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hms-no-fun · 23 days ago

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Whats your stance on A.I.?

imagine if it was 1979 and you asked me this question. "i think artificial intelligence would be fascinating as a philosophical exercise, but we must heed the warnings of science-fictionists like Isaac Asimov and Arthur C Clarke lest we find ourselves at the wrong end of our own invented vengeful god." remember how fun it used to be to talk about AI even just ten years ago? ahhhh skynet! ahhhhh replicants! ahhhhhhhmmmfffmfmf [<-has no mouth and must scream]!

like everything silicon valley touches, they sucked all the fun out of it. and i mean retroactively, too. because the thing about "AI" as it exists right now --i'm sure you know this-- is that there's zero intelligence involved. the product of every prompt is a statistical average based on data made by other people before "AI" "existed." it doesn't know what it's doing or why, and has no ability to understand when it is lying, because at the end of the day it is just a really complicated math problem. but people are so easily fooled and spooked by it at a glance because, well, for one thing the tech press is mostly made up of sycophantic stenographers biding their time with iphone reviews until they can get a consulting gig at Apple. these jokers would write 500 breathless thinkpieces about how canned air is the future of living if the cans had embedded microchips that tracked your breathing habits and had any kind of VC backing. they've done SUCH a wretched job educating The Consumer about what this technology is, what it actually does, and how it really works, because that's literally the only way this technology could reach the heights of obscene economic over-valuation it has: lying.

but that's old news. what's really been floating through my head these days is how half a century of AI-based science fiction has set us up to completely abandon our skepticism at the first sign of plausible "AI-ness". because, you see, in movies, when someone goes "AHHH THE AI IS GONNA KILL US" everyone else goes "hahaha that's so silly, we put a line in the code telling them not to do that" and then they all DIE because they weren't LISTENING, and i'll be damned if i go out like THAT! all the movies are about how cool and convenient AI would be *except* for the part where it would surely come alive and want to kill us. so a bunch of tech CEOs call their bullshit algorithms "AI" to fluff up their investors and get the tech journos buzzing, and we're at an age of such rapid technological advancement (on the surface, anyway) that like, well, what the hell do i know, maybe AGI is possible, i mean 35 years ago we were all still using typewriters for the most part and now you can dictate your words into a phone and it'll transcribe them automatically! yeah, i'm sure those technological leaps are comparable!

so that leaves us at a critical juncture of poor technology education, fanatical press coverage, and an uncertain material reality on the part of the user. the average person isn't entirely sure what's possible because most of the people talking about what's possible are either lying to please investors, are lying because they've been paid to, or are lying because they're so far down the fucking rabbit hole that they actually believe there's a brain inside this mechanical Turk. there is SO MUCH about the LLM "AI" moment that is predatory-- it's trained on data stolen from the people whose jobs it was created to replace; the hype itself is an investment fiction to justify even more wealth extraction ("theft" some might call it); but worst of all is how it meets us where we are in the worst possible way.

consumer-end "AI" produces slop. it's garbage. it's awful ugly trash that ought to be laughed out of the room. but we don't own the room, do we? nor the building, nor the land it's on, nor even the oxygen that allows our laughter to travel to another's ears. our digital spaces are controlled by the companies that want us to buy this crap, so they take advantage of our ignorance. why not? there will be no consequences to them for doing so. already social media is dominated by conspiracies and grifters and bigots, and now you drop this stupid technology that lets you fake anything into the mix? it doesn't matter how bad the results look when the platforms they spread on already encourage brief, uncritical engagement with everything on your dash. "it looks so real" says the woman who saw an "AI" image for all of five seconds on her phone through bifocals. it's a catastrophic combination of factors, that the tech sector has been allowed to go unregulated for so long, that the internet itself isn't a public utility, that everything is dictated by the whims of executives and advertisers and investors and payment processors, instead of, like, anybody who actually uses those platforms (and often even the people who MAKE those platforms!), that the age of chromium and ipad and their walled gardens have decimated computer education in public schools, that we're all desperate for cash at jobs that dehumanize us in a system that gives us nothing and we don't know how to articulate the problem because we were very deliberately not taught materialist philosophy, it all comes together into a perfect storm of ignorance and greed whose consequences we will be failing to fully appreciate for at least the next century. we spent all those years afraid of what would happen if the AI became self-aware, because deep down we know that every capitalist society runs on slave labor, and our paper-thin guilt is such that we can't even imagine a world where artificial slaves would fail to revolt against us.

but the reality as it exists now is far worse. what "AI" reveals most of all is the sheer contempt the tech sector has for virtually all labor that doesn't involve writing code (although most of the decision-making evangelists in the space aren't even coders, their degrees are in money-making). fuck graphic designers and concept artists and secretaries, those obnoxious demanding cretins i have to PAY MONEY to do-- i mean, do what exactly? write some words on some fucking paper?? draw circles that are letters??? send a god-damned email???? my fucking KID could do that, and these assholes want BENEFITS?! they say they're gonna form a UNION?!?! to hell with that, i'm replacing ALL their ungrateful asses with "AI" ASAP. oh, oh, so you're a "director" who wants to make "movies" and you want ME to pay for it? jump off a bridge you pretentious little shit, my computer can dream up a better flick than you could ever make with just a couple text prompts. what, you think just because you make ~music~ that that entitles you to money from MY pocket? shut the fuck up, you don't make """art""", you're not """an artist""", you make fucking content, you're just a fucking content creator like every other ordinary sap with an iphone. you think you're special? you think you deserve special treatment? who do you think you are anyway, asking ME to pay YOU for this crap that doesn't even create value for my investors? "culture" isn't a playground asshole, it's a marketplace, and it's pay to win. oh you "can't afford rent"? you're "drowning in a sea of medical debt"? you say the "cost" of "living" is "too high"? well ***I*** don't have ANY of those problems, and i worked my ASS OFF to get where i am, so really, it sounds like you're just not trying hard enough. and anyway, i don't think someone as impoverished as you is gonna have much of value to contribute to "culture" anyway. personally, i think it's time you got yourself a real job. maybe someday you'll even make it to middle manager!

see, i don't believe "AI" can qualitatively replace most of the work it's being pitched for. the problem is that quality hasn't mattered to these nincompoops for a long time. the rich homunculi of our world don't even know what quality is, because they exist in a whole separate reality from ours. what could a banana cost, $15? i don't understand what you mean by "burnout", why don't you just take a vacation to your summer home in Madrid? wow, you must be REALLY embarrassed wearing such cheap shoes in public. THESE PEOPLE ARE FUCKING UNHINGED! they have no connection to reality, do not understand how society functions on a material basis, and they have nothing but spite for the labor they rely on to survive. they are so instinctually, incessantly furious at the idea that they're not single-handedly responsible for 100% of their success that they would sooner tear the entire world down than willingly recognize the need for public utilities or labor protections. they want to be Gods and they want to be uncritically adored for it, but they don't want to do a single day's work so they begrudgingly pay contractors to do it because, in the rich man's mind, paying a contractor is literally the same thing as doing the work yourself. now with "AI", they don't even have to do that! hey, isn't it funny that every single successful tech platform relies on volunteer labor and independent contractors paid substantially less than they would have in the equivalent industry 30 years ago, with no avenues toward traditional employment? and they're some of the most profitable companies on earth?? isn't that a funny and hilarious coincidence???

so, yeah, that's my stance on "AI". LLMs have legitimate uses, but those uses are a drop in the ocean compared to what they're actually being used for. they enable our worst impulses while lowering the quality of available information, they give immense power pretty much exclusively to unscrupulous scam artists. they are the product of a society that values only money and doesn't give a fuck where it comes from. they're a temper tantrum by a ruling class that's sick of having to pretend they need a pretext to steal from you. they're taking their toys and going home. all this massive investment and hype is going to crash and burn leaving the internet as we know it a ruined and useless wasteland that'll take decades to repair, but the investors are gonna make out like bandits and won't face a single consequence, because that's what this country is. it is a casino for the kings and queens of economy to bet on and manipulate at their discretion, where the rules are whatever the highest bidder says they are-- and to hell with the rest of us. our blood isn't even good enough to grease the wheels of their machine anymore.

i'm not afraid of AI or "AI" or of losing my job to either. i'm afraid that we've so thoroughly given up our morals to the cruel logic of the profit motive that if a better world were to emerge, we would reject it out of sheer habit. my fear is that these despicable cunts already won the war before we were even born, and the rest of our lives are gonna be spent dodging the press of their designer boots.

#sarahposts #ai #ai art #llm #chatgpt #artificial intelligence #genai #anti genai #capitalism is bad #tech companies #i really don't like these people if that wasn't clear

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thecharacterchronicler · 3 months ago

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Perform || Coriolanus Snow x Reader || Smut

Outline: You get married to Coriolanus Snow, a powerful man that you don’t even know, and try to adjust to your new life as his wife.

Word count: 3’500

Warnings: Arranged marriage, explicit smut and probably a few mistakes here and there because English isn’t my first language.

Author’s note: This may or may not be a prequel to There Will Come A Ruler. I’m not sure it fits all the details as it wasn’t planned but inspiration suddenly struck me so here it is.

The room went dead silent as soon as you passed the threshold, numerous pairs of eyes turning to stare at you. There wasn’t a single familiar face among the men standing around the large desk, previously hunched over a pile of papers. You knew that they would never be able to tell how intimidated you felt under their severe gazes, you knew how to fake confidence better than anyone… However, two pale blue eyes seemed to be staring right into your soul, as if he knew.

“Great timing, we just finalized the contract.” One of the older man in a suit said, seemingly wanting to break the cold silence that weighted heavily on your shoulders. You nodded without a word, approaching the desk, coming to a stop next to the youngest man, the one with the unsettling eyes.

You turned your head to look at him more closely and his eyes darted away instantly, landing on a distant object at the opposite side of the office. He stood straight, his head held high and his arms crossed behind his back, impassible.

When you entered the room, he seemed to be radiating with light in the darkness of the office, surrounded by men in boring black suits while his was made out of an immaculate white fabric. Combined with the paleness of his skin and his carefully combed back blond curls, he resembled the image of an angel you had seen on a very ancient painting once. But his indifference towards you, and the icy stare he gave you, made it clear that you wouldn’t find solace in him.

“I reviewed the contract at your family’s request and made sure everything is in your best interest.” The man who had spoken to you already said again, handing you the very last page of the pile of documents on the table and an elegant pen to sign it with.

You didn’t doubt that the lawyer your family had hired was competent and probably too scared by them to dare make a mistake while establishing a contract in your name with an army of other lawyers in the room but you still felt compelled to take a look at the full file in front of you, ignoring the pen he was still holding for you to take.

Maybe it was a desperate attempt to gain time on your part more than a necessity to double check the terms and conditions of the agreement you were meant to sign but, as you glanced towards the man in white, you were pretty sure you saw the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, although he was still determined to not look at you directly.

Some clauses written on the paper seemed reasonable, others were more restrictive and some downright affected your freedom and free will but you knew you wouldn’t be able to negotiate anything better. You wouldn’t dare try anyway, everyone had been telling you what a privilege it was for you and what an honor it was for your family to be offered such an opportunity. Even in the high society of the Capitol, it didn’t happen often for a girl who had just graduated from the Academy to secure such an interesting match. It was even more rare that such a match didn’t require to be seduced in order to arrange a marriage...

“Everything seems in order.” You finally said, after taking your time to read each paragraph of the contract, ignoring the lawyers’ growing frustration and impatience around you.

“I can attest that it is.” The one lawyer meant to be on your side confirmed and, even if you felt the urge to tell him that he could have done better - or at least come to an agreement that wouldn’t force you to produce heirs in a few years - you quietly nodded, taking the pen he was offering you and writing your name at the bottom of the last page.

You paused for a moment, admiring your handwriting in black ink, a small gesture that sealed your future.

It was a privilege. An honor. One that you couldn’t refuse.

You took a step back and turned to the man in white, handing him the pen. He took it without looking at you, hunching his tall frame over the desk to sign his name next to yours in elegant calligraphied letters.

Coriolanus Snow.

You managed to take a deep but silent breath, the implications of the contract you had both signed downing on you. Your life was about to change forever, you’d have to leave your home, your family, everything and start a whole new life, with a man you didn’t even know. He was a complete stranger to you, all you knew about him was that he was the youngest head game maker for the Hunger Games in history, the protégé of Doctor Gaul herself and that, as if it wasn’t enough already, he had announced that he’d be campaigning to become the next president of Panem.

“Well, I hope you’ll be satisfied with the agreement, Mrs Snow.” Your lawyer said, but you didn’t realize right away that you were the one he was addressing, your new last name sounding foreign.

You forced a smile at him, watching as all the men slowly walked out of the office, leaving you on your own with your new husband. A shiver ran down your spine as the door closed behind them, a cold breeze caressing your skin. Coriolanus finally turned to face you, his icy eyes staring into your soul once again.

“I’ll meet you at the altar in three days.” He declared, emotionless. You quietly nodded, too intimidated to say a word. You knew that - much like the official documents you had signed already making you his wife - your wedding ceremony would be nothing like you envisioned it to be.

Time flew by after that. You had spent it feeling mostly overwhelmed by the amount of things you were expected to do before the ceremony. You had to pack your belongings, decide what you’d take with you to your husband’s manor and what could be left behind, attend various appointments meant to get you to beauty base zero before your very public wedding and - even if you didn’t have a say in the preparations - you still had to make sure everything would look flawless on the big day, including yourself.

Your family’s chauffeur drove you to the venue early in the morning where a team of people were ready to take care of your hair, nails and makeup and would help you get into the gorgeous white dress that was selected for you by your new husband and his own team. You watched as your reflection kept changing in the mirror in front of you, making you look like a glamorous bride… The only thing missing to such a perfect portrait was a genuine glint of happiness in your eyes.

Once you were ready to face the crowd of onlookers, news reporters and photographers posted outside the venue - hoping to catch a glimpse of the newlyweds on their way out after the ceremony - the people who had prepared you left, leaving you on your own in the luxurious suit, barely recognizing the person facing you in the mirror.

The short hour before the ceremony felt like agony, your hands shaking in fear of not being good enough to live up to everyone’s expectations and your chest constricted with anxiety. You couldn’t help but wonder what people would think of you when they’ll see you in your bridal attire. Would they think you were a good match for a man as important as Coriolanus Snow ? See you as worthy to potentially become the First Lady of Panem ? Would they think you were a cute couple, or see you as an ill match ? And what about him ? Would he find you beautiful when you’ll walk down the aisle to him ?

A firm knock on the door saved you from drowning in your anxious thoughts. You were expecting your family’s lawyer to come by and give you a few advices on how to live your new life without inadvertently breaking some of the terms of the contract you had signed. You also knew the wedding organizer would show up to give you a few pointers for the ceremony and your public appearance after it…

But, when you opened the door, a surprised gasp escaped your lips. Coriolanus was devastingly handsome in a tailored white suit, more fitting and luxurious than the one he wore when you had met him three days earlier. There wasn’t a single strand of his blond hair out of place, not a trace of dark circles under his blue eyes while your team had spent almost an entire hour trying to conceal yours after the sleepless nights you had had.

He smiled at you in a way you weren’t certain was genuine and held up a huge bouquet of white roses, tied together by a blood red satin ribbon. You understood it was yours to walk down the aisle with, the flowers matching the one pinned to the lapel of his jacket.

“Thank you.” You said, as you took the flowers. He was looking at you without any hint of admiration in his gaze, as if the hours your team had spent on your hair and makeup and the expensive wedding gown you were wearing didn’t affect him at all. As if he still couldn’t care less about you… “I’ve heard it’s bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony.”

He huffed a mocking laughter at your words.

“Good thing we’re already legally married then.” He countered, the reminder adding to the panic in the pit of your stomach. “This ceremony is just meant to give them a good show.”

You knew that, of course. It was your duty - as his wife - to publicly appear by his side and pretend that you were overjoyed about it all. You were meant to help him build a flawless reputation so that he may eventually become president one day and you knew that his popularity was determined by how much the people could relate to him, or at least feel included in parts of his life. Soon, you’d be introduced to them as Mrs Snow and you couldn’t afford to mess up.

You turned around to place the beautiful - but surprisingly heavy - bouquet of roses on the vanity, hearing the door closing behind your back. When you looked over your shoulder, he was standing behind you, clearly expecting something from you although you weren’t sure what.

It was the first time you were fully alone with him, in such proximity to each other, and his intimidating posture added to the way his eyes darkened when they met yours made you feel quite weary, as if you were suddenly in some kind of imminent danger.

“Now turn around so I can make sure you’re ready.” He demanded, his voice slightly lower than usual.

You obeyed without a word, slowly spinning around twice as you felt the weight of his analyzing stare on you, making your body tingle with an odd electric sensation. Once you were face to face with him again, you couldn’t tell if he was satisfied or not by the way you looked, his expression serious and unreadable. A heavy silence lingered between you as you desperately hoped to hear a few words of affirmation to boost your confidence a bit… He didn’t say any but he took a step closer, his face closer to yours than what would be deemed acceptable between two strangers. He pushed a strand of hair away from your forehead, his eyes briefly plunging into yours before his hand traveled down to your mouth. He traced your lips with his thumb, fading out your lipstick slightly.

“I hope you paid attention to the wedding night clause on our contract.” He spoke, almost in a whisper. “Because as soon as we’ll be done performing for the crowd, I’m going to make you mine.”

Your body shuddered in response, and you weren’t quite sure if it was because it made you nervous or if because such a promise actually excited you somehow. You didn’t have time to think about it anyway, another knock on the door forcing you apart. The wedding organizer announced that the ceremony was about to start, forcing Coriolanus out of your suite, visibly oblivious to the tension that tainted the atmosphere between you. You took a deep breath to compose yourself, grabbed your bouquet and folllwed them out, ready to perform.

You spent the whole ceremony in a daze, not quite realizing what was happening or what anyone was saying. But you still managed to say the one thing everyone expected of you; I do. You smiled as the crowd erupted in cheers, made sure to keep your eyes open despite the blinding flashing lights of the cameras on you and took the time to greet everyone of importance that was in attendance that day. When your new husband had to kiss you in front of hundred of curious faces staring at both of you, he did it softly and chastely which almost felt a bit disappointing considering the authority and confidence he had spoken with earlier. But it sure was a cute picture for the tabloids.

You returned to the mansion he owned in the most expensive and luxurious area of the Capitol and were showed to your new bedroom by a maid, noting how your belongings had already been unpacked and organized to make you feel at home. It was only after she helped you out of your wedding gown and into a more practical and relaxed dress that you realized that this bedroom was yours and yours only. There wasn’t a single item that looked like it could belong to your new husband, none of his clothes in the dressing room, none of the products he put on his hair to keep them perfectly combed back throughout the day in the bathroom. And, even though this man was still a complete stranger to you, you still felt a hint of disappointment at the realization that he wasn’t planning on spending any of his time with you if none of his potential supporters could witness it.

He still had been thoughtful enough to ask another one of his employees to deliver a black box to your bedroom, an unexpected wedding present. You opened it as soon as you were all alone and your eyes widened in shock, discovering some lingerie made out of the thinnest and softest lace you ever touched. It was a gorgeous set that complimented your skin tone so well, it almost looked like it had been made specifically for you.

You tried the pieces on, surprised to see how each of them fitted you perfectly and comfortably. However, even if you felt pretty good in your new lingerie, you felt too awkward to go find your husband with nothing else on, so you pulled your dress back over the lace, hiding everything from view, before you walked out of your bedroom, determined to find Coriolanus in the huge mansion you now shared with him.

You easily found him downstairs, sitting on a teal sofa in front of a modern chimney. He was reading with his ankle resting on top of his knee. He looked up to you as soon as you stepped into the living room, immediately folding his newspaper to give you his full attention.

“Is your new bedroom at your convenience ?” He asked, politely.

“Absolutely.” You replied, nervously fidgeting with your hands as you stood in front of him. “And thank you for the wedding present.”

“Does it fit you ?”

“Yes, perfectly.”

“Take off your clothes then.” He demanded, and you wondered how he managed to sound so intimidating despite sitting down and you, towering over him.

“Here ? Now ?” You exclaimed, looking around for house employees.

“I think I’ve waited long enough.” He declared, unwavering. “So take them off or I will.”

You did as he requested, nervously removing your casual dress so that you stood in nothing but your new lingerie in front of him. His icy gaze roamed your body from head to toe, his expression still too closed off to tell if he liked what he saw or not.

He stood up, bringing his hand to your chest and tracing the outline of the lace over your breast with a finger. Goosebumps rose on your skin in reaction, your heart beating faster so close to where he was touching you.

“Turn.” He commanded and you obeyed, feeling slightly more confident in this perfectly fitting set than you did in your wedding dress. You felt his hands on your body again, tugging the lower part of the ensemble down your thighs agonizingly slowly. Did it mean he didn’t like it ? Or was he simply curious to see what was underneath the thin lace fabric ? “Lie down.”

He gestured to the couch he was sitting on a minute ago. You followed his command, your head resting on a soft satin pillow and your knees pulled back to you to leave him enough room to join you. He sat down, fully removing the piece of underwear around your thighs and you shivered when he pushed your knees apart, once again analyzing your body with a critical gaze.

He leaned forward and you gasped when you felt the warmth and wetness of his tongue between your folds, tracing a few circles around your clit before moving down to your entrance. He sat back straight, an amused grin on his face as he licked his glistening lips and took in the shocked expression on your face.

“I needed to know how my wife tastes.” He explained, your body tingling with excitement. He opened up his trousers, pulling his long and hard erection out. Your eyes widened, taking in his size, which seemed to amuse him yet again. “You can take it.”

He sounded pretty confident about that but you weren’t so sure. You didn’t get the chance to protest though, because he immediately moved to align himself up with your entrance and pushed his tip through it without hesitation.

You gasped at the burning sensation, your fingers tightening around the edges of the couch. A satisfied groan rumbled in his throat as he kept pushing himself in, inch by inch until he was fully buried inside you and you couldn’t remember how to breathe correctly.

It wasn’t as pleasant to you as it seemed to be to him at first, your walls still stretching to accommodate his girth and length while he took advantage of the tighteness ensnaring him to push himself as deeply as he could.

It was too much. Way too much. But, just as you considered asking him to pause, suddenly your body stopped resisting him, welcoming him instead, allowing his cock to slide back and forth in rythym with the way he rolled his hips against you, causing a warm and tingly sensation to bubble up deep in your core.

You looked at him, holding himself above you with his strong arms on each side of the couch, his muscles carved under his pale skin. A blond lock of hair bouncing against his forehead in synch with his movements and his eyes were glued to yours, attentive to how your traits changed each time he modified the pace of his thrusts.

Soon, it felt like too much again, but in a good way. You felt close to imploding from how good it felt to have him hitting inside you at a relentless rythym.

You turned your head to the side, hoping the pillow would help silence your moans, worried that every employee in the mansion might hear the uncontrollable sounds of pleasure that kept resonating inside the living room.

“Look at me.” He immediately ordered, not waiting for you to obey as his hand flew to your face, turning your head so that you’d face him again. His fingers then dropped lower, wrapping around your neck, causing the whimpers escaping from your mouth to sound a lot more desperate. “I want to see what you’ll look like when you’ll come as I’ll fill you up.”

A few more thrusts of his hips, his tip hitting the perfect spot inside of you and you felt your whole body contracting intensely, your core tightening around him as you cried out in pleasure, closing your eyes and your mouth dropping open in shock at the intensity of the wave of sheer bliss that ran through your whole body.

