#fucking women were doomed from the start

[murdrdocs]

i lied abt sleep but it’s so stupidly unfair that pregnancy at 35 is unhealthy … I HAVENR EVEN HIT MY PRIME YET ??? LIKE AT 35 IM STILL YOUMG AND FLIRTY ?? MAYBE NOT EVEN MARRIED YET ??

#fucking women were doomed from the start #hate this shit #imagine me grumbling under my breath #in a cardigan plz #celeste’s rants

[spaghettioverdose]

Sure maybe you wanna say that the "suck my dick and stop being a baeddel" copypasta anons were originally sent by a couple of trolls or whatever but the amount of people I see defending them is very clear fucking proof that the sentiment exists. There is a lot of preaching about trans unity right now, but as is often the case, if someone demands unity while refusing to do even the bare minimum for you (in this case disavowing the horrifyingly misogynistic posts and calling out some of the people who maintain such positions instead of defending them) and only call for unity when you speak out against their abuse, then they're not looking for unity. They want you to shut the fuck up. You never see these same people calling for unity when there's a harassment campaign against trans women. You don't see them defending trans women when our words are misinterpreted in as bad of a way as possible.

And before someone accuses me of being a baeddel terf or whatever: I am not saying we need some kind of transfem separatist movement or that trans unity is impossible or undesirable. I am not saying that transmascs are doomed to be violent misogynists. I do have some very nice transmasc mutuals (all of which uncoincidentally are communists lol) who I do appreciate and feel actual solidarity with because they aren't transmisogynists and because I can expect them to have the backs of the transfem community whe the newest transmisogynistic harassment campaign starts on this dogshit website.

A growing problem on here is the continuous dilution and rejection of feminism and even some of the most basic feminist positions in favour of positions that would be perfectly at home in a 2016 antifeminist mra youtuber's videos if it wasn't for the pseudo-progressive tone of the message. It is what has lead to "you should shut up about transmisogyny and suck my dick", a position championed by "genderpunks" and transandrophobia truthers. The drift from understanding the basic premise that we live in a patriarchal and misogynist society to "well, men have it bad too, so who's to say what the real gender dynamics are like" and even "men have it bad too, specifically because they are men" has erased a lot of progress on this website and allowed this kind of thing to happen.

The way to close the gap and achieve trans unity is not to ask for silence from trans women speaking against the abuse done to us or to pretend that gender dynamics do not exist politically, but to take steps towards solidarity with us and speak out against transmisogynists and to push back against antifeminist rhetoric.

This post, obviously is aimed at people who are genuinely interested in trans unity, not people who scold others about trans unity whenever trans women have a problem with the way we are treated.

#long post #trans unity #transmisogyny

[calisources]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐁𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒.

All sentences and quotes have been taken from different media about starcrossed lovers or forbidden love, full of angst, some bold words, some nasty ones, possessive nature and letting someone use you as a replacement. So, some toxic energy in this one. Change pronouns, locations and names as you see fit.

I love you,and I will love you until I die,and if there's a life after that,I'll love you then.

Do people always fall in love with things they can't have?

And there is a difference between having your heart break and having your soul shatter.

I'm falling in love with you.

I'm going to fuck the shit out of you. I have waited for this for such a long time. Consequences be damned.

These violent delights have violent ends.

 I’m only human. And you are …all-consuming.

Don’t go into this lightly. If you’re mine, you need to understand I will burn the fucking world to the ground for you.

I will never let you go, do you hear me? 

 will keep you safe. And I will find a way for us to be together.

If you make me cry at my own coronation ball, I’ll never forgive you.

If you were any less the man you are, I would beg you to take me with you.

If you were any less the woman you were, I would beg you to come with me.

I've known lust. This is something worse. This is a barbaric need to possess, to eliminate, to own. This is madness.

This is lust.

She’s your very own forbidden fruit.

You said you didn't want this.

We all desire what we cannot have.

Have you noticed how the boy looks at you?

Do you think I didn’t notice? The way you look at me when you think I’m not watching?

You are dangerous desire, and I am your prisoner.

We can’t do this on so many levels.

I can't even whisper her name, my heart would burst out of my chest.

But I would fight against the stars for you.

I have ruined your life.

Some lines you just don't cross. 

I want to take you under the moonlight.

Having something forbidden is exciting, don't you agree?

The closer we get—the more I let you in…the more dangerous this gets.

Don’t you get it? You’re what everyone wants! But I’m not going to let them win.

Make it so I never have to dream about this again—make it so we can have this…forever.

Desires are what can most easily ruin us, lovely.

We were doomed from the start. 

Nothing is as deadly as the love of a powerful man.

But this kiss? It's ruined me. This is the type of kiss I never knew existed. 

You sure about that, Dad? Because he's done everything to me.

Are you scared of me now?

You loved me - then what right had you to leave me?

I have not broken your heart - you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine.

One moment, you give me everything that I want, and in the next, you snatch all of that away.

It's hopeless. We can never work out.

The world didn’t want us together so I forged a new one where we would.

How could a peacock lust for a lion?

You're tattooed onto my skin, and the more I try to erase you, the deeper you sink in.

I’ve always liked you, from the first moment I saw you.

It's absurd how crazy love can make you...but even more absurd how stupid jealousy can make you.

 That you and I are meant to be together, but never meant to be.

Why does fate seem always to conspire against us? To deny us life's simple pleasures?

We'll meet after this war. I'll certainly find you wherever you'll hide. 

War makes fools of men and women wanton.

What offends you most, Father? That she's Catholic, or that she's poor?

If my father discovers you here, he'd cut off your little nuts and eat them. He can't stand you.

You tempress, I see you once and all I can think of is having you.

Feelings are forbidden, does not mean we cannot enjoy one another.

The more you deny me, the more I desire you. You are a plague in my mind.

Ever since we met, no one else can compare. 

How can I be with someone else, when I’m with them, it’s you I see.

You can have me, think of whoever you love. For tonight.

You can pretend I'm her/him. I don't care. I just want you.

#roleplay memes #sentence meme #( cali meme. ) #rp memes #rp prompt #rp musings #roleplay prompt #forbidden love #starcrossed lovers

[spacebarbarianweird]

Little Bundle of Darkness

Synopsis: Astarion becomes a father.

Tags: fluff, comfort, dadstarion, dhampirs, pregnancy

Alethaine's age: newborn

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Thanks @lobster-risotto for beta-reading!

Astarion wants to leave the house, just to distract himself a bit. Just to take a break.

A cry of pain pierces the air. 

The vampire starts moving objects in the room mindlessly. He hates dissociating but at this moment he misses this feeling of not being present in the moment.

It's been years since he felt so useless, so doomed. And so scared.

Another cry, louder than the previous one, and Astarion clenches his fists as if being ready to attack an invisible enemy. 

He and Tiriel have been through a lot. He has seen her in blood and pain many times - his fierce warrior-wife who wields a two-handed axe with the same elegance he uses daggers is unstoppable and unbreakable.

But this… this is different. 

"I - I can't!", he hears Tiriel. "It hurts!"

Whatever she wants to say next, drowns in yet another cry.

Astarion casts a glance outside. The sun is still shining so he is locked inside the house. Helpless and useless while Tiriel is suffering in agonizing pain only with a midwife to be by her side.

...He had no idea it was possible. He is an undead. Undead men don't impregnate mortal women. Besides, it had been twenty years since they met. If it had been possible to conceive a child, it would have happened a long time ago.

But – 

One day her blood just tasted different. And Tiriel was so tired she couldn’t lift her weapon on their back home from the wilderness. She was claiming everything was all right and he had to drag her to the town’s healer.

She came back much sooner than he expected, and he immediately sensed something was utterly wrong. Tiriel sat in front of him in the chair, eyes firmly fixed on her hands.

"My sweet, what did he say?" Astarion asked. By this moment he started feeling a wave of his own panic. Tiriel is mortal. She is a warrior, yes, but she isn’t immune to curses and, after all, death. And besides he had never seen her like that.

"Astarion, tell me one thing. Have you heard about children born from vampires?"

"Yes, I have. Dhampirs. It’s like being a vampire without downsides,"he got so carried away that he basically gave a lecture to Tiriel, and then stumbled. "Why do you ask?"

And then she put her hand on her belly.

“He told me I am pregnant.”

… The next months were intense. Sometimes everything was good. They could even sit and talk about the future – sure, the child was going to be an elf with just a bit of human ancestry on Tiriel’s side. 

But more often than that they both were scared. Tiriel had insane mood swings and she would burst into tears after some innocent mockery from him. He had nightmares and panic attacks. Everything he thought had gone for good returned the instant he’d learned about pregnancy. 

And Tiriel… Well, the thing is women die at childbirth even if the child is mortal. Even if before the woman has challenged the gods.

Cries from upstairs are unbearable to hear. Astarion wants to be there with Tiriel and, at the same time, he wants to be miles away. And it’s all his fault. 

If she dies, it will be his fault.

Fuck it.

Astarion goes up and with a bit of hesitation pushes the door. The smell of familiar blood makes his head spin.

“Go away, idiot! I told you not to come here!” the midwife curses. “There is too much blood!”

“No, please!” Tiriel begs, reaching out for him, “Don’t go!”

Astarion kneels beside her and squeezes her hand. “I am not going anywhere, my sweet.”

What if something is wrong? What if the child is some monster, not even resembling a sentient being? What if…

And suddenly Tiriel goes silent.

A squeal, full of fury and distress, pierces the room.

“Well, this one looks like a healthy girl”, the midwife places the baby in Tiriel's arms. 

The tiny Elven baby with long pointy ears stops crying, feeling her mother’s skin against hers.

Astarion stares at the child in shock.

“Didn’t really take after me, did you?” Tiriel adjusts herself a bit in the bed. “My lovely beautiful girl”, she presses a kiss against the baby’s forehead, “Look at her ears, they are like yours!”

Astarion can’t take his eye off them. His child. His and Tiriel’s. His daughter. Not a monster – just a baby. 

The long pointy ears twitch, and Tiriel starts caressing them.

“Tiriel… My love…”, he finally manages to speak again, “Her ears are very sensitive, don’t touch them too much”.

“Oh, I am sorry”, Tiriel stops. “But they are so cute!”

“They are.”

Astarion can’t decipher what exactly he feels. All these months the child was just an idea, something he couldn’t feel attachment to. But now that the baby is born, the realization that nothing will be the same hits him. That his life has just changed forever.

And this is good. The worst thing that was happening to him all the centuries of enslavement was the understanding that nothing would ever change. Nothing would get better or worse because everything would stay the same. And now, it’s something new. Something natural. Something he thought was available only for normal people, not someone so twisted and ruined like him.

Tiriel touches his arm softly.

“Hold her.”

“What?! No! I am not…”

“It’s your child, Astarion”

Astarion stands up and recoils. “Tiriel, I will hurt her! Look at her, she is small! I will… I will do something to her!”

It seems like his voice scares the newborn and she starts crying again. 

“Sit with me”, Tiriel asks. “Please”

Astarion hesitates but obliges. Before he says anything, the little bundle is already placed in his pale arms.

He freezes. The girl cries even louder demanding to be returned to her mother. Astarion touches her forehead with his fingers – the skin feels delicate like silk”

“Ai armiel telere maenen hir, salen damia”, he whispers in Elven.

And the girl stops crying. She looks at him with her dark eyes and suddenly smiles. The newborn stretches her tiny arms as if trying to reach out for his face. 

And Astarion bursts into tears. Sobbing, he cradles the baby in his arms, hearing the fast heartbeat within her delicate rib cage. 

It’s his daughter. His treasure. The reward for everything he’s been through. The sign that he has been doing the right things all these years.

Tiriel puts her chin on his shoulder and wraps her hands around his waist.

“Thank you, my love”, Astarion says to her. “This is a gift.”

They sit like that for what feels like an eternity. Finally, Tiriel breaks the silence.

“She needs a name.”

Astarion studies the girl’s face as if looking for a hint. Then, the name comes to his mind, though he doesn't know where he could have heard it.

“Alethaine. My love, can we call her Alethaine?”

Tiriel nods. “It’s not like I have any other suggestions. I was scared to death the whole time. It’s beautiful. Let’s call her that”.

It’s already night when the midwife leaves the house. Astarion helps Tiriel to get to the bed with clean sheets and then brings her sleeping Alethaine.

Astarion watches how Tiriel pulls the collar of her shirt freeing swollen breasts and then places the girl that way so her mouth in front of the nipple. The girl makes sucking movements and her ears twitch simultaneously.

Tiriel starts humming – and Astarion recognizes a human lullaby he’s heard from Tiriel maybe only once or twice. 

He carefully puts his head on Tiriel’s lap so he can see both his wife and daughter.

“How are you feeling?” he finally asks.

“Tired. Happy. And you?”

Astarion chuckles. “You pushed a whole Elven baby out of your body and wonder how I am feeling?”

“Actually, yes”

“I feel … alive.”

Tiriel reaches to his silver curls and strokes the hair with her free hand.

“Thank you for giving her to me”, she whispers.

Ai armiel telere maenen hir, salen damia (Elven) - you hold my heart forever, my child

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-beloved @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 #astarion romance #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion x tav #alethaine ancunin #astarion being a dad #dadstarion #astarion fluff #astarion x you #spacebarbarian fics #astarion ancunin #astarion baldurs gate #astarion brainrot #astarion fanfic #pregnancy #giving birth #tiriel of the sunset mountains #tiriel the barbarian #astarion x tiriel #oc tav: tiriel

[partycatty]

older!johnny cage > overheard

you're caught in the act of swooning over your boss

notes: i'm not even fuckin playing i just woke up from my nap in a cold sweat with this idea haunting my mind so here i am. i truly honestly genuinely cannot stop thinking about dilf johnny and his thick fucking arms and how much i want him to [REDACTED]

[ masterlist ]

• during your break from training, you managed to squeeze in a meal break with one of your closest friends. it was just the two of you, laughing and for once breaking the stoicism implanted into your demeanors from training ruthlessly.

• "jesus, commander cage really kicked our asses today," your friend whined, rolling her shoulder. "i get we're fighting against demons and elementals, but did we really need to run twenty miles?"

• "it wasn't all bad," you shrug, poking at your food. "we've done worse, i feel."

• "oh hush, you had the time of your life," your friend groaned, lightly pushing into your shoulder with a smirk. "you and johnny cage got to run beside each other in formation." your friend was sure to say his name in an announcer voice, wiggling her fingers as she pretended to read a large sign.

• you huff, planting a fist on the table as you try to conceal your embarrassment with faux anger. "oh my god shut up..."

• your mind wanders to earlier in the day. johnny decided to wear only a tank top instead of a long sleeve with a vest, giving you a delicious view of his arms as they pumped during the run. while you two didn't talk, he shared panting encouragements by your side, telling you you were doing so good and how much further you had left. it made running feel almost impossible as each word and grunt knocked the wind from you.

• "jesus, look at you," your friend laughs at your dreamy expression as you replay the memory. "you're down bad, girl, anyone and their mother could tell."

• "is it that obvious?" you murmur, burying your face with your hands. "i'm doomed."

• "nah, you might have a shot," she insists, pulling your hands from your face. "he might be into younger women, most celebrities are."

• "but he's not just a celebrity, he's our superior," you whine, rolling your head back. "i just watch his movies and pretend i'm the love interest."

• "oh, it's bad bad," she laughs, looking past you for a moment. her smile falters.

• "can you blame me? ugh," you rake a hand through your hair. "he's all muscle, he could just pick me up and snap me like a twig! normally i'd settle for height alone but holy fuck he's built like a brick fucking wall!"

• your friend falls silent.

• "and don't even get me started on his age," you point an accusatory finger. "he is 50 something and so fucking fine i can't even bring myself to focus on literally anything ever. i watched some of his old movies, and he literally aged like the finest fucking wine any vineyard has ever even dreamed of making! thank god his daughter is the commander because if he stood around and told me what to do i'd behave so much like a dog it would embarrass me. he is the god damn devil in disguise and i sure a shit don't have a single chance of him even looking in my direction with any more than a smile because at the end of the day i'm just a sad little recruit crushing on a guy who probably has a massive di—"

• "i'm fifty-nine," you hear a low, horrifyingly familiar voice in your ear. you can't even bring yourself to turn around, smile dropping and eyes widening. the only thing you can bring yourself to do is stare across the table at your friend, who's as equally still. maybe if you were still enough, he wouldn't see you. like a dinosaur.

• "lieutenant," you breathe out after a long silence, drunk on the smell of his cologne. "we were just... t-talking about you."

• "oh yeah?" his voice is rumbly, a teasing inflection making you want to burst out in tears. you had a faint suspicion he was behind you the entire time, something he confirmed before you could muster the strength to speak. "sounded more like it was just you."

• "well," you wonder if you can outrun him, stammering as you try to talk yourself out of this. "you know..."

• you finally get the courage to spin in your chair, turning around to face him. he's towering over your sitting form, a shit-eating smirk on his lips.

• "i'm sorry, sir, i'll... i'll do extra push-ups, i'll go overtime on training, scrub the toilets, anything to—"

• he holds a hand up, waving it away as he shakes his head slowly.

• "don't stress it," he stands up straight, crossing his arms. oh my god his arms. "but, uh... just a word, in my office, when you have the chance." you almost miss the wink he sends at you, but you caught it just as he spun on his heel and walked out, a cocky sway to his hips.

• you spin back around, slack jawed at your friend, who's red from holding in her scream of excitement.

• "he's totally gonna bang you on his desk," she finally spits out, covering her mouth immediately after. you just lower your head, hitting it against the table in defeat.

• who knows what he's gonna do to you in his office?

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #johnny cage #johnny cage x reader #mk11 #marley writes ☆

[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 6

[prompt: blowjob]

male reader x hyeju

12k words

“I mean, don’t you think,” Hyeju says, wagging a finger at you, “that when you suffer through a bad date, the world ought to owe you something?”

"Like what?" you ask.

"Better taste in women - maybe more orgasms; I dunno, a blowjob?" She shrugs. "The general idea is just that someone gets to cum."

You nearly choke on the air in front of you. "Jesus, Hyeju, warn a guy."

