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illfoandillfie · 3 years ago

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Kinktober Day 7: Somnophilia (+Double Penetration - 2 holes)

Kinktober Masterlist | Regular Masterlist

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader

Words: 2,397

Warnings: Somnophilia, double penetration, anal sex, sex toys (dildo + plug), dom!Roger, protected sex, light degradation (slut), edging

A/N: This was kind of inspired by a couple of different posts I saw on a (now deleted) porn blog. I’ve been wanting to do something with the concepts for a little while now and this seemed like the perfect opportunity!

I guess I was picturing 70s rog since its a flatmate/fwb type relationship but go nuts imagining whatever you want lmao

It hadn’t been Roger’s idea to set up a friends with bennefits type arrangement, but he’d liked the suggestion when you made it and before the end of the night was out you’d sealed the deal, so to speak. He’d been a touch tispy at the time, as had you, but when he woke up in your bed the next morning he hadn’t believed it to be a mistake, even if you were his flatmate. And so the arrangement (or as Roger dubbed it, The Fuckbuddy Pact) stuck. In an effort to make sure neither of you would feel weird about what happened and to avoid anything becoming too much like a relationship, Roger suggested that you should get all your kinks and weird fetishes out into the open straight away.

“That way we’ll both know what we’re in for from the jump,” he said, looking at you from the opposite end of the couch, “None of that getting to know you shit, or taking our time. We’re both here for sex so let’s just figure out what sex we’ll both like and get straight into it, right?” “Sounds excellent,” you’d said, cheersing his bottle of beer with your glass. It was how he’d discovered your interest in somnophilia (a term he’d not heard before and had needed a thorough explanation of). But once he knew what it was, Roger had been keen to try it out with you. There were other things too but the somnophilia was the newest to him and, thus, the most exciting. Before the month was out you’d figured out a system to incorproate it into your sex safely. The main rule was that if either of you was asleep and naked, it was okay to initiate sex. Eventually there ended up being a few exceptions or addendums added to that rule – it was still okay if the sleeping party wore a top of some kind as long as they were pantsless, and once or twice lingerie had been deemed to not count as clothes, but only on special occasions when you’d prearranged it. It became a regular part of your sex lives, which was especially useful for Roger who often didn’t get home from playing gigs until the early hours of the morning. If you were in bed and undressed, he’d take the opportunity to blow off some of the adrenaline without having to use his hand which was underwhelming compared to your cunt. But, more often than not, you’d do what most sexual partners did and got it out of your systems before bed time.

Roger already suspected that you were hoping for a quick tumble when he heard the knock on his door, but he had other things on his mind too as he told you to come in. “Hey, Rog, you busy?” “Uhhh yeah, sorry, running late for rehearsals but I can’t find my fucking drumsticks,” Roger said, moving things around his desk as he searched for the missing sticks. “Oh, damn.” “Let me guess,” he said, pausing in the hunt and turning to face you, “horny?” “My friend recommended a porn thing and I kinda got worked up.” You shrugged, unembarrassed to admit what you wanted. That self-confidence was enough to make Roger wish he could stay and give you what you wanted but he was already late and couldn’t afford to be later. Instead he laughed and turned back to double check his backpack, “I would but, I’m leaving as soon as I fin- Aha! Bloody things must have rolled off the bed. Sorry, Y/N.” “Oh, no worries. I’ll take care of myself.” He smiled at the thought, “Well I better go. See you tonight?” “Yeah, see ya. Have fun.”

It was later than he’d expected by the time Roger got home. Part of him (the part in his pants mostly) vaguely wondered if you’d still be up for something but the bits of him controlled by his brain thought it more likely that you’d have had a nice couple of orgasms on your own and called it a night. Still, he thought he might at least check in on you once he’d dropped his bag in his room. To his surprise though, his bed wasn’t empty like it should have been. He jumped when the light from the hall softly illuminated you, on your back and deep asleep, but his shock quickly turned to delight as he realised you were naked. “You little minx,” he muttered under his breath, impressed by the invitation you were giving him. But as he walked closer he paused again, noticing something he hadn’t been able to see from the doorway. There, beside your hand, was your favourite glass dildo, as if you’d passed out after using it. “Oh you are naughty,” Roger chuckled. He traced one hand down your body, between your breasts and over your stomach, and softly said your name, checking if you’d rouse. But you were deep asleep and not likely to wake up any time soon. A plan for what to do with you forming, Roger stepped away from you for a moment to strip down to his briefs. His cock was already beginning to stir at the sight of you. He reached out to touch you again, less cautiously this time, palming your breasts before dipping his hand lower and lower, down to your cunt, pleased to find you still wet from whatever you’d been doing before you fell asleep. You let out a soft hum as he explored you, thumb teasing over your clit as he wet his fingers between your folds. Roger paused at the sound, not ready for you to wake up yet, but once it was clear you were still asleep he sank two fingers into you. Slowly they penetrated your heat, pausing to make sure the sensation hadn’t roused you at all. But you slept on. Carefully Roger partially withdrew his fingers before sinking them in again, gradually working up to a consistent thrust that had your unconscious body sighing and spreading your legs wider. “Good girl,” he whispered, watching you carefully. The hall light was still on but his door wasn’t open fully so the darkness was only dimmed slightly. He twisted his fingers inside you, easily finding the spots that usually made you scream his name but which now just made your eyebrows knit together. By this point in your relationships Roger was quite confident that he could understand your body. He’d made you cum enough times, awake and asleep, to know what you liked and just how much you liked it. And he knew what it looked like when you were close to orgasm. Which is how he knew to stop, to still his fingers and wait for you to calm down.

There was no real reason to edge you. If anything it just made it more likely you’d wake before he’d got his dick wet. But he had fun with it. Watching the way you’d shift, your chest rising and falling more rapidly, your lips parted as whimpers fell from them, your hips automatically rolling to meet his hand. And then he’d stop again. It made him chuckle quietly to himself. Knowing he could control your body so easily was thrilling. It made him want to do it more. So as soon as your face had relaxed again, your limbs loose and limp, he’d settle into the rhythm once more, curious how much you’d take before you woke up and begged him to finish you off. It was tempting to just keep going. He pictured you waking with a moan, your first words a plea for release or better yet for his cock so he could fuck you properly. Roger groaned. In the time he’d taken to edge you a handful of times his dick had well and truly stiffened and, as much as he enjoyed toying with you, what he really wanted was to cum in you so when you woke you’d know you’d been used. With that thought in mind he withdrew his fingers fully, taking a second to suck them clean and enjoy your taste. Having you on his tongue just made him want to fuck you more so he carefully knelt between your legs, shifting one to give himself a better angle. He was moments from finally taking what he so wanted to take from you, when something caught his eye.

It didn’t glint as much as it did in the day but he could see it’s outline all the same. And when he double checked that he wasn’t imaging it, pressing his thumb against the hard end of it, you groaned. “A dildo and a butt plug?” He asked you, knowing you wouldn’t respond, “Is that a surprise for me? Or is it just because nothing satisfies you like I do?” Roger’s hand slipped down to his underwear, pushing his briefs down enough that he could get his cock out. He hissed as he spread his precum along his length, contemplating how he should use you. “Could fuck your cunt now and hope you stay asleep long enough for me to get back there. Or maybe I should just go all in, have your arse straight away. That’ll mean wearing a condom though. Or would it?” he shook his head, now was not the time to try anal raw for the first time, “No, condom definitely.” He was still trying to decide what to do when you shifted in your sleep, rolling onto your side. The new position you lay in made it much easier to reach your arsehole. “That decides it then,” Roger said to himself, shedding his underwear and opening his bedside draw for his lube.

Carefully, he settled himself behind you and slowly began to remove your plug. It took a few stops and starts, pulling out and sinking in, almost fucking you with it, as you whimpered in your sleep but you seemed to press yourself back towards him as if trying to encourage him. “Just can’t get enough of me, can you?” he chuckled as he set the plug aside and spread the lube around your hole. He rolled the condom down his shaft and spread the lube along it too, humming at the slick friction of his hand, knowing he was about to feel something a hundred thousand times better. And then he lined himself up, pushing the head of his cock into the ring of muscles you’d so generously stretched out with your plug. He went slowly there too, partially so you’d sleep on and partially so he wouldn’t cum embarrassingly fast. When he finally began to fuck you, you moaned into your pillow, able to feel it in your sleep. Roger bit his lip to keep his own moan from getting too loud. You moved in your sleep again, your legs opening more as you half rolled onto your front. It let Roger fuck you deeper and gave him better access to your pussy too. “You’re a bit of a whore when you’re alseep,” he said softly, reaching for the dildo. You were still wet enough that it sank into you easily, like it remembered where it had been earlier and fit into your cunt perfectly. The way you lay meant he didn’t have what he’d call easy access to you but it was enough that he could thrust the dildo somewhat rhythmically. He faltered here and there as the feeling of fucking you distracted��him but he didn’t feel too bad about the slips, knowing it was keeping you from reaching your release. Your sleepy sighs and moans got louder as he filled both your holes which just made him fuck you harder, enjoying the sounds you were making and wanting to hear more.

You woke with a broken moan in your throat, jerking under Roger’s hands but he shushed you, his palms warm against your skin and his voice familiar and reassuring. “Stay right there, baby. Being such a good set of holes for me to enjoy.” You couldn’t do much more than moan again, dazed from the sudden way you’d been pulled back to consciousness and realising what you’d felt in your dreams had been very real indeed. “This was what you wanted wasn’t it? When you fell asleep in my bed.” You nodded, the sound of the fabric of the pillowcase loud against your ear. “Uh uh, words Love. If you’re going to be a slut the least you can do is admit it.” “Yes, Rog. Want-wanted this.” “Good girl. And how do you feel now?” “Oh god, close. So close.” Roger slowed the pace of the dildo, putting more effort into thrusting into you, his hips slapping loudly against your skin. You keened at the loss of friction. “Slut-s don’t com-complain.” Roger grunted as he used you, “They t-ake what they’re giv-en.” You whined but that just made Roger laugh, louder now you were awake but broken by groans and moans of his own. It didn’t take much more for him to cum, stuttering out, “Fu-ck Y-Y/N,” as he did.

Roger was panting as he eased himself out of your arsehole, replacing his cock with the plug and giving your hip a light tap of thanks. The dildo was still inside you, but he’d not been moving it at all as he reached his climax so it wasn’t much help. “Did you cum?” he asked, his breathing still heavy as he flopped onto the mattress beside you. You shook your head and sighed, “And after I waited here all night to surprise you too. Thought you’d be home sooner.” “Is that why you had the toys? You got bored waiting for me?” “No, I was expecting you to come home while I was using them. Only then I came and fell asleep.” "Of course,” Roger laughed, “you still got your shag though, don’t know why you’re complaining.” “I’m really fucking horny still, that’s bloody why. What are you smirking about?” “Nothing. Just nice to know edging you in your sleep works just as well as when you’re awake.” “Prick!” you squealed though unable to contain your smile at the idea. “Don’t worry. Give me a few minutes to clean up and get my stamina back and then I’ll make you cum as many times as you want.”

Taglist: @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor @hannafuckingsucks @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @queenmylovely @ilovequeenmorethanyou @johndeaconshands @borhapbois @stardust-galaxies @cherries-n-rocknroll @rogersslave @scorpiogemini

#my writing #my blurbs #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor smut #roger taylor imagine

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demonicheadcanons · 4 years ago

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Obey Me Undateables / Side Dishes and Little Affections

AN: The last post for the brothers was ridiculously popular and this was requested so! Here we go. Just little ways the undateables are affectionate to the MC. Romance-coded but not for Luke bc he’s baby. I did this on mobile so forgive me for any formatting issues, and for the lack of a read more!

As you may have seen, I struggled a lot with Solomon because I really view him as being indifferent. I’m sorry if his is a little underwhelming! I also wrote this differently from the last one because I forgot how I formatted it, sorry ;u;

Diavolo

- He’s busy all the time. Like truly, this man rarely gets a break, and even when he does, his mind is still tick-tick-ticking away. Crawl into his lap and hold his face in your hands and he’ll finally relax, you can see the clouds clear away from his eyes. He kisses your forehead and holds your face in return, shining again. It only takes a few moments for him to settle completely, to shut off all his worries.

- He really just,,, likes to pick you up? So long as you’re not absolutely terrified he’ll completely randomly walk up to you and lift you up and carry you around with him or just hold you there. Bonus points if you wrap your arms around his shoulders and / or bury your face into his neck. Extra bonus points if you kiss or nuzzle against his cheek. His grin is so wide and bright it could light up the whole Devildom. Additionally, if you run and jump at him he will drop everything to catch you, no matter what. He has not and will never fail to catch you, and it makes him laugh so hard you can feel it in the way his arms and chest shake as he holds you.

- He likes to lay down beside you and link pinkies. It’s so soft, such a delicate little thing, and yet you trust him enough to let him do that. The minimal contact makes it feel even more special to him, there’s no pressure there. You’re close and he has a reminder of your presence beside him and it’s enough, it’s enough.

- With Diavolo, if you decide to teach him cute human things, you might regret it later, because he remembers them all. You put your palm out once, telling him that he’s supposed to rest his chin there, and from then on he’ll do it immediately. He will also expect you to do it too, and his timing is completely random. You’ll be talking to Barbatos and he’ll hold his hand out and wait for you to rest your chin in it. When you do, he pokes at your cheek with his thumb and walks off again.

- Please play cute games with him. Farming games like Stardew Valley or things like Terraria and Minecraft, or the Sims, or anything like that. He also doesn’t mind matches on more competitive games, but he likes to relax and make a house or a farm with you, and his reactions to everything is adorable; you two make Sims and he cheers when they get married, and even if they’re not representing you two and are just random Sims, he jokes about how you should do that too someday. He’s amazing at games that are strategy based, but prefers to play anything else so he can relax and not think for a while.

Barbatos

- Random tickles. It’s completely unexpected and he is very sneaky - the first few times it’ll catch you heavily off guard, and even after that it’s hard to predict when you’ll feel his gloved hands brush against your sides. He’s an expert at guessing where someone is ticklish, and abuses that power when alone with the people he loves (namely you!)

- Food fights but on a small scale. He’ll walk past you in the kitchen and brush flour across your face, disguising it as him simply being affectionate as he passes by, a reminder that he cares about you and is thinking about you even as he works. His movements are graceful and confident as always, to the point where it’s actually quite hard to even realise what he’s done. He will consider telling you before you leave the kitchen. He really will consider it.

- Similarly, if his hands are wet, just before drying them off he’ll flick water in your direction and then act like he has no idea what you’re talking about when you ask if he just did that. Really, MC, why would he do that? He’s been so busy cooking, and you’re accusing him of doing something so childish?

