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thetriumphantpanda · 1 year ago

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i only wanna worship you | javier peña

Take The Weight Off His Shoulders - Chapter Seven

Chapter Summary | When a promising lead for your story turns to dust, you find comfort in the only person you know can make you feel better these days.

Chapter Warnings | mentions and discussions of drugs, drug consumption and the drug trade, swearing, flirting, explicit smut, oral sex (f), protected piv sex but nothing else.

Pairing | dbf!Javier Peña x F!Reader

Word Count | 4.4K

Authors Note | GUYS I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. Thank you so much for being so patient - my new job and the festive period kicked my ass, but we're back, and it's the one you've all been waiting for! I'm having so much fun weaving in the story along with these guys' relationship, and I hope it was worth the wait for you. If you're enjoying this then reblogs and comments really do help and if you’d like to support me further, please consider a donation to my Ko-Fi.

I no longer use taglists. Please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs to be notified of new updates.

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You’ve been sat in the parking lot for what feels like ages. Turning up at the office that morning, you’d stared blankly at the article you’d written, listening to your managers voice in your head telling you that you could go and get your story, swirling the dregs of your coffee in your mug. It was almost like a switch had flicked in your brain and before your head could catch up with you, you were stuffing your supplies into your bag and swiping your car keys off the desk.

Now, your car is surrounded by others in the parking lot of Laredo’s biggest factory - one of the towns biggest employers of people who hadn’t gotten sick of it and left for college and never come back - waiting for Tyler Johnson to appear out of the front doors for his lunch break.

You watch the clock on your dashboard, counting exactly seventeen further minutes until his tall, lanky frame comes through the door. He’s fishing in his jeans pocket, pulling out a cigarette. He leans up against a brick wall just down from the front door, lighting the cigarette and taking a long drag. It’s now or never.

You get out of your car, deciding against taking your notepad and pen, you don’t want to spook him before you’ve had a chance to talk. You can feel the familiar nervous bubble in your stomach, something that hasn’t gone away when you blindly go up to someone to interrogate them.

“Tyler?”

He turns his head towards your voice as you come to a stop a few steps away from him.

“Depends who’s asking,” He looks you up and down, “But for you honey, sure thing,” He puts the cigarette into his mouth, reaches his hand out for you to shake which you do, “What can I help with?”

You take a deep breath, the speech you’d rehearsed in the car suddenly blanked from your mind as you try and figure out how to explain to him why you’re here.

“This is so strange, but can you remember hosting a party a few months ago?” You ask, “It was in town?”

You watch him think for a second, taking another drag on his cigarette, “Yeah I think so, was pretty wild if I remember, were you there?”

You reply with a nod, “Yeah, with my friend Liv,” You sigh, “Listen, I’m not trying to pry or anything, but you know that place was raided a few days ago, right?”

“Whole place knows it was raided,” He shrugs, “Been the talk of the town.”

“Right,” You’re thinking, how can you catch him in the act? “So, why were you hosting a party in a house that was empty, that was then raided for drugs?”

“Family own it,” He shrugs again, “Guy who rented it died and it needed doing up before we could get someone else in, so seemed like the best place to do it.”

“And the drugs?” You push.

“Listen, lady,” His tone sharpens but he doesn’t move towards you, you don’t feel threatened, “I haven’t got a clue as to why there were drugs there, okay? I haven’t been there since the party.”

“So you have no idea how they got there?”

“Not the faintest.”

“So it wasn’t you?”

“What the hell is this, twenty fucking questions?” He sighs again, flicks his finished cigarette to the ground, stamping on it with his boot, “I don’t know anything about the drugs, I’ve never taken drugs, I can’t even if I wanted to, we get tested here for them.”

“When was the last time you got tested?” You ask, eyebrows raised.

Tyler snorts at you, “You and everyone else in this fucking town are so predictable,” He shakes his head, “Just because I’m not a golden boy like my brother means I take drugs?” You’re about to open your mouth to reply when he started talking again, “I got tested about three weeks ago, and then probably six weeks before that too, clean as a whistle, always have been.”

“Do you have the test results?”

“You think I’m gonna show my drug test results to a random girl?”

You nod your head because it his trepidation makes sense, “I’m a journalist,” You finally let on, “I wrote a story about the drug bust but figured there was probably more to it than first meets the eye so I’m just digging around a little,” You shrug, “If you show me, it puts you in the clear though, means people’ll stop talking about you.”

Tyler rolls his eyes but starts walking towards a car. You follow behind him, waiting as he unlocks it and looks through the glove compartment, pulling out a couple of pieces of paper. He hands them to you, which you look through and just like he said, there are the result of his last three random drug tests, everything negative. Fuck. You try not to let your disappointment show as you hand them back.

“Sorry,” You mumble, “I’m just trying to get to the bottom of what’s going on here.”

“S’alright,” Tyler responds, putting everything back in order to lock his car back up, “I know how it is, but just…” He trails off, “Be careful, okay? I don’t know what’s happening either but this could be dangerous.”

“I’m a big girl,” You counter, “I’ll be fine,” You take a few steps back, “Sorry for bothering you though, I hope the rest of your day is alright.”

There is a part of you that would love nothing more than to roll over, push your face into your pillow and scream. When did having meltdowns like that become frowned upon? You’re sure when you were little they were cathartic, but what use was that at three years old? You needed to be able to scream at this age.

Instead, you lie on your bed, staring at the ceiling, frustrated that the one lead you had turned out to be a dead fucking end. Were you wrong about this whole thing the entire time? Were you barking up the wrong tree? Did you just need to cut your losses and publish the story as is, without needing to dig around further? You had no fucking clue.

Before you can think about what you’re doing, you reach over, pluck the phone off your nightstand and press the redial button. You don’t even need to tap in his number anymore, he’s the only number you really call these days. The phone rings three times before he picks up.

“Hello?”

“Javi?” You ask, although you don’t need to, you’d recognise that voice anywhere.

“You alright, cariño?” There is just a sigh that you let out in response, then his voice is back in your ear, “I’ve had enough bad days in my time to know that sigh, what happened?”

“I don’t know,” Is your response, you know you can’t tell him what’s really up because you know the deeper you dig into this, the more dangerous it’s going to get, “Just work stress.”

He’s silent for a moment, “What can I do? I can listen.”

“Can you come over?”

Even over the phone, you can hear him thinking it’s a bad idea. You can hear him thinking about how weird it will look if your parents find him in the house with you on your own, how you’d explain it, even if they didn’t necessarily catch you doing anything.

“They’re out at the moment,” You offer, “Dinner with some people on the force, and I won’t make you stay long, I promise.”

You can hear him do that thing he always does when he’s thinking - clicking his tongue against his teeth. He’s done it for as long as you can remember - a real tell that he’s battling with something in his head.

“I mean, you don’t have to,” You hasten to add, “We can just talk like this if you’d rather.”

“Need someone to make you feel better, huh?” His tone is lower now and it makes you squirm, all you can reply with is a small mmhmm sound, “I’ll be there soon.”

Then all you can hear is the dial tone. You lie there for a moment, listening to the sound through the phone, then glance around your room and panic. You slam the handset back onto the receiver and hop out of bed, dragging the sheets up to make the bed properly, aimlessly throwing abandoned clothes into the laundry basket, shoving half-read books back onto their shelves and generally tidying up enough so as to not look like a total slob.

Once you’re sure there’s nothing on display that you wouldn’t want Javi to see, you pace around the living room, drawing the curtains a little whenever you can see headlights bleeding through, until one set of those headlights are Javi’s truck. He pulls into the drive and sits there, before he’s reversing back out and driving off. Your heart sinks a little, until you can see his frame walking back up the street. You let the curtains fall back into place and stand by the front door, smoothing your hair and your clothes when he knocks twice. You don’t wait, just tear the door open.

“Waiting for me, huh?” He asks, stepping across the threshold, one hand slipping around your waist, the other letting the door close behind him.

“N-no, I was just by the door when you knocked.” You breath, so close to his mouth.

“That so?” He asks, eyebrow raised, “Someone else looking out the curtains then?”

He doesn’t give you the chance to answer. Instead, he dips his face to yours, lips pressed softly to yours. You can feel the aches and the stress leaving your body as he does, you bring your arms up to wrap around his shoulders, as Javi’s palm on your lower back presses you into his body fully.

“Y-you wanna m-maybe go upstairs?” You ask, lips still a hairs breadth from his, you don’t want to look at him whilst you ask.

“Is that what you want?” He asks, free hand cupping your cheek to make you look at him.

“I think so, yes.” You breathe.

“Well then, lead the way cariño.”

I don’t deserve this, is all Javi can think as your hand is clutched in his, leading him into your bedroom. He doesn’t deserve the flutter in his stomach when he looks at you, or the way your eyes look at him like he’s the best thing the world has ever offered you, and he certainly doesn’t deserve the opportunity to do what he thinks you’re going to let him do in the next few hours. All of the bad he’s done, veiled as something good, all of the shit he’s fucked up before, the people’s he’s hurt, the people he’s killed, whether at his own hand or as a knock on from his actions, he doesn’t deserve someone as good as you.

You’re stood at the door to your room, back pressed up against it, hands clasped behind your back as he stands in the middle of your room. He knows you’re nervous, you always are around him, and he wishes he could say something, express that he feels exactly the same around you, that you make him nervous too, but he thinks it would sound wrong if he tried to explain it, so he doesn’t, just holds out his hand and beckons you over to him.

The warmth of your hand slipping into his, the way he knows those hands feel when you touch him, the way your lips are soft when you kiss him, all of it makes him a weak man, a man who knows you need someone with less baggage, because he can’t say no to you, he doesn’t want to say no to you.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asks, manoeuvring the two of you so you’re sitting on the edge of your bed.

He watches as you shake your head, “No, it’s honestly nothing, it’ll be fine.”

“What do you want then?”

You lift your head, flash those beautiful eyes at him and instead of fighting the strength to stay upright, he takes a single step towards you and drops to his knees, settled on the floor with your thighs spread to accommodate him. He puts his hands on your knees, looking up at you, and spreads them a little wider.

“This what you want?” He asks, trailing his hands up to your thighs, pushing the hem of your dress up with his hands as he goes, “Something to take your mind off things for a while?”

“Y-yes,” You gasp when his hands hit the material of your underwear wrapped around your hips, “Yes please.”

Javi hooks his fingers into the band of your panties, watching as you lift yourself off the bed a little so he can pull them down. He’s slow with it, making sure that the hem of your dress keeps you covered as he can. It strikes him now how much he wants this, how much he’s craved the opportunity to get you like this so he can really hear you, really see you for once, without having to worry about getting caught.

“You wanna show me that pretty pussy, hermosa?” He speaks lowly into the skin of your thigh he’s nuzzling at.

He watches from between your thighs as your cheek drops to your shoulder, trying to hide how bashful you’ve become, but it does nothing to help the growing bulge in his jeans. Javi lets his fingers push the hem of your dress up your thighs, pooling at your waist, your legs widening.

Javi thinks he might audibly gasp at the way you’re already glistening for him. He leans forward, puckers his lips and presses a single kiss to your clit. It’s gentle, he revels in the small gasp you suck in, then he’s on your properly, tip of his tongue flicking gently against that little bud. He can feel your hand gripping at his hair already, hips moving in time with his mouth, and he wonders if anyone has ever blessed you like this. He needs to know.

He pulls away, letting his thumb gently replace his mouth, looking up at you, “Anyone ever done this for you?”

You shake your head, “No, but even if they had,” You’re biting at your bottom lip, “I don’t think it would have felt like this.”

He can’t help but smirk as he brings his mouth back to you, suckling your clit into his mouth, rolling his tongue over it, listening to you the way you whine for him, the way you start moving your hips in time with the movements of his mouth again. You taste divine, he thinks, as his tongue drops a little lower, drinking up the slick you’re creating for him, dragging it back up to run over your clit again.

“T-that’s so g-good.” He hears you moan.

“Yeah?” He replies, barely pulling off you.

He hears a noise in reply, lets one of his fingers trace up the skin of your thigh until he’s slowly pushing it inside of you, amazed at how easily you let him in just like he had been in the alley. He slips another in, curls them up gently, moves them until you tip your head back and really cry out for him this time. Javi can tell you’re close - he’s made enough women in his life feel good this way to know the signs - the way you’re tightening around his fingers inside you, the way your hips are moving but your thighs are starting to tighten around his shoulders and the way your moans are louder but more breathy, he’s addicted already, he knows it’s bad, but right now he can’t find it in himself to really care.

“J-javi,” You breathe, fingers gripping at his hair, “I’m gonna-”

“Go on, cariño,” He urges, “You can come for me.”

And you do, God alive you do, and it’s the most wonderful thing he’s ever been party to. Your cunt goes tight as a fist around his fingers, slick drooling down into his palm, he can feel the way you flutter around them as you say his name over and over again in some sort of fucked up prayer, and he thinks about how it would feel around his cock. Your entire body convulses as he works you gently through the aftershocks with his mouth, fingers slipping from inside you to rest, wet and sticky, on your thigh.

All of a sudden, he can feel you gripping his shoulders, pulling at the material to try and drag him up to you.

“Slow down, baby,” He says, but he moves anyway, pushing you back onto the bed, settling himself between your thighs, “We’ve got all night.”

“Javi, please,” You beg, and he doesn’t think he’s heard anything nicer in his life, “I want you,” Your fingers are fumbling with his jeans, trying to move his belt, “Inside me.”

Javi moves, taking your wrists in his hands, pinning them above your head, letting his hips grind into your own, front of his jeans grinding into the soft wet of your sensitive cunt.

“Do you have anything?” He breathes right into your ear, teeth nipping at the lobe.

“Top drawer.” You say quietly, whining when he pushes himself up onto his knees to reach into the draw.

Javi fumbles around a little until the familiar crinkle of foil hits the tips of his fingers. He pulls it out, places it into his mouth as he works to undo his jeans, pushing them down only far enough to free his aching cock. In an ideal world he’d strip the two of you off, but there’s something about this image of you, laid out on the bed in your sinful little sundress, tits heaving as you breathe, that means he just can’t wait.

He almost cries when you reach up, smooth palm stroking at his cock, so slowly he thinks he might die. Tin foil packet between his teeth, he tears it open, rolls it into his cock like it’s muscle memory. He leans back down, feeling the head of his cock nudging at your aching pussy, gathering your wrists back into his hands to pin you down again.

Javi is looking right into your beautiful eyes now, looking at the very soul of you as he stills. He’s damning the both of you to hell with this. He thinks if he’d been stronger, he could have stopped this - sure your mouth around his cock in the bar had been like silk, and the way you’d let him touch you against the brick wall had him seeing stars, but he knows, once he’s sunk himself deep inside you, he won’t be able to come back from this.

“You sure?” He asks, lips pressing softly to your own.

“Please.”

And it’s all he needed to hear to start slowly sinking into you. He watches closely as your eyes flutter closed, head tipped back, throat exposed to his mouth. He listens as he inches in slowly to your panting breaths and your little moans, until he’s buried fully inside you. His hands are gripping at your wrists tightly as he stays still, your hips wiggling underneath him.

“Hermosa,” He pleads, warns with his tone, “Don’t m-move, please.”

Like the devil himself, you don’t listen, and when he pulls his face from the crook of your neck, you’re smirking, you know exactly what you’re doing.

“Javier,” You use his full name and he swears he feels himself throb inside you, “Fuck me.”

He should have known the whole time that this wasn’t going to be a shining star performance, it’s been too long since he’s felt like this, felt the warmth of someone like this, but he knows this is different, he knows that look in your eye, not quite love, definitely not quite love, but it’s something different to the girls of Colombia. He can’t offer you a lifeline, he can’t offer you money to get yourself out of a country that’s trying to kill you, they needed him for something, and he needed them for something in return. But here, he just needs you, no whistles, no bells, just you.

Pushing himself up a little, letting go of his grip on your wrists, he puts his palms on the backs of your thighs and pushing your legs back, folding you underneath him as he starts moving a little faster, fucking you a little harder, you let out a proper moan into the air of the room and he finds himself smirking.

“That what you needed, baby?” He coos as he fucks you, feeling himself reach the very end of you with each thrust, “Just needed me to fuck whatever was in that pretty head of yours away?”

He can feel you tightening around his length, can feel the sweat sticking his shirt to his back, and that tell-tale tightening he feels when it’s almost time. He wishes he could hold on, wishes he could string this out, make it better for you, but god he needs to feel you again, he needs to feel the way you come around his cock.

“Touch yourself,” His tonne is demanding, but he watches down at you as you smirk, bringing your hand to your pussy, finger circling your clit as his hips start to falter, “Come on baby, one more just for me.”

It happens all of a sudden, the way your body snaps under him, and that feeling he’s been chasing, the feeling of you clenching around him, arching your back into him. He can feel the effect it has on him, just seconds later he’s following you over the edge, stilling inside of you as he finishes, banishing the tiny thought in the back of his head that says he wishes he was filling you up without a barrier between the two of you.

Once he’s caught his breath a little, he pulls out of you, groaning into your skin, listening to you whine at the loss of him. He takes off the condom, ties a knot in the top, wrapping it along with the packet in a tissue to put in the bin. He puts his clothes right, before crawling back onto the bed with you, pulling you into his chest, sighing at the feeling of your arm draped over his stomach, your leg entwined with his own. He presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Did that help?” He asks quietly.

“Yeah,” You reply softly into the material of his shirt, “Thank you.”

“You feel okay?” He’s slightly worried he was too rough, maybe that you didn’t enjoy it, “Was it okay?”

You move your head, looking up at him with sleepy eyes, “Javi, please,” You whisper, “Stop worrying, it was perfect.”

He lies there for a while, wishing he could strip the two of you down, press your warm bodies together and fall asleep like this is all normal and you aren’t younger than him, or the daughter of one of his closest friends.

“I should go,” He muses, “Not that I want to,” He adds quickly, worried you’ll think he wants to make a quick escape, “Just need to leave before any eyes are around to ask questions.”

You move slightly, letting the warmth of your body drag away from his own, “One day we’ll be able to do this properly, I hope.” You say, pushing yourself up on your palm as he rises from the bed.

“I promise the next time I have you like that,” He’s looking at you now, chin held in his hand, “I’m going to strip you down, take my time and fall asleep next to you, I promise.”

He kisses you then, slipping his tongue into your mouth and it takes every inch of his strength to pull away.

“Go on,” You smile at him, “Before my dad comes home and shoots you.”

“He wouldn’t shoot me baby,” He smiles back at you, “He wants me back on the force too much.”

“Before he gives you a black eye then.”

He can’t help but laugh at that, giving you a small salute as he turns to leave, but there’s something niggling at that back of his mind as his hand reaches for the handle of your door, something he needs to ask before he leaves, “If something was bothering you,” He asks, turning back to you, “Or you were getting into something at work, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”

He’s looking right at you as you answer, searching for anything that says you’re not telling him the truth, and as you answer, he doesn’t find a reason to doubt you, “Of course I would.”

When he’s gone, twenty minutes later your parents are falling through the door, laughing at each other, too many glasses of God knows what over dinner have made them jolly and you find yourself smirking, biting at your bottom lip in the dark, that the two of them have no idea that Javier Peña left just twenty minutes ago after fucking you better than anyone else ever had.

It’s something that keeps you smiling, even as you fall asleep, eyes closing, any thought of work and dead-end leads forgotten and replaced by dreams of what else that man might be able to show you.

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ilovejeongintoo · 9 months ago

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𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝔽𝕒𝕤𝕥 𝕃𝕒𝕟𝕖

!WARNING NSFW Content ahead! !MDNI!

Genre: Enemies to Lovers?, Racer Seonghwa x afab Reader Warning: Betting!, Illegal Racing!, Posessiveness! Overstimulation!, Fingering (fem rec.), Squirting Wordcount: 3810 Not proofread

Racer Seonghwa has been living in my mind rent free, that's it.

Summary: Your journalism career is hitting a slump and as a last resort you decide to interview famous underground racer Seonghwa, he doesn't seem too keen on making it easy though.

You slammed your car door as you step out, absolutely fed up. Nothing has been working your favor lately, nothing has been happening in this city, making it nearly impossible to cover any stories for your local newspaper. People weren't interested in reading about the parking lots at the mall being renewed.

People wanted to read something that's new, something exciting. Your boss had been nagging you about the articles that had been released under your guidance, he had made your whole team turn a blind eye, when you were tasked with writing a new one (that better be satisfactory, or else)

With basically nothing to lose you decided, if he wanted a story, he would get one, one that people would remember for weeks maybe even months to come.

So here you were with your little tote bag with you notepad and a few random pens shoved in. Your source had said that this place is in charge for a few secret racing events. Racing, something that noone had ever covered on paper, at least the underground kind. It was deemed too dangerous to get any interviews or even shots of said races. At least this wasn't some car spectacle but peole with motorbikes were stood all around.

Countless ones, there had to be at least 50 people just gathered here near the empty streets. You could tell that not many prefered to come out here on their own time, the location situated on top the citys high crime site. It was surprinsingly bright for a area that people described as the scariest part of Kuroyama.

The orange neon signs illuminated all the random posters and little shops that ran along the streets.

You weren't here for just an article about some underground motorbike affair. You were here for a specific thing, or more like specific individual.

Known on the streets as "Mars" he's one of the most renowed and admired for his capabilities. Cutting lanes and curves so thight that he gave off a supernatual kind of strength.

Though people feared him more than idolized him, as rumors said that he was in close quarters with illegal fights before this and got his support from his earlier connections.

You were here to finally get some light on him, as the population was highly interested in the danger of "Mars".

You were walking around the place trying to spot him anywhere, his bike is the only his own symbol of importance and had others looking out for.

You were looking for exactly that, other bikers gave you lingering stares that clearly told you how out of place you looked. The coat and skirt did nothing to hide the typical journalist uniformity and you cursed you chief for implementing said thing.

Before long you heard some hooping and yelling in the distance and knew immediately who it was. You pushed through the crowd that had gathered and almost flew on your face. When you were at the front you were greeted by a long figure. Helmet on, orange-black racing gear covered him. A planet symbol that ran across his arm and the same one on his bike had you confirming his identity even more. He waved at a few people clearly enjoying the attention and drove slowly to a designated spot on the concrete, it was outlined with his color.

People seemed to get the hint and back of a little, some men just as tall as the man of the hour came up to him though and started talking with him.

He adjusted his gloves and some things on his outfit, pulling his zipper down a little and revealing a black wifebeater underneath. You guessed those outfits came with the disadvantage of getting hot even in the night.

When those men also dispersed in multiple directions and he was finally left alone, you decided to walk up to him. Slow steps, boots clicking he looked up when you were right in front of him. Right away talking rather dismissively: "I don't do autographs, no matter how much or what you offer me." He waved you off a little, you got your business card out and thrusted it right into his face, a little annoyed that he mistook you as one of his fans.

You wouldn't approach him if it wasn't for your job. Before he could get another word out "I'm not here for an autograph, I'm here for some questions."

You couldn't gauge his reaction because of the helmet but he tilted his head a little at your statement.

"What are you? The police? I don't answer questions if they don’t benefit me in some kind of way sweets."

The helmet was starting to annoy you and the name that he gave you, just ticked you off. "Look I'm sure that you could use the publicity, at least it would be more of the positive kind."

He continued looking at you, waiting for your next argument to somehow convince him. Clearly, he wasn't satisfied with that. You decided this was where you would have to use your trump card already.

"I know that this underground scene is exhilarating for you, but legal racing would make you more money, much safer."

"That's something you want, to get out of this illegal ring that you've been caught in and I'm here to help you with that"

It grew oddly quiet. "You know absolutely nothing about what I want." The teasing lilt from before was entirely gone, replaced with a cold and sharp voice.

"You need to move along, I’ll forget this conversation happened and you leave."

There was no way that you were just going to leave like this, without anything. After coming all this way.

Before he could even turn his engine on to drive away from you, you grabbed him by the collar of his undershirt making him to make you next point.

A lot more harsher than was probably necessary you got in his face. "I don't know what kind of complexes you're dealing with, but I'm your ticket out of here, I don't know if your head is so far up your ass that you can't see that or if you're choosing to ignore it."

"Do what you want, but I was here, giving you the chance to make it big in the racing industry."

