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johnwickb1tsch · 7 months

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bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 21 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

-You toss and turn, of course, utterly unable to sleep.

Your body does not get the memo that it’s a bad idea to fuck a man like John Wick, who is a killer who is holding you prisoner, and refuses to simmer down. You are uncomfortably swollen between your legs, your pussy aching with frustration, and in the wee hours of the morning you are certain you are about to lose your goddamn fucking mind.

How is he really going to fucking know?

This is the stupid little thought that plays through your tired brain as you writhe beneath the covers, running hands up over your torso, pretending they are his.

Imagining his touch tweaking the sensitive tips of your nipples, his fingers buried inside you, seeking that sensitive place that drives you wild.

Yours are too soft, too small, not long enough or thick enough by half.

You try to trick yourself that it’s his unrelenting touch circling your clit, furious in his claiming of your pleasure as his own…

It’s not enough by half, and the release that washes over you is a paltry consolation at best, a weak pleasure that you know is a sad facsimile of the real thing. Still, you can’t stop yourself from sighing his name, and how has he mind-fucked you so royally in such a short amount of time?

It pisses you off, and in a last act of defiance for the night you flip off the camera high in the corner.

He’s probably not watching anyway. He’s probably asleep, snug in his bed with Dog, the bastard.

Feeling sad and not really sated at all, you curl into a ball and try to finally get some rest. It’s lonely in this big bed all by yourself, and by the time sleep finally claims you your pillow is damp with tears.

-When finally you wake in the morning, you are cold. The covers are down around your waist, and your shoulders ache, your arms at an odd angle out in front of you.

You never sleep like this.

There’s something on your wrists.

You open your eyes, blinking away the blur of sleep. Your vision focuses on something red.

A very neat line of shibari style knots encircles your wrists and half your forearms. They would have been beautiful, in a different setting. Like, not on your body, without your consent.

They’re not so tight to cut off your circulation, but they’re not exactly comfortable either. You strain against the silk rope, and find you can’t budge them.

You are so fucked.

“I warned you.”

John is sitting in the chair in the corner, watching you. He’s wearing all black again, a button down and slacks this time. Looking his best for you, or does he have somewhere to be? It’s not something you would have paid attention to before, but this morning, you can’t help but fixate on the fact that he’s wearing a leather belt.

Because you’re an idiot, you snipe anyway, “Wow, looks like someone earned his merit badge in macramé.”

He just smirks at you, the beautiful bastard.

“I’ve got more than a badge, honey.”

“Very funny. Untie me.”

“You’ll have to earn it, bad girl.”

Your heart skitters around in your chest as you wonder what that means.

He goes on, “Did you really think I wouldn’t see you last night?”

“Guess I assumed you’d be sleeping. It was way past your bedtime.”

He scoffs at the old man dig, leaning forward on his knees, fixing you with that hawkish gaze. “I found out I only sleep well with you in my arms, darling. Wouldn’t that have been nice last night?”

Yes, it would have. However, you just frown at him.

“So, was it worth it?” he pushes.

You sigh, half tempted to tell him how utterly unsatisfying your little session of self-indulgence had been. Rather than answer him, you look at the knots again. They really are beautiful. It makes you think of the book binding shop you’d visited in Florence, and the complicated stitches and knots they used to affix the signatures of pages together.

This man likes binding all kinds of things, it seems.

“Are you hungry?”

Only then do you notice that he has a plate of breakfast foods on the little table beside him. Eggs, toast, and bacon. A little plastic cup that might be water or juice. Your tummy answers with a rumble. Dog did eat your dinner last night, and John never offered you a replacement sandwich. At the time you’d been too worked up about…everything, to care.

“Maybe.”

He huffs a little laugh at you. “Come here.” He pats his knee, and you realize he wants you to sit on his lap—so he can feed you. A little growl in the back of your throat escapes you, and it only makes his smirk widen.

“God, you’re adorable when you’re angry.”

“I’m not hungry,” you grouse.

You are starving, and you both know it.

“Come. Here.”

There’s that chilling tone of voice again. It does not fail to fill your veins with ice, your heart skipping a beat before skittering irregularly in your chest. You’ve come to understand that it means playtime is over.

You are so fucked.

It is awkward, getting out of the bed with your wrists tied like this. You almost fall on your face, your foot getting tangled in the sheet. From John’s forbidding expression, you don’t think he would have caught you from hitting the floor this time.

You are still only dressed in the thin nightie, and the air is cold on your skin. Your nipples tighten, forming sharp peaks beneath the fabric, the silk lending agonizing friction that makes you want to press your thighs to relieve some of the sudden ache between them.

Last night so did not help you with this problem, and John’s eyes fixating on them does not help either, and you wonder if you’ll be in trouble when you stain his neat looking pants leg with your slick after sitting on him.

“Come here,” he says again, his tone much gentler this time.

Defeated, you shuffle forward, letting him guide you to perch on his knee with a hand on your hip. You barely manage to suppress a shudder as possessively his hand slides just under your skirt, resting on the warm pillow of your thigh. His long fingers are so close to your center, but he makes no move, letting you stew in it.

Bastard.

Only then do you turn to look at him, finding his gaze fixed on your face. “Good morning.”

When you say nothing in return he lifts one eyebrow, and you swear, this man will be the death of you out of frustration alone.

“Good morning,” you finally return, hating the meek timbre of your tone.

“Do you like scrambled eggs?” You nod, and he scoops up a forkful. You notice the fork is plastic, and you wonder if its for your safety, or for his.

He’s clearly never seen Hot Tub Time Machine.

“I would have taken you to breakfast in Venice, but someone had to run away.”

“Well, someone was an insufferable prig the night before,” you return primly, wondering what punishment this will earn you, unable to stop yourself from saying it anyway. He actually smirks at this, though his grip tightens a bit in warning on your thigh. Not enough to hurt, but oh.

You are definitely leaving a wet spot on his trousers, and you hate yourself a little more for it.

You finish your breakfast bite by bite like the good girl you’re apparently not. It was good, if not the weirdest seating arrangement you’ve ever endured. You tremble inside, as you wonder what he has in mind for you next, now that your energy is up and you are trussed like a holiday goose for his pleasure.

You couldn’t be more surprised, than when he deposits you on the bed, kisses your cheek, and bids you, “Have a nice day, sweetie.”

“Wait!” you exclaim, whirling as he is already halfway to the door, swinging his suit jacket about his broad shoulders. “Where are you going?”

“Out.”

You hate it, that hearing this fills you with panic. “Are you coming back?”

“Do you want me to come back?” There is a dangerous glitter in those dark eyes, and you know that is a question loaded with fourteen in the clip and one in the chamber.

You decide on, “I want you to untie me.” Holding up your wrists as exhibit A.

He shrugs a little, and you know that was not the answer he wanted. “Maybe later.” Then he sweeps out of the room, leaving you staring dumbfounded at the door where he’d just been. The man is like a fucking ghost.

“Bastard!”

You hope he hears you, but you suspect the epithet falls on deaf ears.

-Your first order of business, of course, is trying to undo these beautiful fucking knots. Unfortunately for you, they are tight, and secure, and John was smart enough to make the finishing hitch with the end tails on the opposite side of your wrist where you cannot easily reach them with your teeth.

Sonofabitch.

If he’d left you Dog for company you could have enlisted the pooch’s formidable chompers, perhaps, but no dice on that one.

Fine.

You sit under the covers for a while, because you’re cold. You try to read, but it is infuriatingly difficult to turn the pages of a book and read comfortably with your hands like this.

You are certain lunch time comes and goes, without a peep out of John.

Did he actually leave you?

You hate it, how the thought makes a trill of panic vibrate in your chest.

Fine. It’s fucking fine.

He thinks he can break you with alone time? You? You are the Queen of Introversion. You can go for days without human interaction, happily, so long as you have a sketchbook or a book. Bring it on, Mr. Wick.

He left you the water cup with the straw, and boy is that an adventure to refill in the bathroom when you’re thirsty.

Going pee without making a mess is no small feat either.

You pace the room, just to get some exercise. You look out the window, watching the birds in the trees.

You laugh to yourself, banging your head against the bulletproof glass. How funny, that you’d once fancied yourself Jane Eyre, when it turned out you were destined to be Mad Bertha locked up in the attic by Rochester all along.

You hate to admit it, but by the time the sun is starting to set behind the trees you are going stir crazy with wondering where the fuck he is.

It’s definitely not because you miss him.

It’s just…these fucking ropes, of course. It’s not those burning dark eyes, or those large sure hands, or that sturdy long body he likes to press to yours. It’s not that the silence of the room feels empty without his deep voice, even if he’s using it to taunt you.

It is late by the time you hear the locks on the door whir, and you have been sitting in your nest in bed feeling listless and way too sorry for yourself. You are half out of your mind with boredom, and your shoulders and elbows ache at the joints from the restraints at your wrist. You try not to show it, but you are ready to climb up the fucking walls.

Like he might have some inkling of this, John pays you a knowing smile, assuming his seat with the confidence of a king in his throne room. He snaps and pats his thigh, no words this time, expecting you to obey.

Someday, you are going to make him pay for this.

But now…there’s nothing for it but to play his twisted game.

He’s prepared some kind of stir-fry tonight, with vegetables, beef, and rice. You are starving by now, and it smells heavenly.

Again, the food is good, simple but filling. He feeds you forkful by forkful with a careful tenderness that could make you weep. Your time with John is like a game of Russian Roulette. Spin the wheel, which John shall you receive this minute?

It’s easy to hate Mean John. Insufferable Ass Hat John, could drive you to murder. But Sweet John? You would do anything, for Sweet John, and you’re afraid he knows it too.

It’s only been a day, really. Is that right? A day? And already, you feel yourself slipping into the mould he’s fashioned for you.

Perhaps in a knee-jerk attempt to counter this, you ask, “Did you used to play this game with Helen?”

He freezes with the fork halfway to your lips, his hand underneath your skirt with his dead wife’s name in your mouth.

You meant to throw him off, but as far as you can tell, all it earns you is a scoff. “No.”

“Why not?”

He actually seems to consider your question, toying with the food again, re-loading the fork with a different bite. “I was never afraid she would leave me. Funny, how that worked out.”

You feel like he’s handed you an important piece of information. Emboldened by his quietness, you dare push, “And…what do you think she’d think, about what you’re doing to me now?”

“I’d say she lost her vote, when she left me.” The indifference is gone; this is delivered with a stinging bitterness, and you realize he blames her for leaving him. There’s a clue in this too, and you feel like the solution to all this is an illusive thing hovering just barely out of your grasp. If you can find just the right words, push just the right buttons…maybe you can bring him back to sanity?

“She never would have left you on purpose, John. She got sick. You’ve got to forgive her.”

And accept you can’t control everyone around you. Then preferably, untie me! motherfucker.

The only indication he gives that you’ve upset him is the tightening of his fingers digging into your thigh. You’re going to have bruises, but if he’s actually processing what you’re saying, it’s a price you’ll gladly pay.

He just continues to push the medley of food around on the plate, shaking his head in silence. Disappointed in his nonreaction to your question, you sullenly accept the next bite.

Three seconds later, your mouth is on fire.

You squeal with panic, leaning for the plate to spit it out. But John’s big hand clamps over your mouth, a hard glint in his eyes, and you know you’re going to have to swallow it. It takes three tries, but you manage, tears streaming from the corner of your eyes.

You can do moderately spicy food, but that was just fucking diabolical.

“What the fuck?” you hiss between coughs.

“I knew you’d have something smart to say tonight.”

You try to reach for the water cup with its stupid little straw and your stupidly bound-together hands, but John sets it out of reach. “Oh my god, please?”

He speaks calmly, as though the lining of your mouth is not being eaten away like you took a bite of rice laced with battery acid. “You keep speaking about Helen like you knew her. I suggest you cut it out. Unless you would like all your meals seasoned like this.”

You blow a long breath of air over your tongue. It only sort of helps.

Mother. Fucker.

You glare daggers, but for now, you’re wise enough (broken enough?) to keep your epithets to yourself.

He sits back in the chair to regard you, tossing the fork into what’s left on the plate. You’re still hungry, but you’ll be damned if you eat anymore from that dish. You flinch as he reaches for you, though he is not cruel as he grips your hair at the base of your head. Just…exacting, and he guides you to perch on the edge of the chair between his legs, your bare ass fitted against his crotch.

It feels good as he starts to braid your hair, a jarring contrast to the pain still simmering in your mouth. You whimper a little, despite yourself, arching into him behind you. You didn’t even mean to, really, but it wins you a low groan that fills you with forbidden warmth.

This is so fucked.

Nothing you’ve experienced in your life has prepared you for handling this.

When he finishes he wraps the new handle of your plaited hair in his fist, pulling you back against his chest. He is warm, and solid, and you fail royally as you try not to enjoy this contact. It’s ridiculous, but all you really want is for him to hold you.

He speaks against the shell of your ear, his other hand lightly encircling your throat. “I’ll never let you leave me.”

Your heart drums frantically in your chest; he means business. You can just tell, there is an unyielding hardness in his tone that somehow wasn’t quite there before. You thought you could reason with this man, but maybe you were wrong, or maybe you only succeeded in pushing his sanity the other way, further into the red.

Maybe there’s nothing left to reason with, and that is the thing that finally, truly scares you.

“Maybe you need something else to fill up that sassy mouth.”

With his improvised handle he guides you down to sit between his splayed legs. Your eyes are drawn to the newly erected tent in his pants, that formidable bulge that should be the stuff of your nightmares, but still inspires a maddening longing inside you.

Why do you have to feel so empty, when he’s near?

Frustrated by the unfairness of it all, you glare daggers up at him. You know what he’s angling to extort out of you, of course. It makes you sad, but not for the reason he might have expected. It makes you sad, because you would have rubbed your knees raw sucking him off, if he’d just asked you nicely.

“Thanks, but I’m full.”

He snorts at that. “Yeah? Someone doesn’t want her hands untied that badly.”

Now, that is something you want, and maybe you’re willing to play with that on the table. You’ve never thought of yourself as someone who is easily led, but he is good at manipulating you. It makes you wonder if any of it was ever real, or if this is just a game he’s been playing with you from day one.

The thought makes you sigh, and you rest your cheek on his lean thigh, closing your eyes.

He looks down at you like you’re a puzzle he’s not quite sure how to solve.

Welcome to the club, Mr. Wick.

“Were you planning this all along?” you ask. “When you were so sweet to me? Am I that fucking stupid that I didn’t see this coming?” Obviously, from the clothes in the closet, he’d hoped you’d come stay with him at some point, but all the rest? It feels spontaneous, like the way something hard can suddenly crack with too much pressure. But then again, maybe just because it took you by such fucking surprise.

He strokes your hair, and that gentle touch just makes it worse somehow. You feel the sting of tears in the corners of your eyes, because that gentleness is all you wanted from him. The ironic part is that he wouldn’t have had to do any of this shit, just to keep you.

You do not love easily, but once you do…it is a total, and all-consuming thing.

“I don’t know,” he answers begrudgingly. “I just…couldn’t let you leave me.”

You think about how he’d been an orphan. He’d lost his parents. He’d lost his wife. He’d lost his dog. He’d gone on a rampage and slaughtered an entire Russian Bratva…for the loss of a dog.

In perspective you guess he’d actually behaved rather tamely, at the threat of losing you. This man does nothing by halves, and the only thing John Wick fears, it seems, is losing those he loves.

Is that what he’d meant, when he said his love was a curse?

It doesn’t excuse it, but there is a key somewhere in that, you reason. A key to freedom, or the gates of Hell, you’re not really sure.

You do your best to blink away your tears. Maybe it’s stupid, because you’re not half as tough as he is, but you don’t really want him to see you cry.

He lets you sit like that for as long as you want, stroking your hair. It’s almost sweet, and it gives you time to collect yourself.

Someday, he’s going to figure out it’s best not to give you a chance to plot your next move. It occurs to you that maybe you have one last card to play.

You sit up slowly on your knees between his legs, and you can feel the intensity of his gaze weighing upon your skin. You reach for his belt, brushing his erection through his pants, his manhood twitching in anticipation. For just a second, he allows himself to close his eyes.

Maybe you have power too. You just have to figure out how to use it here, and maybe not lose you mind over how thick and wonderful he just felt beneath your hand. That unhelpful pulsing between your legs casts its vote. You try to unobtrusively squeeze your thighs for some relief, but you fear this man sees everything.

Good for you, that your voice sounds almost steady. “I have to say, you’re a brave man, Mr. Wick.”

It is not easy to work the buckle of his belt with your hands bound like this, but somehow you manage, even pulling it from its loops. You fight the urge to throw the damn thing across the room, but settle for resting it at his feet.

“How do you figure?”

“Well...” You flip open the top button of his pants, your fingers shaking slightly. “If we are engaging in that time-honored exchange of a favor for a blowjob... and you just essentially carpet bombed my mouth with napalm...wow, you do like to live dangerously.”

He sits still as a statue for a good few moments, weighing what you’re telling him, gauging if the capsaicin would transfer through your saliva to what is arguably the most sensitive area of his body. You’re 98 percent certain they would, and a part of you hopes he’ll opt to try it even after you warn him.

It would make for a neat little slice of revenge.

But then, what you really want is out of these ropes, and you hope your honesty will win you some points with him.

In the end he catches your hands, as you are awkwardly trying to work his zipper.

“Maybe we'll skip that for now.”

“You sure? Where’s your sense of adventure?”

He narrows his eyes down at you, and you wonder if you’re inventing it, or is there a glimmer of amusement in his dark eyes?

“In my other pants.”

In the end he pulls you back up into his lap with a grumble.

You suspect you’ve only delayed the inevitable, but you feel some satisfaction for your little coup.

“I’ll be back,” he tells you, (threatens you?), depositing you on the bed, gathering the dishes and sweeping out of the room. You have a feeling this interaction was not half as satisfying as he’d hoped it would be.

Well, good.

Bastard.

-When he returns, he brings you a cup of milk. Though most of the pain from the chilis has already subsided by now, you accept it for the calorie count if anything.

“Are you alright?” he asks with a hand on your cheek, looking you over appraisingly.

Thinking this might be your best moment, you lift your bound hands with a pitiful pout, blinking your eyelashes innocently.

“Will you untie me now?” you ask in your sweetest tone, words loaded with contrition.

“You think you’ve earned it?” he asks, and you sense this is a perilous path you’re approaching.

“I’ve been good.”

“Hmm.”

“Come on. I mouthed off. You punished me. You had your fun. And rather than give in to my initial vindictive impulses, I saved you from a very uncomfortable evening. It’s the least you can do.”

He actually chuckles at this, stroking your cheek with his thumb. He seems softened by your bright little tirade, but then this man’s mood can change on a dime.

“And, it’s starting to hurt,” you add.

It’s not a lie, and it seems that is the thing that makes him pause.

“You don’t like my knot work?”

Your heart lodges in your throat, and you know you must proceed with caution, or you’ll be wearing this shit for a week at least.

“Your knots are very fine, Mr. Wick.”

Your captor practically purrs at hearing that, a low rumbling sound from deep in his chest, his hand burying in your hair. It sends a tingling thrill all across your scalp.

You’ve come to reluctantly love his fixation with grabbing your mane.

You really are losing your mind.

“I’ll make you a deal, kitten.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll untie you…if you will take a bath with me.” His tone is the low rumble of a jungle cat, and your heart leaps into your throat. You knew this was coming, eventually. Maybe you just didn’t expect it tonight.

Looking back, you’re not sure why.

“NowI get to see you?”