- He quite likes just, holding you up and carrying you around but in a different way to Diavolo. Instead of Princess carries, it’s more like if you jump onto someone and wrap your legs around their waist and your arms around their shoulders? He loves carrying you around like that. Cling onto him! He’s not fond of having you cling to his back, but his sides or front is fine.

- Barbatos tends to keep an eye on you and it’s really hard to tell, but if you’re in the same room as him he’s keeping tabs on what you’re doing. You could swear he has eyes on the back of his head, because he always seems to know what you’re up to. In reality, he really just likes seeing how you look when you’re focused, or, alternatively, when you’re completely zoned out and off in space, thinking of something completely random and irrelevant to the current situation. He’ll come up and tap your forehead and smile at you when it looks like you’re back in the room again.

Solomon

- Solomon isn’t super affectionate and he’s not really an acts of kindness kind of guy. The most important thing for him is proximity; he doesn’t need you pressed up against his side all the time, but he likes having you in the same room as him as often as possible. You spend your evenings in his room in Purgatory Hall, laying or his bed or working at his desk, as he busies away with some new spell or writes down results of experiments with different potion ingredients. He doesn’t bother thinking too hard about it and just accepts it, but the reality is that it’s very calming and comforting for him. He’s also not someone who worries much about being judged or anything, so regularly having another person around doesn’t bother him.

- He asks for your input a lot. Simply put, he wants to hear you talk, and he’d love to know what makes you tick and how your brain works. “What do you think of this?” “How do you think Satan would react if...” and so on. So many ‘what if’ questions that it might make your head spin, because he’s always playing a game in his head of ‘what would happen if...’ despite rarely following through with it outside of experimenting with his magic and potions, and he wants to involve you in it too.

- Solomon doesn’t mind holding hands, and likes to play silly games when you are. Things like having thumb wars, or he’ll tangle his fingers up with yours and watch, amused, as you try and fail to pull your hand from his grip. Afterwards he’ll hold your hand with both of his and run his fingers and thumbs over it to soothe you. He also likes to just rest his hand on top of yours when you’re sitting beside each other.

- He’s going to try to be affectionate if it’s something you seem to want, and just out of curiosity. The one thing that sticks is that, if you’re cooking for him (because he’s not allowed to) he’ll wrap his arms around your waist and hug you from behind, his chin in your shoulder as he watches whatever you’re doing. He’ll blow air at the side of your face or at your fringe / bangs if you have them, so long as you’re not doing anything too dangerous and aren’t at risk of getting seriously injured.

- Bonus: If Solomon calls you and says “try this” or “drink some of this” don’t do it. Or at the very least, ask about any possible effects first. Moreso for food than for potions; he’ll find a way to reverse the potion, but the memory of eating his food will be stuck with you forever.

- Bonus bonus: Solomon loves giving you squishy hugs but he will squeeze you too tight and he will laugh even if he feels your spin click against his arms as you yelp. He won’t hurt you, but he will squeeze you hard enough that breathing will be difficult for a moment. You can tell from his smirk that he doesn’t feel guilty at all.

Simeon

- Simeon likes having you play with his hair. The way you twirl strands of hair between your fingers and try and fail to make a mess of his soft locks, which always return to their place no matter how hard you try to stop them. Bonus points for innocently wandering fingers that brush down the sides of his face, thumbs and fingers that ever so lightly brush along his cheekbones or around and under his jaw. He relaxes into your touch, eyes fluttering closed before he opens them just enough to smile at you, silent but oh so visibly delighted.

- If he knows it won’t make you sick and it’ll wipe off, he actually quite likes to draw on your hands and arms. He’ll let you do it in return, of course, but simple doodles and patterns, hearts and diamonds and sweet little reminders you’ll see later when you have to wash them off.

- Laying on your stomachs with your sides pressed together on a thin, soft blanket, knees bent and legs swinging in the air as you both read the same book. Simeon always finishes the pages first and so you take charge of just turning the pages, until he mumbles that he had lost focus - he’d been too busy watching your expressions, almost lulled to sleep by listening to your gentle breathing and wondering if you were enjoying the story and what your thoughts on it were, trying to piece it all together without disturbing you.

- You pass him at RAD or out in the Devildom and you don’t necessary stop, but he always waves, and god is it impossible to ignore how he lights up. His eyes gleam and he looks so, so happy just to see you and be reminded of your existence and if you’ve been unsure before about how truthful he’s being when he says he loves you and adores being around you, that look on his face will erase all your doubts. He’s beautiful and he’s glowing and it’s because he saw you!

Luke

- It’s an obvious one but baking together! Making cakes and decorating them. Letting stress out as you knead bread, experimenting with making different types of pastries. One time you make a batch of cupcakes and decorate them to look like dogs and he feels really sad when people eat them but he’s proud all the same, and he likes that he gets to feel proud around you.

- He acts like he’s indifferent, but he quite likes when you call him your brother. If you call him your little brother, he’ll protest because he’s hundreds of years older than you in reality, but he allows it after a while. So long as he can call you his big sibling in return, it’s worth it. If any of the brothers tease him over being the little brother, he remarks that at least you trust him and care for him so much as to call him your brother. None of them can really respond to that.

- Pat! Him! On! The! Head! Adjust his scarf! Fix his hat! He doesn’t understand why he enjoys it so much, but then Simeon points out that it probably makes him feel cared for, and that’s absolutely it. No teasing works or harsh gestures, just little acts that show you care about him or are thinking about him. It makes him feel so safe and happy.

- He always remembers things on your schedule for you, from little reminders that you might forget about to big important events. The only other person he does that for is Simeon, so it’s really a big deal for him - he shows enough interest to listen to you and remember all the little details you tell him, and then to reach out to you and make sure you remember or just to say he hopes you have a good time. If it’s something stressful, he might not message beforehand, but he’ll show up when it’s over with some treats and act like he just happened to be baking today and had some to spare.

Tag list: @katsukis-sad-angel

#obey me #obey me shall we date #my headcanons #obey me undateables #obey me Diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me solomon #obey me simeon #obey me luke #my writings #this is enough for now right? ;u;#fluff #hhh I don’t feel so sure about this one I’m sorry if it’s bad. I know the for #formatting is awful *#if you wanna be tagged in longer headcanon posts in future or even small fluff posts let me know!

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realcube · 4 years ago

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CELEBRATING YOUR BIRTHDAY

characters ♡ bokuto, tendō, matsukawa & suna

tw ♡ gn! reader, timeskip! bokuto (all sfw tho), swearing, reader wears makeup (matsukawa), swearing, mentions of death & food

cred ♡ thanks to anon for this request <3

KŌTARŌ BOKUTO

♡ he was literally counting down the days to your birthday, he even took the day off practise to celebrate it with you so imagine his surprise when the special day finally rolls around and he wakes up to an empty bed

♡ at first, he thought that perhaps you were just around the house somewhere but nope, the place was completely empty and even worse, all signs pointed to his theory that you had gone to work/school on your birthday

♡ outraged. he was absolutely outraged.

♡ firstly, he tried calling you but you wouldn’t pick up, even after his many attempts so his next resort to call your place of work/school reception

♡ obviously he managed to get a hold of you then-

♡ he was originally gonna yell about how you lied to him about taking the day off on your birthday but there was no way he could be angry at you — almost ever — so instead, he made the quick decision of telling you to have a nice day before hanging up

♡ you were kinda pissed that he wasted your time like that but how could you stay mad at him? he’s fkn adorable! he blew you audible kisses over the phone for good luck!

♡ you laboured your way through the day, putting in great effort yet through it all, the only thing on your mind was how much you wanted to just pass out on the couch with bokuto as soon as you got home. you weren’t even sure if you had the energy to change into your pjyamas.

♡ however, when you finally did arrive home, there was no need to put yourself through the onerous task of changing clothes as the first thing you were greeted by when you stepped foot in your own home was a chorus of cheers of ‘surprise!’ followed by people spilling out into the foyer from the kitchen and living room

♡ then there was bokuto, the loudest of them all leading the crowd, blowing into the party horn while dashing up to, throwing his arms around your shoulders to pull you into a tight hug, ‘happy birthday, sweetie!’

♡ a light gasp escaped your lips at the sudden hoots, and the unfamiliar — and frankly uncomfortable — sight of many friends swarm towards you had you on edge but when you felt bokuto wrap you in his warm embrace, you knew you were home

♡ he held you close until you were forced apart by many guests tearing you away to personally wish you a happy birthday

♡ now that the initial shock had died down, you noticed that there wasn’t as many people present as you thought, it was a humble gathering of all your closest friends

♡ there was a massive pile of bright-colored gifts lying on the stairs, and it was hard not to immediately acknowledge them as the sheer mass and number of the presents scattered across the steps prevented anyone from being able to go upstairs

♡ the following day, you were made aware of the fact 90% of those presents were addressed from ‘your best ace husband ;)’ which was pretty straight-forward considering you only have one husband; kiyoomi sakusa.

♡ jokes, you married bokuto but sakusa was also at the party. he originally just wanted to drop off his gift then leave but bokuto persuaded him to stay, though he seemed to be regretting it now as almost everyone at the party now shared an unspoken goal to slam sakusa’s face into one of the cupcakes that decorated the circumference of your cake

♡ speaking of the cake, bokuto remembered what type of cake was your favorite from the wedding planning and he was so chuffed with himself. in fact, he was so confident in his cake picking ability that he ordered a massive 3-tier monster of a dessert

♡ neither of you would be able to finish it before it goes bad so you ended up cutting it up into pieces and sending each guest away with a little goody-bag with a slice of cake inside lmao

♡ once you had finished your goodbyes and everyone had filed out of your home, you flopped onto the couch and let out a deep sigh of relief. well, it was only a sigh for a few moment as it became a wheeze when bokuto laid down on top of you

♡ ‘happy birthday, (y/n). i’m sorry if i tired you out.’ he hummed, fiddling with your fingers as his lips curled into a shaky smile

♡ ‘i’m a bit sleepy but i had an amazing time. thank you so much, kō.’

♡ bokuto smiled, his heavy lid falling shut as he finally rested his neck, being able to fall asleep comfortably now that you’ve told him that you had fun

SATORI TENDŌ

♡ unlike bokuto, he’ll actually mention your birthday a few weeks prior to the celebration so he can plan the perfect date :3

♡ ‘so do you wanna go to the aquarium or the theme park? because i know we’ve went to the park before but they remodelled it apparently. plus, maybe the aquarium is a bit underwhelming for such a special day, but it’s up to yo--’

♡ ‘we won’t really get to spend much time in either. if you consider the time school finishes, the train ride and the time the aquarium and park closes so maybe we could just chill at my house instead.’

♡ tendō deadpanned for a moment, the most unamused look taking over his features until he suddenly burst out laughing, cackling as if you just told the joke of the century, ‘seriously, (y/n)? you’re gonna go to school on your birthday.’

♡ ‘yes, of course.’ you replied in all seriousness, resulting in tendō awkwardly beginning to stifle his chuckles.

♡ he frowned, slumping back into the seat beside you, ‘c’mon, it’s your birthday, though! you deserve the day off.’

♡ you shook your head, kindly declining his suggestion, ‘i have a test on that day.’

♡ ‘all the more reason to ditch!’

♡ now it was your turn to deadpan

♡ tendō tossed his head back while letting out a sigh of defeat, draping his arm around your shoulder to lovingly pull you to his chest, ‘alright, then. whatever you want, dear.’

♡ you smiled, glad that you didn’t need to disagree with him any longer — and you were even happier on the day. even though you insisted that he keeps things small on your birthday, he still managed to find a way to make things extra asf by getting you a massive plush that was about half the size of your stature and a hamper of homemade chocolates ><

ISSEI MATSUKAWA

♡ honestly, he’s never been the best at giving gifts but he tries extra hard for you

♡ like if you off-handedly say that you are cold during class, he’ll buy you a bunch of new jackets, jumpers and gloves

♡ or if you say you need more mascara, he’ll buy you exact same one you usually wear

♡ he’s observant enough to notice and remember the exact shade and brands of all your cosmetic products but he’s not observant enough to pick up on the subtle hints you drop as to what you want for your birthday

♡ you can never guess what he’s gonna get you and that adds to your anticipation for the day

♡ if your birthday is on a school day, he’ll bring in a batch of homemade cupcakes (which hanamaki helped him with) and stick a candle in one of them for you to blow out

♡ he offers you one but they are all pretty stale- just smile and nod while your teeth feel like they are being shattered trying to bite down on the cupcake

♡ it might set off the fire alarm but oh well, just count that as another present

♡ oikawa will probably get you something like a bouquet and try flirt with you so at that point, matsukawa and hanamaki begin using the cupcakes as weapons

♡ they are a two for one deal so you’re going to be spending the day with both of them tailing you like lost puppies

platonic RINTARŌ SUNA

♡ (requester specified) your birthday is on the same day as his so ofc he’s going to be a little salty abt it

♡ you both created a game to see who receives the most birthday wishes and whoever won gets ¥1500 from the loser’s birthday money

♡ for the past few years, he’s usually been the winner by just a few but this year, you made it a point to befriend all him teammates in order to ensure victory

♡ having to pretend to be friendly with atsumu — who wasn’t very good at hiding his massive crush —was definitely a challenge but you powered through

♡ in fact, you may have played the role too well as both the miya twins gave you a gift

♡ osamu gave both you and suna a plastic bag filled with some food he made and water bottles

♡ as for atsumu, his gift to you was a massive hamper filled with an assortment of many different luxury confectionary which didn’t look cheap at all but it didn’t feel appropriate to question the price so you simply took it from him with a bright smile

♡ of course, suna was excited (and very hungry) as he expected the same gift but he was more than disappointed when all he received was a bag of chips and a slap on the back

♡ he goes out of his way to tell every teacher it’s your birthday in hopes that they’ll make the class sing happy birthday to you

♡ but it pisses him off to no end when you add that it’s his birthday too so he ends up getting roped into your misery

♡ also your thumbs are going to be sore at night swiping through all the various candid pics that suna took of you throughout the day (in less than flattering poses) which he uplaoded to almost all of his social media stories with stupid ass captions

♡ but dw bc he’ll eventually post a nice photo of you with a sweet message

♡ ‘happy birthday to @(y/n) . i would die for you, bitch (even though you annoy the hell out of me every single day 🤠).’

