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ineffable-opinions · 3 months

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MAME & BL Literacy Part 1

Another MAME show is airing and I thought it was good time to discuss what makes that author controversial.

As usual, critiques and corrections are welcome.

For those who don’t know MAME is a unique Thai BL creator. I have discussed in a previous post (that can be found here and here) how Thai BL is lacking in BL literacies. MAME is one of the exceptions. This is because:

she is a BL author & hence, one of the creators of BL literacies

she studied BL and its production academically [you can find her research output by searching her name: อรวรรณ วิชญวรรณกุล]

then she started producing live action BL.

In an industry which is lacking in BL literacies, what she brings to the table is fu-culture (BL fan culture) in all its glory. Unfortunately, the live action audience who are fans of sweet BL, have a hard time adjusting.

This is an exploration of response to her works, starting with the review of Love by Chance @waitmyturtles discussing all the ships in that series: AePete, TinCan, TarTum and KengklaTechno. This pretty much ties up what I identify as the first issue with BL literacies deficiency and MAME’s knowledge.

Here are some typical narrative progressions for a (Japanese) BL:

あまあま – sweet

ユニーク – unique

シリアス – serious

邪道 – evil road (Jadō)

王道 - royal road (odo)

Any theme/one-line plot can choose to take any of these narrative progressions. Moreover, Thai BL usually originates online which allows for innovation in narrative progression.

AePete

In Love by Chance AePete follows the typical sweet BL narrative progression. Sweet BL is characterised by an overall sweet flavor (characters, mainly the pairing, would be sweet in behaviour and motivation) and relationship progression is pretty smooth. This is the narrative progression that GMMTV sticks to. I have discussed their reasons as well as why it might not be a good thing in the long run here.

KengklaTechno

Their story follows jado narrative progression.

Quick note about Jado BL & Kengkla as a kichiku seme

One or more characters in a ship being emotional aggressors, physical abusers, sexual predators or outright villains is a very common trope in BL genre. These are popular sub-types (most notable: brute kichiku 鬼畜) of seme/uke/riba with these specific attributes and they have dedicated fans who thoroughly enjoy such characterizations. But these are clearly not everyone’s cup of tea. Some BL fans find these themes unbearable. That is why GMMTV and other BL live-action producers who don’t want to upset any of their audience members usually:

avoid such characterizations all together especially with sweet narrative progression

tries to soften such characters into more universally palatable forms

tries to redeem those characters by getting rid of those with odo – this is what currently airing My Stand-In would do.

make them villains – never making them the protagonists who gets any kind of happy ending

This is done not to trouble the average audience’s worldview (世界観) and is clearly a low effort and low skill (in terms of BL literacies) approach. But since a lot of audience don’t appreciate villain-like characterization, it is clearly low risk, no chance of a backlash from angry audience and the best method for assured money making.

Occasionally BL live-action producers venture into the risky terrains, especially with jado. The Japanese does it a lot, usually in movie format. China and Taiwan also delve into jado fairly regularly. But live action Thai BL seldom does anything commercially dangerous.

In a jado BL, a character might do terrible things and manipulate the other character(s) in the ship. But won’t feel remorse, apologize and improve for better. This is a violation of the expectation placed on characters on sweet narrative progression. Sweet BL audience do not expect characters in a ship to be anything but good to each other, especially after they have become a couple. While audience don’t mind characters making mistakes, in this narrative progression audience also expect characters to learn from their mistakes and to grow closer by earning and giving forgiveness.

In jado BL that focuses on characters being villains, there are no such expectations. These BL work within the confines of their own worldview which don’t necessarily match with our IRL worldview. Characters are allowed to act in ways that goes against our everyday perception of what is right and what is wrong. Neither the characters nor the audience expect the characters to right their wrong, to apologize or to get punished, through judicial procedure or otherwise. Happy endings are not after reparations and resolution of issues, it would be in spite of those. Bad endings aren’t necessarily punishments for bad actions committed throughout the narrative, that’s just the ending of that story. Unlike with the BL with sweet narrative progression, these BL are not necessarily stories of two or more guys falling in love. Neither is their love (if at all there is love) expected to be healthy and wholesome. (It can be wholesome but it is just as well if it is not.) There are expectations from such narrative progressions too and resolution to most issues aren’t among those expectations. Clearly not everyone’s cup of tea, especially if they expect BL to be didactic like fables.

Problem getting papered over is the expected approach in jado. When characters get together/get back together with “problems” never really dealt with, it is proper meriba (merry bad ending). Plain bad ending where there is no resolution is also typical in jado BL.

Moreover, it is difficult to sell BL with jado and other narrative progressions. It becomes even more difficult to sell branded pairings when the characters they play are not impeccable. It is unlikely that actors playing bad guys can sell products for advertisers. (Imagine the characters from The Effect being in ads together!) It is even more unlikely that fans would go broke behind wicked characters and would want to attend fan-meetings and concerts featuring them in some way.

Kengkla is two-faced and an excellent yandere. He appears to be a cute and innocent junior in front of Techno. Audience also gets to see him in Machiavellian mode. This is something that Techno doesn’t have access to, at least in Love by Chance. Techno’s brother is his facilitator in the narrative, which in turn makes him two-faced too. Techno is not omniscient and Kengkla manages to trap him. And that’s where Love by Chance ends.

TarTum

There pairing is an excellent example of MAME’s skilled employment of BL literacies. TarTum is a sweet BL, complicated by them being step-brothers. While their pairing is barely odo, Tum as a character has a complicated odo progression. Horrors from his past haunts him. The journey is going to be complicated. It won’t be linear. There would be slip up on his part and that of others. But there’s light at the end of the tunnel. Those who love odo do so because of the pleasurable pay off, much more than sweet BL. It is a rollercoaster, and that’s why fans like it.

TinCan

This is another pairing with sweet narrative progression but with a rare dynamic: weak seme x weak uke, i.e., neither of them is strong in their pursuit. This is a notoriously tough dynamic to write, so much so that there are relatively few BL with this dynamic.

Multiple Pairings in a Piece

This is something I personally appreciate a lot. It is not often that we get a piece with different pairing with different types of narrative progressions. Authors choose this method and build universes so that they can reach the biggest audience.

A lot of people enjoyed Love by Chance because they could enjoy AePete. While I understand, I don’t relate to that. AePete was my least favourite pairing among them all. I enjoy dangerous characterizations over subdued ones and prefer a meriba over a happy ending. While there are plenty of BL media with those, they are rare in live action. In my first watch, I was constantly tempted to find fan-edits of every couple other than AePete. So, what is time wasted for some is actually really enjoyable moments for another. MAME gets that and I appreciate her for that.

Queerness, heterosexism and ‘Asian’ culture

@waitmyturtles also discusses “a kind of macro cishet perspective on AePete relationship” in relation to “Ae’s randiness and jealous tendencies” and Pete’s response or lack thereof as well as “Ae not being able to take Pete’s help, and Ae’s tendency towards stereotypically masculine POVs and behaviors” tied to “MAME’s story structure here is based in Asian cultural homophobia, in stereotypes of how the queer community should act by way of societal expectations in Asia.”

To unravel that:

I don’t know what “cishet perspective” means in relation to AePete, a pairing consisting of two androphilic male characters. I also don’t know what were the expectations on Ae and Pete in terms of randiness and jealousy.

More interesting I think is the question underlying the statement about Ae’s performance of “stereotypically masculine POVs and behaviors”. Now, what does that mean? In order to understand that it is important to figure out which type(s) of masculinity Ae would subscribe to based on his class, ethnicity and where he comes from (Thai masculinities show considerable variation with location). It will be meaningful to evaluate Ae’s behaviour with respect to: a) what he thinks is the “manly” thing to do b) what Pete does

Take “Ae not being able to take Pete’s help” for example. In their 2021 paper ภาพแทนชายรักชายในนวนิยายยาโออิ เรื่อง รักนี้บังเอิญคือคุณ [The Representation of Homosexual Men in the Yaoi Novel: My Accidental Love Is You] Phuwadech Doungmanee, Panunda Lerlertyuttitham & Natthanai Prasannam goes deep into this:

MAME employs four typical prejudices against male homosexuality perpetuated within the Thai society to create conflicts within the plot: 1) male homosexuality unacceptably deviates from the social norms 2) male homosexuality must not be “out” 3) male homosexuality brings disappointment and shame to the family, and 4) male homosexuality cannot earn true love; love must be purchased instead.

Pete trying to purchase Ae’s love is implied when he is offering ‘help’. This is a stereotypically masculine behaviour and an elitist one at that. As with other stereotypes listed above, this one too gets treated well (with Ae’s refusal to accept) even thought it might not seem so from a Western heterosexist lens.

Along with discursive clashes challenging earlier beliefs, those who hold the prejudices tend to be judged by poetic justice. The author thus educates the society and reading public on alternatives views in relation to male homosexuality. (source: The Representation of Homosexual Men in the Yaoi Novel: My Accidental Love Is You)

There is no one Asian culture. Here are the three popular types of masculinities in Thailand (these are very different from Malayali and Tamil masculinities I am personally familiar with):

Monk

secular male - chaai chatri (ชายชาตรี): embodies typical masculine features such as ‘authority, courage, self-assurance, physical and emotional strength, and sexual prowess’ as well as someone who ‘would under normal circumstances control his sexuality as much as possible and be loyal to his family.’

lower-middle-class - nak leng (นักเลง): ‘a man who is brave, daring, risk-taking but also fair.’ In more recent decade: ‘a man who is tough, loyal to allies and a playboy with numerous sexual affairs.’

Both Ae and Pete are very masculine in very different forms. MAME is not only familiar with different forms of masculinities and femininities, and their region-specific variations, but also plays around with it a lot. The male femininity is also achieved in both the characters in a similar manner. All of this might easily escape the audience members who have limited understanding of Thai masculinities and femininities.

Pete isn’t shown to be unsettled by Ae’s randiness because it is an interplay of two different masculinities done with grace. Pete not only plays the polished, prince-role to a kunlasatree (กุลสต กุ รี; a stereotypical good woman, defined as ‘proficient and sophisticated in household duties; graceful, pleasant, yet unassuming in her appearance and social manners; and conservative in her sexuality’), he is also an out-and-out chaai chatri.

Physical Relationships and Explicit Content

One of MAME’s contributions to BL is in the toppling of certain beliefs, guided by sexism, BL live action creators were operating under prior to her.

Sathaporn Panichraksapong, an MD of GMMTV, a major producer of BL series, claimed that audience members who are mainly heterosexual women look for romantic relationships among the characters rather than sexual relationships.

We know that our audience are [sic] women. Women want to see only two boys having romantic moments together. They don’t want to see sex. Sexual relationships in BL are for a gay audience. That’s why in SOTUS the Series we have only two kissing scenes. With only these, audiences were already screaming. This is enough for them. (Interview with Sathaporn, GMMTV, 10 Aug. 2017)

Jirattikorn, Amporn. “Heterosexual Reading vs. Queering Thai Boys’ Love Dramas among Chinese and Filipino Audiences.” (2023).

As Jirattikorn goes on to highlight, this [wrong] perception about the audience (“women”) have changed ever since.

While early BL series tend to portray pure love without showing many sexual relationships, later BL series started to show more sex scenes between the two male lead characters.

Jirattikorn (2023)

Trauma & Porn

Itai Itai Itai (if you know, you know)

To claim that it is Asian cultural homophobia that MAME leveraged in Love by Chance through the inclusion of gang rape, incest, and unhappy ending is doing a disservice to BL and other queer genres including gei comi, all of which are well known for both trauma and porn. Aof Noppharnach and Cheewin’s lack of BL literacies is evident in their works. The way Aof Noppharnach shamed the use of the term เมีย ‘wife’ in Bad Buddy in spite of its usage by queer people, especially the little people among them, is evidence enough of the contempt and disregard he can bring in through his positionality as an “auteur”. To compare him to MAME is a little callous, especially when MAME constantly questions positionality and power through the stories she tells.

MAME’s trauma or lack thereof is none of anyone’s concern. So is what she does with it.

But the assumption that trauma in BL is a product of an author who themselves went through it is ludicrous and ignorant because BL from the days of tanbi (and its predecessors) have been engaging with it. There is already half a century’s history of BL with trauma and taboo themes.

you can find the review discussed in this post here:

This is Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

#mame #love sea the series #love by chance #tharntype #dont say no #love in the air #wedding plan the series #love sea #bl thai #thai series #thai bl series #thai bl meta #thai bl #love in the air the series

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short-honey-badger · 8 months

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Peppermint Tea 26 - Lavender 7

Okay. Another update! This chapter has been in the works for a bit. Working on it on and off when I can between other parts.

Shanks gets his turn with our lovely devil fruit user. This is filthy, and I introduce some kinks I've never written for.

Warnings! SMUT! SMUT! Shanks is kinda rough. A little mean? Spit kink. Face fucking. Alcohol. Cum eating

Masterlist

Two days after he calls the cottage, Shanks arrives at your island. He relaxes the moment his chocolate eyes land on the white beaches and the familiar mountains to the west. Benn rolls his eyes at his Captain but can't find it in himself to be too upset with the other man. The first mate enjoyed your island, too. Its peacefulness was unparalleled.

A smile curls his lips when Shanks spots a ship in the shape of a coffin moored at the end of the white sands. He knew that Mihawk would be here. The other man had been the one to answer his call the other day, after all. It wasn’t often that the three of them had the chance to spend time together. Mihawk, while aloof and sarcastic about it all, still had his duties as a warlord.

He had explained to Shanks that the position kept him in the know-how but still allowed him the freedom he desired. The redhead had shrugged and nodded, assuring Mihawk that it was a smart choice, but he wasn’t about to let something like the World Government get in his way if it became a problem. Dracule had blushed and spluttered that He did what he wanted, regardless of what those pigs said, and then stormed off to find you and soothe his irritation with the Emperor.

Shanks smirks at the memory, coming back to himself in time to help his crew unload before Benn waves him off, a fond look on the older man’s face. The redhead doesn’t need to be told twice and quickly disappears up the well-worn footpath, shoulders slumping, and an invisible weight lifting when your cottage comes into sight. A delighted laugh breaks from him when he catches sight of what greets him.

You and Mihawk are elbow-deep in the front garden, dirt staining both of their hands. Hank jumps up the moment he spots the redhead, running over to greet his second favorite human with a happy woof. Shanks pets the shaggy dog, greeting him with a little bit of baby talk and telling Hank how good of a boy he is. When Hank is happy, he flops back to the ground with a long sigh, and the Emperor continues to the garden.