You are still puzzling over the way he’d outright prevented you from undressing him, in Venice. It was almost like he’d been afraid, and you don’t understand at all. He’s fucking gorgeous, and you’re pretty sure he knows it. So…why?

“I told you, you weren’t ready then.”

You suspect the real answer is that he wasn’t ready, but for once, you don’t contradict him.

He runs a finger down the line of his neat knots that are starting to bite into your flesh. It’s starting to affect the feeling in your fingers, and you know that can’t be good.

“So? What do you say?”

You crane your neck to look up at him, drinking in the lines of his handsome face, his straight nose and proud lips, and the delicately drawn sweep of his eyes. Even with the shadow of a black eye, courtesy of you, he’s still the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. You shouldn’t want him, after everything he’s done to you. You shouldn’t, but you feel yourself inevitably drawn to him, like the moon pulls the tide.

You feel like you’re signing a piece of your soul away to the devil on the dotted line, when at last you nod.

He puts a hand to his ear with a smirk. “What was that?”

Your groan comes out like a growl.

“You have a deal, Mr. Wick, sir.”

His low rumble of approval gives you chills, and when he turns your face up to kiss you sweetly you utterly melt beneath his hands, jarred by the contrast from earlier, but not questioning it. You bask in the press of his soft lips, greedy for his tenderness, hoping stupidly that this is the way things will be from now on. Then you yelp with surprise as suddenly he scoops you up with his hands on your thighs, carrying you into the bathroom.

#please enjoy this absolute chonk of a chapter #you guys have earned it!#i loooove you!!!!#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #john wick fic #keanu reeves x reader #bittersweet john wick imagine #yandere john wick x you #yandere john wick #yandere

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maybankswhore · 1 year

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𝐖𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐒.

summary: jj was your first love. he was your first everything. but rafe was persistent on being your last. jj figured the relationship with rafe would run its course. he didn’t think rafe would get too far , but when you and rafe get engaged , he realizes he might’ve lost you for good.

this is based off the unreleased song ‘wedding bells’ by nick jonas ( obv written about #niley but wtv not my fight !! )

“ pardon my interruption. the drink’s just setting in and all of my reservations — a reason i don’t exist. she says ‘ can you keep a secret? a ceremony’s set for june. i know it’s a rush but i just love him so much. i hope that you can meet him soon. ”

The night air seemed to suffocate him. He felt like an idiot just sitting there , his fifth beer of the night thus far in his hand. He had been soaking it in. His eyes were entirely on you and he hadn’t tried hiding it , even though you had barely noticed.

He knew why you didn’t.

You were over him. JJ could feel it. You weren’t searching the crowds for his eyes to see if they were also looking for yours. Your gaze didn’t linger on him when you danced , a playful expression on your face.

Instead you danced with yourself , the happiest smile he had ever seen on your face. The night sky seemed to love you , shining on the most attractive parts of your features. The aura around you was alluring , holding him captive.

He loved seeing you like this. So authentically beautiful and warm. He just hated that he wasn’t the cause of it— or a part of it at all , really.

Though JJ knew it had been his fault things were turning out the way they were. He was silly to think a girl like you wouldn’t have somebody better out there for him , snatching you up the first chance he got.

He was being selfish letting you go. He wanted all the things temporary happiness brought him , and it cost him you. JJ hadn’t thought it all the way through , he knew that. He didn’t know why he never thought of the day he’d see you loving someone else.

He watched as you lazily strolled over to him. Your eyes with facing low , red glazing over them. A silly smile on your face as the shots you threw back with Kiara starting to circulate through your bloodstream. “JJ! What’re you doing all the way out here?” You laughed , plopping onto the empty spot beside him.

JJ’s heartbeat quickened , avoiding making eye contact. “Just takin’ a quick breather.” He sniffed , rubbing an imaginary sore spot in his jaw.

You were too cross faded at the moment to notice the falter in his expression and distant tone of his face. A silly grin on your face as you stared at the stars , finding yourself becoming entranced with them. “Remember when we used to stargaze?” The memory still fond in your brain.

JJ nodded lightly , a sad smile on his face as he recollected the memories he held so dear with you. The ones he had taken for granted.

“Those were some good times.” You grinned. Absentmindedly , your head lulled onto his shoulder. A habit you had broken long ago but the drugs made you feel a bit hazy , the unspoken ridge in you and JJ’s friendship seemed non existent.

Even though you and JJ had broken up , you had found yourself in a place to let go of the hurt you had once felt. Finding Rafe— finding love elsewhere had shifted that for you. Now , you craved his friendship , the purity of what it was before then. The platonic , but comforting way that only two bestfriends that had grew up with eachother could feel. It was something nobody else could replace.

“They were.” JJ murmured back , closing his eyes at the feeling of you.

“I have to tell you something.” You whispered to him. You wanted to gush it to the world , you had been holding it in for weeks. The news would shock the island— the gossip going from person to person. It was supposed to stay a secret for a while but now seemed like the time to tell JJ. . . You had liquid courage and you wanted him to be the first one to know.

You weren’t sure how he would take it. While you were over the moon excited and happy— you couldn’t help that nagging guilt in the back of head stop ruining your mood about it.

You had nothing to be guilty about. JJ had broke up with you. JJ chose someone else over you.

But it still didn’t stop you from feeling worried about his reaction.

JJ sat up straighter and faced you. Drunk thoughts were real thoughts. He told himself.

“You can’t tell. . . anyone.” You emphasized , anxiously biting your bottom lip.

“Never a soul between us.” JJ swore , the old words you’d recite to eachother as children touching your heart.

“We’re thinking of a June wedding.” You gulped nervously , digging out the ring Rafe had given you out of your pocket , slipping it onto your right hand.

JJ’s chest nearly caved as he looked at it. The way it just fit your personality so well— it was exactly like something he’d see you choosing yourself.

That hit in for a multitude of reasons. One because Rafe had liked you enough to get to know you and see what you liked. He was surprised Rafe Cameron was capable to taking someone else’s feelings into consideration. Two because he knew how much you probably loved it. The small attention he paid to detail.

God , he felt as though he was going to throw up. His stomach immediately felt nauseous , thinking of you married to him , vowed to him. His girl. His Y/N.

“Isn’t it like. . . rushing into shit?” JJ kind’ve laughed , an awkward sound mimicking one left his throat instead. He tried to sound casual , not like he was panicking and on the verge of passing out.

You giggled like a school girl , awestruck. “I know it’s a rush but I. . . I just love him so much.” You gushed , your eyes turning into hearts at the thought of him. It made JJ feel disgusted.

He didn’t want to ruin everything for you. He didn’t want to open his mouth and made that silly , love drunk look on your face to change.

So he didn’t say anything. He just smiled and nodded. Ignoring the way he felt tears welling up in the corner of his eyes , blinking them away at your oblivious attention.

“ pardon my harsh reaction. you put me on the spot. but if i’m being honest , i’m hoping that i get caught showing you i’m unhappy. letting you see my truth. ’cause if you recall , our anniversary falls eleven nights into june. ”

The next time he had heard about this , his demeanor wasn’t all that cool.

JJ really wished it was all just a really , really , really bad nightmare. When he woke up the next day , he completely avoided talking about it again. He was hoping you were just drunk and it wasn’t actually happening. He did not want to visit those feelings.

But as you stood in front of him with Rafe beside you , telling the Pogue’s– breaking the news , the reality of the situation fell upon him.

“Are you two fucking crazy?” JJ sneered , standing up from his sitting position on the couch. Rafe took a protective stance in front of you at the sudden action , making JJ scoff. “You don’t need to protect her from me.”

“JJ maybe we should just—” Pogue tried to intervene. The way your face fell made him jump into action , but JJ shrugged him off.

“No! Pope. Man , ’cmon. Marriage? You can’t seeing think this guy is good enough for Y/N.” He waved a hand in front of Rafe. “This is coked out , crazy Rafe Cameron who literally beats the shit out of us.”

Pope grew silent , feeling JJ’s point.

You pushed Rafe to the side , boring daggers into JJ’s head. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?” He scoffed. “What’s wrong with you thinking we’d wanna hear this?”

“I was thinking you guys were my friends! And you’d be happy for me.” You shouted back at him. Everyone was staring at the two of you cautiously , not wanting to see how this end.

Even Rafe didn’t feel like it was the time to hash out the past. You weren’t ready for that.

“God , Y/N don’t you think you’re being a little bit naive here?” JJ pointed at you. He could feel Rafe’s eyes glaring at him but he didn’t care. His focus was on you , the way your hair fell down your shoulders and framed your face. The way you had just looked so. . . grown up. He was just still so used to feeling like a teenager , like nothing was ever too serious. Nothing really mattered. You weren’t the little sixteen year old Y/N he knew. The one that made him daisy chains while smoking a joint behind John B’s house. The one who skipped school with him and make trouble on the Cut.

Things had changed and he hadn’t even been paying attention. He felt foolish.

“How am I being naive , JJ? It’s been a year since everything’s happened. He’s been doing good—”

“Do you not even remember our anniversary?” JJ said just above a whisper , clear defeat in his voice. “It’s eleven days into the month of June.”

You were taken aback at his words. They hit you like nothing had before. You were expecting alot of things , but the mere remembrance of the anniversary you two shared was not one of them. They seemed so distant to you now , the younger self of you and the weight it held. It had been a long time since things had been that way and you thought JJ had felt the same way about the situation.

But as he turned and pushed past all his friends and flew out the back door , you knew things wouldn’t ever be the same.

“ no , i don’t wanna love if it’s not you , i don’t wanna hear the wedding bells prove that we can’t try one last time. i don’t wanna hear the wedding bells. ”

“It hurts so bad.” JJ cried into Pope’s shoulder. It had been days since he’d seen you but he’d heard from other people and your decision hadn’t changed.

You were glued to Rafe’s side since. He had paraded you around the island with the ring loud and proud now that the news was out. His family were beyond happy , even if you had been a Pogue— Rafe’s change was enough to win them over. John B and Kiara weren’t fans of it , but they liked seeing you happy. And Pope did his best to support everyone.

But JJ was heartbroken. Time had left him , passed him without him even noticing. There wouldn’t be a time and a place where you were his , ever again. Marriage was deep. It planted a clear divide between you and Rafe , and you and him.

There would be no another time.

“I know.” Pope sighed , squeezing JJ’s shoulders. “But she deserves to be happy.”

“I know.” JJ sighed , feeling his heart squeeze.

“Even if it’s not with you.”

“Even if it’s not with me.”

#rafe cameron x reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #rafe cameron #jj maybank #rafe cameron blurb #outer banks #outer banks imagines #jj maybank fanfiction #rafe cameron imagines #jj maybank angst #rafe cameron angst

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justjams2003 · 11 months

Text

Fast Pace- 3

Summary: You're a hard-working Chef in Paris and after a freak accident run-in with Carlos Sainz, your life makes a 180. Let's just say with a certain agreement, you get your bills paid and in return stand in as Carlos' girlfriend for the press. But will you be able to handle the pressure and ensure the lines don't blur?

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Carlos Sainz x Sugar Baby!Reader

Warnings: I've aged up Carlos, he is 33 in this fic.Smoking, smut, sexual themes, age difference, manipulation, control, slight obsession, tell me if I missed any

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics and @s-silk

Taglist: @httpjeonlicious, @f1lov3r, @messersandmesses, @hollie911, @oriconde08

Word count: 2,6k

Masterlist

Part 2~Part 4

His eyes pierce you like an ice-pick to the brain. Dark like a storm and prowling your mind, trying to pry an answer from you. He looks like a model, posing for a magazine cover. He’s leaned back, sipping from his wine, hair perfectly in place and his broad shoulders lure you in. Those coal-brown eyes don’t beg for you to say yes, but command you.

How you wish now that you could your friends and beg them to reply for you. But you can’t. You have to pull up your big-girl pants. He’s read you back to front like some cheap pamphlet. You’ve never told anyone about your big dreams. You’ve kept it under wraps, a daydream that keeps you busy when the nights are too long. The only one that really knows is your Instagram algorithm, which constantly shows you other people living your dream.

Is it too vapid of you? To only want the sweet life and not want to work for it? It’s not that you haven’t tried. You’ve spent three years working your ass off in that damn restaurant and nothing has come from it. You’ve not gotten a single raise, no other higher up, fancier, restaurants have wanted to take you in.

Your lip is caught in your teeth, and you can’t help but blush at the thought. “Would it make me lackadaisical? A floozy? Lazy?” You ask, unsure if you're asking for his approval or trying to convince yourself. He smirks and shakes his head, then takes your hand. “Quite the opposite, it would make you smart. If you take this opportunity, then you’ll get an advantage that other girls could only dream of.”

He continues, trying to convince you. “Model work isn’t easy, it will be ruthless, even with my influence. If it helps, I promise I won’t do everything for you, not that I could. But I’m certain if those agencies see you, they’ll want you immediately, as it happened with me.” He caresses each of your knuckles and his words go right to your head.

“And there would be conditions?” You ask, truly you’d already been convinced. All you really can think of now is your safety. “Naturally, you know how those lawyers are. NDAs, and certain other requirements, from both our sides.” His words are so smooth and play exactly to your heartstrings. The struggle in your mind seems to crumble with each soft sweep of his thumb on his hand.

You stare him down, trying to see any lies or hidden agreements but you get nothing but sincerity. “Alright, you’ve convinced me.” His face lights up in a huge grin and seems to almost jump in his seat. “You won’t regret it, princesa. I’ll make sure of it.” He places small butterfly kisses all over your hand. His stubble tickles and you can’t help but let the giggles fly from your mouth.

“You won’t need for another thing, ever again.”

Screaming is heard through the phone. You can’t help but laugh at your best friends’ reactions all while you soak up the feeling of being snuggled up in bed on a Thursday morning. “Tell us more. Right now.” Jas demands through the phone. “Well, after I agreed to the whole thing, he got us celebration crème brûlée, another one of my favourites.” They gasp and then scream again.

You had set your Instagram radar to follow everything related to Carlos, and your phone is going crazy. There are already so many photos circulating around the internet. There are photos of him and you at dinner, luckily though you can’t really see your face.

Rumours circulate of who this new mysterious girl could be. If you’re new or if it’s a long-term thing. Then, of course, people mostly upset because Carlos might not be single anymore. There are other people too, excited to finally see him with someone.

You can’t help but sigh, is this really what you’re getting yourself into? Are you really ready for people speculating about every single aspect of your life? Are you ready to allow yourself to be given to the public like that? More importantly, are you ready to share him? You can’t help but wonder if the fans will like you? Will they accept you or will you ruin his reputation?

“We’re so proud of you for saying yes, it is what we would have said,” Jas says again and you can’t help but laugh. “And we’re also very proud that you didn’t make it easy for him.” Ilsa comments and you know she’s thinking more long term than Jasmine or yourself. You’re scared to even tell them of the things people are saying. Should you be shocked that this feels normal already?

“Then, after the date, he asked for my bank information and then proceeded to deposit me 5,000 euros. He called it a down payment. And a taste of what is to come.” They proceed to scream once more and roll your eyes at them. You’re happier now to have the water apartment for another month. Not that you need it, looking at the F1 calendar.

A knock is heard at the door. “Uh, girls, I have to go. I’ll text you guys all the deeds at the end of the day.” They say their goodbyes and their goodluck’s. You throw the sheets you’ve had since university to the side and run over, expecting some sort of package or invoice, you throw open the door not looking to see who is outside.

“Carlos, hi,” you smile, now feeling incredibly self-conscious about the pyjamas you’re wearing. The shorts have a few holes in, and the shirt is stained more than you’d like to admit. “Good morning, hermosa. I hope I did not wake you, no?” Those earth-brown eyes scan over every inch of your form and a smirk creeps across his face.

“Don’t laugh at me, you’re early. You said the flight was at nine and I haven’t gotten ready yet,” a blush coats your cheeks as his charming grin grows wider. “I am not laughing at you, hermosa. Quite the opposite, you look...” he’s holding back, you can see it in his eyes. Already you can tell he wears his heart on his sleeve.

Carlos’ mind is somewhere else, and his eyes are glued to you. He then snaps out of it, “May I come in?” He asks and now you’re really blushing. The place is small and rundown, the paint is peeling, and you’ve given up on trying to get rid of the musk that the building carries. Not to mention, the place is a mess after your frantic packing last night.

“Yes, uh, please excuse the mess.” His eyes don’t even glance at any of the strewn-around clothes or dirty dishes. His hand naturally falls to your waist, pulling you closer and then placing a small kiss on the crown of your head. You can’t help but notice how perfectly you fit into his side. After he sits down by your small kitchen counter you notice the things he’s carrying in his hands.

A packet of paper, and a leather bag. “You can make yourself comfortable while I go get ready.” Again, you go to leave but you’re pulled back by the wrist. In one quick motion, you find yourself standing between his strong legs. He holds up the bag for you, “I’ve brought you something to wear. And don’t bother packing, we’ll buy anything you need there.”

You go to protest, but he gives you a sharp look, a similar one from last night. The look that fuels and tames the fire in your body all at the same time. And yet, you keep your mouth shut and follow his instructions.

The hoodie is huge on you, it hangs on the middle of your thigh and the sleeves hang over your hands. It’s bright red with black shoulders and the Ferrari logo is unmistakable. You pair it with plain black leggings and sneakers. You hold the cap, that came with, in your hands, and already you feel a bit showy.

You walk out and Carlos’ eyes immediately snaps to you. Those stormy eyes of his instantly go even darker. He rakes his hand through those dark locks of his as if he needs to ground himself. “It’s a bit much, don’t you think?” You give a playful scoff, but he shakes his head. He stands up and takes the cap you’re holding from you.

“I must disagree; I want everyone to know you’re mine now.” He picks up the hat and places it comfortably on your head. His gaze is strong, and you scrunch your nose, unsure if he approves of your appearance. You hadn’t bothered with too much makeup. Your reaction causes something you’d compare to an animalistic growl come from him.

“He esperado tanto por esto.” His Spanish tongue is something that should be illegal, simply because of the way he makes you feel. You’re certain he could call you a hideous beast and you’d still fall to your knees. “You have no idea what you do to me, mi amor.” His finger just lightly grazes your cheek and you’re entirely mesmerized by the way he stares into my soul. As if you’re a prize he’s been yearning for all his life.

In desperate need to hide yourself from his burning gaze, you switch the topic, in fear that he might find something wrong with you if he looks long enough. “What’s with the papers?” He looks almost annoyed to be doing something other than admiring you. “It is courtesy of my lawyers. The NDA we had talked about last night.” He takes your hand and guides you to the seat next to him.

“It’s more to protect the public image than anything. I don’t think it’s needed, but you know how they can be, no?” He jokes while you read it through. If you had a lawyer, you would’ve had them read it through, but you don’t. So, instead in a leap of faith, you sign it without much thought. You can hear your mother yelling at you in your mind.

“Alright, are we ready to go then?” You ask, not wanting to think more about the legal side of this all. More so just excited to jump into this new life. Excited to see all these new places you two are going to together. He raises his brow at you, “Are you sure that you’re ready?” He asks, taking his hand in yours and you have to hide your smile.

“Or, is my pretty girl eager to join me in the public eye?” He shoots you a wink and a blush creeps across your cheek. You can’t help but blush your lip and hide yourself from him. How does he always know just what is going on in your mind? “I knew I chose right; other girls would be so scared to face those vultures. But I can see....”

He seems to trail off, gently caressing your cheek. “Hmm, yes, what do you see?” You bite your lip and flutter your eyes, loving any sort of physical attention from him. He then shoots you a wink before shaking his head. “Come, we’re going to be late.” He stands up from his seat, taking your hand and dragging you out the door.