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nancydfan · 3 years ago

Note

So I have been a fan of resident evil for a while now and I have to say without a shadow of a doubt Ethan is my favorite protagonist. I feel like the rest of the protagonists in the series are kinda the same, you’ve got the police/army guys (Leon and Chris) who are determined to save the world, and then with the rest of them they’re kinda the same, badass people willing to give their all to get rid of evil and return the world back to normal. And that’s fine, except it’s a kind of story that’s been told over and over again and not just in resident evil.

That’s why I love Ethan so much. He is a breath of fresh air that the series needed. And while yes, you can argue that his type of storyline has also been used a lot, it’s something that has never been explored in resident evil.

With the rest of the protagonists, they choose to fight. They volunteer to put themselves in horrifying scenarios for the greater good.

Ethan isn’t like that.

He’s literally just your typical average dude. He has a normal job, and has a relatively normal life which he was happy to spend with Mia until she went missing.

In RE7 Ethan doesn’t volunteer to deal with the horrors that he faces. He just wanted his wife back, and even after 3 years he still loves her enough to drop everything and rush out to find her.

When I finished RE7, I liked Ethan as a main character, but it was RE8 that made me fall in love with him. In RE7 there were a lot of times when he just didn’t respond or kind of reacts underwhelmingly, but I think this is less of his character and more of Capcom trying to make you feel more like Ethan and having him react too much might take you out of feeling like the main character is you.

Of course his actions are still very reflective of him, like when he first enters the house and has to “kill” Mia the first time, when she reaches out to him he reaches right back, implying that he regrets what just happened and that he still wants her to be okay, no matter what is wrong with her.

I know Jacksepticeye said one of the reasons why he doesn’t like Ethan is because he doesn’t have a character arc, but I disagree. Like I said, Ethan goes from not being very vocal at times/ underwhelming reactions in RE7 to I feel the exact opposite in 8; he talks a lot more with lines that make sense, and you can feel his emotions at times even with just seeing his hands. Now one can argue that Capcom just wrote Ethan differently, which I can see.

But I feel as though Ethan has changed- in the first game, he’s scared and confused, and finally ends on frustration as the game nears its end. In RE8 he is angry, angry that his life keeps getting turned on it’s head because of some stupid mold. He is angry, and fueled by his grief and determination to save the only family (he thinks) he has left. He is 100% done with everything and has honestly given his last fuck a long time ago.

And again, this is what makes him special- he doesn’t necessarily care about the mold, about Miranda or any of the “bigger issue” things- he just wants his family. In 7 he just wants to get his wife and get out of there, and In 8 he just wants to save his daughter. He didn’t sign up to be a hero, to save the world from it’s own creations. He just wants his family.

And honestly that’s what makes him more human and alive to me than the rest of the protagonists- the rest of them kind of just feel like characters with their (almost cheesy) need to take on insurmountable problems to save the world. But Ethan is different, he’s just a man who probably just wants to do his taxes in peace and have a normal, quiet life. The rest of the protagonists, though I’m sure would love to quit, wouldn’t change their jobs or their situations because they know someone has to do it and it might as well be them. But not Ethan. If he had the choice than he’d make it so none of this ever happened, and that he and his family never have to be involved in something like this again.

Which is why I think this is what makes his sacrifice so much more tragic. With any of the other protagonists yes we would be sad but we’d find comfort in knowing that they died doing what they loved (saving people), and wouldn’t have it any other way.

But Ethan is different.

He didn’t want to sacrifice himself- we can see that in the way he struggles with Chris to get out, to stay in one piece for his daughter because he wants to be there for her. He went through hell and he just wants to see his little girl grow up. And when he hears Mia’s alive that want only grows more because he has a chance to have his family back, but I think he knows he can’t. He’s falling apart, his body has dealt with so much and kept him alive but not for much longer. And so even though he desperately wants to go back with Chris, after hearing Mia’s alive he knows he can let go. I think another part of why he was fighting so hard to escape with Chris is because he didn’t want Rose to live without both of her parents, but when he hears Mia’s alive he realizes that Rose will be okay, she will at least have one parent. He is so tired, so tired of fighting that even though he hates the fact that he can’t go back with her (you can physically hear the pain in his voice when he says “Goodbye Rosemary”), he knows that it’s something he has to do.

And he isn’t happy or content with sacrificing himself. In fact this is the last thing he wanted, which again is what makes it so heart wrenching. After all the pain he’s been through he doesn’t even get to see his daughter grow up, doesn’t get to grow old with his wife, his painful adventure to get his family back ends just as painfully as he pulls the trigger to destroy the mold.

This is why Ethan is special to me. Ethan is just a man who wanted to be happy with his family, not some stereotypical stone cold hero who would gladly give up his life for the greater good. He is truly unique and in a way I saw myself in him and his personality, which is what crushed me so much when he died. I wanted him to have a good ending and he got handed a shitty end. I really hope Capcom gives him a good resolution, one where he doesn’t have to be a main character at all but at least give us something where we know he’s okay and reunited with his family.

Sorry for getting weepy and deep lol, it’s just I really love Ethan and have no one to talk about how upset I am at his ending lol. Thanks for listening to my rant!

Oh my dear nonnie you’re always welcome to rant in my inbox. Long or not, thoughts, etc. that’s why my box is always open :)

And just so you know, I’m currently crying in an airport lobby over Ethan Winters 😆

I’m on mobile so I won’t be able to properly respond probably except to say you are absolutely right on all of these things. He really is such a stark contrast to the rest of the RE heroes and that’s what makes him so special to me too. He is just a man. A man who does everything he can for his family. All he wants to do is be left alone to love his wife and raise his daughter. I keep thinking of that scene in re8 where he’s talking to the doc. That is the Ethan Winters Capcom refuses to let us see all that much. Easy, happy, carefree moment. There’s a lightness to his voice. He doesn’t care about the problems of the world. That isn’t his job too. And it’s unbelievably tragic that not only does he get pulled into this twice (with three years of suffering for Mia before Dulvey and then the heartache of her “murder” and Rose’s kidnapping), he then dies in the end???? He doesn’t even get the reward to live with his wife and daughter? WHAT DID ETHAN WINTERS DO TO YOU, CAPCOM!!?

also overcome? Miss me w that bullshit. Y’all blew him to smithereens.

I swear if Capcom doesn’t bring him back in some way I don’t know how I’ll proceed w this series. I love Leon and Claire and Jill a lot too but nothing like Ethan. And I’m super not interested in getting my heart ripped out every few years. Especially w a new protagonist.

Ethan is just the perfect representation of deserved better. He pays his taxes on time, probably helps that old lady down the street whose husband just died. Tells the same joke we’ve all heard a thousand times to the point only Mia and him are laughing at it. He would be there for every parent teacher conference and up at 130 with a flashlight chasing away the monsters from Rose’s closet. The world may be crazy somewhere but he’s content to just be here with his family.

And Capcom took all of that away. I don’t think I’ll ever not be angry about it.

#thanks for the ask nonnie 💜💜💜#resident evil #resident evil 8 #resident evil spoilers #Ethan winters #Ethan Winters Defense Club #mrs joe speaks #long post

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xfandomwritingsx · 4 years ago

Text

His Girl – Steve Rogers – Part 2

-gif source-

Description: You’ve always been Bucky’s girl. But Bucky’s not here anymore…

Warnings/Labels: Angst. Daddy kink. Dirty talk. A bit of a Dom!Steve. A pinch of sexting. Masturbation. Smut. Minor choking kink. Unprotected Sex.

Approx. Word Count: 8,500

A/N: 10 months later here I am! Jesus, this wasn't supposed to take this long. Sorry guys!

Part One

---

You’ve retreated to your apartment for the week, finding comfort in your cozy little place as your last assignment ended. You light a few of your favorite scented candles, fill the bath with water that is probably a little too hot, load it with bubble bath, and pour yourself your favorite drink in the fanciest glass you have. It’s a much needed and overdue relaxation. The hot water does wonders for the tension in your shoulders and the atmosphere you set puts you at peace.

You’ve been soaking for nearly twenty minutes when your phone pings annoyingly on the floor next to you. You toy with the idea of just flipping it off, but you still haven’t been able to shake that habit drilled into you that forces you to, at the very least, check your phone in case it’s an emergency.

Emergency, it is not, but seeing Steve’s name pop up in the little text notification bubble makes you smile with excitement. Texting is still not his favorite form of communication, but he partakes with you and you can never leave him without a response. You swipe to read his message.

Chicago’s settled for now. It’s funny how much it feels like “old times” around here.

Steve left for Chicago a couple of days ago. With most the city population dissolved into ash, criminal activity skyrocketed and two groups had been going the direction of starting war with each other. It was extremely reminiscent of the days of mobsters and mafia running cities which is what you assume he’s referring to. You type out a quick, light-hearted reply.

Think Al Capone would have survived the snap?

You let your arm hang over the edge of the tub, keeping your phone in your hand in anticipation of his next text. You have your drink in your other hand and take a sip from it. When your phone vibrates, you put the glass down onto the little floating drink holder bobbing in your lap.

Who knows. How’s your night going?

You type a couple of replies, deleting them all as they all seem too wordy, too much. He didn’t need to know your dinner was underwhelming or that the cheap dryer hadn’t dried your pajamas all the way. As you try again, you silently thank the creator of the PopSocket for all but completely removing your fear of dropping your phone in the tub.

Could be better. Finally relaxing now.

You don’t even close out of the text window or put your phone to sleep. You simply watch as the ellipses appear on your screen almost instantly as he types back to you.

What are you doing?

You chew on your lower lip, debating if you really want to act on the idea that runs through your head. You take a larger gulp of your drink before throwing away your hesitation. You sweep your arm over the surface of the water to gather all of the remaining bubbles to your chest in order to cover your breasts for the picture you snap a moment later.

Your damp hair is tied up at the back of your head in a mess of a bun, cheeks and collar pink from the heat, and no trace of makeup on your skin. You’ve also been soaking long enough that the bubbles have turned mostly to a thin foam on the surface of the water, barely concealing your body beneath it. The candle flames give a dark, suggestive aura to the photo and you can’t help but be pleased with how it turned out as you hit send with a brief caption.

What about you?

His reply is slower this time, the lack of ellipses making you wonder if he didn’t appreciate the photo as you hoped. When your phone turns black, changing into rest mode due to lack of activity, your heart starts beating a little faster and you start to worry it was a mistake. You have never exchanged pictures before, let alone one of you stark naked in a bath. It was pretty bold and despite what he’s implied about his feelings for you, maybe he didn’t like it.

When your phone lights up again, it notifies you that Steve has sent you a picture in return. You’re not really sure what you had expected, but this is not it. Before you can even convince yourself it’s going to be something completely innocent and bland, you’re already opening the message.

Steve is laying down on what is obviously a bed in a fairly fancy hotel room. One of the “perks” of The Snap; fancy things aren’t expensive anymore. He’s leaning partially on the headboard, propped up on big, fluffy white pillows. He’s got the smallest little smirk on his lips, his eyes on the camera lens and not the screen. One arm is thrown behind his head lazily, the other clearly raising his phone up as high as he can. And due to that little detail, you’re able to see clearly that he is not wearing a shirt. It’s accompanied by a short message.

Missing home… Missing you.

You breathe deeply and sink a little further into the water. You’ve seen Steve shirtless on a number of occasions, even touched his super-soldier-given perfect skin patching him up. This is different though. This is quiet and personal, intimate. This is a picture he snapped just for you to see and the angle he took it at, the effort put into making sure his phone was that high, it wasn’t by accident that his chest is on display.

You’re stuck for words, nothing coming to your blank mind, completely enthralled by his photo. You stare so long that your screen goes black again and you have to unlock your phone once more.

Wish I could have come with you.

After hitting send, you keep staring at that picture while wondering, hoping even, that he’s just as entranced by yours as you are his. You run your wet hand along your neck, the water still not cool enough to quench your flaming skin. You trail it down to your breastbone, palm resting at the very top of your breast.

You should have. Only had rooms with one bed available though. Consolidation and such.

You let your hand slide down and cup around your breast in full, giving it a small lift and squeeze. You clench your thighs together, trying to ease the steadily building excitement between them and type your reply.

Well now I really feel like I’m missing out.

Is he in sweatpants, you wonder. Shorts? Underwear? Nothing? That building desire is clearly not going anywhere. You finish the last of your drink in a hurry.

Bed’s small. Might have ended up on top of each other.

Well, hell. The man is going to drive you insane. Or cause you to spontaneously combust. The water doesn’t feel quite as warm as it did a few minutes ago. Your squeeze your legs together again and shift, jostling the water a little as you sink to a more comfortable position, hand resting on your lower stomach, daring and itching to sink down.

Good thing I like you on top of me.

God, what was it about texting that made you so bold? You try not to think about how mortified you’ll be tomorrow if this ends disastrously. His reply is just a little slower and you wonder if he’s trying to find a graceful way to abandon the conversation. Or maybe, just maybe, he’s readjusting himself, removing his pants or simply pushing them down far enough to get his dick out.

Oh yeah? Anything else in particular you like?

He’s giving you an out, letting you lead how far this conversation is going to go. You’re too far gone to stop though. Your legs open practically on their own and your hand glides through the water to cup your sex. The pressure of your palm on your clit and the image of Steve sprawled out on a hotel bed causing a small moan. It takes you a moment to gather yourself enough to respond.

I like when you pin me down, hands over head, and grind into me.

Your middle finger teases your entrance, easily remembering how it feels to have his large hands wrapped around your wrists, his hips on yours. So many times you wanted to just wrap your legs around him, lock your ankles at the lowest part of his back and keep him there.

Want to know what I like?

Your body is on edge, heart pounding at your chest. You can only manage to type out a single word.

Yes.

Your eyes drift shut, letting your finger run up and down your lips through the water. Your mind is filled with images of Steve, so many you can barely keep them straight. You want so badly to see him, to know if he’s as worked up as you are. You’re so distracted that you don’t notice the minute tick by, or that he’s typing back the whole time.

I like when you follow orders and when you try to be subtle when you stare. I like thinking about you on your knees. I like the way your whole body shuddered when I suggested you call me Daddy. I like that I can practically hear you moan my name when I pin you to a wall. I also like when you cook breakfast in those little blue shorts of yours. Think you could manage that for me the morning after? That’s assuming my babygirl can still move after a night with me.

Your mind is a melted mess as you read it. Your entire body feels like a tight coil with lust and your hips grind up into your palm as you slip your middle finger inside of you. You moan louder this time, images of the two of you bombarding your mind. Your thumb numbly types out a pleading text you pray isn’t pathetic in comparison.

Send me another picture. Please.

Waiting for his reply isn’t difficult. It comes quickly, but even if it didn’t, his previous text is enough to keep you running and satisfied for the whole night. Perhaps even longer.