Shanks is careful where he steps, not wanting to have both of his treasures on his ass if he were to trample the garden. You stand and greet him, smile wide and radiant, and Shanks doesn't waste any time in pulling you in for a kiss. Your lips welcome him, and the Emperor sags, invisible weight leaving his shoulders as you kiss him back.

Mihawk is next, facial hair scratching against the other man's for but a second before the bird pulls away far too soon. Shanks pouts a bit and gets flicked in the forehead for his troubles.

“Welcome home, trouble,” Mihawk murmurs, and despite his uninterested tone, Shanks can see the pleased look in the hawk’s golden eyes.

“How was your trip?” You chime in and press yourself into his side, and Shanks’ heart could explode from how adorable you look.

“Not bad. Good weather, and the sea must be in a pleasant mood,” He comments and looks down at you. He takes in your appearance, brows notching up when he realizes that you aren't as cold, and you have less on than usual. Actually, “Is that my shirt?”

“Yup. It's very breathable,” you pop the p, but your admission just makes him grin, greed shining in his eyes as he gently tugs you away to get a better look. His shirt swallows you, the front dripping low and giving Shanks an excellent view of your perky tits. You look different, but in a good way as if a light was shining from within. He glances at Mihawk, curious if the other man had noticed the change, and relaxes when the warlord comes to his side, reaching out to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear.

“She's been practicing like we said to. How did you explain it to me, Angel?” Mihawk says, and you blush at having both of their attention on you.

You tell Shanks about practicing your devil fruit and how you began to feel better once you started to use it more often. You explain how your body evened out, as you liked to put it, and Shanks could hear the excitement lining your voice. It makes him happy to know that you had practiced your powers and seemed to be better than ever.

“That’s great, sweetheart,” Shanks grins down at you, reaching out to slide his hand along your neck, gently cradling your jaw. His grin grows when you nuzzle into him, and he strokes his thumb over the line of your jaw, “How about you finish up here, and then you can show me what you can do?”

You nod, joy erupting inside of you at the suggestion, “It won’t take too long, we are almost done,” you assure him, and Shanks nods then carefully steps out of the garden to mosey inside the cottage.

It doesn't take long for Mihawk to join him in the house. He goes straight to the kitchen, washing his hands of any dirt before he puts the kettle on. Shanks steps into the kitchen, coming up behind the older man, reaching out to curl his hand around Dracule's hip. He molds himself along the warlord’s back, tucking his face in the crook of his neck.

“She really okay?” Shanks murmurs, and busies himself with pressing kisses to the back of Mihawk's neck while he waits.

Mihawk slowly relaxes against the other man, still getting used to being able to do this with the other man after so many years apart. His hand finds the one his hip, and he gently squeezes his wrist in reassurance, “She is. She's gotten stronger and would be formidable with real training.”

Shanks hums, disliking the thought of you having to fight. Dracule tightens his grip around his wrist, and Shanks knows that the warlord agrees with him. Mihawk sighs softly, head tilting back to rest against Shanks as he continues, “Mhm. I'd rather not, but if she wants to learn, then I won't hinder her progress.”

“You? A teacher?” Shanks teases gently and pinches his waist with a smirk, “Couldn't imagine it.”

Mihawk scoffs at the redhead, eyes rolling skyward, “Considering Roronoa is well on his way to being second to only, Me. I think that already proves that I can be one.”

Shanks snickers at the miffed pride that laces his treasures’ voice. Mihawk was always so fun to rile up. He gently turns the other man, he reaches up, tucking his knuckle under that perfect beard, and kisses the other man, a gentle push and pull that had Mihawk sighing and sliding one hand into Shanks’ hair.

He has missed the warlord. How had he allowed so much time to pass without finding the other man, Shanks didn't know, but now that he had him? Shanks would never let him go again.

Dracule rests his brow against the Emperor’s, breath mingling with the other man's. He licks his lips and catches the taste of sweet sake. He searches the other's dark eyes, and Shanks catches sight of the devious, smug look that swims in Mihawk's own.

“What's that look for, Baby?” Shanks murmurs curiously, brow ticking up at the other man.

Mihawk leans in, kissing the redhead again, and Shanks can feel the smirk that lingers on his lips. The redhead feels like he is missing something here, especially when you appear in the kitchen, a mischievous grin playing on your face. He watches you wash your hands and then takes the kettle from the stove when it begins to whistle, eyes following you even as he continues the kiss with his warlord.

And then Dracule is pulling away, and leaving Shanks standing there like a knot on a log as his treasures dither about, moving past one another with a close familiarity that the redhead silently envies. He does get the chance to pout about it, not when you step in front of him and grab his lonely hand, “Come sit, Shanks. Mihawk brought your favorite while he was out.”

Shanks allows himself to be pulled to the table, and he sits, eyebrows shooting up when you follow him, sitting on his lap and leaning into his chest. Mihawk comes around and places a steaming cup of sweet chamomile beside the shallow bowl full of sake. You help yourself to your tea and then sit back again, head pillowed against The redhead’s pecs.

“Alright you two. What is this about?” Shanks rumbles, and he reaches for his sake, sipping most of it down in one go, “I'm being left out here.”

Dracule shares a look with his angel, and you look so excited that he dips his head, and you say, softer with a voice so full of affection that it makes Mihawk blush.

“Mihawk and I had sex.”

Shanks looks at Dracule and now realizes why the man had looked so smug earlier. In fact. He looked even more so now, those beautiful ringed eyes glowing with it. A slow smile begins to form, sharp white teeth gleaming in the light of your kitchen. His sake dish is sat down with a click that seems to echo in the room, and Shanks curls his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to grind his already hardening dick into the soft cheeks of your ass.

He presses his face against yours, lips finding your cheek, and Mihawk speaks up, making the grin on the Emperor’s lips grow, “It's only fair you have your turn, Red.”

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“Suck my cock, treasure, and I'll give you exactly what you want,” Shanks orders, voice rough and dangerous. He grabs your chin with two fingers, pulling your mouth open, “I'll even help you out, Sweetheart. Stick out your tongue for me.”

Mihawk watches from where he sits in his armchair in the corner of the room. He sips his red wine, the alcohol staining his lips. His golden gaze never once leaves his two angels, and despite his cock hard and aching in his pants, he does not touch it.

You are hesitant to do as ordered, cheeks darkening, but you see the expectation lingering in his dark gaze. You do as ordered, jaw clicking as you stick your tongue out for him. You blush furiously when Shanks leans closer and opens his mouth, pink muscle lolling out and dribbling an obscene amount of saliva onto your tongue, “Don't swallow that.”

You breathe heavily through your nose, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes, and focus on not gagging.

“Take my dick outta my pants, Baby,” Shanks instructs quietly and licks his lips, enjoying the way that you are struggling with his orders. Your hands are shaking when they land on his pants, you feel your way up to the elastic and then pull them down, whining when his cock slips out and smacks you in the cheek.

“Shanks,” Mihawk warns quietly from his corner. He had given his word that he wouldn't step in, but that wouldn't stop him from speaking up if he deemed the redhead being too rough.

“She's fine, Hawkeye. She can do it,” Shanks dismisses easily when he glances down to see a new light of determination in your eyes, “Right, sweetheart?”

Shanks moves your head down in a nod before tipping your face towards his length. He groans when you grab the base, and then you are leading his cock past your lips, tongue sliding wonderfully alongside the bottom of his shaft. You take him down to about halfway before you start to choke. Shanks is thicker than Mihawk, making your jaw ache already.

“Relax your throat, Angel,” Mihawk speaks up from his spot and you flick your eyes over to see him uncrossing his legs, and it gives you a good view of the tent in the seat of his pants.

You work to do as he says, glassy eyes closing as you concentrate on your task. Shanks slips another inch down, and then another until the tip of his cock slips past the muscles at the back of your mouth and into your throat. A muffled whine leaves you at the painful stretch and the ache in your jaw gets worse, but your free hand grabs the fabric of his pants to keep him from pulling away.

“Fuck, Treasure,” Shanks snarls lowly, and his hand find the back of your head, And he tangles his long fingers in your hair, “Doing so good for us, listening to Mihawk so well.”

The praise feels good, and you feel yourself growing wet, slick clinging to your exposed folds. You swallow around Shanks, sucking in a sharp break when he humps forward, pressing your face to his pelvis. You work your tongue along the bottom, and Shanks pulses in your mouth when you hollow your cheeks and suck as best you can being so stuffed full.

Spit and precum leak and bubble past your lips, and soon your tears mingle with the mess when the Emperor grows impatient with your slow pace. You can do nothing but relax your jaw and breathe through your nose as Shanks fucks your face. He moans and groans above you, the sounds that leave him are lewd, and listening to him has your cunt clenching longingly around nothing.

Dracule watches, golden eyes heavy lidded, and swirling with lust and want. He wants to step in. Wants to stand behind Shanks and wrap his hand around the base of his cock, and help the redhead paint you with his seed. His hands ache, and he occupies himself by playing with the stem of his wine glass.

Your eyes flutter, jaw on fire, and time seems lost to you. Shanks uses you for his own gain, seeking his pleasure until that coil snaps low in his stomach. The sound he makes is more animalistic than human, and you aren't expecting him to pull out so suddenly and angle your face up. You gasp when you feel the first splash of hot cum on your cheek, and quickly close your eyes when more rushes toward you.

Shanks never looks away, dark eyes full of adoration for you. You look beautiful like this, all painted up and dripping with his cum. He milks himself, not wanting any of it to go to waste. He presses the head of his cock to your lips, and you automatically open your mouth for him, “Clean me up, Sweetheart.”

You flush as you do as ordered, cleaning his softening member until nothing but your spit remains. Shanks watches with a smirk, and then glances over at Mihawk, expression turning greedy once more, and he crooks a finger at the other man, “Come clean her up, Baby I know you want to.”

Dracule licks his lips, tempted by the offer. He sets his glass aside and then stands to lope closer, taking in the delightful sight of you covered in the other man's semen. Mihawk leans down to help you stand, and then he takes your face in both hands, holding you still.

“Keep your eyes closed, Angel,” Mihawk murmurs, and then he is leaning in. The wet drag of his tongue makes you jump, and you hear the warlord hum at the taste of cooling cum. Dracule takes his time, hot tongue lapping at the cloudy fluid, until nothing remains. The act is lewd and intimate, and it's enough to have you whining and clutching at Dracule's loose shirt. When he is finished, Mihawk seals his lips to yours, and you moan at the taste of the wine and Shanks that still clings to his tongue.

Shanks moves behind you, hand sliding between your legs and fingertips finding your clit. He massages the sensitive nub, smirking when he hears a muffled moan leave you. He slides past your clit, calloused digits gliding through your folds and slicking them with your juices. He finds your entrance, and slides in one soaked finger to the knuckle.

“Can't believe that you let Mihawk fuck you without me here, Snowflake,” Shanks croons, tone full of disappointment, “Couldn't let me be here to watch him take you for the first time.

He slips another finger in beside the first, stroking and rubbing your velvety walls. Your hands tighten, nails digging into the thick muscles of Dracule's abdomen. Those skilled, sinful digits find your sweet spot, and Shanks proceeds to bully that spot, making you cry out and bow forward. The pleasure is immense, almost too much. His thumb catches your clit, and that heat winds and winds until it breaks and you gush all over his hand.

It's an embarrassing amount, but this isn't the first time that Shanks had shoved his fingers inside you this evening and ripped an orgasam from your body. Your body is overworked, cunt sore, and you are so glad that Mihawk is there to hold you up. His hands support you, and he pets your hair as he leans in to kiss the top of your head.

“Look at that. At least your body knows how to tell me how sorry it is for not letting me watch,” Shanks croons, tone still cruel, but the way he removes his fingers is nothing but gentle.

The Emperor gathers you close, and Mihawk steps away when he is sure that you are able to stand without help. Your legs still shake, tremors make your thighs gently jiggle, and it only gets worse when Shanks carefully leads you over to the bed and then bends you over the side of it. He shucks his pants off and kicks them to the side before draping himself over your sweat slick body.

“I'm going to fuck you now, okay, Sweetheart,” Shanks coos in your ear and nudges your legs apart, spreading you nicely for him. He takes his cock in hand, rubbing it though your puffy folds before he begins to push forward. You whine at the intrusion, walls stretching more than they are used to as Shanks presses in.

“Slower, Shanks,” Mihawk rumbles from his seat. His eyes track the way the other man's cock slips inside your heat.

For once, the redhead listens to the other man and slows to a crawl, Shanks doesn't want to hurt you, and he is thicker than the average man.

“She's like a vice, Mihawk,” Shanks grunts above you and sinks another two inches, and you feel like you're being split open for half a second before the pain bleeds into pleasure. The Emperor groans when he bottoms out, brow pressed to the middle of your back as he rocks back and forth. He is already so fucking close, having edged himself twice when you'd been on your knees, so Shanks knows that he isn't going to last long, but he will feel you come on his cock.

A shout tears out of your throat when your Emperor suddenly ruts forward, and pleasure zings up your spine at his brutal pace. His hand finds your hair, tangling in the stands and forcing your face down into the mattress.

“Gonna fill you up, baby,” Shanks snarls against your back, and his pace falters, going erratic. The tip of his cock drags against your sweet spot, and it sends you over once again, dragging Shanks with you.

Shanks swears as he comes, sinking his teeth into the meat of your shoulder blade, hips stuttering as he empties his load. He stays there for a long time, breathing in the scent of sweat and sex before he rises and carefully pulls out. You hiss at the feeling, feeling sticky and fucked out. You don't have the energy to say much of anything as Shanks lifts you the rest of the way onto the bed.

“You okay, baby?” Shanks murmurs, and you muster up enough willpower to nod before your turn to snuggle into the closest pillow. He smiles and gently strokes your hair, pushing it away from your face and admiring your tired beauty.

Mihawk stands, stepping behind Shanks and grabbing the edge of his loose gray shirt and pulling it up and off the other man. He pushes his redhead to the bed and then swiftly undresses himself. Now that Shanks had gotten his fill, Dracule was feeling just a little left out, and he intended to rectify that right now.

You open your eyes enough to see Mihawk pressing Shanks down, long fingers wrapped around the other man's tan throat. Interested, you roll to your side, grabbing the sheets and pulling them around you, a soft smile playing on your lips as you enjoy the show that your boys put on for you. You are noticed eventually and are dragged between them, but no one would ever find you complaining.

