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joelscruff · 10 months ago

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keep it squeaky (joel miller x f!reader) 18+

a/n the way this just kinda happened and idk how to explain any of it. if it's not your thing pls move along!! but if it is your thing...enjoy. bear with me, it was written in about 30 minutes. summary: joel miller has a problem, and it's his daughter's new best friend. or, alternatively, joel listens to you pee while he's in the shower. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: age gap (you're in your 20s, joel is in his 50s), piss kink (????) i honestly don't know if this classifies as actual piss kink. he can hear you pee (and then watches you). you're on the toilet. idk if i can get any more clear than that, jerking off in the shower, joel having dirty thoughts cause he's a dirty old man, imaginary creampie, imaginary tummy bulge word count: 1.8k

You've been teasing him. You love teasing him.

It's been a long, grueling week of teasing.

But you and Sarah finally head back to college tomorrow, and he can't thank his lucky stars enough. He'd thought it'd be nice having her back here, even nicer that she decided to bring a friend along.

How wrong he'd been.

You're, for lack of a better word, persistent. Very persistent. And he's flattered, don't get him wrong, he's extremely flattered; beyond awestruck that someone as young and beautiful as you would have any interest in an old man like him. It had taken a few days for him to actually even accept what was happening; the flirty comments, the seductive glances, the little touches here and there. He'd thought he was making it up, that maybe you were just a touchy-feely kinda person, a lover of intimacy with everyone.

Until you'd been on the couch together on the third night. You'd leaned over to grab something - the remote, your drink, he can't even remember now - and you'd purposely made sure to brush your knee against his bulge. You'd kept it there for a few seconds, rubbed it gently, and then with a wink you'd grabbed whatever you'd been reaching for and settled in next to him again. Sarah, on the opposite side of you, hadn't noticed a thing.

But he had. And he'd noticed everything else you were doing after that. Nudging your foot against his ankle under the kitchen table, brushing past a little too closely in the kitchen so that your breasts pushed against his back, wiped crumbs of dessert from his mouth with your thumb and then sucked it into your own with a wide-eyed and flirtatious expression.

Not to mention the shit you wore - when you'd first arrived you'd been in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, nothing unusual. But after that first day of meeting him you'd suddenly switched to dresses exclusively. Short little things that barely covered the tops of your thighs, frilly material that bunched up in the back whenever you bent over.

He's now seen the plump shape of your ass and those delicate little panties you wear way too many times to count.

But he can't. He cannot act on the desire he feels for you, even though you're quietly begging for it. You're his daughter's best friend, not to mention he's three times your age. Only a dirty old man would even consider reciprocating the things you've done to him this week.

It's just one more day, he tells himself. Just one more day and she's gone.

It's on that final day that he finds himself where he usually does on a Saturday morning - in the shower. He's humming along to a tune he can't place and scrubbing body wash along his arms when he suddenly hears a knock at the door, light and almost shy. He freezes, raises an eyebrow.

"Mr. Miller?" he hears your voice on the other side, "Can I come in? I have to pee."

His eyes go wide; is she serious? She can't wait a few minutes for him to finish?

"I'll be out in a few," he calls back, trying to ignore the speed at which his heart is suddenly pounding.

"I don't think I can wait, I really have to go," you reply almost immediately, voice edged with a desperation he can't tell is real or fake. He lets out a low groan, hand coming up to pinch the space between his eyebrows as he figures out what to do.

Before he can decide he hears the squeak of the bathroom door, opening just a little bit. Fuck.

He could yell at you. He could tell you to leave him alone, to give him privacy. He'd have every right. Even Sarah would back him up.

But then he hears your little voice again, soft and eager.

"I'll be quick, I promise."

He brings his hand to his mouth, bites at the flesh on the back of it and shakes his head underneath the stream of water. This is a bad idea. This is a very bad idea.

"Okay," he manages to say, voice husky and muffled against his skin.

He hears you close the door behind yourself, hears the soft footsteps of your bare feet against the tile. He wonders what you're wearing; if you're still in your pajamas - those cute little pink shorts and that tiny white bralette - or if you're already dressed. What if you're wearing another one of those little dresses?

His cock, which only a moment ago lay soft against his inner thigh, starts to harden.

"M'sorry, I really had to go," he hears you say sweetly from the other side of the shower curtain, "And you guys only have the one bathroom, so..."

"It's okay," he replies, voice almost pained, "It's okay, I don't mind."

And he hates that it's the truth.

He doesn't hear you sit down on the toilet over the sound of flowing water, isn't sure whether you've already started or you're still waiting for him to say something else. He clears his throat awkwardly, willing himself not to look down at his growing erection.

"Y'good there?"

"Yeah, sometimes it just takes me a minute when I'm around someone else."

Then why the fuck couldn't you just wait? He wants to ask, desperation and arousal clawing at his thoughts as he leans his head back against the shower wall. He brings his hands up and covers his eyes, wills you to just do what you need to do and get out.

His cock bobs against his stomach.

And then he hears it - it's different than the shower, less heavy. More light, delicate. An almost melodic sound that echoes against the bathroom walls, overwhelms his senses to the point where it's suddenly all he can hear. It flows out of you slowly at first, then steadily.

Oh fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

You're doing this on purpose. He fucking knows you are. He knows you're dragging it out, taking your time, knows that you're probably hoping he'll take a peek at you as you do it.

And fuck, he hates that you're right.

He removes his hands from his face and brings one down to finger the shower curtain quietly, pulling it the tiniest bit so he can see past it. He feels like such a fucking pervert, the dirtiest old man that ever existed, and yet the throbbing in his now fully hard cock and the sound of you pissing inches away is telling him that he needs to look.

So he does. And there you are.

You are wearing one of your dresses, pink and tiny and perfect. Your pretty little panties are around your ankles and you've got your dress bunched up over your thighs, almost up to your chest. He can see so much of you, so much that's been hidden only just out of sight all week. The tops of your thighs, round and soft, the perfect pouch of your belly that peeks out under where you're holding the material of your dress. And there...just barely in view... he can see the smallest hint of your pussy.

He stares. And he listens.

You must know he's watching you, but you don't let on. You stare straight ahead, holding your dress high above your tummy and pushing out the remainder of your release with a dazed little smile on your face.

He wonders if your clit is throbbing. He wonders if it's poking out while you sit there, wonders what colour it is and how it would feel beneath his fingertip. He hears that beautiful twinkling sound and imagines what your pussy must look like as it relieves itself, wonders if it's pulsing, wonders what your little holes must be doing under there, just out of his eyesight.

With barely any thought he begins to stroke his cock with his free hand, mouth popping open as he pulls and pushes and continues to watch you - the prettiest little thing he's seen in way too long - in such a vulnerable state. He knows you're almost done, knows you can't make it last forever - even though you both want it to.

He tilts his head a bit, brows furrowed, eyes dark. He stares at your tummy and imagines the outline of his cock poking through from the other side. Would your little hole take all of him? Would it fit? Would you beg for it?

If you don't leave in the next minute he's going to fuck you.

And just as that thought crosses his mind, your pretty little stream dies out. The sound of the shower centers his world again and disappointment floods his body. Don't go. Don't leave yet. Show me that soft little pussy, please.

Much to his chagrin you carefully pull yourself up from the toilet. He watches as you flush, watches as you turn away from the shower to slowly bend over, reaching for your panties. His jaw goes slack, fist still pumping his cock as you do just what he was wishing. He can see your folds, see the little drips of liquid still clinging to your outer lips, can almost see the hint of your little clit peeking out.

He comes almost immediately, white heat gurgling onto his fist and down into the drain below as he stares at that perfect little seam, wet and dripping and begging to be fucked. He wishes he was filling it up, wishes he was painting your insides and making you squeal, holding you close with his balls pressed firm against that perfect ass.

You pull up your panties slowly, making a bit of a show of it before you're suddenly standing straight. You start to turn around, back toward the shower, and at that he lets go of the curtain and allows it to fall back into place, concealing him - and his now softening cock - from your view.

He listens as you turn on the tap, doesn't mind that the water goes a bit cold as you do - anything to get some clarity.

"I'm done now, sorry about that," he hears you say over the sound of water hitting the tiles, "I just really had to go."

"Th-that's okay," he manages to get out, voice strained and practically wrecked, "Whatever you need, sweetheart."

"You're so nice," you reply, and he can hear that you're smiling, "Enjoy your shower, Mr. Miller."

That evening, he calls for you while you and Sarah are watching a movie downstairs. Jumping at the chance to be alone with him, of course you tell Sarah not to pause it, tell her to keep watching because you've "seen it before" and you "won't be long".

It's almost like you know.

You know that when you find him upstairs he'll be standing in the bathroom, know that he'll pull you inside and close the door behind you.

"You forgot to wipe, sweetheart. Lemme show you."

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #*

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strawberry-halla · 9 days ago

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something so amazing about solas is that he is very good at predicting his enemies and his allies moves. he’s always thinking 5 steps ahead, even varric says this. (long post incoming!)

but when it comes to lavellan, he could never predict her. when he first meets her, solas thinks she’s just another dalish elf that is unwilling to listen to his advice. nope turns out she can be willing and not only that but asks him about what he knows so she can better understand the fade/spirits/ancient elves.

and then the haven dream kiss! she’s the one who initiates and solas is once again thrown off guard because he never expected that. and then he just gives into it with so much passion and fade tongue.

in all new, faded for her, solas is once again surprised lavellan agrees with his plan to free his friend, the spirit of wisdom. because nobody in the entire inquisition (except cole) would be down for this?? like all the world knows about spirits is that they don’t ever come in contact with people unless very rarely. they’re an enigma, something to be feared even because they can become demons. but nah lavellan is like ��yep sounds good let’s go save your friend!’

and solas after this tries to rationalize lavellan’s bizarre behavior as something the anchor changed about her. because he has always known how to read people. he can’t understand her. he thinks her ‘spirit’ has changed due to magic’s influence.

but no, lavellan surprises once again by pointing out that her choices are her own or that if the anchor did change her, wouldn’t she notice? like no wonder solas is so fucking down bad. lavellan subverts everything he thought about the modern people, not just exclusively elves. she’s constantly showing him new points of view and challenging his whole mission. and so the cracks start to form.

“you show a wisdom i haven’t seen since…*pause* my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the fade.”

“your mind, your morals, your… *pause* spirit.”

“it would be kinder in the long run. but losing you would- *cuts himself off*”

and then if lavellan drinks from the well, this conversation and the previous quest itself (what pride had wrought) just cracks solas wide open (even if she didn’t drink). he’s visibly upset because he’s afraid the well will change lavellan and he knows first hand what it’s like to do everything for someone who made the wrong choices! so solas asks what she would do with the power of the well and he’s ONCE AGAIN thrown off guard by her answer. i really like the “help the world move forward” option because it almost aligns with solas’s plan but it doesn’t.

s: “you would risk everything you have in the hope the future is better? what if it isn’t? what if you wake up to find the future you shaped is worse than what it was?”

l: “i’ll take a breath, see where things went wrong, and then try again.”

s: “just like that?”

l: “if we don’t keep trying, we’ll never get it right.”

you’d think this would be an affirmation that solas’s plan is right, but it’s not. lavellan is wanting to fix things now and shape a better future with the well’s power. it’s eerily similar, but once again a path solas didn’t consider. she surprises once more. using the wisdom from the well to help, rather than command. sound familiar? this conversation just solidifies solas’s want. to be himself and to be solas, not fen’harel, with lavellan.

so he takes her to crestwood. somewhere intimate and quiet just for the two of them. a place where the veil is thinnest because it’s easy for spirits to cross and be comfortable. solas is going to tell lavellan the truth. he’s going to abandon his plan. but then solas gets in his own head. he fights with the possibility of her rejecting him because why wouldn’t she? he’s the very god in her culture that ruined everything. what if lavellan sees him for the monster history painted him? and then he realizes why he even wanted to tear down the veil. to avenge his oldest friend and right the wrongs he did to the elves. and it all comes crashing down in not even a second.

“then what i must tell you… *pause* …the truth.”

solas backpedals so fucking hard. the reality of everything just hits him. so he quickly redirects to the vallaslin topic because it’s familiar as he looks down at lavellan’s face and sees the markings of the very gods he locked away.

remove the vallaslin or not solas still loves her no matter what. and the sad option is still my favorite here because once again solas is slipping.

s: “you have a rare and marvelous spirit. in another world-“

l: “why not this one?”

and then at the end of veilguard, lavellan does one more thing solas doesn’t expect. after hurting her, betraying her, leaving her alone without any answers, killing one of her friends, and almost succeeding in his plan, she forgives him. lavellan abandons thedas and everything she knew to be with him. to the very end, she is subverting his tragic expectations.

“this journey is not yours alone. we make it together, always.”

#dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #datv #dragon age the veilguard spoilers #datv spoilers #veilguard spoilers #dragon age inquisition #dai #dragon age solas #inquisitor lavellan #f!lavellan #solavellan #solas just getting blindsided by lavellan’s freak #loki and sigyn are all over this #it’s rotten work but not if it’s you #the hands that cradled you are covered in blood #but they cradled me yes?#my lil pookies

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cevansbrat0007 · 17 days ago

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https://x.com/auxgod_/status/1854935706742706397?s=46

ari’s reaction if bird tried to walk out the house with this on 👀

Untitled Sweet Renegade Series Ask & Drabble

Please enjoy the Sweet Renegades Series Drabble found after the cut. Warnings include: Mature Themes, Implied Smut, Ari Being a Possessive Menace, Brat!Reader, Manhandling, Crude Language, and Cursing. Minors DNI.

Listen, Ari considers himself to be a rather progressive man. He has two sisters that he respects and adores. And a little niece that fills him with pride. He plans to teach his nephew about the importance of respecting women - of treating them with the utmost reverence and care.

However, the moment Ari laid eyes on his sweet, stubborn little Bird, it was if something in him snapped. It came from somewhere deep. Primal. And the beast in him demanded that he stake his claim. Before her, Ari had never really considered himself to be the possessive type. He just assumed that jealousy wasn't a part of his makeup.

But now? Her smile. Her laugh. Her light. Every delicate inch of her gorgeous curvy body. All of it belongs to him. In the most primal, feral sense.

And he does not like to share.

So, while he wants to encourage Bird as she continues down the path of consistent, healthy body positivity, he's also man enough to admit that that there's no way in hell he'd let her fine ass out of the house wearing a dress like that. And here's why:

"Baby..." He rasps, caging you in as he backs you against the door. "You look fucking stunning." Two thick fingers trail their way down your body, stopping once they reach the valley between your breasts. "But I'm afraid I can't let you leave. Not while you're wearin' that."

"What's wrong with it?" Your words come out as a gasp when you feel a hand wind its way into your curls, holding you still as he continues his assault. The seconds drag on as his head dips, his mouth finding yours.

"Because, sweet Bird." Ari presses, forcing you to take his delicious weight. Making your pulse spike as he grinds his increasingly hard cock against your abdomen.

"B-because?"

"Because..." He draws out the word as he wrenches your head back so that he can whisper maddening little love bites along the curve of your jaw. "This is the kinda dress you wear when you're out with your man." You have a hard time breathing as his free hand skims lower before coming to rest on the swell of your bottom.

"Oh yeah?" You continue to goad - against your better judgement.

To be honest, you'd known what you were risking when you saw the dress hanging on the rack. You had no business playing with fire. But that's part of what made all of this so fun.

"Absolutely." Ari's normally bright blue eyes darken with arousal as he watches your chest heave. Almost as if he's imagining what it might be like to slowly peel the garment off you, piece by piece. "Because these hips and that ass - they're enough to give a man ideas."

His soft lips find their way to your ear, his warm breath making you shiver.

"And when they start wantin' to entertain those ideas," he muses, more to himself than you. "I need to be there as your man to shut 'em down."

"I see." A sharp nip of teeth has you clenching your thighs together.

"Because I am the only man who's allowed to know what it's like to bury myself between those luscious thighs." Using two fingers, he tips up your chin, wordlessly demanding that he look you in the eyes. "And only I get to know what you taste like when you cum on my tongue. Which therefore makes me the only man with exclusive rights to your tight, little pussy."

"Okay Beast." You can't help the giggle that bubbles its way out of your throat. "I think you've made your point."

"Have I, little Bird?" He growls, releasing his grip on your chin to capture your wrists, trapping them above your head. "Or do I need to remind you that I'm not the sharing type?"

The steady tick in his jaw lets you know that you and your dress have once again pushed this man to the edge. But the real question was...

Just what did you plan to do about it?

Batting your lashes up at him, you decide it's time to let the brat in you win out once and for all. Go big or go home, you know?

"Eh, it's been awhile, big guy." You purr, catching your bottom lip between your teeth. "I'm thinkin' you might need to refresh my memory."

END

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jarofstyles · 7 months ago

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Illicit 10

Here we are, babes. The last official part of the main Illicit story. It’s bittersweet because I finally completed something lmao but also, I really love them and their story.

Safe to say this isn’t the last you’ll see of them. I’m fully planning on doing little flashbacks and check ins with them, feel free to let me know what you would like to see/if you have any unanswered questions. Thank you for reading!

Check out our Patreon for early access and 160+ exclusive writings

Illicit masterlist

WC- 3.3k

Warnings- mention of wounds, stitching, having children, marriage talk, nightmares, etc

——-

“Harry, for the love of god, please be careful of your arm.” Y/N winced in worry as the man carried firewood over to their fire pit. He had not been taking his injury half as seriously as he had been taking Y/N’s concussion, treating her like the ‘delicate little bird she was.’ He’d gotten an eye roll for that. Of course he wasn’t letting her help lug the wood for their night in front of the fire. She’d requested with sleepy eyes earlier in the morning to make smores because they’d been in her dream and Harry was giving her basically anything she wanted.

“M’fine, baby.” He laughed, appreciating her concern but knowing the injury barely stung anymore. “The stitches are coming out tomorrow, and we pushed it, keeping them until then. Only kept them because you wanted me to.”

It had been about 2 weeks since the attack and they’d left for the lake house. As much as he knew it was terrifying for the both of them, he was utterly relieved to have Katherine behind bars. He’d made sure to keep updated by his contact in the force to know what was happening with her case. Apparently she had really lost it, but Harry didn’t give a fuck. He wanted her to rot behind bars, to live miserably and have Y/N be safe without the threat of some crazy ex-who-isn’t-an-ex looming in the background.

Harry had kept work to a minimum, only logging in to oversee the decisions he had to make. There had been no calls besides the nightly one with his COO to ensure things were running smoothly. Other than that, his entire attention had been on Y/N. They’d barely left the house considering at first Y/N had been a bit embarrassed of her injuries. Another reason he’d hate Katherine until the day he died. Harry always was one to hold grudges, he was infamous for it. She’d never know peace if the man had anything to do with it.

They were healing incredibly well, Harry taking the time at night to set her on the bathroom counter and wipe them clean and apply the healing ointment to them. The only one that was more than a fading scab was the one on her head along with the slight discoloration the black eye had caused. Other than that, he was more than relieved to see her bouncing back. The only thing that plagued him still was the nightmare.