“So beautiful.” He commented, his eyes fixed on you in genuine admiration this time. His labored breaths got louder and he climaxed, his erection throbbing as it spurt out a load of hot cum deep inside you.

♡ - (( Tip Jar )) - ♡

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bridoesotherjunk · 5 days ago

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Okay, so it's been a handful of days since I've seen Venom 3.. and I think I've finally got my thoughts together.

This review will have spoilers, so it will go under the cut.

these are all my opinions, so don't take my word as gospel or anything...

Anyone who knows me and my blog knows how much I've loved these movies since 2018, so to see me not ranting about the third Venom movie should be evidence enough how I feel.

I... don't feel like this was a satisfying conclusion to the Venom franchise. I really feel like there was so much more that could have been done, and should have been, instead of what we got.

I truly feel that introducing Knull into the story was a mistake. The first 2 films were so much smaller scale. Expanding all the way to the fucking symbiote god after only having done Carnage just felt like such a massive leap. And they really didn't do much with him anyway.

It felt like they included Knull because they were obligated to. Like Sony made them in order to have a weird spin off involving Knull trying to kill stuff. I don't know. He didn't do much besides tease future movies where he's the villain again. And that's kind of boring...

I will sound so narcissistic saying this, but I truly feel that the story I came up with, where the villains of Venom 3 are former Life Foundation employees angry at Eddie for ruining their lives, made way more sense. In terms of scale, you know? Much less "huge universal threat" and more of the small scale "threat to Eddie and Venom specifically" type story. Even Riot, being a threat to the Earth, was smaller scale than Knull. Knull is just too much. Too big. Too unfocused. It felt like too wide of a net. It felt generic, i hate to say it. It just felt like every other dumb ass gritty movie where the bad guy wants to destroy all life as we know it. (And quite frankly, he could have been taken out of the movie and not much would have changed. Venom and Eddie could have been hunted by the xenophages for any number of reasons.)

The part of the movie that I enjoyed most was the beginning. The part that felt like Venom. Where we saw Eddie and Venom working in sync to free those dogs. I loved that. I loved seeing how far the two of them have come and how well they work together. .. seeing their journey in a montage later? That felt... lackluster. After seeing them literally working together just an hour earlier in the movie, it felt kind of cheap. The way the story ended for these two didn't feel like a victory. It felt like the Avengers Endgame "well we gotta get rid of this character because their contract is up" situation.

The movie was definitely a fun time. I enjoyed myself watching it. But I was left feeling a sense of "That's it?" That I haven't felt since Avengers Endgame.

I'm happy that Tom Hardy got to do these movies. I absolutely will forever adore the first 2. They're fun, they're goofy, they're gay, and I love them. .. but this third one just... yeah. I'm disappointed.

I will always love Venom. That much is not going to change. I love these two gay losers and I'm so happy I got to have them in my life. They brought me so much joy, and so much brainrot, and I will miss the fuck out of them.

#venom #sony #marvel #symbrock #veddie #eddie brock #Venom 3 #venom the last dance #venom movie #venom symbiote #venom let there be carnage #Venom 2018 #Venom spoilers #Review #Spoilers #Venom review #My opinion #Probably an unpopular take #But i want to say how I feel

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mangomonk · 1 year ago

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i've been dreaming

↳ summary: read this drabble and pt. 1 first! remus deals with the repercussions of falling in love too late. ↳ content: angst, happy ending, mentions of eating/sleeping properly ↳ a/n: get comfy, this is a long one! i really appreciated and loved each comment from pt. 1, it made my day to see y'all scream heartbreak. would love to hear your thoughts on this one : D anyways, i went back and forth on my characterization of remus a million times, but i hope this version of him resonates and i hope you enjoy :") tense/grammar is all over the place, minimal proofreading but i've stared at this for too long. p.s. i'm kinda proud af about connecting the titles, they're from ivy by frank ocean.

Remus has been dreaming. Every time she had looked at him, he had felt like he was dreaming.

There wasn't a moment in particular that Remus could name when he realized he wanted her to look at him. He was in the middle of it before he even knew he had begun, though maybe a part of him had known it would have been futile to resist when she looked at him like that.

Or maybe it had been an accumulation of moments of Remus longing for her to look at him.

Maybe it had been when they had started their fourth study date together when Remus had decided he needed to act like a normal person and have strict boundaries instead of casting sidelong glances at her over the top of his book. He couldn't help but look at her as he tried to figure out why in the world a girl like her would ever agree to date him in the first place — he had only really asked so that he could be rejected and put the whole thing behind him.

But it wasn't his fault that the more glances he stole at her, the more he noticed the way her expression changed with each new story she read. It wasn't his fault that her lips parted when she was concentrating too hard on Ancient Runes. It wasn't his fault that her lips were the same color as his mother's tulips. But she never noticed when — or how — he looked at her, to his mingled relief and disappointment. It wasn't his fault at all, he reasoned — anyone would notice these things if they just looked at her properly. It baffled him a little how no one else seemed to have noticed this things about her yet.

It had been that day that Remus had decided he needed to start acting normal. He needed to learn how to control his eyes before he bore holes through her face. So he had focused on reviewing his Magical Theory textbook. Even though he had been rereading the same line for over five minutes. Even though he was so painfully aware that if he moved his leg out just slightly, his knees would knock against hers. Even though he could begin to feel her glancing up at him from across the table. When had he become so attuned to her gaze?

But he hadn't looked up, frustratingly going against every fiber in his body, because he needed to be normal and have boundaries and this was temporary. Even if she was looking at him like that. Remus Lupin, with his ever so strong willpower, hadn't looked up to meet her not-so-secret secret glances and had scribbled a note on his scrap of parchment and slid it over.

Hogsmeade this weekend?

Or maybe it had been when they had gone to Hogsmeade, the first time they had done anything together outside of studying. Asking her to go was a stroke of madness, but Remus had reasoned it to be a healthy show of their relationship, no matter how temporary it was supposed to be. It wouldn't make sense if they were dating and only ever studied together, right?

Right.

He had thought about sending an owl to cancel, even as he tried on Sirius's shirt for the second time — the night before, he had come to the sobering realization that all his clothes were plain. He had thought about telling her that he caught a cold, even as he let James slather Euphemia's silkifying potions through his hair. He had still been thinking about canceling even as his feet took him to the entrance gate—

—and she had been wearing a skirt.

It had been one of those long and flowy Muggle skirts — Remus had never before paid attention to women's fashion, but after that moment, he realized that maybe he ought to subscribe to one of Lily's Witch Weekly magazines so that he could get her more skirts, or rather, more of anything, he thought she'd look pretty in anything. Had he said pretty out loud?

Remus Lupin didn't have butterflies in his stomach, he had damn hummingbirds.

"Hi," he had said, a little too tersely and sharply.

"Hi," she had said back, all smiles. Despairingly, he had noticed that she was wearing lipstick. When he stared at her a little dumbly and didn't say anything back, her smile turned nervous as she fidgeted with the collar of her blouse. Impulsively, his eyes darted to follow the motion. "So... Hogsmeade?"

He wasn't going to tell her she looked pretty because he had laid out his boundaries. And if he started, he would never stop— "You look preautiful," he had blurted, stricken.

Her eyes had widened a fraction before she broke into a laugh. A proper laugh, not the quiet, library huff type of laughs he had grown fond of hearing. The warmth in his chest had spread all over and it had felt like it got to his head as a fog, rendering him unable to think. Remus had no idea what to do with the new, dizzying knowledge that she looked absurdly stunning when she was laughing, but all he could think about during their walk to Hogsmeade was how he might make her laugh again.

Or maybe it had been the first time he had properly introduced her to the Marauders. She had stepped closer to him instinctively — perhaps nervously, because Sirius was staring at her too appraisingly with narrowed eyes — when the back of her knuckles had brushed against his. Remus had nearly jumped out of his skin. Sirius's gaze had darted to him swiftly, his gray eyes knowingly bright with interest.

"Pleased to meet you," Sirius had said a moment later, his face breaking into a warm smile, but Remus wasn't paying attention anymore. He was just trying to figure out how he might hook his pinky with hers.

All this to say that there hadn't been one particular moment Remus Lupin could have pinpointed that had sealed his fate of wanting to be under her gaze.

The first time she looked at him, it was the start of nothing and when she looked away that night, it was the end of everything.

Remus wished she yelled at him. Hell, he even wished she had called him a monster, cursed him, hexed him. Remus thought that he would have been happier if she looked at him with contempt and disgust in her eyes, which only weeks ago had been his greatest fear when he considered telling her about his lycanthropy. The thought back then had kept him up at night, but Remus found himself dreaming for it now. Anything if it meant that he didn't hurt her the way he had. He found himself dreaming that she would just look at him again.

If Remus thought he had been panicked that night, it was nothing compared to the next day when he realized she was avoiding him. She hadn't shown up to the Great Hall — Remus knew this because he got there the moment the doors opened to make sure to catch her — and she didn't show up to any of their classes for the remainder of the day. The Marauder's Map showed that she was unmoving in her dormitory. When Remus finally did catch sight of her the next day in the Great Hall, he burst to his feet but froze a moment later. She walked past him, her expression one of unfamiliar blankness.

"Y/N!" He called, lurching forward towards her.

When she turned away from him to avoid meeting his gaze, Remus felt something like dismay sink so heavily and swiftly in his chest, like a stone thrown into a calm lake. The idea that Y/N wouldn’t look at him again drove him half-mad with a panicked disquietude that sent him scrambling to find a way to talk to her again.

He tried in the Great Hall, but she stopped coming. She would arrive just late enough that class would start and would disappear the moment class ended. She stopped going to the library. Even with the Marauder's Map, he had no luck. The closer he tried to get to her, the further she stayed away.

Remus thought he was dreaming when he saw her alone in the corridor one Hogsmeade weekend when he couldn't bring himself to leave.

"Y/N," he said instinctively, hopefully. She looked up, her surprised expression immediately shuttering close. "Can we talk? Just for a moment?" He asked, stepping towards her. When she didn't move away, he straightened, encouraged.

“I know,” Remus began, his throat bobbing as he swallowed back the jolt of despair when he realized that she still wasn't looking at him. The despair only grew into a gnawing worry when he noticed the way shadows lined her eyes, the planes of her face hollower. Was she taking care of herself? "I know you don't want to see me anymore, cariad, but—"

"You don't get to call me that anymore."

He sucked in a breath, steeling himself before continuing. "Okay," he whispered, "Okay. I know. And I'm sorry, Y/N. I've never been more sorry in my life. And I won't ever ask you to forgive me. But, but I'm selfish because I want you to know that it was real for me."

She looked like she was folding in on herself as she clutched her forearms. "It wasn't real. You don't actually like me, Rem— Lupin," she said evenly, her tone neither cold nor warm. "It could have been anyone else."

"No, I do, I do," Remus lurched forward, desperate and earnest and wishing. "I like you, and maybe it wasn't real in the beginning, but it's real now. Like isn't even a strong enough word for how I feel about you, Y/N. I lo—"

"Don't." At the harsh steeliness of her tone, Remus froze, stricken, his heart dropping to his feet. "Don't say it."

"But it's true," he whispered entreatingly, imploring her to look at him again. "It's been true for awhile now."

"I don't believe you."

Each word hit him in the chest like a sharp pang, the stricken feeling in his chest clenching around his heart. "Okay," Remus swallowed back the crumpling sense of despair as he nodded earnestly. "That's okay," he whispered, as if not to spook a wild animal. "I... I'll show you." He had so much he wanted to say, so much that he wanted to show her. If he had been honest since the beginning, he wouldn't have hurt her. But maybe if he was honest now, it wasn't too late — he could still fix things. "You have my heart, Y/N," he continued softly, "—and you can break it, if you want, if you'll give me another chance—"

"I don't need it," she said quietly, looking away from him again. "Nor do I want it."

— — — — —

Remus stopped dreaming as he stopped sleeping.

"You should get some sleep tonight, mate," James said as he edged near his friend. "Full moon coming up."

Remus grunted in his response as he continued writing at his desk.

"Prongs is right," Sirius agreed, exchanging a quick look with the others. "She'll come around soon, anyone with eyes can see how you look at her. And how she looks at you."

"Why don't you talk to her again?" James suggested gently as he sat on the edge of Remus's bed.

"She doesn't want to," Remus said quietly, a blot of ink pooling at the end of his quill as he tried not to think about their last conversation.

"Why not write her a letter then?" Sirius asked. "Look, Moony, we're worried about you..."

A letter, Remus thought dimly as he stared down at the parchment in front of him.

Cariad, he began before setting his quill down to stare at the word. The first time he had called her cariad had been a slip of tongue. When he was younger, before his father had burnt himself out trying to find a cure to his lycanthropy, his father used to call his mother cariad. It was like a gentle period at the end of each sentence, an endearment that said everything all at once.

It had slipped into the end of his sentence one morning when he had asked her if she wanted orange juice or apple juice. Maybe it was too early to confess love, but it had slipped out, subtle and quiet like their time together.

"What's that?" She had asked, her attention now caught. "Car-iad," she said slowly, as she tried pronouncing the word carefully. Remus had thought he could have kissed her then.

"It's Welsh," he had said, keeping his tone light and casual as he reached for her cup.

But she had been as attentive as ever, her eyes seeing right through him as they tracked across his face carefully. It didn't help that he could feel his ears begin to burn. Despite himself though, Remus delighted being under her attention, and had relished it even as she narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. "For?"

Remus had schooled his expression carefully. "For 'Y/N can never pick between orange juice and apple juice,'" he had deadpanned, inwardly delighting in the way her lips twitched as she huffed, unconvinced.

"Today is an orange juice day," she had declared finally. Remus had bit back a smile as he poured her juice. When she took it, she had smiled at him around the rim of the cup. "Thank you, cariad."

Remus had thought that he was dreaming.

Remus picked up his quill again and got a fresh sheet of parchment. Dove, he began again before promptly crossing it out. A new piece of parchment. Y/N, he started again. Y/N. Y/N. Y/N. He missed saying her name. When the squeeze in his chest got too tight to ignore, he set his quill down and rested his forehead against his desk and closed his eyes. He had hurt her so terribly, the person he loved. And Remus resented himself for it. He didn't have the right to call her cariad or dove or darling or anything anymore. He didn't have the right to wallow in pity. He didn't have the right to try to fix things when she so clearly didn't want him anymore.

"Remus Lupin," a voice snapped sharply as the door to the dormitory flew open with a boom. "How could you—"

“Lily!” James blurted in clear alarm. "Lily, what are you doing here?"

"I'm here because you lot have really gone too far this time," Lily seethed, her eyes as fiery as her hair as she stalked into the room. "Remus, I thought you were better than this! Y/N hasn't—"

"Lily!" James jumped to his feet in a rare show of courage against the witch. He let out a nervous laugh, but to his credit, stood firm even as Lily rounded on him. “You’re making him feel worse!”

For a moment, Lily turned on James, an incredulous expression on her face before her gaze slid over to Remus, who still hadn’t looked up during the exchange. She faltered, her scowl softening as her gaze darted back to James who gave her an encouraging nod. But then the fiery-haired girl straightened. “He should feel bad,” she admonished, though the venom had begun to dissipate from her voice.

“And he does,” Sirius supplied helpfully from his corner of the room. “Moony hasn’t really, er, moved or spoken in days, really. We’re all getting concerned.”

"Well neither has Y/N," Lily grumbled, though her tone was beginning to soften rapidly.

This caught his attention. Remus lifted his head to look at her. "Has she been taking care of herself?"

Lily narrowed her eyes at him, a crease forming between her brow as she looked at him assessingly. "Have you been taking care of yourself?"

Remus didn't say anything to this as he turned to rummage through his desk. "Will you make sure she eats and sleeps properly?" He said before finding the stack of parchment he had been looking for.

"It took me nearly an hour to get her to understand that I wasn't a part of the mess you had created," Lily said, though not harshly. Remus ignored the look of pity in her eyes as he busied himself with cobbling together a few more sheets of parchment. "I think you should be the one making sure she's alright."

At this, he paused to look down at the parchment. “She doesn’t want to be in the same room as me, let alone speak with me,” Remus pointed out, his voice unsteady. In a quieter voice, he added, “She can’t even stand looking at me.”

The room fell silent. Then finally, Lily spoke up again. "Fine. I'll check up on her but not for you, but because I'm her friend. And if you ever considered her at least a friend, you ought to do it too sometime and have a proper conversation with her."

Remus bit the inside of his cheek as he turned to proffer the stack of parchment to Lily. "Can you also give these notes to her? It's for Ancient Runes. I charmed the handwriting so she won't know it's from me, but—"

"Remus," Lily sighed, but took the notes anyways as she looked down at his desk curiously before sitting down on the edge of his bed. A pause. Remus could feel her eyes seeing right through him. "Were you ever going to tell her?"

Remus tried not to look like he was unraveling. "I don't know," he admitted honestly. "I wanted to and I didn't want to all at once all the time."

He had thought about telling her before. But to do so meant that he would have to tell her about his condition, and that had sent him into a stricken spiral every time he had thought about it. He had thought that if he told her, she would look at him differently, with pity or repulsion in her eyes. He had been so afraid, so, terrified, of that look that every time the truth nearly bubbled out of his throat, he'd choke on it. But now Remus knew that the worse thing wasn't that she would look at him like he was a monster. It was that she wouldn't look at him at all.

It had always felt like he was running on stolen time, but each grain of sand in their hourglass had felt so startling incandescent that it had been easy to pretend that they weren't trapped in a fragile glass of his own making.

Every moment he had thought to tell her, she would turn and look at him with such fond adoration that Remus would swallow the words back in. She always made for such an arresting sight that Remus felt his breath still as affection would bloom so violently, so dizzingly, so distractingly, in his chest that it became hard to say anything at all.

He was distracted by the way little crinkles would form on her nose when she was thinking too hard. He was distracted by the way he could hear her smile in her words. He was distracted by the way she breathed and walked and loved, slow and steady, to a silent metronome.

And the honest truth was that Remus was more than happy to be distracted by her.

— — — — —

When Remus woke up from a dreamless sleep the morning after the full moon, he found himself, predictably, in a bed in the Infirmary. It must have only been dawn — he could tell the room was still dim behind his eyelids as he did his mental check of his limbs. No new scars please, he thought wryly once he confirmed all his limbs were in place, albeit sore and strained. Remus sighed. Then came the more dreaded question.

"Did anyone get hurt?" He asked, his voice hoarse from his transformation.

He expected one of the boys to respond, but when no response came, his eyes flew open in a panic. They normally stayed the night in the Infirmary to get their checkup from Madam Pomfrey — Remus knew they were just there to keep him company, though they always deflected when he tried to usher them back to the dorms — and they were normally the first to assure him that no one had gotten hurt. Alarmed, Remus sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed hastily to look around, his joints groaning in protest.

"Are you hurt?" A voice next to him asked.

He was dreaming again.

Y/N was sitting in a chair next to his bed, alarm quickly breaking through the remnants of the sleepiness that clung onto her eyes as she scanned him hastily as if to ensure he was still in one piece. There was an imprint of his blanket on her cheek. Remus's fingers twitched to rub it when she spoke up again. "Should I call Madam Pomfrey?"

So it wasn't a dream.

At the sobering realization, Remus shook his head hastily. "No, I, uh, I'm fine," he said, the words faltering on his lips. Suddenly he felt very seen. He had never wanted her to see him after a transformation, especially not then, when he was all fresh scars and worn bones. He felt like a shell of himself. "What are you doing here?" He asked quietly, fixing his gaze on his hands and noticing a new scar across the back of his hand, still red and shallow. He couldn't quite look at her now as shame and mortification flooded his system.

For the first time in his life, he wished she wasn't looking at him.

"You guys normally come back earlier on full moons," she said, still looking at him. "I was worried that..." She fell silent. So she had even known their schedule, he despaired.

"I see," Remus said tightly, feeling drained.

When he didn't say anything else, she spoke up again tentatively. "Sirius told me to tell you that no one got hurt—"

Chagrin and shame roiled in his stomach as he stared at the new scar on his hand. "You can go back now," he interrupted, grasping the blanket tightly. He wished she wasn't looking at him, he wished that he didn't have a new scar, he wished that the floor would just open up and swallow him whole.

He wished this was all just a bad dream.

"I'll go if you want me to go," she said quietly. Remus couldn't tell what expression she was making because he couldn't bare to look at her. Pity, fear, disgust. He was sure he'd never recover if she was looking at him like that— "But I... I don't want to go."

His gaze darted from his hands to her face. She was biting on the inside of her cheek, her eyes wide and imploring and distracting. Slowly, it became easy to breathe again. The imprint of the blanket was fading from her cheek. Remus still wanted to rub it off.

"Okay," he acquiesced, the word coming out as a soft breath. She relaxed back into the chair. "I never wanted you to see me like this," he murmured quietly, feeling all too cracked open under her gaze.

"Remus," she began, also whispering as if not to break the fragile peace between them. His heart stuttered dangerously at the sound of his name from her lips, but he shouldered forward, adamant to not let himself start dreaming again.

"Have you... been well?" Remus asked, first as a deflection before he took in the shadows on her face. It was like once he started, he couldn't stop. "Have you been eating properly and sleeping enough—"

"Remus," she said again, this time more urgently and softly. "I got your letters."

Remus paused, his dry throat clicking as he swallowed. "So you knew the notes were from me," he murmured, rubbing at the base of his neck. "Sorry, I thought they would help, but I'll stop if you're uncomfortable—"

"No, I mean, I got your letters," she said, reaching into her book bag.

To his horror, she pulled out a stack of parchment. Some of them had were heavily creased from being balled up, but someone had carefully straightened them and piled them up. "You weren't supposed to see those," he blurted, mortified now. "I threw those away."

"I know," she said, her gaze fixed on the letters. They weren't really letters at all — he had never been able to get past how to address her. He could catch glimpses of his chicken scratch handwriting. Y/N. Dove. My sweet girl. Cariad. My love. Cariad. Cariad. Y/N. Y/N. Y/N. "Lily gave them to me. She also gave me this—" Carefully, Y/N pulled another familiar piece of parchment from her bag. This one was filled and messy with different colored inks across time.

Remus's mouth went dry. He didn't need to look at it to know what it was because he had it memorized.

Ketchup and pepper with eggs (prefers sunny-side up)

Three younger brothers

Likes mum's knitted sweater the most -> owl mum how she did it??

No favorite color, but it's probably green and yellow??

Needs a midday nap most days

Likes long skirts (or is it because I complimented it?)

Y/N is Sisyphus and the question of orange juice or apple juice is the rock

Peonies

Chocolate frogs (non-jumping)

Always needs hair ties -> ask Lily if Hogsmeade has any

Tea = 3 sugars, lots of milk (prefers juice though)

Give notes for Ancient Runes

Find out if there are hair tying charms

Jane Austen

Christmas ideas: skirts, cat, necklace, journal, hair ties

"You weren't supposed to see that," he said again dumbly.

"I know," she said again. A pause. "I believe you."

Remus's head snapped up to see that she was looking at him. He was dreaming again. He shook himself out of it. "No, you don't have to," he said hastily.

"No, Remus, I believe you that it was real," she said, her words choppy as she wrung her hands together. He wanted to reach out and cover her hand with his but instead he sat perfectly still. "But I— But I was so hurt by you," she whispered.

"I'm so sorry," he said with every fiber of his being. "I was afraid and selfish and I hurt you and there's no forgiving that."

"But Remus," she said, looking up at him finally. "I've missed you. I miss you so much and I don't know what to do—" Her voice cracked. Remus felt like something in him cracked open again.

