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glorystark · 15 days

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Empty eyes | Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean doesn't take Charlie's death too well and because of the Mark of Cain affecting him, he tells you things that will regret.

Warnings: moc!Dean Winchester, Dean being a dick, minor mentions of injury, swearing, ANGST, major character's death

Pairing: Dean Winchester × reader

Featuring: Sam Winchester

Word count: 2,3k

We watched in agony as Charlie's body, wrapped around a white sheet, burned in the flames. This should never have happened to her kind soul. She died so we could save Dean. I couldn't help but feel guilty; my heart ached because I lost a friend, again. I knew Sam felt the same. We both asked Charlie for help with the Book of the Damned, and we both lied to Dean about the book being destroyed. Now it was too late to make things right. Memories flashed through my eyes, making me tear up. I remembered when she helped us with the Dick situation, or when I taught her some hunter-kind-of-tricks. How happy she was and wouldn't stop thanking me. She didn't deserve this, anyone but her.

“Charlie,” Sam started, grabbing my and probably Dean's attention. “We are gonna miss you. You're the best.” He stopped when his voice cracked, and now I was sure he felt far worse than me because looking back, he suggested not telling Dean about the Book of the Damned not being destroyed, which I didn't agree with at first. But seeing Dean, my Dean, slowly fade away right in front of my eyes changed my opinion. Maybe it was selfish, me and Sam both were. But we couldn't let Dean become something he fears, a Monster. We couldn't lose another person, another family member, but we didn't realize who we were putting in danger on this path.

“We love you, Charlie, and I'm so sorry,” I said, blinking through tears.

“Shut up,” Dean said coldly, making Sam and me look at him. “You got her killed. You don't get to apologize.” He continued.

“Dean-“ Sam started, but Dean cut him off.

“You too, you two are the reason she is dead,” he said, not taking his eyes off the flames.

“We were trying to help you,” I said, still looking at him.

“I didn't need help,” he said bitterly. "I told you to leave it alone.”

“What were we supposed to do, just watch you die?” Sam asked, not letting me be the only one receiving the cold tone from his older brother.

“The mark isn't gonna kill me.”

“Maybe not, but when it's done with you, you won't be you anymore,” I stated. “Dean, you're all we got. So of course we were gonna fight for you because that's what we do,” I said softly.

“Yeah, she's right, we had a shot-“ Sam was cut off again by Dean.

“Yeah, you had a shot. Charlie is dead.” He finally turned his head to look at me and his brother, who was standing next to me. His dark emerald eyes bore into mine, and I couldn't recognize them. Never have I ever seen him look at me with those eyes. Because no matter how much crap we went through, he always made sure I was fine, and his eyes held nothing but sweetness and, on most occasions, worry. “Nice shot.”

“Are you even listening to me? You think I'm ever gonna forgive myself for that?!” I snapped, not being able to keep my voice down anymore. He is grieving, but so am I. If I could, I would trade places with her.

“You know what I think,” he started, still with the same voice tone. “I think it should be you up there and not her.”

I felt my heart break for the hundredth time today. I parted my lips, not taking my teary eyes off him, which clearly showed how hurt I was. Sam let out a small gasp and widened his eyes after he heard Dean's words, clearly not expecting his brother to go that far.

I knew he blamed me, probably even more than Sam. But knowing that he wanted me dead hurt more than any physical torture I've experienced.

Sam called his name, still shocked after what he heard, but his brother just walked away, breaking my heart more and more.

—————

It has been a week since I lost Charlie, since I lost my Dean. He has been searching for the Stynes ever since but has been having a bit of trouble finding their location. So meanwhile, he went on a few solo hunts. He hasn't said a word to me and to Sam, just a few like ‘buy some beers’ ‘did you find anything about the Stynes’.

He found another hunt for today and was packing his bag in his own room. We both haven't stepped in our shared room ever since the accident, which meant we weren't even sleeping on the same bed. I'm done with being ignored, so I knocked on his door and opened it without waiting for any response. He didn't even turn around, probably knowing it was me.

“Dean,” I called his name, not even knowing what I wanna talk about, but getting him to look at me was the first step. “Dean,” I called, this time louder, and when he still didn't turn around, I walked towards him and grabbed his arm. “Alright, I'm done. When will you finally stop ignoring me?!”

He looked at my hand, which was grabbing his arm, and slowly turned around, finally looking at my face. “I'm not ignoring you, I just don't want to talk to you or be near you,” he said bitterly, pulling his arm away and reaching for his door.

“Dean, you know you're not the only one who lost someone, okay? And believe me, I know it's my fault she's gone, and I'll never forgive myself for that. But, god, you're practically killing me. I miss you,” I said desperately, waiting for something in his eyes to change, waiting for him to embrace me in his strong arms, but... Nothing. His eyes didn't even hold hatred anymore, just emptiness.

“I don't know what you expect me to say, ‘I'm sorry you were so stupid’ ‘I'm sorry you got another person killed off’ ‘I'm sorry you're so fucking useless’ Huh?! Is that what you want me to say? You want me to feel sorry for you?!” he yelled, showing the anger and darkness in his eyes while he harshly slammed me to the wall, making me whimper slightly. His words cut deep into my skin, but I tried my best to ignore them, knowing this Dean wasn't really my Dean.

“I want you to understand, I want you to know that I'm sorry. I want you to tell me that we're gonna go through this like we always do,” I said softly, looking deeply into his eyes, trying to crack him.

He let out a dark chuckle and grasped my shoulders, lowering his head to be on the same height level with me. “You want me to tell you that we're gonna go through this? Well, baby, in that way, I'd be a big liar.”

“Dean, me and Sam, we are so close to saving you. Please, just don't let the mark control you,” I begged, feeling small under his touch.

“I don't want nor need you two saving me, and believe me, at this very moment, I'm trying to not let the mark control me, so don't provoke me,” he whispered against my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

"I thought you trusted me.”

“Well, that trust was destroyed when you got someone who was like a sister to me killed. Have you ever noticed how many innocent people died because you were being too stupid?” he said harshly.

"We all have made mistakes, Dean," I said, as I thought about the hunts where innocent people died, and I couldn't save them. I didn't want Dean to know how much his words were affecting me, but, god, I felt like a crumpled paper.

“Seems like that's the only thing you ever do,” he smirked, letting his eyes fall on the floor again before looking up at my eyes again. “Tell me, how does it feel knowing you don't mean anything to anybody and you're just a burden in our lives? How does it feel knowing nobody loves you?”

That's it. That was the punch line to make me break into tears.

“Y-you love me, you said that before.”

“You know I lie to get laid,” he said, smirking, proud of his response.

My heart was racing more and more, and I felt nauseous.

“Dean, please-“

“You're nothing, do you hear me? Nothing!” he grabbed my cheeks harshly. “Your existence doesn't matter. You.don't.matter.” he said, spitting the words out before letting me go. He took his bag and walked out of the room, not even glancing at me. I slid down the wall as I started sobbing silently.

Then I heard a buzz from my phone.

New message from Sammy:

“Y/N, Dean just said he found a hunt, probably three to four werewolves, and he told me to go with him. I was really surprised but didn't question him. I think he's getting better. I'll also talk to him on the road. Next time, he'll definitely ask you too, just like old times. Don't stay up and don't worry; we got this :) love you.”

He asked Sam to go, but not me. If he hadn't told me that he hated me a few minutes ago, I'd think he was worried. But if it was really 3 or 4 werewolves, there's nothing to be worried about. He just wants to stay away from me. He told me I was a burden to them; he'll probably throw me out of the bunker soon.

Dark thoughts ran through my mind, and suddenly a rush of anxiety ran through me. What if there were more than a few werewolves? What if they get hurt? What if Dean hates me even more?

I checked Sam's message again and saw that he sent me the address of where the werewolves' location is and where the hunt would probably take place. I quickly rushed to my room, grabbed my car keys, and went to drive to the location.

—————

I was hiding behind some of the trees in the forest, watching as each of the boys fought one werewolf, two already dead ones on the floor.

Everything seemed good so far; I mean, their guns were on the floor, but they were fighting each werewolf single handed and there was no need for me to make my presence known. The boys were winning as always. And that's when I realized they don't really need me in their life. I knew the words that came out of Dean's mouth tonight weren't really Dean's, my Dean. But he was somehow right; before I became the hunter I am today, I made many mistakes. Some were small, and some led to people getting hurt or even killed. I also put their lives in danger multiple times because I was being reckless. Finding the demons that killed my parents blinded my vision. I was ready to get back to the bunker when I saw both of the werewolves giving up until I noticed something.

A werewolf close to Sam's back, and it seemed like none of the brothers noticed him. I searched for my gun but remembered I forgot it in the backseat of my car. I cursed under my breath and did the only thing possible right now to save Sam. I couldn't let Dean lose another person, especially his brother, who I knew meant the world to him. I couldn't put him through something like that again when there's a chance to save the younger Winchester.

So I ran towards Sam, trying my best to not slip because of the woods on the floor. The Werewolf was close, and nobody noticed him. I'm not the only stupid one after all. The boys turned their heads to me for a slight second, surprised at my presence, but didn't stop fighting the other werewolves.

Until I pushed Sam away from the werewolf he was fighting onto the floor. He seemed confused at first, until he saw it. I assumed Dean did too but couldn't be too sure since he was behind me. I let out an agonizing scream when the werewolf grazed his claws into my stomach and the other one, which Sam was fighting before, grazed his claws into my back before my lifeless body fell on the floor. Dean didn't hesitate more seconds before getting his gun from the floor and shooting all the werewolves.

I was bleeding like a waterfall from my body and my mouth. But the good thing is-

I didn't feel any pain, or anything in that matter…

Dean Winchester’s Pov:

No no no.

This can't be happening.

It's all a nightmare, just another stupid nightmare.

I heard Sam's crying voice telling the love of my life, his best friend, to wake up, holding her torn apart body in his arms, asking her why she pushed him away. But there was no answer.

It's a nightmare happening in real life.

Her beautiful y/e/c are open but so empty, unrecognizable.

I stood over her body, not being able to move from my spot.

There is so much blood everywhere.

Her blood.

This is hell.

No, I’ve been to hell and it's worse than hell.

I started tearing up more and more, reality hitting me more every second.

I let out an angry scream and fell on my knees when I remembered my last words to her.

“You're nothing, do you hear me? Nothing! Your existence doesn't matter. You.don't.matter.”

She wasn't nothing, she was my everything.

She mattered, she was the reason I kept going, now she's gone and it's all my fault.

All my fault.

All of the words I said came back to me, making my chest hurt.

As I knelt beside her lifeless body, surrounded by the aftermath of our shattered world, I whisper into the silent abyss, "I'm sorry, Y/N. I'm so sorry."

And deep down I felt the Mark laughing…

246 notes · View notes

itgetsdark-x · 1 year

Note

I have a request for Joel x reader where the reader has never been in a relationship where her orgasm was important to her partners so Joel makes it a mission to make her cum as many times as possible 👀

Oh anon, sweet anon I couldn’t turn down this request if I tried. I just know Joel would wanna satisfy his partner in bed as many times as he wanted to. I just 🧎🏻‍♀️ I hope you like it, I kinda rushed it a little as I was too excited to write it but yeah! Thanks for the request <3 I’m gonna go and hide now <3

Warnings: 18+, please it’s just smut. Oral (f receiving), mild breeding kink if you squint a little, unprotected p in v sex (wrap it, be sensible), use of good / little girl a lot, age gap (reader is mid - late twenties, Joel would be older but not explicitly stated), roughly follows the game / show but not at all lol cause the timeline is way off

Summary: Joel knew you had been left frustrated by your previous partners and well, when he heard you moan his name he couldn’t deny you the pleasure any longer.

Characters: Joel Miller x (f) reader

Word Count: 4.7k

A/N: y’all know how bad I’m down for Joel rn, and I saw this tiktok that had me truly feral and frothing at the mouth so me being the true slut I am for this man, I had to include the dialogue. You’re welcome. Just as a little side note, I have all the other requests in my inbox and I love them all, I will work my way through but I work full time so please be patient, my loves <3

Before the outbreak happened, you had never had a boyfriend, not a proper one anyway and well, since then it had only gone downhill. You were in high school when the outbreak happened and miraculously you had managed to escape and actually survive. You had lost your family along the way and met up with a man called Joel Miller. You first met him in the Boston QZ, and since then you had become a team. It had been years and you were in your late twenties now, still teamed up with Joel but a few years back you took Ellie on with you. It had been a messy journey but one that was so worth it, Ellie was your bestfriend and Joel fathered her like his own. She was just a teenager but she had seen so much in her short life that had matured her much beyond her years.

After the outbreak, and in the world of dating, men seemed to be greedier at chasing their own highs rather than actually satisfying you in anyway, shape or form. The only orgasms you had really experienced in the past few years were from ones you had drawn from yourself; those long nights where you shifted in your bed and let your fingers give you some much needed relief. Still, you would have traded all of those orgasms for one decent one from another man.

“Are you listening to me? Hello?” Ellie snapped her fingers in front of your face. “I was saying,” she huffed. “I was saying, how was that date with David the other night, haven’t seen you since and I wanna know all the juicy details.” She giggled.

You were pulled out of your thoughts but you continued to stare at the food on your plate, you pushed it around before admitting defeat and setting your knife and fork down. “It was awful.” You whined. “Absolutely awful, like guys really only care about getting off themselves. I haven’t had a decent orgasm in years.” You complained and just as you finished your sentence, Joel joined you both at the table.

He cleared his throat awkwardly and you felt embarrassment rise in you. “Sorry, Joel.” You mumbled and Ellie was biting back a humungous laugh; you shot her a look and she tried to stifle the noise further.

“Anyway… I should be heading off to school.” Ellie giggled and looked at your embarrassed face and Joel’s awkward demeanour.

The three of you had settled down in Jackson after your journey temporarily ended when Joel finally located Tommy. It was a decent place; so long as you stayed in line and did your fair share of jobs. You helped out in various places; you helped tend to the animals, you sometimes assisted in classrooms and you were known to frequent shifts in the kitchen. Joel ran defence classes, teaching the older teens how to shot their guns, how to fight with weapons and generally preparing them for if they ever needed to evacuate and look after themself in the wild. He always did frequent patrol shifts around the walls, much like his brother did. In return the three of you had a decent three-bedroom home and for the first time in years, stability and safety. You were just pleased that it offered Ellie a small sense of normality and belonging.

“David is an asshole.” Joel stated with a smirk.

“Yeah, well, I know that now.” You laughed bitterly, no humour behind the noise at all.

“You know… some men out there do actually care about pleasing women. Not all. But some.” Joel said nonchalantly and it only caused your blush to grow deeper in your cheeks.

“Yeah, well, when you find one. Send them my way, yeah?” You said bluntly and rose from the table, taking your plate. “I’ve got a shift in the kitchen now and then I’m out at the farm for the afternoon. Ellie is going round to a friend’s this evening but promised she would be back before 10pm like normal.”

“Alright, sweetheart. See you later.” Joel said as he continued to eat his breakfast.

You long had a crush on Joel, from the moment he first met you in the QZ, you were hooked. He helped teach you how to fight, shoot and even hunt. There had been brutal moments outside the world of the QZ’s and Joel had saved you multiple times. There had also been those unspoken moments between you both where a touch on your hand as he helped you aim maybe lingered a second too long or his gaze fixated on you as you changed, when he thought you weren’t looking. You just assumed he never made a move on you due to your obvious age-gap, you assumed he always kinda looked at you like a kid. The age-gap seemed like such a trivial thing since the whole world ended but you never pushed your luck as you know you needed Joel to get by and actually live.

—

Your shifts went by quick and by the time you finished you were sweaty and in need of a long, hot shower and maybe, just maybe, you could get five minutes alone to scratch the burning itch under your skin.

“Joel, you home yet?” You called as you stepped into the home, no lights were on so you assumed maybe he was already in bed. Joel worked different shifts and so, nothing was really a surprise with him anymore.

There was no answer, just silence, you thanked the god’s above and all but ran upstairs, you turned the shower on to warm up and within minutes there was hot water filling the space. You underdressed yourself quickly and stepped into the water, the second the warm water hit your skin, you sighed with relief.

You soaped up your body and it didn’t take long for your fingers to explore your body and to slip between your slicked folds; a soft moan fell from your lips as your fingers circled your sensitive clit. You worked yourself quicker as your orgasm neared, you were so deep in the moment.

“Joel,” You whimpered as your eyes were closed and you worked your fingers faster. Your naked chest heaved as your ragged breaths ripped through your parted mouth. “So good, please. More.” You whined to yourself.

You had fully allowed yourself to delve into your fantasies; normally someone was always hope and you had to keep quiet whenever you masturbated. So when you had the house to yourself, you allowed yourself to be louder and enjoy it more.

Joel got home, he immediately saw lights on and heard the water running upstairs. He didn’t think anything of it and went to the fridge to grab himself a drink. That’s when he heard his name, he put his drink down and wandered upstairs, he didn’t make a lot of noise but he wasn’t exactly being sneaky either.

He saw your body, well, the back of your body at least; his hungry eyes raked over your naked form and they stopped at your ass. That’s when he heard you whimper again and he realised what you were doing. Which meant… no. You were thinking of him?!

Joel went to knock on the door, to politely announce he was home. Anything, but he couldn’t bring himself to and he certainly could held the way his cock hardened in his jeans at the thought of your cumming around your fingers whilst you thought of him.

His mouth went dry and gingerly he knocked on the door frame which caused your whole body to jump and you almost slipped in the bathtub.

“What the fuck?! Why are you watching me?!” You yelped and you saw Joel stood there, his eyes raked over your body before he looked around the room and avoided making eye contact with you. You brought your arms to try and cover some of your body.

“I uh, sorry darlin’. Heard my name and thought you called for me, I, uh, I get what you were doing now…” he said quietly and your cheeks turned a deep crimson.

“Joel,” you gasped. “I-I’m so sorry I — I thought no one was home and I was just, well, y’know what I was doing. I’m so embarrassed. I’m sorry.” You mumbled and switched off the water. You grabbed your towel off the ground and wrapped it around your body tightly.

Joel finally looked at you and this time he couldn’t help but smile, a boyish grin spread across his features and you wanted to punch him for being so smug.

“What?! What are you smiling about?” You whined, still embarrassed.

“Oh it’s nothing just… you want me to help you out, sweet girl. Show you what a real orgasm feels like?” Joel said lowly, the smug expression still on his face. Never before had he allowed himself to indulge in the lust he felt for you, until now; there you were, your hair was damp and your body glistened as the water droplets slid down every beautiful curve of your body.

“Oh fuck you, this,” you gestured up and down your body and between the two of you. You stepped out of the bathtub on shaky legs. “This isn’t something you get to take the piss about, okay? You can forget about that!” You hissed as you went to push past Joel. This was beyond humiliating and you didn’t need him to remind you of it or hold it above you as some kind of joke.

You tried to leave the room and Joel simply grabbed your wrist, before you could open your mouth he had you pushed up against the wall and was kissing you passionately. It was hot and heavy, your teeth clashed and your tongues met with a moan from you. Your hand found its way into Joel’s salt and pepper hair as his hands rested on your hip.

“Joel,” you mumbled, barely breaking the kiss between you both. “We shouldn’t, I mean. What about Ellie, what if she comes home? It’ll mess everything up.” You whispered, your breaths short as Joel peppered soft kisses to your jaw.

“With all due respect, darlin’… how about you shut up and let me show you how good a real man can make you feel.” Joel breathed, his lips hovering just by your ear.

His words, his lips, his breath; it was entirely all too much and not enough and it had your body quivering under him.

“Already shaking for me and I’ve not touched you, sweet girl.” He growled lowly in your ear and you shook your head in disagreement. “Bedroom. Now.” He commanded and you obediently left the bathroom and entered your own bedroom.

You stood awkwardly near the bed, you didn’t exactly have heaps of experience in the bedroom and the experience you did have was usually late at night and with someone you didn’t care for, where the other person was more interested in chasing their release rather than helping you get yours. Joel walked into the room and smirked at you, god, he was so infuriating with his arrogance.

“Let’s take this off, shall we?” Joel asked softly and held the edge of your towel, he tugged it off and it fell to the floor with a dull thud. You felt exposed and vulnerable as Joel’s hungry eyes drank you in; he was trying to memories every dip of your body, every freckle, every single hair and he wanted this image to replay every night in his head for the rest of his life. “Fuck. So beautiful, look at you.” He cursed, closing the space between you once more to kiss you again.

He walked you both back until your back fell flat on your bed, you whimpered helplessly under him as you felt his weight on top of you. His large hand came up to knead the soft skin of your breast before his fingers took your nipple and twisted it gently, your back arched off the bed at his actions and you whined under the older man.

“That’s it. Good girl, that feel good?” Joel asked and let his head duck down to envelope your sensitive nipple into his mouth, his tongue flicked over the bud and you moaned softly.

“Want you to take your clothes off.” You gasped out as your hands clutched at Joel’s grubby shirt. He released your nipple with a pop of his mouth and sat back to remove his shirt.

Your mouth went dry at the sight, you had seen Joel shirtless before but you had never been able to truly appreciate it. He had a little chest hair and his torso was delicately peppered with various scars, all of them ranging in size and intensity. He locked eyes with you as he stood to undo his belt and jeans, he kicked off the heavy denim and you couldn’t deny the way you clenched around air; you could see the outline of Joel’s cock, it was heavy and thick.

“Like what you see?” He laughed and grabbed his length through the thin fabric of his boxers. You nodded and shamelessly you let your thighs open further for him. “Good girl.” He cooed as he admired the site of your glistening cunt.

Joel wasted no more time and he was back on the bed with you, this time just dressed in his boxers. He positioned himself next to you, one leg draped over your to keep legs spread and teasingly, he trailed two fingers through your wet folds. You whimpered under him, spreading your legs further again. Joel laughed above you, he was watching your features as he let his fingers tease you for the first time. Your back arched slightly and your breaths became more ragged.

“Please,” you whined, your voice high pitched and needy. “Please don’t tease me, Joel.”

He laughed, again, he laughed and your body thrummed with anger as his fingers moved agonisingly slow before they fell to your clit and he circled that sensitive area just perfectly. You moaned, it was a loud noise and it shocked you as it was ripped from your throat. You threw your head back and your fingers gripped the sheets beneath you until they turned white.

“Nice and wet for me, hm? That all for me? I heard you moaning my name like a good little slut in the shower.” Joel groaned as his fingers got coated in your slick arousal.

He started a punishing pace and already, you felt the white heat in your stomach start to bubble aggressively. Joel leant up to admire your features once more, he loved the way your eyes fluttered shut every time he would move his fingers just so. Just as your body tensed, Joel teasingly changed the tempo of his movements and he could see the frustration that settled in your eyes but with that smug smirk on his lips again, he plunged two thick fingers into your tight hole and let his thumb stroke circles around your clit.

The noise you made was sinful, it almost didn’t sound human. Joel laughed, it was low and breathy and he felt so proud he was the one to elicit these filthy noises from you. He pulled his fingers out just to plunge them in deeper, only this time, he curled them upwards and it had you seeing stars. You felt lightheaded as you screwed your eyes shut and bit down onto your bottom lip.

“Think you can cum for me? Cum all on my fingers?” Joel asked and tenderly stroked some stray strands of wet hair from your face. “That’s it,” he cooed as he kept his fingers deep in you to stroke against the sensitive spot deep in your walls.

You were broken, already. Completely and utterly broken as Joel’s fingers ripped an orgasm from deep within you. Your back arched higher off the old mattress and your fingers clawed at Joel’s arm. No man had made you cum like this before.

You came heavily around Joel’s digits, your walls fluttered and clenched around him as he worked you through your first proper orgasm with another male.

“That’s it. Good girl,” he cooed softly into your ear as he sped his fingers back up. “You reckon you can cum again?” He asked and you looked at him with your lust-blown eyes and nodded silently, your lips still parted in pleasure.

Joel’s thumb drew circles around your clit and every so often he would swipe it directly over the little bud of nerves that had you whimpering under him. Your fingernails dug into the skin of Joel’s shoulder and in their wake, you left crescent moon shapes. Joel groaned at the sting of your fingers nails and it only encouraged him to work his own fingers in you deeply.

“Anyone ever eaten this little pussy?” Joel asked in a low tone, he pulled his fingers out of you and placed a light slap to your sensitive area. You yelped loudly and squeezed Joel’s arm.

You shook your head no and shivered under Joel’s watchful gaze, you couldn’t speak, you didn’t trust your voice to make the correct noises as you knew what was about to happen and it made your body ache with anticipation.

Joel kissed your mouth once before he trailed kisses down your stomach, it caused it to heave under his soft touches; his rough facial hair tickled across your skin. Joel took your thighs into his hands and pulled them so they draped over his shoulders, fully exposing your wet pussy to him. His mouth watered at the site and he couldn’t wait to taste every inch of you.

Joel wasted no more time, he parted your folds with his fingers before he delved his tongue into your wet heat. He couldn’t hold back the deep groan that rumbled up his throat, he had longed to taste you and have you gasping under him.

“So sweet,” he whispered as he slurped up your arousal. His tongue flicked over your clit and you gripped into his thick hair roughly. “That’s it, use my face, just like that, atta girl. Keep doing that.” Joel groaned as you greedily chased your high again on his face. He attached his lips onto your clit and suckled on it softly, his tongue rhythmically flicked over it.

“Go-gonna cum again!” You groaned. You looked down at Joel below you and it had you clenching around nothing, you longed to be filled as you came hard. His hair was a mess and his eyes were drooped shut as he ate your pussy like a man starved of food. “I-I want you in me. Need to feel your cock in me.” You whimpered as Joel flicked his tongue over your sensitive body.

“Yeah? You think you can cum again on my cock? How about you ride me, need to make sure you get all the orgasms you need, good girl.” He purred, standing up to stroke his cock after he removed his boxers. His length bobbed against his stomach when he removed his boxers. Your pussy fluttered with arousal as you watched his hand pass over his length a few times; none of the men you had been with were as big as Joel. He wasn’t just long, he was thick as well and you couldn’t wait to feel the stretch of him inside of you.

Joel climbed onto your bed so his back was against your pillows and he was half sitting up, he continued to stroke himself as you watched. You were strung out on the intense orgasms already and you weren’t sure how you were supposed to have it in you to ride his large dick. He held a hand up and made a ‘come hither’ gesture with his fingers, you sucked in a deep breath and moved your body up to his. You swung your legs over Joel’s lap to straddle him and he took his cock and passed it through the wetness of your pussy.

You shivered and gripped at Joel’s chest below you, your fingers combed through the light dusting of hair there. He pressed the tip of his fat cock to your wet hole and held your hips tightly as he brought you down on him. You moaned weakly as he bottomed out so you were sat in his lap, there was a faint sting as you adjusted to him.

“Bet you can feel me in your stomach, can’t you?” He purred, his fingers stroked soft patterns in the skin of your hips. He took one hand and gently stroked at your clit once again which caused you to grind down onto Joel’s length. He moaned at that and his head lulled back; you were so wet, so warm and just so tight. He knew he was the first one to split you open like that. “Such a tight. little. cunt.” Joel growled, his hips bucking up to fuck into you.

“So good.” You breathed as you started to bounce in his lap. “Feels so good. You’re so big.” You whimpered, with each bounce down, Joel thrusted up to meet you and it sent delicious shockwaves through your body. Your skin felt impossibly tight and too small for you and the burn in your stomach flickered furiously.

“That’s it. Atta girl, use my cock. Make yourself cum on me.” He growled, his thumb swiped over your clit once again which ripped a loud moan from your parted lips. As you bounced on his cock, your breasts heaved with the effort and your breaths came out of your mouth ragged and laboured.

“Can’t cum again, t-too much.” You whined and it was true, your body felt entirely too sensitive and everything almost felt too good, it took you by surprise since you weren’t ever aware that you could feel this good.

That’s all Joel needed, something animalistic switched in the pit of his stomach and with that, he had lifted your body to flip you onto your stomach. Your face pressed into the mattress with the force and he grabbed your hips roughly, pulling your ass up into the air for him. Joel brought a hand down and spanked the soft skin roughly.

He shoved his cock back into your wet heat with a groan and his balls slapped forward onto your clit. You whimpered pathetically and tried to grab at the sheets below you for leverage as Joel built up a rough pace.

“I said,” he accentuated the words with a rough thrust. “Cum on my cock, you wanted to been shown what it was like to cum properly. So cum for me.” Joel growled, his voice was dark and commanding.

Tears filled your eyes and soon there was a wet patch under your face on your sheets; you weren’t entirely sure whether it was from your tears or the saliva that pooled from your mouth.

“Touch yourself and cum on my cock.” You commanded bluntly and you obeyed, you snaked a hand under your stomach and rubbed at your clit with fervour. This angle caused Joel’s cock head to bump against that spot deep within yourself. You were soon cumming around Joel’s cock with a scream, you felt a gush and Joel was groaning behind you. “That’s it. Good girl, cum on me. Soak me.” He cooed and slapped your ass, softer this time so he could knead the skin.