His nightmares.

They’d always start the same, almost a play by play of what had happened to him walking into the home and up the stairs- only when he got there it had been too late. In his nightmare, the knife had already taken Y/N’s life and he couldn’t do anything to save her. He always woke up before the knife struck him, but it actually hurt him. It was a little difficult for him to admit to her, always wanting to be the strong one when it came to their pairing- someone for her to lean on fully- but she had cried once he told her and insisted that she wanted to be there for him. That a partnership was made out of balance and while she could offer him some of the same things he did for her, she was more than capable to be his emotional shoulder to cry on. It had been a tough thing to come to terms with but this week seemed to be healing. Not just physically, either.

“Ms. Greta, please tell him to take it easy.” Y/N pouted at the older woman who brought out the tray of s’more making supplies. She’d made sure to add the peanut butter cups as requested.

“I’m afraid if he won’t listen to you, he won’t listen to anyone.” She chuckled. “Men will be men, and that includes straining their physical health for the macho man act. One day they learn we do know what we are talking about.” A little wink was sent her way as Harry huffed, arranging the wood in the fire pit with a grumble.

“Because I’m fine.” He stressed, standing up straight and crossing his arms. “It’s healed up nicely. I’m more than capable of setting up a little fire.” Crossing over to Y/N, he stole a kiss before grabbing the lighter and a few other things. “Just sit pretty and let your man do the work, baby. I’ve got it.”

There was a snort heard from both women but Ms. Greta was now off the clock, wishing them a good night before retreating into the house. As much as he loved having the woman around, he really was obsessed with this alone time with Y/N. There was the residual guilt he had over her being treated less than ideally because he was juggling the faux relationship and the contract, but he knew now that he was going to have to take a bit of a step back from work in order to do that. He’d delegate as he was supposed to be doing to begin with, assign more to his assistant, take Y/N more places and on more dates out in public. He couldn’t fucking wait to attent events with her and show her off.

He’d been waiting months to let people know who his heart belonged to, and he was finally getting the chance to do so. It was obvious now since the articles had been a media frenzy over the attack, things leaked he couldn’t pinpoint. The only thing he had been commenting on was the fact that Y/N wasn’t a mistress, Katherine wasn’t his lover that was scorned, and there was no true excuse for the actions. It was a good thing in hindsight that they were there, alone. No one had a true clue about the location and he didn’t feel like being hounded by paparazzi- though hopefully they knew better now than to test him and his hatred for the cameras.

One thing that had been burning into him, though, was a question he’d been wanting to ask her. One he knew that was a bit unorthodox but a necessary one nonetheless.

She sat across his lap, his hoodie covering her tank top and denim shorts as her legs swung slightly while they waited for the fire to burn a bit hotter so they could roast their marshmallows.

“When would you like to get married?” He asked. “And how many kids are we thinking about?”

The girl nearly snapped her neck as she looked at him with wide eyes, the not so casual question leaving his mouth as if it was him asking what she wanted for dinner. Harry always did find a way to shock the hell out of her but this was definitely one of the top questions that had caught her off guard. Secretly, she’d assumed Harry had that all figured out. He always made sure to let her know how much he appreciated her opinions and her thoughts, that they were important to him- but he was a planner. Harry was the man in charge and she was happy to let him be. It took a lot of weight off of her shoulders that she wouldn’t admit to anyone else actually weighed on her.

“Uh…” She blinked at him a few times. “I’m not sure. Kinda figured you’d be the one to pop the question. But honestly… Maybe a year? A few months? I dunno.” There was a slight lump in her throat. “I’ve no doubt I want to be with you the rest of my life so part of me feels like I’d probably be fine eloping right now if that was something you wanted but… We haven't really had the chance to be a couple out in the open. While I doubt that’s going to change much considering we feel so strongly, I think it would be kind to ourselves to let us iron out some of the details first before we fully tie the knot.” There wasn’t a right or wrong answer but it still made her a little nervous to answer. “As for kids? I’m not sure. 2? 3? I’d probably say we have one first and figure it out from there.” It wasn’t like they’d have to worry about resources externally but she knew Harry valued family more than anything and he’d want to be an active father. He’d already indulged that detail to her one night when they were particularly loved up. However, neither of them had any children so they didn’t know the workload it would entail, nor did they know how they’d work as parents. Of course they’d figure it out but it would make it a bit more clear on how many they could handle.

“First of all, as much as I’d love to call you my wife right this second… I could never deprive you of the wedding you deserve.” Y/N had told him about the fact that she had always dreamt about her wedding as a little girl. She had pinterest boards full of themes and wedding dresses she’d want to try and cake designs. He wasn’t about to deprive her of those things for his selfish needs.. Harry knew he was indeed a selfish bastard in every other facet of his life, but when it came to Y/N and his soon to be family? That was his only exception. “My mum would probably keel over dead if I did that too. Trust me, you’re going to get your princess wedding.” There was no debating that. “And for kids… I’d love to give you many, many babies.” His tone turned smooth, a little smirk lighting up his face and the twinkle of his eye. “But I think I agree. My idea had been 2-4, but I’ll take as many as you’ll give me. Always.” His hand pulled her in so he could press a kiss to her cheek, muttering a soft declaration of love.

“Love you more.” She sighed, leaning further into his chest. “I’m so happy that we can live our lives when we get back. I know it’ll probably be a little crazy but there's no more hiding. We can go out and hold hands and kiss, people are going to know we belong to each other.” The giddiness on her face was bittersweet. “I’m so excited to be with you properly.”

The tinge of guilt hit him full on in the stomach, making him frown as he looked into the fire. He knew he had fucked up several times on this journey and Y/N just had a lot of patient and given him a lot of grace when he knew for a fact most other people wouldn’t- but that made it feel a little worse. He’d been wrong in not ditching the contract immediately. “Baby?” He said, voice quieter as he met her eyes. “I’m sorry. Genuinely sorry that I’m a stubborn son of a bitch and I didn’t just dissolve the contract and take on a lawsuit. I should have done it the day I met you because I knew you were going to mean a lot to me even there. I… I know I’ve told you a lot how you were the first and only person to ever make me feel the way you do, but it’s more than that. And my hard headed shit got us into something awful. I know I fucked up and you are more generous than I deserve but…” His fingers tenderly moved the hair from her face, stroking her cool cheek. “I’m going to work every single day for the rest of my life to make it up to you. I’m going to make you the most spoiled, well traveled, happiest woman I possibly can.” His voice stayed quiet as he searched her eyes for any hint of resentment but somehow there wasn’t any there.

“H.. I knew what I signed up for. You’d been nothing but honest with me the night I ignored you. You laid it all out for me. I knew that you were taken in name only and I liked you so much that I agreed. I never felt like I played second to her. You can say a lot of things about you, lovely, but subtle isn’t one of those things. You never made me feel like she was important. I understood how important your business was to you- it’s the most important thing to you. Did I like seeing you with her? No. But you made it so clear to me that I was yours and you were mine, I never felt like… I never had any competition.” Y/N tried to soothe the ache she knew he felt. Of course she hadn’t liked people thinking he belonged to someone else but she knew he loved her. The most she had ever been loved, the most unashamed.

“First, I have a correction- You are the most important thing to me. I’d give it all up for you.” That wasn’t a sentence anyone could take lightly, nor one he would ever thought he would say. It used to be the truth, but now it was far from it. “You are my life.” His gaze bore into her own as he cupped her cheek. “There was never any competition. If we want the honest truth, I thought I’d marry as a business decision. I thought I’d probably not have any kids considering I only ever wanted children out of love. I was happy working until I was gray and about to keel over. Business was my only reason for being, and it wasn’t something I minded- but you gave my life so much more, so much color, my angel.” He’d never sounded more fond in his life, looking at his heaven sent gift perched in his lap. “I didn’t realize there was more to life until I met you. You opened my eyes and made my heart soften. I give a shit about a lot more than numbers now and it’s because of you.”

People could say he did it himself but he knew the truth. Without meeting Y/N his life would have been the same robotic function it had been since he got out of uni, and he wouldn’t have complained. He’d never know how much he would miss out on. “I thank whoever in the world sent you to me every damn day and you know m’not religious. You are my miracle. It made me feel so fucking sick walking in that house and thinking you were hurt, I have never in my life felt that sort of terror. But I’d do it all again in order to keep you.” The scar on his arm was a reminder of that.

“I love you, H. The most in the world.” Her eyes watered a little as she smiled at him. “I’m sorry you got scared. I was scared too, scared she would do worse with that knife though I’m still upset you got hurt at all. But I’d go through every bit of it again too.” She sniffled, feeling his thumb brush under her eye as a tear fell. “I know I want everything with you. The marriage and babies and our own house with a pool, if that’s something you want too. You’re the love of my life.”

“And you’re mine.” He mumbled, pressing his lips to hers. “M’gonna spend every day proving that to you. Just wait and see, my angel. My heart is yours.”

—-------

Nails dug into Harry’s back as he rocked slowly into his girl in their brand new home. One he’d bought her as a surprise when they arrived back into the city, leaving their old memories behind in the other penthouse and moving on to the next chapter in the rest of their lives.

“H-Harry…” She bleated, holding on to him while the other hand grabbed his face and pulled his face down so he could be kissed. “Thank you. You always take c-care of me.”

His pace as slow and deep, pressing in as far as he could go on the brand new sheets they’d picked out together. The sunset bled into their room as they breathed each other in, wrapped up in their covers on their first night sleeping there. He’d spared no expense making sure he got the best of the best for her. He was dedicated to the cause, dedicated to proving to her that she was the most precious thing to him in the world.

“M’always going to take care of you, my love.” He nudged his nose against hers as he dipped his hips to get deeper inside of her. It was like they couldn’t get close enough to one another, her legs wrapped snug around his hips while he kept himself up with one hand, the other under her neck. The term making love was fully about this. It was unmistakable. “You were made for me.”

He couldn’t wait to spend every morning like this for the rest of his life. The man who used to cringe at the idea of fucking anyone face first now had it as his preferred position, wanting to make sure he could see every second of her reactions to him. She was snug around his cock, taking him like it was her only job in the world. He’d had no problem doing only this for the rest of his life.

“And you were… you were made for me. We’re made for each other.” Y/N nodded, pressing another open mouthed kiss to his lips as he kept the steady pace, hitting the delicious spot he always knew how to find. “You know my body perfectly. It’s yours forever.” It was both the truth and a bit of a taunt, knowing how much he loved when she spoke like that.

“You are. You’re mine and m’all yours, never have to share me. I love you so fucking much, Y/N.” He whimpered as her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging on it as she was filled over and over again. He hit the perfect spot and was trying to get her to cum, trying to have her finish all over him so he could do the same and stay deep inside for a while. Craving this sort of closeness was an addiction, one he didn’t plan on cutting. The obsession with Y/N grew each and every day. “I can’t wait to make you my wife.”

The woman whined out his name at the last sentence, tugging him closer with her legs as she soaked up every bit of heat from him. It didn’t matter what happened, who tried to get in their way- they would always belong to one another. There was an understanding between both of them knowing this love was bone deep, soul deep, it only deepened by the day. When it felt like they couldn’t love each other more it just kept growing, no matter how full they felt. It was everything.

A love like this was something people revered as pure, perfect, something that everyone craved and yearned for. Something out of a book or a movie, the sort of feeling that trumps all other people and situations. Their passion and yearning for one another had been cultivated in anything but pureness, it was made in the dark. It always made him laugh a little to know that such a concept had blossomed into a real, tangible thing that he could feel between their bodies, something he could see when he looked at her, something he could taste when he kissed her.

A love that stayed between the lines wasn’t the type that grew stronger- that’s why he smiled when they called it illicit.

#jarofstyles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry writing #harry styles imagine #harry drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #harry styles au #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry angst #harry fluff #harry smut #asshole h #asshole Harry #illicit

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wonwoonlight · 2 years ago

Text

chocolate rum cookies | jeon wonwoo

➝ Wonwoo x Reader

➝ nonidol!au // friends with benefits to ?? // fluff // ...slice of life? // angst if u squint

➝ word count: 3.5k~

➝warning: no smut scenes but there are mentions of sex and implications of it so minor dni!! mentions of alcohol, food, curses. very self indulgent bc i write this for my birthday hehe. this wonwoo made an appearance <3

➝A/N: hi. so this wasn't exactly... planned. i was just randomly sitting down with my google doc open and suddenly i finished writing... this in one day. gotta say that, when you do write for yourself, it is much easier to write and it's been quite some time since i'm actually happy with what i put out. but also just to put it out there, this fic is actually finished somewhere before february ended but i decided to post it for my birthday because i did start writing it with the thoughts 'i miss wonwoo' and 'i kinda wanna post smth on my bday' so. enjoy. i'm happy to say i'm content with how this one turns to be. here's to turning 25 lol

[✾✾✾]

You hear the door open, signalling Wonwoo’s arrival, and when you feel his presence nearby, you don’t even look up from your phone when you say, “No.”

Wonwoo smiles in amusement, irking an eyebrow as he settles next to you. “I haven’t said anything though?”

“You’re gonna ask me out again.” You roll your eyes, already used to his antics. You don’t even pretend to care about his mock heartache anymore when he clutches his chest.

You’re not sure what Jeon Wonwoo has in his mind, but he’s been asking you out on dates everytime he sees you since last month. Problem is, you see him a lot. A little hard not to with the friends with benefits situation that has been going on between you and him for the last six months.

Even right now, you’re in his place. You’ve been here since almost half an hour ago, entertaining yourself as you wait for Wonwoo to get home because he’s out when you called, and when he said you’re allowed to use the access he’s given you some time ago, you decided to barge into his place like it’s your own.

You’re practically here more often than in your own dorm, anyway.

It almost feels like a second home to you.

But you don’t want to think too much about it. Not about the fact that you have access to Wonwoo’s place. Not about the fact that you’re basically exclusive. Not about the fact that you talk to him practically everyday.

Nope.

“You don’t even pretend to consider it anymore.” He sighs, and you hate that you can’t tell if he’s joking or not. You’ve been telling him to cut it out, but it surely doesn’t look like he has any plans of listening to you. “Here, I got this for you.”

Now that catches your attention, and you actually jump a little on the sofa before you take the small package, take Wonwoo’s face in your arms, and kiss him square in the lips as a thank you.

“You won’t go on a date with me but will kiss me over some cookies. Nice,” he grumbles, though the grin blooming into his face when you pull away betrays him.

Clutching the cookie into your chest like it’s the most precious thing in the world, you regard him with stars in your eyes. “Where did you even find this? I’ve been looking for this forever and I couldn’t find it! I don’t even know the name of the shop that sells this?”

“I’m just capable like that.” He shrugs like it’s nothing, telling you he was out with a friend and the packaging looked familiar so he got it just in case. You’ve been telling him about that craving of yours, a chocolate rum cookie that some random classmate offered some time ago–one that is so good but you don’t know the brand, only remember the flavour and the packaging.

And you can’t even ask that classmate again because she was an exchange student that you’ve only spoken for a total of two times in your life, and she has returned to her country.

You don't even know her name.

“You have to tell me where you got this.” The packaging just has to be so empty; a very simple but elegant design that doesn’t state the shop’s name whatsoever.

“Mmm. Perhaps if you say yes I’ll bring you there.”

“No.”

“Hard pass then.” He chuckles and messes your hair. “Eat. I’ll buy you some more if you’re a good girl.”

The innuendo is not purposeful on his part, and it’s two seconds later that he realizes what he’s just said and he cringes so hard that you laugh, because as much as it’s physical between the two of you, Wonwoo absolutely abhors that particular… moniker. It’s always been an on-going joke between you two, and you laugh some more when his frown deepens, launching yourself into his lap and peppering kisses on his jaw.

“You want me to be one?”

“Shut up.” He grunts, though his arms wrap around your waist anyway and he bends his neck to give you more access.

“I can be if you want to, you know?” You whisper against his ear, not missing the way his hold tightens around you. You’re suddenly very aware of the fact that the only thing separating you and him is the clothes you’re wearing.

“Shut up.” He repeats and kisses you some more. When it gets almost hard to breath, he doesn’t forget to get the cookie out of your grasp and carefully places it on the coffee table before hauling you up and carrying you into his room, your squeal and laughter echoes throughout his empty apartment.

You don’t get to eat your chocolate rum cookie until later that evening, already showered and dressed in Wonwoo’s oversized hoodie as you cuddle into his chest with a movie playing in front of you.

[✾✾✾]

You don’t know what’s taking Wonwoo so long, but he’s already fifteen minutes late without any text messages so you decide you’ll just get some drink first and let loose. He’s probably going to be pissed because he’s never liked it when you go to a bar by yourself (something about men looking at what’s his, whatever that means) but whatever, it’s his fault for being late and you’re currently not relaxed enough to wait for him by yourself in a place full of people.

The whiskey burns your throat in a pleasant way, though now that you think about it, you shouldn’t have drunk everything in one go when you still have moments to spare as you wait for Wonwoo. But, then again, you can always just order more.

You’ve never been to this bar before, but after hearing how good the vibe is from a friend, you decided to go to check it out. Clubs have never really been your style–people are way too drunk and the music is too loud.

Your friend is absolutely correct when she said you would fit right with this particular bar; there are just enough people for it to be crowded but not really crowded that you get dizzy. Plus, the music is up to your taste and you find yourself nodding to whatever’s playing in the background as you scan through the sea of people while you lean on the wooden bar.

You were just about to order again when someone joins you by the bar, a tall, handsome man that doesn’t look sleazy at first glance. And he’s offering to buy you a drink. You subtly try to check him out; this guy is definitely taller and bigger than Wonwoo, though he doesn’t look harmful and he doesn’t look like he’s hunting for prey. His smile when he offers to pay for your drink looks… honest, if anything. The guy doesn’t even look flirty. Perhaps he thinks you’re interesting and are in need of some company.

The side of your lips lift in an amused smile, Wonwoo will be pissed as fuck if he finds out, but do you care? No you don’t. You’re not going to turn down free drinks from a handsome stranger that doesn’t look dangerous.

“So how come you’re by yourself?” He bends to your height, not too close that it makes you uncomfortable, and just enough for you to hear him over the music. “I’m Mingyu, by the way.”

Hmm. Handsome and with manners.

“Why do you want to know?” You answer with a teasing smile, sipping on your cocktail. Mingyu laughs when you say you’re not telling him his name, if only because he hasn’t earned it yet, and you’re pleasantly surprised when he says it’s understandable and he’s glad you know how to play your cards. “What about you, why are you by yourself?”

“Eh. I just feel like drinking tonight and you seem to be someone who doesn’t mind talking to strangers.”

“Ouch. Is that how I look like? Easy?” You pretend to be offended, and it’s almost cute how Mingyu laughs yet again and rephrases his words. If this was you six months ago, you’d definitely flirt with him and eat up everything that comes out of his mouth, perhaps you’d even end up going back with him. The guy is handsome and you can actually hold conversations with him, which is already a very big difference compared to a lot of guys that have tried talking you up in places like this.