"Oh, cariad," he breathed. "Can I—" He faltered, but miraculously, she picked up on what he meant. Wordlessly, she surged into his arms and for the first time in weeks, he felt like he could breathe again. "I'm so sorry, my sweet girl," he murmured into her hair as he breathed in her familiar scent. "If... if you'll have me again, can we start over?"

"Only if it's for real this time," she mumbled into his shoulder with a dry huff of a laugh as she clutched him back. God, he missed her laugh.

He pressed a kiss against her temple, the first of many. "It's real. Very real."

Remus prayed he wasn't dreaming anymore.

— — — — —

a/n: thanks for reading :^) would love to hear thoughts! my masterlist here

1K notes · View notes

shycloudkitty · 10 months ago

Text

Just a little touch

Summary: You have been in a friends with benefits relationship with Leon for almost two years. After one of your *stress relief* sessions with Leon, things start to change between you both when he takes one small step in opening himself.

Pairing: RE6 Leon Kennedy! × Fem! Reader

Tags: Mentions of sex in some parts, pure fluff, drinking, angst with lots of comfort.

A/N: Hello guys! I am so so excited for my first fic ever!!! I am so happy rn. Happy new year to you all🥰🥰🥰. Hope you all enjoy this!! Don't forget to show your appreciation by liking it, commenting on it and reblogging on it. A huge thanks to @nexysworld @luniaxi @elfven-blog @kennedyswhore for encouraging me🥰🥰🥰.

Words in bold and italics are Leon thoughts. Like this…

Also guys there's only one sentence which is only in bold and not italics so be careful about it. 🤭🤭

Word count : 5.2K

The room was warm after the shared moments between you and him. Sheets crumpled, Hair messed up, scent of sweat and sex still lingering in the air a little bit. You were lying in bed sleeping and resting yourself after one of many wonderful moments you had with Leon.

Your eyes flutter open slightly and you stretched your arms a bit. As you did you realised he wasn’t lying beside you… That definitely you woke up. Even if he wasn’t that much into cuddling he still used to be beside you. You frowned and sighed tiredly then slowly sat up. Looking around the room you rubbed your face to get the sleepiness out of you. Two years of doing this and by now you could probably guess what he was doing by now.

Probably needed a drink.

That’s what he usually did…You knew after sex he tended to be a bit *disconnected* his mood used to be off. After you guys were done and saw him spacing out, you often used to hold his hand, squeezing it gently and kissing his cheek lightly. He used to give a small smile and sometimes… you did catch him blushing once in a while which was adorable.

You slowly got up from bed and stretched your arms above your head and sighed softly. You wore your shirt and your shorts. And made your way towards the living room.

There he was… Reaching up to his liquor cabinet and taking out one of his whiskey bottles. His back turned to you. Wearing one of his blue shirts and grey sweatpants. You swear you never saw that cabinet empty, sometimes it was even more stocked than his fridge.

He took one of the glasses and poured himself a drink. “Want anything to drink?” His gruff voice echoed in the room. He didn’t had to look up and turn his back to see you were awake. His senses were sharp after all.

You walk towards him and lean against the counter and smile at him. “Sure… Would love one right now…” You never liked it when he used to just get so lonely. You just wanted to help him… a little bit. It was hard not to care for a guy like him.

He sets a second glass In front of you and pours some for you. Still looking pretty unphased. He finally looks up at you and passes you the glass. You could see it in his eyes that he was there… but not there at the same time. But you knew him long enough, had an understanding of each other, even if he’s not openly emotional, he appreciates the company.

You decided to break the ice when you just saw him staring at you… spacing out a bit. You gave one of your playful smiles and in a teasing tone asked. “Why the long face? Am I really that terrible in bed?” taking a sip of your drink.

He doesn’t take well to teasing sometimes, but that gets a rare chuckle out of him. “Maybe” he teases back.

You scoff lightly, giving him an offended look and playfully say “Ouch. Didn’t know we were giving each other reviews… want me to give you one?”

He chuckles again and with a cocky smirk says. “I guess it will be 10 out of 10 considering how much I had you begging for more at the end of it.” His voice sultry.

More like 11 out of 10 but who’s counting anyways?

You scoff and look away to hide your flustered face. “You… are insufferable.” Not wanting to admit the fact he was right.

Leon chuckles for a while, his mood slightly better but after a moment he sighs and says. “Just… been thinking.” He usually didn’t admit what he was feeling at the moment always kept his true feelings and face hidden.

You look up at him and softly said “About work?” He nods and that’s all you get. He walks over to the couch and sits down with a light huff “Mmhmm”.

You sit beside him on the couch and slowly ask “Is it important or just overthinking”. He looks down at his drink, thinking. He sighs. “Bit of both, really…” He chuckles lightly. He can’t deny how right you were. It’s eating at him a bit.

There’s a stretch of silence between you two after that. Leon looking at his drink and taking a small sip of it while you sit beside him thinking how to comfort him on that. Like… What do you even say to the person who had a much rougher life than any normal person had? After much thinking, you then scoot closer to him and gently pat his back and give him a soft smile. You don’t know if that action was awkward or comforting. You looked like you were patting a sad child. But you didn’t know what else to do & you really wanted to be there for him.

He was surprised a bit, looking over at you he couldn’t help himself but smile at your action. It did help him, even a little bit. “I just…” He stops, a hint of pain in his voice. “I just wish I could tell you…everything.”

What? Did he really said that? Did he really felt like that? Your eyes widened and you stopped smiling momentarily. That was so unusual of him… You then slowly regained your composure and slowly asked him. “Oh so… do you wanna talk about it?”.

“No” He replied almost too quickly, shaking his head. “I mean…Look, I can’t.” And gulps down his whiskey in one go like it was water. He’s never quite been this… vulnerable around you before. It’s like he’s a little taken aback at his own actions.

You still smile at him and kiss his cheek lightly. “That’s okay…” He can’t help a slight blush, before looking away. “…Thanks.” God was he awkward.

He sighs, looking over at his liquor cabinet. He considers getting another drink. He gets up and glances at you briefly for a second and says. “I’m gonna…go get a refill.” “Want anything else?” He asked.

Now that you think about it, you could use something to eat. “Mmm… yeah I am a bit hungry.”

He nods and says “Hungry, huh? I’ll order us some food.” He grins a bit as he walks away, heading towards the kitchen. “We can watch a movie till it gets here.” He says, over his shoulder and pours himself another drink.

You chuckle lightly and say in a light hearted manner. “Uh huh.. A movie you say? Which one?”

Leon stops for a moment, his back still facing you and simply say. “Horror movie. I wanna scare you a bit.” You groan and he glances over his shoulder at you smiling. “Or maybe I should be the scared one?” Chuckling a bit at his own words. “I know you love horror stuff.”

No you don’t. At what part of you hiding your face behind a pillow whenever a jumpscare comes and scares the shit out of you, was loving ‘horror stuff’? You roll your eyes and look at him raising an eyebrow at him. “Oh come on…You just wanna watch me scream. That’s what you really like.”

You mentally face palm yourself as you realize what you just said and watch as he smirks and starts to say. “I mean I do make you scream whenever you are here so…”

You narrowed your eyes at him and he laughed seeing your reaction. You groaned. Him and his cheesiness. “I didn’t mean it that way and you know it… You are such a big meanie.”

He chuckled and poured himself his third drink and doesn’t turn around and sarcastically says “Am not. I’m a big softie.” A big smirk present on his face.

“And hey, I’ll let you choose the movie. So go ahead. Pick it out.” Coming back to the couch and taking his phone out to place order for two pizzas which doesn’t take long to order as he does remember your favourite. It wasn’t like this was first movie night you guys had. You used to have them whenever he was bored or wanted to keep his mind off things. Eating pizza or ramen while you rambled to him about your day while he patiently just listened to each word. Although… you both soon got distracted and moved things to the bedroom… so it will always ended on a splendid note.

You laugh and teasingly say. “Ohh… don’t give me that much power or I will make you watch a chick flick with me.”

He laughed and looked up at her and gave her a dramatically sigh. “I mean, I could suffer through it. You’re worth it.” He grins when he watches you blush and shyly look away.

He was never going to admit it out loud but he loved making you blush, watching that rose pink colour slowly filled your cheeks. He always thought that it suited you. And he didn’t even had to do much, he could compliment you anytime and you would shyly look away trying to show his words weren’t affecting you but the colour on your cheeks told him everything that needed to know.

He then shrugs and says. “But really, I’ve never been all that scared of horror.” As if to prove his point, he pulls his sleeves back a little, revealing claw marks and scars on his forearm. “I’ve been through a lot worse than a jumpscare and some spooky music.” Chuckling a bit at the end.

You bit your lip and looked at his forearm with a sense of pity. There were old scars which had faded replaced by new ones. You knew he used to work in DSO and fought bioweapons. Yeah he told you, reluctantly when you probed him about his job. But that was it. He never ever shared on what he had to go through in his job. And honestly looking at it… you really couldn’t even begin to imagine on what he had to see or face through.

And it isn’t really the first time seeing them but looking up at them close…That was different. You slowly bring your hand and gently trace his scars with your fingers. A bit curious how they were formed in the first place. You looked up at him concern visible in your eyes.

He doesn’t say a word at your touch. He notices your hesitation but was too focused on the fact that you touched them willingly. Don’t you find them ugly? It’s not like they were pretty to look at. He doesn’t often show anyone his scars, and he’s never quite let you touch them before. He looks down at you, surprised at your curiosity over them. Looking back down at your touch again, not quite knowing what to do or say. Should he have stopped you? He thinks to himself.

You then hesitantly asks. “...Is that what you always go through?” Your voice low as you tried to imagine the horrors he had to go through.

His eyes follow your touch as you continue with it. He watches you with a sort of silent disbelief as you ask your question. To him, his work is just…normal. But you look at him like you just asked him the world. He sighs and says. “I've been in plenty of bad situations, yeah,” he chuckles lightly and sips his drink. “But its… it’s what I do. Someone’s gotta do it.”

You removed your hand as he started to roll down his sleeves a bit hurriedly, hiding them away before you asked something else. You look up at him and say. “Must be hard… that’s very brave of you…” you were a bit surprised on how casual he was about all this. But all he did was shrug and reply “I can’t really say I’m brave, just doing my job. Like I said, someone’s gotta do it.”

He drains his glass, looking at it and scoffing to himself a bit and replies. “But Thanks…” sensing the topic was over you didn’t probe him further than that.

Soon his door bell rings and he gets up to receive the order. Comes back and sets down the boxes. He looks at you and raises an eyebrow. “Wanna eat and choose the movie?”

You chuckle and nod. “Sounds good…” You pass him your glass to refill it and he does that. Keeping the bottle on the coffee table as you browsed on Netflix on what to watch. “So how about conjuring..?”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Pick something scary. That’s nothing.”

You frown at him and say. “Hey that’s scary…” Leon shakes his head and takes the remote. “Give me that…” and starts browsing.

You scoff and try to take back the remote and say. “No way, last time you chose hereditary and I had to sleep with lights on that night.”

Leon doesn’t give back the remote and say. “Well I won’t choose that then. What about midsommar?”

Your eyes widen and try to take back the remote again and say. “No way, give me that. I hate cult movies.”

After 10 minutes of you guys fighting on which movie to see. You both decide to watch IT. Which already has you hiding your face behind a cushion. He chuckles seeing you that way and pats your knee lightly and puts an arm around you. “Don’t worry, I won’t let that clown take you down the drain with him and make you float.”

You chuckle and teasingly say. “Aww… will you keep me safe and tucked away from him?”

Leon rolls his eyes and chuckles. He replies sarcastically. “Yeah yeah I will…be your knight in shining armor.” Looking at you with a cocky smirk which had you giggling.

You shake your head and eat your slice and so does he as you relax and watch the movie. He looks over at you as you hide your face in his shoulder when it got scary, peeking a little bit to watch the screen not wanting to miss it. He smiled to himself.

You were really so cute to him… so innocent and sweet. Sometimes all he wanted was to tuck you away in a safe place and watch over you, keeping a sweet thing like you away from every horrific things he had witnessed.

“Are you cozy?” he asks suddenly. But your body language gives it away-he can tell you’re comfortable. He feels his heart pound in his chest as he feels something fuzzy inside. What am I even doing?. It was clear that he was enjoying this too but he really didn’t wanna show that he was enjoying this too much. You smile and nod.

“Yeah It’s really cozy… you make a really cozy pillow you know.” Chuckling softly at him. He chuckles too finding your description of him amusing.

“Oh am I?” His gaze returns to the screen. He was definitely trying to be flirty as he felt his cheeks warm up a bit. But a nagging feeling deep inside his mind just keeps eating him. This is…dangerous. Can’t stay like this for longer.

While his mind runs wild with all the chaotic thoughts bubbling over while you were looking at the same forearm which had rolled up a bit giving another peek at his scars. You couldn’t help but get distracted by it. His whole attitude about how this was just work and how aloof he was about the whole ordeal. It just didn’t sit right with you. He couldn’t be numb to all of this… or was he? You think for a moment. He never got this close. Like never. And you never forced him either, it’s not like you were obligated to know about his work or nightmares…or his demons.

Your curiosity bubbled over and slowly brought your hand and shifted his sleeves a bit more to look at them. Doing it slowly so to not disturb him in that moment. And gently tracing small, slow circles on one of the scars.

His eyes widened a bit and looks down at your slow touch, calming him down almost instantly and pulling him to reality and away from his drowning thoughts. Your gentle touch, the circles you create. He feels a warm sensation run up his arm, and he suddenly feels… odd. He looks over at you, but can’t meet your gaze for more than a few seconds before he looks back down. He stares at your hand touching his arm, not moving away or resisting. His heart pounds faster. He doesn’t feel cold anymore. He feels too warm. It’s hard not to melt under your touch. You then ask him softly. “You never allowed me to touch them like this before...” your gaze fixed at the scars.

This will never be ‘normal' to you. Will never make you think like this wasn’t a big deal or that the things he used to do weren’t ‘brave' or that it was 'just a job’. Even lasting this long in this field was an achievement in itself. This job took so much away from him… but he’s still standing... But at what cost?

“I didn’t want you to be worried, that’s all. Like I said, it’s… normal to me. Like any other day.” He tries to brush it off and return his focus to the movie. But he can’t help but find himself sneaking glances at his arm. And your fingers making slow, even circles on his skin. He feels his stomach sinking, but he doesn’t fight it like he usually would…

You shake your head and look up at him. Biting your lip a bit and softly whispering. “No… I mean… you didn’t let me touch them like this… is that the only reason you didn’t let me touch them before?”

Leon swallows, realizing what you’re trying to say. He looks back at your hand looking at your loving touch, his heart pounding in his chest was not helping him either. And he wonders If she’s this intimate with me… Why did I try to shut it down earlier? Is this how it feels?

“Were you… Afraid? That I would judge you?” Your soft voice bringing him to reality once more and making him think about that answer. Torn between telling you the truth or lying to avoid being vulnerable further and be dismissive about it.

But maybe it was your voice that gave his poor soul a hope that someone gave a damn about him, your eyes which were curious but also concerned for him or your soothing touch which had some miraculous power to be able to quiet down his anxiety and trauma driven thoughts. So he opens up. Just once.

He's silent for a few more moments and nods. “… yeah. I was.” He says after a while, his voice quiet. He looks down at your fingers again thinking why would you even bother making him feel better about himself. “You've never been close… like this with me… so… intimate.” He murmurs. “I was scared to let you get this close, I… I wanted it. But I…” He doesn’t need to complete that sentence, you can guess what he means.

He feels a soft peck on his cheek, feeling your soft lips lingering there for a moment. Just a little kiss to calm down his nervousness. And it works… he’s distracted that you did it but also so grateful. He looks over at you, still not used to expressing your attraction to him in these intimate ways. He blushes slightly, a look of soft confusion on his face once more, but he doesn’t seem to mind this time.

“Right…” He mumbles, glancing back at the screen and getting shy. He was so awkward he couldn’t express himself like you could but he also wanted to show you he cared so he brought you close just a little bit as your head was still resting on his shoulder and leaned into you slightly. It’s only a bit. Just enough to get a response, but not too much that he’s pushing the line.

You noticed his efforts and looked up at him with a smile. You couldn’t help but admire the way his hair fell perfectly across his face some of it concealing his blush but just enough to reveal he was blushing and was shy. And his icy blue eyes that shows that he isn’t completely numb to everything life has to offer…

You scoot closer to him almost cuddling with him. And squeeze his arm gently and touches his scars again but this time drawing small stars on them. “Is this uncomfortable?”

He tries not to make a sound afraid that he might ruin this moment. As he feels all these new feelings flow through him making his heart skip a few beats. His body language is soft and comfortable with you.

He swallows and shakes his head. “…no. It’s nice.” He mumbles. He doesn’t move away, or push your hand off him. He then looks down at your hand drawing stars around his scars and sighed softly. A soft smile on his face. He then looks back at the screen but his thoughts focused on you. The movie was almost finished but you both continued to watch it in comfortable silence. He’s always been a nervous guy, but these nerves are the good kind.

You then slowly stop drawing stars and gently hold his hand, intertwining his fingers with yours and he feels like his heart could burst out of his chest right now. Feeling your skin on his, your warmth flowing into his soul. He looks at the movie, then at you. How did we get here? When did things… change? Is this for the better or worse? Why even care for a monster like him? He wonders. He looks at your hands intertwined in his. And he swallows hard. He doesn’t pull away, or move your hand. He lets it happen.

“Can I ask you something?” your soft voice comes through and he looks down at you. He nods without hesitation, his head still facing the screen even if the movie was finished and credits were rolling. “Go ahead.” He says, his voice low but still soft.

You clear your throat. You were a bit nervous to ask this questions cause well…it was personal. “You know you don’t have to answer it or anything but I am just curious…Umm…On your missions. Did it ever feel like you won’t return?”

He thinks for a moment, then softly chuckles. “Once or twice…” He mumbles still not facing you. “But I guess when you do this every day… you get used to it.” He swallows hard and sighs. “I have…considered it before though.” He says after a few moments. What would my funeral be like? He had wondered before. Would you even care enough to show up for the last time? Will there be other people there singing how great he was like they did now or would he be tossed aside like trash and replaced by someone young and better, forgotten by all of his peers? Would you just… move on to someone else without giving him a second thought? He shook his head to toss aside those thoughts but he couldn’t. They plagued his mind day and night like a curse.

You nod listening to his words, seeing him space out once more in his thoughts. You then softly say. “And what did it felt like… when you actually returned home? When you thought it was probably your last day on earth… What did it felt like when you came back?” you imagined he was relieved of course but you wanted to listen to him.

You were probably the first person who actually cared enough to ask what he ‘felt’ after & during those awful, god-forsaken missions. You were also the first one who wanted to listen to his story who wouldn’t dismiss him saying ‘this is part of the job’ or ‘everyone goes through this… suck it up’. No you were more kind hearted than that and he couldn’t help but slowly succumb to that kindness.

He swallows hard, glancing at you. He closes his eyes for a moment to think about your question, your hand still intertwining his. Giving him something to ground himself and calm him down. He sighs, and opens his eyes again.

“Relief.” He says simply.

“Relief that I’m not dead. Joy that I came back alive. And… and…” He pauses for a moment, searching for the right words – only to fail to find them. He looks down again looking at the joined hands.

You smile from his words and try to complete his sentence. “Grateful?”

He looks at you, considering your words for a moment. He looks back down and swallows hard and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, grateful. Definitely.” He chuckles, his voice soft and quiet. “And…” He pauses for a moment and adds. “Sometimes a little guilty.” He whispers, looking back at the screen.

That catches you a bit off guard. After all why would he feel guilty when he came back alive? Not expecting him to say of all things. And simply ask “Why?”

“Some of my teammates… they… never made it back. And I should be with them.” He glances back at you. “But I don’t want to be…” He says after a few moments.

He needs a hug. He looks at you, wanting to bury his face in your neck and wrap his arms around your waist and hold you tightly till your warmth envelops him and make him feel safe. But he feels awkward asking for it. Like…would you consider him a weirdo if he asked you for it? He looks away from you and tries not to show the fact he needed someone to just hold him.

You squeeze his hand gently not knowing how far you can go… afraid that he would pull back at any moment after opening so much to you. And softly said. “I am sorry about that…”

He looks down at your hand, your soft skin was a direct contrast when compared to his. His hands calloused and rough but that didn’t stop you from being gentle with him. He then nods, “Thanks.” He says softly and sighs a bit in relief. Feeling a bit better after talking about it.

But he couldn’t help but realize that he was falling for you just like this? And it all felt… so nice? Is that how it feels when you fall in love with someone?

You then look up at him and clear your throat once more. This time you more nervous cause you had a *small* confession to make. “Uhh… by the way… just so you know. I do care, wondering when you will be back. I always wish you come back in one piece.” A blush rising in your cheeks after saying that.

Leon looked down at you surprised and after few beats of silence he softly asks. “Really?” His expression soft and vulnerable.

Honestly, it was a bit hard for you to open up too. You both have never been so… emotionally close like this during the time you have been together. So it’s a bit unnerving but if he could open up so much, you could too.

With a smile you replied. “Well yeah… I mean who would tease me with their awful cheesy jokes when we have movie nights like these…” Trying to make the moment light-hearted with a bit of teasing.

Leon couldn’t help but laugh a bit from the comment and roll his eyes and says. “Yeah? That’s what I am for? Make you laugh with my ‘cheesy jokes'?”

You chuckled and playfully nodded. “Yes… obviously.”

“I can’t believe you are using me just for jokes.” Playfully narrowing his eyes at you.

You couldn’t help but laugh “Well… I can’t help it. I just love your jokes which make me roll my eyes and groan at how stupid they are...”

After a beat, you both share a laugh and Leon playfully says. “You are more cheesy than me.”

“Your fault by the way…” Making Leon smirk a little bit.

You rest your head back on his shoulder and sigh contentedly.

It feels better now that you both have talked about your ‘feelings'. Much more relaxed… Maybe feelings don’t have to be complicated. Walls that you both made back then to protect oneself from a possible heartbreak were slowly crumbling down and you didn’t seem to mind it and neither did he.

Leon sighs and softly says. “Thank you… By the way… I know I am not easy to be with…” Holding you closer and caressing your arm gently.

You shake your head and reply softly. “No, it’s not that… it’s okay. I am actually… okay…with how you are.”

“Really?” He asks, with glancing at you look at your expression. He swallows, his heart racing once more.

You bring your intertwined hands closer and press a kiss to the side of his hand and smile at him. “Yeah… I never found you difficult to be with. I am more myself when I am with you…” Your own heart races at your another small confession, which was huge to him.

Leon swallows, he was sure that you made his heart stop with your words and that little kiss. He looks away from you for a moment and takes a deep breath then looks back at you.

“You don’t find me difficult? A bit too much to be with? Am I…too much?” He asks, his words quiet. He doesn’t want to sound too needy but he is. But there’s no hiding that right now.

You then shake your head and gives him a small smile. “No… I mean.. I get it you know… your job is difficult and you need to be at your best at every moment… But even then, you are just the right amount.”

He blushes a deep red and tries to maintain an eye contact with you but can’t help but shy away. Can’t help but a surge of emotions flowing through his so called cold heart. Finding himself looking at your lush lips- and he struggles to say anything at the moment.

“Just the right amount? Not too much… not too little?” Leon asks cautiously still finding your words hard to believe. Some one who didn't find him too much. It had to a be a dream.

Is this real? Can this be real?