“No, please, Carlos! You can’t do that to me!” You whine, though it’s all fun and games. Still, Carlos mutters under his breath, as always in Spanish. A language that you now consider learning. Just to know what he’s saying about you.

“What are you doing, hermosa?” He asks, watching as you pull out your phone and look at the Instagram again. Ilsa likes to say you’re addicted; you just like to say you’re connected. This, however, isn’t exactly something that you wanted him to know about. A bit embarrassed more than anything scared that he’ll judge you for your extreme consumerism.

You hide behind your hair, “Nothing,” you mutter immediately turning your phone off. He rolls his eyes at you, then wraps his hand around your waist. He then drags you across the seat, right next to him. He then takes your thigh closest to him and drapes it over his leg. His hand stays there, rubbing soothing circles. “Give it here,” he says, his eyes stern and his hand held out.

This time you don’t give in and just cross your hands, staring him down. Your phone is your safe space and not even your closest friends are allowed to see it. “Niña terca,” he mutters under his breath, his jaw locking tight.

“If you give it to me now, I’ll buy you a new one.” Your own jaw this time hangs open. This time you give in with a huff and hand him the old 2017 Samsung, already open. Is this how it’ll always be? How much of yourself are you willing to give to him, for your future?

A smirk crawls on his face, that smile of his could stop traffic. If he were to be charged with a crime, he could simply flash the judge that smile, and they’d free him of all charges. “You like seeing what they say?” Your ears are bright red and wish the earth would swallow you whole. You give a small shrug, “It’s all I used to have time for.”

“But you don’t post that much, no?” He asks, and you can see him going through your account. “I don’t have anything to post.” Carlos shakes his head. “I must disagree, mi amor. Your beauty should be seen by everyone. But we will make sure that you have too much content, no?” His sweet whispers are something that you’ve been yearning for all your life.

“Why don’t we do, what do the people call it?” You furrow your brows, there is a language and generation barrier. You can’t help but smirk at his word choice. “The younger people you mean? Oh, lord, what have I gotten myself into?” You say, referring to the age gap between you two. How lucky aren’t you? As if you’d been written into the perfect book, no plot turns, no villains, nothing.

This time it’s him who blushes, “No, no, no, hermosa. What do they say? Where you post the kissing instead of letting them find out slowly?” A loud laugh escapes your lips and he too blushes and can’t help but laugh. “A hard launch?” He laughs, this time, he is the one hiding his face in the rook of your neck.

“Yes, yes, just like so.” There is a moment of silence between the two of you as consider it in your mind. “You mean it? You don’t want to see how the team reacts first? To see how the fans react?” Your voice goes quiet, insecure about your worthiness of him. “I’m sure. I’m sure of you. I’m sure of us.” You don’t deny him and allow him to take the photo.

He takes a few photos. One with his face still hiding in the crook of your neck, the next where your head sits on his shoulder while you stare up at him. In the last he’s placing a kiss on your forehead, the 55-logo hard to miss.

While you choose the photos to post, you can’t help but see just how much adoration you look at him. In your deepest heart, you hope he doesn’t see it too. He can’t know just how excited you are for this. How much you already like him, and how you’re enjoying his company more than his money.

You posted the pictures with the caption, “I like a fast pace too.” Of course, with Carlos tagged. He then posts it on his story. And after the rest of the car ride, he tucks both of your phones away and makes sure you get to know each other as much as possible.

My taglist is open! If you wish to be tagged in this story alone, please comment or reblog with the words 'tag'. And if you wish to be tagged in all my posts please comment or reblog with the words 'tag all'.

#carlos sainz #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #scuderia ferrari #sugar daddy!Carlos sainz #sugar daddy!carlos sainz x reader #sugar daddy!carlos sainz x sugar baby!reader #f1 #formula 1 #formula one #f1 x reader #carlos sainz smut

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blainesebastian · 2 years

Text

damage control (mas universe)

words: 2,284 ship: austin butler x reader summary: ( @stylespresleyhearted requested) “Reader’s iCloud gets hacked and she had some pictures in lingerie she had sent to Austin that get leaked” notes: this is part of the ‘mutually assured satisfaction’ universe, my PR!relationship series. You could probably read this alone if you wanted. warnings: none tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff, @stylespresleyhearted, @rairaielv

In theory, you know there’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re a strong, successful woman in your industry and you’ve worked hard for that. There have been moments of sacrifice that you’ve never admitted or spoken outloud to anyone, but that’s what one does for their craft sometimes? Their passion. Not even to mention that you’re unconsciously comparing yourself to men in your shoes, how much more recognition they might get, how much more money. It’s not something you harp on because sometimes society just is what it is…you know how lucky you are and how far you’ve come, you’re not about to complain. But deep down you wonder, if this would have happened to a man somehow, what would the reactions be? There’s a societal stereotype that digs right under your skin.

And yet that doesn’t make it hurt any less when it happens.

In the back of your mind, there are a million thoughts swirling through in harsh circles, like a washing machine cycle that just won’t end. It’s one thing to take pictures of yourself for your boyfriend but why did you keep them? It would have been easy just to delete them afterwards, to make sure. And then another thought rebounds back with a why? What’s the big deal? So what if you’ve taken these pictures? You shouldn’t be embarrassed that you posed yourself in a bit of lingerie and sent them to your long-term boyfriend when he was away filming. You both missed one another, the phone sex and Facetime calls and long nights of shared intimacy of just hearing eachother’s voices was just barely enough to cover the ache. Why not add a few pictures to make things interesting? You loved taking them and Austin certainly loved receiving them. You haven’t done anything wrong, you haven’t hurt anyone.

There’s a rational part of your brain, however, that knew this was going to be a bad idea, or maybe hindsight is always that clear.

It’s just a ping-pong set of emotions, really, because when it happens you’re constantly floating between two families of thought. When someone hacks into your iCloud account and finds those pictures, they’re instantly circulated in a few ways. Sold to paps, posted online. Your agent and publicist do their best to cover damage control and while you’re numb at first to this even happening? your first thought ends up being, well at least I’m not completely naked.

And then that’s how it starts, the ping-pong table of feelings.

One the one side, there’s an aloof sense of justification in which you argue with yourself and anyone else that you’ve got no reason to feel shame about your body. It’s not your fault that the female form is automatically sexualized in society and that yeah, you’re wearing lingerie? But so what? It’s no more revealing than a bathing suit and you’re not about to feel guilty for sending them to your boyfriend. It’s not like you’re the only couple on earth to exchange pictures (yeah, Austin has sent his fair share back to you…luckily you had enough common sense not to keep those). On the other one side, you’re pissed off that this has happened and ashamed and embarrassed that a bunch of strangers are seeing you like this, judging you, seeing intimacies that were only made for Austin.

It comes in waves as you handle damage control and unfortunately today, you’re in the latter. The humiliation is just weighing heavily onto you today, like a weighted blanket, pulling your shoulders down. You feel like you might sink right through the floor of your loft…and that’s how Austin finds you when he comes home, crying in the kitchen and worse, trying to hide it from him.

You feel foolish attempting to pretend you’re fine anyways because at this point Austin knows you like the back of his hand, even if he wasn’t caught up on everything that’s been happening. You attempt to walk out of the room but he gently catches your elbow and at one simple touch you just crumble, tears rolling down your cheeks even though you try to wipe them away.

“Shh,” He whispers, drawing you into his chest. He wraps his arms around you tightly, tucking you underneath his chin as emotions slam into you like constant waves. Despite how terrible all of this is and your struggle to come to grips with a lot of it, the only good thing is definitely your boyfriend.

He reminds you how supportive and wonderful he is, not once allowing you to feed into the worst thoughts you’ve had about yourself saying that you somehow deserve the chaos that’s been happening. While friends and family have been encouraging and great, Austin speaks to a part of you that seemingly only he can reach. He’s the only reason you’re getting through this, rocky days or not.

You both eventually end up on the couch, Austin tugging you down until you’re lying on his chest, the lower half of your body between his legs. It’s one of the easiest comforts, closing your eyes as you rest your head on his shoulder, nose and lips pressed to soft skin of his neck. The faint scent of his cologne brings a sense of calm and you feel like you’re finally able to breathe, to settle down once you’re against him.

He brings one of his hands up and slides it along your back, pausing to rub circles into your spine. Neither of you need to say anything for a long while, just enjoying one another’s company and decompressing.

“I hate that every time I feel like I’m over this,” You sniffle, breaking the silence, “Another emotion pops up that’s capable of taking my legs out.”

Austin shakes his head gently, letting out a soft sigh that’s mostly through his nose, “You don’t have to justify any emotions that you’re feelin’ about this.”

“I think that’s part of the problem,” You let out a soft laugh, running your fingers underneath your one eye, removing a tear track that’s no longer there. “I have no idea how to feel.” There are so many ranges of reactions that it’s constantly knocking you back and forth—angry and guilty and humiliated and upset and so many synonyms for all of those, all a cycle, over and over again.

And then even worse, it’s not just you involved in this whole thing but other people are waiting for your reaction to this. Paps, social media, people you’ve worked with, fans…and not that you owe anyone an explanation, either, but you also feel like it’s not going to go away until you say something.

“You don’t owe anyone anythin’.” Austin reads your mind and you smile just a little because even though that might be obvious, it’s nice to hear it.

Shifting a little on his chest, you tilt your head up to look at him, pressing a kiss to his jawline. “I just don’t get what the big damn deal is, people do shit like this all the time. Don’t even get me started on how there’s underwear and bathing suit models? A ton of celebrities go down that track.” You get the sense that this is because it was something more intimate, more forbidden, the fact that these were for Austin’s eyes only. But still.

Austin brushes your hair aside. “That’s what you should do,” He comments, more offhanded than anything else, “Give them somethin’ to look at if they’re insisting.”

And you just kinda blink because…wait, “I…I could do that.”

A soft laugh rumbles in your boyfriend’s chest until he looks down at you and realizes you’re serious. He adjusts the pillow behind him, propping himself up a little more so he can see you properly. He raises his eyebrows, his mouth opening for a moment but he doesn’t speak quite yet. He waits, considering words before he says them.

Not because he’s not supportive but, reiterating, “You don’t have anythin’ to prove.”

“I know, it wouldn’t be for anyone other than me.” And you mean that—it’s not like some big idea to somehow prove that you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of or that you’re giving in to sharing more of yourself because you feel like you have to.

It’s not about that. It’s about owning up to these pictures and…not feeling guilty. You’re a beautiful, strong woman who’s in love with her boyfriend and who isn’t going to be mortified into feeling remorseful for sending or accidently saving half naked pictures.

“Yeah, those pics were only meant for you…but I’m not going to let anyone make me feel bad for sending them.” And this is decided. You’re…not quite sure what this is going to translate into, exactly, but the point is? You’re going to figure it out. Your agent, Christina, has been texting you nonstop since it’s happened anyways—trying to figure out a plan of attack.

Well, you’ve got one.

Austin smiles down at you, curling your hair around your ear. He leans down and presses a small kiss to bridge of your nose, can see how proud he is about you coming to this decision in the blues of his eyes.

And really, that’s all you need to keep moving forward.

As suspected, Christina doesn't second-guess any of your ideas��she just gets to work. She wants to be able to help in any way that she can, and honestly that means a lot to you. Especially with Austin's support, you feel like you can do this. There's that little voice in the back of your head, of course, feeding insecurities, lying about how this will only make it worse and more humiliating for you. But you eventually swallow that down, because confidence is key, it's the whole point and narrative that Christina tells the fashion photographer that has them agreeing to do the spread and small info session afterwards. It's a very small message of empowerment, of owning those frustrating feelings and using them for something good. It's selfish, for sure, but you're hoping other women get something out of this—there's nothing about the female body to be embarrassed about.

You watch your eyes in the mirror as a makeup artist puts just a bit of blush high on your cheekbones—there's an iridescence to it that matches the lingerie you're wearing. Kinda reminds you of a mermaid, really, the scales part. It's a lavender lace teddy, sheer in some places, just enough to hint over to imagination—much like the in the photos you sent Austin.

Your stomach is swirling in anticipation. The photos come second, just a few different shots, again very closely related to the poses you sent Austin (all of this is on purpose) but first a meet n’ greet with the photographer to answer some questions. They go fast and then flashes of bright light settling in the back of your eyes and…once it’s all over, you kinda feel enthralled and completely anxious all at the same time. Nervous energy bubbling along your nerve endings as you see Austin lingering in the background.

You’re not sure what time he’s arrived but he’s smiling at you, moving into frame once the camera stops going off. He lovingly cups both sides of your face, leaning down to gently press a kiss against your lips. There’s the sound of a camera shutter, you’re almost sure, but you don’t care as your hands rest on his waist.

He doesn’t say anything but you realize he doesn’t have to? He’s looking down at you with a mixture of emotions that tell you everything. How beautiful he thinks you are, how proud he is, and everything in-between.

There’s a full body shot from the photoshoot that blows up—and it just so happens to be the candid photo that the photographer took of you and Austin at the end. It’s endearing and soft and while all the other photos are knockouts, it’s definitely your favorite because it conveys the title that goes along with the thread: ‘no place for shame’. Not that this was one hundred percent your end goal either, but admittedly it does feel good that fans have been reposting and tagging you in positive posts.

Austin has been with you every step of the way, has supported you with the intimacies of your relationship accidently ending up out in the open since it happened. You couldn’t ask for a better boyfriend to go through this with.

You’re just glad that it finally feels like it’s on the upend of blowing over. So what better time than to feel good and celebrate?

You linger against the doorframe of the living room, watching as Austin reads over a script for tomorrow. A soft smile tugs the corners of your mouth, “Guess what?”

“Hmm?” He asks but doesn’t look up.

“I got to keep the lace teddy from the photoshoot.”

That gets Austin’s attention, he lifts his head in soft amusement, his eyes trailing over your form as you stand there wearing it. You smirk a little, playing with the thin lavender strings that tie together the bust. The soft mesh rests right along the tops of your thighs…and you’ve forgone underwear.

“You wouldn’t want to…take it off me, would you?” You ask, raising your eyebrows.

Austin slowly puts the script down, standing from the couch. He hums lightly, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he walks towards you. Before you can say anything else, he leans down to kiss you, playfully lifting you up into his arms to walk you towards the bedroom.

“I think you know the answer to that.”

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine #austin butler fic #mccall writes things #elvis 2022 #mas

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late-to-the-party-81 · 1 year

Text

Stockings hanging by the fire

AN: Ho ho ho - Merry Christmas in July! I was supposed to post this in March as a late Christmas present for my darling Tonje, but i forgot! Sorry @doasyoudesireandlive . Let’s also ignore the fact that Bucky didn’t ship out in December……

Beta’d by @yarnforbrains

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and Mood board by me

Masterlist

Summary: Decorating your rooms for Christmas wasn't going as well as planned. Luckily a dashing young soldier offers to help you out, and you aren't going to turn one of our brave boys away...

Relationship: 40’s Bucky x Reader

Wordcount: 1.5k

CW: Fluff and Flirting, Implied off-screen spicy time. 40’s Bucky in dress uniform cos he’s definitely a warning!

This was not going the way you’d anticipated. How hard was it to actually get a Christmas tree up the few brownstone steps and into your apartment? Apparently, very. You hefted it again, but to no avail. And to make matters worse, the small flurry of snow that had been swirling around when you’d set out was getting heavier, and the air getting sharper. Even the children who’d been making snowmen had abandoned them.

You let out another loud sigh, as opposed to the curse you wanted to. Mrs. Sweeny who lived upstairs (and was this minute looking out through her curtains at you while you struggled) already thought you were a good time girl, likely to end up in trouble, so you were trying to present a more demure and ladylike facade. But it was hard when you realised you were sweating like a preacher in a whore-house, and that the needles on the tree had scuffed up your favourite leather gloves. You’d give up, but that would mean that even apart from the fact it would mean abandoning your not so insignificant purchase where it currently lay, it would just present you with a different problem.

The tree was stuck. No going up and no going down. You loosened your grip and pinched the bridge of your nose, a litany of profanities circulating around your brain.

“Excuse me, doll… but you appear to be in need of assistance.”

A warm, syrupy voice made its way to your ears, and you looked up to find the source.

Well! Hello, Soldier!

He was obviously newly minted and fresh out of the box. His dress greens were wrinkle free, his hat perched jauntily on his head atop his Bryll-creamed chestnut hair. His eyes were light blue, sparkling with amusement, an expression matched by the lilt of his full pink lips.

Now, contrary to what Mrs Sweeny thought, you were no good-time girl. However, neither were you a missish maid. When you got an itch, you scratched it, but you were careful about it too. You had a good job as a receptionist, and you didn’t want to lose that just because you couldn’t keep your underthings in place. But looking at this nice looking Sergeant, you could feel that itch making itself known, and he looked like he’d know how to scratch it real good.

“You noticed, huh?” You leaned your hip against the railing, tipped your head to the side slightly and flashed him your most winning smile. “I think I bit off more than I could chew.”

“Well, I could always help you out. You know, if you want?” He’d stepped closer, but you were still slightly taller, being part way up the steps.

“Have a dashing young soldier assist me in my time of need? How is a girl supposed to say no to that?”

He flashed you a grin then, and how you didn’t swoon, you didn’t know.

“Don’t say no then, doll.”

He bent down then, and you were momentarily confused, until he hooked his arms under your nemesis the tree and hoisted it up onto his shoulder.

Wow!

“Lead on, sweetheart.”

You practically skipped up the last few steps, awkwardly pulling your keys out of your purse, before opening the front door to the building.

“Afraid I’m on the second floor, Sergeant….?” You trailed off, giving him the opportunity to give you his name.

“Barnes. James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th. But my good friends call me Bucky.” Oh, he was smooth.

“Bucky, it is then.”

You led the way up the stairwell, somewhat in awe of how effortlessly Bucky was carrying your tree. When you reached your own door, you repeated your awkwardness with the keys, and gave the door - which had a tendency to stick - a sharp nudge with your shoulder. Removing your gloves and wondering how you were going to put right the damage done to them by the pine sap, you gestured to the tree stand you already had set up ready in front of your main window.

“Could you place it in that for me? I didn’t expect getting a tree to be this difficult.”

“Sure thing, doll.”

You took your coat off, hung it on the peg, along with your purse, took off your hat and quickly checked your hair and lipstick in the small vanity mirror by the door, while Bucky’s back was turned.

“So, is this your first Christmas on your own then?”

He threw the question over his shoulder as he tightened the screws on the tree stand around the rough trunk of the pine. You turned back around and leant your weight on your sideboard.

“Yup. Moved outta Ma and Pa’s three months back. Got this place for a steal and a job down at Montgomery’s as the receptionist. It’s a good gig. And you? Getting ready to ship out?”

Bucky stood, clapping his hands together and brushing off the lingering pieces of bark and needles on his green woollen pants.

“Sure am. Completed basic training. Got bumped up to Sergeant on account of my sharp-shooter skills. Catching the boat to England in two days.” He lifted his right hand up to his temple and gave you a salute. “Ready to serve, miss.”

There was an awkward silence then. He’d completed his chivalrous task, but it was clear from the tension in the air between you that neither of you were wanting this interaction to end, at least not yet. You moved away from the sideboard, walking closer to him. He stayed put, right where he was, not widening the gap between you but not closing it either. Open, but not pushy.

“Well thank you very much for your help, Sergeant. But I wondered, on account of how cold and snowy it is outside, whether I could offer you some hospitality in thanks. I could fix you a drink, and if you wanted, you could help me with the decorating. Ornaments and stockings and the such-like? I want to make this room my own personal winter wonderland.”

“A drink would be much appreciated, and spending even more time with a beautiful dame is not gonna be anything I’d turn down.”