You whimpered as you worked through your orgasm, your eyes screwed tightly shut and your walls fluttered around Joel’s cock as you came down from your high. He didn’t give you a second to recover as he pulled out and flipped you over so he could see your face.

“I wanna see your pretty little face when I fuck my seed into your greedy little hole.” Joel groaned, he tapped his cock against your sensitive clit and you quivered under him. You weren’t sure you could take much more, never had you felt so pleasured in your life.

Joel teasingly slow pushed his length into you once again and your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling. He didn’t reach as deep in this position but you could feel every single inch as he slid in. He rolled his hips to meet yours and he groaned with each pass of your tight pussy.

“Want me to fill you up? What if I fuck a baby into you? You want that. Wanna get all round with my seed?” He growled and it made your walls clench around him, he smirked at the reaction and toyed with your abused clit. “I think you can give me one more, little girl. I think you can gush on my cock whilst I fuck my cum into you.”

You couldn’t believe the words Joel was saying, you were sure it just ‘in the moment’ but you still couldn’t believe the filth that fell from his dirty mouth. You shook your head no at Joel and he just barked a laugh at you.

“I’m sure I’ll get another out of you,” he whispered and leant down to kiss at your breasts once again. “Bet this is what you thought of in the shower, isn’t it? Bet you thought of my cock splitting you open as I fuck you. I’ve thought about it, baby girl. Fucked my hand so many times imagining it was your tight little pussy. God this is so much better than I imagined. You’re so good for me, taking me so well.” Joel praised with a gutteral groan, his hips were slower as he worked himself closer to his own relief. He was surprised it he lasted as long as he did, it had been a while since he had been with a woman and that was mainly down to you. Anytime he was with someone else he imagined it was you he was filling up.

“Come on, please give me one more. Just one.” Joel purred, his mouth sloppily licking at your hardened nipples.

It was too much; his words, his hand, his mouth on your nipples and his cock filling you so deliciously. You didn’t think you could but it happened again; you clenched around Joel once more, his hips stalled and he thrust deep inside of you as you’re tightened around him. The room was filled with your laboured breathing and Joel’s soft pants as he filled you with his seed. You whined as you felt the hot liquid coat your inner walls.

Joel laid there for a few seconds as he gained his composure once again and he rolled off your body, and slid out of you with a grimace and he winced. Your body shuddered as you laid there, completely fucked out and drunk on the older male’s cock.

You weren’t sure how long had passed but when you finally found the strength in your body to get up and go to the bathroom, it was pitch black outside, your room was illuminated softly with a distant spotlight. You pulled Joel’s shirt on as it was the only clothes readily to hand and you couldn’t help but smile as you saw his sleeping face, and for once, he looked peaceful. You tiptoed out of your room and headed to the bathroom, just as you stepped inside and turned the light on a figure appeared in the doorway of Ellie’s room.

“Gotcha!” She giggled as you held your chest from the shock.

“Ellie!” You hissed. “You almost scared me to death. Go back to bed, it’s late.” You scolded.

“Why are you wearing Joel’s shirt?” She asked with a knowing smirk.

“Oh I, uh…” You mumbled, trying to think of the words on your feet.

“I’m fuckin’ with ya… I came home earlier and well, let’s just say I’m glad the weather was alright for me to walk around the block a few times.” Ellie laughed although you could see the faint disgust on her features.

You held back a choked laugh and brought your hand up to your mouth. “Ellie, I’m so sorry.. we, I mean, we’re so sorry. We didn’t wann—“ you rambled nervously and she held a hand up and waved it dismissively.

“Eh, it’s whatever. I’ve seen the way you two practically eye-fuck each other anyway. I’m surprised it took old man Miller this long to make a move on you. Glad you got a decent orgasm though.” Ellie laughed with a shrug. “Goodnight, Y/N. Let Joel know I’m home safe.” She smirked and disappeared back into her room.

You sat on the edge of the bathtub and held the backs of your cool hands to your burning cheeks. You couldn’t quite believe that today had happened, and of course it ended exactly like that. You laughed quietly to yourself and got yourself up with shaky legs. After finishing up in the bathroom, you went back to your room and crawled into your bed and you drifted to sleep with the soft sounds of Joel’s snores.

You braced yourself on the edge of the bathtub and held your burning cheeks in your cool hands, you couldn’t quite believe that conversation just happened and Ellie had heard the two of you earlier.

You were just grateful she didn’t seem pissed or upset about it. Maybe things were going to work out all okay in the long run. However they panned out, you were just so relieved you finally were able to have a decent orgasm, or multiples, at the hands of another man. For the first time in a long time, you slept soundly as you listened to the low rumble of Joel’s snores.

#joel miller #joel x reader #joel miller x reader #joel tlou #joel miller smut #anon request #thanks anon <3

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gabessquishytum · 6 days

Note

hello! i just wanted to start off by saying how much i absolutely adore your blog and the community you have created! i’ve been in fandom spaces for about a decade and this is the first time i’ve ever come across such an interactive and collaborative space where everyone is just so lovely and loves sharing their ideas with each other. you doing such wonderful things in the dreamling/sandman fandom gabe 💖💖

so, i’ve had this idea rolling around in my head for a while now and a couple asks have touched on the topic as well but i’ve become a little obsessed with it! sheltered/virgin!dream and kinda-experienced-but mostly knows his way around a sex toy!hob are roommates in uni and of course dream has the biggest crush on hob. he thinks that hob has a lot more experience than he does just because of how charming hob is whenever they go out. dream has never actually seen hob take anyone home but that doesn’t really correlate in his head. because dream is slowly becoming obsessed with hob he decides he needs more experience but he doesn’t want to have sex with just anyone. he goes snooping through their dorm/apartment and finds hobs quite extensive collection of sex toys. he rifles through it and picks out a couple that he definitely knows what to do with and leaves those he is clueless about. he starts experimenting and finally experiences his first orgasm with (unknown to him) hobs favorite dildo stuffed in him. very quickly hob realizes that dream has found his stash of sex toys and taken a few (he was very horny about dream taking his favorite toy, even if that means he couldn’t use it until he talked with dream). hob is just as obsessed with dream and has been trying to work up the courage to put his charms on dream without making it awkward since they already live together. this all cumulates one day when hob gets home early to see dream “practicing” for when he’s finally with hob and hob sees his favorite toy stuffed in dream and his horny brain just melts completely as he watches dream finish and hob comes in his pants

This is so kind, thank you so much for taking the time out of your day to say nice things <3 it always means a lot to know that people can find a home here.

I am totally enamoured with the idea of Dream getting fascinated by Hob’s sex toy collection! Also the idea that Dream unintentionally takes Hob’s favourite toy, thus accidentally leaving Hob in a very horny but very frustrated position because he wants his special dildo back but the idea of Dream using it is so. Fucking. Arousing.

Another idea that this sparked off for me: Dream and Hob sharing a pocket-pussy type toy. Maybe it's the same kind of scenario - Dream is inexperienced and ends up confessing to Hob about his lack of knowledge (they're both a little drunk at the time). Hob has the brilliant idea of fetching his pocket-pussy from his room and telling Dream that he can totally borrow it! Just to get some practice, you know? Dream uses it that very night, but he doesn't do a very good job of cleaning it up... when Hob comes to collect his toy, it's still wet. And sticky. And of course, Hob puts his dick inside it and gets off to the slick slide of his gorgeous roommate's cum. They trade the toy back and forth for weeks, neither of them willing to admit that they might as well just fuck each other at this point...

I just really like the idea of them being nasty and oversharing with each other when they're still "just friends". Getting off in bed next to each other, watching porn together, just generally being gross <333 Hell, maybe Dream tries a vibrator for the first time ever and gives Hob control of the remote - they still claim to be in a totally platonic relationship while Dream writhes naked on the couch and Hob jerks himself off.

It's only when both of them simultaneously realise that the idea of their "totally platonic best friend" fucking anyone else makes them physically sick... that they mutually figure out that they're in love. And sharing sex toys suddenly seems a whole lot more acceptable... when one day they might also be sharing a last name <3

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft

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8bitscarlet · 1 year

Text

Sun To Me

Summary: You don't remember a single winter where you weren't either stuck outside in a blizzard or stuck inside during a blizzard. Neither was ever fun to be in. But just this once, the blizzard may be the thing you always hoped for.

Pairing: Wanda x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Fluff (mention of alcohol, alcohol consumption, suggestive moments, mention of strip poker)

Word Count: 8.1k

A/N: SURPRISE! I carved out some time between doing work things, (neglecting work things) for a day and wrote out a little bit of this series. This weekend I have absolutely nothing to worry about for work so I've decided to sneak in this "little" chapter of AOP. Definitely not little, consider it reconciliation for being away (tho I am leaving again). Happy Reading everyone! 💕 And Happy New Year!

*please do not repost or translate my material or claim as yours. reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated!*

___________________

"Can I borrow your phone?"

A hand glides across your shoulders, your eyes slowly rising up from the words you read. You guide a fork of food up to your mouth as you see the redhead notice the steaming cup of coffee you made for her. She peeks over at you with a soft grin,

"I forgot to plug mine in last night."

You hum unconvinced, pointing noiselessly to the counter as you chew on the breakfast she made before jumping in the shower. You flip to the next page of the newspaper, knowing that you plugged in her phone after she passed out halfway through the season you were watching. She just doesn't want to make the short journey back to the room.

She mutters out gratitude as she walks past you and as she leaves your sight, you feel your throat close. Choking on the food you were trying to swallow, you jump to your feet as you try to yell at her to wait.

As you turn, hacking up a lung and blinking away tears, you're too late. Wanda stands there, shaking your illuminated phone screen at you. Your eyes lock on the photo from when the two of you were undercover during a Brazil summer, you never experienced humidity like that before. You look like a tourist in your sweaty tank top with an incredibly loud and unbuttoned shirt flowing above your board shorts.

The smile on your face was real, you could see the crinkling around your eyes as your peace sign showed up behind Wanda's head. She was leaning against you, acting exhausted. Which you both were, bloody knees and covered in dust and mud, but you were both alive.

"I give Cap a run for his money in that photo," you clear your throat as you try and play off your sudden jumpiness to get some juice.

Wanda narrows her stare, "If anyone looks that good in the photo, it's me."

A chair scratches out behind you as you let out a casual chuckle, but you stare inside the fridge as you feel your heart beating heavy. You take down an entire glass, keeping your eyes away from Wanda as you pour another.

"Speaking of, Nat and Steve are still in the clear. This incoming blizzard is probably helping that,"

You nod, almost forgetting that the two of you were out in the middle of nowhere for a mission. You were supposed to be the chauffeur once Nat and Steve got a hold of some plans Yelena needed to do some black market trade on information for Strucker. It was a boring mission and easy to forget, especially when those green eyes were always across from you. They were all you could think about.

Turning, those eyes sit across the table as you take your seat. She has her legs curled up onto the seat, cabin socks pulled up high onto her calves and her cheek leaning on her knee with a soft grin as she watches you. Her eyes almost seem to brighten when they catch yours. You can feel a warmth on your face but you take a sip of the juice in your hand.

“What demise have you planned for me today, Maximoff? Monopoly? Clue?”

She chuckles, flicking aimlessly through the sports section she took from your newspaper, “Seeing if you noticed the poison.”

You glance up at her, “I did. That’s why I’m eating it.”

Wanda rolls her eyes, finding your weather app and staring at the radar, “How long do we have until that storm comes in?”

“According to my calculations,” you stab your fork into the paper, “Should be picking up within the hour.”

“Well, at least we don’t have to be out there.”

You make a face, “Oh yes, because I enjoy just sitting here and listening to those static radios all day.”

Wanda slides your phone back to you, floating over the last pancake on your plate to her hands. You clench your brows but she starts to talk before you can steal it back, “Don’t be a party pooper just because you suck at card games.”

Your mouth falls now, first the pancake attack and now an attack on your pride. Standing up, you throw your plate away and start to wash the breakfast dishes, “There is no way you got to UNO so quickly,” you mutter the last of your words beneath your breath, “I’d win if it was strip poker.”

She stands up and bumps you out of the way, making you dry and put away the dishes, “And what’s your definition of winning? Having the most clothes or having no clothes?”

You shrug, leaning back against the counter as you spin your towel covered hand inside a cup, “Depends on the company.”

Wanda chuckles, “I’m sure it does. And today, you can play it by yourself. While you go get more wood.”

You groan and extend your arms out across the table, pressing your cheek against the newspaper.

“You’re the one who’s always cold. You get the wood.”

Green eyes flash to yours, cocking her brow as she takes her fork and softly jabs it into the center of your palm. You clench your brows together, feigning excruciating pain and let out a whisper of a scream. Peeking through one of your shut eyes, you see her nose scrunch and eyes crinkle with her smile.

“Didn’t know torture was a hobby in your kingdom, princess.”

The fork digs ever more into your palm and you cringe at the stinging, wrapping your fingers around it and yanking it from her grasp. Wanda leans back into her seat,

“You should see what I can do with a spoon,”

Standing, you throw all the dirty dishes into the sink, “Pretty unoriginal if you just scoop out my eyes.” Peeking out the window, you see the clouds starting to darken. If you were going to refill the logs for the fire, you’d have to work double time.

“Promise you’ll think of something less boring by the time I come back,” you start to slip into all your layers, trying to get your foot into your boot.

“Only if you promise to also not be boring,” The words mutter out from the side of Wanda’s lips.

You frown, slamming your foot down into your boot, “I’m going to lock you outside in that blizzard.”

“I’m not making hot chocolate tonight,”

The grip you have on the back door tightens and you can hear the metal creak and dent beneath your fingers. Slowly, you turn and close the door to the whistling wind.

“You wouldn’t dare,” you narrow your stare as those green eyes narrow back at you,

Wanda shrugs as the steam from filling the sink, “Try me.”

With a sigh, you place your hands on your hips and watch her for a moment. Casually scrubbing plates and cups.

“I’ll bring the wood for your fire,” you give in to her soft glances and grin that teases at the corner of her lips, “And I guess I’ll make it too.”

As you open the door, you feel the warmth of something land on your face. Glancing over, you feel the same warmth as Wanda flicks water at you.

“Don’t take too long,”

You give a snarky grin, “You’ll miss me?”

“Ha! No, I’m cold and that fire is way too low. If you take too long, I’m going out there to make sure you weren’t mauled by a bear.”

Waving away her laughs, you make your trudge out into the blistering cold. You let out audible grumbles but you have a smile that spreads along your burning cheeks and warmth through your body that you hope stays.

__________________________________

You huff out as you trudge through the snow, chuckling to yourself as you watch your breath escape in a frozen cloud in front of you. Bending down, you pick up another fallen log and add it to the sack of other logs you toss over your shoulder.

“Y/N, are you laughing right now? Do you realize how cold it is and how far we are from warmth?”

Adjusting the bag to your other shoulder, you start to jog forward with a grin, “I can see the house from here. And you wanted to come help.”

Wanda groans as you pass her with a laugh, “Because you kept letting all the cold air in when you left for wood. God, it’s so cold. My feet are frozen!”

You stop, dropping the firewood into the snow and trudge back to her as you slip out of your jacket. Throwing it over her shoulders and buttoning it to stay, you feel the cold run down your spine as you quickly snatch the bag up again.

“You’d be absolutely terrible to go out on a lam with you know? Thank god you’re a hero.”

Trudging forward, dragging your feet along to try and make a walking path in the snow for the slow poke behind you, you hear complaining noises behind you.

“Can’t you carry me?”

You whip around, “Carry you?”

Wanda nods, adjusting some of the wood in her arms, “Aren’t you plagued with super strength. Just throw me over your shoulder.”

“What am I, Santa Clause? You’re the magical being here. Fly back to the house.”

You hear her let out a humph as the wind starts to pick up now, howling around you as you pick up your pace. You get to the door and rush inside, brushing off the snow from your now soaked through sweater. Ripping it off, Wanda stumbles through the door and lets out a violent shiver.

“How you doing? You okay?” You ask and she looks at you, knowing that tone, “Ten minutes in the elements. You need your last rites?”

“I want a towel, that’s what I want. You ass,”

You grin and take the little logs she managed to bring in and carry them over to the rest of the wood you had been gathering. Deciding Wanda will stay alive for the next five minutes, you go back to your room and quickly change out of your soaked clothes. The dry fabric instantly warms you as you tuck your sweatpants into your socks. There’s a loud creaking in the piping and you stop, kneeling down and pressing your hand against the vent.

Slowly letting out a breath, you don’t feel any warmth blowing out onto your hand. This will certainly be a fun announcement, you think and wonder how Wanda is probably gonna set this whole house on fire to stay warm. You peek your head into the den and let out another sigh, there’s still no static coming through. You tried already to knock some snow off the antennae, with mixed results on your descent. This blizzard’s already knocked out vital equipment and it hasn’t even hit full force.

Trudging down the hallway, you come around the corner with an amazing slide on your socks. Opening your mouth to let Wanda know the situation, you stop as you hear Wanda whispering in front of the fire. Feeding it more wood as she tells it to grow bigger and warmer.

“Are you talking to-?”

“I’ve seen how stroking your ego makes your head bigger, figured it would make the fire bigger.”

You point at her but let her have this when you see her teasing grin, reaching out for the bottle of whiskey on the counter. Tossing a towel at her, you start to pour some of the amber liquid into the coffee mugs you had this morning. Wanda squeezes the water from her hair as you hold up one of the mugs,

“This should keep you warm.”

Wanda hums and floats the mug towards her outreached hand, the warmth of her magic tickling up your arm, “And make bad decisions.”

You shrug, “I won’t let you run out into the blizzard naked.”

She scoffs as you slowly make your way to her, never taking your eyes from hers. You stop at the back of the sofa, eyeing the wood and wondering if it’d be better to move it all to a bedroom. A smaller space to warm.

“Why am I going to be naked? Is that why you’re keeping your distance?” She glances at how you’ve sat awkwardly against the couch edge, “Or was it cause you’re afraid of me for talking to the fire? I’ve heard being sociable is wildly attractive.”

You glance down at your whiskey as you swirl it around after a small sip, “I’m sure people have a lot of reasons to think you’re wildly attractive.”

There’s a soft silence between you, forcing your eyes to rise and see a playful grin on her face, “Does the alcohol reach your brain that fast?”

“Is that how you always sit on a chair?” you counter, seeing her sitting on the arm rest, as if she’s prepared to take off at any moment.

You both stare at each other, sipping from your mugs together and grinning. The wind howls outside and snow swirls around the windows but inside, there’s nothing but warmth. A comfort. You would never admit it, but you’re thankful for this blizzard. An unexpected lengthening of the mission. Wanda lets out a hum as she slithers into the seat, curling her legs up.

“What,” you chuckle, “I didn’t plan this. And I didn’t sign that mind reading waiver.”

Wanda sips on the whiskey, “You’re telling me you can’t control the weather?”

“Innocent,” you hold up your one free hand as you follow Wanda’s move down into your own seat, “Get Natasha on the radio right now, she’ll tell you. Well.. you could if the storm didn’t knock out our comms.”

Her brow rises slightly, seeing that you’re still hiding something. You take another sip of whiskey and hide behind the mug, “And our heat.”

“Oh yes, I see. Far too much work to alter the atmosphere, cut off all our communication and have our heat taken away. I’m not important enough to go through all that trouble?”

You breathe in carefully, “You…,” leaning forward onto your knees and feeling the warmth of the alcohol running through your limbs, “Have no idea how important you are.”

Wanda places down an empty mug, “Don’t I?”

You grin, a confidence she always hid running off of her, “You are more important than that North Star.”

Her green eyes widen, a slow breath filling her lungs as she rolls one of the rings on her fingers, “You paid attention.”

“To you? Always,” you have your eyes follow your movement as you place down your mug, “Wanda?”

“Yeah?”

Clearing your throat as you try to get a chuckle out, you massage the stiffness from your fingers, “I’ve heard of another way to get warm.”

Wanda raises a brow, “With how you’re talking, I’m a little worried.”

“I read in a book once,” you start jokingly, and Wanda turns her head, covering her mouth to keep herself from mockingly asking that you can read and looks at you with gleaming eyes, “It’s easier to pass body heat when there isn’t clothing interfering.”

“How about we use that as a last resort, after your beloved strip poker. Because you can make a fire in here,” Wanda laughs as you watch her walk off to the bedroom, the wood floating behind her. Your chuckle falls short as you make a face at the scene. Wondering why she didn’t do that out by the shed and bring over all the wood. You shake your head but smile like an idiot to yourself, knowing she just wanted to be there.

Leaning against the doorway, you watch her try to set up the logs. She’d been watching you for the past week, asking questions and being so close her touch and smell intoxicated you more than the whiskey ever could. Wanda’s fingers set up the twigs and rolls the newspaper as she floats the light up to her hand and starts to try and get this fire roaring.

Working your way inside, you watch her in silence and grin at the seriousness on her face. Moving the logs to the holder, you hobble after one that rolls away from your grasp. You watch it get engulfed in an iridescent red glow and slowly float towards and then past you.

“Why are you limping?”

You tie up the bag of extra logs and toss it in the corner, “What?”

Wanda watches the fire for a moment and then looks back to you, “You’re limping. What did you do?”

“Oh, you know,” you shrug as you try to hobble quickly out of the bedroom and to the kitchen in an escape. She calls out your name but you’re fast on this throbbing ankle. But as you reach the kitchen and push up the sleeves of your shirt, Wanda is already there. She runs her hands down your arm and gently looks at the scratches on your hands.

“What happened?”

You sigh, “I climbed to fix the comms this morning. And it was really icy up there,”

“You fell off the roof?!” she exclaims, smacking you for not telling her before. You swat away her hands before they actually hit one of the forming bruises on your body.

“The snow doesn’t provide much padding, I’ve learned,” you grimace out as the soreness in your shoulder is finally appearing as you lift the filled kettle.

“Jesus,” Wanda whispers and yanks you away as the water starts to heat up, “Come here,”

Her yanking is insistent. She’s not asking permission to shove you down into the chair. And she’s certainly not apologizing for making you shout out in pain when your weight falls onto your hip.

“That hurts!” You flinch away from her touch as she tries to look you over for some probable internal bleeding. A damp towel floats into her hand and the warmth is soon dabbing at the swollen scratch on your cheek that was hidden from the redness caused from the wind whipping outside. Her leg rests on your thigh, providing her support and you can feel the pressure slowly start to turn into pain. That was where you landed directly on a camouflaged tree stump and buried your face into the frozen ground to muffle your yell.

But you have no frozen ground to muffle this yell, “Ow!” you shout directly in her face.

“Well dammit, Y/N! What doesn’t hurt?!”

You look at her, “Why? You have some voodoo magic? A Sokovian old wive’s tale you swear by?”

She raises a silent brow, telling you in a simple stare to watch your tone. She didn’t make you fall off the roof and she didn’t cause the embarrassment you’re feeling for no reason. With a sigh, you lean back into the chair and point towards your shoulder, “Here,”

Wanda rolls her eyes and mockingly kisses her hand and presses it against the throbbing shoulder. You can feel the warmth without seeing the muted red that escapes her palm, “The building isn’t that high.”

“The ground is that hard. Here,” you point to the top of your head. Her lips press softly against her glowing palm as she gently pulls off your beanie and presses the warmth against the injury free part of your forehead.

She leans close, your breaths merging together as you can still smell the whiskey on her breath. Her eyes glance over you, searching for hidden scratches. Gliding over your stare and finding their way to your lips. She pulls in a deep breath, fingers gently running across your neck,

“How do you feel now?”

You watch her eyes find yours again, your hands resting on either side of her thighs. Feeling how gently she sways, how close she lingers. Your body is warm, as if every square inch of you is being massaged out of every kink and knot. It comforts you in a way you’ve only found from this witch. A comfort that’s only grown more addicting with each passing day, each passing moment.

A violent whistle explodes through the house. Both of you jumping and any thoughts of finding more comfort ends. You lean back into the seat as Wanda glances back at the screaming kettle. Leaving your side to silence it, you push off of the seat and limp around her.

There’s nothing but silence between the two of you as you work in unison. Handing her mugs that already have each of your favorite tea’s tossed inside. Wanda pouring in the boiling water as a floating spoon puts in the exact amount of required sugar. It was a perfect concert of movement and thoughts you’d never expected to share with anyone. And as you look over at the red head, you know she hasn’t read a single mind in your head. All of this being simple subconscious, your conscious thoughts racing with other contemplations.

_____________________________

Blankets are thrown and a hood is pulled taut around your face. Feet are slammed into slippers as you shuffle quickly across the floor and a hiss follows after you.

“I’m keeping the fire going!” you call back to her, as you quickly stack the logs to keep the fire fed for hours to come. The bedroom is warm everywhere the orange glow touches but the cold fingers of the dark close in as the evening continues. Threatening to make your breaths reappear.

“You’re letting all the cold air in!” Wanda rolls herself in the loosened covers as you climb back into the bed. You yank the stolen sheets back to you, dragging her closer to you as she doesn’t dare let go of the warmth.

“I should’ve just moved my own bed in here, blanket hog,” you mutter and try to hibernate your whole body beneath the blankets.

But cold has snuck its way in as you feel a sharp chill on your bare arms, vulnerable after you shoved up your sleeves so they didn’t burn with the fire. You jump from the chilling fingers that wrap around your arms.

“Wanda,” you shiver out and yank down your sleeves, “Where are your freaking mittens?”

“I lost them in the snow, stop moving the sheets!” she yells through gritted teeth and pulls more of your sheets, surprising you with this hidden strength.

You groan, moving with the yanking and flipping yourself over onto your other side. Taking your hands from your hoodie pocket, you wrap your arms around her. Wanda tenses, rolling away and shoving you back to your side.

“What the hell are you doing?” her green eyes flicker around your face, her words coming out nearly breathless.

“Do you want them to find us frozen to death in here? It’s just getting colder.” Wanda narrows her stare as you continue, “Or I can keep these little hand warmers to myself.”

Wanda rolls her eyes, “You ass,” flipping back over and pulling your arms back around her. You rub the hand warmers together before pressing them against her, feeling how cold she had been even with all these blankets. She lets out a quiet moan and you're silenced as your breath catches in your throat. Slowly, her body stops the beginning of its shivers and her chattering teeth have stopped.

“Thank you,” she whispers as she scoots herself further into you, your arms wrapping ever so slightly tighter around her.

“What letter plan is our last resort? L? Q? Cause if we die of hypothermia I’m going to blame you,” you mutter into her neck and she shivers a little bit.

She knocks her shoulder back into you, “Don’t do that,”

“What. I’m just talking, Maximoff,” you breathe out heavily and watch the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Before you can pester her more, she whips around and presses you down onto the bed, her fingers wrapped tightly around your hoodie.

“I’m going to murder you before the cold does,” Her hand smashes you down into your pillow,

You nod your head side to side for a moment, “That’s smart. I could be a good food source. I’d eat through the leftovers we have first, though.”

“Shut up,” she says and when you look up, you expect her rolling eyes and her to flop back onto the bed. But neither of those things happen. Her grip on your hoodie has softened, the palms of her hands resting lightly on your body. Wanda rests on top of you, her eyes flashing down to your lips and up to your eyes. You clench your brows, fingers creeping up to her wrists, “Just…”

“Just what?” you chuckle nervously, unable to read what’s happening in front of you, nothing but complete seriousness on her face.

The palm on your chest now hovers over your face, her thumb tracing along your face. You breathe calmly, finding her studying eyes as her thumb slides carefully across your lips.

“I think you should just kiss me,”

You feel the shock first. Your body nearly falling limp as all of your senses explode. Feeling exactly how she rests on top of you, where each of her fingers presses down onto your body. The smell of firewood smoke and lavender wafting off of her and into your nose. The flashes of firelight that show how wide her pupils have exploded in her eyes.

It’s a quick paralysis. The part of your brain you’ve had chained finally getting the permission it’s long been waiting for. You grip the back of her neck and slam your lips against hers. She straddles your lap as you press yourself up against the headboard, lips moving in unison. Her lips are as cold as the air around you but you can feel the warmth of her breath as her lips part in a sigh.

Pulling apart, she rests her forehead on yours as you both pant out into the darkening evening. You feel her fingers grip onto your hoodie tightly, pulling herself towards you, closer than you thought could be possible. And you watch the grin on her lips form ever so softly.

“We should’ve done that sooner,” she breathes out with a chuckle, but you don’t chuckle with her.

“Wanda-,” she presses her fingers to your lips.

Her lips gently find yours again as your hands glide across her thighs. You're intoxicated every moment she touches you, any discipline you had all these months forgotten with a single kiss, a single glance. Your hands rest at the edge of her sweater, pushing up the fabric and your lips parting for only a moment as it rises above her face. Your fingers trace along her silk skin beneath the long sleeve she has under. Her fingers grip your hair tightly as you guide your lips down her neck. Spending time at the tender pulsing point under her skin, listening to the quiet moan that escapes her lips.

