flesh in your hand and the stiffness of the nipple poking into your palm. Not breaking contact with her milky skin for a moment, your hand travels up her chest, until it closes tightly around her thin, pale throat.

A wicked smile appears at the corners of her mouth as your fingers close around her windpipe, as though she were happy to see you give in to her desires. You grunt as you pump harder into her body, feeling more and more of your self-control erode with every thrust. Her moans rise in volume until they become shrieks.

And then she slaps you hard on the cheek with an open hand.

“You fuck like a pussy,” she snaps, the words dulled somewhat by the hand clasped around her throat. You stop thrusting into her for a second. Her words sting - your pride hurt as much as the side of your reddened cheek; in your mouth you can taste the coppery twang of blood. Your fingers tighten somewhat around her neck, as though wanting to exact some measure of revenge for the pain she has inflicted.

Never in your life had you hit a woman before. But before you know it your free hand has reached up and slapped Taeyeon across the cheek.

You expect a look of pained shock to appear on her flushed cheeks.

Instead there is only a wicked smile, as though she were proud of having made you do something you never would have done otherwise. Her hand moves to slap you in return, but you catch her by the wrist, and pin her hand down onto the table. With one hand still around her throat and the other holding down her struggling wrist, you resume fucking the helpless young woman atop the desk. You are afraid for a moment that she would slap you with her free hand, but instead it reaches up to your skull, fingers digging deeply into your skin. Soon you feel a warm liquid in your scalp, and you know she has drawn blood from you for the second time.

You are in a frenzy now, your cock slamming in and out of her body with a reckless abandon, using the young woman’s pussy like it were a toy, and object to be used for your pleasure. The pain you have caused each other only heightens each sensation, focuses it and makes it more pure, more intense.

Taeyeon not only allows it but welcomes it, if the look of sheer bliss on her face and the continued tightening and pulsating of her wet, slick tunnel is anything to go by. She squirms and quivers and writhes atop the desk, fingers digging ever deeper into your increasingly painful scalp - but your hands at her throat and wrist keep her pinned down onto it as your cock continues to nail her onto it like some obscene piece of art.

“Fuck!” she moans inbetween wordless gasps of pleasure, “Fuck, yes, own me, use me like this- fuck me like the little whore I am, fuck me like your little whore!”

Satisfied that you’d broken her, you release her throat and wrist - and she lets out a whimper of disappointment as you do so. But the whimper is soon replaced by a wicked sigh as you grasp her by the hips and pull her off the desk, before turning her around and pushing her roughly back onto it with a hand in the middle of her back.

No teasing, no build up or prelude. As soon as you are able you grasp the base of your cock with your right hand, line it up with her dripping opening, and then you are fucking Kim Taeyeon again, this time from behind, with her small, tight little body bent over the creaking desk.

“Oh, fuck!” she gasps, “Fuck, you’re so big like this, fuck, you’re so big you’re stretching me out you’re filling me so much oh fuck, oh fuck oh I’m gonna, I’m close, I’m gonna-”

The string of profanity leaving her mouth is cut short abruptly when your hand grasps the back of her head - and slams it down onto the table.

“Shut up and just take my dick, Taeyeon,” you hiss as you continue to fuck her roughly into the table. “Take it like a good little whore.”

Your words, and your implicit surrender to the darker needs, seem to push her over the edge. Her pussy pulsates and quivers and tightens so much around your cock that it drives you dizzy with pleasure. Her limbs shake so violently with her orgasm that you fear she would have fallen from the table had she not been pinned to it by your hands at her head and shoulder.

Throughout it all you are fucking her into the desk, relishing in the feel of her orgasming pussy wrapped tightly around your cock with each entry and exit. Your hand tightens around her skull, your teeth gritting with effort as the pleasure builds in your loins, making you feel light headed and dizzy.

“Beg for it, Taeyeon,” you spit. Your pace quickens as you reach your peak, hammering hard and fast into her pussy. “Fucking beg for my cum. Beg me to cum in you. Beg for it like a good little slut. Like a good little whore.”

“Cum in me already,” she manages to say, turning her head enough to hiss at you despite your hand still pushing her onto the table. “Fucking cum inside your dirty little whore! Fill my dirty little pussy with cum!”

Just as your words broke her, hers break you - and you bury yourself as deeply as you can inside Kim Taeyeon’s wet, hot body before you finally orgasm. Your cock pulsates as it sends thick, white cum into her pussy, your entire body jerking involuntarily with each spurt. Taeyeon moans deeply with each rope of semen that fills her, her pussy squeezing tightly around your spurting cock, welcoming each and every drop of your seed.

You keep her pressed onto the table throughout the length of your orgasm, your hands at her skull and her shoulder not loosening until your strength finally gives out with the last few ropes of cum that you manage to force from your spent, tired cock. Finally releasing her, you lean over the young woman’s body on the desk, breathing heavily, suddenly exhausted.

After a few more seconds trying to catch your breath, you eventually straighten up, enjoying one last glance at Taeyeon’s body bent over the desk, her round, full ass still pressed against your crotch. Giving her a soft smack on the ass cheek, you grasp her hips as you slowly draw your spent cock out of her body, enjoying the sight of glistening cum that quickly appears from her well-used pussy. It flows wetly down her thighs and onto the floor in thick drops, forming a small puddle between her still shaky legs.

You expect her to say something filthy, something vulgar about the mess you’d made of her body. But to your surprise she says nothing as she bites her lip slightly, shooting you a sensual, wicked smile from over her shoulder.

You begin to tuck yourself back into your pants, and she does the same, adjusting her wrinkled black dress as best she could around her body, it having been twisted around by your frenzied movements.

For a split second, just before she pulls it back down over her hips, you catch a glimpse of a tattoo at the small of her back - one that had been covered by the dress while you were fucking.

It is the outline of a chess piece - a queen.

As if on cue, one of the black vehicles her crew arrived in pulls into the hangar. You are momentarily alarmed, but there is nothing in Taeyeon’s movements that suggests you are in any sort of danger, so you do nothing but watch as it pulls up next to the both of you. Out of the passenger side hops Tiffany, who quickly moves to open the rear door for Taeyeon. There is no trace of the confident, brash persona the Californian had displayed not even an hour ago - she seemed more like an obedient servant now, eager to please her superior.

Taeyeon shoots you a sweet smile, her secret identity having been revealed.

You want to say something, something clever or witty in response to the little charade that you had just walked into and played an unknowing part in.

“I hope I can call on your services again in the near future,” Taeyeon says - in a formal British accent.

Unexpected accent shift aside, her tone was clear and confident, showing no hint of the rough, wanton woman she’d been just a few moments before. There is a grace and elegance around her now - were you to ignore the wrinkled dress and slightly frazzled hair she would not have looked out of place at a fancy cocktail party. With her perfect posture and confident smile, she seemed, suddenly, more like the royalty suggested by her codename.

“I hope you do,” you answer, unable to really come up with anything else to say.

Shooting you one last smile upon soft, perfect lips, Taeyeon steps into the waiting vehicle. Tiffany closes the door behind her and hops back into the passenger seat before it speeds away, leaving you alone and speechless.

---

When you approach Ryujin’s vehicle the driver’s side window is open, a lazy trail of smoke is rising from it.

Inside, the young woman is lazily cradling a cigarette in one hand, taking a long drag from it as you open the door and sit in the passenger seat. From her undone button, lowered zipper of her pants, and her wrinkled shirt it was obvious what she was up to while you were with Taeyeon.

“It wasn’t fair that only you got that bonus,” she says, answering your unspoken question. “Besides, that hangar isn’t exactly soundproof.”

You smile slyly at her as you place the briefcase with your fees into the backseat. “When we get back to the hotel you’ll get your cut of the money.”

“I better be getting more than just money,” she answers as she tosses her cigarette butt out the window and starts up the car. “I’m charging you an additional fee for making me wait.”

“I can’t wait to pay it,” you say with a smile. Ryujin gives you a sly smile of her own before she puts the car into drive and you both screech away from the hangar.

---

Author’s Note: *preps holy water bath to cleanse himself of that filth*

Been wanting to write Taeyeon (and at least mention SNSD) for a long time, and I finally came up with an interesting scenario for it. The driver was initially going to be Seohyun but I couldn’t resist putting Ryujin in it as a cameo (and maybe as a sequel hook for part 2 lol).

Hope you all enjoyed it. Stay cool and stay safe, fellow sickdirtyfreaks!

#kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #male reader #pov smut #snsd smut #girls generation smut #taeyeon #kim taeyeon #girls generation #snsd

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scapegrace74-blog · 3 years

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New Ways of Turning into Stone, Chapter 5

A/N Sorry for the long break between chapters. As some of you might have seen from my Tumblr blog, I’ve been off on vacation these past two weeks. Plus, when I felt the urge to write, it was my new Vaquero AU that kept calling to me (21,000 words and counting!), rather than this fic. Which is probably a good argument for why I don’t like to post WIPs. In any event, here is the next chapter some of you have been asking for, entitled Third Appointment. Be careful what you wish for. Angst ahead, plus a trigger warning for infertility trauma, miscarriage.

The first four chapters are available on my AO3 page.