You let go, making him slump back onto his vehicle. You knew it wouldn't be easy but straight up being rejected without a second thought left a bitter taste in your mouth.

You would have to think of a different topic now. You sighed before turning away, already walking back to your car.

After a few steps, you heard that voice call out to you from behind. "Hey! Okay, wait!" That made you stop and turn around. You were expecting some kind of insult now, you mentally prepared for it. He reached up to the strap of his helmet, clasping it open and pushing it off his head. Shaking his head slightly to fix his hair and then he looked right at you.

Dark eyes, sharp eyes and an even sharper nose. Raven hair styled away from his face. You were momentarily distracted by the unexpected appearance, he didn't look much older than you, mid-twenties maybe.

"Okay, let's make a deal" He fully stepped off his bike, leaving his helmet back and making his way towards you. "If you still think that I'm such a person by the end of this race, I'll grant you lil wish and let you interview me" He gestured a little to himself and the lanes behind himself.

"Your little claim of me quote on quote "making it big" better be true" He threw up some quotation marks with his hands, he walked towards his back again with his back turned to me, sitting on top of it again.

"Cuz, you'll need it, you'll get a lot of backlash for this" I interrupted him before he could give another one of his smart comments. "I already decided that I wanted this, anything negative that happens after this all, I'll consider it to not be part of it" "Right" His response was dragged out a bit, like he didn't quite believe me.

"I'm Park Seonghwa, Mars is the name I use for my fans but you're not a fan of mine."

"I'm not"

He smirked, pulling his protection gear back on. Getting ready for the race. I watched him drive off a bit further along the road, getting in line with a few others and doing some final checks on his things. I moved myself from my rooted position to get to the viewer stage, that gave me sight of the lane. It seemed fairly simple, you drive the course three times and placing as high as you could.

You didn't know what to expect from Seonghwa, never having seen him actually drive. You had only heard stories about it up until this point.

When the start signal was received by the drivers, they accelerated straight away, making some stay further back and others taking the lead up front.

Seonghwa was right in the middle, everything seemed normal up until the last round. When you noticed some guys near Seonghwa driving a little too close to him, any person would think that would be a cause for concern.

One guy wanted Seonghwa out of the competition, picking his foot up and delivering a swift kick to the side of Seonghwa’s bike. It shook the vehicle quite a bit, almost making you think that it would swerve and crash.

This was when you wrapped your head around the fact that this wasn't your average sports channel show. This was it, this was the underground world, nothing here would be fair.

Seonghwa recovered rather fast, seemingly used to this kind of trickery. He moved his body further onto his bike, almost laying down on it. The next curve would decide if he could still make it to first place, any later and he wouldn't make it. He leaned his body down, his one knee scrapping the concrete below and making the turn as tight as possible, overtaking anyone that cut it in a wide way. It successfully landed him just behind a guy in first place. Your heart was racing, they were barely a few hundred yards away from the finish line.

Seonghwa, accelerated even more, however that was possible. The other dude seemed to notice him now, quickly looking behind himself and panicking when he saw who it was. They were right next to each other now; you couldn't tell who would win from the sight alone.

Your heart was pounding so hard you could hear it in your own ears, making a drumroll for the results of this.

Just a few moments from the line away, Seonghwa gradually started overtaking him. Little by little the distance grew, until he crossed. Cheers erupted all around you, people jumping up and spilling their drinks. Your eyes were as wide in shock and astonishment, you were thinking that he was definitely more talk than game. Seonghwa came to a stop after a while there, taking his helmet off and running to the group of guys from the start. Getting crushed in a group hug and overall being very happy.

The other losers watched a little in disappointment at their failure to win or even sabotage the chances of him winning. He disconnected himself from the group and looked around, searching for something, when his eyes locked onto you stepping off the viewing stage.

Waltzing up to you with an air of confidence. "Still wanna interview me sweets?" His voice rang out, in all of its smugness.

You couldn't help but break a smile, getting dragged into the cheery atmosphere. "Absolutely, now even more that I know that the Park Seonghwa is a true winner."

"Alright, I'll do the interview, but I need you to promise something for me, consider it lending a helping hand, okay?"

He steeled himself "I need you to vouch for the safety of my brothers." He pointed his gaze to the group of men standing behind and watching the interaction between the two you.

His gaze was a lot softer, almost sentimental. Definitely not something you would expect from him.

You became stunned at that, whatever kept him in this dangerous had to do with protecting his family. Whatever it was didn't matter too much to you, you came here to get a story but now you had made it your mission to help him. Even with his difficult demeanor. "I promise." He relaxed at that. Before long you could soak in the relaxed air, another voice came from a few feet away, one of the guys that tried to make Seonghwa lose.

"What the hell was that huh Mars?!" "We had a deal that you'd lose"

What? Wait hold on.

Seonghwa didn’t break the eye contact with you, speaking to you but addressing what the man just said.

"The deal's off, I'm quitting here" He ripped the symbol off his jacket, throwing it at the dude.

"You- You were supposed to lose, this is gonna make us lose a lot of money. Boss won't be happy." He was in disbelief at the nonchalant air around him.

Like this was just a normal occurrence to him. Unimpressed Seonghwa spun himself to finally look at the man. "That's not my problem anymore" he faced you and took you by the hand, heading right for his bike. You were dragged and almost spilled you bag on the floor.

"Seonghwa what-, what are you doing?" You questioned him with furrowed eyebrows, he pulled his helmet over your head successfully ignoring your question.

He sat down pulling you towards him more and grabbed your thigh, signaling you to swing your legs over the machine. Which you did, although reluctantly. He grabbed your forearms with both hands and wrapped them around himself. You could feel the hard muscle underneath but before you could fantasize, he presses on the gas, smoke cloud coming out from under the wheel and before he drove off.

You could faintly hear the man from before yelling at Seonghwa to stop but it was quickly fading away when Seonghwa drove onto the main roads.

You squeezed him a little tighter out of fear, it was one thing to see him driving from afar, being in the middle of the action was absolutely terrifying.

He slowed the pace, sensing your anxiety. He put his hand over one of yours and clutched it tightly against him, trying to comfort you.

"Relax, I'm not gonna let you fall off"

You knew that hell he could probably operate down a mountain, and you would be totally fine. Your butt was starting to hurt from the constant pressure, and you told him to go to the side from here and let you hop off for a bit.

He pulled up to a small alleyway, planning to hide in case someone was following him, which you really doubted.

You stepped off and immediately relaxed onto a nearby wall, sitting down on the concrete there, pulling your legs to your chest. "I like the helmet on you, fits you." He said against the cool air. He leaned against his machine after turning the key in the ignition. You looked up at him through the thin glass, making everything look darker than it actually. You took it off, even after the weird compliment.

"I can see why you enjoy speeding down roads like that, gets your heart racing." Yours still hadn't calmed, though that might be for a different reason now, when you looked at Seonghwa.

His charisma was undeniable, his looks, the confidence, everything made him so much more attractive. And the equally contradicting duality, the split second where you saw him soften up.

It made you gulp in realization.

You dragged your eyes up his form, from his leather boots to the matching leather pants, followed up with that jacket that was now fully unzipped, up to his face.

He already had his gaze on yours "Take a picture, it lasts longer." He couldn't go two seconds without being insufferable it seemed. You stood up feeling more awake now and the pain in your butt lessened. You marched over to him, fully intent on leaving as fast as possible. He halted you when he stepped in your way, while you were trying to go around him.

It almost made you bump into his chest. "Oh, come on, I was just joking, you're just fun to tease sweets." He grinned from ear to ear, pretty teeth and grills on display.

"Stop calling me that."

"What?"

"Sweets, I don't know what made you think that that would be an appropriate name for me"

"Maybe I don't want it to be appropriate between us" He watched you with a dark gaze, caressing your hand that was hanging besides your body.

He moved his eyes from yours to your lips and then back up again. "You know… I still haven't gotten my price from winning. I think you could help me with that, no?" It was painfully obvious what he meant by that, and you would have been lying if you said you weren't interested.

Your work not giving you any time for any sexual endeavors and leaving you frustrated, maybe that's why you were so on edge today. "Yeah, I could do that" Your lids falling shut a little as breathy whisper escaped you and you leaned in to lock your lips together.

Pillowy that’s how they felt, and it sent a good spark of electricity down your spine. You threaded your hands into his styled hair messing it up more than any helmet could.

He too you by the waist and spun you around making your butt hit the bike a little. He wrapped his fingers around your thighs, lifting you up and setting you down on it, stepping right between your spread legs.

He moved one hand down still kissing you, making you lose your breath. He reached the waistband of your skirt and then he moved further not bothering to take it off. He pushed your panties onto your core a few times, massaging the sensitive flesh and the roughness of the fabric provided a delicious feeling.

You let out some quiet moans that were swallowed by Seonghwa’s mouth. He dragged the fabric down your legs pulling one leg up a little to get it off and let them rest on your ankle. Your legs naturally spread more with one leg propped up.

He groaned when he pulled away from you and looked down, your core glistening in your own juices. He attached his gloved fingers to you immediately, going up and down your slit a few times before he inserted two fingers into you. You easily took them, groaning and taking ahold of his shoulder with one hand and the other rested on the seat.

He pumped them in and out, in, out, the most repetitive motion but each time he got a little deeper. Those long fingers hitting your g-spot inside and scissoring your walls apart.

He didn't take his eyes off your pussy even once, completely entranced by the sight of you swallowing his fingers. When he added a third finger, you almost came on the spot. The leather on his hand made it so much more filthy, so much louder. He grinded the heel of his hand on your clit, watching you with a satisfied smile.

"Omg, Hwa-Seonghwa, I c-can't" You lost the words on your tongue, not being able to voice out your thoughts.

You were a garbled mess now, hair askew, sweat on your neck and face completely uncaring of being in a public setting. He just continued, making your toes finally curl and your body seize up. Your head going white for a few seconds.

"Yes, you can" he thrusted his fingers more, one thumb coming up to play with your clit, making you hypersensitive.

After a while he slowed the speed of his thrusts, working his wrist a little slower but not stopping.

Holy shit, he's not for real right now.

Your eyes rolled back a little.

You were no stranger for a little bit of kinky sex but getting overstimulated wasn't on your list of experiences. Though you weren't complaining in the least. Enjoying the way your slick leaked out onto your legs and the seat. Seonghwa's whole hand and wrist was wet.

"Give me another sweets, just one more." It was almost said in a begging kind of way. He angled his fingers even deeper into you, picking the speed of his thrusts up, slow, soft fingers on your clit. You were starting to feel like you were dying or floating?

You let out your loudest moan when Seonghwa dropped to his knees, hitting dirt, and attaching his mouth to your clit. Kissing and licking getting anything and everything in his mouth. Those same soft lips felt even softer on your pussy. It was making you clench and build up to your orgasm incredibly fast. He looked up into your eyes and you took the hand that you had on his shoulder off and dropped it onto his head, gripping his hair for dear life.

One more swipe of his tongue and you were bursting like a broken water dam. Squirting onto his face and tongue. Screaming your lungs out in a long almost pornographic moan.

He pushed his fingers up three or four times, making sure to pull the last bits of your sanity out of you. And just when it started to become too sensitive he stopped, pulling his fingers out of you.

And popping them…

into his mouth.

He groaned a little at the taste of you, the sight definitely straight out of your fantasies. Maybe this was one of them, part of your fantasy, your imagination.

"See, you could do it, good job" He caressed your hips, grabbing the flesh in a possessive kind of way and kissing your cheek. Which was strangely sweet, given what he showed you a moment ago.

He caressed your head, combing some hair back into place. "Let's get you home sweets." You were out of it, you barely registered what he said.

He drove you home with you clinging onto his back even more than before. The night ended with him leaving a passionate kiss onto you lips and a quick squeeze to your ass, your phone number now saved for future "interviews".

When he walked off, back to his bike from your doorstep he spun something quite familiar on his finger, your panties.

Waving them around like a price and then tucking them into his pants. And driving off looking incredibly smug.

#seonghwa #seonghwa smut #ateez x you #ateez smut #ateez au #ateez smau #ateez x reader

221 notes · View notes

astralaffairs · 22 days ago

Text

freedom of the press 09 | t. jefferson

words: 13.5k

warnings: sex

desc: the 2020 republican presidential frontrunner is an obnoxious, morally bankrupt people-pleaser, but what happens when you become the person he’s most eager to please?

tags: @stargazelaurens @ivory-haired-queens @exoticxchicken8 @assbuttstyles777 @distinguishedpotsticker @fukaaaaaaaa @hereforthepsyche-assessment @ivetoldamillionlies @fangirl570 @thealaddinkid @lasciviouspeach @snazzydoesthings @shy-and-awkward-daveed @rachelhermionerose @soft-weeb-s @gryffinclxw @anamrnk @daveeddiggsit @ayayayayana @marinovakovich @cryinghazelnutt @thefandomgirl03 @a-hopeless-fan @cloudynblw @tinywhim @lolidunnoaboutnow @siriusorionblackiii @fanfic-addict-98 @nyxie75 @i-know-i-can @yxseminx @yavin4andor @sugacita @sstrawberry-fanta @youtxbemusic @queenwilty @someinsanefangirl @foudre-aqua @whatevs2000 @rwr-ites @maxi-ride @moose-on-the-l00se @itshaileyn @toxicidity @malos-moving @luckyfriesss @lovecass123

THOMAS HAD WOKEN up feeling sick.

At first, he couldn't place the reason. He'd been drinking enough water and taking his multivitamins, he hadn't eaten anything bad (as far as he knew), and despite what Lafayette thought, he hadn't been drinking.

It was only when he pulled himself out of bed that the prior night’s events caught up with him, the information surfing on the fresh wave of nausea that rolled over him as he stood. When he glanced over at his mirror, the face staring back looked bedraggled and gaunt.

He powered his phone off immediately after checking the time when he was met with a screen full of texts from the last person he wanted to hear from; he dragged himself through his morning routine in a haze as his thoughts spiraled, inventing increasingly creative stories for how he’d ended up at that point. Who had given the interview? What else had she been lying about?

"I got a lot more attached to you than I meant to, alright?"

What finally broke him out of his stupor was a knock at the door at half past three P.M. He cupped a hand around his mouth to check his breath; he hadn’t had anything to eat but coffee, but he was grateful to have convinced himself to take a shower and brush his teeth.

When he opened the door, Thomas furrowed his brow. “Lafayette?”

“I ‘ave come with food and cigarettes.”

“I don’t smoke cigarettes.”

“Y/N told me what happened.” His discerning gaze made Thomas hold his tongue, wavering on his intention to tell Lafayette to kick rocks. “I did not think you would want to be alone, and I assumed zat you could use a cigarette.”

When Lafayette raised his eyebrows expectantly, Thomas sighed.

“Alright, c’mon in. Can't have you stay long, though; ‘m busy getting ready for my rally tomorrow.” He stepped aside to let Lafayette by, and he started toward the kitchen as Thomas locked the door behind him.

“I am sorry to hear what happened.”

“What exactly did she tell you?”

“Zat she hurt you,” Lafayette said simply, and Thomas’s eyebrows shot up. “She told me that her editor has ze article about your past and that she told you about it. I hear you did not take it well.”

“Oh, gimme a goddamn break,” Thomas snapped. “How the hell am I supposed to take the news that the person I’m seein’ has been planning to tell the whole world I was an alcoholic?”

“Poorly. There is no other way to take it.” He put the bag he carried on Thomas’s counter and started withdrawing styrofoam boxes. “Why do you think I am here? I am on your side. And I ordered southern American food. I did not know much about it, so I ordered one of everything.”

“One of everything?” Thomas repeated curiously, reaching for a box, and Lafayette nodded. Thomas’s eyes widened when he opened it. “That’s a lotta macaroni ‘n cheese.”

“I also have fried chicken, grilled asparagus, waffles, shrimp and grubs—”

“Shrimp ‘n grits?”

“—Collard greens, cornbread, and something called a ‘hushed puppy.’”

“You didn’t need to come here ‘n do all that, Laf.” Thomas’s demeanor had softened considerably as Lafayette had withdrawn his many containers of food, laying them out on the counter. “‘S awful sweet, but I’m doin’ fine. I’m pissed, but I’ve handled a whole lotta abuse from the press already this campaign cycle.”

“Not like this, and not from her." At Lafayette's knowing look, Thomas appeared perturbed. "You may lie to yourself all you want, but you cannot lie to me about zis. I see it. I see ze two of you together, and I cannot imagine zis being anything like what you have experienced with ze media before.”

Thomas hesitated, not meeting his eyes, but as he stared down at the boxes of greasy takeout, his gaze was unfocused.

“Yeah,” Thomas finally said, pulling open a drawer to withdraw two forks. “I didn’t expect this from her. Thought she had more integrity than that.”

“Try, just for a moment, to understand ze dilemma she faces.”

His skeptical gaze shot to Lafayette. “Thought you said you didn’t come here to defend her.”

“I did not, but I do not know zat zis is a question of her integrity,” Lafayette reasoned. “Someone is out there giving interviews with ze press about your past with alcohol addiction. If she does not write zis article, someone else will.”

“She shoulda come directly to me about it, then. I coulda got out in front of it.”

“You still can, and you still should,” he said, “but her job is to write about you. She hasn’t betrayed anything you’ve shared with her in confidence, she simply interviewed someone with much to say about your past.”

“Yeah, till the article comes out and it’s everything I told her about Martha,” Thomas said cynically.

“The article does not mention Martha. It makes no reference to any past lover or to your engagement.”

“I can’t take her at her word on that anymore,” Thomas said incredulously. “Be serious, she’s gonna do whatever she wants with what she knows.”

“I can assure you, it does not even offer an implication. I ‘ave read it, Thomas.”

“You’ve read it?” His voice was stunned, and he froze as he was opening a container of food. “How long have you known about this?”

“Not much longer than you. After she wrote it, she came to me for guidance.”

“And you didn’t tell her to shut it down?”

“I advised against her publishing it, but she is not ze editor of ze Post. I am not sure how long zat remains in her power for. So I told her to talk to you.”

“Yeah, ‘n look where that got us,” Thomas grumbled, and Lafayette sighed.

“Would you not rather know?”

“I’d rather you told me the goddamn minute you found out about it,” he snapped. “God, I’ve known you for years; where the hell’s your loyalty? A pretty girl walks into the scene and all of a sudden I take a back seat?”

"You know zat is not what zis is," Lafayette shot back. “Oui, she is my friend, but I refrained from coming to you about this because I know zat she cares about you. And you care about her, so you should understand why I wanted to give her ze chance to make things right."

"Oh, please. Don't come here telling me she cares and didn't mean to hurt me." His voice was sharp and dismissive. "She knows what this article's about. She knows what she's doing."

“She is under pressure you do not understand.”

“I think I understand just fine. She’s got priorities; she’s got a career, ‘n that comes before me. Shoulda realized how far that went, but I didn’t. I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“She does not have security in the way that you do, Thomas,” Lafayette reminded him. “She works two jobs and still has problems with paying her bills. She cannot afford to lose zis job.”

“She's got plenty of people she could stay with while she found another.”

“So you think zat you should be more important zan her income?” he challenged. Thomas didn't respond, only frowned. “She should be quitting her job to delay her source finding a journalist willing to publish zis story?”

“I don't mean it like that.” His frustrated voice had grown quieter. “She shoulda never let it get this far, though. She could've lied to her editor about the interview ‘n never written the article.”

“Her manager knew she was interviewing someone. What would she have written about after?”

“I don't know, alright?” His words came as an outburst, and they were followed by a huff. He continued, voice softer, “I don't know what she shoulda done. All I know is this wasn't the right answer. Y'know what she told me? Said she cared too much about me to know how to write about me, and that she got too close. But none of that stopped her from writing this, so I dunno what to believe anymore. Nobody who cared would try ‘n air this out.”

“The way she writes about it is not flippant.” Lafayette's gentle tone matched Thomas’. “She writes about you as someone who ‘as succeeded in the face of struggle, not as someone who chose a life of vices.”

“I don't wanna hear it anymore, Laf. You oughta leave if you're just here to defend her. We both know that, no matter what you say about it, telling voters a presidential candidate was an alcoholic is a nail in the coffin.”

“For whatever it is worth, I see you as someone who ‘as overcome great animosity against all odds,” Lafayette offered. Thomas shot him a sidelong glance as he closed the container of macaroni and cheese. “Truly. You have everything to be proud of. Regardless of how people may react to zis, do not forget all zat you have done to become who you are today.”

“Thanks,” Thomas said weakly. “I can only hope the voters are gonna see it that way.”

“If you do not win this election, you will still forever be who you are.” Lafayette's words made Thomas purse his lips as he reached for the small plastic container of gravy sitting atop the tin of mashed potatoes. “Remember that your whole life has not been leading up to this moment; it will continue on after it regardless of the outcome.”

A long silence passed as Thomas stared down at the gravy, visible through the barely-opaque white plastic. A dent was forming in the styrofoam container he'd placed it onto as he held it in his tense hand. The styrofoam tore, and he snapped back to the kitchen.

“I know,” he finally said. “But I do appreciate the reminder.”

“I trust that you will keep yourself reasonable throughout this election cycle. You are a smart man.”

“And if I don't, that's what I've got you for.” The smile he gave Lafayette was weak but wholehearted. “Now, we've got a whole lotta food here. You gonna hang around and help me eat it all?”

“I thought you said you needed to prepare for your rally tomorrow,” Lafayette said hesitantly, and Thomas shrugged.

“I think I could use the distraction. ‘N they just put Jurassic Park on Netflix.”

“I am glad to hear it. I cleared my calendar before I came over; I would hate for it to ‘ave been for nothing.”

Thomas' laugh was surprisingly earnest. “Would it be too on-the-nose to break out the bourbon for the occasion?”

“As someone who has written no articles about you lately, I cannot imagine why it would be.”

—---------

GIVEN WHAT SHE had told him, Thomas couldn't break his pace campaigning. He went through with his rally the next day and appeared at a nonprofit-sponsored event the day after as the keynote speaker. He shook hands and took selfies, kissed babies and signed foreheads. He politely declined one woman's request to sign her breasts as a stencil for her next tattoo.

He was playing his role as a media darling the way he always had, blithely and jovially, and his numbers were up in the polls. (James was telling him so, at least; he'd stopped checking for fear of seeing how far they might drop.) Part of that, however, was keeping the Washington Post far from his events. Regardless of who at the Post filed for press admittance, they weren't coming, and he was making sure of that himself. Besides, he had enough coverage.

He was waiting quite patiently for the other shoe to drop as he buttressed his image, though, checking Twitter between podcast interviews and university appearances. He'd become quite sly about sneaking glances at his phone as it poked just a degree out of his pocket, but all he ever saw were texts he had no intention of answering and DMs on Twitter that conferred Y/N's assumption that he'd blocked her number. James had caught on, however, to how preoccupied Thomas was. He would trail off in the middle of a sentence when he noticed his averted gaze, and he watched his eyes glaze over when interviewers made small talk before his appearances, and Thomas caught his skeptical gaze on many occasions. Thomas averted his eyes quickly when he did so.

Nothing damning ever crossed the headlines, and Thomas, too, began to realize he was operating on borrowed time. He wasn't sure how much time he'd borrowed, and he wasn't sure how much he'd have to give back. Neither realization was a relief. It only built his anticipation for the weeks that followed, and he grew more scattered and more concerned about what was to come until—

“Thomas.”

His head snapped up at the stern sound of James’ voice. It was a tone usually reserved for Charles Lee and his father, and Thomas had a hunch as to why he was hearing it just then.

“We need to talk.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He was in his office at the space they were leasing for their campaign headquarters, a dingy old building that may have been considered glamorous in the early ‘70s, but its interior had never been renovated, so it now simply looked dated. James took a seat across from him.

“Where the hell has your head been at for the past couple weeks?”

“What do you mean?” He answered a little too quickly, and James narrowed his eyes.

“You're always on your phone. Even when you're making appearances in public, you're not entirely there, and in meetings, you definitely aren't. Something is obviously up.”

Thomas narrowed his eyes. “What're you accusing me of?”

James looked taken aback. “Nothing. I'm asking: I can tell something happened, but what? I want to know if you're okay.”

“You wanna know if I'm okay?”

“Yes. Of course I do,” he said, frowning, and Thomas’ creased brow softened a degree. “We've been friends for years. I'm worried about you, not upset.”