“I swear to god,” she sighs out but pulling you closer, “If you give me a hickey, I’m-,”

“Uh huh,” you mutter, “Ripping my limbs off.” You peck her lips, “Blah,” and again, “Blah.”

It’s nearly cold enough to see each other’s breaths perfectly as you pant out into the darkness. You don’t mind the chill. Both of you undressing until there’s barely anything left but the electricity coursing through your veins.

The fire burns brightly behind you now. The glow curling around in a comforting warmth, lighting up the woman in front of you. Cupping her face with a careful touch, you part yourself from her lips and listen to the whining moan that comes from her.

“You’re not supposed to stop. We’ll start thinking,” she warns you, but doesn’t yank you back to her.

Your eyes study her, the flickering of the flames and the glowing of the moon that comes through the waning clouds. Staring at her now, there’s a feeling of weightlessness inside of your chest as your limbs begin to tingle. Your fingertips explode with sensations with each trace down her arms you drag.

“Are you-,”

She can see the worry on your face, the thoughts you hide and the desperation in your eyes to not let this be a one time thing. But it’s a secret you try to hold, yet you know how well she can read all of them. Her green eyes wash over you, memorizing you with each slow blink. You don't want this to be like all of your other times. Animalistic and feral, ripping clothes off. You’d rather it never happen at all then to happen like that.

“Yes, Y/N.” she whispers, “Are you going to kiss me again or do I have to do it myself?”

You grin at her, “Yes ma’am.”

Those green eyes become hidden as you press a soft kiss onto her lips Her fingers grip your hair tightly as you softly guide your fingers down her neck, admiring each curve and line on her body. Not wanting to miss a single mark on the woman in front of you.

You hook beneath the straps of her bra, as you guide your mouth down her soft skin. Kissing along her collarbone, you plant a long kiss against her shoulder. You know that these shoulders hold more than just these straps every day and you hope to help her slide it aside. They've carried the memory of her family upon them. The world that thrives because of what she’s done, what she’s sacrificed. She holds everything so effortlessly. Never a complaint to the world, but you’ve seen the weight nearly destroy her. You know her. If you can, you’ll help take it all away for just a moment.

She arches towards you, running her nails down your back before she grabs your face and brings your lips back to her. You sit up to work at the final layer on your body but she grips you tightly, her eyes begging you to stay close. To look into her eyes and see her.

And you do.

You hover over her as her fingers slowly unbutton each button with her delicate fingers. As you look into her eyes, you don’t want to hide anymore. One by one, they come undone just as you come undone in her eyes. You know these eyes have seen your insecurities, your fears. One by one, they showed themselves to her.

Slowly, she slides the soft fabric down your back, feeling the way your muscles clench against the cold touch. Nails turning white as you grip her tighter, not letting her stray from you.

“Drop it, Y/N.” she whispers as she pulls the fabric from your hands. You clench your brows softly as she runs her hand down your back again, “You’re not just carrying the weight of that button down.”

You breathe out carefully, slowly lowering yourself as you wrap your arms around her. Pressing kisses against her lips. Not feverishly and forceful like before. You aren’t desperately grasping at this moment to keep it from slipping away. You’re holding on deeply to have it last.

Gripping the blankets the two of you were fighting over, you throw them over your bodies as you grip Wanda’s waist. Guiding your kisses down her body, you cover every inch of her sweet body with your lips. Caressing her curves with the tips of your fingers as you soak in her beauty. It feels like you’ve waited all your life for just this single moment, an inescapable feeling of being whole.

You were constantly reminded that nothing was perfect, everything has its flaws. But as you memorize every part of the woman in front of you, how soft her skin is beneath your fingertips, the lavender that wafts from her and intoxicates you, how her fingers hold you so close, to her quiet sigh, you realize something. That if nothing was perfect, then she was absolutely nothing.

“You’re so warm,” she sighs out, her fingers reaching for you. You intertwine her fingers in yours as you climb up from her thighs, slowly kissing her jaw.

You freeze, hovering just above her lips and wait for those green eyes to flutter and rest on yours. She smiles when she sees you there, her hand resting on your cheek.

“You’re…” you breathe out a heavy sigh, grinning over how she’s taken away every ability to be irritating. “You’re gorgeous. You have no idea how beautiful you are.” you tell her, pressing a deep kiss onto her lips. Wanting to stay just like this.

Her hands hold onto you tightly and her sighs fill you with a warmth you’ve not felt in years. A brightness that you swear you can see shine from within her. And you wonder, if this was the only time you’d ever be able to let that light shine without messing it up. How each of these moments together has been in darkness. Can you only feel her in the darkness? Were you still hiding?

You remember a time where you lived in the light, but now you’re worn out. Scared of what that morning light could bring as it swept away the darkness of the night. The night that you could hide behind. You knew that she’d be there through the night, a single bed and a fire made it certain. But when the morning light came, nothing would hold her there.

You could be everything she needed in the night but for her to stay in the morning and for you to exist beside her, your hope couldn’t reach that high to lie and say it was possible.

“Y/N,” she whispers against your lips and you feel your chest constrict as she speaks your name in such a way. Your palm pressing against the cold skin of her stomach, listening to how she gasps at your warm touch. “Don’t leave.”

You stare down at her and swallow tightly, would she wait for you to wake from the darkness? You take your hand and glide the back of your fingers across her cheek, stroking away a fallen tear.

“Wanda,”

“When we get Sturcker. Don’t leave. Stay.” her voice barely reaches your ears, but when it does, it’s like a jackhammer on your chest.

Looking down at her, you see her. You’ve always seen her. Sitting outside your cell, she was never a witch. She was the woman with emerald sea eyes that peered so deeply into you. You’ve seen her and you know her. Every physical inch of her and every emotional inch.

She knew this, she bared her fears and vulnerabilities to you. And you’d done the same. You see everything you need right here. You realize that you don’t care where you are, as long as you’re with her. That’s all that matters to you now.

You shake your head, “I’m not going anywhere.”

She sighs and closes her eyes tightly, the slightest grin forming on her lips.

“Hey,” you whisper to her gently, pressing against her dimple as you wait for her to look at you, “Wipe that grin off your face and kiss me.”

____________________________________

You hear the soft beeping of your alarm. 535 in the morning. It was time to start your day and you could feel a tightening in your chest that was never there before. You’re terrified to open your eyes. Wondering if she was still there. If wanda laid there still next to you or if it was all a cruel dream.

As you reach out for your water to quench the dryness in your throat, you feel a weight on top of you. Unfamiliar to any other time you’ve woken up. Opening your eyes slowly, you see that Wanda lays across you. You eye the completely empty side of her bed with a grin. It was warm inside the bed, you could stay in here a little longer before you face the blistering cold. The day would keep moving so you stay anyway.

Arms are tied around each other and your legs are numb as hers wrap tightly around your knees. The sun sneaks through the window blinds onto her face as you look down at her. You grin, grateful for the rising sun that burned against closed eyes and woke you a second time. If only to see this.

The sunflower intricately weaved into the chain around her neck. She truly was the sun itself.

The sun that shook the frost from you. That had you not acting so angry all the time. Or keeping it all inside. You try so hard to tell her how much you care for her everyday but you don’t even know what that means. That you care for her. You don’t have any words yet, as you reach forward and swipe a stray hair from her face.

She sighs in her sleep, scooting closer but her grip loosens. Freeing you to finally get the day started but you continue to stay there, for just one moment more. Every breath you take with her reminds you that each day is now yours. A hopeful thought as you rise out of the bed, ensuring the blankets keep Wanda nestled in their comforting warmth in your absence.

Sneaking back inside, you hear her starting to wake up as shake the chill from your bones and the snow from your feet. The smell of coffee fills the house and you ensure her coffee is made exactly to her liking. As the fire begins to reawaken with the logs you feed it, you place Wanda’s mug onto the bedside table.

“Are you still alive?”

There’s a muffled groan and a half asleep voice comes from within the pillow, “Depends who’s asking,”

You crouch down in front of her, swirling the coffee underneath her nose. She scrunches it, much to your amusement.

“I’m asking.”

She grins, trying to hold down her giggle, “Then no,”

You roll your eyes, “Oh come on. I see that little grin. You’re not even trying to hide it!”

Wanda looks out through one eye at you. She grins at your smile, the first sight of the day and you feel the warmth it sends through your chest.

“Oooo, coffee?”

“Yeah, you know. To hide the morning breath,” you grin as you take a sip of yours.

Her hand comes from beneath the sheets in a sneak attack, slapping your arm, “Yours is way worse.” That attacking hand reaches out again, this time grabbing your shirt and pulling you to her, “C’mere.”

You quickly place your mug on the bedside table before you’re both burned and you get lost in her kisses. You chuckle into her lips as she rolls to try and keep her lips on yours as you climb over her and clamber back underneath the covers. You flop onto your stomach, still halfway on top of her as she lazily runs her fingers around the back of your thigh.

“You fixed the heater, didn’t you?”

You make a noise of affirmation, eyes feeling heavy in this warmth. She runs her cold hand up your shirt, a perfect contrast as you feel her fingers trace the scars on your body.

“Wasn’t it cold?”

You shrug and then tense when you feel her lips touch your skin. Her kisses press against your scars all along your body.

“If I could,” her breath brushes against your skin, “I would kiss these all away.”

Wanda presses a kiss against your cheek and her hair falls over you in a soft curtain as she lays next to you.

“I’m glad for them,” you murmur into the pillow, your eyes still closed as her nose gently strokes yours.

Her brows clench softly, “Really?” she whispers and you slowly open your eyes.

“They got me here,” you say and see her grin, fingers stroking down your face, “Good morning.”

She raises her brows, “Indeed. How’d you sleep?”

You hum out, feeling her kiss your nose, “Did I snore?” Wanda nods and you feel it. You chuckle, “Then I slept perfectly. It was a long night though.

She chuckles and sits up, wrapping herself in the hoodie you laid on the comforter for her and you open your eyes to her sipping on her coffee.

“Last day on mission,” she whispers, blowing against the steam of her drink.

You make a noise, disappointed that it’s the truth.

“How do you think everyone will take it after hearing about this?”

You sigh, “I say we just don’t say anything. How about that?”

She nods, staring into her coffee, “What happened in a snowed in cabin stays in a snowed in cabin?”

“Oh no,” you chuckle and squeeze the pillow, “I think we have a few things to talk about,” Your voice was light and joking but Wanda’s fingers stopped tracing along your arm, her eyes looking straight past you.

Wanda breathes in carefully, “Jokes aside, we do have to talk this through don’t we? I… I meant it when I said you can’t leave.”

You lean forward, pressing your lips against her fingers, “I told you I had nowhere to go. But we’re already having the talk?”

She rolls her eyes, “You know, I don’t think you blaming being a mercenary for making you single is true. It’s just a talk, coward.”

You sigh, feeling her leg rest on top of yours, “I just slept with the strongest Avenger. I’m impervious to your insults.”

“Flattery isn’t going to get you out of this.”

“But,” you grin over at her, “It doesn’t hurt, does it?” And you’re right, your grin growing as you watch her nose scrunch and her cheeks grow red.

The way she looks at you, the shock that jolts through you each time you see her and the flipping of your stomach when you hear her voice. It feels like it should be obvious what you should be feeling right now. But something feels wrong. Something inside of you is keeping you from latching onto her with no regrets and complete devotion. Something pushes you away and as she looks down at you, you know she can see it. She can see you.

With a silent nod, Wanda brushes back some of your hair, “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there. For now,” Lips press against yours as you breathe in deeply, “Thank you for fixing the heater.”

You hum out, feeling her fingers start their tracing once again and start to lull you back into a comfortable sleep. They trace over your scars and you just sink deeper into the bed, knowing you’ve told her about almost all of them on your body by now. But her finger runs against a rather new, raised gash. Over and over again, inspecting it with a careful stare.

“That’s the one I gave you isn’t it?”

Chuckling, you glance behind your shoulder and point to a jagged gash on the side of your thigh, you remember your thigh was ripped to shreds that mission, “I’m surprised you didn’t go for this one.”

“Please,” Wanda rolls her eyes, “I’m humble.”

You hum, “That’s the one. A little to the left and you would’ve caught my artery. Talk about messy.”

She makes an intrigued sound but leans over to kiss it before sliding beneath the covers, “I thought about it.”

“I’m sure you did,” you press a soft kiss to her lips as she squeezes the pillow to her liking, “I’m glad you didn’t do it.”

“So am I,” she whispers, but you know there’s no period at the end of that sentence. There’s something eating at her still as her hand glides down your arm and the other settles beneath her head. Her fingers gently wrap around yours and your thumb slowly strokes along the top of her hand, an action you don’t even think about until you’re already doing it.

You stay silent. Raising your brow gently, waiting for her to speak. You hope it won’t take long because you can feel yourself sinking into the bed as you let out a quiet yawn.

“Do you hurt?” she whispers and you stare, waiting. “I don’t mean pain but your past. Does it hurt you?”

Taking in a deep sigh, you ponder for a moment and glance away with a burning feeling of shame for how you’ve lived your life, “Now that I've truly looked at it, I suppose it does.”

“Do you regret it?”

You pick your eyes up and stare into her, finding no judgment in those emerald eyes as she offers you more time to think, “Being a mercenary?”

You breathe in slowly, jaw clenching and grasp on her hand growing ever so slightly tighter. “It’s hard to regret something you didn’t choose. This… it was all I knew.”

“But if the choice had been yours, what would you have done instead? Could learn any trade? Would you be a farmer?” A smile expands on her face as she realizes something, scooting closer into you, “An astrologist?”

You chuckle, remembering the chilly night on that cold bench, “Maybe I could find the Little Dipper.”

Wanda laughs, a sound so heavenly and sweet but her eyes intently wait for your answer. And you give her one.

“But if I ever thought of being something else… Something that… I’m not. It happened so long ago. I don't remember.” Your voice is getting lower as your eyes grow heavier. Your body is so calm. You don’t know if you’ve ever truly relaxed as much as you have in this moment, “Did you dream of being a hero?”

Wanda thinks for a moment but soon the answer finds her, “I didn’t have much choice either.”

You turn your head more towards her, letting out a soft sigh, “Did you always want a family like this?”

“I lost my family,” her green eyes glance away from you, thinking of what could’ve been, “And I found another but… I dreamed of becoming important to someone. One day.”

The battle has been lost as your eyes fall, a hum coming from deep within your throat. A chuckle gently pulls you back for a moment,

“Do I bore you?”

You open your eyes slowly, seeing the humor in Wanda’s eyes. You grin, eyes closing once again when you see she isn’t angry, “Of course not. I’m just listening better.”

She laughs, fingers just skimming your arm and leaving behind a radiating feeling with each pass, “Have you ever been in love? Been important to someone?”

You sigh, clutching your pillow tighter as you wonder if this would be the moment, “I thought I was, That scar on my chest is… well, I thought wrong. And the knife proved it. Never could let my guard down again.”

Wanda hums quietly, brushing the hair from your face and resting her hand on your forearm. Seeing just how much of your guard was let down right now, on a mission of all places. Gently, you open your eyes and look at her. A soft stare as her blown out pupils look to you, fingers running down and over the scar you mentioned. So vulnerable, she could kill you without a single thought. But all you feel is warmth. And you wish to let her know.

“Before we met, my days were planned down to the hour. They were calm. My nights were restless, gathering enough energy to go get through the day. Sleeping on floors,” you grin lightly but her eyes haven’t left your half exhausted face, “But now, my days…”

The world around you is losing physical form as your consciousness starts to slip away and so does your control on your tongue, “… You’re important to me.”

As you start to relax into dreams, you can feel a cold touch on your skin. Running across your forehead, you relax the wrinkles between your brows as the chill touch slides down the bridge of your nose. It rests on your jaw, a soft caressing along your cheek as you let out a soft sigh. Warm breath washes over your face and you feel the smallest grinning kiss press against your cheek.

“The past has passed,” she whispers against your skin, “Let’s stay in right now.”

As her fingers trace along your body, it’s just you and her, and there’s nothing more you want. She’s everything. And you know exactly why your heart flutters each time her eyes find you, why your skin burns every moment her cold hands touch you. Whenever she’s near, you were right where you needed to be. And right now, it all became crystal clear.

You didn’t need the night to be alive anymore. You could live on your own. But Wanda in the morning time makes you glad you’re still alive.

———————Chapter 17

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johannestevans · 7 months

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Workplace Connections

Romance short. A junior secretary makes a friend at work, and some more besides.

10k, rated M, F/F. A young woman makes friends with one of the only male secretaries in her workplace. 1960s Manhattan, featuring lavender marriages, period queerness, misogyny, etc. Light-hearted age gap cheeriness.

Read on Patreon / / Read on Medium.

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Elsa had considered herself lucky to work in an office like this one. A lot of the girls she went to college with went on to get fancy jobs in the city, but hers is almost certainly the fanciest – she works up so high in a Manhattan skyscraper, after all, and because the company trades in a lot of different materials, she gets nice perks on top of her pay packet.

Silk scarves, in May – she has different ones for every day of the week, made to match her different dresses; she likes to match her earrings to her hairpins, too, and colour them altogether.

It’s sort of expected of you in an office like this, to be well put together, to not just be capable and adept at typing, but… pretty. And Elsa might not be the prettiest girl in the world, but she’s pretty enough, especially the way she dresses, the way she puts her face on.

Some of the girls even ask her for fashion advice from time to time in the office, which is nice – not because she’s particularly on trend, but because she’s got such a good eye for colour and detail. A lot of them are trying to find husbands, want to get married to one of the executives or to a client, at this office or another.

There are handsome men in the office, she supposes – Elsa doesn’t know she’s ever had much of an eye for handsome men before seeing the details in their faces, their clothes.

Her boss, Mr Lockwood, would perhaps be handsome if he weren’t so cold and miserable all the time, was perhaps more handsome when he was a younger man – in any case, even the least attractive men in the office are balanced out by their secretaries. This is a sales office, after all: it’s all about marketability, at its core. She knows no one would want to hear all that feminist talk, but it’s about the status symbol of a beautiful woman on your desk, representing you – you’re selling her and she’s selling you, almost, an additional tactic.

Most of the men in the office have beautiful secretaries, anyway – Mr Garvey doesn’t. He’s a red-faced, unpleasant man, cold, and he disapproves of women so much you’d almost think he cared about the feminist angle too, but really, he just hated them, Elsa thought.

He’s never had a woman for his secretary, the girls say, and he absolutely won’t have one – his secretary is called Jasper, and he’s one of the only male secretaries Elsa knows. They’re more common in some industries than others, she’s heard.

Jasper is handsome, but in a plain, forgettable way – he has dark hair, thin pink lips that naturally turn to a frown when his face is resting, brown eyes. His eyelashes are lighter than the chestnut of his hair and eyebrows, and the golden tint in them catches the light at times.

He’s not a pretty face or a sweet voice or the phone, and some clients and coworkers are actually disappointed to work with his boss, make playful comments about how they’re missing out when they meet him instead of “one of the girls”. People mistake him for one of the executives, at times, which he shrugs off.

The other girls don’t always know how to deal with him, the rest of the secretarial pool. He’s one of the more senior and experienced of them, knows a few tricks of the trade, is extraordinarily capable – and if one of them asks for his voice, if they’re in a hurry and want to avoid flirting, or if they need to make a call and know that a woman calling won’t be taken seriously, Jasper will call up on their behalf, even read off a card if they want him to.

Not every day – not every week, even – but sometimes, he’ll do it.

“Happy to,” he always says. “What else am I for?”

Elsa’s having a bad day when she comes into the kitchenette frazzled and exhausted, sweating in her Wednesday dress and with a tear on the cuff of her blouse that her hands are shaking too much to fix – maybe from lack of sleep, or from too much coffee, or just anxiety.

Mr Lockwood’s been riding her hard today. He’s going to lose an account, he thinks, and he’s taking it out on her, keeps changing his mind about how he wants letters written, what tone to use, what calls to make. He’d just slammed his hand onto the desk beside her typewriter, demanding he get one in a different font set, and she’s got to go and get another before he comes back from lunch.

Jasper is sitting alone at the table, smoking a cigarette and idly paging through a magazine. It’s a woman’s magazine. All the magazines in the secretaries’ kitchenette are women’s magazines, and he never complains.

It’s a bit odd. He’s a bit off. Some of the girls think he might be wrong, somehow. Why else would a man take a job like this in an office like this one?

“Just you?” she asks. Her voice sounds thick from crying, and she stifles a sniffle, feels the snot thick in her nose.

“Anita’s birthday – most of the girls on the floor went out with her to Kiplings’. I expect you can still catch them up.”

She doesn’t say anything, pouring tea.

“Are you going to repair that tear?” he asks. He has a sort of cold, quiet voice – most of the men in the office are either warm and flirty, charismatic, or they bark and bluster. All of them are louder than Jasper is. He only ever puts more volume in his voice when he’s on the phone – ordinarily he speaks very quietly, deliberately.

She doesn’t know why, but him asking that is the straw that breaks the camel’s proverbial back – she bursts into tears, letting out a wail, burying her face in her hands.

“Oh, dear,” says Jasper in that toneless, detached way of his, and stubs out his cigarette.

Elsa’s grateful that Mr Lockwood had gone out to lunch with two of his partners, that there’s no chance of him coming to find her until at least three o’clock.

Jasper takes her gently, his palms gripping her upper arms, and guides her to sit. She watches powerlessly as he finishes pouring tea for her, putting in the sweetener she uses before she asks, and as she tries desperately to pull herself together, he opens up another drawer and pulls out the sewing kit.

It’s the communal one, and all the threads are put away messily, the needles shoved into one little cushion that’s smaller than a golf ball and splitting apart at the seams.

“My mother would tell you there’s never much point in crying over a man,” Jasper tells her as he scoots his chair closer and sinks down into it. She’s in parallel to him now, and she sniffles as he pushes the hem of her cuff up, sliding the needle through the fabric and smoothly beginning to sew it neatly together with surgical confidence.

“Have you done this before?” she asks.

“I take dictation and read fashion magazines,” he says mildly. “Is it such a stretch of the imagination that I also know how to sew open a tear in a woman’s sleeve?”

After a pause, because every retort she can think to that is too rude, she says, “I’m not crying over a man.”

“I suppose Mr Lockwood isn’t much of one,” says Jasper, and she laughs and cries at the same time, a shudder going through her.

“He thinks he’s going to lose the Sachs account.”

“He is. Roux Gold’s new brother-in-law owns a sawmill – family trumps a business connection every time.”

She hadn’t known that, and she stares into space as Jasper finishes sewing up the tear with a neat flourish of his wrist, trimming off the excess thread and then putting the needle back. She can barely see where he’s sewn it, the white thread matched to the fabric colour.

Mr Lockwood has been muttering angrily about deals and prices and inventory and logistics, and he’s never once mentioned that Roux Gold’s gotten married, or that it might impact his situation.

“He can’t keep it?” she asks.

“Not unless he marries into the family as well, no, but he has to appear to try. Just let it wash over you, Elsa. Let the man tantrum as he pleases.”

“It’s not a tantrum,” she manages to say, wiping her eyes, and Jasper nudges her tea toward her and she picks it up, drinking from it. It’s too hot. She swallows. “He’s stressed.”

Jasper stares at her blankly as he relights his cigarette. He can make his eyes go so dead, when he wants to.

“Don’t cry over a man, Elsabeth Lorne,” says Jasper quietly, “but don’t you go making excuses for one either. Least of all a substandard boss.”

“He isn’t—”

“Yes, he is. He’ll be gone by September anyway – the Sachs account is his third loss this quarter. I shouldn’t be surprised if he loses a few more in the meantime.”

“But it’s not his fault,” she hears herself say almost reflexively.

“The Sachs account isn’t, I’ll grant you,” says Jasper, tapping the butt of his cigarette and sprinkling ash into the tray. He has pretty hands, pale, with manicured fingernails with pink beds. “The others were. Weather the storm, as I told you. Once he’s gone, Eva will move you onto someone better – your work is very good, and Anja on Paul Vine’s desk is getting married in August. It might line up nicely that you take over his desk.”

“Mr Vine’s?” she asks. “But he’s so much higher up than Mr Lockwood.”

“And you’re a good secretary,” Jasper tells her in blunt, even tones, as if he’s irritated she would doubt it, or show any sort of modesty for her skill or position. “You’re neat, well-organised, keen. You’re very adept and highly adaptable – flexible.”

“But today I—”

“You’re crying today because you’ve been asked, I’m guessing very unreasonably, to do the impossible,” says Jasper. “When the impossible is expected of you, it’s hardly up to you to meet expectations. Understandable, as well, to have a bit of a cry.”

She looks down at her lap. “Why are you here?” she asks. “Why do you work here?”

“Is this your coy way of asking how much more money I make than you?”

“What? No!”

He chuckles softly, and she feels her cheeks burn as she stares at him, indignant, as if she’d ask that. As if she would.

“Why are you a secretary, I meant,” she mutters. “And part of the pool here. When you could be like one of the men.”

“Am I not one of the men?” he asks. His voice is very deliberate, just like everything about him is deliberate, but more so in this moment even than usual. Suddenly she feels very ashamed.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Of course you did.” He takes a drag from his cigarette, and offers her one from his case, which is made of brass and has roses carved into the metal. She shakes her head, and he clicks it shut. “It’s a sensible question. Why would I be a secretary when secretaries make so much less money than the men they serve? Why would I do women’s work when to do so is to invite mockery? Why would I drop myself in the midst of women rather than doing serious, men’s work?”

There’s something sardonic about how he says it, the words blistering with irony. She doesn’t know anyone alive who talks with such disdain for men as Jasper Hackett is right now – and it’s for them, Elsa thinks. He’s not angry at her for asking, just hates the question, hates the world that makes her ask it.

“I lack the stomach for masculinity,” he says, gesturing with one graceful hand, his cigarette a moving glow. “I don’t well-digest red meat, either.”

“You don’t like other men.”

“I suppose not.”

“Not even Mr Garvey?”

Jasper smiles at her.

Mr Garvey is the Chief of Accounts and one of the senior partners. He’s terrifying, so square it’s like they made him at the canning factory before they tailored his suits for him. Some of the girls joke that he wouldn’t let women in the building at all if he could.

“No one at all likes Mr Garvey, young lady,” says Jasper mildly. “Barring his wife, perhaps, and even her affections can’t be taken as given. But I do appreciate his severity, I suppose – one knows where one stands, no politics, no nonsense. No masculine posturing.”

Elsa is quiet, reaching up and touching the new stitching on her sleeve.

“Might I ask you a question now, or is this a one-sided interview?” Jasper asks, and she feels her brow furrow, her nose wrinkling slightly as she looks warily across the table at him. “Have you eaten?”

“Not yet.”

“Have you brought something?”

“A salad.”

“Good.” The way he says it, it’s less like praise and more like a verbal check mark – he says it in the same tone he does after receiving an affirmative in a meeting. Brisk, business-like, in-motion.

“How did you tear your sleeve?”

“I caught it.”

“Obviously. On what?”

“One of the shelves in the stationery cupboard. There’s a loose nail.”

Jasper frowns, and as she watches, he takes a notebook out of his suit pocket and makes a note, probably to tell the janitor. “Are you certain you don’t want to catch the girls up to join them?” he asks as he writes it down.

“I’ll just cry more,” says Elsa. “It’ll embarrass me. Maybe later. Why don’t you go?”

“I’m not man enough for the men in this building,” Jasper says with a shrug. “But I’m too much of a man for a girls’ lunch.”

Elsa’s instinct is to argue with him, for some reason, or try to somehow comfort him, although she doesn’t really know what he needs comforting for. She doesn’t know what he means exactly by that, about not being man enough. He’s the one who’s become a secretary, who wants to sit outside the boardrooms and take dictation rather than be inside them making presentations, or going out to dinner with his coworkers, with the other men.

Maybe it’s the culture.

Some men don’t like it, she knows, the “culture” – they don’t like to drink or go out with girls because they’re already married, or shy, or disinterested. The men get to opt out of it, or go home to their wives, and leave.

She doesn’t get to opt out. None of them do, really.

She hates the way they look at her sometimes, the men in the office, hates the hungry stares and the up-and-down flickering looks, the hands on her back, her waist, touching her cheeks, her neck, playing with her hair. It’s not as if it’s just the men in the office – it’s the men in the world. She just works here.

She’s not Mr Lockwood’s type, and it feels, sometimes—

Well.

Sometimes, the way he snaps at her, the precise way he raises his voice, it feels like he’s angry at her for not being what he likes, for not being pretty in the way he enjoys, the way he would enjoy. It feels like he’s angry that he doesn’t want her, and blames her for it.

She goes on dates, sometimes. Some of the girls live for it, the dates with clients or with copywriters, with the accounts execs, with the accountants. They talk about it like it’s a game – she feels less like a player and more like a poker chip, bet and played on the table.