The Thursday after her impromptu encounter with Jamie and his niece at the Royal Hospital for Children, Claire woke with a strange twisting pain in her gut. Skipping breakfast, she was halfway to her office before she diagnosed herself with an acute case of nerves, the kind that sprouted between her lungs and ribcage like a vestigial organ whose sole purpose was to unsettle her.

She wasn’t in the habit of meeting patients outside of the clinical confines of her practice, but it was more than that. Jamie had caught her in a moment of weakness, with both her personal and professional armour missing. What he might have seen and how he could have interpreted it had occupied her thoughts ever since.

Eating lunch was out of the question. By the time two o’clock approached, her insides were a buzzing hornets’ nest of anxiety, her palms clammy with sweat. A half-empty bottle of Xanax called to her from the bottom of her purse. Before she could weigh the implications of taking one at work on an empty stomach, Jamie’s familiar knock intervened.

She could tell as soon as he entered that Maggie hadn’t needed a transfusion that week. His russet curls shone like garnets in the midday sun and his uncanny eyes glittered like sapphires. Still, he avoided looking directly her way as he settled into his usual chair, and she wondered if the overlap of their personal and professional lives had left him feeling unnerved as well.

“No wheat grass smoothie,” he commented, his gaze running over her desk.

“No, I didn’t have time for lunch today.” It was a blatant falsehood, since she’d spent her lunch hour picking her cuticles until they bled, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Ye should eat more, Sassen..., Doctor Beauchamp. Ye canna help anyone else if ye’re no’ properly nourished.” She caught the slip, and for some reason it angered her.

“Is this your attempt to negotiate a reduction in your fees, Jamie? Dietary advice in return for counselling? Because if so, I’m afraid I don’t bill on the barter system,” she snapped, despising her churlish tone.

Jamie’s eyes narrowed, then dimmed. Message received, he sat up straighter in the armchair and crossed a foot over his knee, assuming a position of poised and detached calm that had no doubt served him well during business negotiations. She regrouped by pretending to glance at her journal for the notes from their previous session, although the space next to his name was accusingly blank.

Boundaries thus defined, the session went surprising well. Jamie spoke of his relief that Maggie’s latest round of chemotherapy was over, allowing her to return home and to some semblance of a regular life for a child of six. Claire coaxed him gently towards the topic of his overwhelming guilt for abandoning his family when he was most needed. Jamie processed pain through the recounting of stories, coming to terms with his self-decreed transgression by weaving together the tale of those he loved and pointing to the holes his absence had caused.

As his resonant voice spun its web of words, Claire became aware of an underlying hum. At first it was subtle, like the mumble of traffic from a far-off motorway. But as their hour together ticked by, it grew in strength until she could no longer ignore the buzz that pressed against her from all directions.

“... saw that it was really Jenny and Ian who I was... Claire? Doctor Beauchamp, are ye well?” Jamie was watching her with concern, and she realized she’d been shaking her head, trying to dislodge the omnipresent hum.

“Yes, I’m... yes. Sorry. Just a funny noise that’s... Please, continue.” When Jamie didn’t immediately pick up the thread of his narrative, she tried again. “You were saying something about Jenny and Ian?”

Instead of continuing his previous thought, Jamie picked that moment to broach the topic she’d desperately hoped he would avoid.

“I hope ye’re no’ upset about the other day, at the hospital. I didna mean tae impose or tae... o’erstep the bounds of our relationship. No’ that we have a relationship, mind,” he hastened to add. “Only a professional one. But when I saw ye, I couldna resist introducing ye tae wee Maggie. I hadna told ye about her yet, and I thought...”

“Jamie, it’s fine,” she cut in, halting his rambling explanation. “She’s a lovely girl. They all are. It’s only that, I’m sort of...”

“Ye’re verra good with them. Children, that is. Ye’ll make a fine mother one day.”

All the oxygen left the room at once. Her heart beat so hard there was a bruised feeling behind her sternum. Launching to her feet, Claire stumbled blindly away from her desk. She wanted to run, to scream, but her vision was a narrow chasm and a now-deafening throb filled her ears. She only made it a few steps before her knees buckled and the carpet floated upwards to meet her.

“Ifrinn!” Jamie leapt to her side, catching her by the shoulders before her head could hit the floor. He lowered them both carefully to the ground, resting her body against his lap. “Sassenach? Claire? Can ye hear me? Do I need tae call an ambulance?” The words reached her from very far away, but the threat of medical intervention acted like a dose of smelling salts.

“No,” she groaned, the room spinning around her like a kaleidoscope. “No hospital. I just... need to eat,” she grasped at the most innocuous explanation for her current state.

Without dislodging her, Jamie stretched his long arm and brought back the small basket of miniature muffins that were the day’s offering from Geillis. With surprising dexterity, he peeled away the paper one-handed and broke apart a bite-sized morsel, holding it gently against her lips. Realizing that her dignity couldn’t get any more battered, Claire opened her mouth and allowed Jamie to feed her. After only a few bites, the buzzing disappeared and she was able to sit up on her own.

“Thank you,” she murmured, afraid to look into his eyes for fear of the pity she knew she’d see there. “You were right. I should have eaten lunch, I guess.”

“Claire.” Jamie made a prose poem of the single syllable of her name. She looked up at him through her lashes, stunned to find him looking back, not with pity, but with something akin to adoration. “Mo nighean donn,” he ran a tender hand through her loosened curls. “Ye need tae care more for yerself.”

“I will. I’ll try.” And when she said it to him, she really meant it. Jamie made the impossible seem probable.

They stared at one another, shoulder to shoulder on the floor of her office. She couldn’t think of anything else to say, but nor did she move. Her gaze flitted over his face, noticing a vestige of boyish freckles across the bridge of his nose, a mole hidden in the harvest stubble on his cheek. Jamie was performing a parallel inventory, eyes finally coming to rest at the level of her mouth.

“Ye’ve got a wee crumb, jus’ there.” Unconscious, her tongue swept out, triggering a predatory response, twin blue laser beams narrowing on the target she had just painted on her lower lip.

“I... I’d verra much like tae kiss ye, Claire. May I?”

An amputated moan was all she could manage in response, but Jamie must have understood its meaning. He bent his head until only a whisper separated them. The air crackled, sending that extra organ plummeting towards her hollow womb. Clenching her eyes shut in defeat, she closed the infinitesimal gap until they met in an effervescent caress of lip and tongue.

Cold washed over her skin, bathing her in gooseflesh. Jamie tasted like he looked; a banquet of fresh, volatile flavours that called to mind a picnic in a meadow, a spray of sea foam, the warmth of hearth and home. She could feel him trembling against her, his moist breath rushing against her cheek in shallow pants. For a score of heartbeats, Claire was the happiest she had ever been. Then, reality crashed down around her.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered, pulling away. “I... this can’t... I’m sorry.”

Jamie leaned back with a mixture of longing and resignation. She hated adding herself to his list of regrets, but it was for the best.

“I’m your doctor, Jamie. This isn’t right.”

“Aye, I ken. I should apologize, but I canna seem tae find it in me tae repent.”

Jamie stood, reaching down to help Claire up as well. As soon as it was apparent she was able to stand on her own, he dropped her hand as though it burned. The line between his brows deepened, and she could see the question forming before he gave it voice.

“What if ye werena my doctor? Would it be right then?”

“That’s neither here nor there, because I am, Jamie. A relationship between patient and doctor of a romantic nature is ethically off-limits.”

Jamie nodded, apparently accepting her explanation at face value. Her heartbeat calmed. He moved slowly, gathering his coat and starting to leave.

“But what if ye weren’t?” he said, facing the door. “If we’d met at the hospital, or out on the town?”

“I...” she stammered, searching desperately for any answer except for the truth. “No, Jamie,” she said at last, watching as she destroyed his last bastion of hope. “I’m sorry. I just don’t feel that way about you.”

Nodding abruptly, Jamie let himself out of the office. She listened to his low murmuring voice through the door as he spoke to Geillis, heard him make an appointment for the following week, then the loud snap of the main door closing. Only then did she allow herself to collapse once more to the floor, angry sobs overtaking her.

***

“Are ye out of yer fuckin’ mind?” Geillis inquired with her usual brutal eloquence.

With the help of a Xanax, Claire had managed to see her last two patients of the day, and only needed to navigate the shoals of her office manager’s ire before she could go home and fully medicate herself into a dreamless sleep.

“Jes so we’re clear, ye want me tae write a letter terminating your services as a doctor an’ suggesting suitable alternative providers? An’ ye want me tae send this letter, over email, tae Jamie Fraser?”

“That’s right.” She had determined that icy calm was the best antidote to this conversation, which was fortuitous, since she felt numb all over.

“An’ what reason am I tae give fer this abrupt conclusion tae yer association wi’ Mr. Fraser?”

“I don’t owe him an explanation. Only sufficient notice and an opportunity to seek counselling elsewhere,” she said, feigning reasonableness.

Pushed past her limits, Geillis rose from behind her desk, a tiny tempest of moral indignation.

“Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, ye are a good friend, a fine doctor an’ a fair employer. But I swear by the Almighty that if ye dinna drop the façade and tell me wha’ is going on I am going tae smack ye until yer ears ring!”

There was a certain relief in knowing that Geillis wouldn’t take no for an answer. And unlike Jamie, she knew where Claire lived and would not let her rest until the truth came out.