@writingmysanity @djbumblebee @goth-mami-writer @myradiaz @fluffybunnyu @bookandstar @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff @anastasiyax @jaguarthecat

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capricornlevi · 10 months

Text

warm, cool, sweet and bitter

cafe!owner nanami x reader - gn!reader - sfw - wc 1.6k

"not going for the usual?"

nanami's question is delivered casually and carefully, the low tones of his voice carrying across the empty floor of the restaurant.

his restaurant, to be exact. your favourite spot for a late-night cup of tea and the only place in the city that serves sandwiches made with baguettes baked fresh in-house, you find yourself here around 4am at least four days a week.

it's funny; your schedules make it so that the end of your day always coincides with the start of nanami's. he comes in early to put the pastries in the oven, to grind the coffee beans to the correct consistency, to ensure that there's enough stock to last the coming few hours. he's always occupied with some task or another -- for his sake, you're glad you're the only customer at this hour.

though the restaurant is a veritable ghost town whenever you visit, he has told you it tends to pick up around 7am. within the hour, there's a queue out the door.

the popularity doesn't surprise you. nothing beats the welcoming aroma of fresh bread from the oven, the slightly bitter but warm scent of brewing coffee enveloping you into a little bubble sheltered from the usual hustle and bustle of the streets outside.

the bar you work at is just three doors down, and so by the time last call is announced, you're already thinking of the warm baguette you're going to enjoy before rushing home to collapse into bed.

the same baguette every time, with the same blend of tea. you're fairly certain he gives you the same mug every time, too, a beautifully crafted piece of porcelain with little hand-painted yellow flowers decorating the sides.

you've carved out a nice little routine for yourself. but as nanami so astutely pointed out a moment ago, you figure it's time to change it.

some aspects of the routine stay the same; you sit on the same counter stool you always sit at, placed just beside the coffee maker so you can chat as nanami prepares a macchiato for himself. nanami looks the same, dressed in that familiar shirt and slacks that seem perfectly tailored just for him. the smooth jazz playlist plays so quietly in the background that it's barely legible -- you only catch a note or two every few minutes.

but you are going to change one key aspect of this ironclad routine: your order.

"yeah, gonna go for coffee today, i think," you inform him, trying to sound assured in your decision. "a double epresso, please."

"a double? at four in the morning?"

he casts a questioning look your way from over the counter and you shrug, trying to ignore the ache of your muscles as you do so. as he hand-whisks some whipped cream for the pastries, a few strands of his blond hair fall into his eyes. he tries to flick them away to no avail.

you swallow, a lump forming in your throat as you think of how to reply.

"busy day ahead of me, i guess."

nanami nods slowly -- out of politeness, you presume, since there's no way he knows what you're referring to.

your purposeful vagueness isn't to be rude, though, it's just saving you both from extreme awkwardness.

since the reason you're loading up on caffeine is so that you're fully charged to go and break up with your cheating boyfriend.

your pathetic, free-loading, unable to do his own laundry, didn't even have the courtesy to crop you out of the pictures he used on his Tinder profile, miserable excuse for a boyfriend.

in the middle of your lunchbreak you received a text from a girl he'd been hooking up with, who had very kindly spotted your picture on his social media and decided to inform you as to the calibre of man you were calling your significant other.

you thanked her, typed up a three-sentence long text telling your boyfriend it was over, and blocked him.

he had then used his friend's phone to call you, weeping for a chance to explain, snivelling and choking out inarticulate apologies, and you agreed to see him one last time.

just to give him a piece of your mind before cutting him off for good. it'll be good for closure, you figure.

you're more angry than heartbroken -- honestly, you're not sure you ever really liked him. six months into this relationship and you find yourself looking forward to these conversations with nanami more than you do spending time with the man you're actually seeing.

were seeing. past tense, thankfully.

nanami bends down to place the whipped cream in the fridge, dusting some residual flour from his royal blue shirt as he rises again.

"sounds like more than just a busy day," he observes patiently, measuring out some espresso grounds to pull your coffee. "want to talk about it?"

against the odds, your exhausted face brightens with a smile. "there's good customer service, and then there's me taking advantage of your hospitality, nanami."

shaking his head amusedly as he shakes off the excess grounds from the basket, he chuckles, a low, pleasant sound that lodges in your chest.

"it's not taking advantage if i'm offering willingly."

"you don't have enough to do around here?" you grin.

"oh, i do. but hearing about your problem might make me feel better about having to spend three hours doing stock take later this evening."

"ah, so i'm doing you a service moaning about my personal life?"

"absolutely. in fact, if it's tragic enough, i'll throw in a pain au chocolate free of charge."

"high stakes," you reply with a faux solemnity. "you really want to hear?"

"very much so," he answers, the sentence being punctuated by the hum of the espresso machine.

"okay then," you sigh, fidgeting with the rings on your right hand as some vain attempt to distract yourself. "the short of it is that i just wasted six months of my life. half a year. five percent of a decade that i'll never get back."

nanami waits for the espresso to finish pouring, the deep amber of the coffee shot wafting steam up into the air between the two of you.

"wasted how?"

another sigh, wearier this time. "on a guy who i genuinely think has annoyed me since i met him."

silence. this time, it doesn't appear to be coffee-related.

but when you glance away from your rings to see nanami's face, you see that it's more pensive than judgemental. as though he's truly considering what to say next.

"why did you agree to go out with him in the first place?" he asks after another few moments, brows slightly pinched together.

a fair question. one you're not entirely sure of the answer to.

"fear of the alternative?" you hazard a guess, acutely aware of how strange it is to be speaking so candidly with a guy you only know through your shared love for baked goods.

"being alone?" he follows up with a sincerity that cuts through any discomfort.

"i guess."

"i know what you mean," nanami continues, finally remembering the espresso shot that's still sitting on the tray.

he takes the cup -- your usual, because neither of you thought to forego that part of the routine -- and sets it before you, muscles in his forearms straining when he crosses them over his chest afterwards.

"you do not," you mumble instictively. the words fall out without you thinking, but they're not meant maliciously; it's just that nanami is so ... eligible, for lack of better word. handsome, engaging, owns his own thriving café.

he makes fresh eclairs every single morning, for crying out loud. you cannot fathom a world in which people aren't lining up to be with him.

though your blurted words could be perceived as rude, nanami just smiles softly, amusement reaching his eyes as they lock with yours.

"want me to tell you something?"

"is it as embarrassing as my fact?" you query, knocking back most of your coffee in one swig.

"unquestionably."

at that, you set the cup back down abruptly, clinking it against the saucer.

"really?"

he just nods. you sit back on the stool, feeling the plush backing of the stool against your lower back.

"go on, then."

"i don't actually open this early."

your face scrunches into an expression of pure confusion; nanami's lips quirk upwards in response.

"what do you mean? do you open in like ... a half hour?"

he shakes his head, those strands of hair falling loose again.

something washes over you, a sense of recognition, connecting the dots slowly in your tired, over-exerted brain.

"nanami ..."

"yes?"

"... do you not open until seven?"

nanami's weighted silence answers your question.

you breathe in, out. blink haplessly up at him.

you're sure your coffee is starting to get cold, but you make no attempt to drink it.

"i - what - what are you - why do you let me come in here three hours early? why did you never say anything?"

you choke out the words desperately, flooded with a dozen different feelings at once.

he stays smiling, but something else flashes in his eyes. you see the already-tense muscles of his arms tighten further.

"why do you think i never said anything?"

#nanami x reader #gn reader #nanami kento x reader #sfw #may tries to write #hey let me know if you want me to write more on this teehee!#nanowrimo

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feathernotes · 1 year

Text

Hello! My name is Krispy, and I’m the co-creator of the webcomic Ghost Junk Sickness (along with @spacerocketbunny) It's story time!

GJS is a webcomic published by Hiveworks and features two bounty hunters with an unstable dynamic who are pushed to pursue the deadly bounty dubbed the Ghost The current iteration of GJS is about 9 years old (and wrapping up next year!) It’s been an incredible journey full of ups and downs. We’ve learned SO MUCH creating this comic, and I wanted to share some of it’s origins with you all in hopes of inspiring more folks to take chances, make mistakes, and get messy- and make that comic!

The origin of Ghost Junk Sickness came from our love for Magic Knight Rayearth and Final Fantasy 7. Vahn, the protagonist of GJS, was basically a mash up of Hikaru and Cloud from those two series. The very first version of this story has unfortunately been destroyed, and this map is the only piece I have left of that world. Character art still exists though, and it was pretty funny to see how obvious we were with our inspirations at the time.

The original attempt at the story was called Crew, and my sister Space and I worked on it in 2002-2004. We sort of got lost in our own ideas after that, and weren’t as focus on making the comic (now lost). A few years later, I decided to try my hand at it and it looked like this:

This was all done on low quality paper, whichever I could find at the time and some pencil crayons. This attempt was over 600 pages long and had a pretty random story plot, much like the first version. I could not tell you what it was about haha 😅

My second attempt (then called Divine Ace) I wanted to look more 'traditional manga' and kept with just inks and tried my darndest to tone on the computer (it never worked out). This one lasted over 400 pages, and was more allinged with my liking to edgy action anime and games at the time. It was also Trigger's first appearance!

After experimenting and eventually wanting to change- I started to work with Space again, and we collaborated in full on our first fancomic for TF2 called "Be Efficient, Be Polite." It was a good lesson on how we could coordinate our shared skill sets and plan out who did what as far as the whole process of comics go.

All of these comics (save for the very first lost version) were hosted on DA the day we got our hands on a scanner. It was our first taste on being 'webcomic creators' back in the day, and it was very fun! We didn't much care for readers, only the process of completion at the time, so a page done was always a victory worthy to be celebrated (and back then, we had more time to make pages!)

And so, as the years went by and we decided to move on from our fandom roots, Space and I went back to the Crew/Divine Ace project and redesigned and overhauled the entirety of it. (You can see the full evolution here) We wanted to re-asses what the story, comic, and characters meant to us, and how we could convey some pretty important ideas and concepts to our potential readers. From that, Ghost Junk Sickness was born, and began pre-production in 2013.

Years after, we find ourselves reflecting on how much we've learned from the process of going ahead and diving in head first. There were certainly many iterations and years it took to get where we are today, but realising that it all began that day Space and I decided to scribble some pretty mediocire comics in our homework books and papers. Because that is the beauty of comics- The many skill sets, the hats, and challenges that come along with creating them. And how much we've become better at so many things along the way. So if you read this and feel nervous about diving head first into your first comic, I'm here to re-assure you that things will feel tough, but exciting. Things will feel really hard but amazing when you're getting your story out in front of you with such an incredible medium. Webcomics will always be my favourite because of how accessible it is to any skill set. And know in your heart of hearts that there ARE people out that that LOVE to see growth, they love to see the progression of your journey. So get out there and start creating that comic that's occupied your brain for so long, and start breathing that life into your OCs and your world. The only way is up with webcomics, and the only way to start is just by creating now.

#webcomics #webcomic #ghost junk sickness #hiveworks #feathernotes #me talking

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pennyserenade · 5 months

Text

wish you were here.

chapter five - fade into you | ao3 link | previous chapter

pairing: javier peña x female oc, javier peña x named female oc (mariella) rating: t (teen) tags/warnings: angst, brief mention of infidelity, alcohol word count: 2.1k summary: Mariella and Javier continue to feel their way through a friendship. a/n: sorry this is taking me so long to write. love you

A tattered floral scrapbook of Mariella’s sits, face up, on the table. She stands in the corner of her kitchen, looking at it as though it has wronged her in some way. And in some ways, it has.

In one hand she holds a glass of water and in the other, her telephone. Henry Rath’s number has been typed in, and her fingers hesitate to dial it. The trip down memory lane has proved to be a bitter one. So much of her life had been documented in that scrapbook, from graduations to weddings to the first house, to the very last birthdays she and Henry would spend as a couple together. It was hard to ignore him when he was all there—a little piece of him merged forever with a little piece of her.

She knew it wasn’t fair, what she did to him. Or rather, what she’s doing to him. In the past three months, he’s left a handful of voicemails she’s deleted before even finishing. She screens most of her calls, just on the offhand chance that it might be him, and each time it makes her feel wrong. At first, it started off with good intention—she wanted to leave him alone, to let him go back to his life. But eventually, the more she thought about what they had done, the more ignoring him became less altruistic. Every time she hears the phone ring, she thinks of him in that hotel room and that little girl that hung on his hip, and she wants as far from it as possible.

She places the telephone back in its cradle. The excuses are endless: it is Tuesday and she works tomorrow, so she shouldn’t start something she doesn’t know she can’t stop; he probably isn’t home from work yet; he’s likely forgotten about it and to call and remind him now would be cruel; his wife could pick up; closure isn’t the sort of thing either of them are particularly good at.

Mariella picks up the telephone again. She waits patiently as it rings.

“Hello?” Chucho answers.

She leans back onto the counter, swirling the water in her cup. “Hey, Chucho. I was wondering if Javi’s home.”

“Javi?” he asks, sounding surprised.

“Yeah, Javi. I never thanked him for helping me with my classroom last month and I’d like to.”

There’s a beat of silence before Chucho speaks again. “Javi’s always home, just never know where,” the man laughs. “Would it be alright if I had him call you back? I gotta go find him.”

Mariella glances over at the scrapbook on the table. “That’d be lovely, Chucho. Thank you.”

When he hangs up, she moves over and closes the book shut. If she wasn’t so goddamn sentimental, she might throw the whole thing away but she is, so she can’t. Instead she tucks it away in the cupboards over her oven, where she’s stored a lone bottle of tequila for about two years now, and then she sits back, waiting. The phone rings a few moments later and she doesn’t hesitate to answer it. “Hello,” she picks up.

“Mariella?” Javier asks. His voice is low, almost a whisper.

“I’m sorry I haven’t called you sooner. I wanted to thank you for the classroom. I’ve been using it for about a week now, and it looks wonderful.”

On the other end, she can hear him shift with the phone. “It was no problem,” he replies softly. Then, after a pause, he says, “How are you, Mari?”

“I’m good, Javier.”

“That’s, uh, that’s good.”

“How about you?”

More movement. “I’m good too.”

“My dad says he hasn’t seen you in the movie store as of late,” she says. Javier coughs awkwardly.

“No? I guess I’ve just been busy.”

“Busy avoiding me? ‘Cause if so, I assure you that’s a safe zone. I don’t work there during the school year, remember?” It’s meant to come out teasing, but, at the current moment, she lacks the exact humor needed to pull off the weight of that sentence. She punctuates it with a laugh that is more of a huff than anything.

He protests. “I—That’s not why.”

“No?” she asks simply.

“No, not really. There’s just been a lot to do around here. We got new horses. There’s a fence that needs to be built. Chucho just needs me more than the television does.” He attempts to laugh, but it sounds forced. She doesn’t acknowledge it.

“Think you could spare an hour or two to go get dinner with me?”

“You want to get dinner?” he sounds in disbelief.

She can’t help but laugh. “Yeah. One of my new student’s parents owns the bar downtown. They gave me two coupons for a free dinner.”