Since you asked so nicely.

The words come through a few seconds before the picture. The room he’s in is dimly lit, but the photo itself is still clear enough for you to see what he’s showing you. He’d brought the camera up to his chest, taking a picture looking down his body. The thin, white hotel bedsheet is laid loosely on top of him, the edge of it lightly tickling his waist. The bulge tenting it up between his legs is obvious, but just in case it wasn’t, his hand is there; thumb pressing into the base of his cock, large hand at the juncture of his thigh, the rest of his fingers likely cradling his balls out of view.

You want so badly to peel that sheet away from him and see what’s underneath. You tap your thumb on the screen occasionally just to make sure your phone doesn’t turn black and take that image from your eyes. Your body is thrumming, your skin practically vibrating on you as your finger slides in and out of you, indulging in some of pleasure you’ve been trying to deny yourself for years.

Another text comes through from him.

Was that too far?

You realize now that you’ve failed to respond for a few minutes. He just sent you what you’re qualifying as a dick pic and he’d been met with silence. Instead of being worried you weren’t impressed by it, that old, gentlemanly Captain America peaks out and is worried he’d taken your little game too far. The four little words crack through the lust and give your heart the slightest pang. You type back quickly, eager to ease his concerns.

No! You’re good. I was just… admiring the view.

Good. I was worried maybe you had second thoughts.

The pleasure in you threatens to turn. When were you not having second thoughts about it all? But no! Not tonight. You refuse to let it sour everything. It’s been years. Years. You deserve some amount of pleasure, of release.

My only thoughts right now are about what’s under that sheet.

His response is quick.

Some things are better seen in person.

Your breath catches and your finger starts to move a little faster inside of you.

Is that an offer?

Absolutely.

You know he believes there’s a good chance this conversation will never see the light of day, that it will be some dirty little secret kept hidden away. You don’t want that though. The very idea of jumping into his arms and kissing him when you see him next has you squirming.

What are you going to do when I actually take you up on that offer?

You push the heel of your palm into your clit a little harder and grind your hips. You’ve moved your hand and phone outside the tub, no longer trusting yourself not to fumble it.

Maybe one day you’ll find out.

You moan, hoping with everything you have that Steve has his dick in his hand and is as much of a mess as you are.

Get your ass back home Cap.

You can almost hear his chuckle in your ear.

So needy babygirl.

You can feel your pleasure building, everything in you tense and wound up. You withdraw your finger so that you can make circles on your clit and try to bring yourself over the edge. Your thumb shakes as you type out a short response.

Need you.

Say the word and you have me.

He follows up almost instantly with another text.

In person though. Not now, not like this. Call me old school.

You ease the pressure off your clit enough for you to focus on typing on a coherent reply to him.

Then you might want to tell me goodnight or I’m going to take this too far.

You don’t actually want him to do it. You want to take it too far, to take that leap of faith and get a taste of what you’ve been craving, but you know you can’t right now. He doesn’t want some quick, technological affair that can be literally erased at any point and quite frankly, neither do you.

Goodnight, babygirl. Be home soon.

I can’t wait. Goodnight, Steve.

And with that, you drop your phone onto the bathroom tile and sink your hand into the water, fully succumbing to your own pleasure.

When the sunlight streams in the next morning, you’re expecting the guilt to come with it. It always does after a night thinking about Steve. It’s a crushing weight that sits right in your stomach and pulls down on your throat. It’s familiar by now, but no less unsettling.

You lie in bed, waiting for it to hit you, but the only thing you feel is a slight fear. You feel a tensing and a pressure, afraid that when you look at your phone, there will be a text from Steve that retracts everything. Sorry about last night. or We shouldn’t have said those things. Let’s forget it happened. Something like that.

The fear is an unwelcome intruder amongst your feelings. Self-hate and guilt you can handle, have handled for a long time, but fear is not something you want to deal with. So, you bite the bullet and roll over to snatch your phone off the night stand.

One unread text from Steve Rogers sent thirteen minutes ago.

You open your phone before you can convince yourself not to, before the fear sinks teeth into you and forces you to leave his message unread all day long.

Morning beautiful. Had a complication this morning and I am headed to a place with little cell service. I’ll also be home a little later than planned. Only a day or so I hope.

The fear lifts off of you and is replaced with a light, floaty feeling. While you’re disappointed that he won’t be coming back on time, the relief you have is much stronger. Maybe, just maybe this won’t end in disaster after all.

Steve ends up being home a week later than originally planned and you haven’t talked to him much during that time. When you did speak, it was professionally about his mission or another issue. Cell service around the county is much spottier than it was before The Snap which can make communication in certain areas more difficult.

You’re working out at The Haven when he returns. You’ve worked up a slight sweat and are pummeling a punching bag when he finds you. You don’t notice him at first since the doorway is behind you and he takes the moment to silently watch you.

“You shouldn’t let your form get sloppy,” he calls once you finish a sequence. The sound of his voice brings a smile to your face, but his words cause you to huff and roll your eyes before turning around.

“It’s just practice,” you chide, wiping your wrist over your brow. He’s leaning against the doorway casually, a duffel bag at his feet. He hadn’t even stopped at home first.

“Practice for the real thing. You lose it in practice, you’ll lose it in a fight.” You give him a sarcastic look to display your disbelief at his critique. It doesn’t faze him. “Fix your stance next time.”

“Yes, sir,” you mock as you begin to unwrap your hands and try to bite back your smile. It’s impossible though once his stoic mentor face breaks and his own smile appears on his lips. “How was your trip?” you ask, leaning down a bit to grab your water bottle. He sighs and considers his answer briefly.

“Long,” he says. “Long and annoying, but successful.” There’s a moment where your eyes connect with his and the air in the room gets heavy. “Glad to be home.” There’s a meaning beneath his words that reads loud and clear, but you force yourself to swallow it down. If you didn’t, you may just end up leaping into his arms right here in the gym.

“Glad to have you home, Cap.” You say it as jovially, as platonically as you can muster, which isn’t much. There’s still a little look in his eye, a deepness in the air, and you’ll be damned if you can’t break your gaze with him. You bring the bottle up and gulp down water, the tilt of the bottle forcing a disconnect in your eye contact.

“Nat has a conference call in twenty,” he says, voice slipping back into work mode. “Are you going?” You finish the rest of the water and breathe deeply.

“I probably should.” He reads the translation easily; you hadn’t intended on going.

“I’ve got to give a status report on my trip.” Translation; he has to go. “I’ll save you a seat.” You give him a short nod as he grabs his duffle bag and moves to exit. It’s not like you could ever say no to him anyways.

True to his word and unsurprising to you, Steve had in fact kept the seat next to him open. The only people in physically in the room are Steve, Natasha, Rhodey, and yourself so it could be simple coincidence that the chair is open, but you suspect it was more strategic than that. In your usual fashion, you’ve arrived just moments before the holographic conference call opens over the table, spilling a flickering blue light from overhead. Light particles float around like miniscule puzzle pieces before coming together to form the shapes of your friends, recreating them standing onto the large table.

You slip into your seat as Natasha greets everyone and Steve gives you a small smile that you return easily despite the way your heart is starting to hammer in your chest. It’s an odd feeling trying to be the same kind of friendly you’ve always been with him when you’ve both admitted attraction, when you’ve both exchanged racy photos. You scold yourself silently as your mind drifts back to the photo of him which you’d saved onto your phone. Now is not the time to let those thoughts wander freely.

Rocket calls your name and your attention snaps to the raccoon.

“We can’t see you. Scoot in next to Steve more.” There’s a humor in his voice that makes you fully believe he can see you just fine, but no one corrects him and they all wait for you. Natasha is biting the inside of her cheek and purposefully looking down at papers she is most certainly not reading. With a heavy breath, you scoot your chair closer to Steve’s side. “Little bit more,” Rocket teases and again, no one swoops in to say you’re in view yet. You bite your tongue and scoot ever closer, the armrests of the chairs nearly touching. “Just a little more.”

“If I move anymore, I’ll be in his damn lap,” you snap at him, annoyed by this play. He smiles and shrugs and is about to open his mouth when Natasha finally cuts in and starts the meeting. If that raccoon ever comes to Earth, you’re going to strangle him and ruin every betting pool he’s ever run.

Steve is nothing but professional as he gives his report. You hear the business in his voice, but fail to retain what he’s actually saying, all of your attention focused on the way his lips move and the way his tongue occasionally licks them. It’s not obvious, right? It’s common for people to watch someone’s mouth when they speak.

What might be more obvious is when your eyes finally drift from his mouth and travel down his neck. The muscle and tendons tighten just under the thin skin of his throat as he talks, especially when he’s annoyed with whatever he’s talking about. Your eyes keep slipping down. Down to the biceps left mostly uncovered by his short sleeve shirt. Down the veins in his forearms. Down to his hips and his thighs, to the seam of his jeans between his legs that you can only see because of your close proximity.

He’s stopped talking you realize. You’re not sure exactly when he did that, but you quickly snap your eyes back up to his face. You hope to seem casual about it and perhaps no one would have noticed your little daze you slipped into. The subtle smirk on Steve’s face makes it clear he’s caught you though.

You duck your chin and clear your throat as if that’s going to stop the embarrassed heat from spreading up your neck to your face. You refocus your attention on your holographic teammates, try to murder Rocket with your eyes, but you can feel Steve continuing to watch you. It’s nearly impossible to hear what the team is bickering about with the heat in your face spreading up to your ears and your mind entirely unable to keep a straight train of thought.

You cast your glance his way, knowing you won’t be able to concentrate until you get him to stop staring. The smirk remains on his lips and his eyes lock with yours, full of amusement and intrigue and something a little darker, a little heavier behind his irises. A nervous and unconscious lick of your lips guides his eyes down and his mouth parts slightly.

Then he’s turning his head to look at your teammates and speak to them as though he’s been fully involved in whatever conversation they’ve been having. The man could multitask when he wanted to. You’ll give him that.

“If they’re having trouble with their crops,” he says, all too cheerfully. “I know someone who can help.” He reaches over the very short distance between you and him to pat your thigh. “Our resident gardener here can probably lend a few tips.” It takes every ounce of you not to choke on your tongue and to respond in an acceptable fashion.

“Yeah,” you say with minimal stumbling and another clearing of your throat. “Give them my contact info if they don’t have it.” You’re impressed with how steady you manage to make it sound and just hope they hadn’t been talking about someone you knew very well because if they were, your response would sound silly. Thankfully, there’s no odd looks or questions and the conversation continues on without you. Which is very good. Because your heart is starting to catch in your ribcage as you notice that Steve hasn’t removed his hand from your thigh.

He’s not doing anything, just resting his hand there, fingers close to your knee, thumb grazing the outside of your leg. His hand is large and you can feel the warmth of his palm sink through the fabric of your leggings. You should have changed after your workout. Jeans wouldn’t have allowed him to feel so close to your skin.

He’s not looking at you anymore, his eyes following the conversation professionally and staying a silent participant in the meeting. You try to do the same, but your eyes never seem to focus on anyone, instead staring off into blank space. If anyone notices, they don’t say anything and even if they had, you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t hear them through the blood rushing in your ears.

Steve moves his hand and years of stealth training falls out the window as you flinch at the movement. Not only that, but you flinch towards the motion, going so far as to reach your hand out to his and while that gesture could be construed as something negative, your body had zero intentions of pushing him away, wanting rather to pull him closer. Thankfully, you manage to stop yourself from actually getting to him.

His hand turns and he brushes his knuckles along the outside of your thigh, slowly gliding up and then back down. The shiver that shoots up your spine doesn’t quench the heat still steadily building up from your core. His touch is gentle and tentative, waiting of any sign of possible rejection from you. None comes of course. You’re so far past rejecting him. In fact, you’re not entirely sure you wouldn’t let him feel you up right here mid-conference.

And just like that, you’re imagining his knuckles sliding all the way up your thigh to the juncture of your hip. He’d flatten his palm against the very top of your thigh again and twist his hand down so his fingers can gently tease you through your leggings.

Biting your lip, you push those thoughts from your mind. His knuckles are still slowly stroking your thigh. You’ve stopped trying to focus on the meeting and sink a little more fully into your chair. Taking a deep breath, you take his hand in yours, taking a little bit of pride in the way he suddenly stills in surprise. It lasts for only a moment before his fingers wrap around yours and you’re left holding each other’s hands on your thigh.

“Anyone else have anything else they want to bring up?” Natasha’s voice breaks through to you and pulls Steve’s attention.

“I think we’re all good,” he says confidently, pretty much ending any conversation from continuing. There’s a gentle squeeze on your hand and it’s so soft that your breath gets caught in your chest. The way he slips from making dirty smirks to delicate touch amazes you.

Before you know it, the holograms have disintegrated and Natasha is all but escorting Rhodey out of the room, leaving you alone with Steve, still holding your hand. He leans back into his chair, fully relaxing and smiles at you.

“I still owe you ice cream,” he says, giving your hand another small squeeze.

“That… is true.” The awkwardness of your reply makes you both let out breathy laughs. You’d never been awkward before and in recognizing it, it breaks some of the strange tension in your body. This is still Steve. Nerves and excitement were bound to happen, but awkwardness just feels silly. “You offering to make it up to me?” That sounded better.

“I don’t have any plans tonight.” He says it as an offer and instantly your mind starts going over your apartment. Is your laundry done? How clean is it? Do you have food in the fridge? Beer? When did you shave your legs last? He can see the questions rolling around in your head, watches the wheels turn behind your eyes. “I’m actually pretty free all week,” he amends, giving you an out.

“Tonight would be great.” You think maybe you say it too quickly, but he just smiles at you warmly. He stands, taking your hand up with him for a moment. Then he bends and brings your hand to his lips and kiss your knuckles softly.

“I’ll see you tonight.” There’s a flutter in your stomach and you hold your breath for longer than you realize, only letting it out after your hand has fallen from his and he’s sending you a wink over his shoulder before he walks out of the door.

You spend the rest of your day cleaning your apartment. It’s not a disaster and it’s not like Steve hasn’t seen it a mess before, but tonight is different. You can feel it in everything from the way your hands shake to how you push the cheap beer to the back of the fridge. You also pull a dress from the back of your closet and hold it against yourself for far too long before deciding that would just be too much. You don’t have to try so hard, not with Steve.

You’ve managed to calm your nerves enough that by the time he knocks on the door, your hands aren’t shaking. When you swing the door open, he holds up a plastic grocery bag with at least five pints of ice cream inside and flashes you a smile. It’s such a genuine, unapologetically bright smile that it makes you feel like you had been missing it somehow. The corners of your mouth pull back in a reflective smile that threatens to make your cheeks hurt.