“He kissed me. Or rather, I kissed him. And I liked it! That’s why, Geillis.”

Her friend’s shoulders sagged, all righteousness gone in an instant. She reached around Claire’s frame and held her in a bone-crushing one-sided hug.

“Och, hen. An’ ye figured ye could deal wi’ those pesky feelings by jes, what? firing him as yer patient?”

“I can’t deal with this right now, Geillis. I can’t feel the way he makes me feel. And this practice is all that I have left. There’s no way I can risk losing it just for an affair that won’t even last the summer.”

She didn’t need to elaborate on her reasons for that dire prediction. Geillis knew them as well as anyone.

“He’s an intelligent man, Claire. He’s gonna ken something is up. Moreover, he’s a good man. He deserves tae hear the truth.”

Shaking her head sadly, Claire walked towards the door. Just before exiting, she called back softly to her friend.

“Geillis? Make sure to include Dr. Rafferty’s name on the list of referrals. I think they’d be a good match.

***

Monday morning dawned with little promise for the fledgling week. Moving robotically through her weekend routine, Claire thought frequently of chickens. How their bodies kept moving once their heads were lopped off, nerves and muscle and bone continuing to function for a time despite the fatal blow.

The elevator chimed its arrival on her floor. As the doors slide open, Jamie was the first thing she saw. He loomed by her still-locked office, a sun-topped thundercloud gripping a sheet of printer paper.

She’d worn her best black suit and a pair of chunky heels that brought her closer to his height. Perhaps, on some subconscious level, she’d anticipated this confrontation. Perversely, she relished it. Vitriol and deceit didn’t suit her, but it was preferable to feeling absolutely nothing.

“Do ye mind tellin’ me,” Jamie began before she’d even set foot in the hallway, “jus’ what this is about, Claire?” He brandished the paper like a wanted poster.

“I would think it was self-explanatory, actually. I’m terminating our professional relationship,” she huffed, golden eyes coming to life for the first time since Thursday.

“Via email. Sent tae me by Miss Duncan, because ye dinna have the guts tae do it yerself. Christ, Sassenach, even my ninth grade sweetheart didna dump me so cruelly!”

“I’m not your sweetheart!” she burst out, a flood of emotion cresting with her rising anger. “Don’t call me that! I was your doctor, Jamie, and now I’m nothing to you. Nothing. Just go. Please. Just go,” she finished weakly and without any hope that he’d listen.

“All this jus’ because I kissed you?” Jamie persevered. At her stubborn silence, he continued, “Nah, I dinna think so. Ye’re many things, Claire, but a coward isna one of them.”

She found this hysterically funny, since a coward was the only role she played to perfection. She didn’t have time to laugh, however, because Jamie was suddenly standing much closer, forcing her to lift her chin to meet his stormy eyes.

“Nah,” he continued smoothly, a big cat alerted to the smell of its prey. “If ye’d objected tae the kiss, ye would have told me so. Read me the riot act or kneed me in the bawls. I think ye’re scared, Doctor Beauchamp. I think that kiss terrified ye, because ye realized ye liked it. Somethin’ ye couldna plan for in yer wee journal, right there under yer nose. Bet it made yer heart beat so fast. So fast, jus’ like it is now.”

Jamie’s hand rested gently over the placket of her suit jacket, where he could surely feel the trip hammering of her pulse.

“Please,” she begged. “Don’t. I can’t...”

“Can’t what, Sassenach?” he whispered back, goading her.

The truth hung on her lips, and the toll of the past few days meant that she no longer had the strength to stop it from spilling forth.

“Can’t have children. Ever. I tried, for years. Fourteen miscarriages, fourteen lost chances. And seeing you with those children last week. I know it’s presumptive, but I could never deny you that chance, Jamie. That’s why I can’t see you anymore.”

She was looking down, watching the buttons of his shirt rise and fall with his agitated breath, but as she finished speaking, their movement ceased. Chancing a glance upward, she was stunned by the fury that had overtaken his expression.

Jamie opened and closed his mouth several times before he managed to speak in a gritty growl.

“Mutation of the RUNX1 gene tha’ causes leukemia. I was tested, along wi’ Jenny an’ Ian, after Maggie was diagnosed. I have a fifty percent chance of passing it along tae my children. An’ since I canna stand the thought of ano’er bairn havin’ tae suffer as Maggie has, as soon as I got the test results, I went out an’ had a vasectomy.”

Claire recoiled as though she’d been slapped, a high pitched whine in her ears.

“Ye’re no’ the only one who’s hurting, Claire!” Jamie continued, voice dashing against the rocks of her name. “We’re no’ meant tae suffer alone. Ye, of all people, should ken that.”

Stunned in the silence following the thunderclap of his revelation, she couldn’t find the words to express her sorrow, her outrage, and her crippling shame. By the time the power of speech returned, Jamie was gone.

#my writing #outlander

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imonthinice · 3 years

Text

The Criminal Psychology Majors, Jason Todd x Fem!Reader Part 13/?

Word Count: 3.2k

Author’s Note: Part 13? The unlucky part??? I’m evil

Y/N - Your name, A/N - Any name ( your best friend’s name).

I don’t know when this will be posted because time is dumb! But I do think I’ll have something prepared for Jason’s birthday<3

Hope you’re all well!

Warnings: Swearing, Eludes to sex, Mentions of injuries, Mentions of underage drug use (Do Not Condone), Mentions of sexual assault, Eludes to trauma, no beta bitch we die like Jason Todd

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16) (Part 17) (Part 18) (Part 19) (Part 20)

The next morning, Jason and Y/N would wake up in the same bed. Y/N would get up and stumble her way into his ensuite, trying not to wake him as he was still injured. It had been 4 days since his injury, and he was hoping that the next day he’d get his stitches removed. She would grab the clothes she wore the day before and walk into the ensuite.

She would fumble with her makeup a bit, realizing it had run slightly from the night before. Before just realizing it would be a lot easier if she took it all off. She wasn’t wearing heavy makeup, but it was just enough to hide what she thought were imperfections.

She wasn’t wearing anything, so she just threw on all of her other clothes and threw her hair up.

When she exited the ensuite, he was still sleeping in the bed, but his clothes were strewn across the room. She paused her thoughts to clean up his clothes and put them in his laundry basket.

She touched her nose to test if it was still warm and painful, which brought all the pain to the forefront, and it was still warm to the touch, she knew it was inflamed from the head-butting incident and looking in the mirror.

She didn’t think it would hurt this much, and she winced at the pain.

Jason would start groaning in his sleep, she assumed it was because they didn’t close the blackout curtains before they had their fun the night before. So she went to go close them when he went and grabbed her thigh, she laughed quietly.

“Good morning, Jason,” she said as she closed the curtains before leaning down to see his face, and what was obvious bedhead.

“Hi,” he whispered before pulling her back into his bed.

She laughed, “Sorry, baby. I had to get up and get dressed.”

“Lame,” he whispered and curled into her.

“Jay, you’re naked,” she said.

“Thank you Sherlock Holmes.”

“Oh shut it, you should get dressed,” she suggested.

“Yeah, I should,” he said as he left the bed, crawling over her and going to his dresser, thank God he didn’t have any IVs and blood bags anymore, so he could walk without having to drag those around anymore.

She didn’t stare at him, because he nose started pounding and she whimpered.

“You alright, Y/N?” Jason asked her.

“Yeah sorry, my nose is killing me.”

“Well that’s what happens when you head-butt someone.”

She laughed, “I’m sorry okay, I panicked.”

“That part’s obvious.”

“You could pretend to care that I’m hurt, Jay,” she joked.

He laughed as he put on his boxers and his pants, “I could, but I also think you were being reckless, I worry,” he searched for a shirt, “I worry that us being together is putting you in danger,” he said as he found a shirt.

“Well, I like the danger, if there is any.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s a danger,” he put on his shirt and fumbled with his hair, “It’s obviously because you’re attached to Bruce, you heard that man ‘I wonder what Bruce will give me for you’ he knew we had money. You need your car back.”

“I can’t afford the fees,” she sighed.

“Bruce can pay them, you know.”

“God no, I would feel so bad, I’ll just take the subway or something.”

He sighed and went back to her, cupping her face, “Please let my dad pay the fees, it’s dangerous out there,” he leaned his forehead against hers and closed his eyes, “I can’t stand that you got hurt linked to your shenanigans with me,” he kissed her.

“I guess it’s me being protective,” he said, “But I think it’s a reasonable thing to be concerned about, Y/N.”

“I’ll figure it out, I swear.”

“You figuring this out involved you head-butting your attacker, I get it was quick thinking, but my god woman, that was dangerous,” he said.

“You literally got stabbed protecting your best friend,” she argued.

“Okay, good point, but I’m prettier than you so I win,” he joked.

“What kind of fucking logic is that you bastard!” she joked.

“The kind of star-crossed lovers or something, I don’t know, I don’t write, you do.”

“I’ll sell our story to Warner Brothers, we’ll make millions off of us.”

“Two lovers, harassed by the press in the media, spend most of their time hiding and protecting themselves from the disgusting eyes of the media and the man who attacked one of them,” he said in a news broadcaster voice, “Amazing, isn’t it?” he joked.

“The kind of story Artemis said Dick would eat up.”

“Oh, he would. Man’s a sucker for a romantic story.”