“Oh,” he replies. “Well, I’ll have to get cleaned up. Can you wait?”

“Sure.”

“Alright. I’ll meet you there at, uh—“ Another pause, “—how about seven?”

“Sounds good.”

“Alright, see you then,” he replies.

“Yeah, bye,” she adds awkwardly, hanging up.

Slumping her shoulders, she lets out a deep sigh. Why must everything feel so fucking hard lately?

—-

“Thought you didn’t go to bars,” Javier says, bringing his beer to his mouth. He’s teasing, she can tell: that slanted brow, the pursued lips working hard not to press into a comely grin. She takes a sip of her own drink, and shrugs her shoulders.

“I don’t,” she hums in response.

The dinner crowd at the bar is surprisingly large, but conversation is easy to have. It’s nicer, really, in a place like this - too busy to have to worry if the table next to you is listening in. Not that she and Javier have ventured to any topics unsafe for public consumption. They’ve been good, drinking their beers, making small talk the way one might with a friend they’ve grown apart with. It’s got an intimate air to it, but it’s stilted for a strange, heartbreaking reason.

They don’t talk about all that happened weeks ago, or why they’re sitting here now. Mariella doesn’t mind, really. This is the thing she enjoys about Javier, what she has seen in him since the beginning: he isn’t interested in brewing in the past. If she were a better woman, this might worry her, but luckily enough she isn’t. She understands all too well the temptation to look forward and never backward.

The beer is making her feel warm and pleasantly buzzed. In the corner, there is a jukebox playing soft country songs and some people are dancing slowly in the middle. She and Javi watch them curiously, resting back in their chairs.

“How’s the teaching going?” He looks back over at her.

“It’s going well. The kid’s are as brilliant and witty as ever,” she smiles softly. “How’s the farm?”

Javier shrugs his shoulders. “It’s work. For the first time in months, I’m finally getting a full night’s rest, though, so I won’t complain too much.”

“I’ve always loved that piece of land,” Mariella says, looking back at the dancing patrons. “Miles upon miles of greenery. And the horses! I love driving up and watching them run.”

This makes Javier smile. “Chucho is proud of it and he should be, I suppose. I certainly appreciate it more now than I used to. In Colombia, it was like that—beautiful, I mean. And so green. Standing out in the fields sometimes reminds me of being back there.”

“Do you miss it?” she asks, before she finds the sense to know better.

Javier’s eyes rake over the crowd, too. He watches a young couple in the corner for a bit, smiling as the boy’s hand gradually works its way lower on the girl’s back. Before he touches her ass, Javi looks back to Mariella, his smile faint but present. “Sometimes,” he answers.

“I’d love to go someday.”

“You should,” he encourages. “It’s magnificent, really, unlike anything else. That shit they say in the news—it’s true, but not nearly that bad. Not for regular people with clean hands.”

Mariella shakes her head. “Just when I thought you had me sold, you had and go say that.”

“What, your hands dirty?” he narrows his eyes.

She holds her palms out. “Red,” she nods, though they aren’t. He breathes out a quiet laugh.

“I think you’d be alright—but go to Mexico first.”

“You sound like my mother,” she laughs too.

Looking over at Javi, Mariella debates whether to ask him if he wants to dance or not. The beer has made her feel a little more relaxed, but she’s not without her reason. She remembers the first day they met - really met - and how he said he didn’t know how to dance anymore. She also remembers the kitchen, and the incident that has driven them apart for a month.

Before she’s given the chance, a woman stops in front of the table. She’s pretty — big blue eyes, an endearing grin — the kind of woman for whom the country accent was made to be spoken by. “Javi,” she says, someplace between shocked and amazed.

Mariella feels bad at first, thinking this is going to be another one of those small town run-ins he hates, but when she looks over at him, she can tell it’s not. Something softer takes hold of him, something almost tender. Mariella feels almost like an intruder as he says, “Hey, Lorraine.”

Lorraine’s eyes meet Mariella’s, and then go back to Javi’s. Javi understands. “Mariella, this is Lorraine. She’s my—“

“His old friend,” she finishes for him, extending her hand for Mariella to shake. “It’s nice to meet you. I’ve known about you for years. You’re all your Daddy talks about on Sundays sometimes.”

Lorraine can’t be much older than she is—maybe five or six years—and yet she seems so much more mature. She looks like what Mariella feels she’s been trying to attain her whole life: this perfect, well-rounded, soft-spoken girl who says words like ‘Daddy’ and manages not only to sound sincere, but sweet.

Mariella shakes her head and smiles politely. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

Lorraine glances over her shoulder, holding her finger up to a man standing by the entrance. “My husband,” she supplies, looking back at them both. “Listen, I better get going but I just wanted to say it’s nice to see you out and about, Javi. A lot of people here missed you.” Lorraine looks over to Mariella. “And really, it’s lovely to meet you, Mariella. I wish I had more time to sit and chat, because so many people have been telling us about your school. I’ve got a little one about school going age, and I’d love to put her in it.”

“Oh,” Mariella says, “Well, I can give you my number if you’d like.”

“Could you?” Lorraine smiles. “Oh, that’d be lovely.”

Mariella reaches into her purse and rummages around for a pen. When she finds it, she takes one of the napkins from the table and quickly jots down her information. “I wrote down my home number and the school’s. I wouldn’t mind answering any questions you have, but if you’re interested in enrollment information, the office number will be most helpful.”

Lorraine nods. Her hair bounces with her head, and Mariella can’t help but feel like she’s encountered a real life Barbie of sorts. She can imagine that she and Javier must’ve been real good friends, but it doesn’t do anything more than amuse her.

“Bye, Javi,” Lorraine says, throwing up a hand. She pats Mariella on the shoulder on the way out, “Thank you again,” she says softly.

Mariella rushes out an “Oh, you’re welcome” and Javier offers a wordless smile. They both watch her return to her husband, but Mariella returns her eyes to Javier long before he does to her. She watches the way a frown takes over his lips.

Javier brings his beer back to his lips, seemingly shaking the encounter off. The tenderness is replaced by whatever was there before. It’s no less kind, but certainly not as intense.

“She was my fiancée, once upon a time,” he explains. Mariella wouldn’t have asked, but she’s happy he’s willing to give her that information freely. She nods her head, not saying anything in reply.

Her eyes return to the crowd, and they both settle into an introspective silence. Mariella forgets she ever wanted to ask him to dance in the first place. For a little bit, she even forgets her own troubles, too.

She didn’t entirely know why she had called for Javier like she had earlier. He’d been on her mind, sure, but no more than Henry. In fact, a lot less than Henry. Something inside of her had told her to do it, so she had. She’s happy she did, now.

Misery loves company they say, and she thinks she might’ve found herself a companion in one Javier Peña.

#javier pena x reader #javier pena #javier pena x you #javier pena x female oc #javier pena x oc #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x female oc #javier peña x oc #javier peña #javier pena fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal character #narcos fanfiction #narcos fic

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jaetyun · 2 years

Text

Finding out they’re not your Boys Planet picks; a thread! (k group ver!)

s.hanbin, gunwook, seunghwan, junhyeon x gn!reader

genre: fluff (it’s suggestive with seunghwan but nothing actually happens)

a/n: i’m soz it’s so short! i was v busy and had little time to write more. i will be making plenty more parts, rest assured! tysm to my fave anon for the req 🫶

after the first elimination, the air was tense. you could glance around the room and see everyones heads hanging low, losing motivation to work. reluctantly, mnet decided to give them a day out. visit family, walk your dog, run away to another country while you still have the chance, the choice was theirs! some trainees decided to see their significant others, only to find out their first picks!! spoilers: it wasnt them 😔

trainees after the cut!!

Sung Hanbin

the moment the boy left the building, he began giggling. he quickly dialed your number, giving it a ring.

“hello? who is this?”

“psst! it’s your #1 boys planet pick..” he whispered with a goofy smile, his hand up to the speaker of the device as if he was talking on a walkie-talkie

“kim jiwoong? how’d you get my number?!” your innocent joke made hanbins smile drop, losing all the childish love-drunk emotions as before. “nevermind. i was planning to surprise you with dinner but you should just go with jiwoong.” though you couldnt see him, you already knew the face he was making. to a *tea*. with his tongue stuck out, following by a whiny pout that you couldn’t help but gush over.

“baby, you know i was playing. come over!”

hanbin narrowed his eyes, his pout getting replaced by a thin line. “is he actually your first though?”

“well… that’s-“

you were immediately left with the call hanging up, making you groan. you held you phone away from you, counting to 5 with your other hand before you felt a familiar vibration.

“why didn’t you call me back to beg for a second chance?”

“i didnt have to.”

“just like you didnt have to vote for me?”

you sighed out, sending an unimpressed face through the screen (that hanbin definitely picked up on!) and clicked your tongue.

“sung hanbin. you’re over 70 countries first pick!”

“i don’t want 70 countries, i want you~“

you sighed at his comment, laughing lightheartedly before cracking another joke (he seems not to appreciate your humor these days!)

“what so if you ranked second but i was voting for you, you’d be okay?”

“…”

neither of you were particularly good at lying. often times it was great for communication! but a lot of times, it means petty back-and-forth’s like this.

“baby, i am voting for you. but the app makes you vote 6 people”

“blocking you as we speak..” he whined, very unsatisfied with your response. you began softly mumbling ‘nooooo!’

“okay okay! you can take his place as my first pick.”

“…and you have to stop voting him!”

“babbyyyyy :((”

hanbin scoffed, pulling the phone from his ear yet again. “beep beep beep!”

“okayyyy!! i’ll stop voting for kim jiwoong.”

he smiled, now suddenly going back to his gushy nature. “if you say so~ you excited to see me?”

you were happy to have your puppy-like boyfriend back, humming a response.

“so excited! were are going?”

Kum Junhyeon

when you heard a knock at the door, you curiously looked through the peephole. who would show up at this hour? you swore you didn’t have any packages. your eyes light up, immediately opening up the door and embracing an exhausted hyeon.

“how did you get here?” was the first question you managed, running your fingers through his hair. he muttered something about an off day and you chose not to question it.

“youre just in time, i was just getting around to voting” you hummed, gesturing to the couch where the mnet app was open. you began your routine you’ve been doing since the voting first opened, scrolling through the trainees clearly on a mission to find someone specific. junhyeon peered from behind your shoulder, smiling at how cute you looked as you proudly voted for your boyfriend.

“wait! i was right there” he pointed to his name, chuckling at the way you began scrolling back over to his name. his smile faded quickly though, watching as you clicked gyuvins name and scrolled past. he then chuckled at you again, shaking his head before resting it on your shoulder. “kum. not kim you goof”

he felt your shoulder tense, making him smile at the way you sheepishly went back to his name, voting him instead of replacing gyuvin. junhyeon tilted his head unsuspectingly. “did you mean to vote gyuvin too?”

“i uh.. actually forgot to vote for you.. but its just-”

“do you not vote for me?” his eyebrows furrowed, raising his head off your shoulder suspiciously.

“well no! its just, i was just trying to get gyu-“

“so gyuvin is your first pick??”

you stammered, unsure of how to respond. junhyeon pouted, shaking your shoulders in an attempt to get a word out of you.

“well he’s cute!”

“am i not?”

“you’re.. getting there” you pinched his cheek, making him tilt his head in confusion.

“getting there?”

you began mocking his “junhyeon is fiveeeee” making jun look at you with 😐

“so im cringey and gyuvin is really cute?”

“….”

junhyeon grabbed your phone from you, resetting the vote and picking himself. he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, pointing the phone at you. “why cant i submit?” you attempted to grab the phone only to have him yank it away from you.

“you have to vote 6! not just you.”

you watched as he began randomly clicking trainees, submitting it for you before you could argue. you could only sigh, gently taking his hand in yours.

“nice to see again you too i guess.”

Park Gunwook

after planning a meetup, you decided on a cute park to waltz around in. gunwook had showed up first, kicking rocks while scanning the area every so often for you. the moment gunwook locked his eyes on you, he wrapped an arm around your shoulder with a grin.

“miss me?”

“of course i did! ive been watching just for you, i’m proud of you so far” you kissed his cheek, making gunwook do that smug grin he always does. that was all the push he needed to keep working hard. the image of you watching him excitedly and reacted at everything he said made gunwook giddy, already ready for his next mission to impress you more.

as the two of you continued walking, gunwook suddenly looked to you with a sympathetic pout. “you know, i kinda feel bad for you.”

you wordlessly tilted your head, wanting to hear an elaboration.

“it must be so boring watching each episode when there‘s nobody that even compares to me” he sighed out dramatically, looking off into the distance as if he was saying it to some hidden camera. you laughed, hitting his shoulder lightly. gunwook doesn’t relent, staying in character effortlessly as he continued what he was doing.

“am i right?”

“not really. there’s matthew.”

gunwook stopped what he was doing, sending you flying backwards with the sudden halt. he then sat in silence, trying to process this new information.

“oh.. matthew…. yeah him…” he pretended to ponder this for a second, his eyes looking up as he slowly nodded. what he was thinking of exactly, you weren’t sure. he then shrugged in an attempt at nonchalance.

“that kid-“

“he’s older than you..”

“that adult, is like, really weak. i beat him in arm wrestling easily” he continued, flexing his arm to further show off.

“that’s not why i like him babe.”

“it’s not??” his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. not in a condescending manner, gunwook was genuinely confused as to how that has nothing to do with matthews appeal. you laugh, shaking your head softly.

“then why??”

you began to mimic the iconic ‘i love you, i want you, seok matthew’ hand gesture only for gunwook to start groaning in annoyance. he waved his hand, an ‘oh please’ expression. he then did his signature salute, shaking his hand dramatically as a reference to when his hand had a tremor from nervousness. you hit his shoulder, laughing lightheartedly.

“baby. i mean he’s cute.”

“well.. i *am* younger than him..” he says, twisting your words on you. gunwook began raising his hands, but before he could even raise them above his chest you gently held them with your own, stopping whatever aegyo he was about to do.

“you are plenty cute gunwook.” his eyes furrowed, clearly unsatisfied.

“if i’m stronger, and cuter than him. then why aren’t i your favorite??”

“who said anything about favorites?” you asked him with a pout.

“well is he?”

“…”

“see!” he whined, dramatically walking off with small stomps.

you followed up after him, giving him a free teasing pokes to his arm. “is my baby jealous??”

“am not!”

“yuh-huh!” you teased further, making him scoff at even the idea of being jealous.

“let me show you how… how.. unbothered i an by this!”

he then grabbed your hand (in a *totally* non jealous way!) and dragged you with him as you continued to waltz around the park.

“it’s okay gunwook~ he may be my favorite trainee but there’s no replacing you!”