“Least I can offer for one of our country’s brave boys.” You walked your fingers up the front of his buttoned jacket and made a display of straightening his tie, before turning and sauntering towards your little kitchenette. You pulled two glass tumblers out of your cupboard, and then moving to a second, retrieved your bottle of whisky. You saw Bucky’s eyebrow rise as you placed a healthy measure in each glass. You took a sip from yours, silently letting him know that you were no stranger to strong liquor, and then returned to his side, hips swinging.

He took the other glass from your hand, and you clinked them together.

“To festive cheer and new friends.”

“I can definitely drink to that, doll.”

Silence fell again as you both sipped your drinks, but it was less awkward and more electric, the previous tension now stronger and thrumming through your veins. You placed your near empty glass down on your coffee table.

“I hate to ask you for another favour, Bucky, but I wondered if you could light the fire for me. I’m just going to pop in the other room and get the things I need for decorating and what not…”

“Not a problem at all.” He placed his glass next to yours and walked round to your fireplace.

“The matches are on the mantle. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“I’ll be right here waiting, beautiful.”

Somehow you controlled yourself walking into your room, not giving away how excited you were. God, you hoped you were reading this right. Quickly you slipped out of your skirt and blouse, and gave yourself a quick wash under the arms from the jug of water you kept on your dresser. A spritz of perfume, a slick of lipstick and another primp of your hair and you were as ready as you were going to be. You took a deep breath and walked back out into your living room.

Bucky was kneeling in front of your fireplace, prodding at the big log he’d just put on to the burning kindling, trying to get it to catch. He’d removed his jacket and hat, the latter perching on top of the former that was folded over the arm of your slightly ratty sofa. You could see the play of the muscles of his back under his dress shirt, and imagined how they’d feel under your hands.

You walked closer until you stood right next to him. He turned his head and looked up at you, eyes wide as he took in your stocking covered legs, your satin french knickers and matching camisole.

“Are you still okay to help me with my stockings?” You lifted one foot and placed it on his knee. His hand gently captured your ankle and then slid up slowly, but surely up your thigh towards the fasteners.

“Those weren't the stockings I had in mind, doll, but I’m not gonna complain.”

And neither did you.

Tag list: @jobean12-blog @sidepartskinnyjeans @flordeamatista @krissy25 @bodeckersdiamonddoll @goldylions @luxeavenger @wheezy-stucky @chemtrails-club @seitmai @talia-rumlow @peaches1958 @pono-pura-vida @writing-for-marvel @kmc1989 @casa-boiardi

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #sergeant barnes #40's Bucky #tis the season to be thot y #Christmas in july #late writes #bucky barnes x you

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ratfreecog · 10 months

Note

How was newsies vibrates excitedly

IT WAS SO GOOD I SAW IT LAST NIGHT

This school has such a big budget drama program it’s insane good on them for actually valuing the arts. The theater was huge it felt like walking into a professional venue in my city not a high school. I wish my old school cared that much our drama teacher got fired for embezzling our club’s funds. Jack, Davey, Katherine, and Crutchie were all so good it was insane. Also, girl Crutchie!! Hell yeah!!

Predictably, a vast majority of the newsies were girls, but instead of trying to hide it and making them dress and act like boys, they just made them girl newsies and used some of the names from Newsies Jr and the Brooklyn girlsies instead. The only exception to this was Albert, who was played by a very femme person with long hair and a skirt, but was still called Albert, which I think is hilarious and I’m hoping that was the actor’s choice.

They also actually had adults play the adult characters which was interesting?? For a highschool production but good for them ig

My favorite moment was in the last Pulitzer’s office scene when Davey goes “since the strike, your circulation’s been down 70%” and Jack, who was currently laying down across the arms of two chairs, did a sit up and whispered “70%” and then laid back down

Also during the Snyder chase scene at the start they had Jack run up one of these scaffolding buildings that were part of the set, realize it was a dead end at the top, turn around and be cornered by Snyder, and then dived between his legs and ran back down to the floor again. Wonderful choreography 10/10.

Speaking of choreography, they actually tap dance during KONY! Holy shit! Was not expecting that! And it was good! Like really good! Hell yeah. All the dancing was really good actually very similar to the Broadway production but like they did a great job at it.

Crutchie also broke my fucking heart during LFTR she actually started crying on the “your sister, Crutchie” line and so did I in the audience

Jack fucking killed Santa Fe he was awesome. Just always he was awesome but Santa Fe was really fucking good

For the seize the day reprise where they’re singing it while Jack Davey and Spot are going to Pultizer’s office, for some reason (I’m guessing running out of time in rehearsal) instead of having the kids sing they played an audio clip from the proshot and it caught me so offguard and im definitely the only person who noticed because I know every single line in this show and have performed the entire thing by myself in box at my haunt to keep myself entertained in between customers.

Overall it was awesome! I do know this show so well that it haunts me and literally every other line an alarm would go off in my brain for whatever they did and how it compared to other versions of the show and what it might mean for their characters so I could probably go a lot more in depth but these were my main thoughts coming out of it. They did a fantastic job!

#newsies #jack kelly #crutchie morris #david jacobs #racetrack higgins

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gortashs-skidmark · 5 months

Text

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙂𝙖𝙩𝙚'𝙨 𝙈𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙝 - ρα૨ƭ 2 ♥ BG3 x READER ♥

Let's pray this bitch let's me fucking talk. It did not enjoy the description of the brain-rats last time

♥

This fic involves previous DND knowledge! Such as Grand Duke Ravenguard, The Outer City, Blacksmithing, The Descent, The Zhentarim, Bane, and Enver Gortash.

♥

PART 1, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5 ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Gender Neutral, un-descriptive looks, No name, MATURE THEMES CONTENT WARNING: Cussing, sewer descriptions,

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

As Continued... “Well.” you whispered in a cracked voice to yourself... One thing at a time, you thought. You chose to go right... -------

You heard and saw rats scuttling, their brains glowing and exposed. They were whispering. That’s horrible, even on a rat. You were truly experiencing a new world, a talking rat-brain experience. The ground was cold between your circulation-lacking toes. It was unpleasantly squishy on the ground in some areas, many different textures of squishiness too. The socks you wore, drenched in sewer “water”. It made your face scrunch up with a frown and throw your head to the side in defeat. You walked on. The ground was very uneven, your feet carried careful lightly steps. -------- After what felt like 5 minutes of walking, with your thoughts constantly at war against you, you spotted some circles of light illuminating the ground, looking up, it was a manhole cover. Ah. A ladder must be around. It was a couple feet ahead against the wall. As you touched the last your skull pounded with vibrations of an eerily familiar voice. “Thou shalt be my acolyte, a most powerful human form. Immortal, as fate has decided. Brimmed with knowledge of this existence. Gods and creatures alike. Tav, blessed be my Chosen” and the voice ceased and the clearance in your mind was immediate. Hand still against the sticky, and yet greasy, ladder. You climbed up carefully, shoeless. ------- It was like a flash-bang. Your ears rang and your vision was white with blobs of yellow. You fully removed the man-hole cover and pushed it aside. Crawling onto the cobblestone street. Staying on your hands and knees for a moment, to regain your vision. Standing up, there were a lot of eyes staring at you, sneering in judgment. You didn’t care, you had been through so much in such a short amount of time. The clouds were packed and it looked like it was going to rain. ...your back felt unusually heavy. Behind you, there was a backpack, of an almost peculiar pattern. It was….well it exists now. You didn’t harbor particular thoughts on the looks of this backpack, it was an older stitching style with a better quality than anything made in your realm. You could see the sea from where you stood. That’s a good place to ask for directions, and find out what’s regionally accessible. The crowds of impoverished people were huge, beggars, rugged fellows, tooth rotted smiles, and god the smell of this place. It was impossible to hurry up enough through batches of crowds, to a very long, not safe looking set of wooden stairs down to a dock. You knew this place. You knew this place. Your body felt heavy, your breath felt too light, your focus locked into your mind. These are the Grey Harbor Docks of the Outer City. From Baldur’s Gate. From Baldur’s Gate. 3. You recognized the map, the locations of the gooey pipes, the factory, the Wave Mother’s Temple, the looks of the beggars clothes. This was terrifying. The amount of monsters and unexpected things in the realm of DND was unfortunate for the fictional characters. But you? You’re here. You’re a part of it. Your mind raced with a million questions. You don’t know how to use a washboard, how to barter, oh god, what if you have to shit in the woods. You’ve read every Wiki Fandom, every published DND book known to your-man-kind. You are smart, possibly ignorant, and when life gives you sewer water, you leave, you don’t touch that poop-water. You need to find a way home, or find a way to live. Carrion fear twisted in your gut. Your body was as still as an enchanted lake. It stood smack dab in the middle of the scary wooden stairs. “Excuse me, you’re in the way of people with a functioning brain, would you remove yourself from the middle of the street, citizen.” someone behind you pointed out. You turned, it was a particularly ugly member of the Flaming Fist. “Ah. Sorry. Rough day, I’ll move.” They didn’t comment and watched your movements as you scuttled to the dock side of the street. What now? Oh! Maybe you should check your backpack. Mmm. No. Not in the Lower City, notorious for criminal behavior, bad idea. Shelter. Look for shelter. To be Continued... This feels so short. It won't let me post more.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 tav #bg3 act 3 spoilers #enver gortash #bg3 x reader #bg3 x tav #fanfic

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newpathwrites · 11 months

Text

Series Masterlist Main Masterlist

Cyar’ika (prequel)

“Oh, he’s not my husband. We’re good friends - we work together.”

“Could have fooled me,” she responded with mirth, offering you a sip of water. “That man was very concerned for you, missy.”

You swallowed the cool drink gratefully and looked over at him with a fond expression. “Yeah, he’s a lot sweeter than he looks.”

“Sweet to you, maybe,” the woman scoffed. “The poor surgeon nearly soiled his pants. Let’s just say your good friend exudes a rather murderous aura when he’s anxious about his work partner.”

Summary: Din saves your life, and you begin to worry he may have feelings you can’t return…

Note: This prequel is set several years into Din and Cyar’ika’s partnership, about one year before they took the marriage vows and removed the helmet. Why had Din essentially been calling his platonic work partner “sweetheart”?

This could be read as a standalone if you haven’t read the main story.

Warnings: Blood/injury, partial non-sexual nudity.

Read on AO3

————————————————————————

It was a stupid, stupid mistake. You should have known better. But in the moment, you’d pulled the knife out of your chest without thinking.

Din’s helmet had turned toward you as blood seeped from the wound just under your breast. And somehow despite the expressionless visor, you could see the abject fear in his rigid posture. Kriff… if Din was scared, the man who scoffed at blaster wounds and his own burned flesh, then you must be a goner.

His image blurred as he rushed toward you, and your vision went black…

Suddenly the structures around you were swimming, and you became vaguely aware that Din was carrying you toward the ship. Wait, when did he pick you up? If your brain had been receiving adequate circulation you might have been embarrassed by the ‘damsel in distress’ role you were playing right now. How did this happen again?

And then next you knew, Din’s modulated voice was cutting through the static that had filled your mind, and a gloved hand nudged your cheek. When did you get to the bunk?

“Stay with me, cyar’ika. Talk to me.”

Ah, there it was again , you thought with muddled amusement. That word he’d been calling you lately.

Your mouth felt like cotton as you finally went to speak. “Din…”

————————————————————

He breathed out an immediate sigh of relief at the sound of your voice. You were still with him… for now, at least.

Ripping the side of your shirt open to better visualize the wound, Din’s blood ran cold at the sight. The hole in your chest was much deeper than he realized, blood soaking the fabric of your underclothes. He spoke again apologetically and with a renewed sense of urgency. “Cyar’ika, I’m going to have to cut off your… covering…”

Days from now, when you were recovered and lucid enough to recall this moment, you’d poke fun at his unwillingness to speak the words ‘breast band’.

But right now, you just wanted to live to see another day. “It’s fine,” you forced out, short of breath. “Do what you need to…” Stars, something really didn’t feel right…

“Hey…” he raised his voice to keep you alert as he started cutting away the obscuring fabric with the blade he kept in his boot. “Come on,” he said, calling your name. “Keep talking to me.”

Gosh, the blood loss was making you loopy. You chuckled in spite of yourself, inhibitions relaxed. “It’s only fair, huh? Since I cut off… your pants that time… Remember? The blaster shot… to the groin…”

As long as you were talking, you were alive, so he supposed he’d just have to humor this unfortunate topic of conversation. “Yeah, I remember.” It was absolutely mortifying. How could he forget? “You saved my life.”

You smirked lightly as he started applying the Bacta gel to the deepest parts of the wound. “Din…” you started again, groaning in pain between stuttered breaths. “Did I ever tell you… what you said to me… while you were high on Bacta…?”

Din wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but at least your mouth was still moving - thank the Maker… He distracted himself with preparing the cautery device. “No, I don’t think you did.”

You flinched as the cauterizer touched the edge of the wound, gritting your teeth against the painful jolts of electricity. Din could barely stand to see you in so much pain, but he reassured you as best he could - comfort wasn’t really part of his skill set.

“I’m so sorry,” he said your name soothingly, mimicking how he might calm Grogu. “You’re doing great… Alright, we’re done.” He dropped the cauterizer and cupped the side of your face for a moment in apology. “Go on… Keep talking, cyar’ika… Tell me what I said when I got the Bacta.”

You managed a weak smile, face so pale it threatened to make him sick. But your light hadn’t gone out quite yet - the warmth he’d come to know so well still evident in your expression. Finally, you spoke, imitating his voice rather hilariously (if these had been better circumstances, anyway), though now reduced nearly to a breathless whisper. “You said…, ‘Cyar’ika… you’re the only person… who’s been in my pants… in years .’… You thought you were… very funny… I swore to myself… I’d never tell you... You’d be… so embarrassed…” Realization hit you then, even in your confused state. “Oh… sorry…”

But Din didn’t have time for humiliation when he was still scared out of his kriffing mind. He’d perseverate on that bit of knowledge later - when you were patched up and out of danger. He could not lose you…

He paused as he pulled a few bandages out of the med kit and observed you for a moment before questioning urgently, “Can you not breathe?” Your chest definitely wasn’t heaving like that before, and he could see the muscles around your ribs straining with each breath.

Now that he mentioned it, you were suddenly struck with the self-awareness that, in fact, it was becoming quite difficult to breathe - as if one side of your chest was empty. Dank farrik, that was bad, right?

You could only nod, air harder and harder to come by.

Din swore under his breath, and suddenly a gloved hand was clamped forcefully over your eyes as you heard the familiar hiss of his helmet’s catch releasing and felt a warm face and ear pressed up against your bare chest. What in the kriff was he doing? You struggled against him lamely, completely confused and bewildered in the moment, but he quickly pulled away, releasing the hand obscuring your vision as the helmet was pulled back down over his chin and a string of expletives left his mouth.

“No air getting to your lung on that side. Could be collapsed.” Or worse, drowning in your own blood. He quickly unwrapped the cloak from his neck and used it to cover you up. “There’s a med center in the next city over. I’ll fly us there.”

You reached for his hand as he pulled away to head to the cockpit, whispering with labored breath, “Thank you… sweetheart…” He froze. Well, this was awkward. “Sorry… I don’t know… what I’m saying… anymore…”

But instead of stalking off in disgust to set the course, he shook his head and chuckled warmly.

“Are you… laughing at me… while I’m dying?” His reaction was confusing you, but your brain felt like mush at this point, anyway.

He leaned down and pressed his helmet to your forehead. “You’re not dying on my watch, Cyar’ika. But I have to get us in the air now .”

The terror was still there in his voice, but if he could laugh, it couldn’t be too dire, right?

“Okay…” You squeezed his hand before releasing it. “What’s… so funny?”

He shouted back to you as he jogged toward the cockpit. “Later… You won’t remember if I tell you now.”

————————————————————

When you next regained consciousness, you felt dry as a bone, throat parched. You weren’t restrained, but your movement felt somewhat restricted, and you could feel wires and tubing around your chest and arms. Ah, you must have made it to the med center, then.

Breathing hurt, but it was no longer strained, so they must have patched you up already. Where was Din?

You managed to pry your eyes open to see that you were now wearing a hospital gown. Kriff - Din didn’t carry you in here half naked, did he?

You lifted your head up to take in your surroundings. Din’s beloved, ratty old cloak - there it was, folded neatly on the window ledge across from your stretcher. Now you remembered - he’d wrapped you up in it before carrying your limp body into the hospital waiting area. What a sight you must have been…

“You’re awake!” The cheerful voice of a middle aged nurse floated in from the doorway. “Now don’t try to sit up on your own just yet - let me lift the head of the bed for you.”

You looked toward her as she rounded the room to hit a button at the side of the stretcher which slowly lifted your upper half into an upright position. “Where is…?”

“Your husband?” She gestured to the back corner of the room as she fiddled with your IV, and you finally saw Din reclined uncomfortably in a chair much too small, chin of his helmet resting on his chest. “Tired himself out pacing the hallway.”

You shook your head slightly, neck still stiff from laying flat on your back for so long, grinning with some amusement. “Oh, he’s not my husband. We’re good friends - we work together.”

“Could have fooled me,” she responded with mirth, offering you a sip of water. “That man was very concerned for you, missy.”

You swallowed the cool drink gratefully and looked over at him with a fond expression. “Yeah, he’s a lot sweeter than he looks.”

“ Dank farrik …” you groaned, head dropping briefly into your hands. “I’m sorry… I’ll have him apologize. Truly, he’s a bit gruff in his delivery, but he’s a very gentle man, under… all of that…”. You gestured vaguely toward his resting form.

The discerning woman hummed in some disbelief. “If you say so… Ah, speak of the devil!”

Din, who had just begun to rouse, startled at the unnecessarily loud exclamation, bolting upright and looking around frantically as he remembered the previous day’s events. His visor locked on you immediately, and he jumped up to approach the stretcher so quickly, the shocked nurse took a full step backwards. He ignored her. “Cyar’ika…”

“Din…” You reached for his hand, and he gladly obliged. It was a sweet relief to see you looking like yourself again.

The woman looked between you with a knowing smile. “Right, then… I’ll just give you some privacy. Ring if you need me.”

You looked at her and nodded in gratitude before turning your attention back to your Mandalorian.

Din’s visor trickled over your form, reassuring himself that you really were on the mend, before finally moving back to your face. “I was so worried about you…”

You’d never heard his voice quite this soft and affectionate. It almost brought tears to your eyes.

“You took very good care of me, Din.” You squeezed his hand and gazed into his visor lovingly, trying to convey without words just how much it meant to you. But it wasn’t enough. “Help me stand up?”

He went about the task immediately, assuming you needed to urgently use the fresher, one hand placed firmly at the middle of your back to reduce the strain on your injury and the other slipping under your legs to help you pivot into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. As soon as you were sitting upright, he helped you adjust your gown to ensure you were fully covered on all sides and tightened the knot behind your neck that kept the thin fabric from slipping off your shoulders. You hadn’t even asked him to do that.

Stars , this gentleness and care that he was extending to you right now filled your heart with a warmth you hadn’t felt for a very long time - maybe even since leaving your family home almost twenty standard years ago…

His hands slipped under your armpits and gripped your sides firmly, mindfully avoiding your wound. “Ready? One, two, three… Up…”

He held on for a moment longer as you adjusted to the sudden postural change, swaying a bit in his hold. But you got your bearings eventually, and his hands fell to his sides as he began to step away, leaving you an unobstructed path to the small fresher by the door.

But you reached a hand out to pull him back in front of you. The visor turned to you expectantly, confused by the action.