“Well, maybe he can sell his and Barbara’s romantic story to the Warner Brothers, he’d probably make millions too, if it’s worth anything.”

“Well, they’ve known each other for years, and when they finally started dating, myself, Steph, Cass, Tim and Damien all celebrated to an extent, we all saw it coming from all those years of them knowing each other,” he paused, “They actually fought a lot when they were younger before they dated, it would be normal to hear Dick and Barbs going at it about how they hated each other.”

“That’s such a meet-cute stone-cold-woman meets goofy guy story that I hate it.”

He laughed, “They’re so gooey, it’s so cute that I want to vomit.”

“That’s valid. We should be cuter so that they want to vomit.”

“I like your thinking, Y/N.”

“You always do, I have good ideas, Jason.”

“Only sometimes.”

She laughed. It was true, someone with always good ideas wouldn’t have head-butted her attacker, but it’s not like she carried knives or guns around to defend herself. She was considering getting a conceal-carry permit, just because she truly was shaken up by the event.

But a little trauma makes for good stories, and her story with Jason was just starting.

--------------------------------------

Dick decided he’d drive her to her class that day, she didn’t think it mattered that much, her attack, but she realized that a lot of them didn’t want to see her hurt, even if they barely knew her.

She figured it was a kindness that they all possessed. She heard stories of the Waynes paying off waitress’/waiters’ student debts. She heard stories of the Waynes being polite to their ‘lower’ counterparts of the world. She knew they wer kind people, so she wasn’t shocked when Dick insisted he drive her to her class.

“So, Y/N, what are your intentions with my brother?” Dick joked.

“Oh no, not this, I haven’t prepared my answerers for this exam,” she retorted.

“No, its a pop quiz, you have no chance to prepare.”

“Fuck. Can I drop out of this class?”

“How would you even accomplish that?”

“Tuck and roll out of the car, probably,” she joked.

“You ever done that before?”

“Nope, you?”

“Did it on a dare, Jase dared me.”

“And he calls me reckless,” she laughed.

“Well, we were still in high school at the time, we’re supposed to be reckless,” Dick said.

“You ever met a college kid? We’re supposed to be reckless too.”

“He’ll get over it in time, Y/N. I promise. He just needs time to accept that you’re going to be as reckless and opinionated as he is, no one really refuses each other like you two do, and I’m sure you don’t mean it to be like that.”

“I think you’re reading too far into it, Dick, we make compromises.”

“Then why is your car still an issue? Bruce can cover the cost no questions asked.”

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

“Maybe it’s something to think about.”

“Are you always this brotherly? I need to know what I’m getting into here.”

He laughed, “You really do keep out of the press, don’t you?”

She took that as a yes, he is that brotherly and would continue to be. She didn’t mind, she never had a brother growing up so this would take some time to get used to, but she did not mind at all. She just figured she’d have to keep her partying ways even further down in the depths of her secrets.

They didn’t need to know what she did and what was done to her, she even ignored those problems herself. If they came out, then so be it, but if she could keep them hidden, she would.

“What were you like back in high school?” Dick asked, trying to fill the silence.

“Probably not the type of person that your dad would want Jason to be with,” she admitted.

“Care to elaborate?”

“Honestly? I don’t want to talk about it. You’d probably have to get me hammered to talk to you about it.”

“Well, maybe one day you’ll go to a gala. And after you’re wasted, I’ll ask you about it.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

“I’m sure you will, Dick. I’m sure you will.”

“Well, we’re here,” he said, “You have my number right?”

“I do, I do.”

“Good, call me if you need me to come get you and take you home, or to the Manor. Either or, no questions asked,” he laughed, “I expect the same when you have your car back, to be fair.”

“Consider it a deal, thanks Dick.”

“Anytime, really.”

She closed the door and waved him off, but when he pulled out of the lot, the press was at Y/N’s ass. She ran though, she ran far to get out of there.

Class was the usual. She wrote her normal psychology notes, sitting in her class, concentrating as she scribbled down the notes that she struggled to read.

When she was done and getting read to call Dick to come get her, her old friends from Metropolis showed up at her school.

“Hey! Y/N!” Christopher yelled when he saw her leave her class.

“Oh my god?” she said before running to hug him, “What the fuck are you doing here, dude?” she questioned, before looking at the rest of the car and seeing Justine, Kaitlin and Thomas, “What the fuck are all of you doing here?”

“C’mon party girl, we’re taking you to your pale, you get dressed, and we’re going out,” Justine urged Y/N to join them, “Just like old times, man.”

“Yeah! We haven’t partied in weeks since you got your scholarship! We know you’re busy and trying to discipline yourself, but we can go party every once in a while, girl!” Kaitlin added.

“You know we miss you too,” Thomas finished.

“Alright, I need no more convincing, let’s get going,” she said as she hopped into the car and they went going to her house. She thought on the drive there, What if I fall back into old habits, and I’m doing so well, what if I fall off?

She couldn’t have more thoughts because before she knew it, she was in her house sending Jason a quick text,

Hey baby, I can’t come over tonight. Old friends came by.

Oh. I hope you have fun, I’ll probably be with my brothers. how did you even get home?

They drove me. I promise I’ll be over tomorrow and you’ll have me all day and night long, though.

That. That is exciting.

It should be.

She got dressed.

And she sent Jason a photo of what she was wearing (like the picture above) just to get him going. Before running out of her place and hopping back into the car.

“You always dress to impress, don’t you?” Thomas asked.

“I dress like I know what I’m doing,” Y/N joked.

“Never change, Y/N, never change,” Justine joked back.

------------------------

She walked into the club she frequented back when she was in high school, but the Gotham one. She had a fake ID, and she used it well and was in the club before the rest of her group knew it.

Justine would grab her hand and take her to the bar, Fuck, she thought, Here we go. And they ordered drinks.

The rest of the night was a blur of people, drinks and her friends.

She knew she overdid it from the minute she woke up, in her bed, feeling around for her phone in her messed up and torn up sheets. Het body was covered in bruises, she noticed between harsh blinks from the pouding headache she was nursing. She remembered why she didn’t party as hard anymore. She didn’t even know how she got home that night. She found her phone and turned it on, 8:00am it read. She checked her messages, adn there was Jason, at 7:00am he said;

Are you awake yet?

To which, she replied: I am, why?

How drunk were you last night?

I think blackout. I don’t remember much.

I can tell.

Tell me I didn’t do anything stupid.

You did something stupid.

What did I do?

You called me at 3am and told me you loved me, followed by saying you threw up at one of your friends. I don’t even know how you got home.

Well that’s not that bad.

You told me about your past.

Oh.

When were you going to tell me you’re a recovering alcoholic?

I don’t know.

Come here. Come over. We need to discuss this.

Alright, alright. I’ll be there soon.

Dick will come get you in an hour, actually. Don’t leave the house without him.

I won’t.

She got up and looked at the mirror at herself. She was covered in bruises, her makeup was smudged, her eyes looked sunken in and her hair was a mess. She sighed, knowing she fucked up, and wiped off her makeup and got in the shower. She quickly showered and put on a turtleneck and a pair of jeans.

It was to hide the bruises from Jason. She assumed someone had physically assaulted her, possibly sexually. She only had that thought once before she pushed it very far down and swallowed it. She went to go make coffee, but her head was racing at the ideas of last night and what she said.

She was fucked up and she did fuck up. She knew she shouldn’t have drank. but she did. And she knew Jason was either really pissed or really sympathetic. She was scared at how much she might have discussed when Dick honked his horn and she left the house.

In the car, Dick tried to break the silence, “You should have told someone, anyone. We’re all really good at listening, Y/N.”

She wiped away a few tears that were pooling.

“You didn’t need to hide from us, Y/N.”

“I do.”

“No, Y/N, you don’t. Jason’s probably more mad that you didn’t tell him over you actually being a recovering alcoholic. You called him last night and let it all spill out. Everyone knows, you don't need to hide anymore.”

“Of course I did,” she said, swallowing more tears and her voice breaking.

She wanted her past as an alcoholic to die when she moved out of the city, because she didn’t want everyone to know how broken she was, fighting with addiction. A lot of her anxieties and treatments of people make sense with her past addictions, but that doesn’t mean she liked them.

She hated that girl, the wild party child who almost drank herself to death, her body was just recovering fully from her escapades when she went out clubbing. She knew this was going to be an issue, but she didn’t know how to fix it.

He looked over at her and caught eye at one of her bruises that was peaking over her turtleneck. He tried to not stare, but she noticed.

“Don’t ask about it, Dick. I don’t know what happened.”

“I think you two will get through this.”

“I hope we do, but realistically,” she paused.

“Don’t think like that.”

They pulled into the driveway and the minute Dick unlocked her door, she was out of there, speed walking to the door and then to Jason’s room.

She opened the door to find him reading a book, she would have smiled at this, had she not been certain that they were about to fight.

“Jason?”

“Oh. You’re here.”

“Yeah, I just-”

He cut her off and got up from his bed, looking ever-so disappointed in her as he walked to the door of his room. She expected the fight to take place in the hall, so she tried to step back when he grabbed her forearm with one of his hands and yanked her into his room. She assumed maybe, just maybe his room was soundproof so his family wouldn't have to hear the yelling. He closed the door once she was in and stared at her.