But alas. Your eyes twinkle as you catch the figure of the man who’s the exact reason why you’re not flirting with Mingyu making his way towards you, why you don’t feel the excitement that used to rush through your blood at times like this, and why ‘handsome’ is the only thing you think of Mingyu even though he seems much more than that.

You don’t care enough to think about Mingyu in different aspects.

The way Wonwoo immediately grabs your waist is almost funny, and you have to actually bite your lip and clutch the cocktail glass between your fingers to stop yourself from grinning. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Your boyfriend?” Mingyu asks goodnaturedly–almost concerned, even–making sure he’s not some random guy who’s grabbing you without consent.

“Yes.” Wonwoo almost growls, and you have to plant your palm on his chest to calm him down, telling him Mingyu is harmless even though your ears are heating up from his word. You’d need to get back to that boyfriend thing later.

Mingyu sends you a look, and you’re absolutely, thoroughly would’ve swooned if you’re… uh… single (you are) and you’re not seeing… anyone (huh?). But you send him a smile, an actual smile this time, and you nod before you tell him it’s nice meeting him.

Wonwoo refuses to look at the interaction, but you can tell that he’s more relaxed than he was seconds ago and his grip on your waist is now replaced with his thumb caressing you through the material of your dress.

Would it hurt to push his button one more time?

“Hey.” You call to Mingyu once again when he’s about to leave, making both guys turn to you in confusion–Wonwoo more so in betrayal–and when you tell him you’d love to see him again someday and finally tell him your name with a wink, Mingyu gets exactly what you’re playing at. Another laugh bubbles out of his throat and he returns the gesture with a ‘have fun!’ before making his way out of your sight.

“What the fuck was that?”

It’s not often that Wonwoo curses, and you know you’ve pushed just enough of his buttons for him to react this way. If anything, though, adoration fills your chest and you have to physically hold yourself back from squeezing his cheeks.

“What? You were late and he accompanied me. Nice guy, right?” You try to play innocent, placing your glass on the bar and turning in his arm to face him. He looks especially nice today, with his hair styled a little and a denim jacket that you haven’t seen him worn before. You can feel your heartbeat picking up the longer you stare at him, and you don’t register what’s coming out of his mouth because you’re lost in your head.

Your eyes fall to his lips, and it’s when he clicks his tongue that you finally look back at him, eyes meeting his in mock innocence.

“You’re not listening to me, are you?”

You shake your head to confirm his suspicion. The guy can't even get mad at you even if he wants to.

“So.” Wonwoo raises his eyebrow in question, urging you to continue. “Boyfriend, huh?”

Wonwoo opens his mouth to say something, but you don’t give him room to talk more because you already dive into his lips, your palms on his shoulders and his arms wrap around you once again–probably muscle memory at this point. There’s no rush in this kiss though, you really just feel like kissing him and you do exactly that. Wonwoo doesn’t seem to mind either, because his lips chase yours when you’re about to pull away.

“Won I–”

“Hmm?”

“I need to–”

“Mmm.”

“Need to–”

“To what?” He finally pulls away, annoyed that you keep on trying to pull away. Even in the dim lighting of the bar, you can tell that he’s a little flushed too and there’s something about it that makes your heartbeat speed up once again. Were you two just… kissing in a public space for no reason at all?

“Need to breathe, baby.” You finish your sentence, suddenly shy now that you’re looking at each other. You dive into his neck before he catches your embarrassment though, and he simply chuckles before he takes a sip of your drink, whatever annoyance in his chest from looking at you and Mingyu, whoever that guy is, disappears just like that.

God, it’s not funny how whipped he is for you.

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Nothing.”

“Let’s go on a date.”

“Not a chance.” You beam, though you reject him with a kiss on his cheek and you tell him to finish your drink because you don’t feel like being here anymore. You won’t let him ponder too long on your rejection though, your fingers caressing his neck and your lips finding his ear. “Actually, let’s go back to your place. I don’t have anything to do tomorrow.”

Wonwoo shudders a little at that, still not used to the way you’d get vocal about what you want when you’re tipsy. That’s your code of saying you want to have rough sex all night–or however he would have you, really.

So Wonwoo finishes your drink in one go and grabs your hand to pull you out of the bar, missing the way you exchange grins with Mingyu as you accidentally catch his eyes before you exit the place.

[✾✾✾]

“You know you’ll spend less money if you just tell me where to buy these cookies?” You pout, still trying to get it out of him.

He doesn’t relent though, simply shrugs and places your hot chocolate on the table. “I don’t mind buying you things.”

“But whyyyy.” You whine, crossing your legs to face him on the sofa.

“I told you I’d bring you there if you go on a date with me.”

You stare at him, mind wandering to how easy it is for him to say this over and over again. You still don’t know why he’s suddenly so adamant about that, and while you actually do feel butterflies in your whole body everytime he does it, sometimes you wonder if he’s just messing with you.

Does he really mean it?

But if he does, wouldn’t he eventually be done with you because you keep on rejecting him?

But if you say yes and he’s actually just joking–what does that make you?

What if you try it out and it… messes things up?

You’re happy with whatever you have with him now, and you trust each other enough to know you are exclusive. Is there really any need to put a label between you two?

“Hey, you okay?” He asks, snapping you out of your daze.

“Huh. Yeah, sorry. You were saying?”

You see the way Wonwoo presses his lips together and you can tell the gears are turning in his head. But he beats you to it before you can ask, and your heart breaks a little at how soft he sounds.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“What? No!” You sit straight, taken aback from the sudden turn of the conversation. “What makes you say that?”

Wonwoo sighs and repeats his words. But he faces you this time and, for the first time since he asked you the question he’s been asking you the past few months, it’s obvious how unsure he is, as if he’s suddenly questioning himself on what he’s been doing.

“Am I making you uncomfortable by asking you out on a date?”

“Oh… Wonwoo…” You take his hand, your desire to comfort him bigger than anything. You don’t like seeing him like this, and as much as your own thoughts have been haunting you, you suppose you do need to talk about it one way or another. “No, you’re not. But… Can I ask you something?”

He doesn’t answer, but you take the way he squeezes your hand as a ‘yes’.

“Why?”

He doesn’t seem to get your question, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean why?”

“Why do you suddenly want to date me?”

It’s almost comical the way he blinks slowly, then repeatedly, like he doesn’t get why you’d ask that. He thinks carefully before he says his next words though, and he mentally winces at what he’s about to say but there’s really no other way to say it.

“We’ve been… sleeping together for, like, six months.” He starts, and his face contorts like the words personally offend him. But the more you listen to him talk about all the things you’ve been doing the past few months, how you’re basically a couple without the title, the more you feel both warm and afraid about however this talk is going to end.

You don’t realize you’ve been holding his hand tighter, but he doesn’t say anything and you realize how protective you actually feel of Wonwoo because it doesn’t sit well with you that he seems to consider himself so small.

“It’s not… sudden. I’ve just finally gathered enough courage to ask you.”

“I’m afraid.” You throw it out there the moment you open your mouth, not sure how to tell him except to just go straight to the point.

“Of what?”

“Falling in love.” You cast your eyes down to where your hand and his are joined. “Of being attached to you.”

For a moment, the air around you seems to tense ten-fold that you’re sure you can cut through it with a knife. But when Wonwoo doesn’t say anything, you brace yourself for more honesty and continue.

“I’m… already attached to you more than I thought I could be with anyone. And it scares me sometimes. What if you leave me? I think I’d be able to cope better if you decide to end things with our current… relationship than an actual one. It scares me.”

You feel his hand letting go of yours, and you panic that he’s finally had enough, but he cups your face in his palms to calm you down, and as much as you’re anxious, you can feel yourself calming under his gaze.

“If you want me to be honest, I think I already like you more than whatever you probably feel for me.” He smiles so softly you almost cry. And when you’re about to refute his words, he gently places his finger on your lips to keep you silent. “And no, that’s not something I want to debate with you. I’m fine with liking you more. I want to like you more than you like me. Will you let me do that?”

You open your mouth to say something–anything, but nothing comes out except for your tears so you simply nod and fall into his embrace. Your tears dry up almost immediately after that, but you sniffle a little as his words echo in your mind. Wonwoo probably doesn’t know what he’s talking about, because you’ve liked him for as long as you can remember. Probably not long after you started your deal with him.

He doesn’t know how you melt every time he takes care of you. How you’d try to stay awake longer after he falls asleep after another night of passionate sex, his arm over your body and your back against his chest, just so you can pretend it’s real between you two. How you’d remind yourself that it’s not real when you wake up in his place even though you’d still drag yourself out to make breakfast for him, willing your heart to calm down when he wakes up moments later, hugging you from behind even though you tell him to move away.

You probably already love him more than he can imagine.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” You ask once you’ve calmed down, getting out of his embrace to look into his eyes.

“Nothing. Why?” He tilts his head, a little confused at the sudden change of topic.

“Let’s go on a date?” You ask shyly, though your eyes immediately cast downwards again once you realized you can’t handle looking him in the eye as you ask him this. But that’s why you missed the way his face blooms into a grin, missed the way his eyes suddenly twinkle brighter than every single star in the universe combined. “I think you promised to tell me where you buy those cookies if I go on a date with you.”

He laughs at that and throws his arms around you, so tight that it hurts a little. But you don’t say anything, happy that you’re here in his arms and a little giddy now that everything’s out of your chest.

Wonwoo pulls away and cups your face once again, then searches for something in your face before he closes his eyes and gives you the softest kiss you’ve ever experienced in your life. A promise. One that says he’s not going to leave and he’s going to try his best to remove every single doubt you have in your mind.

[✾✾✾]

A/N 2: and for my birthday wish, hopefully i'll get to see you even once in this lifetime.

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iwillneverforgiveyousunghanbin · 1 year ago

Text

taedros tresdros

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

part one: taedros taedros ☆ part two: taedros twodros wc: 2.2k reader: afab reader (pretty sure no specific gender mentioned but putting this disclaimer just in case!) warnings: smut 18+; MINORS DNI!!! -- specific warnings under the cut -- also some angst and some fluff :) summary: uh-oh... you fell for your best friend taerae. but was it all in vain after he's ghosted you the past two weeks? *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ITS DONEEE! you will notice i've went with "taedros tresdros" for the title. decided to keep all three parts with taedros as the first word lol. this is the finale for this little series and i really hope you like this ending i've made lol. i am so happy you've all enjoyed taedros taedros -- stay tuned for more works soon (hopefully) xx

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

warnings: 18+ explicit smut, fingering and oral (reader receiving), cumming in pants, eavesdropping/voyeurism by reader but it's only out of shock/anger, swearing, lots of innuendo in this one lmao... i think that's it!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

“so, the ring finger goes here?” you hear a feminine voice ask; ear pressed gently to taerae’s door to hear better. just a few moments ago, you’d been taking deep, steadying breaths as you walked through the entrance to your best friend’s dorm building on your way to finally confront him.

something that was so familiar now made your heart race with anxiety.

but when you’d rounded the corner to taerae’s room, you were surprised to find the door shut almost all the way. usually taerae left his door wide open, even when he was playing the guitar or getting changed or sleeping. in fact, his dorm-mates told you one night when you were leaving that the only time taerae made an effort to close it was when you were over... you couldn’t hear any noise coming from his room, which made you all the more curious as to what was going on in there.

walking up to his door, you’d seen it was propped open just a bit by one of taerae’s shoes. you couldn’t see through the gap in the door, but you’d heard quiet murmurings from inside and gently placed your ear to the door to listen closer. the sound of a girl’s voice had completely shocked you. especially considering what you’d come here to talk about with taerae.

“yeah, it might take a bit to find the sweet spot,” taerae answers with a chuckle; his answer causing your jaw to drop. fingers? sweet spots? what the fuck is going on in there!?

“mmm, thank you again for teaching me, taerae,” the voice responds. upon closer listening, you realize you know this voice. it belongs to your world history classmate, jinah-- the girl who sits behind you and doodles the entire period. she’s very nice-- pretty and athletic, too, but...

you didn’t really think taerae was her type.

you hadn’t spoken to taerae much in the last couple weeks. ever since you’d actually slept together... things had changed. it felt like your best friend was avoiding you. when you’d texted to ask about movie night the past two fridays, taerae had said he was busy with homework both times. normally taerae would meet you for lunch in the student union every other day in between his music theory class, but he hadn’t come by since then. he’d barely said two words to you at choir practice last night.

was this why? he’d decided he liked jinah instead? he couldn’t face you after... using you?

taerae would never do that. not to you. probably not to anyone.

then again, you’d never talked about whether what was going on between you was exclusive or not. and what it meant to you; what he meant to you. had you completely misinterpreted this whole situation?

“and the middle finger...” jinah trails off and the mental picture you have unfortunately painted in your head of the scene taking place is enough to make you gag.

“that one’s gonna reach as far up as possible,” taerae explains. if you had known your best friend was offering masturbation classes out of his dorm room, you probably would’ve been more careful about where you were sitting on his bed.

“i don’t think i can reach that far,” jinah huffs with a frustrated sigh. “it kind of hurts.”

“relax,” taerae soothes. “it’ll feel better if you relax.”

your hand flies to your mouth to muffle the sound of the audible gasp that escapes you, but your elbow hitting the door blows your cover. you stand up quickly as taerae’s door swings open-- revealing you in the doorway to taerae and jinah.

... and revealing jinah sitting on taerae’s bed and holding a guitar (quite clumsily, if you may be so brazen) in her hands; taerae sitting next to her and seemingly offering some sort of instruction.

“you--...” you stutter, surprised and also incredibly relieved to find that the lessons taerae was giving were much more wholesome than you’d been forced to imagine for the past few minutes. “oh thank fuck holy shit.”

as the uncontrollable string of grateful curse words leaves your mouth, jinah clears her throat awkwardly and stands up; removing the guitar strap from around her neck and handing the instrument to its owner.

“sorry for interrupting,” you mumble, bottom lip finding its way between your teeth as taerae glares at you.

“no, it’s okay! i have to finish an essay for tomorrow anyway,” jinah replies, picking up her bag and walking towards the door. you step to the side for her to get by, awkwardly smiling as she calls behind her, “thank you, taerae! see you next week!”

jinah retreats down the hallway, leaving just you and taerae alone in a tense silence.

“what are you doing here?” taerae asks, rather unceremoniously. “it’s a thursday night. you have tutoring on thursday nights. that's why we have movie night on fridays.”

you nod, still leaning against the doorframe. “my last appointment cancelled so i--... i wanted to come talk to you.”

“oh,” taerae replies with a nod. “okay.”

you frown. “okay?”

“yeah,” he says, looking down at his guitar in his hands; starting to strum it lightly. “okay.”

your eyebrows raise in shock as your best friend seemingly shrugs you off. you walk over to him and snatch the guitar from his hands by its neck.

“HEY!” he protests as you bring the instrument over to its stand and place it there annoyedly (but carefully; you’re not an asshole). “i was playing that.”

“what the fuck is the matter with you!?” you snap, turning back around to face him. “you’ve been avoiding me for two weeks!”

taerae visibly gulps; eyes falling to the floor.

“and this is how you’re gonna act?” you scold, folding your arms across your chest. “after we...”

for some reason you’re unable to say it. taerae is silent-- seemingly holding his breath as he waits for you to continue. coward.

“i came here to talk to you about everything and--... and then i heard you through the door giving jinah a fucking guitar lesson,” you explain while rolling your eyes. “better than the lesson i thought you were giving her, but...”

taerae looks up at you now; brow furrowed as his head tilts to the side confusedly. “w--... what kind of a lesson did you think i was giving her?”

you blink back at him; unsure of whether to tell the truth or not. but taerae catches on before you can commit to a lie.

his jaw drops in shock. “you thought--... did you think--”

you look down at your feet: embarrassed, anxious, and just plain sad after the events of the last couple weeks. this mixture of emotions forms a lump in your throat that you are now hopelessly trying to suppress. “i’m really sorry for interrupting. and for listening a bit. i just don't know what happened. i thought we were--... i thought you felt the same way that i did, but... you just must be really upset with me and i don’t know what i did but i’m so sorry and i really miss you so i wanted to talk to you and i just was... i dunno, i thought--”

taerae cuts off your rambling by standing up and wrapping his arms around you tightly. against your neck, he soothes, “ssh, baby. it’s okay-- it’s all okay. i promise.”

“i like you,” you confess into taerae’s sweatshirt. “i’m sorry, i didn’t know this would happen. but i really like you, tae.”

"fuck-- i like you, too. of course i like you, too,” he says, pulling back to look at you. “and this is all my fault.”

you sniffle as you ask, “what did you do this time?”

“something really, really stupid,” he replies with a sad smile.

mirroring his expression, you quip, “what else is new?”

“yeah, yeah,” he accepts with a laugh. cupping your cheek in his hand, he runs his thumb across the skin sweetly. “i thought i was the one who fucked up... by falling for you.”

“... oh,” is all you can manage to say.

“oh is right,” he says, leaning in and kissing your lips gently. “i honestly wasn’t sure what to do about it. i didn’t want to hurt you and i thought maybe just... avoiding you for a bit would make it easier for me to stop having feelings for you. but it didn’t. it just hurt you and me more-- and it was really immature. i’m so sorry.”

you wrap your arms around his neck, having forgiven your idiot of a best friend before he even apologized. “i missed you so much.”

“i missed you more,” taerae says, peppering your cheeks with kisses. you giggle; taerae grinning before attaching his lips to yours again.

“but, um,” you say quickly, pulling back to meet his gaze. “i’d love to put in a request for no more guitar lessons with the door closed, if the suggestion box is still open.”

“it is,” taerae says with a laugh. “suggestion accepted, approved and implemented.”

“and, uh, maybe they don’t have to take place on your bed,” you say, biting your bottom lip and hiding your face in his chest.

“i will have you know my conduct is strictly professional at all times,” taerae replies and you can hear the smirk in his voice. “but you’re completely right. not to mention, it was probably rude of me to let her sit on my bed... without telling her what it’s covered in.”

“TAERAE-YA!” you shout, hitting his chest as he pulls you toward his bed-- pushing you down gently onto the mattress and climbing between your legs with ease. “you do wash your sheets, don’t you?”

he just laughs.

“tae, that’s gross,” you reply, shaking your head as he cups your center over your jeans. your protesting starts to waiver as he applies more pressure to where you need him most. “you--... you really should--”

“enough, enough, baby-- of course i wash them,” he replies, hooking his fingers around the belt loops of your jeans and shimmying them along with your underwear down your legs before discarding them on the floor. then he smirks at you, adding, “but sometimes i do wonder what the point is when you’re just gonna get them dirty again.”

“fuck,” you whine as taerae admires you. he’s licking his lips like he hasn’t eaten in days-- and he hasn’t. you wonder how he’s survived this long without you.

“so,” he says, starting to circle your clit with two fingers. his rhythm isn’t steady though; it’s intoxicatingly teasing. “what did you think i was teaching in these ‘lessons’?”

you feel your face heat up again at the mention of your faux pas. “don’t make fun of me.”

“never, baby,” he says; a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “i’m just curious what you think i’m enough of an expert in to be qualified to teach.”