“Think this will be enough?” he jokes, motioning to the bag.

“I don’t know,” you tease back, tilting your head to examine it. “I mean, I’m clearly going to eat all of that myself so what are you going to eat?” You can tell by the way he hesitates and bites the inside of his cheek that he’s pushing down a dirty response. “Come on in,” you say, stepping aside and saving him from the internal debate of voicing his thoughts.

You had been concerned all day about how the evening would go. Were you supposed to just jump right into his arms when he walked in? Did he want to talk about this first? Would anything even actually happen tonight? More than anything, you expected awkwardness; small laughs and bites of your lip and both of you trying not to make eye contact.

And yet... that awkwardness never comes. As soon as Steve is in your door, things feel fairly normal between you two. If anything, there’s just an added energy to the air, a weight to your flirtations.

As you both unload the bag onto your kitchen table, Steve acts as though he’s forgotten your favorite flavor of ice cream. He does it every year and tonight, he has it behind his back. You can’t see it, but the way his arm is twisted behind him and how he's slowly putting himself closer to the kitchen wall, you can tell that’s where it is when you notice it’s not on the table and the bag is empty.

“You know... It was on the top shelf and I meant to get an employee to help me, but by the time I got finished, I completely forgot.” He spins the ridiculous story terribly, unable to stop the amused smile that breaks out on his face. You advance on him, nodding along and pursing your face. “Real sorry about that.” He’s got his back as close to the wall as he can with the pint of ice cream behind him and it only takes a moment for you to get close.

“Mmhmm,” you hum. “Then what’s behind your back?”

“Oh that?” he feigns innocently. “Nothing you’d be interested in, I’m sure.”

You hum again and find yourself nearly pressed against his front, mere inches between your chests. Slowly, you reach around him with one hand. His body larger and arms longer than you, force you to lean in to reach. Pressing against him, you almost feel his breath hitch in his chest. Your eyes flicker away from his and you can feel the chill of the ice cream as your fingers get close.

You don’t see his eyes darken and when he grabs your wrist, shifting the pint to one hand and using the other to pull yours away, it startles you. It gives him enough leverage to spin you around and push you to the wall, lifting your hand above your head and pinning your wrist there. You gasp softly and look up at him with parted lips. Steve smiles down at you and leans in stopping just short of pressing himself into you.

And then in a moment, he’s gone, leaving you with your hand still over your head while your mind catches up. He puts the pint down with the rest and goes to get spoons from your drawer. Your body tingling and craving more, you can tell tonight will be interesting.

It became clear pretty quickly that there would be no jumping right into each other’s arms and there would be no talking about it. Instead, you shot each other charged looks and flirtatious innuendos and got physically into each other’s space as much as possible. It left you wanting more, wishing desperately, without a shadow of guilt, that Steve would just throw you up against any surface he could find. And then you realized he wasn’t going to. Even this hardened, dirty New Steve was a gentleman and he was very clearly waiting for you to make the first move.

You’re sitting at the kitchen table when you finally crack. The table is small and round. The chairs aren’t directly across from each other, but rather next to each other and you’ve each turned them to face one another, the table more on your sides than in front of you now. It makes it easy for Steve to lean forward towards you.

“You’re a mess,” he says, reaching to swipe his thumb along the corner of your mouth and scoop away some of the melted ice cream on your face. You react before you can even think about it.

You turn your face and capture his thumb between your lips. You both pause, the gesture unexpected. The weight of his thumb resting on your tongue spurs something inside of you and as you watch Steve’s eyes glaze over, turning from surprise to lust, you run your tongue over him and suck lightly. Steve leans his body in and his fingers cradle your jaw, encouraging you.

He watches you closely, coming to the edge of his seat and tilting your jaw upwards just a little bit. It’s a firm gesture, one that shows you that even though he’s letting you lead, he’s still in charge and damn if that doesn’t make you suck a little harder on his thumb to please him. You squeeze your knees together as he pushes his thumb further into your mouth. The sweetness of the ice cream is well gone, replaced by the slight salt of his skin and you only wish there was more to take from him.

He drags his thumb back out, letting it drag your lower lip down as you release it. Your breath is heavy and you can feel a wetness between your legs already starting. You want to glance down between Steve’s legs, to see if he’s got a similar problem, but he holds your eyes so firmly you have no choice but to focus on his face.

“That was a good girl,” he praises. He makes you want to just drop onto your knees right there, but he’s coming forward instead. Pushing off his chair and slipping that hand back along your jaw to your neck, he pulls you up with him until you’re standing in front of him. Your hands come to his waist, just to have something to steady yourself with. He grabs the base of your skull and tilts your head up to look at him. “You have to say it,” he tells you, voice a lot softer than his eyes. His other hand brushes through your hair. “You have to tell me you want it.” You swallow thickly before whispering back to him.

“I want you, Steve.”

His mouth crashes down to yours. There’s no softness or hesitancy. The kiss is rough, rushed, and hot. Steve pulls you flush against him, one hand still holding the back of your neck and the other running down your back. Now having your permission, he takes what he wants. He opens your mouth under his and pushes his tongue inside. There’s no fight for dominance. You’re entirely compliant and willing under him. He turns you sharply, pulling his mouth from yours for a moment and bending you back so that he can sweep the table clean. Pints of ice cream, spoons, your mail, everything clatters to the floor.

“A mess for you to bend over and clear later,” he tells you hoarsely. Any thought of being irritated at the melted ice cream on your floor vanishes. He moves his hands to your waist, but doesn’t lift you up like you expect. Instead, his fingers dip into the waistband of both your pants and underwear. “We’ve moved slowly for too long,” he whispers, his lips brushing against yours. “Don’t you agree?”

“Yes,” you breathe out. No sooner than he heard the word did he drop away from you, down to his knees, and drag your clothes down to your ankles. You let out a low moan, your weight shifting back and leaning into your table. “Steve...”

He wastes no time. Asks no more questions. He slips off your shoes quickly and once he’s rid you of your pants entirely, he grabs behind one of your knees and hikes your leg up and open, giving him full access to your hot, wet pussy. He doesn’t even give you the chance to beg him. He comes forward and licks only a single stripe up your lips before delving his tongue deeper.

Your body tries to gasp and moan at the same time and instead a strangled sound barely rises from your throat. Your body tenses and you throw one hand into his hair, pulling him closer, wanting more. He places your leg over his shoulder and tilts his chin up to take your clit between his lips and suck. Somewhere in the back recesses of your mind, you wonder where in the world Captain America learned to eat pussy like this, but then his tongue is working again and your mind blanks.

“Fuck,” you whisper harshly, followed by a moan. The hand not tangled in his hair grips the edge of the table, trying to keep your balance. He gives another hard suck on your clit and pulls away just slightly.

“You taste so good, babygirl.” He leans forward and licks at you one last time. “But I’m an impatient man.” He carefully removes your leg from your shoulder, a hand on your hip to make sure you get both feet on the ground and balanced before he stands back up. He starts unbuckling his belt and your dry mouth waters. You push off the table, start to sink to your knees when he stops you, hand on your chin, and keeps you standing. “So eager,” he coos, still using his other hand to undo his pants. “I like that.” He brings your mouth to his and kisses you deeply, letting you taste your own juices on his tongue. “But if you put that pretty mouth anywhere near my dick, I’m going to cum,” he admits harshly. The brashness in his voice sends electricity down your spine. The very idea of Steve’s cock in your mouth, cumming down your throat with his hands in your hair makes you quiver. You reach out, fingertips tickling at the open waistband of his pants.

“Please?” you ask, as sweet as your voice will manage. You swallow and steel yourself to be brave. You’re already naked from the waist down. Steve’s face is glistening with your juices. Now isn’t the time to be shy. “Please, daddy?” The hand at your jaw slips down around your neck ever so gently as he chuckles.

“Don’t tempt me,” he warns, unable to resist pressing another kiss to your mouth. “I'll use that pretty throat another day,” he promises, giving just a whisper of a squeeze around the column of your neck before removing his hand and continuing to free himself from his pants. “Turn around,” he tells you. “Bend over the table.” You listen to his commands without question.

Before, you’d always thought Steve would be vanilla; straight up missionary in bed with the lights off kind of a guy. After The Snap, after he hardened up and caught your attention, after he admitted to his very own Daddy kink, you knew he had a little spice in him, but you still hadn’t expected this. You get lost in his dominance. Turn into a wet, writing mess at his touch. God, you wish you hadn’t waited so long for this.

“Last chance to run, babygirl,” he says, bringing you back from your thoughts. You wish you could see his cock, could feel it, but the excitement of not knowing as he rubbed the budging tip against your wet slip, made you crave it all the more. You look back over your shoulder at him and wait for his eyes to meet yours.

“Steve... Fuck me.” It’s less of a plea and more of a demand of your own. He smirks down at you and presses one hand into your lower back, pushing your belly to the table. When he slides in, you drop your face down and moan. He goes slow, his entire length slowly pushing inside of you, stretching you, filling you. “Fuck,” you moan into the table. Steve represses a groan as he pulls out just a little and then pushes back in, fitting his entire cock in you.

There’s only a brief moment of stillness where you both revel in the feeling. Then Steve is moving, slowly pulling out then pushing forward. His pace increases, his thrusts get harder. Soon, you’re a panting, moaning mess on your kitchen table as Steve glides one hand up your back and tangles in your hair.

“You feel so good,” he groans out, voice barely above a whisper as though it’s hard for him to speak at all. “Touch yourself,” he says. “Touch yourself for me.” You lift off the table just enough to sneak your hand beneath you and play with your clit. You can feel his cock thrusting so close to your hand and you can’t help but reach just a little further and let your fingers touch it. Steve shudders and his thrusts stutter for just a moment before he gets it together. “Such a good girl,” he praises.

“Wanted this for so long,” you mumble, cheek pressed to the table and eyes closed, grinding your palm into your clit while you try to circle your fingers around his thick cock.

“Ever since Tony’s last Christmas party,” he admits. “That fucking blue dress.” He groans, recalling how you looked. “Wanted to bend you over the table right there in the middle of room.” He slows his thrusts, getting too close to his end with your fingers teasing him and your tight pussy wrapped around him. It gives you enough clarity in your head to think back. Christmas party?

“That was...” you breathe out loud. Before The Snap. Steve leans himself over your back, shallowing his thrusts and pulling the hair from your neck so he can kiss and lick at your skin.

“Yeah,” he groans, bringing his lips up to your ear. “Not like I could tell anyone I wanted to fuck my best friend’s girl.” Your breath hitches and your hand stills for a moment, but the low, long moan that escapes you involuntarily only encourages him.

He’d wanted you for that long? Years. While Bucky was still alive. While you hadn’t even given Steve a second look. How many nights did he spend locked away in his room thinking about you? Had he touched himself wishing it was you? How hard did he get imagining being inside of you just like he is right now?

“Steve,” you moan, reaching back with your other hand to feel for his hip, to hold onto him. Suddenly, you crave to give him everything. He’d waited so many years for you. You want to give him everything he wanted. You circle your fingers around him again. “I want you to cum in me.” His motions stop and he breathes heavily near your ear.

“Are you sure?” he asks, old fashioned concern in his voice. You hadn’t exactly discussed birth control or expectations or wants, but the way his cock twitches inside of you says everything. You take your hand off his hip and push up on the table enough to twist your head to kiss him.

“Please, daddy,” you try the line again. His hand snakes around to your front, cradling the very bottom of your neck by your collarbone and pulls you up, arching your back and taking some of his weight off of you. “Fill me up,” you beg.

“That what you want?” The concern in his voice is replaced with confidence as he starts moving again. “You want me to cum inside of you?” You barely manage to nod as he starts thrusting harder. You dig your palm into your clit, chasing your own release as much as his. “That’s right, babygirl.” You’re moaning hard now as he fucks you and you can feel his dick swell against your walls. “Oh, fuck,” his hips sputter again and with one more grind of your palm, you feel your own orgasm wash over you.

“Fill me,” you moan through the waves, clenching tight around his dick. “Make me yours.” Steve’s hand tightens around your neck briefly as he cums, pulling your body against him as he buries himself as deep as he can and spills inside of you. A mess of moans and sharp gasps, shuddering bodies and slickness, you both start to come down from your high, hands falling away from each other and breath shaky.

Steve recovers first, kissing gently at your neck before helping to lower you to the table. Your muscles feel wobbly and skin hot, sweaty. You’re spent and used and sticky and utterly satisfied. When Steve slowly pulls out of you, you feel fluid drip down your thighs and you clench down as if you can keep him inside of you.

“I can...” He pauses, still catching his breath. “Help you with the mess,” he says, motioning to the floor. You start to straighten yourself out, fighting your own body as your vision goes a little fuzzy, your blood still not back up to your head where it should be. You let out an airy laugh at his sudden concern to be gentlemanly again.

“Should probably clean ourselves first,” you joke lightly. He laughs and dips his head.

“Yeah, I guess so.” You worry he’s going to get awkward now, that the spark will vanish as quick as it lit the fire. Then he smiles when he looks at you and pulls you in for a kiss softer than any other he’d given you. It’s slow and gentle, melting any worry away from you. “Ladies first.”

After you’ve both washed yourselves up and made quick work of the melted ice cream, you move to the couch. You sit across from each other, each of sitting back against an armrest, feet and legs intertwined in the middle. Steve is staring at you softly and it causes a blush to rise up on your neck.

“So...” you sigh. “The Christmas party?” He bites his lower lip and grimaces a little bit.

“Yeah. I didn’t actually intend on ever telling you that,” he admits sheepishly and for a moment you see the Old Steve show up. It’s endearing and cute and makes you smile all the more.

“I honestly had no clue,” you tell him through a small laugh.

“I got pretty good at hiding the blushing after a while,” he says. “And you were happy. I wasn’t going to mess that up for either of you.” The tone humbles and you crawl over to seat yourself between his legs, back to his chest, and wrap his arms around yourself.

“So, tell me,” you say coyly. “Did I live up to the years of dirty fantasies?” He chuckles and puts his face into your neck.

“Better than I could have ever imagined,” he mumbles into your skin. “And what about you?” he asks, tightening his grip around you and settling you into his arms.

“Never even dreamed the good ol’ Captain America had such an intense side,” you tell him, humming and dropping your head to his shoulder contently.

“I took it easy on you,” he teases, pressing a kiss to your pulse.

You giggle and push back on his chest with your back as a playful shove. He chuckles again and eases up, settling into just holding onto you and enjoying the moment.

The happiness you feel is long overdue. It feels good. It finally feels right. You turn and give Steve a slow, lazy kiss and smile at him, unable to stop yourself. Your thoughts float back to your final words before his orgasm. Make me yours. It’s what set him off; the idea of you being fully and completely his.