She gulped, expecting him to let loose on the argument now about her drinking and her confessing she was a recovering alcoholic, but instead, he pulled her into a hug, which she yelped at.

“Jason?” she said, shocked.

“Shh,” he broke from the hug and cupped her face, “It’s okay, really.”

“But I hid it from you...”

“You know, we’ve only known each other two weeks or something, right? I get you hiding it, I just wish it didn’t come out like that,” he laughed and kissed her quickly, “Besides-” he noticed the bruise on her neck, “What’s that?” he asked, grabbing her hand and clutching it.

“There’s...”

“There’s more?” he asked.

“What, I mean, uh... uh... no?” she stuttered.

“Take your shirt off.”

“Jason...”

“Or tell me the truth.”

“Baby-”

“So there’s more, who hurt you? Did you fall?” he asked, getting a little bit heated, really squeezing her hand.

“I don’t know.”

He cupped her face, “That’s okay,” he leant his forehead against hers, “It’s okay, I promise, I do. I just really don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I don’t try to,” she said.

“Seems like trouble likes to follow you,” he said.

“Well, you found your way to me so I’d have to agree,” she joked.

“Ha ha. How’s your nose?” he said as he broke contact with her to go sit on his bed, she followed.

“It still hurts, but I can’t tell if that’s from last night or from my shenanigans with the attacker.”

“It could honestly be a combination of both, depending on what happened to you, have you asked your friends for the full story yet?”

“No. I’ve been scared to.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“I’m going to. Right now.”

“I support your decision on that,” he said as he turned on the TV in his room, but then Y/N paused.

“Y/N?”

“Reports are in of a group of friends, who all got arrested last night, for bodily harm of a man who attempted to rape their friend, Police say., the suspects in the attack are Christopher Green, Justine Wong, Kaitlin Benoit and Thomas Harthrew. More to be coming soon.”

“Thank god that girl had those friends.”

She turned to Jason, “So,” she paused, “I’m glad you think that, because, those are my friends.”

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xhanisai · 3 years

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got any Lovesquare headcanons for any AUs you havent had the chance to work on in a while?

Actually, I do! Remember the really old doodles I did of Chibi Noir and Chibi Bug?

This Chibi AU is something I’ve always wanted to expand on as a comic but never got the chance to do so- I may go off tangent here lel

- They are equivalent to sprites/chao/fairy. They suddenly appeared in Marinette’s and Adrien’s life after they’ve been working as heroes for a while solely because their love for each other is SO strong, that the magic was able to create these chibis.

- They are no bigger than a newborn baby but they are still quite a challenge to hide from other people. They make only little sounds; Chibi Noir meows like a kitten and Chibi Bug only hums quietly. The latter is so much more shy and quiet than the former.

- Chibi Noir appeared first in Marinette’s room because Adrien has deep down inside, acknowledged his romantic feelings for her which are on the same par as his feelings for Ladybug. Of course, Marinette was freaked out at first but she was quick to fall for Chibi Noir’s cuteness and pretty much adopted him as her own son/pet? The only explanation that Tikki gave for the being’s existence is that it’s because Ladybug’s and Chat Noir’s partnership is very, very strong. (She’ll give the full explanation after the reveal).

- Marinette has named him Chaton Noir and loves him a lot. He’s very attached to her, a glutton for sweets and loves cuddling her. He also hates that he has to hide away from other people and would sometimes cause trouble. Basically an equivalent to a naughty kitten. Regardless, Marinette can’t stay mad at him for long and is thankful that he’s there with her.

- Marinette also has no choice but to bring him along to akuma fights and patrols because a) Chaton wouldn’t let her leave him alone and would cling to her leg with watery eyes, b) If she did leave him alone at home, there’s 100% chance that he would be found out by her parents or that he’d sneak out looking for her and get lost.

- So, the night after Chaton appeared, Ladybug brought him with her to patrol to meet her partner and explain what’s been going on. Chat’s first reaction:

“...WE HAVE A KID!? HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE!?!?? MON DIEU- I have no idea how to be a Papa! I haven’t even done any research and I don’t even know how to change nappies and-”

“Chat Noir-”

“-I will also cover every expense fee and love him the way he deserves-”

“Ch-aaaaat-”

“-And I will also most definitely look for a job but I also don’t mind being a stay at home dad- hey wait! I could be a stay at home dad, Buguinette-”

“CHAT NOIR.”

- Of course, Ladybug finally corrects him and explains what really happened. At first, Chat is awed by Chaton’s existence and marvels about how cool all of this is, however, he does start to get irritated with how close and sweet the being was with Ladybug. He’s even miffed by the fact that he doesn’t have his own Chibi rendition of his Lady.

- Chaton Noir is also a little shit and loves teasing Chat Noir and riling him up. They have a love-hate dynamic.

“Why does HE get to kiss you and get kisses in return???”

“Because he’s cute and I love him,”

“I’m cute too! Why don’t you love me!? ;A; ”

“My Lady, he stuck his tongue out at me!”

“So? Just ignore him,”

“MY LADY!?”

“Bug...You let HIM take a bath with YOU!?!? WHAT!?!?!”

“Your point?”

“OH I HAVE A MILLION POINTS TO MAKE!”

- Chaton Noir helps out a tad during akuma battles. Though he’s not capable of any sort of power, he can distract the villains. No matter how many times Ladybug tries to keep him in a place where it’s safe, he always runs out to try and help. Many times, he ends up in trouble and gets saved by Chat Noir. So just imagine an annoyed Chat leaping away with the Chibi held by the crook of his arm lmao.

- It’s only a few weeks after Chaton Noir’s appearance does Chibi Bug finally come to life (this is because Marinette is no longer in denial of her feelings for her partner). Adrien wakes up to the sight of an annoyed Plagg and the new Chibi fast asleep on his pillow. It took the boy everything to not squeal out loud like an obsessed fangirl.

“Plagg! I finally have a daughter!”

“You know that’s not how it works, kid.”

“I’m gonna name her Baby Bug!”

“...You better not give her any of MY cheese.”

- When Baby Bug finally woke up, she was quick to run away and hide from Adrien’s super excited face. He didn’t give up. He managed to coax her out with his hidden stash of sweets and she allowed him to pet her hair. At that moment, Adrien dramatically vowed that he would die for her, ignoring Plagg’s grumbles on “I never saw you pledging that to ME, a literal GOD.”

- Despite Plagg’s annoyances at first, he too fell for the Chibi and also vowed that he’d protect her no matter what. This happened because whilst he was eating cheese mid-air, he accidentally dropped it, only for Baby Bug to catch it and give it back to him.

- Baby Bug is very well behaved, full of affection, loves to draw and create. She also has a strange habit of eating flowers (especially if they’re full of aphids). She does have a mischievous side, especially with her impromptu hide and seek games and “borrowing” Adrien’s belongings (mainly his phone UwU).

- She hates Gabriel Agreste. She hates how upset he makes Adrien so whenever Gabe is mentioned or if she hears him or sees him, she pulls a face.

- Chat Noir obviously couldn’t wait to show her off to Ladybug. They met up at a late patrol with Chat arriving like a proud father.

“Miau, My Lady! Meet our daughter!”

“Chat, how many times do I have to tell you that THAT’S not how it works- oh- Oh! Oh wow! She’s so cute!!!”

“I know right!?”

“Mon Dieu she is so adorable!!!”

“YES! Her name is Baby Bug!”

“SO CUTE!”

- Chaton Noir is a bit confused with all of this at first, even gets stupidly jealous with seeing Ladybug fawning over someone else that’s not him to the point where he hisses at Baby Bug. The little shit makes her cry.

“Why you!? My Lady, you need to teach YOUR son some manners- hmmph!”

“Quoi!? Why don’t you teach YOUR daughter to stop being a crybaby!? It was only an itty bitty hiss!”

- Thankfully, Ladynoir quickly settles their bickering after they realised how silly they were being. Baby Bug manages to win Chaton Noir over by sharing a macaron with him.

- She regrets it now. He’s never stopped fawning over her and chasing her for a hug since then.

“Awww, don’t you think they remind you of us~?”

“They do, especially when I’m trying to get away from your terrible jokes, Minou~ :)”

“You love my jokes and you know it! >:(”

- During akuma battles, even Baby Bug refuses to sit still in a safe space and runs out to help Ladynoir. A lot of it is just keeping Chaton Noir out of trouble, however.

- Both Chibis also go to school with their holders, hiding in their school bags. They don’t like to be alone.

I think I went a bit overboard with this lmao...if you want a reveal with this AU or a different AU, feel free to ask lol :’D

#my asks #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug and chat noir #chibi au #my au #miraculous au #chibi noir #chibi bug #ladynoir #ladybug #chat noir #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #i know you wanted lovesquare but my brain just went LADYNOIR LADYNOIR

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dissonantdreamer · 3 years

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I usually don’t do this but...I hate this shit so much, I understand we all love Ellie and Joel, but why are people so biased towards these characters, and try to justify their actions.

I am so confused, what the hell Lev did? Associated with Abby? That’s why he should face consequences? Also, do people actually forget the whole Santa Barbara sequence, smh.

Since this is a submission I’ll separate my thoughts from your post under a cut:

okay, one: an antihero in one person’s perspective will always be a villain in another person’s perspective. and two, “Good” and “Evil” are not as blissfully black and white as some people want it to be.