“Right, yeah. ‘Course.” Thomas dragged a hand through his curls as he took a deep breath, not meeting James’ gaze. “Sorry. ‘M just stressed.”

“I can tell.”

“I learned somethin’ last week that's bad for us. Bad for me, really, but it's a problem for our campaign if it pans out, y’know?” His words were agitated and scattered, and when he finally looked James in the eye, he sighed. “A friend in the press told me there's somebody out there giving interviews about my history as an alcoholic. Sounds like they claim to know more than they really do, but at any point now, that information might come out.”

“I see.” James’ lips were pursed. “Would that friend happen to be Y/N L/N?”

Thomas frowned. “Yeah. Why?”

He hesitated, looking down as he collected his thoughts. Slowly, he said, “You two seem quite close in a way that concerns me. Is there anything I should know about that?”

Thomas’ stomach had curdled. “Nah, I mean… Dunno what you mean, really. She's just a professional contact.”

“And the dynamic between you two at work events? Your choice to rent out the restaurant she works at for a rally?”

“Hey, I've been goin’ to that restaurant for a whole lot longer than she's been workin’ there.”

“That's beside the point.”

“I dunno if it is.”

“Thomas. Be straight with me.” James eyed his stiff shoulders and the way he sat rigidly upright in his chair; his stance was unnatural. “You're communicating with her outside of professional channels, and you aren't taking the things you learn straight back to us. Frankly, it's unprofessional of you.”

Thomas eyed him with a knit brow, trying to keep his surprise peripheral. “I… Yeah, sorry. Shoulda communicated better.”

“And why didn't you? Something about Y/N L/N seems to cloud your judgment, and I'm not sure where that's coming from.”

He'd have to remind himself to thank Dolley for her discretion. “Dunno what to tell you. We haven't really been communicating, it's just this, ‘n I've been distracted cause I don't know what to do about the interview somebody's been givin’ about me. You don't have to worry, either; we're not friends, ‘n she's not gonna be around in the future.”

James furrowed his brow. “What does that mean?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but it took him a moment to collect the words, “Just haven't seen her at our events. Her assignment must've changed.”

“...Right.”

As they looked across Thomas’ desk at one another, neither had the heart to note all the media inquiries he'd declined from the Post in the preceding weeks.

—--

Y/N WASN'T HAVING the time of her life either. In the weeks that followed, every media request she submitted was painstaking, wrenched from her hands by her manager and laced with shame and anxiety. She was having increasing trouble justifying why finding a reliable source for her article was giving her so much trouble, but her countless declined media requests had been giving her an easier out.

The closest she came to him for several weeks was his open speaking events—rallies, cocktail hours, fundraisers and the like—despite her numerous texts and calls. She even managed to get James’ and Lafayette's ears on a couple different occasions, but the only person who gave her the time of day was Dolley. Even then, in contrast to James’ and Lafayette's dismissal, all she received was passive pity. She'd asked her how she'd liked the Pacific Northwest — that was where Thomas’s campaign had led them most recently.

“Oh, you know. Lots of rain.” Dolley’s words were accompanied with a sad smile. “I'm glad to be back on the east coast, I suppose.”

“Would you really consider DC to be the east coast?”

She only shrugged. “Maybe not. But all the same, it's good to be home.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Sorry campaigning hasn't been all it's cracked up to be.”

“No, no, it's been fine. Don't worry about me, dear. How… how have you been, though?”

Y/N's hopeful expression froze, and although Dolly's was unchanged, she couldn't help but feel that something had shifted. She swallowed as she regained her warm smile.

“I've been good, Doll. Working lots of hours, but nothing too terrible.”

“Good, good. I haven't seen you at too many campaign events recently, you know.”

“Right, well. Traveling that far would just be a bit of an ordeal.”

“Of course.” Dolley touched Y/N's arm as she glanced over her shoulder. “I really can't linger, but it is good to see you. I hope you've been taking care of yourself through everything.”

“Through everything?”

Again, Dolley shrugged. “All the hours you've been working. I imagine it doesn't allow much time for you to rest.”

“Right, yeah, no, for sure.” Y/N shook her head quickly, offering a light laugh. “For sure. I've been fine.”

“Right.” Her smile was tight. “I do hope I'll see you around.”

Y/N was doing her best not to read into Dolley's words, but they occasionally floated to the forefront of her mind on her commute to work and in the shower. She couldn't help but dwell on the hesitant way she asked how she'd been as she sat at her computer redrafting articles. She couldn't gauge the sincerity in her voice when she said she'd hoped to see her around.

She found Lafayette no more than a week later, and it appeared he'd already been cornered by none other than Ben Arnold. She wasn't sure when the two had been acquainted, but Lafayette was looking rather weary as Ben grew ever-closer to him with his notepad.

While she was trying to decide whether to approach the pair, Ben noticed her over Lafayette's shoulder.

“Y/N!” He flagged her down with a hand, and Lafayette turned sharply in the direction he was facing. Both she and he were tense as she approached. “You know Lafayette, don't you? I can't place it, but I'm sure I've seen you both talking together before.”

“Right. Yeah, we know each other.” Her smile was tight, but Ben didn't seem to pick up on it. “What's going on over here?”

“We're talking about Adams’ speech from the other day. I wanna root for the guy, but God, he sure fumbled that.” He shook his head in disdain. “He has me starting to think he might just be too old to be the candidate.”

“Yeah, well. No candidate is perfect.”

“You're one to talk, with the way you've been tearing into Jefferson. You're doing great work, though, don't get me wrong. And don't let me dissuade you.” When Ben nudged her playfully, she pursed her lips.

“Thanks.”

“How's your day going, though? Have you gotten any content out of this rally?” The concern in his brow was aimless, and when Y/N shrugged, he frowned. He followed her gaze as she snuck glances at Lafayette.

“It's been fine. I, um, I should get going, though. It looks like you two were in the middle of an interview, and I really don't want to take your time. I have some work to get done this afternoon.”

“Will your article finally be hitting the front pages?” Y/N inhaled sharply when Lafayette spoke, and his polite tone was in contrast with his stern, knit brow.

“Not today.” She spoke softly, and when she looked him in the eye, she was almost afraid to look away. “There have been some complications.”

“Of what sort?”

“That’s somewhat confidential, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sure it is.” He hesitated. She didn’t move. “Is everything alright?”

“Is everything alright?” she repeated incredulously, and he shrugged.

“I am only wondering.”

“I’m fine.” She answered the question he didn’t ask.

“Glad to hear it.” Ben nudged her with a lopsided smile, and the one she put on to match was stiff. “Looking forward to your article, then.”

She and Lafayette shared a look.

————

PER NOBODY’S WISHES, she thought dryly as she read her email, they’d be seeing her again soon. Thomas was holding a speaking event at the university she'd attended, and it was being moderated by a professor she'd had as an undergrad. Although Thomas’ campaign may have blacklisted her, her persistent participation in journalism seminars appeared to be paying off well into her career. There was, of course, a media junket in the hours that preceded the speech, and she was, of course, always welcome back at her alma mater. When she was younger, people would tell her time and time again that her GPA barely mattered if she wasn’t looking to attend graduate school, but there it was, pulling strings she figured had long since frayed.

She arrived early. She’d barely slept the night before, so she figured it wasn’t ultimately worth waiting the extra hours before leaving the house, and she showered before the sun was even up. She stopped by her old professor’s office to thank him along with an extra cold brew and her thoughts on his recent book. She lingered in the bookstore afterwards, eyeing the merchandise they’d updated since she attended. She walked by her old dorm building. She made uneasy eye contact with the security guards placed every five feet.

Vans with tinted windows went in and out of gated driveways, and she wondered which of them had reason to appear so incognito. Although she hadn’t the slightest clue, she didn’t allow her stare to linger on any of them for too long.

She checked in for her time slot four hours early.

—-------

THOMAS HAD MIXED feelings about university speaking engagements. Young people barely voted, and many of them had obviously come only to network regardless, trailing behind him with questions about his campaign staff and his cabinet. Nevertheless, the optics of caring about the next generation were helpful if not essential, so there he was in a van being driven through closed-off streets toward a university convention center.

He shook hands and learned names he had little intention of remembering for multiple hours before the event even started, and he was led by his security detail down a long hallway for the press junket that he should have anticipated.

He asked for a cup of coffee before they started, chatting idly with one of his bodyguards in the hallway outside, and then he asked for another. He arrived at the first interview thirty-eight minutes late.

He cut each interview short. They were with outlets he’d spoken to time and time again: CNN, Fox, the Associated Press, the Guardian. The questions they asked were routine.

Eight interviews took him less than an hour, ultimately, but he was informed that he’d be giving sixteen that day (it would’ve been fifteen, but the university newspaper snuck in a reservation).

After each, he took a breath, fixed his tie, and opened the next door to meet the interviewer he’d be speaking to next.

Nine was from NBC.

Ten was the Times — he shuddered when he saw Ben Arnold, but he couldn’t place where he’d seen his face before.

Eleven was the LA Times.

Twelve was NPR.

He walked out on autopilot toward the next room after shaking his interviewer’s hand and wishing her well. His eyes were glazed over as he opened the door to room thirteen.

He fixed his shirt cuffs as he walked in. “Mornin’, how’s your day—?” He stopped short when she lifted her head, eyes as wide as his. “Who the hell let you in?”

“Please, just give me five minutes.”

He looked over his shoulder to his security personnel. “Gimme the room.”

“Sir, we’re under instructions not to leave your side.”

“Instructions from who? You work for me.”

“I understand that, but our manager—”

“Wait outside. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure, Secretary Jefferson?”

He nodded before turning back toward Y/N. “I only need five minutes, hm?”

“Yes. Please.” He sat across from her as the security detail filed out into the hallway, and her hand was shaking atop her notebook when he met her eyes.

“What part of ‘stay away from me’ was unclear?” he spat.

“It’s my job; I couldn’t stop trying to get to your events.”

“And what did you think would happen when you did?” She was silent. “How the hell did you get in, anyway? My staff knows that you—”

“I went here. For college. I used to work for the professor interviewing you later, and he reached out to me, not the other way around.”

“Management and I are gonna be havin’ a serious talk about his role in organizing this event, then.”

“Hey, come on, it’s not his fault,” she protested. “You can’t ruin his credibility just for this, it’s not—”

“It’s not what?” he snapped. “It’s not fair? It’s not right? All of a sudden, you’re worried about protecting somebody’s reputation?”

“Come on, you know what I’m saying. He did nothing wrong.”

“And I did then?” He raised his eyebrows, folding his arms. She sighed, shoulders dropping. “‘S that what you’re saying? Is that all you meant? He doesn’t deserve that, but I do?”

“No, of course you don’t. Please stop making this something it isn’t.”

“What is it then? Hm? If it’s not you playing favorites? You’re allowed to drag my name in the streets, but I can’t do it to somebody you care about?”

“Thomas, I do care about you; just listen to me.”

“What is there left to say?” His tone was sharp, and he didn’t go on, just watching her expectantly. The only sound was the hum of the AV equipment switched on in the corner. She hadn’t set any of it up.

“I just want you to understand that this is my job.” She spoke softly. “I didn’t know this was what I was signing up for, but I did, and it’s too late for me to back out.”

“You didn’t do this by accident. I don’t care what your assignment was; you sat down and spent hours writing down the worst things you could find about me.”

“I had to. My editor—”

“You had to? There was no other way out?”

“Yeah, maybe unemployment,” she bit back. “I need my job, Thomas. I have to work.”

“You’re a big name in media now. Don’t act like you have no sway.” He looked her up and down. “You made your choice. Now live with it.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” she urged. “Someone was going to come out with this eventually. If I didn’t write it, I would’ve been scooped.”

“You always have a choice.” When he stood, he was looking down his nose at her. “Hope it was worth spending your day here just to make mine worse. I’ll be more careful about the press at my events goin’ forward.”

He started toward the door, and her hurried footsteps behind him didn’t give him pause.

“Wait, please, I—” Her fingers were soft on his forearm, and he jerked it away, turning to face her.

“Don’t you dare touch me. You hear me?” His tone was harsh, and she pulled her hand back, balling her fingers lamely in front of her. “I don’t know where you find the goddamn nerve.”

When he left, he slammed the door behind him.

——————

SHE WAS DREADING the office on Monday. The speaking event had been local, so she couldn’t skate by on travel complications for another day working remotely. She slipped into the office early so her editor wouldn’t see her come in, and when eleven AM came and went undisturbed, she found herself ticking off the minutes before she could slink away while Ashley was out on lunch.

At 11:38 AM, there was a knock at her office door.

“Coming.” Her voice was soft.

She opened the door. The usual culprit.

“Ashley,” she said, honey-sweet, “Morning. Happy Monday.”

“Good morning, Y/N.” Her smile was tight. “What do you suppose there is to be happy about today?”

“Well, the weather is beautiful, my apartment’s heating was fixed, my friends are—”

“That was rhetorical.” Ashley breezed past her into her office, and Y/N sighed. “Where the hell is my article? I know you went to the Georgetown event last weekend, and you have yet to even send me notes from it.”

“He wouldn’t speak to me.” She turned, closing the door behind her.

“And why not?”

“Oh, I don’t know, because all my writing treats him terribly?” Y/N asked. “This is your own fault. Being upset with me for not being able to get his ear when you told me to drag his name through the mud is insane.”

“I don’t need a new interview with him. I need you to finish the draft you sent me weeks ago. If you don’t, I’m giving it to another staff writer to finish.”

“You’re bluffing. It’s my intellectual property; you don’t own that article until it’s published,” Y/N said. “If you could assign it to someone else, you would’ve by now.”

“And if someone had sent me your interview tape, I could’ve had it in the paper immediately,” Ashley seethed. “Why are you holding out on me, L/N? You got this assignment because your supervisors before me believed in you. This doesn’t just reflect on you; it reflects on them now, too.”

“Yeah, and they weren’t breathing down my neck trying to push their own agendas on my writing.”

“What did you just say to me?”

Y/N paused, sucking her teeth. Ashley raised her eyebrows.

“I think Adams lied,” Y/N finally said.

“And why do you think that?”

“He has an agenda. No one will even corroborate his story.”

“He worked with Jefferson, and the facts line up.”

“How would you know if the story lines up?” Y/N asked incredulously. “You weren’t on Washington’s staff with them.”

“I don’t care. I don’t care if you don’t have a secondary source, and I don’t care if you don’t believe him,” Ashley insisted, “because you haven’t published in weeks, and this is front-page news. You never sit on a story like this.”

“Don’t you care about our integrity? This affects our reputation as a paper, too.”

“If it turns out to be false, we’ll print a retraction.”

“I don’t want my name attached to a slanderous article,” Y/N said. “We could get sued. I could get sued.”

“We have the best lawyers in the game, L/N. What you need to do is grow a pair.”

“Jesus Christ, don’t talk to me like that.” Y/N’s nose was crinkled as she eyed Ashley. “However good you think our lawyers are, you underestimate Jefferson’s.”

“I’ve been in journalism a long time. I know what we can get away with.”

“What if I don’t want to just be ‘getting away with’ things?” Y/N asked. “I came here to report the truth.”

“From what we know, this is the truth.”

“But we don’t know that.” Y/N’s firm gaze met Ashley’s narrowed eyes. “I’m not finishing the article.”

“You work for me.”

“If you press this, I’ll walk away,” Y/N warned. “You need me here this late in the game.”

“You need me a whole lot more,” Ashley said. “If you don’t get me my finished article by Friday, you’re fired.”

“Then I quit.”

Ashley’s narrowed eyes softened. “You don’t mean that.”

“I’ll pack my office. Effective immediately.” Y/N’s expression was unchanging. Ashley drew back, folding her arms.

“Fine. You have thirty minutes. After that, security will see you out.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

—————

SHE HADN’T PLANNED for that. When she went home, she was all but convinced it had been a fever dream. Was she sick? She took her temperature—98.5° F. She checked her email. It had already been disabled. Her Google Drive was gone, which meant her draft was gone, which meant her career was over.

She hadn’t given two weeks notice, and she had burned a bridge. Ashley wouldn’t be listed as a reference on her future job applications. She hadn’t published in weeks, and she had lost all her contacts on the Jefferson campaign. Who would hire her?

She looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot despite her nine hours of sleep. She needed to go to sleep.

Laying down didn’t help. Maybe Tums would do something, but the sinking feeling in her stomach wasn’t nausea. She figured an antacid couldn’t hurt. Maybe she was stopped up. Maybe she just needed a laxative. Maybe she needed antipsychotics. Had she gone mad?

She didn’t check her phone for three hours. She could only stare at the ceiling. She had no dental insurance, so she would need to postpone her appointment. She had no health insurance, either, so she was rather lucky that flu season was over. Her car repairs would have to wait, but the Metro reached her part of town. She didn’t have to travel for work anymore, anyway.

She had opted in on a financial nightmare. It wasn’t until later that afternoon that she even remembered why.

It was with trembling fingers that she called Lafayette. He didn’t answer, and she couldn’t blame him. She sent him a text. Quit my job. Not sure what to do. Call me back.

She couldn’t call Alex, and she couldn’t call Angelica, and she didn’t have Dolley’s number. None of her closest friends would understand the decision she’d made.

She went downstairs, and Mira was in the kitchen idly doing the dishes. The lunch rush had passed, and the dinner one hadn’t started.

“Hey, Mira,” she said softly. “Do you have a minute?”

“Dishes have to get done, mija, are you going to help me?” Her tone was all business, and it almost made Y/N smile. She had her own concerns.

“Yeah, I can. Lemme load the dishes.” And so as Mira scraped and rinsed each plate, Y/N put them one by one into the dishwasher. She fell into a rhythm so passively that it caught her off guard when Mira spoke.

“You wanted to talk about something with me?” she asked, and Y/N went still.

“Yeah,” she said, “I did.”

“I am listening.”

“I quit my other job.”

Mira turned the water off. Her brows were knit when she faced Y/N. “You quit?”

“I did.”

“You worked hard for that promotion. What happened? You were famous.”

“My editor wanted me to publish some things I didn’t quite believe in,” Y/N said quietly, and Mira nodded, turning back to the sink. She turned the water on and reached for another glass.

“Ya veo. About Thomas?”

Y/N paused. “What makes you say that?”

Mira only shot her a sidelong glance, raising one skeptical eyebrow. Y/N shrugged, and Mira turned back to the sink, shaking her head. “What did they want you to say about him?”

“I…” It occurred to her that Mira hadn’t answered her question. “Things I don’t want to repeat. I don’t want to spread rumors.”

“Are they true?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then I will not repeat what you tell me,” Mira said. “Tell me.”

“There are claims he was an alcoholic,” Y/N said, and Mira pursed her lips, nodding.

“Is that just a rumor?”

“Only one person has claimed it. They say it was years ago.”

“He does not seem to me to be an alcoholic.”

“Me neither,” Y/N said. “If it’s true, he’s clearly recovered. With how much energy he has, I’d sooner believe that he does cocaine.”

Mira laughed softly at that. “He is always moving, no?”

“You’re telling me.”

Mira turned off the water as she handed Y/N the final dish. “So when did you quit?”

“This morning.”

Her eyebrows jumped. “Today?”

Y/N nodded. “I didn’t even give any notice. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You were being brave,” Mira replied. “You did what you believed.”

“And now I’m paying the price.”

“What price?” Mira asked. “You left a job that you hated. You… what is it… seguiste a tu corazón.”

“Followed my heart?” Y/N repeated, and Mira nodded.

“Thomas means something to you,” —Y/N opened her mouth to protest, and Mira only raised a hand to stop her— “He is in your life, at least. He is your friend. You did what he needed.”

“I know. God, I hope so. I was just trying to do the right thing, and now I feel like I’ve blown up my life.”

“What is blown up? You have a roof over your head. You have food on your table. Also you have this job.”

“It’s not enough for me to be able to pay you rent money,” Y/N admitted. “Not with my student loan payments. I understand if I can’t stay, but when I find a new job, I can get you all the money later, and if you want interest, it’s—”

“It is not my worry,” Mira said. “We have enough money. We do not need yours. We will not remove you from your home.”

“Thank you, but I’ll pay you when I have the money. I’m sorry.”

“Do not be sorry. Be proud that you have done what you believe.” Mira took Y/N’s damp hand in her own, dishwater running down in beads from her elbow. “I am proud of you. It is allowed to feel that for yourself, too.”

—————

SHE THEN CALLED Thomas. He didn’t pick up, and she wasn’t expecting him to. He hadn’t read any of her texts in weeks, so she didn’t bother sending them anymore, but they were still marked as delivered. Lafayette didn’t call her back, but he texted— I am happy for you.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Can you call?

He texted back immediately. Later. I am working.

Are we okay? It took her a long moment of staring to press “send.”

We will need to have a longer conversation, he sent. Her stomach turned. Then— But yes.

She called Thomas again.

That was her routine for the rest of the evening. She applied for a job at CNN, she called Thomas. She made herself dinner, she called Thomas. She took out the trash, she called Thomas. She applied for five more jobs, she called Thomas. She took a break to read through the texts she’d sent him, and she called Thomas.

She texted Lafayette again. Can you tell Thomas to call me?

I can try, was his reply. Should I tell him you quit?

I’d like to tell him myself, she sent.

Then it will be difficult.

By eight PM, he had 47 missed calls from her. It was more than she’d tried in the weeks since he had cut her off, but she supposed he would have chalked it up to the fight they’d had over the weekend. Every time the phone went to voicemail, she heard his disgusted voice ringing in her ears— I don’t know where you find the nerve.

Frankly, she wasn’t sure, either.

At 9:47, she had just finished another job application, and it was time to call Thomas again. She was sitting on her couch, and she put the phone on speaker beside her as she reached for her glass of wine. She closed tabs on her laptop as she listened to the first four rings, and she pulled up another application as the fifth went by.

The sixth ring never came, and the phone didn’t go to voicemail. There was faint static coming from her phone’s speaker. She froze.

Tentatively, she spoke. “Thomas?”

A beat passed. Finally, “I only picked up as a favor to Lafayette. You can tell him I did my piece.”

“Wait, no, don’t hang up,” she said frantically. “Please. Are you still there?”

“I’m done wastin’ time here. I’ve given you a whole lotta chances. Goodnight.”

“I quit my job.” Her words were rushed. Silence followed, but no dial tone.

“You what?”

“I quit my job,” she repeated. “The article’s scrapped.”

“Y’know, it’s not so easy to trust right now that you’re tellin’ me the whole truth.”

“I know,” Y/N said softly, putting down her wine glass. She picked up the phone and took it off of speaker. “But that's it.”

“You’re not goin’ back?”

“Never.”

“And that article’s never gonna see the light?”

“It would be illegal for them to publish without me on staff. They don’t even have the interview tape.”

There was a long pause. “Why’d you do it?”

“Are you serious?” she asked, huffing out a disbelieving laugh.

“I wanna hear you say it.”

“Because I couldn’t publish that article. I’m sorry I ever even wrote it. My editor has been hounding me for weeks to get it finished so that they could publish, and I delayed it and delayed it, but it came down to publishing or leaving. So I finally left.”

“‘Cause I yelled at you in a conference room at your old college?”

“Because you were right when you did,” she said. “No one who cared about you would publish that article.”

“What about all those bills you have to pay?” The question was steeped in disdain.

“I don’t know yet,” she admitted, and her voice was shaky when she explained, “I’m applying for jobs, but I’ll take on more hours at the diner, and I can delay some of my payments. And Mira and Orlando are my landlords, so they won’t evict me, so I won’t need to couch surf. I’ll take on a little bit of debt. I’ll figure it out.”

He hesitated a moment. “Sorry for askin’. You don’t owe me all that information.”

“Right now I owe you any explanation you want.”

He sighed. “Y/N.”

“I’m serious. I’m so sorry, Thomas. This whole ordeal is finally over. You never have to think about this again.”

“Well, if somebody’s giving interviews about it, I’m sure I’m gonna have to worry about it soon enough.”

“...Right.”

“But that’s not your fault. I shouldn’t put that on you. ‘M sorry.”

“You don’t owe me any apologies,” she said softly. “I’m glad you picked up.”

“Yeah.” A beat. “I am too.”