Jasper is one of the only men her age in the office – well, he’s a bit older, thirty-something, but not forty or fifty – where talking to him doesn’t feel like it might turn around on her, like it might become a date.

That’s why the girls think he’s off, maybe. It feels dishonest, like there’s a trap there, somehow.

“Does it make you—” Elsa starts, and then she stops herself, not wanting to speak out of turn, not when she already feels like she’s made things mortifying for herself, when Jasper’s seen her cry, and now that’s what he’ll think of her whenever he sees her, sees her work.

“Hmm?” he prompts her.

“Did you eat lunch?” she asks.

They say he doesn’t, sometimes. She’s heard the girls gossiping about it in the break room or in the corridors, that he’s just like them in some ways. That he skips meals, that he likes to keep trim – and he is that. He’s got sharp cheekbones, and you can tell when he’s been more stressed out than usual, because he eats fewer meals, because the hollows show more in his cheeks.

He smokes more. Eats less.

“Mr Garvey is in one of his moods,” says Jasper.

It’s not that she doesn’t get the connotation – she hears that it’s negative, just that Garvey has so many negative moods that it’s hard to narrow down the estimation.

“Do you ever cry at work?” she asks. It’s half a joke, but his smile is wry when he shows it.

“Not anymore,” he says evenly, seriously. “When I was young, I did, now and then. Younger than you, I mean – at twenty, twenty-one. When I started.”

“Right out of college?”

“Yes.”

“Did you go to a woman’s college, too?” She winces at the words as they come out of her mouth, but he laughs again, doesn’t seem offended. She likes his laugh – it’s throaty and has a hoarse quality to it, maybe from the cigarettes. It’s not as deep as some men’s, but it’s not high either. No one would ever mistake him for a woman on the phone.

“I went to a secretarial school, yes.”

“Was your class all girls?”

“Mostly.”

“Does Mr Garvey treat you like he’d treat a woman?”

“Spit on me and tell me not to spike my heels into his carpet? Only when I find him in a jubilant mood.”

It shocks a laugh out of her, one of her hands over her mouth. He’s starting another cigarette, tapping it on his case before lighting the cigarettes head to head.

“You’re terrible,” she says.

“I am,” Jasper agrees, catty and just a little smug. “And I don’t know. Mr Garvey is a passionate misogynist but his hatred of women is more to do with his religious nature. Men have sex with women – ergo, men see women, and think of sex. In Mr Garvey’s mind, the mere presence of a woman stirs men to distraction. He doesn’t want people to think of sex in the office.”

“Well, I don’t want people to think of sex in the office,” she mutters, and she lowers her voice as she says the word, almost whispers it. She looks behind her shoulder to see if anyone else is there, but it’s just them. She doesn’t know that she should engage him on these terms at all. He speaks bluntly about the subject in a way that makes her nervous.

“No,” Jasper agrees. “Nor I, really. But Mr Garvey’s methods aren’t fantastic, and in any case, without revealing myself as a feminist, Elsa, women are more than a reminder of sex on legs.” He trails off, gesturing broadly with his cigarette, and then says, “He doesn’t treat me like many of the other men treat you girls, no. He doesn’t pat me on the backside or flirt with me, or fuss over my appearance – doesn’t scream at me in the same way some people do their secretaries, or nitpick my work so. Kimberley says I’m one of our best clerks, but honestly, I’m middling.

“They might not like my company, Elsabeth, but because I’m a man, our esteemed coworkers assume I must be better at my job, particularly my figures and so forth. And because I’m a man, my work isn’t constantly interrupted with male attention and attempts at my seduction – or just the distraction of someone staring at me while I’m trying to get things done.”

She sips at her tea, digesting that for a moment. “I never thought about that,” she admits. “All the time it takes up. Obviously, I know it… But I never thought about it in terms of minutes.”

It’s a lot, in the day. It’s more than minutes, in the day – it’s an hour, at least. Multiple, probably.

“I’m relatively invisible, of course,” he adds. “Being noticed, observed, in one thing in small doses, but a stressor when constant.”

She doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t ask, “Do you ever feel like a zoo animal, or perhaps a farm animal up on the butcher’s block?” because, she supposes, he knows enough that he doesn’t have to.

“I wish I could be invisible,” she says. She’s astonished by the weight of the envy in her voice.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’d hide you if I could.” He taps a little more ash from the head of his cigarette. “What made you choose secretarial work as your profession?”

She thinks about the question for a moment, wonders how honest she should be. That’s the thing about working in an office like this one. You’re meant to be honest, but not too honest.

When people ask, “How are you?” they don’t really want to know – you’re meant to make the right small talk, and talk about things without really talking about things, talking around them instead. It’s the same thing about who you are. What you’re meant to say, how you’re meant to behave.

Dressing as neatly as she does, as perfectly, is as close to being invisible as she can get – because she never has a detail out of place, and because she keeps her clothes in uniform, men don’t have anything new to comment on. She feels an additional surge of gratitude for Jasper fixing her sleeve.

“You can be honest,” Jasper says.

People usually mean it as a trap when they say a thing like that in this building – no one can really be honest in sales, unless the honesty is cover for a lie. Somehow, it feels different with him. She feels a sort of kinship with him.

“I could make more money here than in a factory,” she says. “Much more.” It’s true, and she regularly says it, and often it makes people laugh, but Jasper doesn’t. He nods his head in understanding.

“Much more,” he echoes.

“I took a typing course in high school. My English teacher said I’d be good, streamlined the process for me.”

“That was why you went?”

“I think so,” she says quietly. “I just didn’t really know what to do. More school was easy – I was good at school. And then I came out east with a girl from home, we got a place together. I work here – she works across town.”

“In sales?”

“In insurance. She says it’s a better office to find a husband in, that the men are less flighty, more reliable.”

“One can count on an insurance man to be risk-aware and sensible with his investments, I suppose.”

“How will you find a wife?” she asks, and he glances up from where he was looking at the tabletop, his eyebrows raising slightly. “I mean, would you— would you marry another secretary? Meet someone here at work, like we do? Or…?”

“You don’t listen to the office gossip, do you?” he asks. “Or you do, but you don’t understand it, exactly. Not sure why it matters, nor where it comes from, what spurs it on, what turns those wheels. Why ever does it matter so much, what they talk about? Why do they treat it with such gravity, these little faux pas, the arguments, the seemingly insignificant remarks?”

Her stomach flips, and she’s aware that her expression has crumpled.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he says softly, getting to his feet. “It’s not my intention to bait you or to be cruel to you. I’m not looking for a wife, young lady.”

“You’re, um…” She trails off. She’s heard people joke about it. Laugh about it. Not about Jasper, just— Just in general.

“You’re that way?” she ends up asking.

“I’m already married,” says Jasper. Her gaze drops to his hands, looking for a wedding ring she knows isn’t there. In response to her dropping eyes, he pulls out a chain from under his shirt, a ring shining on it, and says, “I don’t wear a wrist watch either.”

She swallows hard around the lump in her throat, suddenly so embarrassed she feels she could burst into tears, and he pulls his shirt forward by the tie, dropping the chain and ring back under his collar.

“Oh,” she says. “I’m— I’m so sorry, Mr Hackett, for, for saying—”

Jasper smiles at her, and steps out of the room.

* * *

Elsa doesn’t understand why he’s never mentioned it to the girls. She’s heard them say it, heard them call him a single man or joke about what he’d be looking for in a wife. Anja had once joked that he was probably hoping some man will mistake him for a girl and take him home as a bride.

All the girls had laughed and then gone hushed and quiet, but some of them had giggled for ages afterward, kept nudging each other and tittering when he went by.

“It’s illegal for a reason,” Joanie Eames had said at the bar. “Like having sex with farm animals.”

Elsa doesn’t know that it’s exactly the same, but she knows it’s wrong, that it’s a depravity of the worst sort, that those sorts of people are dangerous, ugly inside. She feels bad for thinking Jasper might be one of them, for letting herself assume, for saying it. She’s lucky he was so unmoved by it, that he just found it funny.

They used to tease her at school about it, for being the way she is – too literal, too naïve. “Don’t you know anything?” used to ring in her ears on the walk home, she’d heard it so often.

“He’s married, you know,” she says the next time Anja says it after Jasper had come into the break room to pin a note about typewriter repair policy on the board, her talking about how lightly he walked in his loafers.

He wears Oxfords, anyway, not loafers.

“What?”

The girls all go quiet, staring at her, and Anja felt like she’d been spot lit – she was normally in the background, in amongst the crowd of them, not looked at or stared at like she’s being stared at now.

“Jasper Hackett,” she says. “He’s married. He just wears his ring on a chain.”

“Why would he do that?” demands Anja, looking suddenly angry, little pink marks appearing at the tops of her cheeks, because she never has a full blush. “How do you know?”

“Oh, he just mentioned it,” says Elsa, trying to sound casual. “He doesn’t wear a watch, either.”

She wonders if she shouldn’t have said anything, because at the end of the day when Jasper comes out of Mr Garvey’s office and there’s six of them all crowded together, Anja calls him out.

“Hey, Jasper!” she says in that sweet, bubbly voice she has.

“Something I can help you with, dear?” asks Jasper in an even sweeter voice than hers is, so fine and cutting you could probably use it like those wires they cut ham with.

Anja falters, blinking. “I just wanted to ask,” she says. “What’s your wife called?”

Jasper smiles, and it’s a very polite smile, his eyes flittering over the group of them. His gaze locks with Elsa’s for a second, and she almost mouths, “Sorry,” but doesn’t.

“Linda,” he says lightly.

“You don’t have a picture of her on your desk,” Anja says.

“I don’t, I’ve never cared for cluttering a workspace,” Jasper says. “In any case, I well recall what she looks like, I don’t need a reminder. I see her very often.”

Anja doesn’t seem to know what to say to that, so Joanie asks, “What’s she like?”

“She’s tall, two inches taller than me, in fact. She has a beautiful head of hair, a lovely chestnut shade – not like mine, it’s got a shine to it, a bit more red. She’s a very impassioned speaker, an academic. She’s a research assistant over at City College.”

He waits for a few seconds, his expression anticipant, one eyebrow raised, until Joanie says – sort of impotently, “She sounds lovely.”

Jasper says, “She is! Night night, girls,” and moves off down the corridor.

“He walks like a woman,” Anja remarks once he’s out of earshot.

Elsa doesn’t know that he does, but he does walk gracefully, with a kind of flow. Maybe he is light in his Oxfords. She isn’t sure exactly what that means.

* * *

Jasper, some weeks later, comes by Elsa’s desk just before lunchtime, and says, “Would you like to join my wife and I for dinner this evening?”

She stares up at him, her fingers hovering over her keyboard.

“She keeps a kosher kitchen, if that makes the offer more appealing.”

“I haven’t been keeping kosher since I left home,” she admits guiltily. “But that sounds nice. Should I bring anything?”

“Just your fine self and a smile. The smile isn’t even mandatory, if it’s hard to keep up.”

She’s in a bad mood by the end of the day, feeling maudlin and sorry for herself – Mr Lockwood had actually shouted at her, had screamed so loudly that the walls had rattled, and only because she’d asked which Mr Smith he wanted something sending to, because he hadn’t been clear.

All the girls have been so nice to her all day, have been a bit gentler than usual and more sympathetic – several of them regularly refer to Mr Lockwood as a short straw, and they say she’s good to be so patient with him.

Jasper is just covering his typewriter as she goes up to his desk, and Mr Garvey steps out of his office, where Jasper stands to help him on with his coat.

Mr Garvey gives Elsa an ireful look, and she’s in such a poor mood she just stares back at him.

It’s beginning to rain outside, and Mr Garvey surprises Elsa by asking Jasper in gruff tones, “Do you want me to drive you two to the station?”

“No, thank you, Mr Garvey, I have an umbrella. Safe home.”

Garvey mutters something incomprehensible and stalks out.

“Come,” Jasper tells her as he pulls on his own coat and belts it shut over his suit. “I’m only a few stops away, on the same line, and it’s not too much of a walk.”

“Do we have to pick anything up?”

“There’s a bakery across the street from us, but that’s more a siren call than anything.”

“It must be hard,” Elsa says as they step into the lift. “With both of you working – to get groceries and so on.”

“Lina works four days a week, which does help,” Jasper says. “But yes, we’re often reliant on friends to fit some things into the schedule.”

He calls the lift operator by name when they leave, who bids them good night, and Elsa walks beside him into the street and follows his lead toward the subway.

“How long have you been married?”

“Ten years next November.”

“Ten years… You got married young?”

“Twenty-seven isn’t so young.”

“You’re thirty-seven!?”

Jasper blinks, and she looks away, because not only was he surprised, but several people had looked over.

“I thought you were— Well. I didn’t know you were so old.”

“So old,” Jasper repeats, huffing out a soft laugh. “Kind of you to say.”

“Sorry.”

“I’ve made my peace with my youthful features – I looked damn neat pre-pubescent in my early twenties. You’re twenty-two?”

“Twenty-three next month. I feel old.”

“Do you indeed? Why’s that?”

“All the girls are right out of school.”

“Ah. Not world-weariness, just comparison.”

She doesn’t normally ride this line of the subway, and she sits beside Jasper and looks at all the different people, careful not to keep her gaze on anybody for too long. She wants to look without being looked at, without being talked to. No one talks to her – at one point, a man glances over at her and she shifts immediately, wondering if he’s going to come over as his glance becomes a stare and he keeps concentrated on her.

She can feel the weight of his eyes on her face, feel them come down to her body, and in her periphery she sees him shift on his feet—

Jasper leans toward her and starts talking about something Jackie Kennedy said on the radio as if resuming a conversation, and she’s so surprised she doesn’t even realise the man has got up and left until they’re at their stop and they both stand to their feet.

“How do you know to do that?” she asks as they walk up the steps and into the street again. There’s no line at the bakery, and Jasper points out some pastries, buys them and a loaf of bread as well.

“Do what?” he asks.

“You do it with the girls at work sometimes too,” she says. “One of the guys will be flirting with her, and you’ll distract him, or ask if she’ll go and do something for you. Or you’ll just stand in the way and he just… won’t.”

“Men respect other men in a way they don’t women,” says Jasper. “My experience of that is diluted for the sort of man I am, granted, but I’m still a man. Linda and I met in a similar situation – we rode the same train, men were always bothering her. I started standing in the way.”

“So you could marry her instead,” she says with a slight challenge in her voice, and he laughs as he takes the package from the baker, thanking him in Yiddish – the whole conversation was. It’s been a while. She never hears it at work, maybe the occasional “oy”, but nothing else.

It’s not classy enough for the men in the office, the big clients.

“Believe it or not, we knew each other three years before all that. We talked on the train sometimes, and then she used to invite me to parties, and I’d go along with her. One morning, she said she was tired of her roommates bickering with her. She said we should get married.”

Elsabeth stares at him, at the faint smile on his face as they cross the street.

“She did?”

“Oh, yes. I thought she was joking, but she had a whole presentation prepared and she laid it out. A very strong public speaker, my wife, even when her public amounts to one easily convinced man.”

“So you got married then?”

“A few months after our discussion. We’ve been living her since, and we have two cats together. You’re not allergic, are you?”

“No, no. What about children?”

“Oh, we haven’t got room for that,” Jasper says casually. “My mother-in-law gifted us a bassinet, but it doesn’t go unused. Ido and Noam barely share it already without fighting an infant for space as well.”

Elsa thinks about this for a moment. She’s never really imagined being nearly forty and not having children at all. It’s always felt like there’s a sort of ticking clock on her life, until she has to give it over to a man’s children – children that have to be hers as well, but they never really feel like that in her head.

“You don’t want any?”

“Not particularly, no. Parenthood isn’t for everybody.”

“Isn’t it?” she almost asks, but he’s leading her inside, and the question evaporates on her tongue as they step into the house and he eases off his shoes before he takes off his coat, so she copies him.

Linda isn’t home yet, the two of them alone in the house together.

She feels kind of stiff and uncertain, keeping her distance from Jasper as they hang up their hats and coats, as he steps through the living room and into the kitchen, beginning to wash his hands.

Ido and Noam are sitting either end of a shelf with their tails hanging down like bookends, peering at her.

“Where’s your wife?” Elsa asks, hearing the slight quaver in her voice as she walks toward the cats and reaches out her hand to one, letting it sniff her fingers. They’re both huge, fierce-looking animals, muscular with dark, shaggy coats and strong facial features. They’re almost dog-sized really, and she’s surprised the shelf doesn’t creak under their weight.

“On her way home, I’d hope,” Jasper calls from the kitchen. “Linda is less punctual than I am, I’m afraid – timeliness is not one of her virtues.”

She wonders if she’s made a mistake, coming to Jasper Hackett’s apartment, to a man’s apartment, alone with him. No one even knows she’s here except for the cats, and maybe Mr Garvey, and Mr Garvey hates women – would he even care if something happened to her? Would he even notice? It could be his wife doesn’t even know. It could be that he doesn’t even have a wife, that Linda’s made up and she’s here, in a man’s flat, alone, just them.

Her heart is beating faster in her chest.

She turns to look around the rest of the flat, and she feels a bit more nervous when she looks and looks and doesn’t see photographs of the two of them together, just art on the walls, and a lot of books.

Her mouth is dry as she steps into the middle of the living room to look into the kitchen without stepping closer. As she looks, she sees that Jasper has stripped off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves, that he’s chopping vegetables.

Elsa’s never seen a man cook before outside of a restaurant, and the knife moves fast, his movements neat and easy, well-practised and at-home with what he’s doing. She feels sick about it, the grip he has on the knife, the fact that he’s not even looking at her.

“Um,” she starts, her mouth dry. She feels a little faint. “Mr Hackett?”

“Goodness, girl, don’t call me that. Jasper is fine. Sorry, would you like a drink? There’s tea and coffee, a few cordials – let me get this mise-en-place finished, and I can make up some lemonade for you.” The wooden noises of the knife on the block keep sounding, and she wrings her hands in front of her belly, rehearsing excuses to leave on her tongue.

And then the door opens behind her and she lets out the breath she was holding, feels her body sag.

It tightens up again when the woman in question walks in, nudging the door closed behind her with her hip so she doesn’t have to put her bags down, and Elsa realises that Jasper Hackett is married to the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen.

Linda Hackett is an Amazon – when Jasper said she was tall, she hadn’t taken into account the idea that she would still wear high heels. Jasper is just under six feet tall, but Linda is past that. In her heels, she must be six feet and two. She has thick cascades of gently curling chestnut hair, warm in colour with golden red undertones and a healthy shine, deep red lips, dark eyes. She wears pants, yellow-beige plaid with her sleeveless blouse tucked into them, a cardigan around her shoulders and held in place with a chain.

“Ah,” she says when she lays eyes on Elsa. “You’re here, good.”

Elsabeth’s tongue feels frozen in her mouth, and she can’t make it work, can’t make herself say anything.

“You said she was shy,” Linda remarks to Jasper, and presses a bag of groceries into Elsa’s arms. “Unpack these.”

For some reason, Elsa’s cheeks blossom in a blush, and she obediently takes the bag, stumbling into the kitchen and setting it down on the counter. It’s a small kitchen, so she ends up back to back with Jasper as she unpacks it – some frozen things, some fruit, rather than things they’re eating tonight.

“How was work?” asks Jasper.

“I’m thinking of murdering one of the adjunct professors,” says Linda casually, leaning in so that Jasper can kiss her cheek, which he does without looking away from the vegetables he’s chopping.

“Only one?” Jasper asks in reply, and Elsa looks at the two of them side by side, at how Linda leans back against the kitchen counter and stands beside him as he chops, swiping a piece of bell pepper to chew and swallow. They look incredible, side-by-side like this – Jasper looks far more handsome, beside his wife, than he does on his own right. They sort of complement each other. “Elsabeth Lorne, meet Linda Hackett,” says Jasper.

“Hi,” Elsa croaks out, her voice breaking on the word.

Linda’s laugh is low and deep – her voice isn’t hoarse, but it has a resonance a lot of women’s don’t have, and it’s naturally far louder than her husband’s is.

“How was work for you?” asks Linda. Her shoulder gently nudges against Jasper’s, but her gaze is locked with Elsa’s. Her arms are crossed under her chest, and it’s— distracting.

“Sam is on a new blood pressure medication. He’s nervous about it – it’s making him quite antsy.”

“Taking it out on you?”

“No more than usual. He offered us a lift, actually, but I declined. I didn’t want poor Elsa here to receive the full force of his personality in such a small space.”

“Mr Garvey?” asks Elsa.

“He can be really lovely outside of the office,” says Linda.

“Really?”

“No.” She smiles as she says it, shifting her arms. She hasn’t got a low neckline, her blouse buttoned up to the neck, but even under the cardigan, Elsa can see how significant her chest is, how big her breasts are. It makes sense, with what a big woman she is, her broad shoulders and her tall frame, that her chest should be in proportion, but…

She feels like some sort of pervert for noticing, her lips quivering, the tops of her ears feeling hot as well as her cheeks.

Linda is lighting a cigarette, and before she takes a drag of it, she holds it to Jasper’s lips, letting him take a drag as he keeps prepping.

“He’s a prickly personality, even in the home,” says Linda. Her fingernails aren’t painted, but they’re beautifully manicured and buffed to a pink shine like Jasper’s are – she’s got quite short fingernails for a woman, doesn’t wear lacquer or have pointed nails. She probably types a lot herself at work. “God knows we’ve had our share of furious arguments over dinner here, Sam and I. But he means well, which is more than most.”

“What do you argue over?” Elsa asks.

Before Linda can answer, Jasper says, “Those two fight over everything. If Linda said the sky was blue, Sam Garvey would be about ready to insist it was green.”

“He’s an awful prick,” says Linda, then chuckles. “I miss him when I don’t see him for a while.”

Elsa’s laugh is breathless, nervous. She doesn’t know any women like Linda, she doesn’t think. Women who smoke like she does, or are so tall, or who call people pricks so easily and so confidently like it’s nothing at all.

“How do you find the work?” she asks Elsa. “Jasper says you two have been chatting recently, that your boss is a bit of an ass?”

“Mr Lockwood,” says Elsa quietly, folding up one of the brown paper bags. “He’s, um… He’s an angry man. He loses his temper a lot.”

“Some men would be happy typing their own letters,” Linda says dryly, tapping her cigarette into an ashtray. “But then they wouldn’t have a secretary as a punching bag. Do you like the work, your boss aside?”

“I like typewriters,” says Elsa.

“Oh?”

“My father is a watchmaker,” Elsa says. “He repairs them back home – watches, clocks. When I started typing at school, he bought some to take apart, to learn to repair, so he could show me. He wanted to make sure I knew how.”

“Oh, that’s sweet,” says Linda softly. Her lips are beautiful when she pouts them out. “So, you can repair them?”

“Yeah, actually, I can repair them okay,” says Elsa. “Especially older models, you know, ones from the forties and earlier – my school actually had a bunch of different models in case people were working at small businesses. The ones at work are newer models, and they’re more accessible for small repairs, less so for deeper mechanical work. Typewriters these days are made to be transported more, so the casements are heavier and more fixed, but that makes their guts less accessible too.”

“Are you excited about the new typewriter ball?” asks Jasper, and Elsa laughs, nodding her head.

“What’s that?” asks Linda, raising her eyebrows and leaning back to look at Jasper. As he swipes the vegetables from the chopping board into a roasting tin, he turns to Elsa can see his face too.

“IBM have released this new typewriter with a ball that all the letters are embossed on,” Jasper says, gesturing with his hands. “Instead of having individual hammers that strike the ribbon, you know, with those layers of bars and hammers like an organ, the ball rotates and moves to be struck by one hammer instead.”

“You can take out the whole ball to clean it at once,” says Elsa, “and that means one typewriter can easily have a bunch of typefaces, because you can just swap out the ball.”

“Oh, look at that smile,” says Linda softly. Her lips are shifted into a smile of her own. She’d been walking closer to get the chicken out of the fridge, and as Elsa stands there Linda holds her cigarette between her lips and reaches out to brush her knuckles over the side of Elsa’s cheek. It’s only a delicate touch, but it’s such a rush Elsa feels dizzy with it.

Once the chicken’s in the oven, Linda and Elsa go into the living room while Jasper makes lemonade, and when Elsa sits down on the sofa, Ido and Noam come over to sniff at her legs and then hop up to sit with her. They’re both heavy, dense animals, and they purr like engines.

“Hi, baby,” says Linda, gripping the larger of the two – Ido – and lifting him up into her lap. Elsa stares at the way he goes limp in her arms, letting her hold him like a baby and rock him in her arms, her thumb rubbing against his thick, tufted chest.

“So, um, Jasper says you’re a research assistant?”

“That’s right, I work in biochemistry – I study metabolism, effectively, the ways in which people digest different things, how quickly, and so on.”

“That’s interesting,” says Elsa, which must ring false, because Linda chuckles.

“It is to me,” she says, rocking Ido, who is looking up at her lovingly, his eyes half-closed. Noam has his big face mashed into Elsa’s belly, and is kneading at the blankets either side of them. “I love my work, I just wish it wasn’t… Ah, you know.”

“It’s hard?”

“I work with men.”

Elsa sighs, and nods her head. “I, um… On the train, Jasper stopped a man from talking to me. Like, he noticed, before he said anything or came over.”

“He’s good at that,” says Linda. “Men like Jasper are a real relief.”

“There are other men like him?”

“There’s a few knocking about.”

“Maybe I should try to find one,” Elsa says quietly, and Linda tilts her head as she looks at her, easing Ido down in her arms. He stays laid on his back, his back legs together like a bunny’s, pressing up on the underside of one of Linda’s boobs, which makes her laugh.

“I hate it when he does that, he knows it,” she says, rubbing the thick fur on his belly. “He just likes to push on it, I think – Noam’s worse, he’ll pad up to me and use his forehead to push one of them up as if he’ll find treasure underneath. It’s a bit like lifting weights for him, I suppose.”

Elsa giggles, covering her mouth, and she shakes her head, scratching Noam under his ears.

“Do you find Jasper handsome?” Linda asks.

“Sure,” says Elsa.

“No, I mean…” Linda starts, and then exhales, smiling at her kindly. “Physically, is he the sort of man you like?”

“Well, most men look the same, really,” says Elsa, and when Linda raises her eyebrows, she wonders if it’s the wrong thing to have said, if it’s not right. “Um. Sorry. I don’t mean anything bad by it. I just mean— Men aren’t like women, right? We all look different.”

“We do,” Linda allows.

“I just— All the men in the office, they get their hair cut at the same places, they wear the same suits, have similar coats. They try to look the same – we all try to look different. Beautiful.”

“You don’t think men can be beautiful?”

“Handsome, maybe,” says Elsa. “I’m not— I’m not saying I… Sorry. I think I’ve said something odd.”

“You haven’t,” says Linda. “Sometimes girls at work will talk about men, Paul Newman, Steve McQueen. It feels like they’re speaking a foreign language sometimes.”

Elsa rubs the top of Noam’s head, between his ears.

“Fools, all of them,” says Jasper as he comes back into the room. “It’s like they don’t even see Marlon Brando.”

“The man looks like a thumb,” says Linda, and Jasper scoffs.

“With lips like peaches,” he says.

Elsa feels herself blink, and she stares at the three glasses as Jasper starts pouring fresh lemonade for them, the ice clinking in each one.

“You think he has nice lips?”

“Jasper thinks Marlon Brando has nice everything,” says Linda.

Elsa doesn’t know what to make of it, exactly, because at the same time, Linda reaches out with one foot and rubs against the side of Jasper’s ankle, making him jump and shove his wife in the arm, laughing. “Horrid woman,” he calls her.

“We were just discussing what Elsabeth here might like in a husband,” Linda says, and Elsa looks at Jasper as he leans back in one of the armchairs, crossing one ankle over the other.

“We can introduce you to some people,” says Jasper.

“Men like you,” says Elsa, haltingly.

Jasper looks at her over his glass, wearing his face in that blank, neutral way he does. “Men like Marlon Brando,” he says evenly. “So the rumours say.”

Elsa looks between the two of them, tries to get a handle on it, tries to understand, really understand. “Really?”

“One hears whispers.”

“So you’re— You two are…” She looks to Linda. “You married him so that people wouldn’t know? And you know that people are— Is that why you know how women feel? Because you, because you’re… Are you and Mr Garvey—”

“Slow down,” Jasper says when Linda hiccups. “Take a breath.” He breathes in demonstratively, inhaling very slowly, and Elsa copies him automatically before taking a few gulps of her lemonade.

“It’s alright,” Linda murmurs, and she strokes over the back of Elsa’s neck, making her shudder. It’s… Nice, though. It’s nice.

“Mr Garvey is not of my inclination, no,” says Jasper. “His father was – it’s made him astonishingly liberal in this area and this one alone.”

“Why would you tell me? Isn’t it illegal? What if I told somebody?” She feels nervous, uncertain, overwhelmed by it, by the weight of the knowledge.