“i--... oh my god,” you say, shaking your head with embarrassment. “i thought you were teaching her how to finger herself!"

“hmm, i guess i can understand the confusion,” taerae runs his fingers through your folds, gathering some of your slick and painting it across your stomach. “since playing guitar requires so much skill with your fingers.”

“shut up,” you reply, pouting at him.

“no, really,” he insists with a nod. as he pushes his middle finger into you gently, you gasp at the sensation. “like, to play a chord; each of your fingers needs to hold down the correct string and in the correct spot. like, to play a d chord for example.”

taerae strokes up into your walls with his middle finger, causing you to whimper. “see this middle finger needs to be on that ‘high e’ string. and then the ring finger...”

plunging another finger into you, your hand reaches to grab onto taerae to steady yourself. he smiles at you, pressing both fingers firmly against your walls now. “will sit nicely on that ‘b’ string right here.”

as he works his fingers against your walls lazily, you whine-- desperate for more friction and soon. your prayers are answered when taerae inserts a third finger, stretching you carefully until he’s able to push it all the way in.

“and finally, the index finger is going to go...” he laughs lightly before pushing his index finger into the spongy, firm spot in your walls that only he has ever been able to find. as you cry out in pleasure, taerae presses kisses to your thighs. “you might’ve guessed, but that one’s on the ‘g’ string. and listen to that beautiful sound it's making.”

“did you--... did you plan that g-spot joke?” you ask breathlessly in between pleading moans as taerae picks up the pace of his fingers. “you’re the--*hic!*... worst person i know.”

the little hiccup from pleasure that separates your insult sends taerae reeling. “fucking perfect, huh? every inch of you.”

“baby, please,” you beg, self-control low after two weeks without taerae. “wanna cum. please, wanna cum for you.”

taerae moans and, from the way he’s looking at you, you know he’s just as desperate as you are. he falls to his stomach now between your legs as he says, “was gonna try to... keep my mouth off of you. show you i really like you. you-- not just your pussy but...”

“fuck it,” you both say at the same time.

lips attaching to your clit, taerae wastes no time in pushing you closer to the edge as he laps, sucks, eats at you-- one leg of yours hooked over his back as he continues to work you with his left hand.

“tae,” you whimper, hands in his hair as you grind your hips into his touch. “g’nna cum... please, gonna cum.”

taerae whines and, with the state you’re in, you don’t even notice how feverishly he’s grinding into the bed. he switches to sucking, lips tugging perfectly on your clit and it’s all over for you.

“fuck, i--... i--... m’cumming,” you moan, taerae’s name falling from your lips a few dozen times as you come down from your high. “oh my god.”

taerae is noticeably quiet; removing his fingers from inside of you, he laps at the juices that drip out of you with his eyes closed. you know he really likes you... but it’s very possible he likes your pussy just as much. you’re not complaining.

“tae,” you call sweetly, sitting up on your elbows. “baby? come here-- want you to fuck me.”

he opens his eyes, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he sits up a bit. “um... so, about that.”

his gaze trails down to the crotch of his jeans and you follow it to find a nice, big wet spot soaking through the denim.

“are you serious!?” you whine in frustration; sighing as taerae smiles at you sheepishly.

“i’m sorry,” he apologizes with a cute little pout. “will you forgive me if i say it’s because you’re just too hot?”

you roll your eyes-- grinning at him. “i’ll consider it.”

“thank god, because i think i can probably make it up to you...” he says, sitting up and grabbing your jeans from the floor. “after some dinner.”

you laugh. “are you asking me out?”

“i totally am,” he answers with a smile.

“you’re sure you’re not too... full?” you joke, grabbing his hand in yours. “you did just eat.”

taerae shakes his head, smirking at you:

“trust me-- i’m never full when i’m with you.”

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thepunkranger · 5 months ago

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Resident Evil Headcanon: Claire is a slob and a menace

And I say that with all the love in my heart. Claire Redfield is a goblincore, Live, Cackle, Crime, opossum-coded menace to society.

I know a lot of people tend to view Claire as a very put-together, kindness-first kind of character, which is understandable considering her empathetic nature and chosen career in humanitarian aid, but I feel like people forget: Claire Redfield was raised by Chris. Chris Redfield is a man who, canonically, is a slob who spends his free time smoking and solving problems with his fists, while his work is heading a team to hunt down and destroy literal monsters. I’m not even sure Chris knows what a vegetable is.

The two options for Chris and Claire’s dynamic pre-canon are either Claire taking on a mothering role to her big brother early on because she loses patience with his disinterest in home ec. OR Claire dutifully copying Chris’s every move and growing to love his unconventional “parenting” methods like frozen dinners in front of the TV and wearing swimsuits as clothes because they forgot to go to the laundromat that week. And considering how much Claire idolizes her big brother in RE2? Yeah, I have a pretty good idea of where she falls on that one.

Claire got given her first drink before she was 15. She listens almost exclusively to classic rock and metal music. Claire actively scared the guys in her middle and high schools and only started really dating in college because she was able to find guys who were into her loud, brash, give-no-fucks demeanor.

Claire’s home is always in some state of chaos and there’s almost always dirty dishes in the sink. If she’s out of the country she’s rotating the same three shirts and two pairs of pants until she gets home (don’t ask about her underwear. You don’t want to know. It’s fine). Almost every sweater and t-shirt she owns either has a stain or a hole in it and she does not care.

Claire can drink both Leon and Chris under the table any time, anywhere. She taught Leon how to ride and they street race when they have the free time. She owns multiple bikes and is a common sight at classic car meets to hunt for any parts she’s missing for whichever one she’s working on at the time.

Claire Redfield is loud and brash and grungy and I’m tired of pretending like she’s not.

#resident evil #claire redfield #re2 remake #re2 #code veronica #revelations 2 #re infinite darkness #cleon #chris redfield #re revelations 2

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fireflysummers · 1 year ago

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Heroes, Gods, and the Invisible Narrator

Slay the Princess as a Framework for the Cyclical Reproduction of Colonialist Narratives in Data Science & Technology

An Essay by FireflySummers

All images are captioned.

Content Warnings: Body Horror, Discussion of Racism and Colonialism

Spoilers for Slay the Princess (2023) by @abby-howard and Black Tabby Games.

If you enjoy this article, consider reading my guide to arguing against the use of AI image generators or the academic article it's based on.

Introduction: The Hero and the Princess

You're on a path in the woods, and at the end of that path is a cabin. And in the basement of that cabin is a Princess. You're here to slay her. If you don't, it will be the end of the world.

Slay the Princess is a 2023 indie horror game by Abby Howard and published through Black Tabby Games, with voice talent by Jonathan Sims (yes, that one) and Nichole Goodnight.

The game starts with you dropped without context in the middle of the woods. But that’s alright. The Narrator is here to guide you. You are the hero, you have your weapon, and you have a monster to slay.

From there, it's the player's choice exactly how to proceed--whether that be listening to the voice of the narrator, or attempting to subvert him. You can kill her as instructed, or sit and chat, or even free her from her chains.

It doesn't matter.

Regardless of whether you are successful in your goal, you will inevitably (and often quite violently) die.

And then...

You are once again on a path in the woods.

The cycle repeats itself, the narrator seemingly none the wiser. But the woods are different, and so is the cabin. You're different, and worse... so is she.

Based on your actions in the previous loop, the princess has... changed. Distorted.

Had you attempted a daring rescue, she is now a damsel--sweet and submissive and already fallen in love with you.

Had you previously betrayed her, she has warped into something malicious and sinister, ready to repay your kindness in full.

But once again, it doesn't matter.

Because the no matter what you choose, no matter how the world around you contorts under the weight of repeated loops, it will always be you and the princess.

Why? Because that’s how the story goes.

So says the narrator.

So now that we've got that out of the way, let's talk about data.

Chapter I: Echoes and Shattered Mirrors

The problem with "data" is that we don't really think too much about it anymore. Or, at least, we think about it in the same abstract way we think about "a billion people." It's gotten so big, so seemingly impersonal that it's easy to forget that contemporary concept of "data" in the west is a phenomenon only a couple centuries old [1].

This modern conception of the word describes the ways that we translate the world into words and numbers that can then be categorized and analyzed. As such, data has a lot of practical uses, whether that be putting a rover on mars or tracking the outbreak of a viral contagion. However, this functionality makes it all too easy to overlook the fact that data itself is not neutral. It is gathered by people, sorted into categories designed by people, and interpreted by people. At every step, there are people involved, such that contemporary technology is embedded with systemic injustices, and not always by accident.

The reproduction of systems of oppression are most obvious from the margins. In his 2019 article As If, Ramon Amaro describes the Aspire Mirror (2016): a speculative design project by by Joy Buolamwini that contended with the fact that the standard facial recognition algorithm library had been trained almost exclusively on white faces. The simplest solution was to artificially lighten darker skin-tones for the algorithm to recognize, which Amaro uses to illustrate the way that technology is developed with an assumption of whiteness [2].

This observation applies across other intersections as well, such as trans identity [3], which has been colloquially dubbed "The Misgendering Machine" [4] for its insistence on classifying people into a strict gender binary based only on physical appearance.

This has also popped up in my own research, brought to my attention by the artist @b4kuch1n who has spoken at length with me about the connection between their Vietnamese heritage and the clothing they design in their illustrative work [5]. They call out AI image generators for reinforcing colonialism by stripping art with significant personal and cultural meaning of their context and history, using them to produce a poor facsimile to sell to the highest bidder.

All this describes an iterative cycle which defines normalcy through a white, western lens, with a limited range of acceptable diversity. Within this cycle, AI feeds on data gathered under colonialist ideology, then producing an artifact that reinforces existing systemic bias. When this data is, in turn, once again fed to the machine, that bias becomes all the more severe, and the range of acceptability narrower [2, 6].

Luciana Parisi and Denise Ferreira da Silva touch on a similar point in their article Black Feminist Tools, Critique, and Techno-poethics but on a much broader scale. They call up the Greek myth of Prometheus, who was punished by the gods for his hubris for stealing fire to give to humanity. Parisi and Ferreira da Silva point to how this, and other parts of the “Western Cosmology” map to humanity’s relationship with technology [7].

However, while this story seems to celebrate the technological advancement of humanity, there are darker colonialist undertones. It frames the world in terms of the gods and man, the oppressor and the oppressed; but it provides no other way of being. So instead the story repeats itself, with so-called progress an inextricable part of these two classes of being. This doesn’t bode well for visions of the future, then–because surely, eventually, the oppressed will one day be the machines [7, 8].

It’s… depressing. But it’s only really true, if you assume that that’s the only way the story could go.

“Stories don't care who takes part in them. All that matters is that the story gets told, that the story repeats. Or, if you prefer to think of it like this: stories are a parasitical life form, warping lives in the service only of the story itself.” ― Terry Pratchett, Witches Abroad

Chapter II: The Invisible Narrator

So why does the narrator get to call the shots on how a story might go? Who even are they? What do they want? How much power do they actually have?

With the exception of first person writing, a lot of the time the narrator is invisible. This is different from an unreliable narrator. With an unreliable narrator, at some point the audience becomes aware of their presence in order for the story to function as intended. An invisible narrator is never meant to be seen.

In Slay the Princess, the narrator would very much like to be invisible. Instead, he has been dragged out into the light, because you (and the inner voices you pick up along the way), are starting to argue with him. And he doesn’t like it.

Despite his claims that the princess will lie and cheat in order to escape, as the game progresses it’s clear that the narrator is every bit as manipulative–if not moreso, because he actually knows what’s going on. And, if the player tries to diverge from the path that he’s set before them, the correct path, then it rapidly becomes clear that he, at least to start, has the power to force that correct path.

While this is very much a narrative device, the act of calling attention to the narrator is important beyond that context.

The Hero’s Journey is the true monomyth, something to which all stories can be reduced. It doesn’t matter that the author, Joseph Campbell, was a raging misogynist whose framework flattened cultures and stories to fit a western lens [9, 10]. It was used in Star Wars, so clearly it’s a universal framework.

The metaverse will soon replace the real world and crypto is the future of currency! Never mind that the organizations pushing it are suspiciously pyramid shaped. Get on board or be left behind.

Generative AI is pushed as the next big thing. The harms it inflicts on creatives and the harmful stereotypes it perpetuates are just bugs in the system. Never mind that the evangelists for this technology speak over the concerns of marginalized people [5]. That’s a skill issue, you gotta keep up.

Computers will eventually, likely soon, advance so far as to replace humans altogether. The robot uprising is on the horizon [8].

Who perpetuates these stories? What do they have to gain?

Why is the only story for the future replications of unjust systems of power? Why must the hero always slay the monster?

Because so says the narrator. And so long as they are invisible, it is simple to assume that this is simply the way things are.

Chapter III: The End...?

This is the part where Slay the Princess starts feeling like a stretch, but I’ve already killed the horse so I might as well beat it until the end too.

Because what is the end result here?

According to the game… collapse. A recursive story whose biases narrow the scope of each iteration ultimately collapses in on itself. The princess becomes so sharp that she is nothing but blades to eviscerate you. The princess becomes so perfect a damsel that she is a caricature of the trope. The story whittles itself away to nothing. And then the cycle begins anew.

There’s no climactic final battle with the narrator. He created this box, set things in motion, but he is beyond the player’s reach to confront directly. The only way out is to become aware of the box itself, and the agenda of the narrator. It requires acknowledgement of the artificiality of the roles thrust upon you and the Princess, the false dichotomy of hero or villain.

Slay the Princess doesn’t actually provide an answer to what lies outside of the box, merely acknowledges it as a limit that can be overcome.

With regards to the less fanciful narratives that comprise our day-to-day lives, it’s difficult to see the boxes and dichotomies we’ve been forced into, let alone what might be beyond them. But if the limit placed is that there are no stories that can exist outside of capitalism, outside of colonialism, outside of rigid hierarchies and oppressive structures, then that limit can be broken [12].

Denouement: Doomed by the Narrative

Video games are an interesting artistic medium, due to their inherent interactivity. The commonly accepted mechanics of the medium, such as flavor text that provides in-game information and commentary, are an excellent example of an invisible narrator. Branching dialogue trees and multiple endings can help obscure this further, giving the player a sense of genuine agency… which provides an interesting opportunity to drag an invisible narrator into the light.

There are a number of games that have explored the power differential between the narrator and the player (The Stanley Parable, Little Misfortune, Undertale, Buddy.io, OneShot, etc…)

However, Slay the Princess works well here because it not only emphasizes the artificial limitations that the narrator sets on a story, but the way that these stories recursively loop in on themselves, reinforcing the fears and biases of previous iterations.

Critical data theory probably had nothing to do with the game’s development (Abby Howard if you're reading this, lmk). However, it works as a surprisingly cohesive framework for illustrating the ways that we can become ensnared by a narrative, and the importance of knowing who, exactly, is narrating the story. Although it is difficult or impossible to conceptualize what might exist beyond the artificial limits placed by even a well-intentioned narrator, calling attention to them and the box they’ve constructed is the first step in breaking out of this cycle.

“You can't go around building a better world for people. Only people can build a better world for people. Otherwise it's just a cage.” ― Terry Pratchett, Witches Abroad

Epilogue

If you've read this far, thank you for your time! This was an adaptation of my final presentation for a Critical Data Studies course. Truthfully, this course posed quite a challenge--I found the readings of philosophers such as Kant, Adorno, Foucault, etc... difficult to parse. More contemporary scholars were significantly more accessible. My only hope is that I haven't gravely misinterpreted the scholars and researchers whose work inspired this piece.

I honestly feel like this might have worked best as a video essay, but I don't know how to do those, and don't have the time to learn or the money to outsource.

Slay the Princess is available for purchase now on Steam.

Screencaps from ManBadassHero Let's Plays: [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6]

Post Dividers by @cafekitsune

Citations:

Rosenberg, D. (2018). Data as word. Historical Studies in the Natural Sciences, 48(5), 557-567.

Amaro, Ramon. (2019). As If. e-flux Architecture. Becoming Digital. https://www.e-flux.com/architecture/becoming-digital/248073/as-if/

What Ethical AI Really Means by PhilosophyTube

Keyes, O. (2018). The misgendering machines: Trans/HCI implications of automatic gender recognition. Proceedings of the ACM on human-computer interaction, 2(CSCW), 1-22.

Allred, A.M., Aragon, C. (2023). Art in the Machine: Value Misalignment and AI “Art”. In: Luo, Y. (eds) Cooperative Design, Visualization, and Engineering. CDVE 2023. Lecture Notes in Computer Science, vol 14166. Springer, Cham. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-43815-8_4

Amaro, R. (2019). Artificial Intelligence: warped, colorful forms and their unclear geometries.

Parisisi, L., Ferreira da Silva, D. Black Feminist Tools, Critique, and Techno-poethics. e-flux. Issue #123. https://www.e-flux.com/journal/123/436929/black-feminist-tools-critique-and-techno-poethics/

AI - Our Shiny New Robot King | Sophie from Mars by Sophie From Mars

Joseph Campbell and the Myth of the Monomyth | Part 1 by Maggie Mae Fish

Joseph Campbell and the N@zis | Part 2 by Maggie Mae Fish

How Barbie Cis-ified the Matrix by Jessie Gender

#slay the princess #stp spoilers #stp #stp princess #abby howard #black tabby games #academics #critical data studies #computer science #technology #hci #my academics #my writing #long post

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cipheramnesia · 8 months ago

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There's a brand of criticism that looks at Night of the Living Dead (1968), and suggests people consider the interpretation that Harry Cooper, the racist and misogynistic antagonist of the movie, was right the whole time. After all, if everyone listened to Harry, they would have stayed safely locker in the cellar and survived. He was a bad person, but if you think rationally about, his plan would have worked.

This has nagged at me awhile, because it felt off, and now I can tell you unambiguously that interpretation is not just thematically inconsistent, but factually wrong. Here's why.

First, consider what each character symbolizes. Ben, the protagonist, is revolutionary thinking. He represents taking action, problem solving, creativity and opposition of authority. Barbara is the iconic public in the face of sudden, overwhelming horror. Think the shock and horror in response to the Vietnam War, fresh at the time, the first real widespread use of television exposing USAmericans to the graphic atrocities committed by their own soldiers. Harry, the antagonist represents isolationism, conservativism, and the idea that everything is fine as it is. There is no need for change for Harry, let the government fix it.

Secondarily! Harry's wife Helen and daughter Karen. Helen is also a symbol of traditional values, but in what you might call a centrist way. She too thinks, at first, that Harry is right and it's all going to work out, but as the movie progresses she comes to realize too late that she is not being kept safe but rather held as property and Harry intends to let everyone die if it means what he has stays his. Karen, meanwhile, represents the idea that the external problem (zombies) cannot be ignored and just locked away. The problem is already inside the house, it will affect everyone regardless.

Lastly! Judy and Tom, what else could they be but the innocent hope of youth (Tom) and love (Judy). They die first because their naivete and blind optimism put them in each other's way. They are the proud soldiers of the US military going of to an idealistic war only to die, burning and alone, for nothing.