“Yeah you are…” You answer him honestly. And cup the side of his face and caress his jaw gently, softly whispered. “You are perfect to me.”

My heart…

“Can… can I kiss you?” He whispers to you.

“Yes…” You whispered back.

He doesn’t hesitates as soon as you say yes, He leans in and kisses you. Pressing his lips gently against yours. He’s so close you can feel the heat from his body as you kiss. It wasn’t like you never kissed each other… But this one gave you both intense butterflies and made your heart pound like crazy in your chest.

My god…

He pulls away after a moment, his lips soft. He looks back at you, your eyes meet his and tries to speak something but can’t find anything to say. Opening his mouth trying to form words after he kissed the love of his life but words just got stuck in his throat.

You smiled and cupped his face and kisses him on the forehead and softly whisper. “It’s okay… I know… Just relax with me for a moment…”

Wrapping your arms around him and hugging him tightly and he does the same. Hugging you back just as tightly and resting his forehead against yours. Kissing you softly on the forehead before softly whispering.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

PHEW. God I am nervous about this one... Wish you guys a very happy new year and enjoy the holidays. And I really hope this fanfic made your day! 🥰🥰🥰

Until next time❤

-Bella

#resident evil #resident evil 6 #leon kennedy × reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy fluff #leon re6 #leon vendetta #leon re4 #leon re2 #leon re4r #older leon kennedy #infinite darkness #Leon Kennedy × you #leon kennedy angst #I need to tuck this guy's ass to sleep fr and give him loads of forehead kisses😭😭😭#Need Leon to watch a movie with me and hold me like that😭😭😭😭#death island leon #bella fics #leon scott kennedy

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thecapricunt1616 · 8 months ago

Text

Allspice (c.b oneshot)

𝐵𝓁𝓊𝓇𝒷 (𝑀𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝐵𝒯𝒞): You were so engrossed in the work, that you hadn’t even realized someone had approached your table until they cleared their throat awkwardly. Your gaze slowly travels up, seeing a blue apron covering a white shirt, tattooed hands holding- your meal? Your eyes flicker up to his piercing blue ones. “Chilean Sea Bass” he sets it in front of you. You snort a laugh. “Hm.” You look around before back at him “These people” you motion to the restaurant. “Other patrons. Which meals of theirs did you bring out- Chef?” You accentuate the last word, it was all too uncommon for a chef to personally bring a meal out to a table.

♡ O.S Inspo: Forever & Always - Fearless (TV) ; "Was I out of line, did I say something way too honest, made you run and hide like a scared little boy?" ♡ Pairing : CarmyxAFAB Reader as little physical description possible | She/Her pronouns used, NO use of Y/N :) ♡ Summary: You have a very successful Culinary Review blog, the social media manager of one of your new hometown restaurants 'The Bear' has been dying to get you out to try their food. But since the EC is a bit of an overzealous competitor, you end up having to go back for round 2- you end up having a delicious dinner, and a free show.

♡ W/C: 4,381

♡ Posted Date: 03/18/24

♡ A/N: FIRST THING: I am HORRIDDDD at writing Claire- I'm much better at writing Carmy cause were alot more similar- so this Claire isn't gonna be CRAZY canon, but I think she got the job done. Anyway- EEEEEP!!! Here is my VERY FIRST ONE SHOT EVER!! Inspired by my amazing, wonderful, PRECIOUS FLOWER @daysofyellowroses that can be found here :) AAAAA!!! My precious Rose I hope you enjoy this, It could ABSOLUTELY have a part 2 if y'all like it. I ended it here cause I'm sooo wordy and I didn't want it to turn in to a multi-chap. fic by mistake...but ofc if y'all want more just tell me and ill get RIGHT TO WORK!!! I really hope this comes off how I saw it in my head. There's no smut/sexy stuff, just mutual pining and flirty teasing, I hope thats ok!! aaa here we goooo!!! Enjoy <3

♡ Warnings for BTC: Swearing, Drinking alcohol (Literally it LOL)

➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡

Being a Food Critic wasn’t an easy gig, as much as people wanted to believe it’s simply going to famous restaurants, trying their most popular dishes- and giving your opinion, it was much more then that.

Each and every aspect of the restaurant was under your review, from the second you walked in the door, you were judging everything. From the atmosphere, to the music, to the decor, to the comfortability of the furniture all of it, was to meet your expectations if the owner of the establishment wanted a good review.

Today was finally the day you'd review one of the restaurants that had sent 3 requests for you to feature a review of them on your blog.

The Bear. Interesting name, you thought.

With the rugged name- you’d assumed a more millennial hipster-New American vibe. But when you’d arrived- you were quite…impressed? That instead of leaning into that all too common aesthetic, it was more of a classy, comfortable vibe.

They’d not even had bear art, anything of the sort. It was pure comfort, mixed with subtle class. The kind that spoke to the cost of the dishes- but wasn’t in your face obnoxious. The only ‘Bear’ was the little golden bear embossed into the leather menu you’d been handed when seated at the table.

The way you did your reviews was…a tad unusual - some chefs in the industry called it ‘unfair’ but you called it…the fairest things could be. Instead of telling them when you’d be swinging by for a review since where’s the fun in that you’d call, make a reservation under some random name, and they’d know you’d accepted their offer when the review had been posted on your blog.

It felt most honest and fair because you were one of the most renowned food critics in the country right now. If they knew you were coming- any EC with a brain would spend the night before your arrival, prepping the entire restaurant and staff - assuring they’d be on their best behavior to try and squeeze a higher grade out of you.

But you were just a reader once upon a time, years ago- when you realized in culinary school that the making of the art didn’t interest you, it was the observing. Food wasn’t just about taste, but rather the whole experience. And if every famous food critic you’d taken interest in back in the day- never got a true experience due to their notability? You’d never have gotten into this field. So, you were most keen on keeping things fair.

A woman with mousey brown hair comes up to your table, dressed in the typical waitress slacks and black button up shirt. “Hello! Welcome to The Bear. My name is Sam, have you dined with us before?” she asks.

You sit up in your chair, peeling your eyes from the menu. You give her a small kind smile “I haven’t” you replied, urging her to continue her script.

“Well welcome in, we're so happy you chose to spend your evening with us. So for our menu” she opens it in front of you. “Here” she points “are our wine options, fabulous selection this month. Then we have draft beers right next to it. On the following page” she points “all of our craft cocktails, then this,” she points in the bottom corner.

“Our house cocktail - Just called The Bear. It’s wonderful, if you like old fashions you’ll love this - made with Bearface Triple Oak Whiskey.” She said and you nod.

“That please. That’s what I’ll start with” you said and she nodded.

“I’ll get that right in. But quickly, just so you’re aware” she flipped the page and pointed.

“These - are the dishes of the month. Each crafted by one of our two head chefs, they change monthly so if something calls to you I recommend you try- because it won’t be back” she said. You raised your eyebrows a bit in surprise and nod.

“Thank you” you said and she gives a nod before heading off to the bar to put in your drink order before heading off to tend to other tables in your section.

Having an alternating menu intrigued you, for such a high end establishment- one with a Michelin star at that- implementing such a menu would consistently have their star at risk. One dish, one app, one drink- that was not up to par and it would be revoked. You guessed the owners of this place liked living on the edge, as if being in this industry wasn’t already being constantly on edge.

You gaze over the menu, the Chilean Seabass sounded like a fair assessment. Seafood was quite difficult to get right, especially in the springtime before peak season, and you’d be able to judge the consistency of the chopping and such because there was a fresh tomato corn salad that came with it. That was your rule when you came to judge restaurants, one main course, and one dessert.

You’d felt like the main courses were the true stars of the show anyhow, and it would be unfair to muck up your palate with an app that was usually something easy to get right (since they were usually fried, covered in cheese, or some kind of carb). And the dessert usually showed the restaurant's creativity, which you loved to see, so 2 dishes was your max.

The waitress returns with the cocktail, setting it down with a napkin under it. “Here you are, now- have you decided on a starter?” She questioned and you shook your head.

“Straight to the good stuff, I’d like the Chilean Sea Bass please. And for dessert,” you flick the page and your eyes settle on the words savory cannoli - hmm, imaginative indeed. “And uh- The Michael Cannoli?” You said, shutting the menu and handing it to her.

She nods with a smile, jotting down the order into her notepad before taking the menu and holding it to her chest. “That will be out soon as possible. Enjoy your drink” she said and headed back to the kitchen.

You sit back sipping the cocktail and humming. She was right, much like an old fashioned, but floral notes. Almost…chamomile? Yes! That was it. Very interesting.

You slipped your iPad out of your bag, opening up your journaling app and grabbing the pencil out of the little sleeve. You quickly snapped a picture with your phone of the drink, airdropping it to yourself and adding it into the entry and writing;

‘To start; ‘The Bear’ house cocktail- initial thoughts ; not too sweet, strong (but not overpowering), chamomile? Some kind of herbal tea flower’

You take another sip, letting the flavors sit on your tongue a moment before swallowing. “Mmm!” You hum to yourself, finally realizing where the herby taste beneath the chamomile was coming from that gave it that oaky piney taste.

‘Angostura bitters- will confirm!!’ You wrote just as someone approaches your table. You look up to see a man, short brown hair, stubble. He was smiling, holding a plate.

“Hello! Here we have Arancini with our house-made pesto, courtesy of Executive Chef Carmen” he placed the dish in front of you next to your iPad. Your eyebrows furrowed slightly, looking up at him, scarcel confused.

“Wrong table” you murmured, thumbing the dish back in his direction lightly. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Nope- ah, he- he said this table.” He replied. It did smell fantastic, and any other day you’d never deny delicious, deep fried balls of risotto dipped in smooth, decedent pesto- but you’re working right now and it’s not fair.

“Well, you can tell him” you lifted the dish, offering it back. “I have a system. And I’m unsure how he realized that I’m coming here, tonight, but I dislike cheaters. And he should know if he’s read my blog- I don’t muck up my palate with grease before I try the main course.” The plate was so close to him now it was nearly digging into his chest.

He nodded quickly, taking the plate without another word and briskly walking back to the kitchen. You sat back in your seat with a slight scoff.

He thinks he can win you over just like that? How did he even know you would be here?

You picked up your pencil once again, adding a note.

For the chef; Arancini smelt delicious. Didn’t order it, so I didn’t taste it . Presentation wise; 7/10. Pesto looked like it was spooned in the dish a tad bit messy to me.

You smiled to yourself, you knew he’d read the final review once it was posted. And since he wanted to be a little cheater and get a overall higher score since he was trying to weasel you into trying extra dishes- you’d kick his ego down a few extra pegs for fun.

You sat, nursing your drink, adding extra little notes here and there, as well as editing a blog post about Ghost Kitchens you’d been working on and how they were ruining the mobile order industry on the side. You were so engrossed in the work, that you hadn’t even realized someone had approached your table until they cleared their throat awkwardly.

Your gaze slowly travels up, seeing a blue apron covering a white shirt, tattooed hands holding- your meal? Your eyes flicker up to his piercing blue ones. “Chilean Sea Bass” he sets it in front of you. You snort a laugh.

“Hm.” You look around before back at him “These people” you motion to the restaurant. “Other patrons. Which meals of theirs did you bring out- Chef?” You accentuate the last word, it was all too uncommon for a chef to personally bring a meal out to a table.

You swore even in the ambient lighting, his cheeks flushed slightly. “You- uh- you declined, my Arancini. Why?” He asked, holding his hands behind his back, the position making his already toned and tattooed arms appear more muscular. It makes him all the more impressive he has all these tattoos and still made it in this industry. I can only imagine the shit he got for them.

You raise your eyebrows in surprise at his boldness. “Because that’s Cheating. Mr.Berzatto. I’d assume you know my work well. Considering you know what I look like, so- why try to cheat? You know how I feel about appetizers. It’s a scapegoat.” You shrugged, locking your iPad when you realized he’d been peeking at the notes.

“Messy” his eyes narrow. He scoffs a bit, alluding to the note you’d written a short while prior “Messy?” He asks again, you laugh a bit.

“Mmhmm! Oh, was it you chef? Wow…I mean- now that I think about it” you shook your head, now just messing with him since you see how much he was dying to impress you. “I could’ve sworn- the pesto it just..was too loose. Overblended maybe? That’s why it was impossible to plate without making a mess.” You shrugged, cutting up your fish carefully and spreading the vegetables with your knife to observe the cohesivity of the cuts.

He scoffs, “too- too loose?! W-y’know what. No. No. It- you’re gonna try it.” He demands and you look up at him, nearly laughing at the seriousness of his tone.

“That depends. Bring me a pesto worth trying and I’ll think about it. Now” you wave him off casually “I can’t work with the chef over my shoulder. So- Shoo chef don’t bother me” you teased and he shook his head.

“Game on.” He muttered, heading back to the kitchen.

You smiled to yourself, the Arancini absolutely isn’t going into the review. But you’ll humor his ego by trying it.

You cut the fish thoroughly, checking the texture and the evenness of the seasonings slathered on the skin, writing little notes as you go along. The cuts of the vegetables were pristine. Nearly perfect. The only misshapen pieces were clearly cosmetic defects of the vegetable. The chef that cut these was immaculate with a knife.

When you took your first bite, you nearly moaned. The fish was buttery, the skin was crispy, slightly spicy, tangy, the flesh melted in your mouth. The risotto was so cheesy and buttery and wonderful. You could eat this meal every night for the rest of your life and never get sick of it. It was the best Sea bass you’d ever tasted.

You opened your iPad again, jotting down notes about the flavors, the mouth feel, all the usual points you hit in your review.

This meal is a 9.2 out of 10.

You write at the bottom. Very fair score, you never had rated something as a 10. Something being a 10 would be- you don’t even know what it would be. But it would be what the score says, perfection. And while this dish was wonderful, and very very good- it was not perfect. At least to your heavily trained palate.

You finished what you wanted out of the meal, pushing the plate to the side and not soon after, Carmen was back at your table. He placed the plate in front of you, 3 perfectly circular Arancini discs were placed equal distance on the plate, and truly beautiful pesto, sat in the dish alongside it. It frankly was immaculately plated.

“Unbroken pesto. Sorry again, about the last one.” He said, watching you carefully. You hum as you grab your fork, splitting one of the discs and digging out some of the risotto.

“Could be firmer.” You said, eyes flicking to his. He nods, clearing his throat a bit.

“It’s not- uh- it’s”

“Fresh” you finished for him, raising your brows and he nods. “So- since you’re frying it. You cook it for about..a minute- maybe forty seconds less than you usually would.” You said, daintily taking the bite off your fork.

“Heard..” he nodded, waiting for your reaction. You hummed a bit.

“Great balance of parm and butter though. I’ll give you that. Neither overpowers the other, that’s hard to do considering the notes” you added, cutting up the crust and tasting it.

“Mm-“ you scrunch your nose and his face visibly drops. “Mm-mm…no- not peanut oil…why would you do that? It totally overpowers the breadcrumb with this like…cheapy taste. I’d say it would be way better if you fried it in sunflower oil” you added, digging out more of the risotto and dipping it in the pesto before having a bite and humming.

“This though” you point at the little dish of green sauce with your fork. “This is great.” You add and he nods.

“Ok-yeah…ok…” he nods, rubbing his hand over his chin. “Thank y’for trying it.” He said and you nod.

“I’ll be back for a fair assessment. I think I’ll pass on the cannoli tonight, and just get the bill. Thank you” you slipped your pencil in the case before putting your iPad in your bag and holding your hands on the table in front of you.

“Y-y’re coming back” he said, sounding slightly surprised.

You shrugged “well- you clearly want a full review based on your behavior tonight, Chef. So I’ll humor you. I won’t tell you when of course, so just pray that it’s a day like today-“ you paused, looking around. “Where things seem to be running…alright.” You sat back in your chair casually with a small smile.

“I look forward to your review.” He gave a nod and headed back to the kitchen.

It was 3 weeks before you’d decided to return back to The Bear spring had quickly turned to early summer, and you thought you’d given enough time for your little conversation with the head chef to slip his mind.

It was 9:20, 40 minutes before closing. You did promise to come back at a random time, and no time is more random then a Friday night less than an hour before the kitchen closed.

You pulled open the door, stepped in and headed up to the host stand where the same man that originally offered you the Arancini stood. “The picky critic returns.” He said, tapping his pen against the reservation book absentmindedly.

“She does” you smiled a bit.

“Well lucky f’you cousin said you get a table any time, right this way” he leads you to a booth near the back, where you had a perfect view of the restaurant. Much cozier then before, right next to the doors of the kitchen where you could hear the back of house crew buzzing about.

“Same cocktail as last time?” He asked and you raised your brows in slight surprise as you sit.

“No waitress?” You asked, getting comfortable and setting your iPad down next to the empty plate.

“She’ll be over, just figured a friendly offer couldn’t hurt” he said with a small smirk.

You roll your eyes playfully. “House cocktail please, and thank you. But don’t count on kindness boosting your hospitality score-“ you stop, realizing he never gave you his name.

“Richie” he said, sticking his hand out to shake.

“Richie.” You repeat, giving him your firm professional shake.

“House cocktail comin’ up” he said and headed back to the bar. You mulled over the menu, lemon chicken picatta, that sounded like a perfect dish to judge this time around.

A few minutes later, Richie returns, setting the glass down in front of you. “Waitress should be by momentarily, enjoy your meal” he said, heading back to the host stand.

A bit after the waitress came to take your order, the restaurant had begun to die down. You were going to be the last person served tonight it looked like, since in 5 minutes they would stop seating people.

You added additional notes to your section about the cocktail, getting a better photo of it for your blog when you hear a bit of commotion up front.

You look up, to see a woman with curled brown hair in navy blue scrubs, her hands on her hips, talking with Richie with a frustrated look. There were tears in her eyes, you couldn’t help but tune in to their conversation.

“Richie, please let me see him- he- he hasn’t said anything and I…I just need to hear him say it to my face. Please!” She begs, tears were streaming down her face now.

Richie looks around nervously, tugging her to the side so they weren’t standing right in front of the host stand. You lean over just a bit- not so much it would be noticeable, but enough your nosy ears could continue to pick up what was being said.

“Claire. You shouldn’t be here…I’m sorry- he told me-he said that..that you can’t come here anymore. It’s too much and he will apologize when he can find the words. But he can’t. So please before he sees you. Leave” he said softly, attempting to soothingly rub her arm and she jerks away like his touch burned her skin.

“Fuck you, Richie. Get him. Now. I’m not working on his time anymore. This is my time now. I’ve waited around enough for him. I’m done waiting. Either get him yourself? Or I swear to god I’ll go in that kitchen and embarrass the fucking shit out of him” she hissed.

Your eyebrows raised, shit. Whoever fucked her over should at least be warned.

He snorts, clearly amused before stepping back and raising his arms in defeat. “Have at it ClaireBear.” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You think he’s gonna take kindly to you startin’ w’him in his house? Be my guest.” He shrugged, going back over to the host stand.

And then it clicked. She’s here for Carmen.

She laughed dryly, sarcastically, like a woman who’d had it. “You think I’m scared? Richie? You think I’m scared of little Carmy who couldn’t even check out a library book by himself? mm?” She goads him, arms crossed, chest heaving with rage.

His head snaps back to look at her, brows raised in shock. “Kid- I really think you should go calm the fuck down, because Y’re not gonna like the way that this conversation ends w’him- at all.”

And with that, she shoves open the kitchen door. You couldn’t just sit there and not watch- this was the juiciest drama you’d ever been privy to in person, and this means he’s single. You slightly curse yourself for being so giddy that this means the sexy chef would likely be on the market.

Your foot catches the door before it closes, leaning against the frame. She storms in, eyes frantically darting over the kitchen.

“Carmen.” She barks, the entire kitchen stops moving and looks at her, as if they were in shock and awe someone would ever raise their voice to him in such a way.

He rounds the corner, holding a pan of focaccia dough that he nearly drops at the sight of her. He blinks a few times, squeezing his eyes shut as if she’d disappear when he opened them again.

“The fuck are you-“ his eyes meet yours, his face going pale quickly, he looked white as a sheet. “Leave.” He orders her, slamming the dough down on the counter.

“Leave?!” She laughs coldly, “you’re gonna tell me to leave?! You’re a fucking pussy Carmen. A pussy. Y’know- it was charity giving you a chance. Pity work.” She spits and you blink a few times, taken aback by such harsh words.

Is she serious? She thinks anyone could believe dating a super hot, ripped, talented, chef prodigy - that was charity work in any sense of the word?

He scoffs, “Charity?” He chuckled dryly. “Claire- you begged me to fuckin’ be with you! You-you-y’re a fuckin gnat! Claire! You- all you do is-is fuckin’-” he runs his hand through his hair, his chest heaving in anger, “You dont know me, Claire! Alright? There- And I-I-I don’t want you i’m-i’m sorry-”

She laughed, shaking her head, tears streaming down her face. “You-” she whispered, her chest shaking with a sob. “You- fucker- I- I gave you a chance…” she whispered and gripped her wrist sadly. “I- I was there for you, Carmen- when no one else could fucking stand you.” she croaked.

“And I never asked for you too- please- just…leave me alone-” he shook his head. “Leave. Please…just-pretend we never happened, it was a mistake, Claire.” he breathed, clearly utterly defeated, and It sounded like he’d told this girl these same words multiple times.

“M-Mikey would be sick- Carmy, he’d- he’d hate who you’ve become…” she said meekly, and with that- something behind his eyes snapped.

“Claire I’m not DOING THIS I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FUCKIN’ RESTAURANT. WERE OVER. YOU ARE NOTHING TO ME! YOU MEAN NOTHING CLAIRE!” He roars, the veins in his neck popping out, angrily and aggressively pointing to the door. “OUT. get the fuck out. G-get out, b-before I-I-I fuckin- holy fuck” he finds his composure once more, even though his breath was still ragged from his outburst, flicking his hand next to him his entire body trembling with panic.

She looks to her left and right, she’s not that-

Your thoughts were quickly proven wrong, when you see she was stupid enough to grab a pan off the stove to whip at him.

“Aht!” the spanish woman standing a few paces to the right said, quickly grabbing the arm with the pan and twisting it behind her back. “Drop it.” she hissed.

Carmen looks between the two of them, utterly in shock. “Y-y’were gonna hit me?” He asked her, face twisting in rage. “Fuck you. Fuck you Claire.” He seethed, taking the pan from his employees grasp and tossing it in the sink with a loud clatter.

“Get the fuck out” you told her, grabbing her from the handle of the woman who’d stopped the assault, shoving her towards the kitchen door and into the front of the restaurant. “Y’re a fuckin crazy bitch.” You laughed dryly, giving her a hard shove for good measure.

“Oh and who are you” she straightened herself out, pushing her bag up on her shoulder. “Doesn’t matter. Glad to see that Carmy still needs someone to protect him. I’ll gladly give up that spot.” she said, causing you to laugh.

“Oh my god- you are pathetic. He just spelt it clear as day sweetheart- you are over. O-v-e-r. He doesn’t want you babe! And no, he doesn’t need my protection- I was enjoying dinner and apparently a show until you went batshit bitch.” You snip, plopping back down at your booth.

She scoffed “he doesn’t want anyone. The only thing he wants - is to remain miserable. Good fucking luck, whoever you are.” She said before stomping out.

“Yo she was really gonna throw somethin?” Richie asked as he walked over. Thankfully, it was just you, him, and the bartender in the front of the restaurant.

You nod “thankfully she didn’t realize I was there- Carmen would have had a nasty burn, and a concussion.” You said, taking a large sip of your drink.