This person clearly doesn’t understand how before the truce between the scars and the WLF, there was a lot of killing done because that’s how wars work. Probably because they either played this game once, never completed the game, paid zero attention to the game because they were so mad about Joel, or watched some angry manchild yell about how the “evil jew Neil, and demonic witch Halley ruined the game and paid off the industry to tell you it was a good game” on youtube (seriously, so tired of still seeing this anti-semetic and mysogynistic shit pop up every time I do research for a post but i’m not surprised by it). I digress, the truce has been broken when we meet Abby, both sides are attacking each other and this is a situation where you, THE FUCKING PLAYER IN CHARGE OF YOUR OWN GAME PLAY, can choose to engage and kill as many people as you want OR stealth around them. The only cutscene where Abby actively kills someone with intention is Joel. The man who killed her father without hesitation (which we know BECAUSE WE FUCKING PARTICIPATED IN HIS DEATH but Abby doesn’t) Most other kills we see is in defense, yes she’s built like a fucking tank and her kills are particularly brutal, but as I’ve pointed out a whole fuck bunch in other posts, it’s mechanical, utilitarian, done in a way that eliminates threats as they are perceived. Whereas Ellie is brutal because it’s all personal to her, arguably she kills whoever gets in her way for no real reason. She kills because it’s all personal. (JESUS FUCK HOW CAN YOU LOOK AT THE WAY SHE KILLS NORA AND THINK THAT IS JUSTICE) AS far as the other cutscene kills, Abby kills Jesse because he was first through the door and if you’re unsure of how many people are there you don’t want to get ambushed, however, “killing” Tommy and almost killing Dina was for the same painful reasons Ellie went after the Saltlake crew, to make them suffer for what they did without hesitation. BECAUSE THIS IS THE KIND OF JUSTICE THIS WORLD BREEDS. Those are it, when Abby is at her most broken and even then, she pulls back and spares Dina let’s Ellie live again even though she wasted it the first time. That is growth, that is empathy, that is what many people who loved the first game fear in the second.

what really bothers me is that there is how the huge difference between how Joel handled Ellie after David and how Abby handled loss with Lev is ignored. Joel clearly didn’t talk much with Ellie after what happened, whether he didn’t know how to or just believed her that she was fine. He tries to cheer her up talking about teaching her guitar, but it’s in that “Dad who doesn’t get his kid is off” kinda way. The whole build up to the giraffe scene is Ellie distant in her head and Joel feeling positive about the future with her. Abby has clearly put so much fucking effort into Lev’s well-being and you see it in the house just before they get captured. She praises his good work, when he finds signs of a hidden door, she actively has him helping when they are looking for the street numbers. Keeping Lev happy, clearly has helped Abby, and Lev is smart for a kid, wise in ways that you don’t see much of in an apocalyptic setting. They help each other in a much more even way. Abby is affected, you find she’s been writing letters to Owen as some sort of self-therapy. She’s letting herself feel her feelings. Which, if you’ve been in therapy makes dealing with traumatic events a little bit easier. She also has a mission to find the Fireflies, it’s a much lighter mission to focus on than revenge. Ellie on the other hand, doesn’t write to Joel, she writes to herself and actively points out that to talk about what has happened would be bad. All that does for her is create a toxic feedback loop.

There are consequences in this game, Joels death is a consequence of the first game. Ellie almost losing herself completely is a consequence of blindly pursuing revenge. Everyone Abby loved is dead, that’s a fucking consequence of dedicating yourself to revenge. The WLF and Seraphites are in shambles as a consequence for endless combat. Hell you as the player have to deal with people as Abby that you kill as Ellie, like Whitney. All of Santa Barbara is a culmination of consequences, precariously stacked a top each other like damaged cars in a Kentucky salvage yard waiting for a tornado to sweep through and do the most damage.

Psychopathy: sometimes considered synonymous with sociopathy, is traditionally a personality disorder characterized by persistent antisocial behavior, impaired empathy and remorse, and bold, disinhibited, and egotistical traits.

A real psychopath has zero empathy for others and refuses to see what others have faced and ignores what they must have gone through. They focus on themselves and how they feel without considering any one else. Sadly some people have tied themselves so tightly to who they think Joel should be because they want to be the tough “anti-hero” that saved the girl and that diminishes all the fucking growth Joel had in four years. He WAS a villain, he was a hunter before he was a smuggler, you can’t justify his behavior in the first game when you can’t consider the other side of the coin Abby, and the edge of the coin that bridges them, Ellie. They all have been the villain in their own story.

These people don’t really care about Joel, they don’t give two shits about anyone other than themselves and their fragile sense of self righteousness, Because if Joel is a bad person to some, then they are too and they can’t do that because the world is against them. Joel put in the effort to grow, and yes, that made him vulnerable in the end. A strong person will always allow themselves to be vulnerable because that is where inner strength, and as Lev points out, true strength, comes from. Being open and understanding of others forces you to share parts of yourself that others will mock as weakness, because those people are scared and don’t know how to be brave. They are scared of what they do not understand, what they refuse to comprehend. Which makes it so easy for them to attack the things that scare them and feel justified and “right”. They attack Abby, attack Ellie, attack the story, because this game asks you “Can you still love something after it hurts you?” “Can you find it in yourself to forgive?” “Can you know the other side of your story and empathize with your enemy of circumstance enough to walk away?” These kinds of people always answer no, because saying yes, forces you to confront parts of yourself that you might not like, that you’ve avoided for so long.

The act of being brave is not killing a hospitals worth of Fireflies and lying to the kid you couldn’t bear to part with. It’s telling the truth, living with the consequences, and trying to do better.

These characters are complex and imperfect and much like people in the real world none of them are without fault, if you can’t separate that from your own version of morality which is more black and white than the broadside of a dalmatian. Go play COD again.

(Also, i would like to point out the fact that there are people who still spend their time hating this game almost a year after it came out is waaaaaay worse than making a fan account for a character you like. Someone liking a character in their own space doesn’t fucking hurt you, actively going onto someone’s page to harass them over it is far more damaging and toxic.)

It frustrates me to no end that we’re at a point where some people think their hatred is criticism and that any criticism towards them is hate.

Welp, you caught me on a day I was already heated about things over. Sorry if this got a tad long, I just really fuckin’ love this game faults and all. Few other games have challenged me like TLoU2 has. I appreciate the submission, I’m right there with you I don’t understand this kind of shit at all, but I’ll fuckin’ try.

#these are my thoughts not directed at this person but at the kind of people like them #if you're on twitter don't go harassing this person either #it's not my intention to have people harassing others #there is already enough of that going around #the last of us 2 #the analysis of toxic behavior???#i dunno what this falls under XD #fan meta?#hope this makes sense #elliesabbydina #ask meme stuff #submission

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luminescencefics · 4 years

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you feel like home - part three

He’s smiling then, and Jackson takes that as his cue to continue snuggling Luna into his lap. Ryan’s eyes shift from her new small friend to his father leaning against his doorframe wearing slouchy grey joggers and a graphic t-shirt that shows off his decorated toned arms that she can’t seem to stop looking at.

“Is this our new thing? Meeting up in hallways?” Harry asks, and Ryan can feel the butterflies take flight in her stomach, stretching their wings along her ribcage and floating up through her body, leaving her feeling far too many things all at once.

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***

Luna’s Great Escape

It’s been two days since Ryan last saw Harry in her doorway, and she’s grateful for the rainstorm that’s been plaguing north central London ever since he left her heart racing that afternoon. The rain hasn’t stopped roaring, presumably ruining Jackson’s playtime in the park, allowing Ryan a short period of time to catch her breath.

She’s spent the past two days in a bit of a drunken stupor. After Harry uttered those words to her in the hallway before entering his own flat, Ryan ripped open the parcel and finished her work for the day, sending over her inspections and adjustments to her supervisor in a daze before the clock struck five. Afterward, she tore off her flannel pajama bottoms and shoved them into the depths of her drawer to hopefully never be seen again, traipsing into her bathroom to turn the tub on, a few bottles of Carlsberg nestled tightly under her armpit.

It’s not that Ryan was avoiding her feelings, because she truly didn’t understand them. After two beers, she came to the conclusion that the bubbling in her gut and the warmth on her cheeks, the fluttering of her heart and the pinch in her breath—was all due to the fact that she found Harry annoyingly attractive.

Ryan’s no stranger to attractive men. Her awkwardness practically disappears after a few shots of tequila have settled into her bloodstream, allowing her to hold a conversation with a handsome man without the overwhelming urge to stutter over her words or shift in her heeled boots from nervousness. Most times, in her debilitated state, she’s gotten lucky with a quick shag and a fumbling exit hidden under the darkness of the night. But now, as she sits in her bathtub nursing her fourth beer, a Kiehl’s face mask hardened over her skin, she’s not sure how much alcohol she would need to consume in order to appear seemingly normal in front of Harry.

That was last night. Now, as her hangover starts to settle in, Ryan’s decided that she needs advice. The brutally honest kind that usually fell unapologetically from the lips of her best mate Fiona.