“What? I’m trying to commiserate with you,” Hyeju laughs. “Wouldn’t that be funny? Being able to kiss someone who actually, you know, might love you back, and at the same time. Imagine not hooking-up just to forget a shitty day. Sounds wild, right?"

"Utterly deranged."

"So wild."

-

The first time you hook up with your roommate, it’s because of genetics - though not in the weird, uncontrollable way your body gets rigid and sensitive to any pretty girl who wears nothing but a towel moving between her bedroom and the bathroom, or how her eyes might flick fast from your chest up to yours - or given that the absolute shape of her is a blessing from one god or another (benevolent, clearly). That's not why Hyeju and you find yourselves only a few months later grinding on each other after the clock ticked past midnight, making out on New Year's Eve.

No, it has to do with the fact that Hyeju's nearly failing the nine AM section of molecular genetics because she's spent every lecture doodling stars and planets and planets shaped like asscheeks and planet-ass constellations while everyone else writes notes or doom scrolls twitter or whatever and she is somehow simultaneously the only student who never slept with her face on the lab desk or missed an assigned reading and the only one who absolutely needs a tutor.

It's just cosmic odds that you'd be that one: her roommate, who shouldn't be talking so loudly in the library about sex (in a sort of non-sexy, Mendelian kind of way) or be thinking the kind of things you've started thinking when Hyeju wears one of her more sleepshirt-esque long sleeves, her voice getting lower as you rattle off, "fruit flies and thale cress, definitely, it's just an error of fate or chromosome splitting..." before trailing off into a question.

"This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me," she finally tells you. You listen to her sigh into the binding of her textbook, facedown. "I'm really going to bomb this exam."

You tap her hand twice with your highlighter across the desk. "Then you're pretty damn lucky, if you think about it."

She turns to you, smiles a bit. "Okay, point. The worst thing will be having to retake this stupid fucking class."

"Why didn't you ask for help or go to office hours if you knew you were... failing?"

"Maybe because doing anything more than the bare minimum to get through a class I don't care about is my definition of, failing," she mumbles. "Why didn't anyone tell me a single lab is worth half my grade? Or that the TA is this fucking unreliable? How is this the one thing, really, beyond the basics, that can't be taught by wikipedia, a wikihow article and a youtube video?"

You scoot your seat closer to her. "You really need to relax."

"Fucking tell me about it."

You turn it over in your mind a few times, capping the top of your highlighter.

"Want me to get you off?"

And it’s not like you really mean it, when you say it, which is the strangest thing: you wouldn't actually suggest it, normally, wouldn't mention it in passing and then leave yourself open to the follow up and cross examination; yet there it is, after three, four hours of cramming notes on heterochronicity and the sloshing of gametes - you actually did propose it.

Hyeju jerks up, surprised.

"Are you serious?" She looks around, nearly snorting. "In the library?"

The face you’re giving her makes her scoff.

“You’re absolutely nuts.”

You have character flaws; the inability to admit wrongdoing chief among them. Hell, maybe it's from your mother - or maybe all your brains are just scrambled by the fact that Hyeju's sitting there with her pen against her pretty lips, hair glossier than usual as she scans your face and makes your entire body feel like a reactor core in meltdown.

Maybe you can blame what comes next on that.

"I'm always serious. I'm asking a serious question," you whisper, closing the textbook and resting your elbows on top. You look around quickly, like you're sneaking something in instead of this perfectly reasonable exchange, the perfectly platonic - except maybe not so much - way for friends to help each other.

"And I'm wondering what you're asking." Her cheeks are definitely pinker, you think, or the way it fills out her face, from the bottom up, is just that easy to imagine.

“I’m saying you haven’t gotten laid in months.” Here, you realize, these blocks of mental logic that definitely weren’t there when you blurted it out start to coalesce into something solid as you go on.

And you hadn't been wrong when you thought no one had given Hyeju a helping hand in a long, long time: you've heard through the walls or the floorboards at odd hours of the morning that she spends far too long fingering herself to a mind-numbing, tear-worthy frustration that leaves her knuckle-deep but never, ever sated or satisfied.

"No one's around, you'll feel better. You said it yourself."

Not a work of your imagination here - her ears are fucking burning.

"Wait a minute." She pushes her chair back, away from you and your gleaming offer. It clatters on its back legs, and a librarian waves her finger in warning. You wave back, sheepishly, until she stops and Hyeju stands and moves away from the table to talk, hands crossed over her front.

She turns and asks in a hushed-down-voice, "how did you know - did you hear something last night?"

"You couldn't keep it down even if you wanted to, honestly."

Hyeju turns further and throws a glare at the library doors, because obviously her noisiness and their collective noisemanship, or whatever the hell the word is, is clearly the root of the whole goddamn problem.

"Look - if not, no big deal - but I'm just saying you'll probably get over it and at least think less about sex. Or at least the wrong kind of sex."

You expect her to turn, sigh, and ask if you've lost your mind. Expect her to gather her jacket from the back of her chair, take her books and stomp out the room. Or even burst out laughing at the insanity, before slapping your arm lightly, in playful retaliation - anything other than the serious look she gives you in return, tilting her head, pressing her lips.

She turns up at the ceiling for a moment, contemplating something. And it's cute. It's so very, very cute, how her mouth pouts as she considers the possibility, right up until she says, "okay, fine."

The moderate twist of surprise taking hold in your brow must be visible.

"Oh, don't tell me that was all talk. Get me thinking about the right kind of sex or whatever."

You laugh, which has the librarian staring at both of you - until the librarian stops staring and probably sees Hyeju sliding back into her chair, the full, pent-up weight of her concentration pointed your way, knees inching apart - you, and Hyeju waiting, your knee bumping into her inner thigh, leaning closer as the textbook hits the floor.

"Don't laugh."

"Not laughing, seriously. Not laughing," you stammer. “I just think you’re just full of surprises.”

She spreads her knees further and sits taller, looking right at you.

"So then, surprise me," and then presses her cheek to the crook of your elbow.

You slide your chair right into the space next to hers, nuzzling up into the space under her ear. “Keep studying, Hyeju, you’ve got shit to do.” And then you slide your hand beneath the waist of her sweats, knead the swell of her thigh until you find the seam where her leg meets her body, press your palm down on the place just next to her center, your thumb in the middle. All this perfect pressure.

"Fuck," Hyeju says under a shudder. She's breathing heavier when your hot, open-mouthed kisses start landing at her neck, and she probably tries to read her textbook for about forty-five seconds longer. But there's the clench of her jaw right as your middle finger begins tracing circles beneath the fabric of her panties, and her gaze is blurring until she can't tell the difference between an allele or your fucking name.

"Shh-shh," you quiet her, finger tapping harder, playing with the slick wetness beneath all those layers of thick cotton and pressing two fingers there until her knees part like they’re not interested in resisting at all. Your lips press a kiss to the shell of her ear and she tenses all at once, hand shooting up to cover her mouth.

She simply leans back, closes her eyes, and lets you take care of her.

“Okay, you’re right,” she says, shaky and uneven, “that really did take some of the edge off. Did we ever review - poly- uh, pol-polymers here?"

The sweatshirt sleeve falling off your shoulder is a hindrance to any actual reading; her shifting against the chair isn't helping either, but you manage to push down the thoughts of stripping her down completely and giving her your tongue as yet another distraction.

"What did the syllabus say? I don't know if we need to read too far on 'polymers'," you say, having going through an entire afternoon without considering this once, but as you curl your fingers and take an honest crack at cramming the remaining chapters into her head, the knowledge that no one else is getting her this wet - except for whoever she's got in her mind's eye at three AM - is enough to get you feeling a little dizzy.

-

It’s probably supposed to be weird, given that you’ve never gotten any of your other friends off spontaneously in the library, or there's the fact that you can't really avoid each other afterwards, how she shows up in a silk negligee when you're pouring coffee before sunrise to prep for another day and you have the opportunity to notice - yes, she has amazing taste in underwear, yes, you might not have really appreciated her chest and figure enough before - yes, fuck it. She catches you noticing that first time, after coming downstairs with nothing but one of her cropped t-shirts and her board shorts, and she smirks when she realizes you're still thinking about it that afternoon, when her foot grazes yours while you're both washing dishes, and she dries the plate in her hand with a slow swipe.

And it is weird, actually, to describe what’s going on between you in words. 

A few words, anyway, like a one-word label to describe what it was: friends or roommates-with-benefits, or - fuck buddies - god, it's even worse. Fuck buddies? Fuck friends? Something equally terrible and stupid that still makes sense, like something out of a shitty rom-com: it doesn't capture any of the rest of the myriad ways in which things can feel less or less friendly between two people.

So, friends was never, ever going to cut it. Roommates - although technically correct - is just this side of too clinical. And let's be clear: strangers don't wake up every morning together, walk to the same class, sit close together in the middle seats, secretly flick a strangers' skirt up in an empty lecture hall and get on their knees and work your mouth onto her pussy and watch the legs of the desks shake when her feet arch into the floor.

"The notes you've got are better than mine," is how Hyeju tries to put things, the next day and every time after that, standing in the doorframe, or at the foot of your bed and looking every bit the disheveled and hopeless mess you imagine she might spread out over the sheets of her own.

-

It gets complicated, which isn't really a surprise.

"You think your roommate is going to be home tonight?" is the question that comes up multiple times - from a revolving door of pretty names and faces. Hyeju has at least one opinion, if not more, on each of them.

"Tell Jinsoul I say hi," she says once, watching you get ready for a date, and you nearly bang your knee on the edge of the bathroom vanity. 

It's one of the more harmless comments she's offered.

Another, backhanded: "if you’re just looking for a blowjob everyday between lunch and our physics lab, let Hyunjin or Heejin or whatever-her-name-is know she's easily my favorite," Hyeju says on your way out one morning, still under her covers.

Or,

Hyeju's texted a simple "uh, Chuu? really??" when you mention, once, how much fun you've been having - and what kind, as you make a round of self-conscious and rambling phone calls the next day that land you with only one prospect for the night - but your roommate's also no longer being your roommate by the end of it, bouncing against your thighs in the bathtub and moaning something about please more and fuck or fucking make me cum; the details escape you a bit.

That's what friends are for, probably.

Still, in the same, bare-bones explanation, friends also aren't for falling asleep on you - or letting you hold her - or fucking you awake in the middle of the night. Friends aren't for pushing down your jeans when the early-morning dew settles on the back patio, or jerking you off in the seat beside yours with a sweatshirt over your lap when a group project is due later and you all should probably work on that and instead get yourselves off and leave the mess of what you're doing half-finished. Friends aren't, probably, for offering to watch you rub your palm up and down your cock the night before next semester's exams when you can barely sit in a single chair and you can't think about molecular biology or neurochemical transcriptions when your whole body aches to do the transcribing. (If you can catch that drift.)

The lists of who are and are not good enough for you goes on and on - the latter longer than the former.

So, there's Choerry, who according to Hyeju is 'straight up, a total slut'. Yeojin, who gets mistaken for your little sister enough times that Hyeju refuses to - in good faith - let you keep sleeping with her. Both Heejin and Gowon are apparently too pretty for you. "Kim-lip?" she asks, in the middle of peeling garlic, "is that one name or two?" And laughs into a bottle of beer, loud, while you're telling her to quit being nosey and watch her fingers with the damn knife.

"You have a problem."

"Why, because I asked a few simple questions? I think anyone would be a little curious with the -" she pauses to wave her fingers - "I'd be remiss to not be interested in the very drama that unfolds literally across the hall."

She waggles her eyebrows.

You look up at the ceiling. God save you, you think. "Hyeju."

("Seriously," Hyeju chimes in one evening, arms around you, and a mouthful of the dinner you'd cooked.

"You need better taste in girls. Don't waste time on anyone too dumb, or who drinks the milk straight from the carton, or doesn't wash her socks with the same load of laundry. Oh, and - no one who chews loudly. No one who can't tell you're going to cum. The worst is someone who doesn't know what you like, trust me on that. And remember the last rule: don't do anything with someone who eats at a really slow pace, it's incredibly depressing."

You rest your chin on her shoulder from the spot behind her. "Duly noted, oh Master of all Knowledge."

She sighs into your arm, but in the next moment, her voice gets a lot softer, her hips fidgeting slightly against you. "I just mean you're the kind of person people would want to sleep with again," she says, before turning to say your name and kiss you again and again as your bodies curl inward.

"I wonder what that means, Hyeju," you say.

"Fuck," Hyeju groans as you slide further into her, pushing her back into the sofa - hands on her shoulders, legs bent on her either side, "don't tease me like this.")

-

The first snowfall of the year is mild, a tiny dusting, nothing that sticks on the pavement in the alley or on the sidewalks - or the lintels - or in Hyeju's hair, but by evening, when the snow picks up and everything goes quiet, Hyeju has changed into flannels and wool socks in anticipation, curled up like a cat at one edge of the window ledge as the world begins to go white. It's enough that you even pull on a thicker sweatshirt, open up a book, and join her.

She turns toward you, quiet.

You've reached a point in the semester where this, the silence, doesn't unsettle you anymore. It's the space you fill up with time in-between, where you can see the contours of her body against the orange lamplight of the space heater, or watch her kick off the top half of the duvet at night as you fight over space in her bed and wonder about the bare skin peeking out from her shorts.

"Feeling bored?" She slides her foot a little closer to yours, almost imperceptibly. "Am I keeping you entertained enough?"

Her lips pull up at the corner. You chuckle.

"Oh, no."

She scoffs and puts her hands on her knees, pushes herself closer to the window sill and bumps her elbow into your shoulder. The bare skin of her neck and shoulders and face is getting a little redder as she cranes it forward. "Okay, if not, do you need someone to entertain you, maybe."

Your mouth twists, fighting a smile.

Hyeju is so close to you, you could kiss her really, really easily and not care how she'd feel about that. It's not a habit, not as often as it used to be, but every once and a while - she starts this game. Every once in a while, Hyeju just starts smiling like that, and leans into you like she's daring you to play along, hard round of chicken until it's clear what the two of you are doing with each other; the minutes pass by, one, then two, and then - maybe she pushes first, her leg on yours, or a kiss to your jaw or a palm on your back as she walks behind you - and then you'd turn and kiss her full on the mouth and pull at her clothes like nothing's holding you back.

She cocks a smile, and says, "why don't you go and call what's her name."

"Because."

You glance out at the cold, gray light outside. If you had a better understanding of any of the workings inside you, you could reach forward and tell her everything that's stopped you.

-

You're supposed to meet the girl-of-the-month at a New Year's party. Hyeju looks disgusted within the first ten seconds of the whole story.

"Heejin dumped you once, like, two months ago? For no reason."

"It wasn't a break-up. We talked about what we did wrong and we're doing better," you say, lifting one finger.

She glares, then, tilts her lips into this unamused purse that you can't take seriously at all when she starts walking back and forth across your living room, hands moving emphatically to the sides as she speaks, like she's in the process of unveiling a brilliant argument and is using both palms to guide your eyes toward the unquestionable logic. "God, you're the worst. You're just her easy fuck and you'll still answer her late night calls, really."

She leaves the rest unsaid - that she's just not that into you.

"I don't tell you which boys or girls you can call up," you try, putting on a boot. "If you'd like, I can. Name off the list, and make sure that the right name leaves my mouth this time."

Hyeju doesn't blush when you glance up, which is the surprising thing. No - her cheeks have grown a little more sullen, and she stares down at her socks in contemplation. You're in the middle of fastening up the lace and getting to your feet, waiting, wondering if Hyeju's going to continue this conversation, when Hyeju takes one small step forward.

And her hand goes out to touch your chin, thumb at your lip, fingers holding it in place - like you'll turn if she lets it go - the sharp shock of the sensation like a short circuit, before her knee comes between yours, and your body tingles, at the root and stem. "Hey," she says, eyes meeting yours. The edge of her nail flicking gently as she drags the curve of her thumb downward.

"Hyeju, please - I need to get going."

When you start walking toward your car, she calls out from the window. Something about how you better have the time of your life, fun for the two of you - it’s only fair.

(You feel, somewhere, a certain strange loss.)

"What, are you going to stay up and wait until I come back? Or am I interrupting your session for the night."

You can barely make it out, the smallest look passing over her face. "Maybe," she says, and then: "god, it's fucking cold."

-

New year's parties have this sort of quality of being simultaneously the most thrilling, exciting prospect on earth and the absolute worst fucking event in the history of the planet - depending on the venue, how egregious the racket is for a gin and tonic, the guests - oh, and the company.

Jinsoul and Choerry are both in attendance; in separate corners and in equal states of undress and intoxication, which seems fine by every present party, who are for the most part busy ogling one or the other in the full spirit of the New Year - as you would too, if the stars are aligned and Heejin hasn't already gone upstairs with half the guestlist, her arm wound with someone else's, as per her recent habit; if you haven't been tossed aside for any of the usual, less forgettable prospects and for something bigger, better and certainly much more enjoyable.

Which, if there were any way to track these things down with math, you'd already be reaching for your pen and notebook, as Hyeju would describe this sensation in a phrase she picked up from some podcast. Inevitable means necessary, or something.

"Good party," says Heejin, throwing back another drink.

"Yep. You said that," and you finish yours in one long draw, hissing through your teeth.

Heejin is a goddamn delight, of course, in all the simplest of ways. When she looks up at you - mouth pink, hair framing her face - she is so clearly and completely aware of what she is, and exactly what the world has in store for her, what it has set aside.

"Do you want to know what happened at the other New Year’s party we went to last year?"

"I - yeah. Hit me. Tell me all about (another date you were on) Heejin, that’s exactly what I’d love, let’s hear it."

She throws her head back and laughs, before starting into an overlong recount of her latest, greatest conquest, you on the outside. This is the thing - this is how a pretty face, with just a hint of a flirt, will make you feel for a beautiful, attractive, vivacious - absolutely shameless, raving sex-crazed lunatic of sorts who, apparently, loves to run around town and make a bunch of your closest friends fall in love and heartbroke-er, with every passing notion of her beauty, her charm - just the tilt of her chin, and some poor fucker is lost, absolutely lost.

 Even she knows it's a bad habit of hers. 