Slowly, giving him time to stop you if he wanted, you reached your hands up to each side of his helmet and pulled his forehead down to yours. “This is a meaningful gesture for Mandalorians, yes?” you asked softly.

The question took him by surprise. He hadn’t realized you’d caught on to its significance. “Yeah,” he replied roughly. “It’s called a Keldabe kiss. It can be used to convey care, affection, comradery…” He hoped you didn’t take it the wrong way, but you two seemed to have a mutual understanding regarding the platonic nature of your relationship.

You pulled back and smiled before placing a light kiss to the cheek of his helmet and wrapping your arms around his torso. He was rigid at first, unused to this type of physical affection, prompting you to ask quickly, “Is this ok?”

He didn’t answer verbally but finally lifted his arms to wrap around your back as he mentally adjusted to the idea - this was a new thing for him. But stars , it was good to feel your heart beating so strongly against his palms after watching you nearly bleed out just a couple days prior.

“Thank you, Din…”. You hugged him tighter, fitting your head under the chin of his helmet.

“You’ve done the same, cyar’ika.” He couldn’t help a little dry joke now that you were more yourself, adding, “What would I do with that enormous ship of yours if I lost you, anyway?”

You chuckled. “Admit it… you love that ship. You pilot more than I do these days.”

“True… you got me there…” Was it weird that this prolonged physical contact wasn’t really bothering him? He’d just have to place that thought aside… The hug felt comfortable, and that’s all he needed to understand at this moment.

“Hey, Din…” you spoke softly into his chest plate.

“Hmmm…?” he hummed, weirdly relaxed in this unfamiliar embrace.

“You need to apologize to that poor doctor for scaring him half to death…”

You felt his chest rumble with barely contained laughter. “That was not my fault. He was particularly faint-hearted for a surgeon , and I was stressed, alright? I can’t help the beskar… ”

You finally pulled back to look at him. “Just apologize… please?”

He paused for effect before responding. Only you could make him do such a thing. “Fine.” You could imagine him rolling his eyes behind the visor, but there was a smile in his voice.

————————————————————

After several hours more of observation, you were given the green light to head home with strict orders to rest for at least a full standard week. Din, of course, took note of all restrictions and assured the medical team that he would ensure compliance under threat of force. Dank farrik … you’d have to remind him that strangers didn’t understand his brand of humor…. “He’s joking… I swear…”

But he redeemed himself soon thereafter. While the elderly surgeon shook like a leaf at the sight of the fully armored Mandalorian moving to stand directly before him, Din offered an outstretched hand, extending his sincerest gratitude for saving your life and, as promised, a grudging apology for causing the poor man any undue distress.

“Well,” the anxious man started as his quaking limbs calmed, “You’re very welcome, Mando. You did a decent job of patching her up yourself with what you had available.” The man turned to you and winked kindly. “Don’t pull out the knife next time.” He gave you each a pointed look as he turned toward the door, as if imparting some sage wisdom. “You take good care of each other, now. ”

And with that, you were free to go. At your insistence, Din was sent away to arrange appropriate transportation to the shipyard while the kind, though rather overbearing, nurse helped you get cleaned up and dressed in fresh clothes.

“You and your Mandalorian were looking pretty cozy earlier. I was surprised you insisted that he not help you get ready.” She fastened your breast band securely over your bandages before helping to pull your shirt over your head, adding with a bit of sarcasm, “I mean, he cut half your clothes off before he brought you in here, anyway. No secrets there…”

Ah, yes . Your male work partner and closest friend had now seen quite a bit of you naked… How kind of her to remind you… You’d seen bare parts of him before, too, under very similar circumstances. Ultimately, it was just body parts - not an entirely comfortable thing if you thought about it too hard but really not a big deal in the context of saving a life.

You sighed - you really didn’t find this an appropriate conversation, but the woman meant no harm. “I’ll admit we are oddly comfortable with each other. But when given the option, I think we’d both prefer that he not be involved in this.” You looked at her pointedly, hoping she’d get the hint that this topic be put to rest.

But Maker was she single-minded.

“Mark my words,” she stated with an overconfident air. “You’ll find love with that man within the year… I’m sure of it.” She smiled and raised her eyebrows. “I have a bit of a gift for predicting these things.”

“Oh,” you huffed, amused by the irony but still annoyed that she just wouldn’t let this go. “I’ve certainly already done that .”

The woman paused and looked back at you with an incredulous expression. “So what is it then? Does he not feel the same way?”

You were quick to answer. “No, I’m rather certain he does.”

She stared at you blankly for a moment. Nothing about you or your strangely affectionate relationship with your Mandalorian work partner made any logical sense.

“So you love him… and he loves you… and you’re good friends ?” It almost sounded like mockery.

You nodded - all of this was true, but most people just wouldn’t understand it. “Truly, yes . If that ever changes, I’ll come back here and let you have your victory, but honestly… I’m just not built for romance. The bond we have is platonic, and I am very happy with that just as it is.”

The woman was lost in confused contemplation for a moment, trying to make sense of it all. Finally, she shrugged in surrender. “You two are peculiar… but I’ll forgive it because you’re so kriffing sweet together. But let me tell you, missy - I’m quite sure you’re not just good friends to him .”

What? Oh… no… That last statement hit you like a freighter.

Your feelings for Din were absolutely platonic… But you’d never considered the possibility that he might harbor romantic feelings for you - ones that you could never reciprocate.

Maker… If the woman was right… things were going to get very uncomfortable….

It was probably best to just put the idea out of your mind for now, unless Din brought it up himself. But stars , that might be easier said than done.

————————————————————

Recovery back on the ship was quite a bit more difficult than you’d anticipated.

After bounty hunting alone for nearly two decades before partnering with Din, having no choice but to depend on another person (and a man, at that) for every little damn thing was an annoyance that hit deep in your very independent soul.

Din had been wonderful about it, but you weren’t stupid - you knew exactly what he was doing… the sweet man. He knew you too well.

Din was always watching, intervening the moment it became clear you needed assistance and not a second before to preserve some illusion of self-sufficiency - just materializing when you needed him and leaving your side as soon as you didn’t, knowing how much it pained you to ask for help with basic daily activities. He was, after all, an experienced, former loner - just like you.

Dressing and bathing was, of course, the bantha in the room. Without even making mention of the uncomfortable conundrum, which you’d both strictly avoided addressing once back on the ship, Din had flown to Sorgan under the guise of providing a real rest on a peaceful planet. But once planetside, his kind friend Omera took one look at your bandages and unkempt clothing and immediately offered any womanly assistance you required. You realized quickly upon noting her fiercely maternal ways that Din had likely predicted she’d do just that. The sly man…

Within a few days, though, you’d regained significantly more function, and your visit came to a reluctant end, several jobs still pending since your injury had sidelined things.

“You know, Mando came back here just once after Grogu left him, in that fancy starfighter of his.” You and Omera watched him bidding goodbye to the village children who’d gathered to see you off, much more interested in their Mandalorian savior than the boring, unarmored woman who’d accompanied him. “He was heartbroken. You didn’t need to see his face to know it.”

Din had told you about Grogu, though you’d not yet met the child. Fortunately, Luke Skywalker now allowed him to visit from time to time, and you gathered it did much to heal the wound in his heart.

You nodded knowingly. “When we first started working together, he seemed… incredibly lonely… But he’s much happier since he’s been able to see Grogu once in a while.”

Omera looked at you and smiled broadly as if she was in on some joke to which you weren’t privy. “I’m sure it helps…”. She gave you a pointed look through her eyelashes. “But you , my friend, have been very good for him.”

Oh, you knew what she was insinuating - that thing you’d decided not to think about…

“Omera,” you started cautiously. “You know him better than most…. Do you honestly think he has feelings for me? I worry…”

She cut you off with a huff of laughter. “You worry ? Stars , if I should only be so lucky.” She paused, shaking her head, and looked you in the eyes. “Look - he’s different with you… that’s all I can really say. But I’ll be honest that once I saw you two interacting so… easily… comfortably… I wondered how it was possible that you not have a more intimate relationship. Maybe it’s not romance, but it’s something . And it looks good on you both .”

Well, she wasn’t wrong, was she? There was something between you, though you struggled to define what that something was. But it felt right , either way. No person had ever felt like home the way Din did for you now.

You still worried about the possibility of mismatched intentions, but if the current state of things was mutually fulfilling, then maybe the exact nature of his feelings didn’t much matter…

————————————————————

Getting back to work and your daily routine was an enormous relief. Your wounds had healed up quite nicely, and you were glad to find that your misfortune in being seriously injured by a bounty hadn’t resulted in any overwhelming, trauma-borne anxiety.

You hadn’t expected the dreams. They came in bits and pieces, flashbacks of that day’s events. They weren’t nightmares, really - just lost memories resurfacing, inserting themselves back into your consciousness.

And it was during one of these dreams that you more vividly recalled what had happened in this very bunk - Din frantically working on your injuries, recognizing the dire urgency of the situation, and heading to the cockpit to fly you to the medical center…

Dank farrik.

You called him ‘sweetheart’.

And he… laughed? What kind of reaction was that ?

Well, damn it … Now you were going to have to ask him about it…

You found a quiet moment between jobs to broach the topic, turning away from the controls to face him where he sat in one of the passenger seats going over some maps.

“Hey, Din…”. You tapped his boot lightly, and the visor immediately turned toward your face.

“Cyar’ika…” The helmet tilted to let you know he was listening.

Where to even start?

“Do you, uhmmm… remember something I said before you flew me to the medical center?” You avoided looking at the visor, afraid to meet his eyes.

A warm chuckle, much like that from your memory, trickled through the modulator. “When you called me ‘sweetheart’? That thing you said?”

“ Maker… Yeah, that thing…” you mumbled in embarrassment. “You said that you’d tell me later why it was so funny. Can you… tell me now?”

His posture straightened, as if suddenly he was the one on the spot, fidgeting nervously with his hands. “Uhhh… okay…”

He hesitated a long while, and you gestured for him to continue. This conversation was painfully embarrassing enough - better to be done with it.

“It was amusing because… the word ‘Cyar’ika’ in Mando’a… it means ‘sweetheart’…”. He looked down at his lap, awaiting your reaction, but a reaction never came, so he charged on. “I’ve been afraid to tell you… in case you got the wrong idea…”

Finally, you interjected. “The wrong idea?”

He looked up - clearly you were neither angry nor elated based on your tone. That was a good sign.

Leaning forward, arms resting on his knees, he explained. “Mandalorians don’t really use names - they’re not important to us. We mostly refer to each other by title or relation… so using your name always feels a little… insufficient?” He wasn’t sure that he was explaining this right, but it appeared you were following.

“In my mind, I was wanting to give you a title… But the word ‘friend’ in Mando’a doesn’t adequately express the way I feel about you…” Oh, no… This could be heading into dangerous territory…. “ Nobody knows me the way you do. You’re the closest friend I’ve ever had… You’re like…”

“Family.” The word left your lips before you could stop it.

Of course, Din wasn’t in love with you, thank the stars . He loved you like family . And the feeling was mutual.

“Yeah,” he murmured, that same softness from the med center sounding again in his voice. “Anyway, the word ‘Cyar’ika’ is normally used for romantic partners, but it conveys a kind of affection that the word ‘friend’ does not. If that bothers you… I won’t use it anymore…”

“No, no… I like it,” you reassured him, eyes sparkling. “It’s very sweet.” You gave him a mischievous look, adding, “Should I make a habit of calling you ‘sweetheart’, then?”

You couldn’t help but laugh as his posture went rigid and he struggled to find words to politely decline.

You took mercy on him, laying a hand briefly on his knee. “I’m kidding , Din. Though, I can’t promise it won’t slip out once in a while - old habit from my home planet.”

“Good,” he huffed with humor. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold, you know...”

————————————————————

And so you and your Mandalorian were family. You couldn’t possibly need anything more.

But you would get it, anyway.

Much as that overly familiar nurse predicted, you would find something new together within the year. It might not be romance, but the catalyst that would spur an entirely new connection between you was coming, and you could never have imagined the kind of happiness that would come with it.

————————————————————

As always, thanks for reading!

Next chapter

#the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x ofc #din djarin x original female character #queerplatonic relationship #newpathwrites #a marriage of convenience

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rwby-redux · 2 years

Text

Deconstruction

Worldbuilding: Superstitions

Rabbit’s feet. Crows. Four-leafed clovers.

RWBY’s not exactly subtle about its sources of inspiration. And since subtlety’s gone out the window, I figured that gives me license to do the same:

This is, without a doubt, the laziest worldbuilding I’ve ever seen.

You know what? No. I can’t even call it worldbuilding, because that at least implies someone made the effort to come up with an original idea. This is taking unaltered, real-world beliefs and slapping them into RWBY’s setting without understanding what they’re borrowing. To reiterate a point I made elsewhere: All symbolism in the show is grounded in concepts that are contextually relevant to us, not to the unique groups of people that inhabit Remnant. It’s one of the reasons why Clover’s gimmick feels so uninspired. Every one of his accessories lacks any sort of connective tissue to the cultures of this setting.

They don’t exist for the benefit of enriching the lore, or shaping our characters’ experiences. They’re just placeholders at best. At worst, they’re neon signs loudly declaring to the world: FORESHADOWING AHEAD. PAY ATTENTION.

Well, I paid attention, RWBY. And for the record, you might regret that I did.

But before I get too ahead of myself, let’s first breakdown what superstitions are, and where they come from.

Broadly speaking, superstitions are beliefs or practices rooted in the supernatural, attributed to things such as fate, magic, gods, the paranormal, or fear of the unknown. Superstitions can involve a wide array of subject matter—plants, animals, numbers, objects, actions, and so on.

The underlying question—why are we predisposed to creating and believing in them—has to do with biology.

In psychology, heuristics is the process by which humans use mental shortcuts to arrive at decisions. They can be largely thought of as behaviors based on intuited pattern recognition. If you look outside your window and see dark clouds, for example, you might bring an umbrella without bothering to check the forecast first. Your brain makes the connection of overcast sky = rain, and forgoes the intermediary step of verifying that assumption, because it’s a deduction based on an established pattern.

Evolutionarily, pattern-recognition has a huge payoff in that it allows an animal to make quick, relatively accurate judgments. Natural selection will therefore gravitate toward heuristic reasoning, on the basis that making the occasional incorrect association is outweighed by the benefits of making correct ones. [1]

However, heuristics is not immune to false associations. Because humans are hardwired to look for patterns, we can fall into the trap of assuming that correlation equals causation. Do you have particularly good days whenever you wear a certain jacket? That must mean the jacket is lucky!

These patterns of observation tend to be self-reinforcing, because our brains are subconsciously looking for “evidence” that supports it, while discarding anything that refutes it. [2] The more mounting evidence piles up, the less likely we are to dismiss something as a coincidence. (This is also partly what causes us to believe in stereotypes.)

Of course, there are other factors involved. Sometimes a superstition endures because it can’t be readily proven or disproven. (The belief in spirits, deities, and even cryptofauna, are actually a decent example of the “proving a negative” logical fallacy.) Other times, superstitions hang around because they’re part of a culture’s common knowledge, having been widely-circulated for generations. (Everyone knows that you’re supposed to throw salt over your shoulder to ward off bad luck. My grandma told me so, and her grandma before her.) And of course, superstitions might linger because people comply with them out of uncertainty or fear. (I know that the universe isn’t secretly eavesdropping on my conversation and going to ruin my interview today. But just in case, I better knock on this wooden table.)

You get the idea.

Because heuristic reasoning is a quality innate to all people, it means that virtually every culture you can think of has its own superstitions.

One of my personal favorites is the omission of the number 4 in Sino-Tibetan languages. Also known as tetraphobia, this belief originated from the word “four” (四, pinyin: sì, jyutping: sei3) sounding similar to the word for “death” (死, pinyin: sǐ, jyutping: sei2) in many varieties of Chinese. In a few languages, “four” and “death” are actually homophones.

Because of the association, quite a few East Asian cultures go out of their way to avoid the number four whenever possible (presumably, because using the number carries a perceived risk of invoking death). Examples of this include elevators that skip the fourth floor (and by extension, the 14th, 24th, 34th, and 40th – 49th floors). People are discouraged from speaking the word “four” on the days of major festivals, or in the presence of loved ones who are sick. Similarly, it’s considered bad luck to give a gift to someone that comes in a group or set of four.

Apparently, it’s even worse if the number four is used in phone numbers, addresses, business cards, or ID numbers, because then it’s being personally attached to someone.

Interestingly, not all superstitions carry the same connotations. Domestic cats, for example, can be associated with either positive or negative beliefs, depending on the culture. Ancient Egypt famously adored cats, with several of their gods (Mafdet, Bastet, Sekhmet) being depicted with feline heads upon the shoulders of women. This association likely came about as a result of domestic cats being effective at killing venomous snakes, thus protecting their owners. Additionally, their ability to hunt granivores would have kept households safe from pests. It’s unsurprising that cats acquired a reputation as protectors against evil.

Conversely, anti-cat sentiments were extremely prevalent across Western and Central Europe during the medieval and early modern periods. France in particular was well known for the practice of burning them alive. Their association with the occult (in particular, paganism, devilry, and witchcraft) engendered suspicion and hatred, leading to beliefs about them being unlucky, or harbingers of evil. Black cats in particular still bear the stigma in many Western cultures, where crossing paths with one is said to result in death.

Even if you don’t believe in superstitions (I certainly don’t) there’s no getting around how fascinating they are. They’re the byproduct of glitchy brain chemistry, environment, and culture, scrambling to make sense of something with the tools and context it has on hand.

So, now that we’ve broken down what superstitions are and where they come from, we can finally tackle the next question: Why do they matter to worldbuilding?

I’d argue there’s a few reasons why. The obvious answer is that good worldbuilding seeks to immerse, by making its lore either realistic, or credibly believable within a specific framework. Because superstitions are such common and enduring aspects of human culture, then their absence can look rather jarring and conspicuous.

The other reason why superstitions are important to worldbuilding is because of their application as a storytelling device. Now, most of us, I’d wager, aren’t walking around with our lives being shaped by the whims of some unseen puppetmaster. In works of art, however, we’re given the ability to align the stars and give these details a secondary meaning. Superstitions, when properly leveraged, can have a huge narrative payoff.

In A Song of Ice and Fire, the Dothraki revere and worship horses, due to their role as the foundation of Dothraki culture. Any body of water which a horse will not drink from is regarded with superstitious loathing, hence why the Dothraki refer to the ocean as the poison water, and refuse to cross it. The books waste no time in establishing the Dothraki as indomitable warriors beholden to none, which is why their fear of saltwater is so noteworthy—it’s the one thing that can stop them.

When Daenerys Targaryen’s khalasar sails with her from Qarth, it signifies their conviction in her power. Keep in mind that the Dothraki are not only terrified of saltwater, but believe that the ocean is where the world ends. Their willingness to confront a powerful, deeply-held fear, in order to follow the leadership of a woman (who typically hold second-class status in Dothraki culture) is huge. We, the audience, understand the narrative significance of this event, because the storytelling organically integrated the superstition into the plot. There’s a purpose, and more importantly, a payoff to being told that saltwater is terrifying to them. Crossing the ocean is no longer just a simple action connecting the characters between points A and B—it now holds a deeper meaning. It’s a sign of Daenerys coming into her own.

It's satisfying, right? To see something that could’ve been written off as incidental flavor text being given new life.

Details like this also reward your audience for paying attention. Their engagement with the lore is deepening their overall experience with your story. That sudden epiphany of—Holy shit, this was being foreshadowed by the worldbuilding—is going to make the audience care about their investment.