So, factually speaking, first and foremost, the "Harry was right" position always glosses over that Karen is infected. They believe that as a large group it would be easy to avoid further infection by Karen. This is incorrect, as the movie shows several times. First, Helen stays at Karen's side so extensively that she is ultimately killed when Karen turns. We can from this also recognize the same thing would happen if everyone stayed in the basement. Helen will be infected. Second! Harry repeatedly shows his belief that his wife and daughter are property, and he will act irrationally in his own self interest. It is safe to say that Harry will insist on protecting his wife and daughter even after they become zombies. This means the group will be isolated in a small space with two fresh zombies. What happens from this point is immaterial the group is now at best 3vs4 on the side of zombies, and they have NOT successfully made it through the night unscathed.

But wait! This is already giving the idea that Harry is right too much credit because Harry does not want to leave the basement at all. This means that if Harry was listened to, there would only be Tom and Judy in the basement versus Harry and his zombie family. They would all die if they did not take action. Furthermore! Only by leaving the basement does anyone other than Ben and Barbara find out how to stop zombies, and Ben is the only one who has genuinely figured out one solid antizombie tactic on his own.

Not only this, but Harry has no way to predict that people like Barbara and Ben will show up. His basement plan hinges on a stable situation, which they are not in. He has not planned against a horde of zombies until Ben arrives, and after Ben arrives, he works almost exclusively against the group goals. Harry is not just isolationist but selfish. His plan does not work because at no point does he show any ability to cope with the direct problem, and every version of "sitting it out in the basement" just gets more people killed. Harry is wrong and his plan is bad and critics who suggest his plan was good ought to feel bad.

#horror movies #long post #night of the living dead

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lostloveletters · 8 months ago

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Little Wing (John Brady x OC)

Summary: Kate "Woody" Woodward and John Brady have it bad for each other, except Woody's convinced he doesn't care for her and Brady's convinced he messed up his shot with her. They prove each other wrong.

Note: Woody and Brady’s first kiss fic yay🤭 Title comes from the Jimi Hendrix song (which is on Woody’s playlist). I know I keep saying this, but I’m so overwhelmed with the response to Woody/Brady, I didn’t expect it at all, and it means so much to me🖤 Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: Inevitable historical and technical inaccuracies. Suggestive to a point, but not explicit. Light miscommunication plotline.

Darla had been the one who pointed it out. The Texan wasn’t one for biting her tongue, and expressed earlier that day while they were eating lunch with Meg that John Brady wasn’t making himself scarce around the hardstand, or the hangar. Wherever that downed plane of his was while they were working on it, he’d inevitably show up at some point.

“‘S like he don’t think we can fix a damn plane,” Darla said through a mouthful of toast, stale from that morning’s breakfast. The guys in the kitchen knew the three of them weren’t ones to pass up food just because it was a few hours old.

“I got the same thing at my pop’s shop back home. These fellas would bring in their cars and tell ‘im they didn’t want me workin’ on them. Half of ‘em didn’t even know how to change a tire,” Meg agreed, her thick Boston accent making Woody have to strain to understand what she was saying sometimes.

Darla shook her head. “Some ‘a these flyboys, I swear to god they got more swagger than sense.”

Woody didn’t want to tell them that Brady’s frequenting their work area might have coincided with the one day he showed up to check on how things were going, and she apparently struck a nerve by trying to be nice—something she was rusty at despite her best efforts. So he’d hang around and watch, sometimes not saying very much at all while puffing away at his pipe. Made her feel tantalizingly scrutinized beneath his stormy gaze.

His crew were all nice enough guys. A little rowdy sometimes, but nothing she couldn’t handle. Still, their pilot’s recent behavior made it tough for her to shake the feeling that he wasn’t all that fond of her. A damn shame, because she had it bad for him. Figured it was the first time she was into a guy who was decent.

Earlier that week, Hambone waited out the English rain in the hangar with her, telling her what he and the rest of them did before the war. Mostly recent high school graduates or everyday working guys. She didn’t find it surprising that the pilot had a degree, but almost couldn’t believe her ears when Hambone told her that Brady was a musician before the war. If anyone deserved to walk around with the swagger most of the pilots did, it was Brady, in her opinion, yet to her, he seemed level-headed and reserved.

She had left lunch with Darla and Meg that afternoon with a newfound resolve to win Brady over somehow. If not for her own sake, then to at least not make her own faux pas the other girls’ problem.

Her quip to Holly about John Brady and his cockpit was mostly for her best friend’s amusement. Anything in her past she’d remotely consider a relationship boiled down to little more than sex. Never exclusive, and never all that satisfying, either.

Woody nearly scoffed at herself. As if he’d want anything to do with a woman like her.

“Evening, Lieutenant,” she said as he walked up.

He sighed, taking his pipe out of his mouth. “You don’t have to be so formal, Woody. It’s just us out here.”

“Bucky and Holly are listening to the Yankees at the Nationals.” She nodded in the direction of the jeep in the distance. “They made some bet on it.”

“I hardly think that counts considering how far they are.”

She hesitated. “If you say so.” Stopped herself from adding ‘sir’ at the end.

The following ten or so minutes were all hers. Pointed out every inch of the plane that’d been worked on since he last came by. Had an answer for all of his questions or concerns. She didn’t miss a single detail, wanting him to know yes, she was serious, and yes, she could fix a damn plane. Got the same thrill she did when she’d tell people how she souped up their cars to race, watching the appreciation and at times disbelief for her work on their face.

“Still got some kinks to work out, but it should be coming along a lot quicker now,” she said.

“You did all of that since yesterday?”

“I can’t take all the credit. Darla and Meg helped out, too.”

He cracked a grin, his pipe between his teeth. “You’re pretty damn good, Woody.”

She smiled. Her heart might’ve skipped a beat or two. “Thank you.”

“You must’ve been a mechanic before this, huh?”

“Here and there,” she said. Eager to steer the conversation away from herself, she quickly added, “You’re a musician, aren’t you?”

“I am. I got my degree in music, too.”

“Let me guess what you play…” She folded her arms across her chest. “You don’t strike me as a tuba man.”

The slightest smile worked its way onto his face. “No, I’m not.”

“Way too smart to be playing the triangle.”

“Hey, don’t count out the triangle.”

“You’re pulling my leg!” She laughed, silently proud of herself for not saying 'You're fucking with me' which otherwise would've been her reflexive response. “Alright, I’m gonna make my real guess now.” She pursed her lips as she considered her options. “Clarinet?”

He nodded. “And saxophone.”

“Both? Oh, I’d love to hear you play sometime,” she said. “Either. Whichever one you like best.”

“I play with the band in the officer’s club once in a while. You should come by. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you there.”

“I’m not an officer.”

“I’ll make sure no one kicks you out.”

“Are you offering to be my personal muscle?” she half-joked.

He shook his head, smiling. “I don’t think you need it, but sure.”

“Thanks, John,” she said. “Unless you prefer Jack? Or just John?”

“What do you think suits me?” he asked.

“Well, I like Johnny, if you’re really asking.” She smiled like she was letting him in on a secret, like she knew all along he’d be Johnny to her.

It was her eyes that got him, though. The same green he saw when someone else made her laugh or how just about everyone seemed to have some anecdote about Woody—how she helped them out or told a joke that was just the thing to lift their spirits. But for all of the stories about Woody, the undertones of admiration or outright expressions of desire within them, nobody had one like his. Kissed his cheek without hesitation. Looked at him with those forest green eyes he could lose a hundred years in. Just when he was sure he had his chance and missed it, he was Johnny, and instead of getting lost in that forest, he knew exactly where he was going, how to push his way through and find her.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she muttered, staring above them and shaking her head.

Woody grabbed a screwdriver and kicked over a wooden milk crate that had seen better days. She tentatively placed her boot on it, pressing down a moment before stepping up.

“What are you doing?”

“I can’t reach otherwise.”

“That thing’s about as flimsy as cardboard,” he said, setting his pipe aside. “You’ll break your neck.” His strong hands were on her hips before he finished speaking. Held her steady as she stood on top of the crate.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said.

She worked in silence until she stood on her toes, and the crate wobbled ominously beneath her. “I can’t see. Can you get me a flashlight and—”

He squeezed her hips in frustration. “Woody, just do it tomorrow. It’s not worth getting hurt over.”

“Help me down, Johnny?” she asked, turning slightly in his hold, her eyes flashed an unmistakable desire that nearly sent him to his knees.

He kept one hand on her waist, the other holding her free hand as she stepped down from the crate. A flash of red spread across her cheeks, and he was drawn in closer like a moth to flame, following her to the nearby toolbox where she put the screwdriver back in place, double-checking the contents before locking it up for the night.

“You got something…” His thumb brushed just below her lip. They stared at each other in silence, voice caught in his throat before he closed the gap between them, cradling her chin in his hand as he kissed her.

A shock to her system, there was something uniquely vulgar in his tenderness. Past lips on her own had been rough and selfish, part of a song and dance she grew tired of by the time she was nineteen. To be kissed with such care at twenty-three made her skin burn for more.

She grabbed his collar, pulling him closer. Threatened to lose herself in the embrace, almost unsure of where Woody ended and John began.

He caught her bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. She shuddered when he released it and pressed a hungry kiss to his lips, her want betraying her with a soft whimper.

She felt him pulling away and thought her heart was going to beat out of her chest. “Johnny, don’t go. Not yet,” she whispered pleadingly, raking her fingers through his hair.

It didn’t take much else for him to give in, losing himself in that forest in her eyes. “Is there anything you’re not good at?”

“Being good,” she answered, “and I was getting better at that until you got here not even an hour ago.”

He smiled, eyes glistening almost mischievously. “Well, I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“Am I your sweetheart?”

“If you want to be.”

She smiled. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Good, I wouldn’t want you to be anyone else’s,” he said, kissing her forehead.

“Me either.”

#john brady x oc #john brady x ofc #masters of the air x oc #masters of the air x ofc #masters of the air #john brady #mota #mota x oc #mota fanfic #ch: woody

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somedaylazysomeday · 10 months ago

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Experiment - Part Two

Tech x fem!reader

Tech decides to prove how simple female bodies can be.

Can be considered a second part to my one-shot 'Experiment', but can also be read as a stand-alone work.

Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 3,800

Warnings: Antagonism, ill-advised bets, assumptions about females, mentions of sexual behavior, sexual touching, fingering, unprotected piv sex, creampie

Previous | Masterlist

---

It wasn’t rare, per se, that you and Tech found yourselves alone.

Your relationship could be contentious, but it wasn’t anything bad enough that you needed to keep a referee on hand. You found him slightly grating and he thought you were oblivious at times. You also vented some of that low-level irritation by sleeping together every so often, but you had never decided to be anything close to exclusive.

That being said, Clone Force 99 was busy enough that neither of you had much time for finding another partner. It had been a particularly bad dry spell for you. Which was why you were unashamedly eavesdropping on a few troopers behind you in a market on Savareen.

“Anyway, I told her I wanted to bring someone else with us and she freaked out,” one of the troopers was telling his friends. “She said I wasn’t even good enough to keep her happy, let alone two people at the same time. Can you believe that? Not my fault that making her come is harder than defusing a det on a countdown timer”

Thankfully, you were facing the other direction, because that made you grin broadly. From everything you had heard so far, the relayed statement from the trooper’s girlfriend had been harsh but true. The trooper was a remarkably selfish lover if his stories were to be believed. Personally, you thought the girlfriend had a point.

“Are you almost finished?” Tech asked. “We need to return to the ship.”

“Shhh!” you hissed. “I want to hear how this plays out.”

You couldn’t be sure whether the troopers had heard you or if they simply weren’t bold enough to tell their friend that his girlfriend was right. In any case, the only answer they offered was a simple, “That sucks, man.”

“Yeah,” the other agreed. “Females are a mystery.”

“We will miss our rendezvous,” Tech warned.

You huffed at him and went to pay for the basket of produce you were holding. After weeks of nothing but rations, the prospect of fresh fruit and vegetables was something you couldn’t turn down. Still, you were irritated at losing your stolen entertainment and you glared at Tech when he fell into step with you on your way back toward the Havoc Marauder.

“I don’t know why you were rushing me,” you said eventually. You were passing the last of the small town’s buildings and the forest grew thicker around you. “Hunter sent a comm that the window needed to be pushed back by an hour. They won’t be at the rendezvous for at least two hours and we’re not that far from the ship.”

“And I don’t know why you were so eager to continue listening to those regs.” Tech shook his head. “It was hardly an interesting story, especially given the trite and untrue assurances at the end. Females are hardly a mystery.”

Your jaw twitched. “And what exactly does that mean?”

“Females across most species barriers share several characteristics,” he spouted instantly. “The majority of them prefer to be listened to rather than have their problems solved, prize social bonds rather than holding leverage over others, and are often capable of more complex, circuitous thinking than most males.”

“They were talking about female bodies, Tech.”

Tech fell quiet at that. You gloated for a moment, happy to have silenced him for once, but it didn’t last. Apparently, he had needed a moment to consider that, but came back with a reply soon enough:

“There are too many species to narrow down what he was talking about. Different species have different physiology, and need different stimulation to achieve pleasure.” He adjusted his goggles, and you could see the brightness of his eyes behind them. “For instance, did you know that female Dianogas derive pleasure only from having the pressure in their eyeball increased by a factor of twenty percent?”

You nodded slowly. “Gross.”

Tech had been preening at his masterful display of knowledge, but his expression dropped into one of derision when you failed to be as impressed as he thought you should be. “It is far more complex a system than is possessed by most species. Humanoid species are all similar. And human females are the least complex of all.”

That sounded as if you were being challenged. With the frustration stemming from your recent dry spell and the general irritation of being around Tech when he was in one of his ‘I am the god of all knowledge’ moods, you accepted that challenge. “Go on.”

“Human females share close similarities to each other, likely stemming from a narrow evolutionary path. Even ignoring the genitals, human females have a set of several extragenital erogenous zones. They are, in descending order: breasts, lips, neck, ears, and buttocks(1).”

You rolled your eyes, readjusting where your bag sat on your shoulder. “That’s ridiculous. Not everyone likes having all of those places touched.”

“Not everyone, but a majority,” Tech expanded. “And the type of stimulation can vary between each place. For example, lips are best stimulated orally while breasts can be stimulated either orally or manually. That means manipulated by hand.”

You hissed at the condescending explanation, but he paid no attention to you. Tech could get this way when he was convinced that someone would benefit from his knowledge. “And that is not taking the actual genitals into account. The human clitoris has over ten thousand nerve fibers, some of which extend into the vaginal channel to form what is known as the g-spot.”

“I already knew all of this, Tech,” you bit out. Okay, maybe you hadn’t known the exact number of nerve fibers in the average clit, but you didn’t appreciate being lectured on your own body.

Tech turned to you, raising his eyebrows. “And yet you believed those troopers were correct when they said human females were a mystery. There is nothing mysterious about the body of the human female. If given the proper stimulation, most human females can reach orgasm in under three minutes.”

“That can’t possibly be true.”

“Are you doubting the research or my knowledge of it?”

“Are you admitting that you’ve done research into how quickly you can make someone come?” you countered.

“Of course.” Tech was, as ever, matter-of-fact. “And you personally have benefitted from my research. Yet you still doubt whether I’m correct.”

“I’ve been with some talented people,” you said, making sure to emphasize the plurality so he wouldn’t think you were solely talking about him, “but I’ve never come in less than three minutes. So, according to my personal experience, you’re wrong.”

“I am not wrong,” Tech disagreed, clearly appalled. “If you don’t believe me, that is your choice, but I am not incorrect.”

You didn’t answer him, relieved when you saw the Havoc Marauder just ahead. As you had expected, you had plenty of time before you needed to go meet the others, but that meant you could put away the provisions and get some time away from Tech until he started to annoy you less.

Unfortunately, he didn’t seem capable of letting your disagreement lie. He followed you as you went to the storage room where you kept the rations. “The research is simple and well-supported. Even if you ignore anecdotal evidence, there are clear trends that prove-”

“Tech, can we just let this go?” you asked, trying not to sound overly antagonistic. “We can just agree to have our different opinions.”

“It is not a matter of opinion,” he insisted. “There is a single answer, supported by science, research, and experimentation. I can prove it to you.”

That made you pause and turn to him. “What? What exactly do you mean by that?”

“Allow me to prove that I am correct,” Tech repeated.

That was not enough of an answer, so you watched him in silence. There was a strong chance that he meant to show you the papers and studies where he had gathered his information.

When you didn’t agree, Tech apparently decided to offer more of an explanation: “If you agree, I will use the knowledge I’ve gained to bring you to orgasm in under three minutes.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea-” you started.

“I understand it can be frightening to have one’s worldview challenged-”

“Yeah, I’m terrified of an orgasm.” The sarcasm was thick in your voice. “You know what? Fine. And when you’re wrong, you’ll have to admit that your research wasn’t as effective as first-hand experience.”

“I look forward to proving you wrong.” Tech took the bag from your shoulder, tucking it neatly inside of the (little-used) produce cabinet in the ration storage room. He latched the cabinet with sure motions, turning expectantly to you when he was finished.

“Bunks,” you suggested. He inclined his head in agreement and followed you to the small barracks aboard the ship.

You shoved aside your sheets and the discarded clothing that was still tangled in them. When you had woken up, it had seemed impossible that you would be bringing anyone back to your bunk, so you hadn’t bothered keeping anything neater than they needed to be. Tech was more than a little messy, himself, so you didn’t worry that he would look down on you for it.

“How do you want to do this?” you asked, hesitating before you climbed onto the mattress.

“I do not believe that you undressing should count toward my time,” he pointed out.

“Fair enough,” you agreed, stripping quickly. You had been dressed casually to visit the nearby market, so the process didn’t take long. When you were naked, you rested your hands on your hips and tilted your chin at Tech. “Next?”

Tech swallowed hard, like the sight of your bare body had made his mouth go dry. It was a heady feeling, and your confidence soared.

“Remember what I told you about extragenital erogenous zones?” Tech asked, switching into lecture mode.

“Yes,” you agreed, adding, “which is not an attractive term, so I don’t think you’re helping your own case, here.”

“The attractiveness of the term is not what matters.” Tech stepped closer, hand rising. “The important thing is how they impact you.”

You opened your mouth to loose a sarcastic comment, but stopped short at the feeling of Tech’s fingertips brushing lightly against your bottom lip.

It was… odd, having someone touch your mouth. But the warmth and familiar smell of Tech's skin kept you where you were. You would at least let him have his chance.

His hand went to your chest, fingers splaying to cup your breast. When you were nestled in his palm, he trailed his fingers together, letting your breast slip under his fingers until they met with a soft pinch on your nipple.

Tech's head tipped closer, letting him mouth at the line of your throat. Those lips traveled upward until he could scrape his teeth lightly over your earlobe. You fought a shiver.

And then you did anyway, shuddering against him when Tech reached to run his gently squeezing fingers across your ass.

“Breasts, lips, neck, ears, and buttocks,” he murmured. “Slightly out of order, but have I managed to convince you?”