“What if you did?” asks Jasper, raising his eyebrows. “What evidence do you have?”

Noam puts his front paws up on Jasper’s knees, and Jasper picks him up under the armpits, cradling him against his chest so that Noam can shove his face into Jasper’s neck and purr loudly there.

“Why would I want to marry a man like you?” asks Elsa.

Jasper shrugs. “For the same reasons Linda did, I suppose. A man is a useful shield, if you want one – you’re still young, though. I wouldn’t worry about it just yet, if it’s not a priority for you.”

“A husband, a cooperative one, can mean more independence,” says Linda. “Less harassment, albeit only slightly.”

Elsa looks at her, at her beautiful hair, at the cat sprawled in her lap. “Only slightly?”

“He wears his ring on a chain – I wear mine very obviously,” says Linda, waving one hand and showing its glint. “They still come sniffing around, inviting me places, wanting to put their hands on me.”

Jasper sighs longingly, blinking his pretty eyelashes and looking jokingly wistful, and then breaks into laughter when Linda kicks him in the shin.

“No, it’s awful,” he agrees abruptly, dropping the joking expression. “Would that you could have an all-female chemistry department.”

It’s now Linda’s turn to sigh wistfully, and Jasper affectionately pats her knee. They really look a picture like this, across from each other, both of them with their matching cats. They match one another, they really do.

“Why would you trust me?” Elsa asks.

“Why wouldn’t I?” asks Jasper. “You’re a sweet girl, Elsabeth. Kind, caring.”

“Isn’t it wrong?” she asks.

Jasper shrugs his shoulders. “Isn’t everything about the world we live in?”

Elsa hesitates, uncertain what to say.

“Would you like to play cards?” asks Linda.

That’s what they do.

* * *

It’s astoundingly easy to play with the two of them, to relax into the experience and just chat over cards and the cats. She doesn’t play cards much – the girls always want to just drink and talk and sing and dance, and that’s nice in its own way, but different to this.

She wonders if he’s ignoring it, what these people are, if that makes her awful, for ignoring it, except she isn’t, exactly. The idea of it, of Jasper being… that way. The fact that the girls were right all along, joking about it, thinking about it, knowing it.

They knew what he was just by looking at him, talking to him – is that why Jasper was so unaffected by it when she’d asked outright, even though a lot of men would be furious to be asked, would go into a rage at even the implication.

Shouldn’t she hate it? Shouldn’t she be angry, or disgusted? People say it’s disgusting, that it’s awful, but Jasper is the same now as he has been. He’s witty, gentle, soft-spoken. She wonders what he’s like, when he’s with men who are like him, if he’s the same, or somehow different.

“Let me go check on the chicken,” Jasper says, getting to his feet – both of the cats must know that word, because they follow after him with their tails up high and straight, cheerful, and he laughs as they weave around and through his ankles.

“Do you sleep in the same bed?” asks Elsa. Her voice comes out very quiet, in little more than a whisper.

“We do,” Linda says. “It’s lovely in winter – he gives off heat like a furnace.”

“What’s it… like? The— I’ve never…”

“Had sex?” asks Linda.

Elsa nods. “I’ve never even kissed a boy,” she breathes out. She’s thought about it. She’s heard people talk about it in movies, she’s heard the girls talk about it, about the actual act, and it’s never seemed… She doesn’t know that she likes the idea of being so intimate.

It’s like when the girls talk about men who are attractive, when they talk about Paul Newman and how handsome he is, when they talk about kissing men. Anita was talking about how it makes her feel when her fiancé puts his hand on her waist, how it makes her heart flutter.

Elsa’s never felt that.

“We don’t,” says Linda. “Jasper and I. We’re quite comfortable with each other’s bodies, we see each other naked, help each other dress. Jasper broke his leg a few years ago, and I helped him in the shower a lot, so we’re used to bathing together.”

“I can’t imagine it,” says Elsa. “Being close to a man like that.”

“And to a woman?” Linda asks.

Elsa’s breath arrests in her throat. “Did, um— Did your husband bring me home… for you?”

Linda slowly shakes her head. “He thought you might be like us, had his suspicions,” she says. “But we have friends, Elsa – I was serious when I said I could find someone like him to match you up with. A man inclined like Jasper, if you’re inclined… like me.”

“How do I know?” asks Elsa. “That I am?”

Linda looks at her with her dark eyes, and then she slides closer on the sofa, until their knees brush against each other, and Elsa hears a little noise come out of her own mouth, a shock running through her.

“May I?” asks Linda, and Elsa doesn’t know what she means exactly, is hypnotised by the gesture of one of Linda’s hands, so she just dumbly nods her head, dizzied, drawn in.

Linda cleans closer, and Elsa breathes in the scent of her perfume.

It’s far, far subtler than anything they wear at work – she finds it too sickly sometimes, the scents the other girls wear, too overwhelming, but this is nice. It’s sweet, but there’s a muskiness to it, a depth.

Then Linda is kissing her, and Elsa feels like she might die.

Linda’s lips are plump and soft and so, so warm against hers, the movement gentle, and Elsa feels full up with her – with the scent of her perfume and her shampoo too, with the warmth of her mouth and the lemonade taste lingering on her lips, Linda’s fingers delicately resting on her thigh. Linda’s chest is brushing against hers, and Elsa can feel the weight of them, the weight of—

“Oh, God,” she whispers, almost whimpers, and Linda’s laugh as a curl of smoke through it, so that Elsa feels hot and burning all over.

“Would—” Linda starts, and Elsa feels horribly rude because she cuts her off, but she just craves more, crushes their lips together in another hungry kiss, and this time Linda opens her mouth and they kiss each other more deeply, their tongues sliding against each other, and ohGodit’sthebestthingintheworld—

Linda cups her cheek, tilting her head to kiss her deeper, controlling it, and Elsa’s hands scramble for her, to grab at her – she squeezes one of Linda’s thighs, her head spinning with how muscular they are, how strong she must be. She’s got broad shoulders and strong arms and strong legs, and Elsa’s head spins with questions, wondering if she cycles, or if she rides horses, or if she does archery, somehow, and is some sort of warrior goddess like Wonder Woman, and—

Their lips make a smacking noise when Linda draws back.

“Is that what it feels like?” Elsa asks urgently. “When people kiss men?”

Linda laughs at her, stroking her cheek with her thumb. “It’s what Jasper feels, maybe. I’ve never enjoyed it much.”

Elsa is breathing heavily, sweat on her skin under her clothes, burning on the back of her neck. She wonders if she’s as red all over as she feels – if she’s as red as all that, she must be glowing like a beacon.

“Can I, um,” she starts, her hands trembling with anticipation. “Can I touch them?”

“Touch what?”

“Your… bosoms?”

Linda sniggers, and Elsa laughs helplessly, at herself, at the absurdity of the situation, at the intensity of her own swirling emotions, the feeling that she’s balanced on the head of a pin with a storm swirling around her. Linda takes her gently by the wrists and puts her hands on her breasts, and they’re so, so warm, and so soft, and so big, and—

“They’re magnificent, aren’t they?” Jasper asks. “A wonderful pillow my wife makes, too.”

“I’m so glad I make good furniture for you,” snarks Linda witheringly, and Elsa slowly cups her chest from underneath, feeling how heavy her breasts are – Linda’s brassiere is made of a more reinforced fabric than hers, she thinks. Maybe that’s why she’s so muscular, just so that the weight doesn’t hurt her back as much. She knows some of the girls have difficulty getting a brassiere that supports them well, that if you have a big chest, it can hurt your posture, your neck, your shoulders.

“The cat pushes these up?” she asks, weighing them between her palms like she’s two halves of a scale, and even knowing that some of the weight is being taken by Linda’s bra, they’re heavy.

“They’re very strong boys,” says Linda.

“Wow,” Elsa whispers.

“You love them now,” says Jasper mildly. “Wait until one of them smacks you in the face in the heat of the moment.”

Elsa does think about that for a second, feeling like her brain is short-circuiting somehow, that there must be steam or perhaps smoke rising up from her ears. What’s Linda’s skin like, underneath her cardigan, her blouse, her bra? Her— Her nipples?

“You are just cute as a button,” Linda murmurs. “Jasper, do you mind if we…?”

Elsa looks over when Linda trails off – Jasper is already pulling his coat on. Elsa keeps struggling to remember that he’s there. “The timer is set for an hour,” he says mildly. “I’ll drop in on Evan for forty-five minutes or so. You two… explore.”

“Sorry,” says Elsa reflexively.

“Sorry?” repeats Linda, raising her eyebrows. “Don’t be sorry.”

“Darling, what would you even have to be sorry for? Look at that smile on your face.” Jasper puts one hand on his hip, looking over at the two of them. “I did know this was a possibility.”

Elsa bites the inside of her lip, looking at Linda’s amused expression, at the affection in it. She feels searingly hot on the inside, and warm – not just between her legs, but also in the core of her, a spiritual warmth, beyond the physical. It feels, somehow, like something inside her has slotted into place, has become complete where it wasn’t before. She is smiling, she realises, her lips curved naturally into the crescent of it.

“Only forty-five minutes?” she asks, and Linda and Jasper both laugh.

“Only to take the chicken out,” says Jasper over his shoulder as he goes to the door. He’s wearing a pocket watch, she realises – no wrist watch, still. “I know from experience that Linda won’t hear the alarm.”

“Not all of us can be domestic goddesses,” Linda says dryly.

“Happy to play the Parvati to your Shiva, my dear,” he says, and winks before he closes the door behind him.

“Is it okay?” Elsa asks as the door shuts closed. “I don’t want you to think that I, that I’m treating you like a man would.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Linda murmurs, “I’m not remotely worried about that. Why don’t we kiss again, hm? Slower this ti—”

Elsa cuts her off again, and she swallows Linda’s answering laughter as the older woman curls her fingers through her hair and pulls her closer for more.

(They don’t hear the timer. Jasper teases them about it for weeks.)

FIN.

#musings #original fiction #romance #lesbians

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starflungwaddledee · 7 months

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Okay you gave me permission so now it's time to go fully autistic

*inhale*

So something I'm really interested in (mostly for my Bandee x Marx bias) is that comic with Marx and Bandee interacting, like, what's their relationship in this au, how'd they get to that point and heck, what was even happening? also it kinda seems like Bandee may be the main guy in this au or is just really important which makes me happy as Bandee isn't treated the best by Nintendo at all (hell, Sakrai said he didn't add Bandee into smash because he didn't like him) so seeing Bandee get the spotlight always brings me joy

And about the Meta and Galacta comic, it seems like Bandee plays a factor here too, with the mention of him being what gets the most reaction out of Meta and that makes sense because canonically Bandee is the weakest of the four and most likely to die quite easily, so it would make sense for the others to be protective of him

ALSO META BEING SEALED AWAY AND GALACTA SAYING HE'LL TAKE GOOD CARE OF, I'M ASSUMING BANDEE, DOES THAT MEAN GALACTA TAKES META'S PLACE??? HELLO???

anyway hi im really invested and also your art is fucking astounding

hell yea, fully autistic! the best kind of message! thank you also for the sweet words about my artwork ahhh! but hoo boy isn't this The Ask Ever. okay, let's get into it!

Bandee is, i think maybe obviously, my most specialist little guy ever and everything i make is likely about him in one way or another. so you're correct that he is indeed the main guy in both these AUs; he is the central protagonist which i think he deserves!!

(but he does also go through the angst blender a bit, just like... a warning. i adore happy endings but before that i do tend to meat-grind my faves pretty well in the drama machine.)

clockwork heart is actually a spin-off of awtdy (we do a little AU-ception in my household) which is our* primary au. (*a lot of my au work and headcanons are fleshed out very collaboratively with my girlfriend! the initial concept for awtdy was her idea, which i then very meanly shoved my bandee-important agenda into lmao)

awtdy sets this basic alternate world-state: during the Haltmann invasion, Galacta Knight defeats Meta Knight in battle and makes a wish on Star Dream to trade places.

this causes all sorts of terrible fun problems for everybody and basically gives rise to a bad timeline that a lot of folks do not come out of intact (rip floralia)

the Meta Knight vs Galacta Knight comic covers an important turning point in the story, where Meta Knight lets slip that he cares about Bandee the way he cares for Kirby. Meta Knight has an especially strong reaction to this for two reasons:

one is because, as you said, of the three remaining heroes Bandee is the most vulnerable-- seasoned and experienced fighter he may be, but against someone like Galacta Knight? 💦 he's still ultimately just a mortal dude. this obviously puts him at terrible risk, because Galacta Knight also considers him far more expendable than Kirby.

"i'll take good care of him" is transparently a threat and not actually... you know, kind.

secondly is because (unbeknownst to Galacta Knight) Bandee uniquely remembers Meta Knight. he knows that the timeline is screwed up and Galacta Knight is not meant to be there, and is actively working to rescue his real dad mentor. Meta Knight knows that if he's found out, Galacta Knight won't hesitate to kill him.

suffice to say the guilt of this would drive him capital i Insane!

as for the Marx "hurt like hell" comic, I am actually sorry to have to tell you that that scene is their first ever interaction in this au! 😂 in this alternate version of the story Marx is also aware of the timeline fuckery (due to his existence as an eldritch, temporal little creature) and he tracks Bandee down late in the game with a risky trade offer; which Bandee refuses. that's what's pictured in the comic!

it goes on for quite a long ways after that; though I don't know if it'll tickle your ship dynamic quite right because Marx is mildly antagonistic towards Bandee (and everyone) the whole time. so while they are cursed to be Stuck Together By The Narrative they are not really close or even particularly friendly.

they do indeed interact in it quite a lot, and I personally think Marx would gladly shoot his shot if he was offered it; but Bandee is neck-deep in a different ship for the entirety of awtdy and is especially miserable/pining as hell throughout clockwork heart.

but that's okay because Bandee is, uh-- totally fine!! he's normal. he's fine. he's very very fine and things will be very very okay.

#hopefully this last lil doodle is not too dark?#wanted to give u something for your marxdee needs bc i feel like i'm letting a fellow bandee rarepair shipper down 😭#watch me skirt actually dropping my rarepair tho. even rarer than marxdee apparently!#anyway thank you so so much for this ask and your interest?! blew my mind that anyone cared even a little bit about the stuff i'm making <3 #my art #bandana waddle dee #awtdy au #clockwork heart au #asks #cw angst #cw blood

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onepieceoftheoceanblues · 3 days

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More One Piece X Batman au ideas/hcs

Just more assorted ideas from this OP Batfam au here iv been playing with. All you have to know is the Batfam is now in the op world tho!

-Im leaving the og post with multiple options but im def leaning twords them having their own Pirate crew, and either ally with another canon crew or have ties to the Revs, or both. Im unsure on what they'd be called because the Bat Pirates or Bat and Bird Pirates is kinda lame lol so ill figure something out later, and also am open to suggestions!

I feel like they're very open about being Vigilante-Pirates, working like or with the Revs but still being Pirates. It catches on pretty quick for them, and later is a classification used for other similar crews. Also, yes they follow the Pirate Codes and learn the traditions! They mostly learned out of curiosity at first but learned how important it was and kinda just fell into them.

Here's the set-up on the crew for those with official position, though they do have a lot of crossovers (Any positions not specifically mentioned are just done by all the crew or when needed, or not needed at all);

Bruce is the Captain, and Navigator (Tho I feel like all of them learn how to navigate just in case). The crew mostly governs itself, but they learn more about the Pirate Codes and make sure to listen to their Captain when it's important because it's as much as about respect to their crew but also for other crews. They adapt pretty well to it tbh tho it takes a bit because being a pirate crew is largely very different from a Vigilante group.

Dick is the First Mate, and their Communications Expert/Diplomat. Ie he keeps track of allies, friends, man's the phones, er, snails? And is the one usually to socialize or mediate with both interpersonal and outside the crew. He does use swords, but doesn't consider himself the official Swordsman of the crew, that's Damian. (This is because I found out in older comics Bruce taught him to fight swashbuckler style, so he uses swords he switches out with his Escrima Sticks when needed)

Jason is their Gunner/Sniper and Cook, and he also is their Chronicler. He bitches a lot about the last two, but he refuses to let anyone take over the Cook role as he doesn't trust anyone else, but also enjoys writing their adventures down despite denying it.

Tim is their Information Gatherer and Chemist Expert, and knows the second most of Navigating. He and Bruce also are the ones who mostly make the weapons for the others, though most of them could if needed. He also shares Archaeologist duties with Bruce, though everyone partakes.

Cass is their Spymaster and Scout, and also "secret weapon" ie she kicks major ass and scares the shit out of their enemies cuz nobody expects the tiny half mute girl to be one of their frontline fighters <3

Stephanie is their Doctor, because I love the hc that she decides to become a Doctor and has been going to med school (and because I need someone to fill the position without Alfred here ^-^'), as well as their Tailor, though she splits that with Jason and Dick as needed. Though everyone knows Advanced First Aid due to their lifestyles.

I feel like Duke decides to pick up the position of Official Shipwright because they need someone to do so, and actually comes to really enjoy learning how to make and take care of ships properly.

Damian is their other Swordsman, due to his skill and pride in his swordsmanship. He is also their Beast Tamer, and secondary Spy. He's often thought to be a Cabin Boy, which pisses him off, but he's got actual positions on the ship, so he isn't despite his age. Some of the Old Guard have issues with how young he is, but it's not like anyone of them had a choice due to his past, and it's not like he hasn't earned the roles either. He's more experienced them most pirate crews!

They all switch out chores mostly evenly, Helm the ship, rigging, and do lookout duty, though often trade off when someone needs a break from the others due to the whole "trapped on a ship 24/7 hours together". Most of them know how to use instruments, so technically they all are the Musician, though they don't often do so. Damian plays his Violin the most, however, and has secretly enjoyed learning Sea Shanties to play. Dick is the one who bursts into song and knows almost endless sea shanties.

They're also all considered frontline fighters, which is strange for even a small pirate crew, but anyone can also easily switch to support or really any types of roles in a fight, which makes them even more odd. It's not often crews are very versatile, specially with how most of them can easily pick up the role or position of the roles another inhabits.

-At first I was unsure if they should ditch the costume or nah, but then I realized how hard it would to be to live in them like, 24/7 cuz they can't exactly treat this like patrol. Plus, wear and tear of the costumes would make it just unlikely they'd survive for the months or even years they're stuck in the OP world

So I decided that they do a mix-up. They keep a lot of their costume or costume elements but add more casual and piratey vibes in, both for comfort and style to fit in a little better, like these images.

Bruce really didn't want to, same with ever taking off the masks or suits due to the risk of somehow being ID'd back in their world, but over time even Bruce has to admit they can't live in their suits or all call them only by their Vigilante names forever.

They still all wear masks for the most part, and how much they keep or get rid of varies between them, but yee.

Dick has a coat like above, but he also has a very nice black swashbucklers shirt he'll put over instead. Bruce was bullied into making his cowl only the top part of his face, but they got him a captains/swashbucklers hat that has similar bat ears on it as well to wear. They tried to find a Captain's coat that worked but in the end decided to stick with the cape.

Tim no longer has the full cowl of Red Robin but instead a half face one that also lets his hair free, and kept his "wing cape" and chest belts but overall went for something more casual but still armored.

Damian has changed the least with his Robin suit and refuses to really mess with it, though he will occasionally take the over-shirt off and wear a looser, more comfy shirt over the under-suit.

Uhhh the others I really don't have anything concrete but you get the idea for outfits lol

-The Whitbeards would really like them as pirates, they have soft spots for Crews that are Family, though they are not a fan of how young Damian is, even more so when they learn that apparently all the kids have been fighting since they were little, but eventually find out that Bruce liked it even less than they do, and he really had no other choice other than to teach them to do it safely then let them do it behind his back.

-Mihawk and Bruce would get along very well also btw

#One Piece Batfam au #mine #one piece au #pirate batfam #batman #dc comics #dc x op #dc x one piece #batfam #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #duke thomas

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yutaleks · 3 months

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you dont have to answer this but can you give us a sign that youre not anti black because i just want to know, so i can continue following you /gen

I'm only going to speak about this once since the wording of this ask is not rude and I'm choosing to believe this isn't in bad faith. I won't be answering any other asks about this and I won't hesitate to turn anon off again.

I have never sent a single person on this website a mean ask in my entire 14 years on this site. ever. I don't even send anonymous asks in general.

I didn't know who that blog is until they tagged their previous blog, which yes we were mutuals in the past. tbh I didn't even know they moved to this new blog I just assumed they quit Tumblr like many people have over the years. ive never followed that blog they were never on my radar. They are a tokrev blog I don't even watch or read tokrev. so like I said I had no idea who they even were. no clue where they got this idea that I have sent any asks to them. afaik they didn't exist until this post they made about me. they could have come to my inbox or my ask box or any other form of communication to confirm privately before making an inflammatory post but that's cool. if an entire group of people wanna believe something with no proof that's their prerogative.

I am literally a black latino. my great grandmother, who died a few years ago and who I was close to, was a slave in Haiti and escaped to DR. Haiti, TO THIS DAY, is the country in the world with the second highest population of slaves. My family literally escaped slavery within the last century. How could I be anti-black when I myself am a black person with recent ties to slavery. the accusation is ridiculous.

IRL ive experienced anti-blackness myself. believe it or not, to most Americans my appearance gives them the impression that I am an African American woman. it's only until I speak Spanish that people realize that I am latino. so I've also been victim in real life to people hurling the n-word at me, white people hurling microagressions at me, etc, on the basis that I am racially a black woman. I will not delve into the history in this post, you can learn the history of the slave trade on your own, but only 6 percent of African slaves in the slave trade ended up on North America, the rest went to Brazil and South America. if you think black people with similar history of being enslaved don't exist outside of the United States, you're just wrong.

I understand that being a person with African American ancestry in America is different than being black in another culture (before you roll your eyes at me) but to racist white people in America they don't see a difference and treat me the same way. I have zero desire to nor have I ever done to others what has been done to me. And I am sorry to the people who have been receiving such nasty words in their inbox on Tumblr. Obviously no one deserves to be treated that way. But none of those were me, I would never do that. No idea what gave them that idea. And if you've been following me for a while you would know I've made posts about this before, about the complicated feelings of being a black girl in the latino community. Why would I do anything like that to someone else as a racially black person myself.

There is a level of frustration that I feel in having disclosed my history with sexual assault and having that being spun into some belief that by disclosing that, I am downplaying racism ergo I am anti-black. But I think no matter what I say on that point I will be in the wrong and accused of being a racist somehow so what else is there to say. If you believe that discussing the weight of accusing someone as a pedophile in any way downplays accusing them of being a racist, despite these two being different topics and different experiences, then there's no arguing about it. That's what you believe. And that's fine, then to you I will always be wrong.

as an aside, whatever screenshots they posted of an nsfw comic I purchased, I'm not gonna deny I did. I've talked about buying doujinshi on my blog many times in the past it's not something I ever hid. An nsfw comic has zero to do with accusations of anti-blackness. if you disagree with me buying comics, feel free to unfollow that's fine. You wanna call me a pedo over a drawing that's fine. I've already said my piece weeks ago on using that kind of language over drawings I'm not going to bother repeating that.

At the end of the day you can believe whatever you want. I know who I am as a person. I've been nothing but nice to people on this website. Like I said, ive never sent a single rude anon in my life. If you wanna believe that I'm a bad person despite there being no proof of the sort, that's up to you. people will believe whatever they see on the internet any ways.

#ϟ asking aleksandria

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frostycatblr-fandom-files · 9 months

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Heeeeeyyyyy

Can I drop a request? (You can say kriff off and I will still love you ❤️)

I'd like a little soft Hunter? Or any clone really if you wanna try someone new.

I had one of the worst days in a long time about two weeks ago. It was the first anniversary of my caretaker's death combined with the worst day at work I've ever experienced. I cried for the thirty minute drive home, and for another 30 curled up catatonic on the couch. I tried to quit my job, called my mom sobbing, it was a very bad time.

Cue some clone comfort? You absolutely do not need to use the details of my bad day, that's just what was going on and inspired my ask.

Anywho, here's two cats as payment:

🌙Hex🔮

Omg of course you can drop a request, Hex, always!! You're actually the first person to make a request too, and I was so surprised I kinda cried. 🥺

Penelope and Baklava are so cute all cuddled up like that too aaaa~

I hope you like what I came up with, sweetheart; and I'm sorry you're Going Through It™ as well, too. I'm currently there for different reasons and it suuuucks so this was extremely cathartic. Hope things will get better soon, love. 🩷

W&I: Minor proofreading and plot. 2nd person POV, undescribed fem!Reader. Emotional angst. Talks and thoughts centered on the loss of a person only described as a "loved one" without explicit mention of relation to you or their role in your life. Can be read as an established relationship fic. Hunter's just being real sweet on you to cheer you up. Little sprinkling of Mando'a. Minor language. No real age rating for this one.

Word-count: 2,383

That's it.

You're done.

You're so over this place.

If one more patron tries to tell me to smile while using some variation of darling or sweetheart, I'll give him teeth alright: in the flesh of his arm, you think to yourself.

It's not exactly an appropriate time to laugh, but if you don't snicker softly to yourself over the thought of such a forbidden fantasy, you're going to cry. You're going to cry before you squeeze through the doors that read EMPLOYEES ONLY and make your way to the machine to clock yourself out of your shift and get yourself home. Who gives a load of Kryatespit if it only earns the customer's ire to have you laughing at him?

Right now, if you had your way, if you gave into your impulse, you'd quit. You'd turn in your uniform, your name badge, and any little piece of company property you'd ever acquired so these soul-sucking middle managers and CEOs can't come around and accuse you of anything.

You didn't want to be here today. You didn't want to get out of bed today. But you couldn't get the time off approved. Some banthashit about too few hands to run the place as it is.

Well maybe if you hired more kriffing people…

"Your receipt is in the bag. Enjoy the rest of your day, sir." When you give the customer his purchase with these phrases you're required to say, it means he can leave now and take his smug attitude with him. Social obligations means he's going to tell you the same. An empty, hollowed out "Thanks, you too." that perfectly encapsulates how you feel inside.

How the hell am I supposed to enjoy today of all days? One of the most important people to me in this galaxy isn't here anymore.

I don't want to be here at this job anymore… I just want to quit.

You keep your head down when you clock-out, and grab your things. You don't return sentiments of farewell from any of your co-workers, and you don't respond to the request to trade shifts with someone for some BS reason. "Hey, c'moooon! Please?! I've got things I wanna do that day!" they whine after you, calling to your retreating back.

Don't we all? I just wanted to stay home and maybe sob into a carton of ice cream while looking at my photos of my loved one. We don't always get what we want.

What you want is to go home. Think of how you're going to call in, or write up your two weeks notice, or just cold-quit while you're sitting in your transport and-

You find an unexpected figure leaning against your transport when you step out into the employee lot, their back to you. What the hell? You begin rifling through your bag for something to arm yourself with, perhaps something like a bottle of cheap perfume you have in there somewhere that you can spray in their eyes, or maybe there's something you can throw in their direction, tell them to scram. Or maybe their after your credits, so you hope you can just tell them to take your credits and not cause you any trouble and-

Looking over his left shoulder, you find yourself staring at the ink of the skeletal tattoo and a side profile framed by waves of curled, brown hair you'd recognize anywhere.

"H-Hunter?"

Hunter turns to face you, his hands fiddling with the knot of his crimson bandana to work it loose. That's when you finally realized why you didn't recognize who was leaning against your vehicle in the growing, deepening purple shadows of the late afternoon. "I thought you'd be a little happier to see me than that," he says with a look that's somewhere between a typical smile and a concerned frown, "but I guess you didn't realize it was me. And I guess I shouldn't have been standing here with my back to you, either." Hunter slips the accessory around his head and reties it with a hasty knot. "Sorry about that, mesh'la."

There's a million questions swimming over the top of your tongue, each one vying to be asked. "Wha-? How did-? Why are you-?"

Hunter does his best to answer the questions he believes you're trying to ask. "Crosshair gave me a lift here so I could drive you home once you got off work." he says, holding a hand out. He's offering to take your bag and the keys to your vehicle. "As for why, well: it's today. I saw it written on your calendar the last time I came to visit. It's been a year since you lost your loved one. I figured you might be just holding it together by the time your shift ended, and… I think I was right." His hand cups the soft curve of your cheek, the pad of his thumb collecting the first tears that have begun to escape the confines of your tear ducts.

Hunter sweetly helps you into the passenger seat, and gets any and all safety belts secured before he himself climbs behind the controls and gets ready to take you home.

"We'll pick up whatever you want to eat on the way home, if that's what you want, cyar'ika." he offers, gently resting the palm of his hand on your trembling shoulder for a brief moment. He's not certain if you want a lot of these gestures of reassuring, physical touch, but it's what he can offer right now so you know that he's there for you.