But who doesn't have a weakness? You've got plenty of your own - plenty, Heejin can admit - everyone does, in a way, and so Heejin, the other sloppy drunks milling about the party, and Choerry and Jinsoul all agree - someone like her just happens to have the best kind of weakness - so, so many of them, in fact:

"Can you believe how easily a few words get Jinsoul riled up? Or how it only takes a couple drinks for Choerry to pull up the hem of her skirt, not knowing the effect that'll have?"

And as for the last, and arguably worst kind -

"Hyeju, huh? What a great start to the New Year," is her final word. Heejin reaches across and downs your drink. Her expression turns just shy of grave, a pensive look. "Not your smartest idea, the living-together situation. Who in their right mind would put themselves in such a mess?"

"Thanks for the great advice." You wave her off, irritated.

There's another laugh before Heejin leans her face onto the table.

"Though maybe she's onto something, now that I think of it. Who needs anyone for the New Year?" and it's almost convincing the way her mouth, lined up with the rim of the glass, smirks when she drinks. "Mm. All a matter of taste."

-

The snow is halfway up your calves when you realize you need to find a cab at 11:30 PM on New Year's Eve. (Which, categorically, is the worst time to need to find a cab on New Year’s Eve.)

Or just:

11:36 PM and the nearest bus stop is too far away.

11:41 and the temperature feels like its dropped by fifteen degrees, like you should start wondering what hypothermia symptoms look like and what signs to look out for in yourself, your future wife and your children. You try not to think about why, but you get your phone out and immediately call Hyeju, so you're not sure what you think you're denying.

"No party?" she asks. Her voice is distant and sleep-ridden, but Hyeju's quick to pick up, like always.

"It sucked, I'm trying to find a way home early. Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year." There's a long pause, filled in by the squeak of snow beneath your boots. "Get a kiss?"

"Uh, not yet. In the market, I guess."

Hyeju's low hum isn't reassuring, either. "Well, you're kind of missing your window. Bad time to start looking."

"Says you, and here you are - still up for someone to spend the night with. Look at you," you respond, all this snark in your voice that she clearly hears. There's a long sigh.

"Actually," and Hyeju, much to the confusion of you and possibly the whole world, doesn't respond, and for a few seconds, the line goes completely silent, leaving you hanging.

She breathes once and comes out of her sleep with a yawn.

"I actually," she begins. There's a lot less preamble this time - this tone - and when she speaks again it comes through not nearly as sleepy, "was sorta wondering. Are you on your way home?"

"If I don't freeze to death, yeah."

"Yeah - no, yeah," and that's it. That's the sum total of what makes any difference between where you were a moment ago, and where you are right now, head spinning, fingers buzzing. Hyeju waits and there's the wind on the line, snow settling on your hat and in the corners of your face.

"I - sorry. I probably woke you up. Are you expecting someone else," you say, very small. Your foot drags behind the other. The cars whizz by you faster, passing.

"Hm. You're the only one, I guess," and after that - just static and the muffled sounds of her footsteps on creaky floorboards - or the tick of her ceiling fan? You can't make heads or tails of the rest of the background noise. All those words she said.

You bite your tongue to stop whatever curse words start pouring out from the jumble and cross streets, or the pedestrian underpass; snow gets stuck in your lashes and burns, but your chest is like a molten furnace. You consider telling her right there on the line, everything you're feeling - so hot, it feels like fire, Hyeju, I'm not used to getting heated and desperate and impatient - that even if you're not here now - just imagining your face - the sound of your breathing, it feels like I'm on the cusp.

"Yeah. Sure - good - okay, Hyeju."

"I guess, see you soon?"

"In a bit."

(It takes 33 minutes, trudging through cold and wet. It's all very dramatic, you think, and there's no one there to even watch you suffer for it, or - though you try not to think about that particular line - really, no one at all.)

-

You hear the way your key grinds in the lock - it's been like this, jammed since summer, when you pushed the front door in late at night a little too hard and something came undone and made a sound like a small stone tumbling down the world's deepest well. The hinge squeaks, and there's ice on the stoop, on the doormat, on every nook and corner you can see, all the way up your neck.

And your face, too. You shake off your hat, undo the buttons on your jacket, and pull off your boots before hanging them and all the layers to dry.

You can make out the outline of her profile at the edge of the door frame, right in the kitchen - barefoot, hip pressed against the island, pajamas - the dim lights illuminating the shadow of her head, hair over her face -

- but you don't pause. The next layer. There's nothing left to say. You're too cold for excuses, too smart to use the same ones you'd been taught, like: this is a normal, acceptable circumstance; everything, anything, will be perfectly normal if the two of us act as though that's the case; pretend we're both acting within the norms of reason, within our senses and logical thinking and I won't make myself go out in the cold a second more - won't stand for more than five minutes with your eyes looking like they're waiting.

So you move instead toward the kitchen, where the heating is better and she's already pouring coffee. There's a heat radiating out of the oven, and it smells sweet in there, like cinnamon and warm butter, and you wish you weren't still shaking, blood barely thawed, but there it is - her face, watching you - eyes gleaming as you wrap your hands around a mug, steam rising up - a shiver running up your arms; her knees skirting yours when she takes one step back and there's the cabinet door shut, then open again, and then a palm on your back.

Hyeju presses a cup of the fresh coffee, now warm enough to drink, to your chest, and says, softly. "What the fuck happened out there?"

She starts reaching out to wipe the frost and slush from your face. You let her hand hold you still, eyes wide.

"Oh you know," and her palm stays, even though it's obviously - suddenly - gotten warmer, and wetter too, and the longer she stands there and lets her fingers warm the pale bones of your cheeks, her wrist, the base of your forehead and ears, the more expectant the look on her face grows. "The usual."

Her eyes go as narrow as they ever can. For just a moment. "You're gonna die a slow, pathetic death someday, just for the record."

"Don't forget how this starts," you try, and feel your neck go warm, throat and breath tight. And not even when her shoulders shift, her mouth going smug - just looking at you.

“I mean, don’t you think,” Hyeju says, wagging a finger at you, “that when you suffer through a bad date, the world ought to owe you something?”

"Like what?" you ask.

"Better taste in women - maybe more orgasms; I dunno, a blowjob?" She shrugs. "The general idea is just that someone gets to cum."

You nearly choke on the air in front of you. "Jesus, Hyeju, warn a guy."

“What? I’m trying to commiserate with you,” Hyeju laughs. “Wouldn’t that be funny? Being able to kiss someone you actually, you know, might love you back, and at the same time. Imagine not hooking-up just to forget a shitty day. Sounds wild, right?"

"Utterly deranged."

"So wild."

When Hyeju sighs and gives a long, nonchalant hum, leaning her body closer, pressing up until her waist hits the cabinet top and you're pressed together chest-to-chest, she looks at you and her hips settle, the heel of her foot reaching around your calf.

There's that tingle. Again and again. You're not even trying to not think about what it might mean.

But then, you start, silently and unconsciously, trying to answer the question: why don't you, maybe. Why don't you, actually - Hyeju kisses you, pulls on the loop of your jeans and lets your lips brush the corners of hers and pulls away, suddenly, mumbling and head-turning. And just as abruptly, your nose buries in the space between her neck and her shoulder, where it's all warm. And when she puts her palms on your hips and squeezes and twists her knuckles into the fabric there, it seems she wants your hands up her shirt and under the small of her back.

And her hands - they're fidgety tonight, fingers curled up to keep their nails and the chill away, moving lower - one on your ass, while the other comes forward and begins rubbing circles, a handful of times - enough so you're letting a deep, low breath escape into the space just above her collar, your knee working its way between hers.

"That," Hyeju breathes, lips at your ear, hand reaching down to trace the hard curve of your cock pressing in the spot right between you, and there's that small rush again, familiar now, like you've caught a rhythm and she wants to feel it in its fullness: "is how you can make it up to me. For making me stay up. Worrying about you, god knows why. Waiting."

You're still half-frozen in a way, slowly thawing. "Hyeju, I've been trudging through the consequences of my actions this entire night. What am I about to suffer through now?"

"It's no consequence, honestly."

You squint.

"Just an idea, but," she breathes again; your bodies getting closer, and looking up at you, she grins and reaches down to touch the very root of you, her fingers drumming. You make a sound, and at that she says, her voice coming out thick, low:

"Want me to get you off?"

She squeezes again for good measure, just to be clear. Just a slight curl of fingers that's enough to send a flash of heat and the transient thought: why, why, why is she always wearing those fucking shorts, even in the winter?

Your blood thrums through the pulse at the end of your cock. You shake.

"Alright," is the response you let out.

And at that, Hyeju takes your wrist and leads you upstairs.

"There's that look. Don't worry. We'll find a way," is all she says as your feet walk forward, up step-by-step and higher and further up to her room. "After all, isn't that what we've always done?"

"It's usually whatever will make me stop talking."

Hyeju puts her chin on your shoulder. Her eyes follow the lines and shapes in the patterns of wallpaper as you turn onto her side of the apartment, and even through the wall and behind the doorway, her arm still around you, she pulls at your chin until your faces turn and you both can share each other's heat.

"Who, you and your awful habit of talking out-loud in your head while you work through equations?" and she brings her lips to yours, close and warm.

"Hey. Fuck you," and your voice breaks into an odd, low laughter when she kisses you harder.

"Yeah, I know," she whispers as her hand dives past the band of your boxers, palm sliding easily until she's gripping you fully and letting her fingers rub. She holds you there, in her room, her arm looped through yours, another arm resting at your belly.

And she stops there. She stays like that: holding your gaze.

"Look, Hyeju," you say, unable to not, though this can hardly count for anything; this, what you're about to admit, is nothing new. You swallow. "The thing is - you shouldn't."

"Don't want me to touch you?" she says, finger to your lips.

"Well, that's different. Maybe. Is there - maybe it's not the best thing to ask you right now."

Hyeju considers for a brief moment and tuts under her breath. "Can you at least do me the decency of waiting until I'm done wringing you dry before you say shit like that."

And she moves then, toward the bed.

So:

No. Yes. Maybe. Who knows, you tell yourself. Maybe, but only because you'll do anything if it makes you feel less sick, like a creature standing over its own skeleton - an abandoned shell; a relic, something to be feared and disgusted, as you let her go between your thighs, kneel beside the bed.

"I mean - since when - have you felt," is just as far as you're allowed to go before Hyeju presses her nose into you and pulls you out of the thin, cold fabric - palm, thumb, all those slender fingers swiping over your head - and now there's just the smell of her room and the shock, the buzz that runs down your spine and settles somewhere, somewhere inside the small and desperate movement of your hips and the tension building just below.

And god, fuck, Hyeju’s lips.

These soft, wet, pouty fucking things that could suck you straight off if you were feeling any less stupid or inexperienced or sentimental - if she wasn't solely intent on teasing it out of you first; a slow drag of the tongue up the underside; the tip of it poking, tracing the rim, like she's figured you out, just where to lead you. She's ready to smoke you out - always - until you're not taking in a breath every ten seconds but starting to close your eyes to the overwhelming, needling pleasure, too sharp, the way she knows you like best.

"Now you're finally - mm - starting to sound hot," and that smirk comes back to the corner of her mouth, teasing the sensitive belly of your cock and tracing her tongue everywhere. "With the voice and -"

You're losing track, her thumb and fingers circling the whole length of you - just, one after the other - mouth a hair-breadth away, her breath hovering like a promise.

"- that face."

"Don't, fucking tease me-"

The sound of your cock going in is like nothing else.

Wet and filthy in all the right ways.

Just the suction in her throat has your eyes nearly roll back into your head - Hyeju's gaze calmly watching the terrible sort of helplessness that washes over you like this: her lips wrapped around, bobbing - her hair falling into the wet mess of her mouth and sticking there. Hyeju likes being a little sloppy, likes feeling that spark run up the length of her tongue when she slides. It's the wet and the heat that gives everything away.

"I don't have much of a choice -" her jaw and chin is smudged when she pulls back off of your cock, mouth glossy and glistening, "and honestly, wouldn't it be a better use of our time, or my talents if I actually do that thing?"

“Which is?”

She looks up for a bit and sighs, the flush blooming pink to the tip of her ears and into the rounds of her cheeks and all across her neck. "Since, as far as I can see, what you really like - is, oh I'm just spit-balling here," and she stops just to bite her tongue and look into your eyes, "it's letting the girls take care of you? Isn't that right?"

You want to tell her, no, not always, that it's not as though you enjoy giving control completely - that that would be completely and unarguably, the opposite of true -

That most of the time you love it when the person you're with is a little bossy, a little crazy for you. You know some guys really get off on a strong woman and maybe, maybe if a girl's pretty and dressed up, and - sure - a little wet, but that's hardly -

“You know I’m right,” she says, a flicker of mischief skittering across her features. “These walls are paper thin.”

You want to tell her, perhaps remind her, that she likes someone in charge just as much as you do - to be taken care of, told what to do - to have a hand curled up around her throat and the other at her tits while a guy fucks her the right way and takes the reigns when she needs. So who are you, when it comes to knowing her better? And who, really, are you fooling?

But before you can get any words in: Hyeju dips, lips parting where the head of your cock throbs, and then disappears; and the hot wet warmth, enveloping all around your shaft and back; the curve of her throat contracting.

You moan - a lot, and louder this time - into the whole feeling. The way her fingers work the distance from the base, twisting and twisting and twisting into the pout of her lips; or how the sound is like nothing - a whimpering, messy sound - almost a whine and definitely not a slurp as your cock sinks further and further, until it's all one big, heavy throb.

And it's like Hyeju can read your thoughts, the visual you have of her lips screwed tight around your shaft - cum leaking from the corners, and her eyes scrunched up tight, as she looks up to watch your face unravel - this perfect image of her taking you, all of you, swallowing each drop as your hips start rutting up into her and - and - and.

Or else she gets impatient, because then Hyeju gives one long pull off the tip of your cock - saliva mixed in the precum there, and that shiny string of fluid hanging, caught in the middle between your bodies - a disgusting and irresistible sight. Her jaw slack, lips swollen and full, and her mouth gone wide open, wanting.

"Fuck - that's good. Don't stop," you start to whimper, desperate, at the sight, the smell. Her hot breath coming quick over the red wanting wetness left behind - then touched by the cold air - fuck -

She slaps your cock to the corner of her lips as she speaks.

"Can you believe what's going on down here?"

"God, can you -"

"And to think most guys wanna jump straight in. That or fuck a load out between my tits."

"Hyeju, shit, come on -"

She kisses the soft tip, right where it’s most sensitive, rolls it along her lip. Then, back down the length of your shaft where she's generous with her mouth inch after inch - lapping, licking, laving - and Hyeju begins working her way down and downward, nestling in at the edge of the bed and between your thighs.

Your eyes blow up the first time she dips low enough to put your balls in her mouth. 

“Mmhm,” she hums.

It’s killing you and she knows it; it’s killing you and she can feel the pre-cum leaking from your slit - the thumb she has moored there, keeping everything right where she wants it, running circles up the length with such little intention - she could bring you to the end just like this. 

"Am I supposed to believe it?” she asks out from beneath the shadow of your cock, looking up at you with her eyes all wide and brilliant - pupils dark as sin. “That not a single one of those girls ever did you proper?"

You curse under your breath. Hyeju seems amused, at least, like she can't help but love doing that to you, which is almost worse and honestly the sexiest thing a girl can be. You groan - wanton, raw and desperate and feeling exactly what she wants you to feel when her nails drag along the dip of your hip bones.

"Did they not leave you fucked-up the right way?"

Her wrist flicks out these twists and turns, making your spine bend to her control. Like even when you're sure to be bundling her hair in your fingers and fucking the whole length of your cock down her throat, all of this is the worst kind of power-trip for her - not the other way around.

Her tongue runs through the tangle of your balls, slowly, lasciviously, as though the plan is to memorize and map every detail. 

And the worst part is, how much it's making you desperate for the warmth of her mouth - where she'll run her tongue up and down and over and around and inside - before sucking you off nice and slow.

"Or maybe," she laughs; another flick to the top and then suddenly her hand goes faster and the fist pumping the rest of you tightens. "They left you so needy you're resorting to having the bestie suck you off so that you won't be desperate the next time you date. Oh my god-" 

Hyeju breaks into this fit of laughter, and you're nearly cross-eyed at the feeling of your entire existence - not just your cock - so wholly held within her mercy, and her pity, and you're breathing so shallow now you'd think this is the real reason people have died and will die - this exact moment where you're choking and stuttering at the edges, so very close to cumming and going absolutely bonkers with how good Hyeju is with her hands, her tongue, her mouth - everything - how much she's wrecking you, and your jaw drops, wide open, her name dripping like molasses off your lower lip.

"Are you going to cum?" she asks, curiously. All as if she can't see you nodding, collapsing under pressure, and then and there: "should we make it official?"

Her nose tickles the seam of your balls. And your toes begin to curl and uncurl - all this anticipatory, coiling pleasure burning from her throat, shooting from the pit of your stomach; the tightening spiral, twinging and stretching every nerve - as her lips enclose around the end of your cock, softly.

And oh, just excruciatingly slowly.

You watch the irresistible shape of her mouth travel down until her throat feels so incredibly, beautifully, and unbelievably tight, and then, just like that - Hyeju starts fucking herself onto you; pushing forward and down the full, rigid length of you, hard and fast - each time hitting deeper inside her - all that sticky, messy, wet squelching.

"Unh-unh, yeah. Unh. Mm-!" you say, or moan, or some animal version of that, maybe, it’s incoherent.

But regardless:

It's messy and your hands scramble for purchase in the sheets of her bed when you feel that snap, the tightening of a trigger; when your balls roll up and it builds, and builds, and it comes faster - harder and -

"Hyeju," you pant, and it sounds so, so filthy. "I'm gonna cum, if you - gonna cum-"

Hyeju pulls you free from her lips, quite possibly at the most final of final moments, to rub the base up and down, just right, between her fingers. Your cock is resting right on her cheek when it all happens. When she squeezes her fingers around your balls just enough to hear you wheeze and make a sound no sane man should have the right to. And fuck, you're cumming all over her face - or just one side of it - which is already just -

Okay, fuck.

She makes a startled sound and her fist closes tightly around your shaft when you pump another fresh load of white up onto her eyebrow.

"I'm, ah-shit," your mouth moves faster than the blood in your veins - and now the shame - oh god, the humiliation, it's pulsing right behind you. "Hyeju," you apologize.