Nearly a minute passed and neither of them spoke. Neither seemed to have the words to offer, but he didn’t hang up, and she didn’t want to.

Finally, “Can I come over?”

He hesitated. “I’m at James’ right now.”

“Oh.” Her voice went quiet. “Right. Of course. I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry, I’ll let you—”

“I’ll be home in an hour,” he cut her off, and her eyebrows shot up. “Think you can wait that long?”

She checked the time. It was past ten. “I suppose I don’t have anywhere to be in the morning.”

He didn’t laugh. “I’ll text you when I’m home.”

—-

IT WAS MORE than an hour later when he texted her. In fact, it had been eighty-one minutes. She'd begun to abandon her hopes when he sent— Headed home. Come by whenever.

She didn't love being on the Metro at that hour. She couldn't call an Uber. She brought nothing but her phone, wallet, and keys.

It was nearing midnight when she arrived, and ten minutes passed between when she buzzed in and when she knocked on his door. Most of them were spent standing outside working up the courage to do so.

When she finally did, he opened the door immediately.

“Hey,” he said softly, looking her up and down.

“Were you waiting by the door?”

He frowned. “It's the middle of the night, and I buzzed you in twenty minutes ago. What else would I be doing?”

She chose not to correct him on the time. “Right, sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I’m sure.”

She didn't respond at first, shifting her weight between her feet. “Can I come in?”

He sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. Lemme take your jacket.”

“Thanks.” The brush of his fingers against hers when he took it sent chills down her arm. She followed him inside.

“Would it be too on the nose to offer you a drink?” he asked. “I think we could both use one right about now.”

“It'd be more than welcome,” she agreed weakly, and he nodded, walking toward the kitchen. She didn't follow him right away, and he glanced back at her.

“Well, c'mon in, act like you've been here before. You know where the glasses are.”

“Right. Sorry.” She slipped off her shoes before continuing toward his cabinets. “What are we drinking?”

“Wine?”

“What kind?”

“Zinfandel.”

“Right.” She handed him two wine glasses as he took a bottle from his shelf and pulled the cork.

“Thanks,” he said. She nodded.

A moment passed in silence as he poured two glasses, and he turned his head to look at her as he put the cork back on the bottle. “Take your pick.”

“Right. Thanks.” She took the glass closest to her.

“Cheers?” he said as he picked up his glass, tilting it toward her. Her smile was tight as she clinked her glass against his. He sighed. “Relax a little. You wouldn't be here if I didn't wanna see you. You're not on trial.”

“I know,” she agreed softly, “but I did fuck up. You don't have to be this nice to me right now.”

“I know.” He took a sip of his wine. “That's what makes me such a good person.”

She rolled her eyes, and his small smile was self-satisfied. “My savior.”

“Hey, I don't wanna hear any snark from you in these circumstances,” he warned, and she shrugged.

“Then you shouldn't have invited me over.”

He raised an eyebrow. “The way I remember it, you invited yourself.”

“How rude of me.”

“I oughta kick you out just for that.” She cast him a sidelong glance as she took a sip, and amusement danced in his smiling eyes. “You wanna come sit down?”

“I… yeah. I'd love to.” They both migrated to the living room, and when she took a seat on one end of the couch, he sat beside her without hesitation. “I still feel like I owe you an apology.”

“You've apologized. Not much more you can say about that.” His tone was dismissive.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive, sweetheart.” He took a heavy sip of his wine, and she frowned. “What I do want, though, is an explanation.”

“I… don't think I have much of an explanation to offer. No excuses I haven't already given you.”

“I don’t want an excuse. Why’d you do it?” he asked. “When did this start, who gave the interview? How long have you been sitting on it?”

“I can't tell you who.” Her response came quickly, and he furrowed his eyebrows. “I'm sorry, I know that's unsatisfying, but it's just not something I'm willing to break. Their anonymity, I mean.”

He hesitated a moment. “Y’know it's not your job anymore, right?”

“Yes, I'm aware.” Her voice had an edge. “But… this is about my reputation as a journalist. This is an integrity thing.”

“Whoever you're interviewing doesn't seem to have a whole lotta integrity.”

“That isn't my problem.”

“You know this affects me, yeah? I'm not asking this outta spite; I need to know who's claimin’ this.”

“I can't be the one to tell you.” Y/N pursed her lips. “I'm sorry for that. Honestly. But I can't.”

Thomas took a heavy breath. “You're not makin’ it real easy to forgive you, y'know.”

“I'm sorry,” she said quietly. Her ears rang in the silence that followed.

“Fine,” he finally said. “When did you write the article, then?”

She swallowed. “Shit… I… Almost three months ago? Maybe less?”

“Three months?” he repeated.

“I told you my editor was at the end of her rope with me delaying this. It wasn't for no reason.”

“So every time I've seen you for three months you've been sittin’ on this.”

“I mean… yeah.” She shrugged. He was watching her incredulously.

“That's all you've gotta say about it? Yeah?” Her nose crinkled at his pitchy impression of her voice. “Every time I've seen you you've just been pretending you weren't gonna destroy my reputation?”

She sighed. “It's not like that. I mean, it is, but c'mon. It's not like I've been putting on such a promising act as your fun hookup. All we've done for the past three months is fight.”

“What about that night at the diner?” he asked. “We did a whole lot other than fightin'.”

“Do you mean your rally?” she asked, and he nodded. “Thomas, I hadn't written it then. I didn't even have my source yet. I didn't know about any of this. I… it was the last time I woke up here that was the day I wrote it.”

“Don't sound so self-righteous about my question, then; you were still stayin’ over here when you were writing it.”

“I was not,” she defended. “I haven't even been here since I wrote it. After that morning, I barely saw you for weeks.”

“And apparently I shoulda kept it that way.”

“Do you want my side of the story or not?” Y/N asked weakly. “I know you're upset, but you asked me to explain. I'm just trying to fill in the blanks.”

His jaw ticked, and he sat back against the couch. “Yeah. ‘M sorry. Go on.”

“Well, the article was the reason I didn't try to see you in those weeks. At least not for anything more than a talk. I think some part of me knew from the jump that it was wrong.”

“Then why'd you do it?” he asked. She sighed.

“My career. My money. I really needed that job, and I worked so hard for it, and at first I thought I might be able to discard the article without it seeing the light, but my editor doubled down. It was obvious pretty early on that my job depended on it. I was hoping I would be valuable enough that they wouldn't fire me over it, but once it was drafted, there was no way to stop it and stay at the Post.”

Her voice shook, and she reached over to put her wine glass on his coffee table. She rested her forehead in her hands.

“I know I fucked up, but even now, some part of me feels like I made the wrong choice. What now? What's next for me? Who's even going to hire me after I quit the Post with no notice? What about my loans?”

She jumped at the feeling of his hand on her shoulder, and when she looked up at him, he looked as bewildered at her reaction as she felt.

“‘M sorry. Didn't mean to… scare you, it's not… Shit. Whatever. I'm sorry.” His fingers were stiff as he rubbed her upper back, and it drew a soft laugh from her.

“God, when did we get so awkward? It's okay, it's not your fault.” She took his hand from her shoulder, lacing her fingers into his.

“‘Course. Right. But y'know… if I'd never gone for you, you wouldn't be in this type of spot. I shoulda just left you alone from the jump.”

“That would've made both of our lives a hell of a lot easier,” Y/N agreed, and his smile was reluctant. “Too late, though. If I didn't care about you being in my life, I wouldn't have just thrown away my career for you.”

“Y’know, the campaign could always use more speech writers.”

“Not helpful.”

“I know. Sorry, sugar.” He squeezed her hand. “But your career's not down the drain. You're real smart, and you're real talented. Somebody else is gonna wanna hire you.”

“Maybe, but the industry is so tight. If word travels that I left the Post with no notice, I'll seem unreliable. Nobody wants that.”

“Somebody’ll hire you. I promise, alright?” His words held great conviction, and she could only sigh.

“Thanks, Thomas.”

He offered an encouraging smile. “‘Course.” He paused for a moment— “Now, I don't wanna reopen old wounds or anything, but I gotta ask.” She creased her brow. “Was the article the only reason you were avoidin’ me? Changin’ all your shifts at the diner, boltin’ for the door when I saw you at Lafayette's… was that all this?”

“I… I don't know.”

“Right. ‘Course, ‘m sorry for askin’. I shouldn't have brought that back up; it isn't even—”

“No, no, listen to me.” Her voice held traces of frustration. “I like you, you know I do, as if me quitting my job isn't evidence enough, but I just couldn't,” —her words were defeated— “let myself get attached to you. There's no good ending to this. The good ending was sex until the election and then neatly going our separate ways. And I fucked that up a couple different times.”

“So you didn't?” he asked. She frowned.

“Are you serious? Of course I got attached. You're all swagger and confidence, and suddenly the Republican presidential frontrunner wanted me, of all people. It all felt like a dream. It felt like too much of a dream. There's no room for dreaming in my future, only planning.”

“So you just saw it as temporary.”

She nodded. “I did. I fucked up by getting to know you, though, and you fucked up by being so much kinder and more complex than I took you to be. I didn't account for there being anything under the surface.”

He smiled softly. “Sorry, sweetheart. I'll try not to let it happen again.”

“You're too considerate.” She pulled her legs up onto the couch, sitting with them slanted at her side. “All of that to say, no, it wasn't just the article, but you did nothing wrong.”

“This is night ‘n day from you accusin’ me of trying to control you a couple weeks ago,” he pointed out, and she huffed.

“Hey, I was trying to keep us from having to figure all this out. It would've been easier if you'd given me a good reason to lose your number.”

“I'm glad I didn't.”

“I am too,” she agreed. She picked up her glass of wine, and she took a slow sip, choosing her words. “So, are we, like, good?”

He laughed. “Mhm, we're, like, good.” Y/N rolled her eyes at his impression of her voice, but when he squeezed her knee, her stomach turned. “C'mon, lighten up.”

“I don't think this is all that funny,” she protested, and he sighed.

“All is forgiven, alright? Relax. We'll laugh about this soon enough.”

“I'm not ready to laugh at it yet.”

“You'll get there.” His hand was creeping up her thigh, rubbing circles into her skin, and she frowned before covering it with hers.

“What exactly do you think you're doing here?”

He smiled as his hand tightened around her leg, fingertips pressing into the skin, and she gasped when he pulled her toward him. “Clearin’ the air.”

“You're so corny.”

“‘N I missed you. Gimme this.” He took her glass of wine out of her hand, placing both his and hers on his coffee table.

“I was drinking that.”

“‘N now you aren't. Y'know, alcohol really isn't good for you. Take it from somebody who knows.” Her eyes were wide as he pulled her legs over his lap, his hand settling on her lower back when her thighs were draped over his.

“You're invading my space, Jefferson.”

“You gonna write an article about it?” He held her face by the chin, then only inches from his. The mocking pout he offered made her roll her eyes. “Sick of seein’ that frown.”

He leaned in to kiss her on the cheek, and when she smiled at the gentle action, he turned her head to kiss her on the mouth. “There's that smile,” he said softly before kissing her again. “All I've been getting these days was your little furrowed brow,” —he swiped his thumb over the bridge of her nose— “always so angry with me. Always pouting.”

“It was for good reason.”

He snorted. “Uh huh. ‘Cause I've just been such a nuisance.”

“You've been the cause of all my stress for months now.”

“Then lemme relieve some of it.” His hand drew back to the nape of her neck, pulling her closer as he kissed across her chin and down her jaw. He hooked his other hand under her thigh. “Come here.”

She squealed when he pulled her all the way onto his lap, and she shifted to face him, tilting her head back as his lips traveled down her neck. She wrapped her arms around his neck, unable to stop the little whimpers that escaped her lips as he sucked on her skin, and she squealed when he suddenly bit down hard on the skin above her collarbone.

“Thomas,” she whined as a hand flew to his hair, and she whimpered as he sucked the soft skin into his mouth, pulling her in close by the waist. The skin smarted as he pulled away, his breath heavy. “That hurt.”

“D'you mind?” He raised his eyebrows, expression flat, and she swallowed.

“No.” Her voice was small.

“Good.” His mouth returned to the skin of her chest, kissing and biting her upper breasts. He released her waist to undo the top buttons of her blouse, brow furrowed as he did so, and after a moment, he huffed and grabbed the bottom hem of her shirt. “Pick your arms up.”

“What?”

“Come on,” he said, hands slipping under the fabric around her waist, riding it up to the band of her bra. She put her arms above her head, and he immediately pulled her shirt off, discarding it absently onto the floor. He grabbed her by the waist and tossed her on her back onto the couch beside him, and she yelped when her bare back hit the cool leather, arching away from it.

When he climbed on top of her, he slipped a hand under her back to undo her bra clasp, sliding it down her obliging arms. She inhaled sharply when the cool air hit her sensitive nipples, watching him in anticipation.

“Touch yourself,” he said softly, and she raised her eyebrows.

“What?”

“C'mon, play with your tits for me. Wanna see you make yourself feel good.”

“I…” Any protest in her voice died when his lips returned to her skin, kissing down her stomach, shifting down the couch. He settled between her legs, nipping the skin above her hip lightly. He met her eyes with an expectant gaze.

She tilted her head back, arching up against her hand as she reached for her breast, pinching her nipple. Her breathing was heavy; she reached for the couch cushion behind her head with her other hand, gripping it tightly.

“Fuck.” The sound escaped her lips as a whisper as she rolled her nipple between her fingers, and her hips twitched involuntarily. Thomas’ hands ran up her bare thighs under her skirt.

“Look at me,” he demanded, and she did so with a deep breath, squeezing her breast in her hand. His heavy gaze made her squirm. “Good girl.”

The words made her groan as she took her other breast in her hand, circling the nipple with her fingertips as it hardened. Although she was watching Thomas, his eyes were fixed on her chest, and she pushed her tits together, rolling her hips toward him.

“Please touch me,” she breathed, and he smiled, pushing her skirt up to her waist.

“Do you deserve it?” He ran a finger lightly over the outside of her panties, and it brushed over her clothed clit, making her whine. She pinched both nipples, pulling her tits up her chest.

“Please. I'll behave. I'll be good for you.” She arched harder toward him. He watched with hungry eyes as she squeezed her breasts.

“Finally got tired of making trouble?” He didn't wait for an answer before pulling her panties down her legs, leaving them dangling off one of her ankles as he grabbed her by the hips and pulled her toward him. She inhaled sharply.

“So pretty,” he commented, running a finger up her slit. He smiled at the wetness that collected on his fingertip. “And so well behaved. This all for me, sweetheart?”

She moaned when he circled her clit with his thumb, and she nodded, desperately grabbing at the couch. He landed a sharp slap to her thigh, and she yelped.

“Did I say you could move your hands?” he asked, and she frowned, bringing them back to her hard nipples. “Keep ‘em there.”

She swallowed hard when he returned to her sensitive clit, rubbing it in light strokes. Her breathing was heavy, and any movement from her hands was absentminded as her chest heaved. His fingers dipped down, teasing her entrance, and when his tongue flicked her clit, she stiffened, arching involuntarily as she rolled her hips toward him. When his lips wrapped gently around her clit, his teeth scraped it, and her legs jerked. She whined.

“Fuck, please, Thomas.”

“Be patient.” His hands moved to her hips, arms hooked under her thighs to hold her legs open, and he sucked hard on her throbbing clit. She moaned, and he didn’t stop her when one of her hands flew down to the back of his head, knotting her fingers in his hair.

“Oh, god,” she groaned, and she could feel his smile grow against her skin as his tongue traced patterns on her clit. “Fuck, you’re good at that.”

“Mhm.” Her legs shook under the vibrations of his voice on his tongue.

Her eyes fell shut as her body tensed and twitched, and he didn’t let up, pushing her hips down into the couch as he worked her up. She whimpered when he released her thigh to slip a finger into her ignored pussy, curling it gently inside her.

“I need more.” Her voice was needy when she eventually spoke, her orgasm starting to build inside her. Everything was just shy of enough—his lips were too gentle, his fingers too slow, and all it did was frustrate her. Thomas didn’t respond. She huffed, but she could only stay quiet another moment. “Please?”

He pursed his lips as he lifted his head to look up at her. “You think you need more?”

“Yes, I do,” she whined. “I can’t cum like this.”

“What d’you need?”

“Just… more, please,” she said desperately. “Harder, or faster, or… something. Just… more.”

“Oh yeah?” He added another finger to her dripping pussy, and she gasped. His fingers pumped quickly in and out of her. “You need more?”

“Yeah, yeah, just like that. Oh, god.” She moaned, dropping her head back onto the couch, and his lips returned to her clit. She squealed. “That’s so good. Just like that.”

He sucked her clit hard into his mouth, flicking it with the tip of his tongue, and her hips jerked uncontrollably against him, chasing her orgasm. Her eyes rolled back when he curled his fingers inside her. “Fuck, Thomas, I’m close.”

“Yeah?” he murmured against her, and he lifted his head. “You gonna cum for me? You almost there?”

“Yeah,” she moaned, and his tongue returned to her clit. Her legs were shaking in his grasp, and one of her hands gripped his hair while the other sank into the couch cushions, scrambling to ground her. “I’m so close, fuck, don’t stop, I’m gonna—”

She was cut off abruptly by her own loud whine as he pulled back from her entirely, and she could feel her building orgasm dissipate. “No, no, no, please, I need—”

“Who said any of this was about you, hm?” He raised an eyebrow as he lifted his head between her legs, and her hold on his hair loosened. Her deep-seated pout didn’t stop him. “Do you think you deserve to cum right now? After everything you did?”

“You said we were all good,” she protested, and he hummed in agreement.

“‘N I feel great right now. Don’t think I see the issue.” She groaned when he sat up, running his hands up her thighs. “Should be real grateful I’m not still upset with you. I could be doin’ a whole lot worse than this right now.”

“What, you want me to thank you?” she said dryly, propping herself on her hands as she sat up. Thomas pulled her closer by the thighs as he raised his eyebrows. “...Do you?”

“I mean, some manners would go a long way. I’ve been awful generous toward you, sweetheart.”

“I’ve said please.”

“‘N I don’t owe you anything for that,” he said, looking her in the eye as his thumb circled her clit. “You don’t have any kinda control over me. You don’t own me.”

If it weren’t for the punch in his tone, she wouldn’t have realized he was throwing her own words back at her, and she exhaled heavily. “C’mon, play nice.”

“I’ve been plenty nice to you.” His hands ghosted down her legs to her calves, and she sighed. “If anybody has reason to be upset, I’m pretty damn sure it’s me.”

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. He looked her over for a moment, and he swung his legs over the side of the couch to stand, making her furrow her brow. When he reached his feet, she followed suit, “Hey, wait don’t—” She squealed when he leaned down suddenly to throw her over his shoulder, holding her by her legs.

“It’s alright sugar, I know you’re sorry. Think it’s my job to make you sorry, though.”

She groaned. “Put me down, let’s just talk about this first.”

“Don’t think so.” She squeaked when he pinched the back of her bare thigh, reaching around to swat his hand away. Her eyes widened as she recognized the door to his room retreating behind them as he walked through his apartment, and she yelped when he threw her down onto his mattress. “We’ve talked plenty, haven’t we?”

He didn’t waste any time before loosening his tie, and when she scrambled backwards on the mattress, he grabbed her by the ankle to pull her toward him. “Where the hell d’you think you’re going?”

“I don’t want this to be how we resolve this; we should—”

“D’you know your safeword?”

“...Red.”

“Then shut the hell up.”

Her chest heaved as she watched him undo the buttons on his shirt, but her gaze fell to the growing bulge in his crotch all the while. He seemed to pay her little mind, barely sparing her a glance as he pushed his shirt down his shoulders. His undershirt was tight, and when he joined her on the mattress, climbing atop her, her hands drifted to its lower hem, pulling it out of the waist of his pants.

“You should take this off,” she said softly, and he kissed her bare shoulder.

“Don't think I will.”

She huffed, and he reached for the waistband of her skirt. When he tried to pull it down, it caught on her hips, and he furrowed his brow. “Where the hell's the zipper on this thing?”

It was without warning when he grabbed her hips to flip her onto her stomach, and she yelped when he immediately pulled her hips back toward him to pull down the zipper of her skirt. He pushed her flat on her stomach to pull it down her legs, and when he did, she pushed her torso up to turn and look at him.

“Why am I the only one naked?” she asked, and he pushed her chest back down onto the bed with a firm hand between her shoulder blades. He slapped her ass absentmindedly.

“Relax. I'll take care of you.”

Although she huffed, her heart was racing as he ran a hand down her bare back. She twitched when his fingers dipped between her bare legs, and she parted them reflexively. The pads of his fingers were warm as they ran up her slit.

“So wet.” His tone was condescending. “So pretty.”

It was abrupt when he grabbed her by the thighs, pushing her to her knees, and he parted her legs by the calves. She braced herself on her forearms, arching her back, and he hummed agreeably. It was nervously that she glanced back at him, and she found him settling on his knees between her legs.

“You okay?” he asked softly. He kissed her bare lower back, and her tense shoulders softened. He leaned over her to kiss the back of her shoulder, and she felt his hard, clothed dick against her ass. She whined.

“Thomas, please, just fuck me.” She pushed herself back against him, shaking her hips. She dragged her ass down against his boner. “Don’t you want to?”

He hummed absently. “I’ll think about it.”

“Come on,” she pleaded, voice breaking. “Don’t make me wait any longer; I need you, I need you now.”

He laughed. “Aw, sugar, that badly?”

“Please?” she said softly.

“Yeah, alright.” The clang of him undoing his belt made her heart rate jump. The smooth sound of leather against fabric, and then the muted thud of the buckle hitting the floor. When she felt his dick tap her clit, sliding against her center, her hips twitched, and when his tip gently nudged her entrance, she pushed her hips desperately back against his, and he let her.

She could only take half of him on her own, and with a hand on the small of her back, he pushed himself the rest of the way in. She groaned.

“Fuck, that’s deep,” she said. He hummed in amusement, rolling his hips against hers, and she whimpered. “God, please move. Please?”

“Mhm.” When he began to thrust into her, it was shallow at first, and his pace was slow. Impatient, she snapped her hips back against his, fucking herself on his dick, and he moaned. “Yeah, just like that, sweetheart. Keep going.”

Although she did so vigorously, fists twisting in the sheets to brace herself to feel him deeper, he grabbed her by the hips, pulling them back at his own pace. As it quickened, she went limp in his grasp, doing her best to keep matching his movements, but her actions grew increasingly pathetic as he took control. He slapped her ass, gripping the meat of it.

It was a moment later when he grew impatient, grabbing her by the waist to push her down into the mattress. She squeaked as she lost her hold on the sheets she had been gripping for leverage, her cheek squished into the mattress beside her hands.

“Jesus, you feel good,” he grunted, leaning over her. His pace quickened, and she gasped. “You like that? You like it when I hold you down and fuck you?”

“Yeah,” she whined. “‘S good.”

“Yeah? You missed me blowing your back out? Huh?” He slapped her ass, and she squealed. “Say it.”

“Missed it. Fuck, please, I missed you,” she said. “So good. You’re so good.”

“Yeah, good girl,” he cooed, leaning over her back. He kissed her shoulder as he weaved a hand into her hair, and she whimpered when he pulled it back with a tight grip at the roots. Her head lifted off the mattress, mouth agape. “Taking it so good for me. So well behaved.”

His lips latched onto her shoulder, sucking her skin into his mouth, and she sagged against the mattress, eyes rolling back when his teeth sank lightly into it. When he pulled away, the skin was red and smarting. He kissed the resultant mark.

“Thomas, I need more,” she pleaded. “I can’t cum like this. Please, touch me.”

“Beg for it,” he said, releasing her hair, and she groaned.

“Please, please, I’ve been so good. I’ll be good for you, Thomas, anything you want,” she pleaded, and he hummed, his thrusts growing increasingly aggressive. His grip returned to her waist, pushing her down. “Need you, need you, need you.”

Her words were muffled as her face was against the sheets, and the movement of his hips against hers was becoming frantic.

“Keep going,” he panted, accelerating his thrusts, and she could feel that he was growing sloppy, beginning to lose his rhythm.

“Fuck, I’m desperate, touch me, make me come. You’re the only one I need; you’re the only one I want, but please, I need you.”

“Yeah? You need me? How bad?”