“So let me get this straight, your new neighbor just so happens to be fit as all hell, and you’ve had a handful of conversations with him without making a complete fool of yourself, and you still haven’t shagged him? What am I missing here, Ry?” Fiona’s voice calls out from Ryan’s mobile that’s leaning against her porcelain fruit bowl, the camera angle allowing her to be able to see Fiona while attempting to cook some sort of pasta dish to cure the throbbing in her head.

“Fee, I got fucking rug burn on my knee from tripping over my own bloody feet the first time I met him!” Ryan recalls, the memory causing her head to shake aggressively, trying her hardest to expel it from her brain.

“Well, I did say complete fool,” Fiona retorts, causing Ryan to roll her eyes as she tries her hardest to follow the vodka sauce recipe she found on Pinterest. She’s eyeing the heavy cream she just added to the saucepan, wondering if the color should be pinker.

“I think it’s for the best if I just continue avoiding him for the rest of my life,” Ryan says, opening the box of ziti and throwing it into the boiling pot on the back left burner.

She can hear Fiona laugh over the hiss of the water. “Stop with the dramatics! You’re starting to sound like me.”

Ryan just ignores her friend, stirring the sauce that’s starting to smell. She instantly reaches for the parmesan cheese, adding more aimlessly to change the viscosity into something that doesn’t resemble broth.

“This could be great for you, Ry,” Fiona says through the screen once Ryan’s reappeared in front of her.

“Yeah? Why’s that?” Ryan asks, a bit distracted with the way the saucepan on the hob begins to gurgle inconspicuously.

“Because he’s fit. And he literally lives right next door. This is fantastic news! You can get laid without even leaving your building! Especially during quarantine with the entire city on lockdown!” While Ryan loves her friend, she hates the way Fiona says certain words, her voice level rising with each stressed syllable. She’s speaking so loudly that Ryan thinks back to how Harry referred to hearing Mrs. Bingsley banging about in the kitchen when she used to live in this unit, and immediately Ryan lowers the volume on her mobile, grabbing it from its spot against the fruit bowl and turning into her living room to be as far away from the thin walls as possible.

“I’m not sleeping with him, Fiona. I literally just met him,” Ryan says, sitting on the arm rail of her couch, watching Luna in her periphery continue sleeping soundly against the throw pillows.

“But you want to.”

Ryan stays silent, wondering if that’s what the bubbling and fluttering and pinching of all her insides means. Wondering if all of these feelings can simply be associated to sexual attraction.

“Why don’t you knock on his door and ask for a plunger or something?” Fiona says, breaking the silence. Ryan instantly disagrees, her eyes widening in fear.

“No, that’s a terrible idea! I don’t want him to think I’ve clogged up my fucking toilet,” Ryan shrieks, knowing that move would definitely work on a girl like Fiona—confident, unrelenting, and fearless. But for a girl like Ryan, whose cheeks turn red whenever a boy like Harry even looks in her direction, she knows there’s no way she can handle that.

Fiona sighs. “You’re probably right.”

Before Ryan can respond, the blaring sound of the smoke detector going off from the kitchen interrupts her thoughts. “Shit!” she screeches, jumping up from her seated position and running into the kitchen, her mobile clutched in her fist as she approaches the stovetop. The saucepan with the once pinkish-red sauce has now turned black, the edges burnt to a crisp, smoke rising from the top because Ryan forgot to lower the heat to a simmer. The pot with the pasta has boiled over, water falling onto the burner with a loud fizzle. “Fuck!”

“Christ, Ryan! Only you can burn fucking pasta!” Fiona shouts through her mobile, and Ryan immediately discards the device on the countertop, flicking the burners off. She reaches for the dishtowel near the sink, waving it under the smoke detector to make the incessant noise cease.

“It won’t fucking stop!” Ryan bellows, switching the towel to her left arm. If Harry didn’t hear her before, he definitely heard her now, and the thought is enough to make her wave her arms frantically, praying for the smoke detector to shut off.

“Open the front door, get some airflow in the flat, you twit! Twenty-seven and still can’t cook a bloody meal, it’s a shock how you’ve survived this long on your own—”

Ryan doesn’t stay in the kitchen long enough to hear the rest of Fiona’s comment. Instead, she’s spinning on her heels towards her front door, opening it up partly in hope to get the smell of burnt food out of her flat.

Just as she walks back into the kitchen, the beeping finally stops, and Ryan feels as if she can finally breathe again. Her cheeks are stained red from the exertion of flailing her arms about, the stray hairs from her low ponytail sticking to the nape of her neck uncomfortably. She takes in the state of her kitchen, annoyed with herself that she got too preoccupied with Fiona’s ramblings instead of focusing on cooking her pathetic meal.

“Have you died?” The sound echoes from the countertop where Ryan left her mobile, and for a moment Ryan forgets that Fiona was waiting for her. She saunters over slowly, leaning her mobile on the toaster oven so that she can rest her bent elbows on the countertop, her hands falling over her cheeks in embarrassment.

“Knew I should’ve gone with the boxed mac and cheese,” Ryan mumbles, catching her breath.

Fiona laughs. “I appreciate the attempt, Jamie Oliver. You’ve probably scared Luna half to death, poor thing.”

At the mention of her kitten’s name, Ryan immediately swivels her head around to the living room, eyes falling to the spot on the couch her white British Shorthair was just occupying. But when she looks closer, she realizes that Luna is gone.

She quickly stands up straight, telling Fiona she’ll call her back before ending the FaceTime call, entering the living room to search every nook and cranny for her kitten. Luna’s small body is nowhere near the couch or armchairs, her cat tree is empty, and when Ryan takes a look in her bedroom and finds absolutely nothing, she’s suddenly filled with fear at the fact that her kitten has disappeared.

Before Ryan can have a full-blown meltdown at the loss of her meal and kitten in the span of ten minutes, she hears the faint echo of a meow from the other side of her front door. A tiny giggle follows after, and suddenly Ryan’s head is peering out into the hallway, falling on the sight of Luna laying on the carpet with her tummy up in the air, and Jackson’s small hands rubbing soothing circles in her fur.

“What would your dad say about you leaving the flat without him?” Ryan calls out from her doorframe, watching the way Jackson’s face lights up when he realizes it is her speaking to him.

“Daddy will probably be mad. But I heard the kitty outside when I was playing! I didn’t know you had one!” He’s smiling so wide it causes Ryan to immediately do the same, despite her borderline breakdown a few moments prior. She trots over towards the pair, crouching down in front of them and balancing on the heels of her socked-clad heels, watching the way Luna purrs at Jackson’s soft strokes.

“I do. This is Luna,” Ryan answers, grinning when Jackson begins cooing at the tiny animal.

“Hi Luna, I’m Jackson. You’re so soft.” He’s whispering to her and Ryan isn’t quite sure why, and when Luna suddenly flips over and sits on Jackson’s lap, Ryan feels her heart swell at the sight of two tiny things cuddling up to one another.

The silence is broken by a gruff, frustrated voice. “Jackson! You can’t keep runnin’ off—oh.”

Three pairs of different colored eyes look up at the intrusion, and suddenly Harry’s anger dissipates at the sight of his son holding a cute kitten in his lap. A cute kitten that just so happens to belong to his even cuter neighbor who he seemingly can’t stop thinking about.

Ryan just smiles shyly, swallowing harshly when Harry crosses his arms over his broad chest, his large palms cupping his bulging biceps under the thin material of his shirt. She coughs into her fist, realizing now that she probably should stand up from her crouched position so that she’s no longer staring up at him underneath the cover of her eyelashes.

“Daddy look! Ryan has a kitty!” Jackson squeals, his cheek squished against Luna’s tiny face as he pets behind her ears, causing her whole body to vibrate with a deep purr.

Harry looks between Luna and Ryan, that slow smirk grazing his lips that causes Ryan’s cheeks to burn with a deep blush. “I can see that, Bubs.” His voice is so deep Ryan can feel it settle into her bones, and suddenly she wishes her hair wasn’t tied behind her head in a ponytail so that she could hide her reddened cheeks under the deep brown tendrils.

Before she can speak, a loud whistle from Harry’s flat breaks the silence. His upper body shifts away from the doorframe so that he’s standing straight, arms falling back to his sides as he peers behind the entranceway to ensure that the steam is blowing from the spout of the kettle on the hob.

“Fancy some tea, Ryan?” Harry asks once he’s turned back in her direction.

Ryan quickly stumbles to stand upright, wiping her sweaty palms on her cotton biker shorts. An oversized band tee she stole from her ex-boyfriend swishes with her hasty movements, and she can feel her head shaking before her mouth can say no.

“Uh, I’m okay. Don’t want to impose or anything,” she stutters, the sound of her thick woolen mid-calf socks scuffling against the carpeting with her incessant shuffling due to the influx of nerves that begin creeping up her spine.

“Please, Ryan? I can play with Luna! I’m a great sitter,” Jackson proclaims loudly from his seated position behind her. Once again, Ryan finds herself struggling to say no to her new friend with just one look into his beady green eyes. With nothing but a small smile, Ryan’s nodding in Jackson’s direction, her grin growing larger when he scoops up Luna in his little arms, ducking past his father and entering the flat.

Harry chuckles, holding the door open a bit wider so that Ryan can follow him inside.