“You've managed to waste thirty seconds of your time,” you replied, fighting to keep your voice almost steady. “Two and a half minutes to go and I'm not anywhere near an orgasm.”

“Patience.”

You frowned at the chastisement, but Tech paid no attention. He guided you down to lay on your bunk, feet on the edge of the mattress supporting your half-bent legs. It left your core exposed to the chill of the air on the ship, and you abruptly realized that those simple touches had left you wet. Not soaking, but well on your way there.

You watched between your own legs as Tech studied your core. He seemed to be plotting his methods. Before you could remind him again of the time requirement, he brushed gentle fingertips over your labia.

It felt more intense than you could believe. And when that delicate touch moved to caress your inner lips, you shifted your hips impatiently.

Tech's attention turned to your clit. His first brush over it was so light that you could hardly feel anything, but he soon grew bolder in his touches. He worked you faster and faster, pausing only to sink two fingers deep into your channel.

You arched against your bunk, a shocked and plaintive cry leaving you before you could even try to bite it back.

“Good,” Tech said softly. “I want to hear you. Let me hear that you like what I'm doing.”

You weren't entirely sure how you would have responded to that, because Tech crooked his fingers inside of you and started hunting. Deliberately, he mapped your channel until he zeroed in on a rough, spongy patch on the inside of your front wall.

A slight smile appeared on Tech's face. You had a moment to think about how handsome it made him before he stole your ability to see.

He bore down on your g-spot, putting pressure on it until you cried out again. If you had the ability to remember words, you would have told him that it was too much.

Tech hummed in understanding anyway and shifted his efforts. His thumb worked against your clit as his fingers started a circular sort of thrusting motion. Your g-spot was still getting more attention than it ever had, but it managed to be less direct - and with that, less intense.

Just when you started to wonder how close you were to three minutes having passed, Tech's mouth dropped to your hip. He applied lips and teeth to the sensitive crease where your hip met your thigh.

Your orgasm rose up and swallowed you whole, and you never had a chance to fight against it. One moment, you were treading water in the assault and the next, you were drowning in sensation.

Dimly, you became aware of the fact that your fingers hurt. With that realization, you came slowly back to your body, letting your stiffened fingers uncurl from where they had been fisted in the sheets. Your thighs unclenched, releasing Tech's hand from where it had been trapped between them.

His fingers were still working gently inside of you and you gathered your strength to push him away. “How… how long?”

“Two minutes and forty four seconds,” Tech informed you, sounding obnoxiously matter of fact about it. “It likely would have taken less time if I had not stopped to test my understanding of extragenital erogenous zones.”

You would be irritated, but the strength and suddenness of your orgasm had left you largely unable to do anything but stare up at the ceiling. The heaviness of your limbs felt strange without a full buildup of activity, and it almost seemed as if your body was in a state of shock at how quickly the pleasure had been pulled from you.

“Tech, can- can you-” you trailed off, reluctant to ask him for anything else. Eventually, you settled on, “Water?”

“Of course,” he agreed, instantly on his feet and rushing to get you a canteen.

When he handed you the water, you could watch Tech eyeing how long it took you to accept it, then to raise the canteen to your lips. Even so, he waited until you had finished drinking to ask, “Is something wrong?”

You lifted one shoulder. “I- no? I don’t think so. It was just weird to come that suddenly. It’s like my body is pissed that there isn’t more.”

“Do you want me to do it again?” Tech asked.

You searched for sarcasm or mocking in his tone, but there was only patient curiosity. “Can you.. kiss me?”

“Gladly.”

He pressed a kiss to your lips. Then another, kneeling on the bed to reach you more easily. Eventually, he was lying on the bed beside you, all so he could kiss you without putting either of you in an awkward position. One of his hands gently cradled your cheek while you pressed a palm to his chest so you could feel the steady thump of his heartbeat.

You continued far longer than you had expected, past the solace of a simple kiss and into the realm of need. You didn’t think it was entirely one-sided. Maybe the kiss had started for your benefit, but nothing said Tech couldn’t enjoy it, too.

And he did. You could tell by the way he squirmed closer, by the heat of him pressed against you, by the steady deepening of the kiss you shared.

“Is this helping?” he asked.

His eyes were bright with desire, a faint but undeniable rasp edging his voice. Maybe you should let him ask, to help assuage your pride. But you took pity on him instead. “Yes, but it might help more if you made me come again. Slower. The old-fashioned way.”

Tech started to ask what exactly ‘old-fashioned’ meant. You could hear the question rise behind his parted lips. And yet it faded away before it could be asked, answered by the way you gripped his length through the material covering his lower half.

His breath shuddered out and his hips twitched, but Tech still asked, “Are you certain-?”

“Yes, if you are.”

Tech’s response to that was to reach down and grasp the back of your leg, tugging your knee up and over his hip. You were both still cradled by your mattress, but he was perfectly between your thighs.

“You are stunning,” he told you.

“You’re still dressed,” you told him.

Tech paused, glancing down with a mixture of irritation and dread. “A problem I intend to fix momentarily.”

He pulled away from you, rolling to his feet with his hands already working at the fastenings of his body glove. He had stripped it off in moments and you couldn’t help but be impressed at the efficiency of his movements.

When he slipped back into your bunk, he was all tan skin and subtle musculature. Tech arranged you both the way you had been before the interruption and, without the body glove in the way, the head of him was notched at your entrance. You were noticeably wet from your earlier orgasm, and he started to slip into you simply due to the position and your proximity.

Tech’s voice was completely unsteady as he asked, “Precisely how slow do you want this to be?”

“More than three minutes.”

It may have been a dry witticism, but Tech accepted it like it was the most sincere request he had ever heard. And you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it, not when he pushed into you in a series of shallow thrusts.

When he had bottomed out inside of you, Tech reached to brush a bead of sweat from your temple. “Slow.”

“Slow,” you confirmed with a nod.

Tech began to move. He stayed deep inside of you for the most part, using tiny pulses to keep you building toward a reasonably paced orgasm. Occasionally, when he couldn’t help himself, he withdrew further and plunged back into you. Each of those thrusts pushed the breath from your lungs, shocking you no matter how often they happened.

It wasn’t the frenetic sprint toward pleasure that you had experienced before. Rather than having pleasure ripped mercilessly from your system, Tech’s efforts were coaxing it from you.

His pelvis rocked against yours, pushing and pulling incrementally inside of you. The bunching of his muscles against your body told you how much he was holding back even as the thick press of him stretched your channel. Compared to the jarring shock of your rushed orgasm, this pleasure felt utterly lazy and self-indulgent.

And you didn’t seem to be the only one who thought so.

When Tech wasn’t watching you intently, his eyes fell closed and his brow furrowed as if he needed to concentrate so he could process everything he was experiencing. After one particularly deep pulse, your body tightened. It wasn’t your second orgasm - not yet - but it was a warning that another one was coming.

Tech’s eyes flew open and he made a rough, helpless sound. Ridiculously, that was the thing that finally pushed you over the edge. The fact that you could pull such pleasure from him even without the extensive research he had done into erogenous zones - genital or otherwise - made you feel extraordinarily powerful. And, of course, it didn’t hurt that he was such a gorgeous man.

In any case, you gasped a warning a half-second before your body clamped down around his. Tech kept going, working you through it, and it only pushed you higher. The pleasure went from silver to a blazing white, blinding in its intensity and almost painful.

It was hard to come down when Tech’s rhythm was speeding up, but you could tell he was close by the wrinkle between his eyebrows. “Where-?”

“My implant is still good.”

Tech’s lips parted and his brows furrowed, but you couldn’t see any more of his face than that. By the time he started to spill inside of you, he had buried his face in your neck. His arms wrapped around you, squeezing hard enough that it took extra time for you to catch your breath.

When the desperate thrusts finally stopped, Tech fell utterly boneless against you. You sympathized as you slumped against the bed. You dozed lightly, rousing only when you felt him pressing his lips against your shoulder.

You chuckled lightly, glancing down just in time to catch his eyes flicking up toward you. “You okay?”

“Rather wonderful, actually,” he admitted, his lips still brushing your skin as he spoke. “And you?”

“Good,” you said, wincing slightly as he moved against your core. “I’ll be sore, I think.”

“I shouldn't be surprised.” Tech gingerly moved away from you, the stickiness of your activities trying to keep you together. “I'll see if we have any bacta.”

“Bacta can't do anything about soreness,” you reminded him. Of course, as the Bad Batch's makeshift medic, he was well aware of the limitations of bacta. “Save it for the next mission.”

Tech's head snapped toward you as your eyes widened. “The rendezvous!”

Weak-kneed and as bare as the day he was decanted, Tech sprinted for the front of the Havoc Marauder.

You braced against the shift of liftoff, then started gathering his clothing and a washcloth for him. Hunter would know what had happened, of course, but there was no need to be blatant.

---

Author's Note -

I can't remember if this is a first for me, but it's definitely in character for me as a person: I referenced an actual paper posted in 2016 to get Tech's information about the extragenital erogenous zones. I'm posting the citation below in case anyone wants to read it! I thought it was very interesting, even if you just read the abstract.

Thanks for reading! Feel free to let me know what you thought!

Younis, Ihab, et al. "Female hot spots: extragenital erogenous zones." Human Andrology, vol. 6, no. 1, Mar. 2016, pp. 20-26, www.ingentaconnect.com/content/wk/xha/2016/00000006/00000001/art00004.

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a-little-unsteddie · 1 year ago

Text

abstract

ok we all listened to Hozier’s new album, right? so we all know what comes next.

tw: hurt/no comfort, post-break up

wc: 1.1k || AO3 Link

Eddie groaned as he rolled over to check his phone, unsure who would be messaging him so early in the morning. Chrissy. Of course. He smiled vacantly, and then immediately frowned when the phone unlocked and revealed the message.

Eddie!! Watch this right now!!

Eddie clicked the link that was attached to the message and flinched reflexively when he saw the title of the video.

Exclusive!: Steve Harrington Opens Up About Last Relationship!

He instantly closed out of the video before it had a chance to start playing and messaged Chrissy back furiously.

explain to me why i should watch an interview that steve did? what do I care if he talks about our relationship? he’s allowed to.

Eddie chewed on his thumb nail anxiously as he stared down at the three dots indicating that Chrissy was replying. He was glad that she was, because he wasn’t sure if he would have been able to handle it if she didn’t. He thought it was fair of him to not want to watch an interview of Steve talking shit about him and their relationship, because there was no doubt in his mind that the interview could be anything but that. The relationship hadn’t ended particularly well, and Eddie knew that he was partially at fault for it. They both had their own problems, which eventually culminated in a massive fight that they couldn’t get past. The only thing that Eddie could really remember from the fight was Steve leaving at the end and immediately regretting letting him leave. He couldn’t even remember the reason of their fight — not that they really needed a reason to argue, near the end.

Eddie often replayed the memory of the slamming door and the following weeks spent isolating himself from everyone, eventually Chrissy had come barging in to drag him out of bed and into the shower and forcing him to be a functional member of society. Which, to be fair, was quite important given the fact that Eddie had a band to write for. Chrissy was the only reason he was functioning now, even. She was his rock through the aftermath of Steve Harrington.

Eddie was startled out of his thoughts by his phone buzzing in his hand, and focused on it to read the message.

I love you so much, and you *need* to watch that interview. Trust me.

Eddie swallowed thickly and tapped the link again. Steve looked amazing, because of course he did, his hair perfectly styled, wearing a yellow sweater that Eddie remembered being one of his favorites to wear. Eddie almost backed out of the video again, but it began playing at the timestamp that Chrissy had linked him to.

“So,” the interviewer began, a curious look on her face, “any new relationships?”

Steve let out a huff that could have been considered a laugh to anyone who didn’t know him like Eddie did, and he watched with a heavy heart as he answered with a gentle shake of his head.

“No, and I’m not looking for a new relationship.” Steve smiled crookedly at the interviewer, and Eddie’s heart pounded in his chest as he turned up the volume on his phone, desperate to hear more of Steve’s voice. “Still recovering from the last one,” he said, as if it were a joke, but Eddie was surprised to hear how genuine it sounded.

The interviewer leaned forward, “Oh? Eddie Munson, right?”

Steve nodded, fidgeting with his sleeves. “Yeah.”

“What can you tell us about that?” The interviewer asked, and Eddie held his breath as he awaited Steve’s response.

Steve shifted in his spot, and despite how uncomfortable Eddie knew he must be, he looked completely at ease with the interviewer. He looked contemplative as he seemed to mull over his next words.

“I think we were just…both in a really rough point in our lives. You’ve heard that saying, ‘right person, wrong time’?” At the interviewers nod, Steve continued, “Like that.”

“Did you love him?” The interviewer asked, quiet and open to the answer. Eddie blinked rapidly, knuckles almost white from how tightly he was gripping his phone. Steve looked sad, staring down at his hands for a moment before he appeared to gather himself and return his attention to the interviewer.

“Yes.” Steve paused, smiling sadly, “Still do.” Eddie paused the video to take a deep, shaky breath. He sniffled, and only then did he realize that he had started crying. It felt as though his chest was on fire. He took another deep breath and forced himself to press play.

“Can you remember when you first realized you loved him?” The interviewer asked as a follow up, which Eddie thought was a touch insensitive, but nontheless thankful that the interviewer was pushing forward, for no reason other than he wanted to know. Before today, he may have thought Steve would have scoffed and said no, but now he wasn’t sure.

“It wasn’t really.. one specific moment,” Steve started, “but the moment that I realized I wasn’t going to be able to do anything except love him was a rainy day. We were walking through the city, and we heard tires squealing and then Eddie was off,” Eddie was surprised to find he couldn’t remember the day that Steve was talking about. He sniffled and tried to focus on what Steve was saying. “Someone had hit an opossum,” Steve laughed, eyes shining with unshed tears but they didn’t fall, “and Eddie was devastated, and held it so gently. I just remember thinking I had no choice but to love him. He almost caused another car accident, but luckily the person driving saw Eddie dash into the road and stopped…Eddie held the opossum until it died in his arms.”

And Eddie knew with sudden clarity exactly what day Steve was talking about now, because Steve had been so scared that he could have gotten hurt, but all Eddie had been concerned about was the creature he had been holding, because he couldn’t let it die alone and scared. Eddie hadn’t realized that there was another car coming and was lucky that it had stopped in time. He remembered Steve berating him until Eddie looked up at him, tears in his eyes. ‘I can’t let him die alone,’ he had said. Steve had sighed, but smiled as he sat down to join him until the opossum died.

“Do you regret it?” The interviewer asked, “Loving him, I mean.” Eddie waited with baited breath for Steve’s answer.

“I am still glad to have been able to love him. The memory hurts, but does me no harm.”

#i have such a vivid image of a fic that wohld go with this song #but i do not have the patience to write out a full fic #so enjoy this little ficlet instead #st #stranger things #eddie munson #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #hurt/no comfort #open ending technically #inspired by abstract (psychopomp)#unsteddie writing

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animesmolbean · 9 months ago

Text

A World of Pure Imagination

Chapter 3: A Silver Lining

For the rest of the day, Yin couldn't stop thinking about what happened in the Gallery Gourmet. The whole scene replayed in his head, and he couldn't help but blush and let out a few laughs.

Once it was night and roll call was done, Yin watched Noodle enter her room and sit down on the bed next to him. He was still in a giddy mood.

"Can't stop thinking about him, huh?" Noodle asked with a teasing smirk. Yin blushed but smiled while nodding. "You've fallen in love with him, haven't you?" Noodle asked.

Yin sputtered but didn't deny it. "Anyone would fall madly in love with someone who doffs their hat to you with a smile."

"Not as hard as you did." Noodle retaliated in a teasing tone.

Yin let out a whine. Noodle giggled. Yin may be older than her, but Yin sometimes acted like a child. Not that she hated that. She actually likes that Yin still has that childhood wonder.

"Speaking of Mr. Wonka, I have to deliver his food to him. Want to come with? So you can meet your soulmate?" Noodle asked with a teasing smile.

Yin blushed. "No way he's my soulmate."

"Come on. He looked really into you."

"Fine. I'll come with."

Noodle smiled. "Come. Your boyfriend awaits you."

"Once again, he is not my boyfriend."

Yin waited for Noodle to get the food cart. Once she came back, Yin followed her to Mr. Wonka's room.

The pair arrived at where Wonka was staying. His door was open, but Wonka wasn't looking in their direction. Instead, he was looking out the window. "Room service." Noodle called. Yin suddenly felt shy and stepped to the side, hiding himself. Despite not showing himself, he listened to the conversation.

"Told you to read the small print." Noodle told Wonka. Yin remembered that Noodle did try to warn Wonka about the small print. He wondered why he didn't listen to her, even after she was caught. Then he got his answer when he heard Noodle speak,

"You can't read, can you?"

That sentence hit Yin hard in the face and immediately made him upset. How dare those monsters take advantage of him like that. Then, he heard Wonka speak,

"I focused my studies almost exclusively on chocolate."

"I see." Noodle nodded. Yin said it at the same time as she did, but more quiet, still shy.

"For everything else, I've relied on the kindness of strangers."

"And look where that got you: the Staff quarters. You have a bed." Noodle said in a matter of fact tone.

Willy sat on said bed, only for it to collapse underneath him. Now, from the angle Wonka was at, he saw a flimpse of another person. Yin gasped softly and backed away, hoping Wonka didn't see him.

"You had a bed. Desk. And wash basin slash toilet. Water comes in two temperatures. 'Cold'. And 'Colder'." Noodle continued.

Wonka only partially listened as he was now focused on seeing if someone else was out there. But Noodle's next question made him look back at her. "How much do you owe them?"

"Ten thousand." Wonka replied softly.

"Consider yourself lucky. I owe thirty."

"What? How do you owe them money? I thought they found you down the laundry chute." Wonka asked, confused.

"Oh, they did. Took me in out of the goodness of their hearts and charged me for the privilege." Noodle replied with sass.

"You're kidding me." Wonka was shocked.

"It's not as bad. If I keep my nose clean, I'll be out of here by the time I'm eigthy-two."

"What a pair of monsters." Wonka said, dumbstruck.

'Thank you!' Yin thought to himself.

"The greedy beat the need every time, Mr. Wonka. Guess it's just the way of the world." Noodle said as she served him slop in a bowl before leaving.

Yin went to follow her, suddenly too shy to say anything to Wonka before Wonka spoke again, catching their attention.

"Oh, come on, Noodle, that's just your orphan syndrome talking."

Noodle reappeared at the door. "My what?!"

Yin had to face palm. Did Wonka know that technically isn't a thing? Well... he guessed that it kind of was.

"Your Orphan Syndrome. And we're certainly not going to be eating any slop." Wonka dumped his food out. "And neither is your friend out there either."

Yin felt his body tense up, and his face warmed up in embarrassment. Noodle smirked at his reaction.

"Come on out now, friend." Wonka encouraged. Noodle looked at her friend. She silently motioned him to show himself.

"I recognized you from the Gallery Gourmet today. You were the one who bowed at me. I also saw you the day before when I first came."

Yin blushed harder, and Noodle had to hold back a snicker.