Right here, right now, as you weep silently into the sleeves of your work uniform in the passenger seat, Hunter is here for you. And he's not going anywhere until he's either satisfied with his efforts to do his best to lift your spirits, or until you ask him to leave.

Remnants of the comfort-food you'd requested are either tucked away with the rest of your leftovers, or swept up and deposited into the kitchen trash by Hunter when he makes the offer to do a bit of tidying up. Gentle murmurings that he doesn't want you to worry about it, he'll take care of everything.

He'll take care of you. Hunter's not going to judge you for your tears. Or for telling him how you wished you could have reamed out this difficult customer. Or for how you shout in your episodic instances of anger, calling your manager a spineless and incompetent little twit who needed to get their act together and quit being so cheap and to hire more people so you're not running yourself so karking ragged.

Nor does he admonish you for how silly it was that you're complaining about the rip in your clothing made by the thorns found in one of the bushes outside your house, or easily you fall apart into a mess of tears at the gentle hand on your shoulder when he joins you on the sofa once again.

"Could this day get any worse?!" you sob, your face hot with anger and grief, and your voice thick and choked with the respective emotions.

Hunter is patient and endlessly perceptive; tucking your body just right against him, the way you need him right now. "C'mere, cyare… You've certainly had a pretty thorny day… And I don't blame you for simply just having enough of it all. I don't blame you at all." he promises, sweetly and softly peppering your face in tender kisses with the intention of comfort.

"I've been having a lot of thorny days lately…" you admit with a stutter, burying your face into the material of his shirt. Hunter smells like sun-warmed cotton and the heavy tang of seawater. Of course now you can't tell if you smell hints of his homeworld on him, or if that's the dried tear stains from earlier. When the two of you simply sat in the parked vehicle once you'd gotten home, Hunter leaned over the center console so you could weep into his shoulder. You'd dialed up your job, ready to tell them that they needed to find someone else, but you couldn't go through with it. Not then, anyways. You haven't been able to make up your mind, either.

Hunter rubs little circles with his thumb into your shoulder blade as he holds you close, saying that he's sorry to hear you've been struggling lately. That he's sorry you're having hard days. "I just want them to stop!" you sob softly, feeling his fingers gently caress the back of your head, and the deep rumble in his ribs as he asks you to take a deep breath, promising that he's here. That he'll help however he needs.

If you breathe him in deeply enough, you could probably find something from all of his brothers. Something sugary that he was offered a bite of to share with his brother as Wrecker indulged his sweet tooth. The rich blend of caf Tech was partial to lately, that could give him the jitters when Hunter drank it by mistake. The smooth notes of the polishing agent Crosshair spoiled his Firepuncher with because he swore nothing else would do. The faint whiff of synthetic lubricant that must mean Echo had performed upkeep on his prosthetics today or the day before.

"There we go," Hunter says softly in praise, feeling the frenzied beating of your heart begin to slow and your tears eventually peter out, "it'll be okay, cyare."

You sniffle, mumbling softly into Hunter's chest. "I'm just so scared that it won't. And I feel silly for feeling so scared..." His arms stitch just a little tighter around you in return when you pull yourself against him, feeling his breath against the top of your head. You just feel so small in your sadness today. But in his arms, the way you fit just right…

The way he's so steady, you feel so loved and protected when you're at your most vulnerable.

Hunter hushes you, pulling the hair back from your face with a gentle touch once you sit up again. "Tech would probably tell you that that fear is a natural and normal part of life, and that there's no use to feel silly about it. And, even if the way he'd probably say it isn't so gentle, he'd be right. How you're feeling today - angry and upset about your job and wanting to quit, and how much you miss your loved one - is all very thorny and uncomfortable, and no one likes feeling like that. But it's normal. And it's nothing to be ashamed of. And I promise you, I'm here to help. However I'm needed. However long you need me to hold you and make you feel loved while you're feeling down."

The gentle reminder is just what you need. You're not dealing with this alone. That if you're going to quit your job, Hunter would do whatever you asked of him to help you get ready to sever those ties if you felt it was time. That even though you're left with a hole in your heart with the passing of this loved one who was very important to you, Hunter doesn't expect his presence to merely fill it like it's nothing.

That's the marvelous thing about the human heart.

It can hold so much love for so many people if you let it.

You're certain your eyes look so swollen and red. You're certain you'll find more tears to shed when the thorns of grief find their excuse to make you weep once more, but right now, Hunter's hands have carefully and kindly cleaned away the last of them. He's so gentle and sweet on you, right now.

"Hey… what if," Hunter begins, offering in a soft, low voice between the kisses he stamps in the crown of your hair and trails down one side of your jaw to the other, "you changed out of your uniform, and we found something to watch together now that we've had something to eat? Something silly. Maybe something romantic. Or both. Whatever you want, cyare. I don't care what it is." he promises.

You fiddle with the frayed and torn edge of your clothing that had been caught on the thorny plant outside. "What if I just want more cuddles after I change?" Hunter laughs gently, nodding as he reluctantly releases you so you can slip into something comfortable and try to end this day on a happier note.

(You're going to have to send Crosshair a message later to thank him for doing Hunter a favor by giving his brother a lift and dropping him off.)

"Whatever you want. Especially if that's more cuddles." Hunter says once more with a warm smile, hooking your pinky fingers together so he can hold some part of you just a moment longer. If you found comfort in his touch and wanted more of it, he was happy to provide.

You're pulled back into Hunter's arms when you come back to the living room after you've thrown on a comfortable pair of clothes, finding yourself wrapped up tight. He's so strong, like all of his brothers, and every ounce of it is devoted to comfort and consoling you right now.

Hunter is so warm and comfortable, and you're so emotionally drained that it's hard to resist the act of nuzzling one cheek into his chest and closing your eyes to simply relish this quiet moment. You don't know what you want to do, but you just know that you need this. Hunter knows it too.

People need a good hug now and again. This galaxy could be so cruel and thorny to the people who mattered most to us, that sometimes what they needed most was an act of deliberate softness to remind them everything would be okay. That the bad times will pass.

That while our hearts yearn and grieve for the ones we miss the most, the room we had for them in our hearts will always remain no matter how long they've been gone.

And the people we love in the here and now will fit themselves next to that jagged space and trim back the thorns, if we only ask.

[Masterlist] [Requests: OPEN]

#frostfics #Thorny Days #star wars #the bad batch #tbb #tbb hunter #hunter bad batch #hunter tbb #tbb hunter x you #tbb hunter x reader #tbb x reader #x reader #hunter x fem!reader #comfort fic #request fic #the-hexfiles

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wisecrackingeric-2 · 9 months

Text

‘Lulu’

Summary: One morning, when Luis is being especially difficult to get out of bed for work, Leon decides to take it upon himself to give his boyfriend an embarrassing nickname. Hijinks ensue as more and more people start calling Luis ‘Lulu’. Three-In-One style fic

I wrote this fic as apart of a trade between myself and @alitan99 based off of a moment from André Peña’s (Luis Serra’s voice actor) Twitch stream on the 16th July, 2023!!! Alita wrote and preformed a song, and I wrote a fic!!! I took a lot of inspiration from their song in particular, so please please PLEASE go check it out!! It’s SO GOOD!!!! https://m.soundcloud.com/alitanightsbane/lulu-serra-original?ref=clipboard&p=i&c=1&si=C86CE333D8EF4106B7232ADDD32C114F&utm_source=clipboard&utm_medium=text&utm_campaign=social_sharing

Trigger warnings: Canon-typical mentions of blood and guns, brief description of a deer being injured in the final story

A/N: The first ‘Story’ was written when I had MAJOR writers block, so it came out as being very clunky and not up to my usual standards. I was planning on scrapping and rewriting it, but I didn’t want to waste anymore time!! So please ignore how poorly written the first part of this Fic is, I promise it gets better the final two stories!!!

Also, this isn’t proofread, and I don’t actually know a lick of Spanish, so please feel free to correct me if anything is out of place!!!

——————————————————————————————

“Luis?”

Luis didn’t wake up.

He had a special knack for that; pretending to be asleep when he was needed. He called it a talent, Leon called him a nuisance.

“Luuuiiiss?”

Luis felt Leon’s hand press against his side through the double-layered duvet covers, nudging him as gently as possible for any sign of life.

Unbeknownst to his partner, though, Luis was grinning wolfishly against his pillow- burying his nose further into the cold fabric and unconsciously curling up into himself, bringing the blankets along with him.

Leon gave a defeated huff at the sight of his unmoving partner, only just being able to spot the top of his messy hair poking out between the blankets and the mountain of pillows.

As much as he knew it was impractical and only further aided in his procrastination, Luis couldn’t force himself to unfurl from the cocoon he’d crafted, no matter how hard he tried. Besides, how was Leon supposed to expect him to get up at 5-goddamn-30-AM in the morning? Especially when his pillow was just oh-so soft enough for his head to practically sink straight down into, and the duvet covers that engulfed Luis in a small, triangular cavern reminded him of being a little kid in a blanket fortress again. Dark, quiet, and protective.

(Besides, it was cold. And the sheets were just so warm. Probably from Leon sleeping in them overnight.)

All jokes aside, however; Luis genuinely wished he was able to show his gratitude towards Leon for giving him a second chance in a more meaningful way than just wasting his so-called ‘precious time’ playing around like this in the mornings- not that Leon ever minded these small moments of domesticality, though.

It was one thing to save Luis from a knife to the back- literally- but it was an entirely other thing for Leon to have graciously opened his home, his love, and his affection towards the man he’d met on a whim in nowhere-Spain. And Luis had no idea how to repay Leon in a way that felt equal to his gratitude.

Even just being able to wake up in a warm, comfortable bed, safe next to a person he loved like he was a kid again; it was a luxury Luis hadn’t experienced in a long, long time. Not since his Grandfather passed away. So he treasured these moments as best as he could, and let Leon know as much, too. The blonde reassured him countless-a times that he expected nothing in return, though; he just appreciates Luis’ love.

And Luis appreciated his love in return, too.

Leon repeated another loud, dramatic sigh as he shifted his weight off of the bed. Luis couldn’t help but let out a quiet and involuntary giggle at the sound of his characteristically melodramatic boyfriend.

It must not have been quiet enough, though, because he could practically hear the smirk in Leon’s voice as he began to speak;

“I can hear you, y’know. I know you’re not asleep”

Ah, caught red-handed. And here Luis thought he was a professional.

The sound of soft footsteps muffled by his own pillow were followed by the metallic screech of their clothing rack, and Luis swore he could hear Leon hum a little tune from above his duvet-cocoon as the blonde undoubtedly started to pick out his work clothes for the day.

Leon had work- sporadic hours, and been more sporadic dates- that early Sunday morning. And although Luis wasn’t obliged to go to the Lab on weekends.. He’d prefer to make a good impression on the U.S government. Especially after they had so graciously (Said internally with plenty of sarcasm) lent him his freedom in exchange for his knowledge in their laboratories.

Luis had no choice but to agree, even though he hated it. It felt like he was just being put into yet another inescapable work environment with an unending quest for knowledge and power. One he was all-too familiar with at this point.

Regardless, though, Luis- ever the linewalker- still tested his luck by making one request; He’d be allowed to follow Leon around on his missions in exchange for his expertise.

Leon had called him crazy, but Luis just pointed out that he was still rolling with him regardless.

Leon would playfully call him helpless, and Luis would point out he had his own Príncipe to save him if the situation ever called.

A comforting, reassuring, regular back-and-fourth.

“I’m gonna leave for work, soon, love, soooooo….”

“Mmmmno,”

Luis finally spoke up, but wasn’t totally ready to expose his fully-awakeness just yet.

“No te vayas… Mí amor…”

His feigned sleepy-voice must have worked, because from above him, Luis heard Leon huff a sympathetic laugh from his nose.

“Luis, doll, I’ve gotta go into work.. n’ so do you, I think”

No matter how put-together Leon made himself out to be, Luis could still occasionally catch those moment of vulnerability and tiredness in his voice. He’d hear it after especially rough missions, or just after a long day at work. And now he heard it here, too. Truthfully, neither of them wanted Leon to go into the office.

So Luis just shook his head in response, letting out a series of displeased noises instead of words. And judging by the sound of the floorboards creaking slightly, he could guess Leon had crouched down beside the bed. And his suspicions were confirmed the moment a familiar hand tangled his way into his long, messy hair.

Luis hadn’t gotten a haircut in… god, how long was it now? His hair easily reached almost to his shoulders (In his own defense, though, having a hole in your lung and not being able to walk for two months didn’t exactly leave much time for a routine haircut). Usually, Luis prided himself on his appearance; it was one of the few things in his life he had control over, and gave him self-confidence in. He was a good-looking guy and he knew it. But around Leon, he could let his guard down. He still liked dressing up pretty for him, sure- but he wasn’t as uncomfortable with letting the blonde see him purposefully messy and sleepy. Luis trusted Leon, and he could tell Leon appreciated it.

“Loooooeeeessss…”

Luis’ grin widened as he heard the purposeful mispronunciation of his name from under the blankets. He squeezed his T-Rex positioned hands closer to his chest, trying his hardest not to laugh and give into the feeling of Leon gently playing with his hair.

“Lewis?”

Still no response.

“Looooow-eez..?”

Again, just teasing silence.

When Luis was met with stillness, he assumed he had one the war of attrition- outsmarting his partner and earning himself just a couple more minutes of warm, blissful rest. Maybe he could even convince the Lab that he was sick and needed a day off, who knows. But regardless, Luis smiled victoriously against his pillow; shuffling down further into his sheets just to rub his own win in.

At least, he thought he had won.

“Alright, then,” Leon let out the words in a faux, breathy sigh. The sound of his work jacket being slipped over his shoulders followed.

“I guess I’ll just have to go to work…-“

Luis was about to mentally reward himself, until…

“-Without you, Lulu.”

Lulu??

“Lulu?!” Luis made a weird noise that sat in-between a snort of laughter and genuine shocked surprise. Without even realizing he’d just given up his only chance at sleeping in, Luis practically shot up out of his spot under the covers in surprise. He blinked like a newborn deer at Leon, who had a giant, victorious grin plastered on his face.

Luis wasn’t sure wether to laugh to be mad.

“Where the hell did Lulu come from?!”

“Ha, so you are awake. Knew it” Leon just continued to give him a toothy smile, buttoning up his collard shirt and jacket all the while ignoring Luis’ question. Who had now resorted to pouting cross-armed on the bed.

“What about me, a grown man, screams the nickname ‘Lulu’ to you, Sancho?”

Leon looked up at the ceiling for a moment, as if he was genuinely considering his answer. Luis knew he was just faking it, though, and continued to mentally curse himself for giving up his position so easily.

‘‘Lulu’. What a dumb nickname. Not that I’m embarrassed by it, or anything. Nope. I just.. Hope it doesn’t stick.’

“Hmmmm, well… I dunno actually,” Leon winked at him, so nonchalantly and easily it made Luis blush a little. Oh how the turned had tables, or something like that.

“I just think it’s cute, I guess. It suits you.”

“It does not!,” Luis shouted back defiantly, his face now definitely a shade darker than before. “Not in the slightest! Esto es una blasfemia!!”

“Uh-Huh. Whatever you say, Lulu”

Leon rubbed the embarrassment even further in when he leaned over to kiss his partner on the crown of his head, ruffling the Spaniards hair up for the added effect. Luis begrudgingly kissed him back on the lips before he heard the blonde mutter under his breath;

“Hah. Lulu. I like it.”

“Don’t you dare keep calling me that,” Luis growled playfully, giving his partner as much of a grumpy glare as he could muster. Internally, though, his heart was fluttering; it took every ounce of strength in him to not smile at Leon’s teasing. It wasn’t often he was so forward, even if Luis hated the reason as to why. It was nice to see.

“If you make that stick, I’ll start calling you… uh… Déjame pensar…”

As Luis stammered over himself and tried desperately to come up with an equally as insulting nickname, Leon held his unbreaking eye contact; so nonchalant and languid with it all the while.

It was almost painful, the way he waited so patiently and expectantly with a little smirk on his face- Luis couldn’t even make eye contact back at him he was blushing so hard. But at the same time he wanted to kiss that smile off of Leon sooooooooo badly.

“Go on?”

Oh ese bastardo.

“U-Um- Scotty. Yeah. I’ll call you Scotty”

Luis knew the ‘S’ in Leon’s name (unfortunately) didn’t actually stand for Salmonella like he’d joked about, and that most people probably didn’t even know his middle name was ‘Scott’ at all, not even his close friends.

So Luis hoped that by calling Leon a name he hardly identified with, it would provoke at least some kind of equal reaction.

But, of coarse, to no avail; his attempts were just met with a bark of laughter from Leon.

“Scotty?! Seriously?? Yeah, sure, let’s see how that one goes down with everyone at the Lab. I’m suuuure it’ll stick”

Luis’ voiced lowered to a playful growl, “Sancho, you’re not implying what I think you’re implying, are you?”

“What if I am?,” Leon leaned into Luis, pressing his hands on either side of him on the bed. The brunette tried his very best to keep his composure and not back down. But it was getting increasingly difficult.

“What if I, very nicely, and in private, asked Rebecca to start calling you Lulu from now on, hmm? Would you be upset?”

“You wouldn’t”

The thought of Leon quietly sneaking up to Luis’ coworkers- who he had dedicated so much time and effort into getting to even like him, let alone respect him- and asking them to call him ‘Lulu???’

If it was any other situation, he would’ve laughed and said; ‘Go right ahead, Cariño. Let’s see where that gets you’, but his dignity was on the line, ¡por el amor de Dios! And Luis certainly wasn’t about to give Leon the satisfaction of a smile or a laugh. It would only encourage him.

“Oh I would, Lulu.”

Leon reached back and grabbed Luis’ hand, pulling him up onto his feet with a dissatisfied grunt. He wanted to complain about the cold, and the fact that he’d just been forced out of bed- but the second Luis opened his mouth to speak, Leon’s lips were on his own in a heartbeat.

Luis didn’t have enough time to register what was happening and kiss Leon back before the blonde had already pulled away. Staring him up-and-down in such a way that made his heart beat up into his throat chaotically.

“Um- y-yeah, no, I, uh-“

“My, my, call me crazy, but I think you like being called Lulu, don’t you?”

Luis tried his best to scoff indifferently at the statement, maybe even roll his eyes a bit- but it just came out looking like he couldn’t make eye contact from the embarrassment, and his ‘scoff’ sounded more like a sheepish giggle than anything else. He bit his lip in desperation,

“Nooooooo, I do not like being called ‘Luu-Luu’, thank you very much”

Leon placed his hands on his hips.

“Nuh-Uh. Look at your face. You totally do”

“You’re de-lu-sional, Muñeco”

This finally caused Leon to break his composure, letting out a genuine laugh as he gave Luis a more gentle kiss on the lips. The brunette felt his chest warm up as he couldn’t help but chuckle along involuntarily. The more time they’d spent together, the more he’d been fortunate enough to hear Leon genuinely laugh. Not just that weird, half-chuckle he did to impress politicians or to make his rescuees feel better about themselves, no; his real, honest-to-goodness, full-body laugh. It was beautiful, at least to Luis.

And Luis secretly made it his life mission to get Leon to laugh as often as he could. Wether that be with bad flirting or with equally as bad jokes, it didn’t matter. Even if it meant he had to be called ‘Lulu’.

Which he was slowly growing to both despise and appreciate at the same time. Luis couldn’t tell which it was.

“Well, I’m gonna be late to work if I don’t go now, soooo….” Leon began to recollect himself, coughing as he awkwardly sidestepped away from their interaction and brushed down his expensive suit.

“Oh, and remember that mission to Papua New Guinea we were scheduled for in a couple days?”

“Sí?”

“Let the Lab know that that’s been pushed to later this evening, cuz the DSO wants us gone earlier. For some godforsaken reason.”

Even though his back was turned at this point, busy putting his shoes on- Luis could hear the tiredness in Leon’s voice. The Government was far too lax with their times and dates for missions and departures when it came to the DSO’s-Golden-Boy, at least in Luis’ humble opinion. And it meant Leon was often thrown around countries without warning like a ragdoll.

He made the conscious effort to not complain about the sudden time-change, though. It was difficult for him, yes, but Luis knew Leon often carried a lot of guilt for ‘dragging him around’, in his own words. (Even though he had, on multiple occasions, reassured Leon that it was in fact his choice to stick by him)

And Luis was proven right once again when the blonde finally turned around to give his boyfriend the biggest, most sappiest puppy-dog eyes he had ever seen on a single human being ever.

“I’m sorry, love..”

“Don’t be,” Luis gave him his signature, lopsided grin, cupping Leon’s cheek in his hand. He tried to keep his voice steady as Leon closed his eyes and gave his palm a light, apologetic kiss.

“What do you Americans say, again? ‘It is what it is’?”

“Something like that,” Leon huffed a dry laugh and pried himself away from Luis, much to his dismay. The blonde snapped his work watch on and finally turned to leave.

“I’ll see you in a few hours, Lulu. I love you.”

Luis just rolled his eyes and smiled. “You too, Cowboy. Te amo”

—————————————————————

Luis hadn’t even noticed Rebecca entering the Lab at the crisp hour of 6:30 AM. He sat hunched over at his desk- completely fixated on the task at hand- with his hair falling over his face like a curtain as he methodically drummed the tip of his syringe into a small glass plate. This was Luis’ fourth attempt at trying to examine the fluid inside of said syringe, but everytime he went to dab a droplet onto the glass plate, he always seemed to squeeze just a little too much out and cause it to overflow.

Luis chalked it up to his hands being cold and shaky as he let out a defeated sigh, once again squeezing the liquid out too fast and causing the glass plate to turn a sticky-yellow color. ‘Gracias a dios no soy cirujano’, he thought to himself as he cleaned off the glass and repositioned the needle back over again.

Luis had no idea Rebecca was practically sneaking up behind him, totally unaware that she’d slipped her oversized lab coat on just to add a bit of height as she stood directly behind him. Biting back her grin as best she could.

When Luis still didn’t acknowledge her presence, totally engrossed by his own failure- Rebbeca took it upon herself to cough comically loud, before saying;

“Good morning, Lulu!”

“¡MIERDA-!”

Luis kept about three feet into the air out of fright, instinctively throwing his arm up to cover his face protectively. The needle he was holding clattered loudly against the glass plate, and Rebecca made a winced face at the sound.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!! I didn’t see you were working!!”

“Nonono, está bien, está bien, you just gave me frig- wait a minuite,”

Luis’ clutch on his own pristine white Lab coat loosened as his beating heart slowed down. He was used to being jumped- a little more than the average person- and was accustomed to the quickened heart rate that followed.

Usually, when somebody snuck up behind him, Luis expected to hear his name being cursed with a fervor so unmatched with an honestly decent reason to hate him. But this isn’t what he was expecting. Like, at all.

“Señorita, I think I misheard… Did you just call me Lulu?”

“Mmmhmm!” Rebecca pressed her lips into a smile, the corners of her tired eyes crinkling as she nodded her head and hummed.

“Leon called me on the way to work and specifically asked me to call you that today. I’m not sure why. Oh, he also told me not to tell you he said that”

Luis felt his heart drop to his feet.

‘Leon, que hiciste…’

He immediately tried to save-face by laughing Rebecca off, waving his hand languidly and collecting the dropped medical equipment scattered over the table.

“Oh, psssshhh, please, Lulu? Seriously? Señorita, I wouldn’t have picked an esteemed scientist like yourself as the nickname type. Much less something like L-“

“I think Lulu’s pretty cute,” Rebecca smiled, completely unaware of Luis’ plight. She wasn’t taking his hints, and the scientist wasn’t about to spell out his own embarrassment for her to take advantage of. ‘How many people has Leon told so far??’

“It suits you”

“So I’ve been told” Luis grumbled. The microscope was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world to him as he tried not to meet Rebecca’s eye contact. But that was becoming increasingly difficult as she fluttered around him like a curious moth to a lamp.

“Oh, ‘So you’ve been told??’ Is this, like, an inside joke between you and Leon, or something?”

“Let’s go with that, Mariposa” Luis didn’t mean to sound so dismissive on purpose, but the further Rebecca tried to pry, the more his walls were starting to break down.

Nobody ever said he was resilient! Just persistent. At least that’s what Leon said. And a lot of other people, too. But those people hated his guts so it didn’t count.

Rebecca clearly wasn’t taking ‘No’ for an answer, and if Luis had eyes on the back of his head, he would have definitely seen that she had the biggest, most cheekiest smirk imaginable on her face.

“Oooooooooh, I get it. It’s a cute little nickname, huh?”

“Ah-ah, I see what you’re trying to do,” Luis swiveled around in his office chair, waving his index finger at the brunette with a sheepish expression. “You’re trying to get me to embarrass myself. Well, sorry to disappoint, mí amiga, but I’m not admitting anything to you”

“But you just did,” Rebecca folded her arms and rested her weight on one foot, cocking her head a little like it was obvious.

“I never even said anything about embarrassing you. You just outed yourself, smartass!”

Luis loudly and dramatically gasped to try and distract from the fact that his face was now definitely two shades darker than it was before, grasping at his lab coat like he’d been mortally wounded.

“I did not! I was framed! Set up for disaster, even!”

“By who?”

Luis immediately went silent.

Caught red-handed. Again.

Rebecca’s smug grin turned into a full-faced smile as she practically strolled across the room with a self-satisfied stride, shoes clacking obnoxiously loud against the ceramic while shaking her head and tutting ‘Leon, Leon, Leon…’ under her breath all the while.

Luis kind of wanted to tear out the concrete beneath them and dig himself a hole to live in forevermore from the sheer embarrassment of it all. He tried his damnedest to return back to the task at hand- ‘¿Qué estaba haciendo? Ah yes, testing!’- but no matter how busy he made himself out to be, the Spaniard would still occasionally catch Rebecca’s knowing smirk from across the room. Chin placed on her hand, she’d sigh wistfully like a damsel lost-in-thought every now and then.

This was appalling! Blasphemous, even! Luis Serra Navarro had been called many-a things- some words were probably best left unsaid- but his name being boiled down to a cutesy nickname like Lulu was not going to be one of those!! He could ignore a one-off, sure; retort back with a flirty remark, a wink, and a smile- but it was purely just the way Leon had held it over his head the way he had that got Luis acting so….

Bashful? Flustered? No. Totally not. Never. The fine knight Don Quixote did not get ‘Embarrassed’. He was a smooth-talker, a self-proclaimed ‘ladies and gents man’, and he had a reputation to uphold.

But that ‘reputation’ seemed to be slipping out of his fingertips like molten gold the longer Rebecca was around. Luis downright adored her at the worst of times, but Dios mío she was determined to get Luis as out-of-his-comfort-zome as humanly possible that afternoon, it seemed.

“Lulu, can you pass me the butterfly syringes while you’re up? I’m trying to count something and I can’t- oh wait nevermind I lost count anyways”

“Hey, Lulu, do you still have those reports from our last extraction, by any chance? I lost mine”

“Oooooooh Luuuluuu!!! I got you some coffee!! You said you like it with cream, right?”

“Alright, Lulu, we’ve gotta focus now,”

Coming up eleven whole hours later and the pair of them were still the only people alone together in the Lab. Which made sense, considering it was a Sunday and all- but that meant they were working overtime, which also meant Luis’ back was especially sore (more than usual, at least), his head ached from just how hard he’d been focusing, and Rebecca was still calling him Lulu goddamnit!!

He thought by now she would’ve given up on it, but nooooooooooo- everytime Luis gave her the silent treatment, it just encouraged her more.

She reminded him of Leon, in that way.

Man, he really missed Leon. ‘Me pregunto cómo está…’

“Terrasave told me this was their last sample of the blood cells they found in Papua New Guinea, so we can’t screw this up- Lulu, are you even listening to me??”

“Wh-huh- ¿Qué fue eso??”

Luis blinked out of his window-staring induced trance to face Rebecca, who was unsurprisingly faring no better than he was- dark circles painted her lower eyebags and her eyebrows remained permanently scrunched. The pair of them stood in front of a robotic, almost dystopian-looking machine; a pin-perfect needle was controlled by a metal arm, one that was positioned carefully over a small, round glass plate.

Luis would have offered to do it by hand, but Rebecca pointed out that inhaling zombie blood probably wasn’t good for either of their health. If Leon was there, he’d probably disagree.

The pair of them had been working on a new type of vaccination for a few common Virus’- Luis cringed internally at the fact that such horrific stuff like the T-Virus were now considered common- that could be redistributed through oral means like water or food, rather than injections. Sure, injections were easier, but screaming

children terrified of them were not. (And, again, much to Luis’ dismay- children being infected were also becoming a lot more common).

“Lulu, I need you to focus,” Rebecca sighed, resting her arms on the inactive keyboard in front of her.

“I don’t wanna have to explain to Terrasave that we ruined their last zombie blood sample”

Luis just sighed back and rubbed his tired eyes though his glasses, which at this point had slipped down the bridge of his nose. He stretched and yawned out loud;

“It’s kinda hard to focus when you’re still calling me ‘Lulu’, señorita”

“Wow, Rebecca really did commit to my request, huh, Lulu?”