What he didn’t realize is that you’d been his girl for a long while now. This just made it official.

~~~

A/N #2: So... keeping in mind it took me ten fucking months to write a part two... what would you all think about a sequel that is a "choose your own ending" in which you get to be conflicted over and ultimately choose if you stay with Steve or get back with Bucky after The Blip? Anyone interested?

Tumblr has been a bitch getting my work out to people so I ask that you like, comment, and reblog. Of course, if you’re really feeling generous, buy me a coffee! https://ko-fi.com/writerashley

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deliriousgeek · 4 years ago

Text

She’s The Alpha (Owen Grady x reader) .9

Here’s chapter nine lovelies! Sorry that it took so long to finish, but it’s here! Also, idk if anyone pays attention to the lore or actual timeline of the Jurassic World franchise but in case anyone does, I will not be following that timeline. The events in this series will be different from that of the actual canon series. There are probably typos since I wanted to get this out to you guys as soon as possible so I heavily apologize for that. Any who, enjoy!

Masterlist

Warnings: fluff?

The synthetic, white light illuminated the creation lab in a haze. No computers beeped and no screens flashed. The few movements in the room belonged to the lights flickering off in the nocturnal specimen containers, slowly rousing them from their day time slumber. The sun had set outside, but there were no windows in the lab and so the white overhanging lights gave no indication that any time had passed at all. If one stood quietly in the middle of the room, they could hear the wake up songs of croaking frogs and tweeting good nights from birds, each in their respective containers. One could look around and see the blinking eyes of lizards and watch as a lone paleontologist observed a substance as it dripped into a beaker.

Yn’s eyes narrowed as she watched the amber toned liquid flow through the tube. Millions of years in development, 10 years of research, and a grueling year’s worth of testing flowed into a glass beaker. The action itself seemed too underwhelming for the labor and effort put into it. Her studies in Jurassic World would finally come to fruition if this one test worked. After tweaking experiments and hypotheses, it would all rely on this serum.

It all relied upon the inspection of this serum. One look under a microscope was all she needed to confirm her suspensions. Due to staring at the beaker Yn failed to hear approaching footsteps outside of the laboratory doors. It wasn't until three raps on the glass door disturbed the incessant sound of dripping liquid, did she notice she wasn't alone.

"Uh, should I leave you with the beaker or should I go?"

Letting out a chuff Yn swiveled her chair to face the door.

"Sorry Owen, I didn't hear you come in."

He rolled his eyes and leaned against the door frame. A brown, paper sandwich bag with the Jurassic World logo printed on it was in his hands. He lifted a brow and impishly smiled. "Yn you're working too hard again. Do you know what time it is?"

Blinking her eyes and readjusting to turning so fast, Yn rested her hands on her knees and leaned back. Eyes flicking to the clock she sighed.

The clock face stared back at her and read 10:30 pm.

"Damn."

Letting out a relinquished sigh as her hand slid down her face. For the past year Yn had been working as a paleogeneticist for Jurassic World. After her first initial visit to the park, which went smoothly, she returned home and endorsed Jurassic World. Shortly after the endorsement was published Jurassic World attendance skyrocketed. Mr. Masrani had reached out to Yn once more, but this time with a job offer. His hooking line that convinced her to leave the traditional paleontology world was “You won’t have to study dried out and dusty fossils. Instead you’ll be able to work with them in the flesh.” With an offer such as that, she couldn’t say no. Yn was elated when she had finally made her decision. However, her joy did not extend to her father, or any of her other extended family. Each shared their concerns and worries, much like the first time she traveled to the park, but once again they were met with Yn’s hard researched evidence on the park’s safety and personal confirmation that she would be fine. After that, they couldn’t say no. Three weeks later she was hugging her father goodbye and hopping on a private helicopter to Jurassic World. This time she was taken to the Hammond creation lab not as an endorser, but as a respected colleague.

Now, Yn was on the brink of connecting something big, something that would revolutionize everything the world knew about dinosaurs.

“Yeah, ‘damn’ is right. Now, are you going to stay locked up here all night or join me for a couple beers?”

Yn smiled at Owen’s offer, but she knew her answer. “I’d love to, Owen, but I really need to finish this. I’ll be outta here soon. Don’t worry about me.”

This time Owen’s eyes slightly narrowed and his arms crossed, “You’ve been working late like this for the past month. What are you working on anyway?” He inquired as if trying to figure out what the purpose of the experiment was by analyzing the liquid.

“Just confirming some stuff Dr. Wu theorized. With the late nights I’ve been pulling, I’ve actually gotten a lot further than what I expected.”

“Hmm.” Owen stepped back and let the paper bag drop to his side. “Well that’s great. Uh, okay well. I guess I’ll be off then. Want me to leave you a beer?”

A laugh escaped Yn’s lips. “Nah. If someone came in and saw it I’d be immediately fired.” She was about to end the conversation there when a thought came to mind, “but if you’re still awake in say, about an hour? Would you still be down to share a beer and a late dinner?”

Hearing her suggestion Owen perked up. “Sure, I’ll be up. Meet at my place?”

Yn nodded. “Yep.”

Turning on his heel with a slight jump to his step he shouted down the hallway, “See you then!”

Yn shook her head with a fond chuckle. She could always count on Owen to cheer her up. Or remind her when it was time to go home. With a made up resolve that she had done enough for the night, Yn began to clean up the lab and head to Owen’s trailer.

The test tubes were cleaned and put away to dry. All the tools she used were put back in their respective places. Now all that was left to do was save the research she had completed. Yn sat down in front of the computer, typing in the last details into the report. Then with a few clicks the file “Indo.Genome.2” was saved.

With a satisfied sigh Yn closed up the lab and began her journey to Owen’s trailer. Upon arriving and exiting her car, Yn smiled. “Did I miss a celebration?” She observed the strings of light that hung across the open space between Owen’s trailer and the trees. A table set for two sat in the middle of it all. Owen occupied one chair, grinning with a teasing smile.

“Oh no, you didn’t miss anything.”

“Then what’s all this?” Yn gestured to the lights as she took her spot across from Owen.

He reached for his beer bottle and shrugged. “Can’t a man do something nice for his friend?”

Yn laughed. “You can, but you usually don’t decorate unless we’re celebrating something.” She mused.

Placing the bottle down his teasing resolve softened. If Yn didn’t know any better she would think he looked sheepish. Owen didn’t answer after a few seconds so Yn took that as her cue to drop the interrogation.

“Got a bottle opener?”

“Oh right.”

Owen took the bottle from Yn and opened it, handing it back to her.

“Thanks.”

Yn took a sip and sighed. She always preferred Owen’s place to hangout over hers. Yn looked out into the lake. It’s inky black surface reflected the white light of the moon. The lake was beautiful and quiet, encompassed by local foliage and the soothing noises of the jungle.

Contrary to her condo in the park that was surrounded by late night bar attendees and bustling guests. It was peaceful here. She enjoyed that.

Observing Yn take a sip of her beer and see her shoulders visibly relax gave Owen a sense of triumph. A few minutes of silence passed between them as they observed the lake before Owen spoke up.

“Actually n/n, there is a reason for setting this all up.”

Switching her attention from the lake to him Yn turned. “Oh?”

“Yeah, uh,” He had a little trouble finding his words. “Actually uh, I’ve noticed the way you’ve been acting the past two months.”

Yn tilted her head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Leaning back into the patio chair Owen spoke. “Every time I’ve come to check on you, I find that you haven’t eaten. You’re the first person at work and the last one to leave. I hardly see you during our lunch break. To top it off you stopped coming by the paddock at the beginning of the month. The first couple times I noticed these changes I didn’t say anything, but now seeing as nothing’s changed I’m a little worried.”

Yn stared back at Owen with wide eyes and a mouth slightly gaping. Hearing all the differences in her routine surprised her. Had it really been that bad? Taking in a breath at her realization Yn reclined into her chair. What made it worse was that she had made Owen worry and fret over her. Now it made sense that he would check on her late at night in the lab every so often. He was worried about her well being.

Taken aback Yn replied, “Wow. I’m sorry Owen. I didn’t mean to worry you. Honestly, I’m okay. I’ve just been really distracted with this project.”

“That’s the thing Yn. I know how much of a workaholic you are, but this is a new level.” Owen stated, a little displeased.

A chuckle came out of Yn. “It’s not that bad.”

“Oh really?” Owen dead panned. “When was the last time you got a full eight hours of sleep?”

Yn quirked a brow. “Oh please. I got a full eight hours of sleep just last,” Her brows knitted. “Last,” Her memory must’ve been foggy because she specifically remembered that on- “Last..” Huh. She couldn’t remember. “I don’t know.” She replied.

“Exactly.” Now Owen’s brows tightened. “Why are you working yourself so hard?”

“Psh Owen it’s not that bad! I’m seriously okay-”

“Yn.” Owen’s tone held no room for rebuttal. His shoulders tensed and face hardened, then his posture loosened. “Are you sure you’re okay? The last time you threw yourself into your work something bad happened. I can’t have you go into that dark place again.”

Touched about Owen’s worry for her, Yn softly smiled. Reaching across the table to his hand that rested across from her, she placed her palm on top of his closed fist. Looking into his eyes Yn spoke, “Owen. I am okay. I can promise you that I am one hundred percent mentally and emotionally okay. Nothing bad has happened. All that’s kept me busy is this project. I can’t really talk about it other than that it’s something I’m really proud of. If something did happen or I wasn’t feeling like myself, I would tell you. Okay?” She squeezed his hand for an extra bit of sincerity. Looking into her eyes Owen confirmed she was being serious. Letting go of his resolve he nodded. “Okay. I just needed to make sure.”

Yn gently smiled, retracting her hand. “Thank you Owen. I really appreciate your concern for me.”

“Hey, I’m not the only one,” His playful side coming back. “The girls miss you too.”

Yn laughed. “I miss my raptor babies too.” “Uh no no, they're not your raptor children, they’re mine.”

Yn rolled her eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

Owen laughed. His eyes widened in remembrance. “I forgot, your sandwich is in the fridge. I’ll go get it.” He stood and headed into the trailer.

Yn smiled and uttered a “thank you” before he disappeared behind the trailer door. Looking back out into the lake, Yn was grateful. She and Owen had come to develop a special friendship. She would go as far to say that they were best friends. Without him, Yn probably wouldn’t have made it through the first month of working at the park.

Just as she was about to take another sip from the beer bottle Owen came out from the trailer; his phone in one hand and Yn's sandwich in the other. “Hate to cut this dinner short but there's trouble at the paddock.”

Standing with alert Yn began walking towards her car. “What happened?” “Delta’s fighting with Blue.”

Yn nodded, already opening her car door. “Get in, I’ll drive.”

Tag List

@littlegangrel @thebadassbitchqueen

Constructive criticism is welcomed! If you want to be added to the tag list, please don’t be shy. I don’t bite :3

And to my followers or anyone that is reading this, if you’re going through something and hurting please know that there are people to talk to. If you’re stressed or overwhelmed, let me remind you to take breaks.

Don’t be like “Yn” and not take care of yourself. You are loved! You are valued! Please treat yourself like how you would treat someone not taking care of their own needs.

Sincerely, DeliriousGeek <3

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sylvies-chen · 4 years ago

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Brettsey please “so not to be rude or anything but i’ve been coming to this cemetery at this time on this day every week for fucking years and i’ve always been alone up until now seriously what the hell” au

Ok anon I REALLY have to apologize because this request has been sitting in my inbox for probably a month or two now but I didn’t get the inspo to finish this until last night. That being said, I got this into a short little oneshot so I hope you enjoy!!

Tags: alternate universe, grief, mourning, light emotional hurt/comfort, meet cute

Word count: 2922

183 days.

It’s been 183 days since Sylvie last visited Julie. 183 days thinking about how things should have been different. How Julie was supposed to survive, how her and Scott and Amelia were supposed to be a family. How Sylvie was supposed to reconnect with her, to finally know the woman who had given Sylvie her own life’s blood.

She was supposed to have more time.

Instead, Sylvie ends up feeling like more of a stranger to Julie than ever. The last time she visited was the funeral, and that hadn’t done much for her in terms of closure. If anything, it made her feel more out of place. Random strangers came up to her, asking how she knew Julie. Sylvie can still remember the confused looks on their face as she’d told them Julie was her birth mother who had given her up at sixteen years old, and the awkward condolences that came stuttering out of their mouths afterwards. She’d felt too guilty eventually, and left early. Who the hell was she anyway, to be tainting everyone’s view of her birth mother at her own funeral?

She hasn’t been to visit Julie’s grave ever since. All Sylvie had done was stay with parents for a few days to clear her head. A few days turned into a few weeks, and then a few months. Today marks month six of her stay there. Her parents had told her they’d be happy to have her. They hadn’t been receptive to the idea of Sylvie meeting Julie in the first place, so they were more than willing to help her through the loss. The only condition was that she had to go to therapy and work through her grief, which Sylvie happily agreed to. But last week, her therapist suggested she visit Julie’s grave to get ‘true closure’, whatever that means. It’s a strange idea to Sylvie but nothing else seems to be working. Her boss had assured her that Fowlerton was much too peaceful (the polite way of calling the town boring, and rightfully so) and it would do just fine without its favourite paramedic for a few days. So, reluctantly, she accepted.

That’s why Sylvie’s now halfway through an hour-long drive to Chicago, all the way back to the cemetery. She buys hydrangeas at a tiny flower shop she passes by when she first enters Chicago territory. They’re Julie’s favourite. They were Julie’s favourite

Her fingers anxiously tap at the wheel when she finally pulls into the cemetery. It’s a dreary Sunday, grey clouds hovering in the sky bringing the prominent threat of rain. The graveyard is empty when she gets there, from the looks of it, except for one single person. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see a man around her age sitting on a bench near a grave, his eyes observing her curiously from over his shoulder. He’s not someone she knows-- she doesn’t really know many people here in Chicago after all-- but she ignores his lingering eyes. Shades of grey stick out against the field of green and wilted flowers are scattered across other tombstones. It feels like a ghost town, for lack of a better term. It’s gloomy and it looks like no one’s visited this place in a while. Even for a cemetery, the sight is a depressing one.

Sylvie slams her car door shut and takes a deep breath. Relax, she thinks. Just a quick drop by to see her, place the flowers, and then leave. You can get through this.

She makes a beeline towards Julie’s grave, less than 100 feet away, and stops dead in her tracks when she gets there. Her feet feel heavy in her pink rain boots, sticking out like a sore thumb against her black coat as she observes the tombstone.

Julie Walters

Loving wife and daughter

1973 - 2019

Sylvie doesn’t know how to feel reading those words. A whole life, one she only scratched the surface of, reduced to a mere four words and eight numbers. It’s underwhelming, and she doesn’t know whether to feel relieved that Julie’s entire being wasn’t etched onto stone or insulted that they could summarize her in so few words.