'He remembered me.' Yin thought to himself, feeling flattered. Yin inhaled and exhaled softly and stepped away from the wall and appeared by the door next to Noodle.

When Wonka saw Noodle's friend up close, he swore he felt his heart skip a beat. There was no doubt. This was the young man he saw today and yesterday. His (hair color) (straight/curly/wavy) framed his face, his skin was glowing softly in the room lighting, and his (eye color) eyes sparkled. He was dressed similarly to how he normally would, but from what he had seen so far, it looked like he didn't own a coat. Despite this, Wonka could only think,

'He's... beautiful.'

Yin blushed as he saw Wonka looking at him up and down, hoping he wasn't silently judging him. He shyly played with a strand of hair. Then, Wonka looked at him before giving him a smile.

"Nice to officially meet you. My name is Willy Wonka." He said, reaching a hand out to Yin.

'So that's his full name. Willy Wonka. What a name.' He thought to himself.

He placed his hand in Wonka's, shaking it gently and trying not to blush at the feeling. "N-nice to meet you, Mr. Wonka. I'm Yin (Last Name)."

'Shoot! I stuttered.' He thought to himself.

Wonka chuckled at the young man. "Lovely name, and please, no need for formalities. Just call me Willy." He said, still smiling. Yin smiled shyly before nodding. "Oh! Um.. all right then... Willy."

Willy hummed. He quickly realized that he quite liked it when Yin said his first name.

He then picked up his sample case and put it on the table. The other two looked in confusion.

"What are you doing?" Noodle asked.

"I'm making chocolate, of course. How do you like it? Dark? White? Nutty? Absolutely insane?" He asked, tilting his head to the side dramatically.

Yin bit his bottom lip to conceal a laugh as his cheeks turned red. 'He looks like a puppy. Acts like one too.' He thought to himself.

Shaking off the feeling, mostly, Yin chuckled. "I guess... absolutely insane." He said with a smile and a shrug.

Willy gave Yin a smile. "I love that answer."

He then looked at Noodle. "I don't know. I've never had any."

This was no surprise to Yin. However, to Wonka, his eyes widened, and he looked dumbstruck.

"You've never had chocolate?"

Yin chuckled quietly at his reaction. 'He looks like Noodle just said a curse word to him.'

"No." Noodle replied with a shake of her head.

Wonka threw his head back. "WHAT?!! You've never had chocolate?!"

"Still no." Noodle replied, unamused.

Yin, meanwhile, was very amused.

"Well, we'll soon put that right. Fortunately for you, I have a selection of the world's finest ingredients right here in my travel factory." Wonka opened the sample case, and it showed an almost impossible array of flasks and beakers, a miniature gas stove, and jars of ingredients.

"Whoa!" Yin and Noodle admired the case.

Wonka looked at the pair. "Where to start, that's the question... Ah! I know! Silver Linings! Made of condensed thunder clouds and liquid sunlight. Helps you see that fist ray of hope beyond the shadow of despair. Just what we need, wouldn't you say?"

The two watched Willy take the jars and start mixing the ingredients, curiosity evident on their faces.

"Did you always want to make chocolate?" Yin asked, feeling a bit bold now. Wonka looked at the pretty boy beside him, smiling a bit. "Oh no. Back when I was around Noodle's age, I wanted to be a magician. My mom was the cook. We lived on the river, just the two of us, in a perfect little world of our own..."

Willy explained to the two about how his mother made chocolate for him from a single cocoa bean and wished to know what her secret was to making the chocolate tasting delicious.

"So, what was it, Willy? What was her secret?" Noodle asked.

Wonka looked down. "I never found out. Soon after, she fell sick, and before I knew it, all I had left was her chocolate."

"I'm so sorry, Willy." Yin said, who looked to be close to tears but managed to not break.

"That's why I'm here. So I can feel the same way I did back them, eating chocolate with her."

"What do you mean?" Noodle asked.

"My mom once promised that when I share chocolate with the world, she'd be right there beside me. And I know it sounds crazy, but I always hoped she'd somehow keep that promise. She might even tell me her secret."

Noodle and Yin smiled, feeling Wonka's pain.

Then, a soft 'Ping!' rang through the room. The chocolates were done. They were powder blue, shaped like thunder clouds, and had a silver lining on the edges. They were topped with a yellow lightning bolt.

"Here, try one." Wonka handed one to each of them.

The pair tentatively took a nibble of the chocolate. Yin's teeth glided through the chocolate, and at first taste, he let out a soft gasp in surprise. It was the best chocolate he has ever had!

Willy saw his reaction and hid a smile beneath his hand, raising his eyebrows at him. He saw Yin's eyes sparkle with a childlike glimmer, like his hope had been restored.

Noodle was also shocked by the taste of the chocolate but stopped from taking another bite. "I wish you hadn't done that."

Willy looked at Noodle with a surprised look. "You don't like it?" He asked, feeling a little crestfallen.

Noodle shook her head. "No, I like it. It's just..."

"What?" Wonka asked.

"Now, each day I don't have chocolate will be a little harder." She said solemnly.

Yin frowned before nodding in agreement. She was right. He felt it, too. Not in the sense that he'll never have chocolate again, but knowing he might not ever have Willy's chocolate ever again.

Wonka saw the two with solemn looks on their faces. "Then how would you two like to have all the chocolate you can eat every day for the rest of your lives?"

"A lifetime supply?" Yin looked at Wonka with surprise.

"A lifetime supply." Wonka repeated, smiling at the young man.

"What do we have to do?" Noodle asked, suspicious.

"Not much. Just get me out of here."

"Are you crazy?!" Noodle exclaimed.

Willy and Yin shushed her. "It's easy. I'll get someone to cover my shift, and you can smuggle me out in your laundry cart - just for a few hours, mind. Nobody would even know I was gone." Wonka explained.

"What's the point of that?" Noodle asked.

"I think you know the answer." Yin whispered to her.

"To sell chocolate, of course! We'll split the profits and pay off Mrs. Scrubbit in no time!" Wonka said excitedly.

"It's a nice idea, Willy..." Noodle started.

"It's a great idea, Noodle." Wonka corrected.

"But it'll never work!" Noodle finished.

"Course it will! Eat your chocolate!" Willy told her as he walked to the window. Noodle did so. "You don't understand. Mrs. Scrubbit's like a hawk. She keeps her beady eye on everything that comes in and out of the Wash House. Except.... huh."

Willy looked at her. "What it is?"

"No, it's nothing." Noodle brushed it off.

"Oh, ok." Willy turned around again, but Yin could tell something was up.

"Huh!" Noodle hummed.

Willy turned around again but with excitement. "A double-huh! That's not nothing. That's the Silver Lining. It's given you an idea."

'His candy can give people ideas?' Yin wondered as he looked at his half eaten chocolate.

"Okay. So the one time she dropped her guard was when this aristocrat came into the laundry. He was only asking for directions, but she was all over him like a rash. It was disgusting." Noodle explained.

"That's it, Noodle! All we have to do is find an aristocrat and slip out while she's distracted." He eats his Silver Lining.

"Yeah, but where are we going to find an aristocrat?"

The light above Willy's head flicked on, Willy looked up. He had an idea.

"Huh."

"Huh?" The other two hummed.

"Huh!"

"A double-huh!" The two said together.

"Do you have a pencil and paper?" Wonka asked them.

"Uh-huh!" Noodle nodded.

"Because I have an idea..." Wonka said.

Noodle hummed before looking at her friend. "Yin? Are you in?" She asked with a smirk.

Yin, who mostly didn't say anything, looked at Noodle. Yin looked at the chocolate again and back at Wonka, who looked at him with puppy dog eyes. Yin blushed lightly but smiled softly and gave a curt nod. "Yeah, I'm in!"

Wonka smiled. "Great!" Then, he looked at a bit worried. "But... how will you get out? You don't seem -"

Noodle quickly stepped in. "That's because -"

"Huh."

Willy and Noodle looked at Yin, who had just finished chewing. "Huh?" They hummed.

"Huh!"

"A double-huh!" They said to Yin. Yin giggled. "Your Silver Lining kicked in. What's your idea?" Wonka asked, really excited.

Yin thought about it for a moment. He ran his fingers through his hair before looking at Wonka. "Well, Mr. Wonka -" "Willy." The cute chocolatier corrected. Yin giggled shyly. "Right. Willy, how do you feel if I share the laundry cart with you?"

Willy thought about it for a moment but smiling. "Of course you can. If that's the case, can you help me with something tomorrow?"

'He needs my help? Oh God, he needs my help!' Yin thought excitedly.

"Of course! Anything." He replied, a bit too excited.

"Perfect!" Wonka said with a wide smile. A smile that made Yin's heart skip a beat.

The three conversed into the night, talking until they were positive in their plan.

Tomorrow, they will put their plan into action.

#wonka #wonka 2023 #wonka movie #timothée chalamet #timothee chalamet x reader #willy wonka #willy wonka x reader #fanfic #timothee fanfic #x reader #x male reader #x male y/n

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 2 years ago

Text

orchid

a/n: thought about splitting this one up into multiple parts, but no, you're just getting one big fic. yet again, just a daydream I had that I scribbled down, just vibes, nothing fancy. also the tiny apartment she lives in, that's just where I lived a year ago. like a ghost in the attic (also also also, I almost exclusively worked on this in the middle of the night, so if it’s not up to par with the rest of my works, I do sincerely apologise)

update: i will not write a part 2 for this story so please stop asking me! you are giving me a stomach ache

summary: “Alright, so even though I’m not, why is it that it would be such a bad thing if I theoretically had a thing for him?”

warnings: Sirius Black x reader, modern!au, college!au, starving artist!reader, posh boy Sirius, very light enemies to lovers energy, probably extremely inaccurate country club, reader works at the country club, playing 20 questions, kissing, sexual comments and references but no actual smut in this one, alcohol consumption, a little bit of light B & E as a cute date, small tolkien reference, open ending (kinda)

word count: 6023

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

“All right, listen up folks,” bellowed the short snappy figure of your boss, “it’s gonna get a lot busier starting today since a lot of the member's kids are coming home on break from boarding school and university and whatnot, so that means not only will there be more people to keep happy but also a lot of stressed-out parents who await the luxury that they are paying for. I expect you all to be on you’re A-game, is that clear?”

“Yes, Mr Barrett,” echoed throughout the room like a choir.

“Good. Now get back to work everyone!”

Just as the herd started to thin, Mr Barrett waved you over before you had a chance to slip out, “Y/l/n!”

Watching your work friends duck out before he could call upon them as well, you gave in to the newly formed reflex and said, “yes sir?”

Not lifting his eyes as you stepped closer, he kept them glued to the clipboard in his hand and ordered, “go restock all the bars.”

“Um, why? Didn’t Tim just do it last Monday?”

“He did,” Mr Barrett finally glance up at you and explained sternly, clearly already being over this conversation, “and now I’m telling you to go do it again. Look, these folks' kids are coming home. So, trust me when I tell you that it needs to be fully stocked.”

“Alright,” you exhaled and scurried out at the irked wave of his hand.

You hadn’t been working here at the Millington club for that long, but even when you consider the fact that you had to mosey up to a bunch of insufferable rich folk, the paycheck was still a lot better than any other place you’d ever worked at, consequently making it tolerable.

Now balancing a heavy cardboard box jam-packed with various clanking liquor bottles, you made your way through the glamorous halls of the club, first making your way down towards the east side lounge. Glancing down at the clinking flasks, you couldn’t even begin to calculate how many months of rent you would have to give for even just one of these lavish drinks.

As you entered the posh sitting room and made your way over towards the bar, a collection of rowdy voices caught your ear.

“No way, I don’t believe it.”

“No, I’m telling you, mate,” you sat the box down on the marble countertop and glanced over to spot the young raven-haired man answering his friends, “it’s true, right there in the library.”

“What genre was it in?” one of the two young men asked. They were all three spread out on a few small queen Anne couches, clustered in the corner, as if they owned the whole establishment, “biography? That corner’s pretty private…”

“Um, I was a little too preoccupied to notice,” the cocky boy scoffed, “you know, with my head being all the way under her skirt and all.”

Kicking his feet up onto the mahogany coffee table in the middle, the bespeckled one in the group chuckled, “only you mister I lost my virginity in a threesome could just casually have that happen to him on a Tuesday afternoon.”

“Who was it with anyway?” the other one asked.

Furrowing his brows, the man in the centre of the story genuinely didn’t seem to remember, “I think her name was Emma? Something like that.”

“Didn't your mother tell you it’s creepy to stare?” you flinched at the sudden and sneaky arrival of your co-worker’s familiar voice, uttering directly into your ear.

“Jesus fuck, Lucy! Don’t scare a girl like that! I could have dropped one of these,” you held up the expensive bottles in hand, then swiftly went back to putting them away.

“Please don’t tell me you have a thing for him,” she ignored your annoyance, crossing her arms.

“What?” was she referring to the brash handsome man you couldn’t rip your eyes away from just a second ago? “No! I don’t even know who he is.”

“Wait, you don’t know who that is?

“No.”

“Seriously?”

“Nope.”

“That’s Sirius Black,” she told you as if the name alone was common knowledge, but then continued as the lightbulb over your head clearly didn’t turn on, “Orion Black’s oldest son?” still nothing, she tried one last time, “as in the Black automobile company? That super old posh one?”

“…the one that the royal family drives around in?”

“Ding, ding, ding!” she threw up her arms and continued to look at you as if you were an idiot.

“Alright, so even though I’m not, why is it that it would be such a bad thing if I theoretically had a thing for him?”

“Because that man right there, gorgeous as he might be, is the biggest playboy on the planet. He doesn’t even know what the definition of a relationship is, let alone love. Y/n, I know you. You, my wonderful friend, is a relationship type of girl, not a casual sleep-around like it’s nothing type of girl. So, trust me when I say, don’t go there.”

“I wasn’t gonna!” you said defensively as she finally turned around and left you to your work.

Bending down to open up a small cabinet, you kneeled on the polished hardwood floor and scurried to finish your work of restocking the bar.

“Hey love,” you heard after only a minute had passed. Glancing up, you saw the very same man you had been so fixated upon earlier, casually leaning his forearm against the counter. He looked like he could have just stepped out of a ralph lauren ad with how impeccable his clothes were.

Shooting up, nearly bumping your head on the way, you felt your heartbeat pick up as his dark eyes bored into you, “hi! Can I help you with anything?”

“Me and my mates over there were just about to go do something a little more fun than what this snooze fest has to offer,” he gesticulated, then added rather smoothly, “you look like you could use some fun, you should join us.”

“Sir, I can’t just leave,” you cocked your head, “I’m in the middle of my shift.”

“So, when do you get off?” he asked, but then as you simply averted your gaze, scrambling for a polite way to untangle yourself from this mess, he pushed, “oh, come on, I know you want to.”

Keeping your eyes low, you shook your head, “I’m not really supposed to socialise with members.”

“Ah,” he leaned in a little closer, lowering himself to your eye level, “you’re a real good girl, aren’t you?”

Eyes growing wide at his suggestive word choice, you blushed, “e-excuse me, sir?”

“I noticed the way you were looking at me,” his studying gaze didn’t waver for a second.

“Oh, that wasn’t-“

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell if you won’t.” He then leaned in even closer, “hey,” nearly whispering into your ear and effectively sending shivers down your spine, “if it fits your schedule better, we could just go into the billiard room right now…”

“Why would we-“

“My friends can stand by the door if you’re nervous,” he interrupted once more, reaching up to push a lock of your hair behind your ear, “no one will bother us, promise.”

Completely stunned by his bold proposal, it took you a few seconds to decline, “sir. I-… I’m gonna go back to work now…” then slowly picked up the now empty cardboard box and exited the room, leaving Sirius alone to pick up the pieces.

“She’s new… I want her.”

That was all Sirius had uttered to his friends before making his way over to hit on the new girl, occupied restocking the bar.

Now standing there, alone and blinking hard, not understanding why his usual charm hadn’t worked on you, he heard his friends come up behind him.

“How did it go? You meeting her in the bathroom or what?”

“She turned me down…” he was still frozen, staring out the door you’d disappeared through, with a stunned smile on his lips and a determent glint in his eyes. His words didn’t sound unhappy, simply surprised and even a little amused.

“That’s nice, good for your health to be turned down by a pretty face such as hers. Also means you are in fact human after all,” Remus pulled out his box of cigarettes and swiftly tugged one into the corner of his lips to lite it, “so, that’s nice to know…” noticing the look in Sirius’s eye, “come on,” he wrapped an arm around his neck, “we’ll just go out tonight. Get you nice and pussy drunk. That’ll make you forget her in no time, promise.”

“Funny seeing you here,” you didn’t even bother to look up as the slightly familiar voice found your ears.

“Yeah,” you kept your eyes on the list in your hand just a little longer, “it’s almost like I work here or something.”

Finally glancing up, you met the intoxicatingly dark eyes of none other than Sirius Black, “you’re funny…”

“So,” you started moving along, not letting his bugging hold you back from executing your work, “is there anything I can do for you, sir?”

His long legs made it a piece of cake for him to follow along with you, “go out with me.”

Stopping your stride, you sighed, “Mr Black-”

“Please, call me Sirius,” he interrupted you with all the charm in the world.

“Mr Black, excuse me for being blunt but when will you get the hint?”

“Y/n, hey!”

This dude really doesn’t quit.

“You know my name now,” you couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling even if you wanted to.

“Yeah, well I asked around a bit about you. That was just one of the many tantalising facts I learned about you,” he winked, and you tried your best to ignore the butterflies that cheap trick had successfully sent fluttering throughout your stomach.

Moving to leave the room, he swiftly blocked the door, making you see nothing but his annoying smirk, “seriously dude, what will it take for you to just leave me alone?”

“Go out with me,” he shrugged lightly and crossed his arms.

“No.”

“Why not?”

Feeling like you might explode if he didn’t get out of the way, you exclaimed, “because I’m not I’m not gonna sleep with you!” your eyes grew a bit wider at the proclamation you’d let slip out.

“Oh really?” he simply smiled, clearly just taking it as another challenge.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you hoped that the conversation would get less uncomfortable if you couldn’t see his jaw-dropping visage anymore, “yeah, I’ve heard what people say about you.”

Completely loving it, he clearly took that as a good thing, “really?”

“Yeah, well it’s like a fucking ghost story around here, so I didn’t have much of a choice. You’re just that kind of guy and that’s fine! But you just need to know, all that charm, it won’t work on me, so you might as well just turn around now. I am not just gonna be another notch in your belt, another hot new little thing for you to pass the time with, okay?”

Eyes still shut, you thought for a second he had left with how long he took to answer you, “okay, fine.”

“Fine?” you finally blinked your eyes open.

“Fine,” he smiled, “I won’t sleep with you.”

“Great!” you threw up your arms and moved to exit the room, though he stepped in front of you again, leaning down to be at your height.

“I mean, it’s probably gonna be really hard for you to resist after the date I’ve got planned out, but sure, if you don’t want to.”

Gnawing the corner of your bottom lip for but a moment, you gave out, “if I say yes to go on a date with you, one date, will you leave me alone?”