“there better not be.” he mumbled, giving you a slight side eye. he then paused, turning around to face you and before pointing at your face.

“…. but i’m not jealous!”

Lee Seunghwan

you had decided to wait for him outside of the building, the butterflies you had forgotten about creeping up onto you when you finally saw him again. his eyes lit up, quickly embracing you as if the world was gonna crash any second. you kissed both his cheeks, smiling at his usual clingy behavior.

“you’ve been having fun?” seunghwan pouts, shaking his head quickly.

“oh baby it’s terrible, only you could fix the stress i have right now” he slyly wrapped his arm around your waist. you sighed, but did nothing to stop his roaming hands. seunghwan buried himself in your neck, trailing soft love bites all over your neck and collar bone.

“really? in public hwan?”

he let out a bitter laugh. “after those trainees, i need some stress relief.”

you clicked your tongue, gently combing through his hair.

“you mean daeul and junhyeon?”

“you’ve been watching??” he looks up at you, a shocked expression. you could only nod at him, continuing your soothing motion with your hands. “i actually really like them! especially daeul.”

seunghwan narrowed his eyes at you, looking at you hesitantly. he was quite offended honestly! how could you like daeul after the side eyes he sent the boys way..

“what? more than me?” you sat there and thought about it, which only offended your boyfriend further. “i was joking babe.”

“shh! i’m thinking!” he rolled his eyes, taking your hand off his scalp. he mouthed dramatically ‘WERE. OVEERRRR’ making you click your tongue again.

“babe! it’s not that big of a deal”

“it is though, cause what do you mean you can’t pick between your *boyfriend*… and daeul” you stammered, trying to defend yourself

“well he’s just cute!”

“can he sing as well as me?”

“well no but-“

“can he dance as well as me?”

“i mean no..”

“can he rap as well as me?”

“… no…”

“and is he better looking than i am?” seunghwan finished, an expecting look. you pouted, shaking your head slowly. he joined you, shaking his head much faster than you.

“so why is it a hard choice?”

you stuttered again, avoiding eye contact. “you’re just jealous!”

he gently grabbed onto your waist again, bringing you closer. “yes. i am. im not sharing you with anyone else. not even hanbin” he said, *finally* walking you away from the entrance of the building. you continued to bicker with him, punching him on the arm at one point. he stuck his tongue out, not even able to blow a raspberry before you touched the tip of your tongues together jokingly. his grip your waist tightened, with his eyebrows furrowing.

“i’ll *show* you why i’m better than lee daeul.”

“in public??”

#boys planet #boys planet drabbles #boys planet imagines #kpop imagines #sung hanbin #boys planet scenarios #boys planet x reader #kum junhyeon #park gunwook #lee seunghwan #1the9 #boys planet 999 #kpop scenarios

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gabessquishytum · 7 months

Note

Hob is the omega son of a rich family that doesn't believe omegas have any value but their sale price.

They spend a season parading Hob around at various parties, working to "drum up" interest - low cut gowns, lace that only barely covers his nipples, sheer fabric dress barely lined to give Hob some modesty.....Hob is so embarrassed, but can't image any alpha wouldn't treat him similarly to his family.

He's resigned to being dressed like this and paraded around for the rest of his life. And Hob can't even say he doesn't like some of the exhibitionism, or that he wouldn't like it with the right alpha,,,,with their protection & respect. But that is not right now.

To make matters worse, once Hob's family has enough courting "offers", they allow these suitors more liberties with Hob's body. Hob has no choice but to let suitors fondle and suck the hoboobies his nipples & breasts. It's all above the waist "touching" (groping), with the goal to find the suitor the forces Hob into heat through just their smell and handling of his breast.

Dream is one of the alphas who makes an acceptable offer to court. Dream thought Hob was beautiful and all the "tailoring" done to highlight Hob's magnificent breasts was beguiling. If Dream was enthralled by the picture they presented, being able to touch and suck on them as part of the courting process, assured that Dream would fight to win Hob.

Then Dream's "attentions" pushed Hob into heat; Dream is exceedingly smug that he's won and gets to keep Hob.

Ooo, yes. I love the idea of smug alpha Dream enjoying his omega's magnificent tiddies!

After Hob’s heat is over, the marriage and mating commences immediately. Hob’s wedding gown is tailored exactly like his courting clothes - sheer, lined in white lace, with his breasts practically exploding outwards. He's still rather embarrassed, but at least he can feel secure in the knowledge that his alpha - an alpha biologically compatible enough to trigger his heat - will enjoy the spectacle. Hob is a good omega at heart, and he really wants nothing more than to please his mate.

And his mate is so pleased with him. Dream is delighted by Hob’s beauty, and thinks that he looks absolutely stunning in his gown. He can't wait to rip the bodice of the dress and let Hob’s beautiful tits spill forward, as intended. He nuzzles Hob’s throat happily as the mating is completed, and Hob purrs for him in return!

Its a huge relief for Hob to be married and no longer on the "market". He doesn't even mind that his alpha seems very much fixated on him physically - its better than being valued solely on his sale price. At least Dream thinks he's pretty. He's told Hob how he wants to show him off in all his glory, if Hob will allow it. That he's the most beautiful, magnificent omega and everyone should have a chance to admire him. Hob can feel himself getting turned on by his alpha's praise. Maybe deep down, he's just as horny as Dream is.

Discovering his omega's secret slutty streak is the absolute pleasure of Dream’s entire life. Within a few months, Hob is totally in love with the idea of showing off in public. Provided that Dream has sucked a fresh hickey into the meat of his breast, first. Hob wants the world to know that he is not for sale. You can look, but don't touch. Dream is the only one in the world who's earned the privilege to do that. His scent, and his mouth on Hob’s beautiful nipples, still send Hob spiralling into a heat if he's not careful!

Not that it's a hardship. Dream is only too pleased to assist his beloved mate <3 and if he knocks him up, the hoboobies will only get bigger!

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft #cw omegaverse

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deiaiko · 1 month

Text

#22.2 Tags

Endorsi tapped her shoe impatiently. "And the prize is?"

"You can exchange it for some points, or use these tags to get private time with a person of your choice." Mask winked at no one in particular. "I know some of you are friends with Bam and Grace. And given that you haven't seen them for years, perhaps you might have something that needs to be said privately. There will be a buffet held after the game, and everyone can talk and socialize freely then. But let me tell you this; the chance of you having a private face to face conversation with them after today will be very low. So be sure to use this opportunity well."

Endorsi suddenly remembered the date that Bam owed her. Maybe this could be her chance? Having Bam for herself sounded fair enough to be considered a date. She wondered how much Bam had changed, and she was curious if she still held the same feelings towards him. Guess she would find out soon.

"Note that they're only valid until today. The white tags are worth three minutes each, while the black ones are worth ten minutes."

Endorsi wanted to throw hands. "The heck?! That's too short!" She quickly decided that the private date time wasn't worth it.

"Not interested." Anaak stated plainly, having the same thought.

"Oh, that's not all." Mask called out his nearby lighthouse and the screen lit up. "I did say that these tags could also be exchanged for some points."

The amounts displayed on Mask's lighthouse made Endorsi's eyes bulge. Sure, it was still comparable to her monthly earnings, but one day of photoshoots wasn't even worth that much. This guy must be filthy rich in order to be able to give out much. "However, there will only be four black stickers in total."

She hadn't even started to do the math when Shibisu raised his hand. "Why four? There are six people on your team."

"Good question." Mask motioned to himself and the other three guys that she didn't bother to remember the names of. "Only us four will participate in the tag game. Grace and Bam don't have tickets because they have a different role."

Endorsi raised an eyebrow, not that she actually cared.

"Remember that those that don't have the tag during the game will be unable to move? Grace and Bam are in charge of it. They will also make sure that this game will not cause any major casualties to the players."

Endorsi suddenly remembered that Bam could use reverse flow control. Grace however…she didn't know much about him. She realized that Grace was surprisingly tight-lipped about his past, for someone who was bad at lying. Thinking back about it, he was absent during the crown game, and he hadn't shown anything noteworthy during the hide and seek game. Bam often bragged about how Grace helped him in class, though, so maybe he was that capable? It wasn't so hard to believe; Grace always looked so self-assured and dependable.

However, there was something different about how he treated her compared to the others, like how he quickly looked away when she caught his gaze, or how he was slightly nervous when talking to her. But she always reasoned that it was only natural that men would fall for her beauty and status, since she was a Jahad princess and all. When she took into account that Grace was already taken, it made even more sense on why he was so awkward and conflicted when interacting with her. She had to admit it was really fun to tease him back then, though she never called him out on it.

"Are there any other questions?" Mask asked, pulling her out of her thoughts.

Khun and Isu asked for some clarifications on the rules, but Endorsi tuned them out, too busy indulging in the thought of the prize points. One black and one white tag should be enough to buy the designer dress she saw the other day. And since Laure most likely wasn’t interested in anything other than sleep, could she ask him to give her his tag so she could use it with Grace? It would be really fun to take Grace away from Mask and make him jealous. Speaking of Mask…

"Five minutes–" Endorsi caught his words– "to discuss amongst yourselves before I start the game."

One of the floating blue lighthouses started a five-minute countdown, and Khun called everyone to gather. However, Endorsi decided to spare a glance to where Mask went.

She saw Mask greeted his team who had started doing warm up moves, while some were not so subtly glancing in her direction. Mask then started typing on his lighthouse, and she saw the training room slowly turned into a fighting stage with just a few commands of his hands. The barrier that covered the room pulsed as if being strengthened, moving platforms and obstacles were created out of thin air–

Khun cleared his throat, and Endorsi noticed she wasn't the only one that was watching the room transformation unfold. "Okay. Listen up everyone."

Masterlist

Let me know your thoughts in the reblogs <3

☕ Buy me coffee ☕

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satansapostle6 · 4 months

Text

fire and ice | james cook

Cook’s interest is piqued when an old childhood friend moves in across the street.

Warning: Mature themes/language. Drug use. Sexual content.

part six.

part seven. nobody’s girl.

“Spliff?”

“Yes. Please.”

“Here.”

Tiff sat up on her rooftop beside a quiet Effy Stonem, who handed her the freshly lit spliff after taking a few pulls from it herself. Apart from Pandora, Tiffany Wheeler was Effy’s only real friend. Effy didn’t enjoy spending time with anyone else; speaking to everyone else was work for her, even Panda.

Tiff Wheeler was the only person who ever received visits from Effy. Effy would just come over to find her of her own accord, offering her spliff, or a bottle, or even just a cigarette. She liked Tiff because Tiff never expected anything. Tiff never expected conversation, or needed comfort. She was just simply there, which Effy always appreciated, especially when things seemed to be taking a turn for the worst.

Due to the low maintenance nature of their relationship, Tiff naturally didn’t know all of the details, but she knew that things were rough for Effy at home, because of her mother’s infidelity. Tiff also knew that Freddie McClair, one of Cook’s best friends, had a massive crush on Effy that everyone in their group was aware of, consensually or not.

Effy, Tiff knew, was the magnetic sort of person who attracted everyone’s interest, whether they loved her or hated her. It was always one or the other. She understood her appeal; Effy had this way of silently convincing everyone that she was so much better and smarter than them, whether it was true or not. Tiff also knew that Effy and Cook had shagged their first day of school. She wasn’t sure whether everyone else knew it, but she was aware.

“Tiff,” Effy interrupted, passing the spliff back to her.

“Hmm?” she looked over at her, taking a long pull.

“I never got the chance to thank you,” she responded.

“Thank me? What for?”

Effy smiled like she was in on some big secret.

“For taking Cook’s attention off of me.”

Tiff scoffed derisively at the notion, coughing out smoke. She shook her head in amusement.

“I’ve done no such thing. Cook doesn’t pay attention to anything.”

“He pays attention to you,” Effy maintained as she took back the spliff.

“I don’t even know where he is right now!” Tiffany reminded her. “Probably passed out in a gutter somewhere.”

“He’s in love with you, Tiff. Trust me,” Effy insisted.

“And he just happens to avoid me half the time despite the fact that he’s somehow in love with me?” Tiff reasoned.

“He avoids you because he’s in love with you,” Effy remarked. “Even if he doesn’t know it yet.”

Tiff just considered her words and her strange certainty for a moment, chalking it all up to a personality quirk.

”You’re good at reading people, you know,” Tiff thought, “Perceptive.”

“I have my strengths,” Effy said vaguely. “Although, I haven’t quite figured you out yet. Well… I don’t quite know you. But I understand you.”

“Me?” Tiffany questioned.

Effy Stonem nodded. “Yeah. You’re hard to read.”

Tiff frowned. “How so?”

“I dunno. I just can’t seem to figure out who your allegiance is to,” the dark-haired girl elaborated.

Tiff knew the answer to this.

“No one,” she said simply.

This made Effy smile.

“That’s how I like to live.”

“It’s easier that way,” Tiff thought. “Not having to answer to anyone. Not having to worry about hurting someone.”

“Not being able to be hurt by someone,” Effy concluded.

Tiff smiled, feeling seen in that moment.

“See? We understand each other,” Effy reminded her.

“You’re one of the only ones I don’t hate,” Tiff admitted. “I’m not very fond of people… Sometimes when I’m in a less social mood, and people start talking to me, or around me, I just want to scream in their faces to shut the fuck up.”

Effy grinned. “My kind of girl.”

“I’m nobody’s girl,” Tiff assured her.

“Amen to that,” her newfound friend responded dryly.

They sat in silence for a moment on the rooftop, both looking out at nothing.

“Do you ever find yourself playing games with people just so you don’t go insane talking to them?” Tiff asked.

Effy paused for a split second.

“All the time.”

”I don’t know if I can ever grow up; become a real member of society,” Tiff thought aloud.

“Don’t,” Effy told her firmly. “You’re a strange sort of person, Tiff,” Effy remarked.

“Really?” she asked, surprised by Effy, of all people, thinking so.

“Yes. Never change,” Effy told her.

Tiff was, not alarmed, but rather surprised as Effy leaned in affectionately, placing a symbolic kiss on her friends lips, the two of them closing their eyes for a split second before pulling apart. Tiff frowned thoughtfully. It was a strange kiss, neither romantic nor sexual in any way in its intent. It was purely a gesture, a form of acknowledgment.

“Thank you, Effy,” Tiff said, earning a simple smile in response.

“You’re welcome.”

part eight.

#james cook #skins uk #james cook fanfic #james cook x reader #skins fic #skins cook #skins gen 2 #skins effy #jack o’connell fanfic #jack o'connell #cook fanfic #cook x reader #effy stonem

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applepiesupreme · 2 months

Text

American Apple Pie

Pairing: Low/Mid Honor Arthur Morgan and female OC.