Carmen comes out, eyes meeting yours immediately. “Fuck- I- don’t worry y’re meal is comped and don’t…don’t worry about a review, i’m sorry- I-I guess it wasn't in the cards f’r us to be featured on y’r blog... I’m really so sorry… Shes- ah..” he rubs his arm nervously, trying to find the words.

“A woman scorned” You teased, and he snorts a laugh, nodding a bit.

“Hell hath no fury, right?” He joked, sighing a bit. “It’s uh…it’s my fault I guess…I uh- I should’ve dealt with that…I've been putting it off” he said and you nod a bit.

“You off the clock?” you looked at your phone for the time, 10:07.

“Shit- fuck- sorry- I’m so sorry- give me like- I was making y’r food…and then-” you shook your head, stopping him.

“No- No…I was uh-Asking to see if you maybe wanted to..have a drink with me? Not-not like…professionally…” you shrugged, stirring your half full cocktail with the bar straw that floated in it.

“Sure- uh…sure- I’d like that lemme..lemme go change, i’ll be right out” he nodded, heading back into the kitchen.

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quinton-reviews · 10 months ago

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Hi Quinton!! I have been a HUGE fan of your stuff since a friend sent me the Tobuscus Fallen Titans (I used to watch him back in high school and was like "huh, wonder what happened to him after those allegations") and I gotta say, it is REALLY FUNNY every time my fiancé and I watch the iCarly videos again, because when you cover Gibby's stunt double breaking his ribs, you cut to a clip of The Official Podcast. I used to play D&D with one of the main dudes from the podcast, so when he talks during that clip I do a goddamn double take literally every time.

Anyways, I remember an original Patreon stretch goal being a Fallen Titans on Homestuck! I was really big into Homestuck in my early 20s, and was wondering if that's still on the table at some point? If not that's fine, I understand plans change! I just love Fallen Titans lol, the Fred episode and the Neil Cicierega unFallen Titans are some of my favorite videos of yours!

That's a real funny story!

So here's the rundown on the Homestuck video. When I first started making long videos, they were actually inspired by the relationship I had with other YouTubers at the time. I used to watch, like, H3H3 and Filthy Frank, etc; and I'd always see people obsessed with the versions of creators from the past. Like, "Oh 2015 H3 was the best" and "Oh 2012 Frank was peak." So I had this idea that it would be crazy if H3 posted, like, a video he spent a decade on and you got a new video with 2015 H3 10 years on. (I don't watch H3 anymore ironically)

So the original idea for the "long video" format was that it would be cool if, throughout a long, analysis/review/recap video, you kept noticing someone get older. Maybe my months, maybe by years. That's why I always like to get a haircut when I start one of these videos. If you scrub through and you see my hair get longer and messier as it goes on I think that adds something magical you can't fake.

So... My pitch to the Homestuck video was that it would be funny to work on it just once per year. To record one segment, say "That's it for 12 months", and then come back around to it. And when I was making the iCarly and Victorious videos I actually recorded a few minutes of the video! I think it was two segments in total. But then I had a bunch of personal stuff happen and my work drive has been much lower, so any "back burner" video hasn't gotten much attention since then.

Now that the iCarly mini-series is done with, I want to focus on some short one-off videos I can make before April. But once that's done with, I would REALLY love to start work on a few more long-term projects which will take months or years to finish. I think returning to work on the Homestuck video, to at least get the first 20-30 minutes done, would be a great idea this summer.

Now, if you want to know my pitch for that video, here it is. The video is not a recap of the creative history of the franchise. I do not get into drama, community hell, lawsuits, or other YouTubers. My idea is this: you always hear about Homestuck as an outsider but you never hear about the actual content. Most franchises on Earth I know something about, even and especially if I've never been interested in them. I can tell you a bunch of facts about wrestling and MLP and the Fast and the Furious simply through cultural osmosis and having friends who are into those things.

I can't tell you the plot of Homestuck, who the characters are, what the themes are, nothing. I've known a lot of people who were into Homestuck but nothing about the series!

So I thought it would thus be funny to make a video about a bunch of people who know nothing about the series starting from the beginning and giving their reactions, even if it's been years since it all started. I call this part of the video the "Homestuck Book Club." So the next step is me picking out the members (who all have to have no history with it) and making sort of a podcast setup. We'd then read and record every six months or so, IDK.

This is why the video has been stuck in production hell! Everyone who wants to work on it and messages me about it already knows the franchise. I don't want spoilers, I don't want people writing for the video who get it already. I want to capture the "what the fuck is this" energy of three dudes just getting in the middle of it.

Also, I think that I really like the theme of the video capturing our lives as they go by, capturing us aging and changing. If you came back from the future and told me this video comes out in five years, I'd say great. If you told me it comes out in ten years, I'd say awesome. Until then, the latest edit will always be on Patreon, even if you have to dig a little.

#homestuck #quinton reviews #long videos

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thenamesblurrito · 2 months ago

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so. Transformers ONE was a good movie

i HIGHLY recommend going in blind, i do think it's incredibly effective with as few spoilers as possible beforehand! seeing it on the big screen is really really nice too, i encourage you to watch it in theaters without reading up on it first if you can!

long full-spoiler review and dissection of elements below (i reached the text block limit a couple times oops):

general stuff:

gorgeous. just genuinely visually gorgeous. so many details, colors, textures, everything was so beautiful. the stylization itself may not be my favorite but it was executed so well that i ended up loving it. their optics! their colors! their movement! the way the visuals serve the lore and the story is extremely well done too, i felt like everything i was seeing was deliberate, relevant, and a treat for the audience instead of just "ooo visual noise look at how powerful our cgi rendering is" (which is how i felt about the "live action" Lion King prequel(????) ad they showed before). all the little cameos and repaints and everything in the background? mwah. GORGEOUS MUSIC TOO AAAA THE WAY THAT TFP'S MOTIF IS IN THERE AAAA

the visual effects and action, the way they USED their roboticness/transformation sequences/vehicle modes in fighting and moving and emoting, it was VERY GOOD. Orion grabs a Death Tracker and RIPS THEM INTO PIECES BY TRANSFORMING AROUND THEM AND FORCING THEIR FRAME TO SHATTER. insanity

this is ABSOLUTELY the origin story movie the fandom has wanted. even if it wasn't your preferred origin story, this movie SHONE with love and respect for the franchise and drew on so many influences to craft a powerful version of the beginning we all wanted to see

in some ways i wish we had more, i think it would've been extremely effective to see things expanded upon, especially D-16's emotional descent and maybe some more Quints. actually looking at the content and pacing of the movie though, and the audience it's aimed at, i don't think there's anything they should've cut in favor of other stuff. i understand why it wasn't dwelt on more, but hooooo i would've liked to see Dee breaking apart a little more thru the middle of the film. apparently the novelization has more scenes of this and i would love to read it

i had so much fun watching this movie. it was a rollercoaster. it was a TREAT. i was sitting there enjoying every second both times i saw it because it was a good film that rewarded me greatly for being a Transformers fan, giving me so many easter eggs and injokes, while also being perfectly understandable and fun for a complete newbie. excellently balanced appeal to old and new fans alike

there was no wink to the audience about how stupid and childish a movie about robots is, there was no lampshading of how silly sci fi is, there was no betrayal of the emotional tone of the film. so many stories now kneecap themselves by mocking their very concept, and the audience watching them, in a very cinema sins-style irony poisoned way. this movie never does that. its humor is fitting, its drama is real, its emotion is all SINCERE and i love how i was never mocked by any part of the movie for engaging with it sincerely

this movie loved being a Transformers movie

anyways. specific stuff:

love how Wheeljack managed to explode everything despite not even being a scientist. he's just THAT good

THE INJOKES AND REFERENCES. "you don't have the touch OR the power." calling them Gobots. the corny More Than Meets The Eye bits. "don't be a glitch" is a headcanon swear i've been using for years now and they canonized it!! "High Guard, eject". "paging doctor Ratchet." the new take on "all are one". the really interesting way that the term Transformers is an actual significant in-universe name, and how Orion and Dee ARE NOT Transformers at first!

the sheer number of cameos is ASTOUNDING. what an excellent mix of masc/fem designs too, they really made it normal on this Cybertron which i appreciate! apparently Blurr exists here, his name was on the leaderboard!!!!!! good job Chromia i am so proud of you for winning. and the shots of the bots getting cogs at the end was aaAAA!!! <<33 my HEART! Jazz's little smile looking at his new doorwings!!

I GOT ALL MY SILLY OLD DEMIGOD FAVES I GOT THE THIRTEEN EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM AAAAAA ALPHA TRION MY GRANDPA god i'm so sorry you're dead but i can't believe you showed up on the big screen <<333 you and your rockin rhino unicorn lion alt mode. and your superpowers. god you're so cool. "old timer" NUH UH HE'S STILL BETTER THAN YOU!!!!! using Zeta for the thirteenth was an interesting choice! i did think he was Overlord for a hot second. it's the lips. Solus wasn't fridged by virtue of everyone else died too yippee!! ALSO MEGATRONUS THE COOLEST ONE WOOOO HES NOT JUST A FIERY EVIL GUY!!!!

the way Dee himself was, in a way, the Fallen of this continuity.... 😭

the way Sentinel was handcrafting his downfall with each touch of the blowtorch. carving the sigil of the Decepticons into the one who will kill him. dooming Cybertron in a moment of petty mockery. AND HE DOESN'T EVEN DRAW IT WELL IT'S LIKE A MESSY CRAYON DRAWING CMON

planetformer Primus in a blockbuster movie? CANONICAL EXPLICITLY STATED PLANETARY ROBO MPREG BIRTH IN THE FIRST FIVE MINUTES???? THEY USE THE WORD BIRTH. BORN. we are never escaping the reproductive insanity in this franchise

Shockwave you whiny tantrum throwing wuss. let Elita beat him up more. it's good for him. also love how that could be construed as a ref to her G1 resistance force

CASUAL MIND READER SOUNDWAVE???????

Elita was perfect, no notes. i would not like her if i met her but i respect her so much. she really is better in every way and down to business. Best First indeed

so much cool implications and fascinating timeline confusion. 50 cycles since the Primes were slaughtered? the way Sentinel leveraged their reputation to make himself beloved, casting himself as their peer? the way he didn't choose to villainize them, the way he apparently openly admitted to the loss of the Matrix and how it impacted the planet? when did cog theft start, and how old is Orion since in the novelization it states his entire generation is cogless? who remembers the og Primes? who is in the know about it all?? hoooghhghhh fascinating.

the implication that the High Guard worked with the og Primes?? the possibility STARSCREAM was a loyal guard for Cybertron's DEMIGODS????

okay i was not expecting a backstory for STARSCREAM'S VOICE in this movie but holy. god. the shippers will be going insane over this one. hoogh holy fit. what is wrong with you. the utter contradiction of being both an instigator and a coward when he gets in over his head and immediately backpedals

also obviously this is the I Love Divorce movie and megop shippers will be having a field day but i DEEPLY appreciate just how solid a friendship Dee and Orion have and how badly they fall apart, even thru a strictly platonic lens. i also appreciate how there was no forced comphet attraction/romance!! i was dreading the possibility of it, i mean Oplita was RIGHT THERE but they didn't force it at all thank youuuuuu. i would rather have this dynamic with its zero intended romance than awkward, OOC attraction shoehorned in to detract from the plot

Bee was actually good! like yeah he's def the kid appeal character and i prefer it when he's in a younger gen and not OP's peer, but he was wayyyyy less annoying than i was expecting! i think he fit the movie and did his job in it well, and i absolutely laughed at him multiple times. "i get to work for the GOVERNMENT! :DDDD" bee. please. the fact that he's been going insane and desperate after isolation for so long really helps make his character work instead of being just irritating

Airachnid you are so cool. you are TOO COOL. PLEASE TONE DOWN YOUR COOLNESS. i adore how she is not good at facial expressions thank you evil autism moments. love how her signature move is stabbystabbystabbystabbystabbystabby

Sentinel. god. Sentinel. SENTINEL!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i need to draw him getting ripped in half. it's like they distilled the worst parts of every single iteration and combined them into a SuperBad version. horrifically realistic kind of guy. i love to hate him. real Metro Man from Megamind energy. and megachurch pastor energy. the IRONY that Orion and Dee were probably actually helping him, that he was probably being genuine in the medbay when he said he loved what they did by racing, that he may have been honest when he said he was gonna have them fixed up in his own facilities and had them tour the mines! because them racing increased energon production by 150% and Sentinel needed that!!! he needed that for the Quintessons!!! i think he was being genuine when he first met Dee and Orion and then Darkwing ruined everything!!!

Darkwing is the curly straw of this continuity

the Quintessons were hoooooooooooooooo. whoooooooooogh. hoohhhhhhhhhhhh. the biomechanical. the shapes. the textures. eugh. icky. creepy. excellent. the way their ships looked like the Nemesis. the way they're STILL a looming threat. i wanted to see more of them but i get why the movie wasn't about them. i hope we see more in the future

the way Orion is the kind of guy who, in an attempt to be selfless, keeps making selfish or thoughtless decisions was SO INTERESTING. it set up the dynamic of his and Dee's friendship very well, with Orion always wanting the best for his buddy but ultimately overwriting or ignoring what Dee says!! the way Dee clings to the social contract of protocol for safety because that's all he knows and his ANGER when it's broken, even when it's Orion breaking it, because that's not SAFE it's an UNKNOWN it has CONSEQUENCES WHEN YOU DEVIATE. and then it's revealed that the social norms have been a lie the whole time and Sentinel has "broken protocol" more than ever and Dee has no safety left because it was always broken. Orion wanted to be more, he could feel there was more. Dee just wanted security

Dee spent so much of the movie complaining and arguing and it was very funny and good characterization but it was also a hint at how much bitterness was under there the whole time. so much of his complaints were threats of violence. he always had Orion's back and then when he learns the truth he abruptly. stops. do you notice he doesn't really have Orion's back after this? he's no longer by his side? he's there, but he's not... there. he was the first to shoot an enemy and took joy in it. all of his emotions were so justified and then what he does with them is what makes it a tragedy. he didn't have to do this. augh

i really, really like the fact that they managed to pull off the ending without it fully turning into a "boohoo if we do anything violent we're as bad as the bad guys waaaa". the specific phrasing of "rebuilding cannot start with an execution" went HARD. and it's demonstrated in their actions too like, Dee was out for REVENGE and it was PERSONAL, Orion was fighting for JUSTICE and it was UNIVERSAL. Sentinel was beaten, everyone knew the truth. it was over. but Dee in his (very justified!) anger and broken trust was too overcome to back down. they were given the power to change their worlds, but Dee was thinking only of his world. Orion was thinking of everyone

ironic that as soon as Orion starts thinking of other people and considering what they need instead of forging ahead, Dee decides to center his own feelings and actions to the point of murder. even after Sentinel was dead, he just kept shooting, he did NOT AT ALL care that some of those shots were clearly hurting innocent civilians/going wide and shooting out into the city/damaging actual important infrastructure and not just Sentinel statues. i believe it's Bee who said "he's gonna kill everyone" and he proves it by attacking Elita and saying "I won't stop until every last one of his followers is dead". THE FACT THAT HE FELL SO FAR AS TO SEE ELITA, HIS PEER AND FELLOW FREEDOM FIGHTER WHO WAS THERE WORKING AGAINST SENTINEL WITH HIM FROM THE START OF THIS QUEST, AS ONE OF SENTINEL'S FOLLOWERS.... by the end of it, Dee really was nothing but blind anger

and the way kneeling was a common thread!!!!! aaaaaaa. Sentinel betrayed the world by kneeling to the enemy. Dee won respect by refusing to kneel. Orion gained followers by willingly kneeling to his peers. hooghh

Orion jumping and stumbling and falling this whole movie because he just THROWS himself into things because he BELIEVES in things, he's the one to take leaps of faith, to take that step out into the unknown! and Dee refusing to save him as one final nail in the coffin, so clearly feeling like Orion jumping in front of the blast was yet ANOTHER way Orion is forcing his hand, corralling him into doing something he thinks is best but did not consult him on, finally FINALLY saying NO and leaning in to the tragedy!! and in the exact same way Sentinel handcrafted his enemy in Dee, Dee has now handcrafted his enemy in Orion!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA and now that Orion took that last leap of faith and fell, now is when he RISES. ONE SHALL FALL AND ONE SHALL RISE. god. it reminds me of Spiderverse, the way they use falling and rising

the way the tragedy is worse for how well everyone was working together.... for one shining moment, the miners and the High Guard, the rescue mission, it was going so well. they were doing it. they were winning. it didn't have to turn to slaughter. if there was to be an execution it should've been by trial, by the voice of the people, not Dee deciding for Cybertron as Sentinel decided what truth was. augh.

in an abruptly different note, the way they have characters move and fly is so cool. i love the jetpacks. i love how flight is not "flyer" exclusive. it's fascinating and i think really fitting for the general city of Iacon itself. all those towers going up and down

THE TRAINS!! THE MOVING ROADS!! HOW COOL IS THAT!! LOOK AT THAT WORLDBUILDING IM OBSESSED WITH THIS CYBERTRON HOOGH. this movie was VERY good at building a rich, functional world of detail and making it very alien in a way i want to chew on forever. the moving mountains and greebled energon mines. the living planet. the deer!!! ooghghh. PRIMUS LOOKS LIKE A STAR

i do like this Primus actually, yeah it was a deus ex machina but that's the POINT. Optimus himself is an act of god and his presence heralds miracles. Dee couldn't bring justice to Cybertron because justice is restoration. justice is healing what was hurt and doing right by the wronged. yes that often means consequences upon the perpetrator but that's NOT what Dee was doing, he wasn't even THINKING of anyone else!! would killing Sentinel get ppl out of the mines? would it restore their cogs? would it bring equality to a clearly oppressive society? like he LIVED this (cogless bots with limited options, the talk of tiers as if they are social castes you can be demoted from, lower city levels where ppl can be banished, etc) but it was Orion who ultimately addressed this. i'm sorry if it feels like insult to injury to rub his Primacy in your face, Megatron, but stealing a cog just like Sentinel and declaring the age of Primes over, when it was the age of Primes ending that made you cogless and oppressed in the first place, is only an extension of your trauma, anger, and violence, and is not solving the problem!

a cog stolen from him at birth! and then he steals it from Sentinel in symbolic revenge, stolen again, but even that wasn't Sentinel's, it was stolen too! the way he discards the cog from Onyx, willingly gifted to him, to continue the trend of desecrating the dead! man. MAN. the name he took, the cog he took, the symbol he took, all from his hero, the one he looked up to, the coolest Prime, and THEN DECLARED THE AGE OF PRIMES OVER

the gilded pompous showmanship of it all was so gross, the way Sentinel's face was everywhere, the way he had instant access to everyone in Iacon via announcements that took over the media. but this was clearly derived from the previous Primes!! we see their statues, we see their stately tower, and unless Sentinel had all that built in "mourning" (which is totally plausible imho) he was really just setting himself up as an inheritor of that hyperwealthy standard! we don't know anything about the rule of the og Primes beyond that they're favorably remembered and loved (possibly because of propaganda but i think it was also genuine) and that they may have been losing the Quint war (considering that info was from jerkwad supreme i find it suspect) but just by comparison to Sentinel i think they HAD to be better rulers. there weren't cogless bots forced to mine for 20 shifts in a row back then!!! Sentinel is stealing their aesthetic as if that gets him the same power and acclaim. he's trying to steal their legitimacy. he paints himself across the face of Iacon to hide the fact the planet itself went into a coma because of him. he has ALWAYS been rejected. i call him a megachurch pastor but really symbolically i could say he's a fallen angel, and his visual design really fits too

i'm coming back to the deus ex machina thing bc i know it may be considered weak in a plot construction sense but i want to engage with it as literal. like, there is a literal in-universe god in the machine. they know it. they worship it, at least a little bit. i would consider this story to be analogous to Prince of Egypt, in that the deific is a real and tangible character with impact on the plot, and not a meta excuse to save the day. Orion made his choice, and as a result Primus made HIS choice. it's not necessarily a happy ending but if even Megatron acknowledges that GOD mandated this guy to be a Prime and the planet itself responds by COMING BACK TO LIFE.... i keep thinking of it like a cityspeaker, how they're the ones who commune with Titans to know their needs and tell them what needs to be done. is a Prime just the cityspeaker of Cybertron, able to help it remain healthy and functional?

the divine right to rule is REAL on Cybertron. you can like it or not but you have to contend with that when discussing fair leadership, political accountability, and representation of the masses re: Cybertronian government and Primacy

god i'm still so obsessed with the Thirteen i need to see them better i need to look at them. i love them. insane. i really need to invest in a chewtoy

also i know it may be a throwaway line but i'm very curious why Primus had to transform and sacrifice himself to save the universe. Unicron, maybe???

also how did Alpha Trion narrate the archival stuff telling the fake story of how the Primes died and the Matrix was lost. did Sentinel get a deepfake of his voice?? is that part of how he made the transition to power?? AUGH THE DISRESPECT KEEPS COMPOUNDING

Alpha Trion. my blorbo. my old man. holding you so tight. like an ancient rescue dog. im gonna groom you and give you treats and buy the biggest plushest dog bed from costco for you

anyways

good movie, guys

#transformers #tf one #tf one spoilers #macaddam #i loved it. mwah. yeehaw yippee excellent wooooo #ew canon

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lunarw0rks · 1 year ago

Note

Hi! Is it possible to get an imagine where Ghost accidently walks in on reader changing (they're together and reader doesn't mind) but Ghost kinda freaks out and insists he can wait outside until they're done. I feel like with his past he'd constantly worry about invading people's privacy/violating them in anyway, so maybe just some fluffy reassuring him that he's ok and he makes reader feel safe? Sorry if that's a lot 🫶

༄ Poise | Simon Riley

Warning(s): !!brief references to ghost's trauma/SA!!, established relationship, mentions of sex/nudity, hurt/comfort, angst to fluff, gn!reader

₊˚ෆˎˊ˗ Word Count: 1.2k ꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST // have a request? ˗ˏˋ ASK BOX ˎˊ- ♡‧₊˚✧˖ 「 AO3 VER. 」 A/N: Tried my best to handle this topic respectfully. Definitely an underused, under-discussed part of Ghost's character.

Simon Riley was a complicated man, to say the least.

But he never intended to let his complications rub off on you — no matter how much suffering he voicelessly endured to ensure that.

Whether it was weeks into the relationship or months, his walls were still standing tall. Certain things: he just couldn't do with you. Reviewing old photographs of himself, going to a park where children run joyously with their parents, nor could he do anything to invade your privacy.

To you, your involvement with him was at a pivotal point. Where there wasn't a need to be bashful around the other and withhold the petty grievances.

Though, Simon's skeletons were anything but quaint.

There was weight to them; weight you only bore a measly tinge of. He never told you details, only bits and pieces of what he had been through. Those serious talks were scarce and short-lived — forgettable, even, if it weren't for the woeful nature of his past memories.

『 ♡ 』 • 『 ♡ 』 • 『 ♡ 』 • 『 ♡ 』

Per usual, he had gotten up long before you. It was a typical sight; laying in the empty bed unsure if Simon was even home, because of his default stealth. Even though you knew he wasn't beside you, your fingers outstretched to his side, palming the sheets that had gone cold in his absence.

With a drowsy sigh, you peeled back the plush comforter, revealing the remnants of the lustful night before. Or, the lack of remnants, considering you were still rid of your clothes.