“So badly.” Her words were nearly a cry. “Please?”

“Fuck, I’m close,” he groaned, and she let out a broken whine.

“Please, let me cum, touch me,” she begged, and he leaned forward, pushing her down by her upper back. For only a moment, she could barely breathe as his hips hammered against hers.

“Oh, god, sweetheart.” His hips stilled against hers as he came, and after a moment, he released his hold on her back, leaning over her to kiss down her spine. She let out a shaky breath as he ran a gentle hand across her hip. “That was so good.”

“Mhm.” Her response was bitter and short, and he chuckled.

“What’s wrong, sugar?” He kissed her shoulder as he pulled out, and she didn’t respond, only going limp as she lay on the mattress. “Cat got your tongue?”

“‘M fine,” she said roughly. He hummed skeptically.

“Yeah?” His hands ran up her lower back, and he grabbed her by the hips to turn her over on the bed. She met his eyes with an impatient gaze. “C’mon, what’s the problem?”

As he settled between her legs on the mattress, she tensed, and his grip on her thighs was gentle.

“Thomas.” Her voice was warning.

“Mhm?” He blinked up at her innocently as he grabbed her hips, pushing them back.

“Please don’t tease,” she breathed, and he kissed her stomach softly, moving toward her center.

“When have I ever?” he asked, and when she rolled her eyes, he grinned. “Relax. I didn’t forget about you.”

“Thank god,” she murmured, and she jerked when his thumb brushed over her already-sensitive clit. She whimpered when he rolled it under the pad of his finger.

“This what you meant when you said you wanted me to touch you?” His fingers dipped down to her soaked entrance, gathering both their cum before returning to her slick clit. Her hips twitched away from his hand, and he frowned mockingly. “Aw, sweetheart, are you sure you're not too sensitive? Maybe I should stop, I don't wanna push your limits.”

“No,” she groaned. “No more teasing. I need to cum.”

“You're making demands now?” His thumb was flicking her clit back and forth as he raised an eyebrow at her, and she pouted. Her hips rolled against the pattern of his movement.

“Please. I've been good.”

“Yeah, you have.” He kissed her thigh, and when his tongue took the place of his fingers on her clit, she let out a heavy sigh.

“Oh, fuck.” Her voice shook. He pushed one tentative finger inside her, but she was sore enough that she barely felt it. “Keep going.”

It was easy to lose herself in the feeling as he picked and sucked at her clit, curling his fingers inside her, and with how sensitive she already was, her orgasm built quickly. She could feel her pulse in her center, and her cunt tightened sporadically around his long fingers.

“So tight,” he commented, moving a finger back to her clit, and she groaned at the loss of feeling. “Such a perfect cunt. And you've been so good, so obedient.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, hands twisting into his sheets as he worked her over.

“You gonna keep being good for me if I let you cum, sweetheart?” he asked, flicking the tip of her clit lightly, and her breathing was short. She nodded frantically.

“I'm close, I'm close, I'm close.” The words were a whine, and when he returned to rubbing circles into her clit, she let out a squeak.

“That feel good?”

“So good,” she whimpered.

“Cum for me, then.” His grip on her hip tightened; the pace of his finger accelerated, and that was all she needed to send her over the edge. Her whole body tensed, back arching and legs stiffening as she came, and she was panting as she came down from it.

He didn't stop the movement of his hand against her. As she squirmed under his touch, she had to reach down and take him by the wrist.

“No more,” she pleaded breathlessly. “I can't take any more.”

He chuckled as he moved away, kissing down her leg. “Alright. No more. You were good for me.”

She hummed softly in response, and his hands came to rest on her calves just below her knees as her eyelids drooped.

“You okay?” he asked, and she sighed.

“I'm okay.” She rolled her head to one side to look down at him. “Does this mean we're good?”

He chuckled and kissed her knee. “I'll get over it.”

“Yeah?” She reached for his hand when he came to sit beside her on the mattress, and he turned his head to look at her when she gave it a squeeze. His smile was halfhearted.

“Yeah.” He turned back to look at the ceiling. “I did miss you. It's worth having you back.”

“I feel the same,” she said softly.

“‘M gonna find some pajamas and a rag real quick; you want me to grab you something to wear?”

She sighed, pushing herself off of the bed to sit up. “Yeah. Thanks. Don't bother with a rag, though, I should pee anyway.”

“Alright. Be back in a minute.” He sat up to kiss her forehead, taking her face in his hands as he did so, but when he pulled back, he didn't move for a moment, just watching her. His thumb swept over her cheek. “Alright.”

She swallowed when he stood to go to his closet, and she followed suit, heading to the bathroom. After she used it, she eyed her mussed hair in the mirror while she washed her hands, and her gaze settled on the hickies on her neck. She sighed and turned the water off.

Thomas wasn't back yet when she went to bed, but she was cold and so burrowed into one side of the sheets regardless. He would return minutes later with clothes for them both, but she was already beginning to drift off, the fatigue of the day weighing her down.

It was at the corner of her consciousness that she heard him come in and chuckle when he saw her. The sheets were pulled up to her cheekbone. She didn't stir when he dipped down to kiss the side of her head, taking his spot in the bed beside her.

“G’night, sweetheart,” he whispered. She didn't move. Her breathing was slow. “Love you.”

The words didn't break her rest, but she heard them. She also heard him hesitate and inhale harshly, and she heard the way his voice slowed when he, again, said, “I love you.”

She would wake up and write it off as a dream.

#hamilton x reader #hamilton #hamilton fic #hamilton fanfic #freedom of the press #thomas jefferson imagines #thomas jefferson fic #thomas jefferson fanfiction #thomas jefferson fanfic #thomas jefferson #daveed diggs scenario #daveed imagine #daveed diggs x reader #daveed diggs imagine #daveed diggs fanfic

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the-californicationist · 4 months ago

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Cali's Kinktober: Day 18

Kinktober Masterlist dis manibus - "for the ghost" Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader Kinks > possessive, dub con, ghosts?? Full tags on AO3 - MDNI - Read at your own risk.

In your little town of Sleepy Hollow, it’s usually not hard to make the news. But, when the headlines start bringing up ghosts from the past, and your fellow residents make claims that a ghoulish biker is attacking drivers on Route 330, you start to regret being the lone journalist in town. Legend has it that the masked rider is on the hunt for the most perfect sacrifice, and he won’t stop his reign of terror until he finds it.

Warning: actual ghosts, possession, dub con?, general spookiness

Yellowed teeth and a dangling cigarette, the stench of sweat and cheap tobacco, shaky hands and disordered movements, plus a wardrobe of ill-fitting, oil-stained jorts with a crooked-cropped Bud Light tee shirt completed Brandi Reddman’s signature look. Mrs. Reddman was standing in her usual spot outside of a dilapidated Pilot truck stop on the corner of Hatchet and Simmons. But, the leather-skinned, bleached-blonde, trailer park queen didn’t go by her late husband’s surname anymore. She preferred to be called by her well-earned title: Beaumont Brandi.

“And don’t you go putin’ no damn Reddman on my fuckin’ report,” she glared at you from her perch on the bright red bollard just outside her favorite Pilot truck stop, “Don’t even know what I’m gettin’ a goddamn ticket for. Two consentin’ adults can do whatever the hell they like, cain’t they? Ain’t this still America?”

“Ms. Brandi,” you sighed, “I’m not a cop. I’m a reporter. And I’m not sure what you want me to do when Mr. Brunson calls me down here to tell me about you tearing up his dumpsters again. You know there's a whole town full of people upset about the destruction of property here.”

Your stomach turned just thinking about writing this ridiculous article. What would the title even be? The Trash Takes Itself Out: a Sleepy Hollow tale. Or, Lot Lizard Strikes Again! With a full cover spread? No. This could not be your life. You tried to control the look of disdain on your face.

“It wasn’t even me! That asshole is crazy!” Brandi protested, the cigarette in her mouth holding onto her dry, cracking lip with nothing more than God’s will at this point.

“He said he saw you and a certain truck driver come out of the alcove just a few hours ago,” you reiterated.

“Hell, no. I ain’t gonna fuck no John in no smelly-ass dumpster. I’m a high class lady,” Brandi gestured to her ensemble, “And I’m tellin’ you, that lock was busted before I even stepped over here this mornin’. It’s that damn haint is what it is.”

The Haint of Sleepy Hollow. The Hollow’s Hell Rider. The Ghoul of 330. He went by many names, or sometimes, he was just called The Ghost.

Back in the late seventies when everyone was doing a little too much of everything, your town earned a bit of a reputation. There had been a string of disappearances off of the local highway, Route 330, and locals claimed to have seen a masked soldier on a motorbike, fresh home from Saigon, carrying his M16 slung across his back and wearing a skull mask over his face. He was riding an Indian 900, blacked out with no headlight and no plate.

Of course the truckers had been the first ones to sound the alarm, and there was a city-wide manhunt for any bikers matching that description. But back then, no one had cameras in their hands as readily as they did now, so it was all just a bunch of hearsay and over-exaggerated stories about the boogeyman.

But, that’s all it was. Just stories. There was no masked rider.

“Hey, you got another one of those?” Brandi pointed to the pack of smokes in your pocket that you’d brought along to bribe her with.

You sighed, lighting one for her and then for you. You told yourself you needed it to get through the rest of this conversation.

As she took a long drag, her timbre changed. She became quieted by her own voice, it seemed.

“I seent him, though. He was there. Parked under the bridge.”

She pointed to the overpass, her wrinkled finger trembling a bit as she guestered to the black shadows under the highway. You followed her line of sight, trying to imagine a dark rider in a skull mask, parked in the umber and looking for vengeance in the most boring town in New England.

“Did he do anything?” You asked, trying your best to scrounge up something more interesting than sex work in gas station parking lots for this write up.

Beaumont Brandi stared into the darkness with you, remembering… or maybe she was just fucking with you. But, it didn’t seem like it. She took another puff of smoke into her mouth, hissing it out through her stained teeth,

“No, but it felt like he was looking for somethin’. Felt… lonely. I dunno.”

Shaking you from the eerie moment Brandi had crafted between you both, a big, rumbling Mack truck pulled into the back lot, turning your gaze away from the bridge. Your interviewee hurried to smoke one more pull from her pilfered cigarette and gathered up her glittery, denim purse.

“That’s my ride. See you around,” she said, her voice still distant and restrained, lacking all of the ruffled animosity she’d presented to you earlier.

You stayed there, watching her scamper across the wide, drab concrete field, dodging pot holes and puddles, heading for the blue semi that had just parked in the trucker wash station. You watched her until she knocked on the door, standing on her tiptoes to reach the wide passenger window, shuffling around until the latch popped open and she disappeared inside.

The dark hollow of the highway’s bridge caught your gaze as you turned away from Brandi and her “ride”, and a cold chill shot down your spine. As you peered into the shadowy underpass, a lone biker, all in black, was sitting on his Indian motorcycle, staring right at you. His body was enormous. Even though the bike he rode was large, he was simply unfathomably tall and broad. When he leaned forward on the handlebars, idling there, his shoulders bulged in his leathers, threatening to break free. He was wearing a full-face helmet, but you could feel his eyes burning into your skin.

The problem was, you had no idea how he got there. You hadn’t heard his engine rev, and you knew you would’ve been able to listen to the roar echo through the underside of the highway, it’s enclosure making an accidental amplifier.

You stared back at him, but you reached into your pocket and clutched your car keys. Everything in your body was telling you to run. So, you quickly turned away, needing to force yourself to break your gaze, making yourself walk briskly back to your beat-up Miata.

Get in, and drive away, you told yourself. Get in. Drive away. Get in…

You were trying to calm yourself down, your mind feeding you a million excuses as to why you hadn’t heard him approach, or telling yourself it was just a guy on a bike and not a ghost, but you could still feel your heart in your throat, pounding away like a fist inside your veins.

Popping open the door to your car, you climbed in and immediately shut it behind you. Luckily, the soft canvas top of your ratty old convertible was already pulled up, but the sooner you got back to your apartment, the better you would feel. You cranked the engine, threw it in reverse, and sped off out of the gas station parking lot, sending your work bag spilling out across the floor.

As you pulled onto Hatchet, you headed east, avoiding 330. You tried to tell yourself it was because you enjoyed the senic route instead of the shorter path, but you knew that was a lie.

Behind you, you heard the roar of a bike.

You looked in your rearview mirror, but you didn’t see any headlights. Then, as you checked the side mirror, you saw him. It was the blacked out biker from the bridge. He was riding close to your back wheel, sitting in your blindspot, staring hard at you.

He followed you for miles. You doubled back, avoiding red lights, trying to make circles so he would get tired of tailing you, but he never did. If anything, he was getting braver and braver, moving his bike up and down the length of your car. Getting in your way, toying with you just to get a reaction.

You tried to speed up, but your junker was no match for his machine. So, you turned into a neighborhood, trying to lose him in the curvy, bumpy side streets.

He followed, and you felt your breath catch in your chest. With every turn, he would drive up next to your window to peer inside, staring straight into your eyes. You almost hit the curb, and when you finally exited the neighborhood, you took a right, trying to race him on a wider road.

It was one lane, but he didn’t seem to care. He reached out and planted his gloved hand on the glass of your driver’s side window as if he was trying to touch you through it, and you screamed at him through the glass, illogically,

“Leave me alone!”

He threw his head back, and you knew he was jeering at you. If a masked, faceless being could laugh, that’s what it would look like.

You had no idea what else to do, so you got aggressive. You swerved, trying to sideswipe him, desperate to get rid of your masked tormentor.

He dodged, nimbly moving himself out of your way. Then, he was right behind you, so you slammed on the brakes.

There was no way for him to stop in time. No way.

But, it didn’t matter. You watched in horror in your mirror as his bike and his body dematerialized, and he faded into a black mist, filling the interior of your tiny car, and reconstituting itself in your passenger seat. Your nose filled up with the smell of stale cigarettes and something undeniably masculine. His body filled in next to you in inky layers, pouring from a gas to a solid like smoke into a bottle, and what was supposedly impossible was becoming very, very real in your car.

You screamed, pressing the brakes even harder, coming to a full, screeching stop in the middle of the road. No one was behind you yet, but you wished there would be. You prayed for someone - anyone - to turn down your street and find you stopped in the middle of it.

The ghost - because what else could he be? - was staring straight at you, as if he was waiting for something.

“Leave me alone,” you begged, your voice feeling so small and strained.

You were staring into your own eyes, seeing your face as it was warped and contorted in the gleaming black shine of his helmet visor. Suddenly, you felt your car lurch forward, and it was moving on its own. You tried to turn the wheel, and your foot was glued down onto the brake, but nothing you did mattered. The car was driving itself.

You yanked at your seatbelt and pulled on the door handle, trying to throw yourself from the car, but it wouldn’t budge. You ripped at the handle even harder, trying to slam your shoulder into the door, ignoring the pain. In a last-ditch effort, you reached into the steering column and pulled the keys from the car, hoping to kill the engine. But, it didn’t. Your vehicle was taking you wherever your ghost wanted to go, and there was nothing you could do about it.

With your keys held tightly in your fist, you lashed out at the biker, using the metal shards to rake across his mask, scratching the visor.

The speed with which he reacted startled you, and as his hand wrapped itself around your wrist, he tilted his head to the side as if to study you, curious about you and your choices.

You felt your throat burn with despair, and tears ran from your eyes.

“Please don’t kill me,” you sobbed, trying to pull your wrist away.

He yanked your arm to his chest, tugging your body closer to his, forcing you into his space and taking you almost out of your seat, if it wasn’t for your belt.

You were face to helmet with him, and you could smell the menthols that inexplicably clung to his clothes. He could touch you, and you could touch him. He felt so real, so warm. And yet…

Slowly, he reached out to you with his other hand to touch your face, caressing your cheek and wiping away a stray tear. The feel of his leather glove was so gentle against your skin, it made your head spin. His earlier aggression was still fresh in your mind, and you sobbed from the fear.

Out of nowhere, a pickup truck swerved around your stopped car, blaring its horn at you, kicking up dirt from the side of the road, obviously upset at the stopped Miata in the middle of a street.

In the few seconds your attention was snatched from the ghost in front of you, he disappeared. Your passenger seat was immediately empty, and you were alone once more. Your car was dead since your keys were in your hand, and the clicking of a warm engine cooling down was the only noise you heard.

Another car was honking behind you, less aggressively than the pickup, but it moved around you and you turned back in your seat.

As you drove home, you were numb. You couldn’t reconcile anything that happened to you, and you had no words to even describe it. You thought about driving to the police, or to your office so that your phantom biker wouldn’t know where you lived, but something in you laughed at your naivety. Why would that matter? He was a ghost. He could reach you no matter where you were. You might as well leave your front door wide open for how much good it would do you.

When you finally crawled into bed, you left every light in the house on, but it didn’t help.

It was 0417 when you jerked out of your restless sleep, opening your eyes in your unusually bright room. You were breathing heavily, trying to calm yourself down, and the horrors of the night before felt more like a bad dream than a true memory.

You looked around, trying to determine whether you could manage to go back to sleep or not, when a faint noise pricked your ears. It was coming from outside your apartment window, down in the parking lot below your balcony.

You sprang out of bed and pulled your curtain. There, parked and sitting on the side of his bike, was your ghost. He was looking up at your window, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked like he was waiting for you. Waiting for you to say something, to do something. But, you didn’t know what.

Grabbing your keys, you flew out of your door and rushed down the stairs, hurrying to see if you could catch him. But, he was gone. You didn’t even know what you wanted to say to him, but you needed to know the truth. Your instincts as a reporter were driving you forward. You craved answers, needed them.

You turned back around and headed for your car, starting it up and driving out of your complex, back onto the street. You headed for the highway, and he was waiting for you, parked on the shoulder. He took off, and you followed him, swerving in and out of early morning commuters, pushing your crappy Miata to its limit.

He took the exit toward the old part of town, turning on the road to Ichabod Farm, cutting his speed and letting you catch up to him. Then, as he got further and further away from civilization, the farms turned into forests, and the roads went from pavement to dirt. Just as the sun was staining the clouds with its pink dawn, he stopped, sticking his leg out as a kickstand, and turned around to look at you.

You waited, sitting in your car, but after a while, nothing changed. He was still just sitting there, staring back at you. So, you killed the engine, and you climbed out of your car.

“Who are you?” You called to him, willing your voice to carry in the quiet morning.

As if he was tired of your questioning, he turned forward. He swung his leg over the body of the bike, and stood beside it, still waiting for you.

You started walking around to the front of your car, beginning to feel like you were a rabbit being led into its own trap, a lamb to its slaughter, and your skin tightened, the hair prickling on the back of your neck.

He put his hand out, gesturing toward the bike.

“Do you want me to go with you somewhere?”

He seemed impatient. He stalked forward, marching in black leathers and boots, and grabbed your wrist just like he did in the car.

“Wait! Hey! Wait, no!” You tried to fight him, but he held you fast, dragging you over to the bike.

He lifted you without struggle and sat you on the back of his seat, and he climbed in front of you, bringing the bike back to a loud roar. He took off, nearly toppling you over, and in your shock, you wrapped both of your hands around his middle, holding on for dear life.

To your shock, he turned off of the road and into the trees. The leaves made his tires slip and the roots of the tall yews made the ride bumpy and wild. You gripped him tighter and tighter, trying to remember which direction you were going, sure that he was taking you straight to your death, but just in case you escaped, you wanted to be able to try and make it out of the woods.

Suddenly, you came to a clearing. In the middle of it stood a huge, dead tree. The trunk had been struck by lightning, and the branches hung low, dipping towards the ground. Its roots were gnarled and popping like broken bones out of the dark earth, and it gave you a sense of immediate dread.

He stopped the bike, throwing down the kickstand and climbing off. Then, he held out his hand to you.

You looked at his helmet for a moment, trying to determine what he wanted, and then you realized he was trying to help you down. You placed your hand in his and felt him support you as you climbed off of the old motorcycle.

He released you, and he stood beside you, looking up at the tree.

You waited for a moment, again unsure about what he was trying to show you, but then you stepped forward. Something compelled you to touch the tree’s wide, twisting trunk.

You were suddenly aware of the state of your dress. You were in socks, sleep shorts, and a tattered old tee shirt, shivering from fear and from the chilly morning. But, still, you stepped forward, moving with your hand out towards the tree, trying to ignore the pinch of stray rocks and sticks beneath your feet.

Right before you touched the bark, you looked over your shoulder at the biker, and he was still standing there, waiting for you.

So, you pushed forward, laying your palm against it, and you were instantly overwhelmed with flashes of images and sounds, memories which were not yours. You saw him. It was your ghost. He was fighting in a war with muskets and swords, and then he was in a trench with grenades. You watched him crawl on his belly through a wet, dense jungle. Then, you felt the heat and the sting of desert sands, and watched him dragging the bodies of his friends from the rubble of a bombed building.

As quickly as they had begun, the visions stopped. You looked back at the masked rider, and he stepped toward you. His hands went to the neck of his jacket, and he raked the zipper down, revealing his bare chest and belly. He was riddled with scars, but he looked very much like a real man. The jacket fell with a thud on the forest floor, and he moved to shuck off his helmet.

You watched the reveal with wide eyes and an open mouth. Black, inky smoke surrounded his face. He didn’t have a head. It was only a skull mask, cracked and broken around the edges, perched on him where his face should have been. It was just a swirling darkness, nothing else. His head was gone.

Your heart nearly stopped.

“What… happened….” You managed to ask, your voice lower than a whisper.

The helmet clattered to the ground, rolling until it rested against a thick root.

He walked toward you, and you were staring into two black pits where there should have been soft brown eyes. You’d seen him in the vision. You knew what he should look like. And yet, all you were left with was this ghastly form.

His body was warm. You could feel it as he towered over you, mere inches away from your face. You reached up to touch his cheek like he had touched yours in the car, and he let you. As your hand swiped across his jaw, you saw flesh appear where there was none before. More and more, you touched him, painting his face back on with your hands. You moved over his eyes and nose and mouth, feeling the softness of his lips and watching in awe as he became a man again.

“Oh, my God.” You gaped, watching his face twist into an unknown expression, “You’re…”

“You made me real,” he spoke, his words sounded hellish; the noise was a terrible smear of shadow and violence. It was as if a million of voices were speaking at once.

“I…” You were trying to talk, but he wasn’t interested.

He leaned forward and slanted his mouth against yours, kissing you with a smoky musk on his tongue, forcing you to open and take his writhing muscle inside of your cheeks. He was breathing just as raggedly as you were, pushing himself onto you, dragging you to the leaf-covered ground.

He repeated his mantra, gasping it, his timbre full of disbelief,

“You… made me… real…”

His mouth was on you again, the top half of his face still hidden by the skull mask. He kissed your neck, and you felt his gloved hands grabbing at your clothes, shoving down your shorts.

“What are you doing?” You whispered.

“You.” His voice reverberated through you like a snarl of thunder. You could feel the sound move through your bones, “You can bring me back to this place.”

The air was cold as it billowed across your skin when he pulled away your shirt. The leather of his gloves was such a rough contrast to the smooth, furry expanse of his chest and belly, and he crushed himself against you, pressing you with all of his weight into the forest floor.

Your mind was in a haze. All of the magic and memories from the tree were whirling around you. His many lives, all stacked together, repeated like the rings of its trunk, year after year, his wars, his scars. All of them now real and raised to the touch.

His mouth moved over you, hungry and wanting. You weren’t ready to be taken so roughly, with so little regard, in the dirty, dank mud of this clearing. But, you wanted to be. You found yourself completely captivated by his movements, his hands, and the way he consumed you, making you feel like you were the key to his entire existence.

You spread your legs for him, and he had the audacity to laugh softly in his ghostly throat, rolling his hips between your legs to fit himself there, spreading you further with his wide body.

You felt the button of his leather pants loose and dangling, flapping open against your thighs which meant…

His cock lolled across your mons and belly, warm and hard. He humped himself against you, rutting along the curve of your tummy and teasing you with a preview of his strength. You reached down very slowly, stroking him carefully, barely touching his velvety foreskin, feeling the slip of it as he moved against your hand.

He let out a long, heated moan, his breath warm as it surrounded your neck, and he whispered to you in his million voices,

“Give yourself to me,” he chanted, “Bring me back.”