Maybe it’s for the best. What else would they put on there anyway: that she was a flawed human who left behind a child who she wasn’t ready to have, only to die before she could see her second daughter years later when she was finally ready for one? When she was finally ready to reconcile with her first born? Yeah, it was definitely for the best.

She places the bouquet of hydrangeas on the wet grass next to the tombstone and stands back. Man, this is harder than she thought. The words are there, racing in her head, but they don’t come out. Every time she wants to say something, it gets caught in the back of her throat.

Sylvie’s trying to pick from a list of infinite questions and countless ways to begin when she feels a chill on the back of her neck. At that moment, a voice comes from behind her. “Hi, are y--”

“Ah!” Sylvie shrieks, the voice startling her. She nearly jumps out of her skin as she turns around in shock, only to see a guy standing in front of her. It’s the same guy, she realizes, that had been staring at her earlier. Now, up close, she guesses that he can’t be all that much older that she is. He has blonde hair that’s short at the back and longer at the front, his eyes a soft shade of blue-green. His jacket and boots are a little worn but other than that, he looks completely normal. Except for the fact that he’s the only other person in this whole cemetery, and he just came up to her from behind without making a sound.

“Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he assures her, his hands up in surrender.

“Oh, uh, it’s okay.” Sylvie lets out a big breath, shaking off the nerves from the jumpscare.

“Not to be rude or anything, but I just-- I’m usually the only one here,” he explains awkwardly.

“Are you a groundskeeper or something? I can leave if you guys need me to.”

“No no,” he laughs bashfully, scratching the back of his neck. “I work in construction, actually. But I’ve uh.. I’ve been coming here the same time, every Sunday for years now to visit my dad. Nobody’s ever here when I am, so I figured you must be new.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry for your loss,” she offers. So okay, he’s not such a creep after all. Actually, he’s kind of sweet. “He must have been a really great dad, for you to be visiting him every week after all these years.”

“He… had his moments,” the man explains delicately. “Honestly, he wasn’t the most affectionate guy. I guess I just don’t want to end up like him. Jaded and cruel.”

Sylvie nods understandingly, because she gets it. Her parents are loving and supportive, but she’s had some exes that have put her through the ringer. Her first real love, Harrison, had been manipulative and heartless. She’s always hoped that these awful guys wouldn’t change her for the worse either.

“Sorry, I don’t know why I’m saying all of this. I’ll get out of your hair,” he offers. “But uh, here. Take this.” The guy holds out a single rose, which Sylvie accepts.

Her eyebrows narrow in confusion at the gesture. “A rose?”

“Yeah, well, my dad has been getting a dozen roses a week from my family since I was 17, he won’t turn over in his grave if he gets 11 just this one time. I’m sure whoever you’re grieving could use it a lot more than he could.”

Sylvie’s confused expression softens into gratitude, a faint smile pulling at her lips. This guy, whoever he is, didn’t have to do this for her. It’s a sweet gesture. He really does seem nice. No catches, no mind games, just simple and kind. She hasn’t met a guy like that in a while, at least not one her age. “That’s actually really sweet, thank you.”

“Of course.”

“I’m Sylvie, by the way,” she introduces herself awkwardly. Everything about this situation is awkward, frankly. But she extends her free hand anyway. “Sylvie Brett.”

“Matt Casey. I wish it were under nicer circumstances, but it’s nice to meet you.” His smile is wide as he takes her hand and shakes it. It’s confusing, but it makes Sylvie smile all the same.

“You seem awfully cheerful for someone who’s in a graveyard,” she observes.

“Like I said: I’ve been doing this for a while. I’m sort of all talked out now,” Matt explains with a shrug.

“Right,” she nods. “I wish I could relate. Normally I’m the one who’s cheerful and talkative, but it’s hard with this sort of thing. Everything I want to say just doesn’t seem to come out. Sometimes, I think if I start talking…”

“You’ll never stop?” He guesses.

“Yeah.” How did he know?

“Well I can tell you from experience that you definitely do stop talking at one point. I got all talked out two years ago. I looked around one day and realized I was talking about types of screwdrivers to my dad’s grave with no one else around. Eventually, you’ll run out of topics like I did. And then new ones will come, and you’ll talk some more, and then you get quiet again and then you just… stop talking.”

“I hope so. I’m a big talker-- I mean seriously, I never shut up-- but I just… I don’t know where to start with this one,” she explains.

“If you don’t mind me asking, who are you visiting?”

“Julie Walters.” She points to the tombstone in front of them. “My birth mother.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry.”

Sylvie’s heard those six little words before. She had to stomach every single insincere, fake utterance of sympathy when she was at the funeral. But for some reason, the way Matt says it to her makes her think he really means it. She’s not used to people meaning it when they offer their condolences. It’s strange. Then again, this whole interaction is strange. “It’s okay,” she brushes it off.

“It’s not. At least, it doesn’t have to be,” he soothes. Something about his voice is so horrifyingly comforting. It’s calm and low, and it feels like warm tea and honey in her ears. It’s enough to make her want to burst into tears right then and there .

Sylvie takes a deep breath and then, before she can stop herself, breaks the silence to ramble. “I love my parents, you know? They raised me, they fed me, they’re responsible for the person I’ve become. But I’d always wondered where I came from, why my birth parents gave me up for adoption. And when Julie sought me out, I panicked at first. I wasn’t ready to give up that fantasy in my head of who she was, to have all my questions answered. But now I’m standing here, visiting her grave for the first time in the six months since her funeral by recommendation of my stupid grief counselor, and I… I just can’t stop thinking of all the questions I was too scared to ask. And man, it sucks.”

Matt stands there and nods understandingly, his gaze unwavering even as she turns her eyes towards Julie’s tombstone.

“I’m sorry,” she continues, wiping tears from her cheek. “We just met, and I’m rambling, and--”

“No no, it’s good for you,” he assures her. “ And I don’t mind it, I-- I like hearing you talk.”

“Oh.” Sylvie looks around, unsure of what to say. This Matt Casey guy, whoever he is, hasn’t run for the hills by now which is strange to say the least. But weirdly, it’s comforting.

“You’re right, you know,” he continues, switching the subject. “It sucks. Life… life sucks.”

“Yeah, it does,” she agrees, letting out a small laugh. This makes Matt laugh a little, which makes Sylvie laugh even more, until they’re both smiling and giggling in a cemetery like a bunch of blushing lunatics. It’s quite possibly the weirdest thing Sylvie’s ever experienced and yet somehow, it’s exactly what she needed. A bright light in the vast sea of darkness.

“You’re smiling again, that’s a good sign.”

“It is,” she agrees. “Am I crazy for that? I mean, I’m smiling and laughing in a graveyard with somebody I just met. Isn’t that weird?”

“A little,” he admits with a shy laugh. “But you’re not crazy. Sometimes people need a little bit of weirdness in their lives.”

“I guess stranger things have happened,” Sylvie shrugs playfully.

“Yeah.” He flashes her another smile before turning his attention towards Julie’s grave and facing it with her. Sylvie stares at the marked stone. She fondly remembers the few memories she had with Julie, and the countless ones they never got around to. It’s unfortunate, really, but it feels more manageable with someone there. Even if it’s someone she barely knows. Matt stands with her for a moment, the peace and quiet taking over. It’s nice. Sylvie’s never had silence be so comforting; it’s always made her anxious and uncomfortable up until now. Matt sure is a puzzling guy in that sense. She sneaks a peek at him through the corner of her eye, this guy who’s supporting her even though they just met. He’s lost someone too, he could be going back to his father’s tombstone. Instead, he’s staying there with her. Sylvie decides at that moment that Matt Casey is an unfailingly kind, weirdly solid guy. And, admittedly, a little attractive. Ok, a lot attractive.

“Hey, and don’t worry,” she adds after a few minutes of silence, “about being like your father. We aren’t our parents. And you seem… good. That’s all you can ask for I guess, is to be one of the good ones.”

“Thanks,” he nods, his eyes filled with a bit of confusion and a bit of something else Sylvie can’t quite place. Wonder, almost.

Sylvie turns back to Julie’s grave, tracing over the words with her eyes. Suddenly, it doesn’t feel so scary. Sylvie’s still sad, and wounds take time to scar over, but it doesn’t feel like she’s bleeding out anymore. She sighs, and she can sense the weight on her shoulders blowing away into the wind.

Unfortunately, when the sorrow blows away with the wind, it brings in the rain.

“Oh god,” Matt groans, wincing while looking up just on time to catch a raindrop in his eye. He squints and turns to Sylvie, who’s standing there laughing. “I didn’t see this in the weather forecast for today.”

“Me neither,” she giggles. “Today’s full of unexpected things, I guess.”

“It is.” He gives her a shy smile, nodding in agreement.

“Do you mind the rain?” She asks, looking up at the gloomy sky with a smile on her face.

“No,” he replies gently.

“Me neither.”

They stand there, hoods pulled away from their heads, letting the rain wash over them. There’s no shelter in sight anyway. They talk for a while about Chicago, about their lives, their friends, things that make them happy. But then they fall into a comfortable silence, smiling peacefully in the rain. Sylvie only moves a few times to brush raindrops off of the bouquet of flowers she’d placed at Julie’s grave. She looks at it, the name and the date etched in stone, and she doesn’t feel sick anymore. No questions unanswered, no bitterness. Her loss feels manageable.

She’s okay. More than okay.

“Hey, this might sound a little crazy, and I know we just met,” Matt starts after a while, “but would you want to… go get dinner or something?”

“What, like a date?” She snorts at her own joke, the idea being very nice in theory but impossible. It’s seriously impossible that this guy is actually asking her out, right?

“Er, yeah,” he nods. “Like a date.”

Oh. Okay, so he was asking her out. This is unfamiliar territory for Sylvie. She’s been asked out before, of course, by the small-town idiots in Fowlerton. But by an admittedly very good-looking stranger, under these circumstances no less? It’s a bit of a bizarre situation. That’s the crux of it, though. Matt Casey, whoever he is under all these sweet, charming layers, doesn’t feel like a stranger. Somehow, through one chance encounter, it feels like catching up with an old friend.

When she considers the facts, she’s had fun today. Every interaction they’ve had has come with such ease, and from a place of goodness and light. Yeah, maybe it’ll go absolutely nowhere. But one date in a public place won’t hurt her. She’s in Chicago for the rest of the weekend anyway. If anything, going out with someone like Matt Casey would do her a lot of good. And she hadn’t realized it until now but god, she really really wants to. So she does.

“I’d like that,” she finally replies while brushing rain off of her coat.

“Yeah?” He asks to make sure, his face lighting up with hope and slight excitement. Sylvie finds it adorable.

“Yeah,” she assures him.

He nods and grins excitedly as he leans in closer, and Sylvie feels the happiest she’s felt in a long time when he finally replies. “Me too.”

#this is a little rushed lol #also ik if i met anyone at a cemetary i would be weirded out but i tried to make this cute???#i just hope i was successful lol #brettsey #au prompt request #alternate universe #meet cute #light emotional hurt/comfort #mourning

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w-ngs · 3 years ago

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jan22

i almost typed jan21. it is jan22. and i still have no clue what i'll be doing after i graduate college. whew. life is a doozy.

***

evicted, matthew desmond

books like this where inequality and systematic oppression are so blatantly written on the pages are the hardest to read.

it be the privilege check for me. seriously, though. the life i lead is so lucky and i’m not grateful enough for it.

other than that reason, there were a few others that made this book harder to get through. i don’t have any knowledge about the housing crisis for those below the poverty line or about the organizations desmond would sometimes name drop, and some of the governmental jargon i kind of glossed over (sorry). but this kind of knowledge wasn’t necessary for me to understand the one point of the book, which was that america has the means to fix the issue, but they won’t.

at first i couldn’t help but blame the landlords. how could you live that way when right in front of you there are people who literally don’t have homes? but it’s not about the individual people (i mean it is, but the issues are rooted much deeper) but about the failings of our country as a whole. i knew it was wrong to by angry at people who were just trying to make a living like anyone else (i’m not much better) when the issues are so steeped in cultural values and the way we view poverty as an individual issue when its really a collective. we’re all affected by poverty, either by exploiting from it or our purposeful ignorance of it. what i’m trying to convey is that while the people themselves are individuals within poverty, it’s not an individualistic issue, it’s systematic and the people in power who have the power to change things don’t.

from this book, i learned that one of the causes and effects of poverty is lack of housing. public and private housing for the poor are both inadequate because the tools that are supposed to function as a service to pull them out of poverty only help a select, lucky few. and once again, i was reminded that race and gender always play a role and they cannot be ignored when studying poverty.

i’m still learning. i think everyone should study sociology because this is a lens that shows you the world and all its ugly, the sides of the world that a lot of people generally don’t think about.

***

we hunt the flame, hafsah faizal (DNF)

a tiktok recommended book, probably. booktok now has a track record of recommending quite underwhelming books, and i’m starting to lose trust in it…

idk i couldn’t really get into it. the story was a little hard to follow with random info dumps that made it hard for me to get what was going on. but maybe that’s because i couldn’t get the energy to follow through with it.

my rule is that if something makes me want to do something else, it means it wasn’t good enough. this made me want to read ember in ashes by sabaa tahir and finally get around to finishing the series. oopie

a 5/10.

***

the secret history, donna tartt

wow! this was fantastic.

i like the classics. i like the myths, i like the legends, and i like the way the language flows. i’m not a classics nerd by any means (sometimes i wish i was, there’s so much untapped there i could use in my own writing), but i do like them and have a appreciation for them that sits near and dear in my heart.

the characters were very much real but also so obviously impossible and yet relatable as fuck. killing someone that constantly gets on your nerves? goals.

francis was, i think, my favorite character. him and henry be fighting for that top position. i thought he was hilarious. i had to stop reading once or twice to laugh in incredulity at something he said that came completely out of left field. he wasn’t even that genuinely funny, but his comedic timing was impeccable. he was like a cheap firework that blasts off once or twice and creates the most beautiful sparks but dies out just as quickly. you get immense joy from those scarce seconds but once it’s over, you’re left with this feeling of emptiness.

henry was such a mammoth of a character. physically, cuz he’s a giant, but also contextually. he was all of their moving forces, the one who orchestrated and planned and executed. without him, that group wouldn’t have been much. and of course his power to attract and pull people to his rhythm was essential. so at the end, it had to be him. he had the most to lose and had already lost it all. the story had to end with him because as long as he was around, it would keep continuing.

and bruh don’t even mention him and camilla to me. i’m so bitter at the fact that this entire story was told through richard’s perspective because he’s such an outsider it’s almost painful. i wanted to pick apart each character’s head but instead i was just stuck in the drugged haze of richard’s brain.

i didn’t quite like richard that much, mostly because i wished he would get out of the way and let me into someone else’s, probably more interesting brain, but i did somewhat understand where he was coming from, his desire to fit in and belong to something so extraordinary and surround himself with extraordinary people.