Luis instinctively whipped his head around to the entrance of the lab where the voice was coming from; only to be greeted by a very familiar, smiling face.

“Leon!!”

Completely throwing all self-awareness to the wind, Luis practically ran across the lab to engulf Leon in the biggest hug he could manage without hurting him. It might’ve just been his tired brain making him feel sentimental, but seeing a familiar face he loved after a long day of work made him soft. Leon rarely ever stopped by to say hi at the Lab, their break schedules simply just never aligned- so this was more than a welcome surprise.

Luis buried his nose into his partners shoulder, ignoring the fact that he was probably wrinkling his nice expensive work suit in favor of the feeling of a warm hug.

“¡Dios mío, te extrañé tanto!” He felt Leon wrap an arm around his waist, squeezing him back as tightly as he could manage and giving the top of his head a quick kiss. The blonde chuckled dryly,

“Ha, looks like I’m not the only one whose had a long day at work, Lulu”

From across the room, Rebecca shouted;

“You have no idea, Leon! Lulu over here has been asleep on his feet for two hours now!!”

Luis felt his cheeks and the back of his neck heat up at the sound of the two’s back-and-fourth banter; again, he thought that by now, one or the other would’ve forgotten about calling him that embarrassing nickname! But ¡no, claro que no! Luis resorted to unintentionally burying his face further into the crook of Leon’s neck to save himself from facing the two of them with a madly blushing face; but that only caused Leon to laugh and coo at him.

“Awwwwwe, what, is my Lulu getting all shy on me now? You still don’t like my nickname?”

From over his shoulder, Luis heard the crackle of a phone speaker;

“Oh my gosh, is that Luis?? Wait wait wait hang on- Hiiiiiiii Luluuuuuuu!!!!!”

“Is that Ashley?! Dios mío…”

Leon just laughed at the disappointed sigh Luis left out when he heard Ashley calling him that nickname, too; he forced himself out of Leon’s arms for a moment to look at the caller ID on his partners old work phone.

Sure enough, ‘Baby Eagle’ was shown off front-and-centre.

“Leon,” Luis tried his best to sound intimidating, but it fell flat.

“How many people have you asked to call me…”

“Lulu?” Leon finished his sentance with a grin.

“Only Rebecca and Ashley, I swear on my life”

Leon was notorious for being a horrible liar. So Luis was almost immediately able to tell he was telling the truth, but still; he wasn’t about to let Leon get away with it Scott-free. He snatched the phone out of the blondes hand in one swift motion,

“¡Mí Señorita! ha sido tan largo, how’ve you been? Rebecca says hi,”

“Hi Ashley!!” Rebecca waved from across the room.

“Hiya Miss Chambers, hiya Lulu!! I’ve been good! Sorry I haven’t been able to visit you, I’ve got, like, extra bodyguards or something and they’re reeeeeeally annoying”

“It’s for your safety, Ashley” Leon huffed a half-laugh.

“So Leon’s tricked you into calling me that nickname too, I see?”

“Tricked me? No!! I’m calling you Lulu voluntarily!! I think it suits you!”

Luis groaned in defeat, hiding his face in his hands both out of sheer embarrassment and tiredness.

“¡¿Por qué todos dicen eso?! It does not suit me!!” He threw his hands into the air for extra emphasis, “I’m a grown man! What about me gives off ‘Lulu’ vibes?!”

“You’re cute,” Leon pointed out flatly with a smile on his face.

“And ‘Lulus’ cute”

“You have a short attention span!,” Rebecca shouted from across the room, “You probably need a nickname to keep focused anyways!”

“You have the soul of a Grandfather. And I feel like ‘Lulu’ is the kind of nickname I’d hear from, like, my Grandma in the White House or something”

“O-Oh yeah, Mí amiga? Well, if you all want to call me Lulu…” he practically had to force the nickname out of his mouth.

“Then I suggest you all start calling Leon Scotty from now on”

This, thank god, actually got a loud laugh out of Rebecca and Ashley- and Leon clearly wasn’t far behind, biting his bottom lip desperately to keep himself from letting even the slightest noise out. Luis felt his grow warm with a little sense of pride- He’d managed to make Leon laugh. Almost, at least. But that was good enough for him.

“N-No offense, Luis,” On the other end of the line, Ashley sounded like she was trying her damnedest to keep her voice steady after her burst of laughter

“But Scotty doesn’t suit him as much as Lulu does for you”

“Besides, it’s weird calling your friend their middle name!” Rebecca was equally as doubled-over with laughter, clutching the side table with her red hand that wasn’t covering her mouth in a balled fist.

Leon gave Luis a look that screamed ‘I told you so’

“Well, fine then. Dios Mío you three are persistent. But I will not be entertaining this nickname, I will simply be ignoring you”

“Whatever you say, Lulu” Leon smiled, taking his partners hand and bringing it up to his lips for a kiss. Luis really needed to stop being so blushy for ten seconds please.

“All jokes aside, though- Rebecca, I’ve gotta steal Luis for that mission….”

“Damn, you’re leaving me high-and-dry already?” Rebecca did her best to give the two men a confident smile, but Luis could practically see the exhaustion in her eyes. Not to mention just how generally disheveled she and the rest of the lab looked- the brunette man winced at the realization that he’d be leaving her all alone to finish their assignment and to clean up the entire laboratory.

“Mí Mariposa, I’m so sorry-“

“It’s fine Lulu, honest,” Rebecca gave him a genuine smile, the corners of her tired eyes crinkling. Luis felt his own guilt claw at his chest like nails against a chalkboard.

“I know better than the both of you how these missions are set up”

“At least let me help clean up!”

“There’s no way we’re just gonna leave you to do… whatever you're doing all by yourself,” Leon added, backing his boyfriend up. Even if he had zero clue what kind of ‘sciency-nerd-stuff’ (His words, not Luis’) the pair of them got up to during the day.

Luis looked back-and-fourth between Rebecca, Leon and the mess that was the Lab tables. Books, computers and medical equipment were scattered around as far as the eye could see- but Rebecca just shook her head and shooed him off.

“Like I said, It’s fine you two. I’m probably just gonna grab a late-night coffee and head home anyways. The students coming in tomorrow can clean all this up. I’ll call it work experience” the brunette gave him a wink as she began to practically shove the pair out of the lab.

“Now go! Vamos! Before the president or whoever gets mad at you or, something”

“My dad would never!” Ashleys voice crackled defiantly over the phone. Leon just shook his head and laughed as Rebecca dragged the pair out the doors almost by force.

“Oh trust me, he would”

—————————————————————

The loud, shrill screech of the helicopter propellers combined with the rumbling vibrations against Luis’ back were the only things keeping him upright at this point.

Luis was exhausted; beyond that, even. How he was even sitting up straight, let alone how he had his eyes open at all was a complete miracle. The thin helicopter seats underneath him left no room for relaxation, and forced Luis’ back up against the curved edge of the metal chopper walls- sending uncomfortable rumbles down his spine adjacent to the feeling of resting your head on a bus window. Only this was a full-bodied experience.

No matter how many times he did it, Luis never got over the feeling of flying in a helicopter- the first couple times he was practically ecstatic, staring out of the window as the ground beneath him shrunk into an oil painting-like splotch of greens and browns. The sudden jerk and lift-off never became familiar to him, either; he lost his stomach everytime, without fail.

Overall, kind of a miserable experience once Luis got used to the six-hour long trips filled with nothing but loud rumbling that left his ears ringing for weeks. Not to mention, it was cold. The BSAA’s Donation helicopters were, much to his surprise, nothing fancy on the inside; just cold metal as far as the eye could see. And metal got cold easily, believe it or not.

Luis sighed defeatedly as he did his best to shuffle into a more comfortable position- with no luck- and resorted to just hunching over himself. Screw future-Luis’ back problems, he was tired, damnit.

The only thing keeping him awake was Leon sitting right beside him. Arm-in-arm, the blonde was doing just as bad as he was. Worse, even.

Their trip to Papua New Guinea went… Not to plan.

They were instructed to go undercover with fake names and try to infiltrate a container ship supposedly full of T-Virus samples- but they were ambushed. Not by human beings, no; rather, a giant, fleshy, still-beating creature clawed it’s way out of the Oceanside jungle, unhinging it’s jaw to let out a loud, grotesque screech before launching itself at the pair of men.

It reeked of something Luis could just barely recognise as coming out of a Lab most likely, and it’s eyes- or more accurately, it’s three eyes- glowed a bright, fluorescent orange that screamed ‘Hey! I was a totally normal guy before I most likely injected myself with some miscellaneous alphabet-organized named virus and turned into this ugly creature!! Which means you have to kill me now, teehee!!!’

Luis looked down at his own bloody hands shakily at the memory. Neither him nor Leon had gotten the opportunity to change before they evacuated.

He rubbed the flaky, dry blood off of his hands as rigorously as he could. The smell stinged his nose still.

Him and Leon, by some miracle, had gotten the upper hand; the container ship was large and void of people, which meant they could spend as many hours as needed running around the small, shallow halls to avoid their oncoming attacker- who was much too large to fit within the confines of the many engine rooms they traversed.

But it was never that simple, as Luis had learnt. The Bioweapon had practically teared the container ship in two, and despite it looking like it’d have- at max- maybe three brain-cells, it still efficiently snatched up Leon and crushed his rifle under its feet within seconds, hoisting the blonde up into the air and crushing his body agonizingly slowly.

The pair of men were strictly instructed to not shoot the Bioweapon- the man underneath all those mutations, a Doctor Emmet Rupert Brown, was still showing clear signs of sentience and could theoretically be reverse-engineered back to his normal state.

But in that moment, when Leon was on the brink of death and without a weapon to defend himself…

Luis had no other options.

And the guilt of his actions ate away at him each passing second on their helicopter journey home.

Luis knew what he was signing up for when he joined Leon on his missions. He had heard tall tales about the kinds of monsters Leon S. Kennedy had faced bare-handed, and even saw plenty of them himself in Spain-

But what he wasn’t expecting was to be met with the harsh, cruel humanity that lay underneath those Bioweapons.

Luis turned to his partner, whose eyes remained unfocused and foggy, toeing the line between asleep and wakefulness.

‘Díos mío, how does he do it….’

In that moment, with the sound of the helicopter whirring drowning out any other outside noises; Luis remembered an experience he had while he was still living with his Grandfather in Valdelobos.

The late afternoon air was crisp, and Luis felt his small chest tighten from the cold. His legs sunk almost up to his knees as he struggled to keep up with his Grandfather. Huffing and trotting along behind him in a snails-trail.

Luis held a large hunting rifle with both of his hands- the sheer size alone engulfing almost half of his body.

In front of him, his Grandfathers shadow blocked the reflection of the sun against the blinding-white snow, letting Luis walk along with larger, more confident steps.

The Village Priests truly were right; Winter silenced everything.

There were no songbirds fluttering about Luis’ feet, no echoes of children playing just beyond the woods- nothing. Just the his own heavy breathing and his Grandfather's heavy footsteps. He was tired. They’d been walking in circles for what felt like hours, looking for anything to bring home to the table.

Luis was practically ready to fall asleep on his feet, the silence filling the air like his own lullaby, until…

SNAP!!

Luis almost lept out of his skin in fright as his Grandfather instinctively raised his gun up to his eyeline. They stayed still for a moment, before the sound of groaning followed the air.

Luis couldn’t see his Grandfathers expression, but instead was met with a familiar whistle-call that meant Luis was being told to follow him as closely as possible.

He wrapped a tiny hand around his Grandfathers coat sleeve, following every large step deeper and deeper into the woods until….

“A deer,” His Grandfather pointed to a large, brown lump lying in the snow.

“It’s gotten caught in the Bear traps. Stay there, Lulu”

Luis did as he was told and waited as quietly and stiffly as humanly possible- as if any sudden movements would break the watch below him.

He watched as the deer began to struggle and wail the closer his Grandfather got to it; he heard the older man murmuring a familiar lullaby, resting a hand on the big animals face. Even from so far away, Luis could see it’s terrified expression; wide, white eyes and a quickly rising-and-falling chest. He felt his heart crack a little in sympathy.

In one, swift motion, Luis’ Grandfather unbuckled the Bear Trap and the deer was gone within the blink of an eye; spraying up snow as it honked and wailed loudly into the silent air. Slipping around on its own gangly legs as it flicked snow straight into the older man’s eyes. Luis felt his chest loosen with relief as his Grandfather just laughed, watching the deer run off into the distance.

“Grandfather, why didn’t you kill the deer?” Luis asked, confidently trotting up to his side to investigate the Bear Trap.

His Grandfather kneeled down to his level, which only meant one thing; Whatever he was about to say next was extremely important.

“Because, Lulu, killing that deer while it was already mortally wounded would be a dishonorable murder. The Bear Trap wasn’t laid for it, so it shouldn’t have died by its jaws.

Understand this, Lulu; you only ever kill when it’s absolutely necessary and honorable. The most morally reprehensible action a knight can preform is taking a life while they’ve already been beaten down. Do you understand?”

Luis had held that sentiment with him his entire life.

Through working with Umbrella, experiencing the horrors of the Nemesis project, all the way to fighting against Krauser- Luis did his best to uphold his Grandfathers wishes.

But life wasn’t always a fairytale book.

And how Leon was able to live with that kind of guilt… He had no idea.

“…MmmLuuuis?”

As if reading his mind, Leon lulled his head over to face his partner with a slightly concerned expression. The little wrinkles on his forehead exaggerating as he forced his eyebrows up higher to keep himself awake.

“Are y’alrght?”

“I’m fine, Mí amor,” Luis reassured him, hoping his voice was audible over the roaring of the helicopter. He leaned over to kiss Leon on the sides of his temples,

“You, however, don’t look fine. You should be asleep, Cariño”

“Can’t,” Was all Leon was able to mumble out, his eyes dipping slowly.

“You’re still ‘wake…”

Looking at just how exhausted Leon was seemed to be contagious, because Luis’ own fatigue creeped up on the corner of his mind like weeds in no time. His entire body ached, his head throbbed, and the clothes against his skin felt itchy. Luis could have sworn right then and there that that was easily the most tired he had ever felt in his entire life; every limb was like lead, yet at the same time, his bones felt as liquid-y as jello. And every tiny cut, scar and bruise they had gotten from the mission seemed to be exaggerated in pain by 10000%.

But, once again, Leon just looked so much worse altogether.

Besides, Luis would feel a whole lot better knowing Leon had gotten some rest. Maybe he’d even join him later on if they were still up in the sky, who knows.

“Leon, I insist you fall asleep”

“But whu’ if we land…?”

“Then I’ll wake you up,” Luis did his best to smiled before running his free hand up through Leon’s stringy blonde locks to encourage his head down onto his shoulder. He played with his locks a bit before moving down to caress the bridge of his boyfriends nose, gently laying a kiss against his wrinkled forehead and eyelids.

“Ve a dormir, mí amor. I’ll protect you, I promise.”

That seemed to be the final straw for Leon. Luis felt his chest glow with warmth as the blonde sighed contently and finally shut his eyelids, head bouncing occasionally from the helicopters’ movements.

Luis could easily watch Leon sleep like this for ages, no matter how uncomfortable the conditions were; it was rare he ever got to spy moments of pure relaxation from Leon like this. So he well and truly appreciated it.

And although Luis had promised he’d stay awake for Leon…

The exhaustion, guilt and general jet-lag of their whole journey caught up to him in no time.

Luis surrendered to his own blissful rest, letting his long, dark locks fall over his eyes as he rested the side of his head against the top of Leon’s.

He was just on the verge of sleep, until…

“Goodnight, Lulu…”

Luis laughed.

Over the coarse of the last three days, he had totally forgotten about Leon’s little nickname for him. And he just assumed Leon had forgotten about it, too.

But clearly not.

And, hell, he couldn’t even stay mad at Leon for it.

In fact, Luis was indeed starting to warm up to the nickname Lulu after all.

He kissed the top of Leon’s head,

“Goodnight, Cowboy…”

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fanfictilltheend · 10 months

Text

Languidly (A 420 🍃🚬 and light sub!Joel fic) [Joel Miller/Y/N]

Ao3 Link

Masterlist

A/n: Hi I know I've literally been promising this on my tumblr for over a month but here it is! Please let me know how you liked/if you liked this fic!! Sub!joel was a little unexpected but just sort of happened so let me know your thoughts on that! I don't think there's enough of him! Wrap it before you tap it, folks! @pr0ximamidnight added to this 420 prompt I created by saying: "I think having Ellie search for her stash and then come to find Joel to ask if he’s seen it, only to walk in on them giggly and baking with flour everywhere and he’s got his shirt off and reader is wearing it would be so cute. She’d be so daughter about it like “i cannot believe you took my weed. You’re the worst….wait are those brownies” (sorry I changed it to chocolate chip cookies lol I was craving them!)

Warnings: 18+ smut do not interact if not 18+ penis in vagina sex, recreational drug use, marijuana, smoking, sub!Joel, very light sub/dom, afab!you, age difference (Y/N is 35 & joel is 61), unsafe sex, fluff, Ellie appearance

Summary: Joel and Y/N get high together and light sub!joel happens 💕

“C’mon, Joel, we have to!” you beg, pouting a little (which you know Joel has a hard time resisting). “Now that you’ve told me Ellie has a stash there’s no backing out! It’s 4/20 for chrissakes!” “Y/N,” Joel replies a little sheepishly. “I ain’t sure stealing Ellie’s joints is exactly the best idea..."

“Y/N,” Joel replies a little sheepishly. “I ain’t sure stealing Ellie’s joints is exactly the best idea.”

“You really think she’ll miss two if what you’re telling me about how large of a stash it is is true?” you press. “I mean, how does one nineteen-year-old get that much weed these days anyways?” “It ain’t that hard to grow,” Joel points out, slightly amused at your ignorance. “Smuggled a ton of it in and out of the Boston QZ in my day.”

“So we’re doing it then, right, Mr. Experienced-Smuggler? This will be like a trip down memory lane. Another easy job, if you will. Okay?”

“Aw, what the hell,” Joel finally gives in with a smirk and you do a little victory dance around the living room.

“What does 420 have to do with weed anyway?” you wonder aloud as you make your way to Ellie’s small garage house.

“Legend has it, it has to do with police codes when they used to call in a pot possession or some such bullshit.”

“Arresting people for weed? Even in the old days? Seems cruel and unusual.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Joel shrugs.

He reaches out a large hand to knock on Ellie’s door. When you two don’t hear a reply, he takes out a set of keys and unlocks it.

“We’re in!” you giggle, looking around Ellie’s messy, cozy little home. “Where does she keep it? Ellie is so gonna kill us if she finds out.”

“Under the bed,” Joel grunts and bends down, clutching at his – you’re sure – aching back.

“Careful there, old man!” you smirk. “I got it!”

You bend down quickly, ass in the air, and reach down to pull out a shoebox. Inside it is about 15 joints, a few trading cards, and a picture of Ellie and Joel. You think that’s very sweet. You love how amazing Joel can be with Ellie.

Then you feel someone swat your ass!

“Hey!” you exclaim.

“I ain’t that old I can’t pick up a goddamn box off the floor!”

“That remains to be seen!” you challenge. “Got a light?” you ask, clutching two joints in your hand.

“In the kitchen,” Joel grins, a rare sight on his usually serious, handsome face.

***

Joel is sprawled out along the couch in the living room and you are in the armchair next to him, giggling uncontrollably as he takes a long puff on his joint.

He sighs deeply.

“You know something? My back don’t hurt,” he reports with a smile.

“Wow, I am so happy for you, babe,” you reply genuinely. “Did you know I think you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on?”

“Aaand that must be the pot talking,” he chuckles, taking another drag on his blunt, the smoke curling and billowing up into the air.

“Nuh-uh,” you insist, staring a little dreamily at the outline of his shoulders and the tight planes of his flannel-covered chest. “It’s the truth. You’re one tall glass of water.”

“Not too bad yourself, babygirl,” Joel replies, smirking. “Now, come sit in my lap, why don’t ya? I’m feeling a lil lonely.”

“We can’t have that!” you exclaim in concern.

And the truth is, you don’t need to be told to come over twice. The weed and Joel have been making you pretty horny honestly so you scamper over and sit right down on top of him and lean in for a kiss. His lips meet yours languidly and you sigh into his mouth. You feel his fully hard cock poking into your front through his jeans and you moan softly, realizing that the weed must be making him horny too since it usually takes a bit to get him all the way hard.

“Is that something in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” you ask through a snicker.

“Shuddup,” Joel smirks, leaning in for another kiss.

“Can we fuck, babe? I’m so horny for you,” you whine, pulling away from his mouth.

Joel grins up at you a little stupidly.

“How did I get so lucky to be asked such a question?” he chuckles, his eyes shining. “Of course we can, but kiss me more first, sweetheart. Go on.”

You lean down and plant one gently on his stubbly cheek first and then on his surprisingly soft and warm lips and you two make out like teenagers for a while. But you get a little greedy and start rutting against Joel’s denim-clad thigh.

“Damn, baby,” Joel smirks. “Someone’s turned on, rubbin’ up on me like that...”

“Need you, Joel,” you reply, reaching to undo the clasp of his belt. “Don’t lie. You’re hard too.”

“Very,” Joel agrees gently. “Come sit on my cock, babygirl.”

Eagerly, you pull off your jeans and Joel takes off his own, giggling slightly. You’ve never seen Joel, a stoic, grown-ass man positively giggle before, and yet, here it is happening! You smile wide too as you unbutton his flannel and pull off his shirt to reveal his broad, toned, hairy chest and barely-there belly. You lean down to give it a kiss and Joel actually blushes! He reaches to pull off your tank top and bra and then down to pull off your faint, orange panties. He admires your tits, the pretty V-shape of your pussy. You take off his blue, plaid boxer briefs and bend down to kiss the tip of his cock to tease and he groans deeply.

“Wanna be inside you,” he complains, squirming a little, lifting your chin to meet his lips and you kiss him back hard, biting his bottom lip ever so slightly.

“So bossy,” you remark.

“‘S ‘cause I’m not gonna last long on account of how smokin’ you are, little lady,” Joel replies very sincerely.

You beam and it’s your turn to giggle like a schoolgirl. He grins stupidly too. He is so silly!

You position yourself over him and sink down slowly on his erect cock inch by glorious inch. You squeeze down around him, feeling so full, and you both let out a delicious moan. He buries his head in your tits and begins to suck them. It feels so good, the high making every wave of pleasure more intense, but then he returns upward, kissing up the length of your neck, tickling you ever so slightly.

“Fuck, babygirl,” he slurs into your ear. “Like you bein’ on top sometimes…Now bounce that sweet ass of yours on my cock.”

“You just want me to do all the work,” you smirk. “Lazy-ass.”

“Me? Lazy?” Joel grins. “Say all you want, sweetheart, but we both know I know how to take charge…Want you to this time though. Will you do that for me, baby?”

“Of course, sweet boy,” you say experimentally, kissing his forehead and beginning to move on top of him.

Joel positively keens in pleasure in a way you’ve never quite heard or seen before. New kink unlocked? You wonder in amusement. You should have known he’d want you to take control every once in a while just like how when you cuddle he likes to be the little spoon sometimes. You truly learn something new every day!

You start bouncing on his dick at a faster pace and Joel whines.

“You like that, baby?” you whisper softly in his ear.

“Yes, Y/N,” he moans in his deep southern drawl. “ Please .”

God, the way he begs for you in his heady voice unlocks something inside of you too and gets you so hot and bothered you move on top of him even faster.

You kiss his cheek, his forehead, his nose, his throat, his Adam's apple as you go up and down on his impossibly hard cock, feeling so full.

“So good for me, honey,” you whine, back to his ear, nuzzling the shell of it. “I’m getting close…”

“Want you to cum so hard, Y/N,” he says dreamily. “Please cum on my cock, babygirl. Wanna please you, make you so happy.”

So sweet! You think. You know he wants to make you happy with every movement he makes towards you. It’s always been that way. Joel is not one for words, but his actions always let you know you are loved and cherished.

“Of course, baby,” you whisper.

He’s beginning to get desperate. You can feel it in how eagerly he meets you with his thrusts, how his rough hands dig into your arms.

And you do cum! You contract around Joel’s thick prick and let out a yell of absolute pleasure as it engulfs you and stars dance around in your eyes. Everything feels numb in the best possible way! You feel like you could float all the way to the moon…

“Y/N, I’m ‘onna cum,” Joel moans urgently against your ear.

“That’s okay,” you reply reassuringly with a fucked-out grin, kissing him sloppily. “Cum for me, sweetheart.”

Joel lets out a shout and cums hard inside you, filling you with his seed. You moan alongside him until he comes down from his high, feeling him start to go soft inside you.

“What do you say, baby?” you ask, reaching up to pull a handful of his brown, greying hair ever so gently and Joel lets out a vulnerable whine you’re not used to hearing from him.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he replies obediently, staring a little shyly into your eyes.

You decide you like his timidness, this soft side of Joel Miller and it makes your heart flutter. You let go of his hair and kiss his forehead.

“That sure was something!” you giggle enthusiastically, the last tendrils of the high still pumping through your blood.

“Good shit,” Joel agrees with a nod, not quite meeting your eyes. “Was that…okay with you ‘n all?”

“Yeah, babe,” you respond, smiling. “I loved it. Anything you need that’s what I’m here for, didn’t you know?”

Joel doesn’t say anything, but he grins.

“You aren’t feelin’ hungry by any chance, are ya?” he asks after a moment.

“Someone got the munchies?” you tease, pinching his cheek a little.

He reaches up and swats your hand away.

“Maybe so?”

“You know what sounds really good right now?” you ask. “Like really, really good?”

“Whatchya thinkin'?” he asks.

“Chocolate–No! Better than that!--Chocolate-chip cookies!” you exclaim, your eyes getting wide and glazing over a little.

Joel laughs.

“You know I think we may have just the ingredients! Follow me.”

***

The door slams open and Ellie barges into the kitchen through the back door.

“Joel, have you seen my fucking–” but she cuts herself off as she sees the two of you.

You’re both snickering and giggling uncontrollably at the kitchen counter, cooking supplies strewn throughout it – a bowl, eggs, chocolate chips, and more – and you’re both covered in the flour that you keep lobbing at each other through fits of hysterical laughter. Joel forgot to put his shirt back on and his dark, hairy chest is out and looks almost like it’s been dyed white from the flour. You have a giant splotch on your cheek with the mark of two lips pressed together in the center of it as well as Joel’s big flannel on which is big enough to cover you like a dress.

“Holy fucking shit,” Ellie smirks, putting two and two together, smiling wide enough to look genuinely amused. “I cannot believe that you two stole my blunts. What the fuck are you doing? Did a fucking tornado go off in here?”

“Hi, Els!” you exclaim. “We’re just making some cookies. D’you want some?”

“‘S not that bad,” Joel concurs, white flour in his beard. “How was patrol, kiddo?”

“And to think I thought that you old fuckers didn’t even know what 4/20 was,” she snickers.

“Hey!” you say through a snort. “I am only thirty-five, you little whippersnapper. ‘Old fucker,’ my ass! I mean you had so much it was only fair to share.”

“Yeah!” Ellie rolls her eyes. “‘Share.’ Sure. You know, I’m mighty pissed ‘n all, but – wait, are those chocolate-chip!?...You wouldn’t need someone to lick the spoon now, would ya?”

A/n: Let me know what you thought! Send asks and prompts here on tumblr!! And lmk if you want to be tagged in anything ❤️

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ornii · 1 year

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Numbers Don’t Lie.

Jane/ Eleven X Male Brother Reader.

Summary: You express the want to see your presumed dead sister. Being another one of Brenners experiments, you were luckily able to escape years before it, growing up in Ohio, when you turned 18 you headed to Indiana, to find her.

December 23rd, 1984

It's been a few days or perhaps a week or two since the Snow Ball Dance and it's festivities, while it was a different experience for the kids, you felt the same in Indian High School in Ohio. It all felt so, nostalgic, but the addition of all the horrific and mostly insane things made a twist on it. But, out of all the horrific and Almost unbelievable things that occur in this town, there was one thing that made it worth it all.

Eleven.

After helping Dustin and his Prolific father figure, Steve, find his "Pet." It lead you on a journey to finding about the Upside Down, Demagorgons, and the truth behind Dr Brenners experiments, and most importantly was Eleven, still alive and very much kicking. After closing the gate for the last time you had time to get to know her just a bit more, about her journey the first time she met Dustin, Lucas, Will and Mike. Those times you were able to talk to her were heartwarming. After your spat and fight with the gate, and her Dress at the Snow Ball Dance, you ruffled her curly but small hair and finally felt somewhat at peace.

Giving you some semblance of a normal life with your little Sister, but unfortunately, not everyone was so accommodating about it. There was one person who didn't share your declaration of peace. Jim Hopper.