That’s why this type of worldbuilding matters. When done correctly, its effects on a story can be undeniably powerful.

When mishandled, however…

…you end up with RWBY.

RWBY is odd in that its superstitions are not only heavily cherry-picked from our world, but also largely absent from the story save for two specific cases: Clover and Qrow. The reason for that, as I’m sure you’ve guessed, is because both of them have probability Semblances (good luck and misfortune, respectively). For now, we’ll skip over the bizarre, arbitrary, semantic differences between their Semblances. As needlessly confusing as they are, the distinction between them isn’t relevant right this second.

Let’s start with Clover, since his character is arguably the gimmickier of the two.

Clover’s first appearance. | Source: Volume 7, Episode 1: “The Greatest Kingdom.”

At least Qrow’s character has the benefit of being partially developed. By contrast, Clover’s is largely dependent on his gimmick, to the point where his personality is atrophied. Lest you think I’m joking, let’s go ahead and list all of the overt symbols tied to his character:

His forename, Clover. Although it’s a widely-accepted fact that four-leafed clovers are considered lucky, no one seems to agree on where the belief got started. It’s possible that the superstition is simply based on their rarity: only 1 in 5,000 clovers has this trait.

His surname, Ebi: Ebi is likely a shortening of Ebisu (えびす), the Japanese god of luck and fishermen.

The horseshoe: It’s theorized that horseshoes got their reputation as protective talismans because they were made from iron. Numerous European cultures held that iron repelled the fae, and that horseshoes—being a common source of the metal—would repel them when nailed to the side of a house. Another tradition claims that luck is contained in a horseshoe, and that whether it’s lucky or not depends on the direction it faces. Downward-facing can either be lucky (because the luck pours onto the person under it) or unlucky (because the luck is spilling out and escaping).

The rabbit’s foot: The severed foot of a rabbit is carried as a good luck charm across multiple cultures in Europe, Africa, and the Americas. There are variations of the superstition, with each tracing their origins to practices such as African Diaspora hoodoo, or the European Hand of Glory.

The wishbone: Also known as the furcula, a bone found in most birds and several of the nonavian dinosaurs. In the Late Medieval Period, a goose’s wishbone was used for divination of the weather.

His weapon, Kingfisher: There are several references being made here. His weapon being a fishing pole alludes to both Ebisu, the god of luck and fishermen; and the Aesop fable, “A Fisherman’s Good Luck.” The eponymous bird (of the family Alcedinidae) is considered a good omen by several Bornean and Polynesian cultures, and is the source of the Greek idiom “halcyon days” (idyllic or peaceful times).

It's pretty obvious that the show wanted Clover to be a contrast to Qrow in terms of their Semblances. Hence why Clover has so many lucky objects associated with his character—to emphasize that contrast. The problem is that not only do they not work, but they reveal several other underlying flaws.

The first is that Clover’s character over-relies on this contrast, to the point of meaninglessness. Unlike Qrow, he doesn’t struggle with his Semblance, so there’s no setup for future conflict. Whereas Qrow deals with depression and alcoholism as a consequence of his Semblance, Clover is unhindered by his. Because it doesn’t appear to add anything meaningful to his character development, it makes all of his associated good luck charms feel flat and token. They exist purely to remind us that Clover is lucky. That’s it.

The second—the one that I keep harping on—is that none of the symbols associated with Clover are relevant to RWBY’s cultures. Ebisu is a Japanese god, not an Atlesian one. Rabbit’s feet were part of the spiritual traditions upheld by enslaved Black Americans, not people living in Solitas. I mean, for fuck’s sake, at least two of his symbols (clovers and kingfishers) are based on species that don’t even live in the arctic circle. There’s literally no in-universe justification for why Clover has these associations apart from them being there for the audience’s benefit.

And, like, if I can be completely blunt for a second here: it’s insulting.

It’s insulting that the show (and its writers) have such contempt for their audience’s intelligence, that they feel the need to plaster every square inch of Clover with overt references to good luck (as if his fucking name didn’t give it away within the first ten seconds). Have a shred of respect for your audience by not introducing your character twirling a horseshoe around his finger. Surely the people watching the show can be trusted to sleuth out this information without RWBY holding our hands the entire way. Would it seriously have been that difficult to, for example, have a throwaway moment in V2 where Weiss offhandedly mentions something that Atlesians consider lucky? Maybe people in Solitas like to wear talismans fashioned from polar bear claws. Who knows. But imagine how much better it would have been if Clover’s character had been introduced with him carrying something like that, instead of all that other junk. It would have been a lot more satisfying because it reinforces pre-established lore, provides internal continuity, and gives your audience the chance to go, “Hey, that looks familiar. Where have I seen that before…?” Again, it rewards your audience for paying attention to the little details.

There’s a lot more I could say about Clover’s gimmick (trust me), but I think I’ve gnawed on that particular bone long enough. Let’s move on to our second topic.

Qrow, as depicted in the Volume 4 opening. | Source: RWBY Wiki contributor user:ChishioKunrin.

Before I start tearing it to shreds, let me preface this by saying that I really like Qrow’s overall concept. His Semblance is fascinating because of the implications it has for the lore, in addition to the ways it affects Qrow’s mental health. His alcoholism (and to an extent, his cynicism and self-loathing) are byproducts of a Semblance that forces him to self-isolate because it indiscriminately targets both enemies and allies. It also doesn’t help that several of Remnant’s modern philosophies tout the idea that Semblances are a reflection one’s innate personality. There’s no way that Qrow hasn’t internalized that rhetoric, and the implications it carries for his particular Semblance. (To say nothing of whether or not Qrow’s Semblance could be considered RWBY’s version of a disability.)

All very interesting stuff. On a surface level, anyway. From an execution standpoint, it’s in need of some polish.

Qrow: Did you know that crows are a sign of bad luck? Old superstition, but it's how I got my name. […] …some people are just born unlucky. My Semblance isn't like most—it's not exactly something I do. It's always there, whether I like it or not. I bring misfortune. I guess you could call me a bad luck charm. [3]

Wow, who would have guessed that the character named after a crow was meant to be unlucky. I never would have figured that out.

Qrow’s issue overlaps with Clover’s, in the sense that it’s yet another instance where crows being unlucky is a superstition unique to our world, not RWBY’s. Now, is it entirely possible that Mistral’s superstitions could have converged on that belief? Sure. It wouldn’t be a stretch to think that different cultures might look at this animal—an extremely intelligent, jet-black bird that eats carrion—and arrive at the same conclusions. But RWBY could have, at the bare minimum, provided some additional context as to why. Maybe the superstition comes from a local religion, or from a historical event that’s been very heavily mythologized. Something, anything, that might have made the belief at least a little original.

The other issue I have with Qrow’s symbolism is how it relates to his transformation ability. And the…frankly obvious oversight that Ozpin somehow missed.

It’s fairly common knowledge that corvids (crows and ravens in particular) have been harassed and killed by people, throughout human history. Part of it was due to retaliation by farmers. The other part of it had to do with prejudice, and the fact that (at least in the Americas and Europe) they were seen as portentous. Agents of evil. Heralds of misfortune.

If crows in Remnant are regarded the same way, then why the hell would Ozpin deliberately turn him into one? Qrow’s bird form is supposed to make him inconspicuous, not capitalize on a widespread belief that crows are a sign of bad luck. What’s to stop some superstitious asshole from seeing Qrow fly by, and think to himself, Fuck that bird, let me grab my gun that shoots magical bullets and kill it.

Whether the show wants to admit it or not, that sort of myopic decision-making paints a target on Qrow’s back.

All because Ozpin thought the irony would be funny.

[1] Foster, Kevin and Kokko, Hanna. “The evolution of superstitious and superstition-like behaviour.” Academic paper. Proceedings of the Royal Society B. January 07, 2009. [https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2615824/]

[2] Helms, A. J. “Worldbuilding: Superstitions.” Online article. The Written Vixen. October 07, 2019. [https://writtenvixen.com/2019/10/07/worldbuilding-superstitions/]

[3] Volume 4, Episode 8: “A Much Needed Talk.”

#deconstruction #worldbuilding #writing #superstitions #i hope you guys haven't gotten tired of sweary claptrap just yet

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riahlynn101 · 2 years

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"Of Heartaches and Headaches" (12).

Special thanks to Halogenrobtics (Or Yeagle on AO3) for helping me figure out some crucial plot points, as well as editing my writing!

Chapter Twelve

“Welcome to Salt Lake City News at 10 and thank you for joining us. For those just tuning in, we’ve been covering the disappearance of a child from the Little Friends Daycare center in Sunnyvale, Utah. For more on the story, we go to-”

Click.

A man looks blankly at the (now) dark TV screen in front of him. Tears run down his cheeks, and he chokes on his sobs. He’d recorded that broadcast a year ago. Nothing had come of it. Just a few thoughts and prayers on Facebook that amounted to absolutely nothing.

He is.... alone.

-x-x-x-

Vanessa mutters to herself, filling out an incident report. A wily kid got it into their tiny, underdeveloped brain to climb the statue of Freddy. They fell, but thankfully they hadn’t gotten very far up before their grip slipped. Unfortunately, the kid still wound up with a concussion and Vanessa had gotten an earful from their mother.

Incident reports are the least fun part of her job. They take way too much time, and they’re just thrown away within the week.

She scribbles down the necessary information. Pushing down with much more pressure than required.

Her pencil-her last pencil-snaps.

“Agh!” She shouts, frustration creeping in.

Behind her the door to one of the many security offices slowly creaked open.

Vanessa swivels towards the door. “Hello,” she calls out. “Anyone there?”

No one answers her.

She shivers, some primal part of her brain telling her to shut and lock the door. Goosebumps form on her skin.

“Hello!?”

Again, no one responds. Even the annoyingly catchy pop songs that play on repeat over the loudspeakers have stopped playing.

Reluctantly, Vanessa stands up.

Slowly, inch by inch, she creeps towards the door. Her only weapon is a clipboard, which she raises above her head. With each passing second, her anticipation grows.

The door creeps open….

“Vanessa, hi- what are you doing!?” Her manager, thankfully one of the better ones, looks between Vanessa and the clipboard. “Are you okay? You don’t look well.”

Vanessa drops her arms. “Sorry, Muriel…I…. think I might have that bug that’s been going around.”

“Oh, no, that sucks. Well, no sense in keeping you when you don’t feel good. Take the rest of the day off.”

“Are you-”

Muriel shakes her head. “Don’t worry about us. The pizza plex will remain standing while you’re gone. Just promise to get some rest, alright?”

Mutely, Vanessa nods.

-x-x-x-

The library in Hurricane is the least visited place in Hurricane. It sits on the edge of town. Some say it was built long before the town was established. Others tell of the many horrors that occurred within its walls; of ghosts that appear and disappear right before patrons’ eyes. Not that that makes much sense, but it doesn’t stop elementary schoolers with overactive imaginations from circulating the same rumors Luis heard way back when he was in school.

He unbuckles Gregory from his car seat. “This shouldn’t take more than five minutes,” Luis tells him.

The inside smells the exact same as he last remembers it, like an old house that has been left to sit for decades on end - mildewy. The shelves are covered in a layer of dust, and only the librarian who looks up at them from her desk tells Luis that the library hasn’t been abandoned yet.

If he remembers right, the library had a kiddy corner. Somewhere the adults could drop their children off with kid-friendly material to keep them entertained. His abuela used to take him here all the time as a kid, because the only other form of family-fun entertainment came in the form of Faz-Ent. (And his abuela and extended family could come up with a whole host of reasons why stepping foot in that place was inviting trouble.)

He found the corner and set Gregory down. “I’ll be right over there,” he told him, pointing to the display machine on the other side of the library. “Just have to research a couple things, and then we can go get ice cream. How’s that sound?”

Gregory gave him a thumbs up.

“Cool.” Luis ruffles his hair. “Thanks, bud.”

It turned out using the newspaper display machine is a lot harder than his abuela made it look. After fiddling with it for a few minutes more, he did the walk of shame up to the librarian’s desk.

“Excuse me, miss,” he started, “can you please help me with the newspaper machine?”

“The microform machine has been out of commission for the last decade.”

“Oh,” Luis says, unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice. “I apologize for bothering you.”

The librarian sighed. “Lucky for you, I happen to keep a record of all major in-town events dating back since the early 1900s.” She looked at him over her glasses. “At least I hope you’re looking for a major event, otherwise you might be out of luck.”

“Yes…I mean yes, I’m fairly certain what I’m looking for would constitute a major event.”

Ten minutes later, Luis found himself at a table surrounded by newspapers, some older than he himself and others only months old. From here, he could see and hear Gregory- who was having the time of his life, eyes widening with every picture book.

He smiles, sorting through all the dates.

Hurricane Elementary Millage Passes: What Does This Mean for the Future of Our Children?

(September 17th, 2019).

Local Hurricane Resident Wins the Jackpot!

(November 1st, 2021).

Grand Opening of a Brand-New Restaurant!

(January 4th, 2020).

His smile drops, reading the next headline.

Local Woman Found Dead!

(December 17th, 2019).

…and the next….

New Killer On the Prowl?

(December 30th, 2019).

….and the next…

Two More Local Children Go Missing.

(February 10th, 2020).

Behavioral Therapists Advised Not to Practice in Hurricane!

(March 4th, 2020).

Is This the Work Of the Same Killer From the 80s?

(April 6th, 2020).

Luis eyes a different pile, one that looks older. Pulling the pile over to him, he sets the papers out in front of him.

Grand Opening! Fredbear’s Family Diner: Come One, Come All!

(May 4th, 1979).

He feels his stomach drop upon seeing the next few headlines.

Local Girl, Three, is Still Missing!

(November 3rd, 1980).

Boy, 8, Nearly Dies After Tragic Accident at Fredbear’s Family Diner.

(October 6th, 1983).

Five Children Missing!

(June 27th, 1984).

He recognized his uncle’s smiling face on the latter newspaper’s front page. Shaking his head to rid himself of any oncoming negative thoughts, Luis turned in his seat to look at the librarian.

“Miss, is it alright if I check all these out? I need to feed my son dinner, and-”

“Sure thing. Just make sure to bring them back in one piece….or else.”

He chuckled nervously. “Of…of course.”

Once Gregory and the boxes of newspapers had been secured in the backseat, Luis slid into the driver’s seat. He sighed, trying to put the headlines out of his mind.

He promised himself he wouldn’t bring up the past. That this was all water under the bridge for them.

“Ice cream…?” Gregory asks, eyeing the colorful pages of the book Luis checked out for him.

Luis hums, straightening up. “Yeah, of course, bud. Do you want-”

His phone buzzes in the cupholder. “Hold that thought.” He pressed the answer button. “Hello?”

“Luis, hi! I got sent home-”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I was wondering if I could come over for a little bit? I haven’t seen Gregory all day, and….” Vanessa trails off.

“No, yeah, that’s fine. I’m picking up some ice cream, and then I’ll be right there.”

They mutter a series of goodbyes before finally hanging up. He looked back at Gregory. “Hey, guess what?”

Gregory looks up from his book.

“‘Ness is going to meet us back at the house earlier than expected.”

He bounces in his seat, eyes lighting up. “Yay!”

“But first we have to get ice cream.” He turns back around, buckling his seatbelt. “How does ice cream sundaes sound?”

#fnaf luis #fnaf vanessa #toddler gregory #fnaf au #cross posted on ao3 #fnaf fanfic

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theromancereaderalix · 9 months

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My attempt at Jamie’s End of Year Book Survey

I found this while reading though blogs so here is my attempt, I made some changes and took some things out but it's still similar to the original. I'm trying to make this more of a get to know me and reading preferences so I hope y'all enjoy.

Genre you read the most from: Romance

Number of authors you discovered: 63

1.Top Books You Read In 2023?

I am a big cheater and changed this from a single book to a more general prompt. Most of the books I loved happened to be in a series and I could not pick my favorite, so below is the list of the top series I read this year. This year was when I discovered hockey romance so that quickly took over my life, the Playing for Keeps series by Becka Mack quickly rose to the top of my list Consider Me was the first book and I think I discovered it on TikTok after attempting to find more hockey books post Icebreaker. Next, I feel in love with all of Emily Rath books, starting with the Jacksonville Rays series. This entire universe is amazing and I always jump at her new books. Both series above have steamy spice, but Emily Rath sets a new standard. Part of the universe is poly, a trope I don't normally prefer, but Rachel and her three boys have such an amazing dynamic. I also read the Fifty Shades books and those were much better than I expected. The first one was sub-par but the rest of the series was very good. The Perfectly Imperfect series by Neva Altaj is also tied for the top of my list. It is a dark, arranged marriage, mafia series that is such a fun and enjoyable read. The books provide the best morally grey men that know how to protect their women. Other than those series', all of Lucy Score's books were amazing and worth the read, I was so fortunate and was able to go to one of her book signings this year!

2. Book You Were Excited About & Thought You Were Going To Love More But Didn’t?

I thought that I was going to love the Beneath the Mask series by Luna Mason based off of the TikTok and instagram bait, but it did not work for me. I read the entire series but most of the tropes that were pushed have been done better in other mafia romance series.

3. Most surprising (in a good way or bad way) book or series you read?

The most surprising book series I read was the Fifty Shades series. The first book was terrible and very poorly written but after pushing though, the quality of the series improved and I quickly fell in love with the characters. The series still poorly depicts a healthy BDSM relationship but I believe that was the point, the series shows development of the relationship into one that is more functional and that alone makes it very intriguing to read. I wanted to see how the characters would change and grow into the best versions of themselves and it drove me to keep reading. Anastasia had such bite to her it made her so fun to read and drove the overall likability of the book up.

4. Book You “Pushed” The Most People To Read (And They Did)?

I pushed the The Perfectly Imperfect series on my roommates and got them to read the first few. They liked the books and planed on finishing the series but did not end up completing it since they are not readers. I was surprised that they even read the first few but they enjoyed it. We called it the sisterhood of the traveling smut because my physical copies of the book were circulating around the house. I made the best brain map of the entire series where I mapped tropes, connection, and plot to showed everyone who would listen.

5. Favorite new author you discovered in 2023?

I am the worst at picking one so I'm going to pick my top three, the same ones that happened to be in my response for the very first question. Becka Mack, Emily Wrath, and Neva Altaj are my favorites and I will cary them with me to the grave. They are amazing and have such a variety of tropes as well as amazing spice. They also have variety in book length and plot types.

7. Book You Read In 2023 That You Would Be MOST Likely To Re-Read Next Year?

I would be the mostly likely to read Red White and Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston. I have already re read this book multiple times, and I will more than likely read it again. I read it before the movie came out, and then a few times after the movie so I could compare them accurately. The chemistry is so authentic and palpable that it draws you in from the very beginning. I have recommend this to all of my friends and am waiting for them to read it so we can rant about the book together.

8. Most memorable character of 2023?

For the romance genre, Caleb from the Jacksonville Rays by Emily Rath and for Fantasy I love Hunt from Crescent City by Sarah J Mass. I am including both since the main point of this page is to talk about romance. Caleb was such a fun character with an immense about of growth. The way he grew and changed during the books was inspiring and he became one of the more unique characters I read this year. Hunt, is one of my new top favorite fantasy guys. I love SMJ and her books so when I finally read Crescent City I fell in love with Hunt and added him to my list. I loved the way he was portrayed and he was for sure written by a women.

9. Book you can’t believe you waited UNTIL 2023 to finally read?

It is not Romance but I cannot believe it took me so long to read Crescent City, this series was the next step of reading my way though the SJM universe. It was such a bumpy ride and made me so emotional but it was so worth the read. I crawled into my roommates bed and cried at the end of the book because I was so emotionally wrecked in the best way possible. I am currently working on the second book in that series and Im so excited to finish it.