ugh. when first person is done so well you would do anything for it to be done through another perspective. sigh.

maybe i’m taking it a stretch too far but at some point i felt like each student represented a different aspect of greek culture. richard is the storyteller, the scribe who recorded everything for posterity. henry is the academic and the general, everyone’s leader. francis is the gay element prevalent in every greek myth. camilla is the repressed feminine. charles is the guy that commits the rapes in greek myth. someone else could probably interpret it much better than my extremely roughshod way of doing it, but something along those lines.

if there’s one thing i can’t find fault in, it would be the ~mood~. this book is essentially dark academia wrapped up in one, neat, slightly bloody, bow. the college in the northeast neighboring a forest and hills of greenery and weird locals with the greek literature and old money students mixing with regular students in one big hodgepodge of college life… good stuff. the constant air of drunkenness and being hopped up on drugs also helped make it all hazy and dreamlike.

the plot isn’t perfect by any means. i know i thought a book was good if i spend extra time online looking things up about it and reading others’ analyses about it, and these people articulated my sense of some strings not being completely tied up (julian??? wtf lol). but when i learned this was her debut novel that she wrote in COLLEGE, i was totally blown away. it’s better now, but i used to feel like i barely had the time to even sit down and allow myself to think. the fact that she managed to even write a portion of this as a student is a wild notion to me, and something i wish i had the capacity to do.

anyways, this was a great start to 2022. i hope i read even greater books this year.

a 10/10 (i changed my mind, this is deserves its own post and i regret not doing it).

***

the night circus, erin morgenstern

i picked up this book not only because it’d been on my tbr for quite a while now, but beacuse i knew it would be a much simpler read than the secret history, which after reading, was something i definitely needed a reading break from.

the mood-setting was very cool. the atmosphere was insane, it almost almost felt like i was in the circus. the double almost is not a typo because although the writing was good, it wasn’t divine. i still felt like an observer, like i was standing outside the gates rather than inside them. i was drawn, but not drawn in. but props to her for creating such a detailed place and making it come alive like that. i’ve only been to one or two circus-like events in my life but i would very much like to go to one of these.

the romance didn’t hit that hard, which i was expecting. i wanted to see a little more yearning, some more interaction, but that was fine. i liked the integration of multiple and various characters, as diverse as the circus itself. the magic was magical, obviously, but it was also somewhat rooted in reality, which i thought was cool. it wasn’t impossible magic, like harry potter, but kind of like an elevated everyday kind of magic. very sick.

now the problem is what i’m supposed to read next…

a 6/10.

#evicted #matthew desmond #the night circus #erin morgenstern #books #reading #book blog #reading blog #the secret history #donna tartt #we hunt the flame #booktok #booklr #nonfiction #fiction #dark academia

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lizziestudieshistory · 3 years ago

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Books of 2021 - July

I read a lot this month! I’m not even sure how I managed it, especially when we consider I’ve read another 850 pages between Anna Karenina and Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows on top of this lot!

I’m just going to apologise now for not proof reading this... I’m finishing this off at 2 in the morning to schedule and I’m sick of looking at my own writing at the moment.

Amnesty by Lara Elena Donnelly - Technically I read this at the end of June, however, I was on holiday so couldn’t include it in last month’s wrap up.

I’ve already spoken about the Amberlough Dossier and anyone who’s been around my blog for longer than about 10 seconds knows I love this trilogy. Amnesty was no exception. We have the return of Cyril, he and Ari working through their relationship (or not quite understandably), and the fall out from the fall of the Ospies - this world’s equivalent to the Nazi party. It’s not an easy book to read and the glamour of the first installment is completely stripped away to deal with very complex moral and political questions. I don’t necessarily agree with Donnelly’s answers, however, I do admire her for really delving into these very difficult topics. She used the speculative nature of the Amberlough Dossier to come up with a sensitive and interesting discussion on a very difficult period in history.

I’m hoping to write a proper review for the whole trilogy at some point (once I’ve finished the monstrosity that is my Words of Radiance review) so I don’t want to say too much more here. However, I do want to say I really enjoyed that Donnelly found the space to continue looking at the smaller, private, and interpersonal consequences of the Ospies’ regime, particularly for families. It’s a sensitive look into this situation and I loved every second of it - I also adore Cyril and Ari’s relationship, but I’ll dig into them in my proper reivew.

Master of Sorrows by Justin Call - this was a slightly underwhelming read for me, although I did really enjoy it. I’ve seen Master of Sorrows praised everywhere, I don’t think I’ve seen it given less than 5 stars? Yet, for me it was a solid 4 star read. I’d wanted a 5 star read (I’ve been sorely lacking them) but something was holding me back with this one - I do think the series has 5 star potential though and I’m going to read Master Artificer soon!

This is a book clearly embedded in a love of mythology and fantasy. It’s dark and gritty, especially in the second half, with plenty for the reader to sink their teeth into. I’ve also never seen such a strong focus on physical disability in a fantasy novel - it was refreshing to see and led to an interesting use of the magic system to develop ways of overcoming physical disadvantages. Although I’m hoping this is going to be explored further in later installments as, for a large part of this book, Annev was essentially able bodied due to a magical prosthetic he never takes off.

Unfortuantely the most interesting part of this book, for me, was the mythological world building at the start of each part in the book. The myths, clearly based on Norse mythology (I’m sorry but “Odar” was a bit obvious), were fascinating, particularly as they started to have an influence on the events of the main narrative. I just wanted to know more about the gods than the actual story, this is probably a me issue though... The main plotline felt generic: Annev is a boy in a coming of age story, complete with a magic(ish) assassin school, a wise old mentor, and a destiny/prophesy surrounding him. It’s a typical fantasy story, so far, and while I do really enjoy these plotlines (I read enough of them!) it’s not exactly the most original. Nevertheless, I am excited to see where Call goes with this as I do think the rest of the series will start growing into something much more interesting and I look forward to Master Artificer.

Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte - this is one of my favourite books of all time, we all know this by now... See my full review for Bronte’s masterpiece here.

The Bedlam Stacks by Natasha Pulley - July has been the month of Natasha Pulley for me because I’ve rediscovered just how much I LOVE her books. I first read Pulley back in...what, 2017? (It’s been a while...) with her debut novel, The Watchmaker of Filigree Street which I remember loving, but I never continued with The Bedlam Stacks, the only other available book by Pulley at the time. To be frank with you, it’s because at 18/19 I wasn’t that interested in Peru. However, I now really want to read The Kingdoms, Pulley’s new release, but I felt obliged to read the books I already owned by her and hadn’t read - so I picked up The Bedlam Stacks as it’s the one I’ve owned the longest without having read it...

Not reading The Bedlam Stacks back then was the best decision I’ve ever made because I know at 18 I wouldn’t have appreciated what a stunning masterpiece this book is - it would have flown over my head because, at the time, I just wanted more Thaniel and Mori. At 23 I ADORED this book. I absolutely fell in love with the subtle whimsy and quite, understated beauty of this story. Pulley has such an elegant way of writing, it’s never overdone - she has a way of playing with words which reads beautifully but doesn’t feel like too much. She’s never flowery or purple with her prose, but she does create a work of art.

Unfortunately, The Bedlam Stacks is a book I think a lot of people may struggle with - there’s not a lot of plot, everything is a bit weird, and it’s largely a character study for our two main characters: Merrick Tremayne and Raphael. Merrick’s journey to Peru to find quinine - a cure for malaria - for the British Empire is really a set up to allow the rest of the book to focus on these two characters. It’s centred on the very slow development of their relationship together, coming to understand each other, and eventually open up about themselves - well this is more in Raphael’s case. It’s a poignant story about two people finding a home with each other that will endure across time and distance - it’s not quite a romance, but it’s certainly more than a friendship. Personally I read them as ace, but there is definitely scope here to read them in a variety of other ways depending on your own experiences. But what is certain is their deep connection, and that their love (platonic or otherwise) is what drives the outcome of this story.

It’s beautiful, poignant, and slightly tragic when you think about it... I loved every minuet of it and just wanted the book to continue, I was genuinely sad it was over! It’s not a novel for everyone, and I do think the opening section needed some more work as it did feel like Pulley was saying ‘lets get over this necessary but boring set up’. However, it was exactly what I wanted and I’m so happy I’ve finally read it.

I’m also much more interested in Peru now, so that’s something else to hold in it’s favour!

The Watchmaker of Filigree Street by Natasha Pulley - I’m falling slightly out of order here but it seems better to continue with Pulley’s books. Most of the same praise I gave to The Bedlam Stacks can be repeated here - Pulley’s writing is slightly weaker here but it’s only really noticable because I read both books one after the other and I was thinking about her prose. The same whimsical, poetic, and understated style is used in both books and it really suits the type of stories Pulley like to tell - and again it’s a style that really works for me.

The Watchmaker of Filigree Street I think is a slightly more universally likeable story - although I would argue Pulley is an acquired taste. There is a bit less whimsy, and the relationship between Thaniel and Mori is more easily quantifiable for readers. There is also a more obvious plotline to follow, whilst still developing three compelling characters with Mori, Thaniel, and Grace. Personally I don’t love Grace - I find her brash and callous - however, she does have as good of an arc as Thaniel and Mori, she’s also someone who regularly get overlooked when people talk about this book. She’s not someone I like or approve of, but I do really understand where she’s coming from and can appreciate her growth. Pulley doesn’t need us to like Grace - or any of her characters - she presents them as they are and lets us cast our own judgements on them, and I sincerely love this about her. (I’m also so up for reading more about Grace and her relationship with Matsumoto, they’re fabulous together!)

The main draw to this book is definitely the relationship between Thaniel and Mori - how could you not love them? They’re fascianting to watch - together and separately - and throughout the course of this nove you really feel them grow into their relationship. It’s beautiful to watch and feels genuine. Their bond is earnt, not just presented to us as a fact. However, what I really love about Mori and Thaniel is the slightly sinister route Mori takes to make sure he meets Thaniel. Honestly, in any other book Mori would be horrifying with his slightly callous use of his abilities to manipulate the world around him to achieve his own ends. However, with the narrative framing here he’s slightly toned down, it’s a spectacular example of framing shaping audience perspectives on a character. It’s great and I appreciate the sensitivity Pulley used to shape Mori and the relationship between him and Thaniel. I’m also really looking forward to seeing how they develope in The Lost Future of Pepperharrow.

Henry V by William Shakespeare - I don’t really have a lot to say about Henry V... I’ve never felt that strongly about this play - it’s fine? It’s a FABULOUS play to watch (I’ve partial to the Tom Hiddleston version in The Hollow Crown) but to read it’s merely okay. There are some fantastic and very famous speeches - and I absolutely adore the Chorus. However, as a whole the play is merely a decent one. I’m always left a bit uncomfortable with how Shakespeare treats the French, and I’m yet to work out where I stand on Henry as a person and the morality of the war... It’s something to ponder and maybe write something on at a later date.

Unfortunately, this one falls into a similar issue as the Henry IV plays - I just don’t like the common men plotline within this one... It’s slightly better because Falstaff isn’t in this play, except in name (I have an absolute burning hatred of Falstaff... Like we could burn him out of English literature and I’d dance on the ashes level of hatred, it’s perhaps sllightly irrational but I loathe him. I’d otherwise like the Henry IV plays but I see Falstaff and I’m immediately full of seething rage. It’s apparently very funny for my best friend.) However, I just find the common men a tedious distraction from the rest of the play. I switch off whenever I’m watching the play and they’re on stage/screen. I know why they’re there I just don’t care - it’s a me issue, I’m well aware.

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince by J.K. Rowling - okay I’m not going to write much on Half-Blood Prince as a whole becasue 1. Rowling herself, and 2. I’m going to rank the Harry Potter books when I’ve finished with Deathly Hallows. Overall, I loved this book, it’s always been one of my favourite Potter novels and my reread only cemented its place. The plot is genuinely interesting and well thought out, it’s one of the best books for exploring Harry as a character (I adore seeing his darker side!), and the set up for the finale is excellent. I actually perfer it to Deathly Hallows because the promises it makes are more interesting than the actual execution of the book.

However, I do want to say that this book made Snape my new favourite character - I won’t explain why yet, I need to do a full spoiler discussion of ALL the Harry Potter books, including Deathly Hallows. But Snape is by far the best drawn character in the Potter series. He’s certainly not the nicest, kindest of most likeable. Snape’s not a moral paragon, neither has he ‘done nothing wrong’ as I’ve seen argued. But he is the most interesting and morally complex.

Everytime I’ve read Potter before, Snape’s a character I’ve not really thought about - which is shocking considering how much he’s in these books, the role he plays, and the discourse around him in the Harry Potter fandom. I’ve always just gone along with the face-value presentation of his character. Yet on this reread I’ve paid attention to Snape, not deliberately, it just naturally happened. Anyway, to cut a long story short - Snape is my new favourite character! Yes Lupin is still my irrational, undying favourite. But, in terms of having a genuine interest and reason for loving him Snape is my new favourite because he is so complicated! He’s someone I’ve come to understand and sympathise with. I don’t condone Snape, I still think he’s a piece of work who should NEVER be allowed around children. But he is a good person. Again not nice, likeable, or morally sound. Yet he does spend the best part of 20 years working tirelessly for good without praise, acknowledgement, or recongition.

He’s a fascinating character and I’ve adored diving into his mind, as much as you can in this very Harry-centric series, without the accepting bias of a child’s eyes. Snape’s one of the few characters in Harry Potter I’d like to read a book about - I’ve neber been one to want a Marauder’s spin off or Hogwarts founding story. But I think diving into Snape’s mind would genuinely be worth it and an interesting experiment, I just don’t think J.K. Rowling would be the right author to do it.

#books of 2021 #reading #mini book reviews #amnesty #lara elena donnelly #master of sorrows #justin call #wuthering heights #emily bronte #the bedlam stacks #the watchmaker of filigree street #natasha pulley #henry v #william shakespeare #harry potter and the half-blood prince #harry potter #severus snape

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