"Coffee, Two sugars, Spoon-full of creamer."

"Just Black for me."

"Got it chief." The waitress at the Diner walks off, leaving (Y/n) and Hopper at the table, across each other as the tension is a bit, high. The gruff and more experienced hopper glares at the younger and hauntingly mysterious (Y/n).

"So, what did you want?" (Y/n) asks, he leans back into the leather seating of the diner, calmly but smugly folding his arms, hopper looks more annoyed than most in this place.

"It's about Jane." He says, which causes (Y/n) to raise an eyebrow.

"Jane?" He says, Hopper reaches into his chest pocket and shows him a birth certificate, with the words "Jane Hopper" printed. (Y/n)'s eyes narrow to the name and he looks back up to Hopper.

"Eleven.. that's her name." (Y/n) says, but Hopper ignores that.

"Sure Pal, it's obvious that.. you know more about her, situation than I do. I don't know what those doctors did to her but it's obvious she isn't the most sociable kid." Hopper says and (Y/n)'s eyes look more sullen.

"Yeah. The, Test.. Experiments, shock therapy, we didn't go outside, we didn't get to have any contact with the outside world, we never even saw sunlight. I got lucky when my mom was able to pull me out of there, who knows how I would have ended up... but why are you asking? You don't seem like the type of guy to care." He says, and Jim shrugs.

"Who knows I might surprise you.."

"I Highly doubly it, so.. what do you want?" He asks, the waitress returns witu their coffee and places it, they give her a small nod of Thanks and she walks off, (Y/n) sips his sweet coffee and Jim spills it.

"Jane needs someone to help her control her powers, so you're going to help.. In Exchange, you can see her."

(Y/n) stops drinking his coffee, and slowly places the cup down and turns his cold eyes to Jim.

" "In exchange?" This isn't some trade of goods, and regardless I am going to see my sister." (Y/n) clenched the cup handle a bit tightly.

"Yes, in exchange, as much as you want to act like It, you aren't all of a sudden everyone's friend. You just popped up randomly with powers."

"Just Like her, Right?" He says back.

"I can trust her."

"And why not me?"

"She's a 11 year old girl, they're not good at lying, barely legal adults on the other hand."

"Well aren't you funny? I'm not going to play by some dumb rule to see my sister. You aren't going to stop me."

"This 41 Magnum says otherwise." He replies, (Y/n) could probably assume the handgun is under the table in his holster.

"You really want to try this Jim?" (Y/n) and Jim stare at each other. There was silence between them but the tension was so heavy, an intensity fills the diner, as their aggression whispers were promises of destruction.

"I've lost most of my family, I won't lose her too." He says, Jim sees the desperation and Sorrow In his eyes when he spoke, Hopper relents just for a moment and sighs.

"God Dammit... okay, it's true I don't trust you, but Jane.. she wants you to come over for Christmas."

"Christmas? Huh.." (Y/n) says, and Jim nods.

"Yeah, told me she wants it with her Family, with her "Papa and Brother.", and, if that's what the kid wants.." Jim says, and trails on. (Y/n) felt his heart skip a beat, a depressing warmness fills his heart and he nods. Holding back a few tears Jim can see him look down and sniffle.

"...I'd like that." He says. Jim's attitude softens, and stands up.

"Yeah... come over, I'm sure she'd like to see you." He says, and (Y/n) nods once more, wiping a single tear.

December 24th.

The Cabin was renovated to fit the lifestyle of a Preteen girl with powers and a rugged Old cop. A medium sized Christmas tree was planted on a big pot and (Y/n) and Eleven are setting it up.

"Okay, now, place the star on the top."

"Okay."

Eleven, using her powers lifts the star up, and places the plastic model on the top. He gives her a small pat on the back.

"There you go." (Y/n) gives her a smile, and Jane couldn't help but crack a smile. The two look at the fully decorated Tree adorned with Christmas foil and ornaments.

"Well, I guess that's that, you want some Cocoa?"

"Cocoa?" Jane asks, obviously confused by the term. (Y/n) raises an eyebrow.

"Cocoa? You've never heard of it? Jim's never given you any?" (Y/n) asks and Jane just shakes her head confused. He scoffs and walks to grabs his keys.

"Cmon." He says, Jane looks hesitant and fiddles with her fingers.

"We're not supposed to go outside." She says, and he stops.

"Jane, you've been cooped up in this place, Jim's out on some investigation, and who knows when he's coming back and I'm not leaving you here alone, Cmon.. I promise you'll have fun." He says, A bit convinced, Jane follows and they head to his car and out of the woods and into the city, he keeps Jane close as he shows her the snow, the cool winds and the festivities of Christmas. After shopping for the food for Christmas, and getting Jane a Santa hat, they return as she has a glow about her. Jim is still away, but that doesn't stop them or (Y/n), boiling milk in a pot on a stove he shows Jane the brown powder.

"Now. This is Cocoa." He says and she looks at it, obviously a bit confused.

"It's.. Dirt."

"It's Not Dirt."

"It looks like dirt."

"I know what it looks like—"

"I bet it tastes like dirt."

"No it's..anyway.. it's made from Cocoa beans, they grind them down and refine them into a powder. And you mix that powder into hot milk or water, and it turns it into Cocoa." He explains, as the milk comes to a small boil, he pours it into the pot and begins to stir, Jane watches with intensity and curiosity, as he finishes the brew, he can see the intensity that Jane is watching and finds nothing but amusement. He pours a hot up into a mug for him and another for her. Sitting down at the couch he hands it to her, and she cautiously takes it with both hands.

"Now, it's hot.. be careful and just take a sip." He says, and She does as told, she takes a cautionary sip, the rich flavor and scent of warm chocolate hits her sensory and goes overload, she stops for a second, her eyes going wide.

"Good, isn't it." He says, and she begins to chug it down and his face quickly turns to concern. She finishes and a deep brown mustache is above her upper lip and hands him the cup (Y/n) tries to stiffen down his laugh, Jane looks at his quizzically.

"What?" She says, "Do you want another cup?" He asks, snickering and she nods eagerly. He refills the cup and she continues to eagerly consume the cocoa. She finishes again with the same mustache and he tries not keep his composure again. This time she looks more frustrated.

"What's so funny?" She asks and he obliged.

"Okay, let me show you." He drinks a portion of his and forms his own mustache, he points which causes Eleven to giggle at it, he smiled so genuinely at her. She drops her cup on accident and it plummets to the ground, before it can shatter on the ground, it stops mid air, and slowly floats upward via (Y/n), who then takes the handle of the mug.

"Cmon, I got a few movies we can watch." He puts in a VHS of the classic "Gremlins." And sits next to Jane, who is a bit oblivious.

"What's a, Gremlin?" She asks and he elaborates.

"They're annoying little monsters that you can't feed after midnight. Trust me I think you'll really like it." He says, halfway into the film, Jane is asleep, most l due to the literal gallon of Cocoa she consumed. Resting her head on his shoulder, she sleeps so soundly, he looks over to her resting so calmly and he smiles.

"Lightweight."

Five minutes later, he's also asleep, his head cocked back and open. The door Jingles and opens to a grumbling Jim.

"I leave for one day and you two.." he says before seeing them sleeping so, soundly and calmly. His attitude lightens up a bit and he just puts a blanket on them, he checks his watch and raises an eyebrow, he looks at them sleeping so warmly.

"Huh, Midnight.. Merry Christmas."

#stranger things x male reader #stranger things x y/n #netflix #eleven #eleven hopper #eleven x reader #siblings #jane hopper x reader #fluffy #Eleven x Male Reader #jane hopper x male Reader #stranger things #millie bobby brown #millie bobby brown x reader #millie bobby brown x Male Reader

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stirringwinds · 7 months

Note

hey!! i was wondering how you felt about amechu or ameripan? your ship takes are always so interesting!!

I personally find both ame/chu and ame/pan both interesting dynamics to explore—biased as i'm sea/east asian and thinking of transpacific linkages in terms of immigration, cultural exchange, geopolitical rivalry, imperialism and so on…all the good and bad and ambivalent...it's something i find compelling because of how much us-china and us-japan ties have defined the region and world history, from two centuries ago to the present. It's far from an ideal, wholesome relationship on either count, imo. i personally like delving into it in all forms, whether or not there's any romantic or sexual element.

To me, Yao and Kiku are two people with very different histories, but one thing i definitely see being in common vis a vis Alfred is that this is very much an "experienced older man/bold and somewhat arrogant young man" sort of dynamic, with an element of a rivalry in both cases. Granted, for Yao, this comes later—when he first met Alfred in the 1790s during the Old China Trade, Alfred was more like a rebellious debutante fluttering his lashes at the Old World while asking for trade. Alfred was at the same time, unusually polite amongst all the Westerners (tm) in China— because he only had tiny ass ships that couldn't take a punch, back then lmao. Not having a warship in the area is incentive for good manners...which changes later on. Kiku and Alfred's first meeting—in 1853, during the Perry Expedition—is naturally very different. It's the vibe of a shogun warily assessing the smiling, ambitious (and dangerous) young prince proffering "friendship" while pointing a loaded gun. And whom Kiku knows has decided to use this spectacle to announce himself as a world power much like his own father, right on the heels of the Opium Wars.

As a western(ised) diaspora sea/east asian, the cultural linkages forged by immigration are also another reason why I'm interested in Ame/chu and Ame/pan. There's the rich and old history of Chinese and Japanese-Americans, particularly on the West coast of the United States, and there is that enduring cultural legacy forged amidst the struggle to even be accepted, or treated with humanity in the giant basket of contradictions that is America. Yao and Kiku I think, have a lot of mixed feelings about those of their people who set off for those other shores, especially amidst the highly charged politics of 19th—early 20th century. I haven't always explored this in detail in fics, but the concept of nations and immigrants is something I find compelling because of my own mixed cultural background. Overall, I'd say one reason these two relationships interest me a lot out of Alfred's other relationships (whether technically as a ship or otherwise) is the way it situates Alfred as existing very much as a Pacific nation too, not just an Atlantic one, y'know? There's another perspective of world history that is highlighted when you consider looking at the world map like this instead:

#hetalia #hws america #hws china #hws japan #hetalia headcanons

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cas-50-28-2 · 14 days

Text

There Are 4 Genders

Note: like any good essay on gender, this post contains discussion of rape, transphobia, and racism.

What Is Gender

Gender is axis of power and oppression, like class. Unlike class, which is one's relation to production and labour, what gender fundamentally is is much less clear. Is it another form of division of labour? A feeling? An essential and fixed aspect of one's soul that is determined by God? I think gender is fundamentally about one's position within/relative to the household. This is what makes it different from class: you can easily talk about the class of a household [1] (e.g. rich family, low-income household) but talking about the gender of a household is nonsensical - the gender is contained inside of it.

When we view gender as arising from the conditions of the household, we can begin doing actual analysis. In this analysis, I will say things like "women are meek and obedient," which obviously sounds very bad, so let me clarify what I mean. I am not saying everyone who uses the label of "woman" is meek and obedient, or that they should be, or that they're not women if they're assertive and oppositional. I'm not really trying to talk about people at all - I'm talking about the cultural archetype of womanhood, about Woman and not actual women. I do, however, mean to imply that differing from that archetype does make one less of a woman. There's no single aspect of deviation from Woman that disqualifies one from womanhood, but it all adds up - if you're loud and assertive and tall and don't wear makeup and have stubble, you are not really going to be treated as a woman in public. As someone who's been a freshly-out transfem in that position, I think we do a disservice to people in that spot by insisting that womanhood is just about whether or not you identify with it - you know that you're being seen and treated as a man. Gender is something like a social role, a social position, a performance - and as such it cannot be done alone. Other people need to be willing to go along with your gender in order for you to be able to do it (and vice-versa can try to impose a gender onto you). If your friends don't treat you as you ask to be treated then they're shitty friends, but for strangers you will need to align yourself to these archetypes. Going off of this, I want to define a narrative-ish structure, with 4 roles, that I think gives a clearer understanding of gender in the US than the traditional 2-gender model. Also, like the 2-gender model, changing your role or escaping entirely is possible.

The Genders

I want to frame the genders through a storybook metaphor. The first three are familiar (and taken loosely from the Karpman drama triangle): the Prince, the Princess, and the Monster. Monsters are a threat to Princesses, who therefore need a brave and strong Prince to protect them. In return, the Princess tends to the Prince's wounds, and probably does his housework and stuff. In general, Princesses trade their autonomy for protection. You've seen this structure a million times: it's the damsel in distress; it's Link, Zelda, and Ganon; it's every Disney princess movie before 1995; it's The Birth of a Nation. My addition to this is the fourth gender, the Treasure (also sometimes referred to as Trash). The Prince gets the Treasure as his reward for slaying the Monster. Princesses are rescued, Treasure is merely taken. Treasure is to be defended only to the extent it's convient, the Prince has no moral duties to the Treasure like he does to the Princess. Treasure is something to be used (mostly by the Prince but sometimes also by the Princess) and then discarded when it has outlived its usefulness. The name is rather ironic, because Treasure is not in fact treasured.

So how does this fairytale relate to the household? In Hortense Spillers' absolutely excellent essay "Mama's Baby, Papa's Maybe: An American Grammar Book," she presents an analysis of the gender that enslaved black women experienced. Although slave communities certainly developed kinship groups, i.e. households, these did not resemble the white households with the Mother and Father - and these black women certainly did not receive the "benefits of a patriarchilized female gender." Spillers describes this as a "degendering" of black women, but I wanted to interpret it differently, as the assignment and not the removal of a gender. So these four genders represent, roughly, the white man who owns the plantation, his white wife, the male slaves he fears an uprising from, and the female slaves he both works and rapes. In 2024 these relations have decreased in intensity, but are absolutely still there, and I hope this model captures the essence of that relation that has managed to survive until present day. However, I think this model is also applicable outside just white-black gender relations, and I'll give examples as I go over the genders in individual detail.

The Prince

The Prince is very close to the 2-gender notion of "man," and is usually a "he." The Prince is sort of the default, the "unmarked" category, the protagonist and therefore the least interesting. The expectations on Princes are just to slay Monsters and protect Princesses. However, the choice of Prince defines which household it is we're talking about. Since we're defining gender relative to households, different households in different cultures can assign the different genders to the same individual (more on this when we get to Monsters). The clearest examples of Princes in a given society are going to be the high-class men. The Prince is the Family Man, the Gentleman, etc.

The Princess

The Princess is, correspondingly, close to the 2-gender "woman," and is usually "she." However, if we view the autonomy-for-protection trade as the essence of Princesshood, then children are also Princesses in our culture. And like for Princes, the clearest examples of Princesses are high-class women - in the US in the 60s, for example, housewives are "more Princess" than working women. Princesses are proper victims - they are the people who have claim to "innocence", and any wrong against them must be punished. The Princess is the Proper Lady, the Good Wife and the Good Mother.

The Monster

The Monster is the dangerous Other. I like "Monster" as a term specifically because of its gender ambiguity - there's many male monsters in fiction, but also the notion of (and theory about) the "monstrous feminine," e.g. witches. Monsters can be aiming to kill, or kidnap, or rape, or more nebulously "corrupt" Princesses - they're Monsters all the same. Monsters can also pose a threat to the Prince or not, but it's not particularly relevant either way.

"Monstering" is classically done along race lines - Black "superpredators," Latin American immigrants "bringing crime," Yellow Peril, or the recent false accusation against Hamas of mass rape. However, it works with any type of foreign-ness/Other-ness/outside threat even without race, as in the anti-German WW1 poster above. Monstering is also used at home, e.g. against queerness - the constant accusations of pedophilia against queer people of all stripes, the "predatory lesbian," and the gay and trans panic legal defenses (which are some of the most revealing examples of what Monstering really is - an accusation in order to justify unlimited violence). The Monstrous feminine is understood in this framework as women who refuse to be Princesses or Treasure, and are therefore called witches, baby-killers, etc. Finally, I feel like I'm seeing an increase in placing mad people as Monsters - we know racism and homophobia are bad now, so tiktok instead embraces the dark triad and the view that there are certain types of people - narcissists, psychopaths, BPDemons, etc. - who are inherently dangerous and evil, who are Monsters. There are no longer any visual markers of Monstrosity - it could be anyone, so watch out, stay scared, and keep doing all that shit about marking your car so human traffickers don't target you.

The Treasure

The Treasure is the Other defanged and brought into the household to be used - a human with no rights, who others owe no duties to. The pronoun for Treasure is "it." I get the alternate name "Trash" from Porpentine Charity Heartscape's Hot Allostatic Load. She describes Trash as "the hyper-marginalized among the marginalized, the Omelas kids, the marked for death." Morphodyke on tumblr (screenshot for non-tumblrinas) describes the Trashing of transfems as "a systematic pattern of abuse applied to a small sacrificial portion of the population to create a class of women with no claim to community or personhood, who will never be defended or avenged, who can be safely sunk into the attrition of patriarchy's darker desires." Trash is the most materially straightforward gender - it is made up of people who are so marginalized - so close to social death or so unable to independently get the physical resources needed for survival - that they have no choice but to do whatever more-privileged people (i.e. Princes and Princesses) ask of them.

Unlike Monster, Treasure is an actual role people play, and generally with some level of awareness that that's what they are. The Treasure is part of the household - as a slave, a servant, a whore. Nobody is afraid of Treasure. A Treasure can never be considered a "victim" either - it was not innocent to begin with; when something bad happens to it, it had no right to expect better. The gendered expectation of Treasure is complete, unconditional meekness and obedience, and any deviation is harshly punished. This punishment includes both straightforward social & physical violence, but also, in the extreme, Monstering the Treasure, i.e. turning them into the type of Monster who is a Monster everywhere. This is the only place a Treasure "has left to fall," but it's quite a long fall, and so the Treasure endures its harsh role in order to avoid that fall.

Examples of Treasure are less straightforward than for other genders - survival sex workers and black women are the only groups that comes to mind as near-uniformly Treasure, and for the latter it's becoming less and less universal as the economic position of black people in the US improves. Many trans women are Treasure, and in general the more axes someone is marginalized along, the more likely they are to be Treasure - a poor disabled black trans lesbian is almost certainly going to be Treasure, even if none of those categories on their own are more than 50% Treasure. Another factor is the degree to which someone is the odd one out, the potential outcast, within their community - the only person of color or gay kid in a small town (or highschool). Also, as Monsters are associated with madness, so is Treasure with "mental illness" - the "broken" person who directs it all inward, who has no self-worth [2], who accepts whatever their partner does because they've been told nobody else could ever love them.

Pairs

I think terms in a system are best defined by their contrast with other terms, so here's a rundown through all the pairs and their differences and relations.

Prince-Princess

This relationship is the most well-tread ground. Most white feminist theory and praxis is focused on the dynamics between Princes and Princesses, and trying to improve the lot of Princesses. This has worked to the extent that the dramatic protector-protected dynamic I described above seems hyperbolic when compared to real relationships in 2024. Still, I focus on that specific aspect, protector-protected, because I think it is at the heart of the "contract" of heterosexual relationships. The idea of a strong woman who can protect herself is getting more and more popular, but even still I have yet to see a man in real life or fiction say he wants a wife who can protect him. This notion of victimhood and protection is what animates the entire narrative.

One aspect of this protection that I want to stress is that it is specifically protection from Monsters. While we now (hopefully) think of the wifebeater as a type of Monster disguised as a Prince, that is a very recent change brought about by feminist activism, and it still remains a fact that abusers are not social outcasts or psychopaths, but perfectly normal and well-adjusted Princes. The historical definition of rape provides the clearest example of this: the notion that a husband can rape his wife, i.e. that marital rape is rape, is very new. When your grandparents got married, your grandfather having sex with your grandmother against her will would not have been considered "rape" or any other type of legal or social crime[3]. Rape has been considered a crime historically not because it is nonconsensual sex - that is allowed for the Prince! - but because it is a Monster taking what should belong to the Prince. Rape is something exclusively done by Monsters to Princesses.

Prince-Monster

In the types of wars, the narrative that "the enemy is coming to take our gold and rape our Princesses" was often quite true, as wartime sexual violence was quite common historically (the word "rape" was originally a synonym for "pillage"). However, this narrative would be true on both sides of the war. In Greek society, the Greeks would be Princes and the Trojans were Monsters, and vice versa in Troy. And both sides would be using rape as a weapon of war, but from e.g. the Greek standpoint, the Trojan women were Treasure, and so nothing a Greek/Prince did to them would demean his Princely honor in any way. However, the same behavior from the Trojans/Monsters towards the Princesses of Greece was exactly what justified calling them Monsters. The difference between Princes and Monsters is not in what acts of violence they commit, but who they are violent towards[4].

Prince-Treasure

As we have established, Princes may do whatever they want to Treasure, and suffer no consequences for it. The only thing I have to add is how it can make a Treasure come to function as a sort of "laboratory." Treasure has a body like that of a Prince or Princess, but it doesn't have the rights they do, it isn't owed any dignity. Therefore, questions/experiments which would be too rude or violative for a Prince to ask/do to a Princess may be answered on Treasure. This applies to both adolescents learning about sexuality and to adults working in biology labs. For the latter, think of Josef Mengele or Henrietta Lacks.

Princess-Monster

The Monster aims to take or corrupt the Princess - Princesses are always victims, and Monsters are always perpetrators. This is the social fiction woven by gender, and has no relation to what people who are Monsters actually do to people who are Princesses. Rather, the justice systems built on the narrative of protecting Princesses from Monsters are social systems enabling Princesses to persecute Monsters. The archetypical example of this is the murder of Emmett Till - a single Princess's accusation of whistling "justified" the torture and murder of a 14-year-old boy. White women's tears - i.e. Princesses' tears - should be considered an offensive and not a defensive weapon (although not one that can be turned against Princes).

Princess-Treasure

The difference between Princesses and Treasure is rather similar to the classic Madonna-whore divide, the good wife vs the whore on the side. This can lead to the Madonna-whore complex when combined with the societal view of sex as "violation" or "dirtying" - Princes are only allowed to inflict violence upon Treasure, not on Princesses, and so if sex is a kind of violence then the Prince will only be able to get it up for Treasure and not for his lovely Princess wife. Even if not to the point of a "complex," the Prince will always have sides of himself that he only shows to Treasure, because he needs to charm the Princess, to be nice to her, to treat her right. Only with a Treasure can he vent his "darker desires," and act without pretense or restraint.

Transitioning from Treasure to Princess is possible, and I think it can be one thing what people can mean when they say they find femininity empowering. In the two-gender model, this makes no sense, as femininity = woman = disempowered gender. But with four genders, Princesses are genuinely more powerful than Treasure - they have rights and powers that Treasure does not. To transition from Treasure to Princess is to assert that you have worth and to demand rights, dignity, and respect. Therefore, if being feminine lets someone move from Treasure to Princess, then their femininity is empowering them. And I think femininity is a part of that Treasure-to-Princess transition, e.g. becoming a "proper lady" instead of a "tramp," or trans women being able to pass.

The relationship between a Princess and a Treasure in the same household is the most interesting and novel part of this entire model. In "Mama's Baby, Papa's Maybe," Spillers analyzes a section from the autobiographical slave narrative Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, by Harriet Jacobs (writing under the pseudonym Linda Brent). During the section in question, Jacobs is regularly being raped by her "master," which arouses the jealousy of his wife. That wife then proceeds to rape Jacobs herself (probably, anything in this book about sex is highly subtextual because it was published in 1861). To quote Spillers' analysis at length (emphasis mine):

If the testimony of Linda Brent/Harriet Jacobs is to be believed, the official mistresses of slavery's "masters" constitute a privileged class of the tormented, if such contradiction can be entertained [Brent 29-35]. Linda Brent/Harriet Jacobs recounts in the course of her narrative scenes from a "psychodrama," opposing herself and "Mrs. Flint," in what we have come to consider the classic alignment between captive woman and free. Suspecting that her husband, Dr. Flint, has sexual designs on the young Linda (and the doctor is nearly humorously incompetent at it, according to the story line), Mrs. Flint assumes the role of a perambulatory nightmare who visits the captive woman in the spirit of a veiled seduction. ... Mrs. Flint enacts a male alibi and prosthetic motion that is mobilized at night, at the material place of the dream work. In both male and female instances, the subject attempts to inculcate his or her will into the vulnerable, supine body. Though this is barely hinted on the surface of the text, we might say that Brent, between the lines of her narrative, demarcates a sexuality that is neuter-bound, inasmuch as it represents an open vulnerability to a gigantic sexualized repertoire that may be alternately expressed as male/female. Since the gendered female exists for the male, we might suggest that the ungendered female—in an amazing stroke of pansexual potential—might be invaded/raided by another woman or man.

In the terminology of this essay, that final line would be "Since the Princess exists for the Prince, we might suggest that the Treasure—in an amazing stroke of pansexual potential—might be invaded/raided by a Princess or Prince." In short, Princesses can and do "use" Treasure like a Prince would: to vent frustrations, to use as a laboratory, to express "darker desires." A lot of things people ascribe to "the weak finding someone weaker to pick on" is Princess-on-Treasure violence. There is also a unique form of violence that only Princesses can do to Treasure - they can turn the Treasure into a Monster. Princess tears can be weaponized against both Monsters and Treasure, and Princesses can gain social capital by doing so: every time a Princess makes an accusation she emphasizes her own perpetual innocence and victimhood. By doing so she is conforming to the expectations of her gender, and is rewarded for that.

Monster-Treasure

As mentioned above, the boundary between Monsters and Treasure is the most fluid of the six pairs. The type of Trashing abuse described in Hot Allostatic Load (false accusations of rape) is a method of turning a Treasure into a Monster, and therefore justifying any possible violence as punishment (in the case of HAL, the specific punishment is exile). People who are "Monstered" in this manner are not like the Monsters of symmetric warfare, who are Princes in their own realms: they are Monsters everywhere, accepted nowhere, part of no household. This is just about the only position worse than Treasure, and so the threat of being sent there is the ultimate weapon for Princes and Princesses to discipline Treasure with.

As far as the actual relationship between Monsters and Treasure goes, it could be just about anything depending on the particular people or groups in question. It's not really of any concern to Princes or Princesses (except maybe to make some "look how these savages treat their women" anti-Monster propaganda), and so it's not constrained by this model. In the symmetric warfare example, the prisoners of war one side takes as Treasure from the Monsters they slay would be Princesses in the society where those Monsters are Princes. Or in a more "inter-imperialist" type of war, both the Princes and the Monsters could be fighting over who gets to own the same group of people as Treasure. Or there could be no relation at all - there aren't really any social forces determining what the relationship between a CPC member in Xi'an and a trans woman in Nebraska would be. This is not an exhaustive list, and there's even the possibility that both the Monster and Treasure in question belong to a society which doesn't fit the 4-gender model at all.

Conclusions

Unlike other models of gender, which aim to present something everyone can see themselves in, this is a model that everyone should be trying to get the hell out of. I'm a gender abolitionist - I think that doing something "because I'm a man/woman/Prince/etc." is silly and bad-faith; I think that we should raise all children the same way and that doing so will eliminate gender; I think we should end the practice of sex assignment at birth (or at any time). This model's pessimistic view of genders certainly reflects that, but I hope that you also find it helps explain your experiences a bit better. And of course, abolishing a system requires organizing within its categories (we do not end capitalism by just not identifying as proletarians).

Aiding that organizing was another main goal of this model - specifically, I think it explains the problem where feminism became dominated by rich white women and started catering towards their problems: "women" is not a single coherent gender, and the "women's liberation movement" was in fact a Treasure-Princess alliance. This alliance, like all alliances between distinct groups, fell apart once its parties had finished accomplishing their shared goals, and then the more powerful group turned on the weaker one. Alliances aren't inherently bad, and I think there's still a future for Treasure-Princess alliances, but Treasure organizers must make these alliances consciously, and be aware of the risks.

footnotes

This is not to say that class is homogenous within a household. For example, while a feudal lord's manor is certainly a lordly household, the majority of its inhabitants are going to be low-class servants.

Materialist Antipsychiatry Moment: rather than viewing this lack of self-worth as some internal illness/pathology/lack, we can see that for Treasure it is an accurate assessment of their social reality: they do in fact have no social worth. The Treasure-mental illness relation is cyclical: mental illness further marginalizes the Treasure, and being treated as Treasure makes them more "ill."

Unless they lived in the USSR, which criminalized marital rape within 5 years of its establishment - common communism W. You can play a ""fun"" game by checking on wikipedia to see when marital rape was criminalized where you live - it's probably shockingly recent

Of course Monsters are not actually violent in all cases, especially when they're an internal minority. In fact, symmetrical warfare is basically the only case where the accusations happen to be true. Still, the subject of the fabricated violence matters more than the content.

Special thanks to Jez and Nat for helping me think all of this through!

this post is also on the web at https://pi.alla.loan/gender/4genders.html for easy sharing with non-tumblrinas

#transmisogyny #feminism #misogynoir #cas-50-28-2 original #transfeminism

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