Only, Hyeju has no interest in any of it. She doesn't seem offended or disappointed in proportion to how you're ruining her pretty face: "no, just do it, cum wherever you fucking like."

Which isn't what you're expecting at all, because Hyeju makes no effort to close her lips, let alone avoid any of it; nor is she making a fuss about the sticky mess in her hair, her mouth, nor as another stream of cum throbs from your cock, all tangled up in the long dark eyelashes that sweep down across her cheek.

It’s fucking filthy: you're cumming all over her and she's just kneeling there, telling you, "good boy."

See, she pushes through it, languidly - all those filthy sounds, and those watery little tears gathering at the edge of her eye and all of that, mixing up together until you're rolling your head back with your orgasm, shuddering, feeling weak - drained dry -

Except,

Hyeju's pushing a finger to your chest, kneeling up tall from the side of the bed. She turns her body toward the center of the bed and wipes a bit of the cum on her knuckles into the sheets. Here you feel like you've done something terrible or at least regrettable, like that last round at the bar when you have a test the next morning; a dick move, all of the sort that requires apology.

"You gotta give me a minute, if you're thinking about hopping on."

"Hmm. Sounds like a lot to ask."

"Wait," you grab her arm. Hyeju grins and there's nothing stopping the shake of your knees now, that weakness between your thighs: "let me get you a drink."

"Or."

"Or?"

Her tongue peeks out, running along her upper lip. Her eyes drop again, hands dipping below, beneath the hem of her shorts and oh. She slips a hand past her bra. The whole outline of it. And you -

"Mm, I could show you what that actually means." She lowers her chest, her breasts, and a lot of skin to the mattress while keeping your cock firmly in her hands. "That look tells me you wanna stick around a bit. Stay up past New Year’s, you know?"

You're almost unable to parse her words, there is so much to look at: the jutting curve of her chest, cleavage pressing into the mattress as her body settles between your knees. A soft chuckle; a sigh: "you are seriously the best lay, no-one else can get hard the minute after they just fucking exploded all over me-"

"Fuck, watch it," you hiss, because there's oversensitivity - and then there's Hyeju's mouth on the line of your cock, polishing you clean.

And it’s not that she isn’t trying to prove a point. Or that she's not trying to tease - that's an inherent quality of her character: a naturally dominant position with a high appetite for your lust. That much, Hyeju gets from you, whether you've got your head down between her thighs or the other way, too, so that her neck is arched around and her ass pushed up high in the air, legs open, and if she had any idea you would spend the next twenty minutes or more just going down on her, licking into her creaming cunt while two fingers work over her aching clit, then really, Hyeju would only encourage it - maybe get on top, force you to gag - and so you don't know where it comes from - how and why you want nothing more than to drive your fingers inside her and work her until she's a wet, squelching mess, not when this was always Hyeju's role of being the aggressor; and yes, sure, even the aggressed.

Surely not because you came so hard, still somewhat shivering with the remnants of a rather abrupt, painful, sudden and all-consuming orgasm.

"We're not doing anything else," she says, lips pulled up into a smirk right at the crown of your cockhead. But before you can respond she pushes a hot open kiss, and goes lower. She presses the flat of her tongue to the seam, just below the head. Licks a line right up to the tip and finishes with a tender flick that sends you fisting the bedspread in your fingers and leaning back as your mind begins to disintegrate -

"I'm not going to ride you yet, or going to get my hips in your hands so you can fuck my pussy real hard until I cry and pass out. Nothing of that sort is gonna happen." She licks one long drag of her tongue. Then, the other way. "I want to make this very clear: this isn't some huge favor - and if you want it - want it so bad, you can stay there and I'm going to do everything for you. We will get there - together," and with her voice shaking as she brings the wet, glistening skin of your cock just inside her mouth, she looks up. "We'll get each other off, just like this," and it's the deep, dark, throated moan that makes your thighs and all the nerves in between stiffen and buck when she swallows you again.

Hyeju's hands tug, pull her whole body closer still as it slowly bends, curves - her ass raised, her stomach lying on the bed. Her mouth takes you another few inches, until the tip of her nose is barely visible, but when she pauses to lick the cum still left over - the cum that's starting to leak out again - to breathe through it, then squeeze her palm and bob her mouth down, take another inch, until the sides are stuffed and emptying out again, that's when she finally has something to say: "got anything left? I'm a little starved."

"I. Christ, yes-" you whine, which doesn't help your case at all: the image, the image of you lying flat - back with Hyeju's head tucked between your knees, her hand pulling out your cock.

Sloppy, slimy-wet.

She presses an innocent, not-at-all-innocent kiss right to your tip, puckering - 

"You know what I did learn in that genetics class?" she muses, tongue flicking over her lips. Hyeju's about ready for a second helping - you're losing it. "When I first saw that DNA diagram - the double helix and all those little base pairs, and everything - it made me think of your cock. Your cock and me. Specifically our DNA. Did you know-"

She presses her palm over the head and rolls it - teases and strokes her palm - her knuckles - her fist - the whole nine. "When I hold your big fucking cock, mm, and just get it right - up in here, rubbing all along my walls - so deep, it gets me in my fucking ribs, makes me choke like I never been choked before, ah-mm," and it's this thought sliding toward the front of your mind, this perfect picture: Hyeju, getting fucked hard and open and stuffed full and stuffed good and stupid; you’ve got more than a few inches on her, can make her feel small and delicate; you know how to do her right.

But here you have Hyeju stroking the shaft - holding her hand tightly up near the head, rolling and twisting and sliding down and pushing her whole body right into the side of your legs: the soft, solid length, warm flesh and curves everywhere pressing into you.

You sit back, and just watch Hyeju with her eyes cool and composed, like half of her fucking face isn't streaked with your cum, mouth wrapped and looking fucking satisfied to be a total, gorgeous mess. She makes a dramatic display of kissing the tip again, just before telling you words you probably dreamt up at some point - either sleep deprived, or, during three AM jackoff, fantasizing. "Sometimes, just from riding your cock, I can't sit up straight."

"Fuck," and you feel your whole body run rigid, because apparently that's something you’ve been aching to hear.

You're covering her mouth again. White streaking onto her lips - where she's catching it in the well beneath her tongue and letting it spill out of the corner of her mouth. Into the crook of your thumb, which catches a drip here and there and rubs it down the length - down the curve - and pushes it back between Hyeju's pert little pout.

"Doesn't count, mister, just more pre-cum," she says, all with the audacity of a wink and smile; her words are a little garbled around the head of your cock between her teeth. And when you nod and realize just how painfully your jaw hurts, your throat becomes tight and raw, a knot pulling the underside from the center. Hyeju slides her lips lower, lower down, to the hilt and stays there, just like that - one hand holding down the flat of your belly to keep your hips still, her chin hanging - bobbing-as she feels every pulse, every twitching shift. You curl one hand around the side of her face, over the sharp edge of her jaw; rub a thumb into the delicate skin of her throat.

She shifts. You start to tell her what you like: how hot the rush comes when a girl puts her tongue against the slit at the very tip, and licks at the precum in nice, quick circles, soft and fluttering. And how her fingers shouldn't hesitate either, Hyeju's not even struggling to give it to you - god - just giving and -

She jerks her head up, swallowing down her next breath like it's one of her last. "I'm serious, if you're going to fuck a hole, start with my mouth - we can move onto everything else after."

"You're ridiculous -"

She meets her lips to your head, kissing once. Again. Kissing every inch, letting her mouth wrap around and then just - staying, just - staying like that and humming, with you, enjoying the fullness, the smell of you, the taste, the shape, just the weight and size and you.

There is spit fucking everywhere.

And if it's not clear what you're supposed to be doing - her fingers weave through yours, squeezing hard at the wrist and you can imagine: pulling her forward by her hair and holding her down while she chokes on your cock. "Fuck, Hyeju," you say, and your voice comes out way shakier than you'd like, "when, how did it get like this, huh? You always - always did, shit, always want your mouth filled."

"Never figured you to be someone who'd get turned on watching their friend sucking their cock like this."

"Doesn't everybody love the sight of their cock in a pretty girl's mouth?

"You were really convinced they weren't lining up behind you? Or anyone in the queue who can't keep their eyes off of this thing. Tell me, and try not to lie, try not to bullshit this one out: how many girls have you come home and fucked and creamed their brains out - then asked for the sloppiest, most -"

"Honestly."

"- Filthiest, nasty, ball-busting, gut-wrenching blowjob ever to make them think - to make them really start wondering what the hell it was you did - like it's gotta be something that leaves them so ruined, they can't ever not compare - can't ever not compare this moment, right here. Ever. When you give them the hardest fucking of their life, compared to any other guy - can't not, because no-one, literally no-one's cock can fuck like you do-"

"Fuck-"

"Any harder. Come on, seriously, tell me it isn't true. Come on."

Her voice - her fucking words, the tone she uses and how her words roll: honey-warm and soaking with sweet, thick degradation - she talks like sex, and that's exactly what gets you harder, like it’s something else; like it’s nothing, like it’s less, so much worse - you feel this guilty-dirty heat pool at your tailbone and push down the hard press of you throbbing all the way to her nose. And Hyeju smiles as much as she's capable around the fat, round stretch, humming around the warm taste of you, before opening wide and sinking her throat on it.

There's nothing like it.

You've got two fists in her hair; she's so tight and wet around every god-damn inch. Her cheeks flush - hot to the touch; her tongue laving in slow, long drags, slicking your shaft nice and warm until you're balls-deep and pushing her further: a small shift to the hips, a push here, a harder, faster pull, and Hyeju's feet behind her go curling like an angry cat, wanting the tug.

A long, satisfied breath slips from the hollows of her throat.

There are tears threatening, thickening her lashes, and though she doesn't choke - you're just afraid. Every sound that she pulls out, her eyes blinking up to you as if it's only natural to love getting used by her friend's cock, like the very premise of it - swallowing down the very shape of you, dragged over her tongue and brushing cum into the back of her throat - is something she can’t go without.

But this is nothing compared to the noises from where her lips are pressed tight around you, where you're hearing and even feeling:

That gluck, gluck - where her chest spasms just the slightest when her nose gets nuzzled right into your belly and you remember how much she likes to hear you talk dirty, how fucking wet it gets her. The heavy, deep breaths, gasps; the strangled moans when your hips just buck - the heat and the thrill, and this is better than every other time because there's just something in this moment -

"I'm not gonna come again, not like this. Not in your mouth. You can’t-"

But Hyeju refuses to hear a word; just pumps your shaft faster, feeling it's familiar hardness grow and throb and ache and retch, all her effort paying off: you're slick with precum and spit, hard and straining, the whole shaft begging for release - all because of her. And Hyeju won't stop, she pushes her cheek onto your thigh and then taps a hand there to pull your hips. The motion drives your cock further still inside her. Until it’s bathed in her spit, your cum, all this mess.

Until it's reaching, choking her, and the muffled sounds she's making are filthy and wet and so incredulously hot.

But god. Hyeju has something of a temper and a habit, too: with those big beautiful eyes and the perfect plump of her pouting lips, her tits swelling up around, when your grip slips on her shoulder, and her mouth goes tighter - how the pleasure begins to make you unbearably cruel and you push her away from you, only for a second -

She doesn't wait or seem to care; Hyeju follows the cock with her whole head and whimpers so hotly in her throat when it plops right back on her tongue. "That's more - more like - fuck, oh, there we go," her nose and fingers prodding.

You groan through a high, strangled whimper, a helpless shiver that turns into an uncontrollable roll of the hips - you can't believe it: she's already so thoroughly debauched and defaced; just fucking painted with it. Your cum dripping off her chin and rolling down her neck.

"Fuck - gonna make me - ah, Jesus -"

When Hyeju seems to have reached her fill, the feeling, you're cumming - pumping the length of your shaft. And the moment she feels you twitch and throb and that first hot spill lands in the bend of her mouth, it's as if she understands and holds herself tight - her legs going stock-still while your eyes blow up behind her, your cock spewing another and then another thick, milky load into her mouth, over her tongue: all along the topography of her throat - sticky cum landing in every ridge and valley -

Hyeju catches as much as she can. What little she can. You cum and pump and gush so much that when you're finally finished - done - every last drop spent and given - your cock throbs soft between her fingers; her chin is a complete and utter mess and her chest heaves with the sound of her catching her own breath. Hyeju groans softly and just swishes the load around in her mouth for a bit as if wanting to remember its feel and weight before lifting her eyes to look into yours. You can just barely see the color.

"Jesus, Hyeju-"

The entire bit of it, slick and shining-wet. With a small moan, a sound from the back of her throat: one swallow and the cum is gone, disappeared, vanished. She smiles like she didn't just ruin your entire goddamn life and, with her body limp and exhausted beside you - her gentle hand rubbing a flat stroke over your thigh before yours slips up to meet her chin.

"You," you curse and roll your eyes, catching the mess at the edge of her jaw, the very little left in the corners of her lips. You feed the cum over her bottom lip - her chin, her throat - watching your friend: Hyeju's throat, bobbing. "Really didn't have to," you start, but you realize just how useless a point it is to make.

She's smiling and biting and showing you what's left between the tips of her canines. "Do you always do this to the people who suck you off?"

"That's an awful habit. A pretty girl's lips aren't meant to get that messy," you reply.

"Oh." She frowns. "Well, I do a lot of things I shouldn't."

"God, seriously," and you think there's no greater hell, no sweeter pain than whatever's lingering in these little aftershocks - this fizzling and dying sort of pain, where the body is buzzed with all you're aching for. It's impossible to stop this train of thoughts, is the fucking feeling of her-

But just then, Hyeju rises to her knees, a new spark in her eyes, as she grabs ahold of your wrist and tugs you off the sheets, a few inches closer.

"And you," she purrs as she drags the palm of your hand across her neck and collarbone, collecting what remains and making the perfect image, "well - you are going to help clean me up, like you said before." She sits tall; the arch of her spine is pronounced - her back, so, very, slightly tapering, to where your hand slips right off the last of it: the wide flare of her hips. "Now isn't that the gentleman's thing to do?" she asks.

"Of course." You sigh, resigned and in desperate need of water. "Of course," you add and smirk a little and slip your hand lower, toward where her skin is getting hot, and her body, "let's get you clean."

"Mm." She's already grinning. "You know what wasn't in those textbooks?"

"Oh, I can only guess." You bite your cheek and start to lower yourself back. "Give it a try."

Hyeju drags you by the wrist toward the hall, the bathroom, ostensibly the shower -

"There's no way in hell you don't want to put a baby in me, like, right fucking now."

"Is that what we're doing?"

Hyeju makes a face like you're stupid - she might've grabbed a towel on the way out. She wipes her chin a little while walking - the corner of her mouth where, well - where it looks like a little dribble has somehow remained. "No. But you’re going to fuck me like it is."

-

(There's got so much on her mind. 

The door of the shower rattling in its frame as she struggles standing up against it. Getting fucked so fast and full, the feeling of both your hands cupped beneath the weight of her breasts. It's not the fact of where you are and your situation, per say - more about the immediate, the imperative nature. About fucking you. She was already feeling herself like, leaking the moment the door shut, so all that waiting, all that patience, really - and it's what drove her insane when you were, well: like that, after she put her mouth around your cock, made a right and proper mess of herself, and sucked you off.

Though there's less on her mind, clearly, when she cums all over your cock.

She's crying with her tits up onto the glass, your palm holding her ribs. Your cum-slick cock working itself hard again as it slips, back and forth, as you're fucking her open, spread apart. It's your finger in her asshole. That's what's on her mind then. How the press of your knuckle lights her entire fucking spine on fire - how the other hand finds her clit in all this, too, when you're no longer supporting the both of you but rather Hyeju is folding on her bent knee and trusting, on shaking and shivering, raw nerves, that you're not going to collapse.

"Fucking. God, please-"

There's the harsh slap of flesh - skin on wet skin, your palms against the sides of her ass and the curve of the breast. But otherwise - it's you, sighing - soft and gentle, like you can't get over the feel of her. "Hyeju, oh-fucking, god, fucking," is what you're saying, and it doesn't end up really mattering which one of you came last because she can feel you twitching, squelching in and out with how badly you're wanting to explode inside, but also you can feel her cunt absolutely begging, this fucking fluttering and clamping down on every thrust and the moment you manage to grind this angle she loses her ability to speak properly because you're not just, like - fucking her-

Just, absolutely, completely pounding her pussy, stretching her insides, dragging and sliding along the walls; each rough rub and thrust makes her knees quiver until her body is trembling and falling. But mostly her voice, the sharp gasp that shakes into her, how her nails are scraping the walls of the shower stall and she's saying - telling, crying and asking and wondering and pleading - just utterly astounded:

"Amazing," she huffs, breathes coming out cloudy and true onto the pane of glass, "you - it’s, fucking amazing.")

-

“And I am… Ironman.”

Your eyes flicker awake, hazy, as Tony Stark snaps his fingers, killing himself alongside Thanos’ army in the process.

The TV's long been running on background noise, though not as ambient. Its characters now bickering between the rubble and ruins and being picked up for the end credits. In the dark of the screen, you see Hyeju had nodded off and slumped over the side of your body. A new year means new beginning means resolutions and diets and gym routines -

Maybe no sooner than the sun can come up, apparently.

You lean over to grab your phone from the table: 4:14 A.M.

There's a lot of things you want to say, even more you want to hear, but your mind has begun to settle a bit - a lazy and dreamy thing that fills you with this sort of, tired kind of - not sad, or empty - no, of course not. That's hardly fitting; not after tonight. You want to wrap this in an idealistic sort of sentiment - maybe hold Hyeju close and let the hour carry you and the comfort be enough to forgive whatever there is to miss: like the fact, it's still really dark, so dark even outside. The moon reflecting off the sheet of snow on the street. And not even a distant dog barking, or car driving by or someone playing loud music in the early hours of the new year.

As the film drifts off into another set of commercials, you slip into an easy sleep that feels effortless. Your head drops, landing on the cushion by the arm of the couch, where Hyeju's hand begins to slip mindlessly across your belly, tickling your waist and causing you to slightly squirm - things are cooling down, but still a little agitated.

"Don't tell me you're waking me up, cause I just -"

She kisses the pulse at your throat and answers, mumbling half-words into the spot below your ear. "A kiss for a new year."