10. Favorite Passage/Quote From A Book You Read In 2023?

"You're my friend. Who watched trashy TV with me and puts up with my shit. You're the person I don't need to explain myself to - not when it matters. You see everything I am, and you don’t run away from it. " Crescent City page 556. This quote came to me exactly when I needed it and has stuck with me since.

11.Shortest & Longest Book You Read In 2023?

Shortest: the books from The Wolf's Mate series were by far the most short, being about 130 pages each. You would know these as being called the Bro and the Beast series as TikTok and Insta likes to call it.

Longest: Crescent City at around 816 pages

18. Best Book You Read In 2020 That You Read Based SOLELY On A Recommendation From Somebody Else/Peer Pressure/Bookstagram, Etc.:?

Most of the smaller romance books I read this year were found from Instagram and TikTok, when I find those posts where a unique seen or trope is quoted and it is on my KU i normally add it and read it. The The Perfectly Imperfect series is an example of this as well as dozens of other books.

20. Best 2020 debut you read?

Unsteady by Peyton Corinne was a debut hockey novel that was super good. I have read better hockey romance books but this was one at the top of the list and is worth the read. I am very excited for the next book in the series to come out. The series was very well developed and planned for a debut novel with unique takes on tropes.

25. Most Unique Book You Read In 2023?

The most unique book I read in 2023 was Bunny by Mona Awad. In all fairness I hated this book but it was very unique and has the most insane premise. While I did not like it many of my book club members enjoyed it so I think It may have just gone over my head.

26. Book That Made You The Most Mad (doesn’t necessarily mean you didn’t like it)?

The book that made me the most mad was One Pucked up Pack by Sarah Blue. I HATED this book, it was a poly omega-verse that had the most unlikable characters. The main lady was so unlikable and make her men jump through hoops for her. She played favorites and was terrible to one of the guys. I normally hate poly relationships especially books that depicts a toxic relationship that does pick favorites. I can recommend much better Omega-Verse books if you are interested, but this is not one of those books.

27. Book You Are Most Anticipating For 2021 (non-debut)?

I am most looking forward to the next Crescent City book and the next book in the Emily Wrath Jacksonville Ray universe. I have these plotted on my calendar and am so ready for them to come out. I am waiting to finish Crescent City two until the third comes out so I can roll right into the third!

Thank you so much for reading, let me know if you have any questions. Keep on reading!

theromancereaderalix

#2023 reading wrap up #2023 wrapped #reading wrap up #romance books #sjm #reading recommendations #reading review #book recommendations #book blog #romance novels

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witflitmanict · 1 year

Text

Part 1: Rules and an explanation

Hello and welcome to my writing space. Here’s the deal. Three-ish nights ago I was laying in bed wide awake at a time when I should have been asleep with a thousand voices reverberating off my head and making it nigh impossible. (My NIGHTS are often NIGH). This happens a lot. Right off the bat - I’ve got ADHD and Bi-Polar II (so I am told anyways) so things like circulating thoughts that one cannot grasp onto long enough to actually look into are a common occurrence for me. And like many people with this sort of thing it most commonly strikes at night, when I am trying to get myself to settle in for the big dark.

When this happens I try to solve it with a couple of neat tricks. Trick 1: Get up and Do A Thing. Usually this thing is dishes but my current roommate likes to do the dishes before she goes to bed so that one isn’t working out great these days. Trick 2: Distract your brain with something banal. The podcast Mysteries Abound was great for this. I loved the stories, but his calming voice and continuous change in stories kept me from getting too invested. But now it’s gone and I haven’t found a great replacement yet. Music can have a similar effect…or it can drive me up the wall because I get really, really, into the lyrics. Trick 3: Yoga. Breathing exercises. An attempt at mediation. Always a good one. And finally, Trick 5: Take some meds and lay on the floor while trying to get ahold of a single idea and then tease that single idea out as much as you can before you lose it, until you find yourself settling into a single pattern and then sleep.

I am not a medical professional (actually I am an EMT but we don’t usually dole out sleeping advice) so take it all with a grain of salt. But the point is this: On said night when I could not sleep I thought to myself; “What else could I do to get my brain quiet?” And that led me to think about all the things that make my brain loud to begin with and to sum it all up I hit upon this: Maybe I should try writing things out more.

Writing, you see, is something that comes naturally to me. At least, I feel it does. I’ve loved writing about as long as I’ve loved reading. And part of the reason I love writing is because somewhere between the neuron flashes in my brain and the sentences on the page, things have a way of sorting themselves out a bit. On paper it puts itself into an order that I cannot often get in my own mind. Ideas, thoughts, stories, the ever present monologue…they form into an orderly line and flow out onto the paper (or computer as the case may be). I mean sometimes it’s not that easy, sometimes I feel like I am doing the writing equivalent of splashing paint haphazardly onto a canvas. But even that creates something pretty pleasant.

So, based on all that, I had this idea: For the month of October I will try to write each day. Something. Anything. Just get out some of what is pressing against my skull onto paper (the digital kind) and see if that does anything to quell some of what is in me.

Now I know from past experiences of trying to stick to things like this that if I make too many rules then I simply won’t do it. I don’t like rules, especially ones that I cannot see the logic of. I like them even less when they are rules I impose on myself because I know that consequence for breaking them is going to be nothing because punishing yourself does nothing and also I am not one for lingering too long on guilt. In fact I usually rail against it.

So, after some careful consideration, here are the rules I set out for myself:

Write each day

Write at least 1000 wordsish

Write anything - a diary entry, an expose, a short story, a poem…whatever

If you can’t think of what to write, then just find a prompt somewhere or ask someone for a prompt and then write to that

If you miss a day you have to make it up the next day, but if you write more than 1000 words one day it does not count towards the next day

Five rules seems like something I can follow. But then again, that was 3 days ago and this is the first time writing so…well, seems about right.

Regardless, let’s give it a try, yeah? Who knows, maybe I’ll actually get through this one.

Word Count: 798 (like I said, 1000ISH)

#writing #daily challenge #I give it a week

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hxseok-honee · 2 years

Text

sundress || part 33.5 [smut]

sundress [part 33.5] || “I love you”

previous || masterlist || next

a/n : [baby you’re so anxious, you can’t take it // can we take this off and get naked?] naked x doja cat

ahem,,,, welcome to my first ever smut???? minors DNI????

taglist :

@deepseavibez @thetrueghostqueen @reddeathraven @sopebubbles-replies @skyrro @unadulteratedlyunique @ramyagovindraj @itismochirice @wwhseokjin @drpepperobsessed @monamone @thekookiecorner @army-moa75 @burningupp @lele-bb @pb-n-juju @red-kebab @heonsbebe @peachyyoongs @superloverpielamp @marifujioka @butterflylion @heyitsgigi @lochness-butmakeitsexy @miki-chi @cahowlkook @worshiphoseok @lilacdreams-00 @bongsbeforebibles @miriamxsworld @oasiswithmyg @peonyplace @annewrighthglc @calling-dips-on-j-hope @yoongiofmine @loveyoongles @instantspot @missmadwoman @x-xjaeminx-x @luvtaeha @vanillxangxl @renhold-nightspear @taeshuworld @lvrseok @supahumbreon @a-noona-mous @echointhelibrary @secretlycrazyhummingbird @simpinforyoongi @ireallylikeyourwriting

___________________________________

Thursday, 10 February, 12:14pm

“We should have sex-”

“Good fucking lord, I’m going to pass out.”

Yoongi paces the room, running his hands through his hair and tugging on the front of his uniform, trying to get some form of cool air circulating around his body. He stops short, yanking his phone from his pocket and opening the text thread with Y/n again.

Nope, it’s definitely still there. That one pesky message - Y/n proposing that they have sex. That they finally cross the biggest line they’d drawn when this had all started. The thought sets his nerves alight all over again, and he’s shoving his phone back into his pocket like he isn’t going to repeat this process after two more minutes of pacing.

“It’s fine, everything’s fine. Just calm the fuck down, it’s not a big deal. Just-”

Just your childhood best friend admitting that she wants to have sex with you.

Yoongi groans, throwing his head back as his thoughts keep him from relaxing. He has no idea why he’s this nervous. Well- no, he definitely knows. He knows it’s because it’s her. He knows that, if she were anyone else, he wouldn’t feel so affected. He knows that, if she actually does want this, he’s probably going to have a meltdown. Just the simple thought of having sex with Y/n makes his brain stall and his heart flip dangerously. What’s he supposed to do if she actually comes up here, if she actually follows him up from lunch? How’s he supposed to make it through-

The door creaks open behind him, and he spins around so fast that he almost trips and falls. Y/n’s standing at the door, one hand on the knob as she peers nervously over at him.

They just stare at each other, the air between them thick with tension, and Yoongi feels like he probably should say something to lighten the mood. But as he’s opening his mouth to crack a stupid joke, his mind flashes back to what this moment might lead to. Back to every time this moment has crossed his mind, every painfully vivid dream he’s had about this. Every time he’s come so close to going too far, every time he’s almost admitted how much he wants her. How much he thinks about her at night and - embarrassing as it might be - how he uses his alone time in the shower.

He knows she hasn’t been ready for this, that the idea of sleeping with him has overwhelmed her until now. It hasn’t been an option for them… but now it is. Now it is an option for them, and he honestly has no idea how he’s supposed to process that.

“Yoongi…?”

Yoongi blinks, coming out of his thoughts and focusing on the girl that occupies them, day and night.

Y/n’s closed the door behind her and is standing in front of it, watching him anxiously. She smiles shyly when he meets her eyes.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to…”

Yoongi’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head frantically, moving toward her.

“No- No… Sorry, I was just… lost in my head. But…” He stops in front of her, eyes flitting around her face, searching for any sign of hesitation. Any indication that she might not be ready for this.

He doesn’t find one.

“Are you sure that… I mean, do you really want this…? I don’t want you to do something you might regret later…”

At his words, Y/n relaxes visibly, a smile of relief tugging at her lips. Of course he was just worried about her.

“I thought you were the one having second thoughts…”

Yoongi grins, overcome with adoration for this girl in front of him. He steps in, shaking his head as he takes her face in his hands. When he lays his lips on hers, he feels the tingle that shoots down his spine. And he knows she feels it too when she inhales sharply, her fingers coming up to rest on the belt loops of his slacks.

They don’t go any further than that, Yoongi pulling back to examine her. She only stares back, face warming shyly the longer he looks at her. Shaking her head in bemusement, she smiles at him.

“What are you thinking about?”

He stares a moment longer, trying to come up with something to say - anything that will reassure her that he wants this as much as she does. But all he can think about is how she would look underneath him, and he can feel himself becoming embarrassingly hard at the thought. So instead he says-

“I just… don’t know if I’m going to be able to hold back if we do this…”

Well… it’s not what he’d meant to say, but it seems to do the trick. Because he watches as Y/n’s gaze loses its innocence, leaving nothing but desire in her eyes as they drop to his lips.

“You expect me to have a problem with that?”

There’s a moment of nothing, one where Yoongi’s just trying to register what she’s saying.

And then, without another word, he’s slipping a hand behind the curve of her neck and pulling her in, smashing his lips to hers. She responds immediately, arms sliding up and around his neck to keep him close. He only steps in, forcing her back against the door as he kisses her with everything he’s got.

He can feel her hands snaking down the front of his shirt and back to his belt loops, but he doesn’t react until she’s pulling his hips flush against hers. A breathy moan leaves him at the contact, and he’s pulling his lips from hers, only to attach his mouth to his favorite spot under her ear.

Reaching up, he cards one hand through her hair, pulling taut. When she moans in his ear, her fingers loosen their hold on him, but Yoongi’s not having it. His other hand slides down to her ass, keeping her pressed against him so she can feel how much she affects him. How hard she makes him.

Y/n feels like her brain is overheating - the sensation of Yoongi’s mouth on her skin as he presses into her is too much, and she’s not totally sure how she’s gonna make it through this if she’s already feeling this needy. It seems like he can maybe sense how she’s losing herself, because he pulls away at that moment. For a second, she thinks he might be giving her a break, but then he’s meeting her eyes, his own gaze burning hot.

“Get on the bed so I can show you who you belong to.”

Y/n’s jaw drops, and Yoongi wants so badly to smile at how cute she is, but he manages to restrain himself, only cocking an eyebrow and waiting for her to do as he says.

She does after a moment, but not before taking the front of his shirt in her hand and pulling him in for another kiss. She walks to the edge of the bed like that, keeping his mouth on hers until the back of her knees are hitting the mattress and she’s forced to let go.

When she bounces down on the bed, she realizes she’s managed to land herself in a very interesting position. Because Yoongi’s towering over her now, meaning she has great access to the quickly growing tent in his pants. She swears she sees it twitch when she stares for just a moment too long.

“See something you like, babygirl?”

Y/n wants to roll her eyes at how corny that line is, but then Yoongi’s taking her chin in his hand, lifting her gaze to meet his. For someone so nervous not even ten minutes ago, he looks extremely confident standing over her like this, like he can make her do anything he wants. The realization that he probably could has warmth pooling in her panties, something that has her face burning.

She only reaches forward in response to his question, never breaking eye contact, and makes quick work of popping the button on his pants. Just as she’s finished pulling the zipper down, however, Yoongi releases her chin, his wrist snapping as he slaps her hand away from where he wants her most.

The resounding crack of his skin on hers has her gasping, and she finds herself pressing her thighs together when he leans down. His other hand comes down on her shoulder, roughly shoving her back on the bed until she’s propped up on her elbows. He presses down into the mattress as he leans over her, his gaze hard.

“You still haven’t learned not to touch me without permission?”

Y/n feels her resolve leaving her - as if she’d had any to begin with - and she whimpers an apology.

“Sorry… I just wanted to-”

“Wanted to what, Y/n? Wanted to touch my cock that bad? Are you that greedy?”

Y/n groans, falling back on the mattress. The way he’s talking to her right now has her nerves on fire, her tummy flipping with butterflies as she watches him glare down at her.

“Yoongi…”

His eyebrow twitches again, and his head tilts to the side. It feels like he’s mocking her, his gaze unwavering and full of fake concern.

“I don’t think you meant to call me that, princess.” His smile is insulting, and Y/n wants nothing more than to open her legs for him. She’s deeply grateful that she’d gone so many years without seeing this side of him - if she’d known he was like this, she’s not sure that she would have been able to resist him.

“Please… Can I touch you, Daddy?”

Yoongi’s smile widens then, and she catches a glimpse of the boy she’s always known. The sweet one who can’t help but be fond when she gives him what he wants.

She hates that it only makes her want him more.

Yoongi jerks his head up toward the top of the bed then, telling her silently to go get comfortable. She scrambles to do as he says, setting her head down on the mattress and spreading her legs to give him space. Her skirt falls up toward the top of her thighs, and she watches as Yoongi’s eyes flick automatically down to her panties. The smirk he shoots her lets her know that he’s seen the wet patch there.

But she doesn’t have time to feel embarrassed, because he’s immediately climbing on top of her, settling in between her legs and caging her in as he leans down to kiss her. His lips are searing hot, and Y/n almost reaches up to hold onto him. But then he’s pulling back and glaring down at her in challenge. She only pouts up at him.

“Please?”

He scoffs, leaning in again and nodding once he’s got his lips on her again. He mumbles a response against her mouth.

“Only because you just can’t seem to keep your hands to yourself.”

Y/n flushes, but it doesn’t stop her from carding her fingers through his hair, nails dragging against his scalp as she does so. He moans into her mouth, giving her the chance to push her tongue past his lips. Yoongi presses his hips into hers in response, and they both moan at the relief it gives them.

Slowly - so slowly that Y/n barely notices - Yoongi shifts just enough that he can pull at the buttons of her shirt. His mouth never leaves hers, not even when he gets the last button and can push the fabric over her shoulders. Y/n helps him get it off of her, and then she helps him again when he reaches behind her and undoes the clasp on her bra with one hand, the garment loosening on her body before she can even realize what’s happening.

She doesn’t have time to process her clothes hitting the floor, because Yoongi’s immediately pulling away from her and dragging his lips down her chest. When he latches onto one of her nipples, his hand coming down to play with the other, Y/n’s back arches, and she moans loudly, not having expected him to move so quickly.

She starts to pull at his shirt, desperate to undress him, but she can’t really do much once Yoongi catches her wrist in his free hand. He pins it to the bed roughly, going so far as to open his eyes and glare at her through his long eyelashes, never once backing away from the attention he’s giving her breasts.

Only when she starts to really squirm under him, not even a few minutes later, does he pull away, staring down at his chest and admiring the way he’s marked her up. Y/n tugs at his shirt again, grumbling under him.

“I swear to god if you don’t let me take these fucking clothes off…”

Yoongi smiles wide, his tough exterior gone because she’s just that endearing, even now. He lifts up to meet her lips again, not saying anything about how she pops the buttons of his shirt impatiently.

As soon as it’s joined her clothes on the floor, she’s reaching between them, pushing at his slacks, still undone from earlier. They slide off of his hips easily, and he kicks them the rest of the way off.

Y/n starts to unzip her skirt, but Yoongi’s quick to stop her, a sheepish grin sent in her direction.

“Keep it on?”

Y/n huffs in disbelief, shaking her head despite the smile on her face.

“You’re something else, you know that? What, you want me to leave my panties on, too?”

It’s a joke, and Yoongi knows it, but that doesn’t stop him from sitting up and resting back on his ankles as he reaches under her skirt. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of her panties, smiling impishly when he sees the way her eyes widen.

“If you wanted me to take them off that bad, you should have just said so, baby.”

Y/n props herself up, her gaze hot as she reaches out and takes the elastic band of Yoongi’s boxers in her hand. He stills, the action making his stomach flip nervously.

“I’m ready if you are, baby.”

She smiles mockingly up at him when she says it, but they can both see the nerves setting into each other’s eyes. The realization that they’re really going to do this.

Yoongi releases her panties, letting his hands drift down to her thighs, where he rubs comforting circles into the skin there. His voice is soft when he speaks.

“Still sure you wanna do this? Because we can stop… if you’re not 100% sure…”

Y/n sits up until she can rise to her knees, matching his height when she runs her hands over his chest and shoulders comfortingly. She nods, smiling at him sweetly.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything… I trust you.”

She always knows just what to say. Yoongi feels his nerves drifting away, and he nods back, letting out a sigh.

“Sorry… I guess I’m just nervous…” He knows she can tell, because he’s playing with the hem of her skirt, pulling at a stray thread to keep his hands busy. He looks her in the eye, an anxious smile tugging at his lips. “You kinda… make me nervous…”

She blinks in surprise then. She knows that Yoongi treats her differently, knows that he’s always aware of her and what she needs. It’s because of that that she’s confident he would without a doubt take care of her needs, that he would never leave her unsatisfied. But she hadn’t realized that he might actually be nervous about it…

“What are you nervous about, Yoon?” She reaches up when she asks, pushing his hair out of his eyes and cradling his face in her hands. He leans into her touch, closing his eyes as he relaxes into her. His palms spread warmly over her waist, thumbs kneading circles into her sides.

“Just… wanna make sure that I do this right… that I make you feel good… that I don’t cum in less than five minutes…”

Y/n snickers at his last comment, and his eyes fly open, a pout forming on his lips.

“I’m serious! I don’t want to disappoint you by finishing too early- I don’t even know if I have condoms!”

He looks panicked then, like he’s about to jump up and tear the room apart for a condom. Y/n just smiles widely, pulling his face in so she can kiss him before he goes on a rampage.

“Yoongi, I’m on birth control. My mom made me start going to St. Mungo’s after Christmas. You don’t have to worry about the condom.”