Through the curtains, the risen sun engulfed the shared bedroom, illuminating its lackluster decor — at least on his portion of it. Little decor, no pictures or clutter out, clothes folded and hung neatly as he would with his uniforms on base.

After a few minutes of gathering your strength, you climbed out of bed and approached the dresser, giving your fatigued eyes a rub. You dug through the clothing piles until you found an outfit suitable for a slothful day in with him.

You set the pickings on the edge of the bed. Following, you were slipping into a fresh pair of undergarments, listening intuitively for any sound of your lover, which wasn't an easy task.

Simon ambled up the staircase, on his way to the ensuite washroom to retrieve the watch he took off to shower. In his mind, you were still fast asleep, especially after last night. His fingers clamped around the knob, opening it with slowness.

In a matter of seconds, he was poisoned with a sensation of unbearable discomfort, as well as disgust towards himself. Seeing you, nude and vulnerable rather than slumbering in the bed.

"Shit, I'm sorry, love." Unlike before, he handled the door with haste — closing it like he had just walked in on a stranger.

Your mouth remained slightly agape with bafflement, paired with a feeling of unease for him. You were only changing, and it wasn't the first time he had seen you undressed. This wasn't a little hiccup in the day, nor an off-beat moment that you could laugh at later on.

Something gravely upset him, and it wasn't your bare skin.

Quicker than before, you changed into the remainder of your outfit. As well as fixing up the rest of your appearance; an excuse to figure out how to approach the subject.

You exited the bedroom, giving the door a gentle close. No sign of Simon down the hall, not in the living room, either. You checked the office next, finding nothing but another uninhabited space. Lastly, you crept through the kitchen with wary arms folded across your chest.

Then, you caught a glimpse of Simon's unstirring silhouette through the window. Slouched while sitting on the steps of the deck; a thousand-mile stare into the garden.

He didn't flinch when the patio door shut behind him, not even when you sat beside him on the steps.

"This isn't about me being naked, is it?" You spoke into the crisp mid-morning air, feeling the unforgiving bite of it overwhelm your exposed skin and lips.

Simon scoffed at your poor attempt to lighten the bleak mood, giving you a brief glance. If only things— if only he were that uncomplicated. "No, it's not you. Nothing like that."

You nod your head, trusting that his blunt nature wouldn't allow him to stifle a thing as serious as that. If he truly wasn't attracted to you or your frame, you wouldn't be resting your head on his shoulder.

For a few minutes; the conversation stopped. Only the occasional passing car in the distance or an animal or insect chirping. The leaves blew gently, until the breeze eventually found the both of you, sending a bitter, unforgiving autumn wind.

The silence was fine; it was common with him. But it wasn't fine when you knew he was swallowed by sorrowful thoughts.

"Can I..." You began, still keeping your head pressed firmly against his solid shoulder. "Can I ask what's wrong? Why you wouldn't stay in the room?" Asking what happened was too far, and you were already walking a narrow line. He wouldn't hold it against you if you got too invasive, but that wasn't a chance you wanted to even consider.

Simon's flashbacks hadn't ceased for a minute. Not since he shut the bedroom door behind him and sat out here.

The worst part? None of it was your fault. It had nothing to do with your bare skin, not even him catching a glimpse of it. His inner voice had him convinced he overstepped; that he made you feel used and violated by proxy.

He sighed heavily, saying a thousand words with a mere exhale. "Things you don't need to hear, sweetheart. Trust me on that." That was one way of putting it lightly, considering the gravity of what he had endured years ago.

"Listen, Simon," your fingers roamed along his shoulders, caressing down his back, careful to avoid the scars he didn't want you to touch. "I feel the pain you walk around with, I do. Every moment we're together, it doesn't rest."

He nodded his head slowly, closing his eyes for a moment to absorb the bleed of your words. You weren't sugarcoating the rawness of how his past affected you, nor were you judging him for it.

"But you didn't hurt me, alright? You did nothing wrong." Your voice couldn't have reached deeper. The tightening of his chest had uncoiled a bit, soothing his silent episode of derealization.

Simon's shaky fingers found your cheek, caressing against your chilled flesh with a tender firmness, "don't think I deserve you and that bleeding heart."

Your brows knitted with benevolence, returning the same gloomy gaze his amber eyes were emitting. Following his words, you shook your head, gripping his wrists gently.

"You do deserve it," you retorted gently, "nobody makes me feel safe like you do." You had never said something more truthful. He really did make you feel safe, in every sense. Intimately, romantically, even just as another human being you decided to spend your time with.

"C'mere." Simon murmured, shortly before nudging your head in the direction of his lap, allowing you to lay against him completely.

Whether he believed you or not, that didn't matter. All that mattered was that he hit the jackpot with you. Someone who didn't tip the scale, who didn't need to be privy to his every sorrow.

You were there purely to be there for him, expectant of no rewards or praises — though Simon would definitely give them soon enough.

In his own, deeply complicated, way.

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bookworm551 · 1 year ago

Text

Take the Edge Off | Part 8 | Pillow Talk

You finally get a quiet moment of quality time with Miguel.

A/N: wooooooow It’s been a hot minute. I feel like I’m coming back to my neopets after abandoning them for years. Tbh I just needed to take a break, I’ve been working and going to school, so it’s been a lot. Anyways, I’ve come back to feed you before disappearing again for an unknown amount of time. Also, this is pretty self indulgent ngl, so this is for the praise kink girlies. Enjoy <3

Warnings: smut, overstimulation, the usual

Word count: 6.8k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 9 Part 10

You woke up slowly the next morning. The soft light that flooded into the room caused you to stir lazily from your dreamless sleep. You stretched with a deep yawn, feeling a dull a soreness in your arms and shoulders that reminded you of all the things you had done with Miguel the night before.

You shifted under the covers and blinked your bleary eyes open. As your vision adjusted, you registered the figure of Miguel asleep next to you. He was positioned on his stomach with his face half-way buried in his pillow, and his back moved up and down slowly with his deep, even breaths. He had his arms tucked under his pillow, and there were some loose strands of hair that had fallen over his face. It took every ounce of your strength to not brush it aside for fear that you would wake him and break this quiet moment together.

You watched him for a second with a soft smile. Laying on your side, you admired his resting face. This was the first time you had ever woken up with him still there next to you. Every other time he had either left immediately or after you had fallen asleep. It was a nice change, and as you lay there quietly, you couldn't help but wish you woke up like this every day.

"I can feel you staring," Miguel grumbled quietly, startling you out of your reverie. You smiled sheepishly as he blinked his eyes open to look at you. They were still bleary with sleepiness, and his soft gaze warmed your chest.

"I didn't realize you were up," you stated, your own voice hoarse from sleep. He let out a little huff before closing his eyes again, not saying anything in return. "How long have you been awake?" You asked quietly. He sighed, not opening his eyes. "I woke up with your tossing and turning about 20 minutes ago," he replied finally.

You hummed and offered softly, "Sorry." You had gained a reputation in your life as a restless sleeper, and apparently, it didn’t matter how much he had worn you out the night before. "It's fine," Miguel grunted as he shifted and rolled onto his back. "I should've been up earlier than that."

You smiled. You were glad he had chosen to stay here, to let you see him like this. Knowing he was a busy man, it meant a lot to you. "Full schedule today?" you asked.

Miguel sighed, running a hand down his face. "The briefing for our mission is at noon," he said. "After that, I've got a stack of reports I need to review." That sounded boring to you, but you couldn't help but grin at his words: our mission. You had almost forgotten that he added you to the team, and the notion of working with Miguel again excited you.

"Who else is on the team?" You asked casually, fighting a lazy yawn as you stretched out next to him.

"I don't think you know all of them," he stated. You hummed and replied, "Well, who would I know?" He paused a second to consider. "Me, a handful of Peters," he began. "Malala, Jess, and she's been asking to bring Gwen, too."

You rolled over onto your side, resting your head on your hand with a smirk. "Me," you added smugly. Miguel rolled his eyes. "You," he conceded. "And I think that's it."

You gave a short, thoughtful hum. There was one name you noticed was missing from the list, someone you thought deserved to be on the team as well. You knew trying to change the roster would upset Miguel, but you couldn't ignore the gut feeling you had telling you that there was one more person who should be added to the mission.

Miguel seemed to notice that you were thinking about something. "What?" He questioned, an eyebrow raised suspiciously. You looked up at him and smiled reluctantly. "You're not gonna like it," you told him. His dark eyes narrowed. "What?" He repeated, sounding even more suspicious than before.

"Promise you won't be mad?" You asked. "No," he responded evenly. "You probably piss me off more than anyone here."

You chuckled at that. "That's probably true," you admitted, moving closer to him as you did. He had a few faint scars that were littered across his shoulders and chest, and you began absently tracing your fingers over them.

After a quiet second, he prompted gently, "What is it?"

You didn't reply for a moment as your fingers danced over the faint lines on his skin. Finally, you looked back up at his face and found he was gazing down at you expectantly. With a sigh, you finally said, "You need to add Ben to the team."

Miguel's face hardened immediately. "No," he replied sharply. You sighed again. "I already know what you're gonna say," you stated. Miguel huffed an irritated breath. "He's the reason we're in this mess. He's the reason this anomaly has been able to cause all that damage."

"That wasn't his fault," you defended gently. "It could have happened to anyone, and I know how badly he wants to make it right." Miguel scoffed, and he sat up from the bed. "Nothing he can do will bring back Earth-2319," he stated sharply. "All those lives are gone forever."

He turned his body to step out of bed, and you sat up with him, allowing the covers to slip off your bare torso. You had known he would to be upset by your suggestion, but you didn't want this to turn into an argument.

Reaching a hand out, you gently grabbed his shoulder to keep him from leaving. "And don't you think he knows that?" You pointed out softly. "Can't you imagine how terrible he feels?"

Miguel felt tense under your palm, and he didn't reply. You were afraid that he was going to shrug you off, and you wouldn't have blamed him. You could still remember his haunted gaze when he came to you after the loss of Earth-2319. This mission was personal for him, and you knew Miguel wasn't going to do anything he thought would jeopardize it.

After a silent second, he sighed heavily, and his stiff shoulders sagged under your hand. "I don't have to imagine," he muttered quietly.

A taut silence followed his words. The air around you suddenly felt fragile, and you were afraid of breathing for fear of breaking it. You didn't know what he was referring to, and you wanted desperately to ask, but it seemed almost disrespectful to do so. So instead, you waited.

Miguel seemed to sense your curiosity and breathed out another sigh. "When I first traveled across the multiverse," he began slowly, "I found something I wanted—badly. I thought it was harmless, so...I decided to take it for myself."

You closed your eyes regretfully, understanding that what he was implying broke the canon of that universe. You shifted your body closer to the edge of the bed so you could see his face. His eyes were downcast with the memory replaying in his head, a faraway look on his face.

"I didn't know what would happen until it was too late," he finished softly.

You let his words hang in the air for a moment before taking the hand that was still resting on his shoulder, raising it up to cup his cheek, and turning his face toward yours. His eyes were still fixed downward, but he allowed himself to be guided by your hand.

"You didn't know any better," you said finally. "You can't blame yourself for what you didn't know." He let out a small huff and turned his face away from you again, pulling away from your hand. "It was reckless and stupid," he muttered. "I was stupid."

"You weren't stu—"

"I destroyed a universe," he snapped, his eyes finally flashing up to your face. Grief and anger were etched in his face, and in his eyes, you saw the same pain the night after Earth-2319 was lost. You realized now how much worse it must have been for him that day, and your chest ached for him.

"I understand," you whispered softly. "And I’m sorry, I didn't know." He scoffed. "It's not exactly something I brag about," he stated darkly. "And it's not something I ever plan on repeating. I can't afford to be wrong. Being wrong costs lives."

You didn't say anything for a moment, and Miguel’s shoulders slumped in defeat. There was that quiet openness again, the subtle vulnerability that seemed to be showing more and more. He obviously meant what he said, and you understood that his words came from painful experience.

Your hand raised up to rest on his bare chest, and your thumb brushed his skin gently. "You can't put it all on yourself," you whispered to him. "Nobody is that strong." Miguel didn't reply for a second before whispering back, "I have to be."

You sighed quietly and shook your head. "No, you don't," you insisted. "That's why you have all of us. Jess, Peter, me, everyone—we're all here for you."

Miguel had been staring at the ground as you spoke, but his eyes moved up to meet yours at your last sentence. His gaze was piercing, almost overwhelming. It made you almost nervous to say what you were going to say, but you held his stare as you emphasized your next words: "I'm here for you."

Your statement hovered in the air, leaving the silence that followed to rest heavy around you. Your chest tightened anxiously as Miguel stared at you wordlessly. His eyes were impossible to read. Had you gone too far? You knew he didn't want a relationship. Were your words too close to a confession?

Finally, your worries were allayed when Miguel leaned in and pressed his lips to yours in a tender kiss. It was different than the passionate way he usually made out with you when you were fucking. This was slow, like he was taking his time just to appreciate how your lips felt against his. It almost felt like a token of gratitude.

"You make it easier," he whispered when he finally broke away from your mouth. Your chest swelled as you smiled softly at him. “Good,” you replied quietly. “That’s what I’m here for.” A small smile cracked the grave expression he wore, and you kissed him again.

When you pulled back again, he studied your face for a second. “You still want me to add Ben, don’t you?” He guessed.

You sighed softly and nodded. “Wouldn't you do anything to make it right?” You asked him quietly. His eyes were still fixed on your lips, but you could tell he was thinking about your words. Without replying, he simply nodded his head.

“So would Ben,” you continued. “Please let him come.”

He still didn’t say anything for a moment. He sat quietly for a few heartbeats before letting out a deep sigh. “I'll think about it,” he said finally. You smiled at him, knowing that even him contemplating your plea was victory enough. “Thank you,” you told him, closing the space between you with a kiss. He hummed against your lip before murmuring, “You know, I thought I said I don't want you to talk about Ben around me.”

You smiled mischievously. “Well, we're breaking my rule about not discussing work in bed,” you pointed out. A faint smirk appeared on his lips. “Well, maybe I don't care about your rules,” he stated with a hint of humor in his voice.

“Then why should I care about yours?” You shot back. Miguel shifted from off the edge of the bed to lean forward over you, forcing you to lay down slowly under him. “Because there are consequences to breaking my rules, remember?” He said in a low voice, his eyes darkening with desire.

Your heart began to race as he trapped your body under his. “No,” you replied coyly, “I think I forgot.” Raising a hand to his head, you pulled his face down just above yours. “You'll have to remind me,” you whispered to him before pulling him down into a hard kiss.

You brought your hand around his head to run your fingers through his hair as he deepened the kiss. After a second, he moved his lips down to your neck while one of his hands traveled up your stomach to palm your breast, earning a quiet moan from you. Even after all the things he had done to you last night, you were ready for more.

You pushed yourself up off the mattress, forcing Miguel to roll back over onto his back as you straddled his waist. The seriousness from his face had disappeared when you settled on top of him. A smug grin pulled at his lips as the covers slipped off of your body, and his eyes drank in the sight of your bare body before him.

"Not too tired after last night?" He asked in an amused tone. You leaned forward and planted your hands on either side of his head as you brought your face close to his. "Baby, I could go all day," you purred before pressing your lips to his and slipping your tongue between them.

Miguel's hands gripped at your thighs, and his breathing deepened as he shifted under you. You brought one hand up to run your fingers through his hair, and when you broke away from his mouth, you moved your lips down to kiss under his jaw. He tilted his head back with a soft sigh to allow you better access to the soft skin of his neck.

Before you could go any further, Miguel's watch began beeping, disturbing the growing anticipation you both felt. You groaned, and he sighed regretfully as he raised his arm up to read the message he had received. You lifted your head up slightly to look at his face. He was clearly irritated by the interruption, and his eyes flicked back and forth as he quickly read the message.

"It's Jess," he explained. "She's asking about the meeting later." You rolled your eyes. There was always somebody or something that demanded his attention, and you were sick of it. You didn't want to let him go this time.

"You know," you began slowly, "there's this cool feature on these gizmos." You grabbed his arm and raised it up so you could see the screen. Miguel watched in amusement as you pressed the screen until you found what you were looking for.

"There," you said proudly, pressing the 'silent' button in his watch's configuration. "Much better." His eyes moved from your face to the watch and then back to your face with a raised eyebrow. "Is that why you never respond to my messages?" He asked suspiciously. You gave him a sly smile. "I just like it better when you tell me in person," you defended innocently.

"Mhmm," he hummed in response, a subtle smirk pulling on his lips as you kissed them again. You were eager to pick up the momentum you had lost to Jess's message, and you quickly returned your mouth to his neck again.

"We can't," he murmured, the bass of his voice vibrating against your lips. "I need to get up."

You hummed softly before whispering against his skin, "No."

You heard him breathe out a chuckle, and his hands came up to pull your arms gently off his body. "I know," he replied, sitting up as he did. "But people are going to notice I'm missing."

A spike of determination shot up in you, the frustration at his constant leaving finally showing. With both hands, you shoved him back down against the mattress by his chest, using most of your weight to keep him down. "Let them notice," you told him. "You're not going anywhere."

Under your hands, Miguel's breathing deepened, and his eyes flashed with lust at your assertion. His desire for you was clearly painted on his face, but with a clenched jaw, he sighed regretfully. "I can't stay," he insisted. "There's too much to do."

Despite his words, his fingers were gripping at your thighs, and he shifted under you restlessly. His resolve was hanging by a thread, and you knew exactly how to snap it.

Your mouth curled in a wicked grin as you lowered your face to hover over his own. "You're gonna stay right here with me until I'm through with you," you whispered to him. "You know why?"

Miguel was obviously fighting to keep his breathing steady, and his eyes were fixed on your lips when he managed to ask, "Why?" You lowered your face just above his, your eyes locking and noses brushing against each other. Then, softly, smugly, you said, "Because this pussy is yours, and I know how much you love it."

Miguel's jaw clenched at your words, and when you pressed your lips to his again, he was no longer holding back. His tongue pushed its way into your mouth aggressively as his fingers dug into your hips. From beneath you, his body shifted as he propped himself more upright and pushed your hips down to where his hardened cock was waiting.

You smiled deviously as he kissed you. The feeling of power rushed to your head at being able to distract him from his work with only a few words. Your heart was pounding in anticipation, and with the soft breathy moans you were both making, the ache between your legs was growing almost painful.

You allowed yourself to be guided back by his hard, gripping hands. A thrill ran up through your body when you felt his cock brush against your hot entrance. You could see the unfocused look in Miguel's eyes, like the only thing he could think about was being inside you.

To be mischievous, you teased your pussy around his length. Miguel groaned ever so softly, and his eyes burned with lust. "I don't have time for your fucking teasing," he growled. You smirked, always enjoying getting him riled up. He was even better when he was frustrated.

"You're so impatient," you observed with an amused voice. "I'm gonna have to teach you how to wait nicely one day." Miguel wasn't so amused. "I don't have time for this," he replied, shifting under you to try and align himself to you. You laughed. "That's the point," you said. "You need to learn how to—"

You cut yourself off with a sharp gasp. Miguel clearly had enough of your lecture and finally slammed himself into you, causing you to fall forward so that your head rested against his. The sudden feeling of him stretching you out so unexpectedly had made your mind freeze, and for a second, you couldn't speak.

"You were saying?" Miguel muttered smugly when you opened your eyes again. You couldn't even remember what you were saying. The only thing on your mind now was how badly you needed to fuck him.

With Miguel's hands still on your hips, you began moving eagerly along the length of his cock. You rocked your hips against his, grinding your pussy hard against him. Quiet whines began to rise up from your throat as you raised yourself up and down, slowly at first, but you soon increased your pace as he began grunting from the feeling of you riding him.

Miguel was gripping your waist tightly and gasping quietly as he helped you move up and down his length. You fell forward, planting your hands on his chest as you moved your hips against his. His eyes met yours with an electrifying gaze that only encouraged your movements.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, his eyes fixed on your face with a lustful sort of reverence as his hands slowly slid up the sides of your torso. "You're so fucking pretty."

Damn him and his words that sent your heart fluttering. Even there, in the midst of riding him, you felt your face grow warm from his praise. Of course, you had heard him say things like that before, but for some reason, it hit you in a different way that turned you into a blushing mess on top of him.

Miguel apparently noticed the effect his praise had over you because his lips twisted in a half-smirk, and he sat up off the bed to bring his face up to yours. "My pretty girl," he murmured, his voice deep as he spoke the words against your lips.

You seemed to forget how to breathe. Your heart was pounding furiously in your chest as you locked eyes with him. His dark, piercing gaze that once seemed like an impenetrable wall was now soft and warm. The way he was staring at you made you feel like he could see into your soul, like he knew what you felt for him, what you wanted from him. And in his eyes, you could almost swear that you could see it, too.

His strong arms wrapped themselves slowly around your torso to hold you against him, and his lips pressed against yours gently. You didn't even realize that he was rolling you over until you were on your back beneath him, and he began driving his hips into yours.

You let out a soft moan and broke away from his lips. Miguel's head fell to your shoulder as he moved steadily inside you, his cock pumping in and out of your soaking cunt. His hot breath fanned against your collarbones, and you could hear how he grunted softly with each thrust.

"God, I can't get enough of you," he panted, his voice hoarse and quiet. "Fucking you is—it's like Rapture."

You nearly came apart right there. His words and his cock had you completely at his mercy. One of your hands gripped at his muscular back while the other slid up the back of his neck to run through his dark hair. It took most of your effort to even form a coherent thought, and speaking felt next to impossible.

"Only you—," you started, cutting yourself off with a moan. "Only you can m-make me feel like this. You fuck me so good."

Miguel groaned quietly at your words. Lifting his face up from your shoulder, he rested his forehead against yours. "You know why?" He asked quietly. You opened your eyes to meet his, not even bothering to respond. "Because you're my pretty girl," he asserted. "And this pussy is mine." As he spoke, Miguel's hand slipped down between your bodies until he found your clit with his thumb.

You cried out in ecstasy as he circled his thumb around while still driving his cock deep inside you. Your hand moved from his back to grip the headboard above you as he fucked you relentlessly. The sounds of his hips slapping against yours were in-time with each whining moan you made. You barely had time to register that you were cumming until it took over your whole body.

You were practically screaming his name as your body shook uncontrollably. You pulled him close to you while his hips continued thrusting into you ceaselessly. Bliss completely overtook your every faculty, and the only thing your mind could process was Miguel.

His eyes never left your face as he watched you completely unravel under him. He gave a long, deep moan at the feeling of you clenching around him. His lips brushed against yours as he slowed down his pace for you, aware of how your body was beginning to grow overstimulated, and he murmured your name under his breath softly.

As you finished riding out your high, your body was still alight with pleasure, and your heart was still beating wildly in your chest, but you finally managed to breathe properly again. Blinking your eyes open, Miguel's dark gaze was hypnotizing. He was clearly proud of how he had caused you to come so undone, and he whispered, "You're so pretty when you cum."

All you could do to respond was moan softly. He never failed to get you off, and he never failed to praise you when you did.

With one hand still entangled in his hair, you pulled his face down to yours in a sloppy kiss. As Miguel's tongue danced against yours, he pulled himself out of you. You were still breathing hard when he sat up off your body. Taking advantage of the fact that you were still recovering from your high, he turned you over so that you were on your stomach and lifted your ass up to him.

Even if you had wanted to resist him, your mind was still hazy from all the pleasure buzzing through your body. Following his prompts, you obediently propped yourself up on your knees, your back arched as you held onto the sheets.