And maybe the world doesn't owe you anything at all.

Maybe it just gave you more than enough.

#hyeju smut #loona smut #loona hyeju smut #loossemble smut #loossemble hyeju smut #olivia hye smut #loona olivia hye smut #kpop smut #male reader #capslocked kinkvember

[spaloonbabooguuscooties]

You could drink your whole life away and still never get that taste out of your mouth.

half commission for @salempie half completely self indulgent dreck pieced together from our insane conversations abt franke and elka. told myself id finally write a big explanation for all of the dum shit between these two for context so Thats Under The Cut.

so I already wrote some stuff about elka and franke's relationship back in whispering rock so feel free to look at that too . it goes over elkas blindness/‘seeing’ with clairvoyance and how her and franke started talking & all that good stuff

SO FOR STARTERS. a lot of thsi wont make sense without a big breakdown of elka herself. because elkas potential as a character is like insane to me. like just the idea of her in the long run of her life reads as something so potentially tragic; a young girl whos plagued with visions of doom and destined to be an outcast even in her own home for things she cant control and clings to the One vision of her wedding that she thinks is 'happy' even despite the fact she doesnt really love the person in it. im choosing to take the li-po doc as canon here because its funny shes the only one with backstory-

but my fucking god even the smallest look into what her parents are like is soo fucked up to me. and i do think elka especially gets a lot of influence from her mother; its funny how easily you can fit mabel doom into a box just from what elka says about her. knees deep in an avon-esque pyramid scheme and leaning into her daughters depressing ass visions & taking her to therapy at age 11 (which would be good if not for the kind of person you can already assume she is & so i doubt the therapist she has really does her any good. i think they share one). she reads as a very I Am My Daughters Best Friend type of mom to me and i can see elka being a centerpiece of the conversation when she has her Amway Girls over for drinks. wine-mom that lets her kid sip from the glass so she can feel like a big girl type deal.

and you can tell that elka is trying to hard to be too mature for her age even in her campster posts. how she writes letters to nils' mom and exchanges baking recipes with her and that feels like she really only interacts with middle aged women and not really many people her own age outside of camp (like her moms friends). which makes sense shed feel the need to ‘grow up’ early when shes probably had to process so many hard things at a young age bc of her visions.

theres a lot of filling the blanks here of course.

elka obsesses over nils to an overbearing degree even despite the fact he treats her like shit ('you promised no talking' and so on) and she treats him bad right back. she leans onto stereotypical heterosexual ideals like taking care of him and overblowing how Manly and Protective JT is and she admires romance stories like pride and prejudice and it feels like she Projects Soooooooo much of what she wants onto boys she barely feels anything for without knowing what its actually supposed to feel like. and clearly she WANTS that ideal future, a happy marriage, an actual romance- but according to nils even when they were dating she ignored him most of the time, which just seems Very Telling

like shes filling a role, overcompensating for emotions and lacktherof she cant digest quite yet, and it only makes more sense when you know shes had visions of their future together. how could that be bad for her? shouldnt it be like the books and movies? but she doesnt really connect the fact that her visions are only for Doomed futures, and if she does she certainly doesnt show it. Doomed relationships. it's been a part of her family for generations and she isn't turning out much different, is she? i dont think she even realizes thats all she ever sees yet, just that its Going to happen. that it's Her future, and it always will be

and like, her only reference for a real marriage so far has been her own parents, and she already Knows they have an affair, and theyre doomed to split, (and i actually like to think they were in rough waters anyway and elka was a child meant to mend a crumbling marriage but thats a whole other thing) and so without a framework for what an actual healthy relationship is supposed to be like she cant really grasp that her relationship with nils Isnt that and isnt ever going to be. she can only cling to this one happy idea of the future, and thats why she keeps chasing him, self fulfilling the actuality of her situation and creating and fostering the unhappy life they will inevitably live together.

and that bleeds into everything else in her life, of course, because as the years go on, as the visions grow in number it just makes sense for her to fall into the predictability of her life. she always knows whats going to happen, her visions are Never wrong- so why try to change things? shes had time to process tragedies days, weeks, months, years before they happen, shes had time to settle into every crack of her life. her parents divorce, her various break ups, her future with the psychonauts.

“and she's already seen so much of a future with [nils] she feels trapped almost. Like she has to be happy in it or else it just means her life is miserable. And it's a mixture of pride and fear of the unknown that keeps her clinging to the One thing she knows. BUT LIKE!!! She knows what's gonna happen! It's easier to grieve when she's been grieving for years... She wants so badly to be happy, But to do that she has to step into the unfamiliar. And that's more terrifying than staying the same miserable person she's always been.”

and thats where franke comes in— and yeah you Do have to take a lot of liberties for frankes character since it’s basically, like, all the info for her is just that shes a Supreme Baby Dyke but thats enough for me. i think she has protective butch itch in her . on campster shes defensive over other women evidenced in the way she keeps watch over the girls cabins for lili when elton is pursuing her . but shes also eager to please and constantly trying to make kitty laugh and also Very naive. but she tries! and i think it only solidifies more as she gets Older and really gets a hold of her feelings & her powers. this is incredibly franke to me

and i think as they grow older together— because i think franke and elka Do stay friends, both because elka is just pathetic and needs that positive connection even if she doesnt realize it and because i think franke is a very Loyal person & annoyingly persistent if you let her be . and i am also a kitty/franke truther. because kittys also important in this web we weave

because i think franke and kitty stay together after camp, to a point— theres a falling out facilitated on kittys end and they break up, but reconnect, and franke kind of... saves kitty from herself a little, from her strict military father whos love only extends thru finances , from her own stifling future , she drives all the way to bakersville in her shitty van handmedowned from her dad and they move in together eventually . they get jobs at the motherlobe , because it’s a pipeline to a decent job, because it’s whats easy, because franke doesn’t really have a future, because she’s never really been good at much, because shes never had much sense, because franke doesnt really care as long as she can live and help, sometimes, if she can, and because kitty’s there, and because elka’s there, and shes so used to being elkas eyes now and shes good at it. shes good at being the muscle of the missions when her colleagues lack it, when hypnosis and predictions arent enough. she likes it that way.

and elka appreciates frankes company. she listens, shes sweet, she does little things for her that no ones ever really put the effort for before; she likes her. franke is strong and bold and makes her laugh and shes always there but god elka cant let go of that future, of that box shes put herself in, that her mothers put her in, of being a Good Wife to a Loving Husband, of getting married normally and falling into unfailing familiarity. thats all shes ever wanted and shes not going to jeopardize that . not for franke, who may not be a boy but is handsome like one, whos always held her after every break up with nils and the men that filled empty days inbetween.

and elka is too stubborn to recognize those feelings anyway. too prideful to accept a way out. too set in her cycle no matter how much she hates it, her little self fulfilling tragedy of her own making, wallowing in her own doom. she struggles for control of her own life when she feels like every choice has been made for her anyway, she puts up her walls and carefully constructs what people see. but franke was always harder to trick, because while empathy isnt a particularly useful psychic power it’s certainly an inconvenient one. all franke has to do is get too close and all those carefully crafted walls fall apart, and elkas control is gone, and thats all she really has. and she tries to distance herself, really she does, but franke is also too persistent. and elka wears gloves, keeps contact that would make her walls crumble from happening as best as she can, but she cant really keep herself from the brief moments where she feels like someone actually fucking cares about her.

and that slightest lack of control, the need to wrestle it back is why she proposes to nils the next time theres a falling out— she knows how it happens, she plans every detail. and he accepts, despite everything. gets her a cheap ring and it feels like lead on her finger and its nothing at all like how shed thought it to be when she was a kid, theres no feather light feeling in her chest, only that dreadful reality that she cant turn this back. BUT WHAT CAN U DO LMAO

elka doesnt tell franke about this engagement until later, on their way back from a mission. late at night when neither of them can sleep, and franke invites elka to smoke in her van, because its been so long since theyve been alone like that, because elkas been so strangely absent lately. and because of everything, because frankes always so damn nice, because elka hates the feel of the ring on her finger, because she let herself get high alone with franke fucking athens whos always been so good at pulling her apart— the truth of it all spills out and its messy and emotional and she hates it, she hates the life shes made for herself, but franke makes it easier to bare and now shes here and shes so close and god she wishes she could see her smile again, she wishes she could see franke, thats all she needs right now and she cant but she can touch her and she can hold her and for tonight, she can be known, she can let those walls crumble, she can be something else just for once here with franke . she can kiss her here in this van, touch that happiness for just a moment, and forget the future that waits for her outside of it. franke begs her to forget the wedding, to just let herself be happy— and god, she wants to, but it means turning her back on everything shes known and everything shes saw to be inevitable, and franke has never been in her future, so if it were supposed to work out why hadnt she seen it and she cant, she cant take that risk but she can have this, even if its temporary, she can have it.

and just as soon as she gets a taste of it, its gone. after that night, after the missions over and theyre back at the motherlobe and have to pretend like nothing happened (franke doesnt, of course she tells kitty about it, she tells kitty about everything.) but that brief moment together haunts elka every time she sees franke, sees herself through frankes eyes, sees herself in her wedding dress because god its all franke can think about! of course it is! she knows how much elkas destroying herself she knows how much misery shes wallowing in that kiss in the van felt like an emotional punch to the teeth and she hasnt ever forgotten it and all she can do is sit and watch while elka throws herself into a loveless marriage. she can come to her wedding and see the way the bride and groom kiss with the emotional weight of a wet towel no matter how hard elka tries to hide it under a pretty dress and bouquets of flowers and meticulous planning.

and elka resents nils but she cant really hate him, its not his fault, not really. he feels trapped just like she does and his feelings of misery only cycle back into hers . they fight and gnash and wear away at each other and its a relationship thats crashed and burned a million times before elka even said i do. and its inevitable that she falls into her mothers habits, a sip of wine here and there to loosen up, until it turns to a glass, until it falls into a bottle on nights when whatever work nils does runs late.

but franke’s still there. shes always been there, hasn’t she? always trying to play knight, always trying to save her, dragging her home when shes stumbling over herself because god who else is going to do it but her? who else is left to care? certainly not nils. never nils. because franke knows her. because franke pities her. shes always pitied her. shes always known. and elka hates it, she resents it, but god in the same breath she’s desperate for it, she envies it to her very bones. elka is a mess but after frankes done with her she has someone to go back to that loves her. and god what elka wouldnt do to have that. to take it and keep it for herself because shes never ever got to have that movie romance shes always wanted.

so now comes this.

because elkas particularly miserable and particularly spiteful and she needs to get franke to understand, just for a moment, drink with her and get on her level and she needs her there with her no matter how her pity makes her feel. no matter how much it makes her shake with anger and envy and desperation, but god the way franke looks at her, the way she still tries to salvage what they have, the soft, slurred way she tells her that it’s okay but its not okay, none of this is okay, it never has been and she just wants franke to shut up and see that, and if she cant then she’ll show her, she’ll show her all the raw angry desperation, with too much teeth and hands that claw and grab and she’ll know why everyones always said she’s too much.

and she knows this puts her on nils’ level too. that this makes her a cheater, that shes no better than he is now. no better than her father and his affair. but god, she wants to be selfish. she wants to be in control. just for once. she wants to feel right and she wants to feel happy and she wants to feel loved. thats all shes ever wanted. and franke will let her have that, just for a little while, at the very least.

anyway. sorry. sorry for being crazy . this isnt even getting into the shit after the comic takes place . elkas stupid brainworld thag she has to overcome in order to finally be allowed in the polycule and live happily ever as worlds first lesbian divorceman

sorry for all the shit i make up instead of caring about actual characters with screentime . bye !

#ive spent months on thsi stupid lesbian toxic yuri slow burn relationship so you all better clap or im blowing this building up #psychonauts #elka doom #franke athens #ill paint the town red

[deadbeat-motel]

ᗪᗰ!ᗩᑎGEᒪᗪᑌᔕT ᒪOᖇE ᗩᑎᗪ TᖇIᐯIᗩ

Deadbeat Motel's Angel Dust Lore under the cut. (If you squint hard enough, you can see Vaggie and Charlie's rough design too.)

ᒪOᖇE

Angel Dust was never the best mafia member of his own family. He was too weak-hearted to deal with the types of people who made their home within the seedy world of crime. He was no good with taking a man's life nor was he any good with commanding the goons their family had, so his father had kept him trafficking drugs to be somewhat useful for the family. Angel Dust was happy about that, It was far from being in danger, and if he was careful enough, he would be able to have drugs from the stash he's supposed to be giving out to their clients.

One night, however, while high on PCP, a drug deal he and his brother were on had gone bad because their client finally got wise to Angel's stealing. A gunfight broke out killing men on both sides of the deal. AngelDust, while high on drugs, had killed someone in the middle of it, and he was still reeling from the shock of it when his high came down. His brother punched him in the face causing a black eye and told him how incredibly fucked they are because of what he's done. It was revealed that this drug deal was a way for their group to make peace with one another and killing those goons in that room had doomed the family to a Turf War they were not that prepared for. Going to his father to attempt to apologize had only gotten him killed in his father's rage.

AngelDust wakes up to Hell with a body he was surprised to like (despite his family being homophobic and possibly also misogynistic and transphobic). He's surprised to know how common and easy to find drugs are in this new place he's in but quickly finds out he's broke and unable to find a job because of how unused to his own body he is. His first few weeks in hell have been rough until he realizes he can utilize how this body works to his advantage. Many men and women lined up to want a piece of him and they paid good money too. Plus if they ever tried to hurt him, well this body showed him it's more than capable of keeping him safe. He actually did enjoy sex work more than his work as a former mafia member.

Everything went to shit when Valentino found him, he thought he was just another client who frequented him often and paid big money. When presented with a contract to work with him, he accepted since it looked as if the only thing he was asking for was to be his employee. However, as soon as he signed, hidden words started to reveal themselves on the paper. It turned out, he wanted more than what he was letting on. Val was a new Overlord and he's been slowly gaining the reputation that he has today and unfortunately Angel Dust had been duped by this demon. he just hadn't shown him his true colors back then to lower his guard around him.

Angel Dust has tried to fight Val before but nothing good came out of it. He wouldn't be able to do much about him if the contract was still in effect. He even lost the mandibles on his mouth because he had bitten Valentino reflexively one time. For 2-3 decades (might be subjected to change) he's had to deal with Val's abuse of him All optimism has dried out, and he's been living and coping with despair.

Angel Dust learns of the Motel and checks in mainly to get away from Val (He constantly moves places and doesn't feel safe in his previous apartment as Val has found him once again). He doesn't take the entire point of the motel seriously because he'll be gone within a month or two. After all, that's how often Val found him and sure enough, he did find him. Val starts talking like he owns the place, starts threatening everyone, and even attempts to control Valerie and Charlie when they confront him about what he's doing to Angel Dust. They of course are unaffected because of their angelic natures and Valerie absolutely thrashed the unliving shit out of Val. But before she can kill him, Val brings up the fact that if she kills him he will kill Angel Dust, taking him and the other hundred souls he has under his contract. With Angel Dust's and the other hundreds of souls' lives on the line, they had to concede and let him live, but not without warning him that if Angel Dust dies because of him, both women are going to make sure he begs for a second death.. This of course is not a big change for Angel Dust, but he's glad he can keep crashing at this motel knowing that Val won't dare come into this place if he wanted all his limbs attached to his body.

Angel Dust has become a permanent resident of the motel.

TᖇIᐯIᗩ:

Angel Dust frequented more LGBT-friendly speakeasies before he died (considering OG Angel Dust's family was homophobic iirc) and while he didn't participate in "pansy shows". He did want to join them.

Angel dust can produce webbing and uses it to slow down his pursuers. They've got a really strong grip on anything that touches it.

As a last resort, Angel Dust uses his webbing whips. They're non-lethal (At least I think so) since he mainly uses its sticky factor. They're good at disarming enemies who have guns from far away, especially since Angel Dust is creative with his uses of it.

Angel Dust used to have sharp teeth but had them forcibly flattened because Val was tired of the fact he's been nicked by those teeth of his multiple times.

The motel is actually the first place in a while he's stayed in for a year. Angel Dust has been able to make his room more comfortable for him and has his own stash of knick-knacks on display.

He is never seen front-facing. The view in front of Angel's face is treated like Phineas' front-facing view. Never allowed to be seen other than in smear frames.

A running joke for me is how everyone has no idea how a Spider's anatomy even works (I don't either).

Yeah, he'd still be shipped with Husk but I'm not having Husk call him a loser because my blood would boil, plus I'm changing their dynamic but I'll get into that when Husk is finished.

A big plot point for Angel Dust would be that he gets to kill Val with the aid of Valerie/Husk or the both of them and that while he'll be free of his abuser, it has screwed over his ticket out of hell in the eyes of heaven. However, it was able to spark a debate within Heaven's court... should the rules be so strict that they would punish a victim that finally fought back against his own abuser? (It's not that deep but it's a start at least rather than "You don't know what gets people into heaven?")

Currently unsure as to how Cherri Bomb would fit into his story but I might be able to figure it out later when I get to her redesign

I think that's all for now? This may be subjected to change at some point in time, but ask me anything about this version of AngelDust

#hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel rewrite #hazbin hotel criticism #vivziepop critical #deadbeat motel rewrite #deadbeat motel redesign #deadbeat motel Angel Dust

[icallhimjoey]

Define Close

♥ ♥  Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: What good are flatmates even, if they don't comfort you when you need it most? Or when you need it a normal amount? Or, you know, when you don't really need it, but just really want it?

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, afab!reader, hurt/comfort i guess? idk we're sad a lot and joe cheers us up a lot, talk of period blood getting onto things

Author’s note: i need everyone to understand that there's no real plot going on here, it's just.... it's just vibes, i hope thats ok!

Wordcount: 3.4K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

You looked at your reflection and sighed deeply.

With your tummy sticking out more than usual, no matter how much you tried to suck it in, with your boobs feeling sore, and with your mood swinging like a pendulum in a hurricane, there really was no denying the monthly doom that resided in your lower stomach.

Obviously, the cramps accompanied by your uterine lining leaking out of you was plenty proof, but just in case that didn’t sell it, your jawline decided a few big spots would be just the thing to remind you of the fact that you were dealing with hormones. That you were a woman. One with a period.