Yoongi looks shocked and a little embarrassed, both because he hadn’t noticed that she’d started taking potions and also because her mom totally doesn’t trust them… with reason, of course. But still, it’s a little awkward, so he doesn’t think about it too long, opting instead to listen as Y/n keeps talking him down from his incoming panic attack.

“And I don’t care if you finish early. I’m not gonna judge you if you can’t last long - shit, I don’t even know if I can last long.”

He smiles then, shaking his head.

“It’d be kinda hot if you couldn’t last long, though…”

Y/n scoffs, eyeing him in disbelief.

“And you think I wouldn’t find it hot if you finished early? Imagine how big my ego would get - the Great Min Yoongi, dethroned by the best pussy he’s ever ha-”

Yoongi throws his head back, his laughter echoing through their bedroom. Y/n loves to hear it.

“Okay, alright, I get it - Even if I can’t make you feel good, at least I can boost your ego-”

Y/n snorts, pulling him in for another kiss. She lets him guide them back down to the bed, glad that he no longer seems nervous. He pulls away after a moment, smiling down at her in embarrassment.

“Any chance in hell that you’re still wet after that slight detour?”

She only tilts her head to the side and smiles up at him.

“Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

Yoongi clicks his tongue, a breathless laugh leaving him as he leans in to kiss her.

“You’re pretty smooth, you know that?”

Y/n giggles when he mumbles the line against her lips, deciding not to respond and to let Yoongi take over once more.

He doesn’t disappoint, his playful kiss fading into something more heated. Pushing his tongue past her lips, he smiles at the way she arches her back when he brushes his thumb over one of her nipples. When she cradles his head in her hand, keeping him close, he lets his hand drift lower, lets himself enjoy the way her breathing gets heavy when his fingers start dancing beneath her skirt.

And when he finally presses up against that pretty little wet spot he’d seen earlier, he lets himself enjoy the way she moans into his mouth, the way her legs fall open for him.

He starts slow, rubbing slow circles against her panties. He knows it’s going to annoy her, and when he turns out to be right - when she starts impatiently grinding down into his hand - he decides that his goal is to frustrate her until she snaps.

He waits until that little wet spot turns into a much bigger wet spot, and then he pulls away from her mouth, smiling when she glares up at him.

“What’s wrong, babygirl? Don’t like the way Daddy’s treating you?”

Y/n rolls her eyes then, not realizing that Yoongi’s just waiting for her to run her mouth.

“I’d be doing a lot better if you would just do a little bit more-” Y/n’s breath is cut short when Yoongi stops completely, lifting his hand and wrapping it around her throat with so much certainty that only then does she realize that he’s planned this.

“You wanna try mouthing off again?”

Y/n feels herself clench when he whispers against her ear, and she’s letting out a quiet apology before she can stop herself. Yoongi only scoffs in response, releasing her throat in favor of sitting up and leaning back on his heels again.

When he hooks his fingers into her panties this time, Y/n can’t find an ounce of doubt in his eyes. Seeing him so confident makes her squirm, feeling needy again.

Yoongi lets her panties drop to the floor, hands going to her knees and guiding them open. The way he stares down at her has Y/n shifting nervously, and she grows shy the longer he looks. But when she finally decides she wants to close her legs, one glance up at Yoongi tells her not to try it.

Because he’s finally meeting her eyes now, gaze heated as he drags his hands up and down her thighs.

“Aren’t you just the prettiest little thing?”

Y/n feels her stomach drop deliciously - it’s unfair that he always knows exactly what to say to her. But he’s not the only one.

“I bet it feels just as good as it looks… Daddy.” She smirks up at him, watching as his eyelashes flutter at her words.

Never breaking eye contact, Yoongi slides his hand up her thigh, brushing the pad of his thumb up against her clit. When she inhales sharply, he raises an eyebrow, a knowing smile growing on his lips when he does it two, three more times.

He runs his fingers through her folds - he’s giving her a break, obviously - and watches as she squirms under him. But she never breaks eye contact, and he’s gotta give credit where credit’s due.

As soon as his fingers are soaked enough, he rubs circles over her clit, growing rougher the longer he goes. Only when she moans his name does he relent, dropping his middle and ring fingers down to play with her entrance.

“Feel good, baby?”

He’s proud at how quickly she nods, so he dips his middle finger in, a reward for her good behavior. She clenches around him right away, and although he’d only meant to tease, he finds that he really wants to keep going.

Y/n feels her head spinning when Yoongi thrusts a finger into her, the sensation building when he curls it upward toward himself. She really doesn’t know how she keeps it together when he adds his ring finger, because the stretch has her moaning embarrassingly loud. He only smiles, grinding his palm into her clit as he fingers her. He does this a few more times, and she just knows he’s watching her fall apart, because the moment the coil in her stomach starts to tighten, he’s drawing his fingers out. She whines in annoyance, hearing him snicker above her.

“Something the matter, princess?”

Letting her eyes drift open, Y/n glares up at him, panting heavily.

“You know exactly what’s wrong.”

He only smiles, guilty as charged.

“I have no idea what you mean, baby.”

There’s a pause, and then Y/n’s squinting up at him, letting her foot slide forward on the bed.

As soon as she makes contact when the front of his boxers, he’s hissing loudly, flinching away from her. He couldn’t possibly have been dumb enough to think she’d forget about him.

Y/n presses her foot onto his tented shorts, watching with pride as Yoongi’s jaw drops, his eyes rolling back for just a moment as he lets out a quiet moan.

It doesn’t last long, Y/n’s ankle finally snatched up in Yoongi’s free hand as he glares down at her. She just smiles innocently up at him.

“Seems like you might need a little relief yourself.”

Yoongi cocks an eyebrow.

“Yeah? Got any ideas?”

Y/n says nothing, only letting her knees fall open further. As soon as Yoongi looks down at her - as soon as he remembers how wet she is - he’s swallowing hard, hand coming down to palm himself through his boxers.

Y/n sits up, pushing his hand out of the way and replacing it with her own. He inhales sharply, keeping his eyes on hers as he feels her grab at the band of his shorts. He lets her pull them down this time, shutting his eyes briefly at the cold air on his burning hot skin. Just that moment is enough time for Y/n to reach down and take him in her hand.

Yoongi slumps forward, forehead falling to her shoulder as a moan rips from his throat. He reaches blindly for her when she starts stroking him, taking her sweet time with torturing him as he grips at her waist. She’d given him handjobs before, and he feels like he shouldn’t be this sensitive to her touch, but he’s never been this hard before.

“Baby, please… please, I’m not gonna last long like this- Y/n, please-”

Y/n relents then, hearing the desperation in his voice and deciding to cut him some slack. He sighs heavily, relaxing into her.

“Fuck, that was close.”

The room is quiet for a moment, but Y/n never misses a chance to take a jab at her favorite boy in the world.

“Yoongi?”

“Hm?”

“Are you gonna fuck me, or am I gonna have to take care of it myself?”

He doesn’t miss a beat, not even bothering to lift his head from her shoulder.

“I’d love to see you try to finish this yourself with nothing but those cute little fingers.”

Y/n purses her lips, hating that her core already aches at the memory of his fingers inside her.

“I guess I’ll just have to try until you decide to replace them with something better.” And with that, she leans away from him and falls back on the mattress, watching him scramble to keep his balance after she’d abandoned him.

She doesn’t even bother pretending like she’s going to touch herself. Yoongi’s already kicked off his boxers the rest of the way and is climbing over her, caging her in again. He leans in, pressing his mouth to hers in a heated kiss and smiling down at her when he’s done.

“You weren’t really gonna touch yourself without me, were you?”

Y/n rolls her eyes in annoyance.

“I will if you don’t fucking do something already-”

She cuts herself off with a gasp, unprepared for the way Yoongi’s grinding against her, rubbing himself against her folds.

“You were saying?”

She growls under her breath, reminding herself to give him a hard time later for not knowing when to shut the fuck up. She would do it now, but she’s growing increasingly distracted by the way he’s teasing her entrance. Her stomach bursts with a swarm of butterflies, finally realizing that she and Yoongi are about to-

The moan that leaves Y/n when Yoongi pushes into her would be embarrassing, but she can feel his fingers digging into her hips with bruising force, can hear the way he moans her name in her ear as he bottoms out. She doesn’t have time to feel embarrassed, not right now and certainly not with him. Never with him.

“Yoongi, fuck-”

He pulls out and slides back into her slowly, waiting until she’s ready before he lets go of his self-control. It takes a few seconds, but eventually, she’s squeezing his biceps and clenching around him, telling him everything he needs to know.

He thrusts harder this time, savoring the way she pulls him in for a kiss and moans against his lips. Rocking into her, he screws his eyes shut, overwhelmed by her.

“You feel so good, Y/n-”

Lifting himself onto his elbow, he keeps kissing her, muffling her moans with his lips as his hips snap into hers. Her nails dig into his shoulders, and he can’t say he’s not excited to see how scratched up he is later. He wants to see it - wants to be reminded of this moment every time he looks in the mirror.

Pulling away from her, he contents himself with just watching - watching how her back arches, how she throws her head back when he slides in at a certain angle. How she looks up at him, sweaty and panting and smiling so prettily when she whispers-

“I love you… love you, Yoongi…”

Yoongi’s heart stutters when the words reach his ears, only worsening when he realizes that she’s just mumbling it over and over again, a mantra of his name on her lips every time he thrusts into her. His brain fills with that white-hot static he’s gotten so used to whenever she’s around, and he has no idea what to do except repeat it back to her as he presses his lips to hers. Feeling her everywhere. On his skin. In his head. In his heart. He feels her everywhere, hears her everywhere. He loves it, loves this. Loves her.

Later, he’s not going to have any explanation for why this is the moment that he’s pushed over the edge. He’s not going to be able to understand why this is the moment that his hips stall, why this is the moment that he spills into her, moaning her name while she cries out for him, her own orgasm crashing over her as she clings to him. He’s not going to know how to deal with the feelings that’ll come after this moment, not even going to realize that she’s feeling the same things he is until much later.

But right now, he doesn’t need to know any of that. He doesn’t need anything, not when she’s here with him in this moment, fully and completely his.

#bts au #bts smau #bts social media au #bts texts #bts hogwarts au #min yoongi #yoongi x reader

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 3 years

Note

the absolute brain Austen would give him when she hears about the incident

(based off this)

The way Harry wouldn’t mention it at all because he doesn’t need praise for defending her, considering it’s the least he could do given their relationship. And when she notices his bruised knuckles and asks what happened, he conjures up a little white lie saying that he’d woken up late and was running out the door in a hurry, and amidst all the chaos, accidentally slammed his hand into the doorframe on the way out. Then she finds out the truth through the grapevine and confronts him about it one night while she’s over at his place, lounging on opposite sides of the couch doing homework with their legs tangled at the center.

“I heard about what happened last week.”

Harry doesn’t even glance up from his computer, continuing to type away skillfully, unfazed by her accusatory comment. Despite his nonchalance, one of his eyebrows raises in question to let her know he’s paying attention, a curious hum rumbling in the back of his throat. “About what?”

“About Justin.”

Harry’s fingers halt abruptly, the clacking of the keyboard cutting off sharply all at once. His eyes gradually pan up to lock with her own over the top of his laptop, full of mild shock and slight annoyance at the fact that his personal business has been circulating around campus. Though he supposes he can’t be too mad, considering he did what he did in the middle of a public building in plain daylight, where everyone could bear witness.

When he speaks, it’s low and slow, as if he’s trying to coax more information out of her without setting off any alarms in her head. “What did you hear, exactly?”

Y/N reaches up and closes her laptop with a soft click, sighing through her nose quietly as her lashes flutter in thought. “I heard everything.”

“That’s awfully vague. Elaborate, please.”

She rolls her eyes lightly at the underlying jest in his tone, giving him a deadpan glance before clearing her throat and abiding. “I heard that he said something fucked up about me and that you almost broke his jaw for it.”

Fuck.

Harry copies her actions, sighing through his nostrils roughly as he grasps the top edge of his computer and lowers it halfway, inclining it down so he can get a better look at her, as well as to silently declare that she now has his undivided attention. He blinks at her twice, attempting to formulate an adequate comeback to explain why he’d lied to her about his bruised hand, and why he’d purposefully omitted the truth. What comes out of his mouth, however, is utterly the opposite, hardly as eloquent and well-versed as his usual vernacular.

“Yeah, I punched him.”

Now it’s Y/N’s turn to blink at him blankly, her lips parting in surprise. “Why?”

Harry’s brows furrow in appalled confusion. “What do you mean why?”

“Why’d you punch him?”

“Because he was being a fucking twat, obviously.”

“I mean, yeah, obviously. But you…you didn’t have to do that for me.”

He scoffs at her preposterous claim, giving her a knowing glimpse through the reflection of his glasses. “Of course I did.”

“What makes you say that?”

Harry stares at her like she’s just shot a bullet between his eyes. “Are you taking the piss right now?”

“What? No. I just want to know why you thought you had to defend my honor like I’m some type of damsel in distress. I can deal with stuff like that well on my own—”

“I did it because I couldn’t just fucking stand there and let him talk about you like that.” Harry exclaims pointedly, his attitude blunt and defensive. “Especially when you weren’t there to shove his misogyny back down that shithole he calls a mouth. I know you’re more than capable of dealing with pricks like that on you own— your left hook is probably better than mine, in all honesty— but you weren’t present, so I did what I thought I had to do and took care of it for you. It’s not about capability, it’s about being a good…friend.”

“Friend?”

“Potential boyfriend.” He amends gingerly, as if the word is a grenade waiting to explode in his mouth.

“Potential boyfriend?”

“Yes. Or no. I don’t know. Friend, potential boyfriend, future shag, casual partner, whatever you want to call this. Ultimately, it’s about being a good person. You’d do the same for me, wouldn’t you?”

Y/N purses her lips at his prompt. He’s right. “Yeah, of course.”

“Then it’s settled.” Harry huffs with finality, gripping the corner of his laptop to lift the top up again to continue his work. “It was a punch by proxy. That simple.”

Y/N lifts her socked foot from between his warm calves, using it to push his laptop closed once more to announce that she’s not done with the conversation. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Harry allows her to shut his computer, momentarily casting his gaze up at the ceiling to gather his wits before responding. “I just didn’t think it was important enough to mention.”

Y/N sputters out a humorous, disbelieving laugh. “You didn’t think that dislocating someone’s jaw on my behalf was worth noting?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Harry.”

“It’s in the past! What’s the point of—”

“Harry.”

The young scholar grinds his back teeth anxiously, shifting across the sofa to try and get rid of the intrusive jitters scuttling across the nerves of his spine. He releases a surrendered exhale, rubbing at his tired eyes beneath the frame of his bifocals, proceeding to then drag his palm down his face in order to get his bearings completely in order. He appraises her with a certain softness to his demeanor, his accent mirroring his mood in volume and tune. “I believe that basic human decency shouldn’t be subject to praise. I did what any person with a shred of morality would do, and I did it of my own accord and with no ulterior motives. I don’t need or want a reward for it, so I didn’t bring it up. Gold stars for good behavior is a grade school practice, and we’re adults. It should be outgrown by now, don’t y’think?”

Y/N surveys him carefully— every twitch in his expression, every ripple of his body language, and every flit of his emerald irises— and comes to find that he’s actually being fully sincere in his confession, if his even breaths and stagnant eye contact are any indication. He had omitted the occurrence because it came from some place deeper than the superficial urge to seek a prize for his actions. He had lied to her about his bruised knuckles because he didn’t want her to stress about his well-being, and because he didn’t want her to feel responsible for what had happened, even if it had unknowingly been at her behest. He had heard someone slander her and his first instinct had been to defend her, especially because she had not been there to do so herself. He has her back not only when she’s present to observe it, but even when she isn’t made privy to it. The authenticity behind his intentions makes her stomach knot into a neat bow.

She clears her throat lightly, jutting her chin in a choppy nod. “Yeah. It should be.”

Harry’s tense shoulders visibly relax at her amicable response, and she vaguely wonders why the topic is causing him so much anguish. “Good. Glad we agree on that. Now can we please move on?”

She taps her nails absentmindedly across the frosted aluminum cover of her MacBook, and he can practically see all the gears and bolts churning away inside her skull. She narrows her eyes ever so slightly, as if she’s come to a decision, and then voices her next comment with an easy, dismissive undercurrent. “I have one more question.”

Harry groans dramatically, curling his socked toes restlessly. “Ask it before I shut off my ears and tune you out for the rest of the night.”

“You’ve told me multiple times that you think violence is stupid and nonsensical.”

“It is. But that’s not a question, it’s a statement.”

“I’m getting there.”

“Get there faster, my attention span for this is running on fumes.”

“If you think violence is so idiotic, then why did you punch him?”

Harry pauses for a moment, his mouth ajar but lacking any sound. A beat of impatient silence befalls the pair as they contemplate each other with an intrigued, electric atmosphere sizzling between them, sparking fretfully as he collects whatever scraps of an explanation he can muster. After a few seconds of background static containing the distant noise of traffic and the whirring of their computers’ fans, Harry finally pipes up, his cadence measured and oddly vulnerable. “Because this was an exception.”

“How so?”

“Because. It just is.”

She gives him a flat look. “I’m gonna need a bit more than that to drop this, Plato. I thought you said you were good at controlling your emotions? Thought you liked to compartmentalize?”

“I am, and I do.”

“Justin’s pain medication bill proves otherwise.”

“Like I said, this was the exception. A small fluke, if you will.”

“Just stop going in circles and answer directly.”

“But I love going in circles. In fact, circles are my favorite shape. Love a good sphere.”

“Harry.”

“I’d even go as far as to argue that an even radius is borderline orgasmic. Although it has to be—”

“Harry.”

“Hm?”

“What made this time the exception? Answer or I’m leaving.”

Harry chuckles teasingly, using one of his wounded knuckles— they’re still the faintest shade of green and purple— to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose, folding his arms over his broad chest right afterwards, slouching back against the arm of his couch to expel the rigidity that’s been drawing his body taut since she first mentioned the altercation. His motions cause his t-shirt to strain against the alluring muscles of his biceps, and Y/N has to bite into her tongue to maintain her bearings. “That’s a bit rash.”

She bends over and snatches her laptop bag off the coffee table, pinning him with unyielding devotion bricked across her features. “You have five seconds before I grab my shit and go. Five.”

“Are you serious?”

“Four.”

“You literally said you had one question and you’ve asked, like, four or five.”

“Three.”

“I already answered your initial one! It’s not my fault you didn’t ask for specifics right off the bat.”

“Two.”

“Y/N—”

“One.”

“Because it was about you.”

Despite the irritability and edge in Harry’s reply, its contents are what leave Y/N stunned. The affectionate conviction and passionate rationality behind his remark causes Y/N’s breath to hitch in her lungs, and as she gawks at him in a jarred stupor, she can see all the abrasive sarcasm and stubborn deflection funnel right out of his system, leaving behind a new canvas primed with fondness and resolution.

Y/N repeats his phrase in a delicate tone, as if the vibrations from her vocal cords could shatter the implications threaded in its syllables. “Because it was about me?”

“Yes.” Harry swallows thickly, sniffing indifferently and rubbing his nose with the side of his finger, as if to dull a sting. As he talks, he refuses to hold her insistent stare. “It was the exception because it was about you. Happy now?”

Y/N chews along the inside of her cheek, suppressing the childish, smitten squeak threatening to escape her defenses. “What difference does that make?”

“A pretty significant one.”

“Why?”

“Because I fucking care about you, Y/N. Because I care about you.”

#anthropologyrry

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