She’s watching as he ducks into the kitchen, shutting off the burner so that the whistling kettle can quiet down. Ryan watches Jackson plop Luna on the soft emerald rug, laying on his stomach so that he can observe her every move. After guaranteeing that her kitten is in good hands, Ryan enters the kitchen, settling on one of the dark leather barstools and watching Harry grab two tea mugs from the cabinet above the sink.

As his arm extends to reach the top shelf, Ryan can’t help but take note of the contrast between his right and left arm. His left arm was ornamented with various black etchings, flowing across his skin in a strange way that somehow looked beautiful. When Ryan watches his right arm reach out to grab the tea bags, the untouched skin practically blinding against the harsh overhead lights, she feels her throat suddenly dry up—and she’s left wondering if she should add this to her growing list of symptoms she feels whenever she’s around Harry.

“Sugar? Milk?” Harry asks, his back still to her as he rummages around the drawers to prepare their tea.

“Sure.” She’s distracted by the way his thin t-shirt practically hides nothing, the ebb and flow of his back muscles constricting with each gentle movement he makes as he grasps the sugar from the counter and grips the milk from the fridge.

When he turns to meet her at the kitchen island, he clutches both mugs in one hand, the other holding both the sugar jar and milk carton. Ryan’s forced to look away, her mind completely fogging over at the site.

The sound of the ceramic mugs clinking against the granite counter causes Ryan to look up, smiling softly when he pushes the tea in her direction. Just before her hands can clasp around the handle, she regards the black script tattoo above the crook of his elbow, the words Jackson in lowercase lettering make her breath hitch in her throat.

“How have you been, all right?” Harry asks from across the island, reaching for the milk and adding a generous amount to the murky tea. His eyes are busy focusing on the task at hand, and Ryan can finally feel herself calm down a bit.

“Yeah, been okay. You?” she responds, blowing a bit on her tea before bringing the mug to her lips, swallowing deeply and reveling in the taste of the brew. Harry’s eyebrows arch when he notices that she takes her tea black, but he doesn’t make a comment about it, choosing instead to rest his forearms on the counter, pushing his mug a bit closer towards Ryan’s as he leans against the island, infiltrating her personal space just the tiniest bit.

“Yeah, okay. Bit shit with the weather, though. Jackson’s been going crazy,” he comments, his mouth far too distracting when he licks the spilled over tea on his lower lip. Ryan flicks her head over in Jackson’s direction, thankful that she can look at something other than Harry’s stupidly good-looking face.

Ryan hums in agreement, bringing the tea back to her lips as she swivels back in her stool, her eyes back on Harry’s.

“That cat of yours will give him another reason to talk about you for hours,” Harry says with a grin.

“If it weren’t for his knack of sneaking out of your flat, Luna probably would have ended up on the seventh floor. Guess I owe him a proper thank you,” Ryan counters, smiling at the fact that she made Harry laugh.

“Little shit never listens to me,” Harry says lightly, and Ryan suddenly wonders if he has any help looking after Jackson.

She starts to look around the kitchen for any hints of a feminine touch. The state of his flat is disgustingly clean, and when she observes the fridge to see if there are any photographs of Jackson’s mum, she’s found that there’s nothing but artwork most likely done by the hands of a four-year-old.

When she shifts her head to the other side of the room, where the kitchen flows into the living room, she doesn’t really find anything new. The walls are still filled with records, the instruments are still lining the walls, the couch is still void of throw pillows. Ryan tries to visualize the entranceway, trying her hardest to remember if she noticed any heeled boots or women’s jackets on the coat rack.

She hasn’t known Harry long, barely a month at this point, and in that short period of time she’s never heard him speak about a woman before. Ryan’s not stupid—she knows that both sexes are needed to produce a child—but she’s truly never seen a woman enter or exit Harry’s flat.

Granted, it’s only been a month. And she isn’t really sure if she can call him her friend yet, therefore she feels a bit odd in asking. Ryan’s come to the conclusion that maybe Jackson’s mum is an essential worker, a nurse perhaps, a profession in which she has the luxury of leaving her home to go to work.

“Ryan?” Harry’s oaky voice breaks Ryan out of her headspace, and suddenly she’s blinking in Harry’s direction, embarrassed at the fact that she wasn’t listening to anything he had just said to her in the last few minutes.

“Sorry, what were you saying?” she responds lamely, bringing the mug to her lips with the goal of hiding the lower half of her flushed cheeks.

Harry just laughs, cocking his head to the side to observe her intently. “Doesn’t matter. Lost you for a minute in there.”

“Right. Sorry about that,” Ryan responds, wishing Harry would stop looking at her as if she were the most fascinating creature on the planet.

“Does that happen a lot?” Harry asks quietly, suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to know every little thing about her.

Ryan’s eyes squint in confusion. “Does what happen?”

“That,” Harry starts, taking a sip of his tea without tearing his eyes away from Ryan’s. “You getting lost in your own head.”

Ryan quietly contemplates Harry’s comment, watching the way he watches her with intrigue. As a serial overthinker, Ryan knows that she retreats sometimes, mulling over her words intensely before speaking. Unlike Fiona who blurts every thought that runs through her head, Ryan’s always been more critical, obsessing over every detail before verbalizing. It’s the only thing that helps subdue her social anxiety.

But she’s found that whenever she’s around Harry, she can’t bring herself to think about anything, really. It’s as if her mind is blank, encouraging her to speak what she truly feels, without all the thinking that usually comes along with it.

She’s not quite sure what that all means.

So she just shrugs, sipping softly. “Sometimes, yeah.”

Harry nods before changing the subject, which makes Ryan feel relieved. “So, my quiet, reclusive neighbor is also a cat lady? It’s far too fitting, Ryan.” He’s teasing her a bit and it’s enough to make Ryan giggle, the sound practically causing Harry to splutter his tea over the rim of his mug.

“I’m all about clichés, clearly,” Ryan responds, her eyes zeroing in on the hollow dimples that appear around his mouth whenever he laughs. She finds herself enjoying the sight very much.

“She’s cute,” Harry says, his eyes shifting from Luna to the woman sitting across from him. Ryan assumes he’s talking about her kitten, and she smiles, swiveling around in her chair to watch Jackson giggle whenever Luna’s paws graze his arms. But when she feels Harry’s gaze on her cheek, she’s wondering if he’s talking about something else, too.

“He’s good with her,” Ryan acknowledges, impressed with how gentle Jackson was with Luna. Most toddlers his age were too handsy with her, scaring her off before she even got the chance to get used to them. But Jackson is proving to be a natural, allowing Luna to grow comfortable around him before he started playing with her.

Harry finally looks over to his son, smiling at the sight in the living room. “Yeah, he’s a good kid.”

Ryan turns round to face Harry again. “He really is. Guess he has you to thank for that. And his mum, I suppose.”

Harry’s face suddenly loses its grin, and Ryan’s wondering if she’s said too much. His eyes have lost their shine, and the granite countertop seems to be more interesting than Ryan’s face. Before she can say anything, an apology or some version of one, the computer in the corner of the living room begins to ring loudly, causing Harry to stand upright and peer at the clock on the microwave screen.

“Shit. Forgot I had a four o’clock meeting,” he says quickly, gathering his mug in one hand and crossing the threshold so that he’s entering the living room space. Ryan stands up, frowning down at her half-emptied cup of tea, wondering what blend Harry uses because it’s just that good, and she’s a bit sad to leave it unfinished.

Harry turns around, catching the frown on Ryan’s face. “You can finish it at yours if you’d like,” he offers with a small smile.

“Oh, no it’s okay, I wouldn’t want to—”

“—Ryan,” Harry says, cutting her off and walking towards her so that he’s fully in her line of vision, “It’s fine. ‘S not like I don’t know where you live.” The smirk is back on his face and the blush is back coating Ryan’s cheeks, and suddenly the balance has been restored in their small universe.

Ryan nods, clutching the mug tightly in her hands and side-stepping Harry in order to reach Jackson and Luna on the living room floor. “‘M sorry, champ, but Luna and I have got to go.”

“Really?” Jackson says, tearing his eyes away from Luna and onto the two adults standing in front of him. He’s frowning and Ryan instantly feels bad.

“Yeah, Bubs, daddy’s got work to do. I’m sure you can see Luna again very soon, if Ryan’s okay with it,” Harry says, causing two pairs of green eyes to fall onto her frame.

She nods quickly, crouching down in front of her small friend and grabbing Luna in her unoccupied hand. “Of course, champ. We’ll schedule a playdate.”

Jackson grins enthusiastically, wiggling on the floor with excitement. Before Ryan can respond, Harry appears in front of her, a small smile on his face.

“I’ll see you later, Ryan,” he mutters in a low timbre.

“Bye, Harry. Thanks again for the tea,” she responds, heading towards the doorway in her socks and leaving the confines of his flat, trying her hardest to catch her breath in the silence of the empty hallway.

It’s only once she’s back in her own flat, her sad attempt of dinner disposed of in the bin and in its place an oversized bowl of cereal in one hand, with Harry’s mug in the other, Ryan comes to a startling realization.

Harry’s tea mug was a far better alternative than the fucking plunger.

*** A/N: Hi guys, here’s part three of you feel like home! I hope you enjoyed it. Part four will be posted on Thursday November 19, so feel free to chat with me in the meantime! This was a submission for the 1DFF Quarantine Challenge, which has other amazing writers participating as well, so feel free to check out the page! x

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