It fucking sucked.

Painkillers helped a lot. Really dulled the sharpness of the cramps and the persistent ache in your lower back.

But they didn’t help the irritability. Or the complete lack of patience you harboured. Or the cravings. Or the need to drown yourself in oversized clothing.

Joe had noticed.

Oh, he had noticed.

He noticed the lead up to it as well, your PMS, but didn’t want to ask. Didn’t want to check if he was right, because asking if you were on your period after you snapped at him for something you wouldn’t have pointed out at any other time, was exactly what would get you to snap at him.

But then, when he wanted to throw on one of his hoodies, he noticed that the one he pulled out of his wardrobe wasn’t his.

You had the same one, just a size or two smaller. The women’s fit slightly different from his.

“Hey, I think this is–” Joe’d walked over and stopped in your doorway.

You were sat on your bed, one foot on the floor and the other pressed into the mattress as you put on the coziest pair of socks you owned.

“Yea, that’s mine.” Joe pointed right at you. “This one is yours.”

You looked at what Joe was holding, then down at your own frame, and you knew he was right.

“No, it’s not.”

But you weren’t going to admit that you might have mixed them up when you’d done laundry the other day. His was baggier. Easier to hide yourself away in. Large enough to curl your knees up into, if you wanted to.

And, you wanted to.

“Yes, it is, look,” Joe took hold of the hoodie in his hands by the shoulder seam, held it in front of him to show how short it was on him.

You didn’t care.

You weren’t going to take off the hoodie you were wearing just because Joe barged into your room with wild claims about you having made a mistake.

No.

You had.

But... no.

“Looks fine.” You said dryly, voice flat, facial expression completely neutral.

“Looks fine? What– oh, my God,” Joe huffed, and just to show how right he was, he moved his arms into the hoodie to put it on. “Can’t even get my shoulders in properly, see, watch this,” Joe made a show of stretching the fabric, pulled it over his head and pretended to get stuck a second.

When it was fully on, you saw how it was obviously not Joe’s fit.

Because that was your hoodie.

Made sense.

You just stared at him, both feet on the floor now, shoulders slumped, and Joe made a face, eyebrows raised high, as if to say, see?

Um.

Could Joe not read the room?

You said it looked fine.

When Joe didn’t budge after you just blankly stared at him a minute, you audibly sighed. Let it rumble in your throat to really make sure Joe understood what an absolute bitch he was being, and started taking an arm out of a sleeve to take it off.

Fine.

“No, you don’t–” Joe sighed, huffed a laugh, and you froze. “You don’t have to take it off, just, that one’s mine. Get it back to me later.”

And somehow, that just pissed you off even more.

“Well then why the fuck make such a fuss about it in the first place?” you raised your voice, brow furrowed deep, clearly annoyed. “My God, Joe,” you grumbled, sticking your arm back into the sleeve and getting up.

“All right,” Joe indignantly spat back, expression wild, clearly not all right with the way you were speaking to him.

You frowned at each other a second.

“What?” you snapped when he didn’t say anything.

Joe looked ridiculous in your hoodie. It had eaten up half the hem of his T-shirt underneath, exposing some of his bare stomach just above the waistband of his jeans.

“What?” Joe mocked you, high pitched voice and all, and you were sure it was meant to showcase your vile attitude and make you turn it down a notch.

It did the opposite.

“Thank you, Joe, for letting me borrow your clothes and not being a real dick about it,” Joe said pointedly, and then changed his facial expression into a wide grin that nearly squeezed his eyes shut and responded to himself with a much nicer, “Not a problem, you’re so welcome.”

You blankly stared at him once more, and then winced a little when you felt the faint sting of a cramp that managed to push through the painkillers you’d taken earlier.

You needed your hot water bottle.

“Thank you, Joe,” you spat at him, angrier than you meant it, and you were about to walk around him, to make your way out of your room.

But Joe blocked your path by moving to the side an inch, just enough to stop you in your stride.

He raised a well-meaning hand, was about to touch you on the arm or the shoulder, you didn’t know what he was going for, because you slapped it away before he could make contact. You used flappy hands that slapped his hand and arm several times. Made Joe flinch, duck into his shoulders and step aside.

The snort of laughter that startled out of him made you actually want to hurt him. You weren’t being funny.

“Are you being se–”

You used both hands to shove him, just for good purchase, making him lose balance and step back to catch himself. It felt a little like how you used to fight your brother as a teenager, big difference being that Joe wasn’t fighting back.

Joe called your name after you when you walked out.

“Leave me alone!” you called over your shoulder.

And you’d meant those words then. Felt a little like you were 16 again.

You were achy, and bloated, and in pain, and not in the mood for any of Joe’s usual goofy shit.

But regret came shortly after. Because you definitely weren’t 16 anymore.

You found your hot water bottle and filled it up with the hottest water your tap could manage. Shoved it into the kangaroo pocket of Joe’s hoodie and felt how your lack of patience for everything and everyone also meant you didn’t have any of yourself.

You didn’t actually want Joe to leave you alone.

And, had you had the patience, you would’ve moped around for a bit. Would’ve drowned in your own pride for ages, because normally, you were stubborn like that.

Not now though.

You didn’t hesitate to make your way back over to Joe’s room, where you found him in front of his wardrobe in his T-shirt. His bedroom was messy, clothes sort of... everywhere. Some on the floor, some piled up on a chair in the corner. Your hoodie laid discarded on his bed as he pulled another from a pile. Standing in his doorway, you just watched him and waited, and felt how your lip pulled into a sad pout all by itself.

Joe had put on his hoodie, one that actually fit him this time, before he even noticed you were there. When he did see you, he sighed at the look of you and then comically gave you a pout of his own as his head dropped to his shoulder.

Then you just looked at each other a second.

You could’ve easily said you were sorry for that bullshit you just pulled. This was the perfect moment.

And Joe would have easily accepted it too, you knew.

But you didn’t really have to say the words.

A lot of things went unsaid between the two of you.

And this was one of them.

“All right,” Joe said definitively, like he’d just decided something. He looked around, bent to pick up some clothes, and said, “Go on, I need to get this sorted. I’ll join you in a minute.”

There was no need to hide your smile.

Cat that got the cream.

If you hadn’t had hot water sloshing around in your pocket, you would’ve skipped over to the sofa.

You let yourself fall back into the corner of the L-shaped sofa and it was only about a minute later before Joe walked into the living area and closed the door of the hallway behind him.

“Do you want some tea?”

“Ooh, yes. Big mug, please.”

And whilst you scrolled through Netflix's new releases and asked which one’s Joe hadn’t seen yet, Joe put the kettle on and prepared two steaming mugs of builder’s tea, done exactly how you liked it.

This was the kind of stuff Sundays were made for, you thought.

You could do without the dull ache in your lower stomach, but the hot water bottle felt nice and comforting, and now you were going to watch a film with your flatmate. No doubt you’d have pizza for dinner later.

When Joe eventually joined you, he carefully put the mugs down on the coffee table and then turned to grab hold of your knees that he pushed aside.

“Move, this is my spot.”

If you were just going by his tone of voice, you could’ve been fooled he was being serious. His eyes gave him away, though.

“I was sitting there.”

Joe hadn’t even been close to the sofa all day, you thought, but... it worked.

It got you to laugh as you let yourself be shoved aside just enough for Joe to squeeze right into the corner, using his knees and elbows to make enough room for himself. Arguably, it was the best spot of the whole sofa, especially right in the centre of it, where you could feel the sofa cushions curve around your shoulders on both sides. Fighting over who got to sit there made sense.

Joe sat down, wormed himself into place, and it left you pressed into his side with your back, his shoulder digging into the area between your shoulder blades. You felt how he wiggled his bum as he settled before he let out a content sigh.

“So comfy. Are you comfy? I’m so comfy.”

Joe pushed harder into your upper back, and you gave a deadpan stare into space before you swore under your breath and tried to hit him, reaching for him over your shoulder. Playful this time, though. Joe was laughing, and so were you.

He caught your hand, which had no malicious intent, and helped you manoeuvre until you were both comfortable. You ended up with both legs swung over his lap, both tucked into the corner where even without a blanket covering you, it felt incredibly cosy. Joe let both his hands rest on your legs, one on a shin, the other just above a knee, and you took hold of one of his arms to hug, hand curling around a bicep.

“What’s this?” Joe saw a bit of rubber stick out from your pocket.

“Hot water bottle.” You answered, eyes not moving from the TV screen where you tried to read a bit of information on a film you thought looked interesting.

Joe frowned at it.

“Are you cold?”

“No,”

Then Joe frowned at you, stared at the side of your face.

“Just in pain.”

He only hesitated for a second, because ten minutes ago he was afraid to say anything, knew it would’ve likely made you attempt to give him an actual black eye then, but this felt like the moment he was allowed to bring it up.

“Are you on your period?” Joe asked quietly, voice soft and serious, but it made you huff a laugh anyway.

“What gave it away?”

You were well aware of how ridiculous you were behaving. But instead of making fun, Joe turned soft. Asked if you had taken any painkillers. If there was anything else you needed to feel better. If pressing his elbow into the hot water bottle a little, to give it some pressure, helped.

You ended up choosing a film neither of you had ever heard of, and after Joe nearly let you drop onto the floor as he sat up to get the mugs of tea, you settled in properly.

Everything was so warm.

The tea was warm, the heat coming from inside of your pocket was warm, and Joe was warm.

About twenty minutes in, Joe carefully took the empty mug from your hand and chuckled lowly.

“Are you falling asleep already?”

“No.”

You absolutely were. Your eyes were still open though, just slightly drooped and blinking slowly, but you were still watching TV.

You weren’t really following what was happening though, weren’t really watching. This was something that tended to happen when you put on a film that was more something of Joe’s liking, rather than yours.

“I’m not even tired.”

A lie.

Joe didn’t fight you on it though.

Instead, you felt how he turned to you a little before a hand snuck under, into your your hoodie and found burning hot skin, the soft flesh of your lower stomach. When you didn’t flinch at his touch, Joe softly pressed his fingers in and started rubbing side to side.

“Does that help?”

“Mhmm,”

It did.

Joe was a good flatmate.

His soft kindness kind of made you want to cry a little.

The fact that none of your ex-boyfriends had ever been like this angered you to no end. It had always just been mocking jokes and complaints, always stupid comments on how they couldn’t go near you for a week now. You didn’t know how that was your fault, exactly, but it always got treated as such.

It probably took about five more minutes before you’d dozed off completely.

Wasn’t your fault that Joe made everything so nice and comfortable, all warm and nice. You’d argue that the rubbing of your stomach Joe was doing, he solely did to make you fall asleep in the first place.

Which was exactly right.

Joe loved it when you fell asleep on him.

Loved the soft and gentle touches he got to give that made you hum with satisfaction.

Loved that somehow this was just what you did without it being weird. Well it was weird, but only in the best way. Weird without the need to discuss anything, without the need to have an awkward chat about what any of it meant.

It didn’t mean anything. Not in the sense people would probably assume if they knew that you spent your time together like this a lot. But it also didn't mean nothing.

Joe knew it meant something.

To him it did, anyway.

Just... something to be determined later. Or maybe even never. He wasn’t sure.

What he was sure about, was that he fucking loved it. Couldn’t get enough of it.

He could’ve just woken up from the longest sleep of his life, have the energy to power through several days without issue, but having you curl up all pressed into his side? You’d fall asleep so easily, and then what chance did Joe even stand? It would leave him just as drowsy. Nine times out of ten, he’d slowly drift off too.

Which is exactly what happened this time as well.

Your slow rhythmic breathing linked up, two lax bodies sagged into one another for at least a good hour, hour and a half. When you did finally stir awake, it was to the end credits of the film and to cramps that felt like something was quite literally trying to eat you alive.

You groaned at the pain and pushed your forehead into Joe’s arm, muscles tensed, coaxing you to double over.

Joe awoke with a sharp inhale.

“Hey,” he whispered. “You all right?”

“Fine,” you croaked softly, voice a little strained.

You were fine, you know, in the grand scheme of things. Just something you had to deal with in the moment, that you knew would pass within a day. Mostly, it was just very annoying.

“Need the toilet.” you frowned as you struggled taking the now cooled hot water bottle out of the large pocket of Joe’s hoodie and let your legs slide down Joe’s lap until your feet touched the floor.

Joe sat up too, and groaned loudly as he stretched in an attempt to wake up a little more. He blinked a few times before he yawned and watched you disappear into the hallway in his hoodie.

He decided then that he was never going to make an issue of it again. You could wear anything from inside his wardrobe, and he’d make sure to keep his mouth shut. He didn’t even really know why he brought it up earlier in the way that he had done.

You made your way to your own bathroom, your ensuite, where you kept all of your tampons. When you sat down on the toilet, you saw how you’d fully bled through... well, through everything.

“Oh noo,” you called out, loudly, so Joe could hear.

“What?”

“Did I bleed onto the sofa?”

The question echoed through your flat, and you only realised after the words had already reached Joe’s ears that you probably should have been embarrassed to even ask.

You realised then that you weren’t.

Which was weird. But, weird in the best way.

“Yea, a little,” Joe called back, and you made a frustrated noise. Getting period blood onto anything was sort of gross and annoying, but onto a light coloured sofa that was difficult to clean? The most gross and annoying.

That was likely going to stain, and then, from now until forever, you’d see that stain every time you’d sit down and you’d be reminded of that one time when you bled through all your clothes.

When you’d have people over, they’d see.

When Joe had people over, they’d see.

Mortified.

You were more embarrassed for anyone else to see a faint period blood stain than you were for Joe to see a fresh one.

Wild.

You hurried through cleaning yourself up. Found new underwear and leggings to wear. Double checked if Joe’s hoodie was fine, which, thank fuck, it was.

“Sorry, I know that’s so disgusting, I’ll clean that–”

“It’s gone.”

You walked in and saw Joe stand up straight from a hunched position, damp dishcloth in hand.

“There was barely anything there, it’s fine.”

Joe bent down again and gave it another rub.

You just... stood there.

Blinking.

Staring.

“You... you cleaned it?”

“Yea, sofa looks fine. Wet now, though.”

“You cleaned my period blood...” emphasis on the period blood.

Joe looked up, made eye-contact and slowly grinned at your facial expression. Then he shrugged. He didn’t think this had to be a big deal, because to him, it wasn’t.

You were flatmates.

You lived in each other’s flat.

Shared a living space.

Were close.

“Yea.” Joe said all casual as he made his way back to the kitchen, presumably to wash the dishcloth in the sink.

“No worries. Should we get a pizza?”

You confiscated it when he walked past you, though.

He wasn’t going to rinse out your bodily fluids, your vaginal fluids, in the kitchen sink.

That’s where you prepared food, for fuck’s sake.

That dishcloth was going straight into the laundry.

“You’re insane.” was all you could muster up in response to what you’d just witnessed, and Joe just laughed. Didn’t think he was being insane at all. Thought you wouldn’t shy away from cleaning his blood off of furniture if he got some on anything, so why would he be weird about cleaning yours?

You were close.

And sure, ask literally anyone else, and this would definitely be classified as weird.

But, Joe was all right with weird.

Because it was weird in the best way.

---

The Taglisted

@ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @bylermaxmayfield, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @djoseph-quinn, @dolcevit4, @eddies-puppet, @emma77645, @emotionaldreamer, @everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @hanahkatexo, @harringtonfan4, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @keikoraven, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @manda-panda-monium, @mexicanfolklore, @miserybeans, @munson-mjstan, @nadixq, @nglharry, @notverywise, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @royale1803, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @songforeddiemunson, @sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella, @yunirgo

taglist currently full, sorry

#Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn Fanfic #Joe Quinn fanfiction #Joseph Quinn Fanfic #Joseph Quinn Fanfiction #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #icallhimjoey

[mhsdatgo]

"The title of the book is The Princess and The Queen so the book is about Rhaenicent!!!!11!1!11!1!1!111!!1!"

Respectfully, no. The book being titled after the two women who wanted to be the most powerful ladies of Westeros does not take importance away from the civil war, fought between TARGARYENS, AT ALL.

Aegon II is important. He leads the faction of the Greens (ALONG with his mother and sister wife), he's the Targtower that gave the inbred self proclaimed gods a taste of their own medicine, ALL for the safety of his family. He stepped up when his mother impressed it on him that Helaena, who above all, was his younger sister, would've been sold off to the enemy or literally anyone else that could've locked her away, mistreated her, or used her to make babe after babe.

He literally grew up watching his mother get used and discarded like a whore by her father, y'all think he'd willingly cause Helaena the same pain? Not that it isn't bad or absolutely fucked up, but the only things that are 100% true about him being promiscuous are the times where he's said to grope every serving maid out of reach and two alleged, ALLEGED bastards with them, if you don't count Gaemon as his or the story Mushroom out of all people invented.

He resents his father every day more than the last one. He tries so hard not to be like him, he drowns himself in cups because he can't help but see that a part of that walking corpse is in him. Every time he looks in the mirror is a constant reminder that his very own existence was forced upon both him and his mother, every day he seeks the approval of the woman who was strong enough to put away her trauma, all for him. HER approval, not his father. It's HER he admires the most.

And that character is taken away and stepped on entirely. By making him rape a young maid. By making him say that he will never be enough for Alicent "OR VISERYS". As if Aegon would actually care. Trust me, I wish I could chop his cock off inch by inch like a cucumber, but he's way more than that.

He has his own family, and sure as hell Viserys isn't and will never be a part of it. He is an older brother, his mother's son, a husband, a father. It's THEM he protects. It's THEM he grows a backbone and walks up to the crown that will doom him for. Because somewhere, inside this mess of a man, lies unconditional love for the family he sometimes alienates himself for. Because he hopes, THEY hope, Alicent and Aegon, that one day, their blood will live on because of this near suicide.

But it doesn't. It all crumbles down on them, like sand on their hands on a windy day. They bury the very only reasons they started this whole coup for, the ones that were supposed to bury them. And that's their tragedy. There's no karma, no victory for anyone.