No sooner could you whisper back your consent than he grabbed you by your jaw and forced you to look into his black, soulless eyes. He notched his cock at your trembling hole, letting it dip into the wetness he had crafted there. Then, he pushed forward, stretching your walls around him, making you take his drooling head, raking himself in and out so that he could go deeper and deeper with each thrust.

You cried out, grasping your hands around his shoulders, and he squeezed your face in his huge paw, making you feel like he might break your jaw if he held you any tighter.

Once he was fully sheathed within the hollow of your body, he moved with a powerful, pistoned thrust, slamming himself through you and making your core heat from his friction. You felt yourself being broken by him, the parts of you that were holding together your sanity were slowly slipping away with each punishing movement, and the deeper you allowed him to fuck you, the further away from reality your thoughts were. You were back in his memories, imagining his life before, his warfare, ancient and modern, and all you could think about was why he would want to be back here. What did he want? Was it you?

His hand slipped between your lips, and he pressed into your throat, rubbing your tongue and making your jaw ache from his pressure and invasion. You tried to suckle from him, taking his fingers past your teeth, licking and slurping up your own spit from his glove.

“Such a good girl. Perfect for me. A new vessel.”

Vessel? What were you holding?

You whined, trying to understand, and he silenced you with a growl, low and deep. He was fucking you at a pace full of fire and fury, and your whole body felt like it was being pounded into submission. You could hear the wet, gushing slapping noises that his cock was making as it churned inside of you. Your legs felt weak, and you couldn’t help but leave them hanging open, allowing him to fill you as deep as he could go.

Your mouth burned from his fingers, and your pussy was begging to come, clenching and shaking with need. He felt you, and he pushed through your shuddering quim harder and harder, using you to bring himself to his own crescendo, joining you on the edge.

“You’re mine…” He hissed, moving himself right against your most pliant spot, massaging you up to a tumbling explosion of feeling and fervent want.

As you came, you screamed, but it was muffled by his invasive hand. He came with you, filling you as you tightened around him, dumping his thick load into your hole, smearing it all over your lips with each covetous thrust.

Then, you couldn’t believe what you were seeing. He was melting into you, his body turning back into mist, covering your skin and seeping into your flesh. You felt him inside of you, curling and twisting around all of the parts that made you who you were, turning them for his own benefit, staining your soul with his own.

You gasped, searching for air, watching helplessly as the last thing you saw before he disappeared completely was the black sockets of his skull mask, and it felt like he was smiling.

You lay there, alone, and yet full of him. He was feeling and sensing and thinking right alongside you. And he was… playing with you. You could feel him moving his cock deep within you even though, when you looked down, there was nothing there.

“Please…” You begged, closing your legs together, trying to stop the sensation from happening.

“Pretty thing,” the Ghost chuckled, “We’re just getting started.”

#cali’s kinktober #kinktober 2024 #cod kinktober #call of duty kinktober #graviora manent #by the californicationist #x female reader #x fem!reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost cod #actual ghosts #like ghost is a ghost #idek how to tag this #just forget it

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bliss-in-the-void · 1 year ago

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Gege Akutami, You Do Not Understand Gojo Satoru, and Here is Why

I was reading this article to help me cope with the traumatic events of Chapter 236 when a certain portion didn’t sit right with me.

Long post, click to read the full analysis:

(this is probably the most important post I've made so far)

Now, we all know that Gege doesn’t like Gojo. They don’t make it a secret in the slightest. Which is fine in itself, as an author you are 100% within your right to hate a character you created, and I respect that—it gives dimension to the dynamic of a story.

What I don’t care for is the reasons Akutami lists for their dislike of Gojo.

Reason #1 as stated in the above blurb of the article: Gojo doesn’t have depth.

To me, this is a wild statement to make as an author, but especially as the one who wrote Gojo. Where does he lack depth? Genuine question.

I believe he is an incredibly complex character.

He is the first sorcerer in centuries to be born with the Six Eyes and Limitless techniques, which automatically sets up so many nuances. Coupled with the fact that Akutami has stated that he grew up spoiled, that right there should tell you some things about why he is the way he is. He has a bit of an inflated ego when it comes to his powers. And why wouldn’t he? From the time he was born, the people around him treated him like some sort of God. How else was he supposed to grow up? He’s told his whole life he possesses unparalleled power, and he’s going to believe that.

Even still, it really isn’t as unchecked as Akutami seems to believe it is. Despite his distaste for authority, Gojo still reports to the higher ups, goes on missions, exorcizes curses, and works collaboratively with his fellow sorcerers. If he was really the giant egomaniac Akutami argues that he is, he’d say ‘to hell with authority’ and run off to do whatever he wants like Yuki. I mean, COME ON, this guy is the most powerful modern sorcerer and he still attended all four years of high school. He could have easily never attended—who was going to stop him?

He has a peculiar sense of humor that can get inappropriately timed in certain moments, but it’s obvious that it’s a deflection and a coping mechanism for the horrors of a sorcerer’s reality. He doesn’t just joke about death and dying because he doesn’t care. He cares too much and he doesn’t know how to deal with it, so he suppresses and laughs it off. Moments like this are seen after Suguru dies in JJK 0 when he was clearly crying afterward, but had to put on a cheerful facade for Yuuta and the other students.

He is a very good teacher. It’s hard for a naturally gifted prodigy to effectively teach things which come automatically to them, and somehow he finds creative ways to do it. Teaching Yuuji to control cursed energy by using one of Yaga’s dolls and giving him a movie marathon? One of Yuuji’s favorite hobbies? Genius and so considerate for Yuuji. He’d just been thrown into the sorcerer world, learning all these new things, and Gojo decided to introduce a foreign concept to him through something familiar and comfortable to him. That is amazing, and the mark of a very kind, understanding teacher. He’s also really patient with his students. Yes, he gives them tough love sometimes by throwing them into missions, but it really is to make them strong. How else will they grow if they aren’t put under pressure?

His motivation for being a teacher is very selfless. He himself has stated that he isn’t suited to be a teacher, but that he has a dream to raise a generation of strong allies to prevent isolation from occurring like what had happened to Suguru. He felt guilty about growing apart from him, didn’t see the warning signs before he snapped, and regrets not being there for him more. His entire purpose now is dedicated to making sure the new wave of sorcerers have a tightly-knit network so that no one ends up alone and on a dark path like Suguru.

He constantly sticks his neck out for the helpless even when it’s far from his benefit. He paid off the Zenin clan to save Megumi, the child of the man who ruined his high school years and nearly killed him. He then raised him. He threatened the higher ups to keep Yuuta alive, and then did it again for Yuuji. He does this to preserve their youth, because his own was taken away from him. His whole life he’d been controlled by the higher ups and people around him because of who he is in the sorcerer world, so by waving his own status in front of authority to hold them back from his students, he acts as a sort of shield to take as many burdens off of their shoulders as he can so that they can remain carefree. As much as he can within his power.

With all of that being said, I really don’t understand where Akutami is coming from with lack of depth, but another argument I say to that statement is: well, you’re the author, give him the depth you think he’s missing. (Personally, I believe he’s one of the best-written characters in any anime I’ve seen).

Reason #2 is that according to Akutami, he doesn’t have a likable personality.

What about his personality is unlikable?

He is cocky, but not to the point where he stops caring about others, not to the point where he never considers how other people feel or how his actions affect other people, and not to the point where he never feels guilt and remorse about his shortcomings. Like I said, he lives his life trying to prevent his past from repeating itself, to save the fates of others.

I really don’t get it. In JJK 0, after Nitta gives her report on the shopping mall, Gojo thanks her and praises her. Would a cocky asshole do that? No. If you wanted to characterize him as unlikable, you could have made him dismiss her, or ignore her.

He makes pop culture references, he has endearing flaws like not being good at drawing, being a lightweight drinker, and overdoing it on the sweets. He’s funny, he’s kind, he’s considerate…he is a very likable character.

Honestly, the self-absorption he displays when he’s fighting is probably a result of his upbringing. Being told you have so much power you have so much power you have so much power over and over again instills this belief that yes, he’s needed by Jujutsu Society to fight curses as a weapon. As. A. Weapon. The Six Eyes & Limitless user is a formidable weapon, but what about Satoru Gojo, the person? The only time he feels useful is when he’s fighting curses. That’s where he gets his self-worth. We can see that expressed in this panel, from Chapter 236:

In the second half of Gojo’s second text bubble, he says, “でもどこかで人としてというより生き物としての線引きがあったのかな”.

This translates to: “But I wonder if somewhere there was a line drawn between being a creature rather than a person.”

Rather than having drew the line himself, being constantly treated like the strongest, being handed over the difficult missions, being relied on so heavily pushed him away from other people. It distorted the perception everyone had of him, and it distorted the perception he had of himself. He also believed he could never lose because he let his human side fade into the background. The world didn't need human Satoru Gojo, they needed sorcerer Satoru Gojo, the one who could bend rules to his will with his might, the one who could exorcise any curse and save the day no matter how bad things got. Why would he remain human when that part of him was treated as non-existent? The only person who did treat him as a person with weaknesses and flaws has been dead for eleven years. Of course that voice of reason is going to fizzle out.

How can you possibly vilify him for that? It would be a disservice to everything he has had to endure his entire life.

Reason #3 and the last point I want to touch on is when the article says, "Akutami believes that much of this adoration is based solely on his striking appearance, overshadowing his more abrasive personality traits."

Okay. Where to start?

Honestly, and I know this is probably not Akutami's intention, but that comes off as so condescending. It's so presumptuous. It's as if to say we're all going "ooh look at pretty man, pretty man do no wrong because too pretty" mindlessly with dilated pupils and drool coming out of our mouths. Uh. No.

Yes, Satoru is a good-looking character, but no, that is very far from why we like him so much as a character, and it's also very far from why he's so popular. Aside from all of the points I've made above explaining why he's so universally loved, I'll make another one that isn't superficial and tired.

He's so relatable.

This is a man so incredibly traumatized by his high school years that he is mentally and emotionally unable to move on. Suguru Geto was his very best friend, and for reasons he took too long to understand, chose to abandon their friendship for his own goals. For anyone who has grown apart from a best friend, this hits so hard.

Because of his upbringing it was hard to become close to anyone. But somehow, Suguru was able to break past his walls, and for that, he became entirely too dependent on him. This is common for anyone who finds it hard to make friends and get close to others. Once someone is allowed in, you cling so hard to them and imagine them being there for your entire life. So, when they leave, you take it entirely too personally.

Everyone has a right to live their own lives, and as we see with the divergence of Suguru and Satoru, sometimes our paths aren't leading to the same place. It's not personal. But Satoru took it personal, and that's so beautifully human. When you lose a best friend who was important to you, you think "I like being around this person, they put me at ease in a way no one else does", and you assume they feel the same way about you. So when they leave and show you that no, they didn't feel the same, it hurts. It's almost as if they're saying "I actually do think you're unlovable like everyone else, that's why no one likes you, you are too much."

Someone you thought was safe, isn't anymore.

That is such a relatable thing to watch a character go through! Especially someone as awe-inspiring and charismatic as Gojo! As an audience, we think, "he's just like me!" and we like him for it.

So, as I stated in the title, Gege Akutami, you don't understand Satoru Gojo at all. I commend you for writing such an amazing, iconic, universally loved character, but I will never understand nor respect the superficial way in which you perceive him.

#i know this is very extra #so don't attack me #but i do make some good points and i really just needed to get it out there #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #jujukai #jjk spoilers #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojo analysis #gojo #gege akutami #jjk analysis

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mrs-gauche · 6 months ago

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I got the latest issue of the "GameStar" magazine (the article itself was already published online two months ago apparently, but the hard copy came out three weeks ago), which had a few pages about Veilguard (and a review of the whole series), and while it didn't include any new information, I thought the final "personal opinion" piece by the author was really sweet, so I wanted to share it on here, too. (The author is this magazine's editor-in-chief, who was one of the journalists who got to see the full one-hour presentation of Veilguard at Summer Game Fest. I tried to translate it as best as I could. :3)

"Dragon Age means the world to a lot of my colleagues. To my co-worker Alex Schneider, the artbooks are pretty much part of his office equipment, Heiko's boss Rae can basically quote the prequel novels from memory — backwards —, and my co-worker Steffi rushes through the hallways like a vacuum cleaner every time there is the tiniest new piece of rumor about Dragon Age to "absorb". I am more lukewarm about it. Yes, I've played Dragon Age Origins multiple times and enjoyed it very much, but Thedas was always too theatrical and not believable enough of a world for me to really get immersed in it. So the fact that even I walked out after the one-hour presentation thinking: "Damn, when is my flight back home, I need to (re)play the whole trilogy again!" - that's saying something. Again: The Veilguard still has a lot to prove. That it knows how to fill its world in a meaningful way, that its mechanics offer enough depth and most of all: That it tells a good story. But during my conversation with Corinne, every second felt like I was talking with people that understand exactly what made Dragon Age so good. The kick-off to Veilguard is as brilliant as it is intense, sparks curiosity for its world and amidst all the action, it doesn't forget to show a bit of heart. Whatever comes out of it after its release: For years Bioware hasn't looked as promising as it does now."

I also got the "PC Games" magazine, but that one had even less information than GameStar, even though they put it on the cover? :/ (Had to buy it anyway of course, because it has Dragon Age on it 🤡❤️)

#dragon age the veilguard #dragon age the veilguard spoilers #datv #datv spoilers #da4 #gamestar #the same journalist was also on a German gaming podcast where he basically re-emphasized how positively surprised he was by what he saw :D #they're being very dramatic in the title though 😂 calling it a ''Game of Fate''#''BioWare's last chance to change course (and save their reputation)''#fun fact.. there might be an ancient GameStar article floating around somewhere about yours truly lol #my one minute of fame lmao

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twig-tea · 3 months ago

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Love in the Big City TV Series Episodes 5 & 6: Kylie Once Again Recontextualizes Everything

Thanks as always to @lurkingshan and @bengiyo for the wrangling and discussion questions!

I already wrote about the relationship between Gyu-Ho and Yeong in this part, so I wanted to focus on something else for book club. And after working on the timeline in the series, I decided to revisit my meta for Part 3 of the novel, in which I wrote about how Kylie recontextualizes everything that came before we knew about her. I’d like to do the same here for the series while reflecting on the differences. Knowing when his mother died, the T-aras being present through the whole story, and starting the story after Kylie are the three big changes that I think worked really well in this adaptation, and all of these changes mean that the revelation about Kylie in episodes 5-6 hit a little differently than in the book.

[screenshot from this post by @how-to-be-a-tree]

With the revelation in this part that Yeong went to the military a few months before the T-aras, we now know that Yeong had recently contracted HIV just before the series began.The hints in episode 1 that he was struggling (hadn’t been going to class, doing odd jobs and asking for the extra clothes) make more sense. It also recontextualizes the aggressive kiss in the club where he kissed that stranger so hard he bled. This also means that, unlike in the novel, he meets and befriends Mi Ae after he was already diagnosed, and since he tells Gyu-Ho that he’s the only one Yeong’s ever told, we know he never told Mi Ae either. Watching them hold each other’s hands as they whisper their secrets in the dark takes a new sad tint to it knowing that Yeong could not trust her with his deepest shame.

[screenshot from this post by @maletimbe]

I wonder if part of his strong reaction to her outing him to Jun Ho was because he had been wanting to tell her, and it was painful knowing he could never trust her with that secret. I wonder if that’s why he doesn’t go to the T-aras after his fight with Mi Ae, but goes to Nam Gyu instead, because he wouldn’t be able to explain to the T-aras why he was so hurt, and on some level the T-aras have already rejected that part of him so he can’t trust them with that vulnerability.

I wonder if sending the T-aras off at Karaoke reminded him of Kylie and is part of what pushed him to break up with Nam Gyu. After his fallout with Mi Ae, when Yeoung is telling Nam Gyu to find someone braver than him, I wonder if he was thinking about Kylie.

When he goes to Nam Gyu’s funeral and asks how he died, I am pretty sure just by the way that scene was performed that he was thinking about Kylie and wondering whether he killed him–and it makes that revelation hit double-hard, that Nam Gyu was killed in a car accident speeding, because it just reinforced his worst fear: he had gotten Nam Gyu killed, just not in the way he thought. [I don’t actually hold Yeong accountable for Nam Gyu’s decision to speed, but I can imagine Yeong took it that way].

I wonder if Yeong was attracted to Yeong Su partially because of the way he tries to help his mother, who is an addict–there’s something in the way social stigma against addicts and poz folks is similar (partially because needle sharing is a way to contract HIV), and how acceptance of those states of being can often come together. I wonder if that's why he could take Yeong Su's more heteronormative kdrama lead style romance when it irritated him in Nam Gyu.

In any case, Yeong having HIV through that relationship and hiding it from Yeong Su makes his reading of Yeong Su’s article about the immorality of being gay hit even harder. I also think about how irregular his schedule was then, and how bad he was at taking his medication regularly and on time. And knowing that there are restrictions to travel and to moving places, I wonder if part of his rage at Yeong Su moving to America was about knowing that even if Yeong Su had asked, he could not have joined him (you can travel to the USA with HIV but it can be difficult to get a green card). Honestly he was probably too hit with the betrayal and callous rejection to do that full calculus in his head in that moment but I wanted an excuse to use this gif because watching Yeoung punch Yeong Su is good for the spirit:

It also recontextualizes the scenes with his mother, and how much she cared about appearances and judgment, and how she contextualized her own disease as a punishment from God, so how could he not do the same about his own? When overdoses on pills, and his mother tells him not to be in a rush to die, I wonder if the hospital successfully did not disclose his HIV status to her during that period.

Seeing the T-aras there and so worried about him must have been healing even if they still don’t know about this major part of him; he knows they love and care for him and want him alive. Yeong not telling the T-aras about his application to the company because he’s afraid of being rejected for his HIV status tells me that he still hasn’t told the T-aras about Kylie through Part 3; I’m not sure he ever will. But there are people in our lives who we love and who love us in return who we keep secrets from; it means there will always be a level of distance, but it does not mean we aren’t important to each other.

His mother dying at the beginning of Part 3 is a significant detail that we don’t get in the book, and it made me rethink why Parts 1 and 2 did not mention Kylie at all. In the series, we have Yeong writing Part 1 in episodes 1-2, Part 2 in episodes 3-4, and Part 3 in episodes 5-6. We know he wanted his mother to never know about Kylie, and we know that she followed his literary career and kept copies of his work even if she won’t read them. So it makes sense that he could only write about having HIV and incorporating that into his narrative after her death. I also wonder if Yeong being willing to open up to Gyu-Ho about Kylie has to do with his mother’s death: One of his reasons for keeping the secret so carefully is no longer present.

This isn't recontextualized because by the time we see this we know about Kylie, but how much of Yeong's fixation on Gyu-Ho's silent sleeping and needing to check he's still breathing has to do with his fear that Gyu-Ho still hasn't settled into the relationship and is tip-toeing around him, and how much of it has to do with his fear of giving Gyu-Ho HIV and making him ill? They're barely having sex so it's a pretty irrational fear but that's not how fear works. We know he's thinking about Kylie all the time through this section because he asks Gyu-Ho about how he feels abut Yeong being "dirty" more than once.

One last moment of painful reflection: The first two parts of this series had clear relationship pairings and parallels: Mi Ae and Nam Gyu in Part 1, and Yeong Su and Yeong's mother in Part 2. I was thinking about whether Kylie and Gyu-Ho are our pairing in Part 3, and while I don't think we get enough reflection about Kylie to make this case strongly, I'm struck by how Yeong characterizes Kylie as something he is "stuck with forever", and how he is determined to let Gyu-Ho go.

#love in the big city #litbc book club #typed so that i can stop thinking it

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inknopewetrust · 10 months ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 [𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮] [𝒔𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒌 𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒌]

summary: the colors of life change with time, but the music that narrates it lives on forever in one, standstill moment of the 1990s where success and passion came tumbling down. Years later, the story is declassified.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings: minors dni (18+), this is based off of fleetwood mac/daisy jones and the six so imagine mid-80s and 90s rock scene, language, lil bit a spice, a whole lotta angst, enemies to lovers to enemies to…

In a world where words meant so much, it was difficult to find them at a time where they were needed.

The cool wire weaved against your skin. Its path crawling like a snake of retrospection from the bottom of your chair to your chest. There was a pebble of sweat threatening to spill from the top of your hairline in the hot California sun which made you think:

"Why the fuck did I ever move out of Indiana?"

But if you closed your eyes, you could recall why. A sickening, thunderous roar of the crowd–you could still hear it now. Somewhere, thumping in the back of your mind as their chants filled a space that breathed a new life within you as the another was dying.

An echo chamber of the taste of metal against lips; the white knuckle grip that still threatened to slip from your grasp.

The woman who sat across from you had a plastic smile on her lips. For her, it was nothing more than a job. An exploitive adventure where you'd be sticking headlines and messages across platforms for weeks to come because of this tell-all documentary.

"When did you know?"

Against cynicism the inevitable hardness of the culture you had immersed yourself in at one time had risen again and the attitude that rose promised a truthful reflection of your experience.

On the floor beside the mics battery pack, a half smoked carton of cigarettes met a glazed palm and the woman watched as a perfectly rolled stick land between two mauve lips. As the flame sparked, your eyes darted to hers.

"Know what?" you muttered between the smoke.

“When it was finally over?”

You could feel the breath being sucked out of your soul. The shudder radiating like a shutter letting rain inside of the home in the canyon; kissing the very center of a heartbeat that stopped at the sight of a pair of eyes, shoes peaking through a doorway.

The cigarette burned between your fingers. Ticking away like a bomb with scorching red embers fighting its casing.

“The Album was the best and worst thing to ever happen to any of us… that sounds ridiculous,” you scoffed, shaking your head and the woman quirked her head.

“It sounds ridiculous that something so magical, something so brilliant, can make those who built it feel small. It put us in a fishbowl and it took every last drop from our cup before it dried up and cracked under the heat… that's when I knew it was over."

She shifted in her seat, readjusting the papers to organize her thoughts. You imagined there was no sounder way of stating it. It was the truth, frank, and to the point but something the rest of them negated to realize or speak into words.

But she shook her head. “Yes, the band… but what of the relationships?”

“None of us had known about Steve and Nancy, Robin and Vickie had barely interacted until their writing began and by the end… well you can read plenty of articles about the end of it all.”

You drew from the cigarette again. Smoke filling the air around you like a mist; the woman kept digging.

“And Eddie and yourself?”

“Well…”

That heart-skipping beat never left. Laurel Canyon was so far away, the studio was a memory, and the stage was a phantom piece of your imagination yet the simple mention of a name so far removed was enough to make time stand still.

Somewhere, a young woman frozen and left wondering the "what if" of a life not shrouded by fanatics and the thrumming of a guitar. Somewhere, lost in the violence of a summer and the shattered glass of a heart left on a stoop, that girl remained inside.

“It was always complicated.”

“So,” she shrugged at you as if the conversation was nothing more than such. It wasn’t as though she was here to get all the details of every part of a life that had already played out in public if people had only been paying attention.

It wasn’t as though she was cracking open a mountain full of jeweled memories that had crystalized themselves in the past.

“When did it all go wrong?”

Feeling the sting of the camera focus on your face, there were two responses to this question that many had already answered before you:

"When did it all go wrong?" You lamented to yourself.

When did you know it was over? When did it all go wrong?

The woman's eyes glistened in excitement. Her story was unraveling before her. You took a drag again.

Fuck. You thought to yourself.

And the film began to play.

A/n: I'm excited to get back in the writing game - especially with Eddie. Let me know your early thoughts! Yay, nay, slay?

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x fem #eddie munson x female reader #reader x eddie munson #eddie munson x #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #x reader #fanfic #x female reader #joseph quinn #eddie x reader #eddie x you

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rookinthecrownest · 3 months ago

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Discussion about romances + expectations under the cut (I'd put it as like..mildly critical, but also coming from a place of understanding?). As usual, will tag as such so you don't have to engage/read on if you don't wish to. I always invite open discussion, just keep it respectful (as I will endeavour to do so myself).

This is going to be a bit of a ramble, so I apologize if my thoughts are not clearly laid out like they should be.

I think I've found the reason why I (and maybe others), feel that the romances in Veilguard feel a bit... idk, hollow, at times (not BAD!!! just feeling like there could be MORE). And that's because of the trap of expectations. I may also be speaking completely for myself here.