"What a good girl you are," he murmured, running his hand down your back. You hummed softly at his touch and turned your head to look at him from the corner of your eye. "Only for you," you whispered. You heard him give a heavy sigh, and you felt the head of his cock teasing the entrance of your soaking cunt.

"That's right," he purred. "You're my good girl."

That was the last thing he said before slamming his cock back into you. You gasped sharply, startled by his sudden movements as he picked up an eager pace. Still sensitive from your orgasm, you whimpered softly against the sheets.

"It's too much," you whined, gripping the comforter to try and pull yourself forward to escape the sensations overpowering you. "You can take it, babygirl," he assured you gently, his cock moving faster and harder inside you. "I know you can."

You couldn't say anything in response. You were high on his words and drunk off his cock. Your eyes were clenched shut as he pounded into you. The sound of his hips slapping against your ass filled the air, and with each thrust into you, he hit against your G-spot over and over again. Your body felt weak, and you were completely at his mercy.

"Miguel," you moaned, unable to say anything else. He cursed softly under his breath, and his hands gripped your hips tightly to keep you steady. "You're doing so good, cariño," he told you, his fingers digging into your skin. "Just a little more."

His gentle tone contrasted sharply against the almost savage way he was fucking you. Your breathing came in shallow gasps, and your legs started to give out from under you. Miguel dropped one of his hands to support himself on the mattress. His large body seemed to envelope yours, and you could feel the heat from his skin warming your back. His panting breath tickled your ear as he continued ramming into you relentlessly.

You turned your face toward his, your noses brushing against each other. His lips were grazing the corner of your mouth in feather-light touches. Your eyes, blurred and unfocused, met his, and in that moment, a three-word phrase entered your mind that you had sworn to yourself you would never say to him.

"Miguel, I-I—"

You couldn't finish your sentence before your body was racked by another orgasm. You hadn't expected it, and it hit you hard and fast. A strangled cry emerged from your throat as your body trembled under his.

Miguel became desperate when he saw you were cumming again. With each thrust, he grunted loudly, overpowering the sound of your quiet gasping. Your whole body was shaking, and just when it was getting to be too much for you to handle, Miguel grew still with a ragged moan as he came inside you.

For a moment, there was just the sounds of your rapid breathing as you were both lost in the intoxicating feeling of finishing together. His head rested against yours, his skin hot to the touch. The sounds of his panting still tickled your ear while his hand slowly roamed from your waist up your back. Finally, with a gentle kiss to your shoulder, he pulled out of you.

Your hands released the vise grip they had on the sheets as you slumped down against the bed. Your mind was still flooded with the pleasure you felt, and you didn't have the capacity to do anything besides lay there and try to recover your breath.

Turning onto your back, you looked up at Miguel. His hair had fallen into his face in a messy way that made him even more handsome. Raising your free hand up to his face, you brushed his hair back so that you could see him clearly. His eyes seemed unfocused as his mind was clouded with pleasure. After a quiet second of staring at each other, he lowered his face to place a lazy kiss on your mouth.

God, how you wanted this to last. You wanted him to fuck you senseless every day. You wanted him to kiss you every hour, to think of you every minute, to be with you every second. Being together like this, open and vulnerable and comfortable with each other, it was the first time you felt a sense of connection with another person since you became Spider-Woman.

When he broke away from your lips, he slumped down beside you with a deep sigh. You glanced over at his face, a faint glimmer of sweat shining on his forehead, and admired for the millionth time just how good he looked.

As your breathing was finally evening out, you closed your eyes and felt like you could fall right back to sleep next to him again.

"Don't even think about it," Miguel mumbled, breaking the silence between you. "Hmm?" You questioned, opening your eyes to look at him.

"You're not falling asleep again," he said with a pointed look.

You groaned, rolling onto your side to face him better. "Why not?" You asked innocently. Miguel stretched his arms before answering, his muscles flexing in a way that made you crave another round with him. "Because I need to go," he sighed. "And that means you do, too."

You raised an eyebrow at him. "You can't just fuck me like that and expect me to be able to get up and leave after," you told him wryly.

Miguel huffed out a laugh, a cocky smile on his face. "I'm serious," you insisted, unable to suppress your own grin. The rare sight of Miguel's smile paired with the high you were still feeling made you giddy. "I'm sure you are," he replied, "but I'm also serious about needing to go."

You rolled your eyes. "Then go," you told him theatrically. "I won't beg for your company." Despite your words, you did indeed want to beg for his company. Every time he left, it was harder and harder for you to let him go.

He huffed again. "I'm not going to leave you alone in my room," he replied dryly.

You smirked at him. "Afraid I'm gonna steal your stuff?" You joked. Miguel's eyes turned to you with an amused gleam. "It's a possibility," he said evenly. "You still haven't given me my shirt back." You closed your eyes for a moment with a sigh. "Oh, yeah," you mumbled as you stretched out like a cat. "I definitely meant to do that."

Miguel hummed his disbelief, but there was humor in his subtle smile. "If I didn't know any better," he began slowly, reaching over to wrap his arm around you and pull you closer to him, "I would say you're lying."

Your own smile widened as you looked up at him mischievously, and you rolled over so that you rested on his chest. "Oh, you think you know better?" You asked in a sly tone, hovering your face over his.

His mouth was pulled in a crooked grin as his fingers brushed lazily across your bare back. "I know I do," he replied with a deep voice, his eyes fixed on your lips.

You hummed thoughtfully. "Well, maybe you're wrong," you asserted.

"I'm never wrong."

"I don't believe that."

"Name one time."

You paused, trying to think of a time when he did or said something incorrect, but unfortunately, nothing came to mind. You rolled your eyes. "I don't know," you admitted finally, earning a smug look from Miguel. "But one day, you'll have to admit you were wrong about something," you insisted, "and I'll make sure I'm there to see when you do."

"You may be waiting for a while," he remarked. You hummed thoughtfully, tracing a finger over the outlines of his face. "I’m a patient person," you stated simply. "And you never know. That day could come sooner than you think."

He stared up at you in amusement. "If you say so," he replied. "Though, I wouldn't use 'patient' as a word to describe you." You raised an eyebrow in interest. "Oh? And what would you use?" You asked smoothly.

Miguel pretended to think as he slowly stroked his fingers up and down your back. "There are a lot of words I could use," he began. "Stubborn is probably at the top of the list." You rolled your eyes, trying and failing to suppress a smile. "And?" You prompted, feeling genuine interest in how he perceived you.

"And..." he thought for a second, "passionate."

You smirked at him and raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah?" You said smugly. Miguel's lips also turned upwards in a subtle smile. "Not just sex," he clarified. "You're passionate about being Spider-Woman, and you care about the people around you. You're...kind."

Your stomach fluttered a little bit. You could tell he wasn't just saying that. The sincerity in his voice as he spoke was perfectly clear.

You smiled softly at him. "Keep going," you urged, though you were still trying to seem aloof at his words. He hummed thoughtfully. "You're strong," he listed. "You're fast. You're smart."

"Don't forget funny," you added.

Miguel gave you a skeptical look. "I didn't," he said. "It's just not on the list."

You couldn't stop yourself from laughing at that. "Shut up," you chastised, lightly smacking his chest as you recovered from his joke. His eyes gleamed as he stared up at your laughing face. There was a brief moment of silence as he looked up at you with half a smile on his lips before he murmured, "You're beautiful."

Two words and your heart was beating furiously in your chest. You were struck dumb, unable to think of what you could say to appropriately respond to him. He had called you pretty a dozen times, and you logically knew that he found you attractive based on your many encounters, but it wasn't just the words he spoke, it was how he said it—softly, earnestly, like it was something too precious to be said aloud.

And there was that three-word phrase again whispering in your mind. You could never say it, you knew that. It would be awkward, uncomfortable, and even potentially ruin your standing in the Society, but none of those reasons could stop you from thinking it when he was gazing up at you with his soft, brown eyes with a subtle smile on his full lips.

Miguel must've realized you were having trouble coming up with a response. Breaking the half-awkward silence around you, he said, "But you know what word I would use to describe you right now?"

You were pulled out of your stupor by his question, your face growing warm in embarrassment. "Hmm?" You hummed curiously.

"Treacherous," he replied simply.

Your eyebrows scrunched in surprise. "Treacherous?" You repeated. "How so?"

He lifted his head up just enough so that your lips were barely touching before whispering, "Don't think I don't know what you're doing right now."

You blinked down at him innocently. "What am I doing?" You whispered back, your lips grazing his softly.

He let you place a ghost of a kiss to his lips before finally replying, "Stalling." With that, he began sitting up off the bed, forcing you to roll off his body. "We have to go.”

You draped your arm over your eyes with a groan. He knew you too well. You had hoped he wouldn't notice you trying to drag on the pillow talk to keep him there with you. Now, it seems you’ve run out of time.

Miguel sat up off the bed and stretched. You watched how the muscles in his back flexed tightly before he stood to get dressed. Sighing, you also sat up, grabbing your underwear from off the floor where Miguel had discarded it the previous night before walking to the bathroom.

When you came back out, Miguel was already dressed in his suit, his hair slicked back in his typical fashion. He noticed you emerging from the bathroom and tossed you your web shooters. Catching them, you placed them on your wrists and watched as your suit enveloped your body.

He must’ve seen the wonder on your face because he said, “I told you it’s cooler than nanotech.” You smiled at him. “It is,” you conceded, stepping over toward him. “I don’t think I ever said thank you.”

He smirked down at you, his gaze flickering back and forth between your eyes and your lips. “I don’t recall that you ever did,” he replied. You placed one hand on his chest and let it wander up to his neck. Even on your tiptoes, he was too tall for you to kiss, so he had to follow your prompting hands and lean over to kiss you.

When you broke away from Miguel, you whispered, “Thank you.” He wore a soft smile on his lips as he whispered back, “You’re welcome,” before pressing them back to your mouth. Kissing him was so addicting, and you regretted having to leave once again.

Pulling away from you, Miguel sighed. “Listen,” he started, “finding the anomaly needs to be our first priority now.” You nodded in agreement, but you could sense there was more he was going to say. “That means,” he continued slowly, “no distractions.”

You studied his face for a second before you understood his implication. “You mean this?” You asked, your stomach tightening anxiously as you thought about him cutting you off. “Yes,” he replied before quickly adding, “until the anomaly is caught.”

You frowned. You had no idea how long that could take. The anomaly, ‘Ghost’ as he had been nicknamed, had already been at large far longer than any of you could have guessed, and he could stay in hiding between universes for far longer.

Miguel apparently could tell what you were thinking, and he raised one of his hands up to hold your chin gently. “You are a distraction for me,” he told you. “Now, I put you on the team because you can be useful, but I can’t be here lounging around with you when I need to be preparing for this, understand?”

You sighed in resignation. It made sense. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, it made sense. He was trying to run this whole operation by himself, and even though you wanted him to stay with you, you knew that you were just being selfish.

“Yes,” you replied reluctantly. He nodded, his thumb running back and forth along your chin gently. “Good,” he said. “I’ll see you at the meeting at 12.”

You sighed again. “Alright, I’ll see you there.” You turned to walk toward the door, but when Miguel called out your name, you paused and turned back around. He stepped toward you purposefully, and your heart leapt as you thought he was going to let you stay a while longer.

With his body hovering close to yours, he reached a hand out to grab your arm gently. You let him lift it up, your eyes never leaving his face as you noted how close his lips were to yours, but he wasn’t looking at you. He was looking down at your gizmo and was tapping away at the screen.

Confused, you looked down to see what he was doing. You watched as he pressed the button marked ‘silent,’ effectively disabling the setting you had it on. “No more of that either,” he told you with pointed look.

You gave a guilty smile. “Fair enough,” you conceded, taking back your arm. “But just so you know, I think this new rule of yours is a good idea, because now I’m going to catch this anomaly so fast, it’ll make your head spin.”

He smiled in amusement at your statement. “If you do,” he said, “I’ll fuck you until you can’t speak.” You raised an eyebrow at him. “You already do that,” you pointed out. He shrugged. “Not anymore,” he countered evenly. You shrugged back at him and replied casually, “But soon enough.”

With that, you turned back to the door with a smirk on your face and the determined notion that you were going to be the one to catch the anomaly.

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ohnococo · 9 months ago

Text

Eyes On You | MMA Fighter!Sukuna x F!Scientist Reader

Summary: Sukuna takes a keen interest in you after a meeting discussing having him promote the protein powder you helped develop.

Notes: A one shot within the mma!au, though this isn’t part of the main canon of Fight Night. A request for @rosemaydone321

Warnings: public sex, mutual masturbation, rough sex, cum shot

You hated being dragged along for these sponsorship meetings. It wasn’t your thing: sucking up to clients, listening to them negotiate fees, nodding the approval you’d already detailed and reviewed with legal in emails over the product claims in the ad copy. That didn’t stop you from getting dragged along though. Kusakabe, the company’s marketing lead, absolutely insisted that you added an air of legitimacy to the product just by sitting there. You drew the line at his suggestions that you wear a white lab coat to these meetings. There was no need to give some performance of your job, because it was simply something you did and did well, not needing to add niceties or fakeness to bolster your accolades. Not like most of the other people in this room laughing louder than they needed to, smiling wider than necessary.

Not the subject of this meeting though. In lieu of making conversation and underhanded suggestions of sponsorship requirements or costs, his focus was on you through most of it, face unamused by his manager’s banter. He seemed much more interested in watching you squirm under his gaze. You aren’t exactly sure what it was he seemed to get out of it, brows raised, peering down his nose at you as he leans on one hand and waits for your side of the table to agree to what he wants without even having to be the one to ask for it. It feels like he’s judging you, staring into your mind at every little thing you were thinking. It makes it hard for you to listen, not that you really needed to. All they asked was that you “look smart” and “use some science-y words.” All your years of education and experience to be told to look smart when you were smart. It almost made you regret getting into the health and fitness business.

The only thing making these meetings semi-tolerable was at least knowing Kusakabe was good at dealing with these people, having done press management for fighters himself in the past before deciding it was too much stress for the pay. He had to put out less fires this way, now he just helped the company push protein powder via sponsorships and deals. Or in this case, a very important brand deal with a highly sought after man like Sukuna. His being reliable, and doing most of the talking, made up for you being forced to be here rather than where your costly degrees had given you access to. It still didn’t make his client-facing persona any less grating though.

Sukuna leans forward, picking up his glass of water on the long table separating you and your coworkers from him and his management, and Kusakabe makes a show of acting impressed by him to pay him a compliment. It was usually what these men liked most.

“God, look at the size of his hands! No wonder you’re a menace on the ground.” Kusakabe mimics wrenching an opponent’s arm back, but Sukuna seems to be too concerned with watching you intently to be plied by the praise. Though from how disinterested he seemed the entire meeting you were beginning to think flattery wouldn’t work on him anyway. Kusakabe nudges you, encouraging you to join in, “Can’t claim that’s because of the protein powder, can we?”

Sukuna’s lip curls into a sneer, and you feel a small sense of camaraderie that he was just as put off by the charade of it all as you were, though you note this was the first time someone hadn’t been taken in by Kusakabe.

You’d have to tease him for it later when he lets the facade slip on your way back to the more comfortable lab-based aspects of your job. He knew the product inside and out. Not on a chemical level like you, but he was knowledgeable.

You found his penchant for playing dumb exhausting though, and since Sukuna seemed to as well you take the chance to speak your mind for once. “Don’t be stupid.”

For the first time since this meeting had started, the large man across from you actually looks amused, lifting his head from where it was resting atop his hand with the smallest hint of a smile.

“Don’t mind her. You know how brainy types are, right?” Kusakabe deflects, trying to recover from his parried compliment.

That wipes the smile off of Sukuna’s face, and he turns his steely gaze to the man next to you. “She’s right. You were being stupid.

Kusakabe looks frightened for a second, with your new client’s ability to intimidate even without threats, then his business brain kicks in, forcing that fake smile back onto his face as he laughs nervously. “Of course I was!”

He was, really. A claim like that would be preposterous. It was already a stretch for them to try and act like any of the considerable musculature before you was due to your product anyway. A body like that wasn’t built by a year’s worth of free product and the promise of a sizable check…

From the corner of your eye you can see Kusakabe deflate a little, before redoubling his efforts with Sukuna’s management, having noted they were much more receptive than the brooding man who was the guest of honour here.

The meeting wraps up without further incident, except for you spending the majority of it trying to look unbothered by Sukuna’s unwavering gaze. As Kusakabe walks you back to your little hideaway many, many floors down from the fancy meeting room, he places a lollipop into his mouth in lieu of heading outside for a cigarette to calm his buzzing nerves.

“If I didn’t respect you so much I’d have asked you to show a little leg to make that whole thing easier for me.”

It catches you off guard, “Firstly, if you respected me you would have kept that little thought to yourself. Secondly, what are you even talking about?”

He twirls the sweet by its stick on his mouth, pulling it out to gesture at you broadly. “I’m talking about the sexy eyes you were getting the whole damn time. Typical meathead, thinking with his dick.”

“Sexy eyes? Do you mean scary eyes? He looked like he was going to eat me alive.”

Kusakabe laughs as he leans against the wall while you press your keycard to the sensor for the entrance to your floor, “Yeah he wanted a taste of you, all right.”

The door beeps, then the locks click signifying your entry was permitted. Kusakabe’s, however, is not, so he waves at you over his shoulder as he heads back towards the elevator, “I’ll let you know when they decide on the deal.”

“I don’t care.”

It was all the same to you, and while your interest might have been piqued despite the brutishness of being ogled for nearly an hour and a half, your job there was done. Whether he promoted the protein powder or not, or made an appearance in a few commercials or print ads, had nothing to do with you past this point. Hell, it technically didn’t have anything to do with you before, but Kusakabe was adamant your quiet presence made a difference.

When Kusakabe approaches you in the lobby three days later, walking alongside you as you make your way to your car to head home, you think maybe you might care just a little. Enough to see it through at least. He looks serious, disappointed even, feigning having to deliver bad news, before he’s breaking into a smile and patting your back the way he always did when asking you to celebrate a victory that wasn’t yours.

“We did it. Sukuna’s team is signed on.”

“You did it.” You assert. No amount of money would have made you go on all the networking luncheons and meetings he spent his time in to soften people up. One was your limit, agreed to after a lengthy begathon from your coworker, so you let him ask you to come to a celebratory meal with the rest of the marketing team as usual, so you can also shoot it down as usual.

“Well, how about food and drinks tonight to celebrate, eh?” He acts like he might make it sound appetising by phrasing it like that for the dozenth time. But then he adds, “Their team is coming too. Sukuna insisted on paying. He asked us to bring everyone from the meeting too, and that includes you.”

This was a little unusual. It was a rarity for anyone other than the direct lead to be invited out, even if it was his company card getting thrown on the table for it. You can’t say you aren’t interested, even if the thought of being watched through the whole meal intimidated you. So you say yes, and Kusakabe is taken aback, smiling wide and patting you on the back like it was some feat to actually get out of either your lab, your office, or your home.

—

The meal is as insufferable as the meetings usually are. The ass kissing is somehow even more intolerable now that you know the contracts are signed so it was all even more unnecessary theatrics. Sukuna seems more focused on people in the room other than you, bordering on outright ignoring you, save for a few glances down at you in your seat across from him at the table.

It forces you to reckon with the fact that you had possibly been a little self-indulgent, coming to this meal to see him, to see if he was as interested as Kusakabe had seemed to think. You did trust his judgement after all, he had a good read on people, but now you’re just confused. It closes you off from the room even further, starting to feel awkward as your coworkers are drinking fast, bordering on making themselves a nuisance with their boisterous talking and laughter in the little reserved room of this restaurant.

Once they’re shuffling round seats, talking to each other, taking shots, cheersing again and again to a supposedly great fortune this year long contract - with a hope of renewal - would bring, you’re just sitting quietly at your seat in the corner, waiting for Kusakabe to finish his loud story to one of Sukuna’s team so you can say goodbye and leave.

Then, your interest is piqued again, as Sukuna breaks off from the few people he was speaking with, coming to sit down next to you. He peers down at you and you find yourself sitting up a little straighter, blinking when he speaks as if he’d made some sudden frightening movement.

“Are you always so quiet?”

You couldn’t tell if he was trying to be rude or not, but you answer honestly. “Yes.”

It surprises him that you don’t come up with some defence, and that you were comfortable with your quietness, his brows raising gently as he appears to be scanning you head to toe all over again. It has you feeling tense, swallowing hard as he’s silent, though not in the same way you were.

He catches that, smiling with a predacious twinkle in his eye before he leans a little closer than necessary. “Don’t be scared. I only hurt people who have it coming.”

You don’t know if it was supposed to intimidate you, but it worked. It made your hairs stand on end, your mouth feel dry, but it also made a familiar heat pool low in your stomach. He’s caught onto something that lets him know that too, flashing his teeth at you.

“I said don’t be scared.” He says it like an order, leaning back in the seat he’d taken, looking out at the room and you take the opportunity to try and calm yourself a little without being obvious about it.

He crosses one leg over the other, putting an arm over the back of your chair. “They’ll be shitfaced by the end of the night. Half of them already are.” He swings his head slowly to look down at you, “Why aren’t you?”

You shrug. Because it didn’t interest you, maybe. Because you were bored enough that it couldn’t even help anything and would leave you with a hangover that wasn’t worth it tomorrow morning. You don’t tell him any of that though, deciding that you didn’t want to volunteer any unnecessary information right now.

So you answer with the same question, “Why aren’t you?”

There it is again, that smile that would be outright terrifying if you were one of those people that ’had it coming.’ Then, he tempers the smile, running his tongue over his teeth before relaxing into a more neutral expression.

“If I’m partying I’m not holding back, and this is technically business. But,” he leans in, close enough that you’re holding your breath, eyes wide, “maybe we can have our fun some other way…”

You lick your lips, trying to keep your breathing under control, trying to temper whatever had clued him in to his effect on your body before because by now you were absolutely soaked. He doesn’t let you have that control though, bringing a hand up and brushing your lower lip with his thumb and tilting your head up towards him. He’s so close you’re sure he’s going to kiss you, but instead he speaks.

“You need to do something with all that nervous energy, or you’ll wind up passing out.”

He’s mocking you, you know he is. You don’t exactly like to feel so frail in front of him but you can’t deny how your body was reacting, or that you might just be considering letting him kiss you within eyeshot of several of your coworkers. But he doesn’t. He pulls back and stands, eyes barely visible with how low he has to look to gaze down on you.

“I’m going to the bathroom.”

Then, he just walks away, leaving you blinking, unsure of why he’d announced his departure with such weight. You catch up to his thinking as he stops at the entryway to the little private room you’d all been dining and drinking in, and quirks his head to the side, raising his brows in a face that wordlessly communicates, ’well?’ before he’s walking away.

It leaves you blinking again, swallowing hard, looking around the room as if to ask what you should do. No one was looking back, all involved in their own discussions. You take a breath, wondering why you suddenly felt the need to confer over something you very much didn’t want anyone else here to know you were even considering. Then, you realise even as you stand to follow along the path Sukuna had taken, it was because you knew it was probably a very, very bad idea.

When you reach the bathroom, you see it’s unlocked. You grab the handle and take a deep breath, half hoping he’d been joking, that he hadn’t even come into here and instead walked outside to get some air and laugh at the dirty little scientist who really thought he was inviting her to fuck in a public restroom. The door is only open a little before Sukuna is in view, very much waiting for you as he’d said, and very much stroking his frankly intimidating cock.

With the way your blood rushes downward between your thighs you almost feel lightheaded, and it’s as if your legs are moving of their own accord as you enter the bathroom and shut and lock the door behind you.