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Savigne Ricci is a temporary guest at the Van der Linde camp. Her path crosses with the enforcer of the gang, Arthur Morgan, and despite their differences, a relationship develops between them. Whole lot of smut and fluff, slow burn-ish.

AOC link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54945853/chapters/147208882

Chapter 25

The next morning she woke up with a massive hangover. Arthur was gone but he had left her the buckets of water to clean up. She crawled out of bed feeling like road kill, undressed, wiped herself and got dressed in clean clothes. The taste of whiskey was still in her mouth and she swore she would never touch it again. He walked in, a cup in each hand while she was doing her hair, and she immediately resented how magnificent he looked compared to herself.

“Here,” he said and put a steaming mug of coffee on the table. “Should help. Lemme change yer bandages.”

She finished with her hair, then sat across from him. He pointed for her to extend her left hand, so she did as she took a sip from the coffee and shuddered at the intensity of it and managed a “Jesus”. Pearson’s coffee could wake the dead.

“Think you can take a sick day?” he asked as he unwound the strip of cloth, watching her face, probably hoping that her mood last night could be attributed to the whiskey and she was her normal self again.

“No,” was her flat response.

She curiously inspected the angry gashes in her palm, swollen and tender today and watched him dab it with alcohol, then a tincture that made her sneeze.

“Wanna do somethin’ after work then?”

“No.”

His eyes flicked up to her. She swallowed the bitter coffee and grimaced.

“Been a while since we had a day together.”

“You were busy.”

“Ain’t busy now. Maybe we can go check out that second map location,” he drawled. “Ain’t very far.” It sparked her anger, being treated like a child to be won over with candy and trinkets. Offerings to go treasure hunting, to spend time apart from the gang, and especially the sudden chattiness - if she were in a better mood she would find his clumsy attempts at appeasement endearing; would consider them the desperate acts of a man who didn’t know how else to soothe a woman’s hurt. Given that she wasn’t in a gracious mood, they struck her as crude and manipulative.

“No.”

“We can-”

“No.”

He took a slow breath, focusing on the bandaging for a moment. “Savigne…” he said quietly. “You’re running again. Yer mad, so you’re running.”

A relationship where the ‘let me fix it’ guy meets the sprinter, what a joke, she thought.

This early in the morning, before her anger and her jealousy had a chance to ripen, it was hard to find fault with him and so much easier to find fault with herself. Arthur hadn’t made promises and then broken them, had he? He had given no assurances only to walk them back. Neither had he lied to her about who he was - an outlaw, a drifter, a temporary guest just passing through. All he was guilty of was building a tent and sharing a passage of time with her. Why should he be the bad man now because it had made her so happy? Why should he be the villain because she had become addicted to it and had started thinking, hoping, building this fantasy in her head? No, Arthur Morgan hadn’t led her on. She had done that all by herself.

In the end she was angry at him because reality didn’t match her dreams, and whose fault was that but the dreamer’s?

She pulled her hand back and took another sip from the sludge Pearson called coffee to match her bitter mood.

“Ya know,” he sighed, watching her. “I ain’t good with words. But for all the talkin’ you do, you don’ say much either.” He leaned on his elbows, eyes fixed on her. “Tell me what you want.”

I want impossible things, she thought. But what she said was “I want to go to work.”

He followed her to the horses, a quiet ball of pulsing frustration behind her back. Before she could tackle her saddle with her injured hand, he handed her his coffee to put it up himself.

Jack ran over and tangled up in her legs. She held the mug away so the hot liquid wouldn’t splatter on him.

“What are you doing up so early?” she chuckled.

Her face fell when she saw Abigail chase after him.

“Morning,” the other woman said, giving Savigne a shy look.

“Morning,” Savigne sighed and Arthur grunted in response.

“Jack here says we should go for a picnic to celebrate! What do you guys think?” She looked from Savigne to Arthur and back.

Savigne was startled by the absurdity of her ask. “Did you actually just ask that?” she managed, trying to be careful with her words since Jack was there.

Abigail winced and Arthur paused at her tone. “Didn’t mean nothing by it,” the other woman said carefully, caught off guard by her reaction.

Savigne gave her a glare before she turned to Arthur and slapped his mug into his hand. “Lucky for you, Arthur here has no gang duties and he’s been itching all morning to do something.” He flicked the spilled coffee off his hand and gave her an annoyed look as she swung herself up on the saddle. “I say you three should go. Have some fun after that ordeal.”

“Yay!” Jack celebrated. “Where are we going, Uncle Arthur?”

The look Arthur gave Abigail was so severe, Savigne marveled how the other woman didn’t go up in flames. His voice though was mild when he told Jack “Not today.”

“I meant together,” Abigail hastily said to Savigne. “We ain’t goin’ without you. Obviously.”

“Why obviously?” Savigne asked coolly. There was an awkward pause. “Did you never picnic together?”

“We did!” Jack exclaimed. Savigne savagely enjoyed the red blotches blooming on Abigail’s porcelain skin.

“That was years ago,” Abigail mumbled.

“Well there you have it!” she drawled. “I’m going to be late, so don’t wait on me.”

Arthur clenched his jaw and looked away as Jack danced with joy. She turned Cricket around and rode out.

“Sorry,” Abigail whispered when she was gone. “Was trying to…”

Arthur gave her a scalding glare. “Didn' ask for yer help, have I?”

She hastily urged Jack to go play and replied after he ran off: “Didn’ know she was still mad,” a little defensive. “Thought ya made up.”

Arthur threw his coffee out with irritation. “Doubt you did any thinkin’ at all. A picnic, Abigail? God damn now!?”

She withered at the timbre of his voice that made some heads turn.

“Just want things to be like they was, is all.”

“That’s the thing, they ain’t gonna be,” he spat. “You gonna go to yer man from now on. Don’t stray to me for whatever ya need or ‘m gonna be pissed. Should ‘ave stepped down long ago.”

“Why?” she trailed him as he headed to Pearson’s cart.

“Cause it ain’t fair to Savigne and ain’t fair to John and you got even less sense than me if ya can’t see it.”

“I came to you because he wasn’t there!” she protested.

“He there now, ain’t he?” he said, throwing his mug at the pile of dirty dishes before he headed in the direction of his tent. “He been there a while, you just wanna do the easy thing. And I let you so I ain’t blameless, but this here is over.”

“Think I haven’t tried?” she huffed, trying to keep up with his long stride.

“Try harder.”

“But…”

“Jack has a dad and it ain’t me.” He turned on his heels to give her an intense look and she shrank away from it a little, fisting her skirts. “I did right by you. Ya wanna do right by me, you’ll take your son and go have a picnic with John. And you won’ ask me for anythin’ again till I offer.”

“I don’t understand, what changed? We ain’t doin’ nothing, that was years ago!”

“What changed is Savigne ain’t fine with it.”

Her face scrunched and she opened her mouth but he was faster: “You be real careful what you say ‘bout my woman now, ya hear?” She swallowed her words at the warning in his tone. “‘She’s right. I was her, wouldn’t like it, either.” He looked away for a moment. “You know damn well it bothers John, too. Didn’ care cause I told myself he deserved it. That’s on me. But I draw the line at Savigne. You got a man, go put in the work.”

“Was only trying to be nice,” she stammered, visibly upset at his ire.

“Go be nice to John.” He stopped and gave her an icy glare. “Listen here, woman, I ain’t joking. You come to me again, ya gonna see a side of me you wish you didn’,” he spat and walked on, leaving her standing half way.

Chef Ecco found her struggling to put on a glove over her bandages and said he wants to talk to her in his office. Her stomach flipped. She had already pushed the envelope by taking time off when Arthur had been injured and in light of that, her current injury was dangerous for her attendance. She followed him to his small room with heavy steps, thinking how she could convince him that she can work, injured or not.

"Come in Savigne," he amicably herded her in and she stood in the middle of the small room, heart in mouth. His office looked like any business office - more like a place Mr. Dunham would work in than a chef's room. It was crammed full of files and folders and paperwork and the only indication that this was the work space of a chef were the cookbooks lining the walls. It shouldn't surprise her - at this point in his career Chef Ecco was more a businessman than he was a cook.

"I can work," she said quickly. "It's not that bad, really."

He gave her a crooked smile. "I like how hardworking you are. But the safety of my cooks is my job, not yours."

"Of course," she breathed.

There was a moment of silence between them. "You like working here?" he said suddenly, leaning against his table and crossing his arms.

"I love it! I'm learning a lot."

He nodded in approval. "Glad to hear it. I think you are one of the most promising cooks I've had in years." He smiled at the bewilderment in her face. "I mean it," he chuckled.

"Thank you, chef," she said, not knowing what else to say to such a compliment.

Another moment of hush and when he spoke next, his voice was mild but there was a timbre of command and seriousness in it she wasn't expecting: "Show me your hand."

She hesitated for a split second, but then extended her left hand. He bounced off the table and came closer and grasped it gently to turn up her palm. "How did this happen?" he mumbled, fingers gliding over the same bandages that Arthur's had hours before.

"I...a glass shattered under my hand."

"Did it hurt?" he asked, standing too close to her. He's Italian, she thought, they do that.

"Hurts more now than it did then," she replied. Then added: "Which is not much! I can wo-"

The thumb that pressed on her wound sent a flash of pain through her so bright, that it flared up her vision and sizzled her hair roots. She jumped with surprise, instinctively trying to jerk her hand back and opened her mouth to cry out but the sharp shush shocked her into silence. He looked up at her then, his dark eyes intense and calculating and she froze under that look as her mind went blank.

"Does it hurt when I do this?" he whispered casually and pressed even harder. Savigne bit her tongue, unable to look away and unable to move. The pain was more than she expected, more than she had experienced since she had cut it and the intensity of it threw her off.

"Yes," she heard herself whisper, her eyes locked to his, spellbound.

"I see," he mumbled, eyes crawling over her face with something she couldn't name because it was too out of place, too absurd. She took a shuddering breath and tried to retrieve her hand again but his grip was firmer than it should be, so she just stood there like a deer cowering under the gaze of a predator. Distantly she felt the pressure on her palm increase and a tear roll over her cheek, but she couldn't divert her gaze. Time stood still. She could have been there, sizzling under his stare for a moment, a minute or ten minutes, it was impossible to tell. Her mind folded on itself defensively, trying to block out the pain but it was as overwhelming as an undercurrent that grabbed her legs and pulled her under water. She heard herself moan but it changed nothing in his expression.

Then suddenly, jarringly, it was gone and so was that magnetic look that had held her with iron manacles. He turned away and walked around his desk to sit down as she stood there, dumbfounded, panting hard and cradling her hand. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said and the change in his tone back to spry camaraderie gave her goosebumps. "You can have the rest of the week off."

She just stood there, unable to move for long moments, trying to understand what had just happened and failing. Her mind argued that it was important and alarming while at the same time it argued counter-points: it was nothing, he was just stronger than he realized. He didn't press too hard, she was just more sensitive than she had thought. He just wanted to see if she was faking it. He was just concerned and wanted to assess the severity of her wound.

She came out of her stupor when he spoke. "Savigne?" Her head whipped to him. "Are you okay?"

"Y-yes," she swallowed.

"Did you hear what I said?" She nodded, not trusting her voice. "Then go. I will see you Monday."

Somehow the bored dismissal made the entire experience even more bizarre, more confusing. She didn't even realize she was leaving the office until she found herself in the street, blinking at the Saint Denis morning sun.

She stood there a long time, dazed and confused, inspecting her red palm. Next thing she knew, she was standing by a fountain, trying to wash the blood off the bandages. A part of her was furiously attempting to decipher what had happened while another, bigger one wanted to turn away from it. It's nothing. Let it go. It's nothing. You're tired. You're still half drunk. Let it go. Let it go. Let it go.

She let it go with wondrous efficiency and didn't think about it again until much later.

Not sure what to do other than not wanting to return to camp, she went to a broker and inquired about cabins. The man, Mr. Bowers, was somewhat stupefied by her request.

“But Miss,” he said slowly. “A flat in the city would be much more appropriate for you.” His eyes, as expected, glided to her naked ring finger. “Safer.”

“I can’t afford that,” she said, trying to keep her irritation in check. “Also, I don’t see how that’s any of your concern.”

“But you can’t get a loan from the bank without…do you have a brother? Father? Uncle?”

“You let me worry about the loan,” she quipped. Savigne had been saving since the day she started working, so she had the cash and didn’t need a loan for a humble enough cabin, but she wasn’t about to confess it to some stranger.

“Okay,” he cleared his throat. “That aside, I really have to insist that it’s not s-”

“Sir,” she spat, annoyed. All these men concerned with her safety were starting to get on her nerves. “With all due respect, you don’t know me. I could be the best gunslinger in the East for all you know.”

The astonishment on his face was comical. “True, Miss. But…I mean, are you?”

“You don’t want to find out, do you?” she growled. “My point being, concern for my safety isn’t your job. Do you have cabins that fit the bill or not?”

He sighed and got up. “I’m going to assume you’re just here to inquire. And that you have a gentlemen who can go over the options with you later.”

He produced a list of cabins for sale and a map of the surrounding Saint Denis area that marked them. She rudely swiped them from his hands. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” she hissed and exited the office.

She went back to the harbor, a little worked up about the incident. Then forced herself to calm down and pulled out the list and the map, ruminating on her options. When the noon bells rang, she got up to walk to the steakhouse and hugged Luther.

“I can see yer still at it,” he grumbled, pointing at her hand.

She shrugged morosely.

“Sit yer ass down. Ya ate yet?”

She pulled up the stool and watched while he made her a steak. After it was done, he cut it into small pieces so she wouldn’t have to with her injured hand and shoved the plate her way.

There was a long silence between them as she listlessly chewed on the steak.

“So,” he rumbled finally. “Who done that?” giving her hand a side-eye.

“I did,” she sniffed. “Drank whiskey and smashed the shot glass.”

He tsked. “You know ya can’t drink liquor.”

“I was angry,” she mumbled. With more heat: “Rightfully, I should add.”

“Uh huh. What done happen now?”

“Found out he had a fling with someone in camp,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Really?”

“Well…an old fling.”

He gave her a look. “How old?”

She pursed her lips. “I don’t know…like maybe…” he stared at her, unblinking. “Six…” his eyebrow rose, urging her to continue. “…years?” He snorted and she immediately felt offended. “See, you don’t get it either!”

“Woman, six years? Ya wasn’ even in Saint Denis then!”

“It’s the hiding that irked me,” she mumbled which was only partially true. She wasn’t about to describe the graphic scenes playing out in her head between Arthur and Abigail to Luther.

“No that ain’t it,” he scoffed. “Yer jealous…”

“Please!” she huffed.