Anyway, let's rewind to 2014.

Be me, 10 years ago. You're not really a gamer, but indulge in action RPG's casually.

See a commercial for this hot new game coming out called Dragon Age: Inquisition. Be intrigued by the character designs, but know nothing about the world. Come to find out it's part of a trilogy. So naturally, you buy the first two games and play through them before playing the third.

Be amazed, and completely hooked on the characters, the lore, the world, the darker elements and themes. It becomes your favourite game series of all time.

But you had no idea that you could romance any of the companions going into the experience. And man, does it fundamentally rewire your brain chemistry to fall in love with cRPG and get ridiculously attached to your Warden/Hawke/Inquisitor.

So, you romance Alistair first because he's funny as hell, and has a really interesting story/character arc. Then you romance Zevran, and love that too - he's charming and suave and awkward and funny. Then you go onto DA2 and romance Fenris and Anders, and each of those romances pack their own emotional gut punches. Then it's finally time for DAI, and predictably, you go for Solas (a veritable slow burn that spans TWO games), Cullen, and partially (I never finished those playthroughs lol) Blackwall and Dorian.

I had no idea you could romance companions going into these games. It was a pleasant surprise! It always felt like an important part of the story, while not overshadowing the main plot. There was enough material in the codexes, the cutscenes, and party banter to make each romance feel complete and whole and awesome and nuanced.

And then, like some of you I suspect, I read an article that touted Veilguard as "The Most Romantic Bioware Game Yet", and I thought - "Wow, if they're saying this then the romances must be something else", given the quality of the previous romances you've experienced in these games!

But you get to the game - and while you're having fun, it definitely leans more into the ARPG style where romances feel a bit more pushed to the side in order to tell a certain story than the traditional Bioware/Larian RPG experience you've come to love.

Which is fine! Again, once I stopped thinking of Veilguard as a classic Bioware CRPG, and more like GOW/The Witcher, I found I was able to appreciate it a lot more for what it is. Things have to Happen A Certain Way for the narrative to work, and that's not a bad thing. DA2 was similar - it was a harrowing, personal tragedy about the Hawke family and their struggle to survive in Kirkwall.

Just like DA2, there are aspects of Veilguard that make me glad things happened the way they did. I'm not mad that Rook has so much dialogue without a ton of player input and you can't 'be evil' - because the game doesn't make sense if you can. At its core, Veilguard's narrative is centered around Regret, after all - you can't have an evil protagonist running around because Solas' Regret prison would never work (evil people don't generally tend to regret their actions...)!

Now, if you're expecting a long-winded, fully researched academic breakdown of every romance I'm sorry but that ain't happening tonight lol. This is not based in any fact, this is all opinion.

I can't quite put my finger on it, but sometimes it feels like the romances in this game (and I say this with the biggest grain of salt as I've only done Emmrich and Lucanis' - and am going through Neve's now), are just missing....something, to take them from good to great.

I loved Emmrich's romance. I thought it was very well done. I think a lot of people would agree it's one of the stronger ones in the game - doubly so if you play as a Mourn Watch Rook (you get a TON of MW specific lines going this route, it's great). His side romance with Strife if you don't get together is very cute, I enjoyed it. But as superbly well done as it was, somehow, I wouldn't even put it in my top 4 Bioware romances.

With Lucanis' romance - whatever my hangups may be about how it was handled, certain parts of his romance were done excellently (even better than some of the previous Bioware romances, I'd say). You can read more about my thoughts on his romance here which is why I'm not going into detail about it. Unlike Emmrich's, I would put it in my top 4 because I fell in love with the character that much (both in the game but really, I've loved him since Tevinter Nights), and I've grown very attached to my first Rook and him as a pairing. I've seen others share a similar sentiment on here (and I hate to say it but I agree) - sometimes it feels like I fell in love with Rookanis despite the way it was handled, not because of it. I can't say that for many other romances. While it's been fun to think up a lot of HC/write fics/make art about those abandoned concept sketches and parts where I felt the game could have showed us more of their dynamic, I can't help but feel like his (and other) romances would have immensely benefited from even 1 or 2 extra small scenes to flesh it out a bit more if they weren't going to let us freely talk to our companions.

The issue with the romances might also have something to do with the pacing of the game itself. I think Act 2 is where the pacing goes a bit awry, before picking back up in Act 3 (which is great, I love it).

Sometimes I also felt that there was a little too much reliance on codex entries and party banter to tell the story of the romance rather than showing it explicitly through cutscenes. I think that's what makes the romances feel a bit truncated at times, compared to the previous entries? Some of the romance-specific party banter was so good, it probably deserved its own cutscene. But it's also highly dependent on the party you have, and it's easy to miss/not trigger. I remember absolutely living for the cutscenes in the first three entries and I can't explain why I feel like, subjectively speaking, Veilguard just has less romance content (this may not be objective reality - I haven't compared the amount of romance specific content head to head with other games).

I also couldn't tell you why I feel DA2 doesn't suffer the same problems as DATV in terms of romance interaction - because you can't freely talk to your companions in that game either. Yet somehow, it always felt like I was getting enough of them to not notice that. I do miss being able to chat my LI's ear off and ask them questions about their life/their views/etc. like I could in DAO and DAI. I think it's a shame we can't because the companions in DATV are SO interesting. I want to ask them all a billion questions about their lives/stories/etc even if they're not my love interest. The party banter in this game is immaculate but being able to talk to them individually about this stuff would've been SO nice. I feel that I've missed out on SO MUCH of these characters just because I didn't have two of them in my party at the same time!

Anyway, I need to wrap this up.

In closing, perhaps, if I hadn't read that article about how it was going to be Bioware's most romantic game ... maybe I wouldn't feel this way? I think it sent my expectations through the stratosphere, and that's no one's fault but my own. Not Bioware, not EA, mine.

I know that this game's development cycle was a unique sort of hell that the other games didn't suffer. To go from Joplin -> Morrison -> Veilguard. To have so many of the original staff leave the team when Joplin got scrapped. To have to pivot from Live Service and then back to single person RPG. More lay-offs. It's a miracle this game got made. I'm happy I can sit around thinking about it. And I hope its successful enough that we get DA5 so we can all sit around dissecting that in 5-10 yrs time.

Don't get me wrong - I enjoy the Veilguard romances for what they are. I'm enjoying them more I play and discover additional banter/codex/etc that I missed the first time around. Like any Bioware romance, there are spots where they hit their stride, and spots where they falter a bit. When they hit their stride they knock it out of the fucking park. But when they falter, you can really feel it. Romance is hard to write! And you'll never fully please everyone.

But a small part of me wishes I'd gone in blind, and checked my own expectations a bit.

Maybe you agree, maybe you don't. Tell me about it. What was your experience with the romances? Did you also read that article and get your expectations up?

I hope this makes sense.

Kind regards good fandom folks,

Keep the discussion respectful. And please don't use this post as an excuse to just blatantly hate on the game.

-Rookie

#datv critical #bioware critical #datv #lucanis dellamorte #neve gallus #emmrich volkarin #rook #as always i'd love to know your opinions #if you feel the same #if you feel differently #if differently #just keep it respectful #rookie rambles #datv spoilers

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scoundrels-in-love · 1 month ago

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This could be the one (Could this be the one?) Our new year

Meryl’s evening goes from bad to worse with a sudden burst of noise and color in her neighbor’s garden.

She’s been fighting a headache the entire day while three articles demand her full focus, tomorrow’s work party looms over her like an axe and her general dim mood around holidays gnaws away at a hole in her chest.

“For fuck’s sake,” she exclaims to no one in particular and pushes her chair away from the table angrily, sparks still firing off beyond the window. Her boots and winter coat are put on with equal annoyance and Meryl practically stomps over to the gate of the property next to her.

She’s never gotten along well with the old man next door, not since he decided he had any say in how she kept her garden and generally poking his nose in her business. Nothing she did was half as disruptive as this, Meryl groused as she rang the bell with more force than needed.

But instead of the expected grump, a young man with messy mop of blond hair near tumbles out of the house and down the driveaway. He is bundled up in a bright red coat and when he skid-halts at the gate, huffing and puffing, she has to tilt her back to have a proper look at his face, that’s how tall he is. But it’s a pretty face, Meryl has to admit, even through her annoyance. Angular, brightened by his awkward smile and expressive blue-green eyes. He looks nothing like her neighbor and she hadn’t known he had any family in the first place.

Still. She’s here for a reason. With her hands on her hips, Meryl juts her chin out: “Excuse me, could you please tell Mr. Geoff to wait until New Year’s for his obnoxious fireworks? Some of us would like some peace and quiet when the calendar doesn’t dictate otherwise.”

The man flushes and shrinks a little on himself, a hand scratching at the back of his neck. “Oh no, that was me. Mr. Geoff doesn’t live here anymore, I moved in last week.”

Oh.

Shit.

Well, actually.

It’s not like she’s in the wrong, even if this is one hell of a first impression to make.

“My statement still stands,” she doubles down in the typical Stryfe fashion, as Roberto calls it.

Her new neighbor shrinks beneath her stare and his whole face falls. It’s almost the theatrical perfection of misery. “I am very sorry about that, miss. But I can explain, I swear. There’s this kitten that lives in my backyard, I keep trying to capture it to bring inside, but she always eludes me. And while my friend was helping me set up the fireworks ahead of time, we noticed her again and in the rush to get a hold of her, he dropped his cigarette and accidentally ignited the chain we’d just set up. It wasn’t on purpose at all!”

He speaks so fast she barely catches everything, gesturing to accompany his story, and now he’s giving her unreasonably effective puppy eyes. The combination of it all is somewhere in the miracle zone between annoying and oddly charming (closer to the latter) and Meryl feels her disposition shifting accordingly.

“Well, if that’s the case, you’ve definitely scared her off with fireworks for the night if not more,” she states and watches the man’s shoulders slump. “However, if she does come back, you’d have more chances in the future with a trap, rather than chasing her around the yard. If you want, I could help you set one up.”

Bright blue eyes widen almost comically as he gasps, clasping hands together, which is when she notices his left is curiously clad in black leather glove while the other is bare: “Really? You could?”

“Yes, I’ve written an article on it, so people would know how to set up traps for local TNRs,” she nods, confidently.

In return, she gets an almost blindingly bright smile from the blond. “That’s wonderful, miss! You're a reporter? Amazing! Would you like to come in? Oh, I forgot to introduce myself - my name’s Vash Saverem.” He fires it all off all the while opening the gate and gesturing an invite and extending hand for a shake, all of which Meryl accepts.

“Meryl Stryfe,” she says as he leads her further inside and realizes that despite everything, her headache has eased as if Vash has miraculously melted it with his overeager energy.

Maybe there is something to look forward to in the next year, after all.

#vashmeryl #vash x meryl #trigun #trigun stampede #my fic #rainy writes stuff

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soggyriceee · 2 years ago

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I Can't Hurt You ~ Ghost NSFW

[ mentions of gunshot wounds, anxiety, trauma and sex. plz like and lmk if there angsty type of stories interest anyone, have a good day <3 ]

It had been 6 weeks since you'd been shot. Once in the leg, once in the arm. For days you had thought you'd lose your arm and leg. All you could really remember was Simon yelling your name while blood covered his hands. Your blood. But, the base surgeons were some of the best and you were at home almost fully recovered. Your husband, Simon Riley, the man who unfortunately was leading that mission you'd suffered injury from, was always by your side. He was on e for giving you your space so having him everywhere you were at was new. But you loved it because the more you saw him and how caring he was towards literally only you, it made your heart flutter.

Ghost was a whole war criminal, why would he spend his time going to the store, getting flowers, cards, clothes gifts, all that stuff? Because he was so deeply in love with you, it was like his money and time quite literally belonged to you. He spent hours trying to learn to cook for you since you were glued to the bed.

" Tell me if it needs more salt." He demanded, towering over you as your sims started a house fire on your laptop screen. " Its good baby please stop bothering me now." You laughed, wiping some of the homemade pasta sauce from your lip. As much as he did annoy you, you couldn't ask him to really leave you alone.

He wasn't stupid, he knew that the whole happy persona you put on in front of him was fake. You were trying to act tough and brave for him. Independence was something you both had and in your eyes alone, it was embarrassing to be the first in the relationship to need help. Consistent help. Ghost was good at reassuring to you that he did not see you as weak, he actually saw you as brave, strong. " You survived two gun shot wounds at once lovie.. that makes you stronger than me." He whispered to her as you quietly sobbed in the hospital bed a few weeks back.

And this injury definitely caused some small bumps for you both. For example.. sex. It wasn't that it was different, it literally was not happening. Despite you being able to move almost all on your own, stairs were still a bit hard, he wouldn't touch you unless it was to help you. And as much as you loved how gentle and genuinely kind and caring he was for you, you needed a bit more. " Simon.." You'd whisper in his ear when it was close to your given bedtime. By Simon. "Yes my love? Do you need anything?" He asked, looking away from the news on your guys TV.

You moved to sit on his lap, struggling to raise your injured leg a bit. But you made it onto his lap successfully and with mi animal pain. But he sensed it immediately. " Lovie.." You shushed him and placed your arms around his neck. " I appreciate all the care you've been giving me.. but I need a bit more." You spoke softly, eyeing his lips. You began to move in but you could tell he began to panic, jolting his head back and hitting the bed frame. You looked up at him, your chest feeling like it just got shot this time. " I-i can't.. Im sorry." He had took you off his lap before standing and walking out the room and rubbing the back of his head.

It had been about a week since that encounter. It hurt you, and you definitely cried about it after. He ended up sleeping on the couch that night, but still coming every 30 to check on you, even when you were asleep. Neither of you really spoke about it. And you could assume thats what made the relationship more awkward now. While yes he did sleep in the bed again, and he was still taking care of you, the conversations were small and minimal. " He won't touch me Soap.. I don't know what to do. We used to have sex almost every day at least twice a day." You spoke into your phone as you looked up " How to Get My Husband To Have Sex With Me After Gunshot Wound". Almost no good articles came up. I mean, who really goes through this?

" Im sure he'll come around. I mean, he did see you literally almost die in his arms. You mean a lot to him and I think he's just terrified of hurting you more." He said through the speaker. He was on base, doing paperwork for the next mission. Another you and Ghost would be sitting out on. " Its been almost three months. Im practically healed... it just sucks because I feel like a..like a disease. He won't touch me in any way other than to help me. Even when I dont need it." You sighed.

Simon had gone to the store, grabbing you ice cream you had mentioned to yourself you wanted to get at some point and your positive other things to go along with it. Despite that awkward encounter he was still there to make you feel better. " He hasn't really said anything to me but you know how he is. Try talking to him again. I have to go, Price is calling." He said before hanging up abruptly. You sighed and looked around. You needed to get up and do.. something.

You moved your laptop to the side and began to stand. A minor pain stabbed your injured leg, causing a whimper of pain to leave your lips. As you opened the bedroom door, you heard Simon return into the house. " Lovie? Im home with that ice cream you wanted." He yelled from downstairs. You moved towards the stairs, gripping the handles and moving slowly. As your uninjured leg hit the bottom stair, your injured one again gave your a little trouble. "Shit" You squeaked, gripping the handle more. " Lovie?" He walked over swiftly to the stairs, dropping the ice cream and spoon that was in his hands. " What are you doing?! If you wanted to come down you should've waited for me to carry you down." He began to approach you but your hand hit his chest, stopping him. " I-i can do it mys-self." You grunted. Finally, your injured leg was on the same step as you. " You can't thats why your face is scrunched up in pain just let me help-" " GO AWAY! I dont need you here every two seconds simply just to help me. You won't do so much as cuddle with me let alone have sex with me. Im not made of glass im a human im your wife for crying out loud but you treat me l-like im not. leave me alone!" You screamed at him, tears welling in your eyes.

His face looked hurt, but also surprised. " L-lovie I just-" You cut him off by turning away, moving back up the stairs. He wanted to help you, but you had made it clear you wanted him to back off. You made it back up the one step and walked into the bedroom, slamming the door. You moved onto the bed, holding one out of the 10 stuffed animals Simon bought you and silently, again, cried into it. You felt bad, but at the same time you didn't. You were able to tell him finally how you felt. You heard his boots at the door, no matter how hard he tried to keep quiet. And he just stayed there. Listening to you cry but feeling too scared to say, or do anything.

The next morning you woke up and Simon wasn't there to wake you this time. You rubbed your eyes as the sun peaked into the room. " Simon..?" You asked, your voice a bit hoarse. You looked around and noticed a rectangular, long box at the end of the bed. You reached over and grabbed it.

Your right, ive been too overbearing. I'm sorry lovie..

You opened the box and inside was a cute lingerie set. It was with and pink, a little bow in the center of the bra. Your cheeks turned a bright red as you read the second note inside.

I hope you like it. I hope I see you in it soon <3

Just as you finished reading, Simon walked in the room. In his hands was a tray full of French toast, coffee and fruit. His eyes met yours, his big puppy eyes. " Oh I was.. expecting you to still be asleep." He chuckled softly, placing your breakfast on the night stand. " Im sorry for y-" For the first time in almost three months his lips touched yours. You gasped into the kiss, your heart going a 100 miles per hour. His hands snaked around your waist, pulling you up into him.

His lips yearned for yours. He slowly sat next to you, keeping your lips connected. You wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him just as passionately back. He broke away, sighing. " Dont apologize. You were right. And plus.." He right hand snaked up to your cheek, cupping it. " I've missed touching you like this." He whispered. His lips landed on yours again, this time a bit more passionately. You moaned into the kiss, a signal to him that you felt good. His free hand moved up your body, slowly. You had nothing on but his hoodie and some underwear. His favorite outfit of yours.

" Is this okay?" He asked against your lips. You nodded, smiling softly. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt genuinely happy. He smiled and gently pushed you down on the bed, fixing you a bit so that your head was on the pillow. He hovered over you but you could tell he was still nervous as ever. " You can touch me anywhere.. Simon. Im not hurt anymore." You said softly, looking into his worried eyes. " I know but.. w-what if I get too aggressive-" You took his hand from beside your head and smiled. " How about this. If im hurting, ill call out.. "strawberries." Then you'll know to stop." You suggested, smiling up at him still. He pursed his lips but nodded.

He leaned down, attaching his lips to your again. This time, with lust and desperation. You could tell how much you both missed each others touch. Your hands slid under his black hoodie, tracing every ab until you got to the top. He hummed at your soft fingers against his skin, breaking away from the kiss. He moved down to your neck, gently sucking your skin. His right hand slowly, like criminally slow, slid up your thigh, gripping it every now and then.

Your eyes fluttered closed, your bottom lip trapped under your top teeth. Small, quiet whimpers left your lips every time he'd suck your neck. He left behind big and small marks, red and purple mix. He pushed himself off your body a bit, smiling at his work. " You look beautiful my love.." He whispered. You blushed and looked down. You saw the tent in his sweats, his Calvin Klein boxers peaking through at the top. His hand gripped your chin, gently moving your head to look up at him. " Don't be shy." He smirked. His hand that was still on your thigh was now at your wet core, It was throbbing for him at this point. Desperate.

" Awh.. your so wet.. show me how deprived you are from my touch baby.." He whispered, his thumb moving in small circles exactly at your swollen clit. Your body jerked up, a small moan leaving your lips. You watched his hands, only turning you on more. He watched you, his eyes not telling you what he was feeling. You felt embarrassed and began to slowly cover your face. He growled and grabbed your hands, pinning them above your head. " What did I tell you? Dont be shy.. I dont wanna have to stop you from cumming baby.. especially if you deserve it." He said, slowly moving his eyes down your body.

You shook your head, grinding your hips against him more. " Awh baby your so fucking cute when you get desperate like this." He sighed. You felt his thumb stop moving and instead, two of his fingers pulling your soaked panties down for you. He tossed them off the bed, licking his lips at your exposed pussy. " Fuck.. I wish you'd yelled at me sooner my love.. its gonna be so hard trying to hold back." He said before pulling off his hoodie. He tossed it away, before grabbing your knees, spreading them apart.

Yes this was your husband, but after being celibate for three months, you were nervous. And he felt it. He looked at you from through your legs, smiling. " Let me take care of you.. you deserve it baby." He smiled, kissing your inner thigh. He kissed down, surely leaving marks on your thighs, before finally reaching your dripping pussy again. He kissed it, earning a desperate whine from you. He chuckled before sliding his tongue through your folds, a gasp coming from you.

He slowly spread your legs more far apart. " Am I hurting you?" He asked, looking at your injured leg. " No.. remember ill say strawberry if you do." You said, patting his head gently. He smiled and nodded before turning his attention back to your pussy. It was on full display for him. He placed his hands on your hips, moving you onto his tongue. His tongue immediately went to your aching clit, sucking it ever so gently. You let out a satisfied whimper, your eyes again fluttering closed. He worked his tongue on your clit, sucking it, kissing it. His hands definitely started to make bruises on your skin but you were happy with that. Because it felt like normal. Like the sex you both used to have.

" O-oh Simon~' You'd whimper below him, gripping his brown hair. Your knees tried to connect but he gently, still worried about hurting you, kept them apart. " Don't close your legs until im done with you." He said, his lips glossy with your juices. It was such a hot sight to see. it felt like you guys were teenagers all over. Horny and desperate. His lips went back to working on your pussy, sucking your clit perfectly. " Because you had been deprived of your regular orgasms, you felt this one building fast. And it was surely gonna hit hard.

Your legs began to shake and you began to let out pathetic, desperate whimpers. " Sim-Simon I f-feel it.. shit." You cried out, gripping his hair and the sheets. He only moved his tongue faster, pulling you onto his face more. He was desperate. You could tell. He even began to moan against your pussy, looking up at you. " Thats it baby.. feel good for me. You deserve it." He said against your pussy, his middle and ring finger sliding in to help his tongue out. " Cum on my fucking face." he growled, moving his fingers faster.

His tongue moved with his fingers and quickly, you felt your body release its high. Your whole body began to shake, tears forming at the corners of your eyes. He whimpered quietly as he devoured every last drop of your cum. " Fuck baby.." He whimpered against your pussy as your body still jerked from the intensity of your orgasm. He moved his lips slowly against your pussy, sighing. He eventually sat up, his lips, nose and chin completely covered in your juices.

" You did amazing my love. Im so proud." He said, smiling down at you. You were out of breath, your eyes still shut. You felt him kiss your neck before your lips. " Do you want to continue baby? I can take care of myself. I want you to feel rested-" You pulled him down by the collar, your lips smashing onto his. He moaned into the kiss, smiling. " Yes.. I want to continue." You said after pulling away from him.

He kissed your cheeks before standing from the bed, pulling his pants down. His dick was huge. But, after three months of nothing, not even self pleasure, his dick looked..bigger. You had to admit, it made you a bit nervous. You watched as he pulled his boxers down, his whole body exposed in front of you. You quickly felt your clit throbbing all over as your eyes looked at every part of his body. " Are you positive you want this my love?" He asked, crawling back on the bed with you. He hovered over you, looking at your naked body as well.

" I swear Simon.. this is what I want." You said, looking up at him. He nodded before placing a soft but passionate kiss on your lips again. You kissed back as you felt him position himself at your entrance. " Just.. take my hand. And squeeze as hard as you want if it hurts." You nodded up at him. Despite how sex deprived you both were, how desperate, he still was patient and careful with you. He didn't want to do anything other than take care of you. " Okay.." He breathed out. Slowly, you felt him push into you. By the time his tip was in, you had already felt how thick he really was. He continued until he felt your hand grip him hard. He stopped.

" A..are you okay?" He breathed out, looking into your eyes. He was a little more than halfway in you by now and he felt like he could cum just off that alone. " I just.. need to get u-used to the feeling." You said, your other hand gripping his forearm. He nodded, kissing your cheek, then ear then neck. You loved his caring and gentle side. If you weren't injured, he'd probably be a bit less gentle, but still respectful of your needs.

" You can keep going." You smiled up at him after a minuet or so. " Are you positive?" He asked, moving his lips away from your breasts, again leaving behind more red and purple marks. You nodded and slowly, he pushed the rest of himself in. You both let out a gasp, his balls hitting the bottom of your ass as he went all the way in. " Fuck." He groaned before moving his hips back and forth slowly. With each thrust, a whimper left your lips. His head fell in the crook of your neck, slowly his hips picking up the pace.