Face only inches from your own, his smile grew wider as he agreed, “deal.”

“Mr Black! Welcome back, sir,” not only the security guard but also an older gentleman in a crisp suit had greeted you both at the entrance of the unusually vacated museum, “enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you, Henderson,” Sirius politely shook his hand before planting it on the small of your back, guiding you further inside.

Glaring up at him as if he was an alien, he finally questioned your gaze, “what?”

“What are we doing in here?” you spoke in a near whisper, “the museum closed like 2 hours ago.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged, climbing the big stone steps that lead up towards the first exhibit, “my family’s a big donator to this place, so I just pulled a few strings.”

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you simply followed him into the first breathtaking room and breathed out, “okay…”

Even if the company was somewhat challenging, you couldn’t deny how the beauty hung up all around you made the evening at least tolerable. Your little art heart was too weak not to swoon at the sight of all the impressionistic pieces that were on display in this season's unique exhibit. Iconic pieces you could have only dreamed about studying this close.

After a surprisingly long while where Sirius miraculously shut up and simply let you roam and relish in the paintings, you took a deep breath and decided to actually make the smallest of efforts to test if your companion did in fact have any more depth than a teaspoon.

“So,” you started as he settled in beside you, his dark eyes washing over the landscape in front of you, “you’re home from uni for a bit?”

“Yep,” he buried his hands in the pockets of his black trousers, “oxford.”

You felt so strong for not just bolting in the opposite direction. “You’re an oxford man?” you scoffed, “should have figured…”

“Like my father was and his father before him,” he added rather coldly, sounding like this was a rehearsed reply that pained him to recite.

“What do you study?”

“Business,” he kept his answer short.

“Oh yeah?” you glanced over, trying to break through and see if his outsides matched his insides, “is it fun?”

Brows furrowing, he turned to meet your gaze, “what does that have to do with it?”

“You don’t enjoy your major?”

“It’s just,” he inhaled deeply, uncomfortably trying to end this specific chat, “school, you know?”

“No, I actually don’t,” you informed him, slowly moving towards the next painting.

“No?” he followed.

“I don’t go to school,” you informed.

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“Oh, okay…” he averted his gaze, but still felt the need to explain his confusion, “I knew you liked art, so I just kinda assumed that you went to school for that or something…”

“Why bother paying a ridiculous amount of money in order to learn about something that I’m already really good at? No one is gonna deny me the right to create art just because I don’t have some fancy degree in it. If it’s a masterpiece, then it’s a masterpiece.”

“Yeah, I guess so…” you could tell how foreign your words were to him, “so that’s what you do for a living? You paint?”

“It doesn’t pay the bills, but that’s not really the point now is it?” you reflected with a small smile, “just because it’s what I do doesn’t mean I earn a large profit from it, if any at all.”

For a moment, he just went quiet, staring at the many paintings with a slightly glossed-over look in his eyes. You were trying to catch his glances, read what it was that was going on inside that head of his, but your timid attempt at finding a new topic to blossom suddenly became the most effortless task in the world the second that he casually rolled his sleeves all the way up to his elbows.

“Wait, you have tattoos?” tumbled out of you as soon as you spotted the ink.

“Yeah,” he gave a small shrug.

“How did I not know that?” you asked, sounding genuinely interested.

“Guess my pretty face was just a bit too distracting for you to notice,” he winked, regaining a bit of his usual confidence, “do you have any?”

“Yeah, a few. Though they’re just some stick-and-poke ones one of my friends gave me.”

“Aw, my first tattoo was a stick-and-poke one! I was 15 and it was at boarding school in the bathroom,” he remembered fondly.

“Oh yeah? Your parents must have loved that,” you chuckled.

“Oh, they don’t know.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, well, clothing can hide a lot and they only really see me a handful of days out of the year anyways, so… what they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

Maybe he wasn’t so terrible after all… After finding a sliver of common ground, the rest of the conversation just flowed after that, making the remainder of the evening not just tolerable, but even enjoyable.

Nearing the end of the tour, you felt his shoulder lightly bump yours, “you like it?” ripping you out of the trance the art piece in front of you had induced.

“I mean, it’s a Monet,” you gestured towards it, finding his question a bit silly, “I think it’s physically impossible not to like it.”

“Darling, I wasn’t talking about the painting,” he clarified, smiling warmly down at you.

“Oh,” you looked up at him and couldn’t help but be blatantly honest, even if it meant that you had been wrong, “yeah, I guess it wasn’t half bad…” then cast your vision back on the painted pond and added as casually as you could muster, “but we are so not doing anything like this next time.”

“Next time?”

“I swear to god,” you sighed, shutting your eyes, “if you don’t shut up in less than two seconds, I won’t hesitate to change my mind. You were just starting to grow on me.”

“Yes, ma’am, wouldn’t dream of it, I’m just standing here, looking at the art,” you heard him smile and peeped your eyes open to find him boldly still staring at you.

“You sure we’re allowed to be up here?” Sirius asked, following you up the last bit of the clinking metal staircase in the seemingly abandoned factory you’d without context dragged him into.

“Oh, don’t tell me that you're scared,” you playfully glanced over your shoulder at him, “doesn’t your daddy’s lawyer always bail you out of all the shady fun you and your friends get into?”

“Who exactly do you think we are?” he scoffed lightly, though didn’t deny your claim.

“So, you’ve never committed a petty crime before? A party animal like you?”

“I have never done anything wrong in my entire life,” he shot back sarcastically.

“Right you haven’t,” you chuckled, trying without success to bust open the rusty door, putting all your weight into it, “give me a hand, would you?” you requested breathlessly, his frame quickly following your command, stepping right up beside you, readying his shoulder and waiting for your go, “okay, one, two, three!” you both gave it a big shove, making it fly open and reveal not only the factory’s small, flat rooftop but also the most breathtaking view of the city’s skyline and the rabidly disappearing sun.

Seemingly not impressed by the dingy surroundings, Sirius grumbled, “now do I get to know what we are doing tonight?”

“No sense of adventure…” you sighed teasingly, “I’m not telling you, you’ll have to find out yourself,” you sauntered over towards the small ledge by the section of the roof that sunk down a bit and had a bunch of vents and things. Taking a seat, you gestured to the cold concrete beside you and said, “now, sit.”

“You want me to sit?” he eyed the dirty surface mistrustingly.

“Yeah,” you smiled, patting the spot with your fingers, “come on, you can sit on my jacket if you’re such a wuss.”

“Oh my god, fine, I’ll sit down,” he moved towards you, “just keep your jacket. Don’t want you to freeze to death.”

“You don’t? That’s reassuring to know,” you jested as he carefully took a seat beside you, dangling his long legs over the edge.

“So… this is your big plan?” he asked, completely unimpressed, “sit on a filthy rooftop together?”

“Don’t mock when you don’t even know what it is yet,” you raised a defensive hand and then proposed confidently, “now, ask me a question.”

Furrowing his dark brows, he bit his lip in order not to stifle a laugh, “a question?”

“Yeah, you’ve got 20, so use them wisely,” you explained the childish game.

“Oh my god…” he groaned as he caught on, although still played along, “okay, is it a thing?”

“Yes.”

His pristine hair blew in the wind as his eyes scanned the city below for clues, “is it big?”

“No.”

“Am I physically close to it?”

“Yes.”

“Can I see it?”

“No.”

“Okay, so it’s small and close by, but I can’t see it…” he recited underneath his breath, “is it, fuck, I don’t know,” he grumbled, both completely over the game yet also way too invested to just quit immediately, “your phone in your pocket?”

“Good one, but no!”

“Fuck, I don’t know! Am I even close?”

“You are closer than you might think.”

“Can I just get a little bit more of a hint?” he pouted in your direction.

“Fine, it is within a meter of you.”

Head whipping around confused, “um, that’s literally just you. Is it you? Are you really calling yourself a thing right now?”

“No!” you snapped, slightly offended that he’d even think that, “just use your imagination for fuck sake. Don’t they teach you that at boarding school and fancy universities?”

Letting out a long exhale, he just kinda zones out a moment, genially scrambling for the answer and scanning every visible inch of you. “…I truly don’t know,” he then squinted his eyes at you, “was this some sort of test? Did I fail it?”

“No, calm down,” you pulled your backpack around to the front, ripping the biggest compartment open and fishing out a bottle of bargain beer for the both of you, “here,” you handed him one.

“What is this, a price for losing?”

“No, that was the thing,” you placed the corner of the bottle’s cap up against the hard edge below you and gave it a swift tap, effectively popping it off and sending a lava flow of bubbles soaring down the dark glass and soaking your hand.

“This was it?” he hesitated, but eventually mimicked your manoeuvre to open the lacklustre beverage.

“Yep,” making the last letter pop as you raised the bottle up towards your lips.

“You’re terrible at twenty questions,” he chuckled, taking a small sip.

“You’re the one who couldn’t figure the answer out!”

“Yeah, because there was no way I was ever going to be able to figure that out! You can’t just be like Bilbo and ask for a person to guess what’s in your pocket, it has to be something the other person would be able to figure out.”

“That’s never how I played it, but if you wanna go again, play by your rules, then go right ahead, I’ll guess this time.”

After the last of the beers, you’d brought with you were a thing of the past, after several rounds of that child-like play had flown by, the harsh chime of his phone interrupted your guessing of what you were pretty sure was the small spire visible in the horizon before you.

Like a reflex, he fished it out of his pocket, and you watched as the soft smile quietly vanished from his features as if it had never been there to begin with, snuffed out and forgotten like last season’s fashion. It hadn’t been the first time you’d witnessed his phone be a mood killer, it happened at least once whenever he had been in your presence.

“What is it?” you asked, tossing the game to the side to make room for the growing concern you simply couldn’t ignore any longer.

“It’s nothing,” you watched his face twitch slightly as he read the message that plainly bothered him. Taking a deep breath, he tugged it away in his jacket and circled back to the quickly forgotten game, “you, um, still have 4 more questions till you run out-”

“Sirius,” you cut him off, determined to figure out what was troubling him, “who was that?” not giving you an answer, he simply averted his gaze. “I’m not gonna tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about. Who do you think I know that I could spill all of your deep dark secrets to? My neighbour Mary who’s about 90? Oh yeah, she would have a field day, if she actually remembers to put her hearing aid in,” you joked, in an effort to get him to relax and open up, “come on, you can tell me.”

After a good long moment of him thoroughly biting his inner cheek, he finally spoke, “it was my dad. He wanted to remind me that I’m supposed to start sitting in on meetings beginning by tomorrow. Start doing my part for the family business and finally grow up. He wants me to follow in his footsteps. And I know that it must sound fascinating, running a huge company like that, but it truly isn’t. It’s just a bunch of long boring meetings with boring money-hungry people talking about boring numbers. It has absolutely nothing to do with the cars themself.”

“And that’s not what you want?” you asked softly.

“That’s not the point,” he uttered, sounding downright exhausted.

“Isn’t it? Do you want to follow in his footsteps?”

Staring out into nothing, he slowly let the truth slip out past his lips, “no...” the tiny word instantly hitting him like a truck, “fuck. I’ve never actually said that out loud before… I don’t wanna do that… I don’t know what it is that I want to do, but I sure as hell know it isn’t that. I don’t wanna become another soulless businessman like my father.”

“Can I ask you something?” you asked him gently.

“Sure.”

“Why are you still studying business if you know that’s not what you wanna do?”

Exhaling heavily, “because I think what scares me even more than this future they’ve got all mapped out for me is the unknown. I don’t know what will happen if I hop off the train, but at least I know what it looks like inside and I know where it’s headed.”

Without giving it a second thought, you reached out and took his hand in yours.

“You’ll get off. Might not be today, but someday you will.”

A soft smile spread across his lips as the stressful thoughts slowly melted away with the aid of your touch and he turned his attention back to the date. “I gotta admit, this wasn’t at all what I expected.”

“What did you think? That I was gonna take you to dinner at a michelin restaurant? Some day you will learn that money can’t buy you everything. I mean, just look at that view,” you nodded towards the blushing skies above, the sun now nearly disappeared down behind the many roofs of the city.

“Yeah,” he breathed, not taking his eyes off of you for a second, “it’s beautiful.”

Not soon thereafter, when the dark night started to bloom and the date was due to end, you took him up on his adorably chivalrous offer and let him walk you back home. However, when you reached the outside of your building, he wasn’t the only one anymore that wasn’t ready to part ways yet. When you fumbled with the keys and he eagerly asked, “could I maybe walk you all the way in to your front door?” all you did was nod, because right now in this very moment, just one more minute of his charm was all you desired.

“Just what floor did you say you lived on?” he puffed from behind you once you’d reached the third floor of the old apartment building.

“I didn’t,” if you’d told him that you lived on the fifth floor, right underneath the roof in a tiny shoebox of an apartment, he properly wouldn’t have dared to climb the steep stairs with you. “And just because you're walking me to my door doesn’t mean you get to come inside, okay?”

“Got it.”

Even though he looked to be in phenomenal shape, you still noticed his attempt to hide how much of a tole this trek really was for him.

Once you finally reached the small dark door to your home, out of sight and out of mind down a narrow hallway, creaking it open, his eyes widened at the sight of your tiny apartment, “oh my god, that’s your apartment?” he didn’t even have to poke his head inside to be able to view every single millimetre, seeing as the whole flat in its entirety was probably the size of his bathroom.

“That’s my apartment,” you confirmed, not finding the size as jarring as he did.

“Is it even legal to live up here? Aren’t these attic rooms for storage or something?”

“They used to be, but now I promise it's totally above board.”

After letting out a small chuckle, he then took one last long look at you standing in the doorway, smiling warmly down at you, “I had a lot of fun tonight.”

“Yeah, me too,” you smiled, and when he then turned to take his leave, you stopped him, “hey Sirius?” still close, he turned around, “can I-, could I maybe-…”

Taking a step closer to you, he stared down at you and uttered, “what?”

“…can I kiss you?”

Not hesitating for even a second, probably just in case you would change your mind, Sirius bent down and boldly kissed you. The feel of his soft lips pressed against yours and his tongue confidently asking for entrance surprisingly didn’t increase your nerves, it minimised them. It felt oddly comfortable. Like you’d already done it a thousand times before.

“Goodnight,” he breathed out, lingering just a little longer.

“Night.”

The persistent knocks at your door finally came to a screeching halt as you swung it open and revealed the unexpected figure of Sirius.

“I need to talk to you,” he insisted, sounding out of breath, probably having sprinted up the stairs.

Furrowing your brows at the less-than-warm greeting, you asked, “Sirius? What are you doing here? It’s 11 o'clock at night,” pushing past you, the small stumble he took as he crossed over the threshold didn’t manage to escape your perception, “hey, what’s going on?”

“Everything’s going on!” he bellowed, making you quickly close the door behind him and cross your fingers that the walls in your building weren’t as thin as you feared if he was going to continue at this dramatic volume.

Whirling around to plant his unfocused eyes on you, you saw right through him and asked, “are you seriously drunk right now?”

Fully ignoring your question, he sank down onto your small couch and spoke wearily, staring out into your dimly lit home, “you messed everything up.”

“Excuse me,” you crossed your arms and closed your light robe a bit more to cover your less then modest pyjamas up, on the verge of just ripping the door open again so that you could kick him out, “I haven't done anything-”

“You messed up everything!” his unsteady eyes finally met your glare, “everything was just fine before I met you, there was a plan, a good plan,” he gesticulated with his right hand, “I didn’t see any problem with the plan till you had to show up and turn it all upside down,” you felt your heart start to sink as his intoxicated words impacted, “you ruined it all. You ruined me. For the first time in my life, the world is a truly terrifying place. It’s never been that way till you showed up,” you noticed his clenched jaw begin to quiver, “you are like a bright light, showing me just how dark my life actually is. I didn't ask for that perspective! I was perfectly fine just wandering around in the dark!”

“Sirius,” you reeled back, completely stunned by the tornado that had just interrupted your evening routine, “what are you-”

“You scare the shit out of me, Y/n,” he exclaimed, cutting your question off before it could fully form, “no girl has ever done that, except for you. Fuck, I love you! That terrifies me!” he sank down even further, nearly laying down at this point, overwhelmed by the storm brewing between his ears, “but what scares me even more is the thought of losing you.”

Completely stunned, you found your body slowly dropping down upon the mattress of your bed, sitting there at a complete loss for words, flabbergasted as you watched his low groans and curses gradually fade away until you picked up on how his breaths had slowed, and his lids had grown heavy, exhaustion snuffing him out like a flame.

Curled up on the windowsill, backlit by the morning sun, you raised your eyes from the sketchbook balanced on your bent knees, to reference the dark-haired man still passed out on your tiny couch.

Even after you’d not so silently riffled through your pantry this morning, checking to see if you had any resemblance of a hangover cure hidden away in there, he still slept like a baby, through all the crinkly bags and accidentally dropped containers.

Though now, as you weren’t really making any noise at all, simply emanating the silent scratching of your pen against paper, you saw him stir, inhaling sharply as he awoke.

“Morning sleepy head,” you tried to be mindful of your volume, the light wince your tone evoked from him clearly affirmed your suspicion of the horrible state the night before had put him in.

Craning his neck to look at you, he sat up, squinting in confusion as the bright morning light washed over him, “Y/n, what, um,” his voice sounded like it had been through a meatgrinder, “what am I doing here?”

“You don’t remember?” you sat the sketchbook down beside you but kept your seat in the window, merely shifted a bit.

“I-… Did something happen?” his palm lifted up to shield his mouth in worry, “did we-”

“Oh my god, no,” you got what he was hinting at and quickly cut in to correct him before your cheeks had a chance to turn an even brighter shade of red, “you showed up here last night, completely wasted.”

“Oh…”

“Yelled at me for a little bit and then you kinda just passed out.”

“Fuck…” he sighed, jaw clenching from guilt, “Y/n, I’m really sorry.”

“Yeah, you should be,” you crossed your arms tightly across your chest, “what even happened last night? Were you just at some club and randomly decided to come and shout at me a bit?”

“I wasn’t out,” he shook his head, still not meeting your eye, “I was at this stupid party with my family, some fundraiser I think, and became maybe a bit too pissed and got into an argument with my dad,” taking a deep breath in, he spoke, “I told him that I’m dropping out of school and that I don’t want to take over the company.”

“Oh…” it nearly came out as a whisper.

Taking shelter behind his hands, he lightly ran them down his face, “I’m really sorry,” he said earnestly, “I shouldn’t have bombarded you like that. I don’t remember what I said, but you don’t deserve any of it.”

Every word he had uttered the night before still played on a loop inside your mind, “…none of it?”

“No,” he finally met your gaze, “not one.”

Your churning stomach tried to prevent the words from flowing out, but your now fully bloomed feelings eventually prevailed as you found yourself asking him softly, “not even the part where you told me you love me?”

#lea’s writing #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black x reader #sirius black imagine #sirius black x female reader #sirius black fluff #sirius black x you #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fic #orchid #marauders era imagine #sirius black fanfic #sirius black angst #modern!old money!sirius black #artist!reader ᰔ

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