By the time he's finally killed Rhaenyra, he has nothing. He has lost his sons, his brothers, his wife, his realm, his dragon. He's a cripple hanging by a thread. He ignores the advice of killing Aegon the Younger like he did with his mother. He gives up on executing Baela. What did these kids do? What's their fault? Being his cousin and half-nephew? Being his enemies' children? He isn't going to make the nightmare that was life, someone else's. He's tired. He doesn't want anymore war.

THIS is Aegon II Targaryen, not the degenerate piece of shit the show tried shoving down our throats.

#pro team green #team green #pro alicent hightower #alicent hightower #pro alicent stans #aegon ii targaryen #helaena targaryen #aemond targaryen #daeron the daring #daeron targaryen #jaehaera targaryen #anti rhaenicent #the mere mention of the greens makes me fucking cry #they're gonna send me to the hospital

[thesunfyre4446]

84 years ago i've promised an alicent and rhaenyra post, and i've finally got around into making it.

so book!rhaenyra and alicent is not that complicated. alicent was fine with rhaenyra when she thought that viserys will name their firstborn son heir, and when that wasn't the case they started beefing & despised each other.

the show's decision of making them former friends is actually a good choice. it adds depth and tragedy into their relationship & makes the entire conflict more personal. instead of the stepmother x stepdaughter dynamic we get 2 childhood friends, destined to become enemies.

young!rhaenyra and alicent arc was actually really good. alicent got married to viserys and tried to mend her relationship with an angry rhaenyra. and just when things were getting better the realization that things can never go back to the way they were & they were destined to become enemies = alicent becoming the green queen & the rivalry truly begins.

and that's where... thing got... messy

because in ep 6 we see alicent and rhaenyra fighting. they seem to hate each other & constantly trying to undermine each other. then we get to ep 7 & driftmark, and we all expected that from that moment on we will get book!alicent and rhaenyra rivalry and hatred. but no? all of the sudden, one dinner and they're friends again?

i'm sorry... what?

and then alicent refuses to hurt rhaenyra and her family, rhaenyra's crying over a piece of paper (i was with daemon going "the fuck is this") rhaenyra shocked over alicent's betrayal & both women do not want to hurt each other.

so, you're telling me that after driftmark - after rhaenyra wanted to have alicent's maimed son tortured & tried to get alicent accused of high treason and after alicent demanded luke's eye these women feel anything but hatred towards each other?

you're telling me that alicent - who has spent the entire show believing that her children's lives will be in danger if rhaenyra became queen suddenly goes "you'll make a good queen" (again, i was with otto giving her the side-eye because GURL) one dinner is apparently all it takes to fix 20 years of rivalry and hatred?

and that's the problem. the show doesn't seem to be able to tell the difference between "friendship" and "relationship". rhaenyra and alicent's relationship can still be the center of the show even if they are enemies. even if they're no longer friends. look at magnificent century, hurrem and mahidevran's rivalry is the center of the show & it's very clear that these two women were forced into becoming enemies and that the real villain is the sultan.

hotd wants to force the "friendship" narrative on the show, but they still have to stick to certain book canon events, so it comes off very forced and unnatural. they're unwilling to let these 2 women become enemies, so they take their agency and give it to otto and daemon. otto and daemon are the ones who want war, rhaenyra and alicent just want to go back into being friends :( look at this page from ep 1 that you've prob forgotten all about!

they literally have to sacrifice their agency. because alicent being the leader of the green council & rhaenyra being the one wanting to go to war against the people who took away the crown she was promised doesn't fit the "friendship" narrative. so let's make alicent unaware of everything & rhaenyra doesn't even want to go to war :( it's all daemon and otto and the eViL mEn. it's honestly such a disservice to their characters. they're stripped of their ambition and agency for the sake of forcing their "friendship".

and the thing that truly made me lose hope is ryan saying that "there's still hope".

my dude.

from the first moment we see the girl. from that first scene where they're sitting under the tree - there was no hope. there was never hope. they're doomed.

#hotd #house of the dragon #alicent hightower #rhaenyra targaryen #anti hotd

[aphroditesswan]

i’ll never smile again

until i smile at you.

honkai star rail men x gn!reader

warnings : implied age gap implied in welt’s bc i <3 older men (daddy issues.) but not much other than that?? 

summary : the hsr me accidentally send you a message that you weren’t supposed to see 

genre : fluff, crack 

notes : for my fav requester <33 also THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE i’ll do the women later bc duh but 🙏🙏 also pt 2 will have luocha, luka, jing yuan and sampo

Caelus

*seen* 

oh fuck. fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK. this is bad. this is absolutely terrible. what was he supposed to do?? he just confessed his feelings for you through text on accident and you SAW IT. he’s screwed. he immediately starts typing, completely focused on his phone 

(that wasn’t for you. sorry.)

fuck. that’s even worse. he felt someone yank him back by his collar, looking up from his phone to see Dan Heng pulling up from slamming face first into a pole as they walked through a mystery planet while you were still on the train. 

little did he know you were giggling on the other end of the screen at the video March had just sent you of the Trailblazer himself. 

Dan Heng 

he finalized his message, just a small, very corny and cheesy prompt for everything he wished to tell you. out of habit he pressed send. wait… HE PRESSED SEND?? oh no. oh nonononono. he was positively doomed. you weren’t supposed to see that. you weren’t supposed to know yet. he rose from his seat on the floor, pacing around his room anxiously. you hadn’t seen it yet, and for once he thanked whatever god was watching over him for march’s distractive nature. 

(i’m sorry, that wasn’t meant to be sent.) he didn’t think that was enough. it couldn’t have been enough. 

(if you’d like, i could revise it and tell you in person. whenever you’re ready, of course.) 

and sent. now he just hopes he’ll have enough bravery in him to get the words out. 

Welt 

he wasn’t one to type things out. or to text in the first place. you were much better with new technology than him, you grew up around it. he sadly did not. although the knew how to type, and maybe sending something sweet through the tech you were so familiar with, he’d have a better chance of impressing you. enough to win your heart, he was hopeful. just a small, maybe rather large, message declaring his feelings for you. you’d think it was nothing too special since you’re so young and pretty, you’re bound to attract the attention of so many people. and well, out of habit, he sent it. he kept his calm, slightly panicking but deciding to play it off. 

(i apologize if this came on a bit too strong.) 

he was embarrassed, yes, but whatever happens shall happen. the only thing he can do now is hope for the best outcome. oh, and plan a first date. 

Blade 

he had been typing away on his phone for quite some time now, turning away from you and kafka any and every time either of you tried to take a small peek. sadly, neither of you were able to see and silver wolf had bigger fish to fry (aka beating a boss on a new game she got). you decided to give up, ultimately planning to seem uninterested and bored so that he’d let his guard down and kafka or you could take a peek at what he was so focused on. however, that time never came. you got a small ding on your phone right before a choked up grunt from blade. you shoot him a weird look before slowly turning your head toward your pocket and looking at your phone. a message from blade? how odd. just as you were about to open the message, he snatched your phone right out of your hands with a glare. “hey! what gives? asshole.” you exclaim turns into a mutter as he taps quickly on your phone, throwing it back to you as he turned it off swiftly. “there.” he muttered and turned away, leaving you confused as ever. he’s most certainly not ready yet, and kafka who’s been smirking in the corner knows that better than anyone as she “tsk” at blade.

#can you tell i had a lot of ideas for blades #i js KNOW he’d be an asshole abt confessing #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #hsr drabbles #hsr blade #hsr x reader #hsr kafka #hsr dan heng #star rail #dan heng #imbibitor lunae #caelus x readers #caelus #welt yang #hsr welt #welt x reader #honkai star rail welt #honkai star rail fluff #hsr x you #honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail x you #hsr fluff

[granolawriting]

hi can you do sith anakin x reader (reader has healing powers but no one knows it she is both fascinated and scared of anakin and watches him secretly (he senses it) everytime he walks in front of her etc) reader is maid and she is amazed by story of kybers and lightsaber. So one time her duty is hanging his robes so she goes to his room scaredly but after getting her job done she realizes his lightsaber is there so she cant help but examine, touch his lightsaber but he senses it and suddenly behind her after that idk yandere stuff happens and when he touches her he senses her healing powers so chooses her as his personal maid and makes her massage his temples everynight for headache, a bond starts to form between them

A/N: This is usually the kind of specificity I like to keep commissions for, but regardless I enjoyed trying out the scene building based on your suggestion! I appreciate your request :) I hope you enjoy <3

pairing: Sith!Anakin x reader

content warning: brief choking, power dynamic

word count: 3.2k

Your eyes watched him go by. Black enveloped by more black, a wave of terror rushes over you at the sight of his path. His robes define evermore the intimidation wishing to be imbued within his subjects as his path is blazed with red. Though with careful luck, you found yourself his maid. Or well, one of many. There was a great deal of women tasked with the upkeep of the empire, and so very often his own dwelling. But that was incredibly rare. No one was allowed so close to him, and especially to you all he was was but a mystery. 

You trace his body as it walks past you, watching as yellow eyes and the brood of a Greek tragedy coat his face peppered with strands of brown hair that fell to his lower neck. Though your eyes linger upon his waist, a specific item that never fails to catch your whimsy is the handle to the blade no one but him ever held anymore. 

Order 66. 

You remember watching that transpire. Though you were quite young, you remember the Jedi. You remember their blades, how they were formed, the kybers harvested from far-off planets and infused into specialized sheaths that harbored great power divinely intertwined with its wielder. When you were young you envied the force, yearned for it to grace you with it's presence though as you grew older and more practical, you settled for an infatuation with the lightsaber's story. And with your master, boss if you will, being the only one left with such a sight, it oftentimes shed from your mind that insurmountable fear of him, to one of fascination and wonder. What was his story? 

That's a question no one knew, and no one ever would know.

Fear washes over you. Immanent, impending doom. You slowly gaze up from where you allowed your eyes to wander for many moments too long, to find the eyes of Anakin staring back at you. FUCK. 

…

The silence is more petrifying than the words he could say. The fear of not knowing overtook the fear of what he was going to do and he knew that. However, after a moment longer, he left without a word. A clacking of heel against freshly cleaned tile slowly drifting off into another corridor as you are left with a heart rate that could kill. Your breath levels after a few more moments of silence enveloping you, an empty room, and a myriad of assumptions to be made. But regardless, your mind still sits on the sway of the saber along his belt. Its complexity still entices you as much as it ever has. 

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

“You wish me to, drop these in his room?” 

Held within your hands are the robes that which Anakin wears on his daily excursions, often needing to be washed and repaired due to stains and wear; though the stench of blood could never quite leave it’s woven threads. 

“Is there a problem with that?” 

“Oh no uh, not at all. I just didn't know that was within my realm of ability” 

“Well, it is now. So do your job. And don't think we won't be making sure you don't do anything you’d regret.”

Stern eyes meet yours, for a droid that is. Your manager in a way, is a droid. A bit odd, but takes out the reasonability of a human to be compelled to go against code. This thing is more apt to kill you than anything else.

Though with little more convincing needed, you take the robes down the infamous corridor that seldom ever walked. You could feel the aura of his common passage seep from the metal beneath you as the hallway never seemed to end. Anxiety wells up in you as you approach its entrance. 

This is where Anakin lives. Lord, Anakin. 

A loud beep of a properly put-in keypad was what proceeded to a large hissing of the doors opening. You slowly enter within its realm, one slow foot over the other, scouring every area for possible life that you should undoubtedly be in fear of. Despite having a reason to be there, the intimidation lingers within every surface he’s touched, every glass held that lay on the coffee table, and undoubtedly the bed at which he sleeps that you stare at with eyes of awe. You saw Anakin for a moment, within this room. Not the Sith, but the man. You saw the empty glass of water next to his bed, the disheveled sheets that indicate a bed slept in, you see things left half open- the living of a person within these walls. Though one of the things you notice left open is his closet. Your destination is to be swiftly met and your activity finished. Before people start to question. You make your way into his closet, swiftly put his things where they belong, and exit his room. 

However, something stops you. It catches your eye, the glint of it's metal reflects off the sun that shines through his windows and you stop where you are immediately. 

His lightsaber. 

Why it wasn't with him, is a mystery you hold with much contemplation but all sense is overriden being in such close proximity to the single weapon you’ve been infatuated with since you first laid eyes on it. It’s almost as though it calls to you, sings to you. 

A head moving left and right, surveying its surroundings as you stand alone in this room does the desire grow too strong. Your hand outstretched, slow feet step closer to it. Until it's finally touched your fingers. The meer power exuding from it is never something you could have accounted for, but probably should have. A touch of fingers grows into a grip of fingers, and a grip upon it grows into both hands holding this item yearned for your entire life. You felt euphoric, this isn't something you thought you’d ever be able to feel, or experience. Eyes look down into its core and see the kybercrystal staring back at you, and with simple means, you find the blade ignited in a red beam of flame that relayed noise with every motion of it as you softly swung it in the open air. A smile coated on your face in a way you've never felt, joy so strong your face hurts from pure happiness.

This was very short-lived. 

“And what do you think you’re doing?” 

your stomach drops as you hear a horrifyingly familiar voice sound behind you.

Anakin. 

It's, you, didn't even hear him come in. It's as if he appeared. The blade drops from your hand, sheathing itself in the process so all that follows its loss of grip is the hard clank of metal greeting the hard tile of the floor where you stood.

Hurried, petrified voice that only sounded a means for survival as your mind stayed blank with terror; 

“Oh please, god oh I'm so sorry I didn't mean to. Please sir don't hurt me plea-” 

Without another word you are thrown against a wall, feeling the choke of his hands from feet away as he holds his arm out to signify the force used to harm you. 

“Did you really not think I’d feel something like that? Do you know nothing, young girl? The moment you laid eyes on that thing it is as though you laid eyes upon me. Which I promise you I’ve noticed as well. Do you work for the rebels perhaps? Or are you just nosy?” 

your hand grasps at an invisible hand across your throat, restricted air desperately escapes your body as you gasp for breath within his grasp. All you can muster is a “No” 

“No what?” 

Furrowed brows and rancor coating his yellow eyes, a scowl across his mouth as he tightens his grip upon your neck as a sadistic means to give you a thought that you may have a chance to actually explain yourself. 

Though as your hands follow the lines of your neck, you feel the bruise forming around you heal. The strained vocal cords of a woman choked begin to grow well as you grace yourself with the one thing that’s made your world livable as of late. An attunement with life and death that has made you well-equipped to heal. You couldn't bring people back from the dead, but you could heal them from the brink of it. That included yourself, and though it's never been as useful as it is at this moment, it has saved you many times in the past. Especially others. 

His eyes begin to show sight of confusion at the lack of intense struggle; a sterner look upon your face as you try to heal yourself with hands softly drawn across your neck, he quickly notices the wounds on you disappear as he creates them. He stops his tournament for but a moment, taken aback at the sight of such a thing. A thing he's never seen before, the ability to heal what was once broken with powers within only yourself. 

“What do you think you're doing?”

You collapse to the ground, gasping for air but not nearly as much as you’d need to if it hadn't been for your healing. His voice is deep, laced with anger as his lesson on you didn't seem to reach it’s desired outcome, but regardless curiosity got the better of him as he truly desired an explanation for your ability. 

“Sir please I-, I don't want to die. There's so much unfinished for me to do and I just-”

“That's not what I asked. How are you healed.” 

You pause for a moment. Realizing that he noticed yet again what you try so hard to hide. Touching your neck ever so slightly you shift the direction of what you explain to him;

“This is, I can heal. That’s all that I can do sir. I don't do it too often, I don't know what it does. Or how I can do it, really.” 

“Can it heal others?” 

An opening. Your salvation. 

“Yes! Yes. Yes, I can. Please, I'll heal whoever you need me to. Please just spare me.” 

“Get out.” 

You pray thanks and run as quickly as you can. As your feet hit the tile that separated the entrance of his dwelling and the corridor you were in just moments ago, it felt as if an eternity was spent within the confines of that room. Confronting him as he stood there ready to kill you. You have never felt so grateful in your whole life, that you were able to make your way free after all you did. After touching, even playing with his saber. 

You touched his saber. 

It hit you then. That you finally actualized something that you allowed overtake you in obsession-- something that meant an unfathomable amount to you, something you’d dreamed of your whole life. And you got away with it. 

Desire overtook you, replaying those brief moments of freedom in your head over and over as you yearn for just another moment with it in your hands. Just a second more, the sound gracing your ears for just one more turn. But you couldn't. You barely saved yourself from his grasp the first time, there's no means to say he wouldn't do away with you if you ever tried something like that again. Like you could even get close again. You wouldn't be surprised if he just allowed a delay of the inevitable, that tomorrow morning there would be inquisitors at your door ready to whisk you away like they did any other rebel spy. 

You needed to sleep. There's nothing productive out of the fear you held within yourself, and as you slowly lulled yourself into a slumber that coming night, all that filled your dreams were action and power wielded within the saber. The feeling of it in your hand, the way it weighed on you, the power you felt exude from the weapon's very core only allowed more vivid actualization of what had been the dreams you kept for years upon years. You were enamored with Anakin even more after this point, and despite the fear that lingered deep in your heart, there's something to be said about feeling his essence for but a moment. It was something inexplicable, something fascinatingly complex. 

-----

“Lord Anakin wishes to speak with you.” 

A knock upon your door as morning broke followed by this request from a member of Anakin's innumerable messengers across the empire. He hands you a bit of paper requesting, or moreso demanding your audience in his dwellings at 5 in the evening that day. 

Looking at a clock shining a bright 7 a.m., all that welled within your heart was fear and anticipation. your door closed once the messenger had provided you with the information he was tasked with, and alone you stood for a moment at your entryway trying to gather what he could have wanted from you. You were insignificant at best, all that caught his eye was your increasingly daring behavior that hinged on means for execution. Though for some reason you lived, and for that very reason you held a modicum of faith that there was somehow a positive means to be in his private audience. 

-----

As your day drew to a close, every minute feeling like hours against the impending clock that determined at 5 pm, may you live to see the next day, or might you not be so lucky. Quickly changing out of your working clothes, you make your way to Anakin's room with an intense grasp on the time, so as to not be a moment too late. Or early for that matter. 

Stood outside the arched doorway of his room you sit there with a quickened heart. Anticipation and petrification consume you respectively as the only door that divided you from him was little effect in withholding the feeling of him right on the other side, the aura of a man who had little remorse. Sympathy. Consideration or especially means for compromise. It was what he wanted, or death. You reminded yourself, steeling yourself for whatever he may demand of you as you enter. 