You didnt have to ask for anything. He could read your body and what it was that you needed easily. You wanted him to go faster? He was already doing it before you moved your lips to ask. Your nails dug into his back, his hips now slamming into yours. " Yes Simon! y-your fucking me so well." You moaned, both of you not caring if your neighbors heard your moans. His hand slipped around your neck, his eyes hooded. " Yea? I am baby? Is my dick making you go.. fucking crazy?" He moaned, his free hand on your hip.

You whimpered and nodded, your body jolting up with each thrust of his. " U-Use your words..lemme hear that pretty voice." He whispered into your ear, slamming his hips into yours. You couldn't feel any pain. It was like all you needed was him fucking you silly. " I-i'm crazy..Im crazy for y...your dick Simon." You whimpered, barely able to make out words. He chuckled and kept his hand on your neck, moving at the same consistent pace.

Above you, his eyes were closed, squeezed shut matter of fact. His thrusts began to become a bit inconsistent, signaling to you he was close. " Baby.. I-ive missed this.. this pussy so much.. your gonna make..me fill you up." He groaned, his grip on you tightening. "Your gonna take.. all my cum to. Every..last..drop." He said, slamming his hips into yours with every word. You felt your stomach start to cramp and your legs shake. Both of you slowly became louder with your moans, your hands resting on his chest.

You could feel his arms wrap around your waist, hugging you as his body rested on top of you. His thrusts got sloppy, and he at this point, was a whimpering mess. " Oh baby.. im gonna..im gonna cum." he mumbled into your boobs. You tried to tell him the same but you again, felt your high wash over you. Your whole body froze, your vision weirdly went white for a quick 5 seconds. You didnt even realize Simon slamming into you fast, chasing his high. "F-fuck!" You felt his warm cum shoot into you, his body jerking as he tried to stay on top of you. But he failed, collapsing on top of you.

" s-shit.. Simon." you moaned, closing your eyes. His chest rose and fell fast, holding you tight as his cum slowly seeped out of you. He gently pushed himself back into you, wanting all of his cum stuffed into you. " I know baby.." he said, his voice tired.

both of you stayed like this for about 10 minuets. he eventually pulled out, watching your body react. " Are you hurt?" He asked, finally realizing his grip on your hips left finger marks. You smiled and shook your head. " I feel the best ive felt in three months baby.. thank you." You whispered, smiling up at him. He nodded before sliding off the bed. " I know.. I said I wanted to see you in this but. You looked beautiful and sexy regardless." He smiled before placing the box on the floor. You sat up, stretching.

" Lets shower and eat breakfast. We can go shopping. I want today tp be everything you want." He said as he lifted you up bridal style, carrying you to the bathroom. " I love you Simon.." You whispered, watching him as he carried you. He smiled and kissed your nose. " I love you more my love.. ill love you no matter what."

the end

#ghost #simon riley #cod x you #ghostcod #call of duty x reader #ghost x you #Simon Riley x you

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wordy-little-witch · 8 months ago

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From this post

Tldr: transfemme buggy and the quaking of the seas

I have an absolutely unhealthy obsession with fantasy science. I have an unhealthy obsession for one piece. Mix em together and you get this:

Devil Fruits are so freaking weird man. They are supernatural, by common story telling throughout the series, and then you find out they can be replicated through science. You can make whole ass test tube babies with those powers by mixing source DNA and Lunarian DNA. The accessibility to research on Devil Fruits is lacking, and I do whole heartedly believe that's due to the world government. But we DO know some specific things.

Zoans, Logias and Paramecias are the three categories, then they have sub categories. Zoans can awaken. But can Logias? Can Paramecias? Are some Devil Fruits mislabeled due to lack of research or misinformation? It's basically highly unusual biochemistry.

I already believe whole heartedly that Buggy has some knowledge of medicine - she's not a doctor by any means, but she knows enough to take care of some simple to moderate concerns. Nurse practitioner, basically.

I feel like Buggy, no longer drowning the drsphoria-she-didn't-realize-she-had, would be open to exploring the world and being as curious and fascinated as she damn well pleases.

It starts, as many things do in her life, with something learned from or about a certain man in a straw hat. First Roger, then Shanks, now Luffy - strawhatted monsters plague her life. But this monster has done something even Roger and Shanks deemed dangerous - he mad her curious.

The tales of what happened in Wano spread like wildfire. The Strawhats learn about Cross Guild. Cross Guild learns about them not too long after. And Buggy pauses when Crocodile laughs his distinctive way as he reads a passage from the article in the news.

Paramecias do not allow for transformation. She knows this. She researched Devil Fruits near obsessively after the Pineapple Incident to cope with the new fear and then a genuine fascination. She has read damn near every available document on Devil Fruits in the Cardinal Seas and Grandline. She knows about Devil Fruits.

Luffy's Devil Fruit turns everyone on its head. A normal person might chalk it up to him being a D, might say that that little spitfire doesn't follow logic in any capacity; Buggy knows better.

Buggy knows because she is a D herself, something she only recently announced, by blood and bond both. Buggy knows Luffy is not an idiot, that he does follow his own logic, and she knows that that has nothing to do with his personal logic.

Buggy knows this, and Buggy knows Devil Fruits, and now Buggy is Thinking.

She quickly comes to a few hypotheses.

1) Luffy's Devil Fruit is either not a paramecia at all, which would mean the information available has been altered, changed or purposefully misrepresented.

2) The study on Devil Fruits only goes so far - she knows this specially to be true, given how she herself had so many questions that have yet to be answered regarding the topic. If that is the case, Luffy may well have simply harnessed an otherwise unaddressed or undiscovered aspect of his Fruit specifically or Fruits in general.

2B) if Luffy's Devil Fruit can change his surroundings, can Awaken like a Zoan, then could any Fruit do that? Could Logias? Could all Paramecias? Could hers-?

And she stops.

Buggy's got a history of pyromania, bordering on terrorism ((and she'll argue those semantics another time, the WG is so annoying-)). She loves a good bomb, a good explosion, she adores making her bombs and updating weapons and studying chemistry.

She also was a Warlord, brief as it was, and absolutely snooped around the marine headquarters. The schematics and information on their infamous Buster Calls was sparse, she'd give them that, but it only took her three meetings to get a good grasp on it all. The concept was good, she'd admit that, but it was wild, untamed, unrefined. It was simply a glorified firework meets cannon ball meets biochemical warfare.

But it had given her Ideas.

Marines do their schematics so oddly, but she could appreciate a change in perspective, especially when it also inspired her.

Explosions are chemicals, are catalysts, are combustion - and combustion is fission, is fusion, is expansive.

If she could find a way to cause the fission and fusion on her specific terms, could isolate, map, and replicate the event on command, it could revolutionize everything.

She's had the thought in mind for a while prior to this, but the revelation regarding Luffy, Devil Fruits and the woeful lack of research and study there leaves her with a fire in her best.

Especially since Buggy D Clown, Emperor and Captain and Chairwoman, has the Chop Chop Fruit.

She can split and reassemble at will.

She can control the fissures and fusions of her body.

How deep, how small, can that control go? Is there a set area around her? It works on her clothes. Why does it work on her clothes? Is there a range already? Can she control it? Can she expand it?

Can she impose it on other things?

Could Buggy actually make a seas damned mega bomb with her Devil Fruit?

That doesn't even begin on her endless thoughts on others. Does Alvida have a range? Can she impose her ability elsewhere? It supposedly worked on her weight, but that's not friction - what's up with that? Is it internal? Would blunt force trauma hurt her? Could blades? If it slips OFF, could things slip THROUGH?

And Galdino, his abilities are incredible. But it's a Paramecia, isn't it? Why isn't it a Logia? Is it because of the nature of the substance? He's a 'human candle' as he so aptly put it, but what's the limit? What's the capacity? What does that mean?

On that front, what about Crocodile? Sand is a nifty power, yes, but rather limited on the open sea without an additional source. She has no doubt he's deft with it, but could there be more to it than she knows? Could there be more than he knows? Could a Logia Awaken? What would that look like?

Buggy is a Flashy Fool, the Genius Jester, but right now, she is plain old Buggy - curious, excited and itching to experiment.

She asks questions - simple ones, odd ones, gathers her data as best she can. She will not use her friends as guinea pigs, she refuses, but she's going to compile, record, and analyze everything until she has a chance to go a little science.

She's a pirate, her morals are skewed, but she will not harm innocent, good people.

Everyone else is fair game.

And with a curious clown diving into a field of research so often controlled by the Marines, it brings the expanse of misinformation, control of knowledge, and fascist tendencies to glaring light.

And Buggy the Bombastic Clown lives up to her name in unexpected ways.

The Seas learn to fear when she holds up a hand, poses her finger to snap, and smiles. Your fate is sealed, more often than not, when blood red lips stretch and damn near coo, "Boom~".

And when some information about Pluton cones to light? Well.

She's got a fascinating option to power this behemoth of a war ship. Turns out keeping the Clown in the Guild was the best decision Crocodile could have hoped for.

Buggy takes the world by storm and it turns out being a war ship's power cell isn't even the biggest thing she discovers.

#buggy the clown #transfem buggy #buggy headcanons #op au #pluton one piece #cross guild polycule #competent buggy #i LOVE HER SO MUCH

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nateconnolly · 1 year ago

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Hozier Reading List of Free Texts You Can Finish in Less Than A Week

Another Hozier reading list is floating around the Internet, and it’s very thorough. Huge respect to @notmysophie for putting that together, they put in a lot of effort and research and it really shows. This is an alternative reading list for people who are too busy or tired to read all the entries on a complete list of Hozier’s literary influences. This list is incomplete—even after finishing it, there will be some very prominent literary references in Hozier’s music that might go over your head. But this will definitely help you appreciate the depth of thought in his songs, and if you read just five pages a night, you’ll be able to finish this reading list in less than one week.

ONE: ICARUS

Hozier puts the myth of Icarus to song in I, Carrion. You could very easily argue that Sunlight is also a response to Icarus. Many classical writers have told or mentioned his story, but I’ll let my own personal tastes shape this list, and recommend Ovid’s Metamorphoses. He tells the story of Icarus in Chapter 8 Lines 183–235. If you can afford it, I love the Charles Martin translation. You could consult the free Brookes More translation, or the one by A. S. Kline. Remember, you don't have to read the whole chapter--just find the part named "Daedalus and Icarus"

TWO: DOOMSDAY CLOCK

The title track Wasteland, Baby! is such a gentle love ballad, I almost have trouble remembering it’s about the apocalypse. Wasteland, Baby! finds hope and love in the face of annihilation. Hozier wrote this song as a direct response to the Doomsday Clock moving two minutes in 2018, one year before the album was released.

THREE: GENESIS 1-3

I also recommend reading Genesis Chapters 1-3. You’re probably familiar with the plot, but I think From Eden is such an ingenious twist on the familiar story that you’ll appreciate it even more after consulting the original. Hozier takes the symbols of Genesis 1-3 and uses them to make his own radically different point. The stories of Eden also come up in Be.

My favorite translation is by Robert Alter, but it’s currently not free online, so you might want to check out the Sefaria translation or the New King James Version (NKJV), both of which manage to capture the beauty of Genesis without becoming difficult for the average English reader. The King James Version (KJV) is also roughly the same level of difficulty as a Shakespeare play. I definitely think the KJV is beautiful, but at the end of a long hard day, you might be better off with the Sefaria, the NKJV, the NIV, or the NRSV. You can Google “Genesis 1” followed by any of those names/abbreviations, and you’ll find it right away.

FOUR: A MODEST PROPOSAL

Jonathan Swift’s A Modest Proposal, written in 1729, might be the most gutting satire in history. UCLA students put together a very thorough explanation of the economic suffering and the proposed “solutions” that inspired Swift. References to A Modest Proposal form the skeleton of Hozier’s Eat Your Young.

FIVE: SEAMUS HEANEY

Before learning about Seamus Heaney, you’ll need some background information on the Troubles. I recommend this National Geographic article. I also recommend looking through these Chris Steele Perkins photographs of life during the Troubles.

During the Troubles, Heaney wrote a series of poems about bog bodies. His poetry directly inspired the corpse imagery in Work Song, Like Real People Do, and In a Week.

Disclaimer: I cannot read Hebrew or Latin. I am evaluating these translations solely by 1) how difficult they are to read and 2) how beautiful they sound. I cannot independently review them for accuracy. Just know that all the translations I’ve listed are widely respected among academics and/or religious leaders.

Anyways if you liked reading this go check out my Substack where I originally posted it.

#hozier #reading lists #original post

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houseofbrat · 1 month ago

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The excuses have arrived right on time…🤡

When has Duchess Dolittle ever put the Royal Family first? Ever?

The article is behind a paywall but I can imagine it’s the usual of “she’s the only MOTHER in the world to get cancer, she shouldn’t be expected to do any duties besides Wimbledon, Trooping and other photo ops that are not patronages or any real work.” Maybe there’s even a “PS: could Charles just hurry up and die or abdicate so we can get the Kween Saint Cathy we all deserve”. 🫠

The version I came across didn't have a paywall.

[archive link]

This whole article is the same shit we've been hearing about since last June. It's basically this:

Becky English reports:

Now, as she prepares to celebrate her 43rd birthday on Thursday – quietly with family and friends (her children start back at school the day before) – there will be much for the Princess to process, as well as to be thankful for. She has, I am told, returned to doing the school drop-off, attending sports fixtures, taking the children to play dates and tennis lessons and even going back to the gym to build up her strength. And it will no doubt be of comfort to know how universally popular she remains, despite her enforced absence from public life for much of last year.

Kate can go to the gym & do the school run, but she will not do any engagements this month. Got it?

However, her ordeal over the past 12 months has also inspired Catherine (and, of course, William) to steer a new course, I understand, in 2025 and beyond – one that puts greater emphasis on balancing the importance of their family with the family. That's not to suggest either are any less committed to their public duties, and the number of public engagements we see from here on will continue to slowly increase. It's just that the Princess simply won't be going back to work in the same way as before, insiders say.

When have they ever NOT put the importance on THEIR family?!

They take 20 WEEKS OF VACATION PER YEAR!!

Kate's not "going back to work in the same way as before," eh?

Where have I heard that before? Oh yeah...

That's from JUNE 2024. More than six months ago.

She doesn't want to work, but she doesn't want to divorce her husband.

All of the perks, none of the work.

To understand why events have prompted a subtle, but significant, adjustment in thinking, it is important to cast your mind back to this time last year. Exactly a week after her birthday, Catherine was admitted, amid huge public shock, to hospital for what has only ever been officially described as 'planned abdominal surgery'. While it is true that her two-week hospital stay was not as a result of being rushed to the London Clinic as an emergency case, no one should underestimate the seriousness of her surgery, which would have required many months of recuperation, I am told.

"What has only ever been officially described as 'planned abdominal surgery.'" That is some interesting word smithing, Becky. It's as if you know that's not the real story but won't come out and say the truth about what really happened. Including a statement about "not as a result of being rushed to the London Clinic as an emergency case," seems like Kate really WAS rushed to the London Clinic, but KP is never going to be truthful, are they? I wonder what else KP isn't telling the public that they should?

As a result, the Princess was advised to undertake a course of preventative chemotherapy, as soon as she was strong enough. Catherine has been admirably open about the effect it has wrought on her, talking about the 'complex, scary and unpredictable' nature of her treatment and, above anything, her and William's desperation to find a way to protect their children as much as possible. 'It's impossible to go through that kind of trauma and not to be changed as a person,' friends agree. And while the Princess may be in a significantly more privileged position than many cancer patients in terms of her care and financial security, a well-placed source stresses: 'There's no hierarchy on the sheer terror of being told you have cancer, particularly when you have a young family you need to protect.'

"Admirably open"?! Is that what we're calling Kate's "not out of the woods yet" statement from June? Or her woodland nymph video last September? Both?

'It's impossible to go through that kind of trauma and not to be changed as a person,' friends agree.

Actually, that sounds more like someone who had a suicide attempt and lived than someone who had "planned abdominal surgery," as KP is still calling it, and later had "preventative chemotherapy" for "pre-cancerous cells."

That it came at a time when the King was undergoing his own cancer treatment made the situation all the more challenging for the couple. Fortunately, the monarch's condition was caught early and, while his treatment is still ongoing, doctors are incredibly pleased with his progress. But in those early, uncertain days, the Prince and Princess were also forced to consider the possibility of acceding to the throne far earlier than expected, which would have huge ramifications for them as a family.

Interesting how King Charles is still undergoing treatment, yet Kate's "treatment" was finished by early September at the latest. Yet, excuses must be made for why Kate cannot and WILL NOT do royal duties while an elderly man will go out in public and do his job on a regular basis. Interesting how that works...

Becky continues:

All this is why, even though she is making great strides in her recovery, we shouldn't expect to see the Princess returning to full-time royal duties any time soon, I have been told by multiple insiders. A royal source confirms: 'There is no huge reset button that's going to be hit in January. 'What we will actually see is a slow continuation of the Princess balancing her recovery and her public-facing duties, as she outlined back in September [when she warned her recovery was still ongoing despite having completed her chemotherapy].

So Kate isn't going to do engagements this month. I bet I have that right. Probably not next month either.

'Cancer impacts on your perspective, and what you have seen in the decisions they have made over the last year is that family and their children continue to be at the centre of their universe. Both Their Royal Highnesses have a strong commitment to duty, service and using their platform for good. 'But what they are working on is ways they can balance themselves as parents with being the Prince and Princess of Wales.' So how will this take shape?

20 WEEKS OF VACATION PER YEAR.

That's how this is going to go. Most people can only dream of 6 weeks or maybe even 8 weeks. Hell, there are people in the US with cancer who don't even get TWO!

In the Princess's case, as well as a slow return to full-time public duties, there are no plans – yet – for any full-scale foreign royal tour – although it is not denied she may join her husband on one short trip, should she feel up to it. For his part, William will undertake a 'handful' of solo foreign visits in the coming months, another sign of Catherine's progress. Notably, however, they are likely to be shorter two- or three-day visits (until his next big Earthshot event in South America in November), particularly in comparison with the long tours of yesteryear. 'Everyone is adjusting the dial,' explains a source, meaning the Waleses will strive to not be away from home extensively. As for Catherine, her 'early years' work – her campaign to promote the importance of the first five years of a child's development – is still her 'number one' priority and will continue to be a key theme of everything she does.

William is going to do solo foreign visits yet can't go to DC for a state funeral. Uh huh. Wake me when that "handful" of foreign visits happen that aren't related to his pet projects.

They have a full-time nanny plus grandparents, yet can't be away from home long. Must continue the helicopter parenting at full speed.

What has Kate done for The Early Years recently? A meeting or two? And she's going to have more meetings this year? What a punishing schedule!

Although we may not see her in public as much as we did before for the foreseeable future, there is no doubt that she is still very much involved behind the scenes and working on long-term projects. 'She continues to work closely with her team at Kensington Palace and the Centre for Early Childhood', a source adds. She is also expected to attend key royal events such as Trooping The Colour and The Cenotaph as she did last year, for example. 'It's about pace,' a source adds. 'I think she would also prefer to confirm only when she is certain she can attend events, rather than get anyone's hopes up and then have to pull out.'

Basically we're not going to get proof of life of Kate until she does the Easter walk this year? Am I right? Then Trooping after that. Won't do much of anything in between due to her punishing "recovery" work schedule.

What does her staff do these days? Sounds like the easiest job ever. Just clock in. Boss has no public work. Just re-arrange her closet. Collect paycheck. Anyone could do it! Except for the people who answer the mail and interact with the plebes. Those people are still working.

This approach is also in part due to the unedifying and, at times, downright cruel social media and public commentary around her illness in the first half of last year when, in the words of one insider, 'the world just went mad'. It upset – and angered – the couple more than many realise. And it has made them even more determined to continue to tell 'their story on their own terms'. As a result, they have massively beefed up their own media team, employing in-house videographers and photographers and working with freelance filmmakers such as Will Warr (who shot the much- talked-about family video released in September).

Well, well, well...

There we have it. Public figures get public criticism, but Will & Kate can't handle it. We all get feedback at our jobs, but Will & Kate aren't interested in anything that doesn't portray them as the most perfect angels ever.

Or perhaps William is the only one who can't handle realistic feedback. Kate obviously isn't doing anything, even though she has a private secretary. What does he do? Assist in the closet arranging? After all, it's William who is the royal and is the primary principal at KP.

I recall Tina Brown's comment from last year: "In light of all this, William’s comment that his plans for a caring, sharing monarchy also include “throw(ing) some empathy in there” made him sound like a performative pinhead. In happier years, it was the irreverent Harry (or Harold as William lugubriously used to call him) who could tease the Prince of Wales and take him down a peg. There are too many people around William now who, in Kara Swisher’s inimitable phrase about those who live in a gilded bubble, “lick him up and down all day.”

Yup. William should have fired his comms chief, Lee Thompson, last year, but it seems that man is still employed, even though Thompson has fucked up their public reputations. William is still too naive and dumb to fire him.

Instead, William is doubling down on the approach of doing things only on social media. Hence, the hiring of more videographers and photographers. Seems William loves those end of the month Instagram reels that showcases William not doing much of anything. Doubling down on producing propaganda that William is the bestest royal there ever was, while his wife goes to the gym and does the school run.

It's shaping up to be two adults--Will & Kate--who can't appear in public because they're too afraid of the public and any criticism. Bodes well for their futures. I'm sure there's no scandal coming around the corner for them to avoid interacting with normal folks. Nothing that they've misled the public about.

Becky continues:

It has also hardened the Princess's resolve not to allow her recovery to be blown off course by gossip and speculation. This is particularly with an eye on her much-talked-about Mother's Day photograph of her with her three children, which triggered a slew of conspiracy theories after a number of photo agencies retracted it following concern over what were unwise but largely harmless edits to the image. In a statement, Catherine later admitted to carrying these out: 'Like many amateur photographers, I do occasionally experiment with editing.' One who knows her well says: 'She will do what is right for her, and particularly her family, every time, regardless of what anyone says. She is calmly determined.'

Oh, is cancer now caused "by gossip and speculation"? I don't recall any health authority stating that. But people with mental health problems often have to worry about what people say to them. If you've had a mental breakdown and attempted suicide, then I can see how you can't read the papers and interact with normal people and need to function in your own little bubble for a few years.

"She will do what is right for her, and particularly her family, every time, regardless of what anyone says. She is calmly determined.'

Yes, and I'm sure that's why Charles awarded Kate the Order of the Companions of Honour. Royal shade to the last drop.

However, sources are at pains to make clear that her recovery is very much on an upwards trajectory and all are hoping for 'much more normality' in 2025. 'I think anyone who saw her at the carol service last month, which was a lovely bookend to what has been a horribly difficult year, was so pleased to see her back and could see for themselves how much better she was,' a source adds. 'It was clear she was also happy to be back doing the things she loves. She is determined to make what she does count.'

Because not doing royal duties is fulfilling the "much more normality" requirement. Sure. Uh huh.

Another positive sign is the release of their first royal warrants, I understand. Warrants are a mark of goods and services to a senior member of the Royal Family and are highly coveted as a stamp of excellence, providing a significant trading advantage on the UK and global stage. Only senior royals are permitted to grant them, and there has been much debate as to whether the new Prince and Princess of Wales would follow suit, not least because any association with Catherine – who has proved herself to be one of the world's most powerful influencers (albeit not one who ever personally profits from it) – would offer grantees unrivalled cachet.

You mean William's royal warrants? NO Princess of Wales has EVER issued royal warrants. Not Diana. Not Camilla, Not Mary. Not Alexandra.

The monarch determines who is allowed to issue royal warrants. Haven't seen Charles make a declaration that Kate will get to issue warrants on her own. Given Kate's honor last April with the Companions of Honour, I'd say there's no way in hell that Charles is going to allow Kate to do that. Not when Kate has clearly RETIRED from royal duties.

But the Kensington Palace comms team is going to portray William's royal warrants as "joint warrants" to make sure everyone knows that Will & Kate are STILL MARRIED! They're still a TEAM! Whatever they have to do to make people think Will & Kate aren't covertly separated, and she hasn't ditched his ass in private.

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