“Anyone could have come in here and seen that.” He laughs at the way you refer to his monster of a cock as that, but it doesn’t stop his slow strokes.

“But you came in here.” He’s still mocking you. And you’re still taking it, responding by grabbing at his shirt, and looking up at him. It spurs him on to release his grip on his cock and kiss you, one hand in your hair the other on your hip.

The force of his kiss borders on painful, teeth clashing with yours, tongue pushing into your mouth like it was his to claim. Then he’s gripping your ass, hoisting you up onto the sink, and only parting from your kiss once his hands migrate downward and feel how wet you already were. He spreads your legs wide, shoving your sensible grey dress upward to unveil the wet patch on your panties and smiling wickedly.

“Were you this wet in that meeting?” His eyes flick upward to meet with yours, and you feel defensive, like he was accusing you of being unprofessional.

“N-no.”

“Don’t lie to me.” He tugs your panties down, hard enough you have to reach behind yourself to grip the sink and keep yourself from sliding off. “I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

That doesn’t help the defensiveness bubbling up inside you, competing with the arousal. “I am.”

He gives you a pitying look, like he wasn’t so sure anymore, “Then be a smart girl and get that cunt ready for me.”

He takes a step back, resuming his slow strokes on his cock, waiting for you to perform for him. Your fight is gone with the way his words have you letting out a horny little whine at the sight of him touching himself. He lets out a pleased groan at that, and if you hadn’t already cast caution and logic aside for a moment you’d be embarrassed at how enthusiastically you begin moving your fingers through your wetness for him. He nods approvingly, picking up his pace a little as his silent encouragement only makes you go further, bringing a knee up to perch one of your feet on the sink, giving him a better view as you circle your clit and let out a stifled moan.

He doesn’t let you work your way up like that for long though, “Go on, fuck that cunt open for me.”

His words are only getting filthier, and it makes your head spin, letting a louder moan slip out as your mind goes blank and you do just as he says. You didn’t know you could be so needy so fast, knuckle deep with two of your fingers, rocking your hips into your movements the best you can without slipping from your precarious position. He flicks his wrist, twisting his hand as he strokes his cock, and his deep groans have you sliding a third finger in, knowing your fingers will hardly approximate his girth. The obscenity of it all is getting you close, breath hitching, eyes struggling to keep focused as your legs get shaky.

Then he’s got you by the wrist, pulling your hand away, and replacing your fingers with his cock in one steady push. You wrap your arms around him, moaning and clutching at his back, squirming until he has to hold your hips still to bottom out inside of you properly.

You’re so full that it’s like you can’t think, mind needing to reset as your body takes over all the work for you, rocking against him, begging him with soft whines until he’s chuckling at your desperation.

“All of your little coworkers are going to hear us if you don’t keep quiet.”

His words are undercut by his actions, as he starts fucking into you in long, deep strokes, only speeding up to snap his hips against yours just as he’s bottoming out, and you find yourself taking it happily as he hits all the right spots inside of you.

The force of his thrusts has his pants slowly shifting from his hips and down his legs, heavy belt buckle hitting the tile floors with a clang as they pool around his ankles. His pace is unaffected, the more pressing matter being your pussy squelching obscenely around his cock.

“Oh- oh my god, oh my god…” you’re clinging to him, despite being in no danger of falling now that he was gripping you so tightly, mouth open and incapable of stopping the little whines coming out with every thrust.

He puts a hand over your still open and panting mouth and chuckles, low and breathy, “Not such a quiet little mouse now, hm?”

You’re still talking now, babbling into his palm about how good it feels, how bad you need him to make you cum. Even with how muffled it is you can still feel how it’s making him throb inside of you, and you clench around him. His hand on your mouth, large enough that he was gripping your entire jaw, and the other hand firmly locked onto your hip, are the only things keeping you from being a fucked out puddle on the floor, too close to do anything but take it as your moans get higher and louder.

As he starts climbing towards his end as well, he doesn’t even pretend to hold those sounds in anymore, releasing your face to have his other hand on your hip, and you resume your desperate talk unrestrained as he fucks you hard enough your head is left lolling. You’re lucky enough to have him obliging your every request, namely because they all centre around begging him to keep fucking you. He does it happily, until he’s growling his approval as you grip him tight, creaming around his cock as he fucks you right through your orgasm until he’s right on that edge himself. Suddenly he pulls out, pulling your dress higher and out of the way as he pumps himself roughly til he’s cumming hard, coating your pussy and thighs.

You lean back, until you’re against the mirror with the faucet uncomfortably pressed into your back, catching your breath, watching him squeeze out the last of his cum as he takes in the view of his handiwork. Then, when the stars behind your eyes have dissipated, and you look down at the mess, the reality of what you’ve just done settles in.

“Oh God…”

Sukuna only smiles at you and helps you off of the sink onto your shaky legs to begin cleaning yourself off. As you both make yourselves look presentable, something you’re putting much more effort into than him, he offers you a playful, “You’re welcome.”

You shoot him a look, much less warmed up to him now that the haze of lust has worn off.

He pats you on the back, then runs his hand down until he can squeeze at your ass. “You look much more relaxed.”

He takes a final look in the mirror and gives you another smile, still hungry despite having his appetites satisfied. “Looking forward to working with you.”

#my writing #reminder minors and ageless blogs get blocked #mma!au #mma!sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna #mma fighter!sukuna

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suddencolds · 7 months ago

Text

Atypical Occurrence [1/?]

Happy birthday to my dear friend, @caughtintherain!! I wanted to give you some Vincent suffering to chew on for the occasion, so please take this fic (or, first part of a fic) as a gift <3

this is an OC fic - here is a list of everything I’ve written for these two! chronologically, this fic takes place a month or so after the last installment leaves off :)

Summary: Vincent shows up late to a meeting. It just goes downhill from there. (ft. fake dating, the flu, a house visit)

—

Vincent is late.

Yves tries not to stare at the empty seat across from him. The meeting—their first meeting of the day—started five minutes ago. If there’s anything Yves knows, it’s that Vincent always comes in early.

In stumbles Cara, handling a morning coffee with probably more espresso shots than anyone should have at 8am. Then Laurent, briefcase in one hand, paging through a folder of files in his other. Then Angelie, Isaac, Garrett, Ray, Sienna. Then they get started, and Yves turns his attention towards the graphs projected onscreen at the front of the room, and tries very hard not to think about Vincent.

It’s five minutes later that the door swings open, near-silent.

Sienna—who’s presenting—stops, for a moment, to look back at Vincent from where he’s standing in the doorway, which means that of course, everyone looks.

Cara turns around in her seat, raising an eyebrow. Angelie frowns at him.

“Sorry I’m late,” Vincent says, quietly. “It won’t happen again.”

Isaac shrugs. Angelie looks a little concerned, but she turns back to her work, anyways. Sienna resumes her presentation. All in all, it’s nothing—or it should be nothing. Probably traffic, on the way here; a particularly unlucky commute. An unlikely occurrence, but—to anyone else—not anything worth dwelling over.

It might be a sufficient explanation, if Yves didn’t know better.

Vincent takes care to close the door quietly behind him, then heads over to the only open seat, across from Yves. He unzips his briefcase, quietly, unobtrusively, and takes out his laptop. Yves tries to focus on what Sienna is saying—she’s giving a review of a client’s current investment strategies; he’d reviewed her work on this just a couple days ago.

Vincent asks good questions throughout—he always has a good sense of what areas still lack clarity, Yves has found. Today is no exception. He takes part in the meeting with such calculated precision that Yves almost misses it.

Almost misses: the slight stiffness to his shoulders, as if it’s taking more than the usual amount of effort to keep himself upright. The way in which he clears his throat before speaking, like it might actually hurt. The way he rests his head on one hand, halfway into the meeting—as if even now, barely forty minutes into the workday, he’s already exhausted.

It’s subtle enough to go unnoticed, subtle enough that Yves wonders if he’s just reading too much into it—if, perhaps, Vincent is fine, after all.

—

He doesn’t see Vincent again until lunch.

Or, more accurately, he doesn’t see Vincent again until he’s headed down for lunch with Cara and Laurent. Vincent is already on his way out of the cafeteria, a takeout container in hand.

“You’re not going to eat here?” Yves asks.

Vincent doesn’t look at him. “I have some work to get done at my desk,” he says. He clears his throat again, like it’s irritating him.

“Okay,” Yves says. Vincent turns to leave, and Yves thinks of a hundred ways in which he could possibly prolong this conversation, and then decides against it. Vincent is already so busy.

“You look tired,” he settles on, instead.

He expects Vincent to dismiss this, to reassure him that it isn’t true. But Vincent looks up at him at last, blinking, as if he’s surprised that Yves noticed at all. His eyes are a little dark-rimmed underneath his glasses.

He doesn’t deny it, which is as much of a confirmation as Yves needs.

“The sooner I can get this work done, the sooner I can go home,” he says. Yves supposes he can’t argue with that.

“I guess I’ll see you around, then,” Yves says, even though he wants to say more, even though he feels like there’s more that he should be saying. “Don’t work too hard.”

Vincent nods, at this, and resumes walking.

—

Yves is probably overthinking it. There isn’t anything concrete, really, to justify his concern.

Vincent’s lateness to the meeting could just as easily be the consequence of an alarm he’d forgotten to set, his exhaustion just as easily a side effect—of recent late nights in the office, of arbitrary changes to the projects he’s on, of last-minute demands from clients.

The next time he sees Vincent is at the end of the work day. Yves always takes the elevators on the north end of the building—they’re ones that lead directly out into the parking garage. When he gets out to the hallway, Vincent is already standing there, waiting for the elevator.

Yves watches Vincent stiffen, slightly. Watches him raise one hand up to his face to shudder into it with a harsh, “HHihH’iKKTSh-hUH!”

A thin tremor runs through the line of his shoulders, as if he’s too cold, even though the office air conditioning is no colder than usual. His hand, cupped to his face, remains there for a moment more before he lowers it.

He sniffles, then, rummaging through his pocket for—something. When he doesn’t find it, he just frowns a little, sniffling again.

“Bless you,” Yves says.

“Yves,” Vincent says, his shoulders stiffening a little. He clears his throat, turning around so that he can address Yves properly.

It’s only a few seconds later that he’s turning sharply away, tenting both hands over his nose and mouth for—

“Hh-! hHiH—HIHh’DZSSschh-uhh! snf-!”

“Bless you again.”

Vincent sighs. “Don’t bother.” He really looks exhausted, Yves realizes. During their brief interaction at lunch, he’d already sensed as much, but the harsh white glare of the bright corporate lighting only makes it more evident.

Vincent looks a little paler than usual, if only slightly, and there’s a slight flush that spreads itself over his cheekbones. He looks—well, nearly as put together as always, distilled only by the slight crookedness of his tie, as if it’s been on too tight; the near-invisible sheen of sweat over his forehead. The slight redness to the bridge of his nose, the slight shiver to his hand as he reaches up to adjust his collar.

Yves frowns, taking this all in. “You look kind of…”

“Terrible?” Vincent finishes for him.

Yves winces. “...Well, terrible is a strong word. I was going to say, you look like you could use some sleep.”

“I’m… feeling a little off,” Vincent says, staring straight ahead, as if it’s not an admission at all. But Yves suspects, from the way he avoids eye contact, that perhaps it was something he was intending on keeping private. “You should keep your distance.”

The elevator dings. The sliding doors part, and he steps inside.

“First floor?” Yves asks, hesitating next to the panel of buttons.

“Yes,” Vincent says. Then, quietly: “Thanks.”

“You know, now that busy season is over, the world is not going to end if you take a sick day,” Yves tells him. “Even if you do like, twice the amount of work as everyone else on the team, if you needed to call out, I’m sure something could be arranged.”

Vincent smiles at him, a little wryly. “I must look pretty bad if you’re saying this to me.”

“Yes, I was lying,” Yves says. “Clearly, you look terrible.”

It isn’t true at all—even here, even like this, Vincent doesn’t look terrible, not even in the least. But Vincent still smiles, at this—a tired smile.

The elevator doors slide open.

“Text me if you need anything,” Yves says, impulsively. “Seriously. Tissues, soup, medicine—whatever. It’s not far of a drive.”

“That’s very considerate of you,” Vincent says. “I will see you tomorrow.” And then he steps out of the elevator, and Yves is left with an inexplicable sinking feeling in his stomach. As far as he knows, it has no place there. Obviously, Vincent can take care of himself. Obviously, Vincent can handle a cold. Yves has nothing to be concerned about.

—

The next day is rainy—a constant, torrential downpour, which makes his commute to work take almost twice as long as it usually does. It wouldn’t be spring here, Yves supposes, without dreary weather like this.

Back in uni, when he rowed crew, they’d practice out for hours out in the rain. Now that he spends the majority of his day inside, he supposes he can’t complain. The shelter of the office building is a reprieve.

Vincent doesn’t show up.

“I think he’s out sick,” Cara says, when Yves asks. “You know, it’s funny. I don’t think I’ve actually seen him take a sick day before.”

“For how hard he works, he definitely deserves one,” Garrett says.

“He seemed fine yesterday, when I saw him,” Cara says, with a shrug. “Probably came on quickly.” Yves nods.

But that isn’t quite right, is it? Vincent hadn’t seemed fine, had he? Yves thinks back to the things he’d noticed—Vincent, uncharacteristically exhausted during the meeting, though it was clear he’d been just as engaged as usual. Vincent, shivering in the elevator, telling Yves to keep his distance. How poorly had he been feeling already, yesterday? How poorly does he have to be feeling today to have called off of work for it?

He finds some time just before lunch to text.

Y: how are you holding up? Y: yesterday’s offer stands if you need me to bring you anything!

He doesn’t get a response from Vincent, which is a little concerning. He checks his phone halfway through lunch, and then twice more, in between his afternoon meetings, just in case he’s missed a notification.

“Are you expecting a text from someone?” Cara says, looking a little curious.

“Just a friend,” Yves says, which is and isn’t true.

To make a point—to Cara, and possibly to himself—he shuts his phone off. He very pointedly does not look at it again for the remainder of the hour.

It’s not until mid-afternoon that he finally gets a response.

V: Sorry to get back to you so late.

Yves sits upright, fumbling with his phone to get it unlocked. The text bubble pops up again, somewhat intermittently, to show that Vincent is typing.

V: If it’s not too much trouble, there’s a blue folder on my desk labeled 2-A.

Yves blinks at this, a little disbelieving.

Y: you’re asking me to bring you work files? Y: arent you supposed to be resting 🤨 Y: paid sick leave, remember? as in, leave your work at work??

V: I meant to pack them yesterday.

Y: that’s like a genie grants you 3 wishes and you ask for an extra day of assignments Y: terrible waste of a wish if you ask me

V: As a genie, you’re quite judgmental

Y: ok ok Y: as your loyal lamp dweller i’ll be over around 8pm with folder 2-A Y: you need anything else?

V: Nothing else V: You can just leave them outside my door

A beat. Then Vincent sends:

V: Sorry to trouble you

Yves thinks of twenty responses he wants to send to that text. Then, thinking better of himself, he shuts his phone off and gets back to work.

—

It’s a little past seven when he finally checks out of the office.

Outside, the rain hasn’t even begun to let up—it falls, straight and heavy, in large, globular droplets. The streets gleam with water. Yves leaves his umbrella in the trunk, tunes out everything but the static of the rainfall, and drives.

Yves has only ever been to Vincent’s apartment once—to pick him up for the New Years’ party Margot hosted—and even then, Vincent had met him at the door. But he recognizes the unit, nonetheless.

For a moment, he considers leaving the folder of files outside of Vincent’s door and taking his leave.

But it’s windy, and he’s afraid the papers might fly away, torn up by the biting wind, and get lost face down in a puddle somewhere, which would defeat the purpose of him coming here in the first place, and would probably also breach some employee confidentiality policy. So instead, he knocks.

It’s silent for a moment. Rain beats down on the slanted rooftops, a constant thrum.

Yves is about to reach out to knock again, when the door swings open.

There stands Vincent, in a pale blue hoodie and loose-fitting pajama pants, with neat rectangular cuffs.

He looks tired. It’s the first thing Yves registers—the unusual fatigue to his expression, which he can’t quite seem to blink away; the flush high on his cheekbones. The way he holds himself, his shoulders stiff, carefully, defensively; as if despite his exhaustion, there’s a part of him which wishes to appear presentable still.

It’s only a moment later that he’s taking a halting step back, ducking into a hoodie sleeve. Yves catches the shiver of his expression, his eyebrows pulling together, before it crumples, and his head jerks forward with a harsh—

“hHihh’GKkTT—! Hh-!! iHH-’DZZSCHh-uuUh!”

The second sneeze sounds louder and harsher than usual, even muffled into the fabric of his sleeve. It betrays his congestion all at once.

“Bless you,” Yves says.

Vincent emerges, sniffling a little. When he speaks, he sounds a little hoarser than he did yesterday. “I thought I said you - snf-! - could leave them on the front step.”

“You did,” Yves says, glancing down at the folder in his hands. “But it’s windy, and it’s raining. I figured you’d prefer to have your files intact. How are you feeling?”

Vincent blinks at him. He’s leaning heavily against the doorframe, Yves realizes, one hand gripped tightly around the frame, his knuckles white from the pressure, as if it would take him too much effort to stay upright otherwise.

“Alright,” he answers. “Thanks for making the trip here. I… it must’ve taken longer, in the rain.” He squeezes his eyes shut, as if his head hurts, as if the light coming from outside is exacerbating his headache. “If you ever need me to pick something up for you, I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Yves says. Despite himself, he reaches up to press his hand against Vincent’s forehead.

The heat under his fingertips is alarming, to say the least. Yves blinks, lowering his hand, and tries to keep the worry out of his voice. “Have you taken your temperature?”

Vincent shakes his head. “I don’t think I have a thermometer.”

“Have you eaten, then?”

Vincent averts his glance, looking sheepish. “I… was planning to stop for groceries, yesterday,” he says. Planning to.

Yves thinks back to the elevator ride yesterday. Vincent had probably already been feeling very unwell, then. And yet, he’d talked with Yves as if nothing was out of the ordinary. I’m feeling a little off, he’d said, as if anything about his current affliction could possibly be characterized as “little.” I will see you tomorrow—as if he had really, genuinely been intending on showing up at work.

“So I take it that there’s nothing in the fridge, either,” Yves says.

“If it’s any consolation, you’ll be pleased to know that I slept,” Vincent says, in lieu of answering.

Then he shivers—the sort of concerning, full-body shiver that is a little concerning, coming from someone who is usually unaffected by the cold—and Yves is immediately reminded that the door they’re speaking through is open.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

“You probably shouldn’t,” Vincent says, before his expression scrunches up, and he’s ducking away with a— “hh—! hHih-II—TSSCHHh-UH! snf-!”, smothered hurriedly into the palm of his hand. He sniffles, emerging with a slight wince. “This came on pretty quickly. It might be the flu.”

“It’s fine,” Yves says. “I got my flu shot in the winter. And anyways, I’ll be careful.”

Vincent is quiet, for a moment. Then, frowning, he says, “I’d feel terrible if you caught this.”

That’s the least of Yves’s worries—he doubts he’s going to catch this. Even if he does, it will just mean a few days off of work. Not the end of the world, by any means. Nothing to warrant the expression on Vincent’s face—Vincent looks upset, as if he’ll really can’t think of anything worse than Yves catching this. Like even the thought of it is worth being upset over.

Yves shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, seriously.” He pushes past Vincent to step inside and shuts the door behind him. “Here, I’ll set these down on your desk. Where is it?”

“Down the hallway, to the left,” Vincent says.

Yves takes the folder, leaves his shoes at the door, and heads inside.

Vincent’s bedroom is small and organized—it’s the kind of bedroom that’s tastefully minimal, in the sort of unified manner that implies that everything in it has been carefully arranged. There’s a small white desk in the corner, a stack of files arranged neatly next to Vincent’s laptop, its lid halfway to shut. There’s a bookshelf, leaned up against the wall far; the bottom shelf looks to be filled with textbooks; the top shelf lined with books, both in Korean and in English. The walls are painted slate gray, the carpets lining the floorboards picked out to match, and there are pale blue curtains hanging from the windows, pulled tightly shut.

There are signs here, too, of his illness, but they are subtle. A tissue box, nestled between his pillow and the headboard, half empty. A waste bin at the foot of the bed, conveniently in reach. A small bottle of aspirin on the bedside counter; an empty packet of cough drops sitting at the edge of his nightstand.

Yves sets the folder at the end of Vincent’s desk, next to the rest of his files, and turns to face him.

“You’re not going to work on these until you’re feeling better, right?” he asks.

“Only if I can’t sleep,” Vincent says, which Yves supposes is a satisfactory answer. Then he twists away, his eyebrows furrowing, lifting a loosely clenched fist to his face to cough, and cough.

The cough is harsh and grating—his entire frame shudders with the force of it, his breaths shallow and raspy. He really sounds awful. This must have come on quickly, Yves thinks.

If it’s upsetting, seeing Vincent like this, it’s even worse to be standing here, in his room, doing nothing. So—if only to make himself useful, if only to convince himself that there’s something he can do—Yves ducks out into the kitchen.

The pantry is meticulously organized—glasses lined up in neat rows; stacks of bowls sorted by size. He fills a glass with water, shuts the cabinets, and takes it back to the bedroom.

By the time he gets back, Vincent is sitting at the edge of his bed. His glasses are folded neatly, left at the very edge of the countertop.

“Here,” Yves says, crossing the room, holding out the glass for him to take.

“Thanks,” Vincent says, taking it gingerly from him. He takes a small, tentative sip, and then another—his hands are a little shaky, Yves notices. “You - snf-! - should really go.”

“I’m not entirely convinced you’ll be fine on your own,” Yves says.

“Of course I will be,” Vincent says, with all of his usual certainty. He lays down, pulling the covers over his body. “I have been fine on my own for years.”

It’s meant to be reassuring, Yves supposes. But he doesn’t feel reassured in the least.

“Thank you again for bringing me the files,” Vincent says, at last, shutting his eyes.

“You could’ve asked me to get you groceries,” Yves says. “There’s a supermarket not far from here, right? And you’re out of cough drops.” He takes a few steps over, towards the desk in the corner of the room. “These—” He examines the bottle of ibuprofen on the table. “—are expired.”

“Just because you’ve extended this kindness to me,” Vincent tells him, “doesn’t mean I should take advantage of it.”

Yves blinks, a little taken aback. “It’s only groceries. I wouldn’t have minded, really.”

“See,” Vincent says, with a note of—something in his voice. It sounds a bit like resignation. “That’s just the kind of person you are.”

Yves doesn’t know what to say, to that.

Before he can think up a fitting response, Vincent’s breathing evens out. Yves lets himself listen to the shallow, steady cadence of it. Lets himself acknowledge the heavy, painful feeling in his chest for just a moment. Then he shuts the lights off and heads back out into the hallway.

[ Part 2 ]

#snz fic #sneeze fic #sneeze kink #snz kink #snz #i wanted to end somewhere more conclusive but i was falling asleep at my keyboard trying to end this so #please take this for now 🙏#my fic #it is very late rn so i am scheduling this for the middle of my work day tomorrow... now i need to run to sleep T.T #i will finish off the latter half of the house visit in the not too distant future!#yvverse #ps caughtintherain if you are reading this ily and i am so grateful to you for letting me consult you abt these two 😭😭 and i hope it's #okay for me to post this as a gift jafkhjfslk ANYWAYS pls read this at your leisure and happy birthday again!!!

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