“You may come in already.” 

His voice booms from the inside of the room. He could tell you were there. He could sense your fear no doubt, tell your presence from behind a steel door. You enter with haste.

There you find him sitting on a chair, waiting for you to approach him. With cautious steps you obliged, taking in all you could of your surroundings-- surveying for anything that may cue you in a second before he does. 

You stand a few feets' distance from him. 

“No, come here.” 

He motions his hand towards you, as you observe a face of indifference at the sight of you. It was better than anger. Much, better than anger. 

You arrive at around a half-foot distance from him, and with that he commands; 

“Give me your hands.” 

As he opens up with both his arms outstretched as you slowly move them into his, feeling a cold and calloused hand grab yours the moment they were in reach, and moving them slowly to his temple. You stood there in silence as he closed his eyes at the touch of your fingers upon his face, a furrowed brow that implied that you weren't providing for him what he had expected of you. 

And then it dawned on you. He wants you to heal him. 

“Would you, like me to heal you, sir?” 

A polite tone coated your voice to hide any semblance of anxiety or embarrassment. 

“Yes.” 

“Well, I can't quite do that without knowing the source. Can you tell me what you want to heal?” 

“Headaches. Migraines. Must I say more.” 

“No, no not at all. Thank you, sir.” 

And so with gentle hands along his temples, you feed within him the power that he has grown privy to. Though as you watch along his face an unforeseen tension seems to be released from his face as it grows softer under your touch. A scowl turns into a resting face, and a furrow of brows evens out for a feeling of tranquility you can only assume overtook the body of a man relieved of an incessant headache. 

And a tear, runs from his face. 

After a few more minutes you feel as though you’ve done all you can, and let up from his face. 

He looks at you for a moment, and you see someone you oddly recognize. For but a moment the gruff exterior of a man dealing with war looks upon you like, just a man. No amount of intimidation could negate the fact that he was just that, and as you healed his mind, you felt as though a bit of his heart was able to shine through in its place. 

“Very well. I expect you to report here instead of your usual station tomorrow from now on. Is that clear?” 

“Oh uh, yes sir. May I ask what you will be expecting of me from now on? What shall I do for you?” 

“You will be my personal assistant. Do you object to my order?” 

“No, no sir. Thank you, sir. Thank you very much.” 

And as you turn away to walk back to your room, he calls upon you once more. 

“Thank you.” 

That is all he says, and proceeds to turn into his bedroom through a separate door. As you depart from his home, you feel within yourself a well-developed liking for Anakin that overshadows the fear you held for him. To understand him is what you desire most, and although to heal the mind isn't to be able to read it, you realize that much can be learned through what parts of a person hurt most. 

----

As time went on, to report to his door every day and follow his list of commands, cleaning his place, placing his robes, and most importantly healing his mind most every night, you began to learn intimate details of him that made him quite human to you. He was very slow to speak, only when it was absolutely necessary. But he was kind to you, and as time grew on he seemed to enjoy you as well. You gathered that no one visited him, no one really felt comfortable in his presence and that was something that drastically changed within your own feelings toward him.

 And as the bond grew even stronger, he had a room built for you close to that of his own, as a means to keep you closer for when he needed it. He was very hard of emotion, and in those moments of healing is really the only time you felt as though you could truly see Anakin. And there's cause to believe he thinks so as well. To heal his mind is to heal his heart in a way, and with every night spent together for a few minutes softened him up to you immensely. 

He felt vulnerable around you, and that made him feel human, even for just a moment. 

#anakin skywalker #star wars #fanfiction #fanfic #anakin x reader #anakin fanfiction #hayden christensen #sw anakin #enemies to lovers #enemies to implied lovers #anakin fluff #sith anakin #sith x reader #vader x reader #darth vader

[atopvisenyashill]

Catelyn's resentment at always having to adhere to men is not talked about enough in my opinion. When she bitterly thinks that she always did her duty. When she thinks about having to wait for the men in her life. When she snaps that Robb did not her consider his sisters important enough. When she laments that no one sings songs of the battles of women aka childbirth and children.... Yes she conforms because she is realistic and pragmatic and dutiful and she wants to survive and be happy enough and she wants the same for her daughters.

YES EXACTLY. I think it’s like. For so long she conformed because it was realistic pragmatic dutiful, because being a perfect lady and heir made things easier on her parents, and she loved her parents, she wanted them to he proud, and it turned out she was GOOD at so many of the things they asked of her, and it gave her the ability to be in charge of herself and her life for so long, and when minisa died, she could help lift the burden off her father’s shoulders, and it gave her the ability to grow and speak her mind, and being dutiful brought her ned, who was so much more than she ever thought she’d get, and it brought her five amazing children, and a home she loves and can be free in - like jon snow thing does suck but compare this situation to like upwards of 90% of the marriages & you know what it’s a fucking dream and Catelyn knows this, she is aware things can always be worse, it’s why she understands immediately why jon & lysa were doomed from the start, she understands this system and how it works, and it’s worked so well for her she can ignore the ways it has hurt her.

And then it just. Completely fails her. She’s tricked by Lysa and Petyr, the two people she’d least expect it from that she never even entertains the idea, Ned is murdered, Sansa is a hostage, Arya is just gone, Bran has been nearly murdered twice, and she’s in her childhood home and Hoster is dying and Edmure is annoying and Blackfish is off fighting again and she’s reliving the worst days of her life but this time the person waging war isn’t a husband she doesn’t know, it’s her own son and she just can’t stop thinking about how she’s done everything right, she’s played by the rules her whole life, she upheld the social contract because it promised she’d have control over her life, and then the whole thing just completely fails because joffrey has a tantrum after petyr whispered in his ear, AGAIN, just another mad king with power hungry advisors, and she’s stuck in this room AGAIN-

AND SHE DOES.

like, that’s what happens, is she spends her whole life doing what she’s supposed to and then it crumbles down around her and she just figures, fuck it, if following the rules can’t do the one (1) most important thing it has to do which is keep my family alive than i’m not following shit anymore. she starts to just do what she thinks is best. starts to snap back. starts to just speak without being asked. like, she’s cracking, she’s breaking up, YEAH she’s still dutiful, but what is she being dutiful TOWARDS? is she doing what robb says? what edmure says? NO, she’s making her OWN DECISIONS she’s trying. and then people will see her become a literal undead spirit of rage and revenge and be like “she’s so dutiful and never struggles or chafes against the patriarchy” when she struggled and screamed so much at the ending she was clawing her own face to ribbons!!

#asks #anons #s2g made this months ago then scrapped the meta but now here it is akdjndndn

[patdkoala]

Meant To Be Yours

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x female reader

Warnings: smut, riding, bottom!Pedro, nicknames

I am not an actress. I am not a model. I am not famous in any way shape or form.

I met Pedro at a Mexican restaurant. Not at a convention, not at a concert, not even at some premiere. We met by accident.

I was at the bar ordering drinks for me and my friends who were all seated at the table close by. It was my best friend's bachelorette party.

"Hi, can I get 8 shots of your cheapest tequila? We have got a group of horny women that need to drink," I said as the bartender smiled at me and then he started pouring the drinks as I handed him the cash.

I dropped one of my dollars and so I went to pick it up off the floor but instead this handsome man bent down on the floor and picked up my money and handed it back to me.

"Here you dropped this, sweetheart," He said as I rolled my eyes and took the money from him, and handed it to the bartender.

"Sorry, did I say something wrong?" The man asked as I just stood there and ignored him. "I'm not your sweetheart," I said as he chuckled to himself and then he ordered his drink and walked away.

I took the shots that were on a tray and walked back over to my group of friends.

"Who was that hot guy talking to you?" My best friend asked as I looked back at the bar but the man was gone. "I don't know. He gave me the ick," I said as they all groaned.

"No! Gross, what did he do?"

"He called me sweetheart," I said as a couple of friends groaned and a couple made cute faces. "What? I think it's kind of nice. How old is he? He probably just was talking to you like you are a daughter," One of the friends said as I laughed.

"Yeah, or granddaughter," I said as they all laughed and then we downed our shots and made small talk or had conversations about the upcoming wedding.

The night went on. The restaurant got more crowded and we were all getting overwhelmed.

Ubers were called, boyfriends came to pick them up ( as well as fiancés), and I was the last one standing outside the restaurant.

"Fuck," I muttered to myself as I watched my phone die in my hands.

I looked across the street and saw that there was a pay phone. As I was about to leave the restaurant parking lot, the man from inside the bar stepped outside into the moonlight.

He looked well over 40 but not really 50 yet. No wedding ring meant either divorced or single which was sketchy because of his age.

His hair was dark brown with light grey pieces popping through in the light. His dark brown eyes glistened when he looked at me.

He was tall. Well, tall compared to me. And well dressed. He wore a nice pair of trousers and a nice button-up shirt with a t-shirt underneath. He looked clean and well kept so either this man is gay or the world is finally sending me a message about my impending doom with being an old maid.

"Hey, I'm sorry for calling you sweetheart back in there. I meant it as just a thing to say to a young lady, not something creepy to hit on a lady with," He said as I just stood there and I realized that I had been staring at him.

"No, it's ok. I'm sorry for seeming rude. I thought you were some ugly guy," I said and then I quickly turned red for saying that. Not because I was blushing but because I felt like such an idiot for saying that.

"So it would have been ok to be rude to me if I was an ugly guy?"

"Yes?" I responded now even redder than before.

He laughed it off as I searched my purse for loose change so I could use the payphone.

"I hate to ask but do you have some quarters I could use for the pay phone? My phone died and I need to call a taxi," I said as he just straight up handed me his phone.

"I would offer to drive you home but I don't want you to think I'm a creep."

"I wouldn't think you were a creep," I lied. I totally would. If he was an ugly guy.

"Right. Only if I was an ugly guy," He added.

"So, where is your car?" I asked as I stepped closer toward him and handed him his phone back.

He smirked and then offered his arm for me to take since I was a little wobbly in my heels at the moment.

We walked to this nice big black SUV.

"Damn, either you are a drug dealer or a pimp because I don't know anyone with a badass car like this," I said as I got in the passenger seat.

"You really don't know who I am?" He asked as he got in the driver's seat.

"No? Am I supposed to?"

"You ever see the Mandalorian?"

"No."

"The Last of Us?"

"No."

"Game of Thrones?"

"No."

"Law and Order?"

"No."

"Damn, What do you even watch?"

"I don't have time for tv," I said as I smiled at him.

"Oh. That's cool I guess."

"So, what's your name?" I asked as he pulled out of the parking lot.

"José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal. But, you can just call me Pedro. That's what everyone else calls me," He said as I smiled.

"Well, I want to call you something that no one calls you. So I'm going to call you José. Or brown eyes," I said as he smiled at me as he stopped at a stop sign.

"Well funny enough, someone does call me both of those things," He said as I turned to him. "My mother," He added as I laughed at him.

"What's your name? Because as far as I'm concerned, it's giggles," He said as I laughed again.

No one has ever made me laugh this much.

"(Y/N) (L/N), but you can call me giggles. No one has ever called me that before," I said as he nodded.

We talked the whole drive. He drove for two hours. All over LA.

It wasn't until we noticed that it was 3am.

"Oh my god, I never told you where my house was," I said as he and I laughed so hard.

"Well, are you hungry?" He asked as I shook my head. "Always," I said as he then pulled into a drive-thru.

We ordered the food and laughed at each other the whole ride up to the window.

"Oh my god, you're Pedro Pascal!" The woman at the window screamed as we drove up.

"See? I told you," He said as he took a selfie with the sweet girl.

We ate in the dark parking lot.

We laughed. Talked some more. Ate some more. Laughed some more.

Before we knew it, the sun was rising.

"I wish this night would last forever," I said as he rested his head back on the headrest.

"Yeah, me too," He said as we then just looked at each other.

"I mean, it can. Where do you want to go now? I'll take you anywhere you want to go," He said as I smiled and laughed at him again.

"Home, José. I have to go to work in a few hours," I said as he nodded then I told him my address and he took me home.

The car came to a complete stop in front of my house and I turned to smile at him.

"Thank you for hanging out with me, José," I said as he smiled back at me. "My pleasure, giggles," He said with a wink.

I got out of the car and then as I walked up the front steps to my house, I realized that he was staring at me as I walked up the steps.

I never told him where I work. I hate to sound clique but I work at a coffee shop in downtown LA.

I clocked into work and started my day with 0 hours of sleep. My boss was annoying per usual. Customers were mean per usual.

Except for the one customer that walked in and made my day 100 times better.

"What are you doing here, giggles?" He asked as he walked up to my register. "I could ask you the same thing, José," I said as he smiled and then ordered his INSANE coffee order.

"How are you not dead?" I asked as I handed him the cup. "Dude, I have no idea. My brain is so fried right now."

I laughed at him again and this time he just stood there smiling at me.

"I don't mean to sound so forward but we did spend all night together so, can I get your phone number?" He asked as I continued to laugh.

"Well, then I should probably tell you the truth."

"What are you talking about? Oh no. Are you married or something?" He asked as I shook my head.

"No, but I lied when I said I didn't know who you were. I wanted to humble you." I laughed as he then laughed.

"The truth is that I was late to the bachelorette party because I was sitting in the parking lot watching your hot ones episode and then last night I watched your SNL skits. I also binged all of The Last of Us last week," I said as he stood there and then he nodded.

"Right, well. I won't ask again."

"Ask for what? Do you still want my number? Are you sure? Even though I lied to you?"

"Everyone deserves to be humbled every once in a while," He said as I smiled.

I then turned toward my coworker. "Hey, can you cover me? I'll be back in 30 minutes," I said as she nodded and then I handed her my apron.

I took Pedro by the hand and dragged him outside toward his car.

We go in the back seat.

I pushed him into the car so it was only fitting that he be on the bottom.

"What are we doing here exactly?" He asked as he held onto my hips.

"I am going to ride you before I have to go back to my shift and then you are going to pick me up from my house tonight and take me out on a proper date," I said as I undid his belt. "Is that okay with you?"

He just nodded and then shimmied out of his jeans just enough for me to sit on his dick.

He felt so good.

"God, you feel so good," He said as I moaned and felt my whole body clench around him.

He held onto my hips as if I was filled with helium.

"Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere," I said as he bucked his hips up and moved further into me. "Good, because I won't let you," He said as I screamed out in ecstasy.

I felt him jolt inside of me which was a sign that he was close.

I got off of him and I went back to work.

I just fucked José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal.

Like a girlboss.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal would you please let me be your hot young girlfriend

[kakushino]

Protective

Akaza / Hakuji x GN! Reader

He can't stand seeing you get harassed.

Tags: fluff, modern AU

Word count: 0,6k

Masterlist

AN: Written as Christmas present for dear @mamayan - Merry Christmas!

“Honestly…” you muttered under your breath as you gave Hakuji a bag of frozen bean sprouts. He winced as he pressed the bag against his swollen cheek. “I could have dodged that.”

“That was not the point. How could I stand by while you’re being threatened?” He scowled but quickly smoothed out his expression as the dull ache made itself known again. “That’s not who I am, and you know it.”

You did know that, more than anything.

You had started attending Soryuu School’s self-defense classes with your friend as a way to spend time together while also learning something useful. The course was filled with women, though some of them seemed to come only to ogle at your hot teacher - Hakuji. 

Soon after, your friend got too busy to go with you, but you stayed.

In an unexpected turn of events, you got to talking with Hakuji after classes, and you found him to be a kind man with whom you had a lot in common. A friendship bloomed between you in various warm shades of autumn, matching the season outside as you connected. Numbers were exchanged, you chatted, and gave each other baked goods, and before you knew it, it was nearly Christmas. You had to think hard what to give him for Christmas, so searching for inspiration at a local market seemed like the best idea in the end.

Running into him at the Christmas market was not something you thought would happen. It was lucky though, because a few of the market-goers were causing ruckus and tried to… flirt with you. Hakuji stepped in, and that was the story of how he got his cheek punched right before a police patrol intervened - not before getting in a few of his own hits in. 

“You still could have done something rather than - I don't know - take it?” You turned to retrieve a disinfectant in your first aid kit.

“If there were no officers, I would have broken more than just a few noses, believe me,” he told you through gritted teeth. To be honest, Hakuji himself did not know what caused him to have such strong feelings about this. 

Perhaps - there was something about you that reminded him of his late childhood sweetheart, Koyuki. She had died a few years ago unexpectedly, right before he was going to ask to marry her. 

“You’re lucky I live so close, otherwise you would have to fix yourself alone,” you grumbled as you took one of his hands in yours. His knuckles were a little bloody from punching one of the men. It had not been a fair fight, and of course Hakuji was not going to use his full skill range against helpless civilians, especially not in front of the police. The line between self defense and assault was a thin one. 

The warmth of his palms felt scorching against your colder hands - it was as if he was branding you with himself, the thought making blood rush to your cheeks as you cleaned the torn skin.

Hakuji couldn’t look at you while you worked. You were too close, and he was tempted to-

He did not want to start dating based on that ‘something’ resembling his old love. It would be a relationship doomed to crumble from the start. Yet he couldn’t deny being drawn to you, his student in self-defense class and... friend.

“Of course I’m grateful… Thank you, pipsquea- ow!” 

Excess alcohol dripped down his fingers, Hakuji fought not to clench his fist shut or flinch back. Grimace marred his pretty face even as the liquid evaporated, leaving behind a stinging sensation. Despite all this, he felt at home - safe and comfortable in your hands.

“Hmpf!”

The nickname always made you huffy; it only pointed out how much weaker than him you were. He couldn’t help but like it though. He wanted to protect you and keep you happy.

Oh-

Hakuji understood now. The only way you reminded him of Koyuki was what kind of feelings you evoked in him.

It was Love.

He was in trouble.

Fuck.

dividers made by the amazing @benkeibear

network: @enchantedforest-network

#kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #akaza x reader #akaza x y/n #akaza x you #hakuji x reader #akaza #hakuji #kny akaza #kny hakuji #kny x reader #kny x y/n #kny x you #kny fanfic #demon slayer fanfic #kimetsu no yaiba fanfic #kakushino