“…cause ya think he might have a thing for her still.”

“I mean he could.”

“Then how come he didn’ settle with’er long ago?”

“Could be a million reasons…”

He gave her a dry look. “Ya tellin’ me Romeo and Juliet sat in them tents pinin’ for each other for six god damn years in the same camp? Gonna have to excuse my doubt here.”

She sat, steaming with her inability to come up with a counter. “I don’t know why I come here,” she muttered finally. “Of course you would be on his side.”

“Ain’t on nobody’s side. Barely know the man from Adam.” He jabbed the fork in her direction. “But y’ain’t dumb, you know it makes no sense.”

“I feel pretty dumb right now, that’s for sure,” she muttered.

“Listen here,” he said softer. “Y’aint wrong, they should ‘ave told ya. It’s okay to be mad ‘bout that. Okay to be jealous, too…”

“I’m not jealous,” she objected but he talked on, unperturbed:

“…but the rest is in yer head. Cause yer doin’ yer thing again.”

“Maybe you’re right,” she muttered. “Maybe I’m just looking for excuses to end it.”

“Thought ya loved this guy?”

“I don’t want to be around the gang anymore. And I know he won’t leave.”

“He say so?”

She scraped the remnants of her steak around the plate.

“Lord,” he sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “Forgive me. Cause 'm ‘bout to say some things.”

“Just don’t, Jesus!” she hastily intervened. “I’m going through some rough stuff as it is.” She held up her injured hand for an attempt at sympathy and he took a deep breath and thankfully decided otherwise.

“This Arthur must be some kind o’saint, man deserves a shrine.” He pointed his steak fork in her face. “Ask him. Then if he say no, yer welcome back here and we can badmouth him together. Otherwise, get outta my kitchen.”

“But…”

“Yer a grownass woman. Talk.”

"It's not that easy."

"Hell, you'd think ya can't string two words together. Woman, all you do is talk. Except when ya need to, that is."

She grumbled to herself and watched him turn steaks. "I went to a broker today," she said after a while.

He gave her a side eye. "Thought ya said ya won' move till you can defend yerself." She pursed her lips and shifted on her stool. "You got better at shootin'?" he pushed.

"No," she admitted miserably.

"'M about to change my mind on how dumb y'are."

She barreled on: "They talked up and down how I need a man for this and a man for that. Would you sign for me if they won't let me?"

His eyebrows rose. "So you can ask for things when you wanna."

She gave him a dry look. "It's a little different, don't you think?" He gave her a skeptical hum but no answer. "Well, would you?"

"Gotta think 'bout it," he sighed.

"What's there to think about? I have the money."

"Gotta think how 'm gonna answer The Lord when you get yerself killed. More importantly, how 'm gonna answer this Arthur. The Lord forgives, but I ain't so sure 'bout yer man."

"You know how humiliating it is," she seethed, "that I'm sitting right here and nobody cares what I think?"

"You was as big and mean as him, I'd care plenty what you think."

"He's not going to come after you just because you signed a paper for me," she huffed.

"I would," was his simple response that surprised her. Luther, despite his size, was the most nonviolent man she knew, she didn’t know what to make of that statement.

“He know ya goin’ ‘round lookin’ for cabins?” was his sly question.

“What, I can’t go do stuff by myself anymore?”

“Ain’t what I asked, is it?”

“No," she admitted finally. His eyebrows did a thing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

"Knew a girl, popped a cork when her man went behind her back to meet some old flame,” he drawled. "Ran all the way to New York, even." He pointed his steak fork in her startled face. "Ya know, you kinda remind me of her."

“Excuse me? How are these things even remotely similar?” she sputtered.

He sighed and lighted a cigarette, sucking on it for a while. "He gonna be mad and hurt if he find out?"

"Probably," she mumbled. "But..."

"Then it's the same thing."

"That's bullsh-"

"Same thing. Ya knows it, why yer doin' it in secret."

She sat speechless for a few minutes, furiously trying to come up with talking points to defend herself when he went on: "Woman, when did ya become such a coward?"

"Hard to build confidence when everyone is constantly telling you how stupid you are," she muttered darkly.

"Cowards blame others," he said smoothly.

"I can't win," she sighed, deflated. She jumped off the stool just as Susan was coming down the steps, saw her, rolled her eyes and went back up the stairs. "I missed you too, Susan!" she called behind her back.

"Go talk to yer man," Luther said, waving his cigarette in her face. "And I'll think 'bout signin' yer paper."

She harrumphed her way to the exit when he called after her: “And don’ drink no damn whiskey!”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” she yelled over her shoulder and swiped a glass from the shelf on her way out.

She bought a bottle of wine and went back to the harbor. A police officer strolled towards her and said she can’t drink in public but she showed him her hand and told him it’s medicine. He gave her nice clothes a look over, nodded with a small smile and strolled away. She sat at the harbor a long time but didn't touch the wine after the first sip. Her stomach was still sour from yesterday and it tasted vile today.

Luther had a point and she hated to admit it. The notion that something profound had happened between Arthur and Abigail had been so very plausible last night but seemed really flimsy today. She racked her memories to come up with proof otherwise - a suspicious look or any kind of awkwardness between them but failed to do so. Arthur treated her the same way he treated most other gang members - like a mild nuisance he tolerated because she happened to be family.

This assuaged some of her anger but unfortunately did little with regards to her jealousy. Was it ridiculous to be jealous of something long before her time? Absolutely. Was she jealous anyway? Yes. This must be one of those embarrassing, dumb things that happens when you really fall for a guy, she thought because she hadn’t felt anything like it for her former flames. In fact most of those had moved on to other girls and some even had married and she had hardly thought about it, let alone throw a fit and smash glasses.

She noticed that the sun had set, so she went and had dinner. When it still wasn’t late enough, she went to a show, although afterwards she couldn't recall much what she had watched. Then she finally had run out of excuses and had to go back to camp.

When she arrived, it was very late but surprisingly lively. People were still riding the rescue high. She saw Arthur’s silhouette jump up from the fire and march over before she could even dismount and rolled her eyes at the lecture she was about to receive.

“Where ya been?” he seethed as he shouldered her aside to take the saddle off. “Came to pick you up, ya never left work.”

“Why did you do that?”

“What d’ya mean, why? Wan’ed to see you.”

God, you would think a great catastrophe had befallen him when all she had done was give him the cold shoulder for two days! First conflict they had since they had moved in together and half the time he acted irritated because she wouldn't let him "fix" things and the other half, upset as if he was suffering through some great injustice.

“I just asked because I assumed you’d be at your picnic,” she said coolly.

“Was no picnic,” he gave her a hard look. “Ya gonna answer or what - where was you?”

“Chef gave me the day off,” she said dismissively, hefting her basket, but he quickly swiped that off her hands, too. She threw up her arms in frustration and started towards their tent.

“So where was you?” he said as he walked with her.

“Saint Denis,” was her evasive answer.

“Lemme guess,” was his dry retort. “Luther.” He seemed annoyed that she preferred to run to Luther instead of talking to him, but he didn't voice it.

“Among other things.”

“What other things?”

“Wouldn’t you want to know?”

“Why didn’ you come home?”

“Wanted to be alone,” she shrugged.

This visibly frustrated him, but he didn't voice that, either. "I ain’t happy you coming in this late,” he grumbled as they reached the tent. “Bad folk out there.”

“Bad folk in here, too,” she quipped and it silenced him for a few moments.

He closed the flap behind them and put the basket aside.

“Savigne...” he started but she interrupted him:

“I already listened to enough nonsense today, I’m all talked out.”

“What nonsense?”

“Everybody thinks I’m a fool,” she grumbled, yanking the pins out of her hair. “You have to wonder how I’m tying my shoelaces every morning, being as stupid as I am.” She threw the pins into the box with fervor and sat in front of the mirror, picking non existent lint off her blouse. It had stung, the way Mr Bowers had looked at her. And the truth of Luther’s words. And Abigail’s dumb insensitivity. And Arthur’s blindness to her point of view.

It occurred to her that she didn’t have anyone who stepped in and acknowledged her feelings and her frustration. She was surrounded by people who constantly told her she was wrong or too sensitive or too naive. And the fact that she had picked these people meant it was her doing, although she couldn’t fathom why she was doing it.

“Y’aint no fool,” he said carefully and sat down at the table. “Lemme see the hand.”

“My hand is fine, she mumbled, thinking that she needed to pick better people. Softer people. People who would for once carry her banner to battle instead of stabbing her in the back with it.

“Lemme see,” he insisted. “Could get infected.”

She sat across from him and did as asked because the last thing she needed now was an infection. He paused when he unwound the bandages.

"What happened to yer hand?"

Something stirred in her head and she reflexively pushed it down.

He looked up at her. "Did ya hurt it again?"

She looked at the blood, pooled purple under her skin and the gashes, wider now, more swollen than before. "No."

He gazed at her a long moment and she stared back, her mind placid and empty. Then he sighed and went about cleaning it. She bit her lip to keep in the hiss because it hurt.

“Had a bad day, huh?” he said after a short silence.

“Quite horrible actually.”

“Me too,” he said.

“You should have gone to that picnic I guess,” she quipped.

He inhaled a frustrated breath, trying to remain calm. “Woman,” he said carefully, “I can’t change the past. Ain’t fair yer actin’ like I betrayed you cause I fucked someone six years ago.”

“Not just someone. Abigail! She’s right here!” Her arm waved in the camp’s direction.

“Didn’ know she was gonna stick around, did I?” was his heated response. “That she was gonna be John’s woman? That she was gonna have a kid and become family? She changed. Ya gonna tell her she can’t cause she did what she did for a livin’?”

She clicked her tongue and looked away. There was a long silence during which she watched him work, marveling how gentle he could be with hands like those. He finished wrapping and tied the knot but held on to her hand when she tried to pull it back; running his fingers over the edges of the bandages, pretending to adjust minor imperfections. The gesture reminded her of something uncomfortable but she couldn't place it and he spoke up and distracted her before long:

“Been quiet in here,” he murmured, eyes flicking up to her. “I miss yer chirping.”

She pressed her lips, afraid that she would forgive him right then and there. It was hard to resist Arthur when he was present in person, always had been. And he must know it too, because whenever he wanted to erode her resolve, he made sure to be impossible to shake off.

"You know what I'm realizing?" she sniffed, eager to change the subject. "That Dutch is right about one thing at least. Life is easier with a family." He watched her while he held her injured hand and drew circles on the back of it with his thumb. "Maybe I didn't understand it because I wasn't really on my own before."

"How do you mean?"

She shrugged. "Growing up in an orphanage...I didn't have to do a lot of things myself, it was done for me. Like, I didn't have to protect myself. I didn't have to go out there and deal with..." she swallowed the word 'broker' at the last moment. "...institutions. That sort of thing," she mumbled. "Guess it gave me this false sense of independence. Like I can do whatever I want and it doesn't matter if I'm alone. I’m finding out that it’s hard.”

"But y’aint alone," he said quietly, the statement lilting like a question. Nothing in his expression changed but something in his demeanor shifted as his sharp focus came to rest on her.

"Not what I meant," she squirmed in her chair, feeling like she had said too much.

"What did you mean?" he pressed, his gaze unblinking.

"Nothing. Just...that it's hard for a woman on her own, that's all," she said dismissively.

She pulled at her hand again, but again, he didn't let go. He didn't look away when he leaned his elbows on the table and asked "But y'aint on yer own. Are you?" Now there was a tinge of offense in his tone.

"I meant in general," she mumbled but she could tell he didn't buy it.

"Did you?" was his mild question. His attention on her was so intense, she practically felt naked. There was a bout of silence.

"Where was you today?" he asked calmly.

It was bizarre how much she felt like a little girl caught by one of the nuns at the orphanage. Lying was of no use, Arthur read her too god damn well.

“I went to inquire about cabins,” she admitted with some hesitation.

He flinched as if she had slapped him. There was a long silence as he looked at her with disbelief and she stared back, a little uneasy about the intensity of his reaction. She sensed his surprise, and not merely surprise that she had snooped around, but surprise of her intentions. Surprise that she was entertaining the idea of walking away - not just from the gang, but from him too, if necessary.

“You serious?” The incredulity in his voice was obvious.

"I just wanted to know my options,” was her defensive response as she withdrew her hand.

He ran a palm over his beard and looked away.

“It’s not like I’m moving to Europe,” she managed a moment later. “I’m going to be close to Saint Denis…” she trailed. This didn't do anything for his building agitation.

“No.” Said with the finality of a gunshot.

“What do you mean ‘no’?”

When she had bid him goodbye in Saint Denis as she was boarding the train, he had had the very same look on his face as he did now. Arthur wasn't stupid, he knew what was going through her head probably better than she knew herself, but he obviously disagreed with her decision and he was getting ready to push back.

He set his jaw, shoulders rigid. “Lemme put things straight.” His voice was calm but the fire dancing in his eyes gave off palpable heat. He leaned on the table, looking at her from under his eyebrows. "It's gonna be a cold day in hell before I let ya go get killed in some cabin.”

She sat back with a sigh. You can come with me, she wanted to say, but couldn't. Now that she was at the cusp of it, it was harder than she imagined. Because if she never asked, she could always pretend that he would. But if she asked, he could say no. He probably would say no. He definitely would say no.

“Arthur,” she swallowed, “I appreciate it, I do. But…”

“I ain’t agreeing to this,” he said, crossing his arms.

“You don’t have to."

“Savigne,” was his sigh of frustration, “don’ fight me on this.”

“Someone has to think of me,” she grumbled. Did he think this was an easy decision for her?

“Ya think I ain’t?” he said, equal parts incredulous and offended. “I'm your man. Your safety is my job.”

“I think maybe you have too many jobs,” she countered, trying to put it gently.

"What's that 'sposed to mean?" he asked but it was obvious he understood her well enough.

"I'm tired," she said, feeling dejected. It was pointless. He didn't want her to leave which was heart warming but he didn't understand why she had to, and that was irritating. "I don't want to fight you anymore."

"Good."

She rolled her eyes. "I mean I don't want to argue."

"Also good."

He sat there, arms crossed, tense as a bowstring, head averted, a mixture of sullen and pouty which, frankly, looked a bit silly on someone like him. He was trying not to show it but she could sense his hurt and surprisingly, it didn't give her the satisfaction she thought it would. Because, she reminded herself, Arthur hadn't led her on. She had done that to herself.

"My hand hurts," she said a moment later. "If you could bring in some water..."

He blinked at her, a little startled that she had made a request. "Sure," he said and rose up.

The enthusiasm and pleasure with which he went about the simple task twisted her heart.

#arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan fluff #arthur morgan smut #low honor arthur morgan #mid honor arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #fluff #smut #fanfic #dom arthur morgan

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salty-an-disco · 5 months

Note

Hey Salty. I am currently infected by your ContraHero disease. *Sits down with a smile, ready for you to give me your sales pitch.*

To start off my essay, on Why Hero and Contrarian Should Kiss, let’s go over their

✨Story Parallels✨

They both differentiate from other voices in that they aren’t born after an interaction with the Princess. Hero, from being our agency, appears in the moment we make any significant choice to progress the story. And if that choice is in direct opposition to the first order given to us, Contrarian also appears. They unique in how they aren’t depend on the Princess’ perspective on us to be born (and perhaps that’s why they aren’t as stuck in their singular title like the other voices seem to be).

Hero represents agency. Our freedom to make choices.

Contrarian represents individuality. Our freedom to be ourselves.

Together, they can offer even more choices. Which, ironically, leads us to the most straightforward and linear route in the game. By focusing so much on ourselves and on our choices, we failed to meet with the princess and give her a chance to form her own unique identity.

With individuality tho, comes self-consciousness, and the ability to look at yourself and go, “Damn… I fuckin’ suck.” WHICH BRINGS US NEATLY TO OUR SECOND PART–

The Final Cabin aka. in Which They Already Sound Like a Married Couple

Hero will always be in the final cabin. He’s agency, the reason we can find it in the first place.

But if Contrarian was also with you when you entered the cabin for the first time, he will also be there as a permanent reminder of the choices you made to lead you there. And he’s deeply and painfully aware of it.

He sat there for Who Knows How Long with only his mistakes to think about and all the ways they could’ve done better. But here’s the thing– the only way this could’ve been ‘better’ is if Contrarian didn’t appear in the first place, if you had gone to the cabin as normally. So, he’s just thinkin’ of how his very existence seems to make things worse.

And then comes Hero and Quiet! Finally, something different, but familiar, happening. He has someone else to talk to, and can finally get out of his own thoughts.

And, OK, I cannot talk about this part without gushing because, OMG GUYS.

Both Hero and Contra sound so worn down, but so glad to see each other! And the way Hero catches to how different Contra seems, and how fond his “You’ve really grown a heart, haven’t you?” sounds, like???? HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO BE NORMAL ABOUT THEM AFTER THAT????

And just their banter, with Hero trying to cheer Contra up with little jokes of his own (“there’s your third beat” JUST PULL OUT MY HEART AND SQUISH IT, WHY DON’T YOU??)

AND THE FUCKIN’ UPDATE THAT ADDS EVEN MORE FODDER TO THE CONTRA’S LOW SELF-ESTEEM HEADCANON

“But… that’s the worst part of us. That’s me she’s talking about.”

AND HOW HERO ASSURES HIM THAT THERE’S NO WORST PART, LIKE. HELLO????

*Ahem*

Beyond all that though, they’re just fuckin’ cute together.

Guy who shoulders too much responsibility + Guy who always throws responsibilities out the window.

They balance out each other, with Hero keeping Contra grounded and focused, while Contra reminds Hero it’s OK to just rest and have fun sometimes. And also. Hero is also a gremlin with high tolerance for Shenanigans, and Contra would just enable that side of him, which is exactly what he needs tbh.

In conclusion: They should kiss

#love how you can pinpoint the exact moment where I threw away any pretence I am anything but Completely Unhinged about these two #slay the princess #contrahero #voice of the hero #voice of the contrarian #stp voices #stp meta #<- kinda??? it’s mixed in there with my Ship Propaganda #sal rambles #mailbox

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whisperofsong · 2 years

Text

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: Dinner with Bob’s family results in an eventful evening.

Note: While I include some disheartening scenes, Bob truly deserves the world and the reader ensures he knows he’s worthy of just that😇

____________________________________________

“Are you almost finished, baby?”

“Just a second!” you call out from behind the bathroom door. After adjusting the sleeves of your floral dress, you step out into your room to reveal your outfit to Bob.

“I like that one. It’s one of my favorites,” he reminds you with a sincere grin.

“I know, but do you think it’s right for the occasion? I’m meeting your family for the first time, so I want to ensure I make a positive impression.” You position yourself in front of the full-length mirror and frown.

“Hey,” Bob says softly, standing up from his spot on your bed and walking towards you. He glides his hands around your waist before he nestles his head between your shoulder and neck. “You’re beautiful and I’m convinced they’re going to adore you…not as much as me of course.” He nuzzles his nose against your cheek and presses two lingering kisses to your cheek.

“But the outfit could make a difference…” you bite your lip as you consider other options. “Wait! I’ve got it. Close your eyes!” you instruct him in a rushed manner before hastily removing another dress from its hanger. Bob sighs heavily, but obliges nonetheless and returns to a sitting position on your bed.

When you finally emerge from the bathroom, Bob’s enlarged pupils tell you everything you need to know and you can’t refrain from blushing.

“Is that new?” he inquires in a low voice.

“Not really. I’ve had it for a little while, but I just haven’t had a chance to show it to you yet,” you reply.

“I love it, Y/N.”

“Seriously? You’re not just saying that?” you press.

He shakes his head. “No. I really love it. That shade of blue suits you.”

You detect a gleam in his eyes behind his glasses and wrap your arms loosely around his neck. “I’m guessing it’s good enough for dinner with your family?”

“It’s perfect,” he assures you while lightly running his fingers up and down your arms.

____________________________________________

Several days later, you find yourself sitting cross-legged on your bed waiting for Bob to pick you up. You’re grateful that your hair is cooperating today, looking especially voluminous.

When you stand up and approach the mirror to confirm there aren’t traces of smudged lipstick, you notice the pensive look on your face. Sure, you’ve dated in the past, but these dates were casual; not serious enough to warrant meeting these guys’ families. With Bob being your first significant relationship, this is all new territory and you desperately wish you had prior experience with navigating it.

Despite your nerves, you refuse to allow them to get the best of you. You’re confident in your ability to make a lasting impression and are pleased Bob’s family is opening their home to you. The cheerful chime of the doorbell interrupts your thoughts. Your heels clack across the wood floor as you advance towards the door and when you open it, your heart lurches at the man waiting for you.

Bob is dressed in gray pants and a black button down that looks absolutely delicious on him as it strains against his developed biceps. A stray curl looms above his forehead, making him all the more endearing to you, and a wave of gratitude washes over you when you remember this handsome, sweet man is yours.

“Hi,” he greets softly. “You look gorgeous.”

“And you look very handsome,” you say, leaning against the doorframe. “I must admit I’m a fan of this look, Bob.”

“It’s new actually. I, uh, thought I’d dress up a little bit.” He shrugs as if to dismiss this, but you lean forward and sweep his stray curl to the side. “I’m glad you did. Although…as much as I like this particular look on you, I think I’d enjoy taking everything off even more,” you admit as you glide your thumb across his bottom lip.

“Um…I, um, I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to think about that right now. Otherwise we’ll never get out of here,” he breathes.

“Later,” you wink as you shut the door and head to his car, leaving him staring at you in disbelief.

When Bob pulls into the driveway of his parents’ home, you immediately survey the surrounding scenery. You note “The Floyds” written in fancy script across the mailbox along with the American flag hanging prominently near the porch. You observe the potted plants beside the front step and the slightly worn green paint of the shudders.

Bob shuts off the engine, but as your hand prepares to open the car door, you feel his hand clasp your opposite wrist. “Wait.” You look at him expectantly.

“Please know that you don’t need to impress anyone in there. I fell in love with you for you, so just be yourself. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agree. He squeezes your hand before releasing it and you two walk to the front door together. Bob knocks several times and within seconds, a woman’s face appears behind the door.

“Bobby! Hi, honey.” She embraces him warmly and then turns her attention to you.

“You must be Y/N! It’s a pleasure to finally meet the woman who makes this one gush and smile look a fool.” She titters at her own comment and you shoot her a soft smile.

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Floyd. Thank you for inviting me.”

“Of course, of course. Call me Joan, I insist. Come in, sweetheart.” She motions for you to follow her through the foyer and when you enter the kitchen, you find multiple men waiting for you.

“This is my husband, Richard, and our other three sons, Ted, Stephen, and John,” she shares, pointing to each one as she introduces them.

“It’s wonderful to meet all of you,” you say, making a point to look at each of them individually.

“We were beginning to think you may not be real-that you may have just been a figment of our baby brother’s imagination,” Ted jokes.

“Good ol’ Bob here had lots of imaginary friends when he was younger,” John informs you.

Bob shuffles uncomfortably next to you. “I had two and that was a long time ago,” he clarifies.

“If I recall correctly, you were thirteen and still making up games with one of them,” Ted says.

“Now boys, that’s enough. Let’s go into the family room and chat for a bit. Dinner won’t be ready for a little while,” Mrs. Floyd shares.

Once you’re gathered in the family room, Mrs. Floyd asks about how the two of you met, even though Bob reminds her that he already told her this story. His mom claims she wants to hear it from your perspective. Mr. Floyd asks you about your profession and whether you’re satisfied in your field. Mrs. Floyd then takes it upon herself to sit between the two of you so she can show you a photo album containing photos of Bob from childhood. While Mrs. Floyd is in the midst of regaling you with the details behind a photo of Bob holding a fishing pole that’s larger than him, the timer on the even beeps, signaling her presence in the kitchen.

Minutes later, dinner is ready and you assist Bob’s mom in placing various dishes on the dining room table. Mr. and Mrs. Floyd sit at the heads of the table with his three brothers on one side and the two of you on the other. The seven of you eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes before you break the silence. “Everything is delicious, Mrs. Floy-I mean, Joan.” You smile self-consciously and she winks at you.

“Thank you, dear. Now that you’re part of the family, I’ll have to share my recipes with you.”

“I would-“

“Let’s not jump the gun, Mom,” Stephen interrupts. “They’re only dating.”

“Besides, we all know Bob moves as slow as molasses. It took him weeks to ask Y/N out. God knows how long it’ll be before he’s ready to take things to the next level,” Ted quips.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat as you eye his brothers across the table. You’re no stranger to siblings teasing one another as you reflect on your experiences with your own brother. However, you find the incessant jeering unsettling.

“That’s really none of your business,” Bob answers, directing his comment towards his brothers.

“Don’t get so defensive, Bob. They mean well,” his mother says, shooting him a knowing look. You can’t help but feel she’s misguided in her judgement of her other sons’ intentions.

“Have you visited Bob at work yet?” asks Mr. Floyd and you’ve never been more relieved for a change of subject.

“No. I mean, I understand that a lot of what he works on is confidential, but I would love to see him in action at some point. I have no doubt he’s wonderful,” you beam and squeeze his hand tenderly, causing him to return the gesture.

“You need to take more initiative, Bob. You’re too timid,” Mr. Floyd states assertively.

“I, uh, I-“

“He’s always been that way,” John says as he flicks his hand dismissively. “Remember when we went to that lake years ago and he refused to get in the water because he thought there might be poisonous fish in it?”

“What about when he was learning to drive and kept letting everyone else go?” Ted guffaws.

“Aren’t you a back seater to a chick?” asks Stephen. “Talk about embarrassing.”

Bob looks down at his plate, refusing to meet his brothers’ eyes. “She’s skilled at what she does; I’ve learned a lot from her,” he answers honestly.

Although Mrs. Floyd appears to be somewhat dismayed by her sons’ rude remarks, she doesn’t interject and Mr. Floyd shakes his head disappointedly. Are they seriously not going to defend their son?

“Look, it’s probably for the best,” Ted reasons. “Bob in a leadership role could only result in some sort of destruction.” The three brothers erupt into laughter at this and even Bob’s dad chuckles with them. This amplifies your frustration and you can no longer take it.

“Enough!” you shout.

The laughter abruptly ceases and everyone’s gaze is now fixated on you.

You glare at Bob’s older brothers. “How dare you talk about Bob like this. He’s the sweetest, most intelligent, respectful, and loving man I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing and the fact that you fail to notice that is on you. I suggest the three of you look within yourselves before you criticize someone else. Trust me, there’s a lot that needs fixing from where I’m sitting. But as far as Bob is concerned?” You glance at him beside you. “He’s terrific and there’s no way I’ll accept words claiming otherwise.”

Ted, Stephen, and John stare at you with dumbfounded expressions. Conversely, Bob’s father almost looks impressed and his mother appears to be wearing an expression that conveys respect for you. You pick up your fork and resume eating your meal because you said everything you needed to say.

The remainder of dinner is completely quiet except for the scraping of forks and knives against plates. When it’s time to clear the table, you brightly offer to help Mrs. Floyd, but make a point not to clear the brothers’ things. As far as you’re concerned, they can handle it themselves. The men retire to the family room while you help load the dishwasher, but you don’t get very far when Mrs. Floyd lays a gloved hand on your arm.

“You know, dear, your words packed a powerful punch in there.” You look at her carefully, but don’t say a word as you nervously anticipate what she’s going to say next. “And even though I had a good feeling about you when you walked through my front door, your speech in there solidified that feeling.” Mrs. Floyd returns to rinsing the glass in her hand and although she said very little, she simultaneously said a lot.

Dessert was less eventful, but much more pleasant as Bob’s parents shared funny stories with you related to holidays, family vacations, and various traditions. They asked you more about your own family and you filled them in on your experiences growing up, taking great delight in the brothers’ welcome silence. Before leaving, Mrs. Floyd provided you with plenty of leftovers and, as promised, slipped you index cards containing several family recipes.

As you walked to Bob’s car, you took notice of his silence and were worried that perhaps, you had taken things too far. Maybe you overstepped and shouldn’t have made him uncomfortable with your outburst. He unlocks the doors and when you climb in, you immediately face him, intending to apologize.

“Bob, I’m-“, but you don’t have an opportunity to proceed because Bob’s lips crash into yours, kissing you fervently, and causing the leftover containers to tumble onto the floor. He cradles your face in his hands and slips his tongue effortlessly into your mouth, eliciting a soft moan from you. You can barely get air, but in this particular moment, you’d gladly give up air for him.

He pulls away as you crave more and rests his forehead against yours. “That was the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me,” he breathes. Not to mention the hottest.”

“You’re not upset with me?” you prompt.

“Upset? Gosh no. Baby, if anything, it made me love you more and I didn’t think that was possible.”

You stare lovingly into his eyes and peck him on the nose, followed by both of his cheeks, his forehead, and finally, his lips.

“It, uh, it also…turned me on,” he admits sheepishly and when your eyes travel to his lower region, they’re met with the evidence.

“Well, I just wanted to show how grateful I am for you,” you tell him.

Bob leans back against his seat and starts the car’s engine. “And when we’re back at my place, I plan to show how grateful I am for you,” he expresses in a low voice and you clench your thighs